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jedisupernova · 22 days ago

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compress, repress (part ii) — kwon jiyong & choi seunghyun

summary you have jiyong convinced you're the love of his life—he’s got the stuttering heartbeat to prove it. whilst he’s riding the high of having the upper hand, its not long until you see what else is at play. seunghyun, however, doesn't like being told no—let alone have his morals challenged—so what happens when he looks into the mirror, and the reflection is you? better yet, what does he do when he likes it?

notes minors dni contains challengers au, fem reader, unabashedly plus size reader as i am myself but anyone can read, takes place in the mid 2000s (hence mentions of certain music, technology, media, etc.), everyone is a college senior, tennisplayer!jiyong and tennisplayer!seunghyun; reader is head of debate team, smut (oral f and m receiving, p in v, in the car, dirty talk, finishing early, a scene that took me one full day to write, either are subs, suffocating sexual tension) angst (all three are at times depicted as not the greatest of people, love triangle, inferiority complex, infidelity, keeping things from each other, arguments, yearning, deception, greed, seunghyun is a fckn asshole but is about to be humbled big time bc he's down BAD, jealousy, possessiveness, insecurity; this is just straight up messy), confessions, religious imagery, i don't know anything about tennis i tried my best to write about a game pls don't laugh at me, if you went to stanford and are reading this not you're not, and inevitable typos though some are purposeful.

author's note welcome to part ii of my challengers au!!!! this part is Tea . . . a brief disclaimer: these are only characters; in no way do i claim either would act this way in real life. please read part i or else you will be very confused! this is longer than part i, so i suggest you get comfy. please lmk what you think!! i always want to hear your thoughts! my ask box is always open 🩷 see you next friday for part iii 🎾

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

you looked up at the sound of a backpack landing unceremoniously in the seat diagonal to you. you glanced at the hand holding the iced coffee set down next to yours, eyes tracing up the arm, unamused by who it belonged to. “oh. it's you.” you said, monotone, going right back to editing your midterm essay due in two hours—right before your next class—scrolling through the word document on your laptop. the draft introduction for your senior thesis, along with a half-finished outlined agenda for tonight’s debate team meeting were open in other tabs, too. thursdays are your busiest, after all. needless to say, you didn’t have time for whatever the fuck bullshit seunghyun needed to get off his chest, as elucidated by the smug grin on his face: “does your phone not work or what?” “it works perfectly fine, thank you.” you answered without looking up, pressing the chunky keys to fix a fragmented sentence in your conclusion paragraph. seunghyun sat down across from you, taking a swig of his coffee as if this was normal. you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction, so here you both were—co-existing. he ran his fingers through his messy hair, his lifted arm giving you an unsolicited whiff of post-workout body odor.

your expression soured slightly, waving your hand in front of your face. you leaned back at little, the brief squeak of your chair catching his attention. “listen, i know your ego’s bruised or whatever,” you said, pulling your laptop and coffee closer to you—but more importantly farther from him. “but that doesn’t mean you get to inflict biological warfare on me. that’s just unfair.” even jiyong doesn’t smell this bad post practice, you thought to yourself. seunghyun’s eyebrows furrowed, sniffing his shirt. he hid his brewing embarrassment behind another sip of his coffee, “i don’t smell that bad.” he muttered. “and who said my ego was bruised?” “speak for yourself.” you retorted. he began feeling exposed, turning to self-inflicted overcompensation: “the—the shower i usually use at the locker room was taken, and i was running late.” he explained, but to no avail, seeing you zeroed back in on your laptop. not to worry, though, he knew just what would get your attention: “don’t smell as bad as jiyong, though. right?” he smirked. you looked at him, expression unreadable. “on the contrary, actually. took you long enough, too.” you commented, sarcasm identifiable in your blunt tone. “i know you were pissing yourself to mention him first thing.”

seunghyun didn’t say anything. you ceased typing, gradual realization washing over you. you looked at him, crossing your arms over your chest, an amused smile stretching your lips. he didn’t like the feeling it stirred in his chest. “that’s why you called when you did.” you thought aloud, eyebrows raising. “you knew jiyong and i went out.” “of course i knew.” seunghyun tried to play it cool, shrugging his shoulders. he subconsciously mimicked your movements, crossing his arms over his chest. “we’re best friends. we tell each other everything.” “right, right.” you scoffed, taking a sip of your coffee. “that’s why you gave him my number at the hotel.” you recited his obvious lie with a dramatic nod, effectively annoying him. he licked his lips, awkwardly adjusting his posture in his seat. “you didn’t, like,” his gaze became finicky, glancing down at his lap. the fuck is my problem? why can’t i look at her? she’s just a person, his inner monologue rambled. he knew his question was juvenile, but it wasn’t enough to stop himself. “do anything, did you?” some part of him was doubtful about jiyong’s bravado. perhaps it was a reflection of insecurity rather than simply refusing to believe his best friend could land someone so you when jiyong’s so . . . him . . . but good luck to anyone whom tried to get seunghyun to tell the difference. or admit to it.

you didn’t help. “why?” you questioned, tearing the remainder of your toasted croissant in half, chewing on one piece. “afraid i’m damaged goods now?” seunghyun was appalled—genuinely offended. he was unsure whether it was more of how casually the accusation rolled off your tongue, or that you thought of him like that at all. either way, his face scrunched up akin to yours when his armpit took a breather. “what?” his eyebrows furrowed, shaking his head. “no. that’s not—that’s not at all what i meant. listen, i may be shitty, but i’m not downright fucking awful—” “—i’ll be the judge of that.” you cut him off, finishing your croissant, wiping your fingers with a napkin—all without sparing him a glance. “fine, whatever.” he scoffed, wanting to move the conversation elsewhere. but his pride stuck out like a sore thumb: “i’m not some villain of a guy. i don’t slut shame.” he continued against his better judgment, digging himself into a metaphorical hole. “i mean, i really don’t have a place to. if you knew half the things i’ve done—”

you shut him right up with the look on your face, seeing him adjust in his chair, hearing him clear his throat. “i don’t have time for this.” you told him bluntly, shaking your head dismissively. “i have deadlines to meet.” seunghyun didn’t appreciate your tone, “i do, too. you’re not special.” he said curtly. “we go to the same school.” he reminded you, frustrated when you didn’t look up from your laptop. seunghyun took a hefty gulp of his coffee, his gaze fluttering around his immediate surroundings—the campus shuttle driving by, ears perking up at the sound of the bell ringing atop the door, followed by the flurry of conversations throughout the bustling café as a whole. his eyes inevitably returned to you, seeing you biting your inner cheek, concentrated on your screen—you finally figured out how to better word your thesis statement in your introductory paragraph; its been bothering you for days—trailing past your chin, to your neck.

seunghyun knows what he’s looking at. he’s smart enough to not think its a shadow, though your hickey looked mostly healed. his foot tapped underneath the table, picking at his nails, his mind jumping to its own brash conclusions: probably gave it to her when he was—he kissed his teeth. he raked his fingernails against his eyebrow—anything to get that god awful image out of his head, damn near clawing at it to do so. you were unbothered and blissfully unaware of seunghyun’s inner turmoil, pressing save on your essay, moving on to tonight’s meeting agenda. “what’s this?” you looked up, seeing him gesturing to his neck. he got himself together enough to display his characteristic shit-eating grin. “a mosquito bite?” “oh,” you finished your coffee. “you’re still here.” that touched a nerve, much to your satisfaction: “yes i’m still fucking!—” his voice descended into a whisper before cutting himself off completely, suddenly remembering you two were very much in public.

seunghyun leaned in, “look,” his voice was much quieter, “is you going out with jiyong your way of getting back at me? for not calling?” you can’t remember the last time you were face-to-face with someone so deeply enveloped in their own world, wholeheartedly convinced everyone else simply existed to revolve around them. even your old team captain had his moments of humility, albeit fleetingly. seunghyun was just point blank unapologetic, and completely serious, with the way he waited patiently for your answer. “is that why you’re acting this—this way?” “go ahead.” you sat back in your seat, arms returning to your chest. “i know there’s another word you’d prefer to use.” you challenged. he dismissed you, shaking his head. “i’m not calling you a bitch.” “that rolled suspiciously smooth off your tongue.” you tutted, feigning surprise. “i thought you were a card-carrying feminist.” “if you say so.” his arms returned to his chest, too. “if you’re actually curious,” he tilted his head condescendingly, playing this game of semantics eye-to-eye. “i’d prefer to use the term ‘unhinged.’”

you let out a laugh, unabashedly mocking him, going as far as to clap a few times—undeterred by the couple of fellow students who turned around at the noise. you liked this sparring, as aggravating as he could be. “there it is. a classic.” your smile turned him into the smallest man in the world. it was similar to how he felt when jiyong switched his service motion: like looking into a mirror, except this was worse. it was as if he was staring at a carbon copy of himself: someone who knows who they are, and knows that self-assurance intimidates the fuck out of everyone else. your willingness to challenge him didn’t make seunghyun second-guess his motives. he’s sure enough in his murky understanding and grip on his masculinity to preserve his self-esteem in the midst of adverse conversation, or people who may skirt his moral compass. it was the realization there’s no such thing as having the upper hand with you—he has to learn to share that glory. it wasn’t a question of if you were up to the challenge of him—that was a no-brainer. if anything, he needed to figure out if he was up for you. its apparent in her fucking aura, seunghyun’s mind raced; terrified, yet enthralled you communicated so much through a mere look. or maybe he’s trying to come to terms with something, though his pride won’t let him.

“let’s settle this over lunch sometime.” there it was: his attempt at getting the reins back. “where do you live? roble?” he referred to one of the upperclassmen residential halls nearby. you didn’t hide your smirk, shaking your head with an amused chuckle. it’s like the jokes write themselves . . . “what exactly is there to settle, seunghyun?” you asked. though it was a rhetorical question, you answered it anyway: “might i remind you, you came up to me. i was just minding my own.” you put your hands up, cutting seunghyun off before he could interject. “he drove me around in his land rover,” you gestured out the window, but in your head, it was jiyong. “and you’re offering me spare meal credits before the semester ends?” it's true: thanksgiving break was around the corner, and winter break wasn’t too far off afterward with final exams in between. seunghyun opened his mouth again, but you weren’t having it: “you wanna know why i’m with jiyong? okay, i’ll tell you.” you nodded, “its because he keeps his fucking word, and doesn’t act like he’s in a perpetual dick-swinging contest.”

“but you two aren’t like, official, right?” “it's like you’ve never been told 'no’ before in your entire life.” you waved him off, turning your head to look out the window. “no, i have.” he corrected. “it's just interesting when the person telling you 'no’ is clearly lying.” “you’re starting to sound like the guy every girl is warned about before she goes to college—no, since goddamn sentience.” you corrected yourself, giving him a look. “my bad. let me clarify.” seunghyun licked his lips, unable to wipe the smile off his face, clearly having something up his sleeve. “are you not the girl who still put her number in my phone, even after i said i wouldn’t give it to jiyong?” you didn’t have anything to say to that. he took the win, albeit not so humbly. “right. i thought so.” he nodded, satisfied. “don’t act so innocent. lying doesn’t look good on you.” “what makes you think i care about what looks good on me? you’re no better.”

seunghyun felt he was inching closer to the crux of this, illustrated in your now stern expression and resolute tone: “really? enlighten me.” you caught his drift, leaning forward, speaking only for him to hear. “you looked like a lost puppy at that elevator,” his face dropped. “so desperate to find me, you didn’t have fucking shoes on. latched onto every look you could get until those doors closed. just to play in my face, thinking it's my first day on earth. only come up to me today, wanting to have your cake and eat it, too.” you shook your head, gaze unwavering—piercing. “i’m not your fucking mommy, seunghyun. i am not the one. you don’t get to swing your dick in my face when i don’t tell you where i’ve been, or where i’m going.”

well, fuck. seunghyun poked his tongue against his cheek, looking down at his lap, masking his embarrassment from your eviscerating humbling with a grin. “who said i want you to be my fucking mommy?” he asked, tone unaffected. “sounds like you’re trying to tell me something.” “you know what,” you tapped out. there was no point: “you can continue talking in circles by yourself. i’m done here, anyway.” you closed your laptop, tugging the zipper of your backpack open. “he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” seunghyun tried to talk with some fucking conviction, to offer some sort of warning, but the sight of you getting up—completely unbothered—fucked with him more than he was willing to admit. “i don’t know what it is with men and using cryptic ass language,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. you lifted your head, setting your backpack on the table. you looked down at him, “just say what you fucking mean.” “okay,” seunghyun looked up at you, body language preserving the last shred of dignity he had—stretching his legs, feet underneath where you sat moments ago. “did jiyong tell you about our match against pepperdine next week?”

it was inexplicit, but tauntingly clear: you weren’t entirely let in on jiyong’s life. it was your turn to jump to conclusions, albeit internally: he probably has a reason for not mentioning it, but why wouldn’t he? it's such a basic, no, fundamental aspect of his life. it should be a given. is he using it to play in my face, cherry-picking shit for me? and for what? to let me in whenever it's convenient?—“i thought so.” seunghyun’s voice cut your internal conflict off. “and he’s not going to.” “he will.” to your fortune, your voice kept its conviction, but it's lessened volume didn’t evade seunghyun’s trained ear. “yeah, keep telling yourself that.” he got up from his chair. his work here was done: he got to the point and under your skin. when you went to open your mouth, as if on cue, your phone rang in your pocket. a gut feeling, and a swift glance at one another, communicated you both knew who it was. seunghyun turned around, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. that’s right, he thought to himself, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. they have class together today. he saw your hesitancy, “nah, go ahead. answer him.” seunghyun took the last definitive sip of his coffee, leaving his empty cup next to yours, walking out of the café. “don’t wanna intrude.”

you fucking hated to admit it, so you didn’t. but your pensive glance at jiyong, who was sitting on your bed, going on about his plans for the upcoming thanksgiving holiday, said everything your mind pestered over for the last near week. you found the date and time of the game from the sports section in the stanford daily’s printed edition—this saturday at 1:30 pm—no mention of it from jiyong. you returned your gaze to your laundry basket lodged atop your desk, folded clothes at the end of your bed, whereas jiyong was sitting directly diagonal, his fingers tapping idly on your nightside table. “jiyong?” “yeah, baby?” you tried to be casual about it. keyword being tried: “do you—do you have anything coming up this weekend?” you kept your focus on folding your last few shirts, nose briefly scrunching up in internal defeat. not my smoothest, your inner monologue tutted. jiyong looked at you, “no. why?”

so he just lied. everything’s on the table now—you turned to look at him, “so no game on saturday?” his posture stiffened. “how did you know about that?” “seunghyun told me.” you said without thinking, irritation preceding rationale. jiyong’s eyebrows furrowed, “seunghyun told you?” he repeated, confused. “when? did he text you or something?” his nerves didn’t take long to surface, insecurity attempting to fill the gaps. “i—no, he didn’t.” you tried to patch things up. again, tried. “we ran into each other the other day when i was getting coffee—” “—you did?” that didn’t help the nagging voice in his head. “where do you even go?” “that’s not the point, jiyong.” you dismissed. “why didn’t you tell me? and why did you lie just now?” “because i'm—” he licked his lips, scrambling. “because i’m more than just tennis.”

the sound of your scoff ticked him off. where is this attitude coming from?? he wondered. it reminded him of the worst parts of seunghyun—or maybe he’s misplacing his bitterness. “'more than just tennis.’” you repeated to yourself, tsking. “i don’t like liars, jiyong. you know this.” your eyes met his from your spot across your dorm, the look on your face harnessing the ability to send an atheist to confessional. “if you’re stringing me along, might as well just say it.” “i’m not!” jiyong exclaimed desperately, shaking his head. “i’m not. i swear. i'm—i’m just—” he let out a breath. “i’m not good at these things. relationships,” he clarified. “sometimes i don’t know what to tell you and what to not.” “but this is, like, the most basic thing about you, jiyong. it's written on all the clothing you wear.” you countered. “i mean, do you not want me to come?” “i do. its just that—” he kissed his teeth, losing his words. “its … it's hard to explain.”

you watched his head sink into his palms, the top of his stanford tennis baseball cap visible to you. it was a pitiful sight, though you couldn’t help the percolating sympathy tugging at your chest. you walked over, sound of your footsteps approaching making jiyong lift his head, looking up at you stood between his knees. “would i make you nervous?” “y-yeah,” he broke out into a sheepish smile. isn’t it obvious?—“i mean, who wouldn’t be?” you didn’t say anything at first, only bringing your hand up, holding his cheek in your palm, watching his eyes close to the touch of your thumb tracing his cheekbone. “i’m just a person, jiyong.” you told him. he shook his head, as if it was a personal insult: “no. you are not just a person.” his sentiment affected you harder than anticipated. his hands traced your bountiful waist, fingers feeling the denim of your jeans, palms resting on the back of your thick thighs. his forehead landed on your stomach, “don’t ever say that again.” he murmured into your shirt.

your hand traced the collar of his shirt, tenderly rubbing between his shoulder blades. the image was saintly: a disciple begging for forgiveness, the deity having mercy. your wrist accidentally collided with his cap’s visor, disorienting its backwards position on his head. “you shouldn’t wear this as often as you do.” your voice was noticeably softer. “i like seeing your hair.” “you . . . you do?” he raised his head, eyes having grown twice their size through his brief stint in purgatory. “mhm.” you hummed, taking the cap off his head. you adjusted the closure, fixing it to aptly fit your head. you looked over your shoulder, spotting your reflection in the mounted mirror above your dresser. “how do i look?” his smile was big and stupid, “really cute.” he chuckled. he pressed a kiss onto your clothed stomach, wishing for your attention. “really, really cute.” “ready to cheer you on, hm?” “yeah, you do.” he was flustered at an atomic level, unable to meet your eyes upon your gaze returning to him below you.

“matter of fact,” he giggled, teeth finding his bottom lip. “keep it on.” his finger curled into the hem of your jeans, tugging at the button. you tsked disapprovingly, “i should’ve known.” you walked away, returning to your laundry basket. “why?” he playfully drew out the last syllable, watching you with a soft look of admiration. “i have things to do.” you said, unable to deter the sheepish grin tugging at your mouth. “i can’t get distracted. plus, you have practice in, like, a half hour.” “last time it took only ten minutes,” jiyong relaxed his posture, propping himself up with his hands behind him, resting on the bed. “today it might only take five.” “the last thing i need is to be rushed.” you spoke with an air of finality, matching the remaining socks in your basket. jiyong stood on his feet, tip of his nose meeting your temple before his lips did. “i can always be late.” he suggested, tone smooth. “could come up with an excuse.” “and what would that be? drunk on pussy?”

jiyong’s cheeks burned from trying to hide his smile, momentarily turning his head away. “you said it. not me, baby.” he chuckled, putting his hands up in a playful admission of defeat. his arms found your waist, lips pecking the corner of your mouth—beckoning you wordlessly. you obliged, turning your head. he re-connected the kiss, his small breath of satisfaction tickling your cheeks. “y'know how much i love eating it,” he spoke gently. “right?” “you make it known.” “yeah, i do.” his cheeks bunched up with his proud grin, laughter ringing out of him at the sound of your light scoff, nudging his shoulder with your knuckle. his hands reached up, re-orienting his cap to sit backwards on your head. “for, y'know,” he nodded. “historical accuracy.” your expression turned to one of surprise, shocked at yourself: “how did i forget such an important detail?”

it was relatively easy to find the athletic center, having walked by it a handful of times throughout the last near four years. the only issue was finding the tennis courts, which resolved itself after a run-in at the front desk—you being directed to the elevator to head down a couple floors. you took your seat in the stands, the only one there besides a handful of other students and two apparent reporters for the school newspaper, both deep in conversation as the athletes filed out, small notepad and pen in hand. you waved to jiyong, able to see him and seunghyun without issue, protected from the california sun underneath his stanford tennis cap clad on your head. jiyong waved back with a smile, adjusting his sunglasses to sit at the top of his nose bridge. seunghyun adjusted his, too, cleaning his pair with the hem cardinal red polo before getting into position.

your knowledge of tennis teetered into subpar territory, but it didn’t take an expert to know something was off. the pacing was fast considering it was a doubles match—jiyong behind the net, seunghyun at the baseline. both showcased strength, however, it was seunghyun who held more resolve: hitting the ball after it hurled past jiyong, launching it back to their opponents before it even bounced on his side of the court; pacing after jiyong hit the net with the ball enough times to hand pepperdine the first set of the game, walking wordlessly when switching their end of the court; jiyong nearly dropping his racket, but hitting the ball in time to win them the second set—churning a sharp “shit!” from seunghyun’s diaphragm, swinging his racket at nothing after the chair umpire issued a conduct warning for his use of profanity.

three sets later, stanford clutched a comfortable win—but jiyong wasn’t the one to thank. he felt it in his bones, leaving the locker room with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder: she had my hat on, his inner monologue reminded him, probably saw every time i fucked up. he went to you in the stands, quickly wiping the sweat off his face and neck with his microfiber towel, initially greeting you with a chaste kiss. he let his duffel bag fall to the ground, kissing you more properly, hoping it would deter his swirling frustration. to his misfortune, his quick, dependent movements swiftly gave it away. “hi,” he spoke softly, looking at you behind the polarized lens of his sunglasses. “how’d you like it, hm?” “it was interesting,” you chose your words carefully, aware enough to sense the game didn’t unfold ideally. “i wish i knew more about the rules.” “they’re complicated.” he brushed off with a subtle shake of his head—another sign he wanted to move past this. he licked his lips in thought, glancing at the court before returning to you. “you up for a late lunch? my car’s not far. we could go off campus.” “that sounds fine—” “—great.” he took your hand, turning around. “wait—hold on.” your fingers found his wrist. jiyong glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “what?” “you don’t wanna talk about this?” you offered. “i mean, i may not know much about the mechanics. but i can listen.”

jiyong turned to face you fully. “i promise m'fine, baby.” he leaned in, aligning his nose beside yours, kissing your lips. you re-connected them, hand coming up to hold his cheek, feeling a small gust of wind float by—a silent plea. jiyong kissed you again, slowly separating your lips, taking a breath. “we good?” “if you are, yeah.” he wasn’t, though. his flubs percolated at the back of his mind on repeat, tainting his sight akin to summertime gnats and deepening the burden in his chest like a poorly grilled hot dog at the cookout. he was quiet at panera bread—a popular bakery-café and frequent off campus meeting spot for fellow students—eating his sandwich, sat across the booth from you, mute. it wasn’t a comfortable silence in which you two organically co-existed. the unresolved tension weighed on you enough to upkeep your pretended interest on the cars driving by outside, keeping you and your sandwich so close to yourself. it would’ve been better if i just came alone, your inner monologue pestered.

sitting in his car prolonged the silence, the only difference now being the white noise of the air conditioning. you looked to your left, seeing jiyong looking out his driver’s seat window—elbow propped against the door, fingers holding his chin; in his own world. you couldn’t take it anymore: “you know,” you began. “you could’ve just told me you weren’t feeling okay.” “i’m fine.” he muttered. “you’re obviously not.” you countered, growing annoyed with the back of his head. “there’s no need to lie, jiyong.” his eyes closed, frustration tugging at his senses. “i don’t wanna talk about this.” “fine,” you huffed. you crossed your arms over your chest, “then the least you could do is drive me home.” you said, looking out of your window at the surrounding panera parking lot. jiyong turned his head, “where does your attitude come from?” he was unabashed, shaking his head in disbelief. “like, am i not allowed to show emotion or something?” “i could ask you the same thing.” you met him where he was at—since he wanted to go there. “this could’ve been resolved if you just talked to me about the game. instead, you just sat there with that—” you gestured to him over the center console, trying to find your words. “with that face on your face.”

“sorry i’m such an eye sore.” jiyong’s tone was riddled with bitter sarcasm. insecurity turned him into a puppet: “i know i’m not the hottest arm candy to have, or whatever.” “what the actual fuck are you talking about right now, jiyong?” you were bewildered, eyes widening at him. you shook your head, “don’t turn this into something else. that’s not what this is about.” a breath left your lips, “look, you’re obviously upset that it didn’t go as well as you—” “—stop.” jiyong cut you off sternly, tight-lipped. “just stop.” he repeated, seeing your offended expression in his periphery. he turned his body, facing you. “one thing you need to know is not everything that comes out of my mouth is some sort of—some sort of big lie trying to trick you. no one is out to get you,” the way he shook his head patronized the fuck out of you—as if his big words couldn’t dare be comprehended in your subordinate head. “if i wanna keep that shit to myself, i’ll keep it to myself. is that okay with you? or do i need permission for that, too? written consent?” “and i’m the one with the attitude?” you raised your eyebrows, fingers pressing against your chest for emphasis. you scoffed in disbelief, “you got me beat, jiyong. i don’t know how we got here. i don’t know what to say.” “then don’t say anything at all.”

oh! “right,” you chuckled with purposeful malice, thinking it was about time you wielded your own arsenal bent on belittlement. “my apologies, big guy. my apologies.” your sarcasm rivaled his, putting your hands up in faux-defeat before letting your palms fall to your thighs. jiyong began to tap his foot, knee periodically bumping into the bottom of the steering wheel. “the least you can do is drive me home.” you repeated, tone unwavering. he didn’t say anything, only staring ahead and out the windshield, fingers tugging at his lips. how fucking overdramatic, your inner monologue grumbled. “i don’t see us moving.” you said aloud. “hello?” jiyong ran his hand over his face, “you don’t understand.” “then make me!” you exclaimed. “you’re not even letting me try! how far do you think you’d get talking to a brick wall?” “i’m not an open book.” “i’m not asking you to be, jiyong.” “yes, you are.”

“no i’m not!—” you cut yourself off, pinching the bridge of your nose. it's like pulling teeth—you exhaled through your nostrils: “i’m going to be so for real with you, jiyong.” you said. “if you want this to work, you need to trust me. i’m not asking for you to cut yourself wide open and let me look inside. i’m just asking to know you.” you implored. “i can’t be with you if it's just bracing for impact for the next time you have that look on your face.” what the fuck is his deal?? you couldn’t figure it out for the life of you, “i’m not going to beg you to talk to me. i have better things to do with my time.” it was dead silent in the car. you didn’t feel an iota of regret, nor did you plan on it. you’re a no-nonsense person—it's his problem if he doesn’t know that by now, you thought to yourself. your gaze fell to your lap momentarily, picking a piece of lint off of your denim shorts. your ears perked up at the sound of his sniffle. oh, you beyond appalled, your eyes closing. you have got to be fucking kidding me.

