#born with a natural tan

[jenjenthevirgo]

Absolutely ADORE being black (tho we are not made to feel safe in a lot of spaces intentionally) in spite of all the hate and rhetoric inciting violence against our loved ones—I still am so grateful to be born a blk girl.

It really truly is a beautiful blessing! 🙌🏽✨🥳🥰

💙

[bitterrfruit]

price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

[acti-veg]

Leather vs. Pleather: 8 Myths Debunked

Since we are all beyond tired of seeing the same regurgitated leather posts every day, I've compiled and briefly debunked some of the most common myths peddled about leather and pleather… So hopefully we can all move on to talk about literally anything else.

1) Leather is not sustainable.

Approximately 85% of all leather (almost all leather you'll find in stores) is tanned using chromium. During the chrome tanning process, 40% of unused chromium salts are discharged in the final effluents, which makes it's way into waterways and poses a serious threat to wildlife and humans. There are also significant GHG emissions from the sheer amount of energy required to produce and tan leather.

Before we even get the cow's hide, you first need to get them to slaughter weight, which is a hugely resource-intensive process. Livestock accounts for 80% of all agricultural land use, and grazing land for cattle likely represents the majority of that figure. To produce 1 pound of beef (and the subsequent hide), 6-8 pounds of feed are required. An estimated 86% of the grain used to feed cattle is unfit for human consumption, but 14% alone represents enough food to feed millions of people. On top of that, one-third of the global water footprint of animal production is related to cattle alone. The leather industry uses greenwashing to promote leather as an eco-friendly material. Leather is often marketed as an eco-friendly product, for example, fashion brands often use the Leather Working Group (LWG) certificate to present their leather as sustainable. However, this certification (rather conveniently) does not include farm-level impacts, which constitute the majority of the negative environmental harm caused by leather.

2) Leather is not just a byproduct.

Some cows are raised speciifically for leather, but this a minority and usually represents the most expensive forms of leather. This does not mean that leather is just a waste product of beef and dairy, or that it is a completely incidental byproduct; it is more accurate to call leather a tertiary product of the beef and dairy industries. Hides used to fetch up to 50% of the total value of the carcass, this has dropped significantly since COVID-19 to only about 5-10%, but this is recovering, and still represents a significant profit margin. Globally, leather accounts for up to 26% of major slaughterhouses’ earnings. Leather is inextricably linked to the production of beef and dairy, and buying leather helps make the breeding, exploitation and slaughter of cows and steers a profitable enterprise.

3) Leather is not as biodegradable as you think.

Natural animal hides are biodegradable, and this is often the misleading way leather that sellers word it. "Cow hide is fully biodegradable" is absolutely true, it just purposely leaves out the fact that the tanning process means that the hide means that leather takes between 25 and 40 years to break down. Even the much-touted (despite it being a tiny portion of the market) vegetable-tanned leather is not readily biodegradable. Since leather is not recyclable either, most ends up incinerated, or at landfill. The end-of-life cycle and how it relates to sustainability is often massively overstated by leather sellers, when in fact, it is in the production process that most of the damage is done.

4) Leather is not humane.

The idea that leather represents some sort of morally neutral alternative to the evils of plastic is frankly laughable, at least to anyone who has done even a little bit of research into this exploitative and incredibly harmful industry. Cows, when properly cared for, can live more than fifteen years. However, most cows are usually slaughtered somewhere around 2-3 years old, and the softest leather, most luxurious leather comes from the hide of cows who are less than a year old. Some cows are not even born before they become victim to the industry. Estimates vary, but according to an EFSA report, on average 3% of dairy cows and 1.5 % of beef cattle, are in their third-trimester of pregnancy when they are slaughtered.

Slaughter procedures vary slightly by country, but a captive bolt pistol shot to the head followed by having their throats slit, while still alive, is standard industry practice. This represents the “best” a slaughtered cow can hope for, but many reports and videos exist that suggest that cows still being alive and conscious while being skinned or dismembered on the production line is not uncommon, some of these reports come from slaughterhouse workers themselves.

5) Leather often involves human exploitation.

The chemicals used to tan leather, and the toxic water that is a byproduct of tanning, affect workers as well as the environment; illness and death due to toxic tanning chemicals is extremely common. Workers across the sector have significantly higher morbidity, largely due to respiratory diseases linked to the chemicals used in the tanning process. Exposure to chromium (for workers and local communities), pentachlorophenol and other toxic pollutants increase the risk of dermatitis, ulcer nasal septum perforation and lung cancer.

Open Democracies report for the Child Labour Action Research Programme shows that there is a startlingly high prevalence of the worst forms of child labour across the entire leather supply chain. Children as young as seven have been found in thousands of small businesses processing leather. This problem is endemic throughout multiple countries supplying the global leather market.

6) Pleather is not a ‘vegan thing’.

Plastic clothing is ubiquitous in fast fashion, and it certainly wasn’t invented for vegans. Plastic leather jackets have been around since before anyone even knew what the word vegan meant, marketing department have begun describing it as ‘vegan leather’ but it’s really no more a vegan thing than polyester is. Most people who wear pleather are not vegan, they just can’t afford to buy cow’s leather, which remains extremely expensive compared to comparable fabrics.

It is striking how anti-vegans consistently talk about how ‘not everyone can afford to eat plant-based’ and criticise vegans for advocating for veganism on that basis, yet none of them seem to mind criticisms directed at people for wearing a far cheaper alternative than leather. You can obviously both be vegan and reduce plastic (as we all should), but vegans wear plastic clothing for the same reason everyone else does: It is cheaper.

7) Plastic is not the only alternative.

When engaging in criticism of pleather, the favourite tactic seems to be drawing a false dilemma where we pretend the only options are plastic and leather. Of course, this is a transparent attempt to draw the debate on lines favourable to advocates of leather, by omitting the fact that you can quite easily just buy neither one.

Alternatives include denim, hemp, cork, fiber, mushroom fiber, cotton, linen, bamboo, recycled plastic, and pinatex, to name a few. Alternatives exist for everything from materials designed to ensure sub-zero temperatures and specialist motorcycle equipment. There are exceptions in professions like welding, where an alternative can be difficult to source, but nobody needs a jacket, shoes or a bag that looks like leather. For most of us, leather is a luxury item that doesn’t even need to be replaced at all.

8) Leather is not uniquely long-lasting.

The longevity of leather is really the only thing it has going for it, environmentally speaking. Replacing an item less often means fewer purchases, and will likely have a lower environmental impact than one you have to replace regularly. Leather is not unique in this respect, however, and the idea that it is, is mostly just effective marketing.

As your parents will tell you, a well-made denim jacket can last a lifetime. Hemp and bamboo can both last for decades, as can cork and pinatex. Even cotton and linen can last for many years when items are looked after well. While some materials are more hard wearing than others, how long an item will last is mostly the result of how well made the product is and how well it is maintained, not whether or not the item is leather.

[vivisviolets]

⛓ who is your tribe? 𓆩📓𓆪 𓆩🖤𓆪 how will you meet? ⛓

✮i love how i connected these 3 pics im sooo smart guys

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ -pick the image that gotchu good 👁👁 gotcha eyes~ you know how to do it I know you do- if you feel unclear, take a nice deep breath, connect with spirit/God/your higher self, and ask what messages would serve you in this very moment~ this has been your radio host vi-vi talkin🎙, and I'll catch at your pile~🖋️✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖✮pile 1✮˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Five of Swords (reversed), Five of Wands (reversed), Ace of Wands, The Hierophant, Page of Cups (bottom of deck)

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ (slight 18+ cw) Libra/air placemnets, 7th house (Sun/Moon/Rising/Mercury/7h dominant etc), 1 house placements, Aries placements/degrees (Moon/Rising, etc), Nepo baby/“girl(boy/kid)-next-door” vibes, hair extentions, “going blonde”, Legally Blonde, angel numbers 1111, 222, 2424, 1234, channeled songs, Casual - Chappell Roan + How to be a Heartbreaker - MARINA

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Hello my pile 1s!!!!! omg i wanted to jump right in but I feel the need to greet you into this becaussse- omg you are gorgeous- like I am being so fr DO NOT play yourself down I can hear the mind chatter of some of you gearing up at me saying that,-shut that shish down. on the other side of this group,- you already know you were born beautiful, raised beautiful, and have always been your own created beauty, you’re so tapped into that and really you always have- so I want everyone in this pile, to align to that energy rn. 👏R👏N👏. No matter your upbringing, whatever your family told you, your past friend groups, your classmates,- you don’t got to do or be someone else’s anything. you speak for yourselfff- and you always have!! no matter how deep your security periods were, you still radiated- radiance�� and strength- damn you guys are strong, no matter how “submissive” some of yall feel to be (your vulnerability is divine btw and def a part of your strength)- you are strong af. strong in only a way the wind is (I mean think of how destructive that nature can be yet how soothing its flow is when it is calm) or a polished pillar… I JUST KEEP HEARING IT- YOU GUYS ARE BEAUTIFULLLL. ugh I gotta get into more dets for you- I’m hearing that some of you are blonde (natural/dyed/bleached it dont matter) and damn does it make you look like a star ☆- PLEASEEE YOU’RE A STARRR ♥️- sorry- it looks so good on you the more fair aura because that is definitely the color of your aura in social situations (I’m hearing pale lavender, blue, pink, yellow), I’m hearing you have very calming eyes.. something about the color of your eyes is very “even” in color, or you may know how to keep very even eye contact and that makes the color of your eyes stand out (anyyy eye color- I’m even seeing some of you may have a kind of heterochromia where you may have a dot of brown in your blue iris/other colors apply, etc), some of the people who you’ve kept such level eye contact with during conversation- they think they’d be able to see your eyes in a dark room they stand out so much…

oh my god pile 1 you are a star- moving forward I have to mention, some of you are very proud brunettes- as you fucking should be because oh my jesus that’s hot, your hot, you are a star ★, a superstar- I am not just saying that holy shit. I’m seeing you may stand out in your friend group or who you usually hang out with due to your coloring whatever that may mean (for example cus we’re on the topic of hair- you may be a blonde within a lot of brunettes, or vice versa- you may have brown eyes among a bunch of blue/green eyes, vice versa- you may be only one who tans, has lots of birth marks, wears their hair natural, etc etc),- now I’m hearing I should be giving random styling opinions/boosting- so if you have a y2k grunge aesthetic, or old hollywood glam style you look incredibleeee- don’t you fucking dare bring your body type into this- if you’re an apple body you look like literal heaven in a pair of low rise bedazzled jeans- long straight hair looks so good with your body shape, get wigs if you’ve been thinking about it- get braids if you’ve been wanting them- different color highlights is definitely a good idea (blonde, orange, blue, purple), tighter tops look so good on your body shape (lace up ones or ones with details/graphtics)- a clean sleek white dress would literally ☆shock☆ everyone in a room who knows you/your style (and ppl who don’t know you loll), nude makeup that matches the rest of your undertones, glossy press on nails, one piece of jewelry per type here and there,- some more gn/masc opinions I’m hearing are more shaped clothes, botton downs tucked in high rise straight down jeans/pants (showcase the shape of your shoulders and waist a bit moreee)- I’m hearing if you were to wear a brooch of somekind on your shirt pocket you’d drive someone “wild”-… I MEAN MAYBE THAT’LL JUST BE ME 💞💀- curls look so great on you also, like if you did a larger loose curl somewhere in the front of your hair- gel curls would also look hot on you- star accents of some kind (jewelry, belt charms, keychains, even tattoos),,, you are totally someone’s “pretty boy”/“pretty girl”/“pretty baby”… OH MY GOD THIS IS A RELATIONSHIPS/FRIENDSHIPS PAC WHERE WAS III-

so I was getting into it even in the energy check-in some of you may be coming from a place of past drama- yes I said past bc even if it's fresh it will be past, and in that it is already the past babe. so anyway- there is something.. romantic here- possibly, but really I’m hearing you are in admiration by a lot of eyes-… now I’m hearing “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid lol BAHHA oooohh~ you think your life is really mundane and so you’re hearing me say you have eyeballs on you like “… I leave my house once a week”- …bitch- your envioment means nothinggg and can change when you want it to fr. no matter your place this is your natural energy- I’m hearing your natural energy is being a socialite- and I mean you are meant to shine like a glittery star in various rooms- WITH YOUR GAL PALS!! this can even apply for going into a business/professional environment where you speak and interact with a lot of people and you are at the center of that- But anyway take it where it may apply. for some of you- you may do amazing in more queer centered places (clubs, awareness groups, or even drag shows in your area), places with a lot of creativity in relation to fashion (maybe even theater?) and makeup- for others here you should get out more in your school/college (gardening clubs or outdoor volunteer work would definitely benefit you), even if it’s just walking around your enviroment- wherever you walk you own, and you make yourself known…

I’m seriously feeling that so hard- AND SOME OF YOU DARE TO TURN A BLIND EYE TO YOUR OWN INNER SHINE. it's seriously beginning to bug me how you’re still staying in this insecure, bitter, fearful, energy, that is not yours but you continue to claim it!!! WTF. anyways, to those of you resonating with that- I’m being sooo fr, as soon as you kick those feelings to the curb (to be run over and killed 💅) and you fully allow yourself to bloom and allow the sun to shine on you- there will be buzzing. BUZZINGGGG🐝. put yourself out there and seriously just experiment with what it feels like to be with different social groups, don’t take it personally, expect nothing, just do it for your own self experimentation~ doesn’t that sound fun??? I'm getting the tingles just thinking about it~again with those spaces I talked about, no matter your feelings- wherever you walk you own. you belong because you know you belong in yourself. that’s your natural state and no matter how vicious some people were in seeing that in you, you still own that about you ☆ and it is your choice to use that divine gift given to you. please trust and believe when I say that once you step into that inner, pure, state of being- you will be divinely protected, any ◉ attacks are small potatoes and will be diced.

ANYWAYS WOOO- ummm all those spaces that I mentioned are fully open to you, and are definitely where you’ll meet your tribe- again, I’m seeing your “tribe” will more so be you being you and coming in and receiving a lot of admiration- people will just love to talk to you as soon as you come in (I’m seeing especially for the queer/fashion/creative group people coming up to you with armfuls of clothing joyfully wanting your opinion I loveee this for you)- I’m speaking about the future mainly to my more underdeveloped group of this pile, but let me jump into the future which is the place some of you are very much stepping into rn!!!- you’re having people crossing their legs in club booths to fit more people into your get to together- BAHHA- people want to be close to you, catch up, ask where you’ve been traveling to or what you’re wearing- and you’re finally soaking it all up and sitting so relaxed, your smile is dazzling and you’re taking a nice breath in and out as all of this healthily regulates your ego + your higher self.. this is honestly giving that if you weren’t the “queen bee” in your high school- you are now but in your 20s/30s/40s/etc!! and you’re handling it amazingly well, because you still choose to go home solo most nights still high and happy ♡ I love this for you. you also get asked to be the leader or placed as the head of a lot of different projects- it’s more so you oversee them and everyone works around you- the thing is, that you don’t let all this go to your head because you’ve already grounded your self-worth- and because of that attitude, people then want you around even more. when you come in, people want you in your group for the day/hour/20 minutes before another group wants you lol.

you’re fabulous ok? it’s more than fine to be that, it’s divine ♡! soo many people are going to feel like the moth to your flame, it’s already been destined to happen literally😵💫!!!! just keep a watch out for the ones taking too much from you or being up and down with their give-and-take from you, because you deserve someone/people around you who stay hot for you and fan your bright flame while enjoying its warmth (unless they need their own personal space- ppl are ppl, not npcs lol)… I guess I should just briefly state before I finish your reading- the chorus of Casual by Chappell Roan was replaying through your whole reading- I’m not saying this as a cop-out, you have people stopping and, in fact, falling to their knees when they’re in your energy. I see one or two people who are already a part of your larger group environment being very infatuated with you (and I’d definitely keep your eye on them and remain open to this possibility- for some of you this special someone is in your group setting is so pure in their affection towards you and could,, be the one. I'm dead serious about that- but also HEHHEHHEHE💞- oh how I love-love♡),- but I’m mainly seeing a lot of first dates for you guys as you continue to get out there, and that is far from a bad thing because- who wouldn’t want a change at even just one date with you??? (take rejection as non-personal ofc- ppl have free will- and stupidity) and also you get the chance to see how you adapt and interact with new people which is terrific for you!! mannn do I see you getting accepted and taken out by so many people, assholes included but also a lot of “gentlemen”/“babes” who will gladly treat you extremely well and or will be pulling all the charm and fun within them for you- even if they know it’s just one night with you… I’ll just say, you do attract people who want to serve you… on their knees definitely-

AND THAT IS WHERE I WILL LEAVE ITTTTT FOR NOWWW- I’m so so soooo happy to have had you all here todayyyy your life is seriously going to keep going up-up and away if you’ll just allow yourself to see that steady climb and trust it <3 I seriously love youuuu I almost don’t want you to leaveee just like how everyone else feels BAHHA- love you.~

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out is it casual now- two weeks and your mom invites me to her house in Long Beach is it casual now” - “it’s hard being casual when i’m on the phone talking down your sister”

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ "This is how to be a heartbreaker- boys they like a little danger" - "singing I lo-lo-love you"

⋆ ˖✮pile 2✮˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Ten of Pentacles (reversed), Ace of Pentacles, Nine of Cups, Queen of Cups, Six of Swords (reversed) (bottom of deck)

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Aquarius/Gemini/Libra placements, Capricorn/earth placements, Mercury dominant, Saturn dominant, 2nd house placements black lace, black on black, cinnamon, The Spice Girls, The Cheeta Girls, H2O, 2000s nostalgia, high school reunions, ex-friendship rebirth, stand up, saturday night bars, life path number 11, angel numbers 1111, 1212, 1313, 1221, channeled songs, Party for One - Carly Rae Jepsen, Heat Waves - Glass Animals

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ You guys are funny- just gonna say it off the bat I’m feeling silly with you rn ngl BAHHAHHAhehe- ok um HI PILE 2S!! I shouldn’t yell- let me not yell- some of you are coming from pile 1,, heyyy pile 1s~ ouw~ ok ok, you smiling could light up a room, a house, a complex, a broken oven. AHAHAH- what beautiful teeth and lips you have there- pile 2s. I’m seeing, so many different teeth and lip shapes before you come for me- straight, crooked, vener-white, “needs-a-cleaning” off-white, upside down smiles, nonsymmetrical dimples, big lips, small lips, uneven lips, scarred lips- you get it, I don’t give a shit. when you smile and give that big cackle, chuckle, chortle- you do what you do with joy- and people believe in jesus. people believe that pigs really do have wings. people believe that the sun must shine from your ass. truly. I mean truly. I’m sitting here with my fingers together like- hm. yes. how do I write this all- with a straight face without being sardonic… sardonic? do you guys read? I think you read. now I’m hearing “you thought you ate that-“ that meme, I know that you know it- let me stop. for-… 5 minutes… so we would probably connect really well- which is why I am all over the place, because you are also all over the place (yes I am shading you. respectfully.) someone here does really good impressions, including animals… whatever that means…- BAHAH, you guys would do great in stand up of some kind, either that or you’re known as the funny co-worker. you guys have this range when it comes to your sense of humor, where it is either very dry, with the most composed pauses (when I manage to do that without bursting into your own laughter), and or you guys are so fast like- the editing of a youtube video fast with the jokes- and or a mixture of the two where you’re able to pull off very intricate jokes very quickly in the moment. and jeeze people find you so charming, even more so because of the way you look as well, it’s almost weirdly uncanny to some people how someone with the level of physical attractiveness that you carry (it’s so heavy and so much I know it’s so hard✨) and you then can pull off such- hilarity. and they're like- “…do they know they could be a model??? like- are they aware?? are they using this comedy because they don’t see that about themselves??”… it’s giving “i didn’t know women could be funny” (goes for nb/men too ofc)…

wow- kill them with a spoon 🥄- anyways WOW. so I think you may have, a lot of perceptions of you by people around you who haven’t known you for very long, mainly revolving around your looks- yes your looks. your modesty is attractive but it won’t fly in this courtroom👩‍⚖️- you are attractive in some way, or have an appearance that people definitely admire- but also scrutinize, or underestimate… you definitely get belittled. ok- that sucks- point them out to me?… yea I thought so they are so ew. I don’t care if that person is your mother, your father, or your co-workers who’ve been working at the place for 5 years longer than you- they are ew. anyone who puts you down due to their own pre-made perception of you is ew. ick even. yea, I’m seeing the issue here is not like most other piles I read for where it’s a growth journey with self and insecurity- no you’re good rn you’re like totally chilling. and I love that because I’m chill now, I’m dipping my tea bag up and down and sitting with you I’m so chill. but I had to look into anything going on because- drama, keeps you reading. so main issue I’m exposing is that there are people around you, in your space, a space you “have” to be in like work or even college classes I’m hearing- most people around you mind their own business, good on them, I love them- other people… they dress you up as something in their mind for their own- amusement?? or to feel a sense of having an eagle eye over “you”- and I say “you” in quotations because wtf- they do this… so as to spice up their own boring life? this is a weird form of admiration, because even if it’s a shitty thing to see you as, with them placing you so strongly in this box- they’ve placed you also on this pedestal… that’s probably why even with this obvious bullshit you’re still just chilling- because you know that if someone has built this all up to be who you are- it means you’re the best. and they’re the lowest. the end. anyway my back hurts- someone here likes podcasts, I’m seeing the The Broski Report podcast (broski nation✊) and also Murder, Mystery, & Makeup- again you guys really just chill, drink a bit of wine and entertain yourself.- so let me move onnn and see what transformations might be gearing up in your social life hun~

ok so it’s not “crickets” happening in your social life, not at all- but again you guys are just so, content and used to yourselves (this is my pile who talks to themselves in the mirror I see you)- when I asked yall if you felt lonely I literally drew a blank. and this is actually perfect because it’s seriously when you’re not looking/expecting and you're all good with what you have that you get given so much- so this is where I’m going to remind you all to actively meditate on keeping yourself open. don’t expect anything, just stay open and ponder what you’d like- and you’ll receive. that’s literally it. you’re in prime manifesting energy with how content and at peace you are in yourself- do you know how much you attract when you do that shit???? remain. open. and. aware. of anything that may happen, even if someone trips in front of you and you gain a brief interaction or someone asks you where to find extra office supplies and you show them the supply closet- see your abundance, allow it, remain without expectations. you are literally in the perfect energy for so much. You guys are definitely the type however to be really fine with only a few close friends you can have some fun with (and or have a nervous breakdown with) and some family… but I think this contentment you have with yourself, might have come from you feeling- misunderstood in your sense of humor or self-expression. I gotta say, you definitely handled that disappointment well, since instead of dulling yourself you just shine more inwardly for your own enjoyment and entertainment- and that’s wonderful! but I do gotta say- I know you can feel a bit, pent up. due to a lot of your big personality being fitted within you, and that’s fantastic truly- but also it has the same effect of being stuck in your house alone for one week too long. maybe that’s why you read when you can- you get to be in a very expansive and wide world that feels different from your own… oh god did I make you yearn???? oops I’m sorry. anyways!!

you’d really thrive in some environment that feels more- “widespread” I suppose, that doesn’t mean cracking yourself open to a room of strangers, I mean just sharing yourself- still from a place of your own entertainment- what I mean is that it’d be really healthy for you to find an outlet for the pent up jitters you get- find it online if you want to try that, try little baby steps, why not?- go on one-time dates just to release a bit of what you keep inside you- interact with random people sitting next to you at bars,- no attachments, just feel out what you feel when you let your inward personality, be more outward- on a lease 🐩. I’m hearing some of you may be a little fearful of attachment even, work that out- that doesn’t mean you’ll then sacrifice your peace, you’ll just gain a wider world for yourself by gaining new connections- and obviously, with the personality and personhood that you have- you can totally just pick and choose who gets to be a part of that world and your time! you owe nothing to anyone. do you have any actual clue how many people are out there, whose perception of you is not just what they observe, but what you actually are? and their perception of you actually helps you and is used to contribute to your happiness and peace??? yea. having actual friends is freaking great. and the more you simply open yourself up to that- while staying aware and choosing who you want- that is going to be the big door that’ll be opened to you- you’ll receive so many amazing experiences and will shift and broaden your world and the worlds of others, you’ll be like a big tree, growing it’s roots around other trees- isn’t that soooo cute??? ok I’m trying to see into the future details in regards to you finding your “tribe”- spirit is honestly wanting things to be vague, so as you can remain open without any expectations. kk? I mean what I mentioned with the earlier situations gives you the clues to follow if you so choose- just be youuuu. you have more opportunities than you realize and you got all the answers to what to do within you. trust me when I say you’ll be running down the street in weird clothes and pearls, scream laughing out of breath with two girls who love you… that’s for someone here and it also applies to everyone here~

okkk pile 2s, it was stimulating being with you I’m nearly sick❤️ BAHAH anyways, in regards to any avoidant/anxious-avoidant attachment issues, just remember that heartbreak sucks, but heartbreak always just makes you hotter, and funnier. you prove that- that outcome is very real every day you exist as yourself… OKKK love you byeee❤️♡

deadass as I channeled this song, I was questioning if it was correct- and I look up to see one of your angel numbers 1212 on the clock- and then again 1221 as I type this lolll

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “Once upon a time I thought you wanted me was there no one else to kiss- was it all a dream I let myself believe, I’m not over this, but I’m trying” - “party for one, if you don’t care about me, I’ll just dance with myself, back on my beat- I’ll be the one, if you don’t care about me, making love to myself, back on my beat”

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “Sometimes all I think about is you- late nights in the middle of June, heat waves been fakin’ me out, can’t make you happier now”

⋆ ˖✮pile 3✮˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮ ˖ ⋆

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Page of Swords (reversed), Seven of Cups, Six of Cups (reversed), The High Priestess (reversed), The Moon (bottom of deck)

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Cancer/Pisces/Scorpio placements, Libra/air placements, Leo/fire Placements, 5th house placements (Venus, Mars, Jupitar, Rising, etc), inner child, old friendships, childhood renewal, 1111, 333, 444, Only Yesterday (1991), horses, channeled songs, Wildflowers and Wild Horses - Lainey Wilson, Cheap Queen - King Princess

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ Ok- Hi my pile 3s! and also my pile 2s because some of yall did not leave yet and have stayed for the next reading- like seriously this whole pac is connected rn- also happy 1111 as I write this!!! um oh my gosh let me start- you are so beautiful, yes I said it for the 3rd time in this pac post why are you on my ass‼️- its so true, you all have this classic beauty, it is timeless- you are timeless- or from a different time in your aura, your beauty, how you carry yourself in this world- etc etc… and when I say “different time” I don’t just mean you embody this feminine/masculine balance straight out of the 1970s, 40s, 50s, 20s,- and all the other time periods before/after I just mentioned- I also mean you still carry with you the time you had as a young child, you carry with you the sunshine you felt on your skin when you were 3-6 yo, and the snow you felt on your hands when you were 8-11… you have kept this purity and innocence and grown with it- and holy cow do I need to congratulate you and the strength of your spirit- so often we are forced to “leave behind” our childhood years and perspective due to difficult events or what people expect of you while you reside in this worldly- world. -which really that just means internalizing and hiding away in the closet the purest state of yourself (*also this is my more queer-centric pile so hellooo my fellow queer community ✨☀️)- this is putting a hole in my own heart being in how free and high spirited you are, and how you fully embody that and always have ☀️. you have kept that warmed and soaked up the same sunshine as you did all those years ago- it might not even feel like years to you, it feels like only yesterday your childhood was your state of being and all around you- and now, you are a bit bigger but you may live in this state that no time has passed- does that make sense?? ugh dude I hope so, your energy is like the sunshine, in that, I can’t reach out and physically be in your presence- but more so I’m trying to sit in your light while my vision gets spotty and I get a little dizzy… as in- you guys are out of this worlddd💫!!! you might even be told by your family or your peers that you tend to make them “dizzy” with how you communicate- you may be the type to jump from one topic to another, while you fold your laundry- and tidy your desk drawers- and walk into another room *backward* because you are still talking and describing a detail that is “important” to the story you were recounting 10 minutes ago- you sweet thing!!!! this is adorable to be in,, if anyone’s ever made you feel bad about how you communicate, do not take it personally- its always good karma to be considerate of other’s sensitivities, but everything you do is so pure hearted- it would be so phony and ridiculous to believe any crap people say about you to be truthful. your energy is so pure and truly yours, this is your sign and confirmation to continue to not live for the external views of others and live life through your own view ☀️. Oh- i keep getting horse imagery- horses may be significant for some of you, it may be your spirit animal or a spirit guide that is close to you may take the energetic appearance of a horse (in particular for some of you it’s a very strong and matured brown colored horse of some breed), or some of you grew up around horses in some way!

Oh this is random but you may be the type to enjoy having your playlists on shuffle lol- because I just suddenly began mentally playing Cheap Queen by King Princess- so this is definitely where I will now channel the dets about your social environment my dear~!! ok sooo- I’m seeing various different types of family dymanics, big families, med sized families, even 2 person families (you + a guardian)- I sense that you have close family ties, and i know family can be complex, so let me state some variouions of what that means- you may have a close familiarity to your family’s home or yard (maybe even your neighborhood area), such as knowing every little creak that your house makes when you go to the kitchen to get a morning cup of water, I’m seeing for some of you- you are very tied to your sibling dymamic if you have siblings (I accidently wrote in all caps at first and I scared myself lol- so you may come from a family where loudness is common part of the jokes you share), or maybe even kids you knew in your neighborhood if you played with them often- things like that have stuck with you inrelation to what you look for in anykind of companionship, a sense of familiarity~ this is def the pile who believes in being drawn to your soulmate(s) or past life connections lol~ so while you have that grounded energy in wanting stablity, you also are an entertainer and you know how to have a good time!! as you should since you totally fly like a fabulous canary from room to room- you should feel more confident when you dance btw, put more energy into your shoulders with joy because the way you move literally energizes people-

now I’m getting messages on how you connect to your inner child, I’ve said before you already naturally embody your inner child (“just in a bigger body” I’m hearing- some of you may have had a big physical growth spirut as a child btw), but some messages in regards to connecting to your inner child for those of you who need some answers is to engage in more activities that return yourself to a past peaceful enviroment, this is also for those who had a more chaotic upbringing and had to turn inwardly for peace ❤️- taste is a really important sense for you returning to that younger state of peace, so certain candies (I’m hearing those fruit rollups I love those still) or fruits, snacks- simple dishes that made younger you excited and brought you joy- also I’m hearing something about sleepovers and evening activities/coziness~ so grab some blankets and make an event of staying up late if you already do that lol- anyways!! let me get back to how fun you truly are to be around my dear, I mean, seriously! If you have the opportunity go out when you can, if you already have a friend or someone familiar go to a house party nearby (keep yourselves safe!), try rollerskating if you haven’t, and get closer to someone you already know and show your colors- DRESS UP!!!! I know life can be bleak especially when you feel that life is very "closed off" and dead lol- but when I tell you the phrase “dress for the life you want”- I mean ittt~ it will align you with the environment that you desire and it will come to you so naturally (in the same way you making a coffee and taking your dog for a walk is a natural occurrence in your life!)- I’m hearing that the connections that you already have in your life are “all you need”, and by that I mean you can build off of those and shoot farther into the sky full of stars meant for you 💫. I’m hearing the quote about drawing back your arrow before you can shoot forward- if you’re feeling stuck right now, this is what I’m trying to tell you, blossom exactly where you are right now, and everything else will simply follow!!! and I know that takes courage but I KNOW you have it because it was child you’s courage that got you to this future you are currently in~ and when you start to embody their courage along with their light, I know it will be the turning point to creating the life you were always dreaming and painting in your mind~ I’m seeing bright neon lights, holding hands and toothy-laughing grins, your clothes looking exactly how you pictured months ago- this is what I see happening in the future!! please stay open to some of the connections you already have- renew them is what I’m hearing (but please follow your intuition, if you need to cut everyone except for one or two true connections then that is the right thing for you to do)- if these are people who you knew when you were a lot younger then bond on the older times and use that energy to renew into more new memories,- these older connections you have you could definitely collaborate with to mutually make new connections and go towards new experiences- I’m hearing maybe even to “get out of this town”... phew pile 3!!!! what a way to end this pac, so happy to have met you and I feel like I took a nap in the sun- I’m really on some hazy ish rn lolll but I really hope I was helpful in any questions or worries on your beautiful mind~ I LOVE YOUUU so much, you better keep on shining- even if that’s just in front of your mirror, that’s perfect and valid ☀️👏

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “I'm five generations of blazin' a trail- through barb-wired valleys and overgrown dells- I'm barefoot and bareback and born tough as nails” - “I push like a daisy through old sidewalk cracks” - “yeah, my kinda crazy's still runnin' its courses with wildflowers and wild horses”

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️ “I've been alright, I’ve just been doing the same shit I've always liked- like smoking and movies and homies who bring me wine” - “-all of my girls get up early and stay out late- they drive all the way to the west side to see my face- that's good love- and I ain't no big baller when it's fake friends you're callin’”

⋆ ˖

✮

⋆ ˖ ✮🖋️am I actually going to (*schedule to*) post this omg it feels like forever since i did this.. where was i even? whatever- its whatever- holy shit I'm putting myself out there!!!! praise be!!!! omg I'm going to get one extra hour of sleep as a treat🍰

love, vi~♡

[ssinboo]

Say Yes to me

summary: You've been in love with Jeon Wonwoo since forever, and due to your family relations, you had hopes you'd marry him. Your only problem? he's getting engagement to someone else.

or

During his Engagement party, your childhood best friend and love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo, asks you to run away with him.

pairing: 1960s!AU - Childhood bestfriend! Wonwoo x F!Reader

word count: 10k (45~ minute read) – My longest ever!

warnings: unrequited crushes and overall foolishness, idiots in love, best friends to lovers to not lovers to lovers again, some angst?, Wonwoo is such a nerd, making out in dingy motels, unrealistic mileage for gasoline, seokmin being the sweetest

a/n: This will most certainly be my last fic of the year! So, Happy Holidays everyone! This year has been so troublesome, but I've grown so much and written a lot more, too! I'm so, so grateful for everyone I've met and everyone that's enjoyed my stuff! See you in 2024!

