#and unfortunately apart from the fact its fucking hard as fuck to do that

[saltycharacters]

Oogh Lovin Baizel and the species concept! What does their diet consist of? Is there any way for them to avoid what happens to them over time? Do the hearts work like- if 1 stops it's ok bc there's others or if 1 stops they all stop?

SO glad you like my silly n weird ideas :""] Regarding the hearts question, it depends on how long they've grown at the time and which heart gives out, the front one / further back / etc - the reason they have so many hearts in the first place is to help pump blood throughout such a massive body. And the longer they get, the more work has to be put into that. So, if they're around 20-30 ish years old or less, they can probably survive a heart or two dying on them because the other hearts can pick up the slack (although the extra strain can promote further heart failure). But with each added foot, the amount of work/ importance each heart is deligated increases, and that makes it much harder to recover from a failure.

Essentially, at some point each heart has to mantain a body section alone and if that stops, then there's a domino effect that affects every heart preceding it since the blood exchange from section to section halted. If this happens though, there's a chance of survival if the hearts near the front/head are ok, as cutting off blood flow to the brain is definetly fatal. The other sections will die off but, as the hyperfauna weasels are literally predestined to have that happen at some point in their lives, it's not the end of the world. They even have systems that can function indipendently regardless of what happens to the body (cough cough. Waste disposal) so the biggest change just becomes limited movment.

For the question about preventing the fates of hyperfauna weasels, assuming that you mean as they are now and not by manually altering the entire species via selective breeding/ bioengineering, there IS. a theoretical way to manually stunt growth (also via bioengineering) but, it is VERY difficult to control the outcome over time, and without careful planning (like, what parts of the body are suppose to be stunted and what parts need to develop to survive? How to prevent this manual cell death from reaching something vital? At what age should they be stunted? At what age CAN they be stunted, before these alterations become harder to induce? etc) it can result in a load of problems that make their life over time a miserable one (or just kill them straight off).

Also, hyperfauna weasels are notorious for being difficult to work with medically/bio-manipulatively because 1] their skin is VERY thick, needles need to be long but strong enough to pierce them and NOT break on the way down (also few people can find their veins) 2] any effect needs time to travel throughout their entire body, which can take a WHILE (and depending on how long the effects are suppose to last, their former half could've already worn off while the latter is still feeling the effects [this makes anesthesia difficult bc it needs to be powerful enough to hit everywhere while not being so powerful that it causes heart failure]) 3] their cells are super stubborn/hard to change and it's difficult to intruduce new instructions to them, not to mention they're so hellbent on forever-growth that they're super hardy, multiply and die off quicker than any changes can be induced in them, and kill most foreign objects without prejudice.

All this to say they're a nightmare to manually bio-alter and your best bet would be to manipulate them at the embyonic stage, where they're most cellularly vulnerable / suseptable to change, and if all goes well you can artificially cease their growth after a point, but in terms of lore-reasons this hasn't happened yet. It's mostly because those who DO know about this species, at least by the time this kind of technology was available, just. don't really have the (cough. financial) motivation to do this. Bio-engineering companies are mostly about profit, and this kind of job would require bringing back a near extinct species (not impossible, just a chore) that needs a LOT of resources to mantain, monitoring over a LONG time to see if their alterations worked, and they'd end up with a lot of failed experiments that live almost forever before they get one that lives a reasonable, sustainable amount.

For the last question about their diet, they're omnivorous and can eat a lot of what normal weasels eat already :] although their portions have to be HUGE (even standing on all legs they can be over 5 ft tall, plus all that body length means a LOT of) so in a pinch they can eat most any kind of meat, plant-matter, even fungus.

[uplatterme]

alright, going to bed. sooo, here’s an aether thirst from yours truly!

—sub!bottom!aether, top!dom!amab!reader, consensual somnophilia, stomach bulge. needy aether w mischievous reader!

aether’s breathing stutters, feeling your chest on his back. it’s warm, and the closeness between you two is making his body heat up which puts the temperature he endures when fighting the pyro regisvine to shame.

he shouldn’t be feeling this hot, considering the fact that he’s not even wearing a shirt. the only thing covering him is his pants and his locks that gracefully flowed down his body.

aether should get away, that’s what the logical part of his brain says. unfortunately, his body seems to disagree.

to be fair, how could he? especially when he feels the way that your cock presses just right on his entrance, teasing him and driving the outlander insane.

god, he wants you. he needs you to make him a mess on the same sheets that you were sleeping on, to have him drool on the pillows as you push his head down on the cushion, muffling his screams, knowing you don’t like loud noises during nighttime.

the blonde carefully slips down his pants. he swears he’s not going to do anything out of line, even if you’ve said that this kind of thing was fine before.

he calms himself. technically, it’s less embarrassing since he didn’t have you spouting out utter nonsense in his ear about how he’s such a good boy, or sometimes, the degrading names you call him while pulling on his braid as if it was a leash.

that doesn’t stop the way his chest thumps heavily or his previously limp cock getting hard when you finally nudge yourself onto his bare skin.

he doesn’t do much. he only grinds himself on your sleeping body, rubbing your cock with his cheeks.

he just wanted to know what it felt like, that’s it. he’s satisfied.

aether cups his mouth as your hand lays on his waist, sitting there neatly.

…

he covers his face with his hands. all logical thoughts going out the window when he stretches out his rim with the tip of your cock.

“j-just the tip…” he whispers. right, no more than this. he’s already edging himself with humping on you earlier, anything more would be ridiculous.

he breathes deeply, trying to remain focused. his walls feel empty, but he’s not going to give in. this is fine, he tells himself.

he bites his bottom lip, stroking his own cock with your tip inside of him. he can finish on his own, he just needs to feel your warmth.

but as he does this, his whole body shrivels up when your arm on him tightens and you push yourself all the way in without warning, hugging him. the hand that he was using to jack off finds its way to his mouth, covering it as he lets out a silent scream.

you have somehow put your entire cock in, leaving him speechless from the action.

“oh god, oh god.” he utters, trying to be as quiet as possible.

he sees the way your cock outlines itself on his tummy and the mere sight of it is enough to make him burst.

he didn’t even prep himself that much. however, your sleepless body also acts like you when you’re awake, being as savage and ruthless when it comes to breaking him apart.

“no, no, no, no—” the outlander chants, he’s so close. he’s so fucking close that he doesn’t care anymore.

his body starts moving slowly. it’s hard to do this on his own when he’s so used to you doing it for him. still, he pushes through.

it’s as if his walls refuse to remove itself from your length, hugging your cock as tight as possible. how the hell do you even pound into him at such a speed?

his entire body is trembling. just a bit more to send him over the edge, please.

and as he thrusts himself at an abnormally slow pace, crying at the lowest volume he possibly can. he feels your fingers grab the sides of his waist and extract yourself before proceeding to push the entirety of your cock to the deepest part of him that he feels his body actually breaking.

“slut.”

your voice sends aether to an orgasm, his cock spilling as much as possible, his pants being ruined and his thighs quivering on yours.

his breathing skips, surprised at your movement and the way you degrade him. he wants to cry even more.

this is so embarrassing, how long had you been awake?

he flinches when your teeth bites on his neck, marking his tired body as he relaxes from his orgasm.

“since you pulled your pants off. you’re not exactly discreet, nor can i ignore the way you whimper like a pathetic whore.” you answer, as if you knew exactly what he was going to ask.

he flushes red at that, looking deeply into your eyes, shame disappearing wholeheartedly from his vocabulary.

“m-more?” aether stammers out.

“of course, sweetheart.” you kindly obliged.

[chocosvt]

HER | part three (m).

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

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 24.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

THE MIDWAY POINT 🎉 now i've just gotta prepare the last 3 parts! this is a chunkier chapter. it contains one of the longest scenes i've ever written (not even the full thing lol, it had to be split). but you'll see why, a lot had to "occur" :p

happy reading!! 💕

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

“Holy fuck—you really did lose your shoe.”

He hadn’t actually noticed until you were both inside his dim apartment, puddles of water now forming on the floorboards.

“I told you!”

Looking down, you had on just a black, sodden sock. With a suctioning and uncomfortably wet squelch, you managed to toe off your remaining sneaker, flinging it carefully onto the shoe mat.

Wonwoo did the same.

Thunder continued rumbling outside, with lightning hitting no more than a few seconds after. The strikes were like white knives in the sky, ripping and shearing apart the storm clouds of summer humidity.

“Jesus,” you huffed, hands moulding down your face to wipe away all the droplets, “I can’t believe you got me to run, first of all. Second of all, I can’t tell if I absolutely hated or thoroughly enjoyed that.”

“I liked it,” Wonwoo said.

“Of course you did.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to begin cleaning off his glasses and phone, not caring about all the water he was dragging so liberally everywhere. Once Wonwoo fit the frames back to his face, he was able to clearly see you still standing by the door, and he appreciated that you didn’t want to make a mess of his living room even though it wouldn’t matter to him one teensy tiny bit.

Your fingers picked in a distracted manner at the clusters of your dripping hair, meanwhile soft, watery mascara dappled down your arched cheeks, framing you akin to a detailed and evocative painting. That hemmed, white t-shirt was clinging in soaked wrinkles to your heaving torso and chest, revealing subtle imprints of all the bare skin underneath. And Wonwoo found himself looking. Not in a lecherous, tainted way, but in the simple fact that you were…

He suddenly bit down on his inner cheek, curled his hand into a fist where he could easily dig at the scars on his thumb.

To Wonwoo, you were so indescribably beautiful, standing near his doorway, soaked to the bone in the rebirth of rainfall.

He had always thought you were pretty, but in that moment, he knew it was more than just that—it was a realization that stopped the breath in his lungs and the heavy beats his heart was just barely making. At least, that was how it felt. Wonwoo sensed his panic flare up for a split second, and then it simmered away into casual nervousness. Before his eyes could linger long enough to get caught, he remembered to take a deep inhale and reground his thoughts. You stopped fiddling with your hair and sniffled.

“Um, is it okay if I jump in your shower? I mean—well, it’s your place, so if you want to get yourself sorted first, that’s fine.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”

You smiled back at him, adjusting the small leather bag strewn over your shoulder. He hoped your journal wasn’t soaked.

“Are you sure?”

“Well—okay, let me just run into my room and grab some clothes. I’ll dry off real quick in the washroom and change. I promise it’ll take me less than like, five minutes.”

“That’s probably best. I’ll just keep standing here.”

Hopping his way across the apartment, Wonwoo made it into his bedroom where he began ripping open the dresser drawers, pulling out some basic clothes like sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, he slipped into the washroom, peeling all the sopping, disgustingly sticky articles from his body and throwing them into the sink. Once he rubbed off with a towel, Wonwoo quickly got dressed—probably the fastest he’d ever put on clothes in his entire life. You were still standing patiently by the door when Wonwoo returned to the living room, having dumped his wet outfit into the laundry hamper.

“I’m making a colossal sized puddle right now.” You laughed.

“Ha—that’s okay,” Wonwoo answered, handing you a clean towel he’d pulled from his toiletries closet. “I’ll take care of it.”

You started walking toward the corridor, and then stopped.

“Do you think you have any clothes that might fit me? It’s just—I obviously don’t want to wear this again," you said, gesturing to the t-shirt and long skirt damply flush to your figure.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll look through my dresser and closet and pick out some stuff—you can see which fits best. I’ll throw your clothes and mine into the laundry as well—get it all clean and warmed up.”

“I’d love that, thank you.”

While you started undressing in his washroom, Wonwoo began sorting through all the clothes he had, pulling out older t-shirts and even some shorts, though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fit you. He heard you turn on the shower and wait for it to start heating.

Once Wonwoo was satisfied with all the options he’d picked, he knocked a few times on the washroom door. It was pulled open rather quickly, and he saw you standing in the threshold of thickening, hot steam, holding the spare towel closed at your chest.

“For you. There’s a whole bunch of sizes.”

“Okay, thank you so much. Do you want my clothes?”

“Yeah—that’s all of it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Okay. Take your time. I’m gonna run to the basement and get these in the laundry. I’ll probably be back up in like, five minutes. If you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be able to hear it.”

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how long it took you to shower, mostly because he was too occupied with looking out the windowpanes from his seat at the couch, watching the downpour continue, the evening dimness that flooded the room, and the liquified twinkling of city lights flickering behind all the rain. However, once you emerged from his bedroom and padded into the living area, dressed in a dark blue, logoed shirt from the neatly folded pile he’d handed you, Wonwoo had snapped back to the present. You smiled at him, and he saw that your face was now cleaned of the runny mascara and makeup.

“Oh—uh, our clothes are still in the laundry.”

“That’s okay,” you answered while walking around the coffee table. “I knew they wouldn’t be done right away. I’m fine to wait.”

Wonwoo proceeded to sit up straighter against the couch, rather than his slouched, wide spread position that he’d unconsciously sunk into before when staring vacantly into the rain.

“And, uh—just so you know, I’m wearing an embarrassing lack of clothes right now,” you admitted through your teeth, taking a ginger seat beside him. “So, like, not that I’m saying you’re going to be weird about it ‘cause I know you won’t be, but, do you have a blanket or something that I can toss over my lap?”

Immediately, Wonwoo got up from the couch.

“Yeah, there’s one in my room. I’ll grab it.”

He saw that your bag was also left in his bedroom, so he took it out with him, a few remaining droplets still bulbed on the surface.

“It’s probably not as soft as the one at your place.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You flapped the blanket out and settled it primly over your legs. “And thanks for grabbing my bag, too.”

Wonwoo collapsed back onto the sofa.

“I hope your journal’s not ruined.”

After fishing around inside the pouch, you pulled out your phone, and then the leather notebook, which was completely dry.

“Oh, thank God. I’d actually be so pissed if it was wet, probably more so than my phone.” You flipped through the pages, feeling for any splotches or tears. “I prevail, after all.”

Wonwoo smiled, and fluffed a hand through his hair.

“If you decide to stay longer because the rain won’t let up, I can always try to make you supper, or something. I can’t promise that it will be the best meal of your life, but I’m not that incompetent.”

“Oh—but what if I want something extravagant?” You smirked while flitting through your text messages. “Like buttery lobster with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables?”

He scratched under the pad of his glasses.

“Is that what you usually eat?”

“No. Only when I’m feeling super fancy. I force Mingyu to cook it for me because he’s good at that stuff. Really, I shouldn’t have to ask him—” you glanced at Wonwoo, smiling, “—he should just do it.”

“Well, if you decide to stay, I can make the next best thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Looking into his kitchen, Wonwoo laughed at himself.

“Ramen.”

“Oh! I actually love ramen,” you exclaimed, shuffling up your legs under the blanket. “And I would totally stay, but I promised Princess that I’d come to her new place at six o’clock-ish to help do some unpacking. Once my clothes are all done, I’ll probably get her to come pick me up. I don't know when the rain's gonna stop."

“That’s fine,” Wonwoo replied with an accepting, warm expression, even though on the inside, he was rotting in disappointment because he would have given anything for you to stay and eat supper, maybe watch a movie afterward, order ice cream.

He hated when you would leave. It left him to swim alone with his own thoughts—mostly consumed by you—and dreadfully wait until he could see or hear from you again. As Wonwoo stared off into space, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz.

It was a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: hey sir-dork-a-lot

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]:  you asked her about the party yet?!

Fuck. The stupid party. The Solar Pop incident with Mingyu.

Wonwoo had completely forgot that was somehow supposed to wedge his way into receiving an invite, when he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Parties genuinely weren’t his scene.

Especially the kind that Mingyu and his friend, Seungcheol, would throw. But, at the same time, there was this very small seed of curiosity planted in his stomach—that, maybe, Wonwoo should just shoulder off his hatred of loud, cramped spaces and obnoxious university students chugging all their drinks straight from the bottle. If he just tried his best to stay calm, stay level-headed, breathe, then perhaps Wonwoo could survive a night partying with Vernon, as fucking ridiculous and deluded as it sounded.

He glanced over at you, who was texting someone.

God. Did he really want to ruin this calm, comfortable moment right now to ask about your boyfriend’s big slosh-fest?

“So, I noticed in your schedule, like, two weeks into June, you’re gonna be off the call for three days, I think.”

You scratched your cheek, continuing to text.

“Oh, yeah. I thought I already brought that up, but maybe I’m thinking of a conversation with someone else.” Shutting off your phone, you started sliding it around the blanket while talking. “It’s this big party that Mingyu’s helping to host with his friend from basketball, Seungcheol. I don't know if you're familiar with him. They do it every summer. It’s always so much fun, but I get so fucked up that I need at least two days recovery.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was.

“Yeah. I know Mingyu’s trying to get coke from Vernon.”

You stopped playing with the phone, instead looking immediately to Wonwoo through the rays of gradual light that began easing past the gentler rain. He held his breath.

“Right, Vernon.” You almost shuddered.

“Yeah…”

“If he can get his hands on it, then, fuck, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Mingyu invited him, of course. As long as he doesn’t slink up to me and try to convince me the ten different ways he can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I guess I shouldn’t whine.”

Wonwoo was embarrassed for his friend—it was a pretty rough situation, he would imagine. Not his most shining moment.

“I know he’s your bestie,” you said, stretching your legs out onto the coffee table, “and I’m not going to judge you to your face, but I will be judging you, silently, in the recesses of my own mind.”

Snickering, Wonwoo rubbed a hand down his neck.

“The transparency’s nice, I suppose. But, yeah. I understand why you’d have a gripe with him. To be fair, he’s not that bad. He’s a good guy that’s wrapped up in some shitty habits. I’m sure you taught him a lesson that night. It gave him a serious degree of humbling.”

“Pfft. Did it, now?”

Wonwoo opened his mouth, but he didn’t speak, and it was then you doubled over in laughter at him, patting a hand on his knee.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just deal.”

“I know you will… and, like, be safe and stuff.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

“Oh, yeah. No need to worry. I know my limits… okay—well, actually, I shouldn’t say that—I have a vaguely good idea of where my limits are, and sometimes I happen to surpass them. Not by ignorance, though. My mind is just too mushy at that point to care.”

“How incredibly rambunctious,” Wonwoo replied. “You’re probably blacklisted everywhere; a walking threat, actually.

“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, folding your arms. “If you were trying to wiggle your way into being invited, I’m revoking it now.”

“Well, that soils my next question.”

You raised your eyebrows, “… which is?”

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t process that he was about to ask such a pathetic question. He tried thinking about it more as an out-of-body experience, where it wasn’t really his true conscience taking the sails. You kept watching him, waiting for his response.

Thankfully, you didn’t grant him the breadth to speak, and he was certain a lively hue of colour had just flushed back to his face.

“Oh, you’re being serious. You want to go?”

“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted, pushing up his glasses. “But, uh, I don’t know. It helps that Vernon will be there. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a party person—not at all. Just, it could be a good opportunity for… um… well, I really can’t explain why, actually.”

“Hm.” Your eyes narrowed. “I assume it’s Vernon pushing you into it for some stupid reason… I mean, I have no issues with you going, of course!” He watched you adjust your legs under the blanket, tucking them back beneath you. “But just so you know, these parties are kinda intense and can be a major sensory overload—even for me! And I know that you don’t like talking about it but I’m not sure how well it bodes to put you in a position where you might have… uh, never mind, actually. I shouldn’t speak on stuff that doesn’t concern me. I just care about your wellbeing.”

Wonwoo pushed his lips together. A slight rush of something warm and tingly flowered at his core and he couldn’t tell if he absolutely loved it or wanted the feeling to wither up and die. More light streamed through his windows as the rain weaned off and the sky morphed from grey back to a softer, evening powder blue.

“I appreciate your concern,” he answered after an almost questionable silence, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Oh, sorry—I just wanted to be sure.”

“It’s okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Wonwoo twiddled his thumbs while you stared down at the blanket, presumably thinking.

“I would love for you to come, then.”

He caught you smiling at him after extending the offer in a quiet voice. The outside light filled up your eyes like a glass of swirling gold and Wonwoo believed your earnesty. And while he knew Vernon would be elated that he was able to come, Wonwoo was fighting to understand if he felt more relieved or terrified.

—JUNE 15TH.

Coming home from his long shift at the pharmacy, it was some time past eleven at night. The day hadn’t been extremely busy, but Wonwoo found it always slowed down the most dramatically when he was absolutely itching to leave. He tried his best to get relaxed, jumping into a warm but short shower, making himself a cup of chamomile tea, looking back on some favourite excerpts from the journal he kept buried away in the first drawer on his nightstand.

Wonwoo willed himself not to look at any screens. And, yet, as he sat in his bed, drinking the last few sips of tea from his hot, porcelain cup, Wonwoo’s eyes flickered across the room to his desk where his laptop was placed, and he felt this ticking urge to write.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to do.

After all, he’d been putting in a significant effort to fix that godawful, nightmarish sleep schedule of his, and while his ventures weren’t always the most successful, Wonwoo was making notable strides. To throw that all away—just to pick open his laptop and most likely end up staring straight into a lurid, white screen, while nothing of actual substance came to his fingertips—it was fruitless, and perhaps a bit stupid. He knew he needed to let that story die.

The longer it sat, collecting pixelated dust on his desktop, the more it made sense to simply delete it. Move on. Acknowledge the fact that this relationship he once perceived as so perfect and glimmering had ended, and trying to find some wisps of closure in forcing himself to complete a fizzled romance was pointless. It made so much sense. Besides, Wonwoo was happier now than he had been back in March, April, May. And, he could attribute much of that to someone he once feared and poorly understood—you.

It was hard to describe, but you had been this flare—a comet more like—that kind of blazed with an uncontrolled fire into his very bleak life. And while he’d definitely felt your scorching, uncomfortable sting more than once, he was able to realize there was something so unique and enriching about you. Because you weren’t just an uncontrollable fire, you were a full body laugh that made it hard to breath, but in the best, most treasured way. You were the quiet stillness of a pond, deep in the woods, listening to all the sounds that thrived around you, even though it didn’t always seem like it.

And you were this very soft, caressing breeze that always found Wonwoo, even when he was at his lowest valleys, giving him that sensation of a shiver to let him know that he was still alive and breathing and not so horribly numb as he thought himself to be.

That was something he’d never experienced before.

It scared him somewhat, but there was comfort in the thought, nonetheless. True, warm, and pure comfort.

Wonwoo sighed, blinking away from his laptop.

He should probably just go to bed.

Once he washed his teacup out in the kitchen, Wonwoo started brushing his teeth. That big summer party he was supposed to attend with Vernon was tomorrow night, and to call him nervous was a complete understatement. Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he threw up. He would probably have to smoke a bit before leaving, just to mellow out. Of course, Vernon was overflowing with excitation, and maybe that was a good thing—he could be Wonwoo’s buffer.

Since your day together at the museum, Wonwoo had revisited your apartment twice to help with further proofreading and editing. He would be downright lying if he claimed that having to read through a memoire of your fulgurant love for Mingyu wasn’t disheartening or turning him occasionally bitter. Wonwoo wanted to be happy that you were so devoted to him, you could write an entire book detailing all your sweetest moments and fondest memories and the overall history of your love. But he wasn’t happy in the slightest.

You made him happy—not you, plus Mingyu

Continuing to brush his teeth, Wonwoo heard his phone ding once, and then again from his bedroom. And while he hadn’t wanted to look at any screens tonight, he figured that responding to a couple texts wouldn’t thwart all his progress. With the toothbrush still hanging from the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo flopped backward onto the bed and yanked his phone off the charger. While he was expecting the messages to be from Vernon due to their late sending, he was quite surprised to see they were actually from you.

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: IMG.2102

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: do I look pretty?

Immediately, Wonwoo shuffled up onto his elbows, tapping at the picture you had sent him. When he nearly choked on the excess of minty foam stuck in his mouth, Wonwoo quickly ran into the washroom to spit it all out. He recognized the outfit you were wearing in the photo—it was that white two-piece from the boutique in the mall that you had tried on, with the high-waisted, short, tight skirt and the strapped top that wrapped around the back of your neck and criss-crossed over your chest. Coming back to his bed to sit down, Wonwoo leaned over with an elbow digging into his knee.

Did you mean to send that to him?

For a moment, his thumbs just hovered above the keyboard, attempting to concoct a coherent thought in his mind. He recognized the large, silver-bordered mirror from your bedroom. And while the phone was slightly covering your face, you had this leg crooked up in a sweet, almost delicate pose despite the open and revealing nature of the outfit. Wonwoo rubbed under his glasses, huffing out deeply.

[ Wonwoo | 11:55 pm ]: Did you mean to send this?

He prayed you didn’t take his text the wrong way.

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: um yes

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: ur wonwoo, aren’t u?

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: I just wanted to know what u thought of the outfit I’m gonna wear. I know u have already seen it. but just in case u forgot I wanted to send another pic lol

[ Her | 11:56 pm ]: u think it’s bad? :(

Sitting back against his pillows, Wonwoo completely forgot all about his ‘no screens’ rule, texting you as quickly as possible.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: No, it doesn’t look bad at all.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: You look gorgeous.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: and ur not just saying that?

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: No, of course not.

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: You’ll be the prettiest there.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: omgg thxx <3 okay I feel better now

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: Why? What happened?