“i’m a nice fucking guy, okay?” jiyong cried. “i don't—i don’t stand in people’s way. i-i don’t bother anyone—” he descended into a blubbering mess, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “and all i want is—is to just feel good. just feel fucking good for once. but its—its so hard. w-what am i doing wrong?” your frustration verged into a nauseous state. i know he did not just 'i’m a nice guy’ me, your stare was lethal—able to topple empires and sever a grown man’s jaw in half with a mere bat of your eyelashes. jiyong didn’t have the nerve to look at you, but definitely felt your eyes, because he cried harder. or it sounded like it, at least: why does it sound almost theatrical—"i’m sorry, baby!“ he wailed. jiyong was suddenly eye-to-eye with you, cheeks wet and bottom lip quivering. "i-i promise i’ll be better. i'll—i’ll figure this out. for you.” he sniffled.

before you could respond, he took your hands in his, pressing kisses into your skin. he reeked of desperation, leaning over the center console, lips molding against your clothed shoulder, descending down your exposed arm. “please don’t leave me.” he murmured shakily, wetness of his tears permeating into your warm skin. he took extra time in kissing the stretch marks adorning your elbow pit, rendering you speechless watching him lean down to your bare knee, doting it with his lips before resting his forehead. “please don’t leave me.” he repeated, “please. i’m b-begging you.” his hands aimlessly palmed at your thighs. it was a horrendously pathetic sight. you couldn’t remember the last time you witnessed such multi-faceted weakness: someone so keen on skirting around the consequences of his actions, yet somehow able to turn himself into the victim, all the while begging for validation. i have to give it to him, your hand found the back of his head, relishing in the vibrations of his satisfied shudders against your supple thigh, fingers combing through his hair, this takes another type of audacity to pull off entirely.

unbeknownst to jiyong, that was his first strike of three. the second came a few days after you returned from thanksgiving break, running into a teammate in the dining hall. it was a relatively short conversation, exchanging pleasantries and brief anecdotes from the holiday before parting—sending each other off with an amicable “see you at tomorrow’s meeting.” but when you returned to your seat across from jiyong, ready to dig into your roast chicken and pasta, he had a different idea: “who’s that?” he asked, cutting into his salmon. “oh, him?” you glanced over your shoulder, seeing your teammate some feet away, standing in line for the freshly-baked cookies. “we do debate together.” you answered casually. you took a bite of your penne, wiping the marinara droplet off the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

jiyong took a bite of his food, “seemed a little into you.” you immediately caught his drift. “based on what metric?” you didn’t hesitate, “delusion?” “my eyesight.” he looked at you, completely serious. tou planted your elbow on the table, using your fork to point at him: “whatever this is,” you gestured a small circle, looking jiyong up and down for emphasis. “shut that bullshit down immediately.” “you’re not my mom.” jiyong muttered, sticking the prongs of his fork back into the salmon, eating another piece with a soured, yet muted expression, cutting a green bean in half. “can’t tell me off like that whenever you feel like it.” “i can if it's nonsensical.” you responded without looking up, cutting your chicken. “eat your food and mind your own.” you said with finality. jiyong knew you were right, but his already impaired ego further decaying put a bitter taste in his mouth. you ate your respective dinners in silence, only speaking when you left the dining hall: you met eyes with your teammate sitting with his friends, offering a polite wave. jiyong saw him return it, taking your other hand tightly in his, leading you out the door: “your irrational way of thinking can make you an eyesore, jiyong.” “you make me this way.”

though jiyong held his boyish charm well, overtime, you learned he was comfortable enough to bite back. or worse, intentionally go against your grain. were you any better? sure . . . but marginally. you left a missed call unreturned here and there, gave him a look reading why would i? after suggesting playing tennis together, and offered a subtly raised eyebrow whenever he so desperately craved praise about anything. he got as high a grade as you on the midterm? he’s thwarting the atomic-level urge to skip his way home after your chaste kiss of congratulations to his cheek. it's rumored that his national ranking may rise by the time you two graduate? your loser boyfriend’s knees are buckling at the sound of your “thats great news, jiyongie,” coupled with that gorgeous fucking smile. he also ate your pussy like he fucking meant it, and you made his tip your bitch—sometimes going out of your way to pamper the slit with your warm tongue, and if he was extra lucky, a swirl around the head, watching the thin line of your spit and his precum connect him to your tongue. if he had the means, you’d have a birkin by now for all the trouble.

he gave it to you good that friday night, spending the last weekend before finals living comfortably between your big thighs. fresh from practice, hair still damp between your fingers from his quick locker room shower before speeding over to your dorm, tongue warm and deep between your puffy lips—this is what you fucking needed. after a week of spending a stupid amount of time in the library, squashing foolish disagreements between your teammates, and just having too much going on in that fucking head of yours—let him do the talking, or lack thereof. your arm relaxed over your eyes, lips parted as jiyong made himself known in the ones below your beautifully round fucking waist, jesus fucking christ . . . his palms dotingly toured your rolls, thumb etching over the tail ends of the stretch marks adorning your stomach; sticking out of your shirt’s hem, before gradually returning his touch to the back of your thigh, hands gently pushing against the back of your knees to keep your legs comfortably spread.

he glanced up, satisfied at the sight of you completely at the helm of his personal love language. i could do this for-fucking-ever, he thought to himself. jiyong latched off for a brief breather, licking his glistening lips, humming in content at your taste. his hands trailed down your thighs, thumbs on either side of your puffy pussy, pulling your lips apart. he spotted the general area of where your clit was, resuming his business. your eyes rolled behind your arm, back arching, your curled toes scratching into his bare waist, turning jiyong into a devout believer in the divine feminine. “o—oh, f-fuck!” your breath hitched. “just like that. o—ooh, f-fuck. . .” you drew out the last syllable behind gritted teeth, jaw falling open as your eyebrows contorted sinfully. the vibrations of his satisfied hum awoke your subconscious, landing him in a headlock. not that he was complaining at all—he moved his head to the left to align with the new angle, good to go. jiyong fucking loved being smothered between those thick fucking thighs of yours—his hearing muffled in and out, squished between your supple skin; body hair tickling his ears; the privilege of squeezing them, feeling the divots of your cellulite between his fingers—he let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed vulnerably whilst he continued his ministrations like the good boy he is.

jiyong suckled and lapped, feeling his lips minutely tingle every time he popped off your clit. he inhaled deeply through his nostrils when your legs separated, a ghost of a whimper curdling at the back of his throat over your illustrious scent. he sunk his hips further into the duvet, body compensating for his overflowing libido, wishing he could return to your previous position. “thats so good,” your eyes were now visible, but voice barely audible—hardly above a whisper. he ate your shit too fucking good, nearly rendering you speechless. “thats so fucking—ngh! o—oh! good, baby.” “yeah? you deserve it.” he said without hesitation, his casual balance between lapping your hole and talking making you fight the urge to shove his face deeper into your cunt. “so stressed, all pent-up,” he popped off slowly, “the least i can do fucking for do you is be good.” his thumbs separated your lips, solely lapping your clit, churning a sharp gasp out from your diaphragm. “right, baby?” “r—right. right,” you breathed shakily, nodding fervently. your fingers brushed his hair back, trying to maintain some sort of a grip. “just—just k-keeping doing that with your—” “—i know, i know. i will.”

you watched him until you couldn’t, head falling back onto your pillow, eyelids heavy and mouth hung open. you barely mustered communication through weak moans and an oddly positioned waist after an intense wave of pleasure left you with one less iota of logic, gingerly shifted back into place through jiyong’s effortless knowledge of your body. jiyong must’ve really starved you of all common sense with his greedy ass fucking tongue, because of all of sudden, you were thinking of his best friend—what? your eyes shot open, panic brewing in your chest, successfully thwarting it by relishing in who was really between your thighs. jiyong looked good, too—handsome. you grounded yourself to him, raking your fingers through his hair, settling your palm on the back of his head, grinding into his face. “that’s fucking right, baby,” he praised, tongue swiping your puffy lips, his cock begging to be freed from his briefs. his hand found the back of your knee, momentarily raising your leg as he lapped the fuck out of your clit, sucking hard before popping off—sending your eyes to the back of your head. “i’m yours.”

you thought you were safe—trusting in his verbal affirmation to settle back into your pillow, ready to succumb to the pleasures provided by jiyong and only jiyong. you closed your eyes, lips parted once again—feeling that swirling tongue and whiny mouth. it worked for all of two minutes. seunghyun snuck in from your periphery, illuminating your senses with his fragmented appearances thus far in your life. it pissed you the fuck off, considering he hasn’t said a fucking word to me, let alone appear since that day at coho’s, your inner monologue ranted, didn’t say a word—no text, no nothing after the pepperdine match. who the fuck does he think he is? you opened your eyes, determined to re-direct your focus: “you b-better eat it like you mean it, jiyongie.” you pulled out all the stops, teeth raking over your bottom lip, stifling a whimper. “i mean it,” he’s completely lost in you, giving his jaw a momentary break, peppering kisses along your inner thighs, spoiling you. “i fucking mean it, baby.”

please, you begged your brain. we’ve been dating for barely two months. don’t make me do this to him. you let out a long exhale, eyes closed with a hand in jiyong’s hair, pseudo-praying to whatever higher force there was that what was trying to happen wasn’t. but as soon as jiyong’s tongue returned to your divineness, the battle was lost. it didn’t exist to begin with—you were just in denial. your breath turned shallow, mind foggy with flashes from the hotel room: how soft seunghyun’s face felt in your palms, the early autumn humidity making his cheeks stick minutely to your skin that your nails raked against jiyong’s scalp to compensate; how he was so fucking quick to take your lips for himself, coming right back to you without a shred of hesitation after jiyong knocked him off aim—to him being out of breath from running after you to the elevator; a man so tall, with a bravado so traditionally and nauseatingly masculine, falling to the beauty of a woman . . . thats what i like to see . . . you kneaded your breast through your shirt, eyebrows furrowed in your lustful trance.

a delicate moan left your lips, remembering seunghyun’s smirk tugging at his mouth whilst sat across from you at coho. jiyong thought you were still with him, but his delicious lapping of your clit was used in tandem with memories of his best friend’s grunts on the tennis court. “s—!” your eyes nearly fell out of your head, slapping your hand on top of your mouth so harshly it stung. you looked down, seeing your thighs clenched around jiyong’s head—so lost in your own, you hadn’t realized you were practically suffocating him. but with how he nursed your clit relentlessly, bringing you closer to unraveling the building knot in your abdomen, he didn’t seem to mind. in fact, he misheard: “are you close, baby?” his voice was muffled against you. “y-yes—” you avoided saying a name at all fucking costs. “just—just k-keep—oh my god!” your hips involuntarily bucked up with seunghyun’s grunts replaying in your head, chasing your high using his best friend’s face.

your body was overwhelmed, nails digging into your cheeks to shut you the fuck up, eyes glossing over through your efforts. you looked down, eyelids barely able to keep themselves open. only the top of jiyong’s head was visible. in your blurry, hazy line of sight, he looked like seunghyun. there’s a special place for me in hell—"f-fuck!“ a guttural moan rang out of your chest, setting your entire body on fire. you heard your back crack from how high your arch went, hands holding a clueless jiyong steady to your cunt. you don’t think you’ve ever came this fucking hard in your life. you felt depleted of all energy, hips bucking, doing anything to deal with the sheer intensity of your orgasm. you breathed deeply, eyes barely open, senses somewhat awoken when jiyong’s lips found your cheek, feeling his arms wrap around you afterward. you think he said something along the lines of "its okay, baby. i got you,” in an effort to bring you back down to earth—but you couldn’t have cared less. you came so hard your ears were ringing—heartbeat pulsating between your temples in makeshift morse code: three strikes. you’re out, jiyong.

you felt horrible, but none more than confused. jiyong’s blissfully unaware state, sleeping peacefully next to you as his light snores melted into his pillow. you turned onto your side, your back facing jiyong’s, eyes trained on the cast of a nearby street light peppering in through the blinds. am i not over him? the question made you shrivel up. what am i? not a day over sixteen? you ran your hand over your face, trying to ground yourself: what could’ve even led to this? i haven’t thought about seunghyun in what feels like forever, you wondered. you mentally rifled through the possibilities, trying to maintain momentum despite the uncomfortably sensitive feelings erupting in your chest. it was really fucking hard, and at times embarrassing, but you’ve never felt this way before. you would be remised not to get to the bottom of it for your peace of mind.

you traced it back to coho: “he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” you overheard seunghyun rather fleetingly in the moment. but now, it taunted you. what began as a curious itch, wondering what the fuck he meant by that, turned into a catalyst for hyper-critical analysis. what was seen as endearing when you first met jiyong—his overt shyness, sheepish glances, awestruck look in his eyes when you did so much as acknowledge him—now served as the thin veil weakly guarding himself, or better yet, his insecurities. his sweetness and charming smile didn’t feel like a front. he wanted to please in many meanings of the word, and he did—you can attest to that. seeing him after the night at the hotel, however, every step forward tugged further at the veil: the sudden glossiness in his eyes finding out seunghyun had your number the entire time, a well-hidden quiver when asking if you two were just friends, blatantly disregarding you from a significant part of his life for reasons you’ve just realized you still don’t understand, blatantly disrespecting your opinion once things didn’t go an agreeable (or his) way, jealousy permeating his logic enough to rival already resident insecurities, the audacity to unironically call himself a “nice guy,” and the final tug—being so good at eating pussy that his girlfriend thinks of his best friend.

you let out a sigh, okay, that last one's my fault, you pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the bed dip, jiyong adjusting himself in his sleep. but it's all been culminating, you inner monologue reasoned, my wake-up call just happened to be visceral. your warming face sunk into your palms, and really fucking hot. you couldn’t do yourself the disservice of denying it any longer. you reached for your sidekick on your nightside table, clicking your messages, reading the texts seunghyun sent the night you and jiyong went out: Hi this is suenghun; Call me when u can. so hell-bent he didn’t spell his own name correctly, your teeth found your bottom lip, unabashedly staring at your small screen. your thumb circled the trackball, eyeing the Reply button in the bottom right-hand corner. without thinking, you pressed it, sliding up the screen to reveal the tactile keyboard.

it was half past one in the morning, and seunghyun really wanted his day to end. practice was grueling, and having to make a b-line to the library right afterward wasn’t ideal. he filed into his bedroom after brushing his teeth, hearing his text tone go off, retrieving his blackberry from his desk. he sat down in bed, about to toss his phone onto his nightside table, until he saw the name on his screen. seunghyun did a double take, pressing the trackball quicker than he’d like to admit. his hearty chuckle would’ve given him away, anyway: I didnt know your name was spelled like that. your text tone went off, too. and loudly—“shit!” you exclaimed in a whisper, clutching your phone to your chest, hand atop the speaker. jiyong stirred in his sleep, completely unaware. you muted your phone before gradually lifting it. you hadn’t expected seunghyun to respond so quickly considering his track record, but his text didn’t fail in keeping your interest: How do u think its spelled

you grinned. in his slumber, jiyong turned to face you. the sight of his cheek squished against his pillow, hand inches away from yours, brought you back down to earth—realizing what you were doing. this little pocket of temptation dissipated with every press of a key, shoving it away with finality onto your nightside table before dozing off. asshole, seunghyun read. “spot on.” he muttered to himself, amused. he typed his final message of the night, Ji’s got u real bored huh. seunghyun started his morning with a taste of his own medicine: no response. you read his text when you woke up. self-consequential bitterness soured your mouth, until you heard jiyong’s quiet murmurs beside you, followed by his warm skin nurturing yours. you scooted closer, lips dotingly kissing his senses awake.

you decided to start finals week with a semblance of peace, putting those confusing feelings behind you. you had a mixed bag of examinations and projects—booked and busy all five days. jiyong’s workload was just as intense, but ended mid-week. he was flying home early in the morning, keen on spending his last night of the semester with you. he brought you take-out, knocking on your door wednesday evening, following the submission of his last final project and your lengthy rules of war exam. he pulled a chair from the student lounge down the hall to eat with you at your desk, satisfied with how close your arms rubbed together. his kisses were characteristically sweet, hand pulling you to your bed, despite your protests. “cmon, baby,” jiyong pouted from the edge of your bed, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing kisses on your inner wrist. “m'not gonna see you for so long. let me have a taste before i go.” “you do need to go,” you concurred with a nod, bringing your hands to his shoulders. jiyong snuck a kiss onto your palm, “your flight’s at seven. it's nearly ten and you’re still here.”

“i’ll be fine.” he said cooly. his hands found your waist, bringing you closer, standing between his knees. “wanna make you feel good,” he muttered, pressing a kiss onto your clothed stomach, the fabric of your stanford university hoodie matching his crewneck. his lips stretched into a smile, “it’ll be my christmas gift.” “fuck off and go to bed, jiyong.” “but i’m already here?” you kissed your teeth, nudging his shoulder and walking away, until he beckoned you back with a sweet-sounding giggle—catching your hand in his. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding. you know me, baby.” “i do.” you nodded. you walked to your previous spot in front of jiyong, hand slipping out of his, arms resting atop his shoulders. you gave him a sweet kiss, feeling his hands dotingly rub your lower back. “m'not in the mood tonight, jiyongie.” you reconnected the kiss, “got a lot on my mind.” “everything okay?” “m'fine but—” you softly broke the kiss, looking into his eyes. “i guess i’m just not in the headspace.” and no, i’m not alluding to fucking seunghyun, your inner monologue cursed at the pessimist’s voice in your head, i’m talking about the education policy exam i have tomorrow afternoon. fuck him.

“you’re good, baby.” said jiyong. “i’m just happy i got to see you before i left.” “thank you,” you held his face in your palms, kissing his cheek. “and me, too.” you heard him hum in content, molding your lips with his. “i’ll walk you out, hm?” “i’d never turn that down.” you walked hand-in-hand out of your residential building to his car in the front lot, slipping into his embrace. “text me when you’re at the airport,” you felt his arms tighten around your waist, his lips nestled into the supple skin of your neck. “and when you’re home. just wanna make sure all went well.” “you got it.” he felt your hand rest along the side of his neck, silently asking for his eyes. “have a safe flight, okay?” “i will, baby.” jiyong aligned the bridge of his nose next to yours, kissing you tenderly. when he pulled away, there was a particular glimmer you hadn’t seen before in his eyes. an ever-so-small gasp escaped from the back of his throat when he realized that you realized what he wanted to say—almost as if he’d been caught.

“i-i—” jiyong panicked. “i gotta go. it's getting late.” i really need to stop being nice to men, your inner monologue was floored—genuinely. you can be known for your subtlety, but you couldn’t keep your raised eyebrows at bay, “right.” you nodded, amused, watching him open the driver’s seat door. jiyong was quick to get inside—subconsciously trying to scurry from the fiery pit of embarrassment threatening to make him nauseous, stopping short of sitting in his seat. he hovered awkwardly before standing to his feet, looking over at you with an iota of conviction, at the very least. “i’ll see you after break.” “see you, jiyong.” with that, he got in his car, waving to you from the window after backing out of his parking spot. you waved back, eyes on him until he pulled out onto the street. your eyebrows furrowed with a tinge of frustration, shaking your head at his sheer audacity: “what a fucking coward.”

thursday morning was peaceful. no debate meeting until the first week of january, though nationals prep was waiting at your front door step armed with ibuprofen and a voucher for your sanity—but that was future you’s problem. you woke up at half eight, intent on getting some last minute review in before your education policy exam that afternoon. jiyong texted you promptly at six in the morning—At my gate. Boarding soon. I miss you :)—making a mental note to respond after your exam. you took a break at half eleven, stretching your arms over your head at your desk, letting out a long exhale. you got up, opting to open your window to filter fresh air into your room. winters at stanford were a mixed bag—patterns of rain, cool winds, drops in temperature at night—but today, you lucked out with clear skies in the sixties. in your moment of quiet, catching sight of a student and their family in the parking lot, helping them move out—your phone rang.

picking up your sidekick, your eyebrows furrowed at the screen. “what?” you whispered to yourself, confused—it was seunghyun. is this a mistake? or—you pressed the green call button, answering. “hello?” “so your phone does work.” “why’re you calling me?” seunghyun looked to either side of the road, crossing it once the cars cleared. “i just finished at practice and am heading to the library now,” he switched the hand his phone was in, holding the blackberry more comfortably to his right ear. “i wanted some company.” “you can’t spend ten minutes alone?” “nah,” he answered simply. “but looks like you couldn’t either the other night.” “that was a mistake.” you responded with attempted conviction. seunghyun smirked to himself, “sure,” he cooly brushed off, “you didn’t answer my question, though.”

you picked at the hem of your shirt, face warming. “what?” you asked, wanting to buy yourself time, the move useless and irrational. “don’t be like that,” you could hear his shit-eating smile. “what’d i tell you before? lying doesn’t look good on you.” “and like i said,” you gestured to yourself, the conviction in your tone now unthreatened. “i’m not gonna let you swing your dick in my face. why’re you calling me?” “like i said, i’m walking—” “—no, seunghyun.” you cut him off sharply, shaking your head though he couldn’t see. “why’re you calling me?” there was a brief pause. seunghyun turned the corner, walking past tourists taking photos by the stanford oval. “did jiyong bore you?” he was stubborn, like you. it was your turn for a brief pause, contemplating not only what to say but how to say it. jiyong didn’t bore you, per se, but he also wasn’t the reason you came as hard as you did friday night. it was a complicated answer either way. with every passing second, overhearing seunghyun’s sneakers skid against the sidewalk on his end of the line, you were further incriminating yourself. seunghyun didn’t need another boost of his fucking ego, anyway. so you went with your best option: “stop deflecting. its tired.”

seunghyun wasn’t a fool: “look who’s talking.” he chuckled. “you don’t get to talk,” you countered. “want to be all ominous, throw a tantrum at coho’s, and then disappear.” you tsked. “the fuck do you think you are? what do you think this is? who you think i am?” “jiyong doesn’t see this side of you, now does he?” said seunghyun. “what does that matter? who cares what he knows or doesn’t.” you muttered. in the moment, you didn’t realize how that sounded, though seunghyun did. he didn’t jump on it yet, however. not that you gave him the chance to, anyway: “what is your problem? like, seriously. i’ve never met anyone like you before.” “likewise,” seunghyun concurred. he looked up, seeing the library in the near distance. “although i have the suspicion that you don’t mean it as a compliment.” “like the fuck i do!” seunghyun ran his hand over his face, trying to temper his flustered state, hiding his big, sheepish smile behind his palm—he couldn’t get enough of this. not that he’d ever mention it in a million fucking years, but bickering was always the way to go with him.

gentle crackling filed in from either side of the line. you let out a sigh, “why did you call me, seunghyun?” “i wanted to see if you were free tonight for dinner.” your eyes fell closed, completely appalled. “there has got to be something wrong with you.” you heard his laughter, “i’m of perfectly sound mine.” he sat down on one of the benches outside of the library, overlooking the granite fountain. “look, i’m on campus. you’re on campus. it's no big deal.” “how do you know i’m still here?” “jiyong might've—” seunghyun licked his lips, knowing he dug himself into a self-incriminating hole, but it was too late to get out now. “ji might’ve mentioned it the other day in the locker room.” it was like your senses cleared. a knowing smile stretched your lips, nodding your head with an added air of self-indulgent pride: “i see,” your tone was curt. “so you waited for him to be out of the picture. you might be the worst friend in the world.” “maybe.” seunghyun muttered. “definitely.” you corrected him, a frown began to tug at your mouth, a flicker of a furrow irritating your eyebrows.

the both of you teetered onto the line of doing something you shouldn’t. neither you nor seunghyun hung up, though. it was inexplicit. it existed in the numbers logging the duration of your phone call, each higher than the previous. you’re the one who broke the silence. or tried to: “what makes you think i’d want to get dinner?” seunghyun was ready for that from the moment he dialed, “you answered on the first ring.” silence filled the call once again. seunghyun couldn’t see you, but he could feel the hesitation. it stirred in his chest, too, but like you, he still hadn’t hung up. he didn’t intend to, “eating alone is embarrassing.” he said. “it doesn’t have to be.” you countered. seunghyun understood your sentiment differently. whether on purpose or not, you couldn’t tell. “yeah, exactly. it doesn’t have to be. so you should come with. i mean, we’re friends. right? so what’s the harm?” “do friends ghost each other for two months without explanation, and then act like everything’s okay out of fucking nowhere?”

he kissed his teeth, looking down at his sneakers with shame. “that wasn’t one of my best moments.” he muttered. “you’re telling me.” you remarked. seunghyun held his chin with his fingers, biting his inner cheek in thought. “he doesn’t have to know, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “that’s definitely reassuring.” you dead-panned. “i mean—” he let out a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “what i meant is . . . what is there to know about two friends getting dinner together? just keeping each other company?” you didn’t answer. he felt himself become somewhat desperate, but kept his tone leveled. “c'mon,” he implored smoothly. “my meal credits are low and i’m over the dining hall food, anyway. think of it as a fresh start. an apology for being an asshole. might as well get to know your boyfriend’s best friend, too.” “you are a fucking asshole.” you made sure he knew it, and that it stung. it did considering how quickly he was to cut you off, “yeah, yeah—i know. i fuckin’ know,” he ran his hand over his face, “so what do you—so what do you say, huh?”

you didn’t want to answer, though the pit in your stomach said otherwise. you were astonished at the thoughts running through your head, how seamless your logic felt, plainly taking into consideration what seunghyun offered. there it was again—that tug of curiosity. it took you down a cynical rabbit hole friday night, picking up your phone to text him against your better judgment. only this time, he was on the other side of the line. breathing. waiting. he—this felt more real. although, it didn’t scare you. the brewing temptation was on the verge of becoming all-consuming. you felt selfish, but it felt good. you gradually turned around, purposefully looking at your reflection in the mirror mounted above your dresser. be serious, you thought to yourself carefully. it was a mere ten seconds, but seunghyun felt as if an entire decade surpassed him—or maybe it was the pit in his stomach doing the talking. whilst his foot tapped absentmindedly, you stared into your eyes pensively, posing a question: would i be able to live with myself if i went? your subconscious took charge, providing a rather blunt answer, because suddenly you found yourself not wanting to think about jiyong at all. the reason? well, he doesn’t have to know. because there’s nothing to know . . .

“if i go,” seunghyun’s ears perked up, posture straightening. “you can’t pretend to be all mysterious. you have to be an actual person. and not insufferable.” “i didn’t know friendships came with conditions.” “do you want me to come or not?” “i do.” he said quicker than his prideful self would’ve preferred. “what time should i come get you?” “where are we going?” “applebee’s.” he heard you let out a laugh. his shoulders relaxed at the sound, “what’s so funny?” “nothing,” you shook your head. “it's just for a second there i forgot that we’re college students. i don't—” you shook your head again, trying to wipe the amused smile off your face. “i don’t know what i expected.” “well,” his tone returned to his habitual smoothness. he was almost gentle, “could you think of something better?” “no, actually.” you admitted. “i don’t go off-campus much, so i’m next to clueless.” seunghyun stopped himself from taking a dig at jiyong, “you need to live life more.” “i do.” you attempted to counter. “well, sometimes.” you heard his chuckle, “yeah, i figured. i can’t imagine the type of shit you go through with debate.”

“you have no idea, seunghyun.” a smile tugged at his mouth hearing his name leave your mouth. so casually, so effortlessly. like you’ve known him for years. “i should go. i have an exam in less than two hours.” “you don’t make a good friend.” “excuse me?” “you haven’t asked what i’m doing at the library.” “do i look dense? its obviously for finals.” “you never asked what i study, either. i know your political science from jiyong. friends should know these things about each other.” seunghyun smiled to himself. he heard you huff, “we can talk about this tonight.” “you didn’t tell me what time i should get you, either.” you paused, “stop with this mind game shit,” you heard him laugh. “don’t run me in circles. come at seven. i live in sterling quad.” “you got it.” you heard a different kind of smile in his voice. seunghyun’s face warmed, “i’ll see you tonight. good luck today. not that you need it, y'know.” “you, too.” you said. “in whatever you . . . do.” seunghyun couldn’t help himself, “physics.” he told you. your eyes widened, “damn!” “what?” “you need to stop presenting yourself as such a dumbass.” “yeah—yeah . . . you’re right.”

seunghyun arrived on time. or unbeknownst to you, ten minutes early. if it weren’t for the niceties he had to exchange with his roommate’s family before they left for winter break, seunghyun would’ve been driving aimlessly around the mostly empty parking lot outside of your residential building for a half hour. he tried to not think about the anxious curdling weaving through his ribs, permeating his stomach, traveling up his throat—a mix of excitement with a slight dash of guilt—but not enough to deter himself from calling you at 7:02 pm: “i’m outside. ready when you are.” “okay, i’ll be out in a second. gotta find my—” “—you’re good. see you—” he grinned when you cut the call off. a few moments later, he looked up from the driver’s seat, seeing you walk out of the front entrance. he stepped out of his parked car, waving his hand with an unabashed smile. “it's no land rover,” he gestured to his toyota corolla behind him. a sense of victory flustered his veins at the sound of your chuckle, eyes following you to the passenger’s seat door, “but it works well.”

applebee’s wasn’t far off campus. however, the evening traffic was humbling. just need that last turn two fucking blocks away, seunghyun’s inner monologue said bitterly. he tapped his fingers along the bottom of the steering wheel, glancing to his right, seeing you looking idly at the surrounding cars out your window. his gaze fell, seeing your hands sitting politely in your lap. you held them in the same manner the night at the hotel, only moving once his lips met yours for the first time. seunghyun’s tongue swiped his bottom lip, looking away from you with a sharp inhale through his nostrils. he rested his elbow against his door, fingers running over his face without realizing—a subconscious effort to mimic the feeling of yours against his tan skin—trying to relax his quickening heartbeat. can’t believe she’s the same person from that night, he thought, foot pressing gently on the gas pedal, moving an inch forward, she had me drooling, fucking forgetting my own name. now she’s sitting all quiet, like that shit didn’t happen. what’s her deal? how the fuck did jiyong get her—you unknowingly interrupted his internal rant with a small yawn leaving your lips—the events of your day coupled with brewing hunger catching up to you.

it was odd, how seunghyun’s frustration deflated because of something so natural—something not requiring much thought. his mind went elsewhere: i wonder how long she’s been up, he pondered, eyes glancing at the dashboard, seeing it was half past seven. probably works real hard, too, he sighed in the comfortable silence, some part of him feeling lucky to co-exist with you, especially after how he initially ran amuck. i didn’t even ask her about her exam. is it too late to now? probably, considering we’ve been together for a half hour . . . his gaze returned to you, “sorry about all the traffic.” a nervous grin tugged at a corner of his mouth, playing it cool by patting his hands atop his jeans at a fragmented rhythm. you turned your head, looking at him. “it's all good,” you reassured. “it's not in your control.”

“did your—” his words caught in his throat, looking out the windshield to ground himself—why is it always with her that i can’t fucking speak??—“did your exam go okay?” “yeah, it did. thank you for asking.” a gentle grin adorned your features. “how about you? how did it go studying for . . .” seunghyun filled in the gap for you, “quantum error correction.” you raised an eyebrow, “do i even need to ask what that is?” “nah,” seunghyun chuckled, his eyes kissing at the ends. “i won’t bore you. although, i gotta ask,” you rested your head against your seat, listening. “with your law and justice stuff, are you sure you’re not trying to kick bush out?” you scoffed, “did jiyong tell you about my track?” “yeah,” seunghyun nodded, “he’s mentioned it before.” “i don’t ever want to be president, but if it meant beating bush . . .” you looked out your window, shaking your head in thought. “shit, i’d literally be on the ticket right now, campaigning my ass off.” seunghyun let out a hearty laugh, “you’re right, you’re right.” he concurred. “glad we’re on the same page.”

“why physics then, hm?” you asked after a few moments. “with tennis, it's like you’re trying to be an overachieving asshole.” seunghyun put his hands up in faux-defeat, that same wave of victory from before washing over his skin at the sight of your amused grin in his periphery, “not too much on me, now.” he joked. “but on a real note,” his foot pressed the gas, moving the car forward, inching closer to the necessary exit. “i guess i’ve always liked it.” “just casually?” “well, not really casually.” he tried to find the words. “i guess—i guess my dad kinda showed me. pushed me towards it.” he glanced at you, seeing you nod in acknowledgement. “i guess i lucked out. 'cause i’m here.” he gestured around him with his left hand, referring to stanford. “i see,” you said. “your parents must be really proud of you.”

seunghyun looked at you, a flinch of a furrow tickling his eyebrows. did she say that on purpose? his inner monologue ran a mile a minute, that’s the same thing she said at the hotel. “i mean, yours too.” he said, hoping to jog your memory. “you—you kind of go without saying.” you grinned, your voice soft. “thank you, seunghyun.” unbeknownst to him, seunghyun didn’t need to offer the nudge, because your face warmed in the familiarity of your words. it was a unique feeling: looking at someone whose lips have been on yours, made your skin feel so hot you didn’t think it was physically possible, looked into your eyes with not only a reflection of your desire but mutual want, made you cum without even being there, yet time put a halt in everything. halt? your word choice was curious, eyes staying on seunghyun whilst his returned to the road. your gaze wasn’t heavy, but your thoughts were: if he’d been the one who ran into me after the hotel, or even the first to approach at the mixer after seeing him at coho’s, or maybe he if actually fucking called me, the possibilities hurt you. you looked away, guilt prodding at your pores, mimicking seunghyun’s look out the windshield, who knows where him and i would be right now.

you tried to deter your focus from your stirring chest, “i didn’t think you were capable of being nice.” seunghyun exhaled through his nostrils, “i may be shitty, but i’m not—” “—outright horrible, yeah.” you nodded, finishing his sentence for him. friendly silence filled the car, the only sound being the local radio. seunghyun usually played his cds until they gave out, but those ten minutes driving around the parking lot allotted time for overthinking, leading him to stow his stash away, unsure of what your taste was. but there was only so much he could take of the radio host not knowing how to do his job, or listen to the sixth ad-read in a row. “i hate this.” he muttered, turning the volume nob to the left. you overheard, “it's about time you showed your true character.” you quipped. “huh—” “—i mean, i didn’t think i was that horrible to be around.” “what? no,” he shook his head, a light, slightly confused chuckle leaving his chest. “i meant the music. i can’t stand the radio.”

seunghyun opened the center console, pulling out his cd wallet, handing it to you. “take your pick.” “you mind if i?” you gestured to the dome light. “not at all.” he pressed it for you, illuminating the center console with a warm, slightly-aged yellow hue. it was strong enough to make the words on the cds legible. his catalogue was consistent yet diverse: bill withers, mazzy star, david bowie, biggie, pink floyd, daft punk, usher, and a whole lot of frank sinatra. “your taste is so nuanced,” you carefully took out his copy of mazzy star’s so tonight that i might see, feeding it into the dashboard’s player. “yet you’re so you.” “what does that mean?” he asked, car on the cusp of approaching the exit. “do you need everything explained to you, seunghyun?” you asked, zipping the cd wallet closed. he shrugged his shoulders, “it's only a question.” you caught his eyes for a brief, swift moment. “i like it when you’re normal.”

and that’s what seunghyun was during dinner: normal. talking about anything and everything whilst sat across from you in your shared booth—normal. it made you wonder where the fuck this person was when you initially met, or the week following the hotel room, or even these past two months. the night’s events thus far played like an age-old cautionary tale—you on subtle alert for any signs of him planning to play you like a fiddle. perhaps seunghyun already has, considering he convinced you to come out to applebee’s with him at all, but the apparent loss of his guard tickled your curiosity. it's gonna become a drug if i’m not careful enough, you thought to yourself, taking a bite of your fajita rollup whilst he went on about a movie you mentioned earlier. you weren’t completely relaxed, but your posture wasn’t entirely erect, either. as the evening went on, fight or flight mode faded from your periphery: your elbows relaxed on the table, seunghyun’s back against the wall, his foot propped comfortably atop the cushioned benched-seat. maybe he really meant it when he said he wanted to start anew, you wondered, overhearing him order a brownie sundae to share for dessert, or maybe i’m the most gullible woman in the world. not that i want to leave, though . . .

you split the brownie, scooping a portion of it with the vanilla ice cream it came with. “so you wanna go pro, or?” you asked, eating your bite. a smirk tugged at seunghyun’s lips, “i mean—” it took him a moment to answer, chewing through the gooey chocolate. “it would kind of be a waste of time if i didn’t, right?” he looked up at you, expecting you to agree. you didn’t: “no.” you responded earnestly, shaking your head. “not if you don’t want it to be. you’ll have a degree soon enough. for better or for worse, your only talent won’t be hitting a ball with a racket.” “that’s true.” seunghyun nodded, pushing the plate closer to you. “i don’t think my parents would ever forgive me if i didn’t, though.” “i won’t tell you to disregard that worry,” your spoon sunk into the brownie and ice cream, “because that’s not a luxury people like us can afford. and with that mean serve you have, i wouldn’t wanna waste it, either.” you said, hearing him chuckle. “i know it isn’t easy—trust me, i do. it wasn’t my decision to become the designated family role model that my baby cousins’ll be compared to for the rest of their lives.” you looked up, seeing seunghyun already looking at you. you suddenly deflected, “or maybe i’m just rambling.”

he reassured you immediately. “you’re not.” you pushed the plate back his way, but his eyes didn’t leave you. “it’s not rambling if you’re telling the truth.” you didn’t say anything, stirring the melted ice in your cup with the plastic straw you drank out of all evening. seunghyun finished the last bite of the sundae, a question pestering the back of his mind. it didn’t take long to reach his lips: “do you talk to jiyong about these kind of things?” he muttered, keeping his gaze down at the plate before him, stirring the leftover chocolate drizzle. you put your cup down, senses tingling over the possibilities as where this might go, but halting any brash conclusions before they escaped your subconscious. “do all roads have to lead back to him?” you kept your tone light, a polite grin molding your lips. seunghyun saw you in his periphery, but kept his head down. it might’ve been shame or cowardice—he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “he’s not—” he licked his lips, finding the words. “he’s not built for things like this.” he saw your face drop. not to one of worry, but one of cold-hearted, targeted disappointment—regret. he felt like a child tattled on; a friend ousted—his pride betraying him in real time.

“why did you ask me to come to dinner with you, seunghyun?” you didn’t spare a glance at the waiter dropping the check off, but your hand shoved the leather folder seunghyun’s way. he kept it cool, opening the folder, eyes skimming the receipt. “i told you,” a characteristic grin coated his face. to you, it was a threat—a dumb one, running your patience thin. “i don’t like eating alone. and i wanted us start fresh—” “no.” you cut him off with a tut, crossing your arms over your chest. “i already told you. don’t do that tired shit around me.” a chill ran down his spine, masking it with the swift pulling of his wallet from the pocket of his jeans, fishing his debit card out. he shrugged his shoulders, “i’m just surprised you’re still together, is all.” you shook your head, “don’t do that, either.” you told him.

he looked up, but not towards you, kissing his teeth quietly. “what is it, hm?” you purposefully pestered, voice-levelled. “is he seeing another girl? i can’t read your fucking mind.” “what? no!” he was genuinely amused, eyes returning to yours. “jiyong? doing that?” he thought aloud, scoffing, clearly entertained by the prospect. “if that happened, thats how i know the world’s gonna end the next day. he doesn’t ever shut the fuck up about you.” irritation fluttered between your eyebrows, but your expression was condescending, knotting seunghyun’s eyebrows together in mounting annoyance. “so that’s what this is.” you nodded to yourself knowingly. you met his eyes, unyielding. “you want to weave your way in and out of my life as you please because you’re upset he got to me before you did.” your fingers stirred your straw. “this is a really complicated way of saying you like me, seunghyun. took you only two months, yet it's somehow more pitiful than those who take it to the grave.” he didn’t look offended. just hurt. wounded, even. you looked away after a moment, eyes trained on your nails. “we could’ve been somewhere really different if you had just called.”

seunghyun didn’t like hearing the truth. his lips tightened, heart pounding with each passing moment. would’ve been better if she was the one who got away instead of what i tossed away, his inner monologue reminded him bitterly, i don’t even know why the fuck i do that. “he doesn’t love you, you know.” he tried to play fire with fire, but you were unrelenting. undeterred—“what makes you think i want someone to be in love with me?” you asked. the question weighed heavily, pressing enough on seunghyun’s chest to prolong his sudden silence. “did i say i was in love with him?” “you didn’t.” he murmured. “so why would i give a fuck if he loved me or not?” to a passerby—like the group of friends being seated a couple booths down—your voice was nothing to be bothered about, blending into the background. your waiter, however, who heard the details of your contentious conversation, strategically scurried off after picking up the bill, processing seunghyun’s payment.

“i guess you wouldn’t.” seunghyun responded. “cool.” you said bluntly. he returned your energy, “cool.” your shared stubborn silence persisted after the waiter returned the leather wallet, now equipped with a receipt to sign, exiting with a quiet “whenever you guys are ready.” after a pregnant moment, seunghyun adjusted his posture, taking the pen, signing the restaurant’s copy of the bill. he slipped his debit card back into his wallet, fleetingly glancing at you, making out a thought stirring in that head of yours. she makes things so fucking complicated, his thoughts grumbled, but i can’t get away. i feel like i’ll die if i do. you kept your gaze on your cup’s rim. you weren’t sure why your subconscious decided to make an enemy out of your logic. your mouth opened before you could stop yourself: “he looked at me like he was in love with me.” your voice barely surpassed the volume of gorillaz on the sound system, but your tone came across so unexpectedly vulnerable. seunghyun heard you loud and clear. he caught on that jiyong didn’t say it—what’d i tell her? motherfucker doesn’t know shit about what to do. barely built for anything real.

you’re good at hiding it, but over time, seunghyun’s become more comfortable with looking into a mirror. if it's you, that is. he sees hurt etched onto your face, though something tells him its deeper than that. no tears, he mentally noted, i know it’d take way more than immaturity to bring her there. seunghyun’s ears perked up when you cleared your throat, effectively bringing yourself back down to earth. he’s getting under my skin, your internal monologue whirred. i need to get out of here before i do something i’ll regret. in this long beat, seunghyun showed himself once again to be someone who was always just one step ahead. not a master at chess, but acquainted with its moving parts. he saw something in you that you couldn’t see yourself, or more aptly, didn’t want to. though you actively used every atom in your body to deny it, you saw yourself in him. could it be the knowing look in either of your eyes—a flicker of your reflection in his irises if you looked long enough? or the unspoken cunning alignment of how you see the world around you? or does he just fucking get it? it not only being you—but what you understand your purpose to be, and him his? a purpose of worth—of understanding? describing it as mere attraction or being with someone on your intellectual level wasn’t enough—it was a complete and utter match, down to the bone. to the atomic makeup. to unspoken words. it was strong enough to scare either of you, but his words prevailed through the heaviness of that beat: “who wouldn’t be?” you looked up, thinking you’d see his shit-eating grin. he was dead serious, his eyes completely sincere.

the ride home was silent. neither you nor seunghyun spoke a word, letting his mazzy star cd fill the air. he pulled into the same parking spot outside of your residential building, putting his car in park. “thank you for dinner.” you said, taking your seatbelt off. “no problem.” he muttered, looking over at you. “s'my treat.” the nicety flowed smoothly, but he was entirely unsure, unable to make out what this lingering tension meant. you provided an answer, though he didn’t like it: “seunghyun?” “hm?” “you can’t ever call me again.” his expression fell into softened worry, eyebrows furrowing sympathetically. “wh—what?” he subtly shook his head, confused. “why?” you looked into his eyes, hurt tainted by shame ruminating in your chest, voice quieter than before: “you know why.” was all you could muster, tone a pitiful attempt at conviction. seunghyun clenched his jaw, trying to salvage the last scraps of his ego, but his eyes looked wounded. his gaze shifted around the windshield, though yours stayed on him. perhaps it was your subconscious attempting to capture this—the last, definitive moment of possibility before the door closed for good.

not if seunghyun had something to say about it, though. or more aptly put, that flicker in his eyes. he turned his head to look at you, leaning over the center console, body effectively closer to yours. you turned your head to face the windshield, effectively away from him. “don’t make me say it.” your voice barely conjured above a whisper, begging as the strength left you expeditiously. the feeling of his body heat zeroing into yours made your eyes flutter closed—the tip of his nose briskly nudging against your temple, your lips parting. his lips ghosted over your skin, traveling down your cheek, not a hint of a kiss in sight, but enough to activate the last few iotas of sense in your brain, keeping your breathing steadied. “m'not gonna tell you what to do.” his voice was low, breath hot against your ear. “you’re smart enough to make your own decisions.” your shoulders relaxed, a shallow breath escaping between your teeth. seunghyun’s lips brushed against your earlobe, “but i will be at the birthdays,” you inhaled deeply through your nostrils, heartbeat quickening. “i’ll smile in your wedding photos,” the smallest, most delicate moan escaped your diaphragm. your hand found seunghyun’s hair, his stifled grunt vibrating against your skin, the flutter of his eyelashes tickling your ear as he tried so fucking desperately to keep himself together. “i’ll k-keep eye contact from across the table at christmas dinner,” your breathy gasps weren’t helping him, “i’ll get you the most expensive gift at your baby shower,” he undid his seatbelt, feeling you so beautifully nudge your nose against his cheek—needing that proximity. he happily gave it to you, pressing a kiss onto the supple skin of your cheek before making his closing argument: “what’re you going to tell him when the baby grows up and looks like me?”

“oh my g-god.” your voice quivered, lips inching dangerously close to his. how you breathed each other in—so unabashedly, so vividly—outdid the sin of adultery; it was in its own league. “what am i supposed to say to my wife when i can’t get it up for her? hm?” he murmured, open mouth hovering above yours. “when the only time i can stomach fucking her is when i’m thinking about you? thinking about the night at the hotel when i was in college, kissing my best friend’s wife like it was the last thing i’ll ever fucking do? hm? tell me, baby. what should i say to her?” his voice was unbelievably gentle, almost tender. he spoke as if you would disappear the millisecond his lips halted their muted ministrations on your skin— as if an improperly pronounced syllable would curse him for eternity. but no punishment was worse than being cast aside as a mere bystander, to jiyong nonetheless. not when seunghyun knew he was the one for you—the one who knew so much in such little time, the one who couldn’t stomach being near you because he felt suffocated in his infatuation turning into deep-seated longing, the only one who could see the look in your eyes. a secret language only you two could speak; colors only you two could see.

“oh my god—” you repeated, your defeated whimper breathing him back to life. you gradually opened your eyes. the look on his face—eyelids heavy, lips parted, eyebrows knitted together pathetically—made your thighs squish together firmer than before. you lifted your hand, fingers brushing past his chin. “i—” your mouth fell, watching him take your thumb between his lips. your teeth found your bottom lip, feeling his warm tongue swirl the pad. you felt something throb between your thighs. you slowly pulled it out, tracing his bottom lip with his saliva. seunghyun pressed a kiss to your palm before leaning in closer. you nearly—nearly closed the gap, until it all felt too real. “stop.” you begged yourself. “s-stop,” you shook your head, tip of your nose brushing against his. “we can't—we can’t do this.” you let go of him. seunghyun remained where he was, his shoulders deflating in defeat, gaze lowering shamefully to his hands.

you looked out the passenger’s seat window, but your body didn’t move an additional centimeter. no thought of unlocking and pulling the door handle open—just sitting in silence. seunghyun didn’t have the strength to ask why. he already knew. the answer was a flight away, settling into bed after unpacking his carry-on, happy to be home for the holidays. your expression soured, disgusting by how deeply internal this conflict became. how could i have let it get this far? how could i have let it get this messy? your mind went a million miles per hour yet concurrently in slow motion. it all felt so useless: you didn’t regret going to dinner with seunghyun, yet although you knew where it could potentially lead, you’re upset you let it get to that point, though you knew full well you were setting yourself up to betray someone you care about—and you wanted to. when did i become so contradictory? you kissed your teeth, shaking your head. i spend so much of my time unpacking other people’s logic. when the fuck did mine become so corrupted?

you huffed, frustration irritating your chest. “you’ve been his best friend for so long, his first memory is probably with you.” seunghyun didn’t look up. you turned your head, expression hardened in his direction. “how could you do this to him?” his head shot up, offended. there’s no fucking way she’s going to get away with this, his inner monologue scrambled. “you’re his girlfriend.” he said without an iota of hesitation, tone doused in conviction. “how could you do this to him?” you scoffed, “don’t act like that’s the same thing. you know each other better than anyone else ever will.” seunghyun was quick to counter, shaking his head. “its on the same fucking playing field.” “no it’s fucking not.” “yes it is.” “no it’s not.” “yes it is.” “no it’s—” “—yes it—” “fine!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “fine! then it is! are you fucking happy now?” you eyed him sharply. you leaned closer, finger poking his chest. “we got the both of us here, seunghyun.” you told him the bare truth. his mouth twitched in and out of a scowl. “any suggestions on what we do now? since you never shut the fuck up?”

you stared at each other, the silence of lifetimes past filling his car. “yeah, that’s what i fucking thought.” you bickered with the air of a decades-old marriage, brushing him off without a second thought. seunghyun was so irritated, he started smiling. “you wanna know something really funny?” he didn’t flinch at your unamused “what?”—eyes meeting yours with matching strength. “jiyong reminds me every fucking chance he gets that he saw you first,” said seunghyun. “but one of these days, i’m gonna remind him you saw me first. because he loves to just conveniently leave that part out.” “you two never grew past the age of seven.” you tsked, shaking your head dismissively. “i don’t know how i got involved with such—” “—who do you pick then, huh?” he cut you off. you gave him a look, “do you only ever hear yourself speak?” you tapped your temple mockingly. “or do you have any room for others?” seunghyun didn’t back down, “who do you pick?” “you know i can’t answer that.” “no, i don’t. because i know it’s me.” “you don’t know that—” “—then why are you still in my car! you could’ve left as soon as i parked!” he exclaimed.

“but you wouldn’t want that, now would you?” you countered. “would’ve fucking defleated—” you stumbled messily on your words. a frustrated exhale left your mouth, finger pointing out the windshield, though in your mind it was a memory. “would’ve looked more like a lost fucking puppy than you did at the elevator, huh?” you pinched the bridge of your nose, momentarily caught off guard by how fiercely your heart beat— feeling it in your throat. “how could i get sucked in like this?” you told yourself off. seunghyun shot a sideways glance your way, brutally annoyed. “i didn’t know who you two were three months ago.” “didn’t take you long to fuck him, though.” seunghyun muttered bitterly. your stomach dropped. “what?” something in your voice made his stomach drop, too. “i never fucked jiyong.” you shook your head, each subtle stretch of your muscle more menacing than before. “what makes you think that?” anger festered between your eyebrows, cinching them together in a way that made seunghyun’s temples perspire. “and what makes you think you can talk to me like that?”

seunghyun shook his head with vigor, denying your rightful allegations like a cowardly motherfucker, existential fear flooding his veins as his life flashed before his eyes. i’m gonna beat jiyong’s ass, he mentally noted. “he—he told me.” he couldn’t bear to look at you, nervous system riddled with shame, his mouth suddenly unable to produce saliva. “well, he—he didn’t explicitly tell me. it's just—it's a thing we do in tennis.” “what the fuck are you talking about right now, seunghyun?” “just—just—” his words clogged his throat. he was a broken record, “he just told me.” “lied.” you corrected, seeing him nod diligently—almost obediently. “he fucking lied to your dumbass.” “he did.” seunghyun concurred without hesitation, still without the gall to look at you. “he did lie to my dumbass.” he repeated. “all of you are the same.” you said. “not one shred—one shred of common sense amongst however many million of you.” you tapped your temple with your pointer finger. “and you’re the ones declaring endless wars, but are so easily duped and bamboozled by cucks comparing dick sizes? and i'm—i’m the one that’s inept? because i fucking bleed once a month? something i didn’t ask for?” you gestured to yourself for emphasis, eyebrows raised. “and god forbid—god forbid!” you exclaimed, putting your hands up dramatically. “god forbid i want my pussy fucking ate instead of—” your brain ran faster than your mouth, but you caught up after a moment. “instead of sucking a dick that smells so rank it could knock the elderly out with the briefs still on—then i become the villain.” you shook your head, “you can’t even tell the difference between fact and fiction, motherfucker.”

seunghyun nearly broke out into prayer. he really needed a cigarette right now. what got him was how you hardly stuttered, coupled with the absence of filler words—you were serious. he can’t imagine what your opponent feels like during a heated debate. “no wonder the nuclear family is dying.” you continued, “we don’t want to populate the world just to raise dumbasses like you. can you fucking blame us?” seunghyun knew to respond: “nope. i can’t.” he didn’t receive your praise for having the correct answer. not that he expected it, nor deserved it. “always talking about how much of a ‘nice guy’ he is. how about you be someone decent instead.” you muttered to yourself, tsking at the thought of jiyong. “all of this just because he chatted me up at a college mixer. i need to stop being so generous with my time.” you noticed how quiet seunghyun was. you weren’t going to let him go easily, “and what if i did have sex with him, hm? not that i did.” you clarified for the nth time, shaking your head condescendingly. you reached across the center console, nudging seunghyun’s forehead with the pad of your pointer finger, “in case it hasn’t processed up here.” you added. when he opened his mouth, you didn’t give him the chance: “is this all because i dated him before you? are you really that immature?”

seunghyun suddenly found the gall, working against an invisible timer: “its—its not!” he blurted out. his hesitation wasn’t to stall his telling of his truth, but his attempt to find the words to spell it out. he wasn’t very successful, “this . . . is different.” he muttered awkwardly. he gradually looked at you, seeing hints of annoyance and frustration decadent in the furrow of your eyebrows—the subtle shake of your head, trying to figure him out like an unsolvable riddle. you looked so beautiful, even when you were irate with him. “it's not—” he took a breath, determined to not succumb to whatever effect you have on him. he looked at you again, unwavering: “look, it's not a crime to want someone. or something.” “but this is different!” you threw his words back at him. you pointed down to the center console, a gesture meant to reference him and yourself. “this is unlike me. i’m a good—i’m a good fucking person.” the conviction in your voice disappeared in the face of the realization that you didn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. not anymore, at least. “i don't—i don’t . . .” you shook your head, hoping it would clear the deepening fog in your brain—pinpoint you in the logical direction. but it only worsened. a wave of panic washed over you, unable to recognize yourself. you looked at seunghyun, defeated: “i don’t do shit like this. i . . . i mind my own.”

something in seunghyun’s bones told him this was his last chance. that door was actively closing, the creaks of hinges taunting his eardrums. he leaned closer, taking in your features. “i need you to look me in the eyes,” he spoke, “and tell me that it's not me.” a breath parted your lips, looking away from him, pitifully shaking your head. “seunghyun . . .” “then i’ll never bring it up again.” his throat was heavy, maneuvering his head to keep his eyes on you, as if you were fading away from view. “i’ll never bring it up again. i swear.” he repeated truthfully, voice ending with a tremble. he didn’t have the strength to hide it anymore. “you can have the picket fence and shit.” he waved at nothing in front of him, gesturing to the possible future. “live a cookie-cutter life peacefully. maybe he’ll win a couple grand slams and you’ll start a nonprofit under your surname. but i’ll sign your marriage certificate as your witness if you tell me to.” your sinuses weighed on your face. there it was, that tug. “i’ll shut up myself the fuck up if you tell me to. all you have to do is look in my eyes and say the words.”

his heartbeat fastened, eyes looking around him frantically. “look, i—” he licked his lips, grounding himself. “i don’t know what it is about you. actually, i do,” he corrected himself. “i fell for you so hard it's like i discovered a sixth sense. it scared the shit out of me, and i know you feel it too.” you didn’t say anything, only listened. “it blinded me, but it also pissed me the fuck off. because i realized that i’m so prideful that i don’t prevent someone as good as you from slipping through my fingers. not that i deserve you, no,” he shook his head in affirmation to himself. “but it was all so confusing. i’ve never—i’ve never felt this way before. this strongly. so i went up to you at coho's—leading with that frustration,” he tsked at himself, ashamed. “only to find out it was all based on a lie. a stupid one, too. that jiyong ran me amuck for whatever reasons he has. i can’t blame him. i may be a dumbass, but i’m not stupid. there’s things that’re unaddressed between us—parts of how we work. but he’ll never have the balls to say it out loud. and it’s landed us here.” seunghyun took a breath. “and just when i thought it was over, that this was the worst i’ve ever fucked up,” he turned his head, seeing your side profile, chin down. “you texted me. you answered the phone on the first fucking ring.” he watched you close your eyes. “that’s when i realized you and i aren’t so different after all.”

you tilted your head back onto your seat, wanting to disappear. “you’re killing me.” “i’m telling you the whole truth and nothing but.” seunghyun leaned closer, the tip of his nose barely grazing your cheek. “all you have to do is tell me.” his voice fell to a whisper, feeling his body become boneless. it was like you sucked the life out of him, but concurrently nourished his soul. you were his poison. he planned on picking you every time, even if it meant compromising his closest friendship. “look into my eyes and tell me.” you opened your eyes, turning your head to face him. “seunghyun—” “tell me.” if you blinked, you would’ve missed the sight of his bottom lip quivering. he remained strong, maintaining eye contact, blinking harder than before: “tell me and you can walk out of this car. we’ll forget this ever happened.” he said. “so i can finally stop torturing myself with the thought of you,” your lips parted, hand coming up to hold his face without thinking. rationale didn’t exist for seunghyun anymore, either. nothing stopped his kissing your palm, “your name will haunt my daydreams, but not as much as my hand stifling it in my bedroom. i’ll learn to live with it. i promise.” he sounded perishable. “just tell me,” he begged, feeling weaker with every syllable. “and i’ll take it to the grave.”

you watched him kiss down to the inner part of your wrist, resting his lips against your skin. your other hand found his hair, but your touch didn’t invite him in. instead, it served as a buffer leading into the question he knew he’d be faced with at some point, yet his posture deflated at the mere utterance: “why didn’t you call me, seunghyun?” you weren’t mad nor disappointed. like seunghyun, whatever was in the air sucked the energy out of you—making you just as desperate as him. it was poetic, how beautiful you sounded. how intimate your tone was, speaking to seunghyun like he was the only person in the entire universe. like your words were only for him to hear, despite already being alone in his car. he murmured into your wrist, “i’m so in love with you i don’t remember what it feels like to have common sense.” his breath shuddered at the feeling of your fingers combing his hair back. afraid to lift his head to look at you, he leaned into your touch, hiding his face. his words warmed your veins, trickling into your heart, obliterating what you thought you knew about love. there’s only so much a college senior could know. but as you sat there, watching your man so unequivocally devoted to you that he can’t bear the courage to look at you, you had all the answers you needed. you ushered seunghyun to you, feeling him melt into your chest.

you held each other: his arms making residence around your waist, breathing tempered against your hoodie. your shared unspoken language filled the gaps—manifesting in his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your nails gently raking against his scalp, you deep in thought, feeling his chest rise and fall with yours. “he’s not someone i can respect.” you confessed. seunghyun knew who you were talking about. “i should’ve left him after the pepperdine match.” you tutted at yourself. “is it because he nearly lost it for us?” seunghyun asked meekly. “no,” you answered. “it's because his insecurity clogged his logic. you should’ve seen the tantrum he threw in the car. you’re cut from the same cloth.” “we can be different.” “barely.” you held seunghyun closer, feeling his arms wrap more snuggly around you. your fingers roamed his hair, feeling the vibrations of his content hum against you. “you wanna know something?” you spoke by his ear. “mm?” he murmured. “at some point, i was so sick of it, i used his face to cum to the thought of you.”

his breath hitched. “it was the same night i texted you.” “oh my god.” he groaned into your hoodie, hands pawing at your waist. he felt something throb between his thighs, jeans feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “look at me.” you said. he listened, lifting his head from your chest. your palms molded around his jaw, pressing firmly to keep him in your grasp. seunghyun’s eyelids didn’t look heavy, but they held weight. if you listened carefully, you caught his shallow breaths—lips parted, eyes glancing at your mouth unabashedly. your teeth raked against your bottom lip, having to separate your thighs to alleviate some of the conjuring heat. “love me so bad you don’t know how to spell your name, hm?” you felt and heard him shudder, watching him measly attempt at getting himself together. “i forget it if i’m with you long enough.” he answered breathily. he leaned in, but you didn’t give him what you wanted just yet—letting his open mouth hover greedily above yours. a defeated gasp filled his lungs, “please.” he whimpered, forehead finding yours, eyebrows furrowed upward. “i don’t recognize myself. i’m going crazy 'cause of you, baby.” his nose grazed your cheek. you tipped your head back slightly, feeling his lips ghost over your neck. he inhaled your scent, encouraged by your hands on the back of his head. “the part that gets me is that i like it,” he said, pressing a light kiss. he heard your small gasp, kissing again, “oh my god—i fucking need it.”

“you got what you wanted—f-fuck—” he whimpered at your faltering voice, an added air of desperation intertwined in his gentle ministrations. “you got what you wanted.” you repeated, eyes rolling to the back of your head, feeling his lips find your soft jawline, cascading your double chin. “you’re under m-my skin. ruining every thought i’ve ever had.” you let your back fall against the door. seunghyun fought the urge to climb over the center console. “you were—” you swallowed, throat dry. your mind felt fuzzy, somehow grasping your words, “you were right when you said jiyong has no idea what he’s doing.” seunghyun grunted in response, completely lost in you. “do you? hm? i’m so tired of being wrong, seunghyun. i’ve been waiting too long—” “—get the fuck over here.” he grabbed your face with either of his hands, bringing his lips to yours.

neither of you breathed. time stood still. you remembered where you were when his lips caught yours again. once you regained consciousness, back in your own body, goosebumps mostly subsided—everything was on the table. deep exhales cascaded either of your faces, a moan escaping your mouth into his, fingers rifling through his hair until your palm settled on the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as the realization of what you were doing sunk in. what it meant was beside you. oh—but how good it felt? nothing could have prepared seunghyun for the sound rattling out of your throat next. it was guttural, but divine. it came from the soul. how does he know? because he made it right back: his fingers pawed at your hoodie, subconsciously needing to melt into you; to be one with you until the end of time—kissing you like he was the woman. you held him to you with an arm around the back of his shoulders, other hand holding his cheek, silently encouraging him to tilt his head to the left. he listened without hesitation. seunghyun ignored how the gear stick actively dug into his waist, exhaling heavily through his nostrils when your tongue met his. his breath hitched, shuddering vulnerably against you feeling your hand reach underneath the hem of his jacket and shirt, rubbing his lower back tenderly. he kissed you with more fervor than before—i need to get on my knees, his thoughts were scrambled. i need to get on my—

“i need you.” you told him, vibrations of your voice against his mouth making his mind all mushy. “i need you, seunghyun.” you repeated breathily—the heat between your thighs unbearable. “f-fuck—n-need—” he couldn’t stop kissing you, body feeling boneless. “n-need—i need you, too. wanna make you feel good.” he winced when his crotch brushed past his side of the center console. he was painfully hard—afraid of what it’ll look like once he took his pants off. “go in the back.” he said. “i-i’ll meet you there.” his awkward word choice wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. he was too focused on maintaining his balance once his feet hit the asphalt—“s-shit"—keeping a hand on the car, opening the door for you. "lay down. get—get comfortable f'me.” you heard him say whilst you climbed in. you laid on your back as comfortably as you could, careful not to bump your head on the closed door behind you.

his palms traced your thick thighs, the denim tickling his fingers. “can i take these off? yeah?” “mhm,” you watched his fingers unbutton your jeans, lifting your hips as he tugged them off your legs. your underwear followed, both tossed onto the car floor. he fell to his knees at the sight of your puffy pussy. his palms made residence on your bare inner thighs, lovingly kneading their plushness between his fingers—his teeth not sparing his bottom lip. he sunk the tip of his nose into the softest part of your thigh, pressing a purposeful kiss. his nostrils caught the scent of your divineness—it took every singular ounce of common sense in his body not to immediately falter to it. he couldn’t open his eyes, trusting his senses to lead him to where he knows he belongs. “been waiting for this for far too long.” his breath was hot against you. your hand muffled your mouth, eyes rolling in the intoxicating anticipation. his thumbs separated your lips, his warm tongue making itself known. “o-oh my god!” you gasped. your breathing stilled, hearing the lewd sound of his tongue lapping your hole. with every swipe, he came closer to your clit. and he knew it: “oh,” his voice was low. “you taste real fucking good. holy shit.” seunghyun palmed himself through his jeans, whimpering into your pussy. “f-fuck!—” “—ha—a!” you cried out. your hand grabbed onto the shoulder of the driver’s seat, trying not to fall over, nails digging into the synthetic leather.

seunghyun stopped. he licked his lips, not satisfied in the slightest. “show me where your clit is, baby,” he said. “don’t wanna waste your time.” you held onto the driver’s seat firmly, other hand grabbing one of the headrests in the backseat, gradually pulling yourself up. “wanna watch.” you breathed. your back laid against the door behind you, foot propped on the center console, your other ankle resting comfortably atop the backseat. the new view dizzied seunghyun, his mouth watering at the sight of your cellulite recoiling in the midst of you adjusting your posture to your needs. “i’ve been waiting for this, too. f-fuck . . . ” he watched the tip of your middle finger disappear between your puffy lips, slowly inching towards the top. he knew you found his homeland when your shoulders relaxed, licking his lips whilst yours parted, entering a state of bliss. your lids were heavy, opening your eyes as best you could, feeling his nose find what’s becoming his favorite part of your inner thigh, lips pressing a slow kiss on the soft pouch. he heard your frail whimper as your finger continued rubbing in circles, relishing in the sound of how wet you became right by his ear.

“you play with it real good.” he said, teeth pressing into his bottom lip. “yeah? f-fuck—” “—yeah, you do. you play with it real fucking good.” he praised. he grinded his hips into the seat, feeling light-headed. “c'mere.” he got to work—you froze. your eyes glossed over, toes curling around nothing. it was a sight meant to be engraved on an ancient marble vase, capturing the rawest form of pleasure, harbored in a museum for eternity—historians marvel at its teachings, whilst female spectators walk away with a bitter air of “must be nice.” “o—oh my god, h-holy shit—” you mewled, mouth unable to close. you looked down, fingers combing his hair back, seeing his tongue nurse your clit in real time. “k-keep going.” your voice couldn’t surpass a whisper. “keep s—sucking just like that.” you thought you knew what you were asking for with how jiyong does it, but seunghyun actually sucked on your clit, your hips bucked up unexpectedly. “o—oh f-fuck!” you yelped, breathing heavily.

seunghyun latched back on, palms kneading the sides of your big thighs, using them to maintain his grip on you. he sucked more firmly before popping off. his mouth felt a slight chill every time he separated from your clit, his lips glistening. “you deserve this twenty-four fucking seven.” he murmured, slowing his pace. the vibrations of his satisfied hum made your eyebrows furrow so deep they turned upward, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “need to make this shit my full-time job—goddamn.” he flattened his tongue, moaning when you shoved his face deeper into your cunt. “then act like it,” you told him. a long exhale left your nostrils, feeling and hearing him whimper, “e-eat it like you mean it, seunghyun.” oh, did he listen. your eyes rolled back, head snapping up when the knot in your abdomen made itself known. “th—that’s so f-fucking good. . .” you watched him worship your pussy, drawing your syllables out. “o-oh my god, b-baby—m'close.” you gasped, unable to look away when his tongue lapped you faster. “y-yes! y—yes, yes—f-fuck! s-seunghyun—o—oh!” you cried out unabashedly. your eyes closed, head tipping back. don’t need to imagine him when he’s finally here, your inner monologue reminded you, bringing you over the edge. “d-dont—don’t stop! don’t stop! o—oh, f-fuck—!” you panted erratically, ascending into your high. back arching off the door. your chest heaved in tandem with guttural moans ringing from your diaphragm, giving seunghyun everything he’s dreamt about.

your temples pounded, senses clearing when his lips found your soft jawline. “still with me?” he asked gently. “mhm,” you hummed weakly, slowly turning your head towards him, his lips pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “just give me a second.” you heard him hum in understanding. his lips hovered the supple skin of your cheeks, planting them wherever he saw fit, patiently kissing you back to life. you inhaled deeply through your nostrils, hands traveling up his jacket on the exhale, fingers tugging at the zipper. your hand slipped underneath his shirt, riding up his chest—your touch was sensual, yes, but none more than tender; grounding. a silent plea for proximity, earned with a trusting kiss to your lips. seunghyun moved to your neck, placing slow yet purposefully kisses into your skin, savoring the moment. “how was i, hm?” your voice was soft, breathing leveled. “everything you hoped for?” you chuckled, seunghyun feeling your cheek bunch up against his temple whilst you grinned. “you’re not a person.” his voice was muffled against you. “you’re god herself.” you chuckled again—the sweet sound making his heart stutter: “oh, really?” you smiled, flustered. “then god’s asking if you have a condom.”

“i do—” seunghyun sat up quickly, forgetting his upper half was in his car, bumping his head against the ceiling. “shit!” he cursed under his breath. “slow down.” you giggled, even more beautiful when amused. “m'not going anywhere, y'know.” “i think i have some in here.” he carefully stepped out of the car, opening the passenger’s seat door. pulling his glove compartment open, he rifled through, but to no avail. “c'mon . . ” he tutted to himself, kissing his teeth. he reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, spotting the familiar silver wrapper, “oh thank fucking god.” he muttered in relief. “now that just makes you a whore.” you couldn’t hide your smile, failing to stifle your laughter. your eyes lingered on seunghyun as he undid his belt, unbuttoning his jeans before pulling them and his briefs down far enough to free his cock. oh . . . you liked what you saw . . . your leg slipped from the top of the backseat, thighs pressing together without thinking. seunghyun sucked in a sharp breath, thumb collecting his building precum, slicking his cock with it. “i’m a whore for being prepared?” he asked, fingers carefully unwrapping the condom, gradually slipping it on. a grin tugged at your lips, eyes staying on him as he climbed back into the car. his hand wrapped around your right ankle, gently lifting your leg, returning it to its previous position atop the backseat. you scooted down to lay on your back, welcoming him to you, hands on either side of his face, “you’re a whore for having it with your dollar bills.” you playfully tutted, feeling him laugh into the kiss.

he positioned his tip between your soft, puffy lips. his nose nudged yours sweetly, silently beckoning your mouth to his. you obliged without hesitation. this kiss was romantic—soft, sensual. “you better tell me if something’s wrong.” he muttered, voice low. “i will,” you reassured, gently reconnecting the kiss, “i will.” seunghyun slowly pushed his tip in, stomach dropping hearing you wince. “e-everything okay?” his voice quivered, back of his mind percolating with sudden realization. “yeah.” you nodded truthfully, “need to adjust. just go slow.” “i will, baby. i will.” seunghyun leaned down, kissing your cheek dotingly. his lips stayed there, however, because he started to panic. because the more he pushed his cock in—slowly—the more enveloped he was by your tight, gummy walls; the more he was blessed with your divine warmth—and the more he felt closer.

your cute, small gasps weren’t helping. universe save him whenever he overheard your delicate whisper of his name, summoning him like a prayer. he stretched you out gorgeously, giving you something you didn’t know you needed, but it made all the more sense that he was the one who did it for you. “a—any better?” his voice quivered, trying to remain steady. “yeah,” you said breathily, nodding. “jus’ go slow.” you licked your lips, mind fuzzy, “i’ll tell you when to go fast.” i’m not gonna make it, his inner monologue panicked. but seunghyun listened, gradually pulling out, only leaving his tip in. his heavy panting tipped you off, seeing his glossy eyes. “you’re not all here with me, baby.” your caring, doting tone dripped off his ears like honey, making his head spin. oh god— “take a breath for me, seunghyun—” “—f-fuck!”

he had that supreme-court-just-gave-florida-to-bush look on his face. you kept your laughter in, thankfully. “that's—that’s never happened to me before.” seunghyun’s words slurred slightly, pulling out, seeing the now ruined condom. “i think you need to reckon with the fact that you have a really big crush on me.” you chuckled, hiding your face behind your hands. you heard his sneakers skid against the pavement of the parking lot, his hand reaching underneath to take off the condom, tossing it onto the asphalt. “it’ll take a second to wake it back up.” “think you need some help?” “y-yeah. if you don’t mind.” “c'mere, pretty boy.” you called him over softly. he didn’t need to be told twice, “i’ll show you something, hm?” your lips found one another’s like two souls reuniting after centuries apart. there was no rush. you kissed him slowly and deeply, gifting him your tongue when his breathing didn’t sound shallow anymore. sighs of content escaped his nostrils, washing over your cheeks, cascading goosebumps down your spine. your hand reached down, stroking his cock as best you could in your current position. seunghyun received it well, kissing you harder—but not faster—making you moan beautifully against his mouth.

your lips parted from his, the sound of his slick reaching either of your ears. “this is what jiyong and i were doing the night you finally called me.” seunghyun gasped—“a—agh!” he moaned, eyebrows furrowing tightly. “he wasn’t lucky enough to eat my pussy.” your tone was smooth, satisfied with hearing his abrupt, fragmented breaths beside your ear. “well, not yet, anyway. but you already know how that turned out.” you giggled. seunghyun let out his most vulnerable moan yet, face hidden in your hoodie. “you’re nearly there, but not quite. might need a little more.” you spoke sincerely, hand halting your ministrations, “can you stand up for me?” “out—” his voice quivered, “outside of the car?” “outside of the car, baby.” you affirmed. you sat up when he rested his hands on the car, scooting down the backseat, closer to him. a small smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth, amused by the sight of his semi-hard cock. your soft palms traced his toned stomach underneath his shirt, hearing him quickly suck in a breath.

one hand cascaded down, your fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. “didn’t even know i have one that good.” you murmured to yourself, bringing his tip to your lips, running your tongue over his slit. “fuck,” he cursed sharply, nails digging into the roof of his car. he watched your tongue swirl around his tip, eyebrows raising like he’d been caught when you looked up at him, only for his knees to buckle once you started taking him into your mouth—all the while not breaking eye contact. you gradually took half of him into your mouth. not that he was fucking complaining, holy shit—he’s too busy trying not to clear his blurring vision. you were riling him the fuck up—“f-feels so fucking good—ngh!” seunghyun whimpered. he gasped, the vibrations of your chuckle whilst he was still in your fucking mouth catching him horrendously off guard, wincing sinfully. you sucked him off how you wanted to—not wanting to stress your jaw, work your neck, stress your cheeks or anything, really. there didn’t seem to be any issue, however, considering how putty he was after barely a touch. you pumped his tip, sound of his slick so fucking lewd, yet how unbothered you looked by it made seunghyun ready to become a father then and there. he was at your mercy—your complete helm. i could get used to this . . .

“you’re basically there.” “whhaa—” his words slurred, trying to regain his composure. “do you want a little more?” “y-yes.” he stuttered, nodding quickly. “your mouth. p-please—y-yes!” he sounded fragile, deep voice cracking vulnerably. you hollowed your cheeks around him, sucking just enough to make him forget to breathe. seunghyun was unequivocally enraptured by you. sure, he might’ve had some semblance of an idea of what this night might—just might be like . . . but this? man . . . he meant it when he said he would take his feelings to the grave if that was what you wanted. he meant every fucking word he said, actually. and to know—though his intuition never lies, and after tonight, he knows yours doesn’t either—that he is yours as much as you are his . . . take that to the fucking bank, motherfucker, his inner monologue rambled, breathing shallow. he was hard as fuck yet again in spite of his earlier flub. he watched you take him into your mouth however you so pleased, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his tip—head falling back when your cheeks hollowed around him graciously. his jeans fell to his ankles, hand covering his mouth, eyes almost crossing—and to know her bare pussy’s just rubbing against the seat—

without thinking, he pushed his hips forward. you didn’t hesitate, taking him out of your mouth: “absolutely not.” “wh—what?” he was momentarily confused, soon realizing. “did i say you could?” you tutted, squeezing your fingers firmly around the base of his cock. “n-no! you—y-you didn’t!” he shook his head, eyebrows furrowing. “m'sorr—m'sorry, baby. f-fuck—holy f-fuck, i’m sorry.” his breathing deepened, whimpering. you felt his dick throb in your hand, “i'm—i-i’m hard again. let me make it up to you. let me fuck you—fuck you good. i promise—” he rambled, but you cut him off. a chill ran down his spine. he swore his dick twitched, “you better have another condom, seunghyun.” “i-i do.” he nodded, pulling his jeans up enough to retrieve his wallet, taking another silver wrapper out. he put the condom on, hovering over you a few moments later. “i’m sorry—” “—just fuck me, seunghyun.” you held his face, fingers falling to the collar of his shirt, tugging aimlessly whilst you felt him position himself, “fuck me so i forget how much you hurt me.” his face fell to one of hurt, beautifully melting into one of inexplicable pleasure, mimicking yours as he filled you up. he wasted absolutely no time—giving you what you deserve.

you mewled with every thrust, descending into guttural moans every time his balls plopped against the bottom of your ass. “f-fuck, yes!” you gasped. “oh, f-fuck—baby—” you bit your bottom lip, seeing his dick disappear and reappear in real time—stretching you out delectably. your thick thighs recoild with every movement, hugging his waist the best you could in your position. “your dick feels so fucking good.” you whimpered, tugging at his shirt. “just like that, just like that—hngh!” you inhaled sharply, feeling him hit all the areas you needed most. seunghyun was a babbling, incoherent mess: “i l-love it when you tell me what to do.” he panted. “i love it—f-fuck! holy fuck!—” you clenched around him, halting his thrusts temporarily. “f—fuck, baby—” he drew out his syllables pathetically, moving his hips slowly, gradually fucking you again. your hand reached aimlessly behind you, pads of your fingers turning white against the window for any sort of possible grip, your body jolting forward with every thrust. “i love it when you p-put me in my place, baby.” he buried his face into your neck, the sound of your moans intoxicating his self-control. “i want—mmph!—i want my place to b-be you.”

your puffy lips were having a field day, rammed repeatedly by his toned pelvis. “you’re so good at fucking me, you know that?” you breathed heavily. “i don’t think—mmf! hngh! oh, fuck! y-yeah—oh, yes! like that!” your eyes rolled back, hearing how creamy the condom sounded, pounded deliciously. “i don’t think i could get used to this from anybody else.” you told him, mouth falling from how fragile his moan that followed sounded. “so you better get up in there,” your voice quivered. “'cause no one’s gonna be able to fuck me like you do.” seunghyun went faster, earning the most beautiful moan out of you. “y-yes!” you squeaked, legs feeling like jelly. “like t-that m-my love, like that!” “y-you’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” he whimpered, drawing out his syllables, panting like a motherfucker. “i don’t know who i was b-before i met you. i’m gonna—gonna spend the rest of my f-fucking life m-making it up to you. you hear me—o-oh, fuck—” he steadily halted his pace, thrusting hard, catching his breath. “i’m so s-sorry for not calling. i’m so sorry for hurting you,” he sounded on the brink of tears, lips seeking refuge on your temple. “i don’t know what i was thinking—” “just fuck me like it never happened, okay?” your chest heaved, feeling the knot tug at your abdomen, begging for release. “you already know me so well so quick, seunghyun.”

either of your whorish moans battled it out for the top spot, feeling him pummel your pussy mercilessly. “are you—are you close, seunghyunnie?” oh my fucking god, his inner monologue panicked. “y-yes—” “—yeah? m'close too.” you bit your bottom lip, thighs about to give out in your lustful haze.“you know how i like it!” you cried aloud, gummy walls clenching around him, feeling that familiar euphoric wave take over your entire body. “you know just how i l-like it, seunghyunnie!” he gasped, watching your back arch, your face succumbing to the ethereal force of the orgasm he had the privilege of giving you. watching you cum made him cum—“i’ll keep going, baby! i’ll k-keep—f-fuck!” the condom warmed inside of you, chock-full of what you do to him. seunghyun’s stomach caved inward, moans nearly choking his throat, gasping for air whilst goosebumps erupted underneath his sleeves. you were in your own realm—hand having fallen to the floor, temples pounding viciously. it didn’t take long for seunghyun to find you—as he always did—returning his head to your chest, eyelids heavy as your fingers found his sweaty hair. he rested in your divineness, seeking refuge in a way that's tender—familiar, now. you held onto him, afraid he’d slip away; perish. on the floor of the passenger’s seat, your phone vibrated: Hi baby :) Hope ur exam went ok, jiyong texted. he stared at his next message on his screen, sending it five minutes later, just as seunghyun pulled out of you: I love you.

honey's taglist ☕️: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten @riddlerloveb0t @mesopotamism @pepsicolapussi @breakmeoff @thanosspills @moontabi @tabibabib @lexalith @lavenderobsessed @heartubeatusalon

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letsgoletsgetit08 · 7 months ago

Text

fix off pt. 2

summary: Mingi turns to every coping mechanism besides a healthy one in the aftermath of Jongho's death, two years later.

warnings: MDNI!!, 18+, su*c*de attempt, implied/referenced su*c*de, major character death, overdose, recreational drug use, religious imagery & symbolism, catholicism, barebacking, strangers to lovers, bittersweet ending, angst, hurt/comfort

pairing: priest!soft dom!Jeong Yunho x hot fucking mess!Song Mingi

author's note: HEY! Read the tags! This fic has some very heavy content! Please DO NOT READ this if mentions/discussion of suicide/attemps or character deat (RIP Jongho, so glad you're alive IRL, king) are in any way triggering to you! Also, know that myself and Ateez would be very sad if any Atiny or anyone else took their own life. Don't do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! !! !!! That said, this work is based on/influenced by/referencing - sometimes lightly, sometimes very directly because Phoebe Waller-Bridge is more of a genius than me - the show Fleabag. This show is personally very important to me, it both healed me in some ways and also hurt me very deeply. If you have seen the show, you know how this ends. Again, read the tags. Phoebe, if you happen to read this for whatever reason, I just hope you're flattered because of imitation and all that.

OKAY! Disclaimers disclaimed, please let me know if I missed anything. And with that, please enjoy. This one is kind of my baby. I hesitated to even post it here because I'm a little scared of how it will be received but you never know until you try, right? Comments, likes, & re-blogs are always welcome, but please be civil.

word count: 23,480

ao3 link: fix off

December 3rd

Mingi had been back at his apartment for a few weeks, finding it odd to be there. Exciting and nerve-wracking, but also comforting. It didn’t feel the same, but he hadn’t wanted to be at Wooyoung and San’s any longer. After Halloween weekend, he had been doing much better. Reading for fun again. His bar hadn’t even fired him, it turned out that Hongjoong had explained everything to his manager, who begrudgingly agreed, probably, Mingi thought, under Hongjoong’s scary gaze, to let him come back whenever he was ready. Mingi was very grateful. Yes, he had been considering if he had even wanted it any longer, but once he decided he wanted to go to grad school, he realized he would probably need at least a part time job. Plus, his savings wouldn’t last forever.

He was getting ready for dinner that night, debating on what to wear. Mingi honestly had no clue who all was going to be there besides his friends. Seonghwa hadn’t wanted to overwhelm him by forcing him to un-mute the group chat, so he just texted him the dress code, location, and time in a separate text.

Eventually, he landed on a black turtleneck under a blue (so dark it was nearly black itself) suit with a black satin lapel and matching blue suit pants. Black dress shoes. Silver jewelry.

Upon his arrival to the restaurant, he couldn’t help but be startled. His friends sat around a large round table, with the addition of a man in a black button-up with a little white piece in the collar, silver rosary necklace around his neck.

His beautiful neck.

The empty spot at the table was next to the hot priest.

“Mingi!” Hongjoong called as he approached, “Glad you’re here. This is Father Jeong Yunho. He’s going to be marrying us.”

The man, even taller than Mingi, large brown eyes holding a subtle mischievous glint, stood to shake Mingi’s hand, “Just ‘Yunho’ is fine. Nice to meet you.”

Mingi glanced down. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, his hands. “Mingi, nice to meet you.”

Yunho quirked an eyebrow, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy, almost like he could hear Mingi’s thoughts, “Seonghwa was just telling about how he and Hongjoong met.” He changed the subject.

“Yes!” Seonghwa exclaimed, evidently already a drink deep, “I mean we met in college, but we didn’t really meet each other until karaoke on New Year’s Eve…”

Mingi had heard the story a thousand times, letting his brain go blank as he ate, knowing that everyone else would carry the conversation.

He was right, too. It lasted through appetizers.

No one has said a word to me in half an hour.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Yunho turned to Mingi.

He probably jumped in his seat at the sudden attention, “Oh. Um. I’m a bartender.”

“He’s applying for grad school!” Seonghwa supplied.

“I’ve also recently decided to apply for grad school.” Mingi echoed, holding back from rolling his eyes at his friend.

“Amazing. What will you study?” Yunho’s eyes locked onto his like he was the only person in the room.

Mingi felt his face go red, “Oh. Um. Anthropology.”

“It’s okay, Mingi. Believe it or not, some priests also believe in evolution.” Yunho smiled kindly.

He’s sharp.

“Are you one of those priests?” Mingi couldn’t help but try to feed his curiosity some scraps.

“I am one of those priests.” Yunho winked, “I believe in a lot of things that would probably surprise you.”

“Gay marriage.” Mingi offered.

“Mingi!” Seonghwa accosted him.

Yunho chuckled, “Yes, including gay marriage. Just none for me, personally. They really frown upon that.”

What about gay sex?

Yunho raised his eyebrows, a movement so quick that Mingi was sure the whole table had missed it, seeming to follow Mingi’s train of thought.

“What's the worst wedding you've had to do so far?” Wooyoung piped up, changing the subject once again.

Yunho huffed a humorless laugh, “Ah, probably my brother's but that's because he's-”

“Uptight groom, huh?” Hongjoong offered.

“No, it’s-”

“I'm sure it was a little weird marrying a family member.” Seonghwa tried to conclude on his own.

“Did you not like his spouse?” Yeosang asked.

“He's dead!” Yunho said, a little too loudly, “Sorry. Yeah. This will actually only be my second wedding. Turns out Catholic priests who are willing to perform gay marriages aren't exactly in high demand.”

Mingi's hands had gone clammy at his words, “Cigarette.” He mumbled, pushing his chair back.

“Mingi, wait, I'll go-” Wooyoung called after him, but someone cut him off.

“Let me.” He heard Yunho's voice but didn't turn around, heading out the side door of the restaurant, steadying his breathing as he leaned against the brick wall. His hands shook as he brought the cigarette to his mouth.

Yunho was there beside him in the blink of an eye, raising a lighter and cupping his hand around Mingi's cigarette to light it.

He was grateful the man let him sit in silence for a minute. He heard him light his own cigarette, ignoring how he could see how pretty his lips looked as they wrapped around it from the corner of his eye.

Mingi let out a long draw, smoke hovering in the cold autumn air, “My friend, our friend, Jongho, passed away a little over two years ago.”

“Oh, Mingi, I'm sorry. I didn't know. This was supposed to be a get-to-know-each-other dinner so that I could do the couple justice at their wedding.”

Mingi could feel the others’ eyes on him, but didn't dare look quite yet, “There's no way you would have known. I've just been. Well. It's been a lot, lately. I'm trying to be better.”

Yunho leaned into his space far enough that Mingi had to look into his eyes. He had never felt eye contact that left him feeling so open, so vulnerable before. But not in a predatory way. Not like he was rolling over and showing his belly in submission. It was something else entirely. He felt seen. “If you ever need to talk, Mingi. My rectory is right behind the chapel. Over on 3rd street downtown.”

“I'm not religious.”

“Neither am I.” Yunho looked serious.

“You're literally a priest-” Mingi started.

“I know, I know. It's not that I don't believe, it's just… complicated. But I am a qualified person to lend an ear. If you ever need one.”

Mingi studied him as he took another drag of his cigarette. “I'll keep that in mind, Father. ” He blinked up at him through his eyelashes, just to see what reaction the man would have.

Yunho rolled his eyes, but Mingi clocked the exact shade of red his neck turned at his words. Yunho put his cigarette out on the wall beside him, “I'll see you back inside, then.”

Mingi’s head spun.

Why does the priest have to be hot?

December 7th

Returning to work was disorienting to say the least. The bar had a pretty high turnover rate, so no one he currently worked with had been there after Jongho passed. He had intentionally not gotten close with any of them since then. He had hoped his manager hadn’t said anything about why he had been gone, but as soon as he arrived, he knew that wasn’t the case. His coworkers all gave him horribly pitying looks and skirted around him like he might dissolve on the spot if they were anything but excessively gentle with him.

One of them tried to give him her tips when her shift was over. He declined, of course. Although the money would have been nice. Another one of the servers made sure to say “please” and “thank you” when dropping off drink orders. His fellow bartender had insisted upon letting him work the well so he didn’t have to deal directly with customers. It was nice and in theory, he appreciated it. But in practice, it made him feel singled out.

When his manager offered to cut him early, he accepted, pretending not to see the other bartender slip some of his tip money into Mingi’s tip jar while he thought Mingi wasn’t looking.

Mingi walked out, shivering in the chill air before remembering he had left Jongho’s hoodie inside. He turned back to retrieve it but something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. A bell tower piercing the night sky could be seen a few blocks away.

Yunho did say to come by any time.

He opened his phone to Google Maps to confirm that the church he was headed towards was indeed the one the priest had been referencing.

It was.

After retrieving his hoodie he began to make his way over.

He skirted around the outside of the main building, finding the rectory exactly where the man had said it would be.

Why did the priest have to be hot?

He knocked, never once considering it was nearly 11pm and non-bartenders with normal hours might be asleep.

Yunho answered the door a minute later, one eye still scrunched closed, hair mussed in the back, wearing a well-worn Spiderman t-shirt and athletic shorts.

“Mingi?” Yunho’s voice was raspy.

He remembered my name!

“Hi, sorry.” Mingi felt his ears go hot, “You said come by anytime-”

“No, no, of course.” Yunho rubbed his eyes, “I meant it, too. I just maybe hadn’t considered um. Bartender hours.”

Mingi stood like a deer in headlights, frozen in the doorway, “I can just go-”

“No.” Yunho moved out of the way, “I’ll put on some tea, come inside. I really don’t mind. I’ve just been, uh, really enjoying going to bed early lately.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing or I’ll kick you out.” Yunho turned towards his small kitchen, looking for the kettle.

“That seems counterintuitive, Father.” Mingi couldn’t help myself.

Yunho whipped around, “Oh, fuck off with that.”

“With what?” Mingi asked, trying to sound innocent.

Maybe he prefers ‘daddy’.

Yunho stared him down, “Do you want some wine instead?

Mingi chuckled, “Like… the blood of Christ himself?”

Yunho rolled his eyes, “No like wine from France that’s burning a hole in my cabinet.”

“Yes, that sounds nice.”

Yunho smiled, eyes tracing over Mingi’s face like he was reading the subtitles to his inner monologue. Mingi looked down, unable to stand having someone flay him open so casually like that. Yunho turned, fishing coffee mugs and the wine out of the cabinets.

“Sorry, I don’t own wine glasses, funnily enough.”

Mingi huffed haughtily, laying his fake distaste on heavily, “Ew, nevermind, I’m leaving.”

“No, wait, come back, I haven’t even made you repent yet!” Yunho called as he brought the coffee mugs over to the table, where he indicated for Mingi to sit.

“You’re just assuming I need to repent for something?” Mingi crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you need to? Why don’t you tell me what brought you here tonight.” Yunho handed Mingi the coffee mug, fingers brushing.

Electricity shot up Mingi’s arm, nearly making him drop the mug.

God, his fingers.

“Where’d you just go?” Yunho caught his gaze again.

Mingi met his eyes, thinking that he might feel more naked in front of him now than he would if he actually had his clothes off. He ignored Yunho’s question. “I work nearby, actually. My shift was… weird tonight.”

“Weird how?” Yunho leaned in, propping his forearms on the table, listening intently.

“It was my first night back.” Mingi took a sip of the wine, letting it warm his insides and loosen his tongue, “I didn’t expect everyone to know and they all treated me like I would break.”

“First night back from…?” Yunho looked genuinely curious.

Mingi felt embarrassed, having gotten used to everyone knowing what he’d done that he was surprised when Yunho hadn’t been filled in. “Oh. I um. I tried to- well. I did overdose. About a month and a half ago. I apparently had some self-preservation left in me because I called Hongjoong at the last minute.” He stared at the wine in his mug the whole time he spoke, but could feel Yunho’s eyes on him the whole time. “I stayed with Wooyoung and San afterwards because everyone was scared I would… try again.”

“Mingi…” Yunho reached forward, grabbing Mingi’s wrist, “I’m glad you weren’t successful.”

“Because I would have gone to hell?” Mingi raised his eyebrow.

“Because I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you.” Yunho answered. His words hung in the air, the implication of them, the acknowledgement of the chemistry between the two of them crackling the atmosphere like heat lightning.

Mingi didn’t know what to say, but Yunho continued before he needed to reply, “You’re doing better now, though?”

Mingi nodded, “I am. I’m maybe actually um processing things. Rather than just coping. But everything on the other side is a little overwhelming, I guess. I hate that my friends are so worried. I want them to be able to just enjoy Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s wedding.”

“Hm.” Yunho let go of his wrist, taking a drink of his own wine, “Do you want my advice?”

Mingi smiled, “No, I came over just for the wine and weird energy between us.”

Yunho laughed, “Okay, heard, loud and clear.” He composed himself, taking a breath, “Mingi, I think that you have to realize your friends find it to be a privilege to have you in their lives to worry about you. Worrying is one of the biggest indications of caring about someone. The fact that you’re worrying about them worrying… well it sounds to me like you and your friends have a lot of love for each other. Just try to be grateful you have people to worry about and who worry about you in return. Not everyone can say that for themselves.” Mingi didn’t miss how the vein in Yunho’s forehead became slightly more pronounced at his last sentence.

He sighed, finishing his wine as he let Yunho’s words process, “I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. Thank you.”

Yunho smiled, “Any time, Mingi. So I guess you don't actually have anything to confess then, hm?”

Mingi barked a laugh, “Ha! I have so much to confess but not tonight.” Mingi stared a hole through the table.

“Well,” Yunho waited until Mingi returned his eye contact, “I'm here. If you ever need to. Actually, here.” He pulled out his phone, “In case it's a very specific priest-related emergency.”

Mingi chuckled as he put his number into the man's phone, “Have you experienced a lot of those?”

“Nah,” Yunho dialed the number so Mingi would have his as well, “Surprisingly, most of the time it’s a pretty monotonous lifestyle.”

“Most of the time.” Mingi couldn’t help but admire the man’s pretty cheekbones, plush lips.

Yunho seemed to be doing the same, “Yeah.” He sighed, eyes lingering on Mingi’s lips a little too long to be subtle, “Most of the time.”

“I should get going. It’s past your bedtime.” Mingi stood up rather abruptly, breaking the tension.

“It is indeed, but that’s okay. I’m glad you came by.” Yunho’s expression was genuine, eyes holding a hint of what Mingi swore was forbidden desire swimming behind the surface.

Mingi stood to leave, letting Yunho walk him to the doorway. He turned before he was out the door, “Yunho?”

Yunho smiled softly, “Yeah?”

“Who do you have that worries about you?” Mingi whispered it, too nervous to speak any louder.

Yunho’s eyelids fluttered, “Surely after all the time I’ve devoted, the Lord himself worries for me.”

“He doesn’t count.” Mingi was standing so close he could have kissed him, “I’ll worry for you now.”

Yunho’s chest heaved at his words, “Mingi… I’ll worry for you, too.”

December 12th

Therapy.

Mingi was going to really try this time, too.

His chest was tight with anxiety as he entered her room, sitting on the couch opposite of her chair. She was older, hawk-like features trying to appear soft.

Not my type.

“Is there anything in particular you want us to focus on today?” She asked, reedy voice managing to cut through his nervous internal monologue.

He took a deep breath, then started the only place he knew to, “My best friend is dead.”

“That must be very hard for you.”

“Well, yeah. Made all the worse because I did something that I think contributed to him dying. We don’t even know for sure if it was a suicide or not. But I feel like deep down, we all know.” Mingi couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.

“Why do you think you contributed to it?” She kept her face neutral.

“Because. It was a pretty direct cause and effect. I know I should probably tell them but I never even told him and I think if I had that he might still be here. He could have placed his anger on me rather than himself.” Mingi had never said it out loud before.

“Hm.” She considered his words, “Why do you think you should tell your friends? This seems to be something between yourself and your friend who passed on.”

“You don’t think I should tell them?” Mingi was surprised.

“If you would have told him originally, he would have been the one in the position to tell your friends what happened. Not you. It’s his to tell. So I think you should go tell him.” She said it like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Go… tell him?” He was confused.

“Does he have a gravestone?”

“He’s in an urn. It’s with his parents.” Mingi replied, swallowing the lump in his throat.

She thought about it for a minute, “Do you have something of his?”

He nodded.

“Take it outside somewhere nice. Close your eyes and say it out loud like he’s there with you.”

“That will work?”

She chuckled, “It’s not a magic trick, Mingi. You can’t make grief or guilt go poof with a few words like a magic spell. But you can find ways to lessen their effects. To process. Heal. And I think doing this will help you.”

“I honestly did not come here thinking I would leave with homework.” Mingi couldn’t help but laugh.

She smiled, “I can’t force you to do anything. I’m just telling you what I think might assist you in building some coping skills.”

He sighed, slumping back, “Okay. I guess next time we'll get to the story about me trying to kill myself a few months ago.”

Her perfectly composed mask faltered slightly, eyes going wide at his words, “Oh, well, yes. We should definitely talk about that next time.”

Five Years Ago

“I can’t believe we’re about to graduate in a few months.” Jongho sighed, leaning his head against the wall of the library where they were studying.

“I can’t believe both of us spent four years here and we’ll just be bartending still. Like we could have done without a degree.” Mingi chuckled.

“Hey!” Jongho kicked his ankle, the angle weird since they were sitting side by side, taking a study break, “Are you saying you don’t think I’ll make it as a musician?”

“No way! Not at all. Of course I believe in you.” Mingi nudged him with his elbow, “I just think it’s funny that all of our friends have real people jobs, or at least auditions or grad school lined up and we don’t.”

“Hm.” Jongho looked at him, “Do you want a boring desk job?”

“Hell fucking no. I’d rather die.”

Jongho chuckled, “I’ll sing at your funeral, don’t worry.”

“Good. You better let me die before you.” Mingi fixed him with a serious expression, “I don’t know what I’d do if I had to live life without you, Jjong. I’m your elder, you have to listen to me on this one.”

“We’ll be in the same nursing home together, don’t even worry. If I feel like I’m going to die first, I’ll just murder you real quick.”

“Okay, good, thank you.” Mingi sighed, genuinely relieved at the thought of it, “And make sure they get us plots next to one another at the cemetery.”

Jongho gave him a disgusted look, “Ew, no, I want to be cremated. Whoever survives the longest from our group - Yeosang, I assume - has to put us side by side on his mantle, though.”

“Deal.” Mingi agreed.

December 13th

Mingi’s thumb hovered over the text box on his phone, typing and re-typing before finally sending the text.

I have a very specific priest-related favor to ask.

Father Daddy Yunho

I thought you’d never ask.

What’s up?

My therapist told me to go talk to my dead friend

I don’t want to do it alone

Father Daddy Yunho

I’m free after 3pm

Meet me at the rectum?

**RECTORY

Dear god, I should really proof-read before sending texts

Buy me dinner first

I’ll see you at your rectum at 3:30pm

Father Daddy Yunho

Ha! Happened to you, too!

No, I typed exactly what I meant to, Father

Father Daddy Yunho

I’m throwing my phone away now.

See you soon

Mingi knocked on the door of the rectory at 3:30pm sharp. He had barely started putting his hand down when it swung open.

“Hiya!” Yunho chirped, looking a little too peppy for the task at hand.

Mingi couldn't help but smile at the cute look on the priest's face, his eyes crinkled at the corners, “Hi, Father.” He simpered, laying it on a little thick, unable to resist.

“Bye.” Yunho pretended he was closing the door.

“No, wait!” Mingi stopped him, “I'll be good, I promise!”

Yunho closed the door behind himself, “Very well. Shall we?”

The walk to the park wasn't a long one, but it felt especially quick given how easy it felt to be around Yunho. He was quick-witted and funny, sometimes verging on cheesy, but fun to talk to, keeping Mingi on his toes in a way that made him feel like he had just hopped off a rollercoaster. Alive, heart pumping, cheeks hurting from laughter, hair swept back from the wind. Once they found Mingi’s favorite park bench overlooking the pond, he pulled noise-cancelling headphones out of his backpack, handing them to Yunho.

“Sorry, you don't mind, do you? I'm just not ready to tell anyone besides him yet.” Mingi hoped the explanation would be good enough.

Yunho's eyes were soft, understanding, “Of course.” He reached for them, fingers brushing Mingi’s again as he passed them over, the jolt of the contact going once again straight up Mingi’s spine.

“Thank you.” Mingi pulled Jongho’s hoodie out of his backpack, “Can you, um. Put that on, too. I just think it will help if I feel like I'm talking to a real person.”

Yunho slipped the hoodie on, not hesitating for a second, “I'm happy to help however you need, Mingi.” He slipped on the headphones, then put the hood up over them, turning to look at Mingi and giving him a small smile and thumbs up as Mingi scrolled through songs on his phone, finally finding one he remembered Jongho liking. Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears.

“Is it too loud?” Mingi shouted, but Yunho didn't flinch or even turn his head.

Mingi knew he could have been faking it. He knew that the man could try to listen to his confession. But for whatever reason, he knew Yunho wouldn't. He just wasn't like that.

Mingi couldn't deny how uncanny it was to see someone else in Jongho’s hoodie with the hood up. He understood how Wooyoung must have felt when he saw Mingi in it in his kitchen a while back. He stared at Yunho for quite a while, letting his mind fall into the illusion of it being Jongho beside him instead.

He cleared his throat, “Jongho. I-” His breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat immediately, “I'm who Tuesday cheated on you with. I'm so sorry.” His voice shook as he continued, “I should have told you immediately. I'm a horrible friend. And the fucked up thing is, I only did it because I knew you would forgive me. But then I couldn't even bring myself to ask for it. And you thought it was your fault he cheated somehow. I was just trying to test his loyalty and then it got out of hand and-” He paused as a sob caught in his throat, hearing Yunho sing the song that was playing quietly under his breath, exactly like Jongho would do if he had a song stuck in his head, “I'm just so sorry, Jongho.” He couldn't go on speaking as the tears took over. The movement of his body being racked by sobs must have caught Yunho’s attention because soon, he was being pulled into the man's warm, strong embrace.

“Shh, Mingi, it's okay. I've got you.” Gentle hands rubbed his back, “I've got you, Mingi, you're okay.”

Mingi composed himself enough to sniffle and croak out, “I'm sorry.”

“No, honey, don't apologize. You're okay.” Yunho cooed.

Mingi didn't miss the pet name, but chose to ignore it for the time being. The shock and excitement of hearing it did snap him out of his tears, though. He was used to such pet names from his friends, but this felt different.

Honey.

He finally composed himself, sitting up enough to look into Yunho's eyes, “Thank you.”

Yunho’s breath caught as he became cognizant of their proximity, “Do you feel any better?” His eyes trailed over Mingi’s lips as he asked it.

“I really do.” Mingi thought he might lean in and kiss him, but decided to pull back last second instead, “Maybe therapy isn't a total crock of shit.”

Yunho did a good job of hiding his confusion, covering it with a laugh, “I'm glad you're going to therapy, Mingi. I hope it's helpful to you. I think it shows a great deal of love for yourself to seek out help when you need it.”

“I hadn't thought about it that way.” Mingi confessed.

“Do you not think you love yourself?” Yunho asked, his deep voice soft as silk.

Mingi considered the question. I did just try to off myself. “I don't know. I think I'm trying to. Or I want to try. Which is better than could be said about me two months ago.”

“Hmm.” Yunho studied him, “I think that even trying or wanting to try shows that you already do. Are you going to try, Mingi?”

I'd do anything you asked me to.

Yunho’s expression changed to one of curiosity, like he had just witnessed something he wasn't supposed to have seen, “There! Just then. You seem like you're here with me and then I'll lose you out of nowhere. Where is it you're going?”

“I probably just had to sneeze or something.” Mingi lied, feeling cagey, like he was being backed into a corner.

He's lost it.

“That was it again just now!” Yunho was teasing but Mingi felt the end of his nose get tickly with frustration.

“You're being weird.” Mingi was deflecting. He just wasn't used to feeling so seen.

Yunho’s face fell, “Sorry. I didn't mean to offend-”

“It’s fine.” Mingi snapped, “Thank you for helping me, can I have the hoodie back now? I'm ready to go home.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry…” Yunho trailed off, looking embarrassed that he had just gotten scolded.

He took the hoodie off carefully, handling it like it was a sacred artifact. Which to Mingi, it was.

“‘S fine.” Mingi mumbled as he started to put the hoodie in his backpack, but stopped as a chilly breeze blew in, deciding to wear it instead.

They walked back to the rectory in silence, both of them evidently with a lot on their minds.

“I actually have something for you.” Yunho said a little hesitantly as they arrived, going inside to retrieve it.

“Um. Okay.” Mingi didn't know what to say.

Yunho handed him a Bible, well-worn and almost excessively annotated, “I, uh. Highlighted some of my favorite parts.”

Mingi tried to refuse, “Oh, I mean, I really don't-”

“Read it.” Yunho all but pleaded, “For me, Mingi. Trust me. I'm not trying to make you believe. It's just really well written in some parts.”

Mingi reached up and took the book into his hands. It felt weird. Almost like he could feel the book breathe in time with Yunho. “Okay. Yes, Father.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, “You really have to stop saying that.”

“Because it turns you on?”

“Because it turns you on.” Yunho parried, eyes leveling with Mingi’s, his stare unwavering.

Both things are true.

Mingi blinked, not denying it.

“Call me if you want to talk about any of it or have any questions or anything.” Yunho offered, referring to the Bible, breaking the heated silence all at once.

“I will.” Mingi didn't know what else to say. ‘Thanks’ felt wrong because he wasn't quite sure he was thankful for the book. “Thanks again for going with me today. I'll, um. See you.”

“Anytime. Really. Bye, Mingi.” Yunho looked like he didn't really want him to go. “Be safe.”

Holy shit he was not joking.

Mingi felt scandalous as he lay in bed, reading some of the most toe curling, shocking, dark and sexy literature he'd ever read in his life. From what was supposed to be a holy book.

He didn't hesitate to call when he needed context for a particular story. Or, maybe he just wanted to hear Yunho’s voice.

“Mingi.” Yunho answered the phone, though it was past his bedtime, voice raspy with drowsiness.

“So what's the significance of washing feet? It seems kinky to be honest.”

Yunho chuckled, “I'm sure it easily could have been. It's a sign of respect. Reverence. Mary Magdalene didn't have the proper supplies but she was determined to do it. She presented herself to him anyway. Worshipped him with what she had. Judgement from others be damned, she did it with the faith that Jesus would understand and not be so caught up in the how but instead understanding of the why.”

“A calculated risk.” Mingi thought he understood.

“Yes.” Yunho's breath picked up slightly on the other end of the line, “A surrender.”

Mingi couldn’t help that he was getting aroused at Yunho's words and his voice. He let out a tiny whimper unwittingly, touching himself through his boxers.

“I think I understand her.” Mingi confessed.

Mingi heard a faint rustling - bedsheets, he assumed - on the other line before Yunho spoke again, deep voice barely above a whisper, “How so?”

“I just…” He took a shaky breath, “Sometimes I wish someone would just tell me what to do. I fucked it up for so long on my own. I think it would be nice for someone else to take the reins for me.”

“Mingi-” Yunho spoke his name like a prayer. “Say what you’re asking of me. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please. Tell me what to do, Father.” Mingi exposed his desires, laying himself naked at Yunho’s feet.

Metaphorically.

He palmed himself harder, not giving himself the satisfaction of skin to skin contact yet.

Yunho hesitated, taking an excruciatingly long deep breath, before finally, “That’s it, very good. I knew you could say it. Are you already touching yourself, Mingi?”

“Not yet,” Mingi whined, “I'm trying to be good.”

“Good boy.” Yunho growled, “Just do what I say, okay?”

Fucking hell.

“Okay.”

“‘Okay?’” Yunho sounded put out, “Do I need to teach you manners, too, darling?”

“No, sir.” Mingi’s considerable length was threatening to rip a hole through his boxers, “Sorry… Father. I'll be good.”

“I know you will. You're already so responsive. I can hear your breath shaking. Why don't you show me how much you like this, hm? Take your underwear off for me, gorgeous.”

“Yes, sir.” Mingi obeyed, then decided to pop his airpods at the last second, knowing he would want to be hands-free at some point.

“Let me see. I bet you're already leaking just at the sound of my voice, aren't you?”

Mingi whimpered at the truth of it, turning on his lamp to get the lighting right as he fisted his throbbing cock, making sure to capture the glint of the shiny pearl of pre-cum already having had gathered at the tip. “Yes, sir. Just look.” He sent the photo.

He swore he heard Yunho muffle a whine on the other line, “Christ, Mingi, what the hell am I going to do with you?” It was rhetorical, but Mingi answered anyway.

“Cum with me, I hope.”

Yunho laughed, the sound of it strained as Mingi could hear the slick noise of lube being applied in the background, “Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I plan on it. Go ahead and touch yourself. Close your eyes and listen to my voice. I want you to pretend that's my hand that's stroking your pretty cock, baby.”

“Yes, sir.” Mingi whined as he spit into his hand and grasped himself genuinely, working the pre-cum that had spilled out down his length for extra lubrication.

“I love how you sound, honey.” Yunho groaned, “Such sweet noises from that pretty mouth of yours.” His voice was becoming strained, “I've thought about your lips since I met you. How plush they are. How they'd feel on mine.”

Mingi’s pace quickened at the man's words. Every nerve on fire, senses alight. “Please, I want that so bad, Yunho.”

“How they would feel wrapped around my cock.” He gasped on the other line.

“Please, I'll do anything-”

“Tell me how my hand feels around you, baby.” Yunho instructed.

“You feel incredible, Yunho. I'm- I'm getting close.” Mingi’s hips bucked and he knew he wouldn't last long.

“Fuck, Mingi.” Yunho whined, “Me, too.”

“Wish you were here.” Mingi all but sobbed.

“I know. I know, I do, too.” Yunho panted, “Go ahead and let go for me, angel. Cum all over my hand.”

Mingi let out a noise that would make a nun faint and a seasoned war veteran blush, releasing endless amounts of thick, hot liquid onto his hand and stomach, breathing hard from the effort, calling out, “Yunho-” at his release.

“Mingi-ahh!” Yunho echoed him. Mingi knew he would become easily addicted to the sound of the man’s pleasure if he ever got to hear it again.

“Thank you.” Mingi said, catching his breath, voice sounding small, sated.

“No, thank you, jagi. You were so good for me, honey.” Yunho, too, was out of breath as he praised him from the other line, “Are you okay? That wasn't too much?”

“It was so good, Yunho.” Mingi breathed, “I feel safe with you.” He couldn’t believe he admitted it.

“Mmh, I'm so glad, baby.” Yunho's voice was warm on the other line, so close that Mingi could almost feel him in the room with him.

“Yunho?”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Yunho’s dulcet tones soothed Mingi’s nerves like a balm.

“Can you. Um.” Mingi swallowed, “Nevermind.”

“No, what is it, angel? Do you want me to stay on while you fall asleep?” Yunho sounded so concerned, so sweet.

“Is that too much to ask?”

“No, of course not. I'm happy to do it. I enjoy any time I get to spend with you, Mingi.” Mingi's heart warmed at the vulnerability of the statement.

“Me, too, Yunho.” He smiled, finished cleaning himself and curled up into bed, fluffy duvet falling over his shoulder, half wishing Yunho was there behind him.

“Sleep well, Mingi.” Yunho yawned, “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Yuyu.” Mingi was only half-conscious of letting the nickname slip out.

“Mmh.” Yunho sighed, “What am I going to do with you, Mingi.”

But Mingi was already asleep.

December 19th

Mingi sank down once again onto his therapist's couch, feeling a little nervous, but also excited to report that things had gone well talking to his friend last week. And it was true. Mingi had to admit that he had felt somewhat of a weight off of his shoulders after confessing.

Maybe the Catholics are onto something.

“I'm expecting an A+.” Mingi quipped as his therapist entered the room.

She tried to maintain her professional air but Mingi caught the slight upward curl of her lip, clearly amused, “I'm sorry, Mingi, I don't give out grades. But I'm assuming that means you did your ‘homework’ as you called it?”

“I did.” Mingi nodded.

“How do you feel afterwards?” She asked, leaning forward.

“I feel… like it was the right thing to do.” He sighed, “I had a new friend - well, I’m not sure I can really call him a friend, but that’s all he can be - help me out. I’ve been trying to ask for help when I need it. It’s hard for me, but I’m doing it. I just feel so embarrassed when I do ask for it. But this new friend of mine… I don’t mind asking him for help. I want him to help me. I want, like, a lot of things from him, though.” Mingi felt that he was rambling, stopping himself before he said something he wasn’t even ready to admit to himself.

“Hmm.” His therapist had been taking notes, but stopped to meet his eye, “When you said all you could be is friends, what does that mean?”

“He’s a priest.”

Her eyes went wide, something that Mingi found amusing, knowing how hard she tried to keep a poker face with him, “So it’s forbidden.”

“Sacrilege, yes.”

“That’s part of what appeals to you about it, though.” It was technically a question but she said it as a statement.

“I, um.” Mingi felt himself become a little overwhelmed, “I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. But yes, I’m sure it plays a part.” He knew she was right as soon as she had said it.

“And it’s mutual?”

Mingi’s ears went hot at the thought of just how mutual it had been the other night.

If only she knew.

“It’s definitely mutual.” He confirmed, hoping he wasn’t being too candid.

"We're supposed to be talking about your suicide attempt." She fixed him with a stony expression.

"Aw, come on, please let me talk about boys!" He whined.

“Well, okay. Next time.” She considered, “You’re both adults. He knows the risks as much as you do. As long as it’s consensual and enjoyable and you are fully aware that there’s a significant if not one-hundred percent chance that he’s going to choose God over you in the end, I don’t really see how it’s an issue. If you think you can handle it, emotionally. See where it goes.”

“I’m not sure I can handle it. But I also don’t think I can handle not trying to explore it.”

“Ah, yes, isn’t that Tennyson? ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’” She quoted a line from a poem Mingi vaguely thought he had heard before. Regardless, it fit exactly how he was feeling about everything. “Yeah. I think that’s it exactly. I’ve had that mindset for a long time, actually. But before I got to the point where I wanted to end things, it came from a different place.”

“How so?”

“I guess because it was never mutual before. I would follow any thread pretty recklessly, knowing how I would be left on the other side, but going anyway. Fully cognizant of the fact that these whims had no concern for my well-being. I think it was a form of self-flagellation. But now that I’m learning to love myself, it’s different, I guess. It’s safe to love the priest because it has to end, not because it won’t. The predetermination of it is the perfect out.”

She studied him, absorbing what he had just said, “I think you’re too self-aware for your own good, Mingi.” She smiled, a first, “Why do you think you find comfort in the fact that it has to end?”

Mingi chuckled, “I don’t know. I think because I’m not ready to do anything more than microdose love. At least not yet. And I can also tell that this is going to set the standard for me going forward.”

“But you’re still hesitating. Why?”

“I’m fucking scared. I’m half convinced I’m lying to myself about every justification I just gave you.” Mingi let his head tip back to the back of the couch, emotionally exhausted.

“I think you’ve already made up your mind about it, though. And if you want my two cents, which, I’m assuming you do, I think it’s okay to be scared. It’s good to do scary things. Within limits, of course. But I think letting yourself be loved, even briefly, and although yes, very scary, it’s still a beautiful thing.”

“I thought you would try to stop me.” Mingi raised an eyebrow at her.

“I fear that only would have driven you towards it faster. Plus, it’s not my job to try to stop you. It’s my job to help you through it.”

I’m going to fuck the hot priest.

December 24th

It had been a few days since he had heard too much from Yunho, at least outside of the few texts they sent back and forth each day. His therapist’s words rattled around in his head the whole time. He’d been doing a lot of letting himself be seen lately and it wasn’t the easiest, but at least he paid her for it. When it was Yunho, it felt raw, exhilarating.

The bar was closed for Christmas - and it was still rather early in the morning - so Mingi was home, and very surprised when his phone buzzed.

Father Daddy Yunho

I have a very specific priest-related crisis that I need your help with, please

An in-person emergency?

Father Daddy Yunho

Yes, please hurry.

I’ll order coffee if you pick it up on your way over.

Did I mention pretty please?

Only because you asked so nicely.

Mingi struggled to knock with two large coffees in his hand, but luckily, Yunho was antsy and had been waiting for his arrival.

“Oh my god, my hero!” Yunho praised him as he entered, taking his coffee cup from Mingi.

They hadn’t talked much about their activities the other night, but it didn’t really bother Mingi, mostly because Yunho hadn’t just completely ghosted him and had treated him as normal as things had ever been between the two of them in the days following.

“What’s this emergency?” Mingi asked, making himself at home on the couch.

Yunho blushed and Mingi had to restrain himself from launching himself at the man and kissing his rosy cheeks to make the blush even worse. “I’m way overthinking it, but I need help choosing which vestment and chasuble to wear for the Christmas Eve service tonight.”

Mingi’s face lit up, “Fashion show!” He giggled, watching Yunho’s face crack open with a smile at his excitement.

Yunho looked good in everything, and Mingi told the man as much as he showed him option after option while they drank their coffees and chatted about nothing. But the dark green robes with cream and gold accents were so lovely on him that Mingi declared them the winners.

“For someone who claims to not be religious, you sure do seem nervous for tonight.” Mingi chided him lightheartedly.

“I’m not religious.” Yunho looked at him seriously, his eyes seeming to search Mingi’s for some sign of understanding.

“And I’m still fascinated by that claim.” Mingi replied, settling into the couch, waiting for an explanation.

Yunho crossed over and sat down next to Mingi on the couch, “I grew up hating everything about religion. Catholicism, in particular. I still am very critical of it. For me, being a priest is like a vegan who chooses to work in a slaughterhouse because they trust themselves to be more humane in the animal’s last moments than someone else would be. Sacrificing their morals in order to save them. If I weren’t in this position, someone else would be, and at least I can trust myself to not be the stereotype of a Catholic priest.”

Mingi considered this, “Well, don’t they say the last person who would ask for power is the first person who should be given it? I think that it’s admirable of you, Yunho.”

Yunho smiled, but his eyes still held something Mingi couldn’t quite put a finger on, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. But in all honesty, Mingi, I don’t know what I would have done, don’t know what would have happened, had I not chosen this path. I…” He took a deep breath, finding Mingi’s eyes once again, “I have a very addictive personality, Mingi. This was the only way I felt like I could trust myself. And it’s worked, so far.”

“So far.” Mingi echoed him, studying every single square inch of his face, suddenly hit with the realization that he wouldn’t have forever with the man beside him to ever fully memorize it. Mourning what he had yet to lose.

“You scare the shit out of me, Mingi.” Yunho confessed, hand finding Mingi’s own, thumb tracing softly over his knuckles.

Mingi swallowed, feeling like he had just been hit with a truck at the confirmation that Yunho had it just as bad for him. He drew his hand back, “Maybe we…” He tried to blink back the tears he could feel pricking at the corners of his eyes, “I’m sorry, it’s all too much, I have to go. I’m sorry, Yunho.”

Yunho looked like a puppy who had just been kicked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s not your fault, I promise. I’m just- It’s just too much right now…”

“I understand.” Yunho cast his eyes down to the floor, “I’ll leave you alone, Mingi. I’m sorry.”

Mingi turned and stood up, heading out the door without a backwards glance as his tears finally began to fall.

December 30th

Mingi dreaded tonight. Rehearsal dinner. He was so excited and happy for Hongjoong and Seonghwa, of course. Happy to see his friends. But he knew Yunho would be there, and they hadn’t talked since Christmas.

Mingi had gone to Christmas mass the next night. He watched from a pew at the very back as Yunho spoke, followed along the best he could to all the standing and kneeling and singing. He was mesmerized by all of it. Yunho was good at his job. He had made eye contact with Mingi from his spot at the pulpit, and his gaze said more than his words. He looked apologetic. Mingi realized he would never try to convince the man to leave the church for him. That was where he belonged.

It didn’t help him stop yearning for him, though. In fact, it made it all the worse.

Besides the night he had seen Yunho in his Spiderman pajamas, and his brief donning of Jongho’s hoodie, tonight was the first time Mingi had seen him in regular street clothes.

A dark blue sweater that made his eyes look an even more rich chestnut brown, slacks and loafers. It was nothing crazy but still.

Salt in the wound. Unable to stop the visions of the two of them together just living a normal life. Domestic bliss. A dream that would never be actualized.

To make things even worse, Yunho seemed to be trying to spare him that night. Intentionally ignoring Mingi, avoiding eye contact.

He left early, while Mingi was in the bathroom.

Bastard.

Mingi had manners and waited until everyone else was leaving, said proper goodbyes, Wooyoung and San keeping an eagle eye on him.

“Everything okay, Mingi?” Wooyoung asked as he hugged him bye.

Mingi sighed, “It’s kind of a long story.”

San smiled gently at him, “We’re all ears if you need to talk about it.”

He looked between his two friends, reminding himself of the promise he had made, “I’m sort of in love with the priest.”

Wooyoung and San made identical shocked faces, the former snapping out of it to start barraging him with questions, “Are you guys together? You’re not going to make him lose his job, right? Is it mutual?!”

Mingi groaned, “Ugh, no. We’re not together. It’s absolutely mutual. Not that either of us have said it. We both know how it will end. But we both want to do something about it. Like. Bad. Something besides the phone sex.”

San high-fived him, “Hell yeah, nice.”

Wooyoung glowered at his boyfriend, “You both are such bros sometimes, it’s hard to remember you’re bisexual.”

Mingi and San looked at each other and couldn’t help but laugh. Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “Mingi. I’m sure you’ve already made up your mind. And judging by the way he completely ignored you tonight, I’m sure Yunho is on the same page.”

“He’s right.” San nodded, “Just please, don’t take it too hard on the other side. And remember we’re here for you. Don’t you dare start isolating again when this inevitably ends like I’m sure you’re both well aware it will.”

“I know.” Mingi sighed. As much as he knew that logically, there was only one way things between he and Yunho could end, there was still the smallest glimmer of delusional hope that reared its ugly head every single time the inexorable end was mentioned. “I promise, I won’t try to deal with the aftermath alone. You guys just have to promise you won’t hate me if I’m mopey and miserable for a little while.”

Wooyoung scoffed, “Mingi, we could never hate you. There’s no reality where you’re too much for us. I know we didn’t have the best way of showing it, but I promise you, we love you so much and we want to be there for you. Just like I know you want to be there for us.”

“It’s what family is for.” San agreed. Mingi couldn’t help but feel his heart warm at his wording. Really, they were his family. He was finally starting to believe they always would be.

“I love you guys.” Mingi admitted, hugging them tight before darting off towards the fate that awaited him at his favorite priest’s living quarters.

“Good luck!” They called after him.

Mingi arrived to the rectory out of breath and sweating under the layers he was wearing.

It felt like an eternity after he knocked before the door swung open, revealing a red-nosed, puffy eyed Yunho.

“Mingi, you shouldn't be here.” Yunho couldn’t even look Mingi in the eye when he said it.

“I’ll leave. If you actually want me to.” Mingi took a step closer, removing his coat and scarf, tossing them inside, all but demanding to be let it.

Yunho sighed, moving out of the doorway, closing the door softly behind Mingi. Clicking the lock into place.

“Are you finished ignoring me now?” Mingi asked, edging closer to Yunho's personal space.

The priest finally leveled his eyes to Mingi’s, “I could never ignore you, Mingi.” He moved microscopically closer, the air between them sparking with electricity, “I was trying to make it easier on you. Given how you left the other day. I didn't want to push your boundaries.”

Mingi leaned further in, “You scare the hell out of me, Yunho.” He quoted the man back to himself, “Yet here I am. I can't stay away. I've read the book. I know the end.”

Yunho’s eyelids fluttered as he reached forward, taking Mingi's hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips, kissing each knuckle slowly.

“Like a lamb to slaughter.” Yunho whispered, his breath tickling the back of Mingi’s hand.

“No,” Mingi gasped as Yunho worked his way up the inside of his forearm, “No, I feel like a lamb who trusts his shepherd. But neither of us can help that we're surrounded by wolves.”

“Blind faith.” Yunho's voice was deep, unwavering.

“Isn't that the only way to reach heaven?” Mingi asked.

Yunho placed Mingi’s hand that he was still holding onto his chest. Mingi could feel his heart beat through the fabric of his sweater, perfectly in time with his own. The priest leaned in, lips barely whispering over Mingi’s as he spoke, “You'll let me take you there?”

Mingi felt the desire for the man in front of him in every fiber of his being, “Please, Yunho.”

Time stood still as Yunho pressed his lips to Mingi’s for the first time. They were soft and warm, reverent as they explored him. There was something desperate about how they slotted together, savoring each movement, neither of them in a rush, despite the knowledge that they were on borrowed time.

Mingi felt like he had just jumped off a cliff. Free falling. Yunho would catch him, he knew. Even if it was brief. His feet would hit the ground hard, come morning. But tonight he would relish in the exhilaration. The head rush of lying prostrate at the feet of the man with whom he was in love, but would never have the privilege of loving.

The kiss deepened, heads turning to the side for better access, bodies pressing together, desperate to feel, to touch. To worship.

A soft moan escaped Mingi’s lips as Yunho guided his tongue inside to explore the other's mouth. Mapping it out, committing it to memory. Mingi's hands found purchase in the silky hair at the nape of Yunho's neck, fingernails scraping lightly at his scalp. He thought he might die at the noise that left the man’s mouth at his touch. It was almost too much. Mingi felt his head starting to swim and pulled back to catch his breath.

He was caught off guard, though he shouldn't have been, at how beautiful Yunho looked with flushed cheeks and plump, parted lips, blood red and shiny with spit.

“You okay?” Yunho asked gently, caressing Mingi’s face softly with his elegant hands.

Mingi shivered at his feather light touch, “I just needed a second.”

Yunho peered straight into his soul, a feeling with which Mingi was becoming familiar. “Come sit down.” He backed away, leading Mingi by his hand to the couch.

Mingi sat, peering up at Yunho through his eyelashes, waiting for further instruction.

Yunho dipped down and kissed him sweetly on his forehead, “You trust me?”

“Fully.” Mingi breathed.

“I'll be right back.” Yunho stood, heading into his kitchen.

Mingi heard the water running in the sink and couldn't help but be curious.

Yunho arrived a few moments later with an intricately designed metal basin full of warm water, soap and a couple of towels in hand. Mingi was speechless. He could have giggled, been embarrassed, felt too shy or silly to continue. He would have, had it been anyone else kneeling in front of him. Yunho’s sweater was rolled up to his elbows and Mingi couldn’t help but study his forearms and hands as he placed the towel and water basin down in front of Mingi, light blue veins prominent on the backs of his lovely hands, beautifully landscaped under soft, flawless skin.

Yunho reached forward and rolled Mingi’s pants legs up with deft fingers. He leaned forward as he lifted Mingi’s left leg, pausing with it in front of him, practically bowing down as he began kissing softly from his ankle up to his calf, his lips barely ghosting over Mingi’s skin. He released his foot into the water, which was the perfect temperature, before moving on to the next one. Mingi’s head tipped back and his eyes closed at the intimacy of it. But as he felt Yunho’s hands find his left foot once more, lifting it so he could wash it properly, he opened them to watch, not wanting to miss a moment of the man’s act. Yunho’s brow was ever so slightly furrowed in concentration as he massaged Mingi’s feet with soapy hands. He was so beautiful, a face to match the quality of his heart. Mingi’s own heart ached, and he let it. Determined to be present for every emotion that overcame him, at least this once. Just this one night.

Being worshipped. It was the most mind-bending experience of Mingi’s life. Feeling both worthy yet completely undeserving of it simultaneously. A miracle that someone would display such devotion to him. A miracle that he would let himself allow it. Jeong Yunho, a miracle.

Yunho lifted Mingi’s feet out of the water as he finished, moving the basin over so he could dry them off.

“Thank you.” Yunho whispered, leaning forward to kiss the inside of Mingi’s knee, resting his head there for a second as he fixed his gaze on Mingi’s face.

“I should be thanking you.” Mingi blinked, shocked that he was the one being thanked, “Can I wash yours as well?”

Yunho shook his head, “No, Mingi. Thank you. But let me take care of you tonight. Please.” He stood up, pulling Mingi to his feet as well, “Can you do that for me, jagiya?” He touched Mingi’s cheek, and Mingi felt himself lean into it.

“Yes. I want that, Yunho.” Mingi met his eye, “Please.” He let the word hover in the air.

Yunho smiled, “Follow me.”

Mingi was led to a part of the rectory he had never seen before. A small, cozy bedroom in the hallway behind the kitchen. The bedroom was exactly what one might picture a bedroom in a Catholic church to look like. Mingi highly doubted Yunho had chosen much of the decor, certainly not the four-poster bed. Yunho led him over, stopping at the side of the bed to pull Mingi in for another kiss, his hands reaching up to start unbuttoning Mingi’s dress shirt, then followed with his own sweater. Mingi gaped at the priest’s body, looking like it could just as easily be carved from marble as it could be skin. But unlike a statue, he was soft and warm to the touch. They couldn’t stop their hands from skimming over one another’s bodies, touching everywhere that they could reach.

Yunho revered his body, fingertips lightly skimming over his hips working upwards, back to Mingi’s face, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Yunho broke the kiss long enough to asess Mingi’s body, “Oh, angel, you’re so beautiful.” He reached down to begin unbuckling Mingi’s belt, “I need to see all of you.”

Mingi opened his mouth to reply but his brain went blank as Yunho guided his pants off and returned, fingers lightly grazing Mingi’s cock, which was quickly filling with blood at his touch. He whimpered as his boxers were pulled off and he was finally free, no more uncomfortable tightness.

“You’re so lovely.” He leaned in, kissing across Mingi’s jaw, causing him to have to latch on to Yunho’s hips with his hands for balance, breath sucked out of his lungs at Yunho’s attention, “So reactive.” Yunho smiled into Mingi’s neck, then pulled back to work his own pants and underwear off. Mingi would have tried to get them off sooner, but Yunho had requested he be the one to do the caretaking, and for once in his life, Mingi wanted to do exactly as he was told.

Yunho walked him back a couple of steps until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, “Why don’t you lay down, Mingi? Get comfortable.”

Mingi situated himself in the middle of the bed, head on the pillows, propped up enough to where he didn’t have to strain his neck to watch whatever Yunho planned to do to him.

Yunho placed lube and condoms within reach on the bed, then crawled in between Mingi’s legs, lifting his feet one at a time and placing the soles down flat on the mattress before slowly starting to kiss up the inside of his legs once more, nipping and marking him occasionally as he went. Mingi felt his dick hit his stomach, now painfully hard. Yunho pulled his lips off a particularly tender spot on his inner thigh, soothing the mark he had made with his tongue before leaning forward, hovering over Mingi to kiss him again, wrapping his long fingers around the other’s wrists, pinning his arms up by his head as he began kissing his way down his neck, then chest, lips landing on Mingi’s erect nipple, pulling it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before letting go and moving to the next one. Mingi gasped at the sensation.

Yunho laughed sweetly into his skin, lips popping off of his nipple as he spoke, “So sensitive, baby. I love it. Wanna hear you keep making those pretty noises for me.”

“Yes, sir.” Mingi whined, “I will.”

“Such a good boy.” Yunho praised as he sat up to apply lube to his fingers. “Mmh, god, look at you. I want to devour you.” His eyes were on Mingi’s cock when he said it, but it was still a surprise when he leaned down to lick a stripe up the underside of Mingi’s throbbing dick, flicking his tongue as he reached the tender underside of the head.

Mingi whimpered, “Fuck, please, Yunho.”

“Shh,” Yunho quieted him, “There’s no rush, darling. I want to make you feel so good.” His finger started tracing circles around Mingi’s rim, “You still trust me to do that, right?”

“God-” Mingi gasped as Yunho’s tongue found the tip of his cock again, “Fuck. Yes, sir. I trust you.”

“Good,” Yunho’s finger began applying pressure, slipping inside as Mingi relaxed, “I’m so glad.”

Mingi was right to have admired Yunho’s hands. His fingers were incredible, long with prominent knuckles, reaching deep inside of Mingi, the sensation almost being too much to handle. As Yunho worked his second finger inside, his mouth found the head of Mingi’s leaking cock once again, taking it inside, moaning at how Mingi filled him up. Both men were large. Mingi was glad for Yunho’s fingers after seeing just how stuffed full of Yunho he would be very soon. Yunho’s fingers found Mingi’s prostate, applying pressure there in time with the bobbing of his head as he sucked Mingi’s cock down, acting more protestant than priest in that moment.

“Yunho, ‘m gonna cum if you keep doing that!” Mingi warned as his hips bucked in response to the attention Yunho was giving him.

Yunho pulled off, the release of his mouth off of Mingi’s dick making a faint pop noise, “Well, we can’t have that yet, can we?” He added a third finger, scissoring them open to ensure Mingi was fully prepped to take him.

“No, please, not yet. Want you inside.” Mingi almost felt panicked at the idea of cumming without Yunho buried deep inside of him.

Yunho smiled, reaching for the condom, “As you wish.”

“Wait,” Mingi stopped Yunho as he tried to rip the packet open, “I’m clean, I swear. Can I please take you raw?”

Yunho growled, “Fuck, Mingi, you must be trying to kill me.” But despite his words, he tossed the condom to the side and reached for the lube instead, “I’d love to, honey.”

Yunho lined himself up, leaning down to kiss Mingi again before he began his slow venture inside.

It was unlike any feeling Mingi had ever had in his life. Completely at Yunho’s mercy. Surrendering himself. The sensation of being filled, split in half, washed over him, tears spilling out of the corners of his eyes as Yunho finally, decadently, buried himself to the hilt. “God, Mingi, you took me so well, darling.” He kissed the tears off of Mingi’s cheeks, “Still doing okay?”

“I’m perfect.” Mingi sighed, overwhelmed at how content he felt as he was speared within an inch of his life.

“I think that might actually be true.” Yunho muttered, “You feel like you were made for me. Can I move now?”

“Yes, god, please move, Yunho.” Mingi begged.

The first pump of his hips and Mingi saw stars. He savored every sensation, Yunho’s cock gliding in and out, reaching the depths of Mingi’s insides.

Mingi canted his hips so they met Yunho’s motion in the middle, their bodies slamming together, becoming desperate in their pursuit of release.

“Fuck, Mingi-” Yunho gasped as he fucked into him harder, motion still slow and languid, his talented fingers wrapping around Mingi’s desperate cock, stroking him in time with his hips. “Feel so good. Sucking me in like that.”

“Yunho-” Mingi moaned, lost in the sensation, “God, Yunho-yah.”

“Mmh, that’s right. Say my name, baby. I love hearing it.” Yunho’s pace quickened, highlighting his point.

“Yunho, please,” Mingi babbled, completely cockdrunk, “Want you to fill me up. Please, Yunho-”

“Oh I will, sweetheart.” Yunho grunted, adjusting Mingi’s hips ever so slightly, getting the angle just right, “You have to cum with me though. Can you do that?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, Yunho, please.” Mingi’s voice was weak, demonstrating exactly how deprived he felt.

“So close-” Yunho pumped his hips a few more times, harder than ever, his pace faltering, before he finally let go, “Fuck, Mingi-”

Mingi was nothing if not obedient, crying out as he released over Yunho’s hand and his own stomach.

Yunho slumped over Mingi as he came down, pulling out slowly before falling to the bed beside him. Mingi reached out hesitantly, not knowing exactly why he was feeling shy after having the man deep inside of him just seconds ago. Yunho smiled, sensing Mingi’s caution, wrapping his arms around him and tucking him snugly to his chest.

“Mingi, you can touch me, honey. Come here.” He kissed Mingi’s temple, “You were amazing, baby. So perfect for me.”

“Yeah?” Mingi asked softly, feeling a little raw after that experience.

“Yes, angel. Was it okay? I wasn’t too rough?” Yunho asked, his voice pitching up with concern for Mingi’s well-being.

“No, it was wonderful.” Mingi sighed, “Incredible.”

“Good.” Yunho tilted his chin up to kiss him again, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mingi asked, not understanding.

Yunho tucked Mingi’s head under his chin, stroking his hair, “Just… thank you. For everything. For coming into my life. For letting me into yours.”

“I would do it all over again, Yunho. Every single time.” Mingi confessed, surprising himself with his candor.

“Me, too, Mingi.” Yunho kissed the crown of his head, “In every lifetime.”

They showered together afterwards, taking any last opportunity to touch one another freely, knowing their time together was ticking away faster than either of them would like, or care to admit. They didn’t acknowledge it, not outright. But it was understood by both of them that it was best to not worry about it before it happened.

Back in bed together, limbs tangled, breath soft on one another’s skin as they relaxed into the embrace, Mingi couldn’t help but breach the silent contract they had made.

“Yunho?” He dared to whisper.

"Hm?"

“That story about Lot’s wife and how she was told not to look back as she left Sodom and Gomorrah, lest she be turned into a pillar of salt?”

Yunho nodded, “What about it?”

“I keep thinking about it. I already know I’m going to look, too. I won’t be able to help it, Yunho.” He drew the priest closer to himself, though it was nearly impossible to do so, considering how tightly they were clinging to one another already.

Yunho traced soft, comforting patterns over Mingi’s back, “I know, Mingi. I won’t either.”

Neither of them dared to elaborate further before letting themselves fall asleep. They didn’t need to. They understood each other perfectly as it was.

December 31st

It was a beautiful wedding. Mingi let himself be pulled into the joy of it all that day, concentrating on anything that offered itself up. Anything to take his mind off of the fact that this was the last time he would see Yunho. Hard to do when he was the star of the show during the ceremony. He looked beautiful up there, at the flower adorned pulpit, wearing the same dark green robes as he had worn for Christmas, this time with a slightly different chasuble, this one embroidered with wildflowers in every color. A subtle hint to a rainbow, if Mingi had to guess. Sweet of him, really.

“When I first met Hongjoong and Seonghwa, heard the story of how they met, how their love developed and turned into what it is today, I knew that the tired Bible verses everyone uses for weddings wouldn’t be suitable. ‘Love is patient, love is kind…’ and yes, don’t get me wrong. This couple demonstrates great patience and kindness to one another. But love is also vulnerable. It’s terrifying. It’s not only a feeling, but also a verb. As you fall deeper into it, you start to build a contract with one another. Committing to act on that love again and again, circumstances be damned. Love isn’t something weak people do.” Yunho’s eyes found Mingi’s in the front row pew at that sentence. “Life may get hard, but the love itself has to come easily. And after spending time with the couple here in front of me today, I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that these two are built for it.”

Yeosang looked up at Mingi from his position beside him, seeing the tears roll freely down his face, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze before lacing his fingers into Mingi’s own. Mingi knew he understood. Wooyoung and San are bad at keeping secrets. But he was okay with the fact that his friends knew. Happy for it, even. He would be needing them.

“I’ve seen it in the little things, like how Seonghwa makes sure that Hongjoong has eaten. Or how Hongjoong makes Seonghwa laugh with only a certain look in his eye. But it’s also in the big things. Through life events that easily could have torn them apart. They weathered the storms and came out on the other side stronger. These two here before me today are some of the most brave and courageous people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I’m beyond happy to declare them husbands.”

Cheers and applause echoed off the stone walls of the church, Mingi’s amongst them.

Mingi stepped outside of the reception, pulling his coat around his shoulders as he leaned against the wall of the building. He hadn’t told his friends he needed some air this time, but that was because he knew someone else would follow him outside.

Yunho’s weight settled against his shoulder as he joined him against the wall.

“You’ve really found your calling, Yunho.” Mingi complimented him.

Yunho chuckled, “Feels more like a curse than a calling at this very moment.”

Mingi turned his head to look at the priest’s stunning profile, committing it to memory. “No, don’t think of it like that. I’m sure we’ve done this before, in a different life. I’m sure we’ll do it again in another one. Hopefully, the next.”

Yunho smiled, turning his head to meet Mingi’s gaze, “Let’s agree now to just both be accountants or something in the next one.”

Mingi laughed despite himself, fighting the urge to sink his claws into Yunho and never let go. Reach in and pluck his own rib out to breathe life into something that never had a chance in the first place. “Deal.” Mingi blinked back tears, “I love you, Yunho. For whatever it’s worth.”

“I-”

“No.” Mingi cut him off, “Let’s just sit with that for a second. I love you.”

The moment felt exactly like midnight in the early winter, on a night where you could tell it was going to snow. Quiet. Crisp. Still. The anticipation building slowly.

“I love you.” Mingi repeated a third time after the moment passed.

Yunho reached up, wiping the tear that had escaped off of Mingi’s cheekbone, “It’ll pass.”

“Are you sure I can’t just shrink myself down and live inside your heart? So we could be together?” Mingi scrambled at the last minute, searching for ways to prolong this inevitable moment.

Yunho’s eyes watered at his words, “You already do live there, Mingi. You have since I first laid eyes on you.” He pushed off the brick wall to stand in front of Mingi, letting his hand fall down to grab Mingi’s, pulling it up to kiss his knuckles once more, “I love you, too.” He dropped Mingi’s hand. “Until our next life, then.” He turned away, seeming to walk in slow motion. Mingi turned, too, walking back towards the door inside.

He turned back.

Yunho had looked back over his shoulder.

They held each other’s gaze for one last moment before turning once more and going their separate ways.

Neither of them turned into pillars of salt.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez mingi #ateez fanfic #ateez yunho #bittersweet #inspired by fleabag

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seongminiz · 6 months ago

Text

tear Of gOd

minors dni ; fallen angel jungmo x human wonjin ; 2.1k words

SYNOPSIS Had Wonjin not known any better, he would think what he sees when he meets Jungmo's unsettling eyes is lust. Surely, that's impossible - after all, angels don't sin, and they are absolutely not capable of committing a sin as deadly as lust, be it in or out of heaven. Or, Jungmo - Wonjin’s guardian angel - is kicked out of heaven when the obsession over his human gets out of hand, and has nowhere to go if not Wonjin himself.

cw religious themes , blasphemy , inaccurate representation of catholicism’s views on the afterlife bc i havent been to church in almost 5 yrs , bitchless loser virgin wonjin ejejehjf , dom!jungmo , sub!wonjin , corruption kink (kinda ? idk i had the idea of writing it but idk if i actually put it in so) , handjob , orgasm denial

➔ cross-posted on ao3 !

⚠ DISCLAIMER ⚠ if you're uncomfortable with religious themes (specifically christianity in this instance) or their use in a nsfw/sexually explicit context , it's your responsibility as the reader to click off this work and go read something else . i as the author have no responsibility for your discomfort with the themes i decide to write about

note shout out to onlyoneof for making cunty catholic guilt yaoi music so i could get through writing n find a title for this fic (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) n thank u to the loml @elifseasonz for beta reading this n supporting me through the absolute crash out that were these past 8 months of writing 🩷 i've been writing this since may 2024 - not bc its particularly long or well thought out tho , im just a terribly slow n bad writer :3 i also wrote most of it while i had the worst cold ever so .. theres that too n some parts of it r probably so rushed (oomf (= my Proof Reader™) said its fast paced </3 life is not worth living anymore /j)

Wonjin considers his life to be rather inconspicuous. He is the most average guy someone could ever meet, and it reflects on all his disastrous first dates ending with no kind of follow up. He never does anything creepy or straight up wrong, but his whole demeanor has a certain ‘I’m a loser virgin’ vibe that tends to scare away even the most desperate of his potential partners.

Jungmo, on the other hand, considers Wonjin’s life to be the finest piece of entertainment he could ever ask for. One would argue it is because that is what his whole job consists of: watching over Wonjin and his more than ordinary day-to-day life, failed dates and all.

Jungmo has never been among the most beloved angels in the ranks of Heaven, both due to his occupation - the more contact a divine being has with humans the more their existence becomes tainted and impure, making guardian angels the bottom of the holy food chain - and, more than anything, because of his tendency to defy the rules that have been imposed on him since his very first day in Heaven.

Most of it consisted in minor offenses, like sneaking to Earth without permission to go visit ‘his’ human, or almost resorting to violence that one time another angel offered to take responsibility over Wonjin instead of him; they all originated from how prone Jungmo was to sin compared to his fellow guardian angels, making him an unstable employee since his first day in Paradise, his status immediately solidified as a liability for both his and Heaven's stability.

Which is how Jungmo finds himself kicked out of Heaven, stranded in a random dark alleyway somewhere. Really, he could be anywhere.

Had he not relentlessly followed Wonjin in his every step for years, Jungmo would have no idea of where to go. Of course, it is only normal for a guardian angel to know where their human lives and be able to teleport themselves there in a matter of seconds.

Wings broken and past their first stage of decay, Jungmo uses the last remaining traces of his powers to manifest his physical form into Wonjin’s room - it takes slightly longer than he is used to, but it still can’t be more than a few minutes.

The digital clock on the bedside table reads 3:33AM, the red symbols flashing and glitching for a moment when Jungmo makes his appearance - human technology is such a fragile thing, even the dying powers of a former angel are able to put it through strain.

Wonjin has always been a heavy sleeper, struggling to wake up even when the sun is up high and his alarm has rang at least ten times.

Which makes it all the more obvious something is off that night.

He struggles to fall asleep, but chalks it up to anxiety for a major upcoming exam he has been stressing over for months; when he wakes up at three in the morning with the eerie sensation of being watched, though, he can't really blame it on his academic anxiety anymore.

His eyes slowly adapt to the darkness, a humanoid shadow standing in the far corner of his room, right beside the door.

Sleep paralysis? Likely, Wonjin thinks, but the hypothesis is quickly shut down when he finds no resistance within his body as he scrambles to grab his glasses from the bedside table and runs his hand along the wall feeling for the light switch.

Had Wonjin been in a sane state of mind, he would have screamed. Except Wonjin feels anything but sane, his mouth just hanging open in silence as he takes in the person - can he even call it that? The tattered wings sprouting from his back suggest the opposite - standing in front of him.

“What the fuck?” It’s all Wonjin can manage, his voice raspy and his throat dry - from sleep or from the shock, he isn't exactly sure.

Jungmo chuckles. He has observed his human for years, to the point he knows every little quirk, habit and shameful sin of his, but he forgot Wonjin is not familiar with his existence at all.

Without the limits of Heaven binding him to being truthful, Jungmo could simply lie about who he is, about why he is there.

Jungmo is free.

“I’m your guardian angel,” he explains. That much is not a lie, he is just omitting an irrelevant fragment of the truth.

Wonjin eyes him skeptically, fixating on his bruised skin, his bloodied clothes and, once again, his decaying wings. The originally white feathers have colored themselves of a sickly dark gray, bordering on an even darker color towards some edges, those that turn completely black falling off in the matter of minutes. A few white spots remain, but the color has started becoming more dull, dirtying itself as if infected with an incurable disease.

“I was kicked out of heaven,” Jungmo confesses, immediately continuing to not leave any room for protest from Wonjin. “Not because of my sins. I was tricked by an evil, jealous angel who blamed their mistakes on me.”

“And what do I have to do with this? Why are you in my room?” Wonjin asks bluntly.

Religion has always been a pretty neutral topic to him, he genuinely has no care for it. That odd guy might be his guardian angel, but Wonjin wants nothing to do with him.

Yet, it intrigues him. He suspects what the angel has said about being kicked out of heaven is not entirely the truth, and that only makes him want to know more about the otherworldly being standing in front of him.

“Well, I told you,” Jungmo says matter-of-factly. “You’re my human. Who else should I look for? You’re the only thing I know about this insignificant mortal world.”

“Fair,” Wonjin mutters. While he might not be completely convinced by what he says, the thought process is completely logical - excluding the whole premise of a supernatural, heavenly being appearing in his room out of nowhere. The absurdity of it all has almost slipped his mind already.

“You know, Wonjin,” Jungmo takes a step forward, and Wonjin is torn between mirroring his actions, drawn closer to the angel by an invisible force he can't quite explain, or get further away from him - though the second option proves itself to be impossible when Wonjin tries scooting back on the bed, and his back meets the headboard with a dull sound.

Jungmo looks down at Wonjin, only one step separating the two of them.

Had Wonjin not known any better, he would think what he sees when he meets Jungmo's unsettling eyes is lust. Surely, that's impossible – after all, angels don't sin, and they are absolutely not capable of committing a sin as deadly as lust, be it in or out of heaven.

“I've been watching you for so long,” Jungmo's thin, delicate fingers grasp Wonjin's jaw with such gentleness he is left doubting they are even there. The angel's pointed nails slightly digging into his skin, though, are enough of a confirmation of the touch being real.

Wonjin is not sure what he expects when Jungmo leans closer, so their faces are mere centimeters apart from each other, making it almost impossible for him to hold the angel's gaze.

Up close, Jungmo's irises are nothing but pits of pure darkness, blending with his pupils to the point the two are indistinguishable. Wonjin doesn't know the reason, but the sight makes his stomach close in on itself.

And if that alone is not enough of a reminder of Jungmo's lack of humanity, the stillness in his body is – no breathing, no heartbeat, everything about Jungmo is unmoving, eternal.

Jungmo’s lips, on the other hand, feel more alive than anything Wonjin has ever experienced.

Alive, gentle, but so desperate, as if Jungmo has been waiting for this moment ever since he laid his eyes on Wonjin.

Could that be the truth? Could he be the reason Jungmo has been banished from heaven? The thought alone makes Wonjin’s stomach churn in a mixture of fear and pride that only spurs him on to kiss Jungmo back with more fervor.

Wonjin gasps at the contact with Jungmo's cold skin, the angel's fingertips sneaking under his shirt and brushing his hips, eliciting whimpers and whines that Wonjin can't help but be slightly ashamed of.

Jungmo is skilled, far too sure in what he is doing for someone who has supposedly led a life void of sin up until that moment, and Wonjin knows that alone should raise all kinds of alarm bells and red flags in him – it does.

Wonjin knows he should be more cautious, yet he decides to ignore his own rationale, getting lost in Jungmo's lips, in his touch and in his body.

.☆⭒ ♱ ⭒☆.

“God,” Wonjin grabs Jungmo’s wrist in an attempt to slow down his motions, his fingers slipping around the angel’s cold skin as he chuckles.

“There is no god here, Wonjin,” Jungmo speeds up his pace, tightening his hold once he reaches Wonjin’s tip and loosening it every time his hand slides down to the base. “That is, unless you’re talking about me.”

Wonjin’s moans grow in volume and pitch, it’s all too much, too overwhelming, and it feels like nothing he has ever experienced before - though he is pretty sure he is about to cum at any moment. If only Jungmo tightens his fist just a little more and…

“Am I your god, Wonjin?” Jungmo suddenly stops, his hands completely leaving Wonjin’s body as he relishes in his human’s delicious whines and protests.

Jungmo brings his fingers, slick and stained in precum, to Wonjin’s chin, tilting it upwards so their eyes can meet. Any and all protests Wonjin could have die in his mouth as he once again gets lost in the endless pits that are Jungmo’s eyes.

“Answer me, Wonjin,” Jungmo whispers, leaning down to kiss along Wonjin’s jawline, until his lips are right by his ear and his free hand is barely grazing Wonjin’s cock. “Tell me I am your god, and I’ll let you cum.”

Wonjin lets out a shaky, hesitant breath, barely able to keep his eyes open as he weakly reaches for Jungmo’s hand, the angel promptly moving it further away from his cock with a smirk.

“Yes,” Wonjin is quick to force himself to answer, intertwining his fingers with Jungmo’s and pulling him closer, reaching for a kiss that Jungmo once again withholds from him.

“Yes what? I want to hear you say it.”

“You’re my god, Jungmo,” Wonjin’s voice is barely above a whisper, cracking at every other word he speaks. “My one and only god.”

Jungmo’s acknowledgement for Wonjin’s blind devotion comes in the form of his hand slipping out of Wonjin’s hold, and wrapping once again around his sensitive cock.

It doesn’t take long for Wonjin to get close again, his voice melting into an incomprehensible ramble of “I’m gonna cum” repeating until Jungmo has to shush him, reassuring him that he’s not going to rip that orgasm away from him again. A part of him is tempted to, but the need to see Wonjin finally fall apart in his hands is stronger.

“Go ahead,” Jungmo whispers, relishing in the shiver that pervades Wonjin as his hands grip Jungmo’s arms in a desperate attempt to ground himself. “Cum for your one and only god.”

Wonjin’s mind goes blank, he doesn’t know for how long. His body is still shaking once he regains enough of a sense of self to open his eyes, laying his head on Jungmo’s shoulder as he catches his breath.

Jungmo’s fingers are dripping in his human’s cum. He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the sticky substance with curiosity before hesitantly licking some of it off of his digits.

The slightly salty taste of Wonjin’s cum has Jungmo biting back a moan at the realization he’s consuming a part of him, in some twisted, fucked up way.

Jungmo wants more, but he knows Wonjin can’t handle another orgasm, so he settles for the next best thing. Is it really ‘settling’, though, when Wonjin’s lips are just as addicting, as he squeezes Jungmo’s hand in his and smiles into the kiss.

Wonjin is quick to get drowsy, pulling Jungmo under the covers and mumbling something along the lines of “Don’t you dare go anywhere” as he drifts off to sleep, his hand still gripping Jungmo’s.

Jungmo observes Wonjin’s sleeping frame, so much closer than he has ever been able to before.

The sun has started rising, shining through the sheer curtains and painting Wonjin’s beautiful features in its soft orange hues.

It’s all worth it.

Even as Jungmo’s wings rot past the point of no return, the last of his feathers falling off and shriveling into dust, into nothingness, leaving the skeletal frame sprouting from his back bare and vulnerable. Even as a pain he has never experienced before curses through him.

All it takes for Jungmo to think the eternal suffering that awaits him is worth it is a look at his lover peacefully sleeping underneath him.

im sorry this is actually so bad i cant write gay sex HOW AM I A FUJO THAT DOESN’T KNOW HOWTO WRITE GAY SEX ???!??!!???

#🍰 seongminiz !#🧇 crvt !#🍅 토마토즈 / 모원 !#cravity hard hours #cravity smut #cravity fic #cravity angst #kind of 🫡#idk guys im just saying things i just want the fujos to find it

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earthvitalsignimpact · 5 months ago

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Chrono-Agents: The Ministry's Architects of Control

created by University Earth Vital Signs (UEVS)

A dystopian scene with chrono-agents manipulating time and an oppressive structure symbolizing the Ministry of Balance.

DISCLAIMER

This document may challenge your understanding of reality, time, and space. Engage with it at your own risk—what you discover may not be what you expect, and the truth may be far stranger than you can imagine. Neither the author(s) nor any involved entities take responsibility for any existential confusion, temporal dislocation, or sudden bursts of enlightenment that may occur. Read with curiosity, critical thinking, and an appreciation for the absurd.

If you find yourself questioning everything, congratulations—you’re on the right track.

Chapter One: The Tapestry of Control

In a world where the Ministry of Balance (MOB) reigns unchallenged, the forces of time have become their ultimate weapon. The chrono-agents, covert operatives with the ability to travel across time, are the Ministry’s enforcers, tasked with bending history to ensure that its vision of a controlled, unchanging world remains intact. Their mission is clear: manipulate past, present, and future events to solidify the Ministry's dominance, leaving no room for resistance, innovation, or disruption.

Here is the image depicting a futuristic control room with shadowy chrono-agents manipulating time and history.

The era of international climate meetings, once the stage for negotiating global climate policies and a battleground for competing interests, is now a distant memory. Thanks to the meticulous efforts of the chrono-agents, these summits were rendered obsolete long ago. Through their manipulation of critical moments in history, the agents ensured the Ministry’s absolute control over global climate systems, energy production, and political structures. What once appeared to be a platform for international cooperation and change was quietly erased, and now every nation, without exception, adheres to the Ministry's policies. There are no longer any debates or discussions—just the Ministry’s unwavering rule.

Instead of global cooperation, there are only sporadic bursts of resistance—small-scale protests led by individuals who still dream of a world free from the Ministry's oppression. These isolated efforts are quickly crushed, and any sparks of rebellion are swiftly snuffed out. The chrono-agents stand guard, ensuring that no leader, no movement, and no breakthrough can ever threaten the Ministry's stranglehold on power. They work tirelessly to ensure that the Ministry's vision remains unchallenged, weaving a reality where dissent is non-existent, and control is absolute.

But the chrono-agents do more than silence opposition—they shape the very narrative that the world follows. They sponsor the conduction of fake climate studies, fabricating evidence that supports the Ministry’s climate management system. These false reports are then strategically spread through social media by MOB-approved influencers, who ensure that the Ministry's message dominates public discourse. This misinformation campaign convinces the global population that the Ministry’s approach is the only viable solution, while undermining any alternative theories or technologies that could threaten their power.

Here is the conceptual image representing the Ministry of Balance's philosophy of creation, with the Earth at the center and the manipulation of history and climate data.

The Ministry’s philosophy of creation further cements their control. According to this ideology, the Earth is only 6,000 years old, a belief rooted in their specific interpretation of religious texts rather than any empirical scientific evidence. This worldview is central to the Ministry’s strategy of maintaining dominance: it undermines established science and redefines the narrative of humanity’s relationship with the planet.

The chrono-agents are key enforcers of this philosophy, ensuring that this creationist view is upheld at all costs. They work to suppress scientific findings that contradict the Ministry's ideology, particularly when it comes to climate change. For instance, the overwhelming evidence provided by institutions like NOAA, which has meticulously studied data spanning the last 800,000 years and has shown clear patterns of rising CO2 levels and their direct impact on the climate, is dismissed and ignored within the Ministry’s constructed reality. The agents systematically alter or suppress data and studies that point to the dangers of unchecked CO2 emissions, asserting that such findings are flawed or irrelevant according to the Ministry’s version of history.

By controlling the narrative around the planet's history and climate science, the chrono-agents ensure that the Ministry's authority remains unchallenged. This philosophy of creation is not just a religious or philosophical stance—it is a political tool designed to keep the population ignorant of the true causes of climate change and to promote the Ministry’s climate control systems as the only "correct" approach. By rejecting the science that shows humanity's impact on the environment, the Ministry solidifies its claim that the world is following its prescribed, unchangeable path, one that cannot be altered by climate action or environmental justice.

Every protest, every uprising, is quickly crushed by the Ministry’s enforcers, ensuring that no resistance movement ever gains traction. The chrono-agents are the silent architects of this controlled reality—moving through time with ruthless precision, ensuring that every key event, every breakthrough, and every political shift aligns with the Ministry’s design. Resistance leaders are quietly erased from history, their names forgotten, their influence nullified before they can even take root.

Their job is not just to maintain the present but to secure the future by manipulating the past. Whenever there is a risk of a disruptive technology, a political movement, or a cultural revolution, the agents intervene. Whether it’s preventing the discovery of renewable energy breakthroughs, suppressing the rise of influential leaders, or erasing the seeds of resistance before they can grow, the chrono-agents ensure that the Ministry’s narrative remains uninterrupted. They rewrite history to make sure the Ministry’s stranglehold on power remains unchallenged—forever.

In this world, where the Ministry controls every facet of life, the chrono-agents are the unseen forces that bend time to their will. They are the Ministry’s instruments of domination, shaping history and the future to eliminate any possibility of rebellion. The fight for freedom has been extinguished, and the Ministry’s grip on the world remains unbreakable. The chrono-agents ensure that no one will ever remember that a time existed when the future was uncertain, and change was possible.

References

National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA). (2021). Global Climate Change: Evidence. Retrieved from https://www.climate.gov/evidence. NOAA’s long-term data, spanning over 800,000 years, demonstrates the direct relationship between rising CO2 levels and global temperature increases.

Darwin, C. (1859). On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection. John Murray. This foundational work on the theory of evolution has been instrumental in shaping scientific thought on the age of the Earth and the processes of natural change over time.

Sagan, C. (1996). The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark. Random House. Sagan argues for the critical importance of science and reason in an era threatened by misinformation and pseudoscience, providing a philosophical counterpoint to creationism.

Hume, D. (1776). An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding. A philosophical work that challenges the limits of human knowledge and how the mind shapes our understanding of the world, indirectly questioning dogmatic views of creation.

Feyerabend, P. (1975). Against Method: Outline of an Anarchistic Theory of Knowledge. A critique of scientific rationalism that explores how knowledge itself can be shaped and controlled by powerful institutions, reflecting the manipulation of climate science in this narrative.

Plato. (c. 380 BCE). The Republic, Book VII. In the allegory of the cave, Plato illustrates the difference between the world of appearances and the world of reality. He describes prisoners chained in a cave, seeing only shadows on the wall, symbolizing how people are often deceived by false perceptions and limited understanding. This allegory emphasizes the importance of education and the philosopher's role in bringing people out of ignorance into the light of truth, much like the pursuit of knowledge in science seeks to move beyond misconceptions to reveal deeper truths about the world.

The references explained

Main Findings of NOAA on Climate Change and CO2 Levels

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) provides extensive evidence that human activities, particularly the burning of fossil fuels, have significantly increased the concentration of carbon dioxide (CO2) in the atmosphere, which is directly contributing to global warming. NOAA's data, spanning the last 800,000 years, shows that the current levels of CO2 are unprecedented in both magnitude and speed of increase. These findings highlight the clear correlation between rising CO2 levels and increasing global temperatures, supporting the scientific consensus that human-induced climate change is real and urgent.

Main Findings of Charles Darwin on Evolution and the Age of the Earth

Charles Darwin's groundbreaking work, On the Origin of Species, published in 1859, introduced the theory of natural selection, which explains how species evolve over time through the survival and reproduction of individuals with advantageous traits. Darwin’s observations and evidence from his research, particularly in the Galápagos Islands, laid the foundation for understanding the gradual processes of evolution. His work also challenged conventional beliefs about the age of the Earth, supporting the idea that the planet is far older than the 6,000 years proposed by certain religious doctrines. Darwin's findings revolutionized the study of biology, establishing evolution as the central concept in the life sciences.

Main Findings of Carl Sagan on Science and Pseudoscience

Science as a Candle in the Dark, illustrating the contrast between science and pseudoscience.

In The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark, Carl Sagan argues for the vital importance of scientific thinking and skepticism in a world increasingly threatened by pseudoscience and misinformation. Sagan emphasizes that science, through its method of inquiry and reliance on evidence, is our most reliable tool for understanding the world and improving our lives. He warns against the dangers of accepting unfounded beliefs, particularly in areas like climate change, where misinformation can have dire consequences. Sagan advocates for the promotion of scientific literacy, highlighting its role in empowering individuals to think critically and make informed decisions in a complex and often misleading world.

Main Findings of David Hume on Knowledge and Human Understanding

In An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, David Hume explores the limits of human knowledge and the nature of belief. Hume argues that knowledge is derived from experience, emphasizing that our understanding of the world is shaped by impressions (direct experiences) and ideas (mental representations of those experiences). He challenges the reliability of human reason, especially in matters that go beyond immediate experience, such as metaphysical or religious claims. Hume is skeptical of arguments based on causality and insists that we can never truly know causes; we only observe correlations. His work is foundational in the philosophy of empiricism, questioning assumptions about the world and encouraging a more critical and evidence-based approach to knowledge.

"The Allegory of the Cave: Plato's Metaphor for the Journey to Enlightenment"

Here is the image based on Plato's Allegory of the Cave, depicting the prisoners chained in the cave, only able to see the distorted shadows on the wall.

In Plato's Allegory of the Cave, found in The Republic, he presents a powerful metaphor for the nature of human perception and the path to true knowledge. The story depicts a group of prisoners who have been chained inside a dark cave for their entire lives. They are fixed in place, only able to see the shadows cast on the wall in front of them, which are created by objects behind them, illuminated by a fire. These shadows are all the prisoners have ever known, so they believe them to be the only reality.

One day, a prisoner is freed and led outside the cave. At first, he is blinded by the sunlight, struggling to adjust to the overwhelming brightness. But as his eyes gradually adapt, he begins to see the world in full, realizing that the outside world, bathed in light and color, is the true reality. The shadows in the cave were mere illusions, far removed from the deeper truths he now perceives.

Excited by his newfound understanding, the freed prisoner returns to the cave to share his discovery with the others. However, the remaining prisoners resist and dismiss his claims, unable to accept that there could be a reality beyond the shadows they have known their entire lives.

Plato uses this allegory to illustrate his theory of forms, where the shadows represent the imperfect, material world, and the world outside the cave symbolizes the realm of ideal forms—universal truths that exist beyond the limitations of physical reality. The allegory suggests that most people are trapped in ignorance, mistaking appearances for reality. Only through education and philosophical inquiry can individuals transcend the illusion of the material world and reach a deeper understanding of the truth. It also highlights the resistance people often have to new, challenging ideas that go against their established beliefs.

"Feyerabend's Anarchistic View of Knowledge: Challenging the Authority of Science"

In his 1975 work Against Method, philosopher Paul Feyerabend advocates for an anarchistic approach to knowledge, challenging the idea that there is a single, universally applicable method for acquiring truth. He rejects the notion that science, with its structured methodologies, holds a monopoly on how we understand the world. According to Feyerabend, knowledge is not limited to one rigid system, and different belief systems, cultural perspectives, and methodologies can all offer valuable insights into reality.

Feyerabend's famous phrase "anything goes" encapsulates his view that there is no single, correct approach to knowledge. He argues that science itself has evolved through a variety of methods, many of which have been dismissed or ignored by those in power. Instead of adhering to a strict, predefined method, Feyerabend encourages intellectual freedom, allowing diverse ways of knowing to flourish. He emphasizes the importance of creativity and openness, viewing science as just one among many approaches to understanding the world. In his view, an inclusive, pluralistic model of knowledge—where all perspectives are valued—is more beneficial than a hierarchical system that elevates one method above all others.

checked by AI for copy right issues

#science fiction #climate science #climate change #dystopia #creationism

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artist-owl · 3 years ago

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He Doesn’t Look a Thing Like Jesus

@moceit-appreciation-week for Moceit Week day 6: Magic/Role Reversal

word count: 1522

title from “When You Were Young” by The Killers

summary: why is it that angels my fall, yet demons never rise?

Janus wasn’t quite sure what he was anymore.

There wasn’t really a word for the liminal space between an angelic being and a demonic one – well, actually there was, but ‘fallen angel’ wasn’t quite descriptive enough for his purpose; for one, he hadn’t been an angel, he’d been a principality, thankyouverymuch. For another, he hadn’t so much fallen as been slam-dunked out of Heaven like the pearly gates were the net and Earth was the cold and unforgiving wooden floor, ‘fallen’ implied that he’d done it to himself.

In any case, he wasn’t yet a demon, wouldn’t become one unless he burned away the last remaining dregs of his divine power and went to Hell. Not that he had any intention of doing so of course, no matter how far he’d been demoted – it was a ghastly place from what he’d heard. But he wasn’t a principality anymore, that was clear as the scars on his back. Damn it all, is this really where asking questions could get you?

Well fuck that noise, Janus didn’t want any part of that heavenly nonsense anymore.

What exactly he was didn’t matter much, really. Not nearly as much as what he could do.

Which still wasn’t much – he hadn’t lost all of his powers, but even the few that he still had were weakened – but it was just enough to keep his mortal (or at least humanoid) form alive and out of prison. The humans really had made just suddenly appearing somewhere so much more complicated over the past century or so, hadn’t they?

Nothing that he couldn’t handle, of course.

“And this will be your desk,” said his new boss – Angela de la Cruz, she’d told him, because his Dad really must’ve had a sense of humor when They’d been coming up with Their plan for Everything. “You’ll be sharing it with our clerk, Patton Smith, but don’t worry, there’s plenty of room.

“Thank you, Angela,” Janus said smoothly, setting down his small box of supplies on the mentioned desk. It was, in fact, large enough for two people to work on; it was a square table, half of it stacked with papers and folders and a laptop sitting closed towards the center, a few pens scattered haphazardly through the thing, and a cup of coffee that seemed to have already gone cold. Janus had no doubt that within the week his side of the desk would look similar, if a little neater.

“Not a problem! I’ll let you get settled in, you can come to my office in a few minutes to receive your first assignments.”

“That sounds wonderful, thanks.” Janus flashed her a practiced smile, and she sent him one back that looked just a bit more genuine, then turned and left for her office.

Janus turned and surveyed the desk for a moment, then started unpacking. He took out his laptop, its cord, the small box of black ink pens, and a pad of paper.

Right. Unpacking done.

He wasn’t entirely certain how this job would go, but he wasn’t too worried about it. Surely working in human law couldn’t be that different from his administrative duties Upstairs.

He was debating whether or not he should take the time to figure out how to get his computer started up, when he heard a door open and he glanced up at the man who’d stepped into the room.

The little snip of divinity still in him recoiled, and Janus barely stopped himself from flinching. The man stopped in his tracks, staring at Janus.

No, not a man.

Janus’s upper lip curled back. “Hello, demon.”

It seemed to shake the being out of his stupor. “Ah, hello,” he said, smiling politely. “Should I refer to you as the same?”

“No.”

The demon tilted his head, examining Janus. His round glasses magnified his eyes, making them look bigger behind the gold-colored wire frames. After a moment of scrutiny, he seemed to relax. “Alright then!” He sounded chipper. “It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Patton.”

“...Janus.”

“How are you doing, Janus? You must be the new secretary.”

“...Yes.” Janus stared as the demon sat down, slowly doing the same. “I’d ask what a demon is doing working at a human law office,” he said slowly, “but given how few lawyers I ran into Up There, I can make a guess.”

The demon – Patton, he supposed, may as well start calling it that before he slipped up and called the being a demon to his face in front of their human coworkers – just laughed, polite and practiced. “Oh, no, nothing like that.”

“Sure.”

“I’m working up to animal rights law,” Patton said cheerfully.

Which.

What?

“Not the division I’d expect one of your sort to choose to enter,” Janus said. “What…you looking for the next soul to corrupt?”

“Oh, I don’t do that sort of thing,” Patton said breezily, waving his hand.

“You’re a demon.”

“And you’re not an angel,” Patton said, poisonously sweet. Janus didn’t flinch, but something must have shown in his expression because Patton’s face shuttered for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, in the most genuine tone he’d used so far. “That was cruel of me, my apologies.”

Janus leaned back, suddenly uncertain. What in the…

“What are you?”

Patton giggled. It was eerie. “Oh, no no, you had me pegged from the start. It’s just…well…” his eyes went a little soft as they looked into the middle distance over Janus’s shoulder. “You’ve fallen, yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Patton met his eyes then, and the metaphorical fire in them didn’t look so much hellish as determined. “I want to rise.”

Janus made a noise halfway between a laugh and a choke. “You want…to rise?” he said, disbelief coloring his voice.

“Yep!” Patton was smiling sunnily, like he hadn’t said the most insane thing that Janus had ever heard.

“That – that’s impossible.”

“Just because no one’s done it yet doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.”

“No, I mean –” Janus’s voice trailed off as he suddenly wondered…was it impossible? He’d never thought to ask. It wasn’t one of the questions that got him demoted, though now that he thought about it, if he had asked it, he probably would have been punted down to Earth way sooner than this.

Patton shrugged. “Humans can do it. Why not me?”

“Because you’re innately evil?” Janus said, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Well some people say that humans are too, and they still go Up There.”

“Humans are born neutral, there’s hundreds of different things to influence them and thousands of choices for them to make. We don’t have that choice.”

“But you fell,” Patton said simply, like that made his case.

“All part of the Almighty’s plan, I’m sure,” Janus said, proud of how little bitterness he’d managed to let seep into his tone. “But I’ve never heard of Them raising one of you up.”

Patton shrugged again. “Like I said, just because no one’s done it yet doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.”

Janus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Why do you even want to rise?”

“Because I want to help people,” Patton said immediately. “I want to do good. I want to be good.”

“And you can’t do that from where you are?”

“Well, I’m doing my best now, aren’t I?” Patton said, smiling. “That’s how I’m going to do it, do so much good that They’ll let me Up. But imagine how much more good I could do if I was Up There! Directly serving the Almighty’s plan, not just…doing the little that someone of my place can do for good.”

Janus chewed his lip for a moment. “I…don’t think that’s how that works.”

Patton’s smile was serene. “I have faith that it will.”

“...Right.”

Janus didn’t really know what else to say. What else he could say. Was it more cruel to let Patton continue with his impossible task, or burst his bubble now and let him face harsh reality? Should Janus even be feeling sympathy for the demon?

The door to Angela’s office opened. “Oh, I see you two’ve met!” she said brightly behind Janus.

Patton beamed at her. “Sure did!”

“Awesome! You settled then?”

“I am,” Janus said to her. “You mentioned assignments?”

“Yeah. You don’t know how much having you here is going to help, our legal assistant has been going nuts trying to get everything done herself.”

“Mm.” Janus stood up and started over to her office.

“Oh, and Janus?” Janus turned and saw Patton offering him a genuine smile. “Welcome to the office.”

Janus inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you,” he said, before turning back around and following Angela.

What the Hell. Why should Janus care? He wasn’t aligned with the Upstairs anymore. There wasn’t any reason for him to be concerned about some upstart demon trying to worm his way Up. Patton seemed to be taking the most boringly respectable route possible to his unreachable goal, and him burning himself out to do so wasn’t any of Janus’s business. There was no reason for Janus to be interested in Patton.

No reason at all.

#my fics #moceitappreciationweek #moceitweek2022 #sanders sides #janus sanders #ts janus #patton sanders #ts patton #fallen angel au #demon au #office au #and they were deskmates #Christianity #disclaimer: author is no longer religious #and this fic plays fast and loose with christian theology

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taschamonnii · 2 years ago

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More Than A Woman - Part 5 (Lay All Your Love On Me)

You x Shirley Carter (70s-80s Southern Housewife Original Character - Elizabeth Olsen)

Find All Parts Here

*Disclaimer/Summary: This completely Fictional Character is based on the way Lizzie plays old-fashioned Housewives. (Some inspo is taken from WandaVision, I Saw The Light, and Love & Death) This character is in no way a portrayal of any real-life people. Audrey Williams and Candy Montgomery were real people that Lizzie has portrayed for entertainment purposes in tv & film. This story is not about them. I just want to see Lizzie play a 70s-80s housewife that is secretly Gay and stuck in a religious small-town in the South. Since she has never done that but has played the part of perfect housewife I decided to make my own character.* I will be using edited pictures from the characters she has played and unaltered gifs since it's way too hard to edit those.*

Character Description since this is a made up character: mid length-wavy-dark brown hair (think more the length in I saw the Light like it falls to her collar bones but the deep dark brown from goth Wanda era, Emerald Green eyes, Wears form fitting dresses and high waisted pants and skirts.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Angst/Smut/Fluff

TW: SMUT, 18+, Cheating on husbands to be GAY together,

I am so obsessed with Lizzie playing housewife that I made a playlist! More Than A Woman

AN: This is part Five to this Original Series

Word Count: 1,506

Imagine This:

“Maybe someday you could. We won’t be here forever. Theo's company estimates maybe a few years.”

Her face drops and you can see the sadness in her eyes. “Oh.”

Her eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip trembled. “No. No. Don’t cry.”

You reached for her cheek and she sat up quickly. “What the fuck Y/N?”

Angry tears raced down her cheeks and you rushed to sit up. You went to reach for her again but she swatted your hand away. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry. Shirley, I was hoping to talk to you about this differently.”

“We just. You just said you love me! We just made love Y/N! Now you are telling me what exactly?"

"I'm telling you this because I love you. Can't you see. I want you. We could be together easier in Cali."

"I can't just leave my family, Y/N. You know that."

"No, your family would come too. I want you and your girls and there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about but I think now might be a bad time.."

She raised her voice but it was still broken. "A bad time? Something worse than you moving away!?!"

"Fuck!" You run your hands through your hair and take a deep breath. "Shirley, I don't plan on leaving you unless you want me to."

She glanced away and you could see she didn't believe you. "Huh it sounds like you are leaving me."

"I'm not."

"Then explain. What is the worst thing?"

"Well, I am not sure it's worse than you thinking I'm leaving but I just well it's complicated. I don't know how you will react."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Just say it."

"I think well Theo and I, we think John is, mmm might be, gay."

"What?"

"It's just he cares about his appearance a lot. He, according to Theo, acts a bit shy in the bathroom and we just see it. We could be wrong. You know him best. Does he shower for longer than 10 minutes? Does he prefer fucking you from behind? Does he want to fuck you all the time or is it more special occasions?"

She looked shocked. "You and Theo think John is gay?"

"Yes and Theo has a bit of a thing for John if I'm being honest."

"Oh my God. John has commented on Theo's appearance a few times. He actually wants us all to be friends. What the fuck? John loves me though."

"I know he does that is obvious to everyone but does he lust after you? Like how I lust after you. You know lots of staring and eye contact especially in bed. If he isn't looking at you in awe every time he fucks you then he might be picturing someone else. Have you ever pictured someone else while you have sex with him?"

She bit her bottom lip and ran her hands through her hair then ran her hands over her face. "Oh God, is my entire life a lie?"

"No, it's just different than you thought. You love John but it's different than how you love me right?"

She nodded yes and took a deep breath. You gave her a reassuring smile. "This could be really good."

"Good."

You reach out and take her hand and she finally lets you. "Good."

She sighed and brought her free hand up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. "What am I supposed to do now Y/N?"

"Well we take things one step at a time. Do you think that John would ever have an affair if Theo proposed one?"

She twisted her lips in thoughts. "Well if you had asked before we had this little conversation I would have said absolutely not but now I don't know how well I really know my husband."

You nod and squeeze her hand "okay take a deep breath this is a lot."

"You think?"

You pull her closer and wrap your hands around her. "I think maybe we should take a step back and relax."

You kissed the side of her head and pulled her face into view so you could kiss her forehead and cheeks and chin. You capture her lips in a passionate kiss. She kisses back quickly deepening the kiss. She sucks on your bottom lip and moans into the kiss. She pushes you back and straddles your lap. Her hand travels down between the two of you. Her long fingers quickly find purchase and you throw your head back in a moan. You move your hand between you and quickly match her movements.

She drops her head on your shoulder as her breaths heat your skin. Your movements sync as your hips chase the pleasure. She bites your neck and sucks on your skin. You dig your blunt nails into her shoulder with your free hand.

You lose yourself in the feeling of having her inside you while being inside her. Everything feels heightened. Your bodies tighten even as you resist falling into pleasure. You want this to last and you can feel she does too. Your bodies tremble and stutter and your hips jerk against each other. You both tumble over the edge blissed out. Her full weight collapses on top of you as she breathes out. You both hold onto each other tightly like letting go would change everything.

Things feel different and you both know that nothing will ever be the same. You breathe her in trying to memorize her sweet scent. The way her weight feels on top of you, the way she holds you tighter as she comes down from her high. You hold her tighter and kiss the skin of her shoulder and neck trying to ground yourself in her.

Time passes and you are truly unsure how long you both lay there holding each other. Eventually your breaths even and both of your grips on each other lighten gradually. She lifts her head up and kisses your lips softly before rolling slightly off of you. She sighed out. “I don’t want to leave this moment, I don't want to face reality.”

You let out a deep sigh. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“What do we do now?”

“We have time to take things slowly. Would you be okay if Theo tested the water with John? Or have you heard of swinging? We could work on developing the friendship and then propose swinging.”

“I am not sure if it brings me comfort or concern that you have really thought about all this.”

She laughs nervously and you grab and squeeze her hand. “I know it’s a lot.”

She blows out a dramatic breath letting her lips vibrate and make a cute sound. “No kidding. Uh I guess it would be good to improve our friendship as couples Theo can do whatever he wants. I have heard of swinging but it is not something that happens around here. I read about it in a magazine and was too scared to talk to John about it. I don’t know how he would react to such a thing.”

You nod and smile. “Let's just start with game nights and going on double dates things like that.”

She agreed with the nod of her head.

>>>>

Time seemed to be on your side as things moved smoothly. Soon it became routine to see Shirley for your little afternoon delights then again at church events and what was quickly becoming more fun and easy going game nights and weekend hangouts with the Carter family. You and Theo developed a strong bond with the girls and John was easily falling into a best friendship with Theo. Flirtatious glances and fun nights as a group felt right. Things sort of fell into place.

It didn’t take long for Theo to break through and truly connect with John. Theo helped John come into himself and see the truth. Theo even helped settle John when he told him about the love affair that Shirley had with you. Now that he knows things have gotten easier and far more fun. You can mark Shirley's delicate skin without worry and you do. You mark every inch possible. You bite and suck your marks all over her. Beyond that it has allowed for her to spend the night with you and even for you to spend the night at her house. The domesticity you craved with her is finally yours. Well mostly. There are plans for buying a house as a group in Cali so it can be more full time.

There is love and happiness among you all and it is the most wonderful thing you have ever been a part of. You have longed for something like this your entire life and you finally have it. The future looks bright and you can’t wait to return to Cali and live free and easy and fall asleep with Shirley in your arms every night and wake her every morning.

A/N: Sorry this is so short but it is wrapping up. There will be one more, probably short as well, part that shows them all in the future. I hope you all have enjoyed this silly little story that was solely inspired by the way Elizabeth Olsen plays these types of 70s & 80s Housewife characters. I have had a hard time figuring out how to end this but I knew when I started I wanted it to be light and fun. We need more movies and shows where Lizzie’s character is not a sad girl even though I love all her sad girl characters.

#Elizabeth Olsen #Female Reader X Shirley Carter #70s-80s Southern HouseWife #cheating on husbands to be gay but the husbands are also Gay lol #original series #made up original character based on the way Elizabeth Olsen plays old fashioned Housewives #smut #angst #wlw #lesbian #playlist for elizabeth olsen living her best disco life and that are vibes for the show and for dancing #inspo taken from WandaVision and I Saw The Light and Love & Death

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inawordaverage · 2 years ago

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disclaimer: OPINION, FAMILY ISSUES, RELIGIOUS DISCUSSION. I don't intend to put forth any hate speech towards any belief in this post. It is simply an expression of how I perceive my past experiences.

This one's gonna be VERY long.. and there's a good chance it's not going to be seen by many.. but this is an okay spot to get it off my chest, I suppose. Thank you for listening.

To put it simply, I feel like I will be behind in life until the day I die. And no, it's not because I've decided not to go to college. It's because I have missed many of the world's major turning points.

A small example: you can ask me if I've seen a movie, regardless of its popularity, and nine times out of ten the answer will be no. A larger example: you can ask me what happened during Obama's presidency (the entirety of which I was alive for, of course), and I can tell you nothing except that his name was spoken with venom throughout our church.

The history of the world, and of internet itself - a concept that has been familiar to most of my peers for most of my life - is still something that I will never fully grasp, because I was not allowed to participate in it at all.

My life, until I was sixteen years old, mainly consisted of three things: school, church, and home. Anything outside of those three things - or anyone who had access to the rest of the world - was disallowed from my carefully curated bubble.

I was brought up to be obedient and quiet. Don't speak until you are spoken to. Don't question authority, ever. Do, however, make sure you ask permission before doing anything, to make sure you are supervised. And, most importantly, worship God above all else. Or else.

My priorities were as follows:

- Honor God

- Honor others

- Honor myself

As I grew older, I allowed myself to be trampled, abused, mocked, degraded, and assaulted - all in the name of honoring God and others above myself, disregarding my own safety. And nothing was done to stop that impression from being made, as long as my behavior was favorable enough.

To make matters worse, I hardly knew what privacy was. My personal space and private belongings were regularly invaded, and I let it happen because I didn't know any better.

A mantra that was repeated throughout our house was, "If you have to hide anything, it must be something wrong." Nothing was sacred. Personal journals were opened, excessive time alone was scrutinized and brought into question, earbuds were confiscated.

My eyes hungrily latched onto any screen I could find, just to get a glimpse of the world, just to satisfy my curiosity. Each time it happened, I was caught and reprimanded. I felt guilty for trying to see past the bubble, because I was only supposed to know that the bubble was safe, and the rest of the world was evil.

I feared the world. Fear was instilled into my heart from a young age. The fear of strangers, sin, death, and even God himself. Eternal punishment, separate from our almighty creator, was the worst possible pain imaginable, and we were to thank him for sparing us from that punishment.

We were taught that Jesus endured the pain of hell so that we could be saved from having to go through it. We were taught to be contrite, desperate, lost, and confused souls that needed to be washed clean and purified of anything imperfect.

From inside the bubble, I was convinced that being saved from eternal torment was the greatest gift of all, the purest expression of love. But with my first step outside of the bubble, I learned that salvation was not my motivator for following God. It was fear.

Now that I am no longer practicing religion, I experience two feelings at once when thinking of death. These two feelings are very familiar, but that does not make them any less traumatic.

The first feeling is terror. Yes, because of what I have been taught my whole life, I am afraid of death. Will I be punished forever for breaking free of the bubble I was raised in? Will I suffer eternal agony for choosing to abandon God and the church?

The second feeling is intrigue. I must know what happens after death. I'm morbidly curious. Literally. I have had visions of the emptiness of nonexistence, and I have experienced the blind, white-hot pain of what can only be described as hell... but I NEED to know what really happens.

As I am of the firm belief that perfection will always be impossible, I am only left with two options that I constantly mull over. My thoughts are stuck going back and forth between either constant agony, or nothingness. No one has come back from the dead to tell us which it is. So the only way to find out, is to experience it..

I'm not willing to leave this life behind. I've only just begun my journey. Although I have missed out on so much, I am now free to learn, and I will never stop learning. I am learning to love myself for who I truly am, discovering and accepting my own identity while welcoming others in with open arms.

To me, it is such a refreshing change. The worst isn't over yet, but I have had many tumultuous seasons so far, and if I were to never learn from them, I would not be where I am today.

I'll leave with a quote from a message I sent to one of my friends, who had asked me why I live my life the way I do now.

"...I will not let my fear of eternal torment lead me into blindly accepting whatever salvation is thrown at me. Not anymore. I'm living my life, surrounded by good, supportive people, and I don't want to change that. ... The end of the world is near. Before I know it, I'll blink, and everything I know and love will be gone. I'll die, and not have faith in where I'm going to end up. But I feel like that is the truth in the Bible that comes closest to impacting my view of this harsh reality."

#tw: long post #religion #family #life story #am i going to regret this?#never #this is me #what can i say #its realistic

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theplantbish · 2 years ago

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HIII! Its your Antti anon!! I'm just listening to one of my fav songs "Hiton Pelkuri", and I properly looked at the album art for En Kommentoi for the first time. The combination of abrahamic religious symbols is cool. I know he has a particular interest in religion and his album Valittu Kanssa is of full of intelligent allusions and metaphors. But, not being a Finnish speaker, I sadly have no clue how to interpret the lyrics. What do you think is Antti's attitude towards religion and Christianity?

My favorite Anon, hi!!

Short answer: his attitude towards religion is good, level headed and he is religious.

Longer answer under the cut 😊

Antti has talked about religion quite a lot, especially around the time when Valittu kansa album came out.

His family isn't really religious, but when he was a kid he had friends who were very religious, and that got him interested in it. In one interview he said that he spent a lot of time reading the bible when he was like 7-10 years old.

As an adult he's read about other religions, too, and non-religious history texts about Jesus (or at least tried to find something, idk if those kinds of texts exist).

He's said that he is religious but he also likes to question a lot of the things Christianity teaches. He says that religion is like a journey to him. He prays every night, sometimes he feels like he's talking to God and other times he doesn't really know who he's talking to.

The song Valittu Kansa criticizes and in a way calls out people on their hypocrisy of how they follow religion, institutions and authorities blindly. The album tells about his own experience with religion, how sometimes it's guiding him and other times he feels very lost with it.

A lot of religious people in this country got very upset about the album, without really even listening to any of the songs. They just heard religion + pop music and immediately assumed that it's blasphemy when it's not. I actually saw a video of a priest reacting to the song Valittu Kansa and he was like "oh I totally understand what he's saying, great song!" Which makes those casual, barely ever goes to church but throws a tantrum about the album -people's reaction pretty funny to me ngl.

In a nutshell: his attitude towards all religions is positive, he himself is a Christian and he's very interested in religions in general.

I feel like I have to mention this as a disclaimer of sorts: I'm not religious at all myself, never have been, aaand the album is brilliant imo.

#answers #antti tuisku #cw religion #tw religion #I hope I was able to explain everything well and got my facts right 😬#i did read a couple of articles where he talked about this before answering this

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nevermindirah · 4 years ago

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Dorothy Freeman facts

By facts I of course mean headcanons, because Nile's mom doesn't get a first name in canon (or even confirmation that her last name is Freeman). All we know about her is the picture on Nile's phone lock screen (which is Kiki Layne's real-life mom and brother!) and a few lines that Nile tells Andy about her. I’ve been collecting my Dorothy headcanons for a while now to eventually make a post, and @mprosperossprite‘s excellent post giving non-Americans context for what it means that Nile is from the South Side of Chicago prompted me to go ahead and share this. Disclaimer that I’m white and I will absolutely make corrections if it’s pointed out that I’ve caused harm with any of this.

So here have some fun facts about the version of Mama Freeman who lives in my head rent-free:

Her family and growing up:

she was born in the mid-'60s and named after Dorothy Dandridge

I can’t decide whether she was born in Chicago or moved there later on (maybe with Nile’s dad?) and when in the waves of the Great Migration her family left the South

she came of age in the "post"-Civil Rights movement and went to college in the mid-80s when a lot of what are now the foundational classics of Black feminism were being written

she was a young adult when Anita Hill risked so much to report that a Supreme Court nominee had sexually harassed her, and as a result she HATES Joe Biden

Marriage and babies:

she met Nile's father — I can’t decide how they met and I have two competing headcanons for his name, either Gideon for the hefty Biblical masculinity vibes (Giddy for short among family, that man loved to laugh) or Carl, which started out as a shitty Carl’s Jr burger chain joke that turns out to be perfect (it means free man!), and @knoepfchen used it in the sequel to if you do take a thief where Carl is alive!! — and Dorothy was a little skeptical of his near-religious devotion to the military but he was really hot and really devoted to her and they made it work

she's a little pissed that she was right but it's unbearable if she thinks about it too often

it's going to be a long, long time before she can look back on pictures of Baby Nile stomping around the house in her dad's combat boots (this is a Gina Prince Bythewood headcanon, whyyyyyyyy can I not find a link to where she said this)

she named their second baby Indus, Indy for short (this is nearly as established fanon in Book of Nile circles as how much Booker loves eating pussy, and Indy Freeman as a young adult is portrayed by either Aldis Hodge or John Boyega I don’t make the rules)

Work:

Dorothy did some office jobs but nothing really grabbed her, and she was probably gonna have to move for her husband's career, so she decided on teaching — high school humanities

she’s been active in CTU (one of the strongest teacher’s unