#PUT THE SPLASH SHIELD BACK

[flock-of-cassowaries]

You know, if I had just witnessed a live bird erupt out of a dead woman’s chest cavity, flutter to the ceiling, and shake a fine spray of human viscera off itself, I don’t think that my first impulse would be to remove my splash-protection visor.

[bookwormjust]

Shadows in the Sun (established relationship with Azriel, sunny day with the IC, Overprotective mate, teasing by Cass and Rhys)

It was the perfect summer day by the Sidra, the sky a brilliant blue with not a single cloud in sight. The Inner Circle had decided to spend the afternoon by the river, taking advantage of the warm weather. Feyre and Mor were lounging nearby, laughing and talking, while Cassian and Rhys splashed around in the water like a pair of overgrown children, their wings sending up waves as they wrestled with each other.

You were stretched out on a soft towel, basking in the warmth of the sun as the river's gentle breeze rustled through the trees. The heat on your skin was soothing, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could fully relax. The sounds of your friends' laughter mixed with the rush of the water, creating a perfect atmosphere of peace.

But you knew peace wouldn’t last for long with Azriel around.

You sensed him before you saw him—the familiar whisper of shadows lingering in the air, brushing against your skin as if trying to warn you. A soft chuckle left your lips, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Moments later, you felt a cool shadow fall over you, blocking the warmth of the sun. You opened your eyes, squinting slightly as Azriel stood over you, his wings stretched wide, casting a protective barrier between you and the sun’s rays.

"Azriel," you groaned with a laugh, playfully swatting at him, "I’m trying to tan."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in that way that made your heart flutter. "You’ve been in the sun long enough," he said, his voice calm but laced with that overprotective edge you knew so well. "You’ll burn."

Before you could protest, he knelt down beside you, the dampness from his swim causing droplets of water to fall onto your skin. His wings curled slightly around you, shielding you from the bright light. You could see his brothers behind him, still in the water, casting knowing glances your way.

Cassian yelled from the river, voice dripping with teasing, "Az, let her get some sun! Stop being a mother hen!"

Azriel ignored him, his attention completely on you as he reached for the bottle of sunscreen you’d left beside your towel. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, and without asking, he popped the cap open and poured some into his hands.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile.

Azriel’s lips twitched in amusement. “I’m taking care of you,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He started with your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he massaged the sunscreen into your skin. The feeling of his hands on you, combined with the coolness of the lotion, sent a shiver down your spine despite the heat of the day. His fingers trailed over your arms, making sure not to miss a single spot, his eyes focused intently on his task.

“You’re overprotective, you know that?” you teased softly, your voice laced with affection.

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, creating a cocoon of shade around you. His gaze flickered to your face, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said with a soft laugh, tilting your head back as he moved to rub sunscreen along your legs. “But you do know I’m capable of putting sunscreen on myself, right?”

Azriel’s smile widened, though his eyes were serious as they flicked up to meet yours. “I know. But I like taking care of you.” His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, his touch filled with tenderness as he continued his task.

You couldn't help but melt under his care, your heart swelling at the softness in his voice. Even as a formidable warrior and shadowsinger, Azriel was always gentle with you, always showing his love in these small, protective ways.

Rhys called out from the water, clearly amused by the scene playing out in front of him. “Azriel, I think she’s good! You missed a spot on her elbow, though.”

You rolled your eyes, and Azriel shot his High Lord a half-hearted glare before returning his focus to you. Once he was satisfied with his work, he leaned back on his heels, his wings folding slightly but still providing you with shade. “You can tan later,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer. “I just don’t want you to burn.”

You reached out, resting your hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” you whispered, letting him know how much you appreciated his protectiveness, even if you didn’t always admit it out loud.

Azriel’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Anything for you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

As he stood, you could see that familiar glint of mischief return to his eyes. “Now, stay here where it’s safe,” he teased, his wings flaring slightly as he turned back toward the river. “I’m going to deal with my brothers.”

With a wink, he stalked back toward the water, his shadows trailing behind him as he approached Cassian and Rhys, who were still laughing at his overprotectiveness. But from the look on Azriel’s face, you knew they’d be on the receiving end of his payback soon enough.

And as you lay back down, smiling to yourself, you knew that no matter how overprotective your mate could be, you wouldn’t trade him—or his giant, shade-casting wings—for anything in the world.

[avocado-writing]

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his shy gn s/o nervously asking if they can kiss him on the lips?

note: going to answer his as if it’s their first kiss together reader is asking for!

bg3 Taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13

Astarion

tries to downplay how genuinely pleased he is by putting on his typical bravado “oh well I knew you couldn’t keep away, darling”

secretly chuffed because he understands having boundaries over your body and he’s pleased that you’re comfortable enough with him to ask

doesn’t want to make a big deal about it in camp but doesnt hide, either — wraps an arm around your waist and brings you to where he’s standing in the mouth of his tent

wants to make it special. catches your lips with his fangs a little but not too hard.

melts a little when he feels your hand gently run up his chest.

when you break apart, smiling, he feels a little thrill at how happy you look ❤️

Gale

surprised you’re asking! out loud says, “you don’t need permission to kiss me, they’re always gladly accepted.”

but sees how much courage it took for you to ask. Is so happy you trust him.

looks around, “where do you want me…? it has to be perfect…”

that’s enough to break some tension, you laugh and press your lips to his

his hands settle on your waist. not too tight, just enough to anchor you to the moment

you can feel him smile into it 💕

“well I certainly hope that we’re able to repeat that.”

you laugh, and go in for another one…

Wyll

my man is a romantic. this kiss is at a planned event.

not that he’s pressuring you into it! he just wants to have a lovely romantic date and it so happens that that’s where you feel safe enough to ask.

you're sequestered away from the group, little picnic spread out, he wanted to have a nice moment for just the two of you.

you gather up the courage to ask him and he’s surprised for a moment! but then he smiles; hand sliding up your arm to cup your face, his lips meet yours when you lean into it

it’s perfect. soft, gentle, loving. you can feel the emotion behind it.

he’s smiling when he pulls back. for a moment, you want to apologise for not instigating this sooner. but then, as if he’s read your mind:

“you’re worth waiting a lifetime for.”

Halsin

honoured you trust him enough to ask.

he doesn’t care about rushing into anything. he’s an older man, happy to wait to take things at your pace.

not to say he isn’t pleased you asked — he is! he’s wanted to know what your kiss tastes like for a while now.

when we see him kiss in game there’s a ferocity behind it. but this time it’s soft, he lets you take the lead with pace.

uses his body to shield you from the rest of the camp so that the moment isn’t too public.

hands softly wrapping around you, bringing you to his broad chest. keeping you safe against him.

he mutters against your lips. “nature truly look its time with you. you are perfect…”

if he says it enough, maybe you’ll believe it’s true.

Dammon

is so immediately thrown he can’t even answer for a moment.

is the heat in his cheeks from the forge or something else…?

manages to find his words after a moment, “oh… yes! hang on, let me…”

cleans his hands, quickly splashes his face with water to remove the soot, turns to you-

“how should I…”

you reach over and gently press your lips to his, surprising him!

but then he wraps his arms around you, tail swishing in such enthusiasm it takes out a row of tools

he’s a bit nervous to start with but gets super into it

wants to do it again and again… if you’ll let him…

(and you do)

Rolan

you ask if you can kiss him.

an immediate “YES”

he’s so excited. there’s a non-zero chance this is his first kiss.

tries to be soft and careful but can’t hold in how happy he is.

teeth clack together a bit, maybe a bit too eager with tongue… but you find yourself smiling into it anyway 💕

again, another tail swisher. can’t keep his emotions hidden from you. doesn’t want to.

he wants to touch you all over but keeps his hands to your waist to make sure you feel comfortable.

when you pull away he’s blushing, muttering “wow…”

he’s left speechless by you.

Zevlor

my man is the most respectful tiefling around.

honoured to be asked to kiss you. I think he takes you somewhere quiet, secluded. doesn’t want people staring.

slowly brings you against his body before pressing his lips to yours.

you feel… protected by his kiss? it’s hard to explain.

you just know he’d protect you.

and the kiss is perfect.

[solbaby7]

Nothing Even Matters

pairing: cassian x reader

warnings: swearing, probably typos, some angst, mentions of trauma, some fluff

summary: When the only thing you want during your recovery is the very person who put you there in the first place.

[ part one ]

—

“How’s it feel?”

“Fuck you,” You seethe through your teeth, words slurred from the wires holding your jaw shut—only for a few days, they said with remorse but all you could feel was such all-consuming rage. Such intense anger because you couldn’t move your body how you wanted; your arm was stiff in the tight bandaging holding it to your body while the dislocation and fractures healed.

Azriel glanced over at Rhysand who was offering Madja a sheepish smile, hands tucked in his pockets as he stood beside you. “Believe it or not, that was a lot nicer than some of the other words she’s been stringing together.”

“She shouldn’t be talking at all. Healing from a broken jaw is no easy feat—talking before the bone properly sets can lead to us needing to rebreak it all over again.” The heated glare you send her way could’ve killed if they were sharpened swords and Azriel has to step in front of you to ease the stormcloud you were casting above the room. Madja doesn’t seem to mind, urging the spymaster to step aside while she began her assessment. “Follow my finger,” Your eyes narrow with hate but you comply after a beat of time. “Good, no noticeable neurological deficits,” She scribbles something in a notepad, noting down the amount of pain meds you’d been receiving and an update of your vitals. “Your swelling seems to have gone down significantly—does it still hurt when I touch here?”

The High Lord cringes at the stream of profanities that slam at the edge of his mind; an act you’d been subconsciously doing since the moment the tonics for the pain had worn off the first time three days ago. You’d shoved your anguish out as far as it would go, so hard Rhysand had choked on a breath, hands clenching at his sides as he put forth more effort than normal to keep his mental shields up. “She says yes.”

Your hand taps once at Azriel’s arm and when he looks at you, you give him a jerky nod of your head. “She wants to know when she can go home?”

Madja lowers the notebook, voice annoyingly calm and full of understanding; not deterred by your attitude in the slightest. In fact, she seems to expect it, smiling softly before speaking, “Have you been eating?”

Your hand slams down twice on the table before you.

It’s jarring; aggression was never something you’d displayed often, if ever, but Azriel only takes a step closer, nearly sitting on the edge of your cot with an arm wrapped around the back of your pillow.

“I’ll assume that’s a yes.” Madja continues writing, bullet pointing your behavior and way you reel in your snark for the shadowsinger beside you. “Have you been able to get to the bathroom on your own?”

Two more slams against the table but these are much harsher than the first, a cup full of water splashing at the sides and Azriel lets out a sigh. “Not on her own but she’s really close. The dizziness just gets to her when she’s standing for too long.”

Rhysand spares a glance at the towering frame standing in the corner behind them absorbing every word like a child experiencing the world for the first time. Cassian had been unbearably quiet, avoiding Azriel at all costs but he was the first who’d noticed you beginning to stir awake. He’d barely left, always getting caught with a rag and warm water, dragging at your skin gentler than fingertips on flower petals. Rhys had to knock Cass out himself when the med staff came to take you away, advising that the wiring was imperative but the General couldn’t stop screaming about how you’d already been through enough; about how you deserved a full day of peace before putting you through even more pain.

“Any other symptoms besides the dizziness?”

You hesitate, heated gaze faltering for a beat of time before you’re slamming your hand down once and Cassian waits a full thirty seconds; golden eyes boring into Azriel’s back, urging him to mention the nausea, the splitting headaches that had you gripping at the first hand you came in contact with for any sort of comfort.

But, Azriel doesn’t say a thing.

“That’s good, what about—“

“Headaches,” Cassian’s voice is raspy with such little use and he’s more than grateful for the brace preventing you from moving around too much because he’s certain one of those sickeningly sharp glares were being specially crafted with his name on it. “She gets headaches and throws up sometimes because of one of the tonics—it’s orange.”

Madja, ever the professional hums in acknowledgment, scribbling down more notes and a furrow grows at her brow. “Could be an allergy or maybe the mixture is too much on your stomach without solid foods yet,” She not even talking to you, just muttering her thoughts aloud while the others tense; awaiting your reaction. They wait for the ball to drop; wait for the throwing of the first item in sight. It wouldn’t have been the first time and Az’s shadows had gotten surprisingly good at predicting it, darkness darting before the window before you could smash it to pieces since Madja insisted she’d dock any damages from your pay. “Thank you, General, that was quite helpful.”

A full minute passes and still, there’s no yelling; no frustrated grunts or shouting in your mind—just utter silence and you’re too busy settling further into your pillow to notice Rhys’ curious stare.

“If you can manage no talking for seventy-two hours then I will clear you to finish your recovery from home,” You’re nodding before she can finish, Azriel gently pushing you back when you try to sit up in your excitement. “I mean it—I’ll know if you aren’t taking the physical therapy seriously. At least an hour of walking a day ; slowly so you don’t aggravate your ribs and I’ll take off the shoulder wrap if you swear not to do any heavy lifting of any kind.” You throw her a pointed look, a hand waving around to motion at the three men that had been permanently stationed around you.

“We’ll take good care of her.”

Madja exhales a steady breath, hands resting at her sides and way she regards you is nearly motherly; relief settling into her features when she can confidently say you’ll make it. “Then, I suppose you’re free to go.”

—

“Come on she said at least an hour.”

Azriel is a sturdy pillar before you, arms crossed and shadows incessantly tug at the thick duvet you’d been grasping at like your life depended on it since he barged in ten minutes ago. You grunt in disapproval, settling deeper into the mattress and you shield your eyes from the bright light steadily pouring through—even though you remembered closing the curtains last night.

“You’ve already skipped breakfast and lunch; it’s nearly three in the afternoon. Get up.”

Your inability to speak seems to work in your favor because all you offer Az in return is a hand peeking from the covers to flip him off.

A pause and one eye pries open when you hear footsteps retreating. Five minutes pass, then five more before you relax back into the fluffy pillows, dragging the covers up to your chin and a content smile curves at the corner of your mouth for a fraction of a second before your entire body is drenched in freezing cold water.

You lurch from the bed like a creature rising from the dead, feet bare and legs on full display when you slowly stare up at the pleased shadowsinger, eyes wide and arms frozen in surprise as you dripped all over the floor like a wet dog. “Good. Since you’re up and showered, let’s go downstairs and get you something to eat.” Azriel’s looping an arm in your own and leading you out before you even have time to change, sloshing footsteps left in your wake and when you enter the sitting room Mor has to slap a hand over her mouth to hide the laughter.

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

It’s harmless teasing; friendly laughs and eyes lined with water when they mention the rats nest atop your head but Cassian’s boisterous laugh doesn’t join in on the fun. He takes one look at you and quietly leaves the room; he'd been doing that a lot since the accident—ever so present when you weren't consious and practically non-existent when you were.

You catch Feyre staring at the bruises on your neck, the thick bandage stuck in place on your temple, how stiff your posture was from the tight wrappings securing your ribs in place and she flushes when you offer her a tight-lipped smile, trying to appear more sturdy than you looked. "Sit, I'll get your food."

Eyes roll at Az's choice of words, easing over to the couch with a low grunt. Food was a sorry excuse for whatever the fuck you'd been sentenced to consume until the wires were removed. A thick porridge like substance with a distinct grit that lingered on your tongue no matter how much water you chased it with.

It was nice to be home though, to sleep in your own bed and being able to ease the tension with a hot bath and a stealthily stolen glass of wine—even if it was impossible to wash your hair or to change your clothes without assistance. Fresh air breezes through the windows, ruffling the curtains and the High Lord is quick to dry your clothes with a wave of his hand. With nothing more than a quick touch to his shoulder in thanks, the others watch you brace your weight against things to get to the hallway, turning left in the same direction Cass had gone earlier.

It’s not hard to find him, cooped up in his room with a glass of amber liquid in hand; eyes trained on the crackling fire. “What are you doing in here?” He’s up in a flash, wings pulled tight behind him and a broad shoulder urges your good arm around his neck, warm hands are careful when lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to the neatly made bed against the wall. Pillows are stacked behind your back to prop you up in a way that didn’t agitate your ribs and you give a sad smile when Cassian’s eyes linger on the bruises that were steadily healing up the length of your legs and he’s carefully covering them in blankets with a shaky breath.

Usually, he’d have sat next to you but now you’re unbearably aware of the distance he puts between you; hands clutched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out to touch. “You eat yet?” A slow shake of your head and Cass lets out a little chuckle in understanding. “Not surprised, that shit’s gross. Az never was that good in the kitchen.”

Everything smells like him; male and musk, cedarwood and bourbon. It’s overwhelming in the best way and years of memories begin to flood your senses; countless late nights spent in here drinking and laughing about nothing. Lazy mornings with breakfast in bed and amused snorts over buttered toast and tea when the Illyrian boasted about his latest conquest or earned accomplishments but then would go sheepish when you’d genuinely told him you were proud of him—happy that he seemed happy.

Cassian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to meet your eye because you were gazing at him so lovingly; not an ounce of hate in sight and guilt bubbles in his belly like curdled milk. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll make you something.”

A few minutes pass of you examining the room before you notice there’s a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table and your brows furrow in worry. You’re grabbing it without second thought, shoving the bottle under the bed frame and out of sight before you hear the thudding footsteps coming down the hall and through the doorway. A goblet of a glass is clutched in one hand with a metal straw hanging over the rim; he rambles off some of the fruits he used while he walks over, gently settling it in your hands. Fingers graze and in the blink of an eye he’s already taken three steps worth of space between you but the berry smoothie is a significant upgrade from Azriel’s porridge mixture—little wins. This was sweet but not too sweet, thick enough to quell the rumbling in your stomach and thin enough to push through the gaps in the wires with ease. It’s half gone quicker than you care to admit but Cass seems pleased, yet the small smile he wears is quickly wiped off when you motion for him to sit next to you.

“I can’t.”

Brows scrunch together in silent question, head tilting to the side.

His face crumples, features lined with stress and it’s then you notice just how broken he appears—sure, maybe he didn’t have the bandages and wrappings but the damage was still there. “Look at you, peach,” Tears well at the pet name, your head lowering as if it could possibly hide the ugly bruising on your neck; it was the only spot that seemed to be taking forever to get better, a kaleidoscope of purples and deep blues. “Look what I’ve done to you,” Breath catches and you ache to comfort him when he doesn’t even bother to hold his wings off the ground. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only moves closer when you set the cup down and make way to stand; it’s then he sits near you, urging you back down and you see the way his throat bobs with the thick swallow when your hand gently rests over his own. Words aren’t needed to express how much you didn’t blame him; not anymore—not after the nights he’d spent hunched over your bedside spewing out confessions of his feelings. The unconditional love that never stopping pouring over when it came to you and the shameful jealousy that had followed. Secrets he’d kept in fear that you didn’t return the same affections; terrified to ruin the carefully crafted friendship that took centuries to perfect. To become an extension of the other and adding his feelings seemed messy—too complicated and then all of this. You and the sounds of your cries for help permanently branded at the forefront of his mind for all eternity. Waiting in anticipation for Madja’s updates on your health, how you were fairing and if there was any lasting brain damage; a burden he was fully prepared to bare for you. Willing to sit by your side with his fingers kneeding through your hair to soothe away the headache he knew was coming in from the scrunch of your nose even after being pumped full of pain relievers.

It seems fitting that you can’t voice what you know; the pieces that you’d held onto while stuck in your mind. Body too numb to even pry your eyes open but the hope of hearing it while conscious was a strong enough anchor to have you clawing to the surface—back to Cass and those lazy mornings and tea with entirely too much honey.

He’s a mess when you pull him in closer, brushing your fingers through his hair the same way he’d done for you. You can feel the feather light kisses he presses to the exposed injuries, silent tears dripping on your skin, hushed whispers of his apologies, all the ways he’d planned to do in order make it up to you. All the things he should’ve and would’ve and could’ve done and you have to pry his face from the crease of your neck to make him look you in the eye.

There are no words but the intensity of your stare says plenty and he’s right back where he started; wanting things he shouldn’t and falling back into selfish habits. Leaning into the warmth of your mouth slotting over his own and every bruise and broken bone doesn’t even matter when he’s finally kissing you—soft and tender but all too quick and he’s pulling away before you can memorize the feel of him. “You’re perfect,” Cassian whispers, forehead pressed against your own, hands keeping you close. “I don’t deserve you for a second.”

But you only kiss him again because in that moment nothing else mattered.

[romanticatheartt]

I die for these soft, domestic moments...

I laughed in earnest, and squeezed his face as I pressed a swift kiss to his mouth. “Shameless flirt.” The warmth returned to his eyes at last. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ I kissed his bare neck, and he reached back to drag a finger down my cheek. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Rhys came over and handed me a hairpin. We worked in unison, pinning my hair into place. Rhys pinned a hard-to-reach section of my hair. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ He leaned down, nuzzling my throat. “Don’t you want to comfort your mate, who has missed you terribly these weeks?” I planted a hand on his face and pushed him back, scowling. “I want my mate to tell me where the hell he was. Then he can get his comfort.” Rhys nipped at my fingers, teeth snapping playfully. “Cruel, beautiful female.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ I studied the hand, the ravaged face. Such pain lingered there—and exhaustion. The face he never let anyone see. I pushed up onto my knees and kissed his cheek, his skin warm and soft beneath my mouth. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ So I wrote back, At least you make up for your shameless flirting by being one hell of a High Lord. He’d returned that evening, smirking like a cat, and had merely said “One hell of a High Lord?” by way of greeting. I’d sent a bucket’s worth of water splashing into his face. Rhys hadn’t bothered to shield against it. And instead shook his wet hair like a dog, spraying me until I yelped and darted away. His laughter had chased me up the stairs. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ A half smile that had me walking toward him, stopping between his legs. He braced his hands idly on my hips. He rested his brow against my chest, right between my breasts, and wrapped his arms around my waist. For a long minute, he only breathed in the scent of me, as if taking it deep into his lungs. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ “You look exhausted, that’s why.” He put a dramatic hand over his heart. “Your concern warms me more than any winter fire, my love.” I rolled my eyes and sat up. “Did you at least eat?” He shrugged, his dark shirt straining across his broad shoulders. “I’m fine.” His gaze slid over my bare legs as I pushed back the covers. Heat bloomed in me, but I shoved my feet into slippers. “I’ll get you food.” “I don’t want—” “When did you last eat?” A sullen silence. “I thought so.” I hauled a fleece-lined robe around my shoulders... “You don’t need to—” “I want to, and I’m going to.”... “Did you eat at all today?” “I had an apple this morning.” “Rhys.” He set down his fork, his mouth twitching toward a smile. “Feyre.” I crossed my arms. “No one is too busy to eat.” “You’re fussing.” “It’s my job to fuss. And besides, you fuss plenty. Over far more trivial things.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ “You look beautiful tonight.” His words were low, rough. I stroked a hand down the lap of my gown, the fabric shimmering beneath my fingers. “You say that every night.” “And mean it.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ His fingers threaded through my hair, tilting my face up. That wicked smile grew, and my toes curled in their boots. “There’s my darling Feyre.”

[natalievoncatte]

She had it. She actually had it, in her hands.

Myriad. The ultimate weapon of a dying race, brought to Earth to subjugate its people and rebuild an empire from a shattered world, possibly the key to saving this one. The key Lena needed to unlock Non Nocere and

(take over)

heal the world. End all strife. Eradicate all conflict. No more pain. No more deceit. No more greed, or cruelty, a world without malice, a peace without end.

No more lies.

It was in her hands, such a small petty little thing, barely more than a trinket.

Lena dropped it too sharply on the stainless steel lab table, took three steps, and vomited, the contents of her stomach noisily splashing at her feet. It was the effects of portal travel, she told herself- like jumping from a great height and into cold water at the same time.

(oh god what did I do)

She just needed a few moments to steady herself, collect her bearings, clean up.

(oh god oh god I hurt her what have I done)

Then, she could begin her work immediately. She shrugged out of her coat and found a bottle of vodka, hardly her weapon of choice, and took a pull straight from it to wash the

(pain away)

sour taste of her own puke out of her mouth and dull the sour churning in her stomach, because she couldn’t get the image out of her head, the image of Kara lying broken on the fortress floor with green lines of agony carved in her flawless skin and the most heartbroken look of remorse and fear in her eyes.

(Lena don’t do this)

(please don’t do this I’m SORRY)

Snatching the Myriad core from the lab table, she went to shove it into place. The final work would take only a few hours and then…

Lena stopped. Her hand hovered inches above her work. All she had to do was make the connection, but something was stopping her, as if her own arm revelled against her. She tasted puke and alcohol in her mouth and she was crying, hot tears burning down her cheeks in razor lines.

(Lena please)

No more lies.

It was heavy in her hand, the alien device suspiciously heavy and cool to her touch. Why didn’t she just do it? She was here, key in hand, ready to open the door and she couldn’t do it. Why?

Gritting her teeth, Lena took it in both hands, staring at it.

This was good. This was right. Lena had given Kara everything. Everything! Her friendship, her support, her comfort, her secret council. She killed her own brother for her and what did she get in return? Lies! Deception!

(soft hugs and kind words and powerful arms shielding her from harm and strong hands… holding her)

It had all meant nothing. It was all a lie.

Right?

It was, wasn’t it? It was! It had to be, she needed it to be! If it wasn’t, if she was wrong, then she betrayed and tortured the only person who cared about her for what? For this fucking thing?

Lena held Myriad over her head. She hadn’t even been aware she’d raised it high, ready to smash it to the ground. Bringing it down, she stared at the device and saw a stranger’s face, a distorted visage of a pale, stress-thinned woman with red-rimmed eyes.

Oh God.

The watch! There was still time. It still had the coordinates.

Lena’s hand hovered over the watch. She could push the button and erase the only way she’d ever reach the fortress again, and it would be decided. She’d make it permanent, make it real. She could finalize the destruction of the most important relationship she’d ever had. Deny Kara. Give her up.

(leave her locked in a cage of agony)

Lena pressed the button.

The portal opened behind her with a gust of wind.

She stepped through.

The first thing that hit her was the cold. She didn’t think to put her coat back on.

The second thing was a right hook from Alex Danvers that sent Lena sprawling across the floor and Myriad spinning out of her grip.

“You bitch,” Alex snarled. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. I should have put a bullet in the back of your head the first time you set foot in my town.”

Alex stood over her, boiling with fury.

“I knew it was all a lie. I knew! I know what you did. You and your little lip bites and your flirty looks and your coffee dates. Was breaking my little sister’s heart part of the plan or just a sadistic bonus?”

For once in her life, Lena was truly speechless. She stared up at her attacker, absently touching the trickle of blood from her split lip.

“I didn’t, I wouldn’t,”

“You fucking did,” Alex hissed. “How dare you come back here? Didn’t you steal enough? Was the rest of the armory too much temptation for you?”

“I couldn’t leave her,” Lena choked out.

“Alex,” a harsh voice rasped, “that’s enough.”

Kara was on her feet, clutching her side. The Kryptonite had left her pale and pallid and hunched over a little, her normally bright eyes dull.

Lena pushed herself to her feet, wobbled, and started for Kara.

“Don’t you dare,” Alex stepped between them.

“I said that’s enough,” said Kara, pushing past her.

“I’m sorry,” Lena blurted. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Kara I…”

“Shhh,” Kara whispered. “It’s okay.”

Lena’s hands seemed to move on their own, palms cupping Kara’s cheeks. God, she was cold. She was shivering. Kara was shivering. She leaned into Lena’s grasp, falling against her.

“I’m sorry,” Lena whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Kara said, gathering Lena in her arms.

“The hell it is,” Alex cut in. “Jesus Christ, she robbed the Fortress of Solitude! She hurt you, Kara!”

“I hurt her first.”

“Kara, she’s right.”

Kara shook her head.

“You can’t just forgive her!” Alex almost screamed.

Kara looked at Alex, then at Lena.

“You’re forgetting. I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

The tears began to flow and Lena couldn’t stop them. She collapsed into Kara’s arms and sobbed, her body shaking with exertion.

Alex bent down and picked up Myriad.

“Give me that,” said Kara.

Alex looked at her quizzically, and placed the device in Kara’s hand.

She looked at it for a moment, then looked down at Lena.

“Do it,” Lena whispered.

Without the slightest appearance of effort, Kara closed her hand and the device exploded between her fingers, circuits and alien technology clattering to the floor.

“Let’s go home,” said Kara. “I think we need to talk.”

[motelsnleatherseats]

By the time John gets back from his hunt, he can tell that his boys were far passed the point of no return. Dean can hardly look him in the eyes without donning a shameful expression, like he can smell the sin coming off him, and Sam's more flighty than usual, keeping as much space as he can between him and Dean as if the sudden distance compared to their usual closeness wasn't a red flag.

Sam's got a bandaid at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, but John can see the outskirts of bruising peeking out from the edges, tiny broken blood vessels darkening the skin caused by careless teeth and lips. Dean's refusing to take off his jacket despite the heat with the collar turned up to shield the obvious marks of blunt nails that were dragged down the nape of his neck and between shoulder blades. Only one bed looks slept in, the other exactly how it was when he left.

A few days go by before they let their guard down a bit, now back in each other's personal space, but John can see the way they look at each other. Dean spends too much time gazing longingly at his little brother every chance he gets, and when he's driving and looking at Sam in the rear view mirror, John has to remind him 'eyes on the road, Dean' more times than he should in the span of a few hours.

They pull off to a gas station to fill up and grab something to eat, and John heads inside, sees the boys head off to the bathroom together around the back, and already he can sense trouble. He gives them a few minutes, but when they're taking longer than they should, he marches his way to the bathroom and calls out for them, one stall occupied, two pairs of feet suddenly scrambling.

Sam's hair is disheveled and Dean looks like he's expecting to get throttled, panic evident. His cheeks that were momentarily red ago were draining color. John cocks his head towards the door in a silent demand that they leave and get back to the car. Sam rushes out but John grabs Dean by the lapel of his jacket and pushes him against the tiled wall before he had a chance to skirt passed him. He can feel his eldest go rigid, face scrunching up some like he's expecting to get hit, but John exhales a rough breath, releasing his hold on him.

"Never in public, do you understand me? And if you're going to mark each other up, get better at hiding it."

Dean stares in shock for a moment like his brain is trying to process what the hell was happening. John can see him trying to make sense of it, to come to the realization that yes, he knows, and he's not going to beat the daylights out of him for putting hands on Sammy.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yessir."

John takes the keys from Dean and lets him leave first to join his brother at the car. He takes a moment to splash his face with some water before scrubbing over it a sigh. Those young, careless boys. What was he going to do with them?

↳ a continuation of this post.

[appocalipse]

hello! can I please request "I really, really want to kiss you right now." with steve and our shy!reader friend?!

here you go my love! hope you like it ♥ 1.3 k

The rain catches the two of you by surprise.

It pours down relentlessly, the cold droplets stinging your skin as you and Steve hurry towards his car, sadly parked way too far away from the charming flea market you had somehow dragged him to earlier that afternoon. 

Well, not really dragged exactly — Steve himself had volunteered to give you a ride the moment he heard you telling Robin how much you wanted to go and see if you could find some new furniture for your apartment, maybe even some decorations. But you felt as if you had dragged him there because, c'mon, what kind of guy thinks walking around a flea market with a friend is any fun?

And to top it off, the summer rain had come out of nowhere, sending everyone desperately running for shelter somewhere. Some lucky vendors had their tents already set up when it started, others began trying to cover their wares with tarps or whatever else they had at hand. A good number of them simply started to pack up their things to leave though, as did most of the potential customers who had been taking a look around — you and Steve included.

He had left his BMW in the parking lot of a closed store. It had seemed much closer before than it does now, as you and him run through the rain, palms over your heads to try to shield your faces from the relentless water.

You accidentally step into a puddle. Water splashes around your ankle, wetting the bare skin all the way up to your calf. You mutter a curse under your breath, deeply resenting your decision of wearing a summer dress today. "Oh, great." 

Steve chuckles, looking over his shoulder to you. Then what you can only assume is instant karma happens, and he slips and falls into a larger puddle, splashing water all over his pants and shoes.

You try to hold back, you really do, but the laughter is already building up inside of you, threatening to come out. And besides, he makes no move to get up, sitting there on the ground all wet, looking up at you like an abandoned puppy.

You giggle, which makes him laugh as well. 

"Sure," he says, "go ahead and laugh."

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" you choke out, trying to hold back your laughter as you approach him, offering one hand to help him up. "Are you okay?"

But of course he is. Except for the blow to his ego, that is. And now, in addition to just being wet, his jeans are also partially stained with mud.

And the t-shirt — which is white, no less — starts to stick to his skin, giving you a view you didn't ask for but that's certainly hard to ignore.

Steve accepts your hand, but you use both hands and too much force to pull him up, so he almost collides with you when he finally stands, his face inches from yours. You both laugh, because it was supposed to be funny — his head almost bumps into yours — but he grabs your shoulders and the remnants of the laughter from before slowly die when you realize without a doubt that he's looking at your mouth.

And you at his. In the rain. Doesn't get any more romantic than this.

Except for the fact that Steve is Steve, the former King Steve, the boy who had a pretty girl on his arm every week, while you are...you.

You're not sure who pulls away first, who clears their throat, changes the subject. But before you know it, you're sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car, staring at the dashboard as lightning cuts across the darkened sky in the distance, a storm clearly brewing.

And it's worse. This feeling you have whenever you look at him or he says your name or anyone mentions his…it's somehow worse like this, in this moment, inside this car.

As if that wasn't enough, he offers you a jacket that he takes from the backseat. His jacket.

"Thanks," you murmur, taking the jacket and putting it on. It's warm. You remember the last time you saw him wearing it and resist the urge to close your eyes for a moment, inhaling his scent that still clings to the fabric. It's like a mix of laundry detergent, soap, and something uniquely Steve.

You feel a blush creep up your neck, and you look away, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.

He hasn't started the car yet, you notice. Perhaps  he's considering waiting to see if the weather will get a little better? It doesn't look that bad that it's not safe to drive, you think.

“Sorry for dragging you here for nothing,” you say, when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything.

“You didn’t drag me,” Steve assures you, sitting half to the side to look at you. "And what do you mean, for nothing? You wanted to look at the furniture, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we didn't buy anything and now you're all wet."

He chuckles so quietly you almost don't hear. "I didn't come here to buy furniture."