At that moment, Wonwoo actually received a text from Seokmin, but he rapidly flicked it away. Another text followed, and Wonwoo swore he flicked it away even faster, as though Seokmin was actually talking into his ear despite the quietness of his bedroom.

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: Mingyu told me he doesn’t really like it bc the skirt part is too short and he doesn’t like the top. he says it’s too revealing and that everyone will just be looking at my boobs lol. but I don’t want to change it :/ I like how it fits and it’s not like i’m going to be doing cartwheels or gymnastics

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: idk he just made me feel bad about it

Wonwoo proceeded to rub a hand through his locks of clean, black hair, pulling them messily all over his head as he thought.

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: Hm. Well I do agree that it’s revealing and you probably will have people staring at you. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable by that it’s fine. You’ll just have to be careful if you bend over or dance around, that’s all :) But I’m sure you already know that. You look beautiful. Don’t worry too much.

[ Her | 12:00 am ]: okayy thank you so much! :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: No problem.

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: I’m so glad that ur coming

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: it makes me feel better

[ Wonwoo | 12:01 am ]: Hopefully I can find you.

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: I’ll text you, no worries

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: mkay well I should go to bed now!

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: goodnight <3

[ Wonwoo | 12:02 am ]: Goodnight.

At last, Wonwoo clicked off the bright glare from his phone, setting it down against his chest. For at least five minutes, he did nothing but lay remarkably still in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking—as he usually did—about why he was feeling that way.

That very certain, specific way that was so demanding in his heartbeat to be acknowledged, except for the fact Wonwoo wouldn’t acknowledge it because then he’d throw up and probably lose himself entirely as he panicked.

Eventually, his thoughts were becoming too loud for his liking, and Wonwoo promptly tossed his phone aside and crawled underneath the covers before turning off the bedside lamp.

Even then, Wonwoo was restless. When he tried rolling onto his side, the uncomfortable poking against his nose reminded him he hadn’t even removed his glasses. At first it was too hot, and Wonwoo pointed his leg out from beneath the blankets, pushing all the sheets down to rumple at his waist. But then it was notably cold after a few more minutes, and Wonwoo angrily stirred all his blankets back up to mask over his face. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself or what limb he decided to sacrifice to the hot-cold air, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Wonwoo’s eyes popped open again.

Patting around the surface of the bed, his fingers eventually brushing the phone and glasses he’d discarded, Wonwoo decided he didn’t care about going to sleep anymore if that was how his body was going to so painfully treat him. He shuffled up more against the pillows splayed at his back and checked the messages sent by Seokmin about half an hour ago—the two boys hadn’t spoken in a while, almost since their exams ended in May, and while Wonwoo would have ideally liked to keep in touch with his friend, he was laughably horrible at it. At least Seokmin seemed chipper.

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: Hey Wonwoo!

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: I heard you were going to Mingyu and Seungcheol’s party! I didn’t think that would be something you’re into but I’ll also be there, probably for a couple hours

Wonwoo swiped out from the texts, not really feeling anything or thinking much about their content, and opened some messages from Vernon that he’d received at work but forgot to read.

[ Vernon |  9:55 pm ]: need a drive 4 the party?

[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: let me know beautiful xo

He couldn’t help but muster a chuckle at the teasing nature of his friend’s texts, though Wonwoo didn’t respond, making a mental note to answer the next day, instead. For another moment or two, he continued sitting in the dark shadows of his room, staring down at the only light which caught the reflection in his glasses. Wonwoo’s thumb at first hesitated, but then he was reopening his earlier conversation with you, and with a few upward flicks, he was back on that cute photo you’d sent him. It hadn’t left his mind at all.

This huge lump of guilt had come to sit in his gut like an anchor for a reason that Wonwoo didn’t begin recognizing, that is until he finally felt the pull from somewhere deep inside him—the thought had entered his mind and he knew if he just ignored it for even a second it would dissipate. But then, Wonwoo didn’t ignore it, because he didn’t truly want that. He was going to be selfish in that instance and sink into the pull, the heat—not dismissing the thought but the guilt he would later drown in—the shame of it all.

Wonwoo kicked off his mask of bedsheets, letting them settle in a slow puff around his ankles.

In the beginning, all of it felt so bizarre. The hand that twisted underneath his sweatpants, and then his boxers, coming to softly graze fingertips along his hardening shaft—he hadn’t done this in weeks. Wonwoo rarely experienced sexual frustration. It just wasn’t something that bothered him. But the absent tendency would always build up and inevitably break at some point and he hated that you were the cool, breathtaking breeze to push him over that cliff.

With the edges of his fingers, Wonwoo continued to stroke along himself, up and down, just barely touching. It would make his knee jolt or his thigh twitch, but the longer he teased, the more each touch transformed. The pleasure was soaking through and leading him in deeper until Wonwoo tilted up his hips in order to shove down the elastic waist of his sweatpants and underwear. The air was so cold but dually welcomed against his erection that he began pumping to full length in his hand, feeling it throb and grow and stiffen.

Wonwoo let his eyes flutter toward the phone he was holding at his stomach, examining your figure from head to toe. It was wrong and he fucking knew it, but as he rubbed a palm at his most sensitive head and felt the cum start to leak down his cock, Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to scale the acceptableness of his actions.

In that moment, Wonwoo looked at you in all the ways he shouldn’t. He pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut while he lubricated himself in squeezing, slow strokes with his own arousal. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, refusing to drop it.

You were bright and flashing in his mind and Wonwoo wanted to know all of it—he wanted to know the feeling of your silk, swollen lips leaving warm kisses up his shaft. He wanted to know the sensation of your tongue laving messy circles around his tip, teasing him, purring at him, staring up at him with those intimidating, sharp eyes that had always seemed beyond frightening. He wanted to know the sounds you would make if you ever so kindly allowed him to settle between your thighs. He knew how fucking beautiful your cunt would be and he could only imagine your taste would utterly melt him.

His fist wrapped tighter, pumped faster, and despite his usual quiet temperament in bed, a throaty, deep whine caught in Wonwoo’s throat. He took another look at your picture, and somewhere amongst the smog of pleasure that thickly hazed his logic, Wonwoo felt this transient, selfish anger, because in that moment, he wanted you. He needed you. He would do fucking anything you asked him and more because there was so much weight you held in his life. Wonwoo just wanted to make you happy and he couldn’t help but burn with the desperation to treat you better than anyone else ever had.

Knowing he was going to shatter soon, Wonwoo braced himself through the torture that was removing his hand and letting the intense, throbbing accumulation of pleasure ebb from his cock.

He gritted his teeth at the frustrating feeling.

But there was a reason for his decision. Looking back to the phone still aglow, Wonwoo swiped out from your picture and began scrolling higher up in the conversation, seeking out something particular that had jumped into his memory. And once he found it, there was an even denser feeling of guilt he had to ignore.

Last week, you ended up sending him a voice note because you were too exhausted to even bother typing. It wasn’t that the audio contained anything even relatively lascivious, since you were mostly just rambling about your day and never quite finishing a thought.

However, Wonwoo loved your voice. He loved hearing it in person and through his phone’s crappy speakers, especially when you sounded so sleepy, and your tone would soften, the occasional sigh or gentle breath hitting his ear just perfectly. Placing his hand back around his erection, Wonwoo hit play on your voice note and laid the phone beside his head on the pillow. He managed to smile through the pleasure that was rebuilding inside him as he intently listened.

“Um, hi, so—ah! Sorry, my phone just fucking slid under the covers, oh my God. But, yeah, I’m sending a voice note ‘cause I’m drop dead exhausted from today. It was the worst. My legs hurt so bad that I could hardly carry myself to bed. Ugh. Anyway… okay, sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say… oh yeah! So—”

It all felt too euphoric—too warm and overwhelming and the more Wonwoo listened to your sweet voice the more he felt himself pulsate with how badly he needed you. He planted one foot to his mattress, using it for stability and leverage as his hips thrust upward and he began unbridled fucking into his own hand. More than anything in the universe he wanted it to be your cunt—your pretty, wet, soft cunt cushioning him in and gushing all over him. He was going to drive himself fucking crazy at the thought, so much that Wonwoo began begging for you in his husky, deep, quivering voice.

Most was complete incoherency, dipping into confusing, jumbled whimpers of his English and native Korean tongue. Your voice was right there by his ear, though he was hardly processing a word. His orgasm was going to collapse over him like a tidal wave and all Wonwoo could do was succumb as he continued pumping his strained cock. His breathing was laboured, heavy. He kept stuttering and pleading for you into the sheer darkness of his bedroom.

Lots of “pl-please” and “f-ffuck, fuck, fuck!” and “m’gonna cc-cum for you, I want t’cum for you, I need it all inside of you, put it all so deep in your p-perfect cunt”—and plenty more tainted things he would take to his grave before he would ever confess to uttering.

As the voice note came to its end, Wonwoo had slammed his fist down for the last time. He immediately turned his cheek to the pillow, ignoring how the rounded glasses dug into his face, simply because his moan was too broken and shamefully loud. His cock started throbbing with the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt against his palm. The cum dribbled down his ghost-white knuckles. Wonwoo refused to even glance at the mess he was making. With a few more shaky pumps of his fist, he’d milked out all he possibly could, some spurts landing on his rumpled t-shirt. At last, he could exhale.

Lifting himself up with his clean hand, Wonwoo took a few moments to simply breathe. His entire body was still racing with adrenaline and hormones and the pure rush of his self-orchestrated ecstasy. But, pushing between all the energy was his guilt—the fact of what he’d just done and how he’d so blatantly used you to make himself feel good. Wonwoo glanced back at his phone and the voice note in the conversation. Immediately, he clicked the device off, and there was strictly still, shapeless blackness that surrounded him.

What the fuck had he just done?

How was he supposed to text you, look at you, talk to you, knowing he’d officially jerked off to your picture and your voice. Even worse—it was probably the best his masturbation had ever felt. It was all so fucking heavenly in the moment that he thought he might die.

Wonwoo had no idea what to make of his actions.

His feelings for you.

But he thought he should at least tidy himself up.

—JUNE 16TH

Before Vernon had come by in his car, Wonwoo was caught in an exhausting and sickening guessing game of whether or not he needed to throw up. His lower stomach was in complete knots, prompting him to pace back and forth outside the washroom door, because sitting down was going to make him ruminate even more over how terribly nervous he was. Thankfully, however, Wonwoo never threw up, and he was able to calm himself a bit by rolling a blunt, sparking it while sat at the open windowsill in his bedroom.

There was also help from the nighttime breeze that touched against his warm face, a sensation he had always found so soothing.

Just before ten at night, Wonwoo received the critical text from Vernon—he was parked outside on the street. He’d fully smoked his blunt at the time of the message, and he pathetically prayed to himself that his nerves wouldn’t sizzle back up at the worst possible time as he locked his apartment door. Once Wonwoo had stepped outside, he spotted Vernon’s old vanilla Camry stalled beside the postal box across the street. He was kind enough to reach over and push the door open for Wonwoo, who quickly shuffled into his seat.

Immediately, Wonwoo received his usual greeting.

“Hey, Glasses.”

He gave a nod back in response, buckling on the seatbelt.

“So, you smell like confusin’ mix of straight cannabis and a fuckin’ breezy Caribbean Ocean tide. How the fuck does that work?”

“Uh, I put on cologne. And then I smoked?”

“You nervous, then?” Vernon asked through his trademark conniving smirk, meanwhile he began steering out onto the street.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous,” Wonwoo almost laughed back at the obvious nature of the question and habitually checked his friend’s blind spot. “I don’t even go to like, dinner parties.”

“Pfft, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The good thing about parties like these—everyone gets so fucked it’s unlikely they’ll remember some nervous dweeb like yourself. Amongst all that chaos, you’ll blend straight in. There’s nothin’ to be shaked up about. I promise ‘ya.”

Wonwoo merely huffed in response, opting to let Vernon focus on driving and working the car’s outdated stereo while he checked his phone. Actually, Wonwoo had wanted to text you before he left the apartment, but he was still stomaching all the rigid guilt that came with jerking himself off to your pretty picture and voice note the night before. It was a stupid, stupid choice.

All those thoughts that had been stampeding through his head—wanting you and needing you and craving to belong with you in a way that could never reach true fruition—Wonwoo had to convince himself it was all meaningless. His mind had conjured those ridiculous sentiments when his logic was razor thin and overcome by the deception of his lust, and, therefore, he refused to accept those urges were even close to his actual feelings for you. He clicked his phone back off, not meaning to sigh aloud but doing so anyway.

Vernon then shot him a speculative glance through the rear-view mirror, though Wonwoo barely caught it. He looked out the window instead, at all the passing lights and people who were eager to spend their Friday night doing something stimulating.

“So, I know you’re probably just thinkin’ to yourself over there, as you usually do,” his friend said, fiddling with the radio until the static noise died back into music, “but I think it’s all too funny.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose, continuing to watch the nightlife slip by his tracing eyes outside the window.

“Hm? What’s funny?”

Vernon chuckled. “All that shit you said to me, like, over a month ago. We’re not friends. And now, you n’Her hang out all the time. I think she’s pumpin’ some actual life back into you. You’re not like you were before, y’know? Which is good to see. So, what I wanna know now is—would you say the same? Or is she your friend?”

Right, Wonwoo remembered the conversation Vernon was referring to—the night his friend drove him home after a tiresome shift at the pharmacy. With his entire chest, Wonwoo had claimed you two weren’t friends. There had been a lot of truth to it, at least from his perspective. Or, maybe, he’d crushed down the prospect of it so vehemently because Wonwoo had just assumed someone like you would have no interest in honestly befriending him.

He could offer you something, and that was it.

But, now…

“You’d have to ask her,” Wonwoo answered, shrugging.

Instantly, Vernon groaned.

“God, that’s such a fuckin’ cop-out answer, Glasses.”

“Well, what the fuck should I say? Yes, we’re friends, but then you might go and ask her, and she’ll say otherwise.”

“So what?” Vernon engaged, raising his hand partially off the steering wheel in a half-gesture. “So fuckin’ what if she says that? If you think of her as a friend then commit to that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” His voice became firmer, more convictional.

Wonwoo tilted his head back against the seat. It’s not that he didn’t think you were friends—it was more so that he might to admit it, and then the relationship could all fall apart, crash like a burning, charred asteroid at his feet. And then Wonwoo would be back in the same self-inflicted crater he was before, thinking he had a genuine connection in his life only to have the rug pulled out from under him.

“… I don’t know.”

“No, you do know. But I see you wanna be all secretive about it and keep your cards close to the chest. So, whatever.”

Rubbing at the edge of his nose, Wonwoo took a quiet moment for himself to muse. He wanted another blunt.

“I don’t think she’ll be that excited to see me.” Vernon said.

Turning his head, Wonwoo looked to his friend and laughed.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.”

“Think she’ll rip my head off?” Vernon joked with a big, gummy grin, relaxing back into his seat. “That might be kinda hot.”

“No—it would be traumatizing, actually.”

“She better not,” his friend answered, slapping his glove compartment and smirking pridefully. “I’ve got her goddamn coke.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’ve never seen a street this packed…”

Vernon couldn’t help his awe from spilling out as he navigated at a snail’s pace down the road, each and every available spot that lined the curb being occupied by a vehicle. Wonwoo spotted a few groups making their way up the sidewalks, toward the colossal sized house to the distant right of the street. Seungcheol lived in Hill Crest, just like your parents, but he seemed poised at the neighbourhood’s opposite end—probably ideal for throwing an outrageous party that would otherwise magnetize the entire police task force to the door.

Wonwoo glanced down at his phone.

Seokmin had sent him a text a few minutes ago, inquiring if him and Vernon were close by or at the house. He sent a message back about the worrying lack of parking spaces, and then continued to help Vernon search through the overcrowd for a hopeful pocket.

“Fuck… this isn’t lookin’ good…” Vernon lamented.

“I doubt there will be anything close to the house,” Wonwoo sighed, folding his arms in doubt. “It could be best to make a turn or go around the block? We might just have to take a hike.”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe doesn’t take fuckin’ hikes,” his friend jabbed, antsy fingers sculpting into his bitten lip while the other hand catered to steering the wheel. “I have this dude’s blow. Doesn’t that earn me a VIP-guest-list-skip-the-line type plot?”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Should’ve sorted that out earlier, man.”

“Shut your dorky ass up. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

At that moment, the phone slid between his thighs vibrated with another text from Seokmin. His eyes widened at the invite.

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Oh dw about street parking!

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Use the gate at the house

“I think you’re right. I might have to turn,” Vernon announced in a defeated breath, brushing a hand through his dust black hair. “Get ready to see the best three-point turn that’s ever been turnt.”

“Just wait one minute,” Wonwoo then answered, leaning forward in his seat as he began to text Seokmin for more details.

[ Wonwoo | 10:41 pm ]: Gate?

[ Seokmin | 10:41 pm ]: Seungcheol’s got a gate that leads to this little underground parking thing. Some of his and Mingyu’s close friends are using it. Her’s friends, too

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: Uh… I don’t know haha.

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: I asked Seungcheol, it’s fine!

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: You sure?

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Yup

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Gate code is #1142!

“Don’t turn around, go up to the driveway and look for a gate,” Wonwoo instructed. “Apparently, this dude’s got an underground parking space. Seokmin gave me the code for it.”

“Jesus Christ,” disbelieving laughter swelled up from Vernon’s chest as he proceeded along the street. “This guy’s like, rich-rich. I wanna see all that fuckin’ cash up front. Bills in every colour.”

Wonwoo was just relieved that Seokmin was telling the truth, though he was nonetheless extremely anxious about using the parking space, and something sharp in his abdomen tightened upon reaching that bronze gate. Vernon had to roll down his window and partially lean outside to press in the code read from Wonwoo’s phone.

They both cast each other a bewildered glance when the gate separated automatically, allowing them access down the slant.

“Rich people can just do whatever they fuck they want, can’t they?” Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me not to steal anything while we’re wanderin’ around in there.”

But Wonwoo couldn’t say anything even half-conscious in response to his friend’s lazy joke. He was too busy focusing his breathing.

“Jeez, it's about time, huh?” Vernon’s words sounded rife with electricity as they approached the main entryway to the house, the brisk, nighttime air blowing back against their heated faces.

They had already witnessed several people slipping inside and out, to which the shuddering, clear blurt of the music would escape the doorway—not that they couldn’t hear it already. The deep and rhythmic bass was emanating from within Seungcheol’s house like a growl caught in a beast’s belly, and Wonwoo could only fathom what kind of damage his eardrums might sustain after the night was over.

Right before Vernon could touch the handle, the doors abruptly burst open with an aggressive swing, revealing two girls who were latched hand in hand, giggling to each other. The distinct stench of marijuana clouded after them down the steps.

Vernon opted to catch the left door before it could close.

“After you, Glasses,” he invited with an almost glimmering smirk, then gesturing inward at the practical void that awaited him—auroras of flashing light, loud conversation, and pounding music.

It seemed like stepping into another universe.

“Thanks for the chivalry,” Wonwoo answered.

He then forced himself into the mansion, not allowing the empty space in his mind to concoct ample regret or doubt. Vernon followed suit, the large door slamming shut in a forbidding manner behind the two boys, akin to a shoving a cork on a glass bottle and capturing all the sand grains inside. Wonwoo knew he could leave, though it didn’t feel like it. However, he didn’t want to act defeated before even starting the night. Maybe some of Seokmin’s miraculous optimism gloss would rub off on him before it was too late.

The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea what to think or do nor could he develop one sensible, sound thought that he might express to Vernon—the house was alive with what seemed to be a mighty sea of people. Some were mingling with their drinks loosely held in an attempt to feign casualness, pitching conversation despite the unrelenting music. Others were clashed together, dirty dancing, hands carnally wandering, probably thinking nothing other than how good it felt to be a part of the moment. Everything was so dim and dark. Lights blotched around the room in deep purples and blues.

Wonwoo had suddenly forgotten how to even move.

Until Vernon’s hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, what should we start with?!” His friend had practically shouted over the music and its hypnotizing synths. “Do you wanna get a drink? Smoke one out? Or should we find Seokmin?”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at him, trying hard through the murkiness and heat to match the words he was hearing with Vernon’s lips. The environment would take a bit getting used to.

“Also—,” he then grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder, “—let’s move away from the door before we get fuckin’ trampled, yeah?”

Vernon helped guide Wonwoo further into the main living area, down a few stairs and toward the large square of couches. There was hardly any room to sit without being uncomfortably close to someone else—they were either in another person’s lap, swapping a disgusting amount of liquored spit, or completely faded and about as coherent as a rock. Wonwoo didn’t want to sit, anyway. He looked down at his phone, noticing that Seokmin had texted him again.

“Um, what do you want to do?” He decided to flip the question on Vernon, not wanting to be tasked with the decision.

Besides, he assumed his friend would know better.

“Me? I want a fuckin’ drink!” Vernon began to look around, though the air was notably veiled with a thin smoke and all the bodies were obstructing much view of anything. “Oh—I told you already, didn’t I?! That I’m definitely intendin’ to get shitfaced?! Did you figure out a ride in case you wanted t’go home later on?”

As Vernon began his quest to find a drink, Wonwoo was right behind him, remembering that Vernon had mentioned it already.

“I know!” He called out while reading Seokmin’s text.

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: There’s like two big living spaces

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: We’re not in the main one tho, easiest way is to go through the kitchen and out the other side!

Wonwoo had thought you would text him, and he couldn’t evade his disappointment at the expectation. He decided to assume that maybe you just didn’t know he was there yet. At most, he hoped you weren’t too blasted and at least cognizant enough to hold a conversation with him. Though, Wonwoo had not one inkling as to what you were like at parties. He could only imagine from the scattered bits and pieces he’d heard from yourself and Vernon. 

As Wonwoo followed Vernon down a foggy corridor, he suddenly bumped into the boy’s hard back with a bothered grunt. A girl had stepped out from a threshold that led into the kitchen and he realized that Vernon was only letting her leave before they entered.

She leaned in rather close to Vernon’s face, stroking a quick, flirtatious hand along the divots in his defined chest as she lilted aloud, “thanks, gorgeous.”

Her gaze switched to linger on Wonwoo for what felt like a long, excruciating eternity before proceeding past them in a confident stride down the dark and narrow hallway. Vernon kissed his teeth, staring back at Wonwoo with that hedonistic twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay—she was fine, not gonna lie.”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “can we at least get a drink first before you decide to start fucking people?”

“Why do you think we’re at the kitchen, smart ass?”

Shaking his head in dismissal at Vernon’s snarky comment, he urged the boy impatiently into the kitchen area (which was admittedly larger than Wonwoo’s entire living space).

One side of the room was lined with arrays of salty snacks, while the opposite contained big, rounded punch bowls of pre-mixed alcohol that people were dipping into with ladles. Vernon had noticed the option to mix your own drink, and thus Wonwoo was dragged toward the kitchen island where the boys waited to pick from the various bottles of alcohol and soft drinks left scattered about.

Wonwoo peeped down at his phone again while Vernon got easily caught up in conversation with a girl preparing a lemon shot.

He finally answered Seokmin’s texts.

“Hey, Glasses!” Vernon’s hand latched onto his shoulder, giving it a shake. “This is Sierra! She’s gonna make us our drinks!”

It took him a moment to properly decipher the girl Vernon had been speaking to, though, the longer he squinted through the shifty kitchen lighting, the more he could separate her silhouette and features from the dimness. She had a comfortable smile, full and warm, trustworthy, and so Wonwoo merely shrugged his agreement.

“Don’t worry,” the girl shouted, pulling aside two solo cups and then twizzling off the bottlecap to the rum, “I’m a bartender, actually. I used to work Room 319. Now I’m at Honeymoon.”

Vernon leaned his elbows on the granite, watching with intrigue as she sloshed a decent amount of alcohol into each cup.

“Room 319? You’ve definitely seen some shit,” he cackled.

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.”

“Y’know, I tried getting this cunt to go—” Vernon jabbed an accusing thumb back at Wonwoo, “—but he’s such a flake!”

Sierra proceeded to grin quite demurely, flashing a quick, barely detectable glance toward Wonwoo, who had just managed to catch it while shoving the phone back into his pocket. She then grabbed a sweetener from amongst the clutter, tucking a short tuft of hair behind her ear before adding a small drizzle to each solo cup.

“Hey, it’s not for everybody!” Her cheeks flushed in the galactic, purplish light that flickered around the kitchen. “And, uh, this may sound weird, actually. But I recognize you, I think.”

“Oh, me?” Wonwoo was finally forced to speak.

“Yeah, uh—” she stumbled over her words a bit as she swirled the sweetener around inside the cups, “—from Bradbrook’s calculus. I think you sat a few rows ahead of me, or something. I just know because I, um—I was really close to failing the class. When I went to her for help, she gave me a ton of resources, even said I could try asking you about tutoring. She said you’re like, her best student.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, cracking his neck, “I’ve never tutored anyone—don’t know why she’d think to recommend me.”

“It’s okay! I never asked because you seemed like the type who didn’t want to be bothered,” Sierra responded, beginning to top off the drinks with some bubbling soda. “I figured it out, anyway.”

“Good for you,” Wonwoo commended.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you, ‘cause your hair would always be down over your forehead in class. But you’ve got it all brushed and styled and stuff. It looks super nice!”