Had you been questioned, there would never be a concrete answer to the question of just how long you had been in love with Jeon Wonwoo. 

You’d know him forever, and maybe you loved him all along.

Your families were business partners turned friends. And there had always been talk of marriage between the children. Of course, for convenience. The Jeon’s produced top-class racing and sports cars, while your family were in the chemical business, specialising in industry paints and finishes, it was only natural to unite the two families and profit. 

Although your wealth was vast, it was nothing compared to the Jeon’s, despite always having the chance to frequent the same environments, you often found you were on different levels altogether. 

Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son, and he carried himself as such — with all the poise and arrogance of the heir to a global conglomerate. He liked golfing and late night swims. Always took his coffee black with no sugar, and barely had anything for breakfast, preferring a hearty lunch instead. 

His younger brother, Lee Seokmin, was the result of an affair with a secretary, though that did not mean he was loved any less, no. Seokmin lacked a single mean bone in his body, he had a pure heart and a contagious laugh.  

They were by all means what people liked to call Irish Twins, born less than a year apart. And the nature of that fact only made their differences more apparent. Complete opposites they were, and that extended to how they treated you, too. 

Every summer growing up, your family would travel to the country house and you and your sister would spend the better part of the months at the club. Oh, how you loved the country club with the fun summer activities the clear chlorinated water, having a meal under the pool umbrellas and getting funny tan lines. 

But most of all, you enjoyed Jeon Wonwoo.

His family frequented the same club and every summer, you’d be practically glued to Wonwoo, even if he didn’t dare to pay you any attention.

You were only three years apart, yet he acted as if you were an immature brat. Seokmin had always been happy to play with you and your sister, though. 

More often than not, Wonwoo would lounge by the pool with a book, never daring to go in. And you would cross your arms over tile by the sides and try your damnedest to strike a conversation with him. He would ignore your every word, or worse, poke fun at your latest obsession. 

“Wonwoo, at what time where you born?” You ask, spitting out any chlorine filled water off your mouth. 

He arches an eyebrow, looking up from his book.

“What?”

“What time were you born?” You repeat, unbothered by his acidic tone.

“Why would I know that?”

“Can’t you ask your mum?” 

He rolls his eyes, “Why do you wanna know?”

“So I can see your birth chart,” You shrug, twirling a wet strand of hair around your finger. 

“The fuck is a birth chart?”

“It’s like… It’s a way to see your personality… And I can check to see if we’re compatible.”

“That’s stupid…” He rolls his eyes, again, “You’re stupid.” 

You scoff, “You won’t play along— You’re such a bore!” You yell out and dive back in the pool, leaving behind a cackling Wonwoo. 

Those hapless summer days were spent lazing by the pool with your sister and Seokmin — without a care in the world, laughing about nothing. With the isolated water-balloon fight every now and then. 

You’d grown up before you could realise it, never truly leaving behind your childish crush on Wonwoo. Even if by the age hierarchy, you had no chance of marrying him — Your sister were to marry Wonwoo and you possibly married Seokmin. 

Though you held hope, it crumbled away with every passing minute. 

But that year, your sister had the greatest early birthday present: She’d found the man she was to marry and best of all, your daddy could never say no to his girls. 

With your sister marrying the love of her life, it meant that you would marry Wonwoo, right? It was only a matter of time and you would be sworn to each other before God, your friends, and family. And your first love would blossom. 

On your 21st birthday, your father took you to work with him for the day, though you most lazed around and answered his calls. You only expected to have lunch for your birthday and a party on the weekend.

At noon, he drove to the Jeon’s factory to deliver the new paint samples. 

The workers, most of whom had watched you, your sister and the Jeon kids grow up, greet you excitedly and some even wish you happy birthday. Your father goes straight to the floor to speak to the manager.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Jeon himself shows up.

Mr. Jeon was a handsome old man a captivating smile, he was incredibly passionate about his work and adored mechanics, but he loved his sons above all — And he had great expectations for his boys. 

He greets you with a warm hug and wishes you a happy birthday before discussing business with your father. To which you busy yourself with staring at the pieces waiting for a coat of paint.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you come with us to the patio?” Your father calls and you oblige, skipping toward the two men.

The patio is where they stored their models waiting to be shipped out to agencies or sometimes, for the higher profile clients, directly to the customer. You look at the new line to be launched next winter: sleek and modern with leather seats and wooden accents on the interior. You could never criticise the Jeon’s for their taste, they knew their stuff. 

“Come here, baby,” Your father waves his hands, “What do you think of this car?” 

You study the convertible in a bright red with a cream leather interior; a classic. 

“It’s gorgeous, daddy, when are they launching it?”

“It should be out next year, but what do you think of the colour?”

“I like it,” You nod enthusiastically.

“That’s great baby, why don’t you read up on this model?” He hands you a tiny card, common in the factory, that has the model and batch number, as well as the signature from the supervisor. But just underneath the model, you see the colour name: your name.

As you look at your father, completely astonished, he just lets out a warm laugh and opens his arms for a hug.

“You named a shade after me?!” You glue yourself to him, still in shock. 

“Happy birthday, princess.” 

“Thank you, daddy, you’re the best!” 

“That’s your dad’s present, how about you open mine, now?” Mr. Jeon interjects, waving a tiny jewelry box in the air. 

You fix your hair and take it from his hand, expecting maybe a ring, or earrings. 

But you find brand new car keys.

Mouth agape, you look at him while your father can only laugh at your surprised expression.

“Why don’t you give it a spin?” Mr. Jeon encourages, rushing you toward the convertible. 

And though your father is beside himself with worry for you driving during rush hour, he settles for sitting in the passenger’s seat and doing some good old backseat driving, even though you barely make it past 30.

You drive around the block and return to the factory before your father has an anxiety attack over your driving. 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Jeon! When did you even do this?! I had no idea!”

“Wonwoo oversaw the whole thing, he’s the one you should thank,” He laughs it off, but your heart can only skip a beat at the mention of your beloved’s name. Especially thinking he was the one to take care of such a great gift.

Wonwoo loved mechanics as much as his dad, sometimes even more. He even went to a good college for it, coming back even smarter than before — and much sassier, too. He never stopped doing manual work in the factory, guaranteeing every car made was up to the Jeon standard.

And you were very biased toward his mechanic abilities, especially when he would furrow his brow, glasses perched on the very tip of his nose; he would wipe off sweat off his forehead with his grease covered arm. 

You remember to this day the last time your father came to discuss swatches and you stopped by the shop. Watching Wonwoo work on an older model with a leaky oil tank. 

He did everything himself, changed the tank perched under the car, soldering a brand new one. He also did a once over on anything else that could become a problem in the future, any filters needing change, checking wires and gears, making sure the oil was fresh. The problem came with the lights. He had such a hard time wiggling his thick arms through the machinery to reach the right spot, and you watched very intently how his triceps flexed, deep green veins bulging under his skin.

Wonwoo had gotten so frustrated he’d shed off the top part of his coveralls, sporting a white undershirt so tight you could basically tell the shape of his sweat-clad torso. Oh, how you’d hoped he never got that bulb in place.

“Come’ere,” Wonwoo calls out without further ado. 

“Why?”

“Need your help,” He mumbles under a sigh.

You rise from the barrel you were sitting on and approach the open hood. “With what?”

“Getting this fuckin’ bulb in place,” He hands you the tiny light bulb.

“Where do I need to put it?”

“See— in between this part, need to shove you hand until you reach back here in the light, then you just screw it in.”

“What if I get stuck?” 

“You won’t, you’re so petite,” He smirks.

You scoff, “Shut up.”

Leaning over the hood, you place your left hand on the chassis to steady yourself and shove your right hand in between gears and machinery, trying to find the spot he mentioned.

“I can’t find it,” You complain.

“Keep trying.”

“I am!”

“Here, deeper—“ He reaches for you, one hand on your waist and another on your arm, forcing you toward the place.

You’re way too focused on finding the damn spot for the light, that you barely notice the proximity at all. 

“Can’t find it!”

“Right, right— My right.”

“It’s the same freakin’ right, you idiot,” You hiss.

He laughs, “Fine, our right,” you groan at his stupid joke, “It should be there, try to bring it closer to you.” 

“Found it!” You squeal with a smile, screwing the bulb in its place. 

“Atta girl,” Wonwoo smiles. 

“There!” With a relieved sigh, you finally free your grease-clad hand from the machinery, slightly cringing at the black covering your fingernails — It’d be such a bother to clean it up. 

When you finally lean back, you stumble onto Wonwoo’s firm chest. Lucky for you, he catches you, steady hold at your waist. You’re finally aware of his proximity, to which he only smiles. 

Looking down at where his warm, tauntingly large hands meet your waist, you’re suddenly filled with nothing but rage. ‘

“You got grease all over my dress!” You whine, looking at the perfectly stamped print of his hand over your brand new summer dress. 

He only laughs, “Looks better this way, trust me.”

“Ugh!” You groan, stomping toward the washing area where they kept clean rugs. 

He closes the hood with a loud thump that echoes through the shop and slides into the driver’s seat. The car comes alive with a loud hum and ta-da! The headlight works. 

You are a little proud of your work, yes. But it’s not like you’ll show it.

“Do you not anything clean in here?!” You complain, eyeing the pile of grease-covered rags thrown in a corner. That had to be a fire hazard.

“What?” Wonwoo shouts over the running engine.

You huff and stomp your way back to the car, throwing open the driver’s door. “I have a formal dinner to go to,” You state, leaning over the door.

“Okay, then go.” 

Rolling your eyes, you hold back any possible insults, “Like this?” You gesture toward your otherwise perfectly fine dress. 

He holds back a little mischievous smile, “I have some clean clothes in the office.”

Wide eyes, mouth hanging agape, you stare at him dumbfound, “I hope that’s a joke, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

He laughs, genuinely. That sweet, deep, dorky laugh of his that reverberates through his chest and plunges straight into your heart. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

As much as he did tease you, Wonwoo never made short on his promises. 

“Is he around?” You ask Mr. Jeon, trying your best to suppress any expectations.

“Oh, he had some business… But he wished you a happy birthday.”

Your smile falters before your catch it, forcing the corners of your lips into a beautiful, rehearsed smile. “Let him know I’m grateful. For the wishes and for the amazing present.”

It would soon be Wonwoo’s birthday and you had been preparing for what felt like ages. You got him a really nice set of electric work tools since he complained often about how the shop’s tools were always malfunctioning. But you did feel somewhat bad about only getting him a gift relating to work on what should be a day about him. 

So you caved in and got him a gorgeous wrist watch with classy black leather straps; on the underside you had his name inscribed with a heart. — You actually hadn’t planned for the heart, but the jeweller got confused in between so many orders and it was too close to the date to have it re-done. You hoped you could play it off in a cool manner, maybe he would laugh at your story.

The party would be held the eve of his actual birthday, and you arrived at the venue with hours to spare. Your father and sister are by the entrance, speaking to Mr. Jeon, you greet them.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon! Where should I put the gifts?”

“Oh—“ Surprised, he looks at your father, “You’ve brought gifts—“ He seems… surprised? As if it were so weird to bring presents to a birthday party. “Uh— I’m not sure, let me check with my wife where you could place those.”

You father nervously sips on his champagne, avoiding your sister’s burning looks.

“You haven’t told her,” Your sister turns to your father, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” You ask.

“Honey… This isn’t Wonwoo’s birthday party…” Your father speaks very slowly, gauging for your reaction at his every word.

Eyebrows raised, you question, “What do you mean?”

“It’s an engagement party, he’s getting engaged to Suzy,” Your sister rips the band-aid off.

And you feel the air being sucked out of your lungs at once, an agonising knot pulls at your throat and your nose stings with the threat of tears. The shopping bags fall from your hands and you fight off the urge to bawl your eyes out. 

Before you actually do cry your eyes out, you rush outside.

“Baby—“ Your father calls but you just storm off, not wanting to be near anyone. 

Engaged? Engaged!

Engaged…

Wonwoo was getting fucking engaged. 

With a bitch named Suzy who had the prettiest hair you’d ever seen and knew how to talk to investors and could speak a thousand languages. And worst of all, she was the kindest, sweetest girl ever. You couldn’t even hate her!

You weren’t even allowed that! As much as you weren’t allowed a simple heads up. How hard was it to tell you beforehand “Hey, the guy you’ve loved your entirely life is getting married to some girl and you just brought lemon pies to his engagement party, thought you’d want to know.”

Maybe you should’ve taken the pies with you, at least you’d have some comfort. 

You know what, what the fuck. Why didn’t Wonwoo tell you anything?! It had been barely a couple of days since you saw each other, why couldn’t he tell you? Were you not even worthy of that? 

Like having known each other your entire lives doesn’t make you worthy of such ”wonderful” news? How hard is it to tell someone in passing that you’re getting engaged! And now, you’re supposed to smile all night and pretend like your guts aren’t festering in rage and melancholy and your blood doesn’t run cold at the mere thought of Wonwoo walking down the aisle.

Giving it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t set in stone yet. 

It’s the modern times and even back in your parents’ days, engagements were broken off all the time! He might not marry Suzy. You might have a chance. 

Maybe you could ask— no, you could plead with your father to tell Mr. Jeon to think it all over. Wonwoo is still young, it’s not time to settle down just yet. He wanted to study abroad, he talked about the automobile industry in Europe with such amaze, and if that took a little longer, maybe Suzy would get tired of waiting?

Who were you fooling? You should’ve seen it coming.

Of course, he wouldn’t have married you, what were you thinking?!

He’s the Jeon’s precious firstborn and you’re… someone who can’t even tell apart the sizing in wrenches —  To top it all off, Suzy was notably great with mechanics. 

You really wish you had those pies with you, it would make your salty tears a little sweeter.

By the time you’re done sobbing in your car, you look a hot mess with runny make-up and swollen eyes. With a sigh, you pull out your purse and muster up any cosmetics that can save you for tonight. 

You could cry all you wanted at home, but right now, you needed to look pretty and have your pictures taken.

By the time you return, the party is to start and guests are gathering at the front, your sister immediately rushes to your side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, soft hands reaching for yours. 

Forcing out a smile, “Of course! Who do you think I am?”

By the look on her face, you know she doesn’t trust your words not one bit, but will not pry at your emotions any further. At least not for tonight, you’re sure tomorrow she will grill you about this. But for now, you put on a bright smile and greet all the guests.

From the Jeon’s, Seokmin is the third to arrive, missing only by the birthday boy himself. But he immediately greets his parents and comes to greet your family.

“Hey!” You smile, putting aside your glass of champagne so you can hug him properly.

“How you doin’?” He asks, gorgeous smile on display. 

“I’m— Well—“

“They’ve told you then—“ 

You press your lipstick coloured lips into a thin line, “Yeah,” You nod.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I’m happy, Suzy is… a—“ Nice words. Nice words. “—wonderful girl.”

Seokmin offers you a sweet smile. “Let’s hope she can handle his tantrums,” he nudges at your arm.

“Oh, please!” You laugh.

Wonwoo was known for sometimes having a bit of a short temper, not often, by any means and maybe that’s what made them so memorable. Like the one time he couldn’t finish a puzzle during game night, so he gathered all the pieces and set the ablaze in the backyard.

“Or—“ A waiter passes by with a tray full of champagne and he so kindly grabs two glasses, offering you one. “Listen to this— He gets to the church, covered in grease from head to toe.” 

You laugh at the thought. Gods, how many times has Wonwoo decided to work on an engine while wearing his most expensive outfit? His mother nearly had a fit every time he would show up dishevelled and smelling like motor oil pretending like nothing’s wrong. 

“Please,” You sip at your drink, “I bet he’s gonna be all greased up tonight.”

Seokmin laughs wholeheartedly. He was the sort of guy to never hold back a fit of giggles no matter how inappropriate it may be, and it was certainly refreshing to know someone genuinely found your company enjoyable.

“For sure, I think her parents will freak out.” 

You nod. 

Tapping at your glass, you hesitate the following words, “Guess we’ll be the ones getting married for the family, then…”

You didn’t hate Seokmin, far from it. You loved him to bits— Not like Wonwoo, of course, you believed you would never love a man like you loved Wonwoo, ever again. 

He was funny, and such a gentleman. Not to mention, handsome, too. If you weren’t hopelessly in love with his brother, he would’ve been the perfect husband of your dreams. But he did deserve better than a wife who could never give him what he deserves. 

“Sorry about that,” Seokmin comforts you and that only makes your nose sting with the threat of more tears.

“Stooop!” You whine in a shaky voice and he’s overcome with worry.

“Hey— What’s wrong—?”

“Don’t be so sweet— I’m emotional tonight—“ You laugh at your emotional state, despite the teary-eyes.

“Are you a crybaby tonight?”

You nod, fanning your eyes in the hope of drying your tears before they can wash away your makeup.

Seokmin smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and you lean against his chest, fighting the urge to cry.

It’s only when you’re certain you won’t bawl your eyes out, that you respond. “It’s not that I hate you, you know I love you, but… You deserve someone that will love you like a husband.” 

He nods, “I know— But it might not be so bad, we’re friends! We’ll have sleepovers every day, and we’ll have Italian every night, we’ll watch those silly movies you like…” Seokmin lists off all the things you would do in your very platonic marriage and it doesn’t sound so bad. 

He knew exactly how you felt, he loved you, of course he did, you were so precious in his eyes, but not like a lover. 

You pull your face away from his chest to look up at him, “Are you gonna let me choose your clothes?” 

Seokmin sighs. You hated his questionable fashion since forever and in only very rare occasions did he accept your input, any other time and he assaulted your spirit with clashing patterns and silly shoes.

“Fine—!” 

You smile brightly, properly comforted. 

Before you can tease him any further, you spot Wonwoo entering the venue. Although he is immediately swarmed with congratulatory words, his shy nature makes it so his only response is always an awkward smile. 

He immediately spots you among the crowd.

You breathe in. In that moment, despite knowing he was sworn to another, that did not stop your heart from fluttering at the sight of him, his broad shoulders and the crooked tie he clearly put on a rush.

“Congrats, bro!” Seokmin is the first one to greet him, not letting go of your shoulder but instead pulling Wonwoo into a semi-hug. 

“Seokmin…” Wonwoo eyes his brother and then you, and then his brother again.

“Congrats, Nonu,” You smile, letting go of Seokmin’s comfort to reach for a hug. 

Wonwoo smiles, letting you cling onto his neck, your citric perfume seeping into his clothes and body. 

Oh, how his warmth could never compare to another. How you craved his affection like no other. 

“Thanks— Uh, did you bring me anything?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Ey— Nonu!” Seokmin scolds his brother. 

“How did you know I brought you something?” You giggle, pulling away from the hug. 

Wonwoo shrugs. 

You reach for his crooked tie, straightening it to the best of your abilities. “I brought it earlier, but I think your mum took it to the back room,” You explain, focused on the tie.

He, however is focused on your concentrated face, parted red lips and furrowed brows. The proximity that lets him almost feel your chest pressed against his, as if extending the hug. 

“However, you, mister, have to greet your guests!” You scold, setting his tie in place.

Seokmin joins in, once again throwing his arm around your shoulder. “That’s right, mum already gave me an earful about how late you were— And I got here on time!” 

“Yeah— Yeah— You’re right,” Wonwoo nods.

“Liquid courage?” You offer your half-drunk glass of champagne and he downs it in one go.

You and Seokmin goof around a little more and gossip about certain guests behind their backs. Dinner is served and you all sit down to eat, Seokmin insists you sit beside him, which just so happens to also be next to Wonwoo. And you thank him for indulging you one last time.

Wonwoo is mostly quiet, but you were used to him not being rather fond of public parties, especially when all of the attention is on him. On his other side, sits Suzy, the blushing bride-to-be. She tries to make conversation with Wonwoo, though most of it falls flat, he only ever gives her monosyllabic answers and rarely contributes to discussions. 

That is until Mr. and Mrs. Jeon stand up, tapping forks to their glasses to call for everyone’s attention. The room quiets down instantly. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our little gathering tonight,” Mr Jeon greets the guests. “We have some wonderful news we would like to share with you all.” 

“My beautiful son, how proud I am of you,” He adds, “Every day I am  amazed at your intellect. Often, I question just where did you get those smarts!”

Everyone laughs.

“You have grown into a fine man, and I can’t take credit for any of it. You are the most mature, talented, and intelligent boy and you did it all by yourself— ”

You can watch how Wonwoo’s eyes gloss over with tears. 

“I’m growing old, you know. And every father wants the guarantee that his children will be taken care of… That’s why I’m so relieved and happy to announce that my worries will soon be gone—“ He laughs but his son’s smile falters, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my son, Wonwoo, to this beautiful young lady named Suzanne. Welcome to the family, Suzy.” 

He raises his glass and soon, the room fills with uproar. Everyone claps and you join in, smiling toward Mr. Jeon and Suzy. She stands up, thanking everyone and raising her own glass.

But Wonwoo doesn’t move. 

“Nonu?” You whisper. 

In his ears all that can be heard is muffled screams of joy and the incessant acute ringing. He closes his fists so tight that his blunt nails almost break through skin, he doesn’t look at you, but it’s so clear something is wrong.

You and Seokmin exchange glances. 

Before you can call for him again, he stands up at once, the chair falling behind him with a loud bang that silences the room in an instant. In large and rushed strides, Wonwoo leaves for the patio. 

You stand up and follow him. 

“Wonwoo!” You call out, almost tripping over your party heels. 

He stands in the yard, hand gripping at his gelled hair while the other fights with his tie, pulling at the suffocating fabric until it slides down.

The yard is decorated with a gorgeous fountain, sound of running water somewhat soothing in this moment.

“Nonu, what’s wrong?” You whisper, a hand reaching for his heaving shoulder.

“What wrong?!” He yells back, shoving your hand away, “Did you not fuckin’ hear ‘em?!” 

You step back and his gaze somewhat softens, realising he just pushed you.

“You didn’t know…” You whisper to yourself, epiphany hitting you like a punch to the gut. How could Mr. Jeon do this?! Throw this on him without any previous warning?!

“You— You knew?” His voice is shaky, laced with the sharp sting of betrayal.

“I found it out myself tonight when I got here— I— I thought you knew! I thought you agreed to it!” You argue. 

“How— How can you think I would agree to marry someone—“ His words trail off in the night breeze, never to be finished. 

“Then— What will you do?”

“I don’t know!” 

You bite at your nails, finding a concrete surface to sit on and ponder. 

“I must leave—“ He speaks out, “Run away with me—“

“What?!” you stand up.

“Let’s leave, drive somewhere— Wherever! I can’t stay a moment longer in this place.” 

Oh, what a dilemma it was.

Abandon an engagement party with the groom-to-be, leaving behind furious parents and confused guests. And part of you knew that, despite your family’s closeness and no matter how much your father claimed you were all very close like family, driving off in the middle of the night with a committed man was a blow to any respectable, single, young ladies.

What a dilemma it could’ve been if you weren’t so enamoured with this man you would beck at any given call of his.

“I’ll get my bag and tell your parents you want to stay out here for a couple of minutes,” You announce and he nods.

As you walk back into the venue, all eyes are on you.

“He’s got the wedding jitters, everyone, not to worry. Wonwoo will return after he’s had a bit of fresh air,” You announce with a smile and all guests return to their previous activities.

But Mr. Jeon immediately corners you.

“What is he thinking?!” He half-yells, half-whispers.

“He’s just nervous, it’s a big bit of news…” You lie through your teeth, “I think a little heads up would’ve helped, you know he doesn’t do well with surprises.”

The man sighs, “He wouldn’t ever agree to it. I’ve offered him countless girls to marry and he never accepts any of them.“ Mr. Jeon looks at you and then sighs. “Do me a favour, convince him to come back, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” You nod and head off into the back rooms.

Unbeknown to you, Seokmin is on your trail and he waits until you are in the back lounge, gathering your bags and jacket to close the door and corner you.

“What the hell happened?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion, “You scared me!” You whisper.

“Sorry,” He whispers back.

“He didn’t know!”

“What?!” He says in a normal tone, soon realising just how loud that was. 

“What I said, I think your dad set up a trap… He knows Wonwoo won’t go against his word.”

“Shit. What are we gonna do?”

“He wants to run away,” You announce.

Seokmin looks at you, and then at the purse hanging from your should and the jacket in your hands. 

“And you’re coming with him?”

“I can’t leave him alone, not tonight.”

“And where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” 

“And when are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are coming back, right?”

“I have no idea, Seokmin,” You realise, but the prospect doesn’t scare you as badly.

He scratches at his head. “Leave through the kitchen, I’ll hold off my dad. Make sure to give me a call once you guys are… I don’t know— Just give a call, will you?” 

You nod, pulling him into a hug.

Doing as he instructed, you pass through the kitchen staff and rush through the backdoor, unseen by the guests. Wonwoo is sitting on a concrete bench, his head between his hands.

“Ready?” You call out.

Wonwoo looks up, nodding before he rises to his height. You offer him a comforting smile and reach for his hand. 

Once you get hold of his hand, you bolt across the yard toward the parking lot. He almost stumbles over his lanky legs, but catches up rather fast. You throw your stuff on the backseat and enter your car, Wonwoo decides to jump over the door. 

You laugh at his antics with a shake of your head. 

Once your heels are discarded, you start the engine and drive off, leaving behind that dreaded engagement party. Wonwoo busies himself with shedding his formal wear, throwing his tie on the floor and removing his blazer. 

In any other occasion, this could’ve been such a lovely late-night drive, just the two of you in your beloved car, night breeze caressing your faces with her ice-cold kisses, cruising through deserted roads, barely a soul in sight except for the night owls.

And you might allow yourself to enjoy this moment.

The silence isn’t a bother, no, Wonwoo was always a man of comfortable silences to you, but this once, you’re worried about goes on in that busy mind of his.

“You alright?” You ask, looking away from the road to steal a glance or two at him.

“Yeah,” He replies.

“Truly?”

“No,” He scoffs at his own lie. “But I’ll be.”

You nod. 

You drive out of town and on the interstate roads for ages until Wonwoo finally speaks up. You’re completely engulfed in darkness except for your headlights.

“We should stop soon and have a rest.”

“Okay,” You nod, “Any preferences?”

“Anywhere.” 

And so you tell him to keep his eyes peeled open when a sign on the road says there should be a motel in the next couple KM. It doesn’t take too long before you’re pulling into the parking lot of a roadside motel, much of a far-cry from your expensive hotels and luxury living. 

You check in at the front desk with an old man who seems very unhappy with his life, he short of throws the keys your way. 

The room is… surprisingly nice, given the circumstances of the ambience. Only problem is the, although quite large, singular bed. You exchange glances.

“Shit,” Wonwoo curses, “I’m gonna 

“You wanna get hit?” You joke, “He’s minutes away from killing us over this room. We can just share the bed.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”

Oh, he certainly seems to hate the idea of sharing a bed with you, huh.

“Nonu, please, it’s late and we’re both tired. It will be just like when we were kids,” You explain, setting aside your stuff.

Wonwoo nods, sitting on the strangely comfortable bed.

“You think they have robes?” You ask, looking around.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” 

“Oh, I’d kill to get out of this dress,” You whine, running to the bathroom to check for anything you could wear instead of your dress. 

He just bites at his lips, watching you pace from side to side in that tiny bedroom. 

That’s when you remember your forgotten shopping bags sitting in the trunk! Your compulsive shopping habits just saved you from a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, how convenient!

“I think I have some clothes in my car,” You announce, grabbing the keys and heading toward the door.

“Wait, you’re going by yourself? let me go with you.”

“I don’t wanna lock the door, though,” You whine.

He sighs, “Stay here, I’ll go.” 

You jump, “Thank you, Nonu!”

While Wonwoo rummages through your trunk and pulls out the surprising large amount of shopping bags, you shed off your clothes and head toward the bathroom, dying to get some hot water on your body, put on your new PJs and doze off. 

When he returns however, he is greeted by a sight any other man would die to see. You’ve left a trail of clothes from the bed toward the bathroom door. Starting on your pretty dress, splayed out over tiled-floor, and then your tights and then your underwear, matching, too— 

He clears his throat. “I’m back!” 

But you probably don’t hear him through the running shower, so he just sets down the bags and avoid the sight of your clothes. He decides to turn on the tiny TV and browse through any late night re-runs. You take only a couple of minutes in your shower.

“Nonu?” You ask from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” He turns down the TV.

“Did you find the clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you bring me something to wear?” Wonwoo gulps. 

“Uh— Which one?”

“There should be a light blue bag and a pink one.” 

“Okay—“ He stands up and searches for the aforementioned colours. 

Wonwoo heads to the bathroom door and leans against the wall, facing away from the door. He knocks once. You open the door and shove your arm through, reaching for the bags.

“Thank youu!” 

He returns to the boring TV. Though all he could think about was the sight of your wet supple skin, knowing you were bare with only a thin sheet of plywood separating you. 

You leave the bathroom smelling of cheap soap and fresh into your brand new nightgown. It is tentatively short with an almost see-through round of lace over the hems. In your defence, you weren’t planning on showing this nightgown to anyone anytime soon. 

Sitting on the bed, you look around the room, not noticing how Wonwoo’s eyes don’t really meet yours or how red his ears seem to burn.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” You ask.

“Feels a bit redundant to shower and get back into my dirty clothes.” 

“I think I might have something for you, if you don’t want to sleep in a suit,” You pry.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“But you can’t judge! I bought this for my dad because you know he deals very poorly with the heat— And he never buys himself anything!” You’re explaining yourself in advance because you remember very well what you bought.

Silky boxer shorts and a tank top, which your father loved to sleep in on stuffy summer nights but you doubted would be Wonwoo’s first choice of wear, ever.

He haggles with his own mind; give into the silky boxer shorts or sleep in the most uncomfortable outfit ever. With a tired sigh, Wonwoo accepts his fate and grabs the bag. 

You smile as he stomps toward the bathroom with a defeated frown.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned up your trail of clothes and made yourself very comfortable in the bed. You turn your head to face him.

God, he could make a potato sack look good. 

“How’s the fit?” You pull your eyes away before you look for too long. 

Wonwoo shrugs, “I’ve had worse.”

You laugh.