You think about asking what he actually came for, but that would be a stupid question, wouldn't it? A hope of hearing something that he probably won't say. He came so you could buy what you wanted. He's a good friend like that.

Still, when you turn your head to look at him, there's something different in the way he's looking back at you. You smile, hoping to God he doesn't notice the nervous edge behind it, "What?"

Steve opens his mouth. He's pretty sure he didn't give those words permission to come out, and yet they come out anyway,  hoarse and low, "I really, really want to kiss you right now."

You watch his lips move as he speaks, but it's like your mind can't process the words. 

And once you do, you blink, not quite sure what to say to that. Your heart feels like it's trying to escape your chest, a wild thing thumping against your ribs. But there's something else in there too. Something warm. Something you haven't felt in a long time.

The front seats are close enough, so Steve reaches out, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across your lips. "I've wanted to for a while now," he whispers, leaning in closer.

You feel hot all over, the air in the car suddenly too thick to breathe. 

Steve's fingers trail down your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip, teasing you. It's a slow, deliberate movement, as if he's memorizing every inch of your face, every second of this moment. "Do you want me to?" he whispers, and the teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flip over. 

Your mind is spinning, but somehow you manage to force out the words, "Yes." You mean it. God, you mean it.

Steve's smile grows in that charming, lopsided way he has when he's happy. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as he leans in closer, closer…and then his lips are there, pressing softly against yours. Feather-light at first, like he's testing the waters, making sure this is what you want. But when you part your lips, letting him in, he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a slow, lazy rhythm, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him.

And then, all too soon, he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. "Was that…was that okay?"

You smile, leaning as close to him as you can without jumping over the gearshift.

"It was more than okay."

[join my 3k followers celebration! ♥]

[cowboydisaster]

Just Like You

pairing: SImon "Ghost" Riley x single mom reader word count: 1.6k summary: Ghost can't get used to the fact that he's your son's favorite person in the world, but damn- he's trying. ("You- You're me for Halloween??") a/n: this fic references the comics, so for those who didn't know: Joseph was Simon's nephew. Super angsty and fluffy. Simon bonding with your kid. beta read by @margowritesthings

masterlist

Leo loves Halloween. It’s your son’s favorite time of year. The five year old boy, with your help, worked incredibly hard on his costume, and he’s sure it's going to be the best costume on the block. You may be a little biased, but really, it’s very good. Leo has put extra effort into perfecting every detail of his costume, because this year is special.

It’s the first year that Simon will be accompanying Leo with trick or treat. Leo loves Simon to pieces– but Simon can’t figure out why. The soldier elicits fear from nearly everyone that he encounters, his mask makes children scream and run in the other direction. Hell, his mask makes adults piss themselves in the field. Many enemy soldiers have surrendered at the sight of Ghost running towards them. So Simon can’t wrap his head around the fact that his girlfriend’s little boy looks up at him like he’s the greatest person in the world. 

Simon is less than stellar with children. He tries, but he’s not entirely sure how to talk to them. He’s always a little awkward, generally avoiding children when he can, but this one seeks him out. Simon loves you more than anything, and he wants to form a relationship with Leo, he’s just not exactly sure how. He’s trying, for you and the boy. Leo’s biological dad is a piece of shit, which Simon has lived through, and he tries to shield the poor kid from that pain as much as possible. Maybe it’s because Leo reminds him so much of Tommy and Joseph, but your kid is special. 

–

“You ready, bud?” You ask, pulling a hoodie over your frame. It’s Simon’s and it’s oversized, stopping just above your knees. But it's comfortable, and late-October in Manchester is not. Immediately, you find yourself encompassed in its warmth and the smell of Simon’s cologne.

“Almost, mummy!” Leo yells from the bathroom. “Simon is gonna love this!”

You chuckle, “I know he will, baby.” You grab the fresh mug of tea from your nightstand and head down the carpeted stairs. Simon was to be here an hour before trick or treat. You check your watch. 18:00. As if on cue, the doorbell rings, sounding out loudly through your little home. Always punctual. Leo squeals out of excitement at the sound.

“Coming!” You holler, padding across the chilly living room towards the door. You jog lightly, causing a few drops of tea to spill over from the lip of your mug, dripping down to the floor and splashing against the hardwood floor. Ignoring the little mess, you pull the frosted glass door open. Simon is wearing his less civilian mask with the hard plastic skull face. You’d specifically requested that he wear it, though he wasn’t sure why.

“You can just come in, you know. You don’t have to ring the doorbell.” You chuckle, nodding for him to come in. He steps inside the door, hands softly gripping onto your waist as he kicks the door shut. 

“I told you to keep your door locked.” Simon raises an eyebrow, squeezing your waist. 

“Oh, right…” You hum, squinting your eyes as you recall that conversation, “I forgot.”

“Course you did, love.” Simon smirks, “Happy Halloween.” he says, and you chuckle, gripping his skull mask by the teeth and pushing it up over his face. His scarred lips are sporting a smile, and you kiss it away. It’s over all too quick as he pulls away, nodding towards the cup of tea in your hand. 

“The kettle’s still on, yeah?” He asks, pulling the mask back down over his face. 

“Yes, I’ll get you a cuppa.” You roll your eyes playfully. He’s cutting your kisses short for tea, something he’ll make up for later, you’re sure. Simon glances around the living room, noting the few abandoned truck toys that lie around the living room.

“Where’s Leo?” Simon asks, looking around the living room as you walk towards the kitchen. 

“He’s just finishing getting ready upstairs. Why don’t you go up? I'll bring your tea up.” You hum, grabbing a tea bag and Simon’s favorite mug. You hear heavy footsteps going up the stairs, and take that as his response. 

You shake your head, amused as you slowly pour the steaming water over the tea bag, watching it turn a rich brown. Once it’s properly mashed, you add his preferred amount of milk and sugar, and then carefully start up the stairs. Your footsteps are naturally much quieter than Simon’s, and with the added fact that you’re trying not to spill his tea, he doesn’t hear you coming up the steps. You reach the top, and stop dead in your tracks at the sight around the corner. Simon is walking towards Leo’s bedroom, but from the angle you’re at, you can see Leo hiding around the corner as if he's about to scare Simon. Leo is fully dressed in his Halloween costume, a little replica of the exact outfit Simon is currently wearing, skull mask and all.

“Boo!” Leo screams, rounding the corner that Simon was just about to go around.

Simon clutches his chest, jumping back a comical amount. Simon literally screams, attempting to sound terrified. Obviously Simon isn’t scared in the least, but Leo doesn’t know that. Simon lets the boy proudly think that his costume is scary enough to frighten the unshakeable. Leo’s smile is as bright as ever under his mask, and you grip the cup of tea a little tighter as a smile pulls at your own lips. Simon’s eyes are comically wide as he fakes terror for the young boy. Entirely satisfied with Simon’s reaction, Leo pulls his mask off, giggling madly. 

“It’s okay, Simon! It’s just me, don't be scared!” Leo giggles, jogging up towards Simon who is bent over at the waist, pretending to gasp for breath and holding his chest.

“Bloody hell, mate. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Simon chuckles, scooping Leo up into his arms. Once settled on Simon’s hip, Leo holds the plastic mask up to Simon’s face. It’s an exact replica of the mask he’s currently wearing, just much smaller. 

“Look! I'm just like you for Halloween!” Leo smiles, showing Simon all the little details that he’d put into perfecting his mask. 

“You–” Simon’s brow furrows, “You’re me for Halloween?” He asks, piecing it all together. Leo holds the mask out to Simon, who takes it and looks over the smaller version of Ghost’s infamous skull mask. 

“Yep! Do you like it…?” Leo asks, sounding a bit worried. His little eyebrows pull together, and Simon is quick to reassure him. 

“I love it, mate. It’s perfect, looks just like mine.” Simon whispers. There is emotion in his voice, unusual for him, you note. Tears prick your eyes as Leo puts the mask back on, looking up at Simon. 

“I wanna be like you when I grow up.” Leo says, wrapping his little arms around Simon’s neck. 

“You’re gonna be better than me, Leo. Much better, yeah?” Simon whispers, looking the boy in the eyes. Leo nods, curling up against Simon’s chest. He rubs his hand up and down Leo’s back, comforting him. 

“You know, Leo, you remind me of a boy I used to know.” Simon mumbles in a rare show of emotional vulnerability, his eyes glazed over as he pats the boy’s back. 

“Who?” Leo asks, propping his chin on Simon’s chest to look up at him better. 

“Uh–” Simon hesitates. “His name was Joseph… He was my nephew.” Simon whispers, and your heart wrenches in your chest. 

“Maybe I could meet him someday and we could play.” Leo whispers, hopefully looking up. 

“Yeah. Maybe someday.” Is all Simon says, nodding lightly as old, ugly memories pull at his brain, ones he’d shoved out and burned long ago. 

“I love you, Simon.” Leo whispers, hugging his little arms as tightly around the man as he can manage. He pulls Simon out of every dark thought he was having, those three little words pulling at his heart strings. Simon hesitates, voice stuttering for a moment. 

“Yeah– I love you too, little mate.” Simon whispers, voice heavy with emotion.

“This is gonna be so much fun– Mummy even helped me with my costume!” Leo adds, unintentionally changing the subject. He creates a perfect time for you to announce your presence. 

You hastily wipe your eyes and walk up the last step, rounding the corner you were just hiding behind. You catch Simon off guard, and he turns to you, slowly placing the young boy back on the ground.

“I didn’t hear you come up.” Simon whispers, taking the mug from your outstretched hands. He’s far away, lost in thought. Leo runs down the hall to grab his treat bag as Simon wraps his arm around your waist. 

“Didn’t want to spill your cuppa.” You explain, resting your head on his chest for a moment. Leo comes back around the corner with his bag, excitedly waiting for trick or treat to begin.

You smile up at Simon, noticing a few little tear tracks running down through his eye black.

ghost taglist: @moths569

[uhzuku]

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬. ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: just like the clouds, my eyes will do the same…

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: genshin impact | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: neuvillette/f!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 0.86k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: previously established relationship, age gap, character death, angst, blood, dragon reader,

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: haven’t done the archon quest but god i’m in love w him so have this that i literally just fucking wrote start to finish

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

it’s almost cruel, how bright the sun was shining. it shone so strongly it hurt your eyes, made you squint as you gazed up at him — you, his longest lasting companion, and you, who he shields from the burning sun with his own body. the shadow his head and broad shoulders cast across your face is cool and welcome, and you ignore the way his hands shake. 

“i’d do it all over, you know,” you whisper quietly, and he tenses at the sound of your trembling voice, his grip on you tightening. “if the gods were to grant me a second chance at life, i’d make the same decisions — i’d follow for our eternity, and i’d stay. with you.”

“stupid girl, you talk too much,” neuvillette whispers, clutching you as close and as tight as he can without hurting you. “you’re wasting energy.”

clouds, a mixture of white and grey, drift into the limited stretch of sky within your sight. you reply, “it’s never a waste. not when spent on you,” and he whimpers. 

you’ve never heard him so fearful. 

“you — you cannot-“ neuvillette’s words catch in his throat, unable to escape his mouth, and you smile up at him through battle-rouged lips. his breathing shakes, but he forces himself through it. “you aren’t allowed to do this. we swore it, many millennia ago — you and i, unparted until the end.”

you laugh softly, and it hurts. “don’t you see? lover, it is the end.” blood dribbles from your lips as a low, pained noise falls from his own, an animalistic keen that breaks your heart; you can hear his own racing — the fear is getting to him, the panic as well. 

thunder booms. 

“n-no, i said no-!” he says, his voice strong and weak at the same time, and you shakily put a hand over his own where it covers the gaping wound in your middle. 

“even you cannot deny death his prize, neuvillette,” you whisper seriously. behind him, where he kneels on the pristine stone of the courtyard where you’d both been ambushed by enemies he’d finished off in a rage once he saw you fall in a splash of blood, guards approach with young furina in tow. she locks eyes with you, glancing briefly with horror in her gaze at your husband where he holds you while his trousers soak in the pool of blood you’ve created, and hers become wide and scared.

damn it. you’d not wanted her to see; it was already terrible enough that your husband had been with you when you’d been struck, and now the charge neuvillette and yourself had taken was to watch as well? the gods must be laughing at your misfortune. 

“please,” he whispers above you, hunched small and rounded so as to shield you from a threat that had already fallen upon the both of you. he ignores furina’s arrival.  “please, do not.”

lightning flashes, a warning of what was to come. 

he was done refuting fate and denying the gods their entertainment. now he was begging you, publicly prostrating himself before the many witnesses at his back without a single care in the world as long as it meant keeping you. his hand shakes as you clutch it in yours. 

“nothing will change atropos’ claim,” your murmurs, lifting one hand to cup his face. it takes almost all of the strength you have left as you lay there, bleeding out uncontrollably, but it’s all worth it as he nuzzles his face into your palm while his eyes remain squeezed shut. 

“it’s not fair,” he whispers against your wrist, his voice trembling, and you run your thumb along the crest of his cheekbone fondly. 

“life — life isn’t fair,” you force out around bloody teeth. behind your husband, the guards stand silent and furina quietly calls out a worried question you can’t really register as the wind starts to pick up aggressively. the vast picture of the sky behind neuvillette darkens to a deep grey the color of deep sea stone, a sky that begins to grow smaller and darker around the edges of your vision as your strength runs out. your heart pangs as you stare into his eyes. they’re panicked, afraid; you fear what today will do to him. you cannot let it be worse. “neuvillette — husband, look away.”

he shakes his head, and he does not. your brow furrows faintly as he begins trembling anew. 

“n-neuvillette, please…”

no. he can’t. 

“husband-…” with a choked whine, he squeezes his eyes shut.

a soft, fading sigh roars in his ears like the deafening crashing that comes with standing by waterfalls, and a hurt gasp from furina behind him prompts him to open his eyes again. he looks down at you, unmoving but still warm to the touch, and if he were a lesser learned man he’d have been fooled into thinking you were just sleeping — but you were not. you would not ever rest again, despite being drawn into the grasps of the eternal sleep. his breathing comes and goes, unstable and messy, and his heart aches. it burns with an agony as if it’s been torn from his chest—

and it begins to rain. 

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[helaelaemond]

To Watch - Aemond x reader

Pairing:  Aemond x reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Aemond reads an old story from the Reach to you in bed. You like to see how long he can read aloud before he stutters.

Content warning(s): none

INCLUDES: handjob (m receiving)

Taglist: @babyblue711 / @myfandomprompts / @sylasthegrim / @arcielee

“And so it was on that first fateful morning that Ser Emmon saw the sweet Queen Delena, and knew he loved her.” 

You smile as Aemond reads aloud to you, no louder than a whisper. “I missed you today.” 

He turns the page of the book in his hand. “Hmm?” 

“You didn’t join us for dinner. It was just Aegon and I.” 

“Well, that’s not so bad.” He runs slow circles over your waist with his thumb where you lie in his bed, propped up by soft feather pillows.

“That’s why you should have been there.” On the new page of the book in his hand, there is a gilded painting of a knight in silver armour, and the queen in her crown of flowers. “Just us.” 

“I just needed some time alone after today.” 

You inch closer to him and turn slightly to press your chest against him. He is so close that you can see every eyelash, every ghost of the freckles that used to splash across his nose. “I saw you in the yard for hours.” 

“Were you watching me?” The corners of his mouth quirk up slightly. 

“No,” you lie. 

He glances at you, close enough to kiss, and you grin in delight at him. “What did you think?” 

“Nothing. I wasn’t watching.” 

Aemond leans across the small distance between you and tilts his head. Your noses touch, and the slightest movement closer would let your lips meet. “Do you know what I think?” 

While his one eye closes, yours remain open. He is blurry this close, but in the dim light of the room, his sapphire sparkles. “Sometimes.”

“Do you know what I am thinking at this very moment?” 

It’s difficult to bite back laughter. He makes you so very happy. “No.” 

“I think you like to watch.” 

Too thick is the air between you for you to stand anymore, and you try to kiss him, your mouth aching for the touch of his lips. He pulls back slightly, denying you.

“Aemond,” you protest in a soft whisper. 

“Well?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. “Do you?” 

Smiling widely, you rest your head on his shoulder and touch the page in front of them. “Keep reading.” 

“Alright.” He sighs in contentment, and starts at the top of the page. “But it was to her husband the King Gwayne that he had sworn his sword and shield, and his life. No wife would he take, no children would he father, yet to the queen he felt his heart go.” 

You listen as Aemond reads from the book. It is just old stories from a time when legend and history mingled into one, a book as well suited to children as it is maesters. But still; between the pages some truth can be found, and flesh and blood and bone can be seen through the myths. And it all sounds so pretty when Aemond reads it. 

Being so close to him does things to you. As if you are doing nothing more than getting more comfortable, you wriggle under the covers and slip your knee between his thighs. He wears only a soft green tunic to bed, one that rides up easily. His voice catches on the words when you shift against his leg,your hand on his chest. “Keep going,” you whisper. 

He clears his throat and does as you ask.

He’s right, of course. You do like to watch. A long time ago he had shown you how he liked to be touched and you had learned quickly. Now, there is little left that you do not know, but you like to see all the same. Not tonight, though. After the display he put on in the yard for much of the afternoon, you want nothing more than to touch, to feel. 

As he weaves the story of knights and queens and longing loves about their silver heads, your touches dip lower. At first, it is just his stomach you run your palm over. Linen is still between your skin, but his muscles tense at the pressure, and you can feel the dips and ridges along them. Each time his voice falters, you stop. It is encouragement enough, then, to keep going. 

“And it was in the gardens of Ser Emmon’s humble country house that Queen Delena gave herself to him. He gave her a rose as a symbol of their love, and pressed it into her hand. The thorns cut her skin, but he kissed the wounds and at his touch, they healed. Then he took her face into his grasp and kissed her cheeks and her lips, and they swore their love to one another.” 

You run the heel of your palm lower on his stomach and press it against the hard pubic bone. He stutters and his eye closes. He grunts your name.

“Yes?” you ask innocently. Your fingers point down, and just a slight twitch of them allows you to stroke the hair there, to trace the base of his cock. It rests against his thigh, half hard. 

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story?” 

“Yes. Why do you ask?” 

Aemond laughs breathlessly. “Then you’d better stop whilst I can still read.” 

Your fingers form a ‘v’ over the base of his cock and crook slightly to slide along the sides of his balls. “If you stop reading, then I’ll have to stop doing this.” You turn your hand palm-up and glide his cock through your spread fingers. 

A half-laugh comes through his nose. “Alright.” He shifts slightly and the pages rustle on his lap. “It was in that very garden that the queen gave herself entirely to the knight, and in her, he put his bastard child who would one day be called Flowers.” 

You settle comfortably against him again and your forehead rests against his long neck. His thighs spread wider in a silent beg for more, and you smile slightly. There is heat rising in his throat and cheeks and you can feel it against your face. 

How pretty Aemond’s body is. You love how long and lean he is, how easily bruises blossom under his fair skin, how you can see the lines of his veins and tendons in his arms and hands. Such pretty hands. With your forehead against him, you can feel the soft rumble of his voice in your very bones. It makes you shiver, makes your nipples hard. 

When he stumbles over a word, it is satisfying knowing that you made that happen. It’s your gentle hold around his cock that makes him lose focus, your skin against his that makes his stomach tense. Only for a moment do you let him go and although he whines softly through his words, he makes no other protest. You holds your hand up to his mouth and he bites his lip, before licking your palm, your fingers. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, before pushing your hand back under the covers and wrapping it around him again. 

“But the king’s closest companions had already informed him of their suspicions, and Ser Emmon was summoned to the Great Table.” 

A fire burns between your legs. He is hot and heavy in your hand, hard and wide and in his cock, you can feel his heartbeat pulse. His thighs twitch, and you run your foot up and down his calf soothingly. It does not soothe you, though. Every touch makes you want to make him whimper more. Even his voice intoxicates you. 

The pace you set is steady and reliable, and you only pause your ministrations now and again to caress your thumb over his tip. The silver drops that gather there make it smoother to stroke him as you glide it over his length. At your waist, his fingers begin to dig in. 

“And the k-” He bites his lip and sighs hard through his nose. You press your fingers around the base of his cock and move to carefully squeeze his balls. His eye closes, but there is strength in him yet, and after a brief pause, he continues. “And the king at last drew his sword in challenge against his knight, his friend, and demanded honour.” 

You look at the painting on the page in front of them but you don’t really see. It’s impossible to see anything in front of you when Aemond is all around you, his body heaving beneath you, his leg pressing between yours, his hair tickling your face. Utterly consuming is the need to please him, to delight him. You stroke his cock faster now. How lovely he is. How pretty he sounds. Oh, I do so adore him. Every stutter and every stumble is for you. 

“They crossed swords over the Table and- fuck.” 

He turns his head and kisses your forehead, hard. You shiver, and under the blankets you tighten your grip. “They crossed swords over the Table and they fucked?” you ask breathlessly. 

Aemond’s quiet laugh turns into a moan. “No, not that. They, ah- gods!” He forces his eye open but his brow is furrowed in concentration. “And they fought. The king fought for his honour, and the knight f-” he stumbles, breath catching in his throat. “Fou- ah, yes!” 

You bring your knee up between his legs and press it up to where his legs meet. Aemond grinds his hips up and down, his heavy balls sliding against your soft thigh. He turns his head slightly to press his cheek against your forehead. It’s like he can’t get close enough to you, even when you’re lazy like this. 

“They fought?” you encourage.

“Mmph. Yes. They fought. Fuck.” 

“Keep going, and so shall I.” 

“Yes,” he moans. You know he has more self control than this. But there is nothing that makes your soul soar like knowing he can set it aside with you. “The knight fought for his love.” The words are punctuated with heavy gasps that grow more frequent as his breath grows shorter. “The king forbade… he forbade his other knights from in…” He bites his lip at a particularly delicious twist of your wrist. “From interfering. After a long fight, the king disarmed Ser Emmon and his b… his blade… ah, yes. Just like that. His blade was knocked from his hands.” 

“Are you nearly finished?” you ask, making sure your lips are so close to his ear that he will not hear anything else. 

His brow creases again but this time it is in a laugh. “Am I? Or the story?” 

“You,” you breathe, and the word is stretched out. You dart out your tongue to catch along the shell of his ear and when he moans, strained and high, you feel like a queen yourself. 

“So close,” he assures you. 

“Keep going.” 

Nodding frantically, he musters his strength to return to the words. “Ser Emmon fell in front of the king, who… mmph, sweetling. Who demanded that he tell him where the treasonous queen was.” 

She can feel deep within her that he is close. There is something in the way that his whole body tenses, how little beads of sweat gather along his hairline, the twist of bliss in his face, that is so familiar, so exciting. You sit up slightly to get a better view of his face. Yes, that’s better. It’s much easier now to see the little line along his throat that appears when he is tense. There is a thick vein protruding from his forehead now, and it makes you smile. You so love to watch. 

Your hand moves faster, and it is slick with spend and sweat and spit. 

“The knight refused, for he loved the queen more d-dearly than his… his own life. Oh, fuck!” 

His eye closes and it leaves only the sapphire in its socket to wink at you. Fire rages through you at the sight, excitement and adrenaline and love mingled into a potent poison. Let it ruin you, if it means you can have him. 

“Yes, love, don’t stop, I’m-!” 

His face is flecked with starlight when pleasure rips through him. His hands ball into fists and his hips lift off the bed, and he cries out, guttural and low, his voice cracking. You watch, enchanted, and stroke him through it, catching his seed across your hand. Some will have gone on the blanket. Such a waste. 

“Kiss me,” he pleads quietly as he sinks back in the pillows. Below the blanket, his hand finds yours and your fingers weave together and it feels like the centre of the world. 

You smile and keep your eyes open as you kiss him. It is tender now, your lips soft together. Whilst there is still a fire between your legs, it has been tempered for a time. Simply by seeing his release, some part of you has been satisfied. 

Aemond breaks the kiss after a long moment. His eye opens slowly, and he is greeted by your smile. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t need to thank me.” 

“I do,” he whispers, squeezing your hand against his stomach. “I do.” 

Tenderly, you kiss his forehead and stroke his hair back. “You don’t.” 

It is a reflex to lean closer when you kiss him, and within a moment he has leaned so close that you are rolled onto your back with him between your legs now, the book discarded. He pulls at the hem of your yellow sleeping shift, but you stop him. “Wait.” 

His orgasm is still sending waves of bliss through him, and he cocks his head to the side in a silent question. You grin. “The looking glass,” you say in a hushed tone. Close to the door stands a great reflective glass, large enough to see one’s full frame. 

Aemond understands immediately, and scrambles to his feet. Your hands are still clasped and so he pulls you up with him. “Of course. You do so love to watch.”

[bitterrfruit]

he wakes you up

waking up hungover after letting a cocky scottish stranger spend the night. indie sleaze!Soap x reader, no cw. 1.4k words, mdni an: never posted a part 2 to my old fic trainspotting, but i wrote a good chunk of it. sleazy brow ring johnny is still close to my heart so i thought i'd share a bit of it <3

You wake up slowly, sweatily, mouth dry and fuzzy like you had swallowed a lump of cotton – so delirious, for a moment, that you expect to hear your mother calling for you to hurry up or you’ll miss the bus.  

No, instead, you hear the sparkling white noise of running water. Can’t be rain, because the sun beams brightly through your open window – directly onto your face, blinding you, sending you spinning as you tug your thin pillow and hold it over your head to shield yourself.  

Groaning, your brain throbs swollen and heavy, your skull an iron vice. You force yourself to sit upright, hoping your feet on the ground will calm the swelling nausea, turbulent in the pit of your stomach. It doesn’t.  

Bathroom. Bathroom.  

You leap out of bed, sprinting to the door of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that separates your and Katie’s bedrooms. Throwing it open, you tumble to the toilet, hair unfortunately coating the toilet seat as your abdomen lurches noisily – tossing a pitiful spoonful of pink, cherry-flavoured vomit into the clear water with a foul splash. Ew.  

The shower is running, you realise, in the subsequent post-puke calm. You would have expected Katie to say something to your intrusion, but after a year of living together you have very few boundaries left. You wonder what time she might’ve come home during the night – suppose the bloke she went home with must have been a disappointment if she didn’t even stay till morning. No surprises there.  

You hear the thud of the shower lever and the water shuts off. After a few deep breaths, you build up the strength to apologise for barging in, sitting on your knees on the tiled floor.  

“Sorry – hic – couldn’t hold it in,” you burp, rubbing your forehead, tearing off a piece of loo paper to wipe your nose. “How was–” 

“Mornin’, hen,” comes the low voice of a man, tired and gravelly. “How ye feelin’?”  

Not fucking Katie.  

You cock your head back in shock, swiping your matted hair from your face, as your eyes shoot to the polyester shower curtain being tugged open with a screech.  

Hairy legs jut out from the cubicle, big feet land on the shaggy bathmat. Your eyes follow them upward, thick thighs, rippling muscle under a layer of flesh and furry skin. Until your stare hitches on the cock hanging brazenly from a fine carpet of brown curls – thick from base to tip, uncircumcised but its meaty pink head exposed, a hefty vein running down the length of it. Looks heavy even soft.  

You choke on any words you might be able to utter – jumping from shock, to fear, to awe, back to confusion. Who… 

“Eyes up here, bunny.” He teases you, that gruff voice barely familiar.  

A response suddenly comes to you, remembering it vaguely, and your lips form the words as if it were a realisation.  

“They’re just as pretty,” you croak, staring into the void of space before you finally glance at the man’s face.  

The shaven head, the brow ring, the glint of that golden tooth sparkling from the cocky smile that puckers dimples into his cheeks – now, yes, you somewhat remember him.  

“Ah, good. Y’do remember.”  

Suddenly humiliated, realising how much of a fucking mess you must be – you look down at yourself, seeing your vastly oversized Strokes band tee that you do not remember putting on. Nor do you remember getting out of the miniscule body suit you had worn to the party, nor peeling off the fishnets that had been flossing you from front to back for the duration of the blurry evening.  

There’s probably makeup smudged into racoon-like circles around your eyes, there must be smears of your pink lip-gloss in the corners of your mouth. If you weren't so ill, you'd run and hide from him.

“Did I-” you stammer aloud, attempting to connect the dots. “Were you at the party?”  

He tuts, huffing disappointedly, as he reaches for the yellow floral towel hanging on the rail. Katie’s towel.  

“Och, dear,” he grunts facetiously, as he rubs it vigorously over his head, patting under his chin, chest, arms. Doesn’t seem to bother asking as he uses it to dry his balls, mammoth dick flopping around shamelessly as he does so. Your cheeks burn pink.  

“You weren’t?”  

“If I’m honest, hen,” he remarks, as he ties the towel nonchalantly around his hips, tucks it in just above his mound. Still brandishes that happy trail, and the sharp angled creases below his abs that carve from his hips to his cock. “Ye got me feelin’ a bit guilty.”  

“Why?” You swallow, doing your best to stop ogling him like a little animal.  “Did we…”  

He snorts. “You wish.”  

You frown, suddenly failing to suppress the admonishing smirk that curls in your lips. “We didn’t do anything?”  

He shrugs, rubbing the top of his buzzed head with his palm. “We had a wee bit o’fun,” he admits, a twinge of shame in his rumbling throat, “but no, nothing too regrettable.”  

You find yourself weirdly disappointed. “Why not?”  

And your slightly dissatisfied query seems to lift some weight from his shoulders, he returns with a grin. “You were a bit steamed, hen,” he says. “would’ve been dodgy of me to stick it in ye while y’were like that, eh?”  

“Mm,” you nod, concealing your chagrin, the memory of running into him on the road suddenly flies back to you, colliding with you like a slap.  

A complete stranger. Naked (mostly) in your bathroom.  

“Didn’t expect you’d be such a gentleman,” you gripe, a tad facetious. 

He smiles. “Disappointed, are ye?” He jibes, tilting his head. “Y’were definitely disappointed last night. Poor wee thing. Got all whiney.”  

You flush hot as that memory slithers back to you, too. Cheeks aren’t the only thing that burn at the thought. You suddenly harken back to the weight of his palm on your cunt, the mocking pressure of the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. Your stomach drops at the memory. 

“Did not,” you murmur.  

“Uh-huh,” he chuckles at you, sauntering in your direction, he holds out a hand for you. You smile bashfully as you take it, and he lifts you to your feet so deftly you’re almost lifted into the air. “Feelin’ alright?” 

You’re a little dizzy after standing so quick, you blink heavily as you swallow. “Mm. Been better,” you huff, “I probably look like shit.”  

He frowns at that, tutting in disapproval as his raffish eyes linger on your lips – you lick them, worried there might be a speck of residual puke in the corner of your mouth.  

“Ye’re havin’ me on,” he chides, disapproval in his tone.  

“Am I?” You groan, wiping under your eyes with your fingertips in the hopes of swiping away some running makeup.  

He shakes his head. “Far too pretty to be talkin’ like that, bunny.” 

With a grimace, then a snicker, you glance downward at the chipped pink glitter on your toenails. “That’s nice, but–” 

“Psh,” he immediately cuts you off. “Don’t y’believe me?”  

Reeling in awkward embarrassment, you cross your arms, digging nails into your biceps as you look everywhere but him. Through a strained chuckle, you answer, “Not really.” 

His attention is almost intimidating; an unwavering, low-lidded glare as a smirk tugs in his lips. Tucks a hooked finger under your chin, coaxing your head to lift just slightly enough to look along your nose at him.  

From his throat, he rumbles, 

“Need me to show ye how pretty y’are, hen?” 

Your skin turns molten, glowing and pliant, eyes glossy and eager as you stare up at him through clumped lashes. He simply wears that snide little grin, proud of himself, only growing prouder as he notices how flustered he’s made you. Fuck! 

Lips part to let words free but they turn sticky on your tongue, and he brushes your chin with his thumb.  

“Look at’cha,” he sneers, letting go of your face; using the tip of his thick finger to sweep a rogue hair from your forehead with a gentleness that you’re earnestly surprised he’s capable of. His tenderness is fleeting, though, because he chuckles; “Too easy.”  

Jaw agape, you only laugh as you cover your eyes with your palms. “God, you’re such a dickhead.”  

He hums, a giggle, swaggering around you before swinging a quick smack on your ass, making you yip – casual and in passing, such a brash show of lude badinage that you can only gawk at him as he wanders into your room.  

“S’why you invited me in, in’t it?”  

Crossing your arms, you follow him sheepishly, squinting as you step into morning sunlight. “I don’t think I can remember why I invited you in, to be honest.”  

“Mm, well,” he grumbles, “I’ll have t’remind ye, won’t I?”

[utterlyotterlyx]

My Tears Are Becoming a Sea

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Azriel wished that you’d wake up in time for Starfall, that you’d be home to see the souls cross the sky. The war against Hybern had wrecked you, and he couldn’t bear to be away from you for another moment.

Warnings - angst, sad boy Azriel, mentions of death and blood, some self loathing, but a beautiful happy ending for our Shadowsinger 🤍

They'd won.

But none of it meant anything if you weren't there with them.

Hybern had been defeated, they had won the impossible battle thanks to you, thanks to your skill, your power, and that shattering determination to find the upper hand your family so desperately needed.

You had disappeared without a word just after the High Lords meeting, after realising that the forces you needed lay beyond the capabilities of armies and blind hope. Azriel knew better than to stop you, he traced the line of your jaw as he kissed you for what could have been the last time. He savoured the taste of your lips, your scent, that smile that had the power to command the attention of anyone or anything.

There were no words that any of them could say the moment they saw you on the battlefield, you stood above them clad in your leathers wearing a sadistic grin as Bryaxis and the Weaver stalked from behind you whilst they all waited to meet their fate.

Azriel puffed his chest out with pride, glancing to Cassian with a smirk. That's my girl.

You were a formidable force, bending the elements around you like it was your mother tongue, sending spears of fire and ice through the chests of whoever opposed you, allowing the ground to swallow whole groups of soldiers as you passed by. Your sword was an extension of your soul, a cunningly beautiful thing, curved and sharp, and coated in the blood of your enemies which had also splashed across your cheeks.

His shadows were in awe of you, a horribly fierce awe as they watched you cut down man after man, paying little mind to anything else other than making sure that Feyre and Amren reached the cauldron.

That wretched thing.

The cauldron had broken. Feyre needed to put it back together. Feyre needed the power to put it back together.

Azriel watched as you tackled Rhys to the ground, as you threw up a shield around yourself and Feyre so that she had no choice but to use you. To take everything you had to stop the world from crumbling into dust.

Feyre had wept and screamed as she held you in her arms, her fingers pushing the hair from your face as she rocked back and forth, begging your soul to return to your body. Azriel fell to your side and pulled you from Feyre's gasp, his shadows flittered anxiously over your face and body whilst their master pressed his lips to your eyes, pleading the High Lords around him to do what they did for Feyre, to bring you back to him.

Each High Lord offered a kernel of their power, even Feyre had thrown in her own in hope it would made a difference.

Rhys had held him tightly as your soul returned to your body, his sobs wracked his chest when your own began to rise and fall in a healthy rhythm. You didn't wake though.

After days of Madja fussing over you, she had exhausted all of her options. You were warm, your heartbeat was strong and your lungs were functioning as they should be, there was no reason why you shouldn't have been awake and telling Azriel how much you loved him.

He had refused to leave you, his shadows less willing to do so, they loved you so dearly to the point you often found a couple of rogue shadows perching on your own shoulder instead of your mates. Deep circles clung to his hazel eyes that were dark and dreary, he hadn't eaten, he just sat beside your cot and held your hand, noting how peaceful you looked in your eternal slumber.

Much to his rage, it had been decided that Helion would transport you to the Day Court with the promise that his army of healers and researchers would find a way to bring you back. Rhys had agreed, willing to try anything to bring you back to your family, and had to order Azriel to stay away from you whilst Helion gave it his best shot. They couldn't have a grief stricken Illyrian forbidding anyone to touch you.

Velaris felt empty without you. The bakeries were far too full and the children too quiet. The Sidra begged for your fingers to run through her ripples, to caress her with that power that complimented her own so perfectly.

The world just felt darker without you annoying them, prodding Cassian with stupid jokes or dragging Mor dress shopping, even Amren was missing your feet propped on her lap whilst she tried to research, and Nesta yearned for your intelligent observations on the plot holes and desires for the books you shared.

Feyre had become a shell, busying herself with preparations for Starfall so that she would forget how guilty she felt for a moment.

Starfall was your favourite thing in the world, nothing bar Azriel could bring so much joy to you. The music, beautiful outfits and food were just minor aspects in comparison to the main event, when those stars would hurtle across the sky and illuminate it with that hot white glow.

Azriel had always found himself stood behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist and chin resting atop your head as you both watched in awe. It never ceased to amaze either of you.

This year was different. No amount of flowers or pastries could distract anyone from the fact that you weren't there. He should have stopped you, gotten to you quicker before you could attack Rhys and take his place; you should have just let Rhys give his power, he would have recovered quicker, everything would have been fine.

Mor had tried to get Azriel to dance, but he didn't want to dance with anyone who wasn't you. All he wanted to do was go back to your shared room and wrap himself in your scent so he could dream of you, the only place you were alive and chatting idly about some random fact you'd found in a book that sent your mind spiralling into balanced wonder.

"She wouldn't want you to stand on the side lines, Az," Cassian clapped his shoulder, trying to coax his brother to partake in something this Starfall, for you.

Gasps echoed about the room, a sign that the main event had begun. Usually, you'd be jumping up and down in your spot with excitement, clutching to his fingers as you dragged him from the room and out to the private balcony you had both made yours.

Males and females floated out of the arched doorways, but Azriel stayed behind, not being able to think of witnessing a single Starfall without you.

Burying his hands deep into the pockets of his black pants, Azriel moved in the opposite direction to the enthralled crowd, not being able to stomach even pretending to be happy. With no particular place in mind, Azriel walked, down winding hallways and up a set of steps, along the arched walls until he fell into place in front of a set of familiar doors.

Doors that you had practically torn the handles from one year from the sheer uncontrollable excitement to get outside before either of you missed it.

Azriel sighed, wiping the corners of his eyes, he sniffled softly as he took the handle in his scarred fingers, feeling electricity pouring through it, so intense that he had to pull away with a frown. He stood there for a moment, unsure and bewildered by the sensation.

Then he felt it.

He felt the familiar scent flood where he stood, the shadows reacted quickly, darting to the handle and dancing over the door, fighting for it to be opened.

It couldn't be. Helion would have told them if you had awoken.

It couldn't be.

Azriel flung the doors open and his shadows surged forward, there you stood, your back to him, dressed in Day Court gold with a solid gold halo encasing a full braided bun. The shadows reached you first and you giggled as they kissed every inch of your face, and gods, did that sound have him melting into a blubbering mess.

You turned to him, your mate, and opened your arms to him, ones that he gladly stepped in to. Azriel wrapped his arms around your waist, he ran his fingers over your skin, he left lingering kisses in the nape of your neck and along your shoulder.

"You're home," he strained, sobs of pure happiness tugging at his throat as he pulled away from you, looking down into those eyes he adored too much.

You moved a piece of his hair away from those pools of brown and green, closing the gap between you as the sky came to life, allowing your love to explode around you whilst the world above and below held a calm breath.

"I couldn't full well miss my favourite night of the year, could I?"

Azriel pressed his forehead to yours, stared into your eyes and drank in every single part of you, his fingers not once moving from your body, "You came back to me."

"I'll always come back to you, Az. Always."

Authors Note

I needed something fluffy after my gut wrenching Eris post before.

I'm halfway healed.

[cherrychilli]

18+

Steve Harrington x AFAB reader, grumpy dom! Steve, established relationship, PIV sex, car sex

A/N: I haven't written for Steve in a minute so I pulled this out of the wip vault and dusted it off.

The time to back out had passed.

Steve knew he couldn't disappoint the whole group now when it had already been decided that he would drive them out to the lake that Saturday afternoon. With Eddie's license suspended and Jonathan's car in the shop, there was no other option.

For someone who, on a regular day, looks golden in every possible way under a perfect cerulean sky, he stuck out like a storm cloud today.

Steve sat out on the dock with his shades on to shield his annoyed squint and a soda pressed to his lips to conceal his scowl, wishing it was a beer instead.

Those of you who weren't driving picked frosty bottles out of the cooler Eddie had stocked for the outing, bottle caps coming loose with a pop, the nutty aroma of grain and barley fizzing into the wind. It was more than a little amusing to you as you eyed Steve from over your beer, watching the poor boy stew.

On the surface you appear oblivious but you're well aware that your boyfriend's eyes are trained on you too, a heated, razor sharp stare behind those reflective lenses.

His simmering displeasure goes unnoticed by the rest of the group but when you start to strip down to your swimsuit with the others and head for the water it's only a matter of moments before they notice one less member wading in the water with them.

Inevitably, what he'd been dreading begins and he has to deal with it all day. Everyone takes turns asking Steve why he isn't getting in the water with them and each time he's forced to mutter out some vague excuse that only lifts more eyebrows.

It's obvious to everyone that he's hiding something and the stubborn way he tries to refute is comically adorable. Some lighthearted teasing ensues and you can almost see the steam rising off his skin.

Robin gets the ball rolling with a quip about him spending too much time on his hair to risk getting it wet. Eddie joins in on the teasing too. Nancy and Jonathan are too polite to add to it but they laugh off to the side and try to suppress their giggles all the same.

None of it is cruel. it's all harmless, well meaning fun between friends and it's all the more enjoyable for you because you're the only one who knows the real reason why Steve wont just peel off his shirt and get in the water.

If he did, then your friends would get to see the result of all your hard work last night. They'd see the messy, lengthy scarlet scratches that rawed the skin all down his back, the half moon indents turning violet on his triceps and shoulders and the many hickeys like splashes of merlot you sucked onto his chest and his stomach.

You've got a few marks on you as well but you're saved from suffering the same torment as Steve thanks to your waterproof concealer. He endures it all, forcing the occasional dry, humorless laugh until the sun begins to wind down and the rest of you towel off before lugging your belongings back to his car under a cotton candy sky.

It's a little snug inside the BMW but you make it work. You buckle yourself in the front seat and the others pile into the back. Nancy finds room in Jonathan's lap while Eddie's somehow been strong armed into the middle by Robin so she can have the window seat. He doesn't concede quietly and the resultant commotion in the back is enough to distract the backseat occupants from noticing the tension between you and Steve. Well, more so the tension that's emanating from Steve because you look no more unbothered than you had all day, humming to yourself inconspicuously. Waiting patiently.

Nancy and Jonathan are the first to be dropped off. Next is Eddie, and then Robin. You wave goodbye to her as Steve slowly presses down on the accelerator to begin the journey to your apartment, twenty minutes of being alone together starting now.

"You really put me through it today", he spoke, breaking the moment long silence.

Your lips form a pleased smile as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. It was obvious where all of this was heading but riling him up was part of the fun and you didn't want it to end just yet. You wanted a little more before it's all teeth and ripped clothes when he gets you inside your apartment.

"I didn't make them say all those things, Stevie sweetie", you turn your head towards him and bat your lashes, the illusion of sweetness thick on your features.

His eyes stay fixed on the road, the vein near his temple more noticeable now. "You wore it on purpose, didn't you?", he sidesteps your comment like you hadn't even said it at all.

This time when you blink at him it's with confusion. "Don't play dumb, baby", he warns you with a laugh so mirthless that it draws a shiver out of you. "Oh..", you utter when you realize that he's referring to your strappy yellow bikini. The one he really really liked, because he made you keep it on all throughout riding him on on his sun lounger the last time you went over to swim in his pool. Not that you did much swimming in the end.

You'd been so wrapped up in all the teasing and what hid beneath the layers of his clothes that you'd paid little attention to what you'd been wearing all day.

"Wasn't bad enough that I had to deal with the others today. You had me fighting off a fucking hard on top of it all too."

Your gaze instantly drops to his lap. By the looks of the thick imprint of his cock underneath his jeans he seemed to be done fighting it off.

The car slows into a turn and you realize that you don't recognize your surroundings, much more greenery around than what you're familiar with. You'd had your eyes off the road long enough for him to divert from the route to your house, detouring off a backroad and into an unfamiliar clearing thickly nestled by trees and forestry.

You bite down on your lip to stem the grin that threatens to erupt on your face. This was much better than you'd been hoping for and happening much faster than you could stand to wait.

Pulling into the isolated space, he cuts the engine, car going completely still. "Come here", but he's already pulling you with forceful a hand curled around the back of your neck before you have a chance of following through yourself. It's ungainly how you fumble with unbuckling your seatbelt as it presses uncomfortably against your chest but you manage to unfasten it, leaning further over the console to get closer to him.

You whine when he latches onto your neck, sucking at the skin there not at all gently. If the taste of lake water and sunscreen still lingered on your skin, he showed no sign of it. At least not any sign of disliking it as his tongue licked over your skin and his teeth dragged close to your pulse. When he pulls away you can feel the wet warmth of the fresh hickey blooming on your skin and your heart beating in time with the subtle throbbing there.

It wasn't hard to imagine what it looked like. Deep and dark and reminder of who you belong to. "You're not covering it up this time, understand?", he tells you and you nod. As if you'd want to hide it.

He leans over you then and you retract into your seat to make room for him, back pressed firmly against leather. Steve's intention becomes clear when he pulls at the lever to adjust your seat. You squeak when it reclines abruptly and he climbs over you to push it all the way down.

"Get these off. Now", he orders you, not unkind but firm, pulling at the hem of your damp t-shirt and the waistband of your shorts. He's impatient but so are you, wiggling around and maneuvering your limbs messily underneath him as he helps you to peel the clothing off.

You manage to toe you shoes off as well, elbows and knees bumping Steve and parts of the interior until you're left in just your bikini. The frantic rush suddenly halts and things slow down when he runs a finger down your sternum until he reaches the little strap just below your breasts, hooking his finger into it. " 'Played dirty all day, didn't you honey? had your fun while I all I could do was sit back and watch?", he tugged, the bottom curve of your breasts becoming visible as the material slips.

"Couldn't help it", you breathe out, hands sliding up his biceps. " I like it when you get mean", you confessed softly, eyes all big and glossy and wanting. He laughs, hair falling over his forehead. "I know, baby. Gonna take my time getting back at you". He's done with the gentle interval, yanking your bikini down to expose your tits. You yelp, not because it was unexpected but because he'd done it a little harder than you had expected. A welcome roughness that made your core feel sticky.

He's all over you, weight pressing down on you as you writhe under him, gasping as he marks you up. More fresh bruises to match the one on your neck are peppered across your breasts first before his lips trail hot on your stomach and then your hips and your thighs. The noises he's forcing out of you are needy and pathetic, high pitched, breathy whimpers and mewling cries of his name all tumble from your lips until he pulls away to look over his work.

You're left panting as he appraises you, eyes raking all over in search of more space to fit another hickey or two. "Never looked better, babe", he sits back on his knees, grinning happily. "On second thought...", he grips your waist, encouraging you to turn around and get on your knees. You scramble to get into position, pulling loose the knot on your bikini top and tossing it towards the back seat so that it no longer hangs limply on you in a tangled mess. You grab at the headrest, bare tits pressing against leather as you arch your back for him and present your ass. "Now you've never looked better", he scoffs, open palm landing on your left cheek with a swift slap.

"Shit! please just fuck me already, Steve", you whine, beyond the point of playing dumb and coy.

He pulls your bottoms to the side, thumb brushing against your soaking entrance as he lets out a low whistle. It's a little strange being almost completely nude in his car like this. You usually had a little more clothing bunched around you on the off chance the rocking vehicle might attract any passersby's attention. It makes you feel that much more vulnerable. Hidden but still technically in public. Still at risk of being discovered.

It's all so terribly exciting.

The distinct jangle of his belt being undone makes your spine tingle and the crude sound of him spitting onto his palm before he tugs on his cock a makes you clench.

"Not gonna go easy on you", he warns, catching your eye when you look back at him over your shoulder.

"I can take it", you challenge him and you can tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitches against the smirk he's trying to force away that he liked it.

He places one hand on your hip and the other on the foggy window pressing his cock into you in one slow thrust.

"That's my girl"

---

The next day you anticipate Robin's reaction when she pretends to barf at the sight of the hickeys on your neck and you giggle, amused because you know never to take it seriously.

Eddie's slower to notice because the first thing he does is climb into the back seat of Steve's car after it's been parked, claiming to have dropped his lighter there yesterday.

"Did you find it?", Steve calls out behind him when he joins you and Robin as you get ready to head into a nearby burger joint for lunch.

There's a suspicious pause and some rustling before he finally yells out an answer.

"Nope! Found something better though"

Kicking open the door, Eddie barrels out with your bikini top sloppily thrown on over his shirt, batting his lashes at Steve like some kind of parody of a lovestruck cartoon.

You're too entertained by it to be embarrassed though you can't say the same for Steve who's turned completely red, placing a hand over your mouth as you snicker.

Puckering his lips, the metalhead makes eyes at your boyfriend and you double over with laughter while Robin rolls here eyes and makes her way inside, having had her fill of Eddie's theatrics.

"Come on big boy, fancy another round in the back seat?"

[h5eavenly]

blank canvas — park sunghoon. ➢ one - run your hands over me. ➢ mlist.

— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first. wc: 17k

'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'

You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.

“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.

“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.

Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.

"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.

4:35 pm

31st December

"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.

Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.

'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'

You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?

Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.

With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.

You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.

Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.

Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.

You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.

“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.

The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.

“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.

“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.

“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.

“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”

“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.

“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.

“Why do you think so?”

“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”

An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.

“That’s interesting.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.

“Your words? Not at all.”

“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”

There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.

“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”

You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.

It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.

“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.

“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.

You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.

Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.

Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.

They looked so empty.

"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.

 A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.

"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.

Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.

Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.

You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.

"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.

"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.

"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.

Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.

"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.

Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.

How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.

"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.

"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.

Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.

Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.

And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?

Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.

It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.

On

Off

On

Off

On.

A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.

You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.

Beep Beep Beep!

Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.

 'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.

The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.

The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.

in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.

Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.

You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.

Oh my god they’re waving at you.

Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.

Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.

You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.

What the fuck

With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.

You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.

A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.

The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.

It was blood.

You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.

"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.

 "Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"

you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.

"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.

You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.

“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.

“Okay.”

As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.

The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.

You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.

But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.

You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.

Blue

Violet

Red

It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.

You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.

Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.

You cannot escape.

"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.

You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.

You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.

You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.

With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.

"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.

Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.

When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.

"What happened?” he asks.

"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.

Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.

He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.

It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.

You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.

The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.

"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.

"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.

His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.

"Yes."

You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.

“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.

"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.

"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.

Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.

"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.

"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.

"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.

"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."

He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.

"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.

12:45am                                                                                                               7th of January

your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.

There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.

Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.

Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.

"yn, 'm hotter yea?"

You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.

"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;

"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"

All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.

"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.

She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.

"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing. 

You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.

"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.

You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.

“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.

You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.

It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.

“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.

“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.

The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such. 

Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.

You ignore him, too used to such situations.

“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.

“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.

“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.

Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.

“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.

The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.

White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.

It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.

Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.

The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.

“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.

“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.

“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.

You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.

A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.

“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.

Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?

“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.

“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.

Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.

“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.

"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.

"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.

There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.

The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.

“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.

Extending it to you.

“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.

“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously

“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.

A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.

You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.

"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.

Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.

Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.

“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.

At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.

“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.

“Are you interested in me?”

“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.

“I’m only teasing, darling.”

“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.

“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.

“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.

His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force

“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.

“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.

“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.

“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.

“I can, see?”

“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.

Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.

“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”

“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.

As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.

I

Can

See

Your

Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.

As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.

Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.

“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”

In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.

Heady and sweet.

“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.

Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.

It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.

With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.

You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.

With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.

"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.

"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.

"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.

“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.

“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.

“Was it?”

“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.

“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.

“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.

“Just some guy.” You shrug.

“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”

“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”

He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.

“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.

“So?”

“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”

"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.

"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.

"Stop telling me about it then."

"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.

His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.

“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”

You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.

You are walking home from work.

The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;

 on

off

on

off

you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.

You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.

The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.

I need to go home.

Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.

I need to go home

I need to go home

I need to go home

You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.

The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.

You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.

With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.

Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.

Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.

The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.

He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.

There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.

You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.

You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.

A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.

You’re okay, everything is okay.

Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.

Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.

You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.

Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.

You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.

The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.

The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.

"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.

It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.

“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.

“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.

On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.

"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.

You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.

"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.

"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.

"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.

The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.

"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.

Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.

A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.

Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.

Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.

As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.

You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features

"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.

"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.

But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.

"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.

You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.

Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.

"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.

You stand still for three full seconds.

On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.

On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.

On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.

You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?

The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.

"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.

You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.

He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.

"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.

If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.

"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.

He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.

“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.

“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.

“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.

“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”

“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.

“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.

“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.

“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.

Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.

Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.

"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.

"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.

“It’s hard not to.” You admit.

“How come?”

You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.

“they’re fascinating to say the least.”  You settle with the truth.

“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”

“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.

“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”

“No.” you answer, airily.

He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.

“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.

“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,

You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.

“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.

All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.

When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.

You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.

You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.

His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.

"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.

Just how big is this room?

“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.

“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.

As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.

“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.

His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.

“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.

“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”

“Well y-yeah.”

“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”

“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.

“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.

“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”

“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.

"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.

There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.

"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.

You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.

At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.

“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,

With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.

You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.

Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.

It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.

"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.

Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.

He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.

"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.

You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.

“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.

“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.

"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.

Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.

You should head home soon before it starts raining again.

"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.

Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.

"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.

“What were you doing then?"

“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”

"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.

“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.

“It made me happy.”

“What?”

“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”

“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.

“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.

Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.

“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.

“I did!”

“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”

“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.

Your chest warms at the sight.

“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.

“I got it wrong?”

“It’s a T, not an F.”

“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.

“Yeah.” he answers softly.

“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.

You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.

"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.

“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.

“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.

“yn,” you answer.

“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.

He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.

"W-what?" You stutter out.

His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.

“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.

“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.

“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.

You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.

You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.

"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.

You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.

Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.

But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.

"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.

"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.

"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.

It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.

"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.

"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.

“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”

"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.

“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.

“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.

You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.

You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.

He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.

As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.

"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.

“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.

There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.

You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?

Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.

"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.

"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.

It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.

"There's no need. You have done more than enough."

"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.

“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”

“No need for apologizes, darling.”

You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.

“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.

The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.

“They look better on you anyways.”

You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.

colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.

The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.

Although your living conditions were much better than now.

Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.

You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.

"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.

Like a fucking creep.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.

"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.

"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."

He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.

He gave you, his number.

Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.

"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.

“What happened today?”

You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.

Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you

"I'm confused?"

"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.

"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.

"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.

"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.

"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.

"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.

“Just say it.”

"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"

“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.

"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.

"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"

"I'm not."

"You're into him-"

"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.

"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.

"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.

"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.

"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"

"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.

"You're grieving your dad, yn."

You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.

Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.

Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.

Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.

“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."

"It's okay."

"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.

"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."

As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;

"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,

"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.

“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.

“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.

As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.

"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.

"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.  

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

[emacrow]

Commander Johnson, I-I think I found what or who been stealing our extra spare material supplies

Astronaut Jennifer said in the com as she stared, standing stiff as a board if it weren't for the gravity of Mars making it difficult.

What she was staring at couldn't be human but yet so close and eldritchic- alien like as the inner part of her mind was screaming danger danger, That Is Not A Human Being, Run RUN RUN,HIDENOWHIDENOWNOWNOW

It's look like a adult, a very slim and very tall adult if it weren't for the fact that his skin was tanned with a bit of splash of starlights all over, wearing a suit made of galaxies covered in red Mars rocks, his hair was white, whiter then the clouds on earth, ears pointy and curled a bit as if it wa to shield or reflect to what its was hearing(but they has moved back in a aggressive manner thar remind her of snuffles when threaten) and eyes glows so ominously Neon Green with black instead of white surrounding the iris, splatter of star like freckles that looks like he almost has two pupils mixing into a slits like in each of them.

Teeths razor sharp and thick, as the thing looks like it was growling at her with his body arch over, hands with extra digits of long blacken claws like nails dig into the dirt, hiding all the stuff that the alien had stolen along with a lil head of another mar baby, it weren't for the fact there was no sounds in space, she would've been screaming float running back to her headquarters base.

She was only patrolling the part of the base where they were trying to grow plants in one of the green houses they painstaking made on Mar, but then she saw the glow of unnatural green slipping out of the sealed tight glass.

Curiosity took the best of her as she put on her suit and went to check at that spot is where she find what seem to be a native Mar creature and its baby hoarding all the missing stuffs that they had lost in the base, along with the missing robot, opportunity as the top of it's hoard pile in a makeshift hole(it's a Nest and she has enter this creatures domains) near a small pool full of of oddly frozen water that glowed luminous.

It was a stand off between her and the creature not moving an inch until Jennifer's coms responded back as she flinched, her heart dropping snd face paling dramatically when the creature's ear flick a bit as it heard the static electric device.

"J-J-J-Jennifer, do you copy? I repeat, Do you copy?!?" Commander Johnson spoke a bit frantic.

Unawared of the danger he had put Jennifer in when she flinched, the creature lunged, Jennifer scrambling to turn around and hop/run back into the safety of the base as fast as she could.

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