He smiled at her and mumbled, “thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna get running! No matter where I end up, I always seem to be everyone’s mixologist at some point.”

Vernon dragged the alcohol over, maintaining his slouched position onto the island granite. Upon taking an experimental sip to taste the flavours and potency, his face momentarily soured, and then all his features relaxed. He was glowing like an ember, almost.

“No, that’s good. Tastes a bit like a… gummy bear?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s so delicious,” she agreed, shoving hands into her back pockets. “Tastes even better kissing it off someone.”

As Wonwoo stared down at his fizzling drink, debating his first sip, he again felt the transient flittering of her eyes ghost him.

“Go figure,” Vernon rasped, smiling, “appreciate it, player.”

“M’kay,” Sierra chirped and waved, ”bye!”

Not even a few seconds after she left, and someone else swooped in like an eagle to clasp the bottle of rum she’d once been handling, Vernon turned his head to Wonwoo with a raised brow.

“She was DTF for you, holy shit.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo sounded muffled with the solo cup now perched at his lips, allowing the drink to seep into his mouth, tasting the smoothness of the rum, and then the sweet. “What’s that mean?”

“DTF?” Vernon echoed. “Down to fuck!” He smacked his arm.

“That’s stupid and absurd.”

“Well, Glasses, you’re fuckin’ stupid and absurd if you didn’t see it. I mean, if you’re not gonna get a chance with Her, mine as well start seekin’ out what you can. Might make you less uptight.”

“No—that’s what makes you less uptight, not me.”

“I’m just sayin’, man—you’re hot and you don’t even take advantage of it. In no shapes or figures… forms? Whatever the stupid sayin’ is. You’ve got to live a little. But, whatever. Where’s Seokmin?”

“Through there, I think?” Wonwoo nodded toward a high-arched exit opposite to the side they entered the kitchen from. “That’s what he texted me. But I’ll double check anyway, to be sure.”

Flashing on his phone, Wonwoo finally saw your messages.

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: wonwooooooo

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: LIVING ROOM! I'm waiting!!!!

And just like that—like a splitting snap of the fingers—he felt everything all over again, and those nerves steamrolled him in the most pathetic way possible.

He stared down at his phone, moonfaced.

Wonwoo was happy you had remembered to message him, embarrassingly giddy at the thought, even. But he was also downright nauseous to reunite with your inquisitive friends, to meet Seungcheol, to again push through the intangible, brooding weight of seeing Mingyu. He took a gulp from the red cup, swishing the tart but sugared concoction between his cheeks before swallowing, hoping the rum burned down all his nerves in the throaty sting it left behind.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo rediscovered his voice, “through there.”

At first, he couldn’t identify you anywhere. The room was even bigger than the kitchen, just as poorly lit, with a high, pointed ceiling that somehow reminded him of the church he attended when he was too little to even properly grasp religion. But Wonwoo continued squinting through the jumbled crowd, making slow steps and surveiling the room each time alongside Vernon.

“I don’t see ‘em!” He shouted overtop the music, grabbing Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him from moulding into all the warm bodies.

“He said they’re in here!” Wonwoo raised his voice, checking his phone for another text, but seeing nothing. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Sensing that fluttering, unsteady wind in his chest, Wonwoo was eager to indulge in another sip from his cup, desperately yearning for the alcohol to fucking hurry up and take its floating effect. Yet, as the taste subdued on his tongue, Wonwoo was able to notice a slight fissure that formed in between the congregation of people—a rather perfect alignment that revealed a home bar across the room, with familiar faces seated at the stools and more laughing behind the counter. That was when Wonwoo saw you, captured in a brush stroke of sweeping, amethyst light that dappled down your body.

You were leaned leisurely against Mingyu’s chest, holding onto his arm that draped like a protective sling over your shoulder, and Wonwoo supposed it was laid there with a not-so-subtle purpose.

Mingyu was speaking to his friend and co-host, Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the home bar, his lower back digging against the counter while he had quirked his head to still see Mingyu.

One face that Wonwoo had yet to discern was Seokmin, though, in all his honestly, Wonwoo wasn’t that fixated on further searching the low dusk and marijuana plumes hanging tacky in the air. He’d found you. All those nerves dissolved into comfort.

Maybe it was shallow, but that’s what he cared about most.

“Oh!’ Vernon piped up. “Damn. They’re right down there.”

And, before the crowd could readjust themselves to drown the slivered space between yourself and Wonwoo, your head turned.

In the nick of time, you seemed to recognize him, because that hazy, unfocused nature about your countenance shifted in a mere second, and he saw a smile pick its way along your mouth, like a springtime garden at last twirling abloom. You proceeded to nudge Mingyu’s arm aside, whispering something into his ear that he didn’t quite seem to hear correctly as he maintained his lengthy talk with Seungcheol.

Wonwoo knew he was smiling, too, bigger and bigger.

You wove your way through the crowd, to which Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from the short chuckle he spat out as you impatiently shoved aside the guy that had stepped into your way.

“Move! Oh my fucking God—”

But your flash of contempt didn’t last long.

A second later, you were buckling into Wonwoo.

Your arms reached up to curl tightly around his neck, and he felt the grooves of your warm, soft body press firm against him for the first time. Wonwoo was scared at the proximity, though his pounding heart ever so gradually calmed as he took in a deep breath and smelled that faint, fresh scent—strawberries. While it was undoubtedly integrated with some sort of spicy liquor, Wonwoo didn’t care. He pulled himself into the moment—realized how fucking badly he wanted to drop the solo cup and splay his hands at the open, revealing back of your outfit and feel your bare, supple skin.

But he couldn’t. Because Wonwoo wasn’t your boyfriend.

And you weren’t his to so unabashedly touch.

“I’m so fucking happy you made it!” He heard you squeal into his ear, his smile somehow widening at your animated voice.

“Yeah? Bit of a hassle, not gonna lie," Wonwoo answered.

“Parking? I’m sorry! I should have texted you about the gate!”

“No, no,” he laughed, trying his best and gentlest way to somehow ease some space in between you, “it’s okay. Everything worked out perfectly fine in the end. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

“You sure?”

Wonwoo looked into your eyes, so enchantingly bright and glistering as you blinked at him sympathetically, wearing a tiny pout.

Fuck—he wanted to kiss you.

It was such a blatant, jarring thought that Wonwoo couldn’t respond to your worry straight away, instead pushing down his urges.

“… I’m sure.”

“Well,” you then hummed, at last relaxing your hold around his neck and making some very unwanted but necessary space between your bodies, “is it still true?” You bit your lip afterward.

“Hm? Is what still true?”

Upon Wonwoo furrowing his brow, you pressed into him again, reaching up to his ear where you could comfortably talk and not worry about whether the music would muffle every syllable.

He felt the warmth of your breath tickle at his skin. And then—shivers, everywhere. Trickling down his spine. His nape. Not the kind from chilly, cold weather, or a scary movie, but a different kind that prompted his sense to disintegrate in a simple second.

“Do you still think I’m the prettiest here?”

Wonwoo sensed the grin paint his face, as easy as melting butter, though he hid it well in your sweet-scented hair.

“Mmhm, ‘course you are,” he answered, purposefully deepening his already deep voice. “You’re always the prettiest.”

One of your charming, seraphic giggles feathered at his ear and Wonwoo had never been so convinced that he would exchange just about anything in his life to call you his for the entire night.

“Um, hey, so… I don’t want to fuckin’ ruin your guys’ little reunion or nothin’, but I am still here, unfortunately!”

Damn—Wonwoo had kind of forgotten that Vernon was even there, and hearing his gruff voice break through the room’s drumming bass had quickly removed him from his fantasy. In a way, he was relieved, because Wonwoo knew he’d been thinking with unprecedented delusion and he needed something to draw a ripple through his thoughts before he became too meek to ignore them.

You then slotted yourself against Wonwoo’s side, adjusting the white strap grooving around the back of your neck. One arm remained around his wideset shoulders, latching him into place.

“Well, that’s an immaculate face I haven’t seen in a while,” you deadpanned at poor Vernon, sculpting him up and down with shameless judgement. “And what have you been up to? Selling MDMA from behind porta-potties to dumb, gullible first years?”

But Vernon took it well, as he was most likely expecting it.

“So, I won’t say no or yes to that.”

“Hm. Figures.”

Vernon shook his head, mustering up a husky laugh. “Should I assume you haven’t gotten over our incident, yet?”

Wonwoo felt your ovaled, sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder, and he settled his hand on your upper back to relax you.

“I’ll get over it when I want to get over it.”

“Okay, okay." A smile bled across Vernon’s face. “And I respect that, yeah? How ‘bout we both agree to keep it lax? That work at all?”

Despite your narrowed, seething eyes, you agreed.

“It works, for now.” You were in the midst of turning around, as though to begin pulling Wonwoo toward the bar, but you suddenly stopped on a dime, returning your glared focus back toward an unsuspecting, more lenient Vernon. “By the way, Princess is in a relationship with Seungcheol, so paws off. And don’t even think about trying to fuck Clara or Bells again or else you’ll need to take every single pill you fucking own in order to feel even a fraction of anything after I’m done beating your breaks off. Understand?”

“Uh, yes. I do. I understand.”

And then you grinned, though it was colder than outer space, and Wonwoo was more than pleased he wasn’t on the receiving end.

“Perfect! Now, let’s get everyone all introduced. I promise, though, there’s not many strangers. I guess just Seungcheol? Some of his friends are around here somewhere, I don’t know where.”

You curled an arm around Wonwoo’s elbow and began tugging him into the barricade of people, most stepping aside for you without request, like you were a princess or some other type of respected royalty. Wonwoo glanced back at Vernon who was already giving him a wide-eyed, skeptical expression, and so he made sure to dip his head close to Vernon’s ear to murmur some encouragement.

“At least your head isn’t ripped off.”

However, it might have not been the most thoughtful.

“Yeah, meta-fuckin’-phorically it is,” Vernon laughed back. “I forgot how scary the chick is. How have you not pissed your pants yet?”

“You get used to it after a while. N’hey—when the hell did you have sex with Clara and Bells?" Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from asking over his shoulder as he was further pulled along by your persistent guide.

“It was before you got to know Her, alright? But—” Vernon had suddenly leaned closer, his breath at Wonwoo’s ear, “—Bells is a fuckin’ homie hopper. Guaranteed she’ll try to get into your pants. I know she’s tried it with Seungcheol, Seokmin, probably you, tonight.”

“Well, you two sound like a match made in heaven.”

“Ha! Funny, man,” Vernon cackled, shoving his friend’s back in a teasing way. “No—she’s actually crazy. Gives good head, though.”

Wonwoo opted to ignore the last comment. He was soon at the bar alongside you, Vernon, and all the others, to which he noted your arm was still clasped around his elbow, a gesture that Wonwoo found himself greatly appreciating as everyone began pausing their own conversations to acknowledge the two newcomers. He didn’t know who to look at or greet first as his heartbeat thundered, though he recognized Clara and Bells seated together on two leather stools, a few emptied shot glasses aligned before them like dominos.

Princess, the friend Wonwoo always thought you were closest to, was behind the counter with Seungcheol, staring Wonwoo down through her hooded and smooth brown eyes. He felt Mingyu watching him too, though it discomforted him much more than Princess.

“Hey, nice to meet you guys, finally.” Seungcheol was leaning over the luminated countertop, bumping his fist against Wonwoo’s, and then Vernon’s. “Hope you’re finding it alright.”

Wonwoo had never met Seungcheol despite hearing his name frequently throughout campus, especially during the prime months for partying. The consensus was that everyone seemed to like and respect him for his cordial, easygoing attitude and sportsmanship, since he played a lot of basketball for the university’s principal varsity team. Wonwoo had never once heard anything concerning or relatively malicious about the guy. He was almost akin to a celebrity.

“We got in not too long ago,” Vernon explained, and Wonwoo was grateful he took the conversating initiative, “seems crazy. And thanks for lettin’ us use your garage! Street parkin’ was ass.”

“Shit, yeah. I get it.” Seungcheol shrugged in agreement, meanwhile drawing a shallow glass over to himself. “It’s no problem, man. You did us a favour with the blow. I’ll pay upstairs, yeah?”

“Hey, it’s all good. What’re you pourin’ up?’

Princess suddenly reached around Seungcheol’s shoulder, removing the large, maple bottle he was about to twist open.

“He’s not pouring up anything,” she smiled, placing the alcohol on a shelf behind her, “because whiskey gets him beyond hammered, and I need him coherent for at least another hour.”

Seungcheol turned around, his mouth hung open.

“Okay—I was gonna pour out a splash.”

The girl grabbed his sharp jaw, giving Seungcheol’s face a tender shake before pushing her lips against his. His previous objection suddenly disappeared like morning dew. For a couple that had recently started dating according to your allegory, they seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.

“Okay—shot, shot!” Bells yelped excitedly, slapping her hand against the polished countertop as Clara grabbed a tequila bottle.

“Oh, god.” Your eyes rolled, and Wonwoo heard the exhaustion in your tone. “Have fun getting alcohol poisoning.”

Mingyu scoffed, crossing his broad, buff arms. “They’ll be blackout in less than an hour.”

“What for?” Vernon asked.

You finally let go of Wonwoo, grabbing your own solo cup off the countertop and taking a fast swig before answering.

“Whenever Seungcheol and Princess kiss, they take a shot.”

“And they kiss a lot—" Clara hiccupped, a very inebriated fog cast across her gaze, “— even more than Her n’ Mingyu!”

“Oh, don’t bring us into this,” you snapped from behind your drink, leaning an elbow onto the bar, “take your shot and can it.”

“I’m starting to not even taste it!”

The giggling spilled from Bells’ mouth like a waterspout, to which both her and Clara leaned in close to each other’s faces, their expressions warping with breathless, dry gulps of laughter.

“Excuse them,” Princess then muttered, resting an arm along Seungcheol’s firm back, waves of moonlit blue dancing across her dark skin while she eyed her cackling friends with bits of judgement and concern. “I’m starting to believe they have an alcohol problem.”

“So, if I lose you later, should I assume you’re in the washroom holding back their hair?” Seungcheol then huffed into his clasped hands, flicking soft eyes up toward his sighing girlfriend.

She pulled at a long braid of her hair, nodding.

“If I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Fuck, I like those odds, baby," he rasped, leaning back.

Princess smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

“No, you absolutely don’t, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo smiled at them, exercising his best effort to follow all the conversation even though his brain was whirring on overdrive. He was in the midst of sipping from the sweetened rum when Clara’s eyes snapped akin to a locket with his own, and she immediately squealed.

“Oh! You! From Spring Street! Mr. Deep Voice!”

Lowering the cup from his face, Wonwoo’s heart dropped.

He was more than perfectly okay with sitting on the sidelines and contributing nothing to the flow of conversation other than trivial nods and agreeable half-smiles. But Clara had singled him out, and now Bells was at last squirming around in her seat, her eyes patted with a popping, brilliant lime green as opposed to shimmery blue.

You tilted your head in questioning at Clara. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this, girl. He’s been standing here the past five minutes.”

“Wonwoo!” Bells shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“He doesn’t need to say anything.” Wonwoo heard the irritable grit rub through your voice as you straightened your posture and propped a hand to your hip, glaring at your friends. “Why don’t you let him enjoy his drink instead of shouting at him?”

From behind, Mingyu’s large hand slid around your waist and stopped at your lower stomach, pulling you a step back into his chest.

“Relax. She’s drunk as fuck, alright?” He murmured by your temple, planting a reassuring kiss.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Princess was quick to diffuse any degree of tension before it could morph into a terrifying flame. “He’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it. I like your hair, Wonwoo.”

He clenched his fist tight, nodding at her.

“Thanks.”

It was only one goddamn word, but he’d choked it out with all the strength harboured in his chest and lungs. Princess smiled at him.

“Glasses is cool. All his jokes will come out later.” Vernon teased despite the instant, needling stare Wonwoo shot his way.

“Hey, no pressure,” Seungcheol laughed, swiping his phone off the bar countertop. “Should we all head upstairs? I’ve got a nice little room set up for us—can smoke and mellow out a bit, play some cards, finally get to that blow—whatever you guys think is best.”

“Fuck, I’m down.” Sliding off the leather stool, Mingyu came to his feet and agreed, his hand still settled at your stomach.

His utterance was met with a chorus of likewise answers.

Wonwoo suddenly felt your fingertips graze his hand.

“Are you okay with that?” You asked him personally, smiling in a reassuring, nonchalant manner that helped ease his stiltedness.

“Yeah,” he answered, delighted to see the sparks that jumped into your eyes through the shadows and nebulas of lavender light.

The room Seungcheol had referred to was quite separated from the party booming onward downstairs, though he claimed not to be worried about it much since his other friends were keeping tabs on all the action. Wonwoo appreciated the quieter, more laidback atmosphere that allowed him to actually think and analyze his situation, which he unfortunately could not help himself from doing.

It was a cozy and personally developed space—probably the room Seungcheol spent most of his time in. Large, pristine movie posters were perfectly tapered to covering an entire wall, with stringed, dull-glowing lights swooped around the wooden infrastructure of the ceiling. A billiard ball table was toward the left, and then a circular table to the right, stacked with miscellaneous things such as playing cards, textbooks, and poker chips.

There were some shelves by the windows, mostly to hold decorative items, though Wonwoo saw a number of trophies from what he assumed to be Seungcheol’s past sports competitions. 

Everyone began to settle.

As Vernon waltzed over to the couch by the cluttered table, he’d suddenly looked down at the cushions with a gruff shout.

“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Seokmin! What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Oh, yeah—the poor baby got a headache,” you crooned, walking toward the couch with a teasing smirk. “He thought he’d try and avoid all of us by coming up here and taking a nap.”

“I wasn’t napping,” Seokmin grumbled while pushing himself to sit up, swatting back your hand that rifled through his dark brown tresses disarrayed in every direction, “I was relaxing, that’s all.”

“Dude, you looked like you were dead,” Vernon laughed, stepping around from behind the couch to sit on the arm.

Leaning against a desk with two large speakers on it, Mingyu folded his arms, smiling at Seokmin whose face was beginning to tint red from all the attention. “That’s just how he looks when he sleeps.”

“Thanks…” Seokmin answered, standing up and dusting himself off. “Guess I’m never staying the night at your place again.”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the couch, I think these two should simmer down for a hot minute,” Princess said, shuffling the stumbling, giggling duo, Bells and Clara, to take a much needed seat.

“Okay, yeah. Mingyu, throw on some music. Give everyone a chance to get nice n’ comfy.” Seungcheol then beckoned toward Vernon. “Over here, man. Let’s get this shit sorted out.”

“Ah, right, right.”

His friend was quick to rise from the couch and meet Seungcheol in the corner of the room, by the billiard table as well as a small black safe. Mingyu pulled out his phone, linking up his Bluetooth with Seungcheol’s expensive sound system, and music soon replaced the empty air in the room. He then joined Seungcheol and Vernon in the corner. Wonwoo opted not to sleuth and glanced elsewhere.

He saw that you were already talking to Princess, the two of you pulling out some beers and other drinks from a fridge he hadn’t noticed before, and while he positively wanted to make time for a conversation with you, Wonwoo thought he should bother Seokmin first. The boy was shoving open a windowpane across the room.

“Hey, liar,” he announced in a dragging but not overly serious tone. “Not downstairs like you said you were, huh?”

Seokmin turned around, rubbing his face.

“I know, I know. I got a headache at the last minute. But I knew everyone would come upstairs. Glad you could make it!”

“Well then, how much of a headache should I be expecting?”

“Eh, depends,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Depends on what?”

“I can’t imagine you jumping around on a countertop with your shirt off and a whippet in your hand.”

He snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”

“No—I was the one trying to get them off the counter.”

“Fair.”

 “I think you’ll be fine. At most, you’ll step outside for some air and get a nice breeze in your hair. No biggie… what’s that?”

“Uh, just a drink this girl whipped up. Sierra.”

“Oh.” Seokmin’s eyes brightened. “You mean Sierra Gomez?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did she have like, chin length, sort of coarse and frizzy brown hair? Freckles all over her cheeks? ‘Cause that’s Sierra Gomez. She works at the… the, um… Honeymoon! Yeah. The Honeymoon. She’s nice—used to stare at the back of your head all the time in calculus.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway—whatever—random thought.”

“Who used to stare at the back of your head in calculus?”

Turning around, Wonwoo noticed that you had approached their conversation at the open window, an abrupt flourish of wind sweeping back unto your inquisitive yet slightly firm expression. A bottle was in your hand, and you took a quick, easy sip from it.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Seokmin dismissed.

“No, tell me.”

Your eyes then flitted between himself and Seokmin. There was an innocent smile on your face that nursed the beer bottle.

“A girl who used to look at Wonwoo all the time during calculus with Bradbrook. She made him his drink, that’s all.”

“Really? Is that so?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Who?” You asked, still maintaining that polished smile.

Seokmin chuckled, “nah, you wouldn’t know her.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No,” he was persistent on convincing you, pulling at the flushed cusp of his ear, “I know you don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

Your focused gaze then lasered into Seokmin, and much of the airy politeness to your voice had gradually sharpened out.

“If it’s not a big deal then tell me.”

Music from the speaker system atop the nearby desk drowned the momentary silence that lasted between the three. Wonwoo concentrated on the lyrics and the depth of the sensual beat, trying his hardest to mentally escape the odd tension smouldering up.

Seokmin was biting his lip, hard.

“Tell me.” You now were demanding rather than asking.

“It’s not—”

“Seokmin!”

“Okay, okay! Sierra Gomez. That’s the girl.”

Wonwoo shifted his eyes to you, observing the manner in which you quirked your head, pursed your bottom lip, and began staring around the room in an honest attempt to place the name that Seokmin had so frighteningly blurted, almost like a suspect under interrogation. And then you were shrugging, sipping from your cold drink.

“Hm, don’t know her.”

“Like I said...” his friend sighed, leaning backward into the cool breeze and settling his hands against the windowsill.

“She’s here? And she made you that?” You asked.

Wonwoo looked down at his cup, almost completely emptied.

“… Um, yeah.”

There was a nearly imperceptible falter that spilt across your face, though it travelled so quickly, like a blink of light, and Wonwoo was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t even seen it at all.

“Well, that was really nice of her.” A strange breathiness lingered in your tone. “I mean, I don’t know her but she sounds really… nice. I’ll have to chat with her someday. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… something nice, probably. Yeah. We’ll do that.”

Upon sensing your very unusual discomfort, Wonwoo thought he might try to quell whatever series of emotions must be taking shape behind those glassy eyes. But almost from thin air, Mingyu was at your side, sliding an arm around your waist and his head poking down to kiss your cheek. Wonwoo ate his words right back up.

“Sorry to bite the conversation,” Mingyu excused himself, removing the arm from your waist to hang off your shoulder instead, where it covered the same revealing patch of your cleavage. “But I like keeping an eye on this one—” he pecked your temple, “—one sip she’s normal, the next she’s on top of the damn table giving everyone a fuckin’ show they don’t deserve. Hard to tell what she’s gonna do.”

Your uptight posture melted habitually against Mingyu’s chest, meanwhile a slight snarl forged across your lips.

Wonwoo knew that his drink was getting empty, and he didn’t want to waste the remainder on trying to survive the unfortunate conversation he’d been whisked into. He realized how much he hated talking to Mingyu, especially now that Wonwoo was closer to you.

“Alright, you don’t need to overembellish.”

“Ha! Overembellish?” A heavy laugh flew off Mingyu’s tongue as he gave your shoulder a soft shake, staring down at you with his curious, twinkling eyes. “What am I overembellishing, pretty girl? Huh? You don’t remember that dance with Clara? Kicking that dude’s drink off the table? High out of your fuckin’ mind, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I remember. My problem is that you’re painting me out to be a mindless slut just waiting to show off. It’s not like I go into these situations, intending to get on a table and kick people’s drinks and shit. I’m just going with what I feel in the moment. I mean, I’m sure it gets a bit slutty. But that’s part of the fun. At least, I think.”

Okay—Wonwoo didn’t give a fuck about preserving his drink any more. He immediately dove in to take a generous sip, staring down the cup like there was something profoundly captivating scribbled on the bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, Wonwoo realized this is his first time witnessing your dynamic with Mingyu.

Mingyu sighed, tongue prodding against his inner cheek.

“Can’t make it easy, can you?”

At that, you cackled, tipping your head against his neck.

“Never. You should know that by now.”

“The important thing is, everyone has a good time.” Seokmin decided to add his two cents, not seeming as stiffened by the conversation as Wonwoo, probably since he was accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it prompted your signature eye roll.

“Hey everyone! Seokmin thinks the most important part of a party is that everyone has a good time!” You mockingly chided, proceeding to raise the bottle to your mouth for another sip while Mingyu rubbed his nose, laughing. “Did that really need to be said?”

Partially closing the window, Seokmin chuckled. “I’m just saying it ‘cause you guys always bicker and bring the mood down.”

Your grip around the beer bottle visibly tightened.

“Bicker?! We don’t bicker!”

“Are you serious?” Seokmin folded his arms, a disbelieving smile mixed with puzzlement carving his mouth. “You just did!”

“No, that wasn’t bickering," you stated. “That was Mingyu saying something stupid and me correcting it. Purely factual.”

Shaking his head, Mingyu merely smirked. “Mmhm. Let’s go with that.” Though, it was quite obvious he was holding back what he actually wanted to say, but didn’t want to prove Seokmin’s point.

“Anyways, I’m not trying to make you look bad,” Seokmin mumbled, brushing a hand along an itch on his arm. “So, whatever you see here, Wonwoo, take it with a grain of salt, I guess.”

God, no.

He’d wanted so desperately to remain invisible—to not be summoned into the conversation in any way, shape, or form.

“Please,” you sounded exasperated, messing about with your hair, “I’m sure Wonwoo’d be the last person to care, anyway.”

At the worst possible time, he’d completely exhausted his soda and rum, and there was not even a single drop for him to make a lame show of sipping up. Wonwoo didn’t know whether or not to say anything. Maybe, if he just smiled genuinely, nodded his head, then everything would keep moving and he could somehow escape the burdensome pressure. However, what he failed to realize was that his overthinking gave him a very dazed expression that made it seem as though he wasn’t listening at all. Seokmin suddenly slapped his arm.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude’s not even paying attention. Mentally checked out ‘cause of your arguing.”

“No. I’m listening,” Wonwoo answered, knowing the longer he stayed quiet the more guilty and strange he’d appear. “I just figure it’s better to let you guys hash it out. I’d rather not get involved.”

“Smart,” Mingyu huffed, to which Wonwoo found himself in the crosshairs of his intimidating gaze. “Best not to pick sides, right?”

“Oh my gosh, there are no sides.” Elbowing the tall, dark-haired boy gently in his rib, you shook your head. “And even if there were, I’m forcing him to take my side. You obviously have Seokmin.”

“When you are going to stop saying that?” Mingyu sounded notably annoyed at your comment, though you merely shrugged it off, instead wrapping a small hand with his in a successful attempt to pull him away from the conversation at the breezy window.

“Don’t whine, Gyu. Let’s go talk to Princess.”

Once you were gone, Wonwoo looked to Seokmin with some vague hope that he would share his astonishment at the situation. He couldn’t tell if you and Mingyu just clashed so naturally because your relationship was the long lasting, weathered kind where there were lots of little quips due to your shared comfortability. Or, maybe there was something else he was missing. But Seokmin didn’t seem even relatively phased, which lead Wonwoo into thinking that it was his overanalyzing brain picking things apart unnecessarily.

“Oh, I’ve gotta talk with Vernon for a sec.” His friend remembered, pointing out the tattooed boy who was closely admiring all the expensively framed film posters. “Nice to see you, though!”

The second Seokmin had slipped away, Wonwoo occupied his old position against the windowsill, letting his head tilt back until it bumped with the glass. A timidly building sickness ached in his stomach at the worry of all his conversations feeling like that—so agonizing, uncomfortable, with his mind racing a mile a minute.

He sighed aloud, attempting to steady his breathing.

Things would get better. They had to.

“Hey, Wonwoo! You wanna sit?”

Following the abrupt voice over to the now organized, tidied table, Wonwoo saw that it was Seungcheol who called his name. He tilted his head at an empty seat and Wonwoo decided to take the boy up on the offer rather than stumble into the undertow of his self-inflicted panic. Besides, Seungcheol was fairly relaxed and seemed easy to converse with��a much needed repose from Mingyu. As he sat down, setting his empty cup aside, Seungcheol leaned forward with his chin pressing down between his thumb and index finger.

“You okay?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Wonwoo nodded. “I’m good.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Seungcheol smiled.

“Just making sure. I know it’s not always the easiest trying to make it through a Her-Mingyu-Seokmin three-way—pause—ignore how weirdly I phrased that,” he laughed, rubbing along his jaw.

The air around Wonwoo tinged with an immediate sense of relief, and he found himself relaxing, too, stretching out his legs.

“Yeah,” he then breathed out deeply, the tension in his chest loosening up. “I assume it’s best to just shut the fuck up.”

“Mmhm.” Seungcheol was eager to nod in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. Shut the fuck up, and give the most neutral answers if needed. It’s honestly a skill. You’ve gotta be a world class fence sitter.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I’m curious—what’re you studying?”

“Nothing exciting. Mathematics, specifically calculus. I like a bit of data and statistics, too. I don’t know. Just, analyzing stuff.”

“Hm,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, grinning, “can’t say I’d be very good at all that. You want to be a data analyst or something?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve thought about teaching, too.”

“University?”

“Yeah… I heard you’re in biomedical now.”

“Mmhm—switched my whole degree—can thank Junhui for that. He’s around here, somewhere. I like it, though. No regrets about it or anything. Besides—” Seungcheol turned his head toward the billiard ball table where Princess was chatting with you and Mingyu, a fond, amorous expression softening his face, “—that’s how I met Princess. I mean, she’s so intelligent, level-headed, thoughtful. Finally worked up the courage to ask her out, like… two months ago, now? Things have been smooth sailing since.”

“I can see that. You guys mesh together well,” Wonwoo answered, at first staring at Princess, but sensing his eyes naturally drift toward you and that tight hold Mingyu had at your bare waist.

“Thanks, man. Hey—I should say congrats, by the way.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled, spreading his legs. “What for?”

“Frontiers. You got a super good score.”

“Oh, that… uh, thanks. I mean, it was last year.”

Seungcheol’s face immediately scrunched with laughter.

“What?”

“Shit. It’s nothing.” Seungcheol was still chuckling a bit between his breathy words. “I love how you shrug it off. Like, whenever your name comes up, it’s always next to how smart you are, man. I love that you don’t even fucking care. If that were me, I’d be the most pretentious piece of shit—it’s actually insane.”

Wonwoo paused for a second to think, looking at his sneakers, and then back at Seungcheol, the cogs in his mind beginning to whirr.

“I didn’t think my name would come up much. If at all.”

“No, no, it does,” he answered, bouncing his fist off the table with another chuckle. “Hey—you get around more than you think.”

Maybe Seungcheol’s words were supposed to be uplifting, or rewarding to hear, but Wonwoo felt his stomach drop and a horrible, papery dryness spread throughout his mouth. He absolutely hated the thought of people talking about him, discussing him, perceiving him.

“Oh, yeah! Shit, I’ve been meaning to ask—” Seungcheol brightened and shuffled further up in his seat, “—Mingyu says you speak Korean? Were you born there, or from your parents, maybe?”

Wonwoo picked at his thumb slightly.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I was born there.”

“Same. Daegu.”

“Changwon.”

Seungcheol smiled, and when he switched so fluidly from his English to Korean, Wonwoo needed a moment to comprehend the different syllables and speech patterns hitting his ear. It was almost like a glitch, but it was infinitesimal, and Wonwoo processed it quick.

“Mingyu didn’t know where you were born. He just said he’d spoken Korean with you. It’s nice to hear, right?”

“It is. My parents still live in Changwon. Though their English is limited so I hardly ever use it with them.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Seungcheol then propped a leg onto his knee and began to grin. “It’s the same for me. I don’t know if Mingyu’s told you—he wasn’t born there but his parents spoke it around him growing up.”

“I’ve heard…”

“So Seokmin says you like to write?”

“Yes. Reading and writing.”

“I’m not much of a writer. I used to love reading. I still do, actually. But it’s difficult to make time for it.”

Wonwoo agreed. He would have never pegged Seungcheol as someone who enjoyed reading, mostly due to his reputation and his plethora of outlandish, jock friends, though he was pleasantly surprised to hear it.

“I haven’t been reading much myself. Or writing. I’m in a burnout, I suppose.” A sigh fell defeatedly from Wonwoo’s mouth. “It’s frustrating. What kind of books did you read?”

“Nothing unique. Lord of the Rings. I went through a period of really liking Goosebumps, too.” He  then bit his inner cheek in contemplation as he thought harder about his catalogue. “The weirdest book I remember reading was Walking Practice by Dolki Min. It gave me nightmares.”

“I’ve heard lots of mixed opinions about it.”

“It’s a book you read once, somehow manage to enjoy, but know you’ll never revisit… hm, it’s got me thinking…” Seungcheol was suddenly leaning forward, an arm dangling off the table as his forehead wrinkled with effort at placing a certain memory. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you used to date that girl who worked at the university library? I think her name was… shit—” he snapped his fingers a few times, bit down hard on his rosy lip while his dark brow furrowed, “—Jeanie? I believe that’s it. She always wore a little pin on her pullovers. Didn’t really talk much. At least not to me. She was shy but seemed sweet.”

For a second, Wonwoo thought he misheard Seungcheol—that the music from the speaker system was blaring much too loud and he somehow misinterpreted a word or sentence. He even dug into his ear for a second, sat up in his chair instead of casually leaning backward.

“What?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he’d dropped his Korean.

“Oh, I was asking about that girl you used to date. It was Jeanie, right? She worked at the university library.” When Wonwoo kept staring at him without so much as a sound, blink, or even a tiny twitch, Seungcheol waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Fuck, my bad. I’m probably confusing you with someone else.”

“No... you’re not.”

It had felt like a gunshot—realizing the specific pronunciation and shaping of Seungcheol’s lips hadn’t been misinterpreted at all. He was in fact saying what Wonwoo dreaded, feared, like the ghost stories from his childhood that his brother would utter through a white, dying flashlight until Wonwoo uncontrollably wept. Like the last step at his parents’ house he used to constantly miss, his heart practically jamming into his throat each and every time. It was that slow, nauseating accumulation of anxiety in his stomach, coming to buzz and rumble akin to a beehive. It was all those stupid mistakes.

Jeanie. To hear her name in another person’s mouth was almost sickening. To think about her again was pure heartache.

“That’s what I figured,” Seungcheol said. “She was nice, but I don’t think she came back in the fall… I don’t want to assume anything. Just a memory.” He reeled back on the topic as Wonwoo sat adjacent to him, paler than an alabaster pearl.

“Yeah…” he managed to croak out, feeling a rasp develop somewhere deep in his throat, “we’re not together anymore.”

“Hey, it is what it is,” Seungcheol affirmed, putting on a sincere smile that Wonwoo found a pinch of solace in. “We don’t have to fuckin’ mull over it or anything. All that shit’s in the past, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. You’re here now, amongst friends, I hope.”

Wonwoo swallowed, thinking about what Seungcheol said.

He then shifted his head toward the billiard ball table. Vernon was now involved in a very passionate conversation with Mingyu that Wonwoo was unable to hear from his distance. The two boys were bouncing back and forth, animated in their hand motions and expressions, meanwhile you and Princess were passing the most subtly judgmental looks between each other. For a moment, Wonwoo’s gaze caught your own, to which you shot him an innocuous eye roll paired with a small but tenderly growing smile. That thick uneasiness in his chest pulled back like a receding ocean tide and Wonwoo knew he was okay again.

Seungcheol took note of the glance, and he grinned.

“It seems you’re pretty close with Her.”

Turning his attention back to Seungcheol, Wonwoo nodded.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s… um…”

“Hard to describe, isn’t she?” Seungcheol answered for him, now observing the scene at the billiard ball table as well.

Wonwoo almost hesitated asking his next question, but before his brain could make much sense of it, he was already speaking.

“Does Mingyu always do that?”

Seungcheol chuckled, “do what?”

“He’s on her like a fucking sticker.”

Undoubtedly, his heart sank in at the predictable answer.

“Yeah, Gyu’s always got his eye on her. I understand where he’s coming from. She attracts a lot of attention. He straight up socked this dude in the face last year for hitting on her. I mean, to be fair, he was drunk and Her can tend to be a little… well, she likes to push his buttons. It was high tension all night. Bound to explode.”

Remembering his meal at Solar Pop with Vernon a few weeks ago, Wonwoo knew how anxious his friend had been at the thought of getting ungracefully decked in the face by Mingyu’s knuckles. While it never happened—and Wonwoo was certain then that it wouldn’t—he would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever power Mingyu did pack behind a serious punch. Wonwoo despised fighting and conflict. There was often a cutting, wolfish nature wading about Mingyu’s dark gold eyes that quite frankly petrified him enough.

Considering how fearful Vernon had seemed, Wonwoo was surprised the boy was even talking with Mingyu so freely. But that forgiving, never-take-anything-too-seriously gene was just embedded straight into Vernon’s core. He could get along with anybody.

“Hm,” was all Wonwoo hummed in response.

Since he had been laser-focused analyzing the cordial, humorous conversation between Vernon and Mingyu, he failed to note that Princess had joined her boyfriend at the table. Upon turning his head out of worry he might be caught staring, Wonwoo finally saw the beautiful girl leaning against Seungcheol’s back from behind; her arms draped comfortably around his neck and her cheek pressed to his midnight black hair. Wonwoo flashed an awkward half-smile.

“You guys getting to know each other?” She asked.

Seungcheol exchanged an agreeing glance with Wonwoo.

“Mmhm. We’re basically two peas in a pod now,” the boy proceeded to joke while Princess grinned down at him, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One smart cookie, y’know?”

“Wow. Smarter than you, yeah?” She laughed, now straightening up and resting just a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, can’t be a winner in everything.”

“Oh. Maybe you can’t.”

“Shit—watch yourself, missy.”

Seungcheol quickly twisted around in his chair, managing to catch Princess by the waist and playfully wrestle her onto his lap. She hardly fought in retaliation against him, a huge, warm smile glowing from her face as she let herself get wrapped in his squeezing arms.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up. It’s not that he was some spiteful, self-loathing recluse who couldn’t stand seeing others in healthy relationships—it wasn’t that at all. What he despised was the loneliness it reflected unto himself, and the deeply unsettling thought that he was just too damaged, insecure, and unlovable to ever truly warrant the pure trust of another. He feared he could never bring his inner self to fruitfully open in such vulnerable ways.

“Hey, Wonwoo. I just noticed your cup’s empty.”

When he connected with the earnest gaze of Princess, he realized she was pointing at the red cup left untouched by his elbow.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you want a beer? Or a chaser?” She offered in a polite tone as Seungcheol gently moved her long braids aside to drape over her far shoulder. “We have lots of stuff in the fridge over there.”

He bit into his lip, thinking.

“Doesn’t have to be a drink,” Seungcheol said, shrugging. “If you smoke, I’ve got some stuff already crushed up. Uh, I’ve got a bong around here somewhere. I think it’s on the shelf. Rolling papers, too. Don’t know how you prefer to smoke it.”

“Papers, usually,” Wonwoo answered.

“Cool. I’ve got that.”

With two soft, careful hands gliding up her waist, Seungcheol sweetly urged Princess to her feet and then pitched an announcement that anyone interested in smoking could come to the table.

Princess swiped the blue bong from Seungcheol’s shelf.

“I’m going for a bowl,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Ou, me too!” Clara chirped, using Bells’ arm to help shove herself off the sofa, ignoring the way her friend whined.

“I’ll come sit with you guys,” Princess added, “just make a little room. And try not to throw up on me if you can help it.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of being accompanied at the table, with Vernon dragging out the chair to his left while Mingyu occupied the seat across from him. He watched the boy’s arm stretch out to accommodate you onto his lap, and Wonwoo assumed the hand he couldn’t see was groping your thigh underneath the table. In the pit of his stomach, Wonwoo knew what that slimy, bitter feeling was, though he refused to acknowledge it—he wouldn’t even look at you.

Seungcheol tossed a ziplock bag filled with weed onto the table and spread out an array of thin, dull, white rectangular papers.

Immediately, Vernon was tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve.

“Can you roll mine, dude?”

“Hm?” Mingyu grunted, seeming amused. “You’re asking Wonwoo to roll your joint? You're a fucking drug dealer.”

“I’ve never met anyone who can roll as good as him,” his friend complimented, leaning back in the wooden chair and firmly shaking Wonwoo’s shoulder. “If he’s in the room, I’m gettin’ him to roll. He’s got nice, talented, dexterous fingers. Isn’t that right?”

Reaching for a translucent paper and smoothing out the crinkles, a suspect arch made its way to Wonwoo’s brow, meanwhile the tips of his ears burned with all the eyeballs examining his every fucking move. Wonwoo opened the baggie, beginning to shake out the pre-grinded bud as he held the paper in a curled shape.

“Please don’t talk about my fingers like that,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses. “Check that. You want a little more or less?”

“Nah, leave it at that,” Vernon answered.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Seungcheol then crossed his arms, smirking. “I wanna see it when you’re done rolling.”

“Me too,” Mingyu agreed, staring Wonwoo down like a hawk.

“Great. Why don’t we pass the joint around the table when he’s done with it, and we can all grade it. How fun,” you mumbled sarcastically, slumping forward and resting your chin against a palm.

“You gonna smoke or not, sweetheart?” Mingyu asked.

“I don’t know yet…”

Wonwoo knew you were staring at him while he fiddled with removing a crease in the partially rolled paper, because there was an itch crawling along him, like a sunburn, but not quite. Though, he opted to continue focusing on the joint, even with your eyes breathing him in from across the table, craving his acknowledgement.

“Lick there,” he instructed, holding the paper for Vernon.

From the couch, Wonwoo heard a bubbly laugh. It was Bells, her legs kicked up onto Princess’ lap without a care in the world while Princess sparked a lighter to help Clara ignite the sapphire bowl.

“Wonwoo, if you make one for me, can you lick it?”

He simply ignored her while carefully tucking at the joint.

Wonwoo turned to Vernon again. “Lick.”

After some finely tuned adjustments that required his utmost focus, Wonwoo was at last satisfied with the roll, then handing the joint off to Vernon for him to further pack and twist up. Once his friend finished the job, he passed the joint back to Wonwoo, who further gave it down to Seungcheol. The boy glanced over it closely.

“Damn… that’s pretty fuckin’ good, can’t lie.”

“Let me see," Mingyu practically demanded, granting Seungcheol the slimmest opportunity to even pass the joint along.

He’d snatched it up and settled back in his seat—nearly sliding you straight off his lap in the process—squinting to find some stupid imperfection or mistake he could point out, though, there was nothing. Without a word, he passed the smoke to Vernon.

“See? Told ‘ya. Glasses never fails me.”

“If you don’t mind—” Seungcheol rubbed at his bottom lip, staring at Wonwoo with a quirked eyebrow, “—could I get one?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Mingyu won’t say it but you should roll one for him, too.”

As Wonwoo pulled another paper toward him, he managed to look at you, and the little spark that jumped into your pretty eye. He smiled because you were smiling, and that always made him feel so inexplicably warm inside, like the soft melting of browned caramel.

“I can do that,” he said, to which Mingyu nodded his head.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll roll one for you, too, Her. I mean, if you want it.”

“Okay. That’s sweet. Maybe later.”

You smiled at him again.

He smiled back.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how it happened or who initially decided the idea, but someone had suggested poker, and now the entire table was cleared off with the exception of Seungcheol’s playing cards and the multi-coloured chip stacks. They decided on classic Texas Hold’em because everyone who’d decided to join was most familiar with the style, though Wonwoo cared to dabble more in Blackjack as there was a mathematical basis to it that scratched a satisfying itch in his brain. Nonetheless, he was fairly good at Texas Hold’em, too.

Vernon hated playing with him, and he made that extremely apparent through his moaning while Princess shuffled the card deck. There was a decent number of people playing—only you, Clara, and Bells chose to sit on the sidelines and observe. Wonwoo had wanted you to play, but you kept declining, even without a concrete reason.

“Okay, everyone’s familiar with the rules, right?” Princess asked for clarification, at first burning the top card off the deck. “I’ll play dealer first round. That makes Seungcheol the small blind and Wonwoo the big blind. N'remember, you guys signed up for this, so if you can't afford to blow some money then you better be good.”

Everyone collectively agreed, and Princess began dealing the cards to all contenders until there was two before each person. Wonwoo wasn't exactly in the best position to be owing people cash, but he was a pretty solid player in his experience, though he was most comfortable going against Vernon and Seokmin. They had done a few poker nights at the random houses Vernon always claimed he was looking after for a friend. He had no idea what Seungcheol or Mingyu would be like as players. It did scare him a little.

Seungcheol made his move first—just a dollar, the equivalent of a single white-coloured chip. Wonwoo had to double the bet, so he moved out two white chips instead. Vernon decided to raise the amount to four chips, and Seokmin called the bet, matching it. Mingyu went next, his figure appearing foggy from across the table as the air became increasingly tinged with ruffles of smoke.

He called.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both called at their turns, and thus, the first round of betting had ended. Everyone pushed forward their chips for Princess to collect, creating their small, measly looking pot.

Wonwoo kept the joint poised between his pointer and middle finger as he slyly gleaned the suit and ranks of his hand, keeping both cards flush against the table, just lifting their corners.

It didn’t seem like much and would probably result in little reward—an eight of clovers and a three of spades—but Wonwoo wasn’t looking to show out in the very first game, anyway.

He glanced toward the couch, where you were squished almost shoulder to shoulder against Clara and Bells. The bong was sat in your lap as you leaned down over the mouthpiece and sparked at the cannabis packed into the bowl. Bells curled at her long, black hair, heels dug into the edge of the coffee table, eyes glazed as pastries.

“I didn’t get anything from that,” she mumbled.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know how to play,” Princess chuckled, again burning another card off the deck before setting down three more at the centre of the table, creating the flop.

Nine of diamonds, seven of hearts, and six of clovers.

Everyone took a minute to examine the flop, comparing it with the cards they had stowed close to their chests. Wonwoo, however, didn’t even bother comparing, as he already knew his move.

“Hm…” Seungcheol paused, rubbing at his chin and sucking in his bottom lip. “I think I’ll check.” He then leaned back, placing forth no bet at all, and instead looked to Wonwoo for his decision.

“Fold.”

“Ha!” Vernon practically choked beside him, the joint almost spat from his mouth, and Wonwoo felt the boy’s hand push in a teasing pressure at his shoulder. “You’re such a piece of shit, man.”

“Why is he a piece of shit?” Bells wondered.

“Just, uh—ah, never mind,” Vernon capitulated, still somewhat chuckling under his breath as Wonwoo smiled at him. “I’m gonna bet. I’ll put out some of these.” He slid out the required chips, forest-green in colour, each valued at twenty-five dollars.

Nibbling on his fingertip, Seokmin shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m folding.”

Princess smiled. “No, it’s okay! Mingyu next.”

“Hm, call,” he responded, matching Vernon's dare.

The attention returned to Seungcheol, who was rooted in his indecisiveness, pressed fingers masking half his face as he stared down at the three community cards, brow furrowed with thought.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m folding too.”

“Not feeling lucky, babe?” Princess grinned, collecting the bets placed by Vernon and Mingyu to the growing pot.

“I’m treading cautiously, let’s just say that.” He smirked.

After revealing the fourth community card, another round ensued between Vernon and Mingyu. Wonwoo relaxed back into his seat, an analyzing eye shifting from his tattooed, face-pierced friend to the stoic and collected Mingyu who was awaiting Vernon’s turn.

Wonwoo held his bottom lip between sharp teeth, then staring down at his lap in an attempt to smother that prying, wide smile, knowing the exact move his friend would make. It was Vernon, after all. And he always played big, even when he shouldn’t.

“Bet. Here you go.”

More of those green chips were moved out.

Mingyu huffed, tongue curling against his pronounced canine. “I don’t believe you, dude.”

Vernon cackled, propping up his knee and setting the heel of his sneaker onto the chair. He exhaled a smooth hit from his joint.

“Okay. Raise, then.”

Seungcheol chuckled, sharing a laugh with Seokmin who was sipping at a beer bottle from across the table.

“Fine—have it your way.”

"I’ll call.”

“Not feeling so confident, yeah?” Mingyu proceeded to laugh, eyeing Vernon closely with a testing, intrigued expression.

“I’ll let the showdown speak for itself,” Vernon pitted back.

Again, Princess collected their chips and rid the deck of its top card, and then placed down the fifth and final community card, establishing the river and the arrangement from which Vernon and Mingyu would need to create the most powerful hand. Each boy at last turned over their deck, and it was clear cut who was the winner.

“Mingyu’s got a full house,” Princess explained, standing up and leaning forward to swivel the card combination into place. “Take these three from the river, plus his nine of hearts and seven of clovers—that’s a three of a kind and a pair. Vernon can at most make a straight.” She then sat back down, pushing the entire pot to Mingyu.

“Did you win, baby?” After remaining silent for the entire game, you had finally perked up from the couch, admittedly buzzed.

Brushing back his hair, he smirked. “I won. Mr. Drug Dealer owes me about three-hundred dollars. But I guess you've just got that laying around somewhere? Stuffed up your pillow case?”

Vernon laughed, then took a deep, long drag from his joint. "If you're not sleepin' against a pillow case full of cash, I'm happy to officially give you the opportunity. Takes away all your stress."

“Congratulations,” you flashed a hazy smile at your boyfriend, courtesy of the smoke wafting through the air, like you were caught in a reverie, “I'm glad all those Sundays were well spent.”

“Okay, we’ll move down now,” Princess announced, reorganizing the cards into a deck. “Seungcheol’s the dealer, Wonwoo is the small blind, and Vernon’s the big blind this time.”

They continued to play until everyone at the table had a chance at being the blinds and the dealer. Wonwoo folded every round. He knew it might've been ignorant and distrustful, but to him, it was the perfect opportunity to see inside everyone's bag of tricks.