He coyly joins you in bed, keeping a large gap between your bodies, settling on top of the covers while you’re under their warmth. 

“Ain’t you cold?” You ask, fidgeting with the TV remote. 

Wonwoo shakes his head, leaning back into the headboard. With a pout, you cross the figurative bridge between the two of you and reach for him. He doesn’t shy away from your touch but it visibly confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands hovering in the air, far away from your exposed back.

“I’m sorry your birthday party sucked,” You murmur against his chest, Wonwoo smiles softly, letting his hands rest on you.

“It didn’t suck in its entirety,” he says, palms slightly tapping at your back, “it was fun running away with you.”

You giggle at his comment, heart fluttering at its meaning, “What are we going to do? About the engagement, I mean…”

“We?” He raises an eyebrow.

You pull away from him.

“Well— You dragged me into this!” You slap at his chest and he lets out a boisterous laugh that almost manages to pull the corners of your from into a smile.

“I know, I’m taking the piss out of you,” He extends his arms, pulling you back to your previous position, resuming the soft caresses he leaves on your arms. “I don’t know— This is the first time I’ve ever gone against my father.”

You sigh. “Don’t you wanna marry Suzy?”

There’s a pause and oh, you’re begging, wishing to hear the words you want most.

“Fuck no!” Wonwoo exclaims and you fail to hide your excitement.

“She is pretty,” You throw the bait, to pry at his true feelings.

“So is your sister, should I just marry any pretty girl?”

You raise from your position, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. Wonwoo looks at you, completely clueless to his words and its consequences.

“What the hell?!” 

“What?” 

Kicking off the covers in a flurry, you kneel on the bed, staring at him dead in the eyes.  “You have the hots for my sister!”

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to get angry, “What?! No— You’re twisting my words—“

“I’m twisting your words?! You just said you think my sister is pretty!” 

“Because she is!”

You jaw drops, you can’t believe he is doubling down. “Wow,” you shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with saying that?”

You shrug, turning away from him and crossing your arms. “I don’t know, why don’t you just go an marry my sister, then.”

Only then, does this thick-headed man you love so much realise he has been complimenting other girls without so much as telling you a single nice word — the bare minimum. He sighs and offers you a soft smile, shifting in the bed until he is near you again.

“I don’t want to marry your sister. I think she is pretty, but she’s not the prettiest sister, you are.” He waits for your reaction.

Hook, line and sinker. 

You turn around immediately, a hint of smile playing in your pretty lips. 

That’s enough for him to break into a wide smile, opening his arms to welcome you back into his warmth. You crash into his chest, wrapping yourself around his torso. 

He groans, falling back into the mattress but not letting go of you.

Minutes pass before you speak again. “It’s past midnight…” You whisper.

“It’s well past midnight… Why?”

You shift upwards until your faces are only inches apart, breath tickling his lips, your beautiful eyes gleaming under dim motel lighting. “Happy birthday,” You whisper between smiles, “Make a wish.” 

Wonwoo breathes in, eyes scanning your face, “There’s one thing I want…” 

“What is it?” 

If he said it out loud, he might’ve lost all courage to do so. 

So he just does it, Wonwoo leans forward until his lips meet yours in a chaste kiss. 

It probably lasted a couple of seconds, but those seconds felt like a lifetime when you were finally kissing the man you’ve loved for god knows how long. There’s a spark of electricity that burns bright from the moment your lips touch and travels through your body, blood boiling in excitement, shyness, and pure love. 

When the kiss ends, Wonwoo studies your face, watching for any sign of discomfort. Which is even more worrying when you’re standing there, froze solid with an empty stare.

But thankfully, before he can say anything, you throw caution into the wind. 

You pull him into a kiss. Throwing every sense of morale and shame you had out the damn window. He was a man sworn to another, for Pete's sake! But here you here, crashing your lips into his perfect, soft ones. 

Wonwoo lets out a quiet groan, almost inaudible, but you hear it, oh yes, you do. And it runs straight through your chest and down to your core. 

Although the sensible, rational part of your brain tells you to quit kissing him at once and just apologise, the other 99% of your brain, who’s been in love with him since forever, wants nothing of the sort. And you might have listened to the not-so-rational part of you, because you just deepened the kiss, shifting your weight until you’re partially on top of him.

Your lips move against him, shyly exploring this kiss, engraving every moment into your memory. 

Yet he reciprocates. His warm hands finds your waist, holding you flush against his torso, heartbeats thumping completely in-sync. You wrap your arms around his neck and he takes the chance to pull you deeper into those dangerous lips of his. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, licking and twirling against yours, hot and eager. 

He dips his head, one hand reaches to tangle into your hair and manoeuvre you around, allowing himself complete freedom to explore every bit of your mouth. 

Wonwoo kisses like no other. Not that you had too much of a repertoire to compare him to. 

But he consumes your lips with an unbound hunger, nothing similar to the calm and collected Wonwoo you knew, no. He’s hungry, messy, and very clumsy, clashing teeth one too many times, letting saliva drip down your chins and struggling to move with you on top of him.

When you part the kiss, you lay there breathless, gazing into his ridiculously beautiful beady eyes and long eyelashes, his handsome sharp nose and the most kissable lips you’ll ever see.

 It was breathtaking, mind-blowing and nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your heart beats so fast you feel as if you might pass out at any moment but you’d die before you give up experiencing that again.

“What was that?” He whispers and his breath tickle your kiss-swollen lips. 

“Your birthday gift,” You bite at your lower lip. “Did you like it?”

Wonwoo smiles, breathless and half-lidded and your heart damn near bursts. “I did. Did you?”

You nod.

He nods. “Wanna do it again?”

You nod and he gives you that stupidly handsome smile of his.

And once again, you’re attached at the lips. This once, nothing like before, which you though impossible. It’s so much more desperate and it burns, it boils your blood in absolute desire. It leaves you light-headed, it wipes away your cognitive thoughts and leaves behind a foggy cloud of barely strung-together words that only translate into wanting more. More of him. 

You sigh into the kiss and he drinks it all up, he consumes everything you give him with erratic hands and eager tongue. 

Wonwoo leaves your lips and you whine with a breathless sigh of his name, almost chipping at any resolve he had left. But he nips at your neck nonetheless, warm, wet tongue trailing along your skin, making you twitch in his arms with the most delectable little ‘yips’ of surprise. 

He bites, feral and determined; determined to make his claim, to leave behind his mark on your body, to indulge in carnal pleasure without a prospect of tomorrow, letting everything else be a construct beyond these motel walls, away from where you laid. Away from this reality where he had you in his hands and you moaned his name with a soft smile.

Practically tearing your nightgown, he pulls the silky fabric just enough until your tits spill out of its confine. Wonwoo sighs at the sight, fingers trailing the contour of your boobs, raising goosebumps along sensitive skin. His eyes are burning in adoration, the most depraved glaze of hunger hidden behind sheer excitement. 

He dives in, hands kneading at the flesh, squishing soft skin. 

Slender fingers caress your aereolas, running fingernails along your nipples in curiosity, watching you squirm and bite at your lips as your nipples begin to perk up. 

And when you thought he was done, Wonwoo attaches his mouth to your nipple, sloppily running his tongue around it before he sucks. He makes sure to let his teeth graze, just to watch you jump.

All while his other hand makes work of your unattended boob, your attention is so thinly divided between his teasing fingers and his hot tongue and the sweetest, most satisfied groans that erupt from his throat. 

Your face burns and you bite at the back of your hand, shoving down every stubborn moan that tries to make it past; but he won’t have that, no. Wonwoo reaches for your arms, pinning them above your head without so much as pulling away from your tits. 

Mindlessly, you’ve been rocking back and forth against him, chasing a gut feeling you’re unsure of but desire more than anything ever. And without realising, you’ve been teasing him just as much as he has you, which is clear by the volume contained by his shorts. 

He wishes he could ravish your breasts all night, but any more of your squirming and he will come undone without so much as a touch from you. 

Wonwoo pulls away, hands once against finding your waist as he pulls you back to his chest.

“You know what comes next, don’t you?” He whispers against your lips, half-lidded, lust-filled eyes gazing so deep into your own. 

“I— I’ve never done it before,” You confess.

And something stirs within him, to know he is your first, the first and only man to every touch you this way, to trace his lips over your gorgeous body, to settle inside of you. 

Wonwoo smiles and kisses your nose, “I don’t care… But only if you don’t care that I haven’t either.”

You’re surprised, to say the least. 

Kissing in between smiles, you raise to your knees, letting him tug at the hem of shorts just enough to free his cock. 

It’s nothing like you’ve seen before and unlike the illustrations you remember from school. It’s red and veiny and it glistens with pre-cum under the dim lighting.

But it’s a part of him and you can’t help that your belly stirs at the sight of him stroking himself. 

When you reach for the hem of your nightgown, his hands stop you.

“Keep it on—“ He whispers.

“Why?”

“We’ve got all night to take it off,” He runs his tongue through his top teeth with a side smirk and you almost smack him up the head for being such a little shit.

As he asked so kindly, you bunch up your nightgown around your waist, hips circling around his warmth, meanwhile he’s playing with the flesh of your love handles, kneading and running his fingers over your skin. 

“Ready?”

You nod. He raises your hips and lets you control the pace, you feed in his cock, centimetre by centimetre, feeling it’s girth tear at your walls with an unimaginable sting, it burns hot and heavy in your hands.  

Crashing onto his chest, you cry out a pained yelp.

Wonwoo run his fingers over your back, kissing the top of your head, his eyebrows are bunched up, face painted with worry.  “We can stop— Let’s stop—“

“No!” you raise your head and he can see the tiny droplets bundling around your eyelashes, “Just gimme a minute!”

So you sit there, his cock half-in, pulsing angry red and throbbing under the  tease of warmth and tightness. Especially when you look so breathtakingly gorgeous, he gulps, leaning back against the headboard, urging his mind to be strong. 

It takes you minutes to get used to it, to slowly let the size settle until your muscles are well and accustomed to it and then you start it all over again, feeding the remaining inches until he’s bottomed out. 

And oh heavens, how utterly full and hot you felt. Despite the stinging pain, part of you wants to chase the pleasure, clenching in sheer hunger. 

Wonwoo stares up at you, looking for any signs of discomfort but he is met with the most enticing, beautiful, and tempting creature he’s ever laid his eyes upon. Your eyes are glassy with tears, but you’ve got a determined look on your face with a hint of a smirk that sends shivers down his spine and up his cock. 

“Shit,” He curses out with a smile, leaning back and rutting into your hips only to watch your eyebrows furrow and your mouth gape, a moan threatening to escape. “Ready to move, pretty girl?”

You breathe out, “Yeah.”

Steadying yourself against his chest, you raise your hips, feeling his absence leave you upsettingly empty until you let your body crash back down, his cock impaling you with its warmth once again. You rock against him, shallowly, though the motion is unbearably teasing, even for you. 

Wonwoo lets out an obscene, strained moan, fingernails digging into your waist, but you’re too focused on rocking your hips to notice. How he wants nothing but to piston his hips into your pussy like there is no tomorrow, he relishes in the feeling of your warmth, tight and gummy around his throbbing member. 

And he finds you might be just as insatiable as he is, especially when you’ve found yourself a steady pace, bouncing up and down, and his name pours out of your lips in such a beautiful manner. Though he can’t just let you have all the control, can he?

“Oh—“ You yip, “Feels so— Good—“ Still unsure of your thought, you explore the feeling, rolling your hips, feeling him stretch your wider, fill your insides and leave you full like you’ve never felt before. 

His hips meet yours half way, chasing your cunt every time you leave and pounding into you when you come back down, filling the room with guttural groans and the lewd sound of skin against skin. 

You run your fingers under his shirt, feeling bare, warm skin, the softness of his flesh against your hands, the definition of his pecs and the way his nipples peek through the fabric. Wonwoo groans at the way your manicured nails scratch at his chest, gathering momentum as you bounce yourself on top of him. 

He notices you’ve started moving faster, practically fucking yourself stupid on his cock and he would tease you halfway through tomorrow if he didn’t find himself in such a similar predicament. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows furrowed across his brow, pretty lips hanging agape. You’re so utterly perfect and you were all his. 

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” He whispers, slowing down for a second. 

You sigh, nuzzling against his neck, “So good— I can’t even describe it—“ Your words are so airy and mindless, you’ve been consumed by the pleasure he gives you.

He catches the sight of the white rim that pools around his member, a mix of your juices, but it’s gone, sheathed inside you before he can admire it. There’s a poisoning thought that flashes in his mind, a fleeting, tempting picture. Of planting his seed in your womb, watching your grow full with child, his child. How absolutely breathtaking you would look, round cheeks and gorgeous smile, pretty fingers caressing your bump. And he would taint your taut stomach with his cum, watching it drip over your skin.

Wonwoo bites his lips so hard it breaks skin, throwing his head back, willing his mind somewhere else, anything else lest he come undone right then and there. 

Stomach tingling with indescribable pleasure, you lean forward, moaning incessantly, unable to contain your ecstasy. He supports your body, wrapping strong arms around your torso, firm hands planted on your hips, taking over the moving so you can lay still and let the buzz consume your body with its electric touch.

It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before, and it crashes over your body in a colossal wave, building up from the pit of your stomach; sending tingles rushing through your boiling blood. 

You raise your head, eyes meeting his and it seems he is familiar with this pleasure. His left hand meets your face, caressing your cheek, yet holding you still so he can gaze, he can watch you come undone around him. 

Wonwoo watches, unblinking, how your eyebrows furry, your eyes are glossy with tears that cling to your pretty lashes, your lips sit in an enticing pout. Yet you part them, letting out increasingly louder cries of his name. 

And you clench around him like there is no tomorrow, egging him on. He thrusts up into you, riding out your orgasm and chasing his over the edge. 

He crashes his lips into yours, savouring your hazy kiss, your tired sighs and it doesn’t take long before he’s spurting hot white strings into you, it trickles down him and stains the silk fabric of his boxers. 

Soon, he stills all movement except for heavy breathing and the soothing circles he runs over your exposed back. 

He kisses your hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” You breathe out, “Tired. But good.” 

His chest shakes with a soft chuckle, he runs slender fingers along your hairline, fixing any hairs that cling to sweaty skin. “Me too.” 

“It felt amazing,” You smile, raising your head to face him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Wonwoo hums. 

“I’m glad it was you, Nonu,” You hid your face against his neck in embarrassment at your own mushy words, but Wonwoo feels their extent, hiding the blush of his cheeks. 

It doesn’t take long before the post-orgasm haze lulls you into sleep. 

And you slept like never before. 

The following morning, Wonwoo wakes up to an empty bed. He panics for a second or two, scrambling to look for your belongings, only to find everything is still there.

Calm, he washes himself up and gets dressed to leave. Finally having a moment to digest the previous night’s events. 

He had made up his mind, he would confront his father. His future was his to decide on. 

Looking for you, Wonwoo reaches the foyer, only to see you leaning against the wall, attached to the payphone. When your eyes meet his, you immediately say your goodbyes, ending the call.

“Who did you call?” Wonwoo crosses his strong arms against his chest and you try to ignore the sight of his muscly forearms peeking from the folded sleeves.

You don’t like his tone. “Seokmin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why did you call him?”

“I promised I would,” You shrug. 

Wonwoo can’t believe you would call Seokmin out of everyone, especially after you were glued to him last night at the party. “Why him?”

“He’s worried about you, you stupid— Stupid—“ You choke out on any mean names, simply stomping away from him. 

Why was Wonwoo being so mean so early in the morning? You thought after the amazing night you spent together things would change between you.   Stomping your way back to your room, you grumble under your breath.

While you’re folding your clothes, Wonwoo comes back. 

“I’ll talk to my father,” He announces. 

Before you can say anything about that, he continues. “We’ll get married— You and I, I mean— ” He clears his throat, “Will you marry me?”

Like a deer in headlights, you’re frozen, staring at him big-eyed with a dopey smile on your lips. 

“You’ll marry me?” You question, just in case you’ve tricked yourself into hearing the words you’ve wanted most. 

“Yes. And I— I’ll take full responsibility—“

You smile crashes into the ground. “You want to marry me out of… Responsibility?!” The words choke you on their way out. 

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows, not understanding why you would be upset. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I don’t want to fucking marry you!” Not like that.

His face falls and he assumes a much scarier look on his face. “What would you rather marry Seokmin, then?”

And in your fury, you blurt out “Yes! Yes, I would rather marry him!”

You realise your rejection hurt him, you do. But you’re so blindsided by your anger you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he sees you as a responsibility. 

Wonwoo is suddenly not so angry, but indifferent. You watch his expression go away, replaced by one much scarier, in your opinion; nothing. A plain poker face. 

“Gather your things and go to the car.”

It’s all he says before he leaves the room. 

The ride back is the most nerve-racking hours you’ve ever experienced. Wonwoo is silent, even you huff and puff under your breath, angrily chewing on your breakfast of vending machine snacks. 

Though he says one phrase as you reach the city. “Leave me here.” 

And that’s the last you saw of him for over a month. 

Your previous anger dries up, turning into sadness. Then you’re furious. And heartbroken until you’ve accepted your reality. You’ve ruined your friendship and lost the love of your life.

It takes your sister plucking you out of bed for you to finally leave your bedroom in weeks. 

She was the first and only person you’ve told about the night spent with Wonwoo. Your parents were absolutely furious that you’d do something so dangerous, though relieved at your safety, they weren’t easy on their words. 

“He’s not doing well, you know,” You sister says. 

You humph. 

“I’m serious. Daddy said he’s clumsy, keeps messing up his work. I think you should go and see him.”

Closing your eyes, you let out a worrisome sigh. You still cared way too much to hear those news and not do something about it. 

So you dress up in whatever you can find and drive to his shop, building up a speech on your way there and practising every scenario. You just hoped everything could go back to the way it was. 

He’s working on an old model, hunched over the hood in his light blue coveralls, stains of grease from head to toe. 

“Knock knock,” You announced your presence, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, looking forward to meeting his eyes as much as you dread to. 

Wonwoo immediately recognises your voice, turning around to meet your eyes. 

And he looks just as wrecked as you felt. Deep-set eye bags and a tired gaze. Yet he still smiles just as handsomely. 

“Hey,” He greets. 

“Busy?”

“No! No,” Wonwoo scrambles, placing the wrench down removing his gloves. 

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I actually— I wanted to talk to you, too.”

It’s somewhat relieving as well at it’s worrying to hear him say that, it could be an apology as well as an insult or something of the sort. 

“We should— We should go to my office, someone might come in—“

“Yeah— We should.” You nod.

You walk into his office, one you’ve visited and killed time in quite often. But coming here after everything feels so crushing, all this distance between you. 

“Go ahead—“

“You first—“

You both say at the same time and that seems to ease the stubborn awkwardness pooling in the air. You laugh. 

“How about we say it together?” 

“On 3?”

“1”

“2”

“3”

Breathing in, you say the words that come to your mind from the bottom of your heart. 

“I want to marry you.”

“I love you.”

“What?!” 

“What?!” Once again, you both say it at the same time.

“You want to marry me?” He breaks into a wide smile.

“And you love me?” The words feel so alien to you, you can barely believe your ears, you feel the tips of your fingers shake in excitement, your heart pounds so strongly against your rib cage you can almost hear the thumping.

Jeon Wonwoo just said he loves you.

“I— Are you sure you want to marry me? You said you didn’t want to!”

“Yes. Well— I’ve loved you since forever! So when you said you wanted to marry me just out of responsibility— I was heartbroken! It’s like you were forced into doing it!”

“I didn’t want to marry you out of responsibility! I’ve been planning to marry you since the beginning—“

You choke, “You what?!”

Wonwoo sighs, “I never wanted to marry your sister and she was well aware of that… We were blessed that she found her husband and when everything went well, I thought— I hoped that it’d mean we’d be the ones to be wed.”

Processing every word, you almost feel dizzy. “But you said you’d take responsibility!” 

“For roping you into running away from my party.” 

“Oh.” You’re beyond embarrassed for assuming and above all, for getting so angry you didn’t even let him explain himself. 

“I should’ve been clearer,” He admits.

“No— I should’ve talked to you.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Thank you.”

With tiny tears threatening to fall, you can only confirm what you want to know the most. 

“You love me?”

“Always,” He smiles.

Wonwoo seems to remember something, he raises his finger in a “wait” motion and leans over his desk, reaching for the top drawer. It’s only when you catch a peek of the velvet box that you almost keel over.

Gulping, he gathers his courage.

In his grease-stained coveralls that smells of expensive cologne and lavender cleaning supplies, Jeon Wonwoo gets down on one knee, nervously looking up at your with his stupidly gorgeous beady eyes and an expectant smile.

“Will you marry me?”

And in your least presentable dress, the one he’d ruined with grease stains and an unruly hairdo, you respond with the biggest smile:

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Had you been questioned, there would be an answer to just how long you will love Jeon Wonwoo.

You’ll love him forever. 

[storiesoflilies]

warning: slightly spicy, mdni!!!!

gladiator!toji was a fearsome sight to behold.

with marbled skin rippling like a river of bronze, a tattered canvas of tan and pink scars. he was violence and glory, a conqueror born from the very sand and blood of the arenas he fought in. a natural-born killer, toji craved the delicious rush that came with a fight to the death.

and yet, he was that and more.

she thought about that as the heavy iron gates rolled up for his grand entrance into the arena. about how toji fushiguro loved, and loved hard. how every night, with hushed whispers and swallowed moans, he would deeply push into her as if trying to slot his very soul next to hers. where it was safe, and he was safe, because they might not have the next night.

within a sea of people, their bloodlust traveling in waves, she never felt more alone. she bit her lips, digging bloody crescent moons into her palms, and felt her breath hitch as toji’s looming figure emerged from the shadows. the crowd roared and screamed at him, calling upon the gods for their favorite gladiator to give them a worthy show.

to them, that’s all toji was: a killer made only of flesh and bone, ready to die for them.

toji stopped in the dead center of the arena, his sword arm raised high in the air as he swept his green eyes in a full circle around the crowd, who went into a frenzy.

but he wasn’t doing it for them.

he knew she was there, watching him, waiting for him to perhaps catch a glimpse of her, praying beyond all hope that the gods would continue to spare her love from harm. that they would meet again that night in the dim light of his cell, their bare skin pressed tightly together, talking of whimsical daydreams and futures. toji would tell her how he fought for her, and how he would earn his freedom so they could be together.

how they’d live somewhere by the sea, with only the sounds of the waves and their lovemaking to be heard for miles. how they would watch the sunset every day and live off the bounty of the ocean, where they would only chase their pleasure and cultivate their own peace.

but for now, toji bared his teeth, his stance unwavering, as he prepared to face whatever they threw at him and win.

a/n: oh my, i can’t stop thinking about gladiator toji now, and i feel the extremely rare urge to write a smut drabble. i might just do it if you all ask nicely hehe :3

[themastaralex]

the eldest daughters:

I've been in the works of a rhaenyra x f!reader fic for a while now, and it's omegaverse (cross posted on ao3) (my bad guys, accidentally posted it twice lmaoo)

TW: typical targcest between cousins, violence

Summary: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, a proud and stubborn alpha, is set to marry her omega cousin, you, Princess Alerys Targaryen, in a manner to keep the blood of the dragon pure. You share the blood of the dragon, as well as the fire of it. In the end, however, all depends on if you can both manage to keep the realm out of war; war between kin, and war between dragons.

Chapter 1: The Heir's Tournament

You’d always known you’d end up with Rhaenyra, that much was obvious. You two had grown up practically attached at the hip after Daemon took you from your mother, Rhea Royce. He didn’t like her; ‘his bronze bitch’, as he called her, but still needed to produce some form of a child between them.

So he tried, once. Once is all he needed to do, because she had fallen pregnant soon after, much to both his luck and unluckiness. He didn’t want to do that again, hell, he didn’t want to do it in the first place.

You ended up taking your mother’s slightly tanned complexion and her dark brown hair, but your father’s eyes and streaks of white hair, luckily, which you normally braid back. A light purple, the only other trademark of Valyrian descent. He hated being reminded of the fact that he had had a child with her , but he had to have at least produced a child, but he loved you, in spite of having came from your mother.

Growing up with Rhaenyra in King’s Landing wasn’t bad, if that’s what was thought. It was the best place for you to grow up, on the contrary. You are a princess, not just some normal high-born lord’s daughter. You’re a princess of the realm, a Targaryen. Even if he wanted to, Daemon wouldn’t leave you with Rhea to grow up with her, to not have the luxuries you should- but did- grow up with.

You and Rhaenyra were mischievous kids, to say the least. Truthfully, they called you the ‘twin terrors’. But make no mistake, that didn’t stop you two. While you were indeed a princess of the realm, that didn’t stop you from wanting to pursue sword fighting. Not just because it’s interesting, but because it’d be the one thing you could have that could make your father proud of you.

You had natural skill, quite a prodigy, but not a prodigy in the eyes of every man in that training yard, purely because of their bias and overall thinking. But that’s normal.

By the time Rhaenyra presented as an alpha, most people of the court were surprised. They expected her to be an omega- to be submissive to her alpha, which they assumed would have been you, with your tall and slightly well built physique and your more masculine tendencies. And when you presented as an omega shortly after her, it caused nearly double the surprise that Rhaenyra’s presentation did.

And now, with all the commotion of Aemma and Viserys’ coming child- one that Viserys hopes is a boy, it’s as if the pair of you two have been left to your own devices. Along with Alicent as well, of course. She followed you and Rhaenyra in presenting shortly after yourself- at around 14 as an omega as well.

Regardless of the now stark differences between you and Rhaenyra, it was mostly all still the same since your presentations. Only thing was that guards were set at your doors when either of you went into your heats or ruts, because Rhaenyra is absolutely impulsive, reckless, and would gladly have taken that chance to have you early ahead of your coming wedding. And you would have let her have you.

But oh, yes, your wedding.

Rhaenyra presented at 14 and you a few moons shortly after her, so Viserys thought it would be best to betroth you two, to keep the blood of the dragon pure and what not.

It was the smartest idea to come out of him since him having made and named Rhaenyra.

The Heir’s Tournament is grand, as befit for the coming birth of Viserys’ new child, whom he very much hopes is a boy, and who he and Aemma (mostly Viserys though) have named Baelon in advance of the child’s birth. Although, Rhaenyra claims she wants a sister, and claims she’ll be a girl, even as while she and you were very close as kids, you weren’t sisters neither thought of each other as such, luckily.

By the time Rhaenyra finally arrives at the royal box, Alicent and mostly everyone else has already been seated, and it looks as if she was the last one there, excluding yourself because she’s sure you’re down there getting ready to compete. Despite everything, despite yourself having presented as an omega, Rhaenyra hadn’t witnessed her father or your father say anything to you about quitting and stopping your ‘nonsensical bullshit’ of training and fighting.

She supposes that’s what happens when you’re skilled, regardless of secondary gender, she thinks to herself, as she sits down next to Alicent on her right. The seat on Rhaenyra’s right is empty as well, being the one you’d usually sit in next to her when watching tournaments.

Viserys glances at her, and after recognizing that his daughter is there and accounted for, he stands and speaks, his voice oddly booming for once, “Queen Aemma has begun her labors!” He announces, much to the joy of the crowds and the people in the royal box as they clap and smile at him for a few moments before he sits back down and prepares for the first joust; between a knight of House Tarly and an unnamed knight.

Hooves of horses sound like thunder as the first men collide in a joust, with the unhorsing of the Tarly knight occurring with a sharp crack of the unnamed knight’s lance against his shield, or perhaps against his breastplate- although it’s hard to tell from Rhaenyra’s sightline. The unnamed knight seems to have no real way of differentiating him from a sword on the ground due to his bland and mis-matched armor with no house sigil.

Rhaenyra looks at him with slight interest, seeing as the man managed to unhorse a Tarly squire in one fell thrust of his lance.

“A mystery knight?” She inquires, with Alicent responding next to her, “No. A Cole, of the Stormlands.”

“I’ve never heard of House Cole.” Alicent would slightly shrug at Rhaenyra’s words, as they looked at the other knights, who with their decorated armor and resplendent jewels look every bit the part of wealthy noblemen who have never seen an inch of battle or war.

They spot one in specific, and Rhaenyra has a bit of gossip to share regarding him, so she tilts her body toward Alicent just enough to whisper to her without the possibility of prying ears, “Lord Stokeworth’s daughter is promised to that young squire.”

“Lord Massey’s daughter?” Alicent asks, as Rhaenyra nods and continues, “They’re to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.” Alicent almost scoffs in amusement, but finishes their little gossip session with an added soft chuckle, “He’d best get on with it. I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”

Rhaenyra almost bursts out laughing at the news, but manages to control it into a small giggle as she leans back into her seat, watching Lord Boremund Baratheon ride over to the royal box, with his house sigil, a proud black and gold stag, etched onto his armor, and banners on his horse. He lifts his lance up toward Rhaenys, prompting her to stand and walk over to him as everyone watches him ask for her favor.

“I would humbly ask for the favor of ‘The Queen Who Never Was’.”

Rhaenys nods her head and indulges him, grabbing a favor and placing it on his lance as she offers him good fortune in the coming joust, even as he almost disregards her comment, “I would gladly take it- if I thought I needed it.”

That comment just rubs Rhaenyra the wrong way, as Otto grumbled something about Viserys possibly having Boremund’s tongue out for that. It rubs Rhaenyra the wrong way personally because despite her father being the king, she felt as if the crown should have been Rhaenys’. She was Aemon’s only living child, and she was still passed over for the crown twice. Once for Baelon, and another time for Viserys.

Over the set of the next few minutes, they just speak amongst each other until the Master of Revels introduces who is one of the main competitors of the event.

“Ser Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!”

Daemon, Rhaenyra’s uncle, and soon-to-be father-in-law as well.

The smallfolk in the stands cheer loudly for him as he rides out on his steed, as Daemon is wearing black-scaled armor, with the helm looking like a dragon’s head. The other knights from the lists are lined up- once again minus yourself.

While Daemon trots his horse down the line, scrutinizing and choosing his opponent, Rhaenyra’s thoughts obviously wander to you. You wouldn’t miss a single chance to embarrass your father, especially if it’s in a joust, or even if you get embarrassed yourself, because you’d get to fight Daemon regardless.

“Where is she?” Rhaenyra would mutter to herself, one of her arms moving to rest on the arm rest as one of her thumbs played with the ring on her middle finger. Alicent notices Rhaenyra’s small mutter and her fidgeting with her rings- not that she’s much better because she picks at her nails.

But she notices regardless, and decides to distract her a bit by speaking of who he might choose, “Daemon will surely choose to face one of the great houses. Though he probably doesn’t want to tilt against someone he’s never faced.” She notes, getting Rhaenyra to sit back up a bit as Daemon chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s older brother and Otto’s eldest son, with aiming his lance toward him.

This makes Alicent slightly frown, as Rhaenyra looks on in contemplation. The one person she wants to see compete in this bloody tournament isn’t even here yet, and it’s maddening, because she knows you’re a damn good warrior. Otto doesn’t even flinch at Daemon’s choosing of opponent, he expected it, if anything.

Daemon and Gwayne line up in their lanes, and charge toward one another. Daemon’s tactic of forcing the other man’s lance to drive into the dirt and throw him off the horse works, and Gwayne lands face first into the ground under him and his steed. Once Daemon wins, he takes a victory lap around, and then rides up to the royal box as he takes off his helm and wows the crowd with his obvious good looks.

Rhaenyra, Alicent, and truthfully, most- if not all- the ladies in the royal box immediately swoon, as Alicent and Rhaenyra go up and walk to him, as they both smile, Rhaenyra’s smile being just a touch more polite than anything else, as is Alicent’s.

“Nicely done, uncle.” Rhaenyra notes with a hint of praise, as Daemon gives her a small nod, acknowledging her words, “Thank you, Princess.” Then Daemon turned his eyes toward Alicent, tilting his lance up toward her, and then asking in an almost smug tone, “I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.”

At that, Alicent is almost taken aback, even with the blush on her face from the question. But she does as he requests, grabbing a favor and placing it on the lance, as it slides to the base, with Rhaenyra going back to sit down as Alicent offers some final words. “Good luck, my prince.”

