#but in another universe I would have wanted to see that

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[midnightsmusings]

Hard to get rid of Ghost x Soap who's into his LT's girl in every universe anybody?

Simon who didn't think much when you broke up with him, just sighed because it was right as he got sent on a mission.

Simon who told you he had to go but that he'd be back to "straighten you out" after a messy kiss was pressed to your lips. He knew you were just throwing a little tantrum, pouting about Johnny.

Simon who also knew you'd be just as in love once he brought the man around.

Simon who's been bringing up his teammate around you more and more, carefully cataloguing your reactions and crafting a plan.

Simon who showed up a month after you broke up with him, acting like the separation didn't even happen and tugging a man behind him, introducing Johnny to "their" girl.

(Brain rot about it below)

-CW: Ghostsoap x AFAB reader, freak Ghost, Soap who's just as bad but more subtle about it, Hints at Ghost watching reader through cameras

"What kinda grub ya want?" The gruff voice came through the phone. It's been a month but you'd recognize the gravelly Manchester accent anywhere. It was Simon.

"Don't want anything from you" you retorted, not even coiling away from the demanding tone that rang through the speaker. You never would have answered if you knew, but you were too distracted with laundry to look at the caller ID before answering.

"Besides, maybe I moved huh? How are you going to drop off food if you don't know where I am?" You tried. It was a lame attempt, you knew it, but you also didn't know what to think of a month old ex wanting to bring you food.

Especially an ex like Simon.

A low, knowing chuckle came through the phone that had your face paling and thighs clenching simultaneously.

"No baby, you didn't move" he said, smug and sure. You wanted to ask how he knew that, but deep down you didn't really want to know the answer.

The sounds of shuffling came through the speaker before his voice rang out again, more demanding than the first time. "Now stop bein' a brat, you want takeout?"

You huffed, glaring down at the phone even if he couldn't see. It made you feel a little better and reminded you to ignore the heat building in your gut that his voice always caused.

"No" you said flatly with a frown. God did you want takeout now that he mentioned it. Your stomach growled, you got so lost in chores today you forgot to eat.

"Yeah ya do" he rumbled amused. He had this strange affinity for being unaffected by anything, voice self assured and calm under the softly mocking tone.

"Get the number 4 Johnny" his voice said, distantly as if he pulled away from the phone.

You frowned, running a hand over your head irritated and confused as you opened your mouth to question him. Really? He was calling you while he was with the man that caused your breakup?

"We'll be there soon dove" he said before you could gather your scattered thoughts. His voice louder now that he was close to the speaker again.

You swallowed thickly, not quite sure what to do, to think. Again, before you could even form a responce, maybe even a crafty insult, he hung up. The silence rang out loud, and your mind panics before settling on one thing.

We?

As soon as you opened the door you forgot why you broke up with him.

Simon's large frame stood, leaning against the doorframe. A bag of your favorite takeout was hanging from his gloved hand.

As usual, he was dressed in all black. His hood was up and he was wearing that skeleton face mask you'd got him as a joke. It was one you'd surprised him with after you saw the skull mask he wore around base.

Your heart clenched.

"Lookin' good Darlin'" Simon grunted eyes sweeping over you before another face popped out around his shoulder, his smile warm and disarming. "Evenin hen" the man greeted brightly.

So this was Johnny. God you wanted to hate the man, but he looked so sweet and inviting. His soft aura balanced out Simon's deadpanned gaze.

You were at a loss for words, helpless to stop as they shoved their way in. Simon's mask was set on the small table by the door and Johnny's boots were kicked off carelessly in the hall.

They started casually unpacking all the food on your kitchen counter, Simon guiding Johnny on where everything in your kitchen was.

"Simon what the f-" you started once your brain finally caught up and you shut your door, walking over to them. Only to be cut off by him again.

"Woulda been here earlier but got stuck on a bloody mission" he grunts pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he shoves a plate piled with food into your hands.

"Aye shite one too, took a month but we got 'em eh LT?" Johnny mumbled around a mouthful of egg roll.

A month?

Simon just grunted, broad hand squeezing the back of Johnny's neck. Your eyes tracked the movement, the way the shorter man leaned into the touch with a smile. Your heart clenched painfully again.

"Classified Johnny" Simon responded bluntly sliding his hand off his neck and loading up his own plate.

"Ah cmon Ghost let the lassie hear aboot how cool I am" Johnny grumbled with a pout, only perking up when Simon said nothing to dissuade him.

Johnny immediately walked over to you, hands waving as he rambled. You'd never met him in person before, only heard his name countless times. So many times actually that you started to worry. Eventually you called off your relationship because of your boyfriend's clear affection for someone else.

At least you thought you did.

You briefly considered the merits of trying to force them out. There was no way you could physically do it but you did always keep a bat by your door...

Simon looked up, smirk growing slowly as if he could read your thoughts. Johnny's voice next to you faded to the background as Simon walked closer.

"Let 'er eat before ya talk her ear off" the man huffed, pushing Johnny towards the living room before focusing down at you.

"Shoulda' let me teach you to fight dove..woulda been able to get us out of here hm?" He rumbled lowly, that damned smirk now stretching his scarred lips wide.

He patted your ass with a broad hand before motioning his head to where Johnny was sitting on your couch, adjusting the pillows next to him for you. "He's been excited to meet ya, I told him all about his girl. Now go on 'n eat lovie"

[yeonmuse]

— “You haven’t changed”

( pairing) - nerd!Heeseung x f!r 3kwc + smut. not proofread!! 3rd pov Contains!! Mentions of sexual themes/mean heeseung [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🪷

Authors notes, for some reason its not letting me link this post to the actual request, so hopefully whoever requested this sees it

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @jiamini @sol3chu @right-person-wrong-time @riribelle

You and Your boyfriend both shared a mutual agreement that your relationship was strictly for show, or at least that was the terms you had given him. After the two of you had been caught cozying up to one another, at one of Jake's parties. Since then people had started putting the two of you with one another and you had simply accepted it. Jay was tired of the swarm of girls that’d surrounded him when he arrived on campus and you didn’t care for any of the guys there because all of them acted the same. Obviously Jay knew what he had been getting himself into with making you his girlfriend though, after all you were one of the most sought out girls in the university's freshman class.

Not to mention you were the dean's daughter, which meant everyone would either suck up to you or go through him thinking it’d get them into your mothers good graces. Though little did they know you yourself were slipping through the cracks of your mothers sincerity. Your grades were slipping bringing you from rank 1 to rank 2 of top scoring students on campus. Number one being Yang Jungwon and Number two being Lee Heeseung, a man you had known all too well since middle school. He was a friend of your eldest brother, the two of them having been friends so long tbz you couldn’t remember a time where Heeseung wasn’t at your house, sat on the couch playing video games with your brother. All you knew wanted him was that the boy owned more keyboards than he knew people, and the only reason you had known that was because you once heard him and your brother talking about it in discord.

That's all there ever did though, and you found him and your brother to be agonizingly boring. All they had ever done was play games, snack on junk food and waste away in their parents' attic playing d&d or reading old comics. Of course your mother loved Heeseung, damn near treated him like her son right along with you and your brother, and yet it didn’t make you any more interested in him than you had once been as kids.

Finally making it back to your apartment after having gotten chewed out by your mom and sat through an agonizing number of classes you were relieved to finally have some peace. Though your temporary serenity was interrupted as you heard a knock on the door forcing you up from the couch and having you stride over to the door. The scowl on your face had immediately changed to a smile as you found your brother on the other side.

“Anton!?” His arms wrap around you catching you in a tight embrace as you leapt into his arms, not having seen him in almost a year since he had chosen to travel instead of going to college.

“You haven’t grown at all.”

“Don’t start, look at you all grown up. What are you doing here?!” Your little brother had in fact grown up, ditching his glasses, old plaid button ups and bowl cut he’d always rocked when the two of you were younger. He looked like a man now, and he had grown tall enough to surpass you in height, meaning you no longer had anything to tease him about.

“I talked to mom and she said you lived here, I was hoping..to crash her for a few days?”

“Anton seriously…why can’t you just go to mom and dads?” You groan knowing that if he stayed here your peace would fly out the window.

“You know how that goes everytime, I’m tired of arguing with them over my life plans.”

“Are they really still on your ass about not going to college?”

“Mom and dad, what do you think?” You sigh as he places you back onto your feet.

“Please?” Rolling your eyes at his sad attempt to sway you , you slide over letting him inside.

“Penthouse suite, you always were a spoiled princess.”

“For your information, I’m paying myself..well our parents are helping but I wouldn’t have felt alright with them paying it all.”

“Yeah you’re crazy I'd have let them pay it all.” He says flopping down onto the couch.

“So how long do you plan on staying exactly?”

“Four days tops, then I’ll be on the move again.”

“Are you still in that band?”

“Yup, we’re on break at the moment.”

“Mm you always did love music, though you were too busy hanging out with Heeseung and Sohee.”

“Oh right Heeseung, you two go to the same university right?”

“How do you know?” You snorted, making your brother roll his eyes in response.

“‘Mom how else?”

“I don’t know ive never seen him on campus, I only know he goes there because mom is always talking about him and you, and he passed me in the ranks for the top scholars.”

“You? A top scholar?” At your brother's reaction you grabbed the nearest thing to you, chucking it at his head.

“Okay okay, no more water bottles, I was only joking.”

Your phone rings interrupting your chat with your brother, slipping your hand into your pocket you pull out your phone and step away from the living room to answer the call.

“Yes Jay.”

“Well hell to you too sweetheart.”

“Jay I don’t have time for this, is this about something important or should I just hang up.”

“Won’t take up too much of your time sweetheart don’t worry, so the party at Jakes was canceled, his parents came home early from their trip, so we were all wondering, maybe we could move it to your place? It's been a while since you’ve thrown one.”

“Jay my brother is here. I can't just throw a party when he just got here.”

“You’re having a party?” Antons ears perk up at the mention of a party and he pushes himself up off the couch before making his way over to her.

“I wouldn’t mind a party” your eyes widen at your brother's sudden approval and you hear Jay chuckle on the other line.

“So is that a yes?”

__________

That was exactly how you ended up here, a house full of random strangers from camps you’d known absolutely nothing about because they had been friends of Jays rather than your own. You sat comfortably in Jay's lap, minding your business while he and his friends talked. Only getting up when you felt like you needed to throw back another drink to cure your boredom. Now you love a good party, but after the day you had you’d simply expected to just lie in bed and rest. As you had been making your way out of the kitchen you heard the faint sound of the doorbell making you audibly sigh as you sat your cup down and sauntered over to the door.

Pulling it open you were surprised to see none other than Lee Heeseung. By the looks of it he hasn't changed one bit, other than the fact that he had grown into his looks he still had dressed exactly the same as he did in high school.

“Heeseung?” You couldn’t hold back the shocked laugh that spilled from your lips.

Lee Heeseung? At a party?

“Yo Heeseung.” Heeseungs gaze shifted from you to your brother who had now been approaching the door with a goofy smile on his face.

“You actually came.” Your gaze shifts between Heeseung and your brother and you couldn’t help but laugh as you step aside and go back to your drink while the two talk

Maybe they hadn’t changed and both of them were just as nerdy and goofy as they had been when there were kids.

The rest of the night had gone by agonizingly slow for you, at some point the party began to die down and everyone had left, the only one staying behind being Heeseung so that he and your brother could catch up.

The two of them sat in the living room while you yourself sat on the kitchen counter stuffing your face with popcorn to cure your drunken dazed hunger.

“You haven’t changed one bit.” You let it slip past your lips in a drunken ramble, having thought it was something you said in your head rather than aloud.

“Did you say something yn?” Your brother asks, forcing Heeseung to turn his head and look at you as well

“Heeseung, he changed at all.” You respond still stuffing your mouth with popcorn

“You grew up a little, but Heeseung still looks the same, remember keely would call him the little nerdboy, and you geek charming.” You say with a small chuckle reliving the memory.

“Yeah, how much did you drink tonight exactly?” You roll her eyes in response.

“Enough to make me feel nice, not enough to make me drunk dad.” You respond sarcastically, making your brighter roll his eyes.

“Did you bring the game?” You could hear Anton ask, his and Heeseungs voices growing fainter and fainter as you made your way up the staircase and to your bedroom.

You had a peaceful shower, those heaven spent thirty minutes having sobered you up just enough. You had been getting ready to lay in bed when a knock at the door interrupted you mid climb. Letting out a frustrated groan you shuffled over to the door, feeling slightly annoyed that once again your peace had been interrupted. Yet you were surprised to see Heeseung on the other side.

“Heeseung?” For a moment he just stood there, his eyes scanning you before his arms snaked around your waist and he pushed you back into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Heeseung what”

“You’re so annoying, even after a year you’re still this annoying?”

“What-“

“You haven’t changed one bit, Jesus, you just don’t know when to stop talking.” He backs you against the door pressing your back directly into the knob making your face twist in discomfort.

“Heeseung, I was only joking.”

“Don’t care, you’ve been this way for as long as I can remember, you’d always have something to say about me, your brother too but I’m not so much interested in anything you’ve said about him.”

“You need to be humbled.” Before you had even had any time to register what was going on he shoves his hand into your shirt. His fingers tracing over your skin making goosebumps rise on your skin. His fingers squeeze your hips in a manner that forces you to stay pressed against him. His fingers slowly trailing down to your exposed thighs just below your shirt making you suck in a breath.

The side of his lips curled into a smirk as he heard a desperate whine that spilled past your plump lips, so quiet he’d damn near miss it if the room wasn’t so silent. The moment you opened your mouth to speak the sound of a slap rang throughout the room followed by a whine from you. Him having slapped your thigh to keep you quiet, focusing amusement in the way you used the back of your hand to try and suppress the noises that spilled past your lips.

“You’ve talked enough tonight.” His fingers immediately met your clit, pushing past your folds and slipping them right inside you with ease.

“Only sound I want to hear from you is your desperate little moans.” His thumb pressed against your clit as he started slowly, thrusting his fingers deep into you like he has done with you thousands of times.

“But A-Anton.” You force yourself to breathe out between ragged breaths, the way Heeseung continuously abuses your clit without letting up, making you squirm against the door.

“Went out to get snacks, told him I'd stay behind and look after you since you drank so much.” He responds by watching the way your face contorts between a look of pleasure and one of confliction.

Without hesitation he slipped in two more fingers, taking the time to stretch your walls and feel you out before he began to thrust them in and out slowly. The way you whine for him to move them faster only causes him to slow them down. His fingers thrust further into your cunt with every loud cry that left your mouth. He could tell you were getting annoyed with his sudden change in pace, he didn’t care though he thought it was what you deserved

“Heeseung” A chuckle spilled from his lips at how desperate you sounded.

“Hm? What is it baby hm? Too fast for you, should I slow it down some more?” He teases, slowing down the curling and thrusting of his fingers to an agonizingly slow pace.

“Look at you whining like a desperate little doll for some little nerdboy when you’ve got a boyfriend.” His eyes shoot to the mirror near your bedside and he forces you to stare straight ahead into it, giving you a perfect view of just how pathetic you looked, whining and whimpering while his fingers that were buried deep inside of you.

Finally forcing his fingers from your now dripping cunt he lifts you up throwing you onto your bed you had been coming into his mere moments ago. Face down ass up, with your hands pressed into your back, he has you completely vulnerable.

“Look at you, aren’t even trying not to give in, it's pathetic honestly. Is Jay not giving you what you need?” His hands traced your curves until his finger hooked within your panties, pulling them to the side.

“Fuck you’re already a mess” it took him less than a minute to shove his pants and boxers to the floor, the view of you making him all the more eager to take you right then and there. Something he had thought about time and time again since high school.

Your eyes rolled back immediately as Heeseung wasted absolutely no time and pushed himself inside of you until he fully bottomed out. Your tightness earned a low growl from him as he pushed so deep you could have sworn you felt him hit the top of your stomach. He watched the blissed out look on your face with every little thrust inside you.

“Taking me so well baby.” A chuckle spilled past his lips and he immediately spread your legs wider and pulled your ass up against him. Your moans were evident enough that whatever pain you felt from him stretching you out, if any had gone away. It was quite easy for him to get into the rythym of fucking into you, rough and feverish thrusts from the very beginning. Thrusts that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head so hard you saw stars. He rolled his eyes and there was a hint of annoyance in his tone as he watched you force your face into the mattress trying to keep quiet.

Grabbing a fist full of your hair he forces your head back and presses you flat against his chest.

“Don’t try to be quiet now.” Your nails dug so deep into his thighs that you nearly drew blood. He watched the view from the mirror, watching the way strings of saliva dripped down your chin from the way your mouth hung open spilling pornographic moans.

“Look at you getting fucked by a nerd like me.” He immediately leans down to place kisses on your neck, your nipple between his fingers while his other hand fondles your breasts. The pleasure had been overwhelming your bodies in ways you hadn’t thought to be possible. From the feeling of his fingers against your breasts to every time he thrusted in to you feeling like the more he fucked the deeper into your stomach his cock seemed to push. Your thoughts had been so cloudy that you could barely even make out anything he had been talking to you about.

“Such a pretty little thing gonna cum all over my cock.” He immediately rested one hand on your waist while resting the other on your stomach and pushing down. He wanted to feel just how far his cock could go inside your little frame. This action was all it took to push you over the edge, the moment he pushed down upon your stomach your legs shook and it was a glorious sight for all of them to see, to see you squirt upon the impact of his hand. As you were finally able to pry your eyes open you felt butterflies in the pit of your stomach. The sight of his hands wrapped around your waist holding you close to him as you came completely undone. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he watched you try and conceal your dazed condition.

“Yn? Did Heeseung leave?” Heesung couldn’t help but chuckle as he heard the sound of your brother calling him from the hall.

“Go ahead sweetheart, answer him.” He found it absolutely amusing, the very person you’d always tease and talk about as a kid had been fucking to into your matress making you a complete mess.

“U-um He- had to step o-out for a moment.”

“Did he say where he was going?” You mentally cursed and bit down on your lip to choke back a moan when Heeseungs fingers met your clit.

“A-An errand or something.”

“Errand? O..kay.”

When you finally heard him move away from the door and you weren’t even able to let out a sigh of relief. Your legs shook violently as Heeseung thrusts grew in speed and the low growls that spilled from his mouth made it all more easy for you to unravel right then and there, your cum spilling out onto his cock and he wasnt too far behind as the fucked out look on your face and the way you clenched around him was all he needed for him to spill into you.

Slipping his head into the crook of your neck he sucks harshly, leaving evidence that you were now tainted by him.

“Mmm now you have to go down there and keep him distracted so I can make it look like I left.”

“What? You expect me to go down there after this?”

“You want your brother to know you fucked one of his friends?”

“Fuck i like you better when you just sat in the room and played video games all day.”

[hotvintagepoll]

LAST POLL OF ROUND 4

Danny Kaye (The Court Jester, The Inspector General)—Danny Kaye, idol of my childhood, maker of the weirdest faces! This man SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE and then puts himself out in a bucket in a movie based on a Gogol short story. In the same movie (Inspector General), he flirts by playing a carrot as a musical instrument. In Wonder Man, he's brilliant but struggles with things like riding buses. I have been envious of his fake Italian/French/German/Spanish monologues in The Court Jester for the past three decades. As Walter Mitty, he is SUPREMELY SILLY yet also somehow manages to be a comic foil for none other than Boris Karloff. All this is to say nothing of The William Tell Song (TV, thus not linked, but great.) I adore him.

Donald O'Connor (Singin' in the Rain, Francis, Call Me Madam)— LOOK AT HIM. Those giant blue peepers. Those tappy tappy little feet that don't quit. The ears that stick out like little wings, ready to lift him up to goofy heaven. The way his face contorts into the strangest yet most endearing expressions. His ability to sing and dance alongside the hunk that is Gene Kelly and yet pull all attention away with his big-eyed buffoonery. The way his energy is unmatched in songs like "Make 'em laugh" - bouncing off the walls and tumbling through the air straight into my cold cold heart. Who else but a true scrungly lil guy would sit upon the witness stand and defend a talking mule with all the love and affection in the world - staring out into the court room with his bright wide eyes and eternally mouse-like expression, openly admitting that the mule is his best friend?!??! I see him and I want to pull him from the screen into my hand and just squiiiiiiiiiiiiish with all my might. I want to pinch his cheeks and have him bat those eyes at me. He just makes me go "eeehehehehehe" every time I see him and his silly little self. He is pure chaotic, ridiculous, scrungly perfection!

This is round 4 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Danny Kaye:

He's so stupid. I love him.

Donald O'Connor:

My silliest little guy. My funnyman. My horsie. I have watched many a bad movie for this man. The scrungliest fact I know about him is that he was supposed to star as Danny Kaye's role in the iconic White Christmas (1954), as he had known Bing Crosby since he was a child, but couldn't because he caught a mule disease while working on those Francis the Talking Mule films Universal endlessly made him do. I wouldn't exactly recommend those movies, but Don's character getting psychologically tormented by a sardonic mule does make for quite a good movie night, if you know what you're getting into. Are You With It? is another one I don't exactly recommend, but it does open with Donald as a math genius actuary who is about to kill himself over a displaced decimal point before getting taken in by a traveling carny instead. His more well-known and beloved roles have plenty of scrungliness too, in my opinion. This man slapsticked so hard he wound up bedridden for his physical exertion! Rather than submitting Make 'Em Laugh, which the electorate has likely already seen (I hope), I'm submitting an underrated dance number of his, where he explains maths through tap dance. That movie is Not good, but god do I love him in that role.

I think it's arguably very scrungly to seemingly be a real life cartoon character made out of rubber, as proven by how slapsticky the list of scrunglies is so far. In which case, Donald O'Connor? He scrungles supremely. He even played Buster Keaton in a movie (that apparently can't be recommended, but still).

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think that the Great Seven are actually just better people in the TWST universe, or a big case of historical revisionism?

Been wondering since in the dream sequences "Yuu" gets, I'm pretty sure the story plays out as they were in their original stories? I originally thought this might just serve as a gameplay purpose rather than a narrative one, in case the player doesn’t know the original story or needs a refresher. But doesn't "Yuu" acknowledge their dreams in the story?

From their dialogue I'm pretty sure they don't recognize any of the Disney characters, or their stories, so from a narrative perspective I wonder if these are dreams they’re getting of the past.

Both concepts are fun to explore, but I gotta wonder which one is closer to twst canon.

Based on what I have seen so far, I think Twst is trying to hint at its history being revised. The latest two books (6 and 7) have strong themes of lingering on the past/a strong desire to maintain a happy lie rather than accept a harsh truth or change from that status quo. Additionally, Lilia drops this suspicious line in book 6: “[…] different cultures and species pass down lore in different ways—not every truth is written down. There is no shortage of historical narratives that have been twisted to suit someone's agenda.”

Yuu then has two dialogue options. The latter of these seems to imply the disconnect between the reality of their Disney dreams and the reality of Twisted Wonderland:

“Twisting historical narratives, huh...”

(For some reason, I've got butterflies in my stomach.)

Yuu doesn’t seem to indicate familiarity with the true Disney versions, but this could be for a variety of reasons such as serving more as a narrative device for the players, Disney not existing in Yuu’s Earth (since they don’t recognize the icon that is Mickey Mouse either), or maybe convenient amnesia. They do have small moments of confusion when faced with Twisted Wonderland parallels of elements from their dreams but only start making the direct connection between their dreams and irl events starting late in book 5. This is why they anticipated “something bad happening” and feel compelled to follow Vil (who, at the time, was intending to poison Neige). Yuu also suffers from several headaches and visions of their Disney dreams while conscious in books 6 and 7, They appear to consistently treat the dreams as premonitions and not as material they are familiar with or see as the truth.

There are cases where the non-villains appear as important historical figures. This includes the original heroes of the Disney films, who are still largely portrayed positively—it’s just that the roles of the villains have changed into positive ones as well. There are also cases of the same story diverging to create multiple variations, which implies that stories do warp and change over time. For example, we are told that the Sorcerer of the Sands exposed a fake prince for lying about his status to win the princess’s hand. At the same time, there’s another story about how a street rat happily married a princess.

I do want to point out that altering history isn’t always done intentionally or with malice. Some stories just naturally change over time or get forgotten if they aren’t recorded properly. Oral retellings tend to get altered as they spread or get painted with bias due to who is sharing it, and variations of the same story can emerge from different cultures. Sometimes it is the case where people want to hide information or are acting out of ill intent, it just isn’t true of all cases.

Maybe this will be something they address in the main story ^^ Personally, I really do hope it’s the revisionist history explanation, as it would be really interesting to see explored. If the truth is that the Disney villains are just good people in Twisted Wonderland 💦 it’s convenient for sticking to the status quo, but ultimately far less nuanced.

[salemlunaa]

I know you do not want to see another post of the void state pact creator but I was wondering what you thought about this: https://www.tumblr.com/liekjevenderheurn/773411229929799680/we-dont-shift-to-another-reality-after-entering?source=share . I always believed we shifted realities after some creators told me that, but now I am questioning everything.

Also, what do you think about this; https://www.tumblr.com/lunityviruss/773409054293950464/why-are-bitches-in-the-void-state-community-so?source=share I do not know if you could see it because I do not know if they blocked you. But I wanted to share it so you could have the chance to defend yourself.

i think i saw this already but think of it this way

imagine if i induced pure consciousness and said “EVERY ONE IN THE LOA/VOID TUMBLR COMMUNITY WILL NEVER GET THEIR DESIRES”

will that actually happen, go and ask them that because they don’t have an answer

if i induced and said “EVERYONE IN THIS COMMUNITY WILL DIE”

will you all just drop dead? no because my experience has nothing to do with where other people’s awareness lies. And this reason is the same reason why the “if shifting was real how come we haven’t seen anyone with powers?” argument doesn’t work because someone shifting to an alternate reality where magic is real has nothing to do with where our awareness lies

because if our reality relied on others that would be pretty shitty right? the amount of trolls that would induce just to bring war, monsters the whole works?

They call me and my fellow bloggers too harsh but what has been said is what needed to be said.

Don’t let this affect your belief in shifting, do you think someone who thinks that the way the universe and “I AM” works is based on “their own opinions” actually has anything meaningful to say when it comes to getting actual information on the void state and shifting? Infinite realities DO exist and we are shifting, even with “typical manifestation”

try and find solace in the fact that these people do not understand this properly and are just cherrypicking things that they want to happen. They’ll be here in the next 5 years asking for people to induce for them.

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 16

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

Chapter 16

“Are you excited?” Felix bounces in the passenger seat as Jeongin drives, Y/n in the back.

“You won’t even tell me where you’re taking me.” The omega laughs. “All I can be excited about is spending time with you two.”

“Well, are you excited to spend time with us?” Jeongin looks back at her in the rearview mirror.

“Of course I am.” She smiles. “I love doing anything with you guys.”

“Well we’re here.” Felix points to the building that they pull up to.

Y/n leans forward to look between the front two seats for a better look. “A video game cafe.”

“Do you play video games?”

“Hyuk and I would play a lot before I presented.” She smiles. “And one of my friends and I would play in college too. Can’t tell you how many all nighters we did.”

They all step out of the car, Felix waiting for her before shutting the door behind her and grabs her hand as Jeongin comes around the car.

“Another reason we chose to do this is because Lix is too sunburned to be out in the sun today.” The alpha rubs the other male's cheek that is tinted red from their beach day.

“You and Hyunjin really should have listened to Chan yesterday about sunscreen.” Y/n squeezes his hand as they walk towards the door of the cafe.

“I know I know.” Felix sighs. “I will next time. I’m learning from the consequences as my skin hurts.”

Jeongin laughs. “Your skin hurts?” 

“What? It does.”

“That’s just a weird way of saying it.” Felix pouts at Jeongin’s teasing.

Once inside, Jeongin talks to the person at the desk as Y/n looks around seeing all the computers set up with comfy chairs. There's even a few VR set ups around the place. And of course a snack bar.

“Alright, we’ve got one of the VR stations and the three computers next to it reserved for a few hours.” Jeongin looks at the paper he was given to see which station and computers are theirs.

“And this is why you are my favorite alpha.” Felix hugs him. “The other three would never have splurged on one of the VR stations.”

“Just don’t tell them that I did.”

“Won’t they know after they see how much you spent with their card?” Y/n asks as Jeongin leads them to the stations that is on their reservation.

“I’m just hoping they don’t question it.” Jeongin sighs and they all take a seat at the computers first.

“What games did you like to play?” Felix asks as he’s already loading up League of Legends.

“Umm, my friend and I spent a lot of time playing Stardew Valley as well as a lot of horror games.”

“Felix is obsessed with playing LOL.” Jeongin points out. “Plays it all the time at home.”

Y/n looks over at the other omega’s screen. “If you play it so much then why are you still bronze?”

Jeongin bursts out laughing as Felix pouts. “Yeah Lixie, why are you still bronze?”

“Shut up.” He mumbles.

“What do you want to play, Jagiya?” 

“Well I’ve never played LOL.” She says as she watches Felix play. “So I wouldn’t mind learning that.”

“I’ll teach you then.” The alpha smiles and they load the game up. “Maybe you’ll be better than Lix and can help him get to silver.”

“Yah!” Felix gaps at Jeongin before pouting again. 

After Jeongin teaches Y/n the basics of League of Legends they play for a while and sure enough, the female omega is better and actually carries their team.

“I’ve had enough.” Felix rage quits and pulls up the ordering menu on his computer for the snackbar. “Let’s order food then do some VR. What do you want, sunshine?”

She looks over the menu as he scrolls before pointing at the screen. “Some tteokbokki please. Ji had let me try some of his the other day and I had liked it.”

Felix adds three things of tteokbokki for all of them as well as gets some fried chicken, cheese ramen, and Korean corn dogs for him and Jeongin telling Y/n she can have some of theirs too if she wants.

“Have you ever done VR before, Y/n?” Jeongin asks as he sets it up.

“No, I haven't.”

“Why don’t you look through the list of games and see which one you wanna play and we’ll have you go first.”

She scrolls through the games before her eyes light up. “I’ve heard of beat saber before, it sounded fun.”

Jeongin gets her set up with the game and she has fun for a while playing different songs, failing at a few fast ones before Felix tells her to play Job Simulator. She has fun working the convenience store, throws a few things at some of the robot customers and the boys just watch her as she laughs and smiles, acting so carefree.

She takes a break when the food comes and eats her tteokbokki and some of Felix’s fried chicken and Jeongin’s ramen. She wasn’t a huge fan of the corn dogs though. Jeongin then gets up and continues with Job Simulator playing the mechanic job, confused as he tries to figure out the different car parts. 

“This is why when we have car trouble I let the hyungs deal with it.”

“You are definitely no mechanic, Innie.” Felix laughs. 

During Felix’s turn he plays at the restaurant. At first he was actually doing really well, until he left the food on the stove too long. 

“Uh, Lixie, the steak is on fire.” Y/n laughs as she watches what he’s seeing on the computer screen. 

“Oh shit.” 

“And this is why Minho hyung doesn’t let you be unsupervised in the kitchen.” Jeongin laughs. 

“Minnie and I burned pancakes one time.” Felix huffs. 

“Just be happy they still let you bake and help Min.” Jeongin reminds him. “Seungmin isn’t even allowed in the kitchen anymore.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hey pups.” Changbin smiles when Jeongin, Felix and Y/n walk back into the vacation house. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah.” Felix purrs as he hugs the alpha, seeming to be in a really good mood.

“Y/n’s better than Felix at League.” Jeongin smirks. “And she had never played before today.”

“Binnie, Innie’s being mean.” Felix pouts into his chest.

“Why does he seem to be so spaced out?” Changbin eyes the omega in his arms before looking at Jeongin. 

“I may have heavily scented them both when we left the cafe and they cuddled in the back seat the whole way here.” Jeongin watches the female as she curls up on the couch having not said anything yet. “Y/n’s a bit spacey too.”

“Aww, is my angel all spacey.” Jisung, who was eating a snack in the kitchen, overheard and went to the omega on the couch. “Come here my baby.”

“Hi Jisungie.” She purrs as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest.

“Why don’t you go join them?” Changbin nudges Felix over to the couch and he cuddles up on the betas other side who is loving every moment of this. 

Changbin and Jeongin watch over the three of them as they cuddle until Chan comes back with Hyunjin and sees the cuddle pile on the couch. 

“Who allowed a cuddle party without me?” Hyunjin pouts. 

“Innie scented the omegas into sub space after their date.” Changbin explains and Hyunjin moves over to lay against Y/n’s back.

“Are they okay?” Chan leans over the back of the couch to check on them and Jisung tilts his head up to look at him. 

“They’re good. They’re napping now.” 

The alpha pushes a strand of hair out of Felix’s face before looking at Jeongin. “We need to work on how you scent them. Y/n’s still new to all of this and is more sensitive to being scented, especially when you do it so hard like this.”

“She asked me to heavily scent her.” 

“Really?” Hyunjin leans up to look at the youngest. 

“Felix and I both warned her that she’d slip into sub space if she allowed me to do that and be vulnerable but she persisted.” Jeongin looks down at her. “Felix told me to scent him first so she could see how it is. I didn’t even have to do a lot for her. Like you said, she’s still sensitive to it so she slipped pretty quickly.” 

“I’m glad she trusts us enough to be vulnerable like this in front of us.” Chan looks over her closely. “But I can’t help but wonder what is going through her head that made her feel like she needed to slip for a bit to get away from it.”

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin looks worried now. 

“Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know.” Jisung looks at his fellow beta. “You and Minnie never feel the need to slip like Felix and I do. Normally we’ll ask one of the alphas to heavily scent us when we’re wanting to mentally get away from everything. Me normally when my anxiety is high. Lix when he’s having a rough day.”

“It’s kind of a safe space for them mentally.” Changbin continues. “And they know they’re safe with us there so they don’t need to be mentally aware.” 

“But then why would Y/n ask Jeongin to help her slip?” Hyunjin frowns. 

“Did she seem anxious to you at all while you were at the cafe?” Chan turns to the young alpha. 

“No.” He shakes his head as he thinks back to their date. “She actually seemed to be so carefree for most of it. The only time she seemed off was when we got into the car and she asked me to heavily scent her into sub space.” 

“Let’s not think too much about this.” Chan shakes his head. “She might have not been wanting to mentally get away from something but just wanted to feel what it was like. Lixie might’ve told her about it at one point and she just wanted to try it so she asked Jeongin to do it while having him there.”

“That’s a good point.” Changbin agrees. “But everyone still keep an eye on her just in case. I’ll tell Minho and Seungmin the same thing.”

Everyone nods in agreement and Hyunjin looks at Chan. 

“Hey hyung?”

“Yes Jinnie.” Chan moves over leaning on the back of the couch where the beta lays. 

“Could you… scent me into sub space too?” Hyunjin looks up at him deep in thought. “I don’t really need it but I want to know what it feels like.” 

“I can do that for you sometime yeah.” Chan nods. “But if you’re not needing it right now then it’s best to keep you here. It’ll already be hard enough having two omegas in sub space to deal with.”

“That’s okay.” Hyunjin smiles. “I was thinking more of doing it when we go back home so I’m somewhere I know and am more comfortable in.” 

“Sounds perfect baby.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist is closed for a bit as I am unable to tag anymore right now

Tag list: @pixie0627 @sinfulfic @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl @blindspot143 @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55 @hwangrfrnd @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound @galaxy4489 @kayleefriedchicken @lostgirlinthewoodss @catkight @royal-shinigami @notevenheretbh1 @passionandsuga @m00njinnie @sukss @n1nme4r @blueberrydish @xxeiraxx @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @aalexyuuuhm @kaleigh-2002 @btskzfav @hyunmikim @ot8girlfie @sillygoosegoose @tr0p1cal @eastjonowhere @hime-honne @furfoxsake22 @luvlino23 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @im-sinking-in-mud @fiest4plum @forevermoremagcon @comicnerd557 @nchhuhi @alyxcatspost @danceonmyheyday @maisyyyyyy @shycreationdreamland @chanshugsaretherapy

@violet-hatake @idkwhoisthis1971 @mo0n13 @yumuramma @nuggiesnuggetdog04

@pineapplekitty3-16

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 22

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

A.N: A big thank you for all of the peeps who read this and not only comment but leave little hearts on the chapters as they read! I love seeing y'alls progression. I see you and I appreciate you!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20 • Part 21

• ··········· • ············ •

The high sun on the veranda shone on you like a natural heating lamp as you scribbled intently on your notebook. The house was mostly silent, with only Voltaire in the kitchen with his pots and pans, since your mother and Willah had taken a romantic getaway to Demancia. 

After your quick but stressful hospital stay, Esther had been a wreck, to the point she would pace in the living room every time you went out until she saw you again. It took a very convincing and assertive dialogue between her and Willah for her to even think about going anywhere. However, after a few days of sulking, Willah managed to get her on an airship, and off they went.

You were trying to remember the runes that other Viktor had sketched on the blackboard, but between what happened in that dimension and then the jump, your memory was a bit faulty when it came to that.

The small and brand-new yellow notebook, a gift from Viktor, was taking the brunt of your frustration, pages after pages with lines and sketches that did nothing but vex you further. 

Adding to that, the council had just come out with a brand new... suggestion... for the lab's work environment. They could decline and let it drop on deaf ears, but that was exactly what they wanted.

According to the council, any outsider to the lab had to get approval from the council, and all work had to be stopped for their appointment. If the outsider was someone of a minor or major house, it had to be accompanied by an enforcer or a councillor itself other than Jayce.

You felt a little guilty when you had found out since it had been sort of your fault that the new rule was applied, and no matter what the two scientists told you otherwise, it still felt that way. The emotion quickly dissipated as soon as you saw Sky happily making her way toward you, berating the enforcer that was stopping you from going up. That had been the last time you went in uninvited.

The knock on the penthouse door startled you from the scribbled pages as Voltaire shouted that he would get it. 

You kept your face towards the door, not expecting anyone at that time. Viktor would probably visit you in the evening to exchange rune notes, and Jayce sometimes came with him unless he had a 'meeting' with Mel.

“It’s probably Mr. Korith with the groceries.” He told you, walking to the door and cleaning his hands with a towel.

You nodded and smiled at the chef, happy with the explanation, and turned your attention back to the notes. 

The last page of the book had a little table drawn by hand with rows and columns. The first column was for the facets you remembered; next to it was another column for a checkmark, tallying the ones you think corresponded, and another for what each rune did.

Air - ✓ - creates gusts of air/moves things/when sustained, creates wind/when solidified, creates whirlwinds

Earth -

Fire - ✓ - heals by transferring someone's rune to the rune speaker’s body (theory: the speaker’s body heals better/faster because of magic). 

Earth -

Sun -

Moon - ✓? - creates small marbles of light/when sustained, they can go forever until dispelled/when solidified, creates lightning.

Chaos - ✓? - ??

Order - ✓? - puts things back to their original form (mends broken objects) / never tried sustaining/solidified creates a simple missing piece if any is needed

Time -

Space -

Creation - ✓? - hand rune

Corruption - 

Missing: unlock rune (softer chaos?)?Corruption of an original state? Creation because of finding new runes?)

Elevator call/banner falling

“It seems Mr. Korith dragged a stray in with him.” Voltaire’s amused voice boomed through the quiet house, making you turn around to look at the chef and the 'stray.'. 

Viktor stood there with a small smile on his face. He looked tired, but seemingly in a good mood. He was also not in his uniform, which by itself was already a curious thing, but when you added the time of the day, it made it a downright mystery.

“Hello!” He waved and started walking towards you, his desired target already in his sights. The blue armchair next to where you sat.

“Will you stay for lunch, my friend?” Voltaire asked, already making his way to the kitchen.

That made Viktor pause and look at the other man and then back at you. You gave him a one-shoulder shrug. He was always welcome to stay and eat.

“I could eat, yes, if it’s not too much trouble.” He threw a wide smile at Voltaire, who nodded happily.

“The more, the merrier. I’ll make a quick dessert too. The one you like!”

“Oh…oh no…there’s no need.” Viktor quickly refuted, shaking his head.

“Nonsense.” His voice was already accompanied by the sounds of pots and pans.

“What’s the dessert?” You asked when the scientist restarted his trek towards his little piece of cushiony heaven.

It was still funny to you that, after years of knowing someone who looked exactly like him, in this timeline, there were still so many things to learn. 

Other Viktor's favorite dessert? Coffee with three packets of sugar and a drop of sweet milk. 

Is this Viktor’s favorite dessert? No idea. Probably something with so much sugar it would make his blood turn to caramel.

“Lemon Tart.” He said as he gently plopped down on the chair with a happy sigh, straightening his leg and melting into the seat, his crutch leaning on the back of the chair. “I like how he burns the white cream things on top.”

“Have you ever been to his restaurant?” You looked at him, smiling at how peaceful he looked with the sunbathing his angular face. He looked at you sideways and made a disapproving face.

“Have you seen my salary?”

You knew other Viktor made some money but didn’t like spending it on frivolous things, so you were almost sure this Viktor had enough money to have at least one meal at Voltaire’s restaurant. 

Hells, you were more than sure your mother had invited him at some point. But still, Viktor didn't think an expensive meal was worth the money, probably going to spend that value on something for the lab.

“Remind me to take you there sometime.” You threw out looking back at Piltover’s skyline and then at him from the corners of your eyes.

“And then I am the one accused of being sneaky.” He squinted his eyes at you in fake annoyance, and you shrugged.

After a moment of silence, you turned back to look at him, half expecting him to be already napping, which you found immensely adorable.

It had become a completely normal occurrence for you to come back from rehearsals and have him, Jayce, Willah, and your mother just relaxing in the living room. They would talk about politics, science, or even the latest gossip, something that Viktor enjoyed as long as it wasn’t about him or Jayce or even the lab. Every other rumor he found strangely entertaining.

And whenever the conversation became too boring, it was just as normal to find him lightly snoring, his head either leaning on his hand or against the back of the chair. You found it adorable.

But at the moment, even though he did have his eyes closed, you noted his breathing was regular and his fingers tapped on the arms of the chair. He was just enjoying the warmth of the sun. You tried to commit this weirdly familiar situation to memory.

Viktor was wearing a burgundy knitted polo vest with a light blue button-up shirt under. His gray slacks were bunched up where the leg brace fastened. The brace itself was different from what you’ve seen him wear in the lab. It only strapped around his thigh and in the middle of his lower leg; instead of going from hip to foot, the metal brackets and mechanism only aided his knee joint. 

“You're staring again.” he warned jokingly, his golden eyes heavy-lidded but looking at you.

“I sure am.” You answered bluntly, nodding proudly, and he chuckled.

“You have become bold.” He closed his eyes again, but his eyebrows raised. “Do tell me then, why am I under scrutiny this time?”

“I am trying to figure out the whole thing with the civilian clothes…”

“Oh…” he adjusted himself in the chair, his demeanor changing from peaceful to tense in seconds. When he looked back at you, he had the most annoyed look on his face. “I was promptly kicked out of my lab by Councilor Shoola and her surprise inspection.”

“What?!? Why? I thought those had been scheduled now!” You turned on your seat, the sides of the chair acting as a sill where you placed your elbows.

“Apparently not.” He rolled his eyes, mimicking your pose. “Only outsiders need to make appointments. The councilors can just walk in and demand an inspection, or a debriefing, or... whatever they call it, no matter what we are doing or if it’s opportune or even if it is safe. So, when they announced only one of us was needed for whatever they wanted to do there, I was promptly but subtly kicked out. And in protest, I went home and changed. I won’t go back to the Academy today. Councilor Shoola can volunteer to fasten the bolts and do the math on my work. I wish her all the luck with that.”

You blinked a few times trying to process what he just spit out. His ramble was almost comical, his accent becoming stronger as he talked on, his hands starting to accompany his rant with exaggerated movements. But it angered you that they had, promptly and subtly, dismissed the co-creator of hextech, one of the most brilliant minds in this part of town.  It wasn't exactly new that they didn't enjoy his place of birth, but they were never this... blunt about it.

“Anyway, Sky gave me your note, so… here I am.”  He took a couple of calming breaths and leaned back into the chair, a scowl on his face.

“Right!” You grabbed the notebook. “I'm about to make your day...sort of...I may have found something about the...”

Viktor straightened quickly, grimacing as his leg jerked with his movements. You opened the notebook, showed him the table with the list, and pointed to the first column.

“Do you know what these are?”

“Yes!..." He said excitedly but then frowned. "Wait... no... maybe? Some of these are theorized to be the basis of the arcane. How do you know them?”

"I read about them…” ‘in a blackboard while the other version of you explained it to me…’ you wanted to add but kept your mouth shut.

“Oh?” 

“There’s a book on it…” You hoped there was a book on it.

“Yes, we have it in the lab.” He nodded.

“There you go…that's where I read it.” You cleared your throat, nodding along with him. “Anyway…you didn’t use them in hextech?” 

“Eh... Well... some.” Viktor observed you for a second trying to read something unknown in your face but gave up after a while. “Some looked too unstable to work in an already volatile environment. But your runes look nothing like the ones in the book.”

“Do you remember which ones you used?”

Viktor nodded and grabbed a stump of an orange pencil from the breast pocket of his shirt. You snickered and shook your head. Why he had the tiniest stump of a colored pencil in his breast pocket was beyond you, but he had it, and he was proud of it.

“What made you think of these?” He questioned still working on the rune.

“Alena. She…told me a story, and it’s…” He stopped what he was doing and looked up, encouraging you to go on. “It’s a stretch, but her grandma told her a story about an old man that never got older, who would go around Zaun writing ‘symbols' on walls and call kouzel…kouzelnivi?”

Viktor’s eyes had gone back to the drawing until you said that word, and then his neck snapped up to focus on you.

“Kouzelnictví? Magic?” He corrected you, and something about Viktor speaking his native tongue was sending waves of heat to your cheeks.

“Yes. The one her grandma asked about was fire…healing fire." You continued, trying to focus on the conversation.

“Oheň” 

“Yes. He told her that it was the symbol of healing. Her family believed in it so much that Alena has the rune tattooed on her wrist. Because fire heals and keeps you warm.”

He had stopped scribbling and was now looking at you intently. For a moment you were scared he was going to laugh in your face from the leaps you were taking. But he only tilted his head and nodded favorably.

“You don’t think it’s a far-fetched idea? Not to dismiss the story as just a tale? It may be just a bedtime story—

“Hextech was created on far-fetched ideas, fairy tales, and confiscated material.” He smiled brightly at you. “Your story has more proof than that. And even if there was no proof, it should be a path to be explored.”

Viktor ripped the page he was drawing on from the notebook and gave it to you. You took it but kept looking at him. There was something about his optimism, his belief in your idea, that threw you off. The way he was looking at you with a lazy but excited smile, his whiskey eyes shining with life. You found yourself consciously stopping your arm from moving to stroke his handsome face.

“You’re staring.” He said, a hint of red on his cheeks.

“You’re handsome.” You blurted it out before your brain caught it.

For a second you thought about apologizing. You didn’t know if he enjoyed compliments or if he even wanted them. But with the way he was smiling, you mentally squared up your shoulders and gave him a smug grin.

“Well, you are. So…” you both chuckled, and he mumbled something close to thank you. “Anyway, I need to go to Zaun.”

“What?” The smile on his face faltered. “Why?”

“Alena and the story.” His face told you he didn’t get the connection. “I need to go and find the rest of the runes.”

“Did she tell you where they were?” 

“No. But someone must have seen or heard more stories.”

“It was her grandma, yes?" You nodded, and Viktor closed his eyes. “So, let’s say her grandma lived until 70… mmm… 80 years, and that Alena is probably our age… so that’s a story with—

“90-plus years. I know. But there have to be people who’ve heard it as well.”

“There are…”

A glint in his eyes made you look at him intently, and a small gasp came out when his eyebrows came up and he bit his lips.

“You know about it, don’t you? You’ve heard the stories…” He nodded sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “That’s why you didn’t dismiss it at first.”

“It is just a children’s story.” He sighed. “There was never talk of symbols in my version, just some old man that would visit Zaun in a blue robe and wander the streets like a ghost. My mother used it so I wouldn’t come home after dark. ‘Modrý muž tě dostane.’...The blue man is going to get you…”

“How do you know it was the same guy?”

“The old man who never got old.” He gave a small smile and a shrug. “He was some kind of wanderer, eating children after it got dark.” 

An idea burst into your head quickly, and you grabbed the notebook from his hand, receiving a questioning sound from him.

You drew the fire rune and showed it to him. It dawned on you he had probably never seen the fire rune, and if the fire rune was present in Zaun as the apothecary symbol, he might have seen it.

“This is the fire rune. Do you know it?” He shook his head, and you deflated.

"Wait..." He grabbed back the notebook. "Maybe..."

He turned the book towards the bright windows, singling out the page where you wrote the rune, and looked it through the back of the sheet. The rune was mirrored on the back of the page as the light hit it.

“My mother used to get an ointment from this little store down from where we lived. The lady from there knew about my condition and added some medicated sweets to the order. This was the brand on the bag.” He closed the journal and looked at you, his eyes still hazy from the memory.

“That’s the fire rune. It’s just mirrored. That’s Alena’s grandma's rune.” You told him softly. “Fire heals. Air moves. Moon lights the darkness.”

“It helps us with a location as well. If I heard it when I was little and if Alena’s family is the same as the apothecary, then the wanderer must have passed somewhere near there.” He was nodding to himself and smiling. “It is a good starting point. When do we go?”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and then shook your head when what he said sunk in.

“We? No. You are not going anywhere.” You shifted in the chair and went to grab the book from his hand, but he moved it out of reach. “Viktor…”

“What is your plan?” He asked seriously, keeping the book out of your reach.

“Go to Zaun, where the apothecary is, ask around, talk to people, and figure out what kind of stories they have. Once I’ve gathered enough info, I’ll explore further.” You explained feeling a bit more confident as he nodded along, perceiving it as an approval of your plan.

“The apothecary is at the Entresol level, so you might be lucky, and that is where the runes are.” He looked at the ceiling and squinted his eyes, and you knew by the arrogance written on his face he was about to throw your plan out the window. “Best case scenario, the gangs will smell a Piltie, kidnap the Piltie, and ask your mother for the highest amount of gold they can think of. Worst-case scenario, the gangs smell the Piltie, kidnap Piltie, and sell them for the highest amount of gold they can think of.”

You were divided about this. It would be a good thing if he came; he knew the place much better than you, since you’d been there only a couple of times in another dimension. His utility and company would be greatly appreciated. 

However…one wrong move, one wrong look at one wrong person, and he’d be dead. You'd both be dead. And you can’t let him die. It wasn't just about him becoming the Herald. If he died, you don’t think you could handle it. You could not... you will not... lose him again.

"You'd need to justify to the council why you were bridge hopping." You argued without much conviction.

“The good thing about being invisible to the council... is not being seen by the council,” he countered. 

“They’ll notice.” You softened your tone, already knowing this was a losing battle. 

“Let them. I am not doing anything wrong. What will they do? Arrest me for visiting my home?” He snorted in defiance and looked at you. “I would not feel good having you wander into Zaun alone. I understand you are very capable of taking care of yourself, but…I also want to help.”

He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, looking back at you again. Something weary behind his handsome eyes.

“This rune.” He shook the notebook. “When you spoke it... it took over you, and then it harmed you—”

You were about to interrupt him to argue it didn't do it on purpose. It was just easier for magic to heal you than to heal Sky.

“I know the theory.” He put a hand up, stopping you from arguing. “But, at the end of the day, you were the one bleeding on the floor. The one in the hospital bed. If any other rune does this, you need someone there to help you.”

Arguing with Viktor was always a gamble. You could win the argument without warning, carving a response so fierce he would not be able to reply, or it would be easily won when the gears on his brain spurred on. But yet again, you were raised by a lawyer. 

“I can’t protect us both. If anything happens to me, I can distract them enough to run…” you blurted quickly, the hurtful part unsaid. He frowned.

“My leg is not a hindrance. It never was. It never will be.” He frowned for a bit. “There are other ways to escape that don’t require running.”

“It’s not about your leg; it's about you.” You let out an exasperated sigh. “Viktor, if something happens to you down there, I won’t leave you behind.”

“Good! Great! Because I will do the same!”

“No!” You groaned and thumped your head on the chair’s armrest. “I forgot how exasperating you are.”

“Well, you are also very stubborn.” He tilted his eyebrows. “Especially because you know I’m right.”

You looked at him deadpan, and for a moment his expression matched yours. After a few seconds, you rolled your eyes and got up from the chair with a swift movement.

“I’m telling Voltaire not to burn the meringue.” You announced over your shoulder.

“You wouldn’t.” He gasped when he figured out what you were threatening.

From behind you, there was the clear sound of him shuffling to get up from the chair and grab his crutch. The rhythmic sound of him quickly approaching made you giggle.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @kitewa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies @iamfandomnerd

[k0nanharv3y]

Tim Is A Wayne. AU

Au where Tim joins the batfam early but decides to have a simple life

Most "Tim joins the batfam early" fics end with Jason never going to Ethiopia and Tim becoming Robin while Jason becomes Flamebird or Red Hood. And I'm usually fine with that

But

Listen to me carefully

What if... What if Tim doesn't become Robin? 😦😦😦😦😦

LISTEN TO ME

PUT DOWN THAT ROCK

So... yeah, the kid likes to run around Gotham and take pictures, but let's be honest, Tim is an amateur, the only times he plays the hero are to protect himself or because the situation requires it

So... Tim keeps "sneaking" around to take pictures of Batman and Robin, and I say "sneaking" because even if he walked out the door it wouldn't change the fact that everyone already knows. And Tim doesn't want to become Robin, in canon he never wanted to be Robin, but Batman needed a Robin, but since Jason never died, then Tim doesn't have to become Robin

Do you get my point?

No? I don't care

There are two paths here, Tim becomes a spy for the Bats and now takes pictures of villains and deals in illegal stuff and... Well, he's an Oracle but physical (SOMEONE GIVE ME TIM A SPY, I AM BEGGING YOU) and now he has backup in case he falls off a building or someone notices him, and now he has equipment that doesn't consist of black clothes and worn out sneakers, but he never becomes a vigilante who fights bad guys, he's... Natasha Romanoff but without the fighting skills

And the other way... Tim... has a normal life 😦😦😦😦😦😦😦 as normal as being Bruce Wayne's son would allow him, he goes to school even though he's ahead, he has two brothers who love him and are willing to kill/die for him, he has Alfred (which, being the only member who doesn't stay up all night hitting people, he appreciates him and teaches him things about life [TIM KNOWS HOW TO COOK LIKE ALFRED, SOMEONE, I BEG YOU TO GIVE ME THAT] and among all his grandchildren, Tim is the favorite). And he has Bruce, who is a good father and is thrilled that one of his sons didn't take his path and is safe at home :D

Here are two more paths from "Tim Joining The Batfam Early" and that is... Jason's Death. It didn't happen: It's a lot of what you read above, not a lot of changes and that's fine. And... Jason does die

But Bruce doesn't get another Robin and Tim doesn't become Robin because his brother just died in that suit... a lot of Angst there. And Bruce doesn't break down because his family won't let him, he can't break down because his other son needs him. And when Jason comes back the first thing he wants to do is see his little brother

And there's plenty of angst there for them to feed on

But let's leave the angst aside, let's get to the fun part

Jason never dies and Tim is kidnapped

Option A) Tim stays silent as he waits for whoever comes to get him out of here, staring at anyone who passes by

Option B) He unties himself and escapes to the roof, waiting for whoever is coming for him to appear

Tim finishes high school and goes to Ivy University and is accepted with a scholarship and the family is happy

Tim welcomes Damian with open arms because he always wanted a little brother (he wanted to stop being treated like the baby of the family, please, he's 15 now) and Damian wants to hate this kid because it seems like everyone in the family loves him, but he's the person who gives the most stability to the mansion and the family and he's the one who convinced Bruce to let him have a cat

Tim is still the smartest of the 3 brothers, he helps out with whatever he can, Superboy has a weird crush on him, he solves all of Nygma's riddles and brags about it on social media, he does his internships at WE but not out of necessity but because it's his father's company. Ra's has his eye on him for some reason ????? But fuck everyone, Ra's looks at him too much and his family will make sure that's the last thing he does

And Tim... he lives a normal life. He goes to college, he has friends outside of the masks, he is loved and he loves and... It's okay

And WOAH WOAH WOAH WHAT IS THIS THOUGHT???? TIM BECOMING RED HOOD????????? WHAT?????? that's another post, lol

[spiderb00bs]

- MURDEROUS LOVE

Tara Carpenter x (g!p) reader  (requets) MDNI

" Tara Carpenter doesn't like Gosthfaces, but what happens if you're one of them?”  

Genre – smut        Warnings – Blood, degradation, reader is literally a murderer 

Now playing – P*RNSTAR, by Nessa Barrett 

The knife you were holding was completely stained with blood, the blood of another one of your victims. The tall guy, who was now dead on his own couch, was the same jerk who had flirted with Tara a few weeks ago. Tara wasn't your girlfriend, but there was something inside you that bubbled dangerously when some idiot like that hit on the younger Carpenter.   

You didn't understand how these assholes thought they had the slightest chance with her, they were so stupid that you got angry, and that's why you decided it was better that they could never be able to breathe again.  

Wiping the blood from your knife, you breathed heavily through the mask you wore. All the chasing and screaming of that idiot had excited you, and as if it were a sign from the universe, your phone rang, Tara's name on the message handle.   

Babadook girl – I'm alone, do you want to come?  

Seeing the message, your expression perked up under the mask, an idea popping into your head. You and Tara weren't official, you weren't dating, but maybe it was your chance to tell young Carpenter who she belonged to. By quickly typing a short answer, you left your victim's house, your effort to do a perfect job leaving you without a trace. 

Meanwhile, Tara had the apartment to herself, silence hung in the corners of the room and young Carpenter was impatient, expecting you to be at her door at any moment. The television was showing some program that Tara was not very interested in watching. In fact, the girl was constantly looking in the direction of the door, as if it would make you get there faster.   

When her phone rang on the table, Tara got a little startle, curling up on the couch before finally reaching for the electronics on the coffee table. "Unknown number" was what it said on the caller ID, and for a moment, Tara felt an agonizing shiver run down her spine. Pressing the green button, Tara brought the phone to her ear, she was sure the person on the other end of the line could hear her unregulated breathing, but she couldn't care less.   

"Hello..."   

"Why did it take you so long to answer me Tara?"   

 The same voice, that same distorted and sick voice was speaking to Tara now. The same voice she has nightmares about, the same voice with someone else under the mask. Tara's hand began to tremble, and before she could even text Sam, a noise of broken glass was heard inside the apartment.   

Tara, who was in the living room, went in silent steps to the kitchen, grabbing one of the largest knives in one of the drawers, going to the corner of the wall and trying to normalize her breathing, the last thing she would want was to have an asthma attack now. Bringing the phone closer to her ear again, Tara heard a sinister laugh, making all of the younger Carpenter's senses grow two times stronger.   

"Are you coming to find me? Or do you want me to come to you, Tara?"   

"Fuck You." Looking in the direction of the hallway, Tara walked slowly to the door, trying her best not to make a sound.   

"I can do that." The laugh that the person on the other line let out made Tara nauseous, the tone that Ghostface used was sinister and suggestive at the same time. "Why are you so shy Tara? You asked me to come..."   

"I would never ask a motherfucker like you to come here!" Tara said, her breathing quickening as she tried to unlock the front door without making a sound.   

From the sound she had heard, The Ghostface could only be in one of the rooms, and the last thing she wanted was for them to hear her opening the door. As the sound of the lock clicked across the apartment, Tara turned the handle, the sense of freedom quickly replaced by horror, as all she felt was Gosthface's gloved hand squeezing her neck.   

Tara's phone was now on the floor, and when she tried to scream only grumbles came out when Ghostface put them hand over her mouth. Tara thought she had no more chance, she had ended up there.   

"Did you think you were going to leave me, you bitch?" Tara didn't know what, but something about the touch of the person underneath the mask was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. "You called me here, Tara. It's not going to be that easy."   

When the masked person threw Tara onto the couch and towered over her, all the young Carpenter did was fight, punching and kicking the masked person, who didn't seem to be affected by any of the woman's blows beneath them. But we all have a breaking point, and while none of Tara's blows hurt them, it was all becoming too much for the person under the mask.   

"STOP IT FUCKING OFF!" The Ghostface screamed, pinning Tara's hands on top of her head, not too hard to hurt her, but strong enough to scare the young Carpenter. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? I DID ALL THIS FOR YOU!"   

Tara didn't know what to say, the words of the masked person on top of her didn't make sense. The sound of heavy breathing was all over the apartment, echoing over the walls. And it was only when Ghostface took off the mask, that everything clicked in Tara's head.   

"Yn?" Tara was confused, tears running down her face. Seeing her friend, the person she had confided so much with, the girl she had fallen in love with, was just devastating. "Why?"   

"Because I love you, Tara." You said, running one of your hands over the Carpenter girl's face, pulling out the wires that came out of place in the fight. "I did all this for you, baby. I killed all those guys, for you. You're mine, Tara."  

Tara didn't want to, but looking at you, on top of her, saying that you did all this for her, made her excited. You could be arrested, you could ruin your future, you put everything to waste, for her. Young Carpenter knew that what she was feeling was sick and distorted, but she couldn't help it when it came to you.   

"You didn't have to do that to have me, you could have said." Tara said, looking into your eyes, the same eyes she looked at when you were in bed together. "You killed people, Yn."   

"No, no, no." You quickly denied it, the movement of your head emphasized what you were saying. "I killed boys. Those idiots who thought they had a chance with someone as perfect as you, Tara."   

The puppy eyes you were giving Tara, made her melt, made her think you just wanted to protect her.   

"Remember that idiot, the one who called you a whore because you said you wouldn't go out with him?! I killed that son of a bitch, Tara." The woman paid attention to your every word, it was not only making her ego grow, but also the moisture between her legs. "He died with my knife in his mouth, because only I can call you things like that, Tara. You are mine."  

Stroking the woman's hair beneath you, you took a second to look at her, contrary to what you thought, Tara was no longer so scared, she seemed afraid of something, but not terrified like she was when you walked through the door.  

"Did you do everything for me?" Tara asked, her legs were trapped by your weight on top of them, but you didn't let the way she rubbed her thighs pass.   

"Why? Did you like it?" You asked, taking Tara's chin in your hand and making her look at you, with an embarrassed look. "Tell me if you liked it, Tara."   

"Yes." The words came out of young Carpenter's mouth like a groan, making you start to think that she liked it as much as you did.   

"You like it, don't you? You slut." Your grip was still firm on her cheeks, but Tara still managed to shake her head in confirmation. "You liked to know what I did to those idiots who tried to be like me, didn't you?!" Your free hand went down to the button of the pants Tara was wearing, unbuttoning and sliding in.   

 "God, yes. I only like it when it's you." Your fingers circled her clitoris, making the woman beneath you let out sighs and gasping moans.   

"You're a little whore just for me, aren't you Tara?" Your fingers slippery enough that you finally slid them inside her.   

"Fuck, yes. Please."   

"Do you want to cum, Tara?" making a back and forth with your fingers, you got close to the young Carpenter's face, kissing her forehead and watching her confirm with her head. "Use your words, slut."   

"yes, I want to cum." And as soon as the words left Tara's mouth, your fingers stopped moving.   

Taking your hand out of the brunette's pants, you pulled her by the hair, making her get up from the couch. The moan that the woman let out was soon silenced by your mouth, which pulled her into a messy kiss. The two of you teeth collided in the kiss, and Tara could feel you bite her lip hard.   

In the middle of the kiss, Tara's hands went down your black outfit, finding the zipper and lowering it. The brunette couldn't lie, but seeing you only in your bra and underwear did something to her, it was like you were walking around, killing the people who had already made her feel uncomfortable, only to come back and fuck her at the end of the day.   

"Fuck, you're so hard." Tara said, getting off your lap and kneeling in front of you.   

Her hand making up and down movements over the fabric was making you even more excited, and you couldn't believe it was really happening. The adrenaline rush of the things you'd done before and the moment you'd had with Tara had driven you crazy, wanting a piece of the Carpenter girl as soon as possible.   

"All for you, baby." You said, helping Tara take your underwear off you.   

Your cock jumped, landing on your abs, pre-cum was leaking from your pink tip and for a moment Tara was hypnotized.   

"Do you love me, baby?" Starting the movements again, she looked at you with those big eyes that you knew very well.   

"More than anything." Throwing your head back, you answered Tara's question, moaning as the woman on her knees gave a kiss to the pink head of your cock.   

"Do you want to date me?" Tara asked, giving an experimental lick from the base to the head.   

"Fuck, yes." Seeing you with your eyes closed and your head thrown back, Tara dug her nails into your thighs, making you moan in pain and look at her immediately.   

"Then ask." What was she doing? She wasn't in charge, you were.  

 "What the fuck are you doing, you slut-" You tried to say, being cut as Tara dragged her nails across your skin, drops of blood forming in the tracks she had left.   

"FUCK, YOU BITCH!"   

"ASK, IF YOU DID ALL THAT FOR ME THEN PROVE IT!"   

"FUCK! OKAY!" 

Stopping the screaming for a second, Tara waited for you to say what she wanted to hear, and although she was afraid of what you could do to her because she said, deep down she knew you would never hurt her, you needed her.   

"Tara, do you want to be my girlfriend?" You asked, making the brunette smile at you, not even answering you before putting part of your cock inside her mouth.   

"Fuck!" To your surprise, you threw your head back again, then straightened up and tilted your head so that you could see all the work Tara was doing on you. "You're mine, only mine."  

Your hand, which was now lovingly positioned on Tara's head, followed the woman's movements, Tara's mouth was hot, and all that stimulation was driving you crazy. The speed with which Tara's mouth worked on you and her hands jerking off what she couldn't put in her mouth, became too much for you.   

"Tara, I'm going to cum."   

Letting your cock slide out of her mouth, Tara stood up, moving away from you and making the knot in your stomach shrink considerably. With a tearful groan, you looked at Carpenter in front of you, who was unbuttoning her pants and sliding her panties down her heels.   

"Sam will be coming soon, we don't have much time." Settling into your lap, Tara guided your cock to her pussy, your bodies fitting as if you were made for it.   

When you finally entered the woman, the moans that came out of the two of you echoed through the apartment. At this point, Tara wouldn't even mind receiving a complaint about the noise, she just wanted you. Being inside Tara was paradise, and you never wanted to leave. Her walls embraced you with love and the sensation you felt made your eyes roll.   

"Fuck, you're so tight, baby." You said, Tara moving her hands from your neck to your hair, messing it up as she pulled your head in, making you look at her.   

"Is that what you wanted?" Tara asked, innocent eyes staring back at you. "Did you want me to be yours?!"   

"Yes, only mine. None of those guys can touch you, because you're my slut." Spreading your hands on Tara's ass, you started to push inside her, making the woman on top of you let out moans of pleasure.   

Even though she liked all the words you called her, and liked to see you being so dominant and powerful in your Ghostface outfit, Tara knew exactly how to control you, 

make you think you'd always be in control of your relationship, when in fact, the younger Carpenter had you in the palm of her hand.   

"I love you, baby. None of those guys will ever have you." You said, putting your hand on the brunette's neck and accelerating the pace of your thrusts.  

"I'm yours, baby. Completely yours, no one else's."   

Your impulses were fast, making Tara's moans get louder and louder, and you knew that meant she was about to cum. Placing your hand just below her abs, you applied pressure, causing Tara to scream louder than you thought she could. With your other hand, you drew circles on her clit, driving the woman beneath you crazy.   

Rolling her eyes, Tara felt like she was in heaven, you hitting her non-stop, the pressure you made on her and your fingers working from her clitoris, were too much. Tara's body twitched, spasms coming out involuntarily, and you knew she was cumming when you felt the woman's insides tighten around you.   

Without stopping your movements, you continued chasing your orgasm, while prolonging Tara's. Your eyes rolled back just like the woman below you, you let out a grunt accompanied by Tara's moan, who now contemplated the sensation of your warm seed pouring inside her.   

Lying on the couch next to the smaller woman, you kissed Tara passionately, just a confirmation that everything was fine.   

"That was amazing." Tara said looking at you. Her hand caressed your hair, trying to comb it back into place.   

"I love you, Tara. And I don't regret anything." You said, watching Tara's eyes falter a little. 

"After we talked about it, we'll enjoy it while Sam wasn't here yet."  

She didn't know how to make you stop, but she would have to find a way without you getting hurt. 

Hi guys, the first request for this account has just been made.

Thank you to anon who placed the request <3

Stay safe, drink water

xoxo, spider.

[rrezshifts]

𝓻𝙚𝙖𝖑𝙞𝙩i𝙚𝙨 𝙞’d 𝙡o𝙫𝙚 t𝙤 𝙛𝙞n𝙙

this is a list of realities i compiled from three lovely people’s dr ideas posts: ellysdreamworldd, deminetly, & lalalian. this post is a way for me to clear out my likes without having to keep track of the realities i’m interested in shifting to in a notebook i’ll lose or forget about . . .

a retro high school/college reality. this could be a reality from any decade where retro still fits. the original poster wrote 70s-00s. i feel like i partly already have this with my twilight reality, it’s set in the early 2000s. but it’s definitely something i could be interested in shifting to outside of that reality

2000s victoria’s secret angel reality. see this is weird because i am a trans man. and like . . . the parts of my body that are inherently feminine and ideal for an angel, i don’t like. however, it can be what i like so put my ideal masculine but twinkish form in some lingerie and call it a day!!

professional tourist reality. a reality where i have all the money in the world and travel the world with no responsibilities seems SO fun! but like an ideal and bigotry free world. and also i get to bring someone with me!!

vampire reality. tbh i already have a few of those . . . but i’m not in love with them. that and they’re from pre-existing media, and i want one that i can really play with and make my own and just fall in love with my own mind and life through it, yk??

royalty reality. this could be so so incredibly fun. but i fear the way i view and picture a royalty reality in my mind at the moment . . . it’s off putting. i’d need a new perspective to look at these type of realities from before trying any world building or i may genuinely give up immediately

summer camp reality. as the counselors of course. like imagine being a counselor with other hot people your age and just bouncing from counselor to counselor all summer as we all sneak around camp after curfew and just go crazy!! though i technically have a reality like this already . . . my the quarry reality is basically this because i removed all the horror game elements. i should think about it more though for sure, that why i put it here

mermaid reality. like genuinely the way the original poster described it as a the little mermaid kind of romance plot almost makes me not scared of the deep ocean aspect of this reality. but i love marine biology and marine animals so like i would realistically love this too. this is another one though, that i would need a perspective shift because right now the idea of this reality is off putting to me as well

magic university reality. quite literally just hogwarts in my marauders reality. but i haven’t scripted shit and i need to get on it. so i’m adding it in hopes that’ll change. it won’t lol

small town shop owner reality. the original poster said it was a flower shop. but the idea of it being like a small business of my choice, for example a metaphysical shop, and falling in love with the small business next door’s owner?? bonus points if it’s a tattoo artist i fall for, because why can’t fanfic tropes come to life!!

planetary romance reality. described as exploration of different planets with romance specifically with aliens. and you know what . . . i’m not gonna lie. the romance with aliens is what sold me!! call me what you want! (it’ll probably be true) but this genuinely seems like such a fun reality to get to workshop!!

eco-metamorphosis reality. described as a world being colonized by aliens but instead of rejecting them you welcome them with open arms. and i was thinking this could be so fun to imagine a world that has coexisted with aliens for generations now, a good many years after, and how that looks and what daily life would be like

that’s all of them!! please look at their posts if you liked any of these and want to see what else they have shared!! i’ll tag them here so they know i used their posts for a sort of form of content @ellysdreamworldd , @deminetly & @lalalian !! thank you for the great ideas 🙏

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thanks for all your hard work, I’ve found so many good fics through here.

Do you have any recommendations for human au fics where Crowley and Aziraphale have known each other for a long time before becoming romantically involved. Could be acquaintances or co-workers or even friends, but looking for a good rec without a real meet cute/strangers-to-lover situation! Thanks so much :)

Hi! We have #friends to lovers and #childhood friends tags which you can check for lots of fics like this. Here are some more to add...

be mine tonight (be mine forever) by artenon (T)

Aziraphale knows he’s a solitary person. He knows Crowley may very well be his only true friend. He doesn’t mind this. He does, however, very much mind learning that his coworkers have a betting pool on whether he’ll be coming alone to the department holiday party next week. He especially minds when he learns that the reason there is a betting pool in the first place is because their intern, young Newton Pulsifer, is the only one naïve enough to believe Aziraphale might have a date. ----- In retaliation to a bet made against him, Aziraphale asks Crowley to be his date to the office holiday party. Certainly there are no flaws to be found in this plan. Certainly the secret love Aziraphale has been harboring for Crowley for the past several years won't be an issue. Certainly not.

Slipping by AppleSeeds (T)

When Aziraphale's friend and colleague Crowley asks him out at their work Christmas party, Aziraphale turns him down, having only ever thought of Crowley as a friend. Months later, Aziraphale's feelings for Crowley have changed, but due to a series of increasingly ridiculous misunderstandings, they both become convinced that the other isn't interested in a romantic relationship. (They're just adorable, oblivious, and pining, that's the whole fic.)

Wanna Bet? by Mimsynims (E)

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t find my name’?” “I’m sorry, sir. We have bookings for all of your colleagues, but your name is missing. Unfortunately that means there’s no room set aside for you.” “Right…” Crowley could guess who had made the ‘mistake’. “But surely there’s another room available? It doesn’t have to be on the same floor as the others’.” He would actually prefer it if it wasn’t.  “I’m afraid not, sir. Due to the conference all of our rooms are booked already.” The young woman on the other side of the counter looked genuinely distressed. “Most hotels within the vicinity are.” Crowley sighed and furrowed his brows. He didn’t even want to be here in the first place, and now he didn’t have a place to sleep? Knowing Gabriel, it would be no use asking to be allowed to go back home.  “Let me check something…” The woman brightened again, a small smile growing on her face. “Yes. It’s not ideal, but it seems that two of your colleagues have been placed in double rooms. Perhaps you or someone else can consider sharing?” Anyone want to guess who he ends up sharing a room with? ;)

On The Side by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale is far too pure of heart to be anybody’s bit on the side. Or so Crowley thinks. But when his friend starts seeing walking red flag Jim, with his dodgy smiles and mysterious past, Crowley does everything he can to protect Aziraphale from disaster. His own heart might just end up being collateral damage.

i've found a way (a way to make you smile) by curtaincall (T)

Crowley worked in Sales. He had never intended to work in Sales. It had just sort of happened. One moment, there he’d been, a newly minted university graduate off to change the world, exquisitely useless Philosophy degree in hand, and now here he was, having sauntered vaguely downwards into a Hell that consisted mainly of cold-calling new customers and sucking up to existing ones.   AU based on The Office.

Between Comfort And Chaos by anathxmadevice (T)

“And how long have you two been a couple?” “Oh, I—” Aziraphale panics. “Ha, well, that’s a funny… We’re not actually—” “We’re just friends.” Crowley says, their voice clear and calm and lightly amused, either because of or in spite of Aziraphale’s flailing attempts to divert the conversation. “Ah, yes, quite.” Aziraphale says, then takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, instead of focussing on the way Crowley said just friends, and how it causes a painful throb in his chest that he has never fully got used to. His memory can only scrabble at the edge of a time where being just friends with Crowley didn’t feel like a particular form of torture. * Or, Aziraphale has been desperately in love with his best friend and housemate Crowley since they were students, but is too scared to do anything about it.

- Mod D

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

i don’t know if anyone will read this cause… long text but stay with me if you can (got a little carried away…

@dpr-moni i’ve used a lot of words in my limited english vocabulary to say many nice things to the authors here but i’m out of words for you.

what you did to me… you touched the deep parts of my brain, and my heart, and my soul that i genuinely just want to cry, like a good cry and give you a tight hug.

i can construct so many parallels here cause can i be a little personal here? i’ve experienced situations like this in two different ways.

read this was like having a dream with feelings and sensations so familiar that you thought you had forgotten but in your subconscious they are so fresh.

you open my wounds, brought my subconscious feelings to surface.

I genuinely believe that for a person to write what you have written about, such vast, complex and profound feelings, they only need to have an infinite soul.

the 1, past lives, one day… my girl crush that was just a beautiful and profound fantasy which never came to life, a the inevitable end of a relationship. It's all about love and the sad reality that it may not be enough for things to work out.

It's about people being complex and about even more complex feelings that can coexist inside someone you love and there's nothing you can do about it.

i guess “i see you come back to me… you’re my pain divine, divine”

about

“And if you wanted me, you really should've showed” “And if my wishes came true,it would've been you”

“In my defense, I have none.For never leaving well enough alone”, “I persist and resist the temptation to ask you

If one thing had been different

Would everything be different today?”

like this is namjoon, this was me.

this is the “maybe if we try a little harder”

and quoting taylor swift’s word again

“If our love died young, I can't bear witness

And it's been so long

But if you ever think you got it wrong

I'm right where you left me”

bittersweet endings right? and it’s never over, right?

but one hour it ends. Even if it continues to reverberate or even if it is forever a mark in our memory.

It reminds me of a couple of friends in high school who were always on and off and so many people got in their way and were hurt by the fact that they always went back to each other. Then they grew up and one of them had a beautiful relationship with a really cool girl. It was just a kid thing but the kind of bond you have with someone that makes you always go back to them makes me think. It's exhausting and it's scary to think that this is fate, even though I know we have the power to make decisions.

can i be your best friend at this point? cause i just overshared a lot!

It's incredible what reading can do to us, the connection it can create, but that's a topic for another review. If this reaches you, I want to thank you deeply for posting this and I'd like to talk more about all of this with you (if you want). In any case, I'm grateful that our paths have crossed despite the vastness of the universe 🌟

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: angst, friends-to-almost-lovers?

Summary: No matter what you do, no matter what he does, you can't not love Namjoon. His girlfriend can't stop it, his baby, a thousand miles between you, your fiancé. Nothing makes it any less painful. Nothing makes it go away and nothing can give you the happily ever after you both want.

Word count: 20.7k

Content: INFIDELITY, pregnancy, baby, marriage, divorce, morning after pill, mild smut, lots of angst, not a happy ending, member pov

A/N: for @kkaetnipjeon who likes to hurt Namjoon as much as I do. unbeta'd * * *

Namjoon was late. 

“I really should go,” he said, taking his phone from the table and slipping into his pocket. 

You laughed. 

“Yeah, you said that twenty minutes ago.” 

“Oh, well, sorry for enjoying your company. Fuck me, I guess.” 

“Exactly. It’s all your own fault.” 

It was. When it came to you, time went out the window. Even when he told himself he only had an hour, or two, or times when he actually had somewhere to be, you were just more fun. He tried to leave. He really did. Always said, up front, he had to be gone by 2 or 4 or 7. Always pushed it a little. ‘No, I’ve got a little more time,’ he always said. He always had a little extra time for you it seemed.  

Today, he was only going home to his girlfriend; it wasn’t a hard deadline which made it all the harder to enforce.  

He pulled himself up from his chair, thanked you for the coffee that you had paid for, and made it home. 

* 

“Joon?” Hayeon called as soon as he’d shut the door behind him. “Can you get that please? I have my hands full!” 

Somewhere in the apartment, her phone was ringing. There was no contact information on the caller screen, just a number he didn’t recognise. 

“Hello?” Namjoon said into the phone. 

“Oh, uh...” 

The pause went on for long enough that Namjoon was halfway to hanging up when the man on the other line spoke again. 

“I’m calling for Hayeon?”  

As if it were a question. 

“She has her hands full right now; I can take a message.” 

Another long pause.  

“No, no, that’s ok.” 

“Shall I tell her you called?” 

“No, no thanks. Bye.” 

They hung up first. Namjoon shrugged and carried the phone into the kitchen, where Hayeon was up to her elbows in washing up. He put it on the counter beside the sink and gave her a quick kiss on the temple. 

“I’ll dry,” he said. 

“Who was calling?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Some guy-” 

And Namjoon hadn’t thought anything of it. Would probably have forgotten all about it, except that Hayeon paused, just for a second, her body frozen with tension before she shrugged it off herself.  

“He didn’t want to leave a message or anything,” Namjoon finished, watching his girlfriend a little more closely. 

“Weird.”  

“Yeah, weird.” 

And he would have forgotten it. In truth, had forgotten about it, but then he got out of the shower and heard Hayeon speaking on the phone. 

“-ere you thinking? Why would you call this phone?” she hissed viciously, her voice quiet but her anger clear. 

She had her hand cupped around her mouth, shoulders rounded—defensive, protective—as she stood, leaning against the fridge, her back to Namjoon.  

Namjoon was not interested in spying on his girlfriend. He turned into their bedroom and got dressed, content to ignore whatever that was. 

As he lay in bed, though, he found he couldn’t ignore it. It was one thing to get a call from someone you didn’t know – spam, voice phishing, a genuine wrong number – but those people didn’t usually ask for someone by name, by first name alone, as if they knew you. The way Hayeon froze when Namjoon said it was a guy. Whatever secret conversation she was having when she knew he wouldn’t be able to hear it.  

He was not a suspicious man. Had no reason to be. He and Hayeon had been together for so long, the thought of there being anyone else was inconceivable. They were Hayeon and Namjoon; they came as a pair. Never one without the other. It just was. So there was no way, he concluded, that she would be cheating on him. Yet he could think of no other reason for her behaviour.  

He took Hayeon’s phone from her bedside table and pressed his thumb against it to unlock. It didn’t. He tried again. And again. He tried enough times that the phone refused biometric unlocking entirely and prompted him for a passcode. Well, he knew that, too, so he typed the numbers in—incorrect. When had Hayeon changed her passcode? Had she removed his thumb print? They’d always had—and almost never needed or wanted to use—access to each other’s phones. Now he did not.  

He looked down at Hayeon, sleeping peacefully, face squished into the pillow, lips pouting. He rolled his eyes: she wasn’t cheating. It was an absurd conclusion to come to on the scant evidence he had. Evidence! It wasn’t evidence. It was nothing. He kissed her carefully on the forehead, and settled down to sleep. He would forget all about it.  

* 

It came into his head when he got a call himself from an unrecognised number (it turned out to be someone offering him a new credit card). He remembered it again weeks later when Hayeon asked him to change the music on her phone and he, once again, couldn’t unlock it. 

“Oh, it’s been doing that to me, lately,” she said, when his thumb was denied entry. “I think it’s the screen protector or something.” 

She came over and unlocked the phone herself—worked first time.  

But, for the most part, he forgot about it. 

* 

Spring was meekly peeking from behind the curtains of winter and it was the first day warm enough to allow eating lunch outside. So Namjoon took himself out of his desk chair and walked to the nearest green space with a bench. They called it a park though it wasn’t really, but it was enough for Namjoon. It had been trapped for too long in construction, with scaffolding at all sides, precluding entry, but late last year, the buildings surrounding it were finally complete and the park was free to enter again. This had come as quite a relief to Namjoon, who loved the city, but loved nature, too. A relief it was to have green grass under his feet, sun on his face, nature’s fractals everywhere he looked. He liked it all the more for its contrast to the beige-grey buildings, the chrome, the chaos of the city. The traffic noise was loud and unceasing but the birds sang, too.  

He was halfway through his sandwich when he spotted Hayeon. He reached into his pocket for his phone, to call her, to say ‘I see you!’ and watch her look around herself in confusion until she saw him. Until she smiled and came over and they had lunch together. He abandoned that idea when he saw a man come up behind her. He touched her lightly on the lower back and they walked together.  

Probably nothing, he said.  

Then he remembered the phone call.  

Probably nothing, he repeated to himself. Still, he watched them until they were out of sight, out of the park, probably finishing their own lunch breaks, heading back to their own desks. 

* 

Namjoon had decided that he had to ask. He had to find out because he’d started adding things up and, well, he was usually very good at maths but he didn’t like the answer he’d arrived at. 

The phone call. The way his thumb no longer unlocked her phone. Her changed passcode. That guy. The way she was always on her phone these days, but jumpy about it. Her increasing disinterest in him; how much quicker she was to anger; how things that had always playfully infuriated her now genuinely pissed her off. She had claimed work stress, having started a new job last autumn. Was it? 

He couldn’t go in half-cocked. If he was going to confront her, he needed better ammunition.  

That was why he was digging around at the backs of drawers, rooting around in every bag she owned, hunting for some unidentified smoking gun. Something that would confirm everything.  

The bedroom carefully ransacked, he was still empty-handed. She had told him she would be working late that evening, so he decided to do the good-boyfriendly thing and take her dinner. That is what he would say, anyway, assuming that he would find her there. 

* 

“Hayeon? She’s already left for the day,” the receptionist told him. 

“Oh, really? Do you know what time she left?” 

“Mm, one second.”  

There were security gates just three feet from the desk, into and out of which everyone who entered the building would swipe their access cards. The computer would know, down to the minutes and seconds, when she left. He had familiarity on his side—people knew him, knew he was Hayeon’s boyfriend, would share this sort of information with him. He was lucky.  

“It was 5:15. Early today,” she said.  

“Right, ok, thank you. Must have got our wires crossed.” 

He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. 

[13:04]  Hayeon: remember I'm working late today, babe. Have dinner without me! 😘 

Not a smoking gun, but getting warmer. 

* 

He checked bank statements—his, hers, their joint account. Nothing really seemed off. Nothing jumped out at him, but he kept looking, whittling down anything he could twist into infidelity until he was left with only a handful of transactions.  

The nails. True, she’d only started having them done recently. She and Namjoon had been together for years and she’d never gone to the expense or effort. Also true, her salary increased, which meant her disposable income had increased. It was a popular thing to do. Didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

Some expensive perfume. See above. 

A store name he didn’t recognise until he searched online and discovered they sold lingerie—amongst other things. He tried to remember the last time Hayeon had worn anything sexy. He couldn’t. A piece of information was trying to float to the surface of his brain, and without being conscious of it, he followed it into their bedroom and her underwear drawer. He’d fished around in here not long ago, looking for something like a burner phone, or condoms (that they hadn’t used for a long time, since Hayeon switched to hormonal birth control). He hadn’t been looking for lace or satin so hadn’t seen it, but there it was. Lingerie. That he’d never seen before, though she’d had plenty of opportunities to wear it since she bought it: Christmas, New Year, Seollal, Valentine’s day, White Day just passed.  

It wasn’t a smoking gun, but he was getting hot.  

* 

He might not have gone to any effort at all, in the end. Looking back on it, he had had to laugh. She must have been trying to get caught. After months of hiding it all so successfully, maybe she had got complacent.  

Namjoon had arrived home to an empty apartment—Hayeon was away for the weekend with some friends. That was what she had said. Namjoon ordered dinner and lounged in front of the TV. He luxuriated in the space and the silence. The world was his own. Unshared. There weren’t many moments like this. 

His phone buzzed. 

Jang Yijeong: Hey, man hope youre good 

Jang Yijeong: idk if this is weird and i might be totally mistaken, i only met her a couple of times but 

Jang Yijeong: im in jinhae with my girlfriend and  

Jang Yijeong: is this your girlfriend? 

Jang Yijeong: [attached a picture] 

Well, it certainly looked like Hayeon.  

Namjoon’s screen was interrupted with more messages. 

Jang Yijeong: my girlfriend says its weird for me to take photos and shes probably right and im way off and this is just a weird thing to do! 

Jang Yijeong: maybe im mistaken! Hope so, dude, but thought you should know if not. i know id want to know 

Namjoon stared at the photo and then at the second one Yijeong sent. It was her. Undoubtedly. He would know her face in twenty pixels but the photos were clear as day. Hayeon holding some other man’s hand. Hayeon posing for a photo, kissing his cheek.  

A third arrived. Well, he’d wanted a smoking gun. They didn’t get much more smoking than a video of your girlfriend kissing another man. All this time that he’d been actively searching for evidence of this and now, here it was, presented to him on a platter. All this time, he’d been looking for something that—he realised now—he didn’t want to find.  

He was furious. Livid. Could feel the vein in his temple pulse as adrenalin coursed through him.  A smoking gun. A man kissing his girlfriend. His girlfriend kissing a man who wasn’t him. 

He sent a text back before he could forget. 

Namjoon: that’s her. Thanks man 

He put his shoes on and went straight out. Hayeon didn’t know he knew. Namjoon decided, through a red haze of rage, that there was about to be a lot more than Hayeon wouldn’t know.  

* 

“Are you ok?” you asked, opening the door to Namjoon, who had shown up unannounced, sounding agitated.  

Everyone had always told him you liked him. Liked him. They said it was obvious. They told him to be sensitive when they thought he’d overstepped in some way—with you, with Hayeon in front of you. He had never been sure if he believed them. You and he were just friends. Had always just been friends. You’d never said a word to him of anything different. Now, he was going to find out for sure. 

“What would you do if I kissed you?” he asked. 

He didn’t wait for an answer. Before your face had rearranged itself from shock to confusion, he was kissing you. He half-expected you to slap him, push him off, ask him if he was crazy (he just might have been at that moment), but you didn’t. You kissed him back. Snaked your arms around his neck, opened your mouth when he brushed his tongue against your lips. More, you pulled him forward, into your apartment, so he could kick your front door shut, so he could follow you into your bedroom.  

Namjoon didn’t stop to ask questions. Neither did you. He put his hands on a new body for the first time in almost a decade; for the first time, touching someone who was not Hayeon. He learnt that your skin was soft and your mouth was sweet. He discovered the pitch to which your voice raised when he found just the right motion. He found his own body responded to yours with swift alacrity. He discovered different things that other people did, that you did, which Hayeon did not. Found that he preferred them. With adrenalin surging through him, he found the newness exciting; he was hungry for it, desperate to learn how to use your body, how to make you tick, how to time the implosion carefully so that you came as he sank his teeth into the soft skin around your nipple.  

He did not forget, in all this rage, in all this lust, to use a condom.  

Spent, but not in any way sated, Namjoon lay for two seconds on his back next to you, before rising to clean up the evidence. 

“I’m sorry,” was what he said to you when he sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you. 

“It’s ok,” was what you said back. 

It wasn’t what you wanted to say. You wanted to say that it wasn’t ok. You wanted to have said no back at the front door. To have not let him kiss you, not let him into your house, into your body. You wanted to be the sort of person who would have said those things.  

But you loved Namjoon. Had loved him as long as you’d known him. Had known also all that time that he would never leave his girlfriend for you. Would never leave his girlfriend full stop. Sometimes you were at peace with that. Found that it was ok, really, didn’t much bother you. Other times, you ached with it, burnt with it, cried from it. And he had shown up at your front door, asked to kiss you, kissed you and what else could you have done?  

You would have liked to have been a better person, but there he was, finally doing the thing you had wished he would more times than you could count. So you didn’t say no and you didn’t ask questions. You just kissed him back, poured as much of your love as you could from your mouth to his, your body to his.  

Did he know? How you really felt? He must have known. Why else would he have come? Why else would he be apologising to you now?  

“Hayeon is cheating on me.” 

You closed your eyes, tried to swallow the tears that pricked in your eyes. Of course, it wasn’t about you. You weren’t suddenly the object of his affections; you were subject to his hurt, wounded pride, betrayal, anger, what else? When he fucked you, just now, on the bed where you still lay, was he thinking of her? Of course, he was.  

Was it not also true, though, that you knew that? That you knew, when he was kissing you, that it wasn’t about you. Couldn’t have been about you because you and Namjoon had been friends for years and he’d never once as much as hinted that he might have wanted to kiss you—as much as everyone knew that you wanted him to. Did you let him touch you, did you touch him, thinking that it meant something? Or did you take your scraps eagerly, desperately, like a stray dog, not asking what they were or where they came from, just eating hungrily, quickly, until they were gone? 

“I’m sorry,” you offered him. “That sucks.” 

Namjoon stood and redressed. You lay still on the bed, watching him. Waiting. For something. Anything.  

Before he turned to leave, he inclined his head slightly towards you (not looking, not looking at you, naked still, uncovered, for his eyes).  

“Could you-... I mean... would i-” 

“Relax, Namjoon. I won’t tell anyone.” 

The relief washed out of his body on a sigh. He nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

* 

If you had been a better person, you wouldn’t have let him kiss you even once. Definitely would not have let him fuck you whilst he was still in the maelstrom of reacting to finding out his girlfriend of nine years was cheating on him.  

Definitely definitely would not have let it happen again. And again. And again.  

Because it kept happening. He kept coming. To you. He said it was only you. You had no choice but to believe him because you wanted him to come again. Even as the door shut behind him on his way out, you wanted him to come back. 

You told no one, as you had said you wouldn’t. You betrayed nothing, except all your morals and principles, except Hayeon (who was kind of your friend, too). You found it hard to look at yourself in the mirror: hair messy; purpling bruises on your breasts from his teeth, yellow and green bruises on your thighs from him in times before; still flushed, heartrate still high, skin still warm, sticky with drying sweat.  

You never told yourself that it would be the last time. That this time you would put your foot down. You knew you wouldn’t. Couldn't. You had opened the floodgates and here was the deluge: the feelings you had known you had done your best to hide from now dancing in the spotlight. You loved him. Oh, you loved him. Would have done anything for him. Including and not limited to fucking him behind his girlfriend’s back and keeping it a secret. 

He never spoke about her. Never once said he was going to leave her, was thinking of leaving her, wanted to leave her. You knew he never would. They had grown up together: all the way through school, spinning in the same orbit. When they got to taste independence and adult life at university, their friendship had become something more. Then her parents had died in a car crash that almost killed her, too, and Namjoon knew he would never leave her. That was how the story went, how his friends told it.  

So you kept your mouth shut and your legs open. Told yourself you a thousand lies to make yourself feel like maybe you weren’t the worst person in the world for it.  

Namjoon would have told the story a little differently. Hayeon had almost died in a car crash that almost killed her, too, and that was when he knew he could never leave her. He was the only family she had left. She was the only love he had ever known; he her only love. He would not, could not, abandon her. Even if he wanted to. Even when he wanted to.  

He told himself this was why he hadn’t confronted her about cheating yet (that, and of course, he had gone and done the very same thing. Done it over and over again, so many times that he didn’t even think of Hayeon when he was with you anymore. That it wasn’t about her anymore). Because, despite how they may have appeared, despite what anyone might have said about them as a couple, they weren’t perfect for each other. She wasn’t his soulmate. He couldn’t blame her for cheating when, frankly, if he’d been honest with himself, he wanted out, too. He wanted out but couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger, to be the bad guy, to break her heart when he was the one who had to put it back together all that time ago. There was tragedy between them that would last forever; to Namjoon, that meant they had to, too.  

You were something entirely different. All his friends’ words resounded in his head after the first time. How much you cared for him. How sad it was, how well you bore it, this unrequited, doomed, desperate love for him. He had expected this to make you weak, somehow, to make you feel too soft, too pliable, too malleable under his hands.  He felt bad the first time, for using you, for burning you up in his roaring rage, but then he came back to you and you opened the door as if you knew exactly what he wanted—because you did know exactly what he wanted—and let him in. He had expected to feel as if he was taking advantage of you, of your weakness for him, but he didn’t. You weren’t pliable and malleable and pathetic. You didn’t get on your knees and prostrate yourself, offer yourself up on a platter for his delectation.  

He loved the taste of your moans in his mouth. He loved the smell of your lotion, faintly lingering on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way across your body. He loved the hot, wet slip of your tongue, the tight, slippery clutch of your cunt. He even loved the way you were careful, dug your nails into his back, into his thighs for a microsecond before releasing him, leaving no marks. Sucked on his skin so his eyes fluttered closed and his breath caught, but not so that the tell-tale bloom of burgundy and purple would give you away.  

“I should go,” he said quietly, lying naked on your bed, sweat dry, heart rate steady.  

“Yeah, you said that,” you replied gently, naked next to him, on your side, head propped on your hand, watching him, taking him in, the man you loved and could never have outside of these moments.  

He turned to look at you, eyes catching his, and he felt desperate suddenly. Desperate not to leave. Not to go back to his house made of straw, house made of lies, to a girlfriend who maybe didn’t love him anymore. To a girlfriend he didn’t love, whom he hadn’t loved—he was sure—for some time. To a girlfriend he wouldn’t leave.  

So he left you. Returned home, with heavy feet and a heavier heart. Returned, angry, frustrated, all his old fury bubbling up again, a rolling boil threatening the edge of the pan.  

“We need to talk,” he said in greeting to Hayeon, who was making tea in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, we do.” 

His surprise made him pause for a second—was she about to confess everything? 

“I know we haven’t really talked about the future much recently,” she began, leaning with her back against the counter as the kettle rumbled slowly to a boil. “Things have been crazy with work and I feel like we’ve just been kind of missing each other, y’know? But that’s why I think this will be great. This is a good thing. A really good thing.” 

“What is?” 

And nothing could have prepared him for the words that followed. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

A cloud of steam rose from the kettle beside Hayeon, the noise of the water roiling inside grew louder. So did Namjoon’s rage. So did he sense of betrayal. The injustice (of what? He couldn’t have said, could barely manage conscious thought). The inescapability of a child. His child. His anger surprised him, the strength of it, the speed and ease with which it rose inside him. He bit down on his tongue to stop all of his worst instincts taking control of it. He reminded himself this was as much his fault as hers. Then he wondered if it was. 

He did his best to school his features into neutrality, to keep his voice level when he spoke. 

“How do you know it’s mine?” 

To her credit, Hayeon did not immediately launch into a wounded, defensive howl. She did not cry big, fat crocodile tears. She flinched, swallowed, opened her mouth and closed it again. She took a deep breath, eyes shut, and looked at him again, nodding silently to herself, but she didn’t lie. She knew Namjoon too well for that. Knew him well enough to know that he knew. And that was when it crystallised inside him: the knowledge that their relationship was fucked. Was fucking over.  

“How long have you known?” she asked. 

“How do you know the baby is mine?” 

A crease flashed across her face – concern? Anger? – and was gone again in a second. Part of Namjoon wanted to have this fight. To force a showdown and make her confess everything she’d done and who she’d done them with. Maybe he would confess, too; maybe he’d tell her all the things you did to him, all the things he did to you; maybe he’d tell her just how much you wanted him.  

He didn’t, because most of him just wanted this to be over. 

“You’re the only person I’ve slept with without protection.”  

Her voice was small, eyes downcast, her fingers picked at her fingernails, at the skin around them. Namjoon was furious at himself for the tiny spark of pride that ignited within him at her words. Sure, he was being cheated on but that guy never got to fuck his girlfriend raw.  

He was pathetic. Pathetic, too, the way he thought of you, of what you would do or say. Would you end it all? Refuse to see him again? Would this change things? A sliver of panic slid down his spine at the thought, his fingers grasping air when trying to grab the life rope. 

“You’re definitely pregnant?” 

She took three pregnancy tests from her pocket. All different brands, all positive. 

“I took three more at work earlier,” she said. “False positives are extremely rare, apparently.” 

Namjoon looked at the tests, unseeing. What he was seeing instead was a closing door, a lid on a coffin, a baby growing inside his girlfriend that neither of them had planned, neither of them had expected. Neither of them had wanted.  

Namjoon didn’t come over for a while. You saw him, socially, as you saw your other friends, and he seemed tense. There was something hiding behind his smile that you were sure everyone else could see, too; it couldn’t just be you that noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, didn’t last quite long enough to be genuine. That noticed that he was checked out of conversations. That noticed his jaw tense, just a little, when Hayeon was around, when someone mentioned her name.  

You hadn’t seen him, one-on-one for a couple of weeks when he messaged you. 

[20:31]  Namjoon: can i come over? 

As if you had ever said or would ever say no.  

He had fire in his eyes again, when you opened the door to him, but it wasn’t blazing, raging, out of control. This was a rich, deep smoulder; darker, burnished light glinting at you. He didn’t ask any questions, just took your face in his hands and kissed you, far more softly than you’d expected. More slowly. He shut the door behind him, but he didn’t drag you to the bedroom; he wrapped his arms around your body and held you close to him; he rolled his tongue into your mouth and gave a quiet, contented hum when it met yours.  

It wasn’t always urgent and hurried with Namjoon. It wasn’t always needy and aggressive and high-geared. It often was, but not always. Never, though, had it been like this. Slow. Intense. Your bodies pressed together; fingers twined in fingers, twined in hair; lips brushing lips, brushing skin. It was indulgent. Wanton, with his mouth between your thighs as you whined, as your breath caught in your throat; with his head clamped between your legs as you writhed, squirming as you came, your body contorted with pleasure and your face the perfect picture of ecstasy. And later, with his length stuffed down the wet tunnel of your throat, when he was lost for words and could only moan, could only utter slurred vowels that sounded like your name. When he came for the first time and whispered quiet praise to you. When he came for the second and held you so close you could feel his heart pound. It was the kind of sex people had when they had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be—no one else to go home to. The kind of sex that made you fall in love—as if you hadn’t already. The kind of sex you assumed he had with Hayeon, had assumed before now that he would never have with you.  

When he came for the final time—sitting against the headboard with your backside in his hands, with his hair in yours, with his tongue in your mouth—and you moved to get off him, he held you tight against his chest. Whispered, ‘just give me a minute’. He cradled your head as it rested against his shoulder. He rubbed your back. He sighed heavily, closed his eyes. 

“Hayeon’s pregnant.” 

“Fucking hell!” 

You sat up with a start. You had known there was something. You had never imagined it would be this. Namjoon smiled grimly. 

“Uh, congratulat-... um-” and you didn’t know how to continue, how to ask the question on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t need to because Namjoon had already heard it, seen it coming. 

“She says it’s mine-” 

“You asked?” 

He nodded.  

“So... she knows you know.” 

Nodded again.  

“And...” 

“And she’s pregnant,” he repeated with a shrug that looked effortfully casual. “She’s agreed to a paternity test, though she says I’m the only one who...”  

He cleared his throat, as though this was awkward, as though you weren’t sitting with his cock, soft now and still inside you.  

“She’s on birth control, so we don’t use other protection.”  

You stood, trying to understand how you felt. Trying to understand how Namjoon might feel. He moved, too, disposing of the used condom, cleaning up, pulling his boxers back up his legs.  

“You’ve always wanted to have a kid,” you offered, not knowing if he wanted this kid, at this time, with this girlfriend. 

“Yeah,” he said, but he was still facing away from you, so you couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell what myriad things his one word might be saying.  

“Is that why...” 

But you didn’t finish the question because you didn’t need to ask it. Of course, that was why he hadn’t come to you for weeks. Of course, this would change things. It already had. It was a child—there was no question of keeping it or not, you knew that—and they would be a family.  

Namjoon sat at the edge of your bed and spoke the words you were thinking. 

“What about this?” 

“This?” 

“Us?” 

You laughed. Laughed because tears pricked in your eyes and the only other alternative was crying.  

“Is there an us?” 

And he couldn’t answer because he knew as well as you did that there wasn’t. That, whatever you were, it wasn’t real, wasn’t lasting, wasn’t love. Not for him.  

“Why do you let me come?” he asked, sounding as sad as you had ever heard him, no hint of recrimination, accusation.  

You laughed again, weaker, wetter, tears on your waterline.  

“You know why,” you answered thickly. “You know and everyone else knows, too. You know how I feel about you, Namjoon. Beggars can’t be choosers. They can be pathetic and cruel and selfish and wrong, but they can’t be choosers. I don’t get to choose, Namjoon. To love you or not love, to be with you or not be with you. I'll always say yes.” 

You bit your bottom lip as it wobbled, as the tears made tracks down your cheeks.  

“Doesn’t it hurt?” his voice a mere whisper. 

“Of course it hurts,” you whispered back. “It hurts you too, doesn’t it?” 

Namjoon was a father. 

A baby boy, 7lbs 7oz, born (unlike most babies) on his exact due date, in the final days before Christmas. Namjoon laid his eyes on the bloody, screaming gargoyle that was his son and his fate was sealed. A love the likes of which he had never known burst his heart apart. That was his son and he found he had no interest in a paternity test. Biology wouldn’t take anything away from him, couldn’t change what he knew he felt. The request for a paternity test was in Hayeon’s medical notes and it was done without anyone having to mention it. Two days later, results confirmed that the probability of Namjoon being the father stood at 99.9999%. He threw the letter in the bin. 

He had tried to tell himself throughout the pregnancy that he’d stop. He’d put an end to it for everyone’s sake. To see you was equal parts joy and heartbreak. To have you, knowing you weren’t truly his. To love you, without telling you. He kept so much from you during that time because you were his friend but you were so much more than that now and you didn’t deserve to hear him talk about the baby his girlfriend was carrying. You didn’t deserve to see his excitement, despite everything, his wonder and awe and anxiety. You deserved far more than he could give you.  

So he told himself, after the baby was born, he’d end it. It would be a fresh start, a clean slate. The baby, brand new, didn’t have to know anything of his father’s sins, his flaws, his shame.  

* 

Namjoon ushered you into the apartment with the baby asleep in his arms.  

“Ohh,” you cooed, almost silently. “He’s so cute.” 

“You don’t have to whisper,” Namjoon told you, his voice loud in the silence. “He’s out like a light.” 

You followed him to the sofa and sat next to him, staring down at his son.  

“I didn’t really know they were so small,” you said. “So much smaller than I was expecting.” 

“Right?” Namjoon smiled, couldn’t stop himself. “He’s light, too. It’s almost like there’s nothing there at all.” 

“Yeah, they lose weight after being born, don’t they?” 

Namjoon blinked, exhaustion slowing his brain, so that he took a few seconds to process the question. He didn’t know you knew anything about babies.  

“Yeah, about 10%,” he answered, watching you carefully, trying to gauge what you felt about this child and balance it against what he thought you felt about children as a concept. “He’s 5 days old now so he’s stopped losing weight but it can take a few weeks to gain it back. Want to hold him?” 

You looked surprised then but nodded tentatively. Namjoon still wasn’t used to this manoeuvre; he and Hayeon hadn’t quite nailed the transfer yet but he was getting better. Slipped his son into your waiting arms without too much physical awkwardness. You were quiet as you watched him sleep; Namjoon watched you watch him, felt his heart drop into his guts and those guts start to churn.  

“His name is Hajoon,” he told you. 

You were the first of his friends to be told. He saw the moment of tension in your body, the bob of your throat as you swallowed. You smiled, unable to tear your gaze away from the baby, so he couldn’t see your face properly, couldn’t look you in the eye and see into your soul.  

“Hajoon. Kim Hajoon, nice to meet you,” you whispered.  

Namjoon let his head drop, not sleeping but not quite awake. Minutes passed, he couldn’t have guessed how many. Then he felt your hand on his leg and he opened his eyes. 

“How are you?” you asked with a grin. “You must be pretty wrecked.” 

He nodded. 

“Hayeon is so jacked up on hormones that she’s fine. She’s sleeping right now but she said she honestly doesn’t feel tired most of the time. She feels normal. Whereas I am the most tired I have ever been. I don’t know if I will ever feel normal again.” 

“I expect you won’t. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it?” 

You turned back to his son and Namjoon saw your smile drop, saw it twist into some kind of sad resignation. He didn’t argue that it hadn’t changed.  

“I have news, too,” you announced quietly, Hajoon still snoozing. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, I got a new job.” 

“Oh, that’s great!” 

“In Hong Kong.” 

“What?” 

“I’m moving to Hong Kong.” 

“Why? 

“I got a job.” 

Thinking for Namjoon was like swimming through molasses; he was sure he had somehow misunderstood.  

“You’re moving to Hong Kong?” 

“Yeah.” 

“When?” 

“Just after the new year.” 

“Shit.” 

You laughed and it was generous of you. Words wouldn’t come to Namjoon. He knew he should be saying things like: congratulations! That’s amazing! What a great opportunity! I’m so happy for you! He could only think things like: don’t go. What about me? I’ll miss you. Please don’t leave. 

“Obviously I wanted to meet Hajoon first and, y’know, let you know. I’m going to tell everyone else at drinks tonight.” 

“Right... Yeah...”  

“It’s a really good opportunity for me.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“I think I’ve been coasting at work here; it was time for something new.” 

And Namjoon didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself. He didn’t care. He didn’t care how great an opportunity it was; any opportunity that put a thousand miles between the two of you was not worth it. Not for him. 

He knew he wasn’t allowed to think that. He didn’t get a say. He didn’t get the privilege of being heartbroken by this. Not after everything he had done. Not after deciding that he was going to end things himself anyway.  

But he did think it. And he was heartbroken. He could feel it, cracking in his chest, trying to contort itself around this new knowledge, your approaching absence. He could feel it, fighting with his resolve, losing. His heart, so full, fit to burst, overflowing with love and gratitude because his son had arrived safely in the world; his heart, torn in two, slivers and shreds of it going with you to Hong Kong... Would they ever return? 

He opened his mouth to say something he shouldn’t. He hadn’t planned what but if this was the last time he was going to see you (and it probably would be because you were leaving in a week and he had a newborn baby), he couldn’t let you go with everything unsaid like this.  

Hayeon opened the bedroom door and walked out, rubbing her eyes, looking a little dozy, hair mussed and face pillow-creased. 

“Oh hi,” she said with a smile, seeing you on the sofa.  

“Hi,” you returned, standing. “Congratulations. He’s beautiful.” 

“Thank you, we certainly like to think so.” 

“I was just heading off.” 

“You were?” 

“You were?” 

Namjoon and Hayeon simultaneously; Hayeon politely curious, Namjoon urgent, panicked. 

“Yeah, you know how it is this time of year. Lots to plan for.” 

“Of course. It was nice to see you; thanks for coming.” 

Hayeon approached and took Hajoon from you, turning back towards the kitchen, while Namjoon stood by and wondered how he could stop you leaving. His apartment, Korea, his life. 

“Well,” you began. “I guess I’ll go. Congratulations on the baby, really. I’m really, really happy for you. You’re going to be a wonderful dad.” 

It was testament to his exhaustion that tears stang in Namjoon’s eyes. He wasn’t really a crier. Certainly not in front of other people. But he couldn’t swallow down the lump in his throat—the lump of words stuck there, that he wouldn’t say, couldn’t say; the words he wished he could transmit to you without saying them aloud.  

You stepped closer with your arms out and he enveloped you, crushing, too tight, too hard, too long. The smell of your hair, the lingering scent of perfume on your neck, your fingers lightly gripping the hair at the nape of his neck the way you always did, the slight overbalance of your weight against his as you rose onto your toes.  

Then, too soon, far too quickly, you pulled back; you said goodbye; you walked out of his apartment and his life. 

* 

Namjoon heard Hajoon stir before the crying started because he wasn’t asleep anyway. He should have been but he didn’t want to go to sleep and wake up in a Seoul that didn’t have you. Even though you had already gone. Had left this afternoon after a raucous bottomless brunch that Namjoon saw the photos from but hadn’t been able to attend. If he didn’t sleep, the world wouldn’t settle into its new formation; the city wouldn’t bend and twist to cover the gap you had left. If he didn’t sleep, he would go mad enough to truly believe it hadn’t happened. 

So he heard his son and went to his cot in the nursery, picked him up, checked if he needed changing, held him close to his chest as he looked out of the window at the city, newly empty or so it seemed.  

Hajoon began to cry, a sweet little mewling racing into full-bodied screams. Namjoon prepared a bottle, one-handed, as he had already learnt to do, but Hajoon didn’t want it. He wanted to kick and scream and Namjoon couldn’t blame him.  

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said quietly, his own voice breaking, tears rolling down his cheek. “We can cry it out together.” 

Namjoon sat in the outrageously expensive rocking chair they had bought but not, at that point, yet used, and he and his son cried their hearts out.  

Hajoon settled before Namjoon did, crying himself back to a newborn’s dead sleep while Namjoon’s breath still shook, came in snatches, tears dropping from his cheeks onto Hajoon’s swaddle. He didn’t put him back into the cot; he rocked, slowly, gently, intent on spending the rest of the night there.  

Hayeon crept in just as Namjoon’s eyelids were dropping.  

“Hey, why are you awake?” he asked, voice thick and groggy.  

“I had to pee. Thought I’d check on him. And you.”  

“We’re fine. Go enjoy some sleep.” 

“Ok.” 

She hesitated at the door and Namjoon wondered what she’d heard, what she’d been woken by but he was too tired to follow the thought to its end, to worry what she might know or suspect. He rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, sleep coming swiftly this time. 

* 

The next morning, Namjoon handed Hajoon to Hayeon for his second breakfast, and was stopped in his tracks on the way to the bathroom when she asked him, 

“Did you love her?” 

Like a punch in the gut. ‘Did’ was the wrong question. He had loved her and loved her still. There was nothing past about it; it was all too present, all too painful.  

Could he tell her that? He hadn’t known that Hayeon had known about you, but it didn’t surprise him. It didn’t surprise him that she knew and didn’t confront him about it, that she was willing to let it all be swept under the rug for the sake of their family. Guilt ate at him, suddenly, sharply. Maybe they could both benefit from a little bit of honesty. 

“Yes.” 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

It had been almost two years. Two really good years: you thrived at your job, had made good friends, had established a real, proper life for yourself. And had hardly missed Namjoon at all. That was your story and you were sticking to it.  

His social media were rarely updated—the occasional story of his son, ‘now listening’ songs that you did your best to ignore when you were doing well, that you did your best to decode when you weren’t. It made things easier that he wasn’t there every time you picked up your phone. It made things harder, gave you all sorts of space to imagine his happiness. You knew the big facts: he was happy; his son was beautiful; he and Hayeon were still together. As they would ever be.  

Her instagram was busier. Hajoon. Namjoon. Friends. Family holidays. Hajoon. Namjoon. Namjoon. Hajoon. Namjoon.  

You couldn’t unfollow her; you were supposed to be friends still. So you prodded your bruises, picked at your scabs, looked so closely at photos of him you could have recreated them, pixel for pixel.  

Now he was here in front of you and you had to face the devastating reality that he had the same effect on you as he ever had. You had never seen Namjoon and not loved him.  

“You finally made it back here.” 

That surprised you and you wondered how it was possible that no one had told him. Of course you’d been back to Seoul before now. You just hadn’t seen him, hadn’t wanted him to know while you were here. You hadn’t expected your friends to keep their mouths shut. You were grateful that they had.  

You shrugged.  

“Guess so... Happy birthday.” 

It was pure rotten luck that meant your visit for Chuseok coincided with this. That gave you no excuse at all to not attend. Whilst Namjoon was the birthday boy, it didn’t mean you had to spend any time with him. He was popular and there were more than enough people filling the space; you could avoid him easily. You’d ripped off the plaster, seen him again, said hello and acknowledged him. That was enough.  

You thought. He was somehow always in your line of sight. Somehow waiting for the bathroom at the same moment you needed to go. At the bar buying another drink as you stood there, emptying yours. With every encounter, you grew surer that this had been a mistake. You shouldn’t have come. You should have pretended to be stuck in Hong Kong, pretended your family were visiting you instead, pretended you’d died, who cared? You just needed to get away from him.  

How had the bar become so crowded? Why were there so many people and why were they all in your way? You forgot your manners, left them somewhere on the bar, and pushed, feeling claustrophobic in their presence, in the clinging love and pain that was suffocating you again.  

“Woah, hey!” 

An arm grabbed at you; you struggled, pulled back. 

“Let me go!” 

“Where are you going?” 

Jimin. Interfering. 

“I’m going home. Let me go.” 

“What’s going on? Are you ok?” 

“I’m going home! Don’t try to make me stay.” 

“Good lord, girl, I'm just asking if you’re alright.” 

“No! I’m not! This was a stupid fucking idea! Now let me go!” 

He did. You ran. Ran into him, Namjoon, literally; the force of your body against his sent his drink sloshing over the rim, soaking you and he both. Namjoon laughed. 

“Someone’s keen.” 

Was this funny? Could he really laugh? You thought later of all the witty putdowns you might have thrown his way, something cutting and sharp that would show him just how over him you were, how unbothered, that he had no effect on you whatsoever. In the moment, you just looked at him pleadingly, trapped, unable to look away, to move, to continue your trajectory out of the bar, out of the city, out of the country, back to Hong Kong, where you were safe, where Namjoon was not.  

“Are you ok?” 

No. God no. Was it that obvious?  

Namjoon took you by the arm and steered you to the back, outside where it was dark but still close and muggy. Where there were fewer people. Where you could be alone. You covered your face with your hands, regretting whatever number of drinks it was you’d had that night.  

Namjoon said your name, soft and sweet and concerned, his hand on your arm.  

“How’s Hajoon?” you asked, abruptly, anything to avoid a real conversation.  

Namjoon could not stop the smile that stretched his face wide. You were happy for him, you really were. Happiness was all you’d ever wanted for him so you’d got your wish. If only you had been more specific. 

“He’s so funny,” Namjoon began. “Kid never sits down for a minute. He’s really into tools at the moment—tries to hammer anything long and thin into anything wide and flat. He’s making a mockery of our deposit.”  

“Can’t believe he’s going to be two soon.” 

“It’s scary how quickly the time goes. It feels like yesterday he was brand new.” 

It felt like yesterday to you, too. How raw you felt, how fresh the wounds you’d moved a thousand miles to lick.  

“I’ve missed you,” he said and you physically wilted.  

“Have you?” 

His face fell, softened. He looked at you for a long time, a tiny crease between his eyebrows, a tiny twitch in his jaw.  

“You know I have.” 

“Do I?” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I don’t know, Namjoon.”  

You looked at each other. You wanted him to say something, to fix this, to do something that would mean you could stop loving him, stop missing him. You wanted him to throw his entire life away and kiss you, then and there, onlookers be damned. You expected he wanted no such thing.  

“Hong Kong is treating you well?”  

“Yes, it is.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” 

You didn’t want him to be glad. You wanted him to be cut to ribbons. You wanted him to feel skin-stripped and naked.  

“I was on my way out,” you said, when no more words passed between you, when you were standing in an endless silence. “I really should go.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I have to go.”  

“It was good to see you again. Don’t leave it so long next time, yeah?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

And you stumbled away from him, through and out of the bar, walking as fast as your feet could carry you back to the subway.  

* 

You made it back to your parents’ house, took your make-up off, and brushed your teeth. You made it all the way back to the bed you slept in when you were still a child. Then you cried. Then you curled yourself up in a ball and cursed yourself for this. For being this way. For not letting him go. For somehow still being in love with a man who had never been yours and never would be. For all the things you did two years ago, for how many times you did them, for every opportunity to be the better person you didn’t take.  

It was close to midnight when your phone began to buzz. You stretched yourself across the bed and checked.  

Namjoon. 

You put your phone back down. It continued to buzz. Then it stopped. Then it started again. On and on and on, even when you shoved it under the spare pillow to stop it juddering against the wood.  

It stopped. Two short bursts followed: a message. 

[23:58]  Namjoon: please pick up. I'm outside 

You did not pick up. You exchanged your sleep shorts and vest for a T-shirt and joggers, slipped your feet into slides, and snuck out.  

He was waiting underneath the lamppost three metres away.  

“What are you doing here? Did you get the last train? How are you going to get back?” 

He shrugged. 

“I had to see you.” 

“Why?” 

He almost laughed in his surprise.  

“Why? Because two years ago, you moved a thousand miles away, and you’ve been back here so many times but this is the first time I’ve got to see you. You’ve been avoiding me even from Hong Kong. You were avoiding me all night; every time I tried to talk to y-” 

“We talked.” 

“No, we didn’t. Not really. Not properly.” 

“Well, what do you want to say to me? What’s so important that you came all the way here to tell me?” 

He looked lost, maybe even hurt. You fought the urge to push on his bruises, too. It would only make you feel worse.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.  

“I have missed you.” 

He took a few steps closer to you, within arms’ reach now. He lifted a hand, brushed your cheek with his thumb.  

You took a step back. 

“Namjoon.” 

Plea or warning, you weren’t sure.  

He returned your name, closed the gap between you. Before you could move back again, he held your arms, held you still.  

“I have missed you,” he repeated as if it meant anything. “Of course, I’ve fucking missed you—Jesus, I...”  

He moved closer, cupped your cheek in his hand.  

“You just fucking left,” he whispered. “Just like that. Dropped the bomb and didn’t stick around to observe the wreckage-” 

“Namjoo-” 

“I was a wreck. I think I cried more than Hajoon did! One second you were there, and then you weren’t. You didn’t even warn me. I didn’t know you were looking for jobs in fucking Hong Kong!” 

“So what if I had told you? What would you have done? Would you have stopped me?” 

“Maybe!” 

“Namj-” 

“Maybe I would have stopped you! Or at least I would’ve tried.” 

“For what? To what end? Were you going to leave her? Leave your newborn baby? Drop your own bomb and destroy your whole life? You know you weren’t going to. I knew you weren’t going to.” 

“Bu-” 

“Have you left her, Namjoon? Hayeon? Did you leave her?” 

“No,” he answered and you could taste the reluctance in it, the bitterness, see it in the way he refused to meet your eye. 

“Still together?” 

“Yes.” 

“See? We were never going to make it out alive. For all intents and purposes, we never were. Never were anything at all. We existed and left no mark. Move on.” 

“No mark? No mark? Is that why you’ve all but cut me out of your life? Is that why you had our friends – my friends – lie to me whenever you visited? Because it’s left no mark on you? What we were?” 

“What we were was nothing!” 

You were trying not to shout on this quiet residential street, where houselights were off and traffic noise was no more than the sound of water rushing.  

“You’re not going to leave her, Namjoon. You and I both know it. You’re never going to leave her. That means there is nothing for us. We aren’t an ‘us’. Never were. There’s nothing between us. Understand that.” 

A beat passed. 

“What would you do if I kissed you?”  

His name was on your tongue but before it could make its way out, he did just that. Kissed you as he had done two and a half years ago, without waiting for an answer. And just like that day two years ago, you wished you could have said no, wished you could have done something other than kiss him back, than uncross your arms and wrap them around his neck. Your chest felt as though it would cave in, your heart collapsing in on itself—too heavy, too full, too wounded to sustain itself.  

He tasted a little drunk; you could still smell the beer that you had made him spill on himself earlier that evening; his hair was shorter now, short even, nothing to grab at the nape of his neck like you always used to.  

“See?” he asked, a little breathless, lips still touching yours. “How can you say there is nothing? It’s not nothing. This isn’t nothing.”  

“Namjoon.” 

You hated yourself for the way your voice broke. You pushed him away, extricated yourself from his arms, scrubbed a hand over your face.  

“No,” you said, sounding surer than you felt. “No, god, no, we can’t do this.”  

You shook your arms, paced in a tight circle, tried to blow away all the Namjoon-sized, Namjoon-shaped, Namjoon-scented cobwebs in your heart and mind. 

“Namjoon, in about one minute’s time, you’ll be going back to your girlfriend and your son; in four days’ time, I’ll be going back to Hong Kong. Can’t we just leave it at that? Please.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“There isn’t any other option and you know it. Go home, Namjoon.” 

You turned around and did just that, shutting and locking the door behind you, shutting and locking the door on your heart that housed your love for him, too.  

You didn’t know how you would be able to come back again. This had taken everything you had. 

Namjoon married her. Hayeon. His mother’s taunts had moved from ‘when are you going to make an honest woman of her?’ to ‘when are you going to give Hajoon a little brother or sister?’ so he’d married her just to put it all off, to stop people asking. They’d organised it quickly—there was nothing like a spring wedding in Korea. Cherry blossom everywhere, warmer weather, unlocking as he locked himself down. 

He did it a little to convince himself, too: that they were happy. That he was happy. That they were a perfect family unit, the stuff happily-ever-afters were made of.  

He wasn’t unhappy. He loved his son more than anything in the world and got no greater pleasure than the moments when he would stretch up his tiny arms to be lifted, to wrap them around Namjoon’s neck and cling to him like a koala. The pride he felt when Hajoon learnt something new, when he finally said a word correctly, when Namjoon saw him do something he had no idea he’d learnt already—applying lip balm like his mum, reading a book (albeit upside-down) in his dad’s reading chair.  

Hajoon had started going to nursery. He would begin going full-time next term and everyone kept telling him that it must be great having his time back. Having his freedom back. 

Free? Was that what he was supposed to feel? Free, knowing that his son was in the care of other people, people he didn’t know; free, worrying about whether his son was making friends or being bullied or learning enough; free, sending his baby into the world, watching that world expand around him, watching his baby understand that there was so much more than Mummy, and Daddy, and their little house? Free?  

He’d never felt more trapped.  

He set a timer on instagram on his phone and, every few days, would ignore it a hundred times just so he could look at you. Now you were free. Free to travel (most recently, Malaysia, but also the Philippines, Australia, Fiji, amongst others). Free to love (your boyfriend, Namjoon had suspected from your stories, and then had it confirmed by his friends). Free to be anything but his.  

* 

“Congratulations,” you said, with a smile that looked too big to be insincere. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding. You didn’t really give me much notice, though, so that’s on you.” 

Namjoon tried to return the smile.  

“Yeah, sorry about that. We just kind of decided, wanted to do it quickly, y’know? It was pretty overdue.” 

He watched you carefully, desperately hunting for clues, sure that he used to be able to read you much better than this.  

“Of course. You had perfect weather for it, too. The pictures were beautiful.” 

“Thank you... Your boyfriend seems... nice.” 

He knew that that smile was genuine. He had watched you, with him, in the minutes since you’d arrived at the restaurant and sat down opposite him, and you really did seem happy. He really did seem like a nice guy, which made Namjoon hate him. Made him hate himself a little, too. Because he had locked himself into a loveless marriage. Because he couldn’t have you. Because of everything that he had done to you.  

“Yeah, he is. I’m really happy.” 

“Good.”  

And then Namjoon felt like he needed another drink, though the first courses hadn’t arrived yet.  

* 

He stumbled outside, onto the roof terrace of the obnoxiously lit, trendy bar the group had chosen. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go anywhere but home. He wanted to go back three years ago, more than that now, and make different decisions. So many different decisions. He wondered just when exactly it was that his life had started spinning out of control. It wasn’t you. Wasn’t Hajoon. Wasn’t even Hayeon cheating on him. Did it go all the way back to the accident? The one that he was convinced had tied him forever to Hayeon, had made him family, an exclusive club of one.  

He had loved her. He absolutely had loved her. She was his first love. He knew that they had been happy once. Once. For a long time. He had never confronted Hayeon about her cheating, as she had never confronted him. When she was pregnant, Namjoon assumed that, whatever sort of affair it had been, it was over; she’d never given him any cause to think otherwise, nor any cause to think something new had started in its place. A blip. Maybe that’s what it was.  

It wasn’t over for him, though, was it? It wasn’t a blip for him. It was the sharpness he felt in his chest when he saw you. The low swoop of his stomach when he pictured you, all those miles away, happy without him. It was the way his brain automatically turned on the fantasy of his life with you whenever he stopped, even for a second. What you could be. What you could have. He knew it was a fantasy, but when he saw you, in person, when you were right there in front of him, radiant and fresh and just as beautiful as you had always been, he knew it could be real, too.  

“I’m the search party,” you said in way of greeting, sitting on the stool opposite him. “Jin went to search the toilets, too.” 

“Found me.” 

“Are you ok? Just wanted some air?” 

Namjoon laughed. Air was the least of his concerns.  

“Are you happy?” he asked, demanded.  

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He saw you put your guard up, saw the way it fell across your face just as it was starting to look sad, concerned. Saw it turn that face neutral, suspicious. 

“Yes, Namjoon, I’m sure. Are you happy?” 

He tipped his head back and sighed at the sky. 

“No.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

He scoffed.  

“Fuck that.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re sorry to hear that? What are we, coworkers? Surely you have more to say than that.” 

He wanted you to be happy that he was miserable. He wanted you to understand. He wanted you to take him in your arms and make him not miserable.  

You bristled beside him, sat a little straighter. 

“What do you want me to say, then?” 

He felt desperate when he looked at you, dead in the eye, your eyes doing their best to keep him out.  

“You want me to tell you to leave her,” you continued. “You want me to say, do it, Namjoon. Leave your wife and be with me. Come and be happy with me... I’m not going to do that. You know I’m not going to do that.” 

“Why not?” 

You laughed. It hurt. 

“There are a hundred and one reasons, Namjoon. First and foremost: you don’t actually want to be with me-”  

You held your hand up, pre-empting his interruption, holding it there until he shut his mouth, until he gave you the slightest nod to say fine, ok, he’d be told off. He’d take his lashings. 

“You never wanted to be with me, Namjoon. Be honest. That first time, when you found out Hayeon had cheated on you and you came to my house? I could have been anyone. It wasn’t about me at all. It’s still not about me. Do you know what that does to a person? 

“I’m not blameless: I let you. Sat myself at your feet and ate the food you dropped. I knew it wasn’t about me and I let you have it anyway but do you not understand what that did to me? How hard it has been to build myself back up? How difficult it was to love you when you were my friend and how much more difficult once you were more than that? How much it hurt me every single day? Reduced me to nothing. No self-respect, no self-esteem, just a gaping wound where my heart should have been because, every time you came, I ripped it out and handed it to you.  

“Why do you think I left? You must know. You knew how I felt about you and you knew you didn’t love me and then I come back here and you try to open it all up again. You knew why I had been avoiding you, so why did you follow me? Why? Why do you sit there, indulging in your misery, and try to drag me down too?  

“I’m not doing it, Namjoon. I've spent too much fucking time getting over you. It’s not fair for you to do this to me.” 

He sat. He took it. With his head down, empty glass in hand, he acknowledged the truth of almost everything you said, felt his shame outgrow his pride, felt tears (that were always too close to the surface these days) burn in his eyes.  

“I love you,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. “I love you.” 

“No, you don’-” 

“I do. You’re right, I’ll admit it: to start with, it wasn’t about you. You couldn’t have been anyone but it wasn’t about you. Until it was. It wasn’t about Hayeon; it wasn’t about anything but you and it’s been you ever since. I loved you then and I love you now.” 

You covered your face with your hands, fingers pressing into your eyes. You shook your head. 

“You can’t say that to me, Namjoon.” 

“Why not?” 

“Becaus-”  

You stopped, tears spilling down your cheeks, lips pressed tight to stop the wobble.  

“Because I’m over you, ok? I have a boyfriend.” 

“And I had a girlfriend. I have a wife.” 

“Exactly! GOD-” 

You stood, started pacing in front of him, hands shaking at your sides. 

“You have a wife, Namjoon! And a son! What are you doing? You can’t say this shit to me, ok? You can’t. I won’t let you; I don’t have to listen to this.” 

His hand had wrapped around your arm before you’d taken your first step. He turned you to face him, held you too tight, held you still. There had to be something he could say that would at least make you stay to talk a bit longer. There had to be some way he could get through to you. That he could convince you he loved you, if nothing else. You turned your head away, closed your eyes, face tight as if anticipating impact. Your hands still shook. 

Namjoon saw your fear and instantly his hands fell back to his side. You tentatively opened one eye, swivelled it to look at him, not asking permission but checking if it was safe. You took a big step back from him. 

“Uh, guys?” 

Both of your heads whipped around: Tian was standing in the doorway, looking a little surprised, like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have.  

He had. 

“Um, the group is ready to head to another place; I was sent to round you up. Everything ok?” 

You nodded, turned quickly to swipe the tears from your eyes, and then smiled at your boyfriend, walking with a skip back to him. 

“Of course!” you answered, suddenly perky. “Where to next?” 

Namjoon sent a text to Hayeon. He was going to go home early and relieve the babysitter. He had a headache. 

You had been determined to pretend it had never happened. You took your boyfriend’s arm and smiled at him, rejoined the group, and walked to the next bar, aware of Namjoon’s sudden absence. You didn’t want the entire night ruined because of him. 

Your efforts were in vain. You excused yourself to the toilet once your order had been placed and tried some deep breaths. Tried some grounding techniques. Tried to will your heart to slow, your tears to stop pricking behind your squeezed-shut eyelids.  

It should not have been like this. You had been sure. Confident. Smug, even. Tian was a great boyfriend and you liked him a lot. Loved him, even. You had looked at Namjoon’s wedding photos with a pit in your stomach but then you had gone to dinner with Tian and had a lovely time and reminded yourself that there were people in the world (at least, there was one person) who wanted you around, who was prepared to say it, to live it, to love you out loud in front of everyone. You deserved that, you reminded yourself. You were happy.  

But your heart still raced and your stomach still churned and your heart still called for Namjoon: wanted to check if he was ok, wanted to run to him, wanted to tell him to leave his wife. That was the worst part: you wanted to do all the things you’d said you wouldn’t, all the things he wanted. Instead, you had to go back out to your boyfriend and your friends and pretend you were fine. That you were where you wanted to be. 

* 

Because Tian was a good boyfriend (he was and it hurt you all the more now that you knew you weren’t over Namjoon. Might never be), he picked up on your mood, asked if you would mind going home a little early, because he felt tired.  

“It was Namjoon, right?” he asked, as he shut your hotel room door and slipped off his shoes. 

“What?” 

You sat down heavily, not ready for the rigmarole of getting ready for bed. 

“You said you left Seoul because of a bad relationship.” 

You had said that. Had told Tian that you needed to take things slowly because you weren’t confident you’d glued yourself back together securely enough. So he had taken things slow, really slow, with you, because he was kind and patient and deserving of a far better love than you could give him.  

Your body sagged. You nodded.  

“Are you ok?” 

You held your arms open to him and he pulled you up into a hug. He stroked your hair and rubbed your back. 

“Yeah.” 

Pressed so close to him, you could feel the tension build in his body. 

“I was talking to Hayeon; she said they’ve been together since university.” 

“Yeah.” 

You felt him nod and he said nothing more for a few minutes; he just held you close and you finally found your heart begin to slow, your panic subside. 

“I’m going to wash up,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.  

You undressed, put pyjamas on, and swore to yourself that this was an end to it. No more. No more Namjoon. It was done. There was a man in the bathroom who accepted you, loved you, didn’t cheat on you (hadn’t cheated on anyone), and you loved him. Namjoon was in the past; Namjoon didn’t even live in the same country as you; this didn’t have to be hard (though making these declarations in his absence felt easy, easier than holding to them in his presence). 

It wasn’t long before you were back in Seoul again. Namjoon found excuses not to see you. He knew the things you said were right. He didn’t want to know it. Didn’t want to face it.  

Had not wanted to face anything difficult in his life for a long time, he realised.  

Then, one day, he checked your instagram and there it was: an engagement post. A diamond ring on your finger. Two smiling faces.  

* 

He carried the heartbreak around as rage, impatience, irritability. Scolded his son for making a mess (as if that weren’t what kids were for), snapped at Hayeon so many times, she snapped back. It wasn’t their fault. It was his. All of it, his. 

* 

“I’ve been thinking,” Hayeon began, sliding into bed next to him. “Hajoon is almost four now-” 

And Namjoon thought it was going to be about school or extra-curriculars or maybe she was just being very efficient about planning for his birthday. The moment she said the words ‘little brother or sister’, he stopped hearing anything at all. A light-headedness rushed through him, roaring in his ears.  

“I want a divorce,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

* 

And that was how it was. Long talks. Lots of tears. A better understanding of one another than they had had for years. An easing. A settling. No longer the feeling of walking on eggshells. No longer the weariness, the misery, the emptiness of their relationship echoing in their bed.  

They were polite and civil and organised. Agreed the splitting of the assets. Agreed 50-50 shared custody of Hajoon, who didn’t understand and found the transition, when Namjoon first moved out, difficult but adjusted quickly (as children are wont to do) and continued to thrive. There were still legal things to be finalised, a long process made longer by paperwork, but the practical things were achieved quickly and their separate lives began. 

Namjoon, sitting in his new apartment, much smaller than the old one, much neater, quieter, cried. He cried a lot. Some of it was sheer relief. Some of it was terror of something he had never known. Some of it was regret that it had taken him this long. Some of it was heartbreak. Some of it was because he didn’t know what else to do now. Didn’t know if he could fix it. Didn’t know if there was anything left to fix.  

Because it wasn’t about you. Not really. Or not entirely. It was about Namjoon doing what he should have done years ago. It was swallowing a bitter pill to cure his ills. Not just his, but Hayeon’s too, and Hajoon though he was too young to have them yet – preventing his future ills, making it so he didn’t grow up with a fucked-up view of what a relationship was, what it was supposed to be.  

It was better for everyone. It was. After the initial surprise, everyone else agreed, too. His friends finally confessed that they’d wanted to ask him for years, was he happy? Did he want this? When he had got a little too drunk and said things they didn’t know how to take and they had just let them drop, should they have picked him up on them? Had they done badly by Namjoon for not pushing the issue? He wanted to be angry with them. To say, ‘why didn’t you tell me?! Why didn’t you make me leave?!’. But it wasn’t their fault and, if they had said those things, he’d have hurt them, too. So he reassured them; it wasn’t their fault and they couldn’t have fixed anything. It was Namjoon’s problem and he had to be the one to realise it, to do it. That it had taken him so long was his own fault and no one else could have made it happen any quicker. 

“I left Hayeon, did you hear?” 

And you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this. Didn’t know quite how it always ended up you and Namjoon alone. You and Namjoon having this conversation. Namjoon digging up the past, expecting to find life in it, expecting to find what he had convinced himself it was, not what it had actually been.  

“Yeah, I heard.” 

You moved away from him, out of the room, without a backward glance. 

You had heard: a message coming in whilst you flicked through a bridal magazine. You were getting married and you shouldn’t have cared. It should not have opened a crevasse inside your heart. It should not have seen a tiny butterfly of hope flit from that deep wound. It should not, in turn, have made your blood boil. You should not have put the magazine down, hands shaking with rage. You should not have cared. 

You did.  

It made you furious: that he’d finally left her when it was too late; that your reaction to the news was hope. That, after all this time, since the moment you fucking met him, he had this hold on you, this choking grip that would not let go. You’d moved a thousand miles but it stretched across the ocean, eternal, endless. You decided to make your fury endless, too. 

* 

“How are things with you? How’s the wedding planning?” 

“Leave me alone, Namjoon.” 

* 

Your name. You ignored it. 

Your name again. You left the room. 

* 

“Are you just never going to speak to me again, is that it?” 

“No, Namjoon, that’s not it.” 

“Then what?” 

You turned to face him, exasperated, terrified. 

“Then what do you want me to say? I know you and Hayeon are getting divorced. Of course, I know that and you know that I know it, so why ask?” 

His face twitched, in surprise, confusion, irritation. 

“Well, don’t you want to say anything?” 

“No, I don’t. Enjoy your divorce. Goodbye.” 

* 

Then, weeks later, a letter arrived for you. It languished in your postbox for almost a fortnight, because you received post so infrequently that you almost never checked it. Somewhere underneath piles of leaflets and advertising was a handwritten letter addressed to you. You didn’t recognise the handwriting but it didn’t matter because you knew who it would be from. Knew it in your guts.  

You were grateful that Tian was out, that you had time to sit and read it properly.  

You may want to burn this, it began, but please at least read it first. I have a lot to say and I know you won’t let me say it to your face—I may not be brave enough to say it to your face after all this time—so I have written it down. I wrote it once and scrapped it, wrote it a second time and tried to make myself sound resolved and wise and like I knew, at any point, that I knew what I was doing, but I can’t hide from you and you already know all my worst traits, every bad thing I've ever done, so I’m just going to state things plainly and show myself as I am.  

I love you. I’m not sorry for it. I’m sorry for all sorts of things but I won’t apologise for loving you, not now, not ever.  

You were right, when I came to you that first time, it wasn’t about you. It was about Hayeon and my own ego and a destructive need to fuck things up (I’m good at this, as you already know). It was not about you but I need you to believe that it couldn’t have been just anybody. I came to you because I was wounded and hurt and angry and I knew you would ease that pain. I liked you and trusted you; you were my friend.  

I hadn’t known what I was going to do. I didn't have a plan. I don’t think you will believe that, but it’s true. Everything I had, everything I was, as a person, a human, a half of that whole, was tied up with Hayeon; we had been together for so long, even before we were together-together, and I felt as though she had spat in the face of that. She had. She had denigrated and undermined the foundation of our lives—hers, mine, ours. I was angry and I wanted to do something I couldn’t take back. I wanted something that was mine and mine alone. I wanted something that had nothing to do with her (though, of course, unavoidably, it was to do with her, that reaction in me, that impulse). I felt I would never forget the images of her with another man and I wanted something that I could think about, when that image came to me, something that would replace it, would remind me that I had something of my own, too. I had something special with someone special. You.  

So you see it could never have been anyone. I am glad that it was you. Looking back on it, it feels inevitable, that I came to you and that you let me in. I am grateful to you. Despite everything that I have done and you have done, everything we’ve said, I am grateful. Even if you rip up this letter, if you burn it, tear it to shreds and soak it in water, I am grateful to you.  

I have done everything wrong. I see that now. I have done wrong by everyone: me, Hayeon, you, even Hajoon, though he is still so young and understands so little, I hope it doesn’t affect his future. I am sorry for that. Please believe me: I am sorry.  

In my first draft of this letter, here I wrote all the things I wish I had done or said. There were a lot of them. I won’t do that in this one, though, because it doesn’t matter now, does it? I can’t take any of it back. I can’t make better choices in the past. I can only make better choices for the future.  

So I separated from Hayeon, a thing I should have done many, many years ago. We are both much happier now. She has a boyfriend, I don’t know if you know. He is a good man and he is kind to Hajoon and I thought I would be jealous, would be inclined to find fault where there was none, but I haven’t. Hayeon and I get on better now than ever. Co-parenting is sometimes hard and often complicated, but we are better parents because of it. We are able to be better people because of it. And Hajoon gets to see his parents happier than they were; Hayeon and Minho can show him what a happy relationship is like.  

I know you are happy. I am as happy for you as I can be, though I am also sad and lonely and I miss you more than I have any right to. I know and I accept that I have done so many things wrong and I have hurt you, not just once but repeatedly, and I am sorry for that. Truly, deeply, eternally sorry. I love you. I will always be here for you if you ever need anything, even from a thousand miles away.  

Now this letter is in your hands, to be dealt with however you wish. So am I. 

Yours always,  

Namjoon. 

It took you a long time to read. Because you hesitated over reading it, unsure if you really wanted to know what he had to say. Because your eyes were blurry with tears. Because there were never enough nails in this coffin. Namjoon, wherever he was, whatever he did, you loved him. Had never stopped, not for a second since you started. Since you met. Since your heart fell at his feet. You’d done everything you could to fight it, to hide from it, to kill it. It would not be suppressed. 

* 

Namjoon never received a reply from you. What would you have said? What could you have said? There was nothing in the letter you hadn’t really already known. He knew everything you could say, too. So you hid the letter in a diary and tried to forget its existence. 

Minho had proposed to Hayeon. She had said yes. They were planning a wedding—a proper one this time, a big event with everyone they knew in attendance, not the tiny, family-only, rushed job that she’d had with Namjoon. Namjoon tried, in his worse moments, not to be happy for them, but there was no denying that they were a beautiful couple and Minho was great with Hajoon (as were his parents, who didn’t seem to care that their son was marrying a divorcée with a kid). In the absence of a father, Hayeon had asked Namjoon if he would walk her down the aisle; he had been unexpectedly touched and was genuinely looking forward to it. He loved her, in a sweeter and deeper way than he had before, and he was so glad that, whatever he might have done wrong, she had this happiness now.  

You had been invited. You had RSVP’d yes. That had surprised Namjoon because, according to everyone else, you had fallen off the grid. Responding to messages vaguely and intermittently, socials all dead. Despite the fact that you were supposed to be planning your own wedding. He tried not to worry. Tried and failed. Tried and failed, too, not to be anxious about seeing you again.  

Would you be happy? Would you want to speak to him? Would you still be angry? Would you ignore him and walk away as you had done before? How had his letter been received? He still didn’t know. As far as you were concerned, it seemed, Namjoon did not exist, but you wouldn’t be able to avoid him at the wedding.  

* 

 “Look at you,” Namjoon cooed, beaming at Hayeon, in her dress and veil, clutching her flowers tightly.  

“Do I look alright?” 

“You look beautiful.”  

“I’m really nervous, is that weird?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I don’t remember being nervous when we did this.” 

Namjoon laughed. 

“We didn’t exactly do this. A quick trip to the district office isn’t really a wedding.” 

Hayeon smiled but didn’t laugh. 

“It felt like a wedding at the time, though. I liked it.” 

Namjoon nodded, knowing that he couldn’t lie and that she would see through it if he did. 

“I’m really happy for you,” he said instead. “Minho is a good guy and I’m glad you found him.” 

Her eyes sparkled with tears she tried to blink back, tipping her head as if to tip them back inside. 

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice watery, too. “We’ve been through a lot and I’m so grateful to you for everything, especially Hajoon, and divorcing me, and being friendly to Minho. You know I could never have said yes to him if I didn’t know you would be supportive. You’re still my family and I love you.” 

They hugged, careful not to smudge make-up, not to step on her dress. 

“I love you, too,” Namjoon said, a lump forming in his own throat, grateful that something good had come from all his mistakes, that they hadn’t ruined her the way they had him. “Ok, shall we do this?” 

* 

He looked for you as he walked down the aisle. Waved back at Hajoon waving from the front row, but scanned the crowd for you. Couldn’t pick you out on the short walk to the altar. Tried not to be obviously distracted as he stood at the front, next to Hayeon, handed her off to Minho, who looked as handsome and happy as he ever had.  

He spotted you, towards the back, eyes determinedly forward while everyone else let their gazes roam: Hayeon, Minho, the flowers, the other guests, the gardens outside. His heart squeezed. It was a wedding, for fuck’s sake. If he didn’t take this opportunity, on this of all days, he would be a bigger idiot than he thought. 

* 

You weren’t easy to catch, though. He knew you were doing it deliberately. Maybe that should have stopped him. It didn’t. 

It was long into the night, booze flowing, disco dancing, when he finally caught you, waiting for the bathroom.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting through the niceties, which would only have given you a greater opportunity to tell him to go fuck himself. 

“No. I have to pee.” 

“Ok, you can use the bathroom in my room.” 

You scoffed. 

“Nice line.” 

“It’s not a line. I want to talk to you.” 

“No.” 

And you stalked off, apparently no longer in need of a bathroom. 

* 

He caught you again, outside this time, leaning against the wall, looking up at the sky.  

“Wondering when is an acceptable time to leave?” he asked, not sure if he was joking or being kind of a dick. 

“Oh, I’m long past that, no worries. Not that anyone would have missed me even if I’d left early.” 

“I’d miss you.” 

“Don’t start.” 

Namjoon moved closer, touched your arm with just his fingertips. Spoke softly, tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. 

“Please can we talk?” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Then you said yes. Well- 

“Ok, you talk,” is what you said. “What is it you have to say to me, Namjoon? Got some magic words that’ll fix my life? Because that’s pretty much all I want to hear. If you’ve got some other shit to say, I’m not sure I’m interested.”  

“How’s Tian?”  

He thought he was treading lightly on safe territory but you whipped your head around to face him with rage in your eyes. 

“Are you fucking joking?”  

Your voice was strained with anger.  

“What?” 

“Fuck off, Namjoon!” you shouted. “Just fuck off!! Forever!!! Ok? Fucking leave me alone!!” 

But he wouldn’t. Should have. Might have on a different day, if he were completely sober, if he were a different person. 

“No.” 

And you looked angrier still.  

“You can shout at me if you want,” he continued. “And kick and scream and whatever, but you can’t just avoid me and ignore me for the rest of time. Even if you live in Hong Kong, you have family and friends here and we’re going to fucking work this shit out. Ok?” 

He couldn’t read the look on your face, then, but you weren’t arguing or walking away, so he took you by the hand and waited for you to pull it back. When you didn’t, he wasted no more time and led you back inside, up the stairs to his hotel room, where you could kick and scream to your heart’s delight and it wouldn’t ruin the party.  

When he shut the door and turned to you, your face had settled into something mean. 

“You know I don’t live in Hong Kong anymore, right?” 

No, he did not know.  

“Uh, no.” 

“You know whose fault that is?” 

He felt like it was probably his, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“No.” 

“Of course you don’t! Because it couldn’t possibly be your fault, could it? Couldn't possibly have anything to do with you! Because nothing is your fault! You’re just a fucking bleeding heart, aren’t you, Namjoon?” 

He didn’t really know, now, what he had been expecting. Could see that maybe his hopes had clouded his judgement. He had told you you could kick and scream but he hadn’t realised that you really were going to. You weren’t usually this angry and he had no idea what you meant: not living in Hong Kong? Then where? Seoul? And he didn’t know, hadn’t known; no one had told him? 

“That’s not what I think at all,” he answered, voice calm, trying not to respond in kind, not to let the strength of his own feelings escalate this. “Lots of it is my fault but I didn’t even know you had moved back here—when? When did that happen?” 

“As if you fucking care!” 

“Of course I care! I love yo-” 

“DON’T!” 

With a finger raised against him, shaking lightly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare with that shit, ok? Stop fucking lying to m-” 

“It’s not a lie! Why would I lie?” 

“Because you can’t love me! Don’t you get it? We were nothing! Nothing! A fucking distraction for you and nothing m-” 

“Now you don’t.”  

Namjoon could feel his blood heat, feel the anger rising in him. He didn’t want to be angry with you; he didn’t want to have this argument but how could you still be saying this? Still be saying that what you had with him was nothing? It wasn’t nothing to him and he knew it wasn’t nothing to you.  

“Who’s the one lying now?” he asked. “You know it’s not nothing. If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be here spitting fucking feathers at me! Tell me: why are you back?” 

“Why do you think?! Because I fucked it, Namjoon! Because of you! Because it’s always fucking you! Jesus Christ, I moved a thousand miles away and it’s still you! Still you that I let fuck up my entire life over and over again like some insane moron! And you stand there, have the fucking gall to ask me why? How? What happened? You happened, Namjoon! You fucking existed and we met and then it was all fucked!”  

“Sorry.” 

You wiped your eyes, forgetting about your make-up, smudging it, smearing it—remembering too late to be delicate, swiping a finger carefully beneath your lashes.  

“I really fucking hate you sometimes.” 

“Yeah, I hate myself sometimes, too.”  

“I don’t want that.” 

“I don’t know what you want.” 

You didn’t answer that. Namjoon didn’t expect you to, not really.  

“Can I talk?” he asked.  

You shrugged, staring into the floor as if it might serve answers. 

“Ok, well, I’m sorry you’re back, I guess.” 

You scoffed, no heat in it. 

“Ok, maybe I’m not that sorry, I don’t know. I’m sorry you’re miserable; I'm sorry you hate me. I’m sorry that Hong Kong didn’t work out. Did... Is Tian with you here?” 

“What do you fucking think?” 

“Ok, well, sorry for that, too, I guess. Or not sorry, not really, because we’re both here now, aren’t we?” 

“Don’t, Namjoon-” 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t suggest we get ‘back together’. We’ve never been together. There isn’t anything for us to go back to.” 

“I don’t know why you keep saying this! Why are you trying to deny what we had?” 

“NAMJOON!”  

Angry again, arms raised, a resurgence of energy.  

“For fuck’s sake, STOP!” you continued. “We had a-, god, I don’t know, an affair? We didn’t have a relationship. Did we date, Namjoon? Did we tell our friends? Do they even know now?!” 

It hadn’t really occurred to Namjoon to ask. At the beginning, he had assumed they did not know because that is what he wanted to believe. Now, he assumed they knew—surely they did? Could they not have known? They were always a little skittish when it came to you; were they the same when they talked to you about him? They had to know. How could this thing, which had dominated more than five years of his life, have passed them by unnoticed?  

“So we weren’t anything,” you continued. “It was all a mistake. A mistake that I’ve somehow let ruin everything. I think I'm worse off than I was when I left for Hong Kong in the first place.” 

You looked up at him. 

“Do you ever wish you never met me?” 

“No, never.” 

“Oh.” 

Namjoon chose to assume that those words were just anger, not a reflection of what you really felt.  

“I’m not sorry we met. I can’t be. Even if I’m sorry that you’re miserable, that I’ve caused you pain, that I’ve fucked so many things up for you. I'm sorry for those things but I’m not sorry we met, I’m not sorry I love you.” 

“Stop it, Namjoon. You don’t love me and I’m going to tell you why.” 

You steered him into a chair, sat him down, sighed heavily. You sagged, all your energy wiped in an instant. You looked tired. Looked older than the bright, young thing you had been when all this started—which of course you were. You both were. Older but not necessarily wiser, Namjoon thought. 

“Before any of this started, I was in love with you. We all know that, right? I loved you and couldn’t have you and that was fine. Not fine but it’s how it was. Then you caught Hayeon cheating and you needed to do something destructive, isn’t that what you said? Something you couldn’t take back. Me. And then it kept happening because, despite appearances, you and Hayeon weren’t meant to be but you were too much of a fucking coward to ever leave her and then she got pregnant and there was no way you would leave your kid. So you trapped yourself in a relationship you hadn’t wanted for a long time and I became your escape. 

“You can say it was about me or it became about me or whatever else you want to but that’s not true. It was about me being not-Hayeon. It was about you having something that she didn’t know about and couldn’t touch. Having something that was just yours. Something that made you feel like less of a trapped fucking loser.  

“Then I, for once, did the right thing and I left and you had all the time in the world to idealise and fantasise about what we had and what we could have had if only everything were different. And it took you so long to leave Hayeon that now, when you could have been dating and looking for someone who would make you happy, all you have to cling to is me. Memories and fantasies of me. Because you’re still a fucking coward, Namjoon. You don’t want to meet someone else because it’s horrible and scary. You want me to say yes so you can welcome me into this fantasy life you’ve created for us. Except that it doesn’t exist. I’m not a fantasy! None of this is! It’s not real! You don’t love me; you love the idea of me that you’ve concocted! You love the dream life that you have spent years perfecting! 

“But that’s not real! That’s why I keep telling you we’re nothing! Because we are! Dreams are nothing, fantasy is nothing, we are nothing!” 

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” 

“NAMJOON! FUCK!” 

“Answer the question.” 

You might have been right, at least partly, but you were also partly wrong. You appeared to have forgotten that, before anything sexual happened between the two of you, you were friends. Good friends. You enjoyed each other’s company, made each other laugh, lent a shoulder or a helping hand when needed. Maybe Namjoon had spent a little too much time thinking about you but he would never, ever accept that you were nothing.  

Death by a thousand cuts. You felt shredded. Slashed to ribbons. Somehow still so raw after all this time: wounds where there should have been scar tissue, rough and ugly but stronger than it was. It beggared belief that you could still feel like this. That you managed to fall in love with another man, that you agreed to marry him, and then still let it all be ruined by the thought, the possibility, the memory of Namjoon.  

It hurt that he kept insisting you were something more than a fling. Because if it were true, why didn’t he leave her? Why did he stay? For all that time? Why did he let you go? If he cared so much now, why not then? Why was it not worth the leap, the fear, the risk? Why were you not worth it?  

Now it was easy. He was single and he knew you. Too well. Knew that, even after all this time, there was space in your heart for him. You hated it. You loved him. You knew if he kissed you, there would be no pushing him away. You had put a thousand miles and five years between you and it hadn’t worked.  

You took a deep breath, attempted to steel yourself for the thousandth time, feeling wrung out, brittle and fragile. 

“You don’t get to ask me that, Namjoon. You don’t get to kiss me. Not anymore.” 

He ducked his head—you weren’t sure if it was a nod—and then he looked at you, thoughtful, for a moment. 

“Ok. I understand.” 

He stood and when he took your hands in his, you didn’t have the heart to snatch them back. His hands were warm—always were—and having let him hold them, you had to fight the urge to squeeze. 

“I love you and you don’t believe that. I get it. If you’re back now, back in Seoul for good, I would like the opportunity to prove to you that I do love you and that there is something worth having here. Can I do that?”  

* 

You stood in your hotel room, trying to breathe deeply, trying not to lose it. Because what had you come back for, if not this? Namjoon at your feet. If you were being honest with yourself, wasn’t that why? Why you called off your wedding, left your fiancé, left the country, and came running back? Because Namjoon was single now and telling you he loved you and wasn’t that what you had always wanted to hear?  

When he was in front of you, right there in your presence, you couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand him being there, not being yours, not being so close to you you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand that you couldn’t stand it. Felt every fibre of your being tight and twisted with the effort of refusal.  

When he wasn’t in front of you, his absence clung like cobwebs. Sticky, piling up immediately after you’ve brushed them away. When it was just you and your broken heart and your confusion and your hurt, you wanted him. As much as you ever had. But you couldn’t let him.  

You took off your make-up and stood under the shower, letting the water wash over you, trying to let it relax you, but your brain wouldn’t stop. Your brain wouldn’t stop asking questions and your heart wouldn’t stop telling you to just let him. To go back to him.  

You wondered if coming back was a mistake. If you should have just married Tian and stayed in Hong Kong. If you should have broken up with Tian anyway but stayed in Hong Kong. Because if you had stayed, you wouldn’t be here. If you hadn’t come back- 

Who were you kidding? If you hadn’t come back, you would still have been wrestling with this. It wasn’t over. Hadn’t been over. You ran away to avoid a messy ending but it also meant you avoided a conclusion. Closure.  

What if you didn’t want closure?  

As you stepped into your pyjamas and drew back the bed covers, you asked yourself: if you have come back for Namjoon, why are you pushing him away? If It's not over, why can’t you let it be something? 

You were asking yourself why he wasn’t willing to take a risk, to have taken it so long ago, but there you were, not taking the risk for him. Was he worth it or was he not? If he was worth leaving your fiancé for, was he not worth the risk now? Worth breaking down the walls you’d carefully constructed around his place in your heart? 

And maybe you were tired. Maybe it was watching his ex-wife marry the man she loved—a thing you hadn’t been able to do. Maybe it was foolishness or maybe it was you finally doing the right thing.  

You slipped your feet into slippers and padded back to Namjoon’s room. You knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Were sure he wasn’t going to answer, were turning away from the door, when it opened.  

He looked like he had been sleeping, eyes small and squinting in the light, door only half-opened, half-hiding his almost nakedness. He looked surprised and then confused.  

You didn’t let yourself stop to speak, to explain yourself. You pushed gently against the door so he would stand back, so you could reach out and take his face in your hands, so you could lean up onto your tiptoes and kiss him.  

He didn’t resist, didn’t pull back, didn’t stop to ask the questions you were sure he wanted to. He wrapped his arms around you, pulled you closer, let the door close as he walked you both carefully into the room.  

It reminded you of the beginning of the end. When he had come to you and said nothing but kissed you deeply and slowly and fucked you like there was no one else, could never be anyone else. Fucked you like he had never fucked you before and then told you that Hayeon was pregnant.  

This felt like that. Slow and full and heavy with the weight of things unspoken, years of unexpressed pain, joy, love, pleasure. It felt like a dream, like a memory hazy with age, like a veil drawn between you and reality, because that was all it had been for so long: remembered, dreamt, imagined. Now real, now warm, flushed in your hands, soft beneath them. Now everything you had wanted and tried not to want, yours for the taking.  

* 

When it was over, when you lay in his arms, when you felt his breath shift, about to speak, you tensed. 

“Don’t,” you asked quietly. “Please don’t say anything.” 

A pause. 

“Ok.” 

He kissed your head and you felt it anyway: everything he wanted to say. I love you and what does this mean and are you ok and what happens now. You didn’t have any answers for him, didn’t want the questions asked. You just wanted to stay there, warm and sticky and sleepy and with him. Safe, in the dawn hours, from the world, from the daylight, from the morning after.  

* 

You woke to the sound of knocking at the door. For a second, disorientated, then immediately overfull. Namjoon slipped out of bed and tied a hotel robe around himself.  

“Daddy!” 

“Joonie!” 

His son. 

A gasp you tried to hide beneath the covers. Heat in your face: fury, embarrassment, shame. You’d never wanted kids; had always taken the relevant precautions to avoid it. Until last night. Over-tired, over-wrought, whatever the excuse, you cringed silently to yourself, trying to feel disbelief that you would be so careless. Trying because, well, it was Namjoon and when did you ever do the right thing, the sensible thing when it came to him?  

Not ever. 

You listened to their conversation, grateful that Namjoon was keeping him at the door, with a growing sense of panic. There was still time, but the sooner the better, which meant you had to get out, get home, get to a women’s clinic. Your head was swimming, heart hammering. The second you heard the door close, you jumped out of bed, gathering your clothes, hastily putting them on, tripping over your pyjama trousers, crashing into Namjoon. 

“Whoa- hey, what’s going on?” 

“I have to go. I have to go.” 

And you left with no more explanation, running to your own hotel room, throwing everything haphazardly into a bag, throwing your key card at the reception desk on your way out.  

* 

You considered, for a second, if pregnancy might not have been the easier option. You lay on your floor, breathing carefully, eyes closed, trying desperately not to hurl. It had been more than a couple of hours since you’d taken the requisite pill, so you could be sick reasonably safely, but you weren’t sure you’d make it to the bathroom in time. The cramps were unlike any you’d experienced before. Breathing was about all you could manage.  

You had told Namjoon, as you sat anxiously on the subway, that you would explain later. You had left him on read when he asked if he could come over. You didn’t have the headspace to think about the conversation that would ensue if he did. Could only think about the possibility of pregnancy; swore you could feel it already happening inside you; could not stop the horrifying fantasy of what it would mean if you were pregnant, if you had to carry a baby, raise a child.  

There were worse people to do it with than Namjoon, but you didn’t want to do it with anyone. Ever. So now you were useless on the floor, sicker than a dog, listening to the insistent buzz of your phone on the coffee table. You knew it would be him, weren’t deliberately ignoring him, just couldn’t move enough to pick up.  

* 

Still prone, still cramping, slightly less nauseous than you were, you stretched to grab your phone that had buzzed itself to the edge of the table. You called Namjoon. 

“What the fuck, dude?”  

You probably deserved worse than that. 

“I’m literally on my way to your apartment right now. Jimin gave me your new address. Are you even going to let me in?” 

You took a careful breath, focused hard on speaking, slowly and evenly. 

“I’m not... deliberately ignoring you... I just haven’t... been able to get to... my phone, ok?” 

“Are you ok?” 

“No.” 

“Shit. Uh-” 

“It’s fine... I’ll text you... so you can let... yourself in.” 

“Do you want me to bring you anything?” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Ok, I’ll be over as quickly as I can.” 

“Ok.” 

* 

Namjoon’s footsteps across your apartment were heavy and loud but his arms were strong and he lifted you onto the sofa, pressed a hand against your forehead. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m stupid.” 

“Ok, sure, but what’s going on? Why did you bolt? Are you dying?” 

“All good questions.”  

You wanted to answer, to explain, but you were too distracted by trying to ignore the pain—the cramps, the headache, the nausea that was returning again as your stomach started to hunger.  

“Sorry... I just... It’s bad.” 

“What’s bad?” 

You gestured to the coffee table, where you had left the box and its prescription.  

“Oh.” 

You had closed your eyes, couldn’t see Namjoon’s reaction, see what he was expecting from you.  

“So you’re not... And we didn’t... Right.” 

“Sorry... I just... I just forgot... I wasn’-” 

“Yeah, no, it's fine. It’s not like I brought it up either. Guess we both should’ve been a little more careful.” 

You heard him sit in the armchair perpendicular to yours. 

“Didn’t help being woken by Hajoon either.” 

“Actually, that was what made me realise.” 

He laughed. 

“I can’t have another kid by accident. People will start thinking I’m some kind of stupid.” 

“Start?” 

You heard the quiet snort of breath, saw in your mind his rolled eyes. 

“That’s why you ran out though? No other reason?” 

“As soon as I realised... I couldn’t think of anything else... I panicked. I'm sorry.” 

Namjoon didn’t respond and you were happy not to talk, grateful that he wasn’t forcing a difficult conversation on you.  

After a minute or two, you heard him stand, start opening cupboards, moving about your apartment. 

“What are you doing?” you called as loudly as you could manage. 

“One sec.” 

He moved around. He boiled the kettle. He gently lifted your t-shirt and lay a hot water bottle across your abdomen. You sighed. 

“Oh, that’s nice... How did you know?” 

“You know I was married.” 

“Oh shit, really? ... Had no idea.” 

“I suppose now isn’t a good time to talk.” 

You shook your head.  

“Do you want me to go?” 

You shook your head. 

You wanted a lot of things. Were surer now than you had been before that you couldn’t have them.  

Because if there’s one thing a potential pregnancy scare can do for you, it’s making it really clear to you whether or not you want kids. You hadn’t had any doubt about that before now, but you had forgotten to account for Hajoon. The light of Namjoon’s life. His child. His and Hayeon’s son and now Minho’s step-son. You didn’t want to be a step-mother, not a mother of any kind. Didn’t want to worry about the school run, moving to the catchment area of a better school, the germs and illnesses kids brought with them, the homework, the patience required, the eternity of it, the endlessness, the life that will never again be just yours. 

You knew Namjoon wanted kids. Not one kid. Kids. Wanted Hajoon to have siblings. Wanted to be a dad more than just once. Wanted a great, big brood of them.  

You knew, too, that he knew you didn’t want that. Any of it. You didn’t know if he had accounted for that. If all his fantasies had included babies anyway. If he thought you would change your mind. You knew you wouldn’t, not even for him.  

* 

Namjoon stayed for the remainder of the afternoon. He made you rice porridge (the Namjoon you had known wouldn't have even known where to start). He refreshed your hot water bottle. He rubbed your back. He sounded sad when he said he had to go. 

“I have to go and get Hajoon from Hayeon’s parents. They’ve had him since yesterday and it’s getting late for his dinner.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Namjoon wished he had said more. Maybe you couldn’t have talked but maybe you could have listened. He had thought long and hard about what he’d say, though most of it flew out the window once he realised why you’d left in such a rush. He was surprised you’d taken the risk; frustrated with himself for not having checked, for being reckless. He’d done that before and it had cost him you last time, too.  

He knew you didn’t want kids—and it wasn’t exactly how he’d have chosen to have another one, either—but he was surprised by the strength of his hope, impossible as it was, and of his disappointment. He thought about Hajoon, the single greatest joy in his life. You would be an amazing mother to him, to any child, if you wanted to be.  

You didn’t want to be. 

As he sat in your apartment, watching you rest, watching the sickly pallor of your face be replaced by its usual glow, he thought about the future and everything you said last night. About his fantasising, about how unreal it all was.  

He was so sure. Had been so sure. About all of it. You. Him. How right you would be, were. How easy it would be. How happy you would be. Now it felt like a house of cards. He didn’t want to ask, anymore. Didn’t want to hear you say that his son was the reason you couldn’t go through with this. Didn’t want to feel the twinge in his chest that said he wouldn’t choose—as if choice would even come into it. Between his son and anyone else, there was no choice. Hajoon always.  

Maybe you were right, because in his fantasies, he would never have to choose. In his fantasies, sure, you didn’t want more kids, but you loved the one he had already. Hajoon with four loving parents. Overflowing with love.  

He thought about you doing it reluctantly. Saying yeah ok, we’ll be together, I guess I can be a step-mum, if I have to. If you have to. If you have to. It made him sadder than he had words to express. 

* 

It was days before he found the courage to contact you. He noticed that you hadn’t contacted him either but he was grateful for it, because he wouldn’t have been ready to have this conversation. He wasn’t sure that he was ready, but it had to happen. Sooner or later. Might as well be now. Before anything else could be said. Before he saw you again and faltered, his weakness overpowering his strength. 

“Hi,” he greeted you simply, opening the door to let you in. 

“Hi.” 

It was awkward, though much less strained than it had been in years past.  

He offered you a seat and you took it. He took the one next to you. Neither of you started. You looked at each other. Namjoon took the time to study your face, as if it were the last time he’d see it: the slope of your nose; the swell of your lips; the tiny mole underneath your right eye; the slight dampness at your hairline because Korea was as hot and humid as it had ever been; your eyes, looking sorry, looking sad. Eyes that had been so often angry with him, sad, frustrated, guarded, now open and soft and sparkling.  

He loved you. As much as he ever had. Maybe more now because it was ending, because all of his dreaming couldn’t save it. Because it had taken this long; he had thought you were inevitable, but he could see now that this was. That heartbreak was. That it had taken him so long to get his shit together that he hadn’t seen this coming. He had spent all his time pretending to be happy in a relationship that wasn’t, then wishing for you, waiting for you. He had spent no time preparing for this. Preparing for the possibility that there would be no you. That this could end in a way that wasn’t the two of you together, forever.  

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. The things that needed to be said. But you weren’t saying them either. He swallowed, fidgeted, preparing to say something, though he didn’t know what. 

“We both know, right?” you asked, voice quiet.  

You didn’t need an answer. You knew. He knew. The world knew. 

“It’s Hajoon, isn’t it?” he asked. 

You physically recoiled, eyebrows drawing close. 

“Namjoon... It’s not... Don’t put it like that. It’s not Hajoon; Hajoon is great, cute, wonderful. It’s all kids. It’s that you want lots of them and I want none.” 

“I don’t have to have lots-” 

“Namjoon, you want lots. Aren’t we past denying ourselves what we want?” 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”  

“Not in the long-run. Look at what happened with you and Hayeon. You denied that you wanted out and look how long it took for you both to be happ-” 

“I’m not happy. I’m not happy right now. This isn’t what I want.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

He ran his hands through his hair, swore through gritted teeth. When he looked back at you, your eyes reflected the tears in his. 

“But I love you.” 

You nodded, looked down. 

“I love you, too.”  

It was the first time you’d said it. Namjoon wished he could have been happy to hear it. Not heartbroken.  

“And there’s no way-” 

“You know there isn’t.” 

You laughed to stop yourself from crying, because he knew you and he knew that was what it was.  

“Just think if we’d actually stopped to fucking think about this at any point in the last five years, we’d have saved ourselves this mess!” 

Namjoon couldn’t laugh, couldn’t raise a smile.  

“I don’t... I don’t want this to be over.” 

“Well, it barely started so-” 

“You think that makes this easier? Is it easy for you?” 

You scoffed, your breath hitching. 

“Does it look like it’s easy for me, Namjoon? I’ve actually been in this a lot longer than you have, don’t you forget.” 

As if he could. As if he had ever forgotten that there were years of friendship behind you, friendship that could have been more. If only he had seen. If only he had had the guts to end things with Hayeon before he did. Before any of this.  

Though it wouldn’t have changed this ending, would it? At some point, you’d have ended up here. Inevitable, the word resounded in his head and he hated it. Hated that it was true. Hated that he could roll the die a thousand times and it would never show your number. That he could shake this magic eight ball a thousand ways from Sunday and it would never show ‘yes’. 

You had been so close. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful or not, that you had one last night. That he had fresh memories stinging in the fresh wounds of his heart. Was he grateful that it had come to this: you, giving in; you, letting him in; you, loving him, letting him love you, only for it to fall to pieces? Would he have rather you kept pushing him away, acting as if you didn’t love him, as if he couldn’t love you? Would that have been easier? Would he always have wondered? Would he have let it ruin the next ten years of his life?  

“We can’t-” you said, wiping tears from your cheeks, blinking hard. “We’re toast.”  

“Well, when you put it like that, sure, it’s easy. Not sure I’m that bothered.”  

And he hated himself for the sarcasm but he couldn’t bring himself to be sincere. Sincere was the tears on his water line, the embarrassing break in his voice.  

“Namjoon.” 

You stood, arms wide, welcoming. Like you hadn’t done for so many years. He went to you, wrapped you up, held you close, for the last time—it would be the last time like this he knew. He hiccupped, breath trapped in his throat. He tried to breathe you in, remember every tiny detail: the exact shade of every strand of hair, the notes of your perfume, the exact weight of your body against his, the slight tug of the hair at the back of his neck; he swore to himself that he would commit this to memory, never forget it. 

You drew back and took his face in your hands, rested your forehead against his nose, kissed him. One last time. If he could have frozen the moment, trapped it in amber, kept you just like this: sweet and soft and warm and his.  

The beep of Namjoon’s door lock sounded, followed by the whir of unlocking. 

“Dad!” Hajoon cried, thumping his bag down, throwing off his shoes.  

He was supposed to be at a sleepover, out for the night. 

“Changho got sick so I had to come home!” 

You sprang apart, both wiping tears, sniffling, trying to look presentable. 

“He got sick?” Namjoon asked, voice thick. 

“Yeah! His dad made me come home.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad, buddy.” 

Namjoon knelt towards his son, picked him up and placed him on his knee. He saw you turn away, collect yourself. Saw you, as Hajoon recounted the glorious story of what happened when a kid ate too many sweets and then went too fast on the roundabout, gesture towards the door, move towards it without a word. He heard the lock let you out, then lock you out. Could do nothing to stop you with his son on his knee.  

[crimsoncandy04]

I'm sorry I haven't posted in such a long time. I'm going back and forth between my Tumblr drafts and my actual book series on google docs and I finally just burnt myself out recently.

But I'm slowly getting back on things and besides going on evening walks for my mental health and also taking more time to fall in love with The Guardians of Agia again as a plot, I'm also going to spend more time writing fun stuff here so I can enjoy writing again.

So in other words here's another angst idea I've been having for more Wanderer/Scaramouche drama.

Okay imagine this, so Wanderer has this whole mental belief that he's evil and nothing good comes from anyone getting involved with him and that he's better off not having any close connections. But what if in another universe his existence as Scaramouche actually DID do something good?

Hear me out, Scara actually makes a friend but it's on the dl. No one knows about this strange girl except him because she's not fully human and most people don't like being around her because of some uncanny vibes she gives off or something despite being a genuine sweetheart, in other words they really only had each other while in the fatui and once Scara is gone from history this entire girl's life is absolutely ruined.

Why?

Because Dottore would still find a demi human to experiment on to make his segments. It's destined to happen. It just wouldn't be Kabukimono who was groomed for the fatui.

It would be the half human girl he abandoned by deleting himself from history.

And it would be her who Dottore takes an interest in and experiments on and stuff.

I feel like she would just replace Scara in this universe and oh my god the absolute mind fuck poor Wanderer would get upon seeing what became of this girl he once was friends with.

He'd feel guilty but would also be reconsidering his entire personal beliefs about himself because if his existence as a harbinger was protecting this girl before, then how could he say his old incarnation was completely unnecessary and only a blight on the world?

I feel like he'd try to actually meet this girl again but if he would try to help her or not I'm unsure. But I definitely feel like he'd feel a little responsible for her suffering in this timeline and would want to speak to her face to face again.

Thoughts?

[sundaysconsort]

Entry : 003 | " My Clematis "

Pairing : Oc! Shadow (@aventurineswife) | Oc! Strelitzia (@sundaysconsort)

Information : Two wounded souls finding solace in each other, no matter how short their time may be. Reciting an old tale they once heard. Generally, it's a fic built on tooth rotting fluff. Enjoy.

Tags : Fluff, Mutual Admiration, Quiet Acknowledgment, Found Family?(However you see their dynamic, honestly.), Comfort, OC x OC.

Word Count : 1.1k

A gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers. Several rose-tinted blossoms were in season this time of year. Their delicate petals swayed beautifully in what felt like a gust for life so fragile. The whistle reached the ears of a young lady sitting in the grass, the wind unaware of how its song soothed her who could hear.

Her hair is distinctly beautiful, resembling the very same petals that soar. At peace with her privacy, her eyes close as she basks in the setting sun's embrace. Leaning back, she'd feel her head meet with freshly cut grass, its smell lulling her in deeper; both arms spread on either side of her body.

crunch

"-?"

The woman's eyes would flutter open at the sound of crushed leaves beneath the visitor's boot. Her two feathered wings flinch, alerted by the sudden appearance of life besides her own, only for her gaze to be met with the familiar blue stare she'd grown fond of.

Shadow.

Her lips part, only to share silence. Smiling fondly towards the woman, Shadow took this as a silent welcome.

Oh my Clematis Hope that bloomed with darkness nigh Oh my Clematis Stay forever by my side

"You always have enjoyed your own company, surprised I found you... Stella. Almost like you wanted to be found." Her companion spoke, voice rich with warmth. Bringing her companion further comfort, a moment of solace before they must leave for their duties. "May I?"

Met with a quiet nod, the women share their smiles, reflecting off the other as the sun casts its rays onto the moon. Lowering herself to the ground, she'd set her belongings aside. Staring down at the peculiar woman.

"Stella, may I ask something?" Shadow receives another nod from Stella, encouraging her to continue. Watching as Shadow brought her knees towards her chest in a solo embrace, sat by her side. Meanwhile, Stella remains with her body lying on the grass, gazing up at the sky. "Do you believe in God? The Aeons?"

You bloomed from the abyss Climbing walls to reach the sky See the universe shine And the starlight in your eyes

This question seemed to take Stella back, lifting herself up to be equal level next to the taller woman. The eyes dilated, she'd go from staring at the brunette to admiring the view ahead.

"-Once upon a time, mankind had religion and believed in God…" Stella would murmur for the first time, her voice fragile and genuine, somewhat hoarse from its long slumber. Matching Shadow's position, she'd cradle her legs, pressing them in her chest with her chin resting against her knees. "They believed that which could not be solved by human strength, was the Will of God. Believed that the entire universe revolved around the Earth."

For once, the woman spoke with ease. Quoting literature she had read not too long ago, a passage of a planet that lost its belief and ultimately met its end. A tragic tale of a distant land.

"They thought that unreachable place that connected with the sky was… where the gods lived." Shadow would continue off of Stella's voice. Surprised to hear her melody.

It was a rare treasure, to hear the voice of Stella. Soft as a woolen blanket. A delicacy only a select few could savor, every word all the more special.

When the darkness blinds my sight I will find you by your scent If I slumber forevermore Tell me you won’t leave my world

"From the moment humanity left the universe, we all forgot about God." Stella quotes, shifting closer to Shadow, just enough to lean her head against her shoulder. Careful for her wings to not brush against her, unable to hide that innate fear of bringing harm.

Shadow felt herself at ease, leaning her head on top of the pink-haired woman's, both souls distant from reality.

Once more, the breeze soared between the women. A stray blossom caught in Stella's hair, blending in, but not from Shadow's keen eye. Careful to remove it without brushing against the striking orange feathers that shielded Stella's ears.

Without a word, Stella's head wings lose their tension. Folding around her vision, shielding her eyes from the sun that has long set. Resting her eyes, Shadow is left to admire the starry night sky alone, and yet, all she can see is the everlasting sun against her side.

Reaching for Stella's hand, she chose to intertwine their fingers gently. Shadow finds herself pleased with Stella's acceptance of her actions, lending each other a gentle squeeze of reassurance in this often dark reality.

As if to say,

I'm here.

Oh my clematis Hope that bloomed with darkness nigh Oh my Clematis Stay forever by my side

"But if belief in god is human," Shadow whispered, her tone of velvet. Stella couldn't get enough, humming quietly in response. Yet not once would she speak, afraid to interrupt what she knew had yet to come. "If all I can do as a human is to believe…."

Shadow would pause, thinking to herself.

My god.

Stella's eyes open in due time, wings shifting to reveal her gaze to the outside world, expecting Shadow to elaborate further.

My universe.

Catching Shadow in her stare, Stella's lips perk at each end. A subtle smile reaches her expression, and for once, it meets her eyes. Typically left dull, her purple and blue eyes glimmer with a yellow hue.

A reminder of hope, refusing to be forgotten.

Oh my Clematis Withered hopes and darkness nigh Oh my Clematis Can’t you stay here by my side…

Shadow knew her words were highly anticipated, yet not expected of her. Witnessing the often mute Stella rotate her body, her hand untangled itself from Shadow's embrace, much to her disappointment.

"…My dear clematis." Shadow whispers, tone heavy and weak, a voice carried in the wind while her hair swayed in the wind alongside Stella's, a few strands tickling her own cheek.

Each hand of Stella seeks out her companion's skin, careful, and deliberate, they meet with Shadow's bare arms. Tracing her biceps, down towards her hands.

Stella lifts to her knees in front of Shadow, blocking her view of the sky before falling against her suddenly in response, initiating a warm embrace. One she believed Shadow desperately needed after leaving Penacony behind, as well as someone Shadow cared for deeply, a man who she prayed to unite with each night.

Now finding themselves situated on Amphoreus, with little time to cry, Stella took it upon herself to shoulder any burden Shadow was willing to share. Separated from the rest of their companions for an uncertain period of time.

Feeling her body move on its own, Shadow began pulling Stella closer to her chest. Arms tightly woven around her shorter frame. Not realizing she had been holding her breath, she'd soon release a shaken exhale, closing her eyes.

Both have lived terribly cruel lives and yet, that can be forgotten in this moment shared.

No matter how temporary it may be.

Fin.

[osakhee]

sad summer daze, wonbin x reader

! wonbin has blonde hair in this, smoking and alcohol consumption, making out but nothing crazy

🎧 summer daze by all time low...

wonbin sighs as he digs his back into his seat. the music in his headphones covers the noise of the old and rusty fan that makes his blonde hair fly into his face. these days, even in the early morning, the temperature is unbearably hot, the sun casting shadows on the floor through the glass doors of the convenience store. wonbin already knows it will be another boring day where he would scroll through his phone, trying not to fall asleep on his chair with his feet on the counter. summer was never his favorite season, but with this job, he feels like each day lasts for a week, only making his shift hours longer.

the clock hits nine and wonbin stretches his arms, his white tank top riding up to show a glimpse of his stomach, and he stands up to go through the empty aisles. now away from the metallic fan, the air becomes a lot thicker and the sudden warmth almost makes him dizzy. wonbin ties his hair into the smallest ponytail to stop the strands from sticking to his neck due to the invisible layer of sweat covering his skin. a few blonde hairs still fall in front of his eyes as he checks out every shelf, he makes mental notes of what's missing to refill them.

the store is dusty, the tiled floor that used to be white turned into a ash grey color, and the windows that let the sun inside leave a yellowish glow on the walls. behind wonbin's counter, piles of magazines and diverse boxes threaten to fall each time his elbow hits them, his eyes filling with panic at the thought of having to put them back in order -even though it would probably be more entertaining than dozing off-. no matter how hard he tried to clean, the black marks on the counter never left and the old stickers on the walls never really got fully off. and the best part? most of the time, it's just wonbin inside of the store, either with his music, looking at his phone, or the creaking sound of the fan while he stares at the ceiling that looks like it would fall on his face.

wonbin expected nothing from this summer job. he's not really a person with a lot of expectations. for him, summer isn't like any young adults movie cliché, no pool parties, no hookups, no holidays at the beach, no all nighters at the club, no afternoons with his friends. summer is more of a brutal reality. at least during the year, he's lucky enough to stay at his university's dorm, he cherishes each of his music and composition classes that gives him a comfortable routine. but as soon as the first days of the summer break start, wonbin is thrown back into the real and harsh world. a world where his angel face and voice would not get him anywhere. and who would get money to monthly repay the electric guitar he got last semester if not himself?

anyway, i just need a job, wonbin thought. he would have wanted one with little to no human interaction, his reserved personality being an obstacle to most place he went too. never from the employer, only from himself. the cafes were too busy, the restaurants too loud, and working at the train station really? wonbin could barely remember his way through the same supermarket he's been going to for the past year, so giving people directions? not his thing. and when wonbin saw the notice on the small convenience store near his friend's apartment that they were looking for someone for the summer, he was already desperate. he only wanted two things, getting out of anton's place that reeked like alcohol everyday and finally make some money. he never really expected that he would sometimes go days without seeing anyone, anton living quite far from the city center. most of the time, it was either busy workers coming in the last hour of his shift for premade dishes or kids buying candies and ice creams after going to the local pool. and wonbin was just a passerby in their lives, he's just "the cashier", "the young blonde boy", and it was more than fine for him.

wonbin fills with new bottles one of the shelves, he keeps one under his arm for himself. it's hot and he's working, and who would see that anyway? he checks the other aisles when the glass doors make a very uncomfortable noise, and the silence that was once only broken by the fan is replaced by loud chatters. wonbin walks back to his counter with a sigh, he avoids the customers by walking through the very last aisle of the small store, and he sits back down on his chair. he gets down half of the water bottle he took from the back, and the duo of people his age come up to him with much needed groceries. different alcohol bottles and cans, small snacks, and a pack of cigarettes, they both add when wonbin looks up at them from his seat. he doesn't need to ask for their id, wonbin already knows them. they don't follow the same course in university but they're good friends of anton. are they actually friends? wonbin just believes all the party goers are somehow friends.

"aren't you anton's friend? wonbin right? you play the guitar."

wonbin just nods, and hands the pack of cigarettes with a bored look. not that his job is really interesting, but he isn't there to make friends either. one of them gives him some cash and wonbin hands him back the change without saying anything else.

"i don't see why anton is friend with you, you're so... you know. well..."

the silence is too loud in wonbin's ears. what is he, silent? reserved? introverted? uninteresting? different? both the guys in front of him just scoff when wonbin looks into their eyes. wonbin knows his beloved friend anton only keeps him around for his own good. he's great, top student, he never misses a single day or assignments. he knows the sleepy bass player enjoys his presence during class because wonbin doesn't talk much and his handwriting is easy to read for when he'll copy the lesson later. though anton is a really nice person, and their friendship based on their musical composition classes gives wonbin a great opportunity : having somewhere to sleep during this awful summer instead of going back to his even more awful hometown.

"why don't you come to tonight's party with anton? is it not good enough for you?"

"none of your business."

"you know, being alive isn't so bad. you should try."

their laughters echo in the empty store and the door closes behind them. wonbin leans against his chair, his head drops back, the fan messes with the strands he couldn't tie. what's the link between late night parties and being alive, is he missing something? suddenly he feels upset. concerts are the only loud place he enjoys, not cramped apartments full of alcohol and other addictive things he doesn't really want to try. he never really had fun when he followed anton to the uni end of exams celebrations, all he remembers is being sick after two drinks and his heart beating in his ears when he woke up the next day. he felt lightheaded for hours, never again, he told anton who seemed to do just fine when they met in class later.

the day is slow. wonbin decides he needs a break before the horrible noise of the fan makes him insane. he hasn't seen anyone in hours, it's hot but sunny, and the air inside the convenience store feels so stuffy and heavy wonbin can barely breathe. he opens the large freezer and chooses a blue popsicle before walking outside. he rests his back against the wall next to the glass doors, the cold treat resting between his lips. if it's hot inside the store, outside is even worse, the sun feels like a burn on his skin. his ice cream doesn't help, it melts in his hand and drips down his fingers, so wonbin is quick to finish it. and with a sigh, he walks inside the small shop to go back to his previous activity : falling asleep on his counter.

his alarm rings at 6pm, wonbin stretches his sore arms with a pleased noise and grabs the set of keys, turns off all the lights and the fan -that stops with a clanking sound-. it's still really hot and bright when he steps outside, locking the doors behind him. his headphones find their place back on his head, music loud in his ears as he walks back to his friend's place. anton would be out tonight, which means he'll have the apartment for himself. it's easy to tell it's friday night from the people outside. middle aged men hurrying home, kids playing outside with no parents in sight, students excitedly coming back from their summer classes and heading to the latest club. out of all of them, wonbin just walks with one thing in mind, finally settling back on his friend's couch like it's a luxurious bed and sleeping. wonbin feels pity for himself. what a sad fucking summer.

anton rests against the window, he blows out the smoke of his cigarette when the door opens. he turns his head to look at wonbin, his blonde hair friend walks inside and drops himself on the couch without even taking his headphones off. his eyes flicker to anton and he lazily gets up as his friend hands him the pack of nicotine from a distance. the cigarette rests between wonbin's lips as he lits it, he inhales deeply and the weight on his shoulders slowly fades away just like the white smoke in the air. there's this comfortable silence between the two of them, until wonbin breaks it after exhaling deeply.

"who's party are you going to tonight?"

"sungchan's. why?"

"can i come with you?"

from anton's expression, wonbin guesses his friend had no idea he was about to ask that. they both lived on different timezones in the same apartment. while anton would enjoy his summertime, partying from the moment the sun sets until the early morning, coming home with the smell of whatever drinks he had clinging to his clothes, wonbin's evenings were quiet, lost into music sheets and his guitar resting on his lap. his own safe haven, like a home for himself even if anton's apartment is far from home to him.

"are you sure about that wonbin?"

"i figured it wouldn't kill me to... try to live."

"oh."

is that all you have to say? the question burns on wonbin's lips but he stays silent. there's no need to explain why he wants to join him. maybe this experience will be better, maybe he will hate every second of it, but he at least needs to give it a try, again. anton chuckles and gives a pat on his shoulder before leaving wonbin alone at the window. wonbin tries to gather some thoughts but it all gets lost into the swirl of smoke coming out of his lungs. he clings to the sound of anton getting ready behind him, his bassist friend hurrying around the apartment to find his belongings scattered everywhere. there's nothing for wonbin to take with him other than a black zip up hoodie covered in blue crosses and his phone dipped into his pocket. everything else is anton's possession. they get down the dirty stairs of the old building, a warm breeze messes up wonbin's hair, and he reaches behind him to untie them. as they both walk in the loud silence of the city, anton lits himself another cigarette.

sungchan's apartment is dark. it's packed, it's messy, and it's hot. there's a smell so strong it makes wonbin lightheaded, a mix of alcohol, cigarette, heavy perfume and too many people's scents at the same time. he already regrets his decision, looking for a way out, but with the half drunk anton holding his shoulder tightly, it's impossible to even try. the music is so loud in his ears, he can't barely hear what anton tells him. is this what being alive feels like? then it fucking sucks, wonbin doesn't realize he speaks out loud.

go have some fun, just be yourself. what a easy thing to say. maybe alcohol would help wonbin with his tied tongue, and he makes his way to the kitchen. he lost anton... somewhere. he has no idea where he came from and which way he needs to go, the dim lights and the waves of people threaten to drown him. he finally reaches the cold white counter in the kitchen and almost messes up all the cups. wonbin contemplates the different drinks. first he eliminates all the ones he doesn't know, then the few ones he remembers anton got sick of, which didn't leave much options available. he chooses the last beer bottle that stood in the corner, the taste of alcohol burning his throat along with the strong aroma of cherry. not bad, wonbin would even say he likes it.

wonbin still takes the first exit he finds, which happens to be the balcony door. it's finally night outside, the air cooler and breathable. on the balcony, there's no one else but wonbin. people are too busy clinging to each other inside, not caring about the city's show of lights or the few stars that painted the sky. wonbin reaches for the half pack of cigarettes anton gave him before he lost him in the crowd, and he takes a while to form a thought, looking at the rolled paper between his fingers. is drinking and smoking all by himself a good idea? wonbin would never find out, because when he looks around his pockets, he can't find a lighter. the smoke between his teeth, brows furrowed, he checks his back pocket again with no luck.

the familiar click of metal makes him turn his head, the dancing flame lighting up his face. alone with him on the balcony, there's you, holding up a lighter to his face. the night feels warm, his skin glistens and his eyes shine until the fire disappears. wonbin feels stuck in place, stuck to the ground when he meets your eyes, he stops breathing. the world around him is on pause when you take a step closer. wonbin lowers his head a little, strands of blonde hair falling in front of his eyes, and you click the lighter again until the edge of his cigarette burns with a faint smoke. wonbin's face brightens with the flame, it dances in his eyes, and make every details and flaws look more precise. and there's the silence. the cars vanished from the streets and the music stopped playing from the windows. your eyes are locked with wonbin until he looks away to blow the smoke on the side, and suddenly the noises start again, filling your ears and his.

wonbin's heart beats to an unsteady rhythm. is it the addictive taste of the cigarette mingled with the cherry of his beer or the intensity deep in your eyes when he turns back to you? wonbin can't find an answer. his mind feels foggy just like his lungs, and he breathes out the smoke once again, resting his arms on the edge of the balcony. you do the same, your elbow brushing his, and warmth blooms from the single touch. it courses wonbin's veins the same way alcohol does, it makes his face hot, and more than that, it stirs something in his stomach, a mix between fireworks and a roller coaster. maybe a bit of both. both your arms touching feel comfortable, like a special link between the both of you as if the windows of the balcony took you both to another place.

"i was wondering why someone like you was alone out there."

wonbin turns to you. of course it's someone like him again, like anyone else thinks. wonbin hopes you will be quite creative at least, so is he pathetic or just weird?

"what do you mean by that?"

"you're beautiful."

the words get stuck into wonbin's throat just like the smoke of his cigarette and he's forced to cough. blush tints his cheeks, ears and neck, he's thankful his face is engulfed by the night so you don't see how fuzzy your words make him feel. this time the silence is thick and heavy, wonbin knows you're looking at him, and he's too scared to dare laying his eyes into yours, he's scared the actual party would happen in his stomach and he'd feel shooting stars in his heart and body. the deep breath he takes is hidden by his cigarette.

"you're really pretty too."

"did you need a break from the party?"

"i'm not really a party guy. too loud for me."

too loud, too much people, too much scents, but if it means seeing you then wonbin wouldn't complain anymore. if you like parties then wonbin will like parties, if you want to drink wonbin will gladly drink with you.

"honestly me neither, i just followed a few friends. they're somewhere inside."

"mine is too, he kinda gave up on me."

"you smell like cherries."

you catch him off guard again and wonbin swears you're secretly trying to kill him. you're trying to take his heart out of his chest and put it in your pocket to keep it safe, and wonbin would even hand it to you. he gives up on his cigarette and faces you, he straightens his back and tries to appear more confident. with nothing but a quick look, he hands you his bottle of beer, it's almost empty but more than enough fo you to have a taste of the fruity alcohol. wonbin doesn't know what he wants, all he knows is that the time stopped again. he remembers how his days at the convenience store felt like weeks, and right now it's just the same, every second feels like an hour, every move slowed down to match the pace of his breathing. the drink stays in his hand, you make no move to take it, so wonbin brings to his lips to take a sip. you watch him swallow the burning liquid and the droplet that rolls down his chin and neck, the way he licks his lips afterwards.

"is it good?"

"it is."

"can i try it?"

it's like you both knew. like you both spoke to each others through your minds and eyes. wonbin's hand cups your jaw and you grip his shoulders before he presses his lips on yours, the sour cherry taste filling your senses. the kiss he gives you is like a dream, the kind of kiss you expect only in movies. his hand that holds your face wraps around the back of your neck and brings you closer, until one of your hand reaches for his hair to keep his face in place. wonbin is slow, lips warm from his drink, and your mouth only makes it warmer. the candy-like taste of his beer mixed with his cigarette makes you addicted, you feel high, high on him and the scent that clings to him. the fingers you tangled in his hair play with his blonde strands and wonbin deepens the kiss a little more, his tongue pushes on your lips for an entrance. you deny it, and wonbin parts away, he gives a quick peck on your lips to get rid of the strand of saliva that still connected the both of you.

his flushed face and half lidded eyes, the heavy rise of his chest and his parted lips, it takes your breath away. you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, and wonbin rests his bottle on the balcony, his now free hand finds its place on your waist. sungchan is lucky to have such a big apartment and such a large space outside, wonbin makes a mental note to thank him later. he guides you further away on the terrace until the few lights coming from the opened windows stop shining on your face. you can barely see wonbin now swallowed by the night, but you can feel him. you feel his fingertips under your shirt, grazing your skin without going further, you feel his mouth in your neck as he kisses behind you ear, you feel his chest against yours each time he remembers to breathe and stay alive, you feel the star charm of his necklace on your collarbone. wonbin feels you too, your finger mindlessly twirling a strand of his hair, your arm wrapped around his shoulder, your head resting against his and your breath on his skin. it's like a fever dream, wonbin wonders if the alcohol and the hot weather messed him up and created some kind of illusion to play with his heart. but when your hand lays on his chest and feels the loud beating under his skin, louder than the music, wonbin knows he's more than awake.

he rests his forehead against yours and for a few seconds, you admire his face so close, your fingers caress his chin and lips, follow his jaw and rest on his cheek. you want again the feeling of his lips, you want the drug he seems to get you on and flows your system like liquid fire. you presses your lips on the mole on his jaw and savor the small noise in wonbin's throat before he holds your face again to kiss you. this time you let his tongue meet yours in a heated valse, your arms wrap fully around wonbin's neck and he pushes you against the balcony railing, both hands resting behind you. he traps you against, towers you and takes control of the movements of your lips, he takes the lead of your heartbeat and your shaky breaths between his warm kisses.

wonbin can't get enough, the more time he spends tangled in your lips, the less he feels like he could keep living without it. now you taste like cherries too. one of wonbin's hand claw at your waist, he brings you closer until there's no more space. he needs to breathe, but dying this way sounds like heaven, you're slowly taking away his life by making him addicted to you. his fingers feel at home on your skin just like your hand in his hair. wonbin allows himself to breathe only to trail his lips on your jaw and down your neck, his mouth hot and swollen as he discovers your body. but he doesn't want to get away from your mouth, he steals your lips again and again, blown pupils lost into yours before you finally hold his head steady.

wonbin feels like a kid that's denied a sweet treat, but in a desperate way, he's about to throw a tantrum to have his favorite candy back. you brought him up to heaven and stole his soul, he surrendered to you having his heart in your hand. his nails dig into your hips gently as a warning, he brings his face closer, and you finally say the magic words.

"wanna get out of here?"

boom fireworks in his stomach, fireworks in his head and fireworks in his heart. the sparkles race in his veins and ring in his ears.

"i don't have a place to go."

"but i do."

wonbin's lips crashes against yours again, he wants to ground himself and tell himself it's not a dream. his teeth bite your bottom lip and you tug on your hair, he traps you again on the balustrade, his hand now finding your back to press yourself against him. wonbin gives you a kiss on the corner of your lips before licking his own. he finally breaks into a smile when you push yet again his hair out of his face. you take his hand, and you both hold tight when you walk through the drunk people in the apartment. this time the door is easy to find, and the empty streets somehow feel really comforting. your hand in his, fingers intertwined walking in a direction wonbin doesn't even know. this must be it, this must be what being alive feels like and what they all talk about, wonbin wonders if he's too drunk on his cherry beer or the taste of you for these thoughts to cloud his mind. yet they're all he can think about, and he wouldn't want it any other way.

a sad fucking summer indeed, a summer daze he hopes never fades away.