He’d developed a fairly foolproof inkling toward their tactics and gives. Seokmin was by far the easiest player to make fold, though Wonwoo was already well aware—he would only hold his ground if there was confidence in his hand, but even then, anyone else calling Seokmin’s bet always engendered him to squirm. And while Vernon was still a more seasoned player by comparison, his brashness and tentative nature toward folding was often his downfall.

Seungcheol and Princess were a bit harder to read.

They were alike in their more cautious, calculating style of play, and Princess clearly had experience with orchestrating poker matches. Seungcheol, however, would routinely make the same mistake that Wonwoo had noticed straight away—touching or covering his face. When he was most confident, his fingers would sit more around his chin, or jaw, and when he was dealt a shitty hand with little to no promise of creating something notable from the community cards, those fingers etched further toward his lips.

You had still refused to join the match when offered by Princess, though you were paying greater attention to the game—even stopping by to hover with interest at Mingyu’s shoulder.

Princess was back to being the dealer.

Seungcheol was again the small blind. “I’ll put up twenty.”

Wonwoo grabbed two stacks of his chips and slid them outward to double the boy’s forced bet. “Forty.”

Everyone called.

Since the pot had gone unraised, Wonwoo decided to push forth more of his chips, adding on another twenty in small stacks. “Raise.”

The eagerness to increase the bet had drained. Again, all parties at the table simply called, and Wonwoo was feeling quite confident.

“Flop time,” Princess said with a smile, neatly setting out three cards at the table’s centre for everyone to glean.

Seungcheol checked. So did Wonwoo.

“Raise.” Vernon was persistent in his choice.

Everyone matched the increased bet, now sitting at eighty chips, until it fell upon Wonwoo’s turn. Expectant eyes were drilling holes into him like he was plywood at a construction site. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would abhor it more than anything else, but he was otherwise relaxed and in tune with his decisions as the joint smoke warmly fluttered around him. Coughing out a tickle from his throat, he grabbed another stack of his chips.

“It’s at eighty, so I’ll push to a hundred.”

“Cunt,” Vernon coughed, though he matched the raise without so much as a leg shake or a bite at his glinting lip ring.

“Fold,” Seokmin sighed, forfeiting his hand to Princess.

Wonwoo looked across the table, watching your fingertips squeeze into Mingyu’s thick shoulders as he pondered his choice.

“Call.” He eventually decided with a shrug.

Seungcheol agreed.

By the fifth community card, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon were still engaged in the match. From his analysis, Wonwoo was sure he would take the pot. Seungcheol was rubbing just below his lip using a slow thumb—there was uncertainty and doubt in the gesture. Vernon’s willingness to raise was merely intended to pressure out the others, but it hadn’t worked, and his quietness suggested there might be regret, and still, confidence, that he could somehow get away with it. Finally, Wonwoo saw Mingyu.

He'd played a handful of poker—specifically Texas Hold’em—with Mingyu when they had taken that probability elective last year.

The thing was, Mingyu had this gold-plated guise of believing his casual, unbothered demeanour couldn’t be disrupted under any circumstance—that no one would catch that transient slip of credence in those molten brown eyes or note the way he cracked the wood in the chair from fidgeting when the silence was too heavy and all-encompassing. But Wonwoo would notice. He could see it clearer than glass. The more Mingyu disguised it, the easier it poured out.

“Alright, showdown. Let’s see your hands.”

Everyone flipped their cards.

A moment of silence ensued, and then—

“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Vernon grunted, jabbing his side.

Both him and Seungcheol could make a straight flush, but since the rank of Wonwoo’s cards were higher, he took the win.

Not to mention the rather large, admirable pot. He was pretty pleased to see those colourful bills being forked out from the losers' wallets. It truly did pay off to play with rich people, and Mingyu and Seungcheol's pockets seemed endless.

By Wonwoo's third joint of the night, he’d won more rounds than anyone sitting at the table. Vernon had cursed at him a fair amount, Seokmin hardly wanted to play anymore amongst the serious tycoons that surrounded him, and wallets were running drier than any desert. The effects of all that smoke wafting through the air and meddling with his senses was starting to take effect.

He could potentially last another round before his most concrete thinking would get whittled down to thoughtless guesses.

Before the final round had started, Wonwoo glanced down at his phone to check the time. Holy shit—one in the morning. He’d been at the party for almost three fucking hours and he was miraculously still functioning and somehow not crawling with the desperation to leave. You were seated back at the couch, head leaning on Clara’s shoulder as you waited, misty-eyed, for the final game to start. Wonwoo decided to text you even though you were sitting no less than five feet away.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Play the final round.

He watched as you picked up the phone from your lap to read the text message, and then, you were squinting at him in judgement.

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: um no

His thumbs fired back a response.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Why?

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: bc I don’t want to

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: You don’t know how to play?

[ Her | 1:03 am ]: ik how to play

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: So play.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Take Seokmin’s place.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Please? Should I beg for it?

Your scoff could be heard from the couch, and Wonwoo had to remind himself to steam out the smile twitching on his lips.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: is it really that important to u?

[ Wonwoo | 1:04 am ]: Yes.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: fine

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: just don’t come crying to me when u lose

Feeling especially triumphant that he was able to convince you, Wonwoo observed with a pleased smirk your quest to Seokmin’s place at the table, where you tapped his shoulder and told him to take five. The boy didn’t need to be told twice, allowing you his seat almost gratefully.

“Awe, you’re not gonna stay for the finale?” Princess asked in a crooning voice while shuffling the card deck between her hands.

Seokmin grabbed his skinny bottle of beer off the table and shook his head, his face glowing and his eyes beginning to hood.

“I’ve learned my lesson about this game: I’m not good at it, I don’t have the money, and that I should never play with Wonwoo.”

“Or me?” Vernon gestured, turning out a palm expectantly.

“Uh, right. And Vernon.”

Picking a fluff from Seokmin’s shirt and flicking it into the air, you merely shrugged, flashing him a comforting smile.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing you suck,” you said, then leaning back in the chair and folding your arms. “It means you’re a bad liar.”

“Nice to play with you, alright?” Seungcheol added, grabbing onto the boy’s hand and giving it a firm clasp as he walked by.

“Thanks. I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can find more people I know. Enjoy the game, guys! Tell me who wins!”

“Probably me,” you answered, waving him goodbye.

“Hm, I didn’t think you’d play at all,” Mingyu remarked while Princess began sorting out cards to everyone, and Wonwoo noted the boy's leg jostling underneath the table. “Feeling confident, are you?”

Poking out your tongue playfully at Mingyu, you smiled. “Yes. Don’t even think about trying to riddle me. I’ll see right through it.”

The game started out as usual. Seungcheol and Wonwoo offered the blind bets, and everyone at the table called. No one seemed keen to fold, even when Princess revealed the flop and his heart smacked in another resounding thump. An eight of spades, a king of spades, and an eight of clovers. Wonwoo then slipped his gaze around the table, particularly studying you, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the game started. Of course you would be grinning. There was nothing very coy or subtle about you upon any first glance.

Wonwoo discreetly lifted the corners to his playing cards. He caught the wind in his chest. There was an ace of spades, his very first all night, paired with a nine of spades. It took all his self-control to remain muted on the outside and let his joint continue burning.

At the fourth community card, the pressure was starting to seep through, and the intimidating, stacked size of the pot collected before Princess was only making the fold especially tempting.

Every time it seemed like a call was in order, someone would raise, and the bets kept climbing until the glass ceiling was at last hit.

Seungcheol brushed antsy hands down the back of his head, scattering his hair and puffing out his chest in a large, accepting sigh.

“I’ve gotta fold. There’s no way.”

Balancing a joint at the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo grabbed another stack from his chips and slid it outward, knowing there was little to no chance he would lose the round.

“Raise,” he announced, exhaling a deep breath.

“Oh my God,” Vernon mumbled into his palm, taking a moment to tap his fingers against the wood, “… I have to fold. Yeah, I’ve gotta. A smart man like myself knows when to quit. You got me. Fucker.”

Unphased by the hopeless, daunting feeling that swelled around the table, you merely crossed a leg and dared to not only match, but raise the amount of chips that Wonwoo had audaciously put forth. Mingyu was slumped in his chair with a musing expression, eyes stung red and the thick fronds of his hair messily strewn about from how often his fingers dug through them. He eventually cleared his throat from the hot prickle and shook his head in conviction.

“No, you’re lying. I don’t believe it.”

But you just smirked and fluttered your lashes.

“What’s your move then, babe?”

“I’ll check.” Mingyu shrugged, agitated by his own response.

And to that, Wonwoo poured more gasoline on the fire.

“Raise.”

“There is no fuckin’ way your cards are that good,” Vernon grumbled between half-sealed lips, attempting to hold the joint still with his mouth while he sparked the end using his lighter.

“I’m raising your raise,” you challenged, “one-hundred.”

As his hand fell onto the table with a loud rattle, Vernon started to cackle. “There’s no way your cards are that good, either.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lilted.

“Mingyu?” Seungcheol hummed to get the boy’s attention. “It’s your move, man. What’re you gonna do?”

Wonwoo could see it scribbled all over Mingyu’s face. He didn’t want to get caught in the intense bidding flare between you, because he obviously knew his cards weren’t high enough rank to claim the pot at showdown. Wonwoo wasn’t planning to fold because the community cards were aligned in his favour. That steely, brash façade of the golden boy across from him was wearing increasingly thinner and Mingyu had seemed to realize it himself. After an almost agonizing silence, he pushed his cards away from him, forfeiting.

“Yeah, I can’t do it. Fuck you guys.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, sweetheart. That’s too bad, ” you giggled, leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders and stipple his cheek in small kisses that Mingyu wriggled from.

“Alright, just fuckin’ get to the showdown already,” he tutted.

Wonwoo couldn’t have been happier that Mingyu removed himself from the game. It was solely between him and you, now.

“You raised to one-hundred?” He asked for clarification.

Nodding your head, you agreed. “Yes. One-hundred.”

The thing was, Wonwoo knew he was going to win. Even without Princess revealing the final community card, there was an opportunity for him to make a straight flush. Unless an unprecedented stroke of luck had fallen into your own hand and you could somehow make a royal flush, the game was already decided.

Unless Wonwoo folded.

“I’ll raise,” he answered, wanting to test your limits.

“Jesus, this is gonna take all fuckin’ night, isn’t it?” Vernon proceeded to groan while exercising his stiff shoulder.

You smiled, and a glint illuminated in your eyes like a fallen star the size of a perfect sand grain.

 “Should I make it more interesting?”

Uncrossing your leg, you sat up straight, pressing tight against the table as you braced an arm behind your remaining chips and shoved them forward slowly, right into the table’s centre. Everyone began to mumble excitedly at the brazen act, though Wonwoo could only focus on you and that mischievous but beautiful curve to your lips, ignoring everything else in the room.

“All in.”

He felt a fist lightly strike his chest.

“Glasses! You’ve gotta match that!”

Seungcheol was rubbing along his chin, grinning.

“That’s gonna make a huge pot… lotta money…”

“He’s been making moves all game,” Princess laughed. “Not that I’m pressuring you, Wonwoo. I mean, it’s your call.”

Mingyu shook his head. “She’s so bluffing.”

“Hush up so he can think!” Vernon cackled.

There was so much sound and noise and voices. But, through the cacophony and haze of all those distractions, Wonwoo could see into you so clearly it was like you had become magically transparent. In turn, you were staring at him, awaiting his response, and he felt those sharp eyes shearing at his fabricated thoughts, picking them all apart into little corners and strips and threads. It was impossibly subtle, and only Wonwoo caught it—your head just beginning to shake in disagreement.

However, Wonwoo had already made his decision.

“I’m folding.”

Vernon’s fists struck down on the table like a thunderous clap, and the tension nailed into the atmosphere suddenly burst.

Before Wonwoo could even make sense of the exploding conversation, his cards were pulled away from him by Princess. She flipped over both yours and his hand.

“Wonwoo, you stupid fuck!” Vernon practically leapt from his chair, wriggling at the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a straight fl—oh my god! I’m actually so—you could have easily won that!”

“Okay, okay. She’s got a straight flush, too!” Princess called, pointing down at your cards. “But Wonwoo’s rank is higher.”

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mingyu said, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his muscular arms. “He folded. Her wins.”

Seungcheol sifted through the colourful chips.

“Looks like he owes you about five-hundred bucks.”

Continuing to smile at you, Wonwoo picked the joint back between his lips, borrowing Vernon’s lighter to fizzle the end and keep the paper burning. Your arms were crossed, hardly pleased.

“Looks like I do.” Wonwoo accepted through a wispy exhale of smoke, rolling out his shoulders and further quirking his lips.

After the final poker match, everyone decided to disseminate and take about half an hour to excuse themselves. Mingyu went back downstairs with Seungcheol so they could keep an eye on the general rowdiness, making sure people hadn’t started rioting or smashing vases, swinging from chandeliers and drinking questionable concoctions out of high-heeled boots.

Vernon wandered off in search for a washroom since Princess had occupied the nearest one down the staircase, at first helping nurse Clara through her incoming bout of alcohol sickness, with Bells joining them a few minutes afterward when that last sip decided to lurch back up her throat.

Only you and Wonwoo remained in the attic.

He was sat widespread at the sofa, slumped down, eyes closed, attempting to appreciate the high that could be attributed to the third joint he was now halfway through smoking. But then he felt the cushion beside him dip, and there was a pinch sinking rather harshly into the flesh on his hand that made his eyes fling back open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wonwoo moaned, rubbing over the small, crescent shaped branding dug by your fingernail.

Settling down notably close to Wonwoo, your knee prodded into his thigh while your one leg folded over the other. That scowl had yet to be ironed out from your countenance, and he could only suspect you were about to come down hard in regards to his stunt.

“Boo hoo. You’re such a lying liar who lies.”

Wonwoo stretched out a hand to his face, massaging slow against his temples while he sighed, “lying’s part of the game...”

“No—” the retort shot out with an electrifying quickness, “—not your type of lying. Your double-crossed lying. You’re a fraud.”

“A fraud?” He echoed, letting the hand fall into his lap. “Okay, that’s a bit accusatory. I wouldn’t call what I did fraudulent.”

Shifting his elbow off the arm of the couch, the joint was poised back at his lips, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at your glaring, stiff face. He swiftly blew out his hit, smirking hard.

“I hate you for what you did. I mean, you should have gone all in and matched me. But, no! You took the wuss route and made me look stupid! It taints everything. And you better wipe away that jovial curl in your lip before I sock it off your face and steal your cig.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you, perking an eyebrow.

“How’d you know my cards were better?”

At first, the question visibly stumped you. There was a lag in your response—an open mouth but not a single word to follow.

Then, it seemed as though you breathed out all your rage.

“Don’t ask such a dumb question,” sounded your calm sigh, with a leg bobbing up and down, “you made it so obvious.”

“I did? Hm.”

“Yeah…I know your tactic. You make everyone feel and nice and comfortable playing with you. Then, you totally flip the script and pull out the rug.” Your shoulder was digging into his and you two were now squished together so closely that he could feel your radiating warmth and smell the fragrance in your hair. “For someone who’s so damn quiet, your eyes are like a book. They just swim and trash with everything you’re thinking. So, don’t think you’re all that.”

Wonwoo switched the joint to his other hand, instead leaning against his fist and peering aside at you who seemed so certain of everything. Admittedly, he’d never heard that before, and if he weren’t beyond drowned in the watery red glowing behind his hooded gaze, your spiel would have downright terrified him.

It wasn’t that you just knew Wonwoo, it was that you were beginning to understand him and the way his mind operated.

No—if he were sober, that thought would obliterate him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m all that.”

“Blah, blah. Y’know, the one thing about you that bothers me—you’re actually not a loser. People like you Wonwoo. People are impressed by you. They want to know you. And you just keep them at bay with your stinging hot fireplace poker, jabbing at them in case they get too close. I see it. And—I don’t know, maybe you’re right to keep all those people out. Maybe it gives you more control.”

Wonwoo dragged a hand along his face, laughing. “I think I’m a little too high to be having that conversation with you.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to talk about it as usual. I don't suppose you've got five-hundred big ones in your wallet, do you?”

He shot you an obvious glance while chuckling, "absolutely fucking not. But sit tight, though. I can get it to you somehow."

Your head shook. "I don't care about the money."

He stared down at the joint aglow in his hand.

And then he was holding it out in front of you.

“Hit?”

You hesitated, but ultimately grabbed it, positioning the joint between your index and middle finger akin to a cigarette. Wonwoo watched intently at the soft inhale you breathed in, and the gradual relaxing of your chest as the smoke was gently puffed outward.

“Not so tough, is it?” He hummed in his deep, velvet-smooth voice, to which you squinted at him and scrunched your nose.

“I just studied how you did it, that’s all.”

Your knee was now pressed atop his lap. Wonwoo felt that momentary, passionate itch to settle his palm flat against your warm skin—ignore all boundaries that existed between you as well as their scalding consequences just for the sake of sweetly touching you, the one visible hope in his life. Still, Wonwoo was too afraid. As much as he wanted all your light and love to himself, it could never be true.

“We’re doing lines next,” you said, “… are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, no.” Wonwoo shook his head. “I tried it once and it went fucking terribly. I’m not gonna bother messing with it again.”

You looked relieved.

“That’s good. It’s so weird for me. Like, when it first enters my system, everything feels strange and I get this spinning, nauseating sensation. But it always passes. And then I let everything go.”

Wonwoo quirked at you a barely-there smile.

“I know it’s obvious—just be careful, alright?”

You puffed out another hit.

“I will.”

It was a bit strange—to just stand there, off to the side, as an observer of someone who was lining up a perfect streak of white powder using their credit card. And yet, that’s what Wonwoo had found himself doing, staring without much shame as you, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungcheol began pressing shut one nostril and inhaling the cocaine through the other. Wonwoo never bothered to ask Vernon how he acquired the coke, or what he paid for it, or how he even knew someone that could baggie it up for him so nicely—Wonwoo didn’t ask anything of the sort because he’d rather avoid prison.

Though, that might be inevitable in the bigger picture. His closest friend was a drug dealer. By nature, he was already associated.

Princess had walked over to him, dropping off some bottled water from the fridge that he immediately uncapped and gulped down. It seemed his efforts to mend that broken circadian rhythm of his had done some actual good, because Wonwoo was feeling the tire spread over his eyes and the energy deplete from his body like an inflatable with an air leak. You had snorted the coke almost a little too naturally. He remembered an old conversation with Vernon—she takes that shit like it’s pixie dust—and he supposed it made sense.

He helped Princess shove the window open again to let some freshness back into the warm attic space. She spent a moment or so staring down at the driveway, watching the people come and go.

“How are Bells and Clara?” Wonwoo asked.

She glanced at him, though her brown eyes eventually wandered back to the ongoing buzz outside and below.

“Clara is totalled,” Princess sighed. “She’s lying down in one of the spare bedrooms. A friend is looking after her. Bells on the other hand...” she glimpsed over her shoulder, scanning the room, “I’m not sure where she went. I thought she came back upstairs, but it’s likely she wandered down to the living room. That girl is all gas, no breaks. Throws up one second, back to sloshing the next.”

Wonwoo swallowed more of his cold water.

“I take it Seungcheol owes you a dinner?”

“Ha—yeah, he owes it to me big time,” she muttered, at last turning her back to the breeze. “Good thing I didn’t let him drink that fucking whiskey. Holy shit. It would be worse than Clara.”

“Hm…” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly wondering aloud as he watched you cough into your fist at the table while Mingyu rubbed his nose and patted your cheek. “He doesn’t do it all the time, though?”

Princess folded her arms and smiled.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She?”

“Her.”

“Oh. I was asking—”

“I know what you were asking. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo thought about further countering Princess’ assumption, but the way she was watching him—head knowingly tilted with that smitten crook so rightfully framed on her glossed, shiny lips—he knew it would be futile to even try. He felt relief at the confirmation, too. As long as you were careful. Really fucking careful.

“Sorry,” he answered, shrugging.

“Nah, apology not needed.” Princess shook her head.

The girl proceeded to look down at her feet, remaining silent and pensive—toying with the idea of saying something important but ultimately weighing its consequence before involving Wonwoo.

He was sipping from his water again when Princess at last cleared her throat, then holding the swig between his cheeks.

“Um, I don’t know, exactly, what it is you and Her talk about, or what you write about, or what you two do, ever. Just, uh, whatever it is—and maybe it’s best I don’t know—she’s really… happy. Not that she wasn’t happy before. But… it’s different, y’know? The energy is different. And I see this really, really beautiful light in her that I’ve never seen before. So, yeah. I’m glad you two are friends. And that you listen to her and stick by her and help her with this new craft even when she’s not the most cooperative, or… well… y’know… it’s Her after all. You don’t really know which version you’ll get.”

Wonwoo still hadn’t swallowed. The water was becoming uncomfortably lukewarm in his mouth but he held it there.

Princess dusted off her shirt, smiling again. “Anyway, I’ll go check on Seungcheol. Probably try to find Bells. Ah, later.”

Only when the girl had left him alone at the windowsill did he finally choke down that large sip, bracing through it as though he’d just downed some especially bitter cough syrup. His mind was replaying pieces of Princess’ speech in addition to that appreciative, even admirable look she had been giving him. He didn’t know what to take from it. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All his emotions were cooking in one big heap at the pit of his gut like a disproportioned stew. Wonwoo rubbed a hand along his face in partial confusion and agony, hearing a giggle from you somewhere across the room, as he attempted to sort everything out.

Wanting to move somewhere a bit quieter, Wonwoo thought he might try his luck with the rooms down the staircase, and hopefully not waltz into anything he so clearly shouldn’t have. Yet, just as his hand ghosted along the wood railing, Wonwoo was suddenly colliding with someone and the rapidly permeating, muddled scent of daisies, cannabis, and fireball was filling his nose.

His water bottle dropped to the floor and rolled to the base of the stairs. Fingers scraped deep into his shirt. He grabbed onto the person’s waist with instinct, helping to steady them.

“Fuck—holy shit. Thanks, Wonwoo.”

But then the realization had metaphorically slapped him.

“My bad. Sorry.”

It was Bells who’d been stumbling up the stairs and plowed straight into his chest. She didn’t seem the most present, either.

“No, no, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The last thing he wanted on planet Earth was to get sucked into a conversation with her—not that he had any sort of grudge or concrete reason to dislike the girl—but his head was starting to ache and he craved peace and quiet for just five fucking minutes.

Her fingers were still wound into his shirt, almost holding him there, against the banister of the stairs, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but stare straight into her intensely dilated eyes that studied him like a shark.

“Uh, all good...”

Wonwoo honestly wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and physically set her aside. At the same time, he didn’t think it was the best protocol to act so uncouth with one of your close friends.

“Oh, sorry!” It seemed to dawn on her that she was pinning him against the handrailing. “I just didn’t want to fall.”

She at last loosened her fingers, though Wonwoo noted how she somewhat dragged her hands along his chest in the process of doing so, like that girl had done earlier to Vernon. It was unnecessary, but she was drunk, and Wonwoo thought he could end the conversation quicker if he remained pleasant. Stood at the top of the stairs, Wonwoo smiled at her, knowing how exhausted he was inside.

“I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Bells smiled, swaying her shoulders, “I’ve never felt better.”

“… Are you… sure about that?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you need water or anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Uh, alright, cool. Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Wonwoo, wait.” She latched onto his arm, fast and sharp.

He paused, not so much because of her grip but mostly from shock, as she had suddenly moved in closer and he could now feel her strength squeezing against his bicep. She batted her eyelashes up at him demurely, and there was nothing he stomached but discomfort.

“What are you doing after this?” The girl hummed, lowering her voice and intentionally smoothing it to add a sultry effect.

Dry swallowing, he debated whether or not he should even respond and instead simply peel her unwanted hand off his arm.

“… Going to bed?” He croaked, shifting in his place.

“Would you want to do something with me?” She bit her lip. “My apartment’s in South Elm. Have you ever been there?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Wonwoo was losing his patience.

“Awe, not a good idea? Why’s that?” She giggled, slowly massaging her hand down the length of his bicep and nibbling on her inner cheek. “We can do anything you want at my place… I live alone… so, I’m up for it. Anything at all.”

“Okay, uh, look. I don’t want to be—”

All of a sudden, Bells was ripped from Wonwoo like a sticky bandage, and while he was more than confused at the situation, he was nonetheless relieved. He assumed it was Princess who’d done the deed, and thus Wonwoo was very surprised to learn that it had been you—you, who did not appear happy in the slightest, and his relief was starting to transform into thick concern because it seemed as though you were going to ricochet Bells head off the banister.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shouted, shoving a belittling hand against Bells' shoulder and tugging her away. “Why are you fucking cornering him like that?!”

“Uh—what? Cornering him? Her, I’m so confused.”

“Confused? About what, Bells? You’re fucking harassing him! Like, why are you in his face and putting your hands on him?!”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s your fucking problem? I wasn’t in his face; I’m talking to him. Just talking. You’re jumped up again.”

“Jumped up?! You're one to talk!”

Wonwoo at first tried to intervene, mostly out of serious worry for Bells safety, because you were steaming. However, every time he attempted to speak up, his words would drown out in the echo of your squabbling. It didn’t help that you two were both mentally degraded in your own right—all that anger was shooting straight from your chest to your mouth with no thought involved.

“Just leave him alone!” You jabbed a finger at her chest.

Bells slapped your hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, why? Does it make you uncomfortable, having someone in your fucking face, touching you without permission? Does that make you upset, Bells? Hm, wow. So funny you would say that.”

Wonwoo settled a hand at your shoulder, tugging at you once, then twice, wanting to pull you back without being too forceful.

“It’s okay,” he assured, though his heart was pounding and he wished someone else would help or even take note of what was happening, “it’s not a big deal, alright? Nothing worth all this.”

Again, he was completely ignored.

“So, that’s it?” Bells laughed, throwing up her arms. “Only you can talk to him, and look at him, and breathe around him? That’s all you? No one else is allowed to like, have a conversation with him?!”

“You don’t want to have a conversation with him!” Your fists balled up tight as you screamed at her. “You want him to fuck you!”

“Okay, okay—!” Wonwoo jolted with panic when you pushed the drunken girl, immediately coiling his arms around your waist and lurching you backward before a flailing hand could strike Bells’ face.

Bells stumbled for no less than second until she regained her balance and looked to you with the most seething, nettled eyes.

The situation seemed on the precipice of exploding beyond control, with you wriggling and thrashing against his arms, employing a strength he couldn’t have expected amidst your sluggish state. You were shouting at him to stop intervening, though, he knew letting go meant you would most likely beat the girl’s breaks off.

Thankfully, at the nick of time, Mingyu had sprinted across the room, catching Bells' arm just before it lashed out in a strike.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mingyu grunted while wrestling the smaller, feisty girl away despite all her manic squirming.

Wonwoo almost got nipped by the unbridled swinging of your elbow as he gritted through his teeth, “I wish I knew.”

He did know. However, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“Fuck! Just take Her downstairs!” The boy shouted.

Jesus Christ—that was easier said than done. Trying to haul you backward down a staircase as you twisted, kicked, and screamed a very colourful litany of profanities at your friend was the exact nightmare it sounded like. Vernon’s head had suddenly popped over the banister, staring down at you and Wonwoo, his eyes blown wide with pure befuddlement, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real life or a narcotic delusion. Princess had gone to help Mingyu calm down Bells. Seungcheol had joined the commotion, too, though he didn’t come across the most intelligible. His mind was all fog.  

And yet, somehow, Wonwoo managed to ply you away from the stairs and into the corridor with hardly a breath to spare.

—END OF PART III.

[captain-hawks]

Hello hello! I've recently discovered your writing and am going absolutely WILD over it, especially your kn8 fics!!

But I would love to request Kenma Kozume(timeskip) and bathroom/shower with the reader as his roommate and helps him destress after a long day of working for his company and youtubing !!

collaboration

kenma kozume x f!reader

Kenma's nearly content to ignore his accidental discovery of your late night activities...until the sight of you wearing one of his shirts snaps the last remaining fragile threads of his willpower.

wc: 1.1k

c: 18+ only, and they were roommates, streamer!kenma, camgirl!reader, (guilty) masturbation, handjob

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — PART V

It’s a miracle, Kenma thinks to himself as he lays one palm flat against the smooth tiles of the shower wall, that he’s lasted this long.

His cock hangs erect and flushed between his legs, precum leaking from the tip, and a satisfying flood of pleasure surges through him when the fingers of his other hand close around its girth.

Eight months he’s lived with you in this two-bedroom apartment, eight months of soft, mumbled ‘good morning’s over coffee and late nights spent watching bad movies and playing video games on the couch. 

You’re his roommate.

You’re his friend.

And he’s spent the last two months trying to forget about his accidental discovery of what exactly you’d fucking meant when you grinned at his streaming set up the first day you moved in, idly commenting that you “stream on occasion, too.” The answer to his question, though incredibly belated, came in the form of your tits on his computer screen late one night as he fervently searched for material to quell the aching need tented in his sweatpants. 

He didn’t realize it was you, not at first. Not until you moved over just enough as you began to finger yourself to reveal a familiar, brightly-colored collage of posters behind your bed. 

Kenma likes to think he’s been a decent roommate—he’s gone to whatever lengths necessary to think of anything but the swell of your perky tits and the sight of the slick arousal staining the inside of your thighs while he’s jerked off in the days since. He even blocked his own access to the website you stream on to avoid any future misclicks driven by selfish temptation and curiosity.

(Kuroo laughed so hard he cried when he told him and proceeded to call him a masochistic idiot.)

He might have even been able to move on past the entire thing unscathed…if he hadn’t stumbled out of his room today after streaming a grueling, infuriating six-hour-long raid to the sight of you bent over in front of the fridge wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pale pink cotton panties.

That still was nearly a recoverable offense, if not for the goddamn fact that the black t-shirt in question was his.

Even now, with his eyes firmly screwed shut as hot water pours down his back, the sight of KODZUKEN written in large, white letters across your shoulders is an insistent, hungry echo against the darkness of his eyelids. 

Just this once—

Kenma lets himself remember the way your tits bounced as you scooted back across your mattress, the shape of your pert nipples, the way your hips arched up off of the bed when you slipped two fingers into your cunt. 

All the blood in his body rushes to his cock. His head drops against the tiles, water sliding down the damp strands of his hair as steam fills the room. His balls ache.

He’s a fucking terrible roommate.

Kenma strokes his cock and bites his fist and wonders if you’d let him come all over your tits. 

(He wonders if you’d wear that shirt while he fucks you.)

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist wishing he was sinking his cock into the tight, wet heat of your cunt. His chest shouldn’t be heaving at the thought of burying his face between your thighs and lapping at your swollen pussy until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.

And suddenly, as disasters often go, a few unfortunate events occur simultaneously—

The bathroom door Kenma left unlocked in the midst of his frustration bursts open.

You loudly announce that you need to brush your teeth quickly.

And Kenma groans your fucking name while he’s pumping his throbbing shaft, the sound easily carrying across the bathroom tiles.

Kenma freezes, and everything goes silent, save for the sound of the running water pouring from the shower head. 

“Don’t stop on my account.”

He gapes, turning to look at the shadow on the other side of the frosted glass of the shower door.

“Can I help?” you continue when he doesn’t respond.

Kenma knows he’s never quite had a way with words, but now he’s well and truly at a fucking loss in this moment. 

“Why?”

Your soft laugh goes straight to his dick. “Because I want to.”

When the shower door slides open partway, you’re still wearing his shirt, and Kenma allows himself a brief moment to freely take in the sight before him. 

“Hope you don’t mind I borrowed this,” you tell him, lips quirking upward in a smile as you tilt your head to the side slightly. “I may have accidentally left something in your drawer to make up for it.”

Kenma blinks, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over what you mean, because a moment later, you’re leaning into the shower just enough to wrap a hand around his shaft. He exhales roughly, taking a step backward, the door of the shower pressing into his shoulder blades as he turns his head to the side to glance at you.

He’s so hard, it hurts.

You run your teeth over your bottom lip as you stroke him, fingers deftly sliding up and down his length, breathy sighs leaving your lips as he gives in to the urge to rock his hips forward into your touch.

“Have you been watching my streams?” you ask him, lips hovering against the shell of his ear.

“Once,” he exhales sharply as your fingers clasp his balls before stroking from his base to his tip, thumb sliding over the precum that continues to steadily leak out.

You smile at him, like you know how fucking hard he’s been trying to maintain some modicum of respect for you as his friend. And then you send all of his good intentions spiraling in to a fucking ditch—

“That’s a shame. Personally, I like watching yours right before I stream.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s never been this hard in his life, not when your fingers are wrapped around his cock in the shower while openly admitting that you livestream yourself masturbating to him playing video games.

And because you clearly know no mercy, you tack on, for good measure:

“We could collaborate…”

Kenma comes so hard he nearly blacks out, his hips sloppily jerking into the grip of your fist as he slams both hands against the wall and groans, hot, sticky ropes of cum spurting from his cock and painting the gray tiles below.

—

Later, after Kenma finds a lacy, red thong nestled amongst the shirts in his dresser, he doesn’t feel bad at all when he fucks his fist with it wrapped around his cock.

—

And while he’s not quite ready to run the risk of someone on your streaming site recognizing Kodzuken while you’re whimpering and gasping as you ease yourself down into his length, his viewers are none the wiser when you take his dick into your mouth from beneath his keyboard in the middle of his next raid. 

[seat-safety-switch]

In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the people who repair fences, and the people who let them fall apart. These are their stories.

When I moved into my house, the fence was in good condition. In case you're from a country that hadn't invented them yet, "fences" are an artificial construct of humanity meant to delineate the boundaries of property between two or more identical suburban houses. And, being part of your property, they are part of how you are perceived.

Here's the problem: fences are made out of flawed, human construction. Mine was (I think) made out of wood. When that wood rotted, the planks fell out, and maybe a couple posts stayed behind. Suddenly, passersby could see into my property, and see that I was not in fact a Good Person who was Trying Hard To Fit In. Not like themselves, who agonized over every missing flake of Home Depot Eggshell Blue on their own fences after a long, hard winter.

As things degraded further, with neighbourhood children wandering, confused, into my yard after not seeing any fence keeping them from doing so, by-law enforcement was summoned. The belief was that they would punish me for going against the grain, for letting my fence fall apart.

Unfortunately for them, my attorney, who spends most of his spare time writing erotic fan-fiction about our city's specific property-standards bylaws (don't ask to see them, they're really bad, and the main character is an obvious self-insert) was on the case. He actually made one of the bylaw managers quit rather than spend another hour on the phone with him. After all that stress, it turns out that while you can't have a bad-looking fence, you don't actually have to have a fence at all.

One delightful weekend of sledgehammers removed the last of the rotten planks and split posts, and my yard was now full of free-range 1970s shitbox Chryslers. A glorious moment for civilization.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to realize exactly why fences are valuable: they keep the undesirable element out of your yard.

Only a few days after my triumph over the decline of mind-your-own-fucking-businessism, I noticed something strange in my yard. Tucked in amongst where I would normally have terrible cars, someone had parked a fully-intact Ford Galaxie, presumably thinking I wouldn't even notice. As if I could not give special attention to a vehicle that still has its hood and its trunk!

The haters won in the end: I was forced to go to Home Depot, that knurled-wood nest of knavery, and purchase the shittiest chain-link fence kit that I could find. No cost was too great to keep the Fordites away from my homestead, with their firestarting dodgy electrics and perfect paint.

[https-murdock]

Lunchtimes at the Office - Matt Murdock

summary: Matt ‘forgot’ his lunch, maybe you’ll just have to drop it off.

word count: 564 (lil one today)

warnings: allusions to smut, mentions of smut, 18+ MDNI

note: if anyone wants a big sized version fic of this let me know :) <3

When Matt was in the office, one of your favourite things to do was to turn up in your tiniest dress or skirt - because there was nothing he could do about it at all, and it was always almost like for once you could hear his heart beat.

“Hey… sweetheart.” He says, beginning with a happy tone that faded into a note of question after feeling your outfit. He knows exactly which dress you’re wearing by the material, it’s one he always loves to lift up your legs for best access in a rush - It’s definitely short enough to do that.

You can already see his jaw muscles clench as soon as his mouth closes.

“Hey guys! Matt, you forgot your lunch.” you wink, looking at him and seeing his eyes darken even though he doesn’t know exactly what the outfit looks like, he doesn’t need to - he knows why you’re here.

Wandering over to his desk, you close the door behind you - watching Karen smirk to herself, finding it funny how flustered Matt gets each time you turn up. It wasn’t your fault he forgot his lunch… apart from the fact you had hidden it this morning so you had to drop it off.

“What’s up Matt? why are you so quiet today?” you say, trying to hide the laugh that comes out but failing, his head turning in your direction as he lifts you by the hips to place you on his desk. “Don’t play that game.” He growls, kissing your cheek softly, trying to look put together in case someone walks in.

He can’t hide how he’s getting himself worked up. The slight sheen of sweat running itself across his forehead, eyes blinking at a quicker pace than usual. He also can’t hide the way his calloused fingers are tracing themselves across your legs, wishing he was stuck with his head between your thighs making you cum over and over again.

“What game? its not my issue you forgot your lunch. Big lawyer boys need to eat Matt!” You grin, looking up at him from where he looms above you, his tie suddenly feeling very suffocating around his neck.

You can see the cogs turning in his head, thinking of a way he can bend you over his desk and fuck you so hard you can’t walk for a while afterward without Foggy and Karen knowing - but unfortunately that doesn’t seem like it’ll come to fruition.

“You’re killing me sweetheart. i have so much work to do.” Matt groans, hands sitting on your thighs still, stroking up and down and reminding you of the slick forming between them as the ache grows stronger. “You don’t have to do it all now though, right? you can take a few minutes out…” your hands move to his tie, tugging him down slightly letting your lips run across his cheek, and it’s like you can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.

Suddenly Matt walks over to his office door, swinging open the door and pointedly saying, “Karen, Fog, I need a moment with my girlfriend can we have a few minutes.” Not even giving them time to respond before closing and locking his door again.

“They’re insatiable.” Foggy sighs, grabbing his lunch and walking out, Karen walking with him still laughing to herself.

[cultofdarkwood]

If you'd like a fun and silly prompt, Cats of the Cult vs Lanolin. (Or even Leshy vs a Lanolin-high Yellow Cat.)

oh my godddd yes yes. Yarrow, yellow cat, they/them!

Leshycat and narilamb, but its mostly leshy teasing nari. i alsooo wanted to try writing from solely leshy's perspective, which is why there are no visual descriptions :3 unfortunately this means leshy cant see yarrow's HUGE giant kitty cat pupils

-

The first winter after the seasons had begun to change again was harsh. Unused to the cold weather, the Lamb's flock did what they could to stay warm, huddling against each other in the temple, day and night. The fields withered and died, and those who died succumbed to either chill or hunger.

The second winter was different. Determined to embrace the new seasons as they changed, the Lamb was prepared for winter this time. They stockpiled food in the autumn to prepare for the barren fields. They built better shelters. They dug out all their shearings of wool from over the years, brought them to the cult tailor, and instructed them to create as many warm pieces of clothing as possible.

What nobody was prepared for were the cats.

Leshy remembered what winter was like. Though it was a dim, distant memory, he remembered the chill and cold, the snow and how the beautiful leaves of Darkwood would change color and fall. It wasn't his favorite season, but he found that after all these years, he missed it. He had been enjoying kicking up snow and shoving ice down the robes of the Lamb's followers before the Lamb forcibly confined him to the dining hall, where the cooks of the cult were preparing lunch. Now, he sat in the corner and brooded.

"Leshyyy!" The familiar voice of the first friend he'd made in the Lamb's cult had him turning his head, despite the fact that he could not see. The sound of footsteps and the sudden rush of cold air announced the arrival of Yarrow, and the fluffy cat sat down next to him. He barely said a word before they pushed their whole weight against him.

"Yarrow-!" Leshy said in surprise, his leaves flaring up as the cat began to purr loudly and nuzzle their head into his shoulder. Despite the fact that there were other people around, eating lunch and staying warm and looking at them, Leshy couldn't find it in himself to push the cat away. He huffed, shoving down an involuntary chitter. "What are you doing?"

"Leshyyy," Yarrow purred, grabbing his arm and pushing their head underneath it to snuggle into his side. "You're so soffft."

"Did the Lamb open the drinkhouse when I wasn't paying attention?" Leshy asked with a grin, confusion and amusement creeping into his tree bark voice. "Why are you-"

"Warm," Yarrow said firmly, as though that explained everything. They purred again, nuzzling into Leshy's side. "Smells nice."

The familiar scent of bones and cat fur approached, and Narinder sat down on his other side with a huff. They had hurt each other in the past, but now that Leshy was mortal, Leshy wanted to hold on to the present, and Narinder seemed to feel the same. Leshy tilted his head towards his brother with a questioning sound low in his throat, and Narinder sighed.

"Damned lamb fucked up," was all he said, and Leshy snorted.

"That's not hard for them to do," he said with a grin, poking his brother in the side. Narinder swatted at his hand, and Leshy laughed. "Where are they, anyways? The two of you are hardly two steps apart these days."

"Not important. Every cat in the damn cult is-" Narinder paused. Leshy could almost picture the look of contemplation on his face. "Well. Like the one clinging to you currently."

"Warmmm," Yarrow said helpfully, purring as they nuzzled closer to Leshy.

"Are you not a cat too?" Leshy asked through a creaking chitter, bringing a hand up to run his claws through Yarrow's soft fur. "Why are you not- what's causing this, anyways? Did the Lamb bring back catnip from Darkwood or something?"

Narinder muttered something so quietly that even Leshy's crisp hearing couldn't decipher it. His leaves rustled, and he poked Narinder in the side again. Narinder hissed, but it was Yarrow who answered.

"Wool," they purred, their fur brushing against his leaves as they leaned up to rub their cheek against his. "Leader's wool... smells so nice."

Leshy turned his head and Yarrow's nose pressed into the leaves of his face. The fluffy cat was close, judging by the warm purring breaths he could feel against his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he had to will himself not to bloom, knowing that Narinder would most certainly tease him for it. Instead he carefully felt over Yarrow's clothes, the thick, soft fabric they wore covering most of them up.

"Narinder!" the Lamb called as they entered the dining building. Narinder stiffened up. Leshy immediately put two and two together.

"Are you avoiding them? Are you avoiding them because you don't want to make a fool of yourself?" Leshy laughed, a loud cackle that immediately caught the Lamb's attention, judging by the quick jingle of their bell from across the hall. The worm grinned, ignoring Yarrow's snuggling for the moment. "Damned lamb this, usurper that-"

"Shut up," Narinder hissed, shoving Leshy before getting up and all but fleeing. The Lamb called after him, and followed him as he left the dining building.

"Leshyyy," Yarrow purred, and Leshy turned his attention to the cat that had all but just crawled in his lap.

"Okay," he said, more affection than he'd meant to let out bleeding into his voice. He scooped them up carefully into his arms, laughing as they let out a delighted noise and clung to him. "Let's get you home."

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Cod Men at a Slumber Party

Requested: God himself told me that this was what I needed to write, but otherwise no

Warnings: Pillow Violence

A/N: Rudyyyyyyy

Ghost - The one who stays up and pulls pranks

Soap’s hand is going in some warm water. Alejandro is getting whip cream on his hand and tickled with a feather. Rudy has cocks and balls drawn all over his face in neon glitter permanent marker, and König is covered in clown makeup (complete with the rainbow wig which he cannot get off thanks to Ghost using some pretty expensive wig adhesive). They wake up and instantly everyone is yelling at each other, accusing each other despite the fact that they are all victims of these heinous pranks. No one looks at Ghost who is quietly watching on, hiding a look that was very much “cat who caught the canary”, self satisfied as he video taped the fight that ensued between the others.

Soap - The Pillow Fort Builder

The minute Soap steps through the door he’s scavenging for each and every pillow within the house, as if he doesn’t have a wagon full of them dragging behind him. Doesn’t matter how lumpt or old or stuff they are, he’s making this pillow fort and it will be the most comfy place you’ve ever slept in your whole life. Seriously, man deserves some type of reward for being able to make such an amazing pillow fort. Not to mention that it just looks cool from the outside as well, almost like a castle of some kind. Soap takes great pride in his pillow forts and if anyone (including himself) is ever dissatisfied with one then he’s tearing it apart and rebuilding it from the ground up til he feels like he’s gotten it perfect.

König - The one who falls asleep first

König is always so excited to have a sleepover, talking about all the different movies you all could watch and games you could play. He comes in in his softest pajamas and with his favorite pillow and blanket, arms full of board games and dvds and vhs tapes, only to fall asleep the second he finishes setting up his makeshift bed on the floor. It’s kinda cute in a way, snoring and drooling in his sleep, splayed out like some sort of giant starfish, his pillow clutched to his chest like some sort of plushie. And he’ll always feel guilty about it when he wakes up, feeling like he missed out on something important or like he was rude.

Alejandro - The Pillow Fighter

Alejandro will 100% be trying to carefully thief some of Soap’s pillows so that he can sneak up behind someone else, smack them HARD AS FUCK with one of the pillows, and shout at the top of his lungs “*PREPÁRATE A MORIR!!!”. Literally hits people so hard with these pillows that its a wonder that no one has actually died (though some people HAVE lost teeth, which was unfortunate to say the least). Yes he will do this at every slumber party. No, you will not be able to successfully hide the pillows from him. Doesn’t matter where you put them, he’ll find them. And then you’ll be the first to be hit with one of the pillows, just because you tried to stop it from happening.

Rudy - The Snack Bringer/Maker

Rudy arrives to the slumber party carrying about 80 different boxes and bags of popcorn, cookies, chips, drinks, and so much more. He also has a lot of homemade stuff as well, though that’s primarily for him since he doesn’t like a lot of sugar. That doesn't mean he won’t share though! He’s more than happy to, and will bring more homemade stuff than store bought if it’s demanded by more than just one other person. And not to brag but that man is SO good at cooking. Absolute house spouse material. (I’d wife him anyways)

*PREPÁRATE A MORIR!!! = PREPARE TO DIE!!!

[omegastation]

Once saw someone describe ME as copaganda and honestly... I feel like that's a 100% accurate statement. It honestly dampens my enjoyment of the saga. Genie is out of the bottle, as they say.

Open contempt for civilian agencies, check. Repeated instances where they present fascism as a Good Thing Actually, check. Cops and military almost unilaterally depicted as correct and just, check. Ones like Harkun are treated as merely bad apples and hand-waved away whereas any and all politicians are treated as incompetent at best or outright corrupt/malevolent at worst. Not to mention the whole thing with Khalisah al-Jilani.

Idk. It all just feels so dim-witted and mean-spirited.

There are a lot of good things that make me love it with all my heart, and things that are not so good. I try to do my best to acknowledge the bad stuff and remain critical. So yeah, I do agree that some elements of the trilogy should be analyzed closely because it's kinda fucked-up.

Genie is out of the bottle, I find that the expression explains a lot. Because Mass Effect is a product of its time and place, and /insert the speech from LOTR/ the world has changed. I don't mean to say that it was never this bad, because I think it was, but we now are getting images, videos and live updates all the time showing us exactly how bad it is. We see so much suffering and injustice. And it's us "outside". Some are inside, and they're the ones showing us how bad it is. So... It's harder to see specific themes, stories and characters that are unchallenged. It's harder to see injustice being portrayed, even if the content doesn't always condone it.

I also think we are more critical in general. We are, unfortunately, used to specific issues so it's easier to recognize when they appear in fiction. I can really see that in the way people talk about specific characters. People idolize less, and I honestly think that's an improvement, because idolatry, at least how I see it, is not about seeing characters or stories as they are, but putting them on a pedestal. Characters are complex and flawed, and that's what makes them interesting. Real growth happens when characters change and adapt and rethink their position. Sometimes it means they have to look inside themselves and see the ugliness, and that means we get to see the ugly too. Not only that, but we can also contemplate what is ugly inside us, and see what we can do to change and grow. But not so long ago, before my hiatus, it was really hard to step away from "this character is a god" or "this character is flawless and if you don't see it you're not a fan" and "no no i can't see this issue at all, doesn't exist, lalalala" talk. Now it's harder for people not to see the issue. But the issue was always there.

You talked about Khalisah. I saw a meme on FB recently that says that if we can't hit someone like Khalisah in the new Mass Effect, we shouldn't bother playing it, which to me is 1. disturbing, 2. missing the fact that wars need journalists and reporters, even someone like Khalisah who is not always playing fair. I don't understand the option to hit her. I've ranted about it enough here. If you don't hit her, you get to encourage her and reassure her. It's obvious she's falling apart and she needs to be reassured. One of my favorite quotes in the game is what Shepard tells her: "Keep asking the hard questions." That's what is needed in a time of war. And sure, this one beautiful interaction and line won't take away the fact that some choices can feel mean-spirited but to me, it means it's not black & white. I see the ugliness, I do, but I also see the beauty.

IDK where I'm going with this. I guess that Mass Effect was never flawless and unproblematic, and in a way, I think it's a good thing that issues are seen and we can have a critical look at the worst parts of the trilogy.

But what is very specific to you, anon, is what you can tolerate, appreciate or enjoy. Some parts of the trilogy make me sad and or angry but it doesn't stop me from really enjoying the whole. If you find that you don't get to enjoy it anymore, because too many elements make it difficult to appreciate and it's now a real dislike, don't forget that you can step away. I'm not telling you that you have to do it. You can do what you want, but don't forget that you don't have to force yourself to love something. It's okay to move away from things because you now find them disappointing.

[eggyboyoart]

NU: carnival harem and if they would/would not fuck their clone

[RATED +18]

EIDEN;

yes. he is unbelievably pro clone-fucking. he canonically fucks his clone (SSR Salacious King). While I haven't got Salacious King and idk what the intimacy rooms are; I know for a fact that Eiden (both of them) are having the time of their kinky little lives.

I imagine that they’re both teasing and confident, manoeuvring around each other with expert ease. Since eiden himself is incredibly versatile already, its not hard for them to fall into a sexy rhythm...

Eiden is also pro clansmembers-fucking-his-own-clone-in-front-of-him and pro clones-fucking-the-clansmembers (my boy is versatile).

ASTER;

Aster is pro clone-fucking in the way that both him and his clone are ganging up on Eiden or Morvay. Imagine with me; one Aster behind Eiden, nibbling on his neck and the other in the front - torturing him with some toys. Thats Aster, baby.

They end up with their focus split, torn between watching their partner fall apart beneath them and sneaking glances toward his clone while hes not looking – secretly checking himself out.

Eiden ends up covered in bites and passed out from exhaustion at the end :))

MORVAY;

YES YES YES YES YES YES

THEY GET SO FREAKY. mmm incubus x incubus.. it starts off a little hesitant, with both of them wondering if they could feed off each other’s ‘essence’ and soon after - like Aster, they both ALSO end up ganging up on Eiden – damn near fist-fighting each other to get to Eiden’s ‘prize jewels’.

Eiden ends up ABSOLUTELY exhausted at the end. Its like that meme with the shriveled up man next to other person sleeping.

this isn't the exact meme, but its the same vibe.

YAKUMO;

ohh.. sweet baby yakumo..

hes so hesitant, he most likely got the idea from Eiden asking both Yakumos to double-team him. Yakumo usually struggles with 'possessive' snake instincts and weirdly enough, its the same with his own clone (despite the fact they're the same person lol).

however.. a little after Yakumo x Eiden x Yakumo's Clone.. both yakumos sneak off into the night for some 'private exploration'.. neither of them speak of it out of pure embarrassment, but the suspiciously snake-shaped bite marks on each other’s neck do not go unnoticed..

EDMOND;

hes offended that you would even suggest such a thing. he is a righteous man of noble intentions, he would never even think of such perverted acts- get your mind out of the gutter, you scoundrel-!

while edmond doesn't necessarily feel attracted to himself sexually, neither of the vice-captains can resist sneaking a little peak around the back.. but overall, nothing beyond some subtle glances.

eiden tries to convince them both for some 'regulation' but he doesn't get very far when two blushing swordsmen put their blades up to his throat.. (better luck next time, big man)

OLIVINE;

... :3

this busty priest has probably never really thought about his own attractiveness too much but... is his chest really that voluptuous?

honestly? olivine is probably the one to bring this up to eiden. both priests approach the grand sorcerer quietly in the evening, mumbling about 'essence regulation'.. thats really just an excuse though. hes both insanely embarrassed and intensely aroused at his own sounds and squirming body ('does he really sound like that?').

eiden also has a good time when he gets to see two busty priests pressed up against each other and making out (LUCKY BITCH)

QUINCY;

ahh yes, our resident bear..

i don't believe he would be particularly interested in fucking his own clone, unfortunately. I just don’t think that he is his own type.. but, with a low mumble of 'troublesome..', he could be convinced/teased into tag-teaming eiden or a certain cheeky fox..

in this situation, i imagine one quincy leant back against the headboard, eiden/kuya on top of him and the other quincy behind eiden/kuya with double penetration orr.. both quincys spitroasting eiden/kuya :))

either way, the clones are less focused on each other and more focused on their partner.

KUYA;

soo, the myth, the man, the legend - our local mischievous fox yokai..

i believe this would start off relatively simply, with both kuyas ganging up/sexually torturing eiden in possessive competition. similarly to yakumo, his jealous instincts are not curbed when faced with his own clone and they both spend the whole time exchanging quips and witty remarks while just plowing eiden.

but after.. i believe both kuyas sneak off to 'hate-fuck' essentially. its bitter, aggressive and honestly violent with how rough they get with each other and in the end.. i don't think there is a winner here.

GARU;

okay.. desperate bottom x desperate bottom AHH-

its wild how they go at each other.. honestly, eiden probably walks in on them frotting – the room thick with the scent of sweat and slick and a sight so erotic that eiden is mystically compelled to join (honestly bro? me too).

honestly, if i can get a little 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂.. its wet. they're both drooling, from their mouth and.. down there.. and honestly, eiden is too. and if both wolf yokai desperately cling to their master, whining so sweetly.. who is he to deny them?

KARU;

honestly? I do believe that within karu is a man capable of being on top. It takes a lot, some self-given pep-talk and enough teasing – I do genuinely believe karu would be able to successfully dominate someone, though in more of a ‘whimpery top’ kind of style..

that’s sort of what happens when eiden tries to get under both karu’s skin, sliding up to them with his usual audacity. Eventually, both karus come to a mutual agreement that there is strength in numbers and agree to take the grand sorcerer down.

It ends in a similar position as quincy’s – spitroasting eiden though with a lot more whimpering and drooling from all parties involved.

BLADE;

My other, beautiful pookie..

This story starts with some good old fashioned exploration. At first, its purely curiosity – poking and prodding at each other with eager fingers and excitable eyes. But once one of them press on a particularly sensitive spot, its all over for them. Once one of the e-droids gets the idea, the other is all too eager to delve right into the good stuff.

Eiden probably walks in on them right in the middle of the act – the two tangled up and sweaty, and they’re more than happy to extend a hand to their darling~

DANTE;

The identical Sun Lords are appalled at the very idea. They are not interested in each other like that, at all – and truthfully, they end up barely getting along due to both of their stubborn natures.

Though, the one thing they can agree on is that eiden needs to be taken down a peg. This probably ends up as a mixture of Quincy and Kuya’s scenarios – with both Sun Lord’s less focused on each other but more so on tormenting the frustrating ‘grand sorcerer’.

Spitroasting is probably the way to go here, with eiden’s mouth being put to ‘better uses’.. it looks like they’re finally getting along :))

REI;

(I don’t know much about rei so forgive me lol)

Fascinating.. they spend a majority of the time researching each other, jotting down notes and findings as they debate and theorise. Eventually (to no ones surprise), this research ends up becoming ‘research’ – if you know what I mean, wink wink, nudge nudge..

Interestingly enough, I don’t see eiden being involved at all here, nor do I see either of them topping the other.. I think its mostly ‘experiments’ that rei more-so wanted to perform on himself, that has now been made easier using his body double.

Either way, with both intelligent minds - their time researching has actually proven to be rather productive, which leads rei to seriously consider finding a way to regularly clone himself..

[ghostshipernr1]

16-year-old Dewdrop doesn't have it easy.What he would like most in the world is to bury his nose in books and never leave the room. Unfortunately, his family thinks otherwise and forces him to marry a stranger. Who will save him from such a terrible fate?

otherwise:

My favorite ship but its Vampire Middle ages Universe!!!

Human Dewdrop x Vampire Aether

Warnings: Panic attack, broken arm, a lot of crying

Witch-hunt

chapter 2

Dewdrop ran forward as fast as his aching legs and the tight corset around his body would allow him to. Behind him, he could hear shouts and the sounds of footsteps of those trying to catch him. When Dew ran into the forest, he immediately felt a shiver run down his spine, but he had to ignore it and continue running so that no one would find him.

After ten minutes of intense running and turning into the narrowest corners, it seemed that he had managed to lose the pursuit. Unfortunately, he had the impression that he had also lost his bearings, as the thick fog and darkness of the night made it impossible for him to see anything. Dewdrop decided not to wait any longer and headed deeper into the forest to hide and think about his next steps.

Making his way through tall trees and thorny bushes, Dewdrop finally found a relatively safe place. It was a large ditch with rocks surrounding it and a fallen tree in front for cover.

Dewdrop smoothed the ground clean it with his hand and sat down to think about his situation. It was only when the adrenaline of today had died down then Dew realized how bad of a situation he was in. Alone in the middle of a huge forest with even more wild animals waiting to tear him apart. And on top of that, the damn fog was so humid that Dewdrop had to catch every breath with difficulty. With every passing second it seemed to get colder and the anxiety wouldn't leave his head. How could he be so damn stupid?

Suddenly, Dew felt fear starting to settle in his bones. Fear filled his head and disrupted rational thinking. What if he got lost and stayed in this fucking forest forever? If he lost his parents so easily, it would be even easier to lose himself. Boy put his hand on his chest only to discover that his heartbeat had suddenly accelerated. He was so damn scared. He had everything at home, a warm bed, running water, a healthy meal. What had gotten into his head to run away! His parents will be so fucking angry.

Dew had no idea if it was because of the humidity or because of himself, but breathing became very difficult, it was even like suffocating. Maybe a short walk would help?

Dewdrop tried to get up from the stones, but because of his numb legs, he slipped and fell hard. A shiver of almost agonizing pain went through his whole body and Dew, unable to hold it in, screamed out loud. Tears flowed freely down his face as he lay with a broken arm on the dirty ground in a musty ditch that was supposed to be his coffin.

The feeling of weakness haunted him as he tried to crawl out of the death trap, but all his attempts were in vain. Despite the fact that the ditch was quite large, the blond felt claustrophobic. All he could do was curl up into a ball and sob over his miserable fate.

He had been free for less than an hour and had already proven how dependent he was on his family. Dewdrop felt that he should have listened to them from the very beginning.

The energy was leaving his body faster and faster, Dewdrop felt that he would soon fall asleep and probably never wake up again. But who cares? His parents had probably already given up and found someone else in his place. Someone better.

Dew's eyes were slowly getting dark and his ears started ringing. But before the night could completely cover him, he managed to notice a black nightmare from the corner of his eye, like a shadow emerging from behind the fog.

During the endless journey, Dewdrop would occasionally regain consciousness but would lose it after a second. The blond knew that he was being carried. He was also aware of the pain in his arm and chest. Dewdrop tried to open his eyes but for the life of him they would not cooperate. The only sense he had left was hearing, which was not doing so well anyway.

And Dew was so damn tired. A short nap in the stranger's arms, in his mind drunk with pain, did not seem so bad.

Just a short rest.

Darkness fell again

__________________________________

Suddenly Dew found himself in his room again. He looked at his shelves with handmade books, his desk was covered with parchments and stained with drops of lost ink. Everything seemed familiar but it was still so... different. Something here definitely didn't fit. Dew slowly turned his gaze to what used to be windows but now bars driven into the stone. Shocked, he looked at the room again and indeed now it turned into a stone and cold cell. Once his broken arm was now whole but chained to one of the walls. Panic took hold of Dew again.

He suddenly moved to another place again, only this time he was sitting at the table, opposite to his parents. They were staring at him. Their faces were cold and the looks with which they were clearly trying to kill him, unusually empty. "You have to do it Dew, that's the only way to guarantee yourself a save future" When his father said those words his face became even more gloomy. His mother who was sitting with her arms folded just nodded

"I won't marry someone I don't know" Dew replied. Still, deep down he knew what was best for him.

His parents' previously boring faces suddenly took on a sinister look. Dewdrop put his hand over his mouth only to feel his lips being sewn together with iron thread. The blond abruptly stood up from the chair which immediately fell to the ground. He frantically tried to say something but his attempts always ended in failure.

Feeling the warm liquid on his fingers he realized that they were covered in blood and he was trying to scratch his lips out. When he finally succeeded, he screamed as loudly as he could.

__________________________________

Dewdrop woke up with a silent scream. He quickly put his hands to his face to make sure everything was okay. He breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that everything was in place. Dew quickly realized that he was lying in a bed. And worst of all, not his own bed. He looked around the room frantically, searching for any information that would help him identify where he was.

Dewdrop noticed that a fireplace was burning in the corner of the room. Thanks to the light from the fire, he was able to see that the room was made of dark bricks. Despite such a cold material, the whole thing seemed very cozy. Everywhere he looked there was either some nice piece of furniture or an interesting painting in warm colors.

Dewdrop tried to sit up in bed, quickly realizing that the hand that had been chained in the dream was now wrapped in a bandage. Only now, when he was fully seated on the mattress, did he have time to wonder. After all, it wasn't often that he fainted in the forest and then woke up in someone's room. Glancing at the window, Dewdrop noticed that it was still dark outside. Turning his head to the table that stood by the bedside, he could see a makeshift first aid kit.

Holding his bandaged hand, Dew tried to stand up this time. He succeeded and immediately started sightseeing. At first, he set his sights on paintings that he hadn't had time to look at properly before. Most of them depicted cheerful scenes from the lives of some strange couple. From time to time, other people appeared there, but the pair of lovers always remained in the foreground. Strange

The next thing Dew found interesting was a large wardrobe at the very end. He opened it, revealing a multitude of beautiful dresses inside. Despite everything, something didn't add up again. Light colors of clothing were very popular now, but these dresses, all of them were black, sometimes with red, less often dark purple accents on them. They looked intriguing.

Then Dewdrop wanted to see the view outside the window, unfortunately, before he could even approach his planned destination, the door to the room opened.

"Where are you flying off to, little bird? I just brought you here." The stranger said, standing in the door frame. Dewdrop stopped abruptly, still looking out the window, not daring to move even a millimeter. The man sighed and closed the door behind him as he entered the room. He went to the fireplace, added some wood and the room became much brighter. This time the blond man found courage and turned around to see who he was dealing with.

Despite the darkness Dewdrop could easily see the pale complexion that stranger had. They gave the impression of contrast with the thick, black short hair on the stranger's head. He was definitely tall with a well-built posture and everything was perfectly complemented by well-chosen dark purple elegant clothes. Although Dewdrop did not want to admit it, the man was damn hot.

"Have you watched it yet darling?, or you need a moment?" He asked in a mocking voice approachin smaller one.

Dew blushed immediately, he did not know what to say. Only when he was only a few steps away from him he notice the wine-red eyes staring into the depths of his soul.

"You're probably confused, maybe we should sit down first and I'll explain everything to you?" The taller one said and as if expecting obedience, he sat down on the bed waiting for the other to join him. On trembling legs Dewdrop settled himself next to the stranger and looked him in the eye.

At that moment bat meet bird.

"My name is Aether and whats yours my love?" He said with a smile on his lips as if it was completely normal for him to call strangers such endearments.

"My name is Dewdrop and I warn you that I am not your love" The shorter one replied sarcastically putting on a malicious mask. "Will you kindly tell me where I am and what I am doing here?"

"You are currently in the guest room where I live with my family. You are here because I would prefer such a beauty not to become food for wild animals" Aether said. This time he was the one wearing a malicious smile.

"Well... that explains a lot" Dew said glancing at his bare feet. At that moment he realized how badly his dress was ruined.

Damn it, his mother would kill him

Oh yeah... He can't go home.

Such a failure as he was.

It's a shame Aether didn't leave him alone in the forest.

And even if he did come back?

He would never see even a shadow of freedom again.

If Dewdrop was a bird, then one with cut wings.

"Remember to breathe Dewy"

Dewdrop realized with surprise that he was panicking again. Aether must have known this perfectly well because he put on a calm tone of voice and tried to help him by leading him through breathing exercises.

"Inhale and exhale little bird, I'm here for you."

"This will pass, we'll get through this together"

"Everything's okay canary, you're safe here"

"I know it's hard but you'll manage, you're so brave"

"Remember to breathe"

"You're not alone..."

It was those last words that allowed him to calm the storm in his body. Dewdrop felt like he was 5 years old again and his grandmother was helping him control his panic. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks at this memory. Aether immediately pulled him to his chest and hugged him.

"Shhhhh everything will be fine. You can cry as much as you need"

Dew experienced a comfort he hadn't felt in a very long time. The man's stable embrace finally allowed him to rest. Dewdrop felt as emotions subsided and, fir god sake he was so tired. To make matters worse, the circles massaging his back didn't help. He knows he shouldn't but eventually Dewdrop fall asleep in the stranger's hug

Has the canary finally found its wings?

[dreamsy990]

so 358/2 days, amiright? heres my thoughts

this game is just. god its an emotional rollarcoaster

i guess ill start with the things i dont like!! which is mostly the gameplay. i dont really mind the mission structure shockingly (i like being able to roam around but having a clear goal makes things easier for my adhd ass, and i think the miniature storylines are very good for the most part) but i simply could Not get into the combat. especially coming off of kh2 it feels so stiff and unfun to play the only part of the game where i enjoyed the combat was fighting riku at the very end. i think the panel system is okay but i dont like that levels take up space. why did they do that.

story-wise, i dont like the retcons!! a lot of the ones i take issue with are very minor but things like roxas only fighting riku once instead of the implied multiple times (even the dialogue doesnt make sense when you change that, why does roxas say 'how many times do i have to beat you' when theyve only fought once?) are the kinds of inconsistencies that just annoy me.

im also a little bit annoyed at the very concept of this game at all. i think roxas worked just fine as a character without this game. it feels sort of unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. also, xion. i love xion, dont get me wrong, but i dont think she adds anything to the series over all. thats not to say she doesnt add anything to this game because shes a great character and i love her, but shes just. kind of like this game in that if you got rid of her i dont think it would really change the narrative so much.

BUT DESPITE THAT ALL!!!!!!!! i fucking ADORE this game. it is genuinely so full of charm and soul that i just cant bring myself to dislike it. i think this is one of the best written games in terms of dialogue. every scene (at least for me) hit exactly as emotionally hard as i think it was meant to. i was laughing at demyx's antics and crying at xions death and yelling at saix and i think thats exactly how the game is meant to be seen.

days at its heart is a slice of life. its working a 9 to 5 its going through a depressive episode its losing friends its grieving its making fun of your coworkers its living. its a game about life and i love that.

this game really did make me forget that axel roxas and xion dont get a happy ending. i spent so much time looking forward to them making up that i forgot that roxas ran away. hell i almost forgot that xion died.

days is emotional and its story and its characters are just so fucking good. the conflicts all felt very real and you can tell exactly where everyones coming from. the way axel roxas and xion fall apart hits so fucking close to home. but god damnit if axel had any good communication skills like half of this could be avoided

its also one hell of a love letter to axel's character. hes always been one of my favorites (he recently earned first place) and i think this game does him a lot of justice. hes trying to do good. he wants to keep everything together he wants to be there for his friends he wants to make things right but he just cant. its just AUGH its so fucking good

that thing about axel's characterization really also applies to roxas. i dont have much to say about him beyond the fact that i think it does his character very well. also tism. hes so autism.

i kind of like the very limited graphics too. sue me i enjoy low quality games. the hands are not animated and they all have two expressions (blinking and not blinking) and their weapons are flat and im living for it. the very few fully animated cutscenes are good too!!

the (real, i dont count riku) final boss is unfortunately very easy. you can just stand directly in front of her and mash a she wont hit you its too easy but vector to the heavens did mess me up a bit. also earlier scene but "ill always be there to bring you back" with the other promise playing over it? fucked me up man. yoko shimomura is once again killing it

i cant believe roxas didnt get to go to the beach.

i have to give this game a 9/10. its writing is incredible but the gameplay could use a lot of work. its just not fun to play. but again the characters, emotions, and music all make up for that tenfold.

[yukimiyaz]

SNEAKY LINK

kuroko tetsuya x gn!reader

includes: husband!tetsu. party/drunk ppl. tetsu being hot n a Good Husband

notes: my baby

This was supposed to be the quiet corner of the party. 

Well, as quiet as it can get in an overcrowded apartment with crackling speakers turned up to full volume. You were just standing here waiting for Tetsuya to get back with your drinks, minding your own business along the wall as you watched Kagami do a keg stand across the room to try to beat Aomine's record, the latter and some others booing and cheering for him respectively. The usual, you know.

Yeah, it was supposed to be quiet, but there’s some guy standing in front of you that just will not shut up. 

And he’s nice—it’s true, but he’s babbling. Babbling about any and everything; all of what comes out of his mouth being all about himself. Which, one, is most certainly not attractive, and two, is getting real old real fast. He’s faking politeness, the kind that guys do to engage with you just enough to cover up the fact all they’re trying to do is sneak you off to the bathroom. Unfortunately for him though, he’s not your type. And even if he was, you’re not interested. 

In the slightest.

“And then it was the last ten seconds and we were down by two so I barely got the rebound and—“ 

“Ended up hitting a buzzer beater?” You interrupt, and your cheeks are killing you from the fake smile you have painted on. 

Inwardly you’re rolling your eyes, because it’s one predictable story after the next from this guy’s glory days, and to be honest you’ve watched enough good basketball that it takes a bit more for you to be impressed. And you’re wondering where the fuck Tetsuya is and wishing he’d show up with those drinks already and save you from this conversation. 

“Well well, look at you. Little mind reader,” he smirks, leans in a little closer. The tequila doesn’t mix well with his breath. You crinkle your nose, lean back as much as you can. 

Your fingers fiddle for your left hand, and you mentally berate yourself for accidentally dropping the missing ring down the sink a week prior. Normally, this is where’d you’d subtly—but obviously— display the band on your finger; a silent fuck off to whoever attempted to flirt with you. Now, though, it’s been sent to the jewelers. Your finger is empty. And your fuck off is about to become not so silent. 

“Not hardly,” you force a laugh. Take a step back. “Just easy to guess.” 

The guy laughs, way too loud for the quiet corner of the party and right in your face and just.. Annoying . Your nerves dwindle a little more, chip away at your patience. Your eye almost twitches, especially as he tries to lean in even closer. 

“Well, maybe. By the way, speaking of easy—“ 

“Sorry, Kise-kun drank all the lemonade.” 

It’s nearly comical how hard the guy jumps at the sudden presence beside the two of you. And you, despite a very slight flinch, have a reaction that is completely and utterly that of relief. Your smile is no longer forced as you reach forward to grab the drink Tetsuya is holding out to you. 

“That’s alright. Thanks, babe.” You kiss his cheek, a natural affection that accompanies your gratefulness. 

And you can literally see it, the gears turning in the guy's head as stares at you. You watch how his eyes dart to Kuroko's hand that’s giving you the drink—his left one, by chance—and then to your side where your left hand hangs. You can tell what he’s thinking, the ring on Tetsuya's hand and the lack of one on yours. 

He opens his mouth. You want to bang your head into a brick wall. 

“Not too smart, trying to be sneaky,” he smiles, loose-lipped and crooked, “Is a crowded party really the best place to hook up with a married man?” 

What little patience you might’ve held within you is absolutely gone in an instant, ripped out of you in the silent gasp that slips through your lips at such an accusation. That fuck off is clawing its way up your throat, rolling along the bed of your tongue, and about to spew out of your frown tarnished lips. 

But suddenly a fist is flying forward accompanied with a harsh clash of skin on skin, and the guy’s mouth is hanging open for a different reason entirely as he grips his jaw with staggering steps back. 

“That was rude.” 

Your eyes dart over to Tetsuya, whose face is as neutral as ever apart from the slight furrow in his brows. His head tips to the side a little and he shakes his fist out just once before he drops it to reach for your fingers. He laces them together, tugging you closer to him as he stares the guy down. 

“And you don’t have to be sneaky when the married man is your husband,” Tetsuya notes with a hum, giving the guy one more glance before turning away from him entirely. “By the way.” 

And if it were anyone else other than your husband leading you away you might’ve thought they were being snarky; a cheeky remark made in jest. But Tetsuya is honest in his lack of humor, his little to no sense of it, which almost makes his comment even funnier, since he was absolutely trying not to be. You bite the corner of your lip as he pulls you away, towards the ruckus of the rest of the party and away from your quiet corner that was infiltrated. 

“Is your hand okay?” You ask as he leads you to one of the beer pong tables, watching a duel between riko and hyuga. 

“It’s fine,” he nods, but still lets you lift it up to examine it with your own eyes regardless. “I’m ready for your ring to get fixed.” 

“Why? Don’t like being confused for my sneaky link, hm?” You jibe, teasing little cant to your lips as you poke his side. 

Tetsuya looks at you—a swirl in his eyes you only see every now and then, very seldom under very specific circumstances—one that makes you feel a little giddy inside. Then he’s letting go of your hand, sliding it around your waist and pulling you flush to him as he presses his lips to the side of your head. 

“No.” 

He squeezes your waist and huffs, ever so slightly, against the side of your face. And this time when he pulls back and you’re able to meet his eyes, a lump loops around your throat and a different type of giddy swirls around your stomach due to the implication swirling behind his baby blue irises.

“I really don’t.” 

[froggyphycosis]

Me and you outlined in stars PT1

Cassanda Jones/April O'Niel

Hurt/comfort fic!

4411 words

Summary

It's been 4 months since the invasion and Cassandra needs to to follow through on her promise! She's taking April to the bowling alley on a totally not at all date! Unfortunately Cassandra has feelings and is not great at expressing them good or bad.... And this gets her into more trouble than she likes to admit, especially when it comes to people being rude to April. Thankfully April is caring and would litterally do anything to make Cassandra feel better.

Hurt/comfort fic

Its pretty angsty at the end of this first part (kinda???) but the second part is complete tooth rotting fluff cuddles, love and comfort don't you worry honey <3333

Content warnings!

Swearing/strong language (it's Cassandra I mean come on)

Violence/depictions of violence

Blood

Depictions of alcohol

Suggestive hints at weed (it's one sentence and it only hints)

__________________________________

April Stomps up the stairs to her apartment building so hard Cassandra's distantly worries she might break them.

She hasn't spoken to her the entire way home. The only thing stopping Cassandra from grabbing her shoulders and begging April to talk to her, is her soft hand entwined in Cassandra's rough and calloughesed ones.

God she was so so stupid

April deserves to be mad at her, she does, she does, she *does*. Cassandra has messed up yet again. Yet she can't help the sinking, childish, feeling that this is all unfair somehow. But she had promised April she wouldn't get into anymore fights.

Years ago, after the shredder, they became friends really quickly, and after losing both her father figures and general purpose in life, April became her rock to lean on, and April was ecstatic to have a human friend. They grew to care about eachother really quickly, but Cassandra would frequently show up to her house covered in blood and battered to all living hell and naturally, as is with friends, April disliked that a lot. And even though Cassandra hasnt lived a day since she was 9 without fighting she promised she'd try and control her temper better, she promised she was going to try so hard for April.

And despite the occasional mess up, April never got this mad.

Cassandra likes her so much, more than anyone she's ever known... *Differently* to anyone she's ever known, and those feelings are difficult to navigate on a *normal* day. But with the blood dripping down her face and the angry way April's face is set, she feels like she's drowning in it.

Fuck everything was fine?? how the hell had she fucked up so bad???

_________________________________________

It had been 4 months since the invasion.

4 whole long, and very tiresome, but productive months. The city had been putting itself back together pretty officiantly much quicker and officiantly in fact, than Cassandra would have even thought possible. The city wasn't even fully fixed yet, but people were still out and about, moving on with their lives, finding work and good in the small places.

The city that never sleeps, Cassandra could certainly attest to that now.

But on the up side! Places were starting to open up again! Restaurants and shops, homes and hospitals, all the nesscesities of living and thriving were coming back, and even places that weren't, places just for fun! And much as Cassandra has been revelling in all the battles with leftover Kraang, she's got to say she pretty glad they were finally reclaiming their lives, the feeling of normality was slowly but surely seeping back into the city and the peace was settling again.

Aaaaaaand most importantly of course, over April and her family.

Cassandra could see how hard she had struggled under the weight of everything that had happened during those 4 months, healing and progress happened, but life still took its tole. Ones little brothers almost dying and having the fate of the world on your shoulders will do that to a person. It tore her apart not beung able to help.

Although April went outside for meds and food runs during that time, she hadnt really gone out and done anything *fun* or relaxing, to busy with making sure her brothers were healing up all right to do so.

She pretty much lived with them during the aftermath, even neglecting time with her mother over it and not explaining why, Cassandra herself had only seen her once briefly just a month after it all.

April was grabbing supplies for her brothers, not even noticing Cassandra till she put a hand on her shoulder. She had cried and given Cassandra the nicest, warmest hug she's ever recieve, and April fretted and told her how worried she was, and how much she missed her. Then proceeded to cry even more when she had to go back home because she didn't want to leave the older teen, but Cassandra had given her the pack of ice cream she bought (last on the shelf) and held her hand shortly, promising to 'take her out somewhere nice once everything calms down'.

And now since that moment in the ice-cream section of the frozen isle, 2 months ago, it was finally that moment and Cassandra was extatic.

Leo had finally healed up a little bit and was now preoccupied with his little rabbit friend. Mikey was training up his mystic powers with Draxum and going out to do spray painting art again, his hands finally stopped hurting and tremors were light even on the worst days. Donnie was working on his own tech instead of upgrading medical equipment, and all the small cuts on his shell had healed up.

And Raph was doing training to make up for the lack of vision in his right eye, trying to adjust to his new disability and doing considerably well.

April almost Immediatly took up Cassandra's promise of bringing her out. Cassandras insides do somersaults if she thinks about that for to long.

And Cassandra being litterally the best person she is, found the first open bowling alley since the invasion and books. It's a really *really*nice place and she is nervous as hell. She couldn't even care less about how much this bowling alley costs, hearing how excited April was when Cassandra told her it was a bowling alley, makes it all worth it by a mile, Like a galjillion million miles,

.... yeah that was probably a real number.

April's smile always makes her feel like someone is throwing her brain in a blender, it feels like a scene in a movie when someone gets shot and all they can hear is ringing and chaos. Cassandra being the one to put it on her face is even worse, because if she's being honest it kinda feels like a solid hockey stick to the stomach WWE style.

She also prefers not to think about that either.

April always has a tendancy to make Cassandra soft and gentle, more emotional and loving than she usually allows herself to be. It was nice getting to be that way, it was nice getting to know the Cassandra she *could* have been if not for all the sadness and hurt she'd been put through.

April still believes that Cassandra can be that person, and even if she hasn't convinced her yet, she would walk across glass to try and be that person for April anyway.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but she was so excited she even brought out the orange frilly blouse Mikey bought for her birthday, its not her usual fit, but it's really nice and suits her amazingly, and honestly? Paired with her new ripped jeans and red converse, best decision she's ever made.

She looks fucking gorgeous.

Casey laughs at Cassandra from the other side of the kitchen, snapping her out of her worry induced daydreams.

"Mom stawp wowying if ywou eep pacin like tha ya gonna buwn holls thwu the cwarpet" his face is stuffed with about a half a jar of peanut butter, and the other half is smeared around his face.

Cassandra can't help the betraying gentle smile that works its way onto her face, the knot twisting inside her guts eases a little, even though she's trying to scowl at his remark. She's so glad he's comfortable with her and with eating food when he couldn't stomache anything before. She's not his Mom despite what he calls her- they both know that. But despite that they are family, and Cass loves him like a little brother.

So much so, in fact, that she will let him eat a whole jar of peanut butter Mikey style (he probably taught him that she thinks off handedly, thanks alot Mikey) in their kitchen without batting an eye.

"I'm not worrying what are you talking about?? " she snaps back without any really heat.

Casey swallows and doesn't even look up from the jar, still trying to grab the last specks of food "Suuuuuuure okay Mom sure," He smirks and Cassandra is stunned for a second with how much it reminds her of Leo's. "but let's just say for a second, that you were, hypothetically of course, worried i would again, hypothetically, say you are going out with Com- April and you know her, so there is nothing to be worried about." He looks up cocky smirk still plastered on his face. "unless of course you-"

The doorbell rings.

SHIT. APRIL'S HERE .

Cassandra snatches her keys off the counter and presses a kiss to Casey's hair getting a chirp in response.

"Okay so I bought Dino nuggets because I'm literally the best they're in the fridge just heat 'em up when you want," Cassandra pauses trying to find anything she might have missed, "Snacks have been restocked so you can have some of those.... oh! And leave my brownies alone, they are.... Special brownies.... Not for childeren.

Casey side eyes her suspiciously. Cass can't help but snicker as she walks off "Love you CJ I'll see you later!!"

"Love you Mom byyyyye!"

Cassandra opens the door swiftly and takes a look at April, getting the first good look at the younger teen in person since the invasion and is frozen still in the doorway like a block of pathetic fucking ice. April is all smiles and wide eyes, like she'd just seen her most favourite thing. She's wearing a long pale green sundress that ends at her ankles it compliments her dark skin stunningly, and the her eyes are a Fierce and warm chestnut that are striking against her red glasses.

Cassandra's neck feels like it's getting increasingly hot, it spreads like a wildfire to her face and cheeks, tipping it off onto her ears. God fucking dammit, she actually really wishes she was a block of ice right now, (granted she'd probably be a puddle on the floor if that was the case) her heart stutters in her chest painfully and she stands there completely silent taking her in.

(Leave it to April to make the loudest person in the room quiet for once)

"hey Cass you ready to go bowling?" April asks playfully bouncing on her toes seemingly oblivious to Cassandra's plight.

"Y-yeah" she breathes, her face feels like it's getting somehow increasingly hotter, which is making her more embarrassed than she all ready is.

When did she start getting embarrassed?!? Or feeling shame?!?! *THE* Cassandra jones does *NOT* feel shame NOR!! does she get EMBARRASSED!!!

"okay well that's great! because I don't know bout you but I am like, *so* excited for this!!" she squeals "I haven't done anything but stress in so long it already feels like I'm becoming Splints's age."

Cassandra can't help the laugh that sputters out of her at the comment. She grabs April's hand and darts down the stairs before she can overthink it to much.

Fuck she missed this.

____________________________

They arrive at the bowling alley a little late, courtesy of new york traffic and April resolutely sticking to road laws, stubbornly going at a snails pace for the sake of 'road safety' whoever came up with that concept deserves to be run over Cass concedes. They are still shoving eachother and stumbling around, throwing half-hearted jabs they don't really mean at one another when they get through the door. It feels like being 17 again.

The place is huge, and not surprisingly, very very full. Family's and friends celebrating survival and rehabilitation, laughing and chatting, ordering drinks occasionally at the bar which is just out of view around the corner. And eating cheap cheasy fries out a paper box with their kids. It's overly sachurine and sweet, it fills Cassandra up seeing the way April lights up when she's sees it all.

SUCCESS BITCHES WOOOOOO!!!

Music is playing quietly in the background and cheap L.e.ds softly pulse above them, it's such a disarming and comforting backdrop that it makes something tense in Cassandra's shoulders ease. She really couldn't have picked a better place, and then she gets a glance at the teenager at the front desk, he's alone so he's probably running the place by himself and he looks at them as if he wished he'd rather be anywhere else, serving anyone else. He probably does.

"hi. Welcome to Timothy's bowling alley how may I help you?" he mumbles.

"it is I!! Cassandra!! And I have booked this place for me and the wonderful lady behind me!!" she shouts pumping her fist in the air she wants to jump up and down on the spot from excitement but she refrains.

The boy glances down at his computer painfully slow. Cassandra wants to smash his face into the screen.

Kindly though.

April wouldn't like it if she was mean.

"alley 5."

They start dragging eachother hand in hand to their lane giggling and making absolute fools out of themselves the whole way. They spend the next half an hour drinking apple juice cartons and shoving eachother around playfully, getting into heated arguments about who was going to win even though Cass knew for fact April was going to win by a mile, the evidence was right infront of her. April was striking almost every round. Cassandra had strength, but her aim was as April had politely put, 'a pile of dogshit'.

Not that she minded, Cass was having the time of her life right now! Even if she is losing- which! Is a first! Cassandra lives to win at everything she can, but when April's here, laughing and joking, any sort of care she remotely had for that is out the window. Cassandra's chest feels so full she could burst and the smile that's stretched across her face is so happy and wide it starts to hurt a little.

...She is also starting to sweat from the exertion, which is kinda gross. Probably shouldn't have picked the heaviest ball every round on a day when her muscles are aching from an intense work out the day before.

She might have overestimated herself on that one....

"Yo Apricot imma go freshen up in the bathroom okay?"

April looks back at her after throwing, it's gonna be a strike she realizes and April won't even notice.

"yeah sure thing Cassy! I need to go up to the bar and order more apple juice anyway,"

April walks over and starts shuffling through Cassandra's bag for her money, not even bothering to ask first and weirdly that makes her smile, just seeing how comfortable she is. Cassandra huffs a laugh and says right as she turns to leave "I'll see you in a sec then!"

April grins "yup!" and runs off towards the bar to wait for the depressed under-paid teen to come out of hiding and serve her.

_____________________________

Now Cassandra taking waaaay to long in the bathroom is no fault of her own. She gets distracted by the pink silky soap that super easy to make bubbles with almost immediately, the wierd looks she gets for the women next to her is totally worth it too. Cassandra manages to walk out of the bathroom with most of her dignity in tact feeling refreshed and clean despite it still being a little bit to warm in the building.

She walks out to go find April in their alley and finds that she's not even there.

Okayyyyy... Odd. She's probably still getting drinks.

Cassandra's sure she was in the bathroom for a solid 15 minutes though?? Maybe the guy just hasn't come out to serve her yet? she thinks as she walks away to the bar trying not to do so with a worried jog because April's fine and she isn't going to be weird about this.

Cassandra is still thinking about it walking down the hall when she turns the corner towards the bar-

The she sees it.

Cassandra goes completely rigid in an instant.

A shock of anger so quick and hot it burns flashes through her, she has bites her lip not to say somthing she'll regret and is distantly aware of the blood pooling into her mouth.

April's back is pressed against the bar hands propped up on the edge and there's a tall man leaning over her hands laid there aswell.

He's caged her in.

Now April is almost exactly as strong as Cassandra is- almost -but she's still strong and amazing in her own respect.

April isn't in any danger.

She can see that at a glance.

But she still can't help the bout of anger so strong that it shoots itself right through her and buries itself in her chest, festering clawing at her ribcage.

Cassandra is moving forward with a single minded focus before she even realizes she's doing it.

She shoves in between the two of them so that she facing the guy directly, keeping April behind her almost pressed against her shoulder.

He looks drunk off his ass.

They would've let anyone come in here for money at the minute. Pieces of shit.

"hi," she says overly sweet with a fake smile on her face that feels misplaced and wooden "im so sorry but I don't really think my friend is comfortable with you trapping her like that I'm going to need you to apologise."

She makes a point of waiting, and not moving, and being patient, and being all the other things she supposed to be in this situation. To. This. Living. Embodiemant. Of someone. Who should die.

WAIT wait wiat wait wait.

She isn't going start a fight. She's better than that. She isn't gonna let April down more than she already has.

Her head is pounding dear fucking lord.

The smiles and soft touches of affection when Cassandra gets better, or finally gets somthing right is worth every ounce of effort she has put into healing.

Every ounce of effort to not hurt this man till he wakes up breathing through a tube that is. But this is really really pushing it, she is losing what little sense she has standing here looking at this guy sneer at her like she something ugly and undesirable. She's tired of those looks. She doesn't want to see that anymore.

God April was looking forward to this please please don't ruin it for her.

"oh yeah? And what are you gonna do if i don't?" he slurs, getting more into Cassandra's personal space than he should.

*oh just you wait and see fuckface.*

She's about to retort a reply before April stops her.

"Cassy listen to me, it's not worth it take a deep breathe for me." April's hand is warm and firm on her bicep, voice calm and smooth.

It's the same voice you would use to talk to an injured bird, patient, yet sad. Cassandra doenst reply, just clenches her teeth and fists harder, she wants to scream and hit and punch and act like someone half her age.

Fuckfuckingfuckfuckerfuckingstupiddd!

But times ticking and he has about *four consecutive fucking seconds* she decides, before she loses it with him.

"That's right listen to the hotty okay? I dont mean no troubleeee im just tryna hava good time like everyone else okay? She doesn't need some ugly ass guarrddog like you to keepen her fromm haven a good time okay?" he smirks leaning over her. His breath stinks of booze. "so how bout you take a hint and fuck off." he whispers jabbing his finger into her chest.

*well his four seconds are over!*

Cassandra swings then, using all 11 years of street fights and training and anger into one punch aimed right at his nose. It lands and she only sees a spray of red as his body twist painfully with his head and he lands on the floor.

Fucking jerk deserved it.

And wow maybe she has been doing better at not getting into fights because her knuckles actually sting from the impact. (Or maybe she really did juts hit him that hard?)

April's outraged voice popes up behind her "Casey!?!? *fuck* you can't just-"

OKAY. So, turns out, this isn't jerkface's first rodeo, because he got up pretty damn fast! And Cassandra is too shocked to react fast enough when he swings towards her, she feels the solid connection of fist to nose and the painful way her face snaps to the side putting her off balance and landing her painfully on the floor. He takes that second of weakness and uses it to stomp on her stomach as hard as he can with his boots, she can't let out more than a grunt. He's winded her and it's only by some miracle she doesn't throw up right there on the ground.

"GET OFF HER!"

April shoves him off alleviating the pressure on Cassandra's middle. He staggers away and glares at April, fists tightening.

He's going to hurt her.

He's. Going. To. Hurt. April.

She hooks her leg around his ankle, grips his trouser leg and *twists.*He lands on the floor *hard*but his boot is positioned right next to her face and he uses that by kicking her with what little force he has left in his drunken body. They grab scratch and punch and she feels like crying. Punches don't usually hurt this bad, scratches don't usually sting this much, she doesn't ever remember crying over an injury once.

And all she wants to do is watch this guy *fucking die.*

So. Why. Does. This. Feel. *So bad?????*

She's pinned him on the ground now and April's ran off, probably to call someone or just leave her, she wouldn't be surprised.

"awwww wyy you cryin princess? does it hurt want me to kiss it better?"

Oh.

She *is* crying. Oh wow. Okay, yeah she is crying *a lot.*

It doesn't seem to stop either, they're making her face sticky and she can't see properly through the mountain load that are streaming down her face.

April comes rushing back into the room with the teenage boy in tow, he's paled and is shaking like a leaf and April looks completely and utterly pissed off. She yanks Cassandra back to her feet by the blouse and then roughly grabs her elbow turning her too the exit leaving the boy stammering over the knocked out drunk on the floor.

"W-wait ma'am uh what do I uhm do about this exactly??" he splutters

April turns to look at the boy none of that unforgiving anger thaws in her eyes.

"How would I know?!?! Call one of the other employees!!" she nothing short of shouts before walking off.

She drags Cassandra down the hall around the corner, across where the alleys are, she gets a few odd stares as she's walking past, but most people are preoccupied with there own enjoyment and Cassandra is glad of that.

April drags her back outside to the car.

Cassandra is bloody, beaten, bruised and crying and it's resurfacing things Cassandra hasn't thought about in a long while, things she doesn't want to think about.

The car ride home is silent and tense.

Her only solice was the cold window of the car on her nose and the the pitch black sky against the twinkling city lights. April doesn't say a word the entire way home, just stares angrily infront of her, white knuckling the wheel.

April is so good to her despite everything she has put her and her brothers through, she has kidnapped their father, fought their youngest over a video game and accidentilly brought back an ancient demon who is also sorta their grandpa??? WHICH ALSO DESTROYED THERE HOME.

But despite this the turtles, and April especially, never held it over her.

She remembers going to their home after the battle only to find it destroyed. Gone forever swept out from under their feet so quick they could have never seen it coming. Although they were able to salvage lots of their things form the rubble thanks to Donnie's tech, many of their very precious things from childhood were gone. Comics scateboards, tech pieces, teddies bears, beanbags, Fairylights and paintings.

Just, gone.

The loss was so heavy for them that no one really cried? Just stared silently at the rubble of their home. Cassandra didn't even know what to say, she was grappling with her own loss, losing the 2 men who has felt like father's to her and her entire purpose since she was 7.

She offered them refuge in an old run down barn house that used to belong to her mom before she died, April had come along to stating that it could be a 'family holiday' of sort.

Her and April had grown so close during that time. Even if it was only for 2 months, Raph Leo and Master Splinter had been going at it constantly, so Donnie spent all his time with Mikey or more Mikey's shell since he refused to come out of it.

But that left her and April.

They went swimming down by the lake, had movie nights, all the things normal teenage girls did on summer vacation.

But star gazing was the thing they loved the most.

They would climb up on the roof in ancient oversized sweaters that were left inside the abandoned wardrobe in the hallway.

April knew every name of every star which isn't surprising given how many space movies she's watched in her lifetime, that and she grew up with Donnie.

They told eachother everything when they were underneath those stars, April knew things about her that no one else did nor would they ever know. She made Cassandra feels so special.

And underneath those stars she had made Cassandra promise to try and not get into any fights.

And she agreed.

Stupidly.

No more starting fights. No more ending them. No more getting into them full stop.

If it made April feel better she would walk across broken glass.

She had only lived with the turtles for 2 months but they felt like home, She's so glad they all came into her life even if it didn't start out great. She misses spending tine with April under the stars like she did almost 3 years ago now.

And it's strange that staring out the car window and up at New York's pitch black sky, that that's all she can think about

__________________________________________

[yoki-doki-then]

FFXIV Write 2024 - T E L L I N G

I took his arm, and he took my world. Gods, it was supposed to just be a friendly 'haha' thing, not... not this. It was a friends' outing to a bar, not a date, not even that awkward prelude date to a first real date. Out mutuals, waiting for two unwitting lovebirds to develop a single brain cell, would twist their heads sideways trying to figure out how the burning in my chest could come after what was, no subtext, just hanging out.

Maybe that's what made it good, though?

My ears and tail twitch as I keep my hold on him, sepia underscoring his steely sky in the crude painting we're drafting. Maybe at first I was trying to think of how to keep my nails from digging into his skin, but at this stage, I'm thinking too much about every individual ridge of my thumbprints are painting a tiny, indecipherable message onto his body. I measure the exact distance friends can keep their bodies from one another before one needs to back down, but I can't keep the count. Every time we brush close to one another, it scrambles any semblance of math from me, sends me careening from a well-educated scholar into the more primitive thoughts drifting downwards.

I wish I could see his eyes from down here. For starters, trying to look up and stare, see his thoughts reflected in that tiny dance people do with their gazes, would be too much. But a metal visor prevents even that invasion. I keep my grip on him from tightening, my fingers tense from their want to rip apart that mask, throw him to the ground, and stare into his soul until I've drank my fill. And then once I've taken that barrier down, well, what's to stop me from stripping oth-.

My cheeks burn. Does he feel it? I try to think of facts, anything really, to bind me back to reality. The Goblet streets are lit only by the evening sky and sporadic streetlamp. Sounds beyond our footfalls drift in from last words loud enough to drift from homes. Maybe there's an argument I can zero in on, something to cut the fog of the heart and let the shield of cynicism make its stand.

… Does it need to, though?

Does this need to be ruined by that urge? It's just anxiety, right? Worry that, for some strange reason, this man would turn out like the other man I had to drag out of my heart and lock up after. This one isn't going to use me. He's going to say 'good night' to me once he gets me home, and turn in for himself. That's the kind of guy he is. So why am I worrying that he's suddenly going to be the worst thing that'll happen to me? That suddenly I'll just be a dumb teen again, and I'll just 'okay' when he makes me the impact of his calamity. Where will my spine go? Turned to putty the moment his fingers trace down my back, sending it arching from just the touch of his fingernails? When he-

T'orii, stop that. Come on. He's taking you to your apartment. You have a roommate. Nothing is happening.

… But what if something did happen?

Yeah, sure. I can allow it. I'd be the one touching, though. He'd be, I don't know, just there. A body. My index would be much less kind when it traces, claw cutting lines in the thin fabrics of his wear, giving me one morsel after another. When my hands are done with this shaming of his preening, they'd seep into his clothes, feeling his waiting skin underneath. I'll find every spot of his body that makes his soul stand at attention, and squeeze. I would knead him into being mine. I'm not being his this time – well... not his.

Some other guy's.

You know, an important other guy's.

.. One who's not important anymore.

He can't be.

Where was I?

Oh, fuck, my tail. It's swishing so fast I'll be the second death of anyone in an urn on an unfortunately waist-high table. Yeah, that's it, think of dead relatives, that's a buzzkill. Gods, did he notice? Did my tail hit his? Like, ten times? Twenty? I can still feel the soreness in the base of my back from just how hard it was working, but every time I've touched him, it was like falling into clouds. How does he even feel? Is this too much? It seems it. He's walking like it's any other day of the week. I need to know. If I opened his chest, how would his heart beat?

“Hey, Vahri'a?” It's the first thing I've said since taking him. It's the last thing I say too, the need for a question breaking before the realization of 'oh fuck, I asked a question'. I answer it, by reaching up to – I think gently – pluck that damn visor off his face and put it over my own.

“I win.”

[fat-fem-and-asian]

Big Swiss Prompt List

mix of quotes from "big swiss" by jen beagin. can be used as either a direct quote to incorporate or a jumping off point! Dialogue

"My triggers are covered in wet sand," She said, "because my head is a giant cement mixer."

"Fuck you, sunshine."

"Actually, her voice reminds me of metal," Sabine said, "Liquid metal."

"You distracted me. That's why I fell."

"But you? You, I loved."

"Don't tell me you talk to me in your head." "I do, all day, all night."

"We're just having an affair." "Think of all the calls you missed, the meals you've skipped, how late to work I've made you."

"Are you in love with her?" "It feels that way."

"We're not dating. Don't be disgusting," Big Swiss said, "I love you."

"When I'm fucking you, you get this bored expression on your face, its confusing, disorienting, and - if I'm being honest - extremely exciting."

"Its not love/hate so much as push/pull, and its very hard to stop once the cycle starts."

"Are you trying to get me to leave you?" Greta didn't answer.

"Your wounds are getting some much needed air."

"I'm not done with you. I'm not sure I'll ever be."

"I chose you, over and over, for months and months. "

"Yes is a pleasant country,"

Prose

"Her bad habit was to talk to him like a dog."

"Yes, people age horribly. They suffer strokes. Their bodies and brains fall apart. But the male ego? Firmly intact until the bitter end."

"Unfortunately, her real self was horny, easily enraged, and no longer interested in making money."

"In fact, she felt distinctly as though she were sleepwalking, or in a perpetual state of daydreaming."

"Her only need, seemingly, was to satisfy her own curiosity."

“Kissing Big Swiss’s teeth was jarring and humiliating, like kissing a bathroom sink. But maybe that was too unkind. It was like kissing a baptismal font full of holy water.”

"Although Big Swiss seemed increasingly oceanic: vast, unknowable, capable of swallowing Greta whole."

"You never felt as thoroughly fucked as you did with a woman."

"But there, in the corners of her mouth, the hint of a cruel streak."

"One of the pitfalls of same-sex relationships was that you couldn't break down in public restrooms. At least, not in peace. The bitch followed you in there."

"I wanted her to know me, to blow it wide open, and I nearly told her my real name, but I was too startled by her face, her faint smile, the way she nodded her head."

"Shame was something you passed like kidney stones, and it was leaving her body at last."

"She was crashing, it appeared, and the comedown was rough. Greta felt it too - a doomed sadness."