Rhaenyra looks almost amused, but she doesn’t want to give away that this genuinely makes her laugh, as Otto glares down at Daemon. Beating his son, then asking his daughter for a favor, as if he’s someone he should cross?

All in all, the hostility between his younger brother and his Hand amuses Viserys to no end.

The tournament rages on, and finally, you make an appearance. You’re up against a member of House Tyrell, a knight of no real consequence. Even his movements on his horse seem sloppy, if anything.

The moment Rhaenyra spots your recognizable dragon armor- the same colors as Daemon’s armor, black and red, as it should be for most Targaryens- the helm, mostly, since it’s reminiscent of your dragon, Aeryx and her horn shape, she grins, finally able to relax and know you’re about to wipe the floor with that Tyrell man. Or maybe a boy, more like it.

“And now, for her first match of the day, Ser Alerys of House Targaryen, daughter of the Prince of the City, is tilting against Ser Heron of House Tyrell!” The smallfolk all cheer and clap at the mention and sight of their prince’s daughter, as the nobles in the royal box clap for both competitors.

Viserys both visibly smiles and looks worried. Not for you, but for Heron Tyrell. If you’re anything like Daemon– and you are, after all, he’s known you since you were a babe– you’re definitely going to either bend the rules a bit, or say ‘fuck all’ and just beat the man half to death. With the way Daemon handled Gwayne in his own match, he doesn’t doubt you were most definitely watching him and are taking pointers from him and his own actions.

Regardless, the smallfolk calm down a bit as you and Heron trot into your respective lanes after your introductions from the Master of Revels, as you watch Rhaenyra and Alicent stand up and walk to the guard-rails of the royal box to watch this joust. They’re your closest friends, and your cousin is set to marry you in a year or so, so it would only make sense for them to want to closely watch you embarrass a Tyrell.

You look up at Rhaenyra and Alicent, giving them a small nod and smile through your helm, with only your eyes and the middle of your lips visible through the small vertical open area of your black iron helm. They smile back at you, with Alicent’s smile being more friendly than Rhaenyra’s small smirk. The girl lives for both hearing drama and causing it.

Once you look back at Heron, it’s as if you can tell he’s nervous from beneath the visor of his helm, because his hand is slightly shaking as he holds his lance and shield. Now, for the lance, it might just be that it’s heavy, so you won’t blame him for that if that’s the case.

After a few more moments of a wait, you both charge toward the other, having a narrow field to aim your lance and hope it strikes true on either his shield or on his breastplate to push him off. Once you both get close, you meet the edge of his shield, but the tip of the lance slides to the side to strike his armored shoulder as he’s pushed almost off his saddle as you both ride down the line to the end to turn back around and go for a second charge if he can sit up. His own lance had missed- sliding off the iron edge of your own shield, which didn’t help him stay on his saddle, as he fell the moment the horse turned to the other side, falling into the mud of the tiltyard and losing the joust.

The crowd loudly applauds at their princess’s win, having all expected her to easily best the Tyrell knight, as Rhaenyra and Alicent stood at the rails the entire time, witnessing the usage of strategy that you used (you just aimed at his shield), and how you made the best of missing his shield.

You ride up to the royal box, removing your helm and holding it in your lap as you look up at them, as if a knight in shining armor.

“Princess Rhaenyra. Lady Alicent.” You greet, giving each one a small nod as a smile rose on your face regardless of who you were looking at– even if it rose mainly due to Rhaenyra. She looks beautiful in that dress, with the red and golds contrasting perfectly with herself. You don’t even have to address them with honorifics, you just want to. Besides, if you want to play as a knight right now, you have to be as courteous as one would be.

“I wouldn’t suppose that I could have your favor for the coming fights, could I, Princess?” 

‘Only you would be so bold as to ask for my favor over such a minor joust, Alerys..’ Rhaenyra thinks to herself, slightly tilting her head and having a small smile on her lips. She keeps eye contact with you, before giving her oral answer, dancing around it a bit before really answering.

“Hmm, I would suppose so, my gallant knight.” She walked over to where the favors are, and grabbed one as her father looked at her with a small neutral look for a moment before letting a small smile come on his lips and give a slight nod to her as if to say, ‘Go ahead.’

It's not like Viserys doesn't want Rhaenyra and you to not have fun neither not show that you are both steadily ready for your coming marriage, and giving you her favor would only reinforce the thoughts of most nobles; loyalty.

Otto side eyes Viserys for a moment, watching as the king gives the go-ahead to Rhaenyra to place the favor of a wreath of red roses on your lance, watching it slide down to the base.

Of course, Otto, being the King's Hand and a.. a friend , agreed with him the moment he suggested Rhaenyra and you be betrothed.

Though, his ambitions are large, large enough to take heavy steps to the crown if need be. Truthfully, he should have pushed to possibly have betrothed Alicent and Rhaenyra. It's not like Alicent isn't pleasant looking and Rhaenyra doesn't have affection for her– she does. But he's not sure as to how he might have taken it, especially since this was likely one of the few things that Viserys and Daemon had agreed on doing for their daughters in a while now.

But he's sure that with a bit of persuasion , or perhaps seduction of sorts from Alicent’s way toward Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra might voice her opinion to want to marry someone other than the obvious choice of her cousin with Targaryen blood..

But Otto quickly gets himself out of his own head and plans, watching as you and Rhaenyra conversed for another few moments, with you claiming brave words of victory.

“When I win this entire tourney, I’ll come up and name you my Queen of Love and Beauty, cousin.” Your words came with a cocky grin, looking up at Rhaenyra, as she just quickly snorted, out of humor if nothing else. Just the name of ‘cousin’ toward one another makes her laugh, as she humored you.

“We’ll see when you win then, won’t we?” Rhaenyra smiled, slightly tilting her head for a moment as she kept eye contact with you for a bit more before you placed your helm back on and rode back toward the boy acting as your squire.

Alicent- who was witnessing the entire flirting session between the two of you, side-eyes Rhaenyra, having a look of something similar to saying, ‘Well, I’m sorry I was here to witness this..’, as they sit back down.

Over the course of the rest of the day, Lord Boremund Baratheon is humbled and promptly knocked off his horse by the previously unnamed knight, the Cole of the Stormlands, who they announce as, ‘Ser Criston Cole’. Now with a complete name to the man, Rhaenyra is partially curious about him, so she waves over for Ser Harrold Westerling, her Kingsguard knight, to ask him about the man.

“What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?” She asked, as he seemed to think about it for a moment, responding back to his princess to the best of what he was told. “I have been asking the same thing, Princess. I’m told Ser Criston is common-born, the son of Lord Blackhaven’s steward. Other than that, and the fact that he has unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I could not say.”

They watch as Ser Criston lines back up in the lane as he awaits his next opponent.

The Master of Revels calls out the next opponent, “Ser Criston Cole will now tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City!”

That catches Rhaenyra’s attention again, seeing as her uncle is about to tilt against this Ser Criston. She thinks Daemon will make quick work of him, and then after that, he would probably joust against you, his own daughter. However, he might have the slightest bit more pity for you, and not be as harsh as he would normally be with any other opponent.

Both Alicent and Rhaenyra’s interest peaked at this match, as they stay seated but watch with careful eyes, as Ser Harrold stood and walked back to his post.

The joust is a quick one, with both of them charging toward one another, as Daemon hits Criston’s breastplate dead on, breaking his lance. Unfortunately, Daemon is the one who is dismounted, with the amount of force he placed into the attack, he’s forced back, falling off his horse and onto his back.

Though, he quickly scrambles back up and signals to his squires to bring him Dark Sister, offering it to him hilt first, as he quickly draws said sword– the Valyrian steel rippling in the light of the afternoon sun.

“Prince Daemon wishes to continue in a melee!” The Master of Revels proclaims, as the crowd cheers and hollers, with Ser Criston dismounting his horse and continuing this match in a melee. While Daemon had a squire to hand him Dark Sister, Criston has no such man, so he runs to grab a morningstar from one of the posts set up with weapons on one side of the tiltyard. But Daemon doesn’t wait, he quickly and angrily slashes at him with Dark Sister, with Criston evading with the speed of a much smaller and agile man.

With his evasion, he turns around and snares Dark Sister with the chain, gripping the blade and quickly pulling it away from Daemon’s grip and into the mud. Daemon is disarmed now, as Criston throws him into the ground, hitting him on the back with his morningstar once, to stun him, as he says, “Yield.”

But in true Daemon fashion, he tries– and fails– to reach for Dark Sister, with Criston kicking away the sword to somewhere else, now standing over Daemon as he holds his morningstar above his head, ready to strike again if he does not yield. The crowds are going absolutely wild, at both Daemon being bested, and Daemon being bested by a relatively unknown knight.

Viserys stands and claps and laughs loudly, as Otto politely claps, but both are appreciating that Daemon has been humbled and bested for once. Criston helps Daemon up out of the mud, as Daemon spits some blood on the ground, angrily.

“Well fought, my prince.” “It was. By one of us.”

After his snarky answer back, Daemon walks away, picking up Dark Sister as he leaves the tiltyard, and perhaps the tourney grounds in total.

Ser Criston remounts his horse and rides to the royal box, looking up at Alicent and Rhaenyra, and due to having already witnessed the earlier match of you versus the Tyrell boy, decides against asking Rhaenyra for her favor, lest he wins and gains your wrath against him. He removes his helm as Alicent and Rhaenyra come up to the rails, watching him for a moment; witnessing his dark hair, dark eyes, and olive-colored skin.

“Gods, he’s Dornish.” Alicent said, almost falling for him right then and there. Of course, Rhaenyra doesn’t exactly feel the same thing. He’s attractive, sure, but he’s not you.

As they witness Criston’s looks for the first time, a maester comes into the royal box and speaks quietly to Otto, who quickly wears a somewhat distressed face, as he whispers to Viserys, who after receiving the news, quickly but quietly makes his way out of the royal box and into the Red Keep with Otto and the maester, where his wife, Queen Aemma, is having birthing problems.

Criston asks for Alicent’s favor, even as she had earlier given one to Daemon, but her eyes do partially light up as she does, because he chose her and not Rhaenyra to ask for a favor.

Afterwards, the tourney takes a more brutal turn, with bones breaking, blood being spilled every which way, and death being something the slightest bit more common right now, as a Corbray knight walks over to the Tarly knight who unhorsed him, and begins to beat him. Their pages and squires rush to pull them off each other, to no avail.

In the next match after getting them out, it’s Ser Criston versus you, still having the favor that Rhaenyra gave you that was on the base of your lance, which is now on the junction of your left arm, of your inner elbow.

“And now, Ser Criston Cole versus Ser Alerys Targaryen!”

You both charge with loud yells, striking true on each other’s shields, shattering one another’s lances, as well as a part of your shield. You rush to throw your broken lance down, grabbing another from your temporary squire’s hand, being careful to grip the inside as Rhaenyra eagerly watches you race down the lane a second time, hoping you knock Criston on his ass, purely because Daemon lost, so you need to win it. For House Targaryen, for your own pride, and for Rhaenyra.

It’s almost a make or break moment, the moment that you aim in and have a set point as to where the tip of the lance will strike. No, not almost , it is a make or break moment.

Even with the sweat rushing down your forehead and almost into your eyes because of the heat and your heavy black armor, you manage a breath before you collide.

It’s over in merely a second as you feel the lance hit him, but you also feel his lance against you– pushing you down as both of you hit each other’s breastplates with all the speed of the racing horses, and your own strength.

And you are both knocked to the ground at the same time, off your horses- disoriented because of the force- as you barely shuffle up onto your feet, regaining your eyesight as you motion your squire to grab your sword, and he quickly hands you your sword, a well-crafted iron sword, whom you dubbed, Stinger. You couldn’t really think of anything better because you were a child when Daemon gave you it.

“And they decide to continue into the melee!”

You witness Ser Criston having stood back up as well, grabbing a morningstar, no doubt about to try the same tactics he used on Daemon, considering he knows who he’s facing; his daughter.

You don’t slash as angrily as Daemon did, more so just gauging your chances and taking shorter slashes, since he has the advantage of wielding a weapon that could easily dent your breastplate if you’re not careful and if he’s harsh with his strikes.

You both go back and forth for a bit trying to know the other’s striking pattern, as you get a bit too eager once you see an opening, going for it as he notices and uses the morningstar to hit your shoulder, denting your armor and forcing you down, almost letting go of your sword, but not quite.

He quickly tries to disarm you by kicking your hand, but you grab some dry dirt from a patch, and throw it in his eyes, in classic Daemon fashion, barely getting up and hitting the morningstar out of his hand as he almost wipes at his eyes, forcing them open, growling angrily. This is when he starts going for hand to hand combat, knowing his morningstar is too far to reach now, and he’s partly blinded.

The crowd gasps, seeing as you pulled a ‘dirty trick’. It’s something that- again- Daemon would do, so they’re not too surprised. 

Both you and Ser Criston continue, with you pushing him back a bit with your sword, trying to kick him down and make him yield, but he stays up. It’s frustrating, and almost makes you irritated, but while your frustration and irritation hits you, your distraction gives him an opening, so he shoves your sword aside with his armguard, and makes sure to hit your helm guard with the metal covering his knuckles, forcing it to hit your nose. And with the strength of his punch, it makes you bleed a bit, as you stagger backwards; disoriented again as your vision failed you and eyes started watering.

He grabbed your collar of your neck armor, and threw you down onto the ground as if you were nothing but a sack of flour, in which you groaned as you hit the mud. He places one foot on your hand wielding your sword, and the other on your breastplate, on top of the Targaryen sigil in the middle.

“Yield.” He said, knowing you’d have to. You literally can’t move with his feet on you.

“I-I.. I yield.” You reluctantly say, and he takes off his feet from you and your body, and moves to give you a hand. He’s a strong fighter, you’ll give him that. But then again, you’re only a 14 year old girl, and you lasted that long and almost bested him. Good try.

You take his hand up, giving him a small nod of thanks, even as the blood rushes down your nose and lips, then down your chin and onto the ground and probably your breastplate.

“Good fight, Ser.” You manage out, as he gives a small nod back, “I say the same to you, my princess.”

The entire fight did rub him the wrong way for a bit, seeing as he was fighting a princess, not a girl specifically. But to be acknowledged by a princess, one that worked to hone her skills to participate in a tourney, is good nonetheless.

You both walk away, to get treated for your wounds, and because Criston pretty much won the entire damn thing already.

And then, not even half an hour later, during a different melee, you join Rhaenyra and Alicent up in the royal box, rubbing at your nose as you sit down in some clean clothes, in a black tunic with red accents and embroidered silver dragons on top of where each breast is.

Rhaenyra looks at you, and feels a bit bad, until she realizes you lost, and totally wasted her favor. “You wasted my favor, oh, gallant knight.” She sarcastically says, and she doesn’t really care about the favor much.

You look at her for a moment, slightly embarrassed and frowning, “Sorry. He got my nose, and my eyes started watering.” You grumble, holding it as you witness the new violence down in the tiltyard, whereas Alicent looks away and Rhaenyra- like you- continues to look.

As the violence reaches a standstill, as in the bodies being dragged away after everything, Otto finally returns, and shares the new news to the small council.

“The Queen lives, but the boy is dead.” He quietly shares, earning a small gasp from some of them. It’s enough to draw attention, from all three girls down in the first row, as well as from possibly Laena and Laenor.

The Queen lives, but the boy is dead.

Aemma survived off of nothing short of a miracle. They sacrificed Baelon’s life for Aemma’s, but she is narrowly surviving.

Viserys chose her, in a rare twist of fate.

[misctf]

Don't know if you still want requests but I grew up playing good old american football so I naturally have bulked way up and become so big but now I'd like to play soccer. Can you help me get from football bulky to soccer lean?

You jogged back to the side-lines, high-fiving your teammate as they ran out to take your place. The whistle blows, and you watch as the game resumes. If you told your younger self you’d be trying to play soccer, he would’ve laughed. As your dad said, you were born to play American football. And years of training your body left you bulky and muscular. At 6’2” and 230lbs, you’re a beast. But since graduating college a few years ago, you found it hard to get back into football. Most of your colleagues were into soccer and your company’s team played weekly.

“You should play.” Jake from accounting said.

“Nah, not into that kinda stuff.” You initially replied. You weren’t some twinkle-toed foot fairy. You played football. A real sport.

But you eventually caved. You figured you needed some more cardio in your life and connecting with your colleagues a bit more couldn’t be that bad. You just didn’t figure how much you were going to love it. Or how bad you’d be at it. Your coworkers patted you on the back after you failed to complete a pass. They reassured you it was okay when you accidentally scored on your own goal. And you eventually figured you just didn’t have the body or stamina for the sport. But you weren’t a quitter.

You’d never heard of the Jock Exchange Program until an ad popped up on your screen one evening. You read closely, becoming absolutely fascinated. An app that gives athletes the chance to try out a new sport. An for app those who feel they dedicated themselves to the wrong sport. The process is simple. Match with someone and meet at one of their facilities. Easy enough. You set up your profile, snapping a picture that highlights your bulky, muscular form. And after swiping through a few possible swaps, you match. The guy’s name is Dylan. Just turned 19, blond, lean, and played soccer all his life. He’s a bit young, but he reassures you he’s okay aging up a bit if it means he gets a chance at playing American football.

And a few day later, you’re at the facility. It was the first time you met Dylan. He was certainly shorter and younger than you. A confident, cocky grin etched on his face. You agreed to a 1 month swap, just to see how it goes. You and Dylan sign the papers. And before you knew it, electrodes were hooked up to your head. And then everything went black.

When you awoke, the world around you felt a big larger. You raised your hand and gasped. It was smaller, hairless. The skin young and not weathered by the years. You grab a mirror and look closely at your handsome face, blond hair, and tanned skin. You can’t help but chuckle. It felt so odd. So foreign. Yet it was yours all the same. You eventually got ready and said goodbye to Dylan, who was clearly enjoying his new larger frame. And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back at your old body. You were never much of a narcissist, but god you looked good. You blushed when you felt your new cock chub up a bit. Returning home, you had the chance to really appreciate your new form. The lean, hairless muscle a far cry from your bulkier form. The confident, cocky smirk reminded you of all those asshole jocks you used to play with. This kid probably got a lot of action, you figured.

The next few days were largely normal. You went to work, having to explain to everyone your situation. But afterwards, you had the chance to really shine on the soccer field. Your lean form moving expertly, performing moves you didn’t even know were possible. Jake comes up to you afterwards, slapping you on the back and commending your new skills. And again, the oddest feeling passes through you. When did Jake get so attractive? I mean, he was a good looking guy. Just out of college- really gorgeous smile. And his stubble was a sexy addition to his chiseled face. You even notice the sweat dripping down his shirt. And his manly musk causes your dick to stir. You never had thoughts like that before, yet all you could do was stare dreamily at him.

“Hey, you good?”

“Uh yeah, bro.” You say, “I...” You pause and give him a confident smirk, “Just wondering what you’re doing after this, man.” You say. Images of him fucking you cross your mind and you’re lost in a horny daze, “Wanna head back to my place?”   

He gives you an odd look and asks if you’re okay. Using a name that you don’t think quite sounds right.

“Uh, name’s Dylan.” You say. He raises an eyebrow and in that moment, you snap back to reality, “Oh shit, uh sorry Jake. I need to go!”  You quickly part ways, your mind trying to make sense of what just happened. Just a blip, you figure, nothing to worry about.

But as the days continue to pass, you’re starting to recognize these issues aren’t improving. Your performance at work declines. Tasks you knew how to do with ease are taking much longer and are done incorrectly. At the same time, you’re constantly horny. The hormones raging in this younger body- consuming your every focus. And one night, while you’re browsing porn sites, you realize straight porn isn’t doing it for you. Without much thought, you navigate to a gay porn site you know you’d never heard of, and find a video. And for the first time, you jerk off to gay porn, moaning the entire time. Completely lost in the bliss.

The next day, you don’t even go into work. In fact, you don’t really recall what you do for work. Weren’t you in college? And who’s apartment was this? But a voice is telling you this isn’t right. You can barely recall aspects of your old life. And you realize in terror that these thoughts aren’t your own. You quickly call the help desk for the Jock Exchange Program and tell them what’s been going on.

“That was part of the risks, sir.” They say, “Sometimes, remnants of the old person’s mind remain. And in some cases, will overwrite the host.” They clear their voice, "Not to alarm you, but once an overwrite occurs, it may be impossible to rectify."

“Overwrite? Impossible?” You ask, the panic in your voice evident, “How do I stop this?”

“We can initiate an emergent transfer back to your old body. Can you tell us your name?”

“Dylan Conners.” You say, shaking your head, “No, it’s Dylan Conners.” Your eyes widen and you realize you can’t even remember your old name. In a panic, you hang up the phone.

You need to stop this. You need to... do what? Stop what? You shake your head. And, as you look around the apartment, you feel uncomfortable. This isn’t your place. You don’t even know how you got here. Despite a voice telling you this is your apartment, you flee. You run down the sidewalk and try to make sense of what’s going on. You quickly head to a spot you know all too well: the soccer field. And when you arrive, you take a deep breath. A feeling of comfort washing over you. There’s an abandoned soccer ball and you quickly start to practice. Each move wiping away your worry. Each successful shot on goal removing any doubt that you’re anyone but Dylan Conners. And by the time you’re done, covered in sweat, only Dylan Conners remains. You look down at a text on your phone.

“Hey man, wanted to know if you wanted to prolong this exchange. Got a spot on the team for the rest of the season. And btw, I’m loving this body.”

You chuckle, “Who the fuck is that?” You wonder. You quickly text back, “Sure man, I don’t give a shit.” And close your phone.

[chvoswxtch]

part three: the camera

[series masterlist] | [previous part] | [part four]

pairing: billy russo x fem!reader

summary: if the police can't help, who can you turn to?

warnings: swearing, billy is still a cocky lil shit, explicit sexual content (minors dni), billy is also a lil perv, voyeurism (noncon), mutual masturbation

word count: 3.1k

a/n: y'all can thank @thyme-in-a-bubble for this one. this entire part was born from a slutty conversation we had about billy being a sneaky lil perv. this is just a taste of the treats to come. ;) (pun intended) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Sitting on your couch, watching several of Billy’s men come in and out of your apartment, you’d nearly bitten your nails down to the quick. The sound of holes being drilled and nails being hammered seemed to be amplified in your ears, making you feel as though those screws and nails were being driven into your own brain. Annie gently placed her hand on your knee, trying to quell the relentless bouncing, and then reached over to pull your hand you’d been gnawing on away from your anxious mouth, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You know, for two women living alone in New York City, having security cameras isn’t such a bad idea.”

Having the security cameras installed should have made you feel better, and on one hand it did, but on the other it just made you feel extremely guilty, because if it wasn’t for the ghost haunting you from your past, they wouldn’t be necessary. To her credit, Annie was doing her best to not outwardly show how scared she was herself. She’d been by your side ever since Adam was murdered, she went with you to the police after the call from Roman, and she was here with you now, trying to keep you calm even though you could see it in her eyes that she was freaked out too.

Billy was standing by the front door, speaking to one of his men with a stern expression on his face. He showed up with a team of his guys first thing this morning, brought all the necessary tools and equipment, and commanded each of them with strict instructions. He was making rounds, checking each of his men’s work on the different cameras with intense scrutiny, checking various angles from the video feed on his iPad to ensure there were as few blind spots as possible, and making sure there were no loose wires or connections.

Derek walked through the front door, focused solely on Billy as he approached him. The shirt he was wearing made his eyes look more green than blue today. His eyes had been what first attracted Annie to him. Well, that and the rest of his tanned Greek God-esque physique. But she always gushed about how she thought he had the most perfect smolder look naturally. Permanent bedroom eyes.

To you though, it just looked like the sun was always in his face. Or like he’d forgotten his contacts and couldn’t see something far away.

“Cameras outside are secure and operational.”

Billy’s dark brown eyes flickered up to look at Derek. He gave him a faint nod and went back to typing something on his iPad screen. Derek ran one of his tan hands through his messy blonde hair, turning his attention towards you and Annie sitting on the couch. He walked over and bent down to press a kiss to Annie’s forehead, placing his hand on the back of her head.

“Y’all alright?”

“Yeah. Thank you for doing this.”

“Of course, baby.”

Derek’s gaze flickered over to you, noticing the zoned out look on your face. He reached over and gave your shoulder a light reassuring squeeze, capturing your attention. There was an easy smile on his lips as he nodded in your direction.

“It’s gonna be alright. Don’t worry your pretty little head. Son of a bitch has a better chance of breachin’ the Pentagon than this place.”

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a soft snort and shook your head in slight amusement. Derek was so easy going it was almost annoying. He had that Matthew McConaughey drawl and aura of coolness about him, like nothing could ever disturb his laidback nature. It made you wonder what he was like in the military. Was he still all calm and collected in the middle of warfare?

Arching one of your brows, there was a tiny smile on your lips as you looked up at Derek.

“The Pentagon? Not the White House bunker?”

“Hey, doin’ what we can on short notice.”

Derek gave you a confident grin and flashed Annie a wink before walking over to check with the guy working on the door.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Turning your head to look up when Billy called your name, he motioned you over with his index and middle finger. Letting go of Annie’s hand, you got up and walked over to where he was standing, looking up at him curiously. He moved to stand right beside you and held out the iPad, allowing you to see the screen as he switched between all the different camera feeds.

“Alright you got five cameras. Kitchen, living room, front door, front of the building, and alley behind the building. We took out the physical lock on the front door and replaced it with an electronic keypad. No chance of anyone pickin’ a lock, gotta have a code to get in the door.”

You watched as Billy shuffled through the different camera feeds. They had a pretty wide range of coverage, able to move up and down, and from left to right. The only blind spot seemed to be with the camera on the front door; there wasn’t a view of the elevator or stairwells. Your apartment was right in the middle of the hall, so those viewpoints were too far for the camera’s range.

“Derek put an app on yours and Annie’s phones that allows you to check the cameras at all times, no matter where you are. He and I got the same one on our phones, and I got a team of people back at Anvil surveilling the footage twenty-four seven.”

Turning your head to look up at him, a soft crease formed between your brows.

“You mean someone is going to be watching us on those cameras all the time?”

Sensing your apprehension, Billy turned to look down at you, looking like the playful version of himself you were used to for the first time all morning.

“They’re gonna be lookin’ for trouble, mainly keepin’ watch on the front and back of the building, and the front door. Only reason they got to watch the feed in here is if someone tries to tamper with the lock, or tries to beat the door down.”

Seeing your eyes widen at that last statement, Billy set the iPad aside and gently grabbed your shoulders, ducking his head to meet your eye level.

“Relax, no one’s gonna do that, alright? It’s a pretty damn thick door.”

Letting out a deep exhale past your lips, the tension in your body slowly deflated, and you absentmindedly placed one of your hands on top of Billy’s as you glanced around your apartment that was crowded with his employees.

“So, you do payment plans?”

Turning to look up at Billy, you noticed he arched one of his dark brows as he looked down at you in confusion.

“Payment plans?”

“I know none of this stuff is cheap-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that.”

“Billy-”

“I mean it. You ain’t payin’ for none of this, alright? You can argue with me til you’re blue in the face ‘bout anything else, but not this.”

Giving him a pointed look while crossing your arms over your chest, Billy mirrored your expression and body language, the two of you in a silent standoff. Rolling your eyes, you shook your head as you looked around your apartment once again before looking back up at him.

“You have to let me do something.”

Billy’s lips instantly spread into a wicked smirk, and you gawked at him before letting out a dry amused scoff, lightly smacking your hand against his chest. Billy’s sharp features twisted into an expression of faux anguish, placing his hand over the spot you’d smacked him.

“Ow, what? I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. God, you are so transparent.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle as his lips split open into a wide grin, and he slipped his hands into his pockets as he stared down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I think you’re the one with your head in the gutter, sweetheart. I was just gonna say some company for coffee would be nice, but hey if you got somethin’ else in mind-”

“Shut up, Russo.”

Trying to fight your amused smile, you looked away from him and shook your head while attempting so hard not to laugh. At your side, Billy was snickering, still trying to maintain his look of faux innocence. 

When you turned your head to look up at him again, you narrowed your eyes lightheartedly and cocked your head to the side.

“What happened to not wanting to end up ‘gutted in some alley’?”

“I never said it was gonna be a date.”

Immediately your cheeks flushed slightly with heat. Because of his flirty nature, and the fact that he’d been trying to fuck you since he met you, when he mentioned getting coffee, you just assumed he was trying to ask you out. Catching the way your face quickly shifted into a concoction of confusion and embarrassment, Billy’s dark eyes roved over you as he flashed you a cocky grin.

“I mean if you wanna go out with me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Billy let out a bark of laughter at the annoyed expression on your face and the dryness of your voice, watching in amusement as you rolled your eyes and shook your head at him. He could see the way the edges of your lips twitched, fighting your urge to smile and laugh. As much as you hated to admit, you were grateful for Billy’s presence lately. He had a way of making you feel lighter in such a heavy situation.

Billy stood by your side with his hands in his pockets, glancing around your apartment, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips as he spoke.

“So, Friday?”

»»———　　———««

Billy was working late tonight at Anvil, trying to get a few last minute things done for an upcoming business deal. His large desk, which was usually neat and tidy, was covered in a plethora of contracts to be reviewed, reports from the latest operation involving a D.A. candidate, and a file he’d managed to retrieve on you from a contact in Woodsboro PD. 

You had told him your version of your past, but you hadn’t gone into explicit detail. After reading the contents of the police report, the medical report from the hospital, and the full document of the restraining order, he understood why. Beneath your file was one on Roman Walker, nearly as thick as his thumb. But the one on the left side of his desk labeled ‘The Woodsboro Murders 96’ was almost as thick as the book next to it with the same title by Gale Weathers.

He was in the middle of reviewing some paperwork when an alert went off on his phone. Absentmindedly, he glanced over at the new notification.

Bedroom Activity.

Immediately he put his pen and the paperwork down, swiping his phone off his desk. After typing in the passcode to unlock it, he clicked on the notification, and a live camera feed popped up of a bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Was it a complete invasion of privacy to have hidden a camera in your bedroom? Yeah. Did he regret it? No. He’d justified it in his head that he was just trying to keep you safe, although he definitely had ulterior motives for doing it. What you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt.

Seeing you walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, your hair damp and skin glistening with droplets, Billy let out a hum of appreciation in the back of his throat. He tilted his phone horizontally, the feed expanding to fit his entire screen, and he leaned back in his office chair. Just the sight of you fresh out of the shower in a towel was enough to make his cock twitch.

He should’ve exited out of the feed right then. He should’ve locked his phone and gotten back to work, knowing you were about to be removing that towel to dry off, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable in front of a camera you didn’t even know existed. That would’ve been the gentlemanly thing to do.

But Billy Russo was no gentleman.

Instead, his eyes widened with delight and he bit down on his bottom lip, letting out a groan when you unwrapped the towel and started to dry off before wringing your wet hair out with it. Billy had imagined you naked several times since he first met you that night in the bar, but God the real thing was so much better. His eyes darkened with hunger as they roamed over your body, drinking in your exposed flesh.

Those hips and thighs he desperately wanted to grab onto with your legs wrapped around his waist, those soft breasts he wanted to watch bounce as you rode him, that incredible ass he wanted to smack while he fucked you from behind. He was practically salivating as he watched you sit on the edge of your bed and massage lotion onto your damp skin, something he would’ve eagerly volunteered to do. He was already half hard just watching you go about your nightly routine, his hand snaking down to palm the bulge in his pants while you brushed out your wet hair, letting out a quiet groan of relief.

Billy figured your next move was to get dressed, and that his private little show would soon be over, but what you did next surprised him.

He watched you lay back against your pillows, close your eyes, and he saw your chest rise and fall as you took a deep breath. His eyes were glued to your hands, watching as you brought them up to your breasts, cupping them and giving them a soft squeeze, your lips parting as you brushed your thumb over your nipples that had begun to peak.

“Oh, fuck.”

Billy palmed himself a little harder through his pants, feeling his heart rate quicken and his breathing get heavier as he watched you toy with your nipples and grope your own breasts. His dark brown irises were nearly blown open with lust watching you slip your hand down your stomach, your thighs parting like the gates of heaven, giving him a perfect view of your glistening pussy. 

“Christ, sweetheart.”

He was already unbuckling his belt with one hand as you started to glide your fingers through your wetness, watching your face contort with pleasure and relief. You were going slow, taking your time as you coated your fingers in your own arousal before starting to rub lazy circles around your clit. You seemed to be teasing yourself, one of your fingers languidly playing with your clit while your other hand continued to toy with one of your nipples.

Billy had his pants and briefs shoved down his thighs in a flash, spitting in his palm before wrapping his hand around his cock and starting to stroke slowly, keeping up with your pace. You seemed to like it slow, and to enjoy a bit of teasing. He’d remember that. He clicked on the button to unmute the feed, allowing the sweet sounds of your pleasure to fill his silent office. He also zoomed in to give himself a better view of what you were doing. He didn’t want to miss anything.

His mouth was open and he was slightly panting as he kept pace with you, barely even blinking as he savored the delectable sight on his phone. He watched the way your hips shifted upwards off the bed when you spread yourself open and slipped a finger into your soaked cunt, and he grunted.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

Billy was fucking mesmerized by you. His dark eyes kept flickering between the way you pumped your finger inside yourself while strumming your clit with your thumb, how you squeezed your breast tightly in your free hand, and the sight of your eyes closed and mouth hanging open, face contorted in pure pleasure. The sounds you were making were driving him absolutely insane. When you started to move your hand faster, he started to stroke his cock faster, squeezing the base everytime he twisted his wrist upwards.

“Oh you’re gonna come, aren’t you pretty girl?”

Watching you roll your hips upwards against your own hand while you pleasured yourself was making Billy feral, and he was fisting his throbbing cock even harder, pumping furiously to match your pace. He didn’t want to come yet though. He didn’t want to miss a second of seeing what you looked like when you climaxed. 

“C’mon sweetheart, let me see how pretty you look when you come.”

His eyes were glued to his phone screen, grasping it so tightly in his other hand that his knuckles had turned stark white. He felt his own thighs tensing up, a bead of sweat forming along his hairline. When he saw the way your body tensed up and your eyes screwed shut, your hand that had been on your breast flying out to grip the sheets as you curled forward slightly, your breathless and high pitched noises turning into a louder and more sensual series of satisfied moans, Billy couldn’t hold himself back.

He came hard with a loud and animalistic grunt, thick ropes spurting rapidly from his weeping tip like exploding fireworks, soaking through his crisp white button up to the point the fabric was stuck to his lower stomach and translucent. He let his head fall back against his office chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he had come so hard.

He definitely had never seen anything as fucking beautiful and erotic as the sight of you coming undone. He couldn’t wait to experience that in person.

Dragging his other palm down his face and dark beard, he then ran it through his gelled back raven strands, glancing down at his phone that hand landed on his thigh in the midst of his orgasm. Picking it up again, he watched as you laid in bed with a blissful look on your face, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your own breath. He licked his lips, grazing his teeth along his bottom before smirking wickedly.

“Goddamn, sweetheart. I love to watch you work.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @ferns-fics @danzer8705 @to-thelakes @simonsgirl @sweetserendipity65 @zomtart @day-dreaming-goddess @caroblogsthings @thomasshelbyswife @snowkestrel @hallowedtangerine @ameliaswife @dreadfulxives18 @ebsmind @lllla717 @slumnit @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @nolita-fairytale @oliviaewl @r1kk @unlikelystarlightcowboy @imperihoe-writes @dumb-fawkin-bitch @merc12-us @moonyinthestars @sweetttart

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[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 3

Previous Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But goddamn, Oliver Quick was a fucking close runner-up.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, slight mention of blood, sexual harassment, Felix is delulu and kind of a pig, Reader just wants some fucking peace, Michael is Michael and the best, Oliver is Oliver (the worst)

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who commented and reblogged! I didn't expect this story to gain so many readers, and this was a challenging chapter to write - but only because there were some scenes I couldn't add because it would have gotten too long otherwise.

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

You really wanted to kick yourself in the pants for making such a fucking cheesy wish at night watching the stars with Michael.

Right now, you were leaning to rest your head against a bookshelf in a slant position. You had a splitting migraine that began from the moment you woke up and worsened with nausea from your tutorial. And you couldn’t even go back to your dorm for the rest of the day because your lab course for your gen-ed didn’t allow for absences.

“What’d she do now?” came a voice on your right.

You looked to the right and were blinded by a white and blue-striped button-down shirt with short sleeves tucked into a pair of tan khaki pants.

Your knight-in-silver-framed glasses, Michael Gavey, everyone.

All the guy was missing was a pocket protector with pens and tape wrapped around the bridge, and he would have matched every bullied kid in every high school movie set in the 80s.

You turned around to lean your back against the bookshelves and slowly lowered yourself until your butt was parallel to your feet. Blowing the stray hairs out of your face, you remembered to take deep breaths to prevent you from blowing up at your only friend.

“No,” you sighed, “well – yes, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Do you love your classes? Yes. Was Daria Martin still your art teacher, and did she still like you? Yes. Are the rest of your teachers mostly assholes that think all Americans are Appalachian hill-billies? Also, yes. But were you still not excelling and scoring in the top ten after every exam? Naturally, no doubt about it.

But were you as invisible and unnoticed as you were before the break came? No. Did anyone with a pulse give you side-eyed glances after your stunt with the 24/7 shit-faced He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Pretty much, yes. Did most of your problems come from one mythic bitch in a 5’3” flesh suit that had the ‘Juicy’ logo plastered on her ass? Namely, one in particular, Annabel – who was your assigned student partner in your tutorial.

Was your new name among the student body now “Psycho Bitch”? …Unfortunately, yes.

…Okay, so this term has not been going as well as you had hoped during the break.

Annabel hated you – like hated-HATED you. And you had no idea why.

You were pretty sure you were less than blank air to her last term, but now she was determined to make your life a living hell. Last term, she skipped every other session to do whatever Annabel did. But now, it felt like she came to every tutorial for the opportunity to tear apart your work.

You’re pretty confident she was the one who started your new “name” about a few weeks ago when the weather began to warm up.

It’s not as if you were a stranger to being picked and prodded by the people born with silver spoons on their tongues and blessed with golden-tipped wings. You were a public-school kid from grades K-12 who went to Townsend Harris for those last four years. Townsend Harris High School was a public school, but make no mistake – it was just as full of the same bullshit hierarchy that made up every private school in Manhattan.

"Open the doors to all. Let the children of the rich and the poor take their seats together and know of no distinction save that of industry, good conduct, and intellect."

What crock. You only survived those years because every kid knew that your dad was an NYU professor who knew the Dean of Admissions of Columbia. You couldn’t recall how often you wished you had joined your friends at Flushing High or even Bayside.

However, regardless of the snide snarks and bullshit snickers pointed at you, you were left alone for the most part.

Sure – it sucked; that goes without saying. It was naïve of you to assume that people would grow out of the need for drama once they walked through the ivory doors and marble floors of higher education. It was stupid of you to think that everyone would forget about your outburst at Bodleian while they were getting drunk on the New Year.

And while Annabel was one migraine-inducing problem, she wasn’t the worst part of returning. No, that title belonged to her boyfriend, a whole other can of monkeys.

The worst part – the worst part of EVERYTHING – was how Felix fucking Catton was incapable of just leaving you the hell alone. It was like he had a little antenna sticking out of his head specifically for you whenever the two of you were within a ten-foot radius of him. Everywhere you went, it was as if you had a giant blinking arrow above you screaming, “Felix Catton’s New Toy”!

No, you were less than a toy – you were a joke, a gimmick.

God, you should have just stuck to your original plan and applied to any SUNY school that would have accepted you without even looking at your application.

But no, your good-Samaritan-obsessed college counselor called your parents and complained that you weren’t “putting yourself out there” enough. And now you were over thirty-four hundred miles away from home, stuck with the worst people ever. It was like a thousand tiny prickles were running on your skin as your mind filled with static.

Whenever Felix called out to you, it was to invite you to a party or get wasted. One time, he walked up to you insanely plastered and invited you for a quickie in the men’s bathroom. You were in an empty lecture hall since your usual spot in the library was taken, and Michael was still in class, so you didn’t see the point in trying to find an open spot.

Somehow – without you noticing – the guy plopped himself next to you and asked if there were any rooms in the building where he could smoke a joint in.

“Pretty sure you could open the window in the bathroom to smoke in there,” you replied absentmindedly.

And then he put his hand ON YOUR THIGH, leaned to your ear to whisper, “Wanna get out of here to join me? We don’t have only to get high.”

You grabbed all your shit and booked it – out of the building and all the way to your dorm to take a shower that lasted for around twenty minutes. You wanted to get rid of the smell of nicotine and overpriced aftershave. The scent of him on your skin made you wish you could tear it off.

And in your panic, you left your bike at the building’s entrance.

When you returned to retrieve it, it was after dark, and you recruited Michael as your tall and bony human shield.

“Do not ever walk home alone at night,” your mom told you every morning you left for school.

You tried not to think about the haunted look in her eyes each time she told you.

“Wanna skip the dining hall tonight? We can walk to Crowley Street and order take-out at that Pakistani place you like so much.”

Oh, that perked you right up. Jannahs Express was a broke college student’s paradise. The food was cheap, and the owners took pity on the international students. It was slightly more expensive in the UK, but it was the closest you could find with food on par to Kababish on Broadway in Queens. You stifled a laugh remembering the sight of Michael drinking the entire pitcher of water after you dared him to try a dish at ‘regular.’

“Seriously? Do you think you could take more than ‘English-mild’?” you asked as you stood up. “How did you survive your mom’s cooking for so long? She made us Indian food on our last night.”

“Mum grew up in London, and she had neighbors teach her how to make it the traditional way. You’re the only person who could take that level. Lilypad and I got Dad’s taste buds.”

Choking on your spit from laughing at the image of Gregory Gavey’s face turning firetruck red, you felt the migraine slowly disappear.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. God, I can’t imagine the look on his face when –”

A familiar voice that left a bitter taste in your mouth after hearing interrupted your conversation.

“Hey, (Y/N). Can we talk?”

You and Michael turned your heads to find Oliver Quick – Michael’s former friend, your former acquaintance – and the sight of him soured the mood instantaneously. You narrowed your eyes to dangerous slits to show your displeasure seeing him as one corner of your lip curled to show a sneer. You never liked the guy. There was just something about how he acted and presented himself. He had a profound desperation to impress everyone around him.

So much so that he immediately dropped Michael after becoming Felix Catton’s new pet. As evidenced by the oversized gray zip-up hoodie blanketing him. Felix’s, no doubt.

Fuck, you hated him.

“Ugh, what do you want?” you snapped, taking a bit of pleasure in seeing how your voice made him flinch.

“Look, can we –” his eyes hastily darted to Michael, then you, then behind him to make sure no one was watching him “– can we talk in private?”

Seriously? That’s how he wants to play this?

In the corner of your eye, you saw how tightly Michael clenched his fists. He was obviously still hurt from the time his ex-friend treated him like shit.

Oh, this will not do.

“Oliver,” you snarled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “whatever the hell you have to say to me, you can say in front of Michael.”

“Can you please not do this now?” he begged with pathetic eyes. How very in-character of him.

“Tick tock, Quick. Are you going to talk, or do I have to throw a drink in your face again? But this time, I’ll smash the glass on your face, too.”

Seeing the look on his face gave you almost a perverse sense of joy. Maybe this is why bullies exist.

“Do you think you’ll be at the pub sometime this week?”

What the fuck? Was he serious? His question caught you completely off-guard. You expected him to ask for notes or even help with homework, as his grades have slipped since becoming an official Felix Catton fanboy.

“At the pub – Oliver, when have I drunk alcohol in the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“You’ll turn nineteen this year, right? It’s only illegal if you’re under 18,” he tried to put out convincingly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But you’re forgetting the part where I’m still an American citizen. Just because it’s legal for me to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to drink yet.”

“No one cares about that here!” he almost shouted. “Just come with me to the pub at King’s Arms for the next few nights.”

“No fucking way,” you scoffed. “My parents would kill me if they found out I drank on a school night. Also, in case you forgot, we still have our test tomorrow in History. And I, for one, don’t need to get sloshed every night to feel important.”

Michael tugged on your sleeve and nodded at the small crowd forming around you three. You sighed in silence, agreeing that it wasn’t worth it. You both tried to walk away, but you were grabbed and stumbled back, which caused you to drop your books.

“Ow! Are you kidding–” but a wince broke your complaint as Oliver’s hold on your arm tightened to a painful grip. Your eyes traveled to his face, and you were shocked to see the anger shining in his eyes.

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” he grit out. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

The way his nails dug into your skin made you curse under your breath. Seeing you in pain broke Michael out of his shock at how someone as meek as Oliver Quick could show so much aggression. He rushed to get him off you.

“Are you fucking mental?” he hissed at Oliver once he managed to separate to two of you.

But Oliver’s nail left red scratch marks down to your wrist, even breaking the skin enough to cause little beads of blood to escape. This enraged Michael like you have never seen. Staring at the evidence of his former friend’s clawing, he walked forward and pushed him to the bookshelf before grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” Michael yelled. “She already said no!”

You wiped the blood off your arm with an old travel tissue pack you stole from the plane you took from JFK to London last summer. God, everyone was staring at you guys now. You needed to find a way to contain the situation. If any staff catches you, all three of you may risk trouble. Trouble that would jeopardize your scholarships. You grabbed Michael’s hands to get him to loosen his grip.

“Look, I’ll hear you out–” you looked around and cringed at everyone’s stares, “–just not here.”

This calmed Oliver’s rage enough to get Michael to let go.

“Okay,” he whispered, “okay – yeah. Let’s go outside.”

The three of you grabbed your shit and quickly exited the library. You went to the same area behind the building with no windows – ergo, no bystanders to gawk at you.

“Okay, we’re outside. Look, I’m sorry about your arm. But can you please just –”

You lifted your hand to stop him.

“Okay, look. I only said I would hear you out to make you and Michael stop fighting,” you stated matter-of-factly. “None of us could afford to get in trouble with the faculty and staff, and it was getting too out-of-hand. Oliver, I am not going to King Arm’s tonight or any night you ask me. I have my own life, so don’t drag me into yours.”

Oliver gaped like a fish for a few seconds before speaking.

“But you have to! Please! If you do, then maybe he’ll –”

“WHO?” you interrupted, shouting. “Who will be there? Who is so important that you act so fucking psycho for five minutes ago?”

This was too much for you to deal with everything on your plate already.

“Cut the vague bullshit already! Why are you desperate for me to be there? It’s so –” You froze as an epiphany struck down you.

Oh, hell fucking no…

“Are you hoping that Felix will be there?” you asked through clenched teeth.

You felt like a volcano ready to blow with his slight nod. And like a volcano – you blew.

“You mean to tell me that you risked all our asses, attacked, and humiliated me for fucking FELIX CATTON?!”

You couldn’t believe it – you couldn’t fucking believe it. Felix Catton took up so much of your life already; once again, he felt it necessary to take more of it for himself.

How much more could one man take? How much more did he want until it was enough?

He had taken so much – more than any person other than yourself had any right to own. Your education, your peace, and what was next? Your body? Your life? Did he intend to bleed you dry of everything like a parasitic vampire he and his kind pretended not to be?

You were going crazy, insane, and running yourself tired all at once. The absurdity of it all made you laugh. You laughed and laughed and laughed until you were gasping for air. You laughed so hard that tears spilled from your eyes as you doubled over.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god! That’s it. Of course, it is. What else could it be?”

Standing straight, you kept laughing, but you were staring at Oliver with an answer clear in your eyes.

“He got bored of you,” you accused him, “didn’t he? So quickly?”

God, how you relished how red his face turned. If you were smart, you would have stopped taunting there – but you were too tired of everything to care.

“It’s been what? A month? Maybe two?” you further pressed. “He really just loves to go through all his toys, huh?”

“(Y/N),” Michael whispered in your ear, “let’s just go.”

He looked at Oliver with disdainful eyes before softening them to look back at you.

“He isn’t worth it. Come on, let’s get your cut cleaned up before we leave.”

You let Michael gently drag you away from the hurricane mess that was Oliver Quick, leaving him to stew in anger and wallow in self-pity on the chilly spring night.

A few days later, you and Michael were walking back to his dorm after watching one of the most notable movie franchises starring one of Hollywood’s best actors.

“How could you not love Pirates of the Caribbean?” you cried. “Johnny Depp is beyond brilliant!”

“Oh, so acting drunk in front of an expensive camera is now considered brilliant?” he quipped back. “Shit, I should have just gone into acting instead.”

“I’m sorry, do you not remember his jar of dirt? That scene was completely improvised, by the way – including his fall.”

“Oh – not the stupid jar of dirt! Lil’ kept buggering me all summer doing that scene after I took her to see it!”

“Oh, I meant to ask. What did Lily think of the books I got for her birthday? Were they weird?”

“Are you kidding? She loved them. She keeps going on about how she wants to be Annabeth for Halloween. Oh, by the way, she’s making me dress up as Luke and wants you to go as Thalia.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “Seriously?! Yes, let’s do it. I am so in.”

“She is aware that Luke’s the villain, right?”

“Don’t worry about it so much. She wants to share these memories with you. And you are such a good brother, Mikey.”

“I am never going to escape that name with you,” he groaned, “am I?”

“Nope!” you happily confirmed. “Never! When I write my speech at your wedding, I will mention it at least fifteen times.”

“I’ll allow six.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten, take it or leave it.”

“Ten it is. Pinky-swear.”

You held out your pinky to show sincerity. And like someone raised correctly, Michael respected the sanctity of the swear by reciprocating.

“Perfect! Now that that’s settled, is it okay if I crash at your place for the night? It’s so late, and we don’t have classes tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “Just make sure you – Annabel.”

Wait, what? You stopped walking and turned to look at your friend in confusion.

“Annabel?”

He pointed it out in front of him with a slight nod.

“Annabel,” he confirmed.

Indeed, it was Annabel. But she was sitting slumped against the hallway’s walls with vomit all over her blue dress.

Felix had been going mad for the past few months since his and Farleigh’s return to Oxford. It was already almost May, and he hadn’t come any closer to getting (Y/N)’s attention.

What could he possibly be doing that was so wrong?

He invites you to parties or a drink with you every time he sees you. He had hoped that being friends with Ollie would have given him an “in” with you, but there was no such luck. Did you really have no idea how he felt about you? How much more obvious could he be?

He remembered how happy he was when he realized that Oliver knew you. It was that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms. He recalled it so vividly.

Felix was silent throughout the entire transaction. The sight of you coming over entirely transfixed him. Your hair had two small braids on the side that were attached with small yellow butterfly clips. You were wearing black denim overalls with vintage-looking patches sewn onto the fabric. Your shirt was a light blue-dyed shirt-sleeved t-shirt with splotches of navy blue. It must have been something you made when you were little. The fabric looked soft and worn down. But the size was small enough to hug the curves of your upper torso perfectly. The way the fabric stretched across your tits made him salivate.

After he introduced himself to you, you only responded with a grimace and a slight nod of acknowledgment. He invited you to join him and his friends for a drink, but you only ignored him. His words were meaningless breezes to you – white noise in the background that added to the clang and chatter in the room. He wasn’t even paying attention to Oliver until you threw that drink at him.

“Fucking cunt-rag!” you called Ollie after throwing Farleigh’s drink in his face. You shoved a middle finger for added effect. “Don’t ever show your face in front of me again.”

Grabbing your coat, you stomped away from the table.

Absentmindedly handing his friend some tissues, Felix had to know what your deal was with Oliver. Were you two dating or just friends? He didn’t know how he felt about his new friend being romantically involved with his angel.

“Wait, do you two know each other?” he asked.

“What?” asked Oliver – not understanding his idol’s question before his mind finally registered it. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s a friend of a friend.”

“Were you two ever, like ‘together’?” Felix had to know.

Oliver’s eyes widened a bit before shaking his head and panickedly answering.

“No, no, no. We have a few classes together – that’s it.”

Felix couldn’t believe his luck. Ollie must really be his hero.

“Do you think you could introduce us?” he asked excitedly – his molten chocolate eyes were shining ablaze with hope.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Oliver quickly agreed – anything to keep his attention on him.

Felix felt like leaping to the sky. He could run a marathon with how much energy was flooding throughout him. He clapped his hands before grabbing Ollie’s face with both hands and smacking a wet kiss on both cheeks.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Felix went up to get him another pint. “You’re my hero, Ollie. You really are.”

As he lay on his bed, he tried to remember every interaction with you. His last one with you was something he could admit went horribly wrong.

He wandered on the grounds when he stumbled on a building with your bike on the rack. Figuring that you were just in a lecture, Felix figured he could try to catch up with you when it was done. It wasn’t like he had anything important later. He would stay near the entrance and try to catch your attention when you walked out.

Simple.

And because he was God’s favorite, he found you sitting in the middle of an empty classroom. You were taking notes while reading a massive textbook while lightly bobbing your head to whatever was blasting through your earbuds.

Sliding to the seat next to you, he smoothly asked you if there was any room where he could smoke. You didn’t even bother to look at him while answering him – too fixated with your studies to pay attention to him.

Knowing that he had to get you to look at him through more direct actions, Felix impulsively put his hand on your thigh before asking you if you wanted to join him. He even joked, saying that you didn’t only have to get high.

But seeing the terror in your eyes threw him off. He quickly wanted to tell you that he was only joking. If you knew that he wasn’t being serious, maybe you would ease up around him. But before he could apologize, you frantically stood from your seat to gather your books in your bag before running out of the room.

Felix groaned into his hands as he recalled how fast you ran out of the room and away from him.

“Felix, you’re a fucking idiot,” he softly insulted himself.

God, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he think that someone as studious as you would ever consider getting high with some bloke in the bathroom of an academic building?

Every step he tried to take forward with you felt like he was going ten steps back. He needed to find a way to get on your good side.

Maybe Ollie could – no, that was a dead end. Fuck, he needed a drink.

Lying on his bed, Oliver stared at the ceiling of his room. Annabel had just left with the bottle of vodka they had been drinking out of for the past half hour. He wanted to cry.

Why was everything going wrong?

But he knew the reason. It was you.

He was so naïve to think you wouldn’t be an obstacle. You had practically ruined everything from the beginning. It wasn’t just when you refused to help him the other day but also that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms.

While Felix was ordering him a drink, Oliver sat bewildered at the sequence of events that had transpired in the past five minutes. First, Felix invited him over to sit with him and his friends. And when things had been so well, you interrupted his excellent time by asking where Michael was. When you realize he has left your friend alone, you ask for Farleigh Start’s drink before throwing it in his face. You then called him a “cunt-rag” before storming off like a goddamn child.

Luckily, Felix hadn’t listened to you speak. But that was only because he stared at you – stared at you like he was born to worship you. Even worse, Felix asked him if he could introduce the two of you at some point. The way Felix’s eyes widened in glee when Oliver agreed enraged him – even more than when you insulted and almost humiliated him in front of Felix.

Staring at his back, Oliver figured Felix’s attention on you wasn’t something to worry about. He was only interested in you because you were pretty. As much as you infuriated him, Oliver admitted that you had a rare and genuine beauty to you. He didn’t know whether it was your indifference for Oxford’s gods and kings or your dedication to keeping in touch with your American roots – but it was enough to enrapture Felix Catton temporarily.

No, Oliver Quick had no reason to worry. He would be enough for Felix. And then you would be an afterthought, and he’d be Felix Catton’s everything.

Oliver had to find a way to ensure you wouldn't be a problem anymore. You'd comply - there would come a time when you won't have a choice.

Let me know if you want me to write the full scene of Reader throwing the drink at Oliver!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes

Please comment and/or reblog your thoughts and if you want to be added to the taglist!

[judes-hoe]

Tough Love ~ JB5

Parrings ~ Jude Bellingham x oc

Summary ~ Emilia is 21 and has signed up for Love Island. She’s seen and watched their previous seasons, and she’s tried of not being able to find and good stable relationship. So she signed up for Love Island to find real love, but it’s gonna be tough to get this love. Maybe possibly win also.

Warnings ~ none atm

A/N ~ this is gonna be in 2024 but with the season 5 people:)

A/N pt.2 ~ Emilia is gonna be considered different from the other girls!!! She’s gonna have a bit more stomach(like a little pudge) and thick thighs and curves.(am not body shaming or anything I want my oc to look like that!!)

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Emilia arrived at the villa alone, she looked around and couldn’t believe she had been picked to come on love island. She was wearing this light brown bikini that fit her natural tan skin.

Emilia was about 5’6, she was born and raised in the UK but had Italian in her. She’s got a bit of a pudge stomach and thick thighs with some curves. She does work out so she’s a bit strong.

As she’s walking into the villa she sees three girls standing and talking with champagne in their hands. “Hiii girls!” Emilia said as she walks over towards them. “Oh you are stunning!” One said. “Oh look at that body.” Another said. “Oh man I want you over the boys.” The last said.

She smiles and walks over to them. “Hi, I’m Emilia.” She said standing next to them and giving each a hug. “I’m Amy.” The blond said. “I’m Amber.” The curly hair said. “I’m Anna.” The tall girl with blackish brown hair said.

“So tell us about yourself?” Amy said pouring Emilia some champagne. “Okay well, I’m 21, I’m from Stourbridge, and I’m a painter and drawer.” Emilia said taking a sip of her champagne. “What’s your type?” Anna asked. “I’m honestly not picky at all, I just need a guy with a good personality, kind, loving, trustworthy, and caring.” Emilia said with a smile. “I think that’s what we all want.” Amber said taking a sip of her champagne.

They all chat and the girls tell Emilia about their selves. They moved over to the sofa drinking their champagne. They were all chilling when they heard noise coming from the hall where they entered. This pretty black girl with wavy hair walked in. “Hiiii girl you’re so pretty!” They all said complementing her.

She sits down and introduces herself. “Hi I’m Yewande.” She said and sat down tell us about herself. After she introduced herself another girl walks in. “Heyyy girls!” She said and walked over to the sofa. “I’m lucie.” She said and sat down.

They all chat for a bit, and go quiet when they hear walking again. The hostess, Caroline, walks in with a jean dress on. She comes over to them and sits in the middle of all six of them. “So ladies let’s talk love.” She said. “Anna, why are you here?” She asked. “Well I got my heart broken and I’m here to find love.” She explained.

Caroline asked everyone why there were here and what there type was. “Alright ladies let’s get you coupled up.” She said and walked us over to the six dots on the grass. “Okay so one boy will come out, they introduce themselves. I then ask if you fancy and then you’ll step forward and he’ll get to choose who he wants.” She explained.

All the girls nod and wait for the first guy to come out. This muscular, white, brown hair guy comes out and he has a Scottish accent. He greets Caroline and stands, she explains the way it works to him. “Girls this is Anton.” Caroline said, “so please step forward if you fancy Anton.”

It was a few moments and Amy steps forward. The next guy was a black guy named Sherif. Caroline introduced Sherif and nobody stepped up for him but he ended up picking Amber. The next guy to come out was a light toned, curly hair, and tattoos. His name was Michael, he was cute and had a scouser accent. Emilia and Lucie both step forward for him.

“Oh wow, Michael, you have two lovely girls, lucie and Emilia.” Caroline said. “You can pick any of the girls even the ones coupled up.” She said. “I think I’ll go with lucie, she seems lovely.” Michael said.

Emilia just nods and steps back. “Emilia, who do you feel for not getting pick.” Caroline asked. “I mean it’s whatever yeah, he picks what he wants.” She said and shrugged. Next up was a white guy, wavy hair, and blue eyes. His name was Joe. Lucie stepped up saying sorry to Michael, and Yewande stepped up.

Joe ended up picking Lucie and Michael went and sat on one of the chairs to the side. The next guy was a little more toned than Micheal but he was about 6ft, his hair was a little curly. His name was Jude. Emilia, and Anna stepped forward. Jude ended up picking Anna.

“Emilia, second time you’ve not been picked after stepping forward how do you feel?” Caroline asked. “Hey I mean, they guys want what they want and I can’t change that.” Emilia said just being honest.

The last guy came out and he was white with a little tan, he hair kinda went to the side. His name was Callum. Amber was the only one who stepped up and left Sherif behind. Callum picked Amber and Sherif sat next to Michael on the side.

Emilia and Yewande have not coupled up. “So Michael and Sherif, you can each pick one girl to couple up with.” Caroline said. “I’ll pick Emilia, she stepped up for me and she’s really pretty.” Michael said. “I’ll do with Yewande then, I mean she’s pretty she looks nice.” Sherif said.

“Now that we’ve got all six couples, you’ll be facing challenges, getting to know each other, living together, making’s decisions together, and even sharing a bed together.” Caroline said and they all cheer. “In the next 8 weeks the people will be voting for their favorite couple, that couple will be granded £50,000 and the winners of 2024 love island.” Caroline added.

Caroline left and they all started chatting. “Michael would you wanna go get to chat alone over there?” Emilia asked the scouser pointing towards the couches. “Sure let’s go.” He said taking her hand and leading her to the couches.

“So tell me a bit about yourself Emilia?” He asked getting comfortable. “Well I’m a painter, I’m 21, I’m a bit of an animal lover, and I’m just a normal girl.” Emilia said with a small laugh. “Oh you’re a painter?” He said. “Yeah so people will sometimes send me pictures and stuff to paint, I’ve gone to a few weddings and done like first kiss and painted while the wedding happened.” Emilia explained. “Sounds like you must be a good painter.” Michael said.

Everyone chats a bit together, before they head to get dressed more appropriately. All the girls were getting ready in their room while the boys were looking around the villa.

“So Amy how do you like your Scottish guy.” Amber asked. “Oh he’s so lovely and I already know what I’m wearing to bed tonight.” Amy said holding up a sexy pj. “Ooooo.” All the girls hoot.

As they get ready Emilia is the first one done. “Girl your already done?” Anna asked doing her makeup like the other girls. “Yeah I am, I uh don’t wear makeup.” Emilia said smoothing the front of the silky red dress she was wearing.

Everyone gets a class of champagne and they dance for a little and drink. They then all settle down on one of the beds and just chat together. But then Anton ask Lucie to talk.

They all keep chatting before the boys do their thing and the girls all talk and Lucie comes back. “Yeah so Anton just talked to me, and basically just said he fancy’s me, but that like he respects me and Joe but he just wanted to let me know he fancy’s me.” Lucie said in a hushed voice so the boys didn’t overhear.

Emilia seemed to not being able to keep taking glances at Jude, she just wish he picked her, but he picked what he picked and she can’t change that and she’s not wanting to start drama.

Another hour past by and they all move to the long couch. They start to play never have I ever. “Okay never have I ever had sex in a night club.” Callum said. Emilia looks around before taking a small sip of her drink. “Hey hey hey, Emilia drank!” Jude said notice the movement. “Girl what!” Yewande said. “I got a little drunk after my favorite football team won and I was at a club…one thing led to another and I was in the bathroom.” Emilia emitted with a little smile on her face.

It went silent and there was a sudden ding from a phone. “Oh?” Everyone said. Amber pulled her phone out. “I got a text.” She said. “Islanders, it’s time for the real games to begin, please welcome the new arrivals #double trouble, #box-fresh, #hot to foxtrot.” She read the message. “Two of them?” Yewande said. “Ohhh.” Was heard all around.

All the guys were not happy. The girls were confused a little scared as the guys were. Soon two guys come out and walk over. They introduce themselves as Tommy and Curtis.

They both tell them about themselves, Tommy was related to Tyson fury’s, and was a well known boxer in Manchester. Curtis was a Latin dancer.

They all chat and ask questions to Curtis and Tommy. Then Curtis got a text. “Islanders, in 24 hours, Curtis and Tommy will each couple up with a girl of their choice, leaving two boys single and vulnerable, #the gloves are off, #takes two to tango.” Curtis read.

Well this was interesting now. Now it’s up to Tommy and Curtis to choose…..

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A/N ~ wow this took forever to write…anyways enjoy pt.2 next week hopefully! And please comment or dm to be added to taglist!

