#anyways these are probably the reason as to why i got a c from my basic design midterm 😭😭😭

[monsob-6667]

the crustiest cyclenuts doodles known to man explicitly from my major mandated sketchbook

[imnotshua]

progress report: i am missing you to death - jww

٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2006 - you and wonwoo are better off as lovers ٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships, mutual pining. idiots in love. my babies are flawed and that's okay because so are real people. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid regular things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. they are both down bad. occasional use of pet names (baby & pretty), no use of y/n or other variations, plot and smut, mention of historical bullying, but nothing graphic or extreme. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses (lots), fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f & m receiving), no condoms but reader is on BC, sloppy, soooo much hand holding, sex!!!!!, hickeys, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 17.7k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: this work is the main instalment from my series sorry every song's about you. it’s complete on its own and can be read without the others. there’s a prequel already posted, it’ll be linked at the end and can be found on the series masterlist linked above. you choose the order you want to read them in. future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boy’s I slept with someone in Fall Out Boy and all I got was this stupid song written about me. I have a playlist linked on the series masterlist if you happen to be into that. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for reading this in fragments, over and over again until i got it right. jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate and love you both beyond belief. to @c-oupsie thank you for catching my errors and shouting at me about these two idiots in my dms, i love yelling, i appreciate you. to @daechwitatamic thank you for encouraging me, i appreciate you and your shouting too! to everyone who reads, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

January 2006

Wonwoo got the last choice for film night. He’d put on some period drama to make up for the torture he put you through earlier (another horror movie), one that’ll make you cry very soon probably, and sets the re-filled popcorn bowl between your legs. You pass him a bottle that he opens with his teeth, because for some reason you always forget to bring an opener from the kitchen, and once you’re tucked up in the blanket, with his thigh pressed against the side of yours, it feels too wrong to move. 

It’s routine. It’s good. It’s been this way since school. Every Tuesday is reserved for taking up each other's space. Tuesday– because who else makes plans on Tuesdays? Watching movie after movie in his apartment until it gets too late to go home, and you sleep here. Can’t get interrupted on a Tuesday. (The only time you press pause is when either of you are dating someone, the last was Siyeon several months ago. You liked her, but Wonwoo never really talked about why he ended it.) You have a half hearted fight over who takes the sofa, but you always win out in the end. Wonwoo brings you pillows and pyjamas that smell like his laundry powder. It’s fine. It’s nice. 

The problem is that lately your feelings have been running away with themselves again. You’re not sure how it started anew, or if they ever even fully went away, but the affection you have for him swirls, neglected and nameless, in your stomach. All Wonwoo has to do is smile in your direction and you melt. Made worse tenfold every time he holds your hand. It’s not often. Just when a particularly horrible scene comes on, and your spine goes rigid and you hold your breath, he’ll reach over, wrap his fingers around yours and use his thumb to work the tension out of your knuckles. He’s so good like this. You’ll take all the horror movies he wants for these soft moments, even though they make everything worse. He’s your best friend, and you’ve tried this two too many times. You never properly talked about the last time, the second time, four years ago.

(It’s like these feelings come in cycles.)

The end began with a sickness bug that stretched several days, and ended with a clipped voicemail, Wonwoo’s quiet contemplation obvious through the tinny sound of the recording, saying he wants to just be friends, saying he didn’t want to ruin what you have. That he cares about you so deeply that your friendship needs preserving over everything else. Yes, it hurt. God– it hurts. But you’d rather have him in your life in these half measures, than not at all. 

His hand is on his leg now. You could touch but you won’t. What’s happening on screen isn’t the right kind of scary for holding Wonwoo’s hand. Just Laurie telling Jo he loves her, and Jo telling him she doesn’t. Not in that way. You sink onto your side, hardly watching the screen through fuzzy eyes. Wonwoo chuckles softly as he looks over. 

“Are you crying?”

“No–” you say, voice thick.

“Oh you are,” he says, leaning over to stroke your hair. 

“Don’t touch me right now, Wonwoo,” you warn. “I’ll bite you.”

“Freak.” He laughs and pulls his hand back. “Shit–”

“What?”

It’s obvious what. Wonwoo has knocked over the mostly-full bottle that was tucked between you, and it’s soaking into the seat. 

You jump up to grab some paper towels from the kitchen, and when you come back Wonwoo is stripping the covers from the cushions. “Fuck, it’s soaked. I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” you ask, patting the excess liquid from the cushions. ‘It’s your sofa.”

“Yeah but it’s your bed.”

“Who says I was even gonna stay?” you joke.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll call a taxi.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It’s one AM, you’re not going home now.” 

You laugh. “And where, pray tell, am I going to sleep?”

“My room,” he says, without any idea how the thought of that has been floating through your mind for weeks. You haven’t slept in there since– since– “Hansol’s on the night shift, I’ll take his.”

You chew on the fat of your cheek. “Okay, sure. That works.”

There’s a knock at the half open door an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo whispers. “I can’t sleep.”

“Does it smell again?”

“It’s like something died in there. And there’s crumbs in the bed.”

Okay. Okay. It’s fine.

Wonwoo slips into the bed next to you, pulls the sheets right up to his shoulders even though he must be boiling in those pyjamas. Maybe he’s feeling strange about this, too. You turn on your side to find him watching your face already, cautious eyes and words unsaid on his lips. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Is this too weird?”

“Not weird,” he says. A pause. “A little weird. It’s been a while.” He reaches for your hand and you let him take it. Dummy.

“Do you think Jo and Laurie should’ve ended up together?” Wonwoo asks, after a minute. 

“She didn’t love him.”

“Wouldn’t it have been a better story if she had?”

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been them then, right? Jo and Laurie in love would’ve been different people entirely.”

Here he is, fingers entwined with yours and much too close. Here you are, four years older and not at all wiser. You are Laurie, pathetic and yearning, and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to get that he’s Jo, and that sometimes his tenderness makes you ache. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” he says.

Some things shouldn’t change even when they do. 

“Goodnight, best friend,” you say. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol opens the bedroom door at just past six AM. He clocks the bed, the lump under the sheets, the just visible hair, face hidden by Wonwoo’s shoulder. He locks eyes with Wonwoo, who has been laid wide awake for the better part of an hour, trying not to move lest he wakes you too, and mouths Who’s that?

Wonwoo mouths back your name, and Hansol’s jaw hangs open. He makes a crude gesture with his hands, and raises curious eyebrows. Wonwoo gives him the finger. 

A little later, while you’re attempting to rush out the door for a seminar, Hansol is shovelling cereal in his mouth, and Wonwoo is sitting at the table with a coffee. Hansol asks around a mouthful of Frosties– “so, are you two fucking again?”

“What? No.”

Hansol swallows loudly, frowning confused. “What’s the wet patch on the couch?”

“Ew– it’s beer, you weirdo.” You’re staring at Hansol in disbelief. “Even if we were hooking up I don’t fuck on shared furniture.”

Wonwoo suppresses a choke on his coffee. You throw him a pointed look, lips twisting with the effort of trying not to laugh.

(You and he did, once, on the aforementioned sofa.)

“Why did you sleep in his–” Hansol gestures with an accusing spoon at Wonwoo. “–bed, then?”

“Because it smells like a skunk shat in your room, Hansol, maybe you should wash your arsehole once in a while.”

“I’m squeaky clean, buddy.”

“I doubt that, pal.”

Hansol laughs. He’s loving this. “You need to get laid so badly, shall I help find someone big and strong to pull that gigantic stick out your a–”

“Oh my God, please shut up,” Wonwoo interrupts. “It’s so weird you two are related, who talks with their cousins like this?”

“Second cousins,” you and Hansol correct in unison.

“Just to clarify– you’re not together again?”

You roll your eyes so hard all Wonwoo can see is white. “We weren’t ever together,” you say, exasperated. “We’ve been over this before.”

Wonwoo rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You’re going to be late,” he says to you.

You look at your watch. “Shit– bye best friend, call me tomorrow. Smell you later, Hansol.”

You’re already halfway out the door, and Hansol is calling after you, “Gonna find you a boyfriend! That’s a warning!” 

When the door clicks closed, Hansol turns on Wonwoo. “You’re donezo, I guess?”

Wonwoo sips his coffee. “Never started-zo.”

That sounded less stupid in his head.

Grinning wide, Hansol says, “You won’t mind if I introduce her to Minghao, then?”

Wonwoo presses his forehead against the table and tries to consider how much Hansol’s parents would miss him if he were to flush their son down the toilet. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

February 2006

Wonwoo hovers his cursor over the Submit button. He hesitates. Could remove one of the options, the long shot, and replace it with something more achievable. He’s not going to get it, and if he did he’s under no obligation to take it. It’s more for his ego than anything else, he tells himself. But Professor Lee had insisted he throw his hat in the ring, so he does, and tries not to panic over having made a horrible error of judgement once he clicks submit, because now it’s too late– it’s in the ether. 

You turn over in your sleep, uncomfy in the ball you’d tucked yourself into before drifting off, and your leg unfurls over him, seeking warmth and closeness. Wonwoo sets his laptop on the nightstand, and shifts down carefully next to you. It’s nights like these that Wonwoo is convinced that his life isn’t really real. Because isn’t it some funny joke that you’re here next to him like this, and you’re both still worlds apart. Touches are considered and well-mannered, despite how they used to be. But here you are in your ridiculous Pompompurin pyjamas and he wonders if you ever think about the last time you wore these with him. Probably not. It wouldn’t be considered memorable to anyone else, he thinks. Just a late breakfast in bed, that turned into non-stop talking, that turned silly, peppered kisses into lazy, deepened ones, forgoing lunch in favour of laying together, just close, in ways not completely unlike you are now. In some parallel universe, in some other life, this could still be happening in the way it was meant to. 

Wonwoo considers how well he really knows you now, if it’s less than before, if your favourite colour is still the same as it was when you were children together. There are some questions you don’t think to ask your best friend of twenty years, because it’s expected you’ll already know. Unfortunately, Wonwoo knows nothing of the things inside your head, and someday you’ll find out. Tomorrow he’s going to ask what your favourite colour is, and hopefully that someday won’t be anytime soon. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo surprises you when he picks up the phone on a Friday evening. 

“Oh– hello. I was preparing to leave you a message. Aren’t you playing WoW?”

“Runescape,” he says. “Just getting snacks. What’s up?”

“Mum called, said I’ve got a letter there about our class reunion next month, the eighteenth.”

“Ah yeah, Jihoon mentioned that it was coming up.”

“You wanna go? I could rent a car.”

“Oh so you’re volunteering me as the driver?” You can hear Wonwoo’s smile through the phone. “When are you planning on getting your licence?”

You pout, even though he can’t see you. “Come onnn, won’t it be fun? I promise I’ll be good company.”

Wonwoo laughs. “How good?”

“I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Uh huh–”

“And I’ll burn three new CDs.”

“Four.”

“And I’ll burn four new CDs.”

“Okay, getting closer.”

“And, uh– honestly that's all I had.” You wrack your brain and come up with nothing of substance. “I’ll uh– I’ll hype you up in front of that girl you had a crush on. Whatsername? The cheerleader. God, it’s on the tip of my tongue–”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The girl– that girl you liked once. The one with the hair–”

“I genuinely have no idea who you mean.” He does sound confused, actually. 

“Damn,” you say. “That’s all my bargaining chips.”

“Damn,” he echoes, with a click of his tongue. “Guess you’ll have to take me to dinner if you can’t remember who my mystery girl is.”

“So you’ll drive us?”

“Rent the car.”

“Thanks dear, you’re a real friend,” you sing-song. “Love you, see y–”

“Wait,” he says. “Wanna come over and play Mario Kart?

“Right now?”

“Yeah, you can stay the weekend. If you want.”

There was a phrase Wonwoo’s dad always used to use for the pair of you. Birds of a feather flock together. You’re flocking so often you hardly have to think about it. Just comes naturally. Nothing else is going on, and a weekend playing games and eating out of Wonwoo’s fridge instead of your own is a decent offering. Maybe he’ll have rented that film he talked about last week. The Descent? You’ll tolerate it, if he’ll squeeze your hand through the awful parts. 

“Sure, okay. I’ll pack a bag.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

March 2006

The last weeks of winter feel too long, but today there is a breath of warmth in the air and it feels good good good. March is always the best time of year for dreaming, you think. Feels especially good when you’re watching 28 Days Later, and Wonwoo holds your hand through the whole thing. It’s not even as scary as the others he’s had you sit through, but holding his hand feels nice. Every Tuesday since Little Women has ended in his bed. Feels like old times, without any of the touching and all of the one sided angst. 

When it’s your turn, Wonwoo groans at the sight of the Sense and Sensibility box, but it’s gently done.

“You cannot complain when we’ve been watching horror every week lately,” you admonish, pointing at him with one of your fries. He bites at it and you throw the remaining half at his face. “You know I hate them.” 

Wonwoo grins. “You should complain more, then.”

You hum your agreement. “Well it’s because I’m so selfless that I don’t, you see.”

“Sure, sure,” Wonwoo laughs. His laugh is so lovely. “That’s why you’re taking up my entire bed every Tuesday night.” 

You scoff. “I sleep very mindfully, actually. I even curl into a little ball so your giraffe legs have enough space.” 

“Is that so?” Wonwoo tugs at the material of your (his) pyjama bottoms. “Then explain why I’ve woken up with your legs draped over me every time?”

You blink. Can feel the heat on your ears. Thank God it’s dark. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise.”

A pause. 

“I don’t mind,” he says. Quiet. Suddenly too serious. You can’t look at him. “You’ve always slept like that.” 

“Movie’s starting,” you say. And that’s that. 

Later, Wonwoo squeezes in beside you in his tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. He bumps his hip into your side, smiles at you in the mirror, and it feels so horribly domestic you might actually throw up. It doesn’t make sense what you’re doing. 

When you finish brushing your teeth you look down the hallway to the sofa, think briefly about taking it, but Wonwoo steps out behind you, tugs on your sleeve and asks if you’re coming to bed. There’s toothpaste on the corner of his lip. This time four years ago you would’ve wiped it away. Now you just tap at the corner of your own, say got something there and let Wonwoo sort himself out. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s a rare Tuesday that Hansol is home. He takes Wonwoo’s usual spot next to you, showing you pictures of some guy on his laptop while Wonwoo is fetching drinks and snacks from the kitchen, and when he comes back in the room he blinks, surprised that he’s been relegated to the armchair. He leans over the arm of the sofa to peer at the Myspace profile loaded on Hansol’s screen. 

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Hansol here is trying to get me a date.”

“Am not,” Hansol rebuts. “Though if I were, is he the sort of guy you’d be interested in?”

“Uh–”

Wonwoo’s sharp laugh sounds like a bark. “No, Soonyoung is not her type.”

You swat at him. “What would you know about my type? None of my exes have been remotely similar. He’s hot.”

“Sure, but he’s not for you,” Wonwoo insists. “He’s not serious about anything–”

Hansol sighs, dejected. “We’re never gonna get him laid–“

You stare at the screen. “And apparently he’s a virgin–”

“Don’t shame him,” Hansol says flatly.

“I’m not! It’s just surprising, that’s all!”

“Okay, fine, what about this guy–” He’s already closing off his profile and loading another. It’s all grunge and dark compared to the neon green garishness of the previous. He’s tall, long dark hair, painted nails. That’s all you get to see before Wonwoo is snapping the laptop closed. 

“I’m putting on the movie now, guests choice first.”

“Who pissed in your cereal?” asks Hansol.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just flops into the chair opposite, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the title screen on the TV.

Pride and Prejudice begins, and no less than five minutes in, Hansol sags against the back of the sofa. “Borrrrring. Can we watch Shrek instead?”

Wonwoo glances at you, and you shrug. Hansol takes that as a yes, and disappears off to his room to dig out the DVD from underneath the mess. 

“We can watch it another time,” Wonwoo offers. But you don’t care about that. You’re wondering if Wonwoo is keeping his secrets again. If Hansol knew much about your past, more than the hooking up, more to do with the depth of the feelings you once had for each other, would he be trying to set you up with his and Wonwoo’s friends, right in front of him?

Later, you lay in Wonwoo’s bed and ask why he isn’t dating anyone. He’s on the verge of sleep, can hear it with how low his voice is, how soft. 

“Don’t wanna,” he hums, eyes closed. “M’happy as I am.”

Ah.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Dating someone.”

“Well I’ve got terribly high standards, you see.”

Wonwoo laughs, grins lazy and sweet. “Not high enough. All your partners have been awful.”

“Not all of them,” you argue.

“Name one.” His big brown eyes open just enough for him to level you with them.

You could say anything. Anything. You could say what you really mean, and it could be okay. It could not, too. 

“Remember Park Sungkyu? He was pretty great.”

Wonwoo tickles your middle, and you yelp, swatting at him and suppressing a giggle. “Boys from when we were six don’t count.”

“He gave me a crown for my birthdayyy!” you sing-song. “He called me his Princess.” Wonwoo tickles you again and you jolt.

“Okay, okay, you’re right! I have terrible taste! Now stop torturing me, you freak.”

“Whatever Her Majesty desires.” 

You kick him in the shin in exaggerated outrage but all Wonwoo does is smile wide, grossly pleased with himself. He’s beautiful like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s the weekend and you’re watching Pride and Prejudice from Wonwoo’s bed. Hansol has taken over the living room with a group of friends, and their yelling is so loud it feels like they’re right outside the door. It’s the final game for something or other, you didn’t really listen. It’s unseasonably warm, and though the window is thrust open the air hangs still and heavy in this room. You’re laid shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sheets pushed down to your feet. Occasionally, his thigh brushes yours and it’s nice. His hand twists, palm up, and his thumb strokes your wrist. You like how it feels deliberate. 

It gets to the part where Elizabeth turns down Mr Darcy’s proposal and Wonwoo sniffs. You near snap your neck to look at him. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

“You are. Your eyes are all watery.”

He gestures at the screen. “This is fucked up. They could just talk to each other.”

You shrug, turning back to the screen. Elizabeth finishes up her speech, Mr Darcy looks at her lips, they lean in and hold back. The desperation in his voice, his breathy please, has your chest knotted tight and uncomfortable. “Without a little miscommunication there wouldn’t be any story at all,” you say. 

“Love doesn’t need to be a story,” says Wonwoo, flat. “It could just be.”

“But then we wouldn’t have films, my dearest friend. And all this yearning makes me feel alive.”

Wonwoo knocks his foot against yours, and you nudge him back. More cheers from down the hall. 

“I hate yearning. Makes me feel sick.”

You laugh then, rolling onto your side and looking over at him. Your heart is thumping so loud he can surely hear it. Don’t say it. Don’t push. “What have you ever yearned for?” 

Fuck. What a stupid thing to say.

He doesn’t look at you. Rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and clams up. “Nothing. Nevermind.” And there it is. He’ll touch on his terms and won’t give the feeling a name. He pushes up from the bed. “Want ice cream?”

“No,” you grumble, slipping down flat on the bed and stretching out your arms, eyes fluttering shut to tuck up the feeling in them. “Wanna sleep. This weather makes me tired.”

“Let's sleep then,” he says. “We can finish the rest in the morning.” He shuts off his laptop and makes to take off his t-shirt, but stops, clearly thinking better of it. 

You poke his arm. “I don’t mind if you want to sleep without it. It’s boiling.” 

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah. Nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.” 

His shoulders go all stiff for a second. Stupid.

“Aren’t you warm too?”

Yes. The sweat is starting to make your shirt stick to your skin. “No, I’m okay.”

Wonwoo shrugs off his clothes, tosses them to the chair (keeps his underwear on even though he usually wouldn’t, as some attempt at consideration for the blockades between you ever since– since before) and lays down. Your eyes meet in the half-dark for a moment, and there is something unwritten in his expression. The backs of your hands brush, and it’s still not the right kind of scary to make this touch okay. You can feel the warmth beaming out of him, and you almost tell him how lovely he looks with his skin all flushed and shiny like this. But then he turns his back on you, whispers goodnight, best friend to the wall, and you hold your breath for a moment, while you sink into the depths of your wanting. 

You can’t be the one to bring up the possibility of you, together, again. It’s too humiliating. You should let this go. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Thanks to traffic the drive takes longer than expected. It doesn’t matter. Despite burning six CDs, and stealing four from Hansol’s collection, Wonwoo has you play From Under the Cork Tree twice in the first half of the drive. For the first two hours you talk non-stop, the next is taken up speculating on and placing bets on the lives of the classmates you haven’t already reconnected with on Facebook. You spend the fourth half-snoozing, while Wonwoo hums along to Snow Patrol. He’s gently singing the wrong lyrics to Set Fire to the Third Bar, when Jihoon calls your mobile. 

“Hi Jihoon,” you murmur, and then holding up the phone to Wonwoo’s ear– “Say hi.”

“Hi Jihoon,” says Wonwoo obediently. “We’re still two hours away– shitty traffic.” 

You take the phone back, and say, “Are we meeting you there tonight or do you guys wanna come pregame with us and Wonwoo’s parents?”

Jihoon laughs. “How much pregaming are we talking?”

“I need at least two drinks before I set foot in the same room as Choi Hwangyu.”

“Haven’t you let that whole mortal enemies thing go yet?”

“Never,” you assert, crossing your heart. Wonwoo laughs. “It’s a mutual hatred that will last for all eternity.”

“You know– ‘all eternity’ is a redundant phr–”

“Oh my Godddd.”

You settle on the plan for the evening quickly. You and Wonwoo will have dinner with his parents, change into something that smells less like rental car and chilli Doritos, and Jihoon and Iseul will meet you at the pub before heading to the venue near your old school. 

You flip the phone to end the call, and Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your knee. 

“You gonna be okay? Seeing him?”

It started off as just a bunch of guys being dickheads, nothing too worthy of note. Hwangyu took it further. Snapping your bra strap in the middle of class, spilling drinks over your shirt in front of the entire lunch hall, spreading baseless rumours about boys you’d supposedly hooked up with. Once he started telling people you blew him in the chemistry lab during lunch break, Wonwoo and Jihoon stopped taking notice of your asking them to not intervene and “had words” after school. Wonwoo didn’t walk you home that day– had his friend from the year below, Mingyu, walk you instead. Jihoon told you not to ask so you never did, but just like that Hwangyu stopped giving you grief. Even back then you hated the fact that it took other guys to get him to leave you alone. Patriarchy rules even at the turn of the twenty-first century. How gross.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I looked him up a few days ago. Guess what?”

“He’s divorced?”

“Divorced thrice.”

Wonwoo laughs. “We’re twenty-six, how does someone find the time to get married to and divorced from three different people?”

“We could’ve been married already had we not spent eight years fucking around at university.” You’re laughing until you notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows pinch in the middle, a weird lopsided smile on his face, and you realise what you just said. You cough. “Not we. You know what I mean. My question was more how did he find three separate people who want to fuck him?”

“Urgh, I’d rather not have that visual, thanks.”

Snow Patrol wraps up, and you dig out the CD case from under your feet. “Okay, what next? Arctic Monkeys or My Chemical Romance?”

“Can we have Fall Out Boy again?”

“Oh my G–”

“I really liked that fifth one.” 

You fiddle taking Snow Patrol out the player and popping Fall Out Boy back in, trying not to scratch their bottoms. 

“Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner? Yeah, it’s my second favourite.”

“What’s your first?” asks Wonwoo.

“XO, the last one.” You tip your head back against the headrest, close your eyes, listen to Wonwoo sing, and wonder if it’s him or the music that makes your heart beat faster. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s fun, really. Catching up with all these people you haven’t seen in eight years, and Jihoon and Iseul, who you last saw seven months ago, and Wonwoo, who you see all the time. After your first rounds, the four of you huddle at the table on the furthest edge of the room, Iseul tells you about how her job is having her relocate to your city, and could you show her around (you will—of course you will. The idea of your old friend being there in your home makes you giddy, and Wonwoo laughs when you clap your hands in excitement.), Jihoon tells you all about his latest projects, and you and Wonwoo catch them both up on your studies. Eventually the group breaks off, Wonwoo to the bathroom, Jihoon to the bar, and Iseul spots another friend across the room, and darts off with a promise to be right back. 

You take the moment of quiet to check your texts. Mingyu and Seokmin have heard you’re in town, they want to hang out tomorrow. Your mother wants to know if you’re staying the night with her or your father (neither, you’re staying with Wonwoo’s parents, who were far more glad to see you than your own parents would be), and Wonwoo, who has messaged from the bathroom.

Wonwoo: You’re taking me for dinner after this btw.

You: Wash your hands before texting me, you pig!

There’s a clearing of a throat behind you, and you turn, half expecting Wonwoo there saying something smart in reply, but it’s not. 

“Oh. Hello.”

Your voice is anything but friendly. It seems Hwangyu still has the same unwarranted self-assuredness that pissed you off back then, because once addressed, he settles himself into the chair just vacated by Iseul and leans into your space.

You lean back. “Can I help you?”

“Did you come with Jihoon?’

You blink stupidly. He must not recognise you.

“No.”

He smirks, lazy, out the side of his mouth. 

“Good,” he says, slow. “Can’t stand that guy.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’ve grown into your looks, haven’t you? Nice dress.”

There goes that hopeful theory of him not recognising you, but what in the God awful fuck is happening? Is he trying to pick you up? No apology, not even a pleasantry to speak of, just headfirst into some backhanded compliment and a sleazy smile. These men should only exist as fictional villains, not out in the real world. 

You’re trying to gather your words. The planned retorts in your head don’t work in a situation where this is the angle he’s taking. Shit. 

“I looked you up,” he says, not looking at you. Eyes darting, nervous almost, across the room. You spot his usual friend group, they’re all looking over like hyenas. “A few weeks ago.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Wanted to see if you were single. I always liked you, you know.”

The sound of your laugh takes you by surprise. Comes out more like a bark. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

He doesn’t have the good grace to look contrite. Instead he drums his chewed up fingers on his knee, and says, “Got your attention, though.”

There is stale air around him, hair already peppered at the sides. He looks older than his years, and affected. The hate isn’t eternal, because you just feel something like pity for him. Not so much that you’d forgive the way he treated you, but enough to let it go. Enough to be able to sit here and think that at least you remained kind, and three separate women divorced him before he got within touching distance of thirty. What a sad little life.

“Are you still Jeon Wonwoo’s girl?”

You roll your eyes. About to say no, the truth, because not wanting him has absolutely nothing to do with Wonwoo, and he should know that– but a hand on your shoulder stills you. “Yeah, she is,” says Jihoon, from behind you. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. I am,” you echo, because you’re not going to let Hwangyu call your friend a liar. 

Much too slowly, Hwangyu makes his exit. Exchanges stiff pleasantries with Jihoon, and tries with Iseul who doesn’t return them (she’s a wonderful friend), and slips away to his old friends across the hall. You watch– they clap him on the shoulder, jeer at him, make faces like a twelve year old would. Some friends.

Jihoon and Iseul sit back down in their respective seats. Exchange a look, and you heave a frustrated sigh, just before Wonwoo returns from the bathroom. His eyes flick between you, catching the smell of the tension, and sinks slowly into his seat next to yours.

“What did I miss?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingyu and Seokmin are playing pool, badly. You can hear their yelling from all the way over here. Someone has started playing Boyz II Men on the jukebox. Jihoon is drunk, sings along to the words. His voice has always been pretty. Iseul joins in, and hers is less so, but it’s so fun to watch them together. 

‘I know the colour of love

And it lives inside of you

I know the colour of truth

It's in the image of you’

They’re another set of friends who could have been, but didn’t. It’s a shame they could never figure it out. You and Wonwoo clink your bottles together, take a sip, and Wonwoo lets you lean against him. His arm rests on the bench behind your back, his hand on your shoulder. He’s a little drunk, as are you, and it’s nice to be home and in all your old haunts.

You rest the back of your head in the crook of his neck, and ask him what he thinks the colour of love is. 

Wonwoo hums in thought, runs his thumb along the length of your shoulder blade. “I don’t know, I’ll need to think about it. What do you think it is?”

“It’s pink.”

“Why?”

Blush pink, soft, and subtle, and sweet. The colour of his cheeks when he’s shy. The colour of the soft sweater he wore one time, while you were walking along the river and he was happy and goofy and lovely, swinging your clasped hands high in the sky. The colour of the flowers he buys for your birthday, the same kind (your favourite) every year without fail. His corsage on prom night. The fuzzy feeling you get in your stomach when he laughs is pink. Painted clouds at sunset, lovehearts, strawberries, the Milky Way, cherry blossoms. Pink is the colour of hopeless romantics, and the colour of the Wonwoo shaped hole in your heart. 

He taps you, gentle. “Get distracted?” he asks. You nod. “Drunk?” 

“Getting there.”

“Why pink?”

It’s too much to say. “Valentines Day. Duh.”

Britney Spears comes on the jukebox. Iseul squeals loud and drags you up to dance. Wonwoo watches you, his smile beaming, and you can hardly look at him. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, when Wonwoo lays in bed (the air mattress on the floor of his childhood bedroom), he’s still mulling over your question. Your arm is hanging over the edge of his old bed, fingers close enough to touch. He doesn’t. You’d fallen fast asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

Wonwoo thinks about when you were children. Digging in the grass, plucking leaves from trees (Biggest one wins! Wins what? I dunno, a promise?), the first shoots of the tulips you and he planted in your grandfather's garden. He’s had so many shared firsts with you. There was no obligation, no forced time spent, just two kids who chose the comfort of one another over everyone else. It’s really something that you’ve still stuck like glue, all these years, as you’ve grown and reincarnated into several different people. Every time, you’ve chosen each other, even when it didn’t work. 

The colour of love is green. It’s in all those moments he felt most free. Like anything could happen. Like everything is fresh and new and an adventure to be had. It’s in the wig you wore for Halloween one year, and you made him laugh so hard he cried. It’s in the way you ground him when his heart is racing, when you drag him outside to stand in the park, make him kick off his shoes and socks and stand on the grass to feel the earth beneath his body. He always feels silly until it works. It’s in the bauble you painted for his parents when you were eight, tucked away for safekeeping in the attic, brought out every December to hang on the tree. It’s the colour of the blanket his mother knitted you years ago, that you still keep, spread out on top of your bed. His colour is in the dress you wore the very first time, and in another one, more sensible and grown, that you wore last night. His colour is all his moments with you. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 2006

“If I have to move to Busan you’ll come visit me, right?”

You purse your lips and hum loud for dramatic effect. Wonwoo throws a cushion at your face, and you laugh, swatting at him and missing by a mile. 

You’re laying down with your bare feet in his lap, while Wonwoo balances his laptop precariously on the arm of the sofa to check on his applications. The news trickles slowly, only a few people have heard back, so far. You’re almost done with your program, and Wonwoo is just about to start. People have called him a late bloomer before, but he just takes a little while to come around. Needs it to be a sure thing before he gets his head out of the sand. He’s starting to realise that in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters. 

“Say yes.”

“I’ll have to get my drivers licence,” you say, thinking possibilities out loud. “But sure, I’ll get the train in the meantime.”

You push up and lean over him to peer at his screen, place your hand on his bicep for balance. Wonwoo tries not to think too much about it.

“Where else did you apply?” you ask, scanning the page.

Wonwoo lists off. “SNU, KNUH, PNU–” 

“Cambridge?” Your voice is small, and he hates it. “I didn’t know you still wanted to go.”

Wonwoo shrugs. He does. Cambridge had been a fantasy for a while, all his adult life and then some, and the research fellow for the Keros Project couldn’t be a better opportunity. Six months in Greece, five in England. But also he doesn’t. Both because you’re his constant, and this is new ground. What if he leaves? Even if it’s just Busan– if he leaves this city, would you still be birds?

He won’t get in.

“I won’t get in.”

“But you applied?”

“Professor Lee insisted,” Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed and already sick of hearing himself talk about it. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t try. Seriously though, they only take a few applicants. It’s not going to be me. It’ll be Busan for me, most likely.”

You’re quiet for a moment, hand still on him like you’ve forgotten all about it. 

“Cambridge would be stupid if they didn’t take you,” you say, smiling tiny and false. “Not sure how often I could visit though.”

Wonwoo’s skin feels all hot. Would crawl out of it, if he could. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol’s friend, Minghao (the one from Myspace) is in the arts. It suits him. He talks at length about his various projects– painting, interpretive dance, a four man performance he’s directed that will soon be playing at some hole in the wall venue (that he asks if you’d like to see. You would.) and it’s nice to be around someone that shows their interest in you so clearly. He asks about your studies and seems genuinely interested when you talk about the impact candlelight vigils have on policy making. How the government consistently underestimates its people. It’s a rare occurrence that a date takes interest in your work. Wonwoo talks with you about it all the time, of co– but that’s not– he’s not– 

It’s just different when it’s a date. 

He’s perfectly polite. Buys your coffee and holds the door. Walks on the road side of the footpath, even. Minghao would be easy for you to like. He’s funny, and thoughtful, and takes notice. He’s bold. He’s a welcome distraction. 

But Wonwoo is still there. 

He’s pressed into every crevice of your mind. He’s your past and present and only God knows if he’s in your future. Later, you call, but of course you get the answerphone– he did say yesterday that he’d be in the library all weekend. 

“Hey, Wonwoo, it’s me. Listen– will you come over when you hear this? Doesn’t matter what time. Use your key. Okay. Okay. Bye.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s late when Wonwoo lets himself in. Heard your message just after two and walked straight out the door, rode his bike all the way here. 

The apartment looks like it always does. He’s hardly spent much time here in recent years, save for the occasional lingering in the living room before heading out somewhere neutral. Doesn’t feel right being in your space anymore, not after how it all ended last time, with water brash in his mouth. He still thinks about that. It’s why movie night is only ever at his place. So when you called and asked him to be here, to use his key, he knew something was awry. 

Seoyoung, your new-ish roommate, is in the living room, sitting on the ledge and blowing smoke out the window. She moved in about four months ago and you’ve quickly become good friends. She looks up at Wonwoo and waves, mouths she’s asleep and Wonwoo acknowledges with whispered “ah– thanks.”

Wonwoo knocks on your half open door, but you don’t stir, in too deep a sleep. You don’t notice the door clunk closed louder than Wonwoo intends. The mattress dips under his weight and still you don’t move. It’s only when he squeezes your hand that you blink the sleep from your eyes, puffy cheeks and always lovely. You stretch out like a cat, willing the fatigue away with a sigh that turns to a yawn, and Wonwoo feels immense guilt for having kept you waiting. More still for waking you up, but you wouldn’t have asked him to come if you didn’t want to talk right away. 

You pat the space next to you in silent invitation and Wonwoo hesitates. 

“I’m in my outdoor clothes.” 

“One of your t-shirts is in the bottom drawer,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes and pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard. 

Wonwoo changes in the bathroom. Washes his face and thinks about the last time he used your sink. The feelings haven’t changed, just bottled. Matured. He has a similar unease in every fibre of his body. Feels like static energy on his fingertips and he needs to rub it away. 

The silence stretches when he sinks down into the empty space of the bed. You draw patterns onto the sheets with a fingertip and stare down at the dimples you make. He wants to still your hand, to turn it over in his and ask why you called him over. Doesn’t, because you’re working up to it, can tell you’ve got tightness in your chest just by the sound of your breathing. You lean into him, sagging against his side and head tipped to rest on his shoulder. He has to stop himself pressing his lips to your crown. 

“I’m sorry I kept this,” you murmur, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Wear it to sleep, sometimes.”

He remembers it wasn’t in the bag of things you’d handed him, a couple of weeks after he left you that message on your answerphone. He figured it’d just been mislaid, didn’t occur to him that you’d tucked it away for yourself.�� 

“I don’t mind.” Always looked better on you anyway. 

You loop your arm around his. 

“I went on a date today.”

Oh.

“Minghao?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo nods. He could see that working. You’ve always wanted something romantic. Someone who could have nineteenth century novels written about them. Minghao seems like that type.

“He’s asked me out again.”

“Okay.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, feels like he knows where this is headed because you’ve both dated people since last time. It’s never had to be a conversation though. Movie nights become strictly group activities, any day of the week is fine. It’s okay. It’s out of respect, or whatever. 

“Should I go?”

“It’s your room,” Wonwoo deadpans.

“On the date, idiot.”

He swallows. “I don’t know. Do you like him?”

You shrug. “I could.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Wonwoo–” 

“We don’t talk about stuff like this.”

“We need to,” you insist. “What are we doing?”

There it is. The question he’s been dreading. The question he hoped you wouldn’t ask because he doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know how to take the feelings in his chest and wrap them neatly into words. All he wanted to do was just let it happen, if it were to happen at all, on your terms. Except now you’re asking him to give it a name, and his throat goes dry. He’s doing it again. Despite how he’s tried letting you go, despite keeping a respectable distance, he’s still managing to slip his way back in like this. Lately, Wonwoo has been wondering if he’s a narcissist, since he doesn’t even realise he’s manipulating the situation until it’s too late, and you’re saying what he can’t. You’re so much braver than he is. It wasn’t until week five (six?) of holding your hand that he realised he was choosing horror movies deliberately so he’d have a reason to touch you. It got to the point when the background music would feature its first minor key of many, and your palm would turn outwards, just waiting for him to clasp it in his and hold you through the scene. He’s given you a Pavlovian response. Isn’t that completely fucked?

“Wonwoo,” you plead. His heart jolts. “I won’t wait for you forever.”

He tips his head back against the headboard, eyes closed because he can’t bear to look at you while he admits it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “What I’ve been doing?”

“Nothing you do makes sense to me.”

The silence feels all thick and pliable.

Quietly, he confesses. “I don’t want you to date him. Anyone, really.”

Feels as though he’s sinking into syrup. Hard to move, hard to breathe. Hears your jagged inhale and steels himself for the ripping of the plaster. 

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” 

Wonwoo is a poorly knitted scarf. All slipped stitches and fast forming holes. One tug on a loose thread and he comes apart. 

“I want to be yours.”

He doesn’t expect your touch, let alone your kiss, gentle and loving on his shoulder. When he looks at you, your eyes are big and sad. 

“I don’t want to be your secret,” you whisper, in a tiny voice, against his t-shirt. 

This is his undoing. Wraps his fingers around your wrist and insists you’re not. You’ve never been that. It’s just– he wants to keep this private, not that he loves you, but how he shows it. Feels like it should be something sacred. You blink, startled, completely taken aback.

“You love me?”

“God. Yes,” he breathes. “Didn’t you know?”

“I thought you might– I didn’t know.” You’re crying. Silent tears spilling over, fingers plucking at a hangnail on your thumb and this is the worst. His heart aches. “You’re so quiet, how could I know anything for sure? How long?” 

“I–” He fucked up. Oh, he fucked up so badly. He rags his hands over his face, pushes his hair back while he searches for the right way to say it. “Too long.”

“After Siyeon?”

Wonwoo sighs. His thing with Siyeon wasn’t anything real. It started as a one time thing that stretched into semi-regular hook ups. She was in love with someone else, and he was pretending he wasn’t. The whole getting over someone by getting under someone else thing doesn’t work on a heartache as sour as his, and fuck anyone who said it would, actually. 

“Before?” 

“Before.”

You suck in a breath. “Oh.”

“Since we were kids, really,” he says. “Since before we ever–”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

Wonwoo laughs ruefully. “Is it? I feel like I was plain as day. The guys at school used to tease me for it.”

“I hate this,” you say after a moment, voice thick and sad. You rub at your face. Push away the still falling tears. “It should feel nice, shouldn’t it? You saying you love me and I just feel sad about all the wasted years. And now it feels like I forced it out of you, before you were ready. I love you too, you know. Have all this time.”

Wonwoo feels too big for his body. Like he’s full of hot air and could float right out of the window high high higher until he burns up in the atmosphere. Even still, there is that small voice in the back of Wonwoo’s mind, telling him he’s self-centered for getting what he needs, that he’s cruel for making you feel like this, selfish for wanting you just for himself. Stupid, for having wasted time. The alarm goes off– he doesn’t deserve it, your kindness, your patience, your love. When it comes to you he is, and always has been, a coward. But you’re still here grounding him, head resting against him, arms still linked, and you’re making no moves to push him out the door. 

“How can I make it better?”

You sniff. “You can tell me again when I’ve stopped crying. You can stay.” 

“Can I hold you?” Like you’re his, he doesn’t say.

You chew on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

Wonwoo shifts down, turns on his side and lifts the duvet for you to move into the space in front of him. You take his glasses, fold them carefully and place them on your nightstand. You slot in next to him, back to his front, his body curls around yours and you press into him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and he starts to let himself hope it could be okay. 

“Have you stopped crying yet,” he asks softly, after a while. His hand is splayed across your cotton clad stomach, one finger toying with the hem. Yours is tracing figures of eight on his forearm. 

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For a long time, you’ve imagined it would feel like fanfare. A marching band size confession if there were to ever be one. But that’s not who he is, and it’s not what you really want. It’s better like this. Whispered sweet things. His breath warming your skin. His fingers on the soft skin of your stomach, lips on your neck. 

It feels honest. 

It feels real. 

Wonwoo turns you on your back, leans over to kiss the skin beneath your eyes. One– two– Wonwoo has always had so much love in him. It’s just quiet. You place your palm over his cheek and he leans into it. Turns to press a kiss to the centre, to your fingertips, one by one. Everything feels soft and pink and fragile. 

“Wonwoo?”

He makes a soft, curious noise. Lips still pressed to the tip of your ring finger.

“Kiss me?”

Every time holds meaning, but now it’s morphed, reincarnated into something new. Wonwoo loves you properly, and this time he’s said it out loud. The way he kisses makes everything go hazy and light and it feels like sunset. Slow and deliberate and feathered across your skin. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, kissing him open mouthed, and his body goes molten against you. The weight of him is exquisite. 

Wonwoo loves like moonlight. Comes in cycles, and yes, this time it’s clearer than others, but it turns out he’s always just there even when he’s not, even when it goes dark and things turn ugly, he’s still there holding your hand. There is moonlight in his eyes, now, shining and shimmering. With tenderness, Wonwoo runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek, your bottom lip, the pulse point on your neck. You slip a hand beneath his t-shirt, touch the skin there and sigh over the way he presses against you. Your hand moves down and he stills you. 

“This is embarrassing,” he murmurs. “I didn’t bring any–”

“I don’t need one if you don’t,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill now.”

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Okay.”

“Don’t you want to?”

Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, you can feel his eyelashes tickling your skin. “I always want to.”

“Then touch me.” 

He does. Works deft fingers over your middle, watches the way the goosebumps raise as he takes your warm body from your clothes. Soothes his big hands over your skin to warm you. You don’t tell him you’re already burning. He mouths over the swell of your breast, pebbles the nipple between his fingers, asks if it’s okay, like this. It’s okay. Anything he wants is okay. You tell him that– that he can do anything he wants to you, that you’re his to do as he pleases with, and he groans, a small disbelieving sound. 

“Don’t say things like that.” 

You don’t ask why. Wonwoo has always been possessive, but it’s not something he likes about himself. Hates to share but doesn’t like to take either, feels some kind of shame about it. Wears the word selfish like a chain around his neck. And so he doesn’t take at all, tries to stay content with nothing. You tried to tell him once, it’s not selfish to want things. It’s not self-centred to have your needs met. You deserve good things, too, Wonwoo. And he looked at you, both forlorn and skeptical, said something about how caged birds can forget how to fly. He never seemed to get that he’d only ever imprisoned himself. Tonight you’ll give him your body, push his shame away with your hands and your mouth, and let him have this. 

You fist your hands in his hair, drag him up by it just to crush your lips against his to kiss him messy. He groans again, a little louder, and it’s this you’ve missed the most. The way he forgets himself when he’s touching you. The way he lets go. You wiggle underneath him, let his body shift so he’s caught between your legs and you can feel how he presses against your core. You nip at his lip, toy with the waistband of his underwear. “Off,” you say, and Wonwoo complies. The t-shirt follows straight after, and his body is back on you, looking at you like you hung the moon. 

He brings a hand between your bodies, taps you almost where you want him, asks if he can touch you. Please. A finger dips inside, an open mouthed kiss, his length, hard, pressed into your thigh. Wonwoo likes things wet, and sloppy. You like whatever he likes. He gathers up the wetness inside you, smears it over your clit, brings his fingers to his mouth, closes his eyes as he tastes you on his tongue. God, what the fuck. 

“Missed you,” you say, and he kisses you deep. Licks into your mouth, pushes two long fingers back inside your slick heat, and curls them over the sweetest spot. You pull off his lips to gasp. 

“Can we keep doing this?” Wonwoo whispers against the corner of your mouth. “Will you kiss me anytime you want? Baby, say yes.”

You nod, head hazy, swimming in the moment. Baby. The ache in your chest, once dulled but never gone, is pounding. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo holds you like you’re about to disappear, grips your waist tight with his free hand, fucks into you slow and messy with the other. You whimper as he plays with your clit, spread your legs wider so he can see, if he wants, but he’s watching your face, watching your mouth form a silent o. You’re so pretty, he tells you. So pretty always but prettiest like this, when it’s just the two of you. Watches your eyes go glassy, watches you come apart for him, feels your pussy clench around his fingers and commits the way your body shudders to memory. He doesn’t wait for it to pass before he kisses you again, takes your whines in his mouth and eats them. They taste saccharine sweet. 

He slots between your legs, rests his cock against your core, pressing languid kisses to anywhere he can reach without moving from this spot. Nips at your collarbone, laves his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck. Will leave a mark there, one day, when you’re his. A small part of him says that you’re his now, always have been, but it’s not really true, is it? Wonwoo needs the conversation, needs the lines drawn and the expectations laid out. Needs you to be sure that it’s him you want. Needs to know he’ll be able to give you what you need. He hasn’t, always, and that was part of the trouble. Wants it to be different, this time, because being with you is one of the few things that makes him feel whole in his own skin. 

Right now he wants to feel you like this, chasing friction and needing more. He’ll give it to you, would give you anything in this moment, just wants you needy first. It starts with you wrapping your arms around his back, running your fingertips down his spine, lighting little fires in their wake. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his jaw, and tell him you need him inside. That you want him to fill you up. Fuck, if he could do this forever–

He wraps long fingers around your ankle, bends your knee to press your thigh to your chest, gives him better access like this, and it’s then he rolls against you, his cock dragging along your clit. He’s always loved the way you sound. Loves the way you get wet for him. Wonwoo loves you. So much. 

“Love you, too, Wonwoo.”

He groans as he slots a hand between your bodies, fists his cock and slides into your slick, tight heat. It’s agonising, he thinks, the way you tighten around him. Wants to go to sleep this way, wrapped up in each other like this. He knows if he asks you’ll let him, but he wants you to want it too. Maybe another time. This time there’s going to be more. He knows it.

“Need you to move,” you sigh. “Move for me.”

He does. Fucks into you slow, shit, baby, you feel so good. He gets in deep, feels the tension burning in his guts, gasps into your kiss when your cunt goes impossibly tight and wet around his cock, loves when your nails dig into his skin, when your moan comes out muffled and broken. 

He pulls out to look down at his cock slipping inside you, pushes in as deep as he can again and you arch your hips to meet him. He rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit. His body is alight, the perfect amount of heat and pressure and you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice rasps. Your lips are pink and swollen. He wants them back on him. “So wet for me.” 

The pressure of his hands on you– it wavers. Digs in hard in one moment and become the ghost of a touch the next. It’s like he loses himself and then remembers that you’re a flower, soft, and delicate. You won't break, because you’ve never been the least bit fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hurt. More so he doesn’t want to let himself claim you. Can’t let anyone know he knows you like he does. 

“Leave marks on me, Wonwoo,” you say, reading his mind. You run your fingers over the top of his, where they rest upon your middle. “I like it.”

He did once, at the end of the first time. Sucked a deep, purple bruise beneath your neck for everyone to see. And he loved it, loved knowing he put it there in the dark, and loved how it deepened into your skin a day later, knowing that every time you looked in the mirror you’d be reminded. Loved it– until the brakes were slammed on, and he had to watch it deepen still. Watched your friends tease, asking ‘who’s loverboy?’ just for you to say oh my god, no one, shut up. The next day you’d covered your mottled skin with make-up, so like you he pretended nothing happened. And all too soon it faded, much faster than all the rest of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all, had he known he was no one. 

But now you’re telling him to. Wanting clouds his judgement. It’s a dream, maybe, but dreams have never felt like this, you were always just out of reach. He’s all shallow thrusts and quickened breaths, and you take his hands to show him where you want his mouth. 

“Here,” you say, pressing his palm over your breast. Here is good, he thinks, as he mottles the flesh with his lips. Private, just something for the two of you. He’ll ask for a picture in a few days, jerk himself off over it, probably. You thread a hand through his hair, pull on it (his cock twitches inside you, embarrassing) to angle his head up your body. You look so happy, smiling soft, and watching him through your eyelashes. God, why didn’t he get his shit together before? 

“Here, too” you say, directing him to your collarbone. Wastes no time leaving a small mark. He likes it, looks a little like a love heart. There’s still a chill in the air this April, you could easily cover it if you need to, he wouldn’t mind this time. But then you say here, and this time you’re tipping up your jaw to give him access, pressing his fingers to the column of your lovely neck. He stills inside you, and you make a small noise of discontent, and angle your hips to draw him in deeper. 

“Please, Wonwoo,” you beg, eyes big and shining. You touch his bottom lip, wet with spit. “Need it on me. Wanna be yours too.” 

He uses teeth, this time. Sinks into your body and groans against your neck, you press kisses into his hair as he fucks you. Hard breaths, sloppy thrusts, the sound of wet skin and your broken noises. Wonwoo whimpers into your neck as you pulse around him, sucking the deepest bruise, fuck fuck fuck. “Gonna come,” you breathe. “Are you close?” He nods, laves a soothing tongue over the ache, makes it shine. 

“Harder,” you plead, pulling at his hips to drag him against you. “Make me sore.” And it’s fucked up that he wants to. Has this morbid, fascinating thought of you feeling him for days afterward as you go about your life, a heavy, aching reminder that he did this to your body– but maybe it’s okay, if you want it too? He feels the pressure on his skin, in his bones, of your need for him. He thrusts deep and fast without warning, even the breath he takes is sharp, and the noise– fuck, the noise is obscene. You come with a gasp, eyes fluttering like you want to keep them open but can’t, too lost in the feeling. He whispers sweet praise in your ear as he comes too, and you kiss, lazy and open mouthed, at his cheek. His sticky release seeps out of you around his cock, and he fucks it back in, head clouding and body taught with overstimulation.

After a moment, when he’s caught his breath and your body goes molten, he shifts his weight and starts to pull out, but you drag your listless limbs over him to hold him there. “Stay,” you ask quietly, all gentle and loving and shy. “Just for a little while.” 

Words are inefficient, here. Can’t tell you all the ways in which he loves you. Just places those feelings on his lips and presses them to your temple. Hopes you know what you mean to him and hopes he means the same to you. Wonwoo welcomes this arrow through his heart. 

When it’s quiet, and the air in the room is all still and heavy, you murmur against his sweat-sheened skin, “It’s never like this with anyone else.”

No. Nothing could ever be like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

May 2006

You’re home for the weekend, and today you're taking a day trip to Dadaepo beach, the south side of Busan. Wonwoo is driving and the windows are down and you’re listening to music and you’re in love. For real, this time. No second guessing, no wondering if he loves you back, because it’s out in the open and it’s tangible. He holds your hand all the time, and it’s so nice not to have adrenaline coursing through your veins before he knots his fingers with yours. He’s driving like this, hands clasped together in your lap. 

Iseul and Seoyoung got close so fast, and they’re singing old songs together in the backseat. Mingyu’s too long body is squished between them, looking utterly perplexed at how he ended up in this car with these strange, loud women. 

Later, you lay out the picnic you’d packed. The others are in the water, in the distance you can almost hear Iseul and Seoyoung shouting happily at Mingyu, and him yelling back. Wonwoo lays stretched out on the blanket like a cat, half dozing in the sun, face covered by the book he was reading earlier. He’s stroking your knee absentmindedly. 

“Talked to my dad earlier– he asked after your applications,” you say.

“Should find out the rest soon,” he replies. He’s already been accepted at KNUH, but that’s his back up. 

A couple of seabirds soar high overhead, can hear them calling to each other, flying so close their wings almost touch. They go like that together, far out above the ocean, and you watch them go until they’re just specks in the hazy blue.

“It’d be nice to live here,” you muse, looking at the way the sunlight dances on the water. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo smiles soft, half-hidden under the book. “Yeah it would.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Happy birthday,” Wonwoo whispers into your skin. He’s half-asleep still. Breath warming your neck and fingers slotted into the waistband of your pyjamas. Not to go further, just to touch. 

You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, more alert, having been awake a little longer and waiting for him to stir. “Thank you,” you whisper back, smiling wide. “When do I get my flowers?”

“Patience is a virtue,” he mumbles. 

“One I don’t have,” you say into his cheek. 

“Liar.”

“Did you hide them in the bathroom?” You shift, ready to go get them yourself, but Wonwoo holds you tighter, dragging you back in. 

“You’re not getting your own flowers.” Wonwoo pushes up from the bed. Hair messy and face all scrunched up. God, he’s lovely in the mornings. “Stay there.”

You suppress a giggle, touching his bare thigh just to touch. 

“I like when you’re bossy.” 

He kisses your forehead. You put his glasses on for him, wonky because he just looks so cute like that. He grumbles.

He pulls on his grey sweatpants from the night before, doesn’t bother with a shirt, to fumble his way out of his room in the barely-there morning light. He comes back in about five minutes later, singing the birthday song, voice soft and slow with sleep, tray in hands, two coffees, a bowl of fruit to share, a funfetti cupcake with one pastel green candle, blush pink tulips pretty in a vase. 

He makes you blow out the candle, sets the tray on the nightstand on your side of his bed, and flops back in beside you. He curls into your side, arm over your middle and drawing you close, eyes already shutting. You smile, touching the petals and making birthday wishes that all of this carries on, even as you get old. 

“They’re pretty, thank you, Wonwoo.”

“Pretty flowers for my pretty girl,” he says simply, like it doesn’t make your heart sing. “Your real present is later.”

“You already got me my present,” you protest.

“S’different now,” he says through a yawn. 

You grin. Things are different. There still hasn’t been a conversation, nothing defined– you should do that, soon– but it feels like you belong to each other, more so than any other time before. The two of you are swimming into open sun-dappled waters, and it feels warm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

June 2006

Wonwoo sits on the edge of his bed, the envelope thick with papers lying forgotten on the floor. He drags his free hand over his mouth, reads the letter again in disbelief, because it can’t be real. It shouldn’t be. 

“I shouldn’t have applied.” His voice is strained. Hurts to hear. 

Of course he should have. 

“You couldn’t have known.” 

“I’m not going.” He meets your eyes, stricken, and you know he’d mean it if you even gave him an inch.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” you sigh. “You’ve got to. It was made for you.”

The letter is crumpling in Wonwoo’s fist. He’ll want to save it, probably. A memento of the start of his new chapter. He should save it. You take it from him, smooth out the creases, pull a heavy book from your shelf and press it over the paper. You won’t cry, not here in front of him, but your eyes feel too wet. He’d only feel some awful boundless guilt and it’d just make everything worse. You rub at them. 

Wonwoo moves close. Tugs at your belt loop to bring you between his legs, presses his forehead into your sternum, and you cradle his head in your arms. 

“It’s okay,” you insist, soothing a hand over his hair, reassuring yourself as well as him. “What was it your dad used to call us? Do you remember?”

He nods. You tug him by the chin to look up at you. “Tell me,” you say as you touch his neck, feel his pulse quicken, and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Birds of a feather,” he breathes.

Wonwoo pushes up your top, presses open wet kisses up your middle, bunches the material under your arms and drags the cup of your bra down rough. 

“That’s it,” you say, voice thick. “That’s it, Wonwoo. We’re birds.”

Takes your nipple in his mouth, makes it wet with his tongue, pulls off just to watch it pebble in the cold, slick with spit. 

“You need to go,” you say. Your throat is dry. Deep in your mind, the cruelest part of you, says it was purposeful, him applying for something that’ll take him away from you, right on the precipice of it all. Before lines can be drawn, while the boundaries are still blurred. He’s not like that, really. It’s just your projection, you remind yourself. Doesn’t stop it from hurting because two short months isn’t enough, but you’ll never be the one to hold him back. Not when he’s been working so hard, not when he holds himself back more than anyone. You fist your hands at the nape of his neck. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

He pulls at your hips, fingers digging so tight they hurt. It’s good. It’s awful. 

“I can’t do a distance like this,” you admit, carding your hands through his hair. “A year is too long. Might be more.” His clumsy, desperate hands fumble with the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs so you can kick them off. You slide into his lap, wrap your legs around his waist. His mouth moves up your body, clawing and aching and needy, teeth nipping at your collarbone, sucking purple into your spit-sheened skin. Slips a hand between you and hums pleasantly at the wetness on your underwear. Circles his fingers over your cotton-covered clit. “How long have we got left?”

“Three weeks,” he says, between bites. His eyelashes are wet. 

You nod. Okay. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got three weeks, and then we’ll be friends again. We can do this.”

Wonwoo pulls your underwear to the side, slips a finger over your wet, wanting cunt. “Friends don’t do this,” he rasps, sinking his finger in, curling just enough to make you keen. He’s so hard, you can feel the denim-clad bulge against your body. “Friends don’t touch each other like this.”

“We can,” you sigh. “If we want.” He wrenches at your clothes and kicks them to the floor, leaves you bare and he’s still wearing too much. 

You push him back on the bed, drag his hands from your body to pin them at his sides. He looks at you, wounded and desperately turned on. You turn your back on him, spread your legs over his body to let him see you, wet and needy, pull on his belt and shove his jeans and underwear away just enough to free his hard cock. 

“You know I want more than that,” he admits, breath warm against your clit. He hisses as you take him in your mouth, whines desperately as you pull back and swipe your tongue over the head. Let the spit bubble between your lips and work it over him, because this is how he likes you, sloppy and messy and wet. He licks into you, all tongue and teeth and soft lips against your core, pressed deep, getting his face wet with you, drags your body down tight against his mouth, arms wrapped around your hips and fingers digging into your flesh. You moan, pornographic, around his cock. Wonwoo arches his hips, fucks rough into your mouth, chasing the heat. 

Wonwoo is greedy, sometimes. You love this part of him, when he lets it out. Wants your release fast, it seems. He moves between sharp bites at your thighs, marks pressed into the juncture of them, secret and lovely, heavy sucks over your clit, all while working you open with long, thick fingers. Makes you come unexpectedly fast, shuddering over him and pulling off his achingly hard cock with a broken moan. “You’re so wet, baby. Wanna be inside you.”

You nod, dumb and lovestruck and hazy. He grabs at your wrist and tugs, pulls you back over him and tight against his body, kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue. You tug at his shirt, drag it awkwardly over his head and his glasses get pulled off with them, they clatter to the floor, but he’s pulling your breast to his mouth again and nothing matters but this, right now. 

Right now, you sink over him slow slow slow, let him feel all your tight, wet heat before he gets needy, before he fucks up into you hard, like he wants to become part of you. Like he wants to crawl inside and make a home there. You watch his chest rise and fall, touch his skin as best you can between the lack of space between your bodies, lay your palm over his heart and feel it beat for you. He calls you beautiful, and you say it back. Says he likes the way your eyes roll back, that he loves how wet you get when he kisses your neck, when he calls you his pretty girl. Baby, fuck– you take me so well. He reaches behind your body, fingers splayed over where you join, feels the way your cunt hugs him. Groans as you grip his length with your pussy, hisses when you dig your nails into his chest as you come– everywhere, everything tight tight tight. 

Wonwoo runs soothing hands down your back as you sag against him, tells you he loves you, asks delicate and concerned if you want to stop because you’re crying, and when you hold him closer, tell him no, you need this– he puts you on your back and fucks you hard enough to make you forget about it. Presses your body into the mattress and lays his entire weight on you. Wonwoo buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispers that you mean everything to him, and you nod, hold his body and let the fever set in. He comes with the deepest, most languid stroke, holds his cock tight inside and fills you up. Asks desperately if you can feel it. You can. Yeah, yeah I can feel you. Feels so good. 

Much later, you lay facing each other in the quiet, tears already shed and conversation put on pause. It’s too hard to talk about being friends, just now. He kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips, and you let him. Too sad to move, too in love. Friends don’t mean I love you the way you do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

August, 2006

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:13

Hello from Naxos, 

I got here from Athens a few days ago. I stupidly left my laptop in one of the lecture halls (I think) and no one has handed it in to the office, so I didn’t see your emails until now. Sorry about that. I feel like I’ve been living in a daze since I left home. Can’t keep my head on straight.

I don’t know how to describe this place. It’s beautiful. It’s hot. My room doesn’t have air conditioning and the sweat makes the sheets stick to my skin even in the middle of the night. The air hangs still and it’s thick in my throat. I think you’d hate it. And even then I’m sure you’d want to be held to sleep while complaining about the heat. I’m in the internet cafe now, and it’s so nice and cool I might pay for an extra hour just to sit here and feel like a person again.

Tomorrow we’re visiting Keros for the first time, and I don’t know how to feel. Whenever I imagine stepping off the boat the roof of my mouth goes dry. Is that excitement? I don’t know. I do know that I’m not sure I fit in here with the others. They’re quite similar to you, in the coming from a well off family regard, but they’re completely unaware of how they sound. I don’t think they realise how they flaunt it. When I first got here they talked about taking ‘the boat’ down to Santorini and asked if I wanted to join them. I said I’d need to check how much the ferry costs, and they looked at me like I’d sprouted another head right in front of them. Turns out they took someone’s dads yacht for the weekend. I didn’t go. I think you’d know how to talk with them. You’d know how to relate to them in some way that wouldn’t come across awkward or fake. I mean that as a compliment.

You asked me what I’m thinking about and right now it’s that time you and I dug out those old coins in your grandparents garden. Do you think your Grandfather buried them there for us to find? I’ve often thought that that small thing brought me to where I am, to what I’m doing, and I wonder if it was real? I miss that garden a lot. I miss us in it.

Am I complaining too much? I am, aren’t I? I think it’s the heat. 

How is your summer at home?

What have you been doing?

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:18

Mum and dad say you’re welcome to visit them before you go back to the city next month.

I miss you.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 4th August 2006, 18:52

Hello to Naxos,

I’m sure you’ll be in Keros by now, so I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. It looks lovely in the photographs on Google but I hope you’re taking some of your own for me anyway. I want some photos just for me, please, Wonwoo. I hope you’re looking at the sea and thinking that I’d like the colour of it. 

I don’t know how much I’d enjoy the company of your colleagues though. They sound stuffy and out of touch. Is there anyone you actually like yet? Tell me about them. 

I’m in the garden right now. I’m quite positive Grandpa buried the coins for us because there was mud all over his knees, don’t you remember? Granny scolded him for washing his dirty hands in the kitchen sink but she said the smile on your face made her forget about it. Just because it was engineered doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, you know? That your joy wasn’t real. Don’t you feel joy now, being exactly where you’ve wanted to be for the longest time? 

It’s been almost two months since you left and you haven’t sent one single photo of a cat, and I know for a fact that Greece has many. Have you spent all your time off holed up inside? Go out for a drink. Make some friends. Stand on the grass with your feet bare. It’ll do you some good.

Summer at home is as it always is. I saw Mingyu and Seokmin at a bar a few days after you left, Mingyu said to say hi but I told him to do it himself and gave him your new email address, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Mother has been down, I think Dongho cheated on her again but she won’t say anything. I haven’t done much else besides sleeping and shopping and playing games. Don’t tell anyone I said so but it’s boring without you here. 

I don’t think I’ll stay for the whole summer, actually. Iseul and Seoyoung are saying they want to visit the States. I’ll probably go with them. Iseul’s parents have a little place in California. I’ll take my laptop though, email me every time you think of me.

Tell your parents I’ll visit in the next few days, I’ve been craving your mum’s kimchi jjigae. 

PS - I miss us in the garden too. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 7th August 2006, 19:36

Keros was definitely something. I worry I built it up in my head too much, you know? Thought I’d feel more moved than I did. One of the leads, Edward, from a village in Wales I can’t pronounce the name of, is walking us through the project for the next few weeks. If I could learn half as much as he knows for the time I’m here, I’m sure I’ll get by for the rest of my career. I stood in the ruins of what was a home built over 2300 years ago and wondered what the people who lived there must’ve felt about it. Were they happy? Did they think the island too small? Were they jealous their neighbour had a better view of the ocean? Did they start sleeping with their best friend (again) just before moving to a Mediterranean island hahaha?

Should we talk about us yet? I worry if we leave it any longer we’ll just start pretending it didn’t happen again.

I did take some pictures on the island. Shall I post them on Facebook? There’s this small cove you would’ve liked that had these tiny iridescent fish that swam up so close to my feet that I thought they’d bite them. There was one cat outside my window but it was dark and the one photo I got of it is so blurry it’s not worth showing. I’ll find more to take photos of. 

Thanks for giving Mingyu my details, he’s already emailed me. He said you were looking well. I’m sorry about your mother. 

I won’t go for that drink you suggest because all the would-be drinkers seem more interested in snorting lines off each other's chests, and I don’t have the spare cash for all that. I have met some people - Matteo and Emma. Matteo is from Naples and Emma is from London. Emma reads, and she said she’ll lend me her copy of The Little Prince when she’s done with it. I haven’t told her I’ve already read it.

California sounds like it’ll be fun for you. Knowing Iseul her parent’s “little place” has eight bedrooms, a tennis court, an olympic swimming pool, and a live-in chef haha. How long will you go for? 

PS - on second thought I don’t know how you would’ve felt about the fish and the feet. 

PPS - if I emailed you every time I thought of you then I’d hardly ever leave the cafe.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 8th August 2006, 17:52

Should I have brought it up?

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 9th August 2006, 06:28

Hello from LA,

Sorry for the slow reply, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

Wonwoo, I don’t know what there is to say about it all. Do you? 

I’m trying very hard not to be pathetic but the fact is that despite whatever state our on and off hook up thing is in, I still want us to be in each other’s lives. I don’t think you’re going to be in love with me forever, are you? You’re my safe space and I like hearing your thoughts and I feel like being your friend makes me a better person. We have good sex, great sex, but we’ve never managed anything solid. I mean, I know that you left because of the fellowship and because I encouraged you to take it, but things between us always seem to end just as soon as it gets real. 

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always going to be friends. You’re going to marry the girl next door type that doesn’t ask too many questions. She is sweet and knits you scarves for Christmas and prefers doggy style so you don’t see her face when she comes. She isn’t me– the selfish, obnoxious girl from three streets across, who beat you in the spelling bee when we were seven. You’re probably going to have three children, and definitely become very accomplished in whatever archeologists are accomplished in. And I am going to have at least four husbands, one child who’ll grow up rolling their eyes at me, and I’ll become infamous for whistleblowing the government for…. something gross and scandalous. Like listening in to everyone’s phone calls. We’ll holiday together and our children will grow up like cousins and when we get drunk and our spouses go to bed I’ll go “remember our last night before you left for Greece? Remember that night? You put your wet fingers in my mouth and told me ‘bite down when you come.’ I think about that all the time.” You’ll be so mortified your ears will go red. You’ll probably spill your drink.

I’m laughing my ass off just imagining it. Isn’t it funny that you’re only bold enough to say things like that when we’re in bed? It’s like you need to be cocooned up with someone in order to let your inside voice out. God, you’re so impolite when you fuck me. 

But don’t worry. You were my best friend long before you ever touched me like that. Every time we do this you tell me you just want to be friends, right? So let’s be friends. I can do platonic if that makes it easier for you.

Anyway. The update is I visited your parents (they probably already told you) and your mum made the BEST japchae for me. They love me sooooo much, I’ve got no idea why. I’m sure you’re very jealous and that sustains me. Now I’m in LA for the rest of the month. Iseul’s place is only six bedrooms, actually! No tennis court or live-in chef but the pool is admittedly gigantic. Please see attached photo. I look great, right? I’m sure you’re nodding. Maybe while I’m here I’ll find husband numero uno. If I'm going to have four I should start working on that ASAP. 

We’re okay, Wonwoo. 

PS - don’t you dare upload those photos to Facebook, send them to me and me alone. Also send me one of you because you’ve been gone so long I’ve forgotten what you look like. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 10th August 2006, 20:39

Hello to California,

Is that really what you think? That I fall out of it so quickly? That we started sleeping together again, and you think I didn’t feel fucked up over leaving? I’m starting to wonder if it was worth leaving at all. I’m glad we’re friends but do friends kiss the way we do? Are friends allowed to do that with each other? Does it make me a bad friend if I looked at the photo you sent and thought how pretty you are and let my mind run away wondering how you’d look if you were in my room here. I almost thought about printing your photo off but is that perverted? You’re fully clothed but I feel like a pervert. You do look great. I love that colour on you. 

I can’t imagine this life you’re dreaming up. I can’t imagine marrying some faceless person. Can’t imagine anything for me beyond what’s happening today. I can see you with four husbands though. I don’t mean that in any type of way, just that you find it easy to find people who love you even if they don’t exactly fit.

If you’re going to uncover some government spy operation let’s get started on the theories right now. If they’ve been listening to phone calls then it stands to reason they’re probably reading emails and texts too. Do you think they’re reading ours? Do we have our very own spy?

What is your first husband going to be like? The antithesis of me? Or maybe someone so strangely similar that all of our friends whisper about how weird it is? Don’t you think it’s messed up that we’re talking about this?

Please see attached a couple of photos of the island, one of me in my room, for your eyes only. Don’t go showing them to Iseul and Seoyoung. They’re not as good as the ones on my film camera but you’ll have to wait until I’m home for those. 

PS - can you download Skype? Efraim, the guy who owns the cafe, is installing it on all the computers, he says we’ll be able to video call. I’m free on Sunday after 7PM, that’s 9AM for you. Are you free?

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 11th August 2006, 12:05

It was worth leaving because this is what you’ve been working for your whole life. And it doesn’t matter that we started again because as long as we’re both single it can pick up whenever we want. I know you care for me in your quiet way. I know you’d never hurt me with intent. It’s fun, and we’re young, and we know it’s easy with each other. It doesn’t have to be more than that. Maybe we shouldn’t have said the L word, though, don’t you think? I try not to think about it. It would have been more sensible not to. Hindsight blah blah blah. 

We can be whatever kind of friends you want. I don’t mind that you think about fucking me. You did, right? When you saw my photo? I’d quite like it if you did. I like thinking about your cheeks getting hot and having to adjust your jeans in the middle of the cafe. Did you feel the need to hide your screen?

You’re probably right about the spies reading our emails too, I’ll note that down somewhere offline. Have you considered that our spy may be Efraim? After all, he has easy access to the computers you use every evening. Maybe you should consider getting a laptop of your own. It must be costing you a small fortune going to the cafe to email little old me every day. Dad is getting a new one soon, shall I ask him to post you his old one? Don’t be weird about accepting it, it’s just a laptop.

My first husband is so so so handsome. Grossly rich because of generational wealth, he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of being self made. I need to start strong, you see. A little shorter than you, so you’re not entirely emasculated haha. He probably knows how to sail. I bet he drapes sweaters across his shoulders like those guys in Ralph Lauren ads. I bet he’s played Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar and doesn’t realise how cliche it is. He’s probably doing it right now. I hope he’s not conceited. That’d be unbearable. Though I suppose we’d need a good reason to divorce. 

How are Matteo and Emma? What are they like? Did you tell them anything about me?

Seoyoung says hello. Iseul said she thinks you need a haircut (sorry, she peeked over my shoulder when I read your email) but I don’t. I think you look hot with long hair. Send me more photos of you? Take a shower first and think about me. Leave your clothes off. Shut your eyes and imagine I’m with you. I’ll open them in private.

We’re going to a party in Malibu on Saturday. Iseul’s cousins (Joshua and Kevin– they’re cool, you’d like them) are family friends with some big shot Hollywood producer so maybe I’ll meet some celebrities! Maybe I’ll meet my husband! If you send me a photo before then just know I won’t look at it, I need my head in the game. I’ll call on Sunday morning and tell you all about it.

PS - don’t open the attached photos in front of Efraim. It’s okay if you print them.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 12th August 2006, 22:47

God. You’re right about getting another laptop while I’m here (I’m not taking your dad’s one, I’ll save up for one by myself) because I had to wait until Efraim went to the bathroom before printing your photos. I nearly broke a sweat wondering if he’d come back too quickly and see me holding them like some kind of sick freak. You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Your husbands won’t know what to do with themselves.

Yes, I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Do you think about it too? I’m guessing by your photos that you do. Did you think of me eating you out when you touched yourself? You probably won’t read this email for another twelve hours but just know that I failed miserably not getting hard in the back of the cafe. I had to spend ten minutes catching up on the news back home just to stop remembering being inside you, how wet you get when I kiss your neck. What am I, a teenager?

You should’ve come here for your summer trip, rather than LA. Why are you going out tonight looking for someone else when you could have been here. I’m jealous. I miss you. 

I’ll send you your demands before we call tomorrow. I want to see your face when you open it.

Matteo and Emma are great. They’re funny, and well read, and they know more mythology than I do, if you can believe it. Matteo is a good cook. He made lasagne for dinner the night I last emailed you and it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I wish you could try it. If he ever wanted to open a restaurant he absolutely could. If you wanted to take him as one of your husbands I wouldn’t be opposed. It’d give me more reason to have dinner at your house. Emma has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. 

They both know about you. We work together here a few nights a week, so they’ve seen me writing you. I told them we’re best friends, that you’re a little bit insane despite being one of the most level headed people I know. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth. I told them that you’re smarter than I am, and that you’ll probably take down several governments one day. I told them that you miss me terribly. And that you understand me better than I understand myself, and that I can hardly understand you at all. 

Emma asked if we were ever together, and I didn’t know how to answer. I almost said not really, but I don’t know if that’s true. Is it true? Matteo changed the subject before I could answer anyway. He wanted to know who bowser80 was. On that note I’m begging you to choose a more sensible email address, if only so Efraim doesn’t think I’m sending vaguely horny emails to a Super Mario character. He probably has the wrong impression of you. 

I’m really looking forward to speaking to you properly. Your photos are- well they’re obscenely hot. But I want to see your smile. 

Talk soon. Don’t fuck your husband-to-be on the first night, he doesn’t deserve you.

PS - I’m not sure if Efraim is our spy, actually. I just watched him pick his nose and wipe it under the desk. I would hope someone trained in espionage would have better decorum. 

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 13th August 2006, 18:56

Don’t open these until we’re on the call. 

Can’t wait.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 14th August 2006, 09:08

I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been looking at your photos again since I woke up and I fear I’m never going to leave my bed. 

Wonwoo, I’m being very serious when I say you need to get a laptop again as soon as possible because Efraim absolutely cannot read or hear the things I want to say to you. God, Wonwoo, I need to suck your dick inside out. I need you inside me.

How long have you got left in Europe? Is it forever?

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 14th August 2006, 17:31

I can’t stop thinking about you either. I forgot the sound of your laugh for a while and now after hearing it I’m worried I’ll lose it again. Let's keep calling, so we stay real for each other. For the sake of my sanity please say less about sucking my dick. It’s only Monday and it’s a personal goal of mine to make it through the week without rocking a semi in this cafe.

On the topic of buying a laptop, I’m picking up a part time job. The stipend doesn’t stretch as far as I’d hoped. Efraim is hiring, and I asked if working here means I can read everyone's emails and he looked so confused I was almost convinced. Perhaps he’s a better spy than we thought. Of course working here means more opportunity for talking to you, which sweetens the deal somewhat. 

It does feel like it’ll be forever, doesn’t it? I won’t be able to come home to visit until March. I wouldn’t be opposed to you visiting me here during your winter break. Would you like to?

Say yes.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

December 2006

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 30th December 2006, 09:40

Hi baby,

My palms are sweating but I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just us, isn’t it? I haven’t been this nervous to see you since before school the day after we slept together. The first time, I mean. We were idiots, I know that much. 

I’m borrowing Matteo’s car to come pick you up, I’m nearly ready. Please excuse the mess in it, he lives like a pig but he’s so endearing Emma and I forgive him anything. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him tonight. Emma can’t make it until New Years, she sends her apologies- I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’ll say it to your face.

By the time you read this, it’ll be tomorrow morning and we’ll have already had one whole day together. You’ll ask to use my laptop to check your emails, and I’ll still be half asleep in the bed next to you. 

Have I kissed you yet? 

I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you as soon as you get through customs. I’ve been playing out how it’ll go. I’m going to set your bags down on the floor and take your face in my hands and kiss you right there in the middle of the arrivals lounge. Even as I’m typing all of this out, I know it won’t happen like that. I’m going to wave awkwardly when I see you coming through the doorway. I’m going to be hit with a rush of nostalgia when I catch the smell of your shampoo when we hug hello. I’m going to look at your lips and think about the taste of you, but then I’ll feel the eyes of other people on us, and they’ll be wondering if we’re together, and then I’ll start thinking too much and accidentally leave it too late, and you’ll be handing me your bags to carry. I’ll feel foolish and thoughtless for not taking them from you in the first place. 

I’ll kiss you without an audience. I hope you don’t mind. 

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 31st December 2006, 06:15

Hi Wonwoo, 

I like when you call me baby outside of the bedroom. Are you trying it on for size?

Don’t worry, you were a real gentleman at the airport yesterday. Took my bag and opened doors and everything. Five stars. It’s sweet knowing you were nervous. You didn’t look it at all. I thought how confident and self assured you seemed, like you knew all the answers to every question ever asked. I’m kind of in awe of you. The way we talk online has me forgetting what you’re like in person. How quiet you go, how the comfortable silences have me wondering what you’re thinking, how deliberate you are with your words. You say sometimes that I understand you better than anyone but I don’t think I do. You must think that your expressions give away your every emotion but they don’t, Wonwoo. You have this huge inner world I know nothing about and your emails give me a peek at what’s inside. You’re a mystery to me, the same way everyone is a mystery. 

Even now, you’re fast asleep (I’m sorry I didn’t wake you to ask to use your laptop, but you don’t mind, do you? I wanted you to rest.) and I have no idea what you’re dreaming about. Is it me? I hope it is. I like how you sleep next to me, did I ever tell you that? You’re like a koala. I like how you reach for my hand when I think you’re already sleeping and draw lazy figures of eight across my palm, with your chest against my back. I like the way your hair is even longer now. Messy and soft. Wonwoo, you’re so so so handsome. You look like an artist. You look like someone Jane Austen would write about.

I liked that you kissed me in private. I liked that you kissed me at all. I liked that you held my hand when you introduced me to your friends, even though you were quiet as ever. Were you feeling shy?

I’m looking in the mirror now and I like the marks you left on my neck. They’re so dark! I’m going to need a vat of concealer to cover these up if we leave your room today. I’m going to steal your scarf. I should complain about the mess you made of me, but I like that you’re secretly possessive. Don’t tell anyone I told you that haha. 

I like the way you touched me last night. The way you pressed my hips into the mattress and licked over my clit. The way you twined our hands together and rolled into me. If I close my eyes I can still feel it. Your teeth on my jaw. You, thick and hard, so deep inside me. Your skin felt good against mine. Were we always that good together? Is it better now because we haven’t seen each other for so long? I was so wet I’d be embarrassed if it were with anyone but you. Fuck, I want you again. 

You don’t know that I’m wearing your t-shirt right now. Would you be bothered? Would you like it? 

Wonwoo, would you mind if I woke you up? I want you to fuck me in your t-shirt. I want you to open your tired eyes and be glad I’m in something that smells like you. Reach under the hem and find me without underwear, already wet and wanting. I want you to fuck me harder than last night. I want you to fuck me so deep I can feel you in my throat. I want to feel the vibrations of your groan against my chest. I want it to hurt so much that I still feel you there when I leave. 

I’m going to send this email and wake you up. Sorry it’s so early, baby.

From: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> To: You <bowser80@aol.com> Date: 31st December 2006, 07:53

Good morning,

You’re in the shower. I’m laying on my bed wondering how I’m going to survive this week. We’ve always been good together, I think. But I’ve never, ever seen you like that before. In a good way. The best way. 

Baby, you know I still love you, don’t you? I’m going to say that to your face any second now, so you will already know by the time you read this. Do you love me too?

Keep wearing my t-shirts. Take that one home with you so you can wear it when we Skype, and I can remember the morning you ruined my life. That one looks better on you anyway. God. We’ve got five days left and I’m already hating the thought of you going home. Is it insane to ask you to stay longer? Probably. You’ve got work. Tonight I'm going to kiss you at midnight and make a wish.

I love you. 

I hope you say it back.

PS - it won’t be too long before I’m home. Please wait for me. We can be birds again.

From: You <bowser80@aol.com> To: Wonwoo <everyonewoo@mail.com> Date: 1st January 2007, 08:29

I love you too.

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always birds.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider telling me what you liked via a reblog so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you have any questions, please ask!! it gives me life to talk about these babies. ily, goodnight!

prequel: joke me something awful.

taglist: @noona-neomu-yeppeo @starmy-143 @haaruki @channieschubbycake @minahaeyo

@mingiboye @kkaetnipjeon @lleercy @itsnotnaomi @ateez-atiny380

@blvked19

[car-o-line]

HII wondering if you could do Matthew hallard as readers best friend when they were both in the orphanage?1?1?1 you could add anything else 😼 im not forcing ANYWAY HAVE A GOOD DAYAYAY

I literally SCREAMED I’m so excited to do a ppt request because chapter 4 was amazing, and because of my ppt brainrot I’ll do Kevin/Jack as well! AND I HOPE UR DAY IS JUST AS AMAZING AS THIS REQUEST🧡❤️💛

Being friends with Matthew/Kevin/Jack(before/after Doey)

Part 2 <3

Matthew Hallard:

Probably the nicest teenager anyone’s ever met tbh.

Whether you’re younger than him or around the same age as him he’ll treat you like his little sibling. There’s no stopping it.

Always puts your needs above his and he won’t compromise that at all.

Oh you’re thirsty? He suddenly has an apple juice box in his hand! Hungry? Well now he suddenly has a bag of chips in his backpack!

(They were supposed to be for him but shh)

Makes sure all your homework’s done, if not then he’ll scold you for it.

But then he’ll feel bad and help you do it.

If you were around his age you'd probably know about his parent’s accidents he couldn’t prevent.

If you were younger he’d save that topic for when you were older, if only he had time left.

He’d be worried sick when you were taken away because you were “sick”.

Once you came back you seemed hazy, it made him nervous so he held your hand just to let you know that he was there, until you were officially “adopted.”

Later he really found out through his own “sickness” what “adoption” meant.

He hates what the scientists did to you, did to him. It gives him a reason to keep going as Doey.

Kevin Barnes:

How??

Like actually how.

Kevin doesn’t know why he considers you his friend ngl.

The scientists were definitely interested in how you and Kevin got along without you running away from him.

They couldn’t care less about the friendship part but they want to know how it started.

It was easy actually, he randomly tackled you to the ground even though you’ve both never talked before.

You didn’t cry, or scream, instead you reacted like it was a game. Which it was, kind of.

Kevin won in the end because of his physical ability but you thought it was really fun!

So now every time he gets bored he tries to find you and tackle you again.

Other than that he cares for you in his own way.

Like when the scientist took you away because of your sickness?

He wouldn’t let go of your arm no matter how hard the scientists tried to pull.

And the more they did that the more times he’d yell at them that you were fine and didn’t need them.

But they got you when he was sleeping, and when he woke up a new toy appeared in the Playtime Facility.

He never saw you again, even after he was “adopted.”

Jack Ayers:

While he wasn’t an orphan he did go on a visit to the Playtime Factory.

He met you through there, he was really excited to make a new friend.

He asked you so many questions about the orphanage and the facility.

In exchange you got to ask him about his home life and how the outside was.

“You haven’t been outside?”

“This area is considered the outside silly!”

“Really..?”

He felt bad for you and suggested that his parents adopted you!

(they said no)

Instead you just took him to see “Home Sweet Home” and showed him your room.

Then Jacks trip to facility was over and he had to leave, but before that his family was watch the process of making Doey.

Jack leaned over the railings to have a closer look but fell into one of vat machines that were making dough.

But the last glimpse of his consciousness he saw a what looked to be a kid with h/c walking with a scientist to one of the offices.

[ryin-silverfish]

One nerd's musing about Chinese religion and "respect"

-I try to stay away from fandom discourse, but, much like how you can smell the stench from a dumpster fire without walking into said dumpster fire, I've noticed something that seemed to come up a lot in western JTTW + adjacent fandoms: "respect Chinese religion".

-Usually as a reason for why you shouldn't ship a character, because of fucking course it's shipping discourse too.

-And my first reaction is "Man, you are taking Chinese religion too darn seriously, more than people who are born and raised in China."

-My second reaction is "I mean, most of us are atheist/agnostic by default anyways, with a good number of what I'd call 'atheist/agnostics with superstitions': people who said they were not religious, yet believed in Fengshui or divinations and burnt incense at temples for good luck."

-My third reaction: "But why do I get the feeling that when you mention 'Respect', you are thinking about something completely different?"

-Then I reread an essay from Anthony C. Yu, "Religion and Literature in China: The "Obscure Way" of Journey to the West", and the metaphorical lightbulb just lit up over my head.

(Everything below applies more to Daoism + associated folk religions, but by the time most classic Chinese vernacular novels were written, the blending of the three religions had become well and truly mainstream.)

(The conception of gods differs from dynasty to dynasty. What I'm describing here is mostly based on Ming and Qing ones; if you went back to Han or pre-Qin times, most of these would not apply.)

(I am one of the "atheist/agnostic by default" people. I just have an interest in this kind of stuff. I am also just one Chinese person, and an actual Daoist/Buddhist/Religion Studies researcher would probably have a lot more valuable information and perspective to offer when it comes to contemporary practices and worship. Like any people on the internet: take my words with a grain of salt.)

-Even in the past, when society was far less secularized, Chinese gods are not omniscient, perfect beings whose worship is a solemn, humorless affair. Some's worship are Serious Business, but that has more to do with the sort of gods they are and the patronage they enjoy, not godhood in and of itself.

-And even the ones that you are supposed to "treat seriously" are still very human. To use an analogy I've used plenty of times before: you respect and fear them in the same way you'd respect and fear an emperor's official, or the emperor himself, because if you don't, you are not gonna like the consequences.

-However, unlike Jesus, the emperor & his officials were capable of being temperamental, flawed, or an outright asshole, divine or not. Ideally, they wouldn't be, and if you were one of the "serious" believers——people who actually got an official permit, became ordained clergy, and went to live in a temple, you were unlikely to think of your gods in that manner.

-But it wasn't a complete, utter impossibility. The lower you go in the pantheon, the closer you get to popular religion, the less "serious" the gods and their worship become. By that, I mean general attitude, not sincerity of faith. You still shouldn't be rude to them, but, well, they are more likely to take a joke in stride, or participate in the "vulgar" pleasures of commoners because they weren't as bound to Confucian moral standards or religious disciplines.

-To stretch the same analogy further: you should still respect your village head, they could still give your ass a good spanking for being a disrespectful brat, but you were not obligated to get on your knees and kowtow to them like you would do in front of a provincial magistrate, the emperor's minister, or the emperor himself, nor did they have the power to chop your head off just because you were rude.

-On the other hand, the emperor would never visit a random peasant just to help them fix their broken plow or treat them to a nice meal, but your village head could, and your relationship would probably be warmer and a lot more personal as a result.

-Your respect for them was more likely to stem from the things they actually did for you and the village as a whole, instead of something owed to this distant, powerful authority you might never get to see in your lifetime, but could change its course with a single stroke of a brush.

-Now exchange "village head" for your run-of-the-mill Tudis and Chenghuangs and friendly neighborhood spirits (because yes, people worshipped yaoguais for the exact same reasons), emperor + his officials for the Celestial Bureaucracy, and you'd have a basic idea of how Chinese religions worked on the ground level.

-This is far from absolute: maybe your village head was a spiteful old bastard who loved bullying his juniors, maybe your regional magistrate was an honest, upright man who could enjoy a good drink and a good laugh, maybe the emperor was a lenient one and wouldn't chop your head off for petty offenses. But their general degree of power over you and the closeness of your relationships still apply.

-Complicating the matter further, some folk gods (like Wutong) were worshipped not because they brought blessings, but because they were the divine equivalent of gangsters running a protection racket: you basically bribed them with offerings so they'd leave you alone and not wreck your shit. Famous people who died violently and were posthumously deified often fell into this category——shockingly enough, Guan Yu used to be one such god!

-Yeah, kinda like how your average guy could become an official through the imperial examinations, so could humans become gods through posthumous worship, or cultivate themselves into immortals and Enlightened beings.

-Some immortals aren't qualified for, or interested in a position in the Celestial Bureaucracy——they are the equivalent of your hermits, your cloistered Daoist priests, your common literati who kept trying and failing the exams. But some do get a job offer and gladly take it.

-Anyways, back to my original point: that's why it's so absurd when people pull the "Respect Chinese Religion1!!1!" card and immediately follow up with "Would you do X to Jesus?"

-Um, there are a lot of things you can do with Chinese gods that I'm pretty sure you can't do with Jesus. Like worshipping him side by side with Buddha and Confucius (Lao Tzu). Or inviting him to possess you and drink copious amount of alcohol (Tang-ki mediums in SEA). Or genderbend him into a woman over the course of several centuries because folks just like that version of Jesus better (Guan Yin/Avalokitesvara).

-But most importantly, Chinese religions are kinda a "free market" where you could pick and choose between gods, based on their vicinity to you and how efficient they were at answering prayers. You respect them because they'll help you out, you aren't an asshole and know your manners, and pissing them off is a bad idea in general, not because they are some omnipotent, perfect beings who demand exclusive and total reverence.

-A lot of the worship was also, well, very "practical" and almost transactional in nature: leave offerings to Great Immortal Hu, and he doesn't steal your imperial seal while you aren't looking. Perform the rites right and meditate on a Thunder General's visage, and you can temporarily channel said deity's power. Get this talisman for your kids at Bixia Yuanjun's temple, and they'll be protected from smallpox.

-"Faith alone" or "Scripture alone" is seldom the reason people worship popular deities. Even the obsession with afterlife wasn't about the eternal destination of your soul, and more about reducing the potential duration of the prison sentence for you and your loved ones so you can move on faster and reincarnate into a better life.

-Also, there isn't a single "canon" of scriptures. Many popular gods don't show up in Daoist literature until much later. Daoist scriptures often came up with their own gigantic pantheons, full of gods no one had heard of prior to said book, or enjoyed no worship in temples whatsoever.

-In the same way famous dead people could become gods via worship, famous fictional characters could, too, become gods of folk religion——FSYY's pantheon was very influential on popular worship, but that doesn't mean you should take the novels as actual scriptures.

-Like, God-Demon novels are to orthodox Daoism/Buddhism what the Divine Comedy is to medieval Christian doctrines, except no priests had actually built a Church of Saint Beatrice, while Daoists did put FSYY characters into their temples. By their very nature, the worship that stemmed from these books is not on the same level of "seriousness" as, say, the Tiantai school of Buddhism and their veneration of the Lotus Sutra.

-At the risk of being guilty of the same insertion of Christianity where it doesn't belong: You don't cite Dante's Inferno in a theological debate, nor would any self-respecting pastor preach it to churchgoers on a Sunday.

-Similarly, you don't use JTTW or FSYY as your sole evidence for why something is "disrespectful to Chinese religion/tradition" when many practitioners of said religions won't treat them as anything more than fantasy novels.

-In fact, let's use Tripitaka as an example. The historical Xuanzang was an extraordinarily talented, faithful, and determined monk. In JTTW, he was a caricature of a Confucian scholar in a Buddhist kasaya and served the same narrative function as Princess Peach in a Mario game.

-Does the presence of satire alone make JTTW anti-Buddhist, or its religious allegories less poignant? I'd say no. Should you take it as seriously as actual Buddhist sutras, when the book didn't even take itself 100% seriously? Also no.

-To expand further on the idea of "seriousness": even outside of vernacular novels, practitioners are not beholden to a universal set of strict religious laws and taboos.

-Both Daoism and Buddhism had what we called "cloistered" and "non-cloistered" adherents; only the former needed to follow their religious laws and (usually) took a vow of celibacy.

-Certain paths of Daoist cultivation allow for alcohol and sexual activities (thanks @ruibaozha for the info), and some immortals, like Lv Dongbin, had a well-established "playboy" reputation in folklore.

-Though it was rarer for Buddhism and very misunderstood, esoteric variants of it did utilize sexual imageries and sex. And, again, most of the above would not apply if you weren't among the cloistered and ordained clergy.

-Furthermore, not even the worship of gods is mandatory! You could just be a Daoist who was really into internal alchemy, cultivating your body and mind in order to prolong your lifespan and, ideally, attain immortality.

-This idea of "respect" as…for a lack of better words, No Fun & R18 Stuff Allowed, you must treat all divinity with fearful reverence and put yourself completely at their mercy, is NOT the norm in Chinese religious traditions.

-There are different degrees and types of respect, and not every god is supposed to be treated like the Supreme Heavenly Emperor himself during an imperial ceremony; the gods are capable of cracking a joke, and so are we!

TL;DR: Religions are complicated, and you aren't respecting Chinese religions by acting like a stereotypical Puritan over popular Chinese deities and their fictional portrayals.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Now I have to ask- WHY do you hate Pacific Rim?

Okay, fair warning, this is about as bitter and salty and small-minded as day-old caviar. But. My bitter, salty (probably fishy) opinion:

Pacific Rim is only a good movie because it's a well-written story about robots punching monsters.

That's it. That's all there is to the movie.

I started out merely disappointed by Pacific Rim. We went gaga for the preview materials that promised these unique well-rounded character pairs and trios with these idiosyncratic robots from all these different Pacific nations... And then the movie itself is about some bland white American guy who pilots a robot named a racial slur, the second most fleshed-out team is bland white Australian guys, and the Chinese team is there, kind of, in the background, but don't worry they're going to die first. The "character-driven story" turned out to be "various characters take turns punching aliens" but, sure, whatever, I love the MCU so why not.

The day I went from "Pacific Rim is overrated" to "Pacific Rim is the worst thing that has ever happened to human civilization, I'm extremely normal about this" was the day I saw a Tumblr post suggesting we replace the Bechdel test with the Mako Mori test. Because Mako Mori has her own plot and doesn't kiss North Carolina at the end, making her a whole new type of feminist icon.

To which I was like:

We are talking about the same movie here, right? The Pacific Rim that can't even pass the Bechdel test? The Pacific Rim that's all about might-makes-right, the Pacific Rim that has ONE speaking role for ONE female character in its (from IMDB) 50-person cast? The Pacific Rim that repeatedly puts its only female character in danger and has her rescued by first Idris Elba then North Carolina? THAT Pacific Rim?

Is there a different Mako Mori I haven't met? Because the one I've seen a) has a character arc driven by deciding whether to obey her father or follow her heart, which is as inoffensive and stale as an unblessed communion wafer, b) does nothing that Ellen Ripley didn't do 30 years earlier, but with about 5% of the character depth Ripley got, and c) stands there in silence looking sad as two men punch each other over the question of her virtue.

Any post assuming this movie invented the idea of "small Asian woman kicks monster ass" needs to learn its damn history. Especially the ones acting like her being physically small is somehow a feminist bonus. There's something embarrassingly ahistorical about the whole thing.

And look. I get how we got here. I know how easily Tumblr backs you into a rhetorical corner of "calling a story Good can never mean merely 'enjoyable'; calling a story Good must mean 'virtuous'". Until next thing you know you're arguing that actually, shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is a net good for all of society, because gay divorced middle-aged tyrants who use supplemental oxygen and murdered their exes in a custody dispute over the one kid (out of two) they actually care about deserve to see themselves in sci fi too! You only end up in that corner because half the time you're arguing against someone who says that shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is literally the same thing as supporting father-son incest, so your real reasons for shipping them (1. foe yay, 2. old man yaoi) seem wildly insufficient.

Much of what I see about Pacific Rim seems neck-deep in the "it's not allowed to be a Good Movie unless it single-handedly dismantles the patriarchy" fallacy. There's nothing progressive about shipping two dudes best known for chopping off each other's body parts with laser swords. And there's nothing progressive about a movie having its only female character hug the male protagonist at the end instead of kissing him. You're allowed to like a thing just because it's well-made, without acting like a bog-standard normatively-broey action flick somehow invented a new form of feminism. Anyway, "Pacific Rim is a perfectly fine movie" is the hill I will die upon, heretical though it may be.

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Pinky Promise

Pinky Promise 2

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Jake gets a call in the middle of the night asking for a ride home. But it’s who is asking that makes him worried.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Another request knocked out! Currently working on part 2 of Beautiful Stranger and might have plans for continuing this one depending on if you all like it. Thank you so much for reading! -C

You were a little on the tipsy side as you squinted at your phone trying to make out the numbers on it. With them moving as much as they were, it was near impossible to type in a correct phone number. Instead, you opened your contacts and scrolled down to your brother’s name.

The smart thing to do would be to call him for a ride, but the more drunk side of you could only think about the nagging you would get on the way home and probably the month following. So, you scrolled up and down your contacts deciding on who would be the lucky winner to receive a call at 1 in the morning.

Jake groaned as he heard his phone going off. He blindly reached for it and squinted at the bright screen, trying to decipher who the hell would be calling at this hour. He had to be up in a few hours to get ready for another day of trying to get through the near impossible assignment, so unless it was an emergency, he was ignoring it.

The number that flashed on his screen wasn’t one he had seen before. He almost wrote it off as a wrong number or another spam call, but something told him to answer it. The area code was one he knew and a call this late on a Saturday might mean something is going on. So, instead of rolling over and enjoying the few hours of sleep he had left, he answered the mystery number.

“Seresin.”

“Oh shit! That’s the Jake that’s in this phone? Why would he put that number in here?” The voice was female and sounded somewhat familiar but was clearly drunk.

“Sorry to disappoint. Who is this?” Jake was kicking himself for answering it now, having the person insult him within two seconds of talking.

“Ah. Look, you have to promise not to tell my brother anything. Like pinkly swear and everything.” Jake was too tired to entertain childish requests, but the first part of the statement finally sunk in. The only one on the team who had a sister near base was Bradley. Fuck.

“Y/N? Is that you?” He needed the confirmation before freaking out. What did she do that warranted keeping her brother in the dark?

“I am not answering that question until you promise me.” He sat up in bed, turning on the lamp next to him. There was no way this wasn’t her.

“Alright. I promise I won’t tell him right now. Can you tell me what’s going on?” He was hoping she was too drunk to catch how he promised.

“Fine. I’m at this bar with my friend and I played wingman a little too well and she left with this guy. I mean good for her. She just got over this really bad breakup and needed to get laid.” Jake had gotten out of bed and put the phone on speaker as he got dressed. Something told him he was going to have to pick you up from somewhere. That’s if you managed to stop getting sidetracked.

“Anyway, I have this thing about not liking to get in Ubers by myself and it’s a long ass walk back to my apartment.” Jake had grabbed his keys at this point and was walking out the door.

“Where are you? I’m on my way.” He turned on his truck and waited for a response.

“Shoot. Well, we started at one place and now this is place three. No place four. You know what, let me ask because I have no idea.” Jake sighed and shook his head. He had heard stories from Bradley about his younger sister and how reckless you were. Or at least that’s the way he described you. He always kept you on a tight leash, trying his hardest to keep you out of trouble.

But Jake thought you just wanted to have some fun. One of his sisters went through a phase like this and it was best to keep a close eye on them but never push them. For reasons like this.

You told him the name of the bar and he was on his way. “I’ll be there in about 15 minutes. Are you okay to wait inside for me?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I need to finish this water anyway.” Jake told you to call if something came up but he shouldn’t be long.

It wasn’t but 5 minutes later his phone started ringing again. He saved your number as Baby Bradshaw, knowing that this probably wouldn’t be the last time you called him.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Are you close?” As casual as you tried to sound, Jake could hear a slight bit of urgency.

“Five minutes away. Everything alright?” The hesitation that followed his question told him everything he needed to know. But he waited for your response before he pushed the issue further.

“Umm, it’s probably nothing. Just this guy by the bar keeps giving me this look and it’s making me feel a bit uncomfortable. But I’m also drunk and a tiny bit paranoid.” Jake pushed the accelerator down a bit further, breaking a few laws in order to get to you faster. He wasn't going to be blamed for getting the youngest Bradshaw in trouble.

“I’ve always been told to listen to your gut.” He heard the hum on the other end of the line as he blew through a red light.

“My gut is telling me they want tacos.” Jake couldn’t stop the laugh that came out.

“We can get you tacos on the way home, sweetheart. Now do me a favor and stand where a lot of people can see you. People like security or a bouncer. Can you do that for me?” He heard you hum again.

“Slight problem. He is following me now.” Jake’s heart started to beat faster and knew he needed to get there now.

“Shit. What did Bradley say. Thumb out, use your knuckles.” He shook his head trying to figure out what the hell you were saying. But it clicked a second too late.

“No don’t-“ He heard commotion on the other line and parked his truck right outside the bar. Flying out the door, he nearly ran into you as you were standing by the entrance with a bouncer blocking a guy with blood running from his nose from getting close to you.

Jake grabbed you before you could get around the bouncer and pulled you outside. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, you creep!” You were yelling at the guy all the way outside, letting him know you weren’t to be messed with. He wanted to go back in there and show the guy what happens when you mess with innocent people, but he knew leaving your side wouldn’t be for the best.

When the two of you were next to his truck, Jake let go and looked you over. Your face had a red tint to it from what he assumed had just happened, but besides that you looked to be in one piece. That was until he saw your eyes start to water.

He put a hand under your chin and lifted your head up. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You sniffed a few times and wiped the tear that managed to escape. “Bradley didn’t say how much it hurts to hit someone.”

Jake bit back a smile and looked down at your hand. While it was a bit red and would surely bruise tomorrow, it didn’t look too bad.

“He probably didn’t think you would ever have to do that. Why don’t we get you back home and you can tell me what happened.” He watched you nod your head and opened his passenger door for you, closing it when you were in.

He waited a few minutes after you were on the road before asking questions. “Want to tell me why you called me instead of your brother?”

You shook your head at the question. “Have you met my brother? It would be nonstop nagging for God knows how long. Anyone else seemed like the better option.” You paused as you remembered exactly who you were with.

“I will say I didn’t expect him to put your name in my phone. He seems to have a strong dislike for you.” Jake smirked at what you had said and shrugged his shoulders.

“He probably knew I had sisters and would do anything to make sure they were alright. Regardless on who they were related to.” You thought this over and nodded your head. It wasn’t long until the next question came.

“What happened at the bar?” You felt his eyes on you and knew he was more concerned than curious.

“The guy I told you was giving me weird looks ended up following me to the door. He stopped me and tried to grab my hand and even though I pulled it away, he kept coming at me. I don’t know, I guess I just felt like I needed to do something to stop him.” You missed the way Jake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel or the clench in his jaw.

“He was lucky I was 30 seconds behind, or he would’ve gotten more than a broken nose.” You looked over and saw how serious he was. A look your brother wore all too often.

“How long until you tell bird boy what happened?” Jakes eyes caught yours and you saw the conflict in them.

“If I was him, I would want to know something happened to my sister. But I will at least drop you off before I call him. Keep your phone on silent and say you fell asleep. That way you can push it off until he gets off tomorrow.” He heard your sigh but that was the end of that.

It was silent in the car until he heard you say, “I’m not as stupid as my brother makes me out to be.” Stupid was never a word he would have used to describe you. A little carefree maybe, but you knew what you were doing.

“I see someone who wants to have a little fun in their life while they can. Nothing wrong with that.” He glanced over to you to see you playing with your injured hand.

“You’re not as bad as they make you out to be either. Besides my brother, not many people would come and get me when they have to be up soon.” Jake held back a wince when he saw the time. A coffee run in the morning would be needed. Maybe he could talk Natasha into picking him up some from that place she always went to.

He pulled into your apartment complex and parked as close to your building as he could.

“Hey, sweetheart. You can call me anytime you need help, okay? I know your brother and I are not on great terms, but I know he would help me out when family is involved.” You gave him a small smile and thanked him for the ride.

He waited until you closed the door before he backed out of the parking lot, trying to figure out what he was going to say to Bradley. It was nearing 2am and calling him was oit of the question. So, he sent a simple text.

Hey man. Your sister called a random number in her contacts tonight and didn’t realize it was me. She needed a safe ride home and that exactly what I did. We can talk about it more at base, but wanted to let you know she is safe. -Hangman

He went to put his phone down when a text popped up. He prayed Bradley wasn’t awake, wanting to push the rest of that conversation off. But instead, it was baby Bradshaw with the text You never got me tacos.

Jake laughed out loud replying that he owes you some in the near future. With a spitfire attitude that you had, Jake saw the two of you becoming good friends. That’s if Bradley didn’t lock you up after tonight’s events.

A/N: Not too sure how I felt about this one but thinking about doing a Jake and Y/N friend series. Thoughts? Likes or dislikes? Thank you for reading!

Tag List: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticcassidy

[saphronethaleph]

Snooze Cruise

Anakin’s head was whirling as he got into the speeder.

The Chancellor was a Sith. Chancellor Palpatine was a Sith.

The man had been a close friend for – well, since Anakin had left Tatooine, really.

And he was a Sith.

It was… too big. There was too much to grasp.

Anakin backed his speeder out of the parking spot, turned to fly to the Jedi Temple, and yawned.

This led to him nearly crashing into an air lorry, and he skidded abruptly to a halt in mid-air before shaking his head and groaning.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, out loud.

He needed to speak to someone about this.

He should probably speak to Padme about this.

Turning the speeder, Anakin took the air way to their apartment instead, doing his best to concentrate on flying instead of on the fact that Palpatine was a Sith.

The door opened, and Anakin raised his voice.

“Padme?” he called.

“Ah!” C-3P0 said, coming in from one of the rooms leading off the entrance hall. “Sir, I am afraid that Mistress Padme is not currently in. She is involved in a meeting.”

Anakin almost demanded to know if that meeting was with Obi-Wan, before shaking his head as he remembered that Obi-Wan was on Utapau.

“Should I… let her know you want to see her?” C-3P0 asked.

“No, Threepio,” Anakin waved the offer off. “I’ll just wait for her to get back. It’s… something I need to think about before we talk, anyway.”

“Oh, I see,” C-3P0 decided. “Or, rather, I don’t. But I’m quite used to such things. Do you want something to eat, Sir?”

Anakin waved that offer off as well. “No thanks. I’ll just sit down.”

He divested himself of his cloak, hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door, then went through to the main living area and sat down on the couch.

Within a few minutes, four days of no sleep had caught up with him, and he passed out.

Mace Windu glanced at the time – almost eight in the morning – and then flicked on his comlink.

The first comm code he called produced no reply, even after a wait of several minutes, and he frowned slightly before switching to a new combination.

That one, fortunately, produced a response almost immediately. Senator Padme Amidala answered the call.

“Master Jedi?” she asked. “This is Master Windu, yes?”

“That’s correct, Senator,” Mace confirmed. “I was wondering if you knew where Anakin was. I’ve called his comlink, and he hasn’t answered.”

“I don’t know where he is, no, I’ve been involved in a meeting all night,” Padme replied. “Master Jedi – did you know about the Abolition Act?”

Mace blinked.

“I’d heard of it, yes,” he said. “So far as we’re aware, it’s a legal mechanism to try and dissolve the Jedi… we’d believed it was a scheme by Darth Sidious, an attack against the Jedi.”

He glanced in the direction of the Council chamber. “That’s one reason why Obi-Wan launched his attack on General Grievous on Utapau. We hoped to draw Sidious out.”

“I don’t know if that’s what’s going on, but the Chancellor just announced that the Abolition Act was coming up for a vote,” Padme said. “I didn’t have a clue why, but if Sidious is involved… do you think he managed to get to the Chancellor?”

“It’s possible,” Mace admitted. “When is the vote?”

“It’s outside normal order, so… now,” Padme answered.

Mace turned, striding to the doors of the council chamber, and Kit, Agen, Sasee and Coleman looked up from their seats as he entered.

“Something’s happening,” he said. “Senator, can you keep us updated?”

“I’ll do my best, Master Jedi,” Padme promised.

“How important?” Kit asked.

“As important as it can get,” Mace replied. “The whole Order needs to hear this… I can feel it.”

The vote counts began coming in, and Palpatine tried to suppress a nervous twitch.

He was having to improvise. Improvising in the end game was a difficult thing to do, especially when he had no idea why his gambit had failed.

What should have happened was that he would have his new apprentice, or he would have an open break with the Jedi Order… which would earn him his new apprentice anyway.

But as of now, he had neither. And without his new apprentice, he didn’t have nearly as good an excuse for an open break with the Jedi Order… he could not very well have Anakin give his account of how the Council had been planning to bypass and replace the Chancellor.

If he was going to get his empire out of this, he needed that break. Order 66 could not take place without some kind of reason behind it, something he could point to, and yet it had to take place as soon as possible… the war was entering its final phase, and within days the Jedi would be returning home. Away from their loyal soldiers… away from their hidden assassins.

So be it.

If there was anything that would force a break with the Jedi, it was this. And, as the votes rolled in, Palpatine saw that he had managed it… at a great cost, but he had managed it.

At least four factions in the Senate had been persuaded that they had to vote in favour of the Abolition Act despite Palpatine’s professed wishes to keep the Jedi around. Two of those factions had been persuaded by Palpatine himself arguing that their votes were necessary for political reasons, and that the Act would never pass anyway.

“The motion is carried,” Mos Amedda declared.

“I bow to the wishes of the Senate,” Palpatine announced. “And now that it is law, I am bound to carry it out. The Jedi Order will be dissolved, effective…”

Immediately? No. He needed enough time for them to act rashly, not enough time for them to think.

“...as of ten in the morning, today, Coruscant time,” he decided.

The Senator for Naboo signalled to speak the instant it became possible, and her pod floated out into the central arena.

“I have a reply from Master Windu of the Jedi Council,” she said, without preamble, and Mace Windu’s holographic head appeared in projection from her systems.

“Sure,” Master Windu said. “The war’s basically over anyway.”

Palpatine blinked.

“...what?” he asked.

“The war’s basically over anyway,” Mace repeated. “An hour to pack might be a bit tight, but I think we can fit everything into some of the freighters.”

“Are you saying you’re going to just leave?” Palpatine asked, not quite sure what he was hearing.

“Yes,” Mace confirmed. “We have all been working very hard for years, often without much of a rest, and we would very much like a break. If you don’t want to keep us around, we’ll do it elsewhere.”

The image wavered, and a second hologram appeared next to it.

“We’re with you, Master Windu,” Clone Marshal Commander Bly stated. “Voting’s going on now, but I’m sure of it. All of us are – we quit. We’re your army, not the Republic’s, and that’s how it should be… you won’t waste our lives.”

“You were listening in?” Mace asked, sounding amused.

“If it affects all the Jedi, it affects all of us,” Bly declared. “And speaking for myself, Master Windu… we would very much like a break as well.”

Palpatine was staring at the holograms.

“...you are all listening in?” he said, then decided he was never going to get an opportunity better than this one. “Initiate Order Sixty-Six!”

Commander Bly just looked confused.

“Chancellor?” he said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’d like to know that myself,” Senator Amidala admitted.

It took all of Palpatine’s immense self-control to avoid reacting to that bit of news.

Hiding Order Sixty-Six in the biochips of the clones forming the Grand Army of the Republic was the greatest bit of deception and complex planning the Sith had managed in-

Palpatine’s train of thought screeched to a halt, backed up, and examined the proper nouns involved.

...the clones weren’t part of the Grand Army of the Republic any more, or of any direct successor organization involved. They’d quit.

Someone, presumably someone Kaminoan, had simplified the programming by using a function definition that didn’t apply in this situation, and he was now buggered sideways with a lightsaber.

Anakin yawned, stretching, and his hands touched metal.

“Mwuh?” he asked, blinking a few times, then rolled over on their couch and fell onto a metal floor.

That got him the rest of the way awake, and he looked around with surprise.

He was on… a starship, with a blanket half-tangled in his legs. There were crates packed and stacked haphazardly around the bed he was on, and the quiet murmur in the Force of sentients elsewhere.

“Ah!” Threepio said, appearing at the door. “Master Anakin, sir. It is good to see you are awake. Shall I inform the rest of the Council?”

“What’s going on?” Anakin asked, touching the hilt of his lightsaber. “Where am I?”

“I’m not an expert at hyperspace navigation, sir,” Threepio replied. “That is more Artoo’s department. But I believe we are about halfway between Coruscant and the Yavin system. A lot has happened since you fell asleep.”

“Including me being moved into a spaceship?” Anakin asked.

“You were very deeply asleep, sir,” Threepio confirmed.

“…you quit?” Anakin asked, ten minutes later, looking between the holographic forms of the other Councillors – and the half-dozen Clone Commanders who were also on the call. “All of you?”

“The Senate voted to disband the Jedi Order,” Mace told him. “The Order’s not part of the Republic, but it could have caused us a lot of problems. So… we left.”

“Our ally, the Force is,” Yoda said, nodding sagely. “Helped with packing, it did.”

“The only thing we’re not sure about yet is why the Chancellor said what he said, during the meeting,” Rex told him. “We’ve been trying to work it out since we hit hyperspace. Politics in the Republic are very confused right now.”

“I could… probably help with that,” Anakin said. “Though I guess first I should say… is Padme okay? We’re – we’re married.”

That resulted in a ripple of laughter through the call.

“We know, sir,” Rex said.

“All of us,” Mace agreed. “You moved in with her.”

“It was actually causing a problem,” Ki-Adi-Mundi informed him. “Students were asking if marriage was really not allowed or just that we were supposed to pretend it wasn’t.”

“Clearly the second option,” Sasee opined. “Clearly.”

“...do you also know that the Chancellor is a Sith?” Anakin said. “He told me.”

“Okay, that is new,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Perhaps we should tell your wife. She might find it useful to know.”

[lubrumalis]

ghost headcanons! (realistic)

tw: nsfw, spoilers, dead dove do not eat

a lot of these are based off of my personal understanding of him

part 2 —> character analysis of ghost

general:

didn’t go back to manchester after his family died, too many foul memories—a lot of friends will probably know him as a murderer (comic reference, ghost was accused of killing his family in the newspaper)

has a fit body. a lot of people like to hc him as big and bulky, i think otherwise! its actually a huge disadvantage to be bulky in size as a soldier (logistics while fighting yk). most SAS soldiers are trained for endurance and fitness, i think he has a moreso lean body

hes not cold and ruthless, wouldn’t say hes a big softie either.

VERYYYY punctual. always on time

will not abuse or rape anyone. this guys been through atrocities, he would never do it to someone else

won’t hire a prostitute, ever.

honestly, hes just another dude in the military. he loves dad jokes and bourbon😭

ghost doesn’t think hes mean or tries to be, he simply is intimidating because of his size and way of talking

he likes watching soccer in his free time

gets internally offended if someone thinks hes from london (anywhere but Manchester)

very dark humoured. tell him any dark joke and he wouldn’t care

loves tea

listens to older british bands, like the smiths

cannot understand modern slang at all. what does ‘iykyk’ and ‘rizzler’ mean???

texts like a typical millennial. uses ‘😂’ and ‘😜’ unironically. types with proper grammar and spelling with punctuation too, maybe an occasional LOL

also unironically likes posts about trust issues and being a sigma male. he doesn’t actually think hes one, he just relates to those quotes that are like: “being alone is better than with fakes” 😭😭😭😭

ghost probably hates other men more than misandrists 😕 i think its bc hes always fighting other men and dealing with the cruel things theyve done, so ghost subconsciously feels more on guard with men he doesnt know

has insomnia

doesn’t cry. ghost doesn’t remember the last time he cried.

isn’t rich rich, but has a ton of savings. he doesn’t have a family or spend a lot. so the money piles up.

relationship hcs:

first off, i dont think he’d realistically get into one anyway LMAO

s/o would have to the chasing, i dont think ghost is the kind to actively pursue someone

he has charisma, doesn’t feel like using it

hes very against the idea at first—his family got murdered because he was in the military, you think hes gonna let it happen again?

probably will not like someone working with him as a soldier

i think itd go two ways: a) you are a civilian who aggressively pursues the poor guy and he gives in, b) you work as a military nurse and gradually get to know him, c) you are a longtime close friend of his before he was in the military

i cant see him being fwb with anyone, only one night stands

hes not a toxic partner or super lovey dovey

ghost doesn’t entertain multiple women at once

itd most likely end up in a breakup where he fears for your safety:(((

BUT lets ignore that

tbh, i think he would probably be with someone very empathetic and kind to others. he doesn’t like people overly energetic, too soft, or someone that annoys him

persons gotta be independent and good with long distance

simon doesn’t care about age gaps, but probably wants someone at least in their late twenties

had a hard time opening up, eventually told you everything once he trusts you

another reason why i think he wants someone empathetic is because he has severe trust issues😃😃

last thing he’d care about is looks for long term relationships

the type of guy to disappear for 6 months and reappear to be like “remember im your husband???”🫡

doesn’t let you tell your friends about him—No hes not being uncommitted or toxic, but hes simply being cautious after what happened to his family

you can’t show anyone photos of him, his name, his occupation, NOTHHINGGG

so you fake a name for your bf who your friends think you’re lying about

definitely does not let you post on social media about him either.

installs security in your home, teaches you self defense, and gives you weapons. this guy can be paranoid

will never hit you or lay a hand on you

ghost genuinely thinks you saved him—his life was bleak and empty before you came in. subconsciously thinks of you as a savior

he buys you gifts, does chores for you, he really likes you :(

ghost actively tries to make his voice sound softer and friendlier when hes talking to you

doesnt understand playing mind games, things like the silent treatment or “im ok” when ur not ok thing. just tell him how you feel

doesn’t tell his team about your existence. you and his job are always going to be separate.

avoids talking about what he does in the military. ghost has killed and injured many and he doesn’t want you to see that side of him.

scary dog privileges for SURE

[growth-opportunities]

A woman tried taking pills to grow her breasts just a small and reasonable amount, but immediately became hopelessly addicted.

Okay, so, you know how some people have not-so-great coping mechanisms? I mean, we all know that smoking is bad for us, and yet some people, not me, but some people need a cigarette or two to make it through a bad day and another to relax after making it through. And then you have the barflies who stop for a few beers every day after work "just to relax" and then we let those guys drive home! All I'm saying is that everyone has different ways of coping with stress, so I really don't need judgement just because my vice of choice is growth pills.

In my defense, they were advertised as temporary! One pill was supposed to grant three cup sizes for a few hours and then they'd go back down again. If Bobby Barstool can get drunk for a few hours and then go about his life, then why can't I have a few hours of fun for myself? The first time I did it, I only took one. And god it felt good. I forgot to take my bra off (I guess I really didn't think that they would work) and so watching my tits grow and bulge out of them was... fuck. Words fail me, is the point. The eroticism of that alone was intense but the increased sensitivity really sold me on it. I barely noticed the time passing, very nearly getting used to them at that size before they shrank away, leaving me with my modest but respectable C cups.

And it went like that for a while. Got home from work, shed my work clothes, popped a pill, blissed out for a few hours, and then made dinner. Occasionally, I'd take one before a night out on the town, but their sensitivity made it a lot more tempting just to stay home and play with them. It was a simple routine.

But, y'know, it's one of those slippery slope things. I had one really, really bad day, so I said fuck it and I took two pills instead of one. J cups, man. Instant J cups. And from there it was easy to go up to three pills, then four pills. It was incredible. They lasted a little bit longer when I took more of them, but it was safe, reliable, and the pleasure was only slightly addicting.

Well, maybe not entirely safe.

So, it would seem that I didn't always go back to my normal size when the pills wore off. Not completely. I wound up being a little bit bigger. Taking one pill at a time, the effect was barely noticeable, easily chalked up to a bit of swelling. But the longer it went on and the more pills I took, the more obvious it became. The crazy thing was that, even though I was actively, legitimately growing, not just temporarily, they still felt small! Coming down from a P cup to a D cup was still a big drop and so it was hard to gauge just how fast I was growing. And I tried to stop or just slow down, but, fuck, sometimes you just gotta take the edge off by turning yourself into a fat-titted cow, drooling over your own cleavage while you pinch your nipples and moan like a whore. And even though I told myself that it was only a little bit of growth here or there, given enough time, it starts to add up. And the bigger I got, the less difference three cup sizes made, so I had to keep taking more which just made me grow faster and it fed on itself until, well, I don't even think there are cup sizes when you're this big.

Oh, gosh, sorry, I get a little rambly. I know you've probably got to take other calls. Anyway, all of that is to say are you sure your company can't make me a compression bra for a bust measurement over 100 inches? ...Hello?

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

to people who don’t know c!tommy lore btw, here’s a quick tl;dr.

he is a fictional character. he’s not real life TommyInnit. none of this applies to real life TommyInnit to my knowledge idk I don’t watch him. maybe he died and came back to life due to black magic idk but it’d be unrelated to c!Tommy anyway.

quick summation of his personality is that he's basically like the most loud fucking obnoxious little brat ever but he’s also got a big heart. he’s great. 10/10.

he's also a child soldier who suffered through severe child abuse and a whole lot of other shit. his trauma was suprisingly really well portrayed for a sixteen year old RPing their oc in minecraft. basically his whole Thing is that he was a traumatised teenager who wasn’t a perfect victim but was still written really sympathetically. his fanbase is mostly mentally ill trauma survivors from all I’ve seen bc of that.

despite that, for some fucking reason his canonical ending is killing himself after saying all he wants is a simple life, Getting That In The Afterlife, and being bffsies with his abuser. total tonal whiplash, sudden ableism, it’s a nightmare and makes zero sense.

real life tommyinnit talks about this being the start of another arc he has planned and is pissed at people being weird about c!tommy in chat. this arc is cancelled bc the irl dream is too busy being a misogynist on Twitter and handling his allegations in the worst way possible (probably bc if he had to handle them Well he’d have to talk about all the times he was weird to minors on stream including the irl tommyinnit and also a thirteen year old girl bc why the fuck not) so it just Ends implying that it’s good for abuse survivors to kill themselves. it’s real fucking bad.

2 years later tommy and his friends log on the server and just completely retcon that ending bc it’s dumb and sucks and now c!tommy is chilling living his best cottagecore life while his abuser is Presumably dead bc he’s a weirdo necromancer stalker who refuses to admit they’re not Besties, and he’s making up with the people he hurt. it is actually thematically appropriate and not ableist as shit! people celebrate bc CAN YOU BLAME US. CAN YOU FUCKING BLAME US WHEN WE WERE STUCK WITH THAT THIRTEEN REASONS WHY ASS SHIT

anyway c!tommy happy ending real 💚💚💚💚💚🇨🇿 i put the czech flag there by accident but it can stay.

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Wriothesley ver.) II

C/W: wriothesley x gn!reader, sun x moon, protective!wrio, himbo/bimbo!reader, fluff, slow-burn, not proofread, Sigewinne :D

Note: sorry for the slow uploads, school’s keeping me busy TT

Part 1

—

(You) About returning

Well, well, well… look who’s back! Bet no one expected to have me again so soon. For four months, too! What can I say? The Fortress just has a certain charm. …Or maybe I just missed my inmates. Yeah. That’s it.

(Wriothesley) About your return

I should be annoyed. I should be questioning their life choices. I should be standing here, arms crossed, demanding to know why they thought this was a good idea.

But instead, all I can think is—

They came back.

(You) About settling in again

You’d think being thrown in jail twice would be a humbling experience, but honestly? It just feels like coming home at this point. I even got my old spot in the cafeteria back! …Wait, is that a good thing or a bad thing?

(Wriothesley) About you: Habits

They slip back into routine so easily, it’s like they never left. Same seat in the cafeteria, same ridiculous antics, same way they somehow manage to make everyone like them. …And the same way they always find a reason to be near me.

Not that I mind.

Hah— listen to me. I really have gone soft, huh?

(You) About Wriothesley II

He thinks I don’t know, but I can see how that tea boy squares up his posture when in Duke-mode. Always so serious, like he holds the whole Fortress on his shoulders. …I guess that’s pretty much the thing about being the Duke, huh? Still, I think the only time I’ve seen him relax was when I came back. Just for a second, though. “Welcome back, sunshine,” he said…

Hehe…

*clears throat* Wow, did it, uh— Did it get warmer in here all of the sudden? My face feels weird. Probably the cafeteria food. Must be that.

(Wriothesley) About you II

Since they came back, the whole Fortress just feels… right again. Fewer troublemakers, fewer slacking reports, even fewer check-ups from Sigewinne. I guess that’s just what happens when you have someone like them around—always lifting people up without even trying.

Funny… I never noticed how bright they were before. Even when they’re not around, it’s like their energy lingers. I could probably find my way back to them just by following that light.

*chuckles* Or I could just follow the crowd and catch them building another ketchup tower.

… I have a meeting in a few minutes. I should get going.

(You) About Wriothesley: First-name basis

Oh, pfft— I’ve got plenty of names for him! Wrio, Wriothesley, The Dukester, and my personal favorite: Tea boy! Oh, what does he call me? Usually by my first name… except for that one time he called me sunshine.

… Ahem— Why do I call him by his first name? I mean—why not? Whether you’re a Duke or just another inmate, you’re still human at the end of the day, right?

(Wriothesley) About you: First-name basis

I’ve spent years hearing nothing but “Your Grace,” “The Duke,” “Duke Wriothesley.” Formal, respectful—distant.

So when they called me “Wrio” the first time… I didn’t know how to respond.

It was casual. Natural. Like they didn’t see a title—they just saw me.

I think I’ve gotten used to it. Maybe even a little too used to it.

(You) About Wriothesley: Realizations

You ever look at someone and suddenly just get it? Like, oh—that’s why people are drawn to them. That’s why they feel safe. That’s why… you start looking for them in a room without realizing.

Yeah.

That happened to me today…

Anyway! I’m gonna go ask for an extra pillow and see if he still remembers last time.

(Wriothesley) About you: Realizations

It’s one thing to tolerate someone’s presence. It’s another to start looking for it. And lately, I… find myself noticing when they’re not around. When the cafeteria’s a little too quiet, when my tea doesn’t come with some teasing remark—when I don’t hear their voice at least once in the day.

…When did that start happening?

(You) About Wriothesley: Feeling “off”

Okay, weird question—can you, like, get Fortress sickness? You know, like seasickness, but for being in prison too long? Because ever since I got back, I’ve been feeling kinda… off. Like my heart does this weird thing when I run into Wrio— uh, His Grace. And sometimes I forget what I was saying when he looks at me too long. Oh, and the other day, I thought about him when I was eating and nearly choked. That’s not normal, right? I should probably ask Sigewinne about it…

(Wriothesley) About you: Feeling “off”

Chest pains, increase in body temperature, and dizziness.

But I only feel them around a certain someone.

Sigewinne would probably say it’s stress, or lack of sleep, or too much caffeine. Maybe she’d tell me to stop skipping meals—again. But I’ve trained through worse. Fought through worse. Been through worse.

This… is different.

It’s like my body knows they’re nearby before I do. Like the air shifts, or time slows for a second. Like I start expecting them in every hallway, every laugh echoing off the walls.

I used to think the Fortress felt heavy. Cold, even.

But now?

It’s warm.

I should consult Sigewinne later… just to make sure.

(Sigewinne) Character Story: New ailments..?

“You think you’re sick?” Sigewinne repeated, tilting her head. She’d already scanned their body when they came in, and there were no signs of any illness.

The patient across from her nodded, looking genuinely troubled. “Yeah, it’s weird. My heart keeps doing this thump-thump thing, but only sometimes. And I feel warm a lot, even when it’s cold. Oh, and I got super dizzy yesterday watching Wrio— I mean, someone spar. Like, my brain just—whoosh.” They made a vague hand gesture. “See? Something’s wrong with me.”

She ran another quick scan, just to humor them, then looked up and blinked. “Well, your body’s perfectly healthy!” Sigewinne said with a reassuring smile. “But sometimes, feelings can make our bodies do strange things. Did anything… emotional happen with that someone lately?”

Before they could answer, Wriothesley’s voice floated in the room as he stepped in, arms crossed but eyes curious. “Someone what?”

The patient stiffened, suddenly fascinated by the wall.

“They said they weren’t feeling well,” Sigewinne said innocently. “Feverish, heart racing, dizzy.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Wriothesley said, turning to them. “Did you eat something weird? You almost face-planted in the ring yesterday.”

“I was just tired!”

“You were staring at me for ten straight minutes.”

“Again—tired!”They were flushed now, avoiding eye contact.

Wriothesley’s tone stayed level, but there was something softer underneath. “If someone’s bothering you—”

“No one’s bothering me!”

Sigewinne watched them go back and forth, quietly taking notes. The way Wriothesley leaned in, just slightly. The way they kept stealing glances when he wasn’t looking. The shared energy—awkward, electric.

And suddenly, it clicked.

“Ohhh,” she said, eyes lighting up. “I get it now.”

They both stopped mid-argument (flirting?) to glance her way.

“Get what?” they asked, voices in sync—one wary, the other suspicious.

“Nothing, nothing!” she chirped, spinning once on her stool. Sigewinne twirled her pen, clearly writing nothing on her clipboard. “Well, no treatment necessary; your symptoms stem from emotional… distress, after all. You’re free to go.”

“Emotional distress?” His Grace repeated.

“Maybe try some self-reflection and, you know,” Sigewinne handed them a little slip of paper. “Come back in a few days. Lollipop?”

“Ooh, fun!” They thanked her after taking the piece of candy, then walked toward the exit.

The Duke said, almost muttering so only they could hear, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great! Got a lollipop out of it, didn’t I?”

“Very well,” Wriothesley chuckled as he stepped aside to let them pass, amusement dancing behind his eyes. “…Try not to trip over your own feet again.”

“I didn’t trip!” they snapped over their shoulder, voice cracking.

“Sure you didn’t, sunshine.” He smirked, watching as they sprung out the clinic in a flustered waltz.

Diagnosis: Helplessly smitten

(Wriothesley) Character story: Lovesick

Life in the Fortress of Meropide demands composure. A steady mind. A firm hand. For as long as Wriothesley has held the title of Duke, he’s lived by these principles—dispassionate, collected, and always one step ahead of disorder. It’s what the people need of him. What he expects of himself.

But lately, that composure has started to slip.

It started subtly—shared glances in the corridor, the way his shoulders eased without him noticing when they entered a room. The echo of laughter that lingered longer than it should have. He had brushed it off at first. A trick of the mind. A temporary disturbance. But when the rhythm of the Fortress began to change with their return—when even Sigewinne noted the shift—he could no longer deny it.

“You have a look,” she said to him. “Like someone trying very hard not to look worried.”

Of course he denied it. That was his way.

And yet, her words followed him like a shadow. Because she wasn’t wrong.

He had always prided himself on his composure. Yet now, it frayed in the quietest ways. Eyes drawn without permission. A smile that curled unbidden. An unfamiliar warmth that lingered after every interaction. It unsettled him—not because it was unwelcome, but because it was new.

Because it was them.

They disrupted his order. Not in loud, reckless ways—but in the way a candle disrupts the dark. Slowly. Quietly. Undeniably.

Sigewinne, ever perceptive, had called it what it was. Fear—not of danger, but of vulnerability. Of letting something in that couldn’t be filed, fixed, or ignored. He had faced countless threats in his life, but nothing had felt quite as disarming as their smile. As the quiet thought that maybe, for once, he didn’t have to be the fortress himself.

And in the stillness of that thought, he began to wonder: If this was love… then perhaps it wasn’t a weakness to be feared, but a truth to be embraced.

He wasn’t ready to say it aloud—not yet. But he no longer denied it, either.

And that, for Wriothesley, was a beginning.

(You) Character story: OH NO

There are moments in life that leave you shaken. War. Heartbreak. Cataclysmic world events. And then there are the truly terrifying things—like accidentally realizing you might be in love with the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide.

It hit them somewhere between grabbing a lollipop from Sigewinne and walking face-first into a wall on the way to their room.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

BAM.

Forehead-to-steel. The wall won.

They blamed the Fortress air at first. Or maybe low blood sugar. Or the deeply suspicious cafeteria fish sticks.

But then Wriothesley’s voice echoed down the hall—calm, amused, annoyingly perfect—and suddenly their brain just went static.

“Oh no,” they whispered aloud.

A guard passing by gave them a confused glance.

They whispered it again, but more dramatically. “Oh no.”

Because here’s the thing: this wasn’t a crush. A crush is what someone gets on a cute person at the market who sells good tea. A crush is fleeting. Safe.

This was something else.

This was: “I nearly passed out watching him spar.”

This was: “I get dizzy when he smiles and also want to throw him into the ocean and then jump in after him.”

This was: dangerous.

They were not equipped for this kind of emotional responsibility.

They had no plan. No backup. No strategy.

Just… weird chest feelings and an extremely judgmental stuffed toy from the Commissary watching them spiral on their cot.

“Maybe I’m dying,” they whispered to the toy.

The toy, unfortunately, offered no medical opinion.

They tried to focus on other things after that. Work. Routine. Towering monuments made of cafeteria condiment packets. But everything—everything—led back to him.

Wriothesley asking if they were okay (oh no).

Wriothesley calling them sunshine (OH no).

Wriothesley’s sleeves rolled up just enough to see his forearms (OH NO).

They were doomed. Absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

(Sigewinne) About you and Wriothesley

I’ve read about this little thing called love in a novel Lady Furina sent me. And crazily enough, I think I might be seeing it happen right in front of me!

—

[trensu]

It's Will that gives him the idea.

"we don't really celebrate father's day anymore," he had said awkwardly, "but I can't hang out anyway."

"why not?" Dustin demanded. He was gonna end up bored and alone because he didn't celebrate the holiday and everyone else had plans. he had been counting on Will to keep him company.

"I'm gonna get Jonathan a new record and I want to listen to it with him," he said.

"can't he get his own records? C'mon, we could go to the arcade or something."

"no, Dustin," his tone took on a stubborn edge that made Dustin pause. "He's my brother and I love him, and he's the only guy besides Bob who's ever even tried to look out for me. So I'm sorry but I'm gonna be busy on Sunday."

Dustin didn't argue after that but it did get him thinking which is why on Sunday morning he biked all the way over to Loch Nora and started banging on Steve's door.

"what do you want, Henderson?" Steve sighed the most dramatic put upon sigh Dustin had ever heard.

"you're not my dad--"

"wow you really are genius!"

"shut up, shut up, listen to me!"

"okay, geez, I'm listening."

"you're not my dad and I don't want you to be my dad. I don't even really want a dad! Lots of dads aren't even that great and my mom already has the single parent thing down. But you taught me how to do my hair and how to talk to girls - even though that advice sucked, I didn't need it to get Suzie at all - and you're gonna teach me how to drive--"

"woah, hey, no I never said I'd do that, wh--"

"--and you've saved my life but I think we're even because I've saved your life too."

"Henderson don't you have anything better to do than harass me in my own home?" Steve said. he was using that exasperated tone he got when he knew he wasn't keeping up with what was going on but didn't want to admit it.

"actually no I don't but I'm here for a reason," he reached into his backpack and took out the gift he clumsily wrapped with scraps of brown paper bags. He shoved it into Steve's hands. "You're basically the only adult male figure in my life. And I appreciate you."

Steve squinted at the gift and then at Dustin and at the gift again before he said fussily "is this a prank? If something gross explodes from this, I swear to god, I'll--"

"Just open it, Steve!"

"Fine, fine, keep your shirt on," Steve said and tore off the paper. He blinked and in a softer tone said, "Oh."

"I don't know if you even like making models but I know you love cars and this kit looked just like yours, so yeah."

Steve stared at the kit some more. Dustin started to fidget. It was always better to be honest with your feelings but maybe this was too much for Steve. Maybe Steve didn't like him as much as Dustin did. Steve was not as enlightened about these things as Dustin.

"I've never made a model before."

Dustin hunched his shoulders and tried not to feel stupid or hurt. He should have expected this. They weren't even related. This was probably too weird. He reached out to take the gift back.

"it's fine, I can return it, whatever."

Steve raised the kit out of Dustin's reach.

"Hey, this is mine," he said.

"you don't even like it!"

"I never said that! I'm just gonna need a dweeby little nerd to help me build it. You know anybody like that?" Steve asked, batting his eyes innocently.

"you're such a dick," Dustin grumbled, fighting back a grin.

"watch your language!"

"shut up, you're not my dad."

Steve laughed as Dustin shoved his way into the house. Hours later, after much shouting and ribbing and one incident of spilled paint, a small model of the beemer was left to dry while Steve forced Dustin to watch the baseball game on TV with him. It wasn't the worst thing ever, and after Steve mentioned the statistics involved, it got way more interesting ("of course you'd like the math part, you weirdo" "you don't understand the stats do you" "shut up and watch the game, Henderson"). When the paint was dry, Dustin followed Steve upstairs and watched him carefully and deliberately place the model between a couple of sports trophies.

"yeah, I guess it looks pretty cool," Steve said with exaggerated nonchalance. "Now beat it, kid. your mom's gonna freak if you're not home when she gets back from work."

"can you give me a ride?"

"ugh, fine."

Dustin grinned. This had been, hands down, the best father's day ever. From the look on Steve's face when he placed the model, Dustin was pretty sure he agreed.

[aajxs]

middle of the night , a.s

synopsis - the one where anakin got so crossfaded at a party one night that he had to text you to take him back to the apartment he shared with your older brother, but somehow ended up at yours.

pairings - anakin skywalker x fem!reader (modern au)

warnings - mentions of alcohol and weed use , anakin being a hater , protective anakin , kinda possessive anakin , mentions ani having naughty thoughts , whiny anakin , cute til it AINT , inexperienced reader , titty sucking , oral (f receiving) , praise kink and degradation kink , fingering , p in v sex , kinda clothed sex?? (anakin doesn't take his pants off all the way) , poorly written smut

w/c - 5.9k (WOW.)

a/n - negl I got sloppy af at the end cuz idk how to properly write smut!!! this is an alternate ending to a prompt in my bbf!anakin post. also for my sake please ignore any spelling or punctuation errors lmfao. anyways, enjoy! <33

masterlist .

You had just gotten out of the shower, still wrapped in a towel, when your phone vibrated from its spot on your bed. You didn't bother looking, assuming it was someone posting to their story or a notification from a dumb game you downloaded and haven't played before (yet still wouldn't delete it.)

You dried off then got dressed, slipping into a black tank top and a pair of shorts. Your phone vibrated a few more times, so you grabbed it as you made your way back into your bathroom to brush your teeth. All of the notifications were from Anakin, who rarely texted you. You unlocked your phone and read all of the texts, a few consisting of a bunch of gibberish and another that had an almost fully readable text.

'csn you come oick me up? ill sendn yoy my location' It read, making you let out a small laugh as you brushed your teeth. Anakin obviously wasn't sober, you could tell because on the rare occasion that he did text you, it was nowhere close to like this. You then got a notification, that being his live location. He was serious?

He was about ten minutes away, but with it being night and there being few cars on the road, you could get there in five. If you were an experienced driver, that is. Anakin knew that you weren't a very good driver, he had been in your car with you driving it enough times to know. Yet he still decided to text you instead of your brother, who's literally his roommate.

You texted him back, telling him that you'd be there in ten minutes before shoving your phone into your pocket. You quickly finished brushing your teeth then rushed around your apartment. You grabbed your keys, your wallet just in case, and bottle of water from your fridge for Anakin, then put on some slippers and exited your apartment.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, making you grab it and read whatever Anakin had sent you this time. It read, 'pelase hurry therws a rsndom girl grindikg on me right jow'. You smiled at his bluntness before rushing down to your car, texting him a quick 'omw rn ani' as you started your car and began driving to Anakin's location.

It didn't surprise you as much as it should have that Anakin texted you, there was obviously a reason, and most were guessable. He probably knew your brother was asleep and didn't want to burden him, and as someone who has had to live with your older brother for years, you knew that he probably would have gone back to bed and forgot about Anakin.

You never expected brother's best friend would be texting you and asking you to come pick him up from a random party. Although, Anakin has contacted you on worse terms.

Anakin didn't know why he texted you of all people, but for some odd reason it felt so right. Although you're his best friends little sister, he never really thought of you as a friend or sister figure. Anakin always thought you were cute, and you were just the sibling of one of his friends. He had plenty of friends with little sisters and brothers, so why were you so different?

Maybe it was because you were the sibling of his best friend, not just one of his friends that he only talked to on campus. Maybe it was because you actually talked to him and payed attention to him, and you guys were somewhat friends (seeing as you went through middle and high school together, now college).

Anakin never really paid attention to you throughout middle school or the beginning of high school. He saw you basically every day when he would hang out with your brother, stayed the night at your house more times than he can count, and never had any weird or inappropriate thoughts about you. But when you started... developing, you were pretty hard to ignore.

To Anakin's hormonal teenage mind, developing was the only word he could use to describe you. Anakin had always seen and treated you like a child, so why was he suddenly having these filthy thoughts about you? He never acted on them, he would have been too guilty to ever face you again if he did. The biggest problem Anakin had with his thoughts was knowing that he wasn't the only one thinking of you that way.

Anakin had the privilege of being your older brothers closest, most trustworthy friend. Anytime you wanted to introduce a new boyfriend to your brother, he brought along Anakin. "Me and Anakin were hanging out already so I decided to bring him with me, hope that's alright." Most of the time that actually was the case, but Anakin soon found out that your brother just needed a secondhand opinion.

Anakin didn't think the way the guy looked at you was appropriate? Your brother took it into consideration. Anakin thought he was sketchy? Your brother would hear all about it. Anakin thought he was a bad influence? Your brother was convincing you to break up with the guy. Sometimes Anakin said nice things, then proceeded to spread a fake rumor about the guy just so it would get to you and your brother.

On top of that, Anakin started getting more protective over you. For example; Anakin stayed the night one weekend and him and your brother decided to drive up to the store and buy some snacks because there were none for them to eat. Your brother knew you were staying up late to study for an upcoming test, and asked Anakin if it was alright if you go too, assuming you needed a break. Anakin shrugged and your brother knocked before he opened your door.

You were wearing headphones so you hadn't heard him say your name the first time, so your brother walked up behind you and tapped your shoulder, making you take them off and turn to look at you. "N/N, me and Anakin are gonna go get some snacks. You need a break, so you're gonna go with us." You gave him a nod before locking eyes with Anakin, who was leaning against your doorframe. You looked away as you got out of the office chair that you were sitting in to grab your slippers and phone.

When you were at the store, your brother had wandered off to find a certain snack, leaving you and Anakin alone. You were trying to figure out which Doritos flavor you wanted, and Anakin was observing you as you contemplated. It felt like he blinked and suddenly you were getting talked to by a random guy. You looked uncomfortable, looking around for a moment until your eyes landed on Anakin, who was glaring at the guy.

"Excuse me, I think my boyfriend just said my name." You awkwardly said as you stepped towards Anakin. His eyes practically lit up at the word boyfriend, but decided to brush it off and play the part for your sake. Anakin gave him a small smile before placing his hand on the small of your back, slightly worried that if he put his hand anywhere else he would go crazy. When you both turned around, your brother turned the corner with a couple snacks and three drinks, and Anakin gave him a look before glancing at the guy who was about two meters away.

Your brother was trying to figure out why Anakin was touching you, but before he could say something he put two and two together and brushed it off. He walked towards you both and handed you your drinks before gripping your shoulder, walking on the other side of you. When the three of you walked past the man, he muttered something under his breath that you couldn't hear.

Obviously Anakin and your brother heard what he said, or else they wouldn't have turned their heads in sync. "What the fuck did you just say?" Your brother said, the hand on your shoulder tightening just slightly. "I called her a slut." The guy said louder. Needless to say, you all got kicked out because Anakin decided to punch the guy. You guys ended up getting take-out.

To put it plainly, Anakin didn't exactly like seeing you with other guys, and hated it when he heard anybody call you anything less than perfect. Another problem, was that Anakin knew exactly why.

The reason you were so different, the reason he defended you so often, and the reason he texted you, was because Anakin Skywalker was in love with you.

You had been waiting outside for a good five minutes before there was a knock on the window of your car. You let out a breath and unlocked the door. When you assumed Anakin wasn't sober, you didn't think it would be this bad. As soon as he opened the door to your car and sat down, you could smell the alcohol and weed on him.

"Anakin you actually stink—" You said, resisting the urge to cover your nose at the smell. "I'll take off my shirt?" He offered before beginning to take off the black t-shirt he was wearing. Even under the influence he was still a sweetheart to you. "No- No, Ani it's fine, I'll just roll down the windows." You said, placing your hand on Anakin's chest to halt his movements as you started driving. You rolled down both of your windows slightly.

There was music quietly playing, and as Anakin reached to turn it up, you swatted his hand. "Rude.." He mumbled before folding his arms across his chest. "Why did you text me, Ani?" You asked, not taking your eyes off the road, "Because I knew you would be a good girl and not say a thing about this." He slightly slurred. You felt yourself shudder at Anakin calling you a 'good girl'.

You felt his burning gaze, and you so badly wanted to look back at him just to see the look in his bloodshot eyes, but you decided against it. "You don't know that." You said with a curt laugh. "I don't? Really? Because I vividly remember that one time you came to me and-" Anakin started, "What a coincidence! I need gas!" You said, cutting off Anakin and pulling into a gas station.

Anakin let out a huff, "Can I trust you to pump my gas while I go in and pay?" You questioned as you parked the car, glancing at Anakin. "Yes ma'am." He said in a serious manner, making you let out a small laugh. "Half a tank is fine." You said as you both got out the car. Anakin went to grab the gas pump whilst you walked into the sketchy gas station and paid for your gas.

"Thanks!" You smiled as you walked out of the building. Almost as soon as you stepped out of the gas station, you ran into someone. "Oh- I'm sorry," You said, backing up a little and glancing at the person in front of you. "No worries, it's my bad. Sorry if this sounds weird, but you're really pretty." He said, looking you up and down, his eyes lingering on your cleavage for a second too long.

You glanced over at your car to see Anakin leaning against it with crossed arms, staring right back at you. "Thank you so much, I appreciate it!" You grinned, "Can I have your number?" He asked bluntly, "Oh, I don't think.." You started, but you were cut off at the shout of your name. You looked over and Anakin was now glaring daggers at the guy in front of you. "I don't think that'll be necessary, thank you though!" You said with a soft smile as you made your way back to your car.

"Under better circumstances I would have thanked you for that, Ani." You said with a sarcastic smile as you both got back into the car. "Oh! I almost forgot that I brought you a water." You said as you grabbed the slightly cold water from the cupholder and handed it to him. "Thanks, you're an angel." Anakin said as he placed a hand on your thigh and gave it a light squeeze as he grabbed the water and chugged at least half of it.

You wanted to give him a reaction, but decided to keep driving and ignore it. He wasn't sober, so he most definitely wasn't thinking straight. "Can we go to your place instead? Its closer." Anakin said almost out of nowhere. "Why would you want to go to my place? You don't live with me?" You asked, glancing at him to see him already looking at you. "Because yours is closer." He said with a tinge of playfulness in his voice.

"But-" You began, "Please?" Anakin said with the smallest whine. Curse him and his dumb pretty voice. "I-" You hesitated, and the look in Anakin's eyes wasn't making this any easier for you. "Okay." You sighed, as you turned the car to the street your apartment complex was on. "But ill have you know that you are not staying the night, just until you're sober enough." You said as you parked your car in your usual parking spot. Anakin let out a breath, content with your answer.

You lived on the fifth floor of the complex, and the elevator just so happened to be out of order, so it was a hassle getting an unbalanced Anakin up the stairs to your apartment. From an outside point of view, it probably looked like both of you were high. Anakin kept cracking jokes, and every time you laughed he added onto it to make you laugh even harder. So by the time you were at the top of the stairwell, you were out of breath from both the laughing and the walking.

"Anakin that's the wrong way," You laughed as Anakin walked towards the wrong door. You heard him mumble a few curse words before turning around and making his way back towards you. You unlocked the door to your apartment and walked inside, allowing Anakin to shut and lock the door behind him. "Cozy." Anakin said as he walked into your room and plopped down onto your bed. "Excuse you-"

"Y/N," Anakin cut you off as he kicked off his shoes, you hummed in response. "Do you remember last summer?" He asked, watching intently as you make your way throughout your room. "What about it?" You said, your voice turning a bit soft at the thought. You sat on your bed, leaning against the headboard with your legs crossed. "You remember how I went on vacation with your family?" Anakin said, rolling over to lay on his stomach to look at you.

"Yes.. where are you going with this Ani?" You said, tilting your head at the man in front of you. "Just- listen. You remember that guy you met at the beach, right? And you remember why I ended up beating the shit out of him the day before we left?" Anakin said as his blue eyes bored into your E/C ones. "No, nobody ever ended up telling me why." You said with a laugh as you gazed back at Anakin. "Do you want to know why?" He asked with a small smile, "Quit teasing, I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't want to know!" You said, extending your leg to kick his shoulder. "Full story, or just a quick summary?" Anakin joked. He knew you, he knew that you wanted the full story. You scoffed at his words and looked at him expectantly.

"I don't remember why, but we ended up walking with each other along the beach while you and your brother were playing around in the water not too far away. We had been talking about.. you, and then he brought me up. He asked what I was to you," Anakin explained, his brows scrunching every few words. "I told him, 'I'm just her older brothers best friend. Sometimes she likes me, sometimes she doesn't'." He said as he ran his hand along your bare calf. You scoffed, "That is such a lie! At first I didn't like you that much, but I always thought of you as a friend!" You said, Anakin frowned slightly at your words.

"Anyways- He said, 'Then you wouldn't mind if I bent her over in that pretty little two piece and fucked her?'. I stopped walking and looked at him. He didn't even notice I paused until I turned him around and punched him in the face," Anakin said with a small, prideful smile. "You wanna know what he said after I hit him a few times? He said, 'I guess you would mind, wouldn't you?'." Anakin said with a curt laugh. "Would you have minded?" You asked sincerely, making Anakin look at you from his spot on the bed. "Do you want the truth?" Anakin asked, tilting his head a bit. You bit your lip and nodded at him, signaling for him to keep talking.

"Yes, I would have." Anakin said as he sat up. "I never told your brother that story, you know? The only person who knows why is the guy." You laughed at his words. "I'm gonna go get a bottle of water, do you want one?" You said, as you got up from your bed, he nodded as you ruffled his hair and walked out of your room. When you left, Anakin was finally able to let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding in. Your home smelled so much like you, and that scent made Anakin want to go absolutely feral.

Anakin adjusted his position on your bed, now laying down on his side whilst facing the door. "You made yourself comfy." You grinned as you walked back into the room, handing Anakin his water as you took a couple drinks of yours. "Thanks." He muttered as he took a drink of the water. You sat down, your back now against the backboard of your bed. "You still smell like weed." You mumbled as you gave Anakin a soft smile. Anakin didn't smile back, he just looked at you. His once bloodshot eyes were now their usual blue.

One thing you had always noticed about Anakin, was how intense his gaze was. He held eye contact like it would be his last time ever making it, and it made him all the more attractive. Not only was Anakin's stare intense, he was too. If he wasn't a long time friend of yours, you probably would've been scared of him. You had always had a subtle crush on Anakin, but him being your brothers friend always made it rather hard to show your attraction. Anakin was making you nervous with only his eyes.

You cleared your throat, "Why would you have cared?" You asked as you played with the drawstrings on your shorts. "You are so... Is it not obvious by now?" Anakin said as he grabbed your wrist, then sitting up and copying your position. You let out a small gasp, your mouth parting slightly. Anakin saw a chance, and he took it. He leaned in and your lips connected, catching you by surprise. You kissed him back for a moment before realizing that Anakin might've not been sober.

Almost out of instinct, you pulled away. Anakin leaned towards you more, seemingly chasing your lips. You placed a hand on his rock hard chest and softly pushed him away. "Ani.." You muttered, giving him a nervous smile. "Anakin you're not-" You began, but he quickly cut you off. "Y/N, I've been sober for the past twenty minutes. Please just let me taste you." He pleaded lightly, making you curse under your breath before smashing your lips back against his, careful not to hit his teeth with yours.

Anakin put his hands on your hips and moved you on top of him so that you were straddling him, catching you by surprise. Your lips parted and Anakin took this as an invitation, shoving his tongue into your mouth.

One part of you wanted to pull away and tell him how wrong this was, tell him that this was a bad decision and that he needs to go home. The other part of you knows how good this is making you feel, and you can't seem to stop.

Anakin cupped your face with one hand and tugged at your top with the other. He pulled away slightly, a thin string of saliva going with him. "Can I touch you?" Anakin asked, the hand that was once tugging at your shirt now resting on your waist. "Please," You pleaded as you went to kiss him again. He let out a breathy chuckle and sloppily attached his wet lips to yours.

Anakin's hot tongue in your mouth and his wandering hands were getting you all different kinds of worked up. His rough hand made its way up your shirt. You squirmed at both the foreign feeling and how cold his hands were. His hand reached your left breast, and he gave it a light squeeze. "Take your shirt off." Anakin breathily demanded as he pulled away from the kiss. You stared at him for a moment, obviously hesitant to show yourself to him. "You don't have to-" He started before you abruptly stopped him. You took his free hand and covered his eyes with it, "Don't look." You muttered as you took your hand away from his.

You took your tank top off before self-consciously attempting to cover yourself with your arms. Anakin has seen your body multiple times, just in a less.. inappropriate manner. You didn't know if you really wanted him to see you uncovered fully. You gave him a look when he peeked slightly. He saw that you noticed, and decided to take his hand away from his face and reach towards you.

"Ani.." You muttered, your face heating up as Anakin rubbed your arm. He opened his mouth to speak, but right before any words could come out you adjusted your position on his lap, making him let out a moan instead. That has to be the sexiest thing you've heard in your entire life. "Don't use that nickname on me while we're like this." He mumbled, slightly embarrassed at the noise he just let slip. You could feel his hard straining against his sweatpants, poking right at your clothed, throbbing core.

"I took off my shirt, that means you have to take off yours." You hummed, though your voice came out more demanding than expected. Anakin stopped rubbing your arm and took off his shirt in one swift motion before tossing it to the side. Anakin was fit, he always had been. This just made him all the more attractive to you. You wanted to touch him, too, but you were self conscious and didn't want to uncover yourself.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Anakin touching your arm, "Can i?" He asked, referring to the arms you had tightly wrapped around yourself. You looked at him for a few moments before nodding slowly. You loosened your hold around yourself, as if that would've stopped him anyway. Anakin took your hands and moved them down to his toned chest, being sure to run them across his toned abs and v-line.

You could feel yourself heating up at the action, seeing as you had never touched anybody in such a way before. You completely ignored the fact that Anakin was definitely staring at your tits right now, but you couldn't find it in you to care. All you could focus on was what was gonna happen in a few moments, and how you were gonna keep this from your older brother.

Anakin leaned forward and attached his lips to your neck, sucking and licking at random spots. "Don't worry about your brother, if he finds out I'll take care of it." Anakin muttered into your neck. "Okay," You gasped as Anakin softly bit down on your shoulder.

You were even more surprised when Anakin decided to trail down to your breasts and take one into his mouth. He wrapped an arm tightly around your waist and secured you in place, then used his free hand to fondle your other boob.

The small moans you let out were like music to Anakin's ears, and if it were up to him he would bust then and there at the sound of you. He took your breast out of his mouth and planted a kiss on your nipple, then did the same to your other. "Such pretty tits.." He mumbled into the skin between your breasts. "All mine, y' hear me? All mine." Anakin said as he flipped you over and pinned you to the mattress, making you let out a yelp.

Anakin kissed and licked at your torso, sucking on the skin as he worked his way down. He inched closer to the waistband of your shorts at an excruciatingly slow pace, making the knot in your tighten more and more. "Ani, please just touch me already!" You pleaded, making him look up at you through his lashes. "Touch you where, sweet girl?" He teased as he tugged at your waistband, making you rub your legs together. "You know where," You whined as you ran your hands through Anakin's already tangled hair.

He cursed under his breath before pulling down your shorts. Saying you were wet would be an understatement. "You always get this wet when a man touches you, or am I special?" Anakin said as he ran two fingers down the cloth, making you let out a loud moan at the contact. "I-I've never had.." You trailed off, closing your legs and covering your body out of embarrassment. Anakin let out a hum, "I guess I'm special, then." He grinned as he placed his hands on your thighs and parted them for himself once again.

"Can practically smell you baby," He groaned as he literally ripped the panties from your body. "Those were expensive!" You whined as he tossed them to the side. "Such a pretty pussy, all wet jus' for me.." Anakin muttered as he ran a few fingers along your sopping cunt. "Anakin!" You moaned in an irritated voice, still upset that he ripped one of your favorite pairs of underwear. "Fuck- I'll buy you a new pair, whatever you want." He said whilst grabbing your legs and throwing them over his shoulders, giving him perfect access.

Anakin placed a soft kiss on your pussy before licking up from your throbbing hole to your sensitive bud. You let out a whimper at his actions, "Taste so sweet," He mumbled before he practically attacked your cunt, licking and slurping up all your juices like a man starved.

That unfamiliar knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter with every moan you let out. "An– Anakin!" You loudly moaned without a care in the world. He hummed into your pussy, knowing you had to be getting close. You started babbling nonsense as you roughly grabbed Anakin's long hair and shoved his face further in between your legs.

"Think 'm gonna—" You started before cutting yourself off with the most beautiful moan Anakin's ever heard. Although you were twitching and jolting against him, Anakin didn't stop his advances and even shoved two fingers inside you. Your back was arched off of your bed, Anakin's face and fingers were buried deep in your cunt, and your sheets were most definitely not coming back from this.

Your hips jolted and grinded against his face in a useless attempt to get him further into you, not caring at all if he was suffocating between your legs. Your moans slowly got more drawn out and louder, signalling that you were about to cum again.

Anakin knew you were probably overstimulated but all he could think about was how good you taste on his tongue and how much he wants to stuff you full of his cum. After wetting Anakin's face even more for the second time, he stopped eating you out for your own good. He could probably go all day if you wanted him to.

He wiped his face off with his hand, being sure to lick anything excess off of his skin before wrapping your legs around his waist and giving you a sloppy kiss. "You taste so good." Anakin quietly said into your mouth. You couldn't tell if he was talking about your mouth or your pussy.

"Wan' you inside me, Ani." You whimpered as Anakin placed more kisses along your jawline, "Might be too big for you baby, not sure if you could take me." He muttered into your neck, a cocky smile on his face. "I can take you. Promise I can— Jus' want you in me.." You said, as you brought your hand to his crotch. Though before you could touch the tent on his sweatpants, he grabbed your wrist and pinned both your hands behind your head.

Anakin gave you a boyish grin, making you pout slightly. "Gonna have to warm you up first." He said as he let go of your wrists and brought a hand to your hip, seemingly holding you in place. He brought his other hand back down to your throbbing pussy, and inserted two fingers.

You moaned at this action, surprised that he didn't even try to see how you reacted to one. You're a virgin, that much is obvious. You've probably never been touched in such a way by another person, and even if you have you probably declined any advances because you were scared of losing your dignity. From the way you react to his fingers, you've probably touched yourself a few times before, you just weren't used to hands his size. Needless to say, you were everything Anakin assumed you would be. Your innocence is turning him on a bit too much.

Anakin started off slowly, he'd already made you cum twice, and he didn't want to overwork you. "A-Ani, faster—" You moaned out as his two fingers popped in and out of you. He gave you a cocky smirk before increasing his pace and harshness. He would come out softly then shove his fingers back into you just to hear the pretty noises you let out when he did. "Anakin, 'm gonna cum!" You moaned, as you bucked your hips into his fingers.

You let out a moan as he put another finger inside you, somehow fitting three of his long fingers inside your tight hole. "C'mon baby, y'know I won't hold you back." Anakin said as he leaned over, whispering his words into your ear. Your eyes slightly rolled back into your head as you came all over his long fingers. "What a slut, all that just over my fingers?" Anakin said as he licked his hands clean of your juices. "You taste so good though." He said as he kissed your cheek.

You whimpered as you rubbed your legs together, giving him a look. "Use your words." He teased, that cocky smile on his face once again. You let out an annoyed hum, "You know what I want!" You were starting to get impatient. "What's the magic word, pretty girl?" He asked, giving you another one of his boyish grins. "Please, Ani." You pleaded, making Anakin smile at you.

He pulled his sweatpants and boxers down to his knees, not caring enough to take them all the way off. His cock practically leaped out of his pants, and the first thought that popped inside your head was 'What the fuck have you gotten yourself into.'

That actually looks heavy. You thought to yourself as you actually got a good look at his dick. Anakin wasted no time grabbing his cock and spreading the precum that was leaking from the tip all over his base as some sort of lubrication. He let out a curse or two as he dragged the tip from your sensitive clit to your dripping hole.

Anakin was definitely not thinking about all the ways he could get you pregnant right now. Definitely not. "Stop teasing and fuck me already, Anakin." You moaned out as you stared at his length. He let out a chuckle, making you look at his face. The moan you let out when he shoved the whole thing inside you was probably the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Your neighbors are gonna be so mad.

"Can I move?" He asked gently, placing both of his hands on your hips. "Fuck— Y-Yes, please, yes-" You let out as your back arched off the bed. Anakin let out a satisfied hum before slowly moving. He'd pull out, making you feel empty for a few moments and then slowly insert his length back into you, filling you up again.

"Faster, Ani-" You moaned, making him fasten his pace. Your toes were curled and your back was arched and your fingers were harshly digging into your mattress and sheets. He slowly but surely started ramming into you, and after just a few thrusts he had your g-spot memorized.

"Fuck, Ani-" You whined as he paused for a moment to wrap your legs around his waist again. With no words, he immediately began ramming into you again. His thrusts were making your entire room shake and the way your bedframe and backboard hit the wall, you almost felt like it would break any second.

There were tears in your eyes and they were wetting your pillow. For a moment Anakin couldn't tell if you were hurting or if it was pleasure. "'m sorry baby, am I hurtin' you?" He asked as he slowed down his thrusts. "Mmh- no! Keep goin' Ani 'm so close—" You whined out as you gripped his shoulders.

The knot in your stomach was slowly getting tighter and tighter and you knew that any second you could come all over his cock. "Harder, Ani!" You moaned out, making Anakin grin for the hundredth time tonight.

His thrusts started getting sloppier, "Wanna cum inside you, fill you with my babies." Anakin said as he pulled your body down onto him. "Wan' you to fill me up Ani, please!" You whined, the both of you knew that you would probably just buy birth control the next morning.

Before the two of you knew it you were both cumming in sync. Anakin filled you up, and when he pulled out he could see the mix of your juices and his leaking into the sheets. He gently dropped your legs onto the mattress before shuffling back to pull his boxers and sweatpants back up.

You were incredibly tired and your throat hurt from all the moaning and screaming. You looked so pretty like this. Anakin thought as he grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor. You quietly said something about your sheets and Anakin dismissed you. "We can take care of your sheets in the morning baby, but right now I need to clean you up." Anakin muttered as he took his shirt and wiped your wet tears from your face before wiping up the mess you two had made between your legs. He gently wiped you down with his shirt, not caring that it was probably ruined.

"I have towels, Ani." You tiredly said before you muttered an apology for not telling him to grab one instead of his shirt. "It's okay, I don't care if it's you." He said under his breath, assuming his words were a bit too intimate to say loud enough for you to hear. "Y'know, I love you." You muttered before drifting asleep.

"I love you too."

© AAJXS

[toruro]

— ✧ bark (like a dog)

a part of new rules ... a svt performance unit x mafia au series !

description. kwon soonyoung is hot. he's fucking smoking, but also painfully out of your reach—being your father's main hitman assistant means that, by the books, he's pretty much off limits. but then again, when did silly stuff like rules ever stop you?

genre. smut (18+), brief angst, mafia au

warnings/tags: PLEASE READ! mentions of murder & death bc hoshi is a hitman, descriptions of blood, reader is daughter of mafia boss, mean dom hoshi, gun play (unloaded), or4l (m receiving), jealousy, sp4nking, breath control, praise kink, blindfolds, th1gh r1iding, pet names (princess, angel, good girl), consent is SEXY

w/c: 7.3k

a/n: thank u @gyuswhore for proofreading hehe ... anyways this is like smut w a hint of plot. sorry not sorry my head's been so full of him

You don’t get nervous.

Not when you overhear your father talking about some risky new plans and not when you go out and know there’s a target on your back.

Not when you snuck out your apartment tonight without your bodyguard to just pop into the galleria that you heard some of your father’s men talking about. Which, by the way, you totally didn’t do because one of them mentioned Kwon Soonyoung being there. Yeah. Totally not.

You weren’t nervous when you waltz into the galleria, in some pretty dress pants and a cute black t-shirt that may or may not have been showing a lot more skin than your father likes. The night was going great, honestly. Fantastic, even.

Until your eyes landed on the very reason you even decided to come here. Kwon Soonyoung.

Again, you don’t get nervous. It’s simply not in your DNA.

So why does having this man next to you make your vision bleary and heart heavy?

“Did you like it?” you murmur, toeing at the grass beneath you with bare feet. You’re at your father’s house now. Soonyoung caught sight of you after you caught sight of him laughing with another woman, which totally shouldn’t have bothered you but you felt green boil in your stomach anyways.

And you watched her lead him into some other hallway with a man and then Soonyoung was gone. He was doing whatever he does, you know? You don’t want to pry into his work, but seeing as he’s your father’s favorite man, it’s kind of hard to avoid the truth.

Soonyoung was definitely just doing his job. Talked to the woman, peppered a few kisses on her cheek to butter her up, got her to introduce to a man who was maybe probably definitely his target, and then he walked out again, fixing his coat over his shoulders as he returned alone. He took you home after that.

You squirm just at the thought. Nightly zephyrs pinch at your skin as you stand in the backyard, but as you feel Soonyoung’s gaze burn into the back of your head, your body warms nonetheless.

Even turned away from him, you can practically feel the way his eyebrow cocks up. “Like what?”

You scoff and roll your eyes even though you know he can’t see you. Oh well, he probably knows anyway. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not sure I do, angel,” he replies without hesitation. Your mind races at the nickname, not because you think it’s a term of endearment, but because you’re almost sure that he’s mocking you. Angel. Fuck, everyone knows you’re anything but a damn angel, and you’d be an idiot to think Soonyoung meant anything other than to belittle you right now.

“Sure,” you mutter dryly, running one hand down your face, before turning around to face him. Kwon Soonyoung is hot, as always, with his dark messy hair falling right over his eyebrows, one of which has a little slit carved into the edge, his plump lips and sharp eyes that watch you carefully.

Even under the dim light of the night sky, he seems to glow beneath the moon.

“Are you going to be all pouty like this for the rest of the night?” When you don’t respond, he huffs loudly. You don’t want him to be annoyed with you, but you cross your arms over your chest and press your feet into the soil stubbornly anyways. “Am I going to have to call Taehyun to drive you home?”

“What, you don’t want to bother doing that yourself?” you snap. Fuck, you don’t even know why you said that. It isn’t Soonyoung’s job to take care of you in any way. Sure he indirectly does that by heeding your father’s order—by killing off any threats when they pop up, but nowhere in his title’s description does it say he needs to take you home, to coddle you, to watch over you.

“You want me to take you home?” he asks, and you want to fucking strangle him because if it wasn’t painfully obvious, then to make it clear once more, yeah you want him to take you home. You want him to pull you to his car and press a hand on your thigh and then creep it up your legs until your squirming under his touch and—

You need to stop getting ahead of yourself. Your relationship is—god, you want to say it’s professional, but you can’t even call it that. You and Kwon Soonyoung, your relationship is somehow both less and more than professional.

It’s so intimate—he’s your father’s most loyal worker, he’d go to any lengths to keep your family, to keep you, safe. And yet, even after you’ve seen the blood on his clothes and the imprint of his gun in his pants, he’s a stranger.

Not because you don’t know his favorite color, or because he doesn’t know what kind of food you like, but because even as a million thoughts run through your head, you’re pretty sure he can’t figure out a single one of them.

Finally, you speak up, reverting the topic without answering his question. “Do you really not know what I’m talking about?” Your voice is smaller this time.

“Are you trying to play a guessing game with me?”

Your glare hardens on him. “Fuck you,” you spit out, and Soonyoung puts his hands up in a surrendering motion. “The galleria—did you have fun? Did you like it?”

“Well angel, I hate to break it to you but I was just doing my job. Not that you would know, since you’ve never had to work a damn day in your life, but I don’t necessarily love my job. So if that’s what you want to know, then I guess you have your answer.”

“And with her? Did you—”

“What are you talking about?” he cuts you off harshly, and you’re slightly taken aback by the way his voice booms louder.

“Didn’t know kissing pretty women was a part of your job,” you murmur gruffly before finally making your way to the door that leads back into the house.

“Where’re you going?”

“I also didn’t know that keeping track of where I’m going was a part of your job.”

“You’re not making any damn sense right now, I hope you know that.”

Slipping on some socks, you go on, “Is listening to me a part of your job too? If not, I suggest you just leave me alone and—”

“God, what the hell are you goin’ on about, with all this job shit? Since when did you care about what I do to get a job done?”

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” you conclude, going to open the door before Soonyoung’s hand stops you.

“Stop being a brat,” he hisses, causing you to press your lips together tightly.

“I am not being a brat,” you scoff, ripping your arm away from him. “If anything, you’re the attention seeker who—”

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, attention seeker?”

“Well you were basically throwing yourself at that woman and—” Your breath hitches when you realize what you’ve just said, and you slap a hand over your mouth as you look down.

Soonyoung clicks his tongue, but it’s not as disappointed as you except … if anything, he sounds … sorry. “What do you want from me? You know it’s my job.”

You scoff, shoving your head in your hands out of humiliation. “I think you know exactly what I want from you,” you mutter. Now you’re not really sure what you’re expecting from Soonyoung but it’s definitely not his strong hand on your wrists, forcing you to look up at him.

“Do you want me to take you home or not?”

You look at him, mortified at the bluntness of his suggestion.

“I—what?”

“Look, you’re not very discreet and—”

“Oh my god, stop talking. I need to go and—”

Soonyoung grabs your face. It’s gentle, but his touch is firm and his eyes don’t break away from yours for a moment. His fingers press into the plush of your cheeks, and there’s a both nerve-wracking and alluring aura to it.

“Let’s take you home, or I tell your father where you were last night. How you left your cozy little apartment without your dear Mr. Choi who, if I recall, is supposed to accompany you wherever you go.”

You gape at him—there is no way he’s threatening you right now. You blink once, and then twice, and Soonyoung’s gaze remains unwavering.

Fuck.

Which is how you find yourself seated patiently on Soonyoung’s couch, thighs pressed together and hands on your knees cutely as you watch him fill up a glass of water. You wonder if he can hear the beating of your heart.

If he can, he doesn’t comment on it, instead breaking the silence when he walks over to you, “I hope you know what you’re signing yourself up for.”

You grin immediately. “Some fun, of course,” you reply, mentally marveling at your own wit.

Soonyoung fucking laughs at you. His eyes are peering down at you carefully as he juts the glass of water to you, and he doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that you should just take the damn glass and drink.

His gaze doesn’t waver when you bring the glass up to your lips, slowly but surely downing all its contents and letting the cool water attempt to put out the flames that burn in your stomach. “Good job,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand over your head when you place the glass on his coffee table, the simple but impactful words sending shivers down your spine.

Making the risky decision to test your luck once more, you bat your lashes and bring your arms closer together in front of you so that your tits bunch up, giving Soonyoung a perfect view from above. “So? When’s the fun gonna start?”

Something in his eyes darkens, but you choose to ignore it as Soonyoung slips his dark work coat off, letting it fall behind him on the coffee table. What follows is a heavy thud and clank and your stomach churns at the thought of what caused such a sound.

“Listen,” Soonyoung says, his voice firm but not as demeaning as before. “I need to know where your head is at.” he pauses.

You pout and then raise a challenging brow. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

Soonyoung chuckles, and reaches back for his coat, rummaging through the inner pockets for a moment as your blood runs cold in realization. He unsheathes a heavy black gun from the dark fabric, holding it close to his dress shirt as he smooths a finger over the barrel.

You try to move your fingers but they’re frozen in place as he watches the look on your face contort into some odd look of awe.

“Let me rephrase that,” Soonyoung murmurs. “I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

The air is stuck in your throat and your lungs squeeze and writhe for some semblance of sanity, but the way his thick fingers caress the heavy metal of the gun has your vision going blurry. He’s tracing over all the dips, the curves, the crevices, and you can only imagine what it’ll feel like if you had the cool, heavy, pistol pressed against your skin while Soonyoung’s fingers are all over you.

Your eyes are clouded, and he stills for a moment, subtly sliding the gun past his side and hiding it behind his back with one hand, using the other to grab your chin and tilt your head so you’re craning your neck to look up at him.

“So be honest with me right now.”

He doesn’t say it, but you know what he’s asking for. You don’t have to think about your answer, not one bit, and that’s because through everything, you trust Soonyoung. You trust him with your life, and you trust him with more.

“I’m willing to do whatever you want,” you tell him almost immediately. There’s no hesitation, no apprehension—Soonyoung knows when he looks you in the eye and he swears he feels his heart grow ten times in his chest when your pupils dilate.

Slowly, he brings his hand from his back to the front, the grip of the gun pressing back against his lower abdomen as he squeezes your cheeks together with his other hand. Your lips bunch together in a pucker and he pinches the bottom lip for a moment, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the drool that slides down his chin.

“That’s a pretty bold statement, princess,” he finally says, a sharp clicking sound resonating through the room when he shifts the gun in his hand.

“I can take it,” you insist through squished lips, looking up at Soonyoung with some kind of determination that boils his blood with pure passion.

“You’re confident …” he mutters, holding the gun close to your cheek, pressing the cold metal against your warm skin. You can’t be sure if action helps you cool down or only heats you up anymore, but a wanton whimper escapes your lips and suddenly you have your answer.

Soonyoung watches how you swallow at the contact, fingers quivering by your side and he lets his hand relax for a second, holding the gun by his side. “It’s unloaded.”

“I-I wouldn’t care either way,” you mumble, slightly annoyed that Soonyoung dropped his hand. “I trust you.”

Soonyoung smiles, letting go of your cheeks and instead gripping the back of your neck, running his thumb up and down your collarbone. “It’s okay to be scared, angel. Two taps to stop,” he tells you, pointing at his wrist.

You roll your eyes tentatively, unsure if it’s the right move. When Soonyoung quickly presses the muzzle against your lips, you deduct that rolling your eyes was, in fact, the best thing you could have done.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he mutters, feigning discontent as he tries to ignore the way his dick twitches in his work pants when you part your mouth and let the gun sink further into your mouth.

The taste of metal on your tongue is unfamiliar, and frankly the hardness of the gun is quite uncomfortable but when you press your tongue against the base of the barrel, and swirl it over the sides, you imagine it’s Soonyoung’s cock in your mouth instead.

He’s steadying you with his hand pressed at your neck, holding the gun at an angle above you without moving it. The sight of you sucking and struggling, drool dripping down your chin and skin flushing—he’s in heaven he swears.

Cute eyes looking up at him with such desperation, pleading with him silently because you can’t speak—not with the way his gun is stuffed between your pretty lips. “Fuck, how does it feel princess?” he groans at just the image alone.

You’re silent, because of course, how could you say a thing. The only sounds that bounce off the walls are the filthy slurping of your tongue and the hollowing of your cheeks, tears peeking from your waterline as Soonyoung presses the gun further down your mouth, the now slick barrel sliding easily past your teeth.

Your jaw aches and you gag as you adjust to the feeling, but the reality of it all starts to hit you, and it’s dizzying. Soonyoung—fuck, he’s here in front of you with his gun shoved down your throat and you’re looking up at him like he has all the answers to the universe and more.

And more is exactly what you want, and Soonyoung can tell because even as squeaks erupt from your throat and your fingers tremble when they fly up and grip at his thigh, you don’t pull away and you don’t tap out.

It’s worrying for a moment, because here you are with tears streaming down your cheeks but he can hear your silent pleas of don’t stop, please, please, please, don’t stop, and he feels he might go insane at the thought that you’re just as deranged as him.

“So pretty,” he praises, and you press your lips down and whine at the way the words have your cunt throbbing. Slowly, Soonyoung starts to pull the gun out of your mouth, your jaw going slack at the feeling of your tongue being free, but your face is on fire and you just need to do more.

You continue to lap against the gun, swirling it over the circular muzzle when he’s just about pulled it out all the way, not breaking eye contact with Soonyoung for even a moment. It’s addicting, the way he watches you—bottom lip lodged between his own teeth and jaw clenched tight as he imagines it’s his cock inside your mouth instead.

“God fuck, you’re insane,” he says when you kiss the side of the barrel one last time before he carefully places the pistol behind him. For the first time tonight (and ever, for that matter), Soonyoung kisses you. He grabs your warm face and leans down to smash his lips against your swollen, tired mouth.

You’re fatigued already, he can tell, and takes this as his chance to press his tongue against yours and explore the very mouth that sucked against his gun just moments earlier. He can still taste the metal on your tongue, letting your lips melt together as one for just a moment before pulling away.

He can tell there’s a complaint threatening to leave your lips, but he makes sure it shrivels when he shoots you a knowing look. “You deserve a reward, don’t you think? Did s’good for me …”

You nod eagerly, and Soonyoung is thoroughly surprised by how quickly you’ve bounced back, trailing his fingers down from your face to your waist, pulling you up to stand on your feet. Your legs are wobbly and for a moment, you stumble forward but Soonyoung catches you, his arm steadily belted around your hips.

“Already done?” he asks, but it’s more of a tease than anything. Still, you take it as a challenge and shake your head as he leads you to his bedroom. It’s dimly lit, only the moon through the window and its reflection against a mirror leading you the way to his bed as he hops on, laying back as you stand by the foot of the bed.

He raises a brow. “What are you waiting for? Strip.”

“W-what?”

Soonyoung is still fully clothed, legs spread slightly as he hikes one knee up and watches you expectantly. “Princess,” he coos, “I said strip.”

You shudder at the request when it finally sinks in, and you quickly follow by pushing your pants down and pulling your shirt off your head, leaving you completely topless, your lower half donned with nothing but a set of black satin panties.

Soonyoung swears his heart stops at the sight, and just as you’re about to push them down, he holds his hand out. “Leave them on, come here.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice this time, and you crawl onto the foot of the bed before making your way in between his legs, only stopping when Soonyoung places his heavy hands on your shoulders and smoothes them down your bare arms.

You sigh contently at the contact, instinctively shooting one hand between your legs to rub at the growing ache. You hardly make it though, Soonyoung’s hand shooting out and stopping your wrist halfway. “Thought you wanted a reward? Getting ahead of yourself, huh …”

You shake your head vehemently. “N-no—I jus’—need something, need you, Soonyoung,” you confess, leaning forward in hopes that he’ll meet you halfway for a kiss.

He doesn’t, opting to watch you amusedly as you squirm on all fours in front of him. “Show me how much you need me,” Soonyoung rasps out, helping you settle over yourself over his thigh before placing his arms behind his head and leaning back against the headboard casually.

Your eyebrows knit together, and you place your hands on his chest for hardly a second before he swats them away. “W-what?”

“Did you not hear me the first time?” he asks, and he’s definitely mocking you with his tone. “And keep your hands to yourself—you only get to touch me if you can prove to me you want this.”

“I want it, Soonyoung, so bad! So, so, so bad, you don’t understand!” you whine, bouncing yourself up and down to punctuate your word but gasps leaving your lips at the friction it leaves behind.

“Yeah well,” he sighs, adjusting his body so he’s laying even further back down. “Make me understand. Make yourself cum.” Your plush lips part, agape at his proposition. Why he can’t just fuck you into the sheets right here and right now is beyond you, but Soonyoung’s eyes light like a flame and you aren’t sure if you want to add fuel to the fire or put out.

Tentatively, you rut your core against the hard muscle of his thigh, the friction of his dark dress pants shooting pleasure through your flimsy panties. You have half a mind to rip the damn fabric off, but the rubbing of cloth that bunches around your clit is more pleasurable than anything.

“See,” Soonyoung murmurs, as you repeat the motion of rocking yours forward and back in a slow rhythm. “Pretty angel does know how to work for something. Let’s see if you can keep it up,” he hums, and you glower down at him.

“I-I know how to work,” you huff, grinding down extra hard as a means to prove your point, but your argument falls flat when you whimper, hands falling forward on his chest as your body lurches forward. Soonyoung’s own firm grip lands on your wrists, yanking them off of him.

“Do you, now?” he scoffs. “Can’t follow simple fuckin’ directions,” he says under his breath, and instead of glaring, your eyebrows furrow as you hold your arms close to your chest, massaging your tits yourself to keep your hands occupied.

“‘m sorry Soonyoungie,” you say softly, losing the attitude that held your head up and replacing it with a wave of compliance as you cling onto the friction against your cunt, desperate to not let your far-away orgasm to ebb away.

“Soonyoungie, huh?” he mutters, watching the way your tits bounce when you work your body in a harsher up and down motion, letting the soiled fabric of your panties to stain his own pants. “Cute name, but you’re gonna have to work a bit harder,” he comments, and he’s true to his word because Soonyoung does think it’s cute. He thinks you’re cute, and hot, and pretty, and the only person he wants to stick his dick into, but fuck, if he doesn’t want to make you beg, make you sob for it …

Fervently, you start to find a pace that’s steadily increasing, thighs burning and twitching at every brush of your sopping pussy over him. You’re wet—so wet—and you know Soonyoung can feel it through his pants. How he’s so still and composed is beyond you, and while you try to think about what’s running through his mind, your brain goes empty the second you feel one of his hands on your hips.

“So spoiled,” he chides, and you want to shake your head and protest, ‘cause no! You’re not spoiled! But you know damn well that’d be a lie, and as you feel Soonyoung flex his muscle beneath you and use his hand to help swivel your hips, it’s only confirmed.

“Hnggff—S-Soony—”

“S’okay,” he groans, when the knee that’s wedged between his legs brushes against his crotch that holds his undeniably hard cock. You both shudder at the feeling—Soonyoung because of the small but relieving stimulation, and you because of the anticipation of feeling him inside of you. “Go on, baby, can tell you’re close. Fuck yourself like this—I know you can do it.”

“Hurts,” you sigh softly as your legs begin to tremble and give into the fatigue. “Soonie, I can’t, I—” you cut yourself off with your own high pitched moan when he hikes his leg up a little higher, causing you ro shift forward and arch your back so that your clit was pressed perfectly against his thigh. “God, fuck.”

“What do you mean you can’t, angel?” he coos in that both infuriating and pulsing tone of his. “You’re doin’ it for me right now …”

“I—I …” the words dry right on your throat when your orgasm crashes into you, the ghost of Soonyoung’s name on your tongue as you fall forward. You know he told you no touching, no holding, none of that, but fuck, even he can’t be mad when you press your face into his chest with low mewls bubbling up in your throat.

Securing an arm around your waist, he bounces his thigh upwards to push you through your fall, squeezing out every last bit of pleasure you’ll allow him until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation but too exhausted to pull away.

“‘m tired,” you whine through broken gasps, as you pull away and look up blankly at the ceiling. Soonyoung watches the way your tits shift with every inhale and exhale, and before he knows it he’s fumbling at the buckle of his belt and shoving his pants and boxers down so his dripping cock can finally breathe.

The sound of his length slapping against his firm abdomen has you blinking into reality quicker than you can think, and you glance at Soonyoung who sits in front of you. His cock is standing up, pulsing tall and proud, adorning a pretty, angry tip that smears precum over his defined abs.

“Too tired?” he piques, but with the way that drool dribbles at the corner of your lips, he knows he already has an answer. Grinning when you shake your head vigorously, he shifts himself so his bare legs hang over the edge of the bed, his hands placed behind him as he leans back. “Get on the ground.”

Two hours ago, you would have shut down the proposition immediately. Getting on the ground for a man? Completely out of your scope. Unfathomable, honestly.

But Soonyoung’s voice is so … it’s—he isn’t proposing, or suggesting, or asking, no … Soonyoung is demanding and you’d be damned to let him think you’re anything less than obedient. Quickly, you push yourself up and crawl over to where he’s sitting before slipping off the bed and slotting yourself between his legs.

As you sit back on your heels, the wetness of your core slides down your thighs and as your legs press together, the arousal smears against your supple skin, undoubtedly making a mess. It feels so dirty and lewd but as Soonyoung watches you with dark eyes, you feel like the most beautiful person on the planet.

Gentler than you were expecting, he uses one hand to hold your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Angel got a smart mouth, huh,” he says, as if he’s talking to himself as he runs a thumb over your lips, starting from the top then circling down to the bottom. He scoops up some of the drool that you hadn’t wiped away and then pushes it all back into your mouth from the corner of your lips. “You think you can put it to good use?”

“‘course I can,” you say a bit more proudly than Soonyoung enjoys. You’re cute, yeah—fuck yeah—but you look up at him like it’s some sort of challenge and he just needs to remind you of who’s really in charge.

And so he holds you by the crown of your head, guiding your mouth close to his cock which dons a dribble of precum. You stick your tongue out at the sight, eyes wide in anticipation as he uses his other hand to guide your own fingers to your thigh. “Same thing,” he tells you, “two taps and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” you agree, verbally this time with a nod before pushing your tongue back out in hopes that he’ll speed it all out because fuck, you haven’t ever wanted to feel a cock in your mouth this badly. But who can blame you? It’s so long and thick and—god, it’s so heavy when he taps that tip against your tongue.

You open your mouth wider, anticipating him to push it down further like he did with the gun, but you should’ve known better. Should’ve known that Soonyoung likes toying around with you.

Soonyoung lets you lap precum off his shiny tip, swirling over the slit for just a second before he’s lifting his cock and then slapping it back down on your tongue this time. The contact is light, but the thickness of it all and the ache in your core has you pleading for more.

When a desperate whimper rips through your throat, Soonyoung grins. And so he does it again. And again. And again. Slapping his cock on your tongue until he can’t handle it anymore, cock throbbing at just the thought of you sucking against him like you did his pistol, and slides his length into your mouth without warning.

“Fuck,” he moans, and you vaguely wonder if there could be anything that sounds more melodic. You press your tongue against the length, hardening the tip and tracing it over the curves, the veins—anything and everything you can feel—as if you were trying to memorize him bit by bit.

Soonyoung basks in it, the image of you stuffed with his cock in your mouth, lips puffy but eyes somehow begging for more. He loves it, he tells himself in his head. Such a spoiled girl, but then again, his spoiled girl.

“Ready?” he asks, stiffening his hold on your hair and giving you a knowing look. Meekly, you nod with his cock still spreading your lips, and with nothing more than a nod, Soonyoung pushes you down his full length, nose pressed against his pelvis as you struggle to breathe through your nose.

And it hurts so good—your jaw is sore and you’re on the verge of gagging because he’s so big but something about the way your lungs burn and throat tightens has your mind set on not stopping.

Soonyoung is watching you intently when he finally lets go, pulling you off of his length and allowing you a moment to breathe. He wonders how far is too far with you, but when you just pant heavily, looking up at him with your tongue stuck out once more, inching closer to him, he figures he’s still got a long way to go.

So Soonyoung does it again; softly murmurs, “Take a deep breath,” and then yanks your head down until all you can feel is his cock bullying its way through your lips, your hollowed out cheeks, your throat. His loud moans egg you on, and you nearly start to tremble at the way you start to feel light-headed. He holds you down for longer this time, and this time, tears are gushing down your face but no, you won’t relent.

Its enthralling for the both of you, and it doesn’t stop. Soonyoung starts a pattern. Push down, hold, release, repeat. Push down, hold, release, repeat. And he does it until he feels his cock twitch in your warm mouth and has to almost push you back to hold off from cumming.

He just can’t do it, not yet. Not until he’s felt you flush against his skin, bodies intertwined as he fucks into you.

So when he pulls you off this time, you know it’s the last (for now, at least). You breathe steadily, in through your nose and out through your mouth as you recuperate, staring at the floor. Gingerly, Soonyoung hooks his hands under your arms and pulls you up so you’re sitting next to him on the bed.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly when he catches the clouded look on your face. When you slowly look at him and nod with a dazed smile, Soonyoung just knows he’s in love. You look so happy, so eager to submit and he loves the way you trust him, loves the way you know he’s going to treasure you.

“Sit here,” he instructs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your puffy lips as he stands up and walks over in front of the bed where his dresser is.

You frown at the idea of him being away from you. “Need it no-o-ow, Soonie,” you drawl out, standing up and making your way to Soonyoung, reaching out to place your palm against the hard muscle of his back. You run your hand over him, and for a few moments, he lets you.

You can feel the twitch of each hard earned, firm muscle as he moves around through his desk space, and you silently wonder what it’ll feel like to dig your nails into his back in another heated moment. Fuck, you’re so down bad.

“You’re so greedy,” Soonyoung mutters, finally turning around to grab your wrists. On one side, you feel something cool and soft press against your skin, and glancing down, you recognize it as the feeling of black satin against your arm. “I told you to sit down, didn’t I?”

You frown, but oblige anyways, shuffling over to the middle of the bed, sitting down neatly on your knees as Soonyoung stands in front of you by the edge. He’s holding the ribbon in both hands now, the silk taut as he holds it up to your head.

“You okay with this?” he asks, pressing the silk right up against your eyes that have since fluttered shut, but he doesn’t quite tie it just yet. You inhale deeply for a second and then nod. “Words princess. I need words.”

“Yes,” you comply. “I’m okay.”

As soon as you’ve given him the green light, he’s bringing the two ends of the silk behind your head and tying it into a tight knot. “Is it comfortable?” he asks sincerely, waving a hand in front of your face. “D’you see that?”

“Uhh, yes and no,” you respond, slightly confused and still getting used to not being able to see anything.

“Good,” he says to himself, and you feel the mattress dip, causing you to lose a bit of your balance, jutting your hands out to grab onto anything. Immediately, you feel Soonyoung’s hands on you, and your muscles lose their tension. “Relax. I’m right here.”

Those seem to be just the words you need to hear, because you’re sitting back down, sitting a bit more comfortably this time as you feel Soonyoung shift around on the mattress. This is Soonyoung, this is Soonyoung, you remind yourself, and he’ll always keep you safe.

“C’mere,” his thick voice breaks through your thoughts, and you flail around for a moment trying to trace his voice. There’s a hand on your shoulder soon, guiding you toward the direction of the headboard and you tentatively crawl over, yelling out in surprise when you quickly feel two hands wrap under your thighs and lift you up.

Your shock is soon replaced with a burning desire when Soonyoung finally places you on his lap, and you can feel his rock hard length pressing against your inner leg as you settle over his thighs. All you can hear for a moment is your sharp breaths, but then there’s a hard smack against your ass.

“Go on angel … you know what you want to do—what’re you waiting for?”

You want to curse Soonyoung right now, because how the hell d’he know? But then again, you don’t really care because here he is, egging you on.

So gingerly, you lift your hips over him and shuffle forward so that your stomach is pressed against his chest. You feel one of his hands find purchase on your waist while the other reaches between the dripping mess that starts to splay between your cores and positions his cock against your soaked folds.

And then he’s presses rough kisses into your neck and sliding his tongue over your collarbone, murmuring, “Go on princess, go on,” and you can fucking hear the own want in his strained voice. Soonyoung is just as far gone as you, but you don’t have the liberty to linger on that fact for more than a moment before your cunt takes hold of all your senses and you instinctively sink down on him.

The moan Soonyoung let’s out is deep, gruff, guttural, and has your walls instinctively clenching around him and your hazed frenzy. “Good girl,” he grunts as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

Your head swings around for a few moments as your eyes well up with tears from the initial stretch, but soon Soonyoung’s soft words of praise are pulling you down to reality and reminding you that he’s right here, that this is happening, whispering sweet and filthy nothings into your ear as you adjust to having him inside you.

“See,” he croons, stroking your chin with his thumb as you slowly grind down on him, both of you letting out soft gasps at the feeling. “Being so good for me, princess,” he hums, and you can’t even see the expression on his face but you know he’s not finished. “Wonder what the boss is gonna think of this,” he chuckles under his breath.

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders at his words, hugging his head close as you anticipate what he’s about to say next, trying your best to keep your soft mewls to yourself. It’s hard—really hard—because Soonyoung is big and he’s jutting his hips upwards sharply but sporadically, making it impossible to tell when he’s going to be punching moans straight out of your lungs.

“So good. Being so good for me, but so bad for everyone else,” he whispers into your neck as you start to bounce your hips to meet his thrusts halfway.

“Fuck,” you moan, both from the way he’s battering your inside, reaching so deep you don’t even know how he’s fit.

And Soonyoung doesn’t stop there, at least not with his words. “Sneaking out—” He snaps up harshly, his fat tip pressing against spots inside your cunt that have you writhing into him. “—Lying to your dad—” He continues to punctuate himself with more rough, emphasizing thrusts. “—Going out unattended—Breaking the rules—” He grunts out especially loudly at the last one, burying his head into your beck from the pleasure that radiates you both. “But you won’t do that to me, right princess? G’na be my good girl, right?”

“A-always,” you stutter out through strangled gasps for air as your body lurches around from the deep pounding of his hips. You’re so close—fuck it, you’re nearly there, and you pulse around him, digging your face into his hair from above as you try your best to swivel your hips but then, it all comes to a halt.

“Wha—what?!” you nearly shriek when he grips your hips so tightly that you both still, and suddenly the knot that’s been tying so carefully at the base of your stomach is unraveling and not in the way that you’d like. Your orgasm ebbs away into some far distance that you can’t reach, especially not in the frantic state you’re in after having lost just what might have been the best high of your life. “Why would you do that?”

Soonyoung watches your pained expression from below with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, quirking an eyebrow at your accusing questions. He presses a hand down on your stomach when you try to buck upwards for some—any—sort of relief. “You already came once. You didn’t think you’d get the second that easily, did you?”

Any snarky remark you’d be able to come up with withers away and all you’re left with is a big fat frown. “I—” you stutter in short breaths before huffing out, “I was s’close.”

“I know princess. But you can be good, right? Good for me?” he mutters, caressing the side of your face with the back of his hand before tugging at the silk, letting the blindfold fall from your eyes and land on his abdomen. Your eyebrows are furrowed in a way that Soonyoung can only describe as cute, and from beneath you, he brings his palm down on your ass harshly, the sound of the smack resonating through his room.

As you blink your eyes into comfort, adjusting to the dim light, Soonyoung lifts his hip, causing his length to shift deeper inside of you, and you lurch forward at the sensation of him kissing your cervix.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, eyes pressed closed tightly as he steadies your hips with his hands and in one swift movement, flips you both over so your back is to the mattress and he hovers on top of you.

You’re overwhelmed with it all—being deprived of your vision for so long and now you get to take it all in—the beads of sweat rolling down Soonyoung’s pretty peaks and valleys of abs, his dark hair splayed all over the face, flush cheeks and furrowed eyebrows as he focuses his vision on where his cock meets your cunt—fuck.

“You wanna cum?” he grunts in your ear, grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eye as he draws his hips back, slamming back into your sloppy cunt. Then he brings his lips right by the shell of your ear and in a hoarse, mangled whisper, he demands, “Beg for it.”

And beg you do.

You wrap your legs around Soonyoung’s waist and dig crescent moons into his shoulders, draw pretty red lines into his back and you sob into the sheets, into his shoulder. And your walls hug him in again and again and let him whisper filthy words into your ears until you can’t even comprehend the depraved images he’s drawing into your head.

Ecstasy courses through your veins and your body knows nothing other than the enigma that is Kwon Soonyoung who pushes you so far, until you’re breaking beneath him—a wailing mess as you tell him how good it all feels, how his fat cock batters your cunt so well that you can do nothing other than choke out sweet ‘thank you’s and hoarse, ‘please’s.

And he makes you work for it, just like he promised, urging you to beg just a little more, swiveling his thrusts so that each stroke hits all your sweet spots, finally giving in when he mutters into your neck, “Let go princess, let go.”

And when you finally feel every string that’s been so meticulously woven together, teetering at the edge of breaking for ages, you let it all snap. Crying into his skin as you let him fuck you into an orgasm, hitting you harder than you could even imagine as every muscle goes limp and all you know is Kwon Soonyoung is here next to you, and he here to stay, because after a few more pumps his hot cum is filling you to the brim and more.

Soonyoung kisses you like he could swallow you whole. Like he could bathe in nothing but your arms and be the happiest man alive.

It’s the realization that hits you when he collapses over you, the smell of sweat and sex consuming you as your mouths connect in a maniac passion. More. It’s always more with Soonyoiung. He’ll protect you and more. He’ll hold you and more.Stroking the curve of your hips gently, you know—he’s going to love you and more.

a/n. first part of new rules is done, three more to go! chan will most likely be next, so stay tuned hehe! i hope u all enjoyed :3

tags. @synthetickitsune @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @whippedforjihoon @xiaoting999  @hipsdofangirl @valenhui @nikkixpenguin @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @seokchannieworld @yunjinified @dnylwoo @nishloves @woozarts @etherealyoungk (strikethrough could not be tagged) join here!

[tripleglitchwriting]

Kinesthesis 3

Jazz/Prowl/HumanReader first contact AU

Part 2

I am so sorry this took so long 😭 but I finally got something out! This was written over the course of multiple months so if it’s inconsistent that’s why. Over my impromptu hiatus I’ve grown as a writer and as a person so that will probably change the way this story goes, but not to worry! I still plan on carrying on with this fic.

Be aware that I may not remember things about that last two chapters before this because it’s been a while. If you find any mistakes, let me know!

Also, thank you to the anons that encouraged me to keep going! This one goes out to you.

So, now you have quite a few problems. Not only were the ‘robots’ alive, they were also obviously damaged and asking for your help. Your help. Of all people. You still didn’t know where they came from, if someone was piloting them, how they got here, what that blue liquid was, or why one of them only made weird metallic scratching sounds. That one in particular really freaked you out when it first started ‘speaking’. At the time, you immediately assumed there was a metal demon somewhere coming to eat you.

Instead of that, they were just giant robots asking for your help in the middle of asscrack nowhere. Very simple. Foolproof, even. Nothing wrong there.

“I’m… going to get to work.” You told the one apparently named ‘Prowl’. He didn’t make any sputtering noises at you this time, so you took that as your go-ahead.

He was huge. Well, you knew that, but it was still jarring. You had to literally climb him to get to his wounds. Delicately placing your rag to the injured spot on his neck, you could feel the pump of something akin to a heart under the metal. Now that was weird. Wait, maybe it was just a fuel pump of somesort. He couldn’t… it couldn't have an actual heartbeat, right? Robots don’t have heartbeats.

That isn’t possible.

After a bit of cleaning up blue liquid and trying not to cut yourself on shards of metal, a realization dawned on you. These guys were more complicated than you thought. Really, a robot shouldn’t have this much… everything. They shouldn’t have half of whatever parts are in them. What kind of coding was driving them anyway? What fuel did they even use? The blue stuff?

Oh, who are you kidding. They aren’t robots. They can’t be. They can’t just be robots. They fell from the sky, of course they can’t be robots! Your heart picked up its already erratic pace, yet even with shaky hands, your work took priority.

Soon after there wasn’t a hole in Prowl anymore. Not one on his neck, anyway. You counted that as a win. But seeing as there were way more lacerations, dents, and cuts all over both of them, you definitely had the rest of your work cut out for you.

Simple. Foolproof, even. Nothing wrong there.

—---------------------

Jazz, with his sight still mostly busted, anxiously awaited some sort of indicator that the person helping them was actually patching up Prowl. They seemed pretty stunned earlier. Scared. He had assumed they’d run away and get help. That would be a more reasonable reaction, right?

Obviously it was probably better that they didn’t, this was a completely new planet after all. They’d be scrap if it weren’t for this random person helping them out. This person that is native to this new planet. With… no knowledge of Cybertronian biology- oh scrap. This person had no idea what they were doing!

“W – it! Wa– a - i!” Staticy, barely understandable garble came out of his vocalizer. He heard a tiny peep out of the little guy and a kind of ‘hrmph’ from Prowl.

“What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?” They squeaked in a comically high-pitch tone. “I- I’m sorry, I- know mechanics but this is kind of different and I don’t want to hurt anybody I just-”

“Y- yo- u kno- me- c– nics?”

“Um, yeah, it’s what I do. For school.”

“S- – -ry f’r t--e frig–t, I’m j-st co– m– in’ to–my–sen s- s- ses, an’ rel-i’ed wher– we ar’... an’ I don’ kn- kn- kn- – -w… ca—n– ya- re- – -y fi- x us?”

“O- oh, n- now yo- -y questi- on it?” Prowl commented from the sidelines. Jazz deliberately ignored him.

“I mean, I can, I just need some time to figure everything out… i- it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“W- Wha-t’s’t sayi- in- ing?”

“A- askin’ i- if it- it- it- hu- – -ts.”

“O- of co- rs’ it h-urts!”

“Wait, what’s he saying?”

Jazz cringed for a moment, realizing just how taxing it’s going to be on him to keep translating. Of course, he decided to use it to his advantage. Why not have some fun in the face of certain death?

“H- he s’ys h’s t—ckl’sh.”

“Oh, um, okay. Does that mean you guys can’t feel pain? Like, can I go harder with this? I have some power tools I can use back in—” Okay. Bad plan.

“N- N- N-O we C- – -N Fe’L It!”

“Oh, um, can or can’t?”

“C- C- C- C- CAAIIIEEEZZZZzzzt!” His vocalizer gave off a pointedly unpleasant sound just before shorting out.

“Is that… should I know what that means?” Jazz took a second to reset his vocalizer.

“N- n- n- o… b- b’t w– fe’l pa’n… i–t h- – -rts…”

“Can feel pain, got it. Um, is your voice okay? I can try fixing it… if that’s a thing I can fix…?” As much as he appreciated the gesture, Jazz wasn’t ready for that kind of operation.

“N- n - o thn’ks.”

“Alright… I’m gonna keep going here then.”

It was then, nearly offline, cut off from most forms of communication, on a completely alien planet, that Jazz realized this might be a little bit too much to handle.

“Y- y- you—re an ‘di—ot.”

“M- ay’e… bu— ‘least I c’n t- t- ta-k to ou- fr’nd ‘ere.”

“It’s Wh—lja’k, o- of c-cou’se I d- di—-nnooowoowOWW!” Jazz heard a loud crash followed by a tiny scream.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, what did I do? I- I didn’t know, oh my god…”

“Wh—t? —at ‘appe— d?!”

“I- I’m sorry, I think I hit something, I’m so sorry!”

“Pr—ler? P—owl!?”

He got a groan in response. A groan and a new, distinct, clear sound.

“—bbzzzt —- bzzzt ——tobots! This is Optim— —ime. If yo- can hear thi-, heed my call. The Arc is inoperable. Most of you are scattered across an alien world. While I do not know where the Decepticons have landed, I can confirm they are on the planet with us. Do not lose hope here, my friends. For the fate of Cybertron and the remaining Autobots rests in your capable servos. Attached to this message are the coordinates to the Arc, I will be waiting for you there. Good luck—- bzzzt —— bzzzt—-!”

The three sat in silence. While he couldn’t see the hologram that was most likely coming from Prowl’s projector, he heard what the message contained. They were safe. Optimus was safe. And he once again had a goal to achieve.

“Wh- what the hell was that!?”

“Th’nk Pri—us…” Prowl whispered.

“It -as… a- a- f- fri—nd.”

“Oh, okay. What did your friend say?”

“Th— w- we ha— so—me-here t- be.” Jazz attempted to move his body, but was once again denied. “W- we n- n- ne—d to g—-!”

“Hey, woah woah woah! You are not well enough to get up yet! I haven’t even started patching you up!”

“Aau—augh! I- I- kn— Ratc— uh, I- I- I kno—“

“Settle down. I- I’ll be as fast as I can, alright?”

Jazz huffed in halfhearted agreement. Prowl, on the other hand…

—---------------------

He thought this was an incredible waste of their time. Oh, sure, he needed to be fixed, but he was doing just fine now and he did not need help from a mysterious stranger he couldn’t understand. How could he, Prowl of Petrex, need the help of a tiny little creature like this one? There was no such need. The only need he had was to get himself and Jazz functional again, report back to Optimus, and win the war.

He tried to get up. After about half a second of metal creaking, unconscious groaning, and a little squeak from his benefactor, his body gave out. His spark burned with a searing mixture of frustration and stress as he tried to clench a servo. But of course he couldn’t. Of course he was stuck. Injured, vulnerable, and useless. But still, Optimus needed him. Needed them. So he needed to get up!

“C- cal- m d- do— n Pr—‘er… ye’ sca- a- rin’ ‘em…” He could hear panicked chittering from somewhere on top of him. He had half a mind to shoo the thing away, but even if he could raise his servo, he knew this was his only hope. He would never admit that, obviously, but deep in his spark he knew.

He didn’t respond to Jazz. He didn’t need to. He just focused on the little twinge of pain somewhere atop his chassis and a wound being sealed. A familiar feeling. Not too familiar, not like this, but enough to be comforting.

He imagined the medbay in the Arc. That time when they defeated the enemy and no one had to die. They won, and everyone cheered and celebrated and did whatever people do to express joy during a war.

He was unconscious for cycles. Just because nobody died doesn’t mean nobody was hurt. And he was really, really hurt. But it didn’t matter, not even to him. Moments like that are rare, after all. When one could rejoice without mourning the loss of a friend. He’d only expected Ratchet or First Aid to stay with him during that time. Who wouldn’t want to celebrate the spoils of victory? No one is willing to give up a moment of solace like that. No one is stupid enough to pass up the opportunity for happiness. Except Jazz.

Jazz stayed with him the whole time. He stayed by his bedside, refusing to leave once the required surgery was over. He brought glasses of energon for both of them. To share.

Prowl didn’t wake up then. He missed the party and the congratulations and the relief. He missed Jazz telling him stories and about his day. He missed when the rest of the crew stopped by to check on him. When he did finally come out of stasis, Jazz wasn’t there. Not of his own volition, but because he passed out on the floor due to exhaustion. They both got a long lecture about taking care of themself from Ratchet when it was over.

And Jazz is there, now, still with him. Bleeding out and broken, but still there. And Prowl was powerless to help him. His HUD sang one final message in his head before it went suddenly silent, and he fell helplessly into the deep abyss of stasis.

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

I gotta blabber for a sec about how much I appreciate how unique and SO not-simple of an antagonist Olrox is.

like he's introduced as the Vampire Who Kills Richter's Mom, and it was a straight-up murder. Like he fully sought her out, she was in the process of sending her kid overseas most likely because she knew he was coming - even before we fully get Olrox's side of the context, we can tell that shit was personal. Right down to the vivid green eyes, he's giving weirdly chill disney villain vibes. But the entire rest of the show? He's the dude in the bad guy car of the villain train just sitting and judging (OH is he judging) every other person there.

Olrox tracking down and killing Julia Belmont is the most confrontational we ever see him get. Every other scene he's in? He's watching, assessing, sometimes philosophizing, and eventually pulling his own chess moves, but fighting? Rarely! And the additional context of his character makes him even more fascinating!!

Olrox is really one of the only vampires in both Castlevania and C: Nocturne that seems to hold onto a connection to a human's life - even after he's no longer one. He reminisces to Mizrak about being a human during the fall of the Aztec Empire, he chooses to spend his time more like a human than any vamp since Lisa sent Dracula traveling like a human way back when.

Homeboy crossed the Atlantic by fucking ship, at a time when the trip took literal weeks and weeks and he can't even leave his quarters except at nighttime (granted, idk if he *has* a faster way to cross the ocean but it kinda seems like he'd do the ship trip anyways) he chooses to rent a room at an inn instead of staying at the chateau (and boink a cute human in said room, cough cough), and really seems to avoid other vampires - although I'm not sure if that's cuz he just doesn't vibe with 'em in general, or because he really doesn't vibe with the current hot vampire philosophy of the century, which seems to be very heavy-handled colonialism + elitism

I kinda wouldn't be surprised if it's both honestly - given that the only other vampire we meet besides him who spent time in the americas/new world was a literal plantation owning slaver (and unless I misremember, Annette says there were multiple vampires among the rich in St. Domingue), it seems pretty likely to me that whoever turned him was probably a vamp who had a direct hand in the downfall of his nation - coming to the New World specifically for conquest and to seize resources seems like it would be hella appealing for vampires. It would make a LOT of sense for Olrox's standoffish behavior around the other vamps to go back to him having been turned by someone very similar to them, who was probably not just an enemy to him, but part of this massive wave of destructive change in his human life.

like he really gives an impression of actively disliking and withdrawing from every other villain's motivation in this show - and it makes a lot of sense if my speculating is even a little bit close. The vampire's goals in Nocturne would be very nearly the same thing that drove the fall of the Aztec Empire - desire for power and control, justified by some """""natural order"""" hierarchy which really just boils down to 'we want all of this and we're going to indulge in making up a dramatic jerk-off reason why we're entitled to it, since you can't stop us taking it anyways and we've got time'

Dude seems to make little effort to be vampire-like - we rarely see him revel in his power like many other vampires do, as well as seeing him nonchalantly rubbing elbows with humans. He speaks fondly of a man he loved, who he fell for while said guy was still human, TO the other human he is currently crushing on! And I do mean crush, like he doesn't react to or treat Mizrak like a plaything, almost every time we get an Olrox lore-drop it's because he's talking to Mizrak sincerely about things that matter to him. He LIKE-likes this human, to the point of jumping directly into a fight to whisk Le Crush to safety in front of a vampire so powerful he won't directly oppose her! Absolutely fascinating behavior all around.

MAN but I want to see some flashbacks from this guy - as far as we know, vampirism is completely an Old World thing - Europe, Asia, Africa, every other vampire we've seen in both Castlevania shows has been from these continents. Were there even any vamps there at all before europeans landed on the shores of the americas???? I mean, I've heard of one of the old religions in mesoamerica having a suspiciously vampirelike god, but how would that connect to Olrox getting vampirized as a 30ish Aztec man?

MAN OH MAN but I am looking forward to seeing what Olrox gets up to in s2 -I'm burning to know if he's gonna survive the series or not, because despite him being the first villain we meet in Nocturne and doing a deed that usually gets villains the 'karmic death' ending, overall he's not really being written like a bad guy the audience wants to see go down. especially since he's not actually in opposition to our protagonists and has a vested interest in keeping one of Team Good Guys newer members alive. My guess is he's either going to get a similar ending to Isaac, a villain that we root for who actually catches a break and doesn't die, ooorrrrrrrr he's gonna get a Highly Tragic sort of death