Taglist: @adarkskinarchives @jungkookssheekscar @sinners-98-world @judesthighveins @inlikea-coolway @hananabelle @mrsaronnorrisbearman

[bitterrfruit]

wild cherries [1]

[masterlist]

Price x f!Reader - tags: modern western AU, cowboy!Price, light sadomasochism, brat taming, spanking, humiliation, chasing, dubcon if you squint 18+ mdni - 5k words

Tell me why, Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself When you're old enough to repay but young enough to sell?

Daddy used to warn you about wandering onto the Prices’ property. 

The lichen-coated fence that separated their land and your family’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of white oak and ponderosa, crossing the babbling river that fed water to both ranches. The barrier itself was fairly short and easy enough to climb over, but there was one small gap where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were your own long-neglected cherry orchard on the other side.   

You had almost lost your little gateway, after so many years away; at a college across the country for four, and hopping between jobs like a rabbit for the next few. In that time the grass surrounding the fence had grown long and dense, the thicket far thornier and weedier than it was when you were a girl. 

Then, you really only knew the Prices by name. You were expressly forbidden to talk to, let alone look at any of them. They aren’t nice boys, daddy had told you, I won’t have them near you.

Now there was only one left, and it seemed the rules had changed. 

Jonathan Price, the last remaining, was a reticent man. A shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.  

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, originating long before you were born, the seeds of which were planted many generations ago. Whatever enmity that existed between dead old men had not quite been passed on to the remaining sons, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.  

Your older brother Miles had told you as much, when he picked you up from the airport a three-hour drive south. More than fifteen years your senior, Miles was thrust into the demanding vacuum your father left, and despite laments, he certainly played the part. 

“It wasn’t a question,” he chided, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. There it was, that glimmer of your father’s spirit, especially bright whenever Miles got away with telling you what to do. 

You hung your elbow out of the window of his carmine red Silverado - a new toy - and rested your chin on the back of your hand. 

Only offered back a grumble; “I don’t even know him.” 

A lie. 

You had encountered him the last time you returned home for summer, and the time before that. Encountered was the sweeter way to put it, pestered might be better suited. 

Once you heard he had finally come home, you found yourself impishly eager to pry, to observe, to take a mere glance at the last remaining man of the family yours hated so ferociously. You were strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way. Intrigued by the mystery that shrouded him, the man you were never allowed to know. 

And you had always been at the mercy of your wicked curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college, then during your brief stints of being in-between jobs. When you ventured through the gap in the fence, you’d prowl around his estate like you were attempting to memorise a maze. You’d peek into his old and empty shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.  

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.  

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.  

The most recent occasion you had slithered into his orchard, last summer, he had caught you. While your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries, you heard him holler; 

Hey! I see you in there, missy!

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a hare and hopped back over the fence.  

There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady, he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks. You hear me?

Miles chuckled at your retort, dragging you back from the warmth of your rose-tinted reverie. “Well, he knows you.” 

“So?” You bit, shutting your eyes as the warm summer wind lapped at your skin. 

“So, it’d be rude if you don’t go and say hi.” 

“I don’t think he’d care whether I say hi,” you muttered. “He hates us.” 

Miles returned a terse sigh. “I’m trying to change that. I don’t want us to keep fighting the same fight our dads did. I don’t think anyone alive even remembers what the fight was about.” 

You knew you were getting close to home when you drove past the towering boxelder tree with the crooked trunk, the one you had named the wobbly tree as a little girl; it always looked like it was on the verge of toppling over. From that tree onwards, you had committed the landscape to memory. The distant mountain peaks that caught the red glow of the afternoon sun. The dense lumber pines that coated the closer rolling hills. The rows of poplars and cedar windbreaks that protected their plots of farmland. The blue and yellow wildflowers that grew over the edges of the chip seal road. 

You listened to the roar of cicadas, loud enough to be heard over the engine of the truck; a sound you didn’t realise you missed so dearly until you escaped the perpetual industrial hum of the inner city. 

Home, at last. Under the old log archway, boasting the hanging wrought iron sigil of a rearing stallion, and your family’s claim; Fenton Ranch. The truck rolled over the raw gravel of your long driveway, reduced to dust under decades of heavy tyres. You could smell home in the air; distant firesmoke, livestock, cut grass. You drove past the stables, then the sheds, you spotted some of the familiar faces of ranch hands that had worked for your father before they worked for Miles. Among them, some new ones. 

Your generations-old house came into view, two storeys high with a wrap-around veranda, cladded in chipped white siding and adorned in carved cornices. Sat atop a circular hill of dry grass, it was sheltered by a ring of century-old white oaks that kept it shaded from the blistering summer sun. 

At the top of the porch steps stood your sister Evelyn, tall and strawberry-blonde, she leaned against a column and offered an insouciant wave as Miles pulled the truck to a stop. 

Dust rose from under your sandalled feet as you hopped out of the truck and into the gravel, raising your arms to the sky to stretch out the tension that had built in your stomach. As the stretch forced a squeal through your gritted teeth, Evelyn called to you; 

“Hope you don’t think you’re on vacation, Honeybee.” 

There was a touch of humour in her tone, but knowing your ever-pragmatic sister, she was not joking. 

You did think it funny how quickly hearing your nickname hurled you back in time, had you feeling as though you had never left home. A teasing sobriquet stemming from your toddlerhood; having learned that bees get their honey from flowers, you developed a penchant for suckling on them - clovers and dandelions that you had picked from the grass, honeysuckle and lilac plucked from bushes within reach. My little honeybee, mom used to call you. A nickname that stood firm after she passed, repeated in honour of her, so often that as far as those around you were concerned it had long usurped your birth name. 

Miles hauled your old suitcase from the bed of his truck, unrequested; he was a gentleman, on occasion, when he felt it appropriate to be one. You followed him towards the house, stopping to greet your sister en route as he continued to carry your cargo to your bedroom. 

Evelyn gave you a smile and hug with her slender arms, quick and purposeful. Straight to business; “So what happened with Wendell Bishop? I thought you liked it there?” 

The marketing agency that recently had you in their employ, the third company you had worked for in the last two years. You stifled a roll of your eyes with a slow blink, not wanting to argue with your sister in the first five minutes of returning home - though it would be far from the first time. Despite Evelyn being closer in age to your brother than yourself, you bickered like you had been born a day apart. 

“It was fine, I just - it wasn’t for me.” 

“Ugh, for God’s sake, Bee.” She groaned, “it’s never for you.” 

You had no dispute within you but a shrug, and you walked past her to head indoors.

“You know you can’t float around forever,” she barked after you, and you shut the screen door behind you. 

The interior of your house was breezy, windows and doors open to allow the summer draught to flow through every room and corridor like blood through veins. The old hardwood creaked and groaned underfoot as you wandered towards the staircase, catching brief glances at the old family photographs that peppered the patterned walls. Some from your childhood, some faded sepia film dating back three generations; Fenton ancestors whose names you had forgotten or never learned. 

Miles brushed past you as you made your way to your bedroom, and he stopped you with a word. 

“Evelyn made jam,” he said, and the edge in his tone told you that you needed to stop and listen. 

The recipe for the strawberry jam the women of your family would make on special occasions was one passed down from grandmother to mother to daughter since the inception of the line. It incorporated a touch of cranberry to make it a little tart, a sprinkle of salt to deepen the flavour. What made it extra special, mom would say, was that it was made with love. You didn’t imagine Evelyn put much love into it, because it wasn’t written explicitly into the recipe, wasn’t given quantifiable measurements.  

“You’ll take him some, won’t you?” Miles asked, when you only gave him a small grin of pleasant disinterest. 

You chewed your lip, kicked the floorboards with your heel. Inevitably, you would have slinked over the fence and skulked around the Prices’ land once the sun kissed the horizon, once you could be sure the man and his ranchmen would be settling in for supper. Some unfathomable part of you would rather be caught by him in the act of a crime, than to knock on his door like a sycophant. 

There was something vaguely humiliating about the idea, presenting yourself on his doorstep, as though supplicating for approval you didn’t want or need. Obvious that you had been ordered by your authoritarian brother to go and apologise to Mr Price for your past transgressions. While, in actuality, Miles was not at all privy to such transgressions, you knew Jonathan would find sneering satisfaction in seeing you feign politeness, play at being ladylike. 

As far as Miles could tell from your sulking, though, you were merely nervous about being forced to greet an intimidating stranger. Not entirely incorrect, you supposed. 

“Sure,” you finally conceded, with a huff. “I’ll go over in a bit.” 

Miles offered a pleased grin under his sun-bleached beard, placed his sturdy and grateful hands on your shoulders.  “‘Preciate it, Bee.” 

You took a brief hour to recuperate after the long drive. Rinsed your face and combed out your wind-knotted hair, unpacked your well fed suitcase into your old and rickety chest-of-drawers. Everything you owned you had stuffed into luggage - the lease at your little apartment had come to an end, you knew you’d be home for the foreseeable future. You hung your winter coats away in your closet, out of season. You lined up your shoes and boots by the door. 

You greeted the working collies with a scruff of their heads and a kiss on their noses, as you ventured outside into the heat of the afternoon. You said hello to the greying foreman who knew you from your girlhood. 

“Soda’s turned out behind the barn,” he told you, and you gave him a sunny smile as you trudged over in your well-worn boots; their tan leather dry and wrinkly, the thread of the embroidered paisley patterning had come loose in spots after years of putting the boots to work. 

You spotted your painted mare in the middle of the paddock behind the stables, grazing on golden grass, dried to hay. Recognised her by the white splotches on her chestnut coat, the bright stripe that ran down the centre of her head and turned her snout pink. She raised her head at your familiar whistle, and you heard her whinny cheerily before she trotted towards the log fence you leaned over. 

“Hey, sweet girl,” you cooed. You petted her snout with a loving hand, and she nickered softly to greet you. “Missed ya.” 

You led her through the gate into the shade of the barn, adjusted her bridle over her head and fed the bit between her teeth. Using an old step-stool you hoisted yourself up and over her back, with no stirrups to help you. 

You had always preferred riding bareback; Soda’s coat was soft, and her back was narrow and forgiving. You imagined saddles as corsets, that the poor girl lacked the kind of mouth that could tell you how sorely uncomfortable it was. But you thought she said as much in the ways she could, with a toss of her head and a loud snort whenever she was approached with one. 

Besides, you often took her for rides on a whim, forgoing instructions to stay within sight of the house - it was easier to hop on her back and trot off into the trees without having to saddle her. 

Your short powder-pink sundress rode up your bare thighs as you adjusted your legs to bestride your horse. You tugged the linen hem down with a shimmy, to avoid revealing the treats underneath to the odd ranchman that passed by. Mom would always chastise you when you rode in a skirt, hammered on about how indecent and impractical it was. She wasn’t here to tell you so, now. If she was, you would have told her it was too hot for jeans. 

“Hey,” you heard a sharp holler from your sister, she trotted towards you as you rode Soda out of the barn. “Hold up.” 

You looked down at Evelyn - only on horseback did you have the ability to do so - and she raised a crocheted net bag for you to take. Carrying three jars of jam, each a different shape and with multi-coloured lids - you had almost forgotten your homecoming gift.  

“Oh, yeah,” you said, with an apologetic giggle, taking the bag by the handle. “Is there still some left for us?” 

“Plenty,” Evelyn replied through a smile. “He doesn’t get all of it.” 

“What’s a lonely man going to do with all this jam, anyway?” You asked coyly, and Evelyn pursed her lips at the playful derision in your words. 

“Hopefully, eat it with a spoon and think about how kind we were to share it with him,” she answered, with her brows raised. “And come to ask us for more.” 

You tilted your head, a bewildered knit between your brows. “You guys buttering him up for something?” 

She gave you that pacifying grin, the one that told you she believed the true answer would be beyond you. “‘S nothin’ like that, Bee. We’re just trying to smooth things over.” 

Her answer was dishonest, you saw through her simper. But it was never worth the effort to pry any further. “Whatever,” you chuffed, tugging at the reins and setting off.

“You can take the truck, you know,” Evelyn yapped, before you had the chance to give Soda a gentle kick to speed her up. 

Shrugged. “It’s a nice ride.” 

Evelyn frowned at that. “How would you know, hm?” 

Another shrug, you concealed the flush in your cheeks as you turned to trot down the drive. 

It was a nice ride. Soda had a steady gait that never made you sore, and she was pleased for the outing, as easily bored as you were. You decided to take the conventional route to the Price ranch - this was an official visit, after all. Stayed in line with the drive, you mindlessly plucked leaves off of reaching branches as you passed them and tossed them to the grass beneath you. Cars and pickups passed you on the road, kicking up dust and making you squint. The sun of the late afternoon was baking on your back, but the warmth was a tender embrace, and the gentle breeze that cooled you was a kiss to follow it. 

The majority of the trees on the Price Ranch were bunched around its borders, though the odd fir or cottonwood was scattered among the wheatgrass-coated hills; enough shade for his hordes of black anguses to huddle under. 

You passed under the towering arch of the gate, the logs aged and splintering, the stone pillars holding them up were worn down by wind and dust. The sign above you flaunted in great big letters, like a shout, PRICE. Beneath it the head of a longhorn, carved directly into the stained pine shield that hung from its chains. The road to his gargantuan farmhouse was winding but mostly flat, and you gave Soda an encouraging pat on the side of her neck, as if she was the one in need of reassurance. 

Even the house was foreboding, much like the man himself - dark and expansive, constructed with stacked logs and piled stones, rock chimneys climbed up three of its walls. Its windows were vast but few and far between, grids of stained wood crossed over the glass and made it difficult to see in from a distance; to your chagrin. 

You dismounted Soda by a fenced pasture, and hitched her reins to one of its posts. She was a loyal girl, but as helplessly subject to her curiosity as you; she needed an anchor to keep her from drifting away and whinnying at the stallion in the paddock over. 

Patting down your skirt and hanging the bag of clinking jars from your shoulder, you marched with an artificial confidence up the stone steps of his front entrance. Drummed the front door with your knuckles in three sturdy knocks, you hung the net bag by the handle from two demure hands, fingers knitted together.

You swallowed. 

Came the deep thumping of heavy footsteps, they approached the other side of the door, slow and beating. A clatter, a thud.   

The door swung open and just about vacuumed you inside, you adjusted your feet so you didn’t lose balance.

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.” 

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin. 

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change. 

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay. 

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose. 

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him. 

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers. 

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Miles made me come and say hi.” 

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance. 

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.” 

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment. 

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?” 

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it. 

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise. 

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.” 

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?” 

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.” 

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath. 

“I bet you are.” 

The air became thick, filled your lungs like smoke, and you almost coughed in the loaded silence. 

“Y’know,” he started, crossing his arms over his wide chest, tucking his hands under his arms and inadvertently augmenting the biceps you shamelessly stared at. “Your sister came ‘round the other day. Warned me about you.” 

Your brow furrowed at that. “Really?”  

You could tell he battled a grin, he licked his teeth behind stiff lips. “Uh huh.” 

Wondering how often he had conversed with her, you swallowed the juvenile jealousy that rose in your throat. “What’d she say.” 

“That you’re prone to getting in trouble,” he said, through a deep purr. “But she told me you don’t try to.”

You tilted your head, and the sly simper that had you had been containing finally curled in your lips. “I don’t know why she’d say somethin’ like-” 

“I don’t believe her,” he gritted, steamrolling over your flimsy defence. 

Heat blossomed in the apples of your cheeks. “You don't?” 

“No,” he rumbled, leaning down to you. His face a foot from yours, you shrunk under his glower, watching him cautiously from under flitting lashes. “I think you try very hard.” 

You held your tongue between your teeth, taming it before it gushed out something you might regret. Clawed at your mind for any kind of refutation, but it melted like sugar on your tongue. 

Watching in bashful silence, John reached forward and hooked a finger into your bag. Reaching inside, he plucked out a jar; it was dwarfed within his wide hand, he spun it around in his palm as though looking for a label. He went to open it, and the tendons and muscles of his forearms rippled under his skin as he twisted off the stubborn gingham-patterned lid. It broke loose with a pop.

He dipped his pointer finger into the juicy red preserves, scooping out a lump of it. Thick finger sticky with the sugared fruit, he put the tip of it between his lips, sucked it clean as he looked down the bridge of his nose at you. 

His mouth made wet noises as he evaluated the flavours with his tongue, you felt a flutter in your core. Lips pursed, he raised his eyebrows. “‘S good,” he remarked. 

You smiled sheepishly. “Well, it’s yours,” you raise the bag. “These too.” 

He twisted the lid back onto the jar, then took a step towards you as he reached for your net bag and dropped the jar back in with the rest. And he continued forward, another step, and you landed on your hind foot. You inched backwards as he loomed over you, and backwards again; you felt your heel go over the edge of the top step, your balance tipped - until his firm hand caught your upper arm, and he swiftly held you upright. 

Lost for words, you opened your mouth. “I-”

But he shut you up with a bear grip of both of your shoulders, and adrenaline needled down the nape of your neck. He lifted you a few inches off the step, and spun you around like a doll before dropping you unceremoniously back to your feet, facing out towards your horse.

He was instructing you to leave, unsaid but unsubtle. 

“Go on,” he chuffed, and your breath hitched as he gave you a cajoling pat on your behind with his palm to coax you forward. 

You obliged him, walking abashedly towards Soda with your heart in your throat and your gift ungiven. He followed you closely, not allowing more than two feet of distance to grow between his body and yours; as though prepared to snatch you if you dared to bolt. 

“Tell your sister, I don’t want her goddamn gifts,” he sneered, and you dared not look over your shoulder at him. 

Soda gave you a quiet nicker as you came to a stop beside her, ears flicking nervously at the predator behind you. You shushed her gently as you unhitched her reins, and using the bottom rail of the fence you stepped up to mount her. Reaching over her back, your legs hung over her side as you awkwardly tried to pull yourself upward. 

You felt the evening breeze under your skirt, quietly aware of how much of yourself you bared to him. You wondered whether he might be stealing his glances, if he might have spotted the pink hem of the panties you wore underneath. You wondered if he thought they were pretty. You wondered if he wanted to see what they concealed. 

You yipped as you suddenly felt his hand against your ass, a heavy fist; realising quickly that he had clutched the hem of your dress, when he tugged it downwards to give you some decency. Scolding you implicitly.

With a frayed breath, he growled; “And I don’t want fuckin’ trouble.” 

Swallowing a timid gasp, you pulled yourself up onto the mare’s back and mounted her properly, legs hanging over either side of her torso. You hoped that from your perch he couldn’t see the glowing red in your cheeks, the flare of heat that spread over your decolletage like a rash. 

“You hear me?” He badgered, arms crossed and brow rigid. 

You gave him a winsome nod, an imperceptible simper, as you gave Soda a soft kick in her side to set her off. 

With an innocent grin, you crooned; “I’ll do my best, mister.”

can you tell i love neil young

[millidew]

its been almost 6 years since kaito and ouma have infested me. here's me talking out of my ass for over 2k words

to love the ouma-kaito dynamic is to love the themes of v3. to see one of them as 100% correct and the other as 100% wrong is to hate the themes of v3.

there must be balance. which is one of the themes!

at first, they each represent one end of their spectrums: lies, distrust, and logic VS truth, trust, and emotion. but it's not all black and white— they're far more similar than they think

to get the obvious visual foiling out of the way: short vs tall, scrawny vs muscular, pale vs tan (relatively...), round eyes vs sharp eyes, cool purple vs warm purple, black and white vs a colorful galaxy, and a tight "straitjacket" vs what's basically loose pjs

they're visual opposites, but they're also both purple, charismatic leaders, would rather die than their let go of their respective roles of hero and villain, and both want to end the killing game. they're also both SO dramatic. they cannot be separated.

all this is to say that they're the same, just taking different approaches (i mean, just compare their early FTEs. what are you two FUCKING talking about. your ass is NOT a pirate kaito shut up). ouma hides drops of truth within his lies and lives to poke holes in others' poorly concealed lies. kaito talks about being honest, but is also constantly lying to himself and others. and it's so fitting for them to essentially die with each other.

lying your way to the truth, and 10 other tricks to surviving a killing game:

v3 is a game that asks: who are you? why are you even alive? what parts of you are really "you"?

in other words: what is true and what is a lie? does it matter?

the flashback lights are all lies. tsumugi can literally rewrite their "truth" as she wishes. and of course, there's the fact that they're all fictional characters come to life.

and there's the big lie of ch1, brought back in ch6. although this is less relevant to me, personally, because kaede fully intended and did try her damnedest to kill so either way she's still at fault soo

the theme of the survivors is that they all have a reason to fight to live even if the world is hell, because they're pushed forward by the connections they made— kaede's encouragements, the training with kaito that led to shuichi and maki's happiness, and himiko's memories of tenko and angie. even though maki loses kaito, because she had those good times with him that led to her change in self-worth, she'll be okay in the end. she's not enforcing her own loneliness anymore.

basically, "maybe the real reason to live is the friends we made along the way"

shuichi explicitly says that his feelings are true, even if they're born of lies. to lie, there has to be a truth. to be truthful, you can't lie. yin yang and all that

it's even shown with the game mechanic of perjury. kaede and shuichi can literally lie for the sake of finding the truth

he rejects being forced to choose between "hope" and "despair," breaking the cycle. it's pretty easy to apply this to the other dichotomies in v3: truth vs lies, trust vs distrust, logic vs emotion. even heroes vs villains.

ultimately, i think v3 aligns more closely with kaito's ideology, because of course truth and trust is a good thing....!, but not without poking massive holes in it too. because kaito's a prideful hypocrite and the game does NOT let you forget it <3 more on that later

little white lies AKA ouma is sick of your shit part 1:

"is the truth worth it? aren't feel-good white lies ok? what even is a lie?" ouma asks with his little hater heart. (ch1 and ch4)

here, we see ouma questioning the individual nature of common sense ("gut instinct", if you will)— how can kaede decide if his talent is a lie? what is a lie? if ouma is 99% lies by weight, what is ouma??? an annoying grape??

we all want the truth, right? but the truth can be ugly. that's what ouma's always showing.

this is something shuichi also tackles with his feelings on his own talent. by exposing the truth, he causes pain to others. but this isn't about him, so you'll just have to keep that in mind

in the death road to despair in ch1, it's kaede's optimism that causes misery to the rest of her classmates. they're lying to themselves when they try to do it over and over. again, ouma calls her out on it, pissing off kaito who supports kaede 100%. the idea they can all get out and become friends is…also really unlikely. and even with kaede's murder "for the greater good", ouma disparages her for doing it in the first place: she lost the moment she seriously considered the thought, and played right into monokuma's bloodthirsty lil' paws.

right after the ch3 execution, himiko still refuses to let herself feel… until ouma calls her out on it. stop lying to yourself. and they all let it out, crying together. it's a good thing, and spurs on himiko's arc to be more true to herself. you did a good thing, ouma. now onto ch4! yay!

the "truth of the outside world", and ch4 as a whole, is probably the most in your face way of showing this. but more on that later.

the boys are back:

if you want a good relationship with someone, vulnerability is key, one that ouma unfortunately can't replace with a lockpick. you have to be honest. maki and shuichi were honest to kaito, which let him help them out.

ouma is definitely not vulnerable, up until the very end. ouma's distrust of everyone pushes them away, leaving him alone— without the "reason to fight to live" the others have— living out of spite and determination, until he dies for that too. like maki, he reinforces his own loneliness, but unlike her, he never makes those connections that make him change into a more well-rounded person.

kaito's better than him, which is a really low bar, but the game goes out of its way to tell you that he's still hiding secrets and adamantly refuses to let down his hero persona, harming both himself and those around him. you are COUGHING UP BLOOD, you are NOT okay. while his sidekicks still know something is wrong, he refuses to truly let them in, instead just brushing them off.

and that pisses ouma off. at the very least, ouma's honest about being a liar. kaito, in his eyes, is a coward. (not only that, people still like him despite being a liar..... but that's probably more to do with kaito being way less of a dick).

ouma, in kaito's eyes, is also a coward. he can call ouma a two-faced coward as much as he wants, but pot, meet kettle

chapter 4 AKA ouma is sick of your shit part 2:

ok. seriously onto ch4 this time. it's the perfect set up to the insanity of ch5. the tension is insane. also, ouma does not shut up about kaito having a crush on him. ok man.

from now on, it's the kaito & ouma show, the truth & trust & hope & emotion & hero VS lies & distrust & despair & logic & villain show.

and the game puts kaito, and all his themes, in the wrong. poor gonta and shuichi are just along for the ride

the stubborn belief that worked so well for maki in ch2 makes kaito refuse to believe, despite the evidence pointing to it, that gonta is the blackened, endangering everyone. and this is the cause of kaito and shuichi's rift which ouma takes great pleasure in. i'm sure this greatly validates his own distrust and loneliness, seeing it as the superior option

kaito's a liar, shuichi's a liar, and gonta is...not a liar but still technically wrong. YOU'RE ALL LIARS AND KAITO/SHUICHI STANS. YOUR FAVE IS PROBLEMATIC. OUMA'S FUCKING PISSED

it's the hypocrisy that gets to him the most imo

does he know?

anyways, it's a great showdown between their two ideologies. up until now, i'd say the score was roughly 3:1 in kaito's favor, but now it's definitely more even. it even features ouma punching kaito instead of the other way around like last time: something made possible imo because of kaito's sickness, which ouma forces him and everyone to acknowledge by doing this

this is a massive L for the hero side.... can the sidekicks clutch this victory and save the princess?

(interestingly enough, note that kaito doesn't even seem to hate ouma after all that. at the start of ch5, he puts ouma and gonta in the same category as having snapped under the pressure due to monokuma. his feelings, of course, change later on.)

...

are you sure about that

yeah, the truth sucks sometimes, huh?

what now?

chapter 5 AKA the boys are back 2 AKA voyage without passion or purpose AKA the sickest chapter name ever

ch5 combines ouma and kaito's ideologies through their swansong, their magnum opus, their collective theatre kid dream

the hangar man. THE HANGAR. no more cameras. no more prying eyes. no more heroes. no more villains. NO PASSION (KAITO). NO PURPOSE (OUMA). WHAT'S THE POINT. IT ALL BLURS (probably because of the blood loss)

think about it this way: kaito is literally dying, hypocritically refusing to let his friends in. ouma is metaphorically dying, because he lacks the "reason to fight to survive" everyone else has, because he has no trust, no friends, no bitches... anyways

(also the poison, which is. you know. is also literally killing him but shush)

the closest he had was, imo, miu for a little, then kaito in ch5. but in the end, it's all spite, not connection, that drives him. ouma kills himself to prove a point, and they both die as a middle finger to the mastermind— a hollow victory, in many ways.

think about kaito sitting alone in the exisal, hacking his lungs out in the metallic silence of the belly of the beast, having just learned one of the truths behind ouma's act, then killing him, then having to lie to all your friends for the hope that ouma's final, crazy plan works out. he's finally stooped to ouma's level. he's so used to the smell of blood by now. does ouma's blood on his hands look any different from his own?

even kaito's motto: "the impossible is possible! all you gotta do it make it so!" is pretty much an admittance. you can make a lie (impossible) the truth (possible).

also ouma bleeding out looking like shit laying in kaito's galactic coat like a cape. kaito squeezing his eyes shut before before pressing the buttons. these images changed lives.

the lying truthersssss...working together!!! to literally pretend to be each other!!! to blur into one being!! trusting each other to see it through for their shared goal!! at first glance, maki thinks it's her fault— that ouma manipulated kaito using her, but kaito disagrees, saying it was for the sake of ending the killing game.

this is all to hammer home the idea that we shouldn't see them as "hero" or "villain." the cast sees them as it first, but of course, we know that's not so simple by the time kaito steps out of the exisal.

in the end, they fail, but kaito puts his and ouma's dreams in their hands. they can do it better this time.

plus, kaito finally stops lying to himself and others about being a liar, the thing ouma gave him endless shit for. it only took him 5 chapters

is it wrong to call "that was a lie" ouma's catchphrase?

i still can't believe maki believed him. love makes you stupid i guess

extra thoughts:

you might be wondering why i call him "ouma" and not "kokichi." i do the same with some other characters: kirigiri, togami (though i switch between that and byakuya nowadays), and komaeda. it's because i don't know them like that. we are NOT friends. "kirigiri" is out of respect however

don't you think ouma has his own "sidekicks," his "villain lackeys," if you will, in DICE?

kaito's execution music should've had the "reach for the stars" line from sdr2 and i'm still mad about it

and they should've both in that exisal idc

kaito somehow exited that exisal with a new jacket. it's my headcanon that, in respect of a fellow theatre kid, ouma stole a second jacket from kaito's room and put it in the exisal

VR au post game low(high)key codependent oumota is everything and i'll happily read 1000 fics about it

also just outside of the Themes of it all, and tbh my main draw to this duo... they're so funny. they are SO. FUNNY. THEY'RE SO GOOFY TOGETHER. STOP TRYING TO ONE UP EACH OTHER

they should run around and beat each other with toy hammers. it's enrichment.

this isn't like thematically relevant but their love hotel events really show how well they could work together. they want a rival to pump them up and fight back so bad!! they'd have the craziest vigilante beef

WHY IS THIS 2.1K WORDS/???!> i am so weak to rivals man

tldr: look at this meme.

tldr 2.0: a true kaito fan is also a true ouma fan and vice versa. you may not like it, but they're two peas in a pod. don't worry though, they're not happy about it either.

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 58]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

-

Nia, Tobias, and Junie talk with Will, and run into someone unexpected.

-

Nia wakes up all on her own for once. She’s cozy and warm, and it takes a few minutes to realize where she is, tucked away into one of the alcoves of the inn they’d stayed at the night before.

She relishes the chance to move at her own pace, and stretches as she slips down to the stone ground. The torracat innkeeper, Clara, is nowhere to be seen, and bright sunlight and distant conversation stream in through the open windows.

Nia yawns as she walks outside, leaning against the warm stone wall enclosing the city so she can get a good look at the settlement in daylight.

The buildings stretching on either side of her are a blend of tan and brown, made of stones and clay. Little pops of color come from billowing curtains and a mural painted onto the side of one of the buildings.

Nia leans to see it better, heart aching as she recognizes humans and animals painted with painstaking detail, too unique to be anything but real, remembered loved ones. They’re relaxing in front of a house, a forest behind them and a city visible in the distance. It’s one of the most human sights Nia has seen since coming to this world.

It’s beautiful.

Nia tears her eyes away, leaning back to look instead at the top of the cliffs above them. The solidity of the mesa is a comforting strength, anchoring the buildings carved from its face.

At Nia’s back, over the stone wall, the sky is a bright blue above a canyon of rocky brown terrain and scraggly green trees. A cool breeze slips by, balancing well with the warm sunshine, and Nia closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath.

Pokemon—humans—pass by her, chatting and laughing amicably. Nia opens her eyes to watch them go about their business.

They look just like regular Pokemon, aside from the clothing and accessories clearly worn for comfort rather than necessity. But somehow, Nia thinks she can tell they’re human in other ways, too, just in how they move, how they walk and talk and act.

A delicate cat Pokemon with purple tufts of fur sits back on her hind legs to gesture with her forepaws as she talks, rather than with her tail or ears. A boulder Pokemon with a lizard-like face keeps overbalancing as he walks, and has to stutter-step on his short legs to regain his equilibrium before he tips over. A round little dragon Pokemon, blue with a shark-like fin and a red underbelly, grins wide as she spots a friend, her fangs on full display in a way that would feel distinctly threatening to Nia coming from a natural-born Pokemon.

They’re human, just like her. They don’t fit into this world quite right. It’s comforting, somehow, knowing that they’re all in the same boat Nia is. Knowing that no one here is going to get upset about her wanting to go home because that’s what they want, too.

On some level, Nia wishes she could stay here with them. She wishes she could forget that she has obligations to this world, to Giratina and Tobias and her guild. Some part of her just wants to…relax. No more scary fights with criminals. No more heartbreak from helping injured ‘mon after a natural disaster or mystery dungeon. No more pressure to save the entire world. To save multiple worlds.

…Would Nia leave Tobias and Maggie and everyone at the guild behind, for that kind of security? That kind of peace?

Her heart stabs with grief, and then with shame. No, she…she doesn’t think she could.

Even if she kind of wishes she could.

“Finally awake?”

Nia jumps, straightening up at Tobias’ voice. Her partner walks up to her, holding something in his hand. When he reaches her, he plops it on the rock wall. Something small, wrapped in cloth?

A delicious scent reaches Nia’s nose, making her stomach rumble. She unwraps the little package and perks up when she realizes it’s some kind of…burrito? She wastes no time stuffing it into her mouth, moaning at the taste. It has gooey cheese, vegetables that taste similar to potatoes and peppers, and…eggs? How does that work here?

Nia chooses not to question it.

“Thank you!” Nia says between bites.

Tobias leans away from her, torn between amusement and disgust. “Figured you’d be hungry, but you don’t have to go feral on me. They have more.”

He juts a thumb back the way he came. Must be the cafeteria. Or maybe a restaurant or something.

Nia just hums a happy sound, continuing to stuff her face. The ingredients have a distinctly non-human taste to them, the spicy red bits just a step to the left of a human world pepper, but it’s still undeniably human-inspired.

She’s just finishing her last bite when she hears “Nia!” from somewhere up above.

Nia looks up, hand over her eyes. Junie peels away from a small flock of flying types, diving down and flapping to a stop just before she would‘ve crashed into the top of the stone wall.

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” Nia whines, hand on her chest.

“It’s fun!” Junie chirps. Her eyes are bright. “You ready to try out the baths? I’ve been waiting for like an hour! Firebutt said I shouldn’t wake you.”

Tobias casually shoves Junie off the rock wall. She disappears over the edge with a squawk, then flutters back up with a glare.

Oh, the baths! She’d forgotten. “I’d love to try them, but don’t we need to talk to Will?”

“He can’t meet with us until later,” Tobias grumbles. “Fidel said he’d come find us when he’s ready.”

“Which means we can try their fancy baths!” Junie presses.

Nia smiles, then falters when she looks at Tobias. “You could come with us and see if they have, uh…anything for fire types?”

Tobias waves her off. “Go splash around in your fancy water. I’m not done looking around anyways.”

Nia watches him a moment longer, uncertain. He’d been in a bad mood last night, and they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it. Before she can push, though, Junie is flapping madly at her back, nudging her forward by her shoulders.

“C’mon! C’mon!”

Nia laughs, letting the rookidee guide her towards whichever building the baths are housed in. “I’m going, I’m going! We’ll come find you when we’re done, Tobias!”

Nia hears Tobias grunt in agreement before she’s pulled away entirely.

————————————————————————————————

The bathhouse is impressive, a larger building with a few deep, bathtub-like basins cut out of the stone floor. Tiny lidded pots circle the edge of each one, and there’s a makeshift drain cut into the bottom of each basin.

Late morning seems to be an unpopular bath time for the settlement. There’s a large white-and-black sheep Pokemon taking up almost the entirety of one basin, dozing peacefully in milky water. Nia can’t imagine cleaning up the wet fluff he’ll leave behind will be fun.

The only other Pokemon inside are a grumpy-looking anteater with fiery colors and pipe-like ridges on his body, and a large blue toad Pokémon with bubble-like lumps on his arms and head. The two of them are standing at a counter and the toad greets Nia and Junie with casual hospitality, so they probably run the place.

After confirming that they’re here for a bath, the anteater ambles over to a wooden ladder that leads up through a gap in the ceiling. He climbs it and disappears onto the second floor.

The toad leads them to one of the smaller bath basins, placing a cover over the drain and warning them to stay back. Then, a wooden gutter is lowered from the ceiling at an angle, tipped right over the bath. A few moments later, steaming hot water gushes down the gutter and begins to fill the basin.

“Whoa,” Junie murmurs.

Nia watches, fascinated, and looks up to find more gutters inlaid into the ceiling, each positioned above a different basin. It’s a really cool system. How long would it take to make something like this?

The toad gathers a few of the clay pots filled with soaps, offering them for a sniff so Nia and Junie can pick a scent they agree on before pouring it into the bath. Once they do, the water quickly froths with bubbles and the soft, soothing scent of lavender wafts throughout the room.

Junie hops onto Nia’s shoulder, watching the toad Pokemon work. Then she whispers, “D’you think he makes the water himself?”

Nia twists up her mouth. “What? No!”

“He might,” Junie says, playfully serious. “He looks like a water type, and we don’t know where that water comes from.”

“So you think he just spits it out himself?!”

“I’d bet ten breakfast burritos that that fire type went upstairs to heat up the water. Why else would they need a water type here too?”

Nia looks again at the toad, pasting on a smile when he glances their way. “Wouldn’t that be…unhygienic? It would come from his mouth!”

“I’m just saying! It’s gotta be hard to get fresh water up here. A water type would be super handy for that.”

Nia hates that she has a point.

When the basin is mostly full, the toad croaks a signal of some kind, and the water trickles to a stop. The ropes holding the gutter in place reel up, lifting it to lock back into the ceiling.

The toad wishes them a relaxing bath and says to let him know if they need anything. He lays a couple of cloth towels on the edge of the bath before ambling away.

Junie wastes no time fluttering into the bath. She stays near the edge where it’s shallower, fluffing her feathers and splashing about like a bird in a fountain before settling into a relaxed puddle.

“Ohhh my God. Nia, get in here, this is awesome.”

Nia hesitates.

“C’mon! You’ve bathed in rivers, right? Water type spit can’t be any more nasty than that!”

“It’s a lot more nasty!” Nia protests, but finally dips a foot in. It’s hot, almost too much so, but it feels wonderful. Slowly, Nia wades in deeper, then sinks down to sit until the water comes up to her chin.

Okay, mouthwater or not, this is so nice. The water feels clean, at least, frothy with bubbles and scented with relaxing lavender. Nia melts into it, slumping against the curve of the rough stone basin and letting her limbs float.

They both relax for a while, soaking in the quiet and warmth, until Junie speaks up.

“So since we’re having girl time—painting our nails, fluffing our hair…”

Nia opens an eye, giving Junie an amused look.

“How’s the whole thing with you and Toby going?”

Nia opens both eyes now, giving her a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Junie, floating on the surface of the water like a rubber duck, squints at Nia. “…Huh. So you really are just oblivious. Wonder if Toby is too.”

Nia sits up. “Oblivious? About what?”

Junie waves her off with a wing, sending water droplets scattering. “Nothing. I’ll tell you if it gets annoying.” Then she tilts her head. “Wonder if I could get a betting pool going with your friends at the guild. Oh, Bo would definitely be in.”

“A bet about what?!”

“You’ll figure it out eventually,” Junie dismisses. “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time me and my cousin dumped a bunch of bubble bath into my neighbor’s pool?”

Nia frowns. She’s not happy that Junie is hiding something from her that’s apparently about her, but she knows better than to push when Junie has already made up her mind.

Instead, Nia scrubs at her fur as she listens to Junie’s story, relishing this rare opportunity to take an actual bath for once. She even dunks underneath the water, coming up soaking wet. She shakes out her fur to splash Junie, and the rookidee shrieks and splashes Nia in return.

Eventually the bath starts to cool. Junie hops out first, ruffling her feathers, and Nia uses one of the towels to cover the little bird and rub her dry. Then, when Junie is a puffball, Nia does the same for herself, combing her short claws through her fur to smooth it.

They thank the two Pokemon running the bath, then head outside. Nia takes a deep breath and stretches, enjoying the way the cool breeze slips through her nearly-dry fur.

“What now?” Junie says, looking up at Nia. “Find Toby?”

“Probably. We’ll need to meet with Will soon, and I want to make sure Tobias is doing all right. He seemed a bit upset last night.”

“Don’t know how you can tell that apart from his usual grouchiness,” Junie jokes. She flaps into the air. “I’ll look for him!”

Nia watches as Junie swoops over the rock wall and to the left, flying high above the canyon below. She really has made a lot of progress since they last saw her. Nia needs to thank Bo for looking out for her friend and teaching her so much in such a short amount of time.

Nia shakes her head and goes right, looking around for her partner’s distinctive orange scales. People wave and nod to her as she passes, and she stops once or twice to exchange quick pleasantries with ‘mon they met at the convention.

Nia smiles as she walks by a hopscotch court drawn onto the stone walkway. Pokemon—probably on the younger side from how they screech and chase each other, stumbling over too-large paws and feet—play on it, hopping across and jeering at one another. A Pokemon that looks like a cross between a honeycomb and a bee floats effortlessly over the hopscotch squares, and two other kids (notably on two legs) yell that that’s cheating.

It’s just past the kids that Nia spots Tobias, leaning against the rock wall and watching the children play with a distant expression. He looks up when he notices her.

“Hey. Get your fill of fancy water?”

“I did, thank you very much.” Nia reaches his side and bumps his shoulder, then holds up her arm. “Feel my fur.“

“Why?”

“It’s soft! Seriously, feel it!”

Tobias rolls his eyes, but pets the fur on her arm. Then he stops, looking surprised, and does it again, as if entranced.

Nia laughs, and Tobias yanks his hand away.

He looks away, flushing. “It’s…fine.”

“Smell me too! I smell like a candle!”

She leans closer to him, and Tobias shoves her back, cheeks burning darker. “I’m not smelling you, you weirdo!”

Nia laughs again, burying her nose into her own neck fluff to take a deep whiff. Oh, she is going to miss these fancy baths. Her fur is silky smooth, finally free of dirt and sweat. She needs to talk to Maggie about getting something like this at the guild. She bets she could get a petition going.

Junie finds them shortly after, alighting on the rock wall and smirking at Tobias, who is still cherry-red. It’s pretty adorable.

“What’d you do?”

“Made him pet my arm.”

“Ooh. That’s evil.“

“I just wanted him to feel how soft my fur is!”

“Exactly.”

Before Nia can decode what Junie is talking about, someone clears their throat behind her. She turns, surprised, and looks up to see a brown deer Pokemon with yellow, eye-like antlers smiling down at the three of them.

“Hello. I hope you all slept well.” He takes a sniff of the air. “I see you found the baths!”

Normally Nia isn’t one to turn down a friendly conversation, even with a stranger, but the casual greeting makes even her pause. Then, her eyes widen as she recognizes the voice. “Oh! Fidel?”

“At your service.” Fidel bows his head, then transforms with a flash of purple light back into his zoroark form from the night before.

“Why do you morph so much?” Junie asks with a tilt of her head. “If you aren’t gonna prank people like Asher, then it seems like a lot of effort.”

Fidel laughs. “Not at all! That’s like asking why a water type swims if he doesn’t have anywhere to be. It’s instinctive. Like…stretching a muscle. Keeps us sharp, too, for situations where we do need to transform.”

“Such as?” Tobias asks, crossing his arms.

“Well…” Fidel thinks for a moment. “It’s important to be able to disguise in more populated areas. Especially if we need information but want to stay discreet. If we blend in, no one questions us.”

“‘Us?’”

“Asher and I.”

“You bring your son along on missions?”

Nia elbows Tobias, giving him a look. She knows he’s suspicious of Will and Fidel and everyone else here. He doesn’t need to be rude about it!

“I like to have him close by,” is all Fidel says, though his smile is tight. He flicks an ear, then turns. “Come along. We can talk as we walk. Will is available if you’re ready to meet with him.”

“Sure!” Nia trots after the zoroark, and Junie lands on her shoulder a moment later. She can hear Tobias follow after them.

As Fidel asks how they liked breakfast, he leads them to a building nestled right in the middle of the settlement. It doesn’t look any different from the others, medium-sized with slices cut from the clay and stone to act as windows. The zoroark opens the front door, leading them in.

The area inside is relatively small. It’s a sitting area of sorts, with cushions around a small fire pit, and a table with chairs nearby. A wooden ladder against the wall leads up through a gap to the second floor.

“This is more of a casual meeting area,” Fidel explains. He leads them to a door at the back wall without breaking stride. “But considering the sensitive nature of the conversation we have in mind, we’ll meet with Will in the back.”

“‘The back?’” Junie whispers. “Okay, that does sound sketchy.”

“Not you too!” Nia mutters. “Come on, he just wants some privacy. We are talking about the end of the world here!”

Nia follows Fidel through the door. Considering it’s set against the back wall, where the building meets flush against the cliffside, she expects to enter a small room. A bedroom, maybe.

Instead, Nia stops in surprise as a cool draft slips past her.

Junie, on her shoulder, murmurs, “Whoa.”

Ahead of them, Fidel moves without hesitation into a…tunnel. It must cut straight into the cliffside, and it goes deeper than Nia can immediately see the end of. It isn’t dark, though, instead lit by lanterns lining the walls.

“Wait,” Nia steps closer to get a better look at the lights. “Are these using—“

“Electricity?!” Junie shouts, making Nia wince.

“Hm?” Fidel pauses, looking back from his place farther ahead. “Oh! Yes, aren’t those incredible? Ash is pretty taken with them. You humans have come up with some amazing technology.”

“How’re they…holding the electricity?” Tobias asks, clearly curious but not wanting to make it obvious. He looks at Nia and Junie, the two humans in the tunnel.

Junie holds up her wings. “Don’t look at me!”

Nia’s brow furrows as she tries to remember elementary school lessons from over a decade ago. “W-Well. In the human world I think electricity runs through a…wire? And it heats up until it’s so hot that it glows. I think that’s how it worked with old bulbs, at least.”

“But where does the electricity come from?” Junie asks. “They don’t have outlets and wires and stuff here.”

“Our electric type residents give us the energy we need,” Fidel answers, waiting patiently farther down the hall. “Will has been trying to set up electric lighting in all the buildings, but it’s difficult with only a few electric types living here and such a big area to cover. He also has the tendency to get distracted by other projects, so for now this one is on hold.”

“I get that. I’m easily distracted too,” Junie says, tracking a dust mote as it floats by.

“Speaking of…” Fidel says. His voice is light, but he tilts his head in a clear bid for them to keep moving.

“Oh! Right!” Nia hurries to catch up to Fidel.

The tunnel goes a bit farther into the mountainside before opening up to a large room, also dimly lit by electric lanterns. There are three more tunnels leading out of the room, and Nia wonders for a moment what kind of rooms they lead to and how deep they go.

A table sits in the middle of this room, with round cuts of stone positioned around it to act as stools. There’s also a large bookshelf full of tomes against the far wall, and a desk covered with papers at its side.

Hovering at the desk is Will. The yamask is crowded close to someone Nia thinks, for a moment, is a decoration rather than a Pokemon. They almost look like a mix between a totem pole—all colorful geometric patterns and black accents—and a…bird? They have thin, angular wings, and bring to mind art that Nia had seen somewhere in the human world. Maybe Native American or South American pieces? They have no hands, so they’re holding onto a few of the papers with psychic energy. The two of them are murmuring to each other, deep in discussion.

Fidel clears his throat.

Will’s thoughtful frown vanishes as he looks up. “Ah, come in, come in! It’s good to see you three again.”

Will hands his own papers over to the totem-bird, then leaves their side to greet the newcomers. He shakes Nia’s hand, skin cold in the brief moment of contact, and nods with a warm smile at Tobias and Junie.

“Good to see you too!” Junie chirps. “Nice digs you’ve got here.”

Will chuckles. “Thank you. It’s not much, but it works well enough. We wanted to build a safe inner space in case the outer homes became uninhabitable in poor weather, but it doubles as a great area for our research. And for discussing more, ah, sensitive topics.”

The totem-bird tilts their way at that, looking at them with a single cyan eye. Then they wordlessly take the papers they’d been reading and hover down one of the tunnels until they’re out of sight.

Will gestures to the table. “Would you like to sit? I hear you all had a long journey yesterday.”

“We did!” Junie says. She sits first on one of the stools, and then—when that’s too short for her to see over—opts instead to perch on the edge of the table itself. “I thought my feet were gonna fall off.”

“We carried you half the way!” Tobias protests, taking a seat for himself.

“Nia did.”

“You don’t weigh a lot,” Nia says, taking a seat too. “But we were definitely happy to see this place. Thank you for letting us stay for a few days.”

“Of course,” Will says. “Any human—or friend of humans—is a friend of ours. Our little settlement has grown a lot in the past few months, but we’re always happy to see new faces.”

“And yet somehow everything here is free,” Tobias says, almost casual if not for the accusatory stare he’s sending Will’s way.

Will sits down across from Nia, placing his golden mask face-up on the table. Unsettling human eyes stare blankly at the rock ceiling. “We have quite a few of our people acting as gatherers, and we’re working on building an agricultural system for this climate as well. So we don’t need to buy much to survive.”

“But you buy some of it.”

Nia kicks Tobias lightly under the table, fighting to keep a pleasant expression on her face. He stubbornly refuses to look her way.

“We do,” Will agrees. “We sell some of the goods the artisans make here, like our soaps, tools, and clothes, and that gives us a decent fund for necessities.”

“Human-made goods are considered luxury items,” Fidel adds, taking a spot at Will’s left shoulder, like a second-in-command at a guild. Even from his place on the floor, he’s taller than everyone sitting on the stools. “Humans craft differently than Pokemon do.”

“They really bring in that much coin?” Tobias asks, clearly doubtful.

“Dude,” Junie says, looking both amused and exasperated.

Will laughs. “Tobias, if I’ve done something to earn such distrust, you’re more than welcome to ask me about it directly. Or in private, if you prefer.”

Tobias’ face flushes, embarrassed to be called out. But he just huffs and crosses his arms, leaning back as far as he can on the stool without falling off.

“Look, you haven’t done anything…wrong, really. You just make a lot of promises that I’m not convinced you can keep, and you’re so vague about everything. Plus, you’re, y’know.”

Tobias gestures vaguely at Will.

Will just seems amused by this conversation. He raises his brows. “I’m..?”

“That!” Tobias says, pointing with a scowl. “You have all the reason in the world to get mad about me being so suspicious of you, but you aren’t.”

Nia peeks at Will, embarrassed and guilty and yet somehow a little relieved that Tobias is just putting everything out there.

Will hums, leaning forward to rest his chin on interlaced hands. “Well, I’m certainly not going to get angry with you for being cautious. I actually think a bit of suspicion is healthy when dealing with those you don’t know well.”

Nia blinks at Will, surprised. He’s always seemed so welcoming, so Nia had assumed he was more like her and just put his trust into people.

Tobias makes a low sound, unconvinced.

“As for being vague and making promises?” Will’s smile turns a little sad, a little self-deprecating. “I suppose in a way, you’re correct about that.”

Tobias doesn’t reply, waiting for Will to elaborate.

“While we are looking into all the leads we can, we don’t have as many answers as I would like to have by this point.”

“But you said you could get us home,” Nia says, voice small.

Will locks eyes with her. “And I promise you I will. That’s why I’m all right with making such promises despite not knowing exactly how I will achieve them. This is all I care about in this world. In a way, it is my life’s work. And I’m determined to accomplish it and return us home, no matter what.”

Nia nods, trying to swallow the uncertainty in her chest. There’s so much conviction in Will’s voice, a fire in his eyes, that she can’t help but believe him.

Tobias, on the other hand, still seems unsatisfied.

“And the funds to build this place?” Tobias asks. “You didn’t have any artisan ‘mon or goods to sell until after it was made, right?”

“Correct. I saved up for years to get the money, doing odd jobs and the like,” Will answers. “And I made quite a few friends over that time who were willing to help me get it started.“

“Like myself,” Fidel confirms, smiling. “Will and I were friends before we started working towards the same goal. He’s the one who told me all about the human world.”

“And that’s why you want to go to the human world with Asher?” Junie asks. “Because Will is?”

Fidel’s happy expression fades. “I decided long ago to follow Will, but like most of the other natural-born Pokemon who want to cross over, this world’s deterioration is definitely a factor. I…worry. About Asher growing up here. Perhaps the human world will be kinder.”

“I don’t know if the human world would be kinder, really. I like this place better, personally.” Junie glances at Nia. “But to each their own, I guess.”

“The human world can be plenty nice,” Nia protests.

“Even if they don’t turn into humans when they cross over?” Tobias asks.

Nia opens her mouth, then closes it, looking away. Which she knows is an answer in itself.

Fidel doesn’t seem surprised. “Even if we don’t turn into humans ourselves, we always have our illusions to rely on. They’ve gotten us this far.”

“I’m sure we can get you set up just fine,” Will says, all confidence. “I’ve learned a few things about making a new life in a new world since coming here, and I was doing just fine in the human world before.”

Nia perks up at that. “Oh! Right! You probably remember your human life since you’re a yamask, right?”

“What did you do before becoming a Pokemon?” Junie asks curiously. “Were you like a motivational speaker or something?”

“I was an accountant,” Will laughs. “Incredibly boring work, I’m afraid. I’m more interested in knowing about you all! Nia, you said in your letter that you remembered a bit about your human life after falling ill, correct?”

“Yes!” Nia leans over the table in her excitement. She’s shared a few of her memories with Tobias, and he sort of gets it since he lost his own family, but not completely. He wasn’t human, after all. “I don’t remember everything, but I remember some things about my family! I have a mom and a brother, Clay. And my best friend Toni is basically my sister.”

“That’s wonderful,” Will says, smiling warmly. “I can tell you’re close by how you talk about them. I’m sure they miss you terribly.”

Nia feels a stab of grief in her chest, so abrupt that it steals her breath away. She doesn’t like thinking about that, about her family wondering where she is and when she’s coming back and if she’s okay. “Y-Yeah. I really miss them, too.”

She misses joking around with Clay and Toni. Misses talking about school and everyday nonsense with her mom. Misses their house and their old swingset and the comforting routine of her human life.

Slowly, Nia sits back on her stool again.

“It’ll be all right,” Will says, reaching across the table to pat Nia’s hand. Despite the cold, it’s comforting. Almost parental. “We’ll get you back home to your family. I promise you that.”

Nia gives him a watery smile in response.

“Have you recovered any memories?” Will asks, looking at Junie next.

Junie cringes. “Uh. Yeah, some. I don’t, um. Really wanna go back, though.”

“Is that so?” Will asks, visibly surprised.

Junie opens her mouth, probably to deflect. Then her eyes flick to Nia, and she sighs. “…Look, I don’t have a lot I want to go back to, okay? I’m still too young to live on my own and I don’t have the best relationship with my parents. They don’t  really…like me. They think I’m too annoying.”

Nia hears Fidel suck in a breath. Will frowns. Even Tobias seems offended on Junie’s behalf. Nia tries to parse the words she just heard.

Too annoying? Sure, kids can be a bit much, but what kind of parent doesn’t like their own child? And openly enough for their child to state it as surely as the sky is blue or the grass is green? Like it’s fact?

“But they love you, right?” Nia asks, quiet.

Junie scoffs. “Sure. Maybe. Doesn’t matter if I can’t tell, though.”

There are a few moments of heavy silence.

Nia suddenly understands Junie’s adoration of Bolat. The skarmory is clearly as fond of her as she is of him, which must’ve been…new, for her.

Nia’s heart aches.

Fidel speaks up first, expression pained. “I’m sorry to hear that, Junie. No child should ever feel unloved by their parents.”

“Guess my parents didn’t get the memo,” Junie mumbles. “Probably happy to be rid of me, honestly.”

“Then that is their loss,” Will says, sharper than Nia expects.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence. Even Junie and Tobias look surprised by Will’s anger, sudden and biting. Nia would’ve expected Fidel to be angry, being a parent himself, but…

Will takes a deep breath, then lets it out, smoothing one hand across the tabletop. The other latches onto his golden mask. “…Apologies. I’m afraid that’s a bit of a sore spot for me. Well, for the both of us, I suppose.”

“Did…” Nia hesitates. She doesn’t want to be nosy, but… “Do you have kids? In the human world?”

Will smiles. “I do. Well, I expect I do by now.”

“You expect you do?” Tobias asks.

“When I first came to this world, my wife was pregnant. If time passes at the same rate in both worlds, then our daughter was born years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Nia murmurs.

“Thank you.” Will’s voice is rough, so he clears his throat before speaking again. “You can imagine why I’m so set on finding a way home.”

The yamask’s gaze shifts down. He strokes wispy black fingers down his mask, tracing the lifeless eyes etched there.

“I did not have the greatest parents myself, Junie,” Will continues. “But I was…so excited to be a father. I just can’t understand parents like yours. I’m sorry that you had to deal with that.”

Junie shifts on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Oh. Um…thanks? I’m not too broken up about it anymore. I think I like this place better anyways.”

Will looks up at that. “…I suppose that’s good. Just remember that there’s more than your parents’ disapproval waiting for you in the human world. They matter much less when you’re an adult, and I wouldn’t want you to avoid returning to the human world for something so temporary. You still have a whole life ahead of you.”

Junie looks like she wants this conversation to be over, so she just nods. “I guess I can understand why you want to go back so badly, if you have a wife and kid you actually like.”

“I just want to know they’re all right,” Will says. He gives Nia a sad smile. “I expect you want the same, with your own family. To see them again. Laugh with them and hold them. Grow old with them.”

“More than anything,” Nia says, throat tight.

It’s one thing to have someone be sympathetic to her situation, but it’s different knowing they actually understand where you’re coming from. That they’re feeling the exact same pain you are. Even Hazel, sweet as she is, has already established a life here in the Pokemon world. She has a husband and kids and grandkids. A business and a life. She’s lived here for decades. It’s just not the same.

But Will gets it. He gets it.

“Now,” Will says. He straightens, face falling back into a more neutral expression. “Much as I’d love to sit and reminisce, I believe you came here for a reason, yes? You mentioned to Fidel that you have important information regarding the natural disasters.”

Nia has to take a moment to collect herself, so Tobias starts. “Yeah. Recently, we learned the cause for…well, everything that’s happening in our world, basically. Not just the natural disasters. Nia thought you might be able to help us with a solution.”

Will exchanges a serious look with Fidel. “That’s…certainly more than we were expecting. Please, tell us what you know.”

Tobias glances at Nia. She gives him a weak smile and a thumbs-up, so he gestures with his chin for her to start. They’re getting good at summarizing everything they’ve learned so far, after retelling the sequence of events to Maggie, August, and Junie.

“You know the letter I sent a while ago?” Nia asks. “About Giratina trying to pull me into the stream?”

Will’s expression darkens. Fidel, behind him, frowns but doesn’t look surprised. Will must keep him in the loop.

“Yes?”

“I did some research,” Tobias says. “And realized there was someone who could give us some answers about Giratina. A shedinja to the south, named Edme.”

Will’s face twitches, brow furrowing before smoothing out again.

“We got sidetracked on a different mission first, though,” Nia says. “And long story short, Giratina sort of…helped us out?”

With how Will had insisted humans avoid Giratina at all costs, Nia expects the yamask to look surprised.

Fidel does.

Will simply narrows his eyes, calm and collected. “You’re certain about that? That he was trying to help you?”

Nia exchanges a look with Tobias.

“Preeetty sure,” Tobias drawls. “We probably would’ve died on that mission without him.”

Fidel’s ears pin back, alarm passing over his face. He looks at the three of them in turn, as if to make sure they’re all right.

Will simply hums. “Interesting.”

That’s…it?

“That’s it?” Tobias asks, echoing Nia’s thoughts. His tone is more caustic than the voice in her head, though. “You were so against anyone even talking to Giratina in Ghatha, but you believe that he was helping us? Just like that?”

“Oh, I don’t believe that he helped you out of the goodness of his heart,” Will says, waving the idea away. “I can believe that he helped you, as long as there’s another motive behind his actions.”

“You’re…not wrong,” Nia admits. “I, uh. Actually talked to him, in Shivergleam.”

Will frowns. “You talked to Giratina?”

“Through a reflection?” Fidel asks.

Tobias snorts. “Nope. Edme tricked us and Giratina pulled Nia into his dimension for a little chat.”

“What?” Will floats off his seat. “You were pulled into the Distortion World?”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Fidel asks.

“What did he say to you?” Will cuts in.

“W-Well…” Nia leans back from the intense expression on Will’s face. “He told me his side of the story, I guess? Everyone thinks he was banished to the Distortion World because he attacked another legendary, but Giratina and Edme said that wasn’t true.”

“Likely story,” Will murmurs. He shakes his head. “Continue, please.”

“Um. He said that the fight between him and Cresselia started because Arceus went dormant, and the other legendaries panicked. Since more and more of them were falling asleep and they didn’t know why, tensions were, uh. High. He told the other legendaries off for abandoning the mortal realm and Cresselia attacked him. He was just defending himself.”

Will makes a doubtful sound in his throat, clearly not buying it. Fidel seems more open to the idea, frowning but listening intently.

“The Lake Trio banished him to the Distortion World in all the chaos,” Tobias picks up. “And now Giratina can’t do anything, since he’s stuck there. But he thinks he knows why everything is falling apart—why the legendaries are going dormant, why the mystery dungeons are forming, why the natural disasters are increasing, even why humans are showing up.”

That makes Will straighten, eyes flashing. “They’re all connected? Surely us humans don’t have anything to do with it. That’s just fear-mongering.”

“We aren’t causing the disasters,” Nia agrees. “We’re just…another symptom of the root problem, like everything else.”

“And that problem is?”

Nia tries to remember how Giratina had described it. “Giratina said that his world, the Distortion World, is kind of like a…shell. It’s wrapped around the Pokemon world, which would be the fruit. It encases it. Protects it.”

Will nods.

“And it has…borders, somehow. The…outer skin of that shell, I guess. Giratina said that everything that’s happening is from that border weakening.”

“Weakening?” Fidel asks. “Like it’s…wearing thin?”

Tobias shakes his head. “The border is going to break. Something is going to rip right through it and crack the shell wide open.”

“Going to?” Will echoes.

Nia nods. “He said it hasn’t actually happened yet, because time doesn’t work normally there. But the closer we get to that point in time here, the more severe everything gets.”

“And when we reach that point in time…” Will murmurs.

“He pretty much implied the world would end. That it would be a thousand times worse than what we’re currently seeing.”

Fidel’s red mane bristles, like a cat. He looks horrified.

Will, on the other hand, just seems deep in thought. He has one hand at his chin and the other on his mask.

“What could cause something like that?” He murmurs.

“Giratina said it’d probably have to be a legendary,” Nia says. “Since it’d have to be something super powerful, and most Pokemon don’t even have the ability to affect the border. It’s more like…a sheet of life energy or aura, rather than a tangible, touchable thing.”

“But aren’t most legends already dormant?” Fidel asks.

“They are,” Tobias says, dragging a heavy hand over his face to pinch at his eyes. “So we don’t know how it’s going to happen.”

“Is it predetermined?” Will asks. “Inevitable?”

Nia nods. “I suggested trying to stop it before it happened—whatever it is—but Giratina seemed pretty positive that it was set in stone.”

Everyone falls silent as they digest that. Nia can hear the quiet hum of the electric lanterns on the walls. Will is absentmindedly tracing the lines of his mask, brow furrowed. Fidel is glancing anxiously at the tunnel they arrived through, as if itching to go find Asher. Tobias is staring at the lanterns, tapping his claws against the tabletop. Junie, probably wanting a bit of comfort, hops off the table and into Nia’s lap. Nia makes room for her and cards her fingers through the bird’s soft feathers.

“Giratina said that all of this is connected to humans showing up in this world, correct?” Will finally asks.

Nia nods. “Giratina said that the human world—well, a few different worlds, actually—are right next to this one. Like…fruits on a vine. And since the border is weakening, human souls are starting to…slip through, somehow?“

“Mew’s the one who transforms humans into Pokemon and suppresses their memories so they can acclimate better,” Tobias adds. “They were working together, according to Giratina.”

“That would explain how it was done,” Will murmurs. “Considering she is supposedly the progenitor of all Pokemon.”

“Giratina said Mew transformed every lost human she could find,” Nia says. “Any that she missed, turned into, uh…yamask.”

She feels a bit awkward explaining that. Giratina’s words linger in her skull, that yamask have a harder time acclimating to the Pokemon world. That they’re not…built for it, really. Not fully accepted.

Will barks a bitter laugh. “Well, that explains a few things. So if human souls are slipping through without intent, then we are here entirely by accident?”

“Seems like it,” Tobias snorts. “Yet Giratina still decided it’s apparently Nia’s job to fix this mess.”

“And how does he propose you do that?” Fidel asks, wary.

“Well…since the border is made of life energy, and we’re pretty sure it’s going to break no matter what…”

“Our only idea is to fix it immediately after it breaks, before the damage is fully done,” Tobias finishes. “Most legendaries are already dormant, but there are two that were asleep naturally before Arceus fell.”

Fidel’s eyes widen with understanding. “Yveltal and Xerneas?”

“The gods of…destruction and new life, correct?” Will asks.

Nia nods. “Giratina is hoping that since the two of them were already in a 1,000-year sleep cycle, that we can wake them early somehow.“

“Wake Xerneas early,” Tobias corrects. “Yveltal would probably just make everything worse.”

“Hm.” Will tilts his head. “I suppose he would.”

“So that’s our plan.” Nia says, the words feeling anticlimactic. “Right now we’re just trying to find Xerneas.”

“Which I assume is no small feat, if no one has stumbled across her yet,” Will says.

“That’s what we were hoping to get your help with,” Nia admits. “We have no idea where to start. Giratina only said that she should be here somewhere, in the Pokemon world.”

“August, our guild leader, is looking into it with the archivists, but Nia thought you might have different sources of information than they do.”

Will doesn’t answer right away, looking back down at the golden mask on the table. His hands are steepled in front of his mouth. “Nia, did you ask Giratina about returning to the human world while you were in his dimension?“

Nia blinks, caught off-guard by the sudden change in topic. “U-Um. Yeah, I did. He said that attempting anything like that while the border is unstable would basically be suicide.”

“Odd,” Will murmurs. “I would think it would be easier to travel between worlds while the border is weakened.“

Nia had thought the same thing. The border weakening is how they got here in the first place, after all. But either Giratina is wrong about his own domain, or…

Nia frowns, a prick of unease making her shift in her seat. “Do you think he was lying?”

“Perhaps. If Giratina is truly so desperate for your help, Nia, then he wouldn’t want to risk you leaving before the border is fixed. Making you too afraid to even try hopping back to the human world is certainly one way to accomplish that.”

“But why would he need to lie at all?” Junie asks. “This is Nia we’re talking about here. There’s no way she would just leave everyone behind while this world is falling apart. She’d obviously help fix the border before going back to the human world.”

“Either Giratina doesn’t know Nia’s character very well,” Will says, looking up to meet Nia’s eyes. His expression is grave. “Or…”

Nia’s ears pin back under the weight of Will’s gaze. “O-Or what..?”

Will is silent for a long, long moment. “…Or he’s worried that despite your character, you won’t fix the border if you know the consequences of that decision.”

The…consequences?

“Think about it. Fixing the border means sealing the only known entry point between the human world and this one. Which is also our only known exit point.”

It takes a moment for the implications to sink in.

Nia stares at Will, stricken. “If we fix the border…we’ll be stuck in this world forever?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Nia shakes her head. No. No, there has to be a way. Some way to fix this world without cutting off their only route home.

“Breathe, Nia,” Fidel says, quiet.

Nia had almost forgotten the zoroark was here. She looks at him, uncomprehending. He takes an exaggerated breath, waiting for her to match him before releasing it. Once, twice, three times. Slowly, her rising emotions plateau into something manageable.

“S-So then what do we do?” Nia whispers. “I-I can’t—there has to be some way to do both. Some way to fix this world and still get us home.”

“We don’t know that fixing the border will cut off your only way back to the human world,” Tobias points out.

“True,” Will says. He is clearly deep in thought, but he doesn’t seem panicked by this realization. His serene expression calms something in Nia, too. “I had already been looking into methods for traveling between worlds without Giratina’s help anyways, so this is simply another factor to take into consideration.”

“B-But if Giratina thinks it’s impossible—”

“The gods can be wrong just as often as mortals can,” Will says, voice hard.

Nia doesn’t know what to say to that. But strangely, it gives her some hope.

“So…does this mean you’ll help us look for Xerneas?” Tobias asks, eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” Will says, “Whether Giratina is lying or not, the fact of the matter is that we can’t find a way home if we all die from this calamity first. So finding Xerneas to stabilize the border takes priority.”

“How noble of you,” Tobias says, sarcastic.

“It’s basic logic,” Will says with a smile and a shrug. “Of course I want to go home to my world as soon as possible. But first we must survive this world. With any luck, perhaps the answer to one problem will lead us to the answer for the other.”

Will’s confidence that they can still do both—that they can fix this world and find a way back home—feels like a soothing balm over Nia’s frayed nerves. She definitely doesn’t want to abandon this world and everyone in it to a terrible fate, but she doesn’t want to seal away their one chance at returning home to the human world, either.

There has to be a way for everything to work out.

“Thank you,” Nia breathes. She realizes she’s holding Junie a bit too tightly, and relaxes her grip.

“So we’re officially switching focus?” Fidel asks, looking at Will.

The yamask nods. “Yes. Number one priority is to track down Xerneas or Yveltal.”

There’s a beat of quiet.

“Isn’t that the, uh, destruction guy?” Junie asks. “Didn’t we say we don’t want to wake him up?”

“Correct,” Will says. “But if we can find one legendary, their counterpart will likely be nearby, yes?”

They all look to Tobias and Fidel, the two natural-born Pokemon in the room.

Tobias’ face twists in thought. “That…sounds right, but I haven’t heard any stories about Xerneas or Yveltal in forever.”

“I believe legend states that they do sleep near one another,” Fidel confirms.

Will claps, straightening up with a smile. “Excellent. So we have our next step, yes? We locate Xerneas, wake her, and enlist her aid in fixing the border once the break occurs. Do we have a guesstimate for when that will happen?”

“W-Well, Giratina said it would definitely happen within the year. But I don’t think he was sure other than that? It could be sooner.”

Will nods. “Then we shouldn’t delay.”

“Would you like me to notify the research team?” Fidel asks.

“Please do.”

Fidel rises to his paws, shoots Nia, Tobias, and Junie a quick smile, then lopes down the tunnel the totem-bird had disappeared into earlier.

“Thank you so much for helping us with this,” Nia sighs, turning back to Will. “You don’t know how much of a relief it is having your support.”

“Of course,” Will says with a comforting smile. “Thank you for coming to me.“

Will grabs his mask and moves off his stool. Nia and Tobias follow his lead, getting to their feet. Junie hops onto Nia’s shoulder to hitch a ride.

“So what now?” Tobias asks, glancing down the tunnel Fidel and the totem-bird researcher had vanished into. “We go back to the guild and you let us know if you find anything?”

“You’re welcome to stay here at the settlement for a bit,” Will says. “While I doubt we’ll be able to locate either legendary immediately, it should only take a few days for us to give you a better idea of where to search.”

“That soon?” Nia asks.

Will floats a bit higher, looking proud. “My research team has access to a wide array of resources. Give us a couple of days and we can give you at least a vague idea of where to start looking.”

Nia smiles. “That sounds great. Thank you, Will.”

“Of course,” Will gestures towards the tunnel they entered from, as if to guide them back outside. “We’ll be sure to keep you updated, but let Fidel or I know if you need anything in the meantime.“

“Why the rush, Will?”

Nia nearly trips over her own paws, not expecting the distinctly feminine voice from the mouth of one of the inner tunnels. It sounds strangely familiar too, light and teasing with a sharp undertone, but surely it can’t be—

“Rosalind?” Tobias hisses under his breath.

Sure enough, there’s a hatterene leaning casually against the opening of one of the tunnels, her pink and blue colors bright against the natural tones of the cave. She has that same sly smile curling at her lips, dark eyes glittering beneath the hat-like piece on her head.

Will squeezes his eyes shut, looking distinctly irritated for a moment before pasting on a smile and turning to meet Rosalind’s eyes. “Rosalind. Finished with your tea?”

Rosalind laughs, dainty and light, then shuffles forward to meet them. “I was wondering who you had to meet with so urgently. You know I like to stay in the loop on these things, Will.”

“That I do,” Will sighs. After a moment of hesitation, he turns to present Rosalind to them. “Nia, Tobias, Junie, this is—"

“We’ve met,” Tobias says, tense.

Will falters, frowning as he looks between the three of them and Rosalind. “…Is that so?”

“It is! These three are some of my cutest little workers.”

“How…nice,” Will says, stilted.

Nia understands the awkward tension in the air. She feels unsure about this whole situation, too. Rosalind isn’t exactly shy about being a shady underworld informant, so why is she here with Will?

For a moment, Nia considers Tobias’ ever-present suspicion of the yamask. Glancing at her partner, who has yet to look away from Rosalind, it’s clear that any rapport Will had built during their previous conversation has been wiped away. And for once, she can’t really blame him. What would Will need Rosalind around for?

…Then again, they needed Rosalind’s help to find the outlaw trio that Tobias is after. Who’s to say Will doesn’t have a similar arrangement?

Nia takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. They all have their reasons.

Rosalind’s dark eyes focus on Nia, and her smile grows. Right. Empath. “Good to see you again, Team Scarlet.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Tobias grumbles. He glares openly between Rosalind and Will. “Why are you here? How do you two know each other?”

“How forward of you!” Rosalind mock gasps, putting the hand of her hair-tentacle-arm thing over her mouth. “Don’t you know a lady’s affairs are private?”

Will sighs again. “Rosalind and I are…acquaintances.”

“Is that all we are? Come now, Will, we’ve known each other for years.”

“Rosalind.”

Rosalind smiles sweetly, clearly enjoying herself.

Nia isn’t sure how to feel about…any of this, really.

“Fine, fine.” Rosalind looks back to them. “Consider us…business partners, of a sort. You know that I like to stay informed about all the goings-on in the world. I can’t let an entire group of humans go off on their own without knowing what they’re up to, can I? I’m not very fond of surprises, after all.”

Nia…supposes that makes sense. Still, she exchanges a guarded, doubtful look with Tobias.

“So you get information. What does Will get out of your…partnership?” Tobias asks.

“He already told you some of his assets came from old friends, correct?” Rosalind says.

“You were listening to our conversation?” Junie blurts.

“Yes. A bit rude, perhaps, but it’s also rude to leave a guest waiting.”

“What do you want, Rosalind?” Will asks, sounding very tired.

“So impatient,” Rosalind tsks. Then she smiles at Tobias. “Since fate decided we should cross paths, I just wanted to offer a little tidbit of information that Team Scarlet might be interested in.”

Tobias straightens, eyes flashing. “Is this about..?”

“It is. Are you interested?“

Tobias glances at Will. “Not here. But yeah.”

Rosalind hums. “Fair. Will, darling, would you mind giving us a moment?”

Will does in fact look like he minds, but after a few seconds he relents with a stiff smile. “Of course.” He turns back to the three of them. “I’m going to confer with the research team. I’ll speak with you all later.”

Nia nods with a shaky smile. “Sounds good. Thanks again, Will.”

“Thank you as well,” Will says. Then he turns and heads down the tunnel Fidel had disappeared through, sparing Rosalind one last glance before vanishing.

Rosalind looks back to them. “Now, where were we?”

“First,” Tobias says, arms crossing. “What’s the price?”

Rosalind laughs, louder than earlier . More genuine. “You catch on quickly, don’t you? Good.“

Nia exchanges a worried look with Junie. Rosalind makes her nervous in the best of circumstances, but especially when they’re “negotiating.”

“My price is low this time around. I won’t even draw up a contract, seeing as this meetup was unexpected.” Rosalind leans over them, closer to their faces. Nia leans back, gulping.

“Personal space?” Junie mumbles.

“All I want,” Rosalind whispers, and the quiet tone puts Nia even more on edge. “Is for you to inform me immediately if our dearest Will makes a move to go to the human world.”

Nia blinks. “…W-What? But we aren’t—we’re only trying to find Xerneas right now. He can’t make the jump until we fix—“

“Can’t he?” Rosalind asks, smile dropping. She tilts her head, locking eyes with Nia.

Nia feels her stomach drop.

What exactly is Rosalind implying? That Will isn’t going to do what he says he is? That he’s going to try to go to the human world without fixing the Pokemon world first? He wouldn’t do that, not when it would mean disaster for everyone.

He…wouldn’t, right?

“What do you know?” Tobias asks.

“Mm. Nothing substantial.” Rosalind straightens up with a pleasant smile. “Just a hunch. I’ve known Will for years. He’s more desperate than he appears.”

“E-Even then, he wouldn’t do that,“ Nia protests. “It’s not safe to try until the border is fixed! For either world.”

“I wonder. Grief has it’s own kind of logic, to those desperate enough.”

Nia falls silent, wishing Junie was in her arms to hug instead of perched on her shoulder.

“Anything that sets off alarm bells, you tell me about immediately,” Rosalind reiterates. “Deal?”

“W-Why?” Nia can’t help asking. “Why do you want to know?”

Rosalind tilts her head. “Because that idiot is either going to make a horrible mistake with repercussions that I do not want to deal with, or he is going to be my ticket to safety when this world falls apart. Either way, he cannot be trusted to act in my best interests.”

Nia falls silent. She desperately wants to defend Will, but she also feels like arguing with Rosalind is liable to get her mysteriously injured. Or worse.

“Deal,” Tobias says. “If we notice anything, we’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

Rosalind smiles. “Good. In that case, here’s your payment. Are you familiar with Kaleido Bay?”

That does sound familiar. Nia looks to Tobias.

“The city to the south, right?” He asks, frowning. “Where the road meets the sea?”

“That’s it,” Rosalind says, turning to stroll along the wall of the room. “It’s had trouble with damages recently due to natural disasters, but it’s a lovely little city. Lots of shops.”

“Okay?” Tobias says with a scowl. “What about it?”

“It won’t be to your liking, Charmander,” Rosalind says, reaching out to tap at one of the lantern lights. “Half the city is floating above the waves and other half lies beneath them. However, it does hold something of interest, other than shops.”

Nia glances at Tobias. He’s tracking Rosalind closely, fists balled.

“Kaleido Bay, funny enough, holds a prison under its waves, reserved for particularly dangerous criminals."

Oh. Oh no. Nia’s stomach sinks.

“They caught them?” Tobias rasps, taking a step forward.

“They caught one of them,” Rosalind says, turning back to them. “The pangoro, Dismas. He’s under tight security, but if you’d like to talk to him I can arrange a conversation.”

“Yes.” Tobias doesn’t even hesitate, taking another step towards the hatterene. “Please.”

“Tobias,” Nia murmurs, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

He jolts, as if he forgot she was even there.

“Are you sure you’ll be…okay? Seeing him?” Nia whispers.

She can’t help thinking about Tobias at that crobat’s home in the desert. Overwhelmed by grief and destroying the gifts left on the outlaw’s grave. She’d never seen him so…lost in himself before. It was scary.

Tobias swallows. He looks away. “I have so many questions. I have to talk to him, Nia.”

Nia squeezes his arm once before letting go. “…Okay.”

Junie snuggles closer to Nia’s neck. Nia appreciates the warm point of contact and leans her head into the touch.

Rosalind smiles. “Excellent. In that case, go to the prison in Kaleido and ask to speak to Jude, on behalf of Rosie.”

“Rosie?” Junie mumbles, just loud enough for Nia to hear.

“When Jude arrives, tell him you need to speak with prisoner D22. And no, he does not get a choice. He either lets you in, or I tell his superiors about Sahara City.”

Nia doesn’t want to know what this Jude did in Sahara City or just how much trouble he’ll be in if Rosalind rats him out. Even the vague threat directed at someone else sends goosebumps down Nia’s arms.

Rosalind is terrifying.

Nia can tell Tobias is unnerved too, his shoulders tense, but he simply nods. “Got it. Anything else?“

“No, that should be it.” Rosalind smiles at them. “You’re free to leave. Good luck.”

Without looking away from the hatterene, Tobias herds Nia and Junie towards the tunnel they’d initially entered through.

“Actually, there is one more thing,” Rosalind calls, stopping them in their tracks.

Nia peeks over her shoulder, past Tobias. Rosalind has moved over to the desk with papers scattered atop it, looking idly through them.

“Remember that I do know you’re human now, Riolu. Rookidee.” Rosalind’s voice is calm, but Nia’s breath catches all the same. “And rumors can be a nasty, nasty thing to deal with nowadays. So step carefully.”

“Hey!” Tobias barks. In the low light of the cave, Nia can see embers glowing through the thin skin of his jaw. “I said we’d keep up our end of the deal.”

Rosalind smiles sweetly, looking up at them from across the room. “Then we shouldn’t have any issues, should we?”

Tobias growls under his breath and nudges Nia down the tunnel. Nia does actually stumble over her own paws this time, in her haste to leave.

They’re all silent as they exit the tunnel into the outer building, then even farther outside into early afternoon air. It feels…wrong, for the day to be bright and sunny, all blue sky and cool, fresh air, after such heavy discussions.

Nia takes a deep breath, leaning against the warm stone wall of the village. Tobias follows. The Pokemon—humans—of the village pass around them, still as carefree as ever. Nia can hear the children they’d passed by earlier shouting and laughing in the distance.

“Anyone else kind of hate Rosalind?” Junie asks.

Nia gives a nervous laughs. “I could do without her jump-scaring us, that’s for sure.”

They both look at Tobias, expecting him to respond as well. Instead, he’s looking out over the trees of the mesa, brow furrowed. Looking south, towards Kaleido Bay.

“…Tobias? You all right?”

Tobias takes a breath, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Thinking about Kaleido Bay?”

Tobias nods.

“I thought so,” Nia says, quiet. “When are we leaving?”

Tobias looks up at her, surprised.

Nia lifts her brows in return. Does he really think she’s going to let him go on his own? He should know better by now.

Tobias laughs a quiet, humorless laugh. “You know you don’t have to come.“

“You know I am,” Nia murmurs in return, reaching out to take his hand.

Tobias’ mouth twitches with a smile before falling again. “Kaleido should only be a day’s walk south. We could be back in a couple days and see if Will’s found anything by then.”

Nia nods. “So what time?”

“We could leave early tomorrow morning and get there by late afternoon.”

“Okay,” Nia says, closing her eyes as she leans back against the stone wall. Tobias joins her, hand still clasped in her own. Junie is unmoving on Nia’s shoulder.

Quiet falls over them again. Nia imagines they’re both thinking about the same things she is. Finding Xerneas and saving the world from destruction. Will’s promises and Rosalind’s suspicion. Tobias and the outlaw he’s going to talk to all too soon.

Nia wants to believe that everything will turn out okay, but there’s a pit in her stomach all the same.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! male! childhood friend x gn! unrequited crush! reader

So I decided to further slow down my posts since things got busy and I had no time nor motivation. So, posts will now just depend if I have some ideas. Forgive me!. But also, i'll add a wider range of post styles since full fics are really long and hard to do sometimes.

Also, I take the sentiment back that I won't do new yans for now LMAO I can't resist it.

Yan! Childhood friend name: Minyu

"Minyu is at the lead now, as expected of the swim varsity president of XX university."

That's the voice of the emcee, their voice loud and clear amongst the loud crowd cheering for their contestants. But one person stood out on the pool. He's way ahead of his other competitors, swimming as if he's a natural born sea resident.

"AND MINYU OF XX UNIVERSITY GOT FIRST PLACE!"

Everyone's deafening cheer raised the roof of the indoor pool as a tan man got up from the pool pumping his fist. His eyes were trying to find somebody. And his eyes locked on you.

"Y/N! DID YOU SEE HOW I WON?! ARE YOU PROUD OF ME?!"

Minyu is bubbly, friendly, and really loud. His voice is sometimes as loud as a booming speaker that the professors never really liked. But people swear he's a good guy.

He's mischievous at times, and did plenty of harmless pranks on you when you both were children.

You both are neighbors since birth. And due to being neighbors, and Minyu being a naturally friendly and charismatic boy, you two became friends.

"Good for you, Min Min. Let's go celebrate?" You asked, handing him his towel as he wiped his wet hair with it.

"Sure! My treat."

Sure, he's friendly, but in reality, he's one hell of a plastic man. He's only being friendly and approachable to use tthese people in the future. It did have setbacks, but hey. Being a popular guy has its perks.

Unlike yandere! college student though, he never found being friendly a choir to do. Minyu finds it amusing to see these people scramble to get his attention, and be his friend.

It's like these people were lower than him.

Why?

He's been betrayed once by his "friends". And ever since then, he stopped being genuine with other people. Always suspecting them for wanting something from him.

But you were different. You were the only one who was genuine with him despite the regular banters the both of you have. That's why you're the only one who knows how plastic the dude is with others. You somehow feel flattered though. At the very least, right?

You don't know the story behind the betrayal. But you saw how down he was due to it so you never left his side. And because of that, he became attached to you.

"Oh, what did I do to deserve such a friend like you?"

That's what he always asked you while hugging you tightly.

When people asked what's your relationship with him, you were quick to deny it. You both were only friends, and nothing more.

And besides...

You froze, seeing your crush pass by the hallway.

As if on cue, your cheeks flushed red and looked down. Goodness, why did he have to pass by this specific hallway? And with Minyu too.

You unconsciously put space between you and Minyu. The rumors about you two dating ringing in your head. You wanted to make it seem that you're available.

But what you didn't see is Minyu's once lively face fall to a cold, blank stare at your back, and at your crush.

"What do they see in that fucker that they don't see in me?!"

A crash was heard in a bedroom. The whole house was quiet, and all one could hear are disgruntled yells of frustrations and desperation.

"What do I need to do to make you notice me?!"

Another crash, this time it was glass.

"Is it because we were friends since childhood?! Is that it?!"

Minyu slid down the wall, absolutely shaken up.

He hated Austin so much.

The perfect little bitch boy, Austin. Your crush. He was so bland! And guess what, he's a total heartbreaker! Well, that's what the rumors tell anyways.

He's a heartthrob that you unfortunately fell for also.

Minyu's pupil shook as he took another gulp of air. The sense of dread and panic settling in his stomach.

He's like this outside of other people's vision. Even yours.

He's an insecure man who can't stand it if you decide to betray him too. Too caught up in the past, he's shaken up at the thought of you leaving him.

Your picture caught his eyes, and he fought back an angry spittle of words gurgling in his throat.

He knew it wasn't your fault. People fall for people regardless of logic.

But why not him? He's there for you since you both were kids! You were there for him when his friends betrayed him. He did his best to flirt and put signals that he's in love with you. He took up swimming because he wanted to look cool in front of you.

But just like the tropes in the books you read, the childhood friend always got overlooked.

He let out a humorless laugh at that thought. The image of you with Austin made him grab his lamp and throw it to the wall.

He knew his issues. But he doesn't want to help himself.

His ear perked up when he heard a ping on his phone. With a shaky groan, he crawled towards his bed, avoiding the broken items and opening up the notification.

He froze, his body clamming up.

"The audacity of this goddamn--!"

One of his ex friends decided to transfer to his school.

Or should he say, ex crush?

He had a group of friend outside of you back in freshmen year of highschool. There were 5 of them, including Minyu. One of them was a long time crush since elementary, and he was so giddy to become their friend.

Goo goo eyed, he followed them everywhere. He felt like the cool guy hanging out with the popular crowd. He swore they liked him too.

Naive little boy he was, doing all their bidding and orders like it wasn't a big deal. Sure, Minyu was rich anyways. So money wasn't a problem. Was it?

His parents noticed how he's spending so much money in a short amount of time. They got into a fight because of it, and Minyu ended up talking back to them and him having his allowance cut off.

The first time he had to reject a... request, Faces immediately fell and their interest in Minyu also fell.

"It's fine. Hey, that karaoke bar opened right?"

"Let's go~!"

Minyu perked up.

"I'll go with you guys too!"

They raised their eyebrows almost immediately.

"Ah, sorry Minyu. But the car is already full. Maybe next time."

This continued to happen. Being snubbed like some dirt on the road. And what hurts the most, is that his crush, who he showered so much gifts with, lost interest in him also.

This was an abusive cycle he was in, until he was finally dropped by them halfway to the school year when Minyu didn't get anything expensive for his crush, and only gifted her an explosion box filled with creative ways to confess.

"Ew. I don't even like you. You're so... Ugh. Don't talk to me ever again."

That experience snuffed out his light, Especially when they decided to rub it in further by spreading how Minyu was only with them for his crush, and failed to get her. Spreading lies too, saying he was an asshole, and he's the one who kept demanding gifts.

Sure, majority didn't believe them, but he was so scarred by it due to the humiliation and betrayal he felt.

So, he fell back and only relied on you. Somebody who he knew would always be there for him.

Now that she's back in his life, he wanted revenge.

But then he felt like it wasn't worth it at all...

Or, he could use her?

It would be hard to manipulate a manipulator, but... He could use her to his advantage.

two months passed by peacefully. And Minyu, wide smiled, attended class.

He knew what happened, and he's pumped. It's as if everything right in the world just connected for him and him only.

With a giddy laugh, he opened the door to the cafeteria with a shit eating grin.

And there you were, sitting alone, eating the lunch you made with a somber look on your face.

He's not gonna pretend that he didn't feel guilty, but god did it outway the results.

"Hey, Y/n. What's up?" Minyu asked, sliding beside you. A concerned look he gave, he rubbed your back gently. "You don't look well."

"W-well... Austin... He... he's so close with that new girl. Gaia, wasn't it?" You said, looking up at him. "I saw them... They were so close. Gaia was hugging his arm so close. Austin doesn't like being held at all."

Minyu hid a smirk and offered a gasp. "Wait, really? Why? How?"

"I don't know..." You bit your lip. "I think Austin likes her. Should I give up on him?"

Finally, Minyu yells in his head.

"For me, yes. You've been chasing Austin since we were first year in college. And honestly, you look like a whipped highschooler looking at him and always wanting to be in his vicinity. No offense." He sheepishly said, "Please, y'n. Move on. For yourself."

While you thought of what he said, Minyu almost laughed out loud.

The day that Gaia transfered, he met up with her, in the pretenses of moving on and asking for forgiveness. Gaia, not changing at all, puffed her chest in pride when Minyu asked for forgiveness on something he didn't do.

Minyu then befriended her the old fashion way. Gifting, talking, fanning her ego, etc. But, he also filled her head on how amazing Austin is. On how he's so handsome, and a genius, and most of all, richer than Minyu.

That got Gaia looking at Austin.

Slowly, Gaia lets go of Minyu and focuses on Austin.

Austin too, seems privy with her attention.

And now, you saw how close they got. That's...

"Amazing." Minyu whispered under his breath, watching you think deeply about the heartache you just experienced.

"Please, move on Y/n. You deserve someone better!"

Someone who's close to you, someone who has been there for you.

Someone that is him.

So pick him, choose him, love him.

Before he fully looses his mind.

This one is all over the place ngl TT-TT

[stairs-feooff]

An Open Letter to White Emo Kids

When I was thirteen years old, I googled ‘how to be emo.’ The music, the aesthetics, the darkness of it all captivated me. There was transgression there, with boys in makeup and girls who weren’t ashamed to be bisexual. The online emo community on google plus (anyone else remember google plus? Just me?) took me in with open arms. I was allowed to be depressed, I didn’t have to hide my burgeoning sexuality or the starts of my struggle with depression, something I now know was caused by intense amounts of dysphoria and life in an abusive and queerphobic household.

Only, there was one problem. I wasn’t white. 

Certainly, nobody would say they had an issue with me being Latino to my face. Most people in the scene genuinely believed they were not racist. After all, they loved Latino people, they thought the guys in Pierce the Veil were so hot. They appreciated the culture too, sombreros and maracas were the full extent of Mexican culture, right? 

But to be emo, you had to be pale. I remember Onision saying that Black people couldn’t pull off emo, and while everyone I knew talked about how horrible he was for saying that, they all secretly believed it. The emo kids I knew stayed out of the sun, they wore long sleeves to stay whiter and some on the more goth side carried around parasols. It was just part of the gothic, to stay white and dead looking. I hid myself from the sun, my skin tanned quickly and well, we couldn’t have that. 

Every guide on emo aesthetics emphasized stick straight hair. Every emo kid I knew reinforced that idea. I begged my mom for a relaxer, she refused. It was alright, I figured out how to damage my hair well enough on my own. Pete Wentz kept his hair straight, spent his time with a flat iron to press down the curls that made him inpalatable to white suburban teenagers. I could too. The burns, the split ends, the fact that my hair didn’t start to return to its natural texture until I cut several inches off this year, that was the sacrifice kids like me needed to take to come into the scene. If not, you would be made fun of. You’d be compared to Ray Toro, everyone’s favorite ‘princess fro fro.’ He was Puerto Rican, just like me. No one talked about that, beyond whispering it around like a dirty secret. No one acknowledged his pride in his country, mirrored by my own pride instilled in me from my mother. Every piece of him, every feature identifiable as nonwhite was sneered at. His hair, his nose, his lips, the white kids said he was the ugly one because of them. I was too, I suppose. 

That was back in 2014. I remember it vividly, still.

Turn back the clock to the early 1980s. Dischord records has just signed seminal emo group, Rites of Spring. There is change in the humid Washington DC Summer air. A new genre would be born from it, branching from the existing hardcore movement. To say Dischord records created emo would be no exaggeration. Without them, the music all of us in the scene know and love would be nonexistent. Dischord was seminal in the scene, Dischord was also founded by Ian MacKeye, vocalist for Minor Threat and later, Fugazi. 

Minor Threat is not emo in the tradional sense. Musically, it’s similar to punk and hardcore groups of the time, lacking the distinct musical flourishes of MacKeye’s later emo group, Fugazi. Still, Minor Threat helped shape the hardcore scene emo was born from and created the record label that signed Rites of Spring, the first emo band. Fugazi is legendary in first and second wave emo circles, influencing bands like Thursday. MacKeye’s stamp on emo is inescapable, even in the third wave. MacKeye also penned the song: Guilty of Being White. 

Guilty of Being White is a minute of MacKeye complaining about systemic racism - or rather, being blamed for systemic racism. He’s sorry for being white, he’s so so sorry, don’t you feel sorry for him, a white man in the 1980s? Isn’t it horrible that white people are blamed for systemic inequality? Isn’t it horrible that he actually has to put work into allyship with people of color? 

MacKeye says he never meant for the song to seem racist. Surely, the fact that it’s become a favorite of white power groups is a coincidence. 

All that is to say, racism was baked into emo from the very beginning. The label that created the genre was founded by white men with very clear issues with racism, even if they did not see it that way. Pete Wentz flat ironing his Black hair and Tyler Joseph refusing to say he’s influenced by rap aren’t bugs unique to the third wave. Instead, they’re features of the genre. 

Now, I’m not writing this to ‘cancel’ emo. I love emo dearly, I still consider myself emo. It, in every wave, is my favorite genre of music. Rites of Spring, Jawbreaker, My Chemical Romance, these bands have shaped my life like no other. Through emo I have met some of my best friends, white and nonwhite alike. Emo allowed me to express my gender and sexuality freely. Emo changed my life for the better, and it continues to do so. No, I am not writing this to cancel emo, whatever that means. Instead, it is because I love the genre so much that I feel the need to point out its flaws, its shielding and harboring of racism since Dischord herself began. 

They say you should end essays like this with a call to action. Personally, I don’t know what I can say that hasn’t been reiterated a thousand times. Really, what am I supposed to say here? Stop being racist? I, like so many other people of color both in and out of the scene are tired of telling white people to do just that over and over. We are tired of seeing white people stop saying what isn’t acceptable anymore, not due to any sort of active unpacking of white supremacy on their part but simply out of a wish to not be ostracized. I am tired of going to emo spaces outside my friend groups and explaining to white thirty year olds what racism is, over and over and over again ad infinitum. I am tired of seeing white people try and take the lead on discussions of racism, whether it is to rapidly assert ‘im not racist but-‘ or to be on the opposite extreme, to jump the gun and form a dog-eat-dog circus, where the end goal is not to actually form a safe place for people of color but to prove how not racist they are. I am tired of watching white people jump on whatever they can to demonize people of color in the scene. I am tired of watching nuanced conversations about racism and complicitness in racism be overshadowed by people upset their pet white man isn’t going to kiss their other pet white man anymore. I am tired of watching children be called slurs. 

Perhaps my frustration is coming loose. It’s hard to be in the middle of all this and not be frustrated. At this point, I am disillusioned. These conversations are seemingly brought up every month, and yet, there is no systemic change. All I can say is I hope that one day, emo becomes actively hostile to racism and racists. Perhaps being aware that racism has been integral to the scene since the beginning is a good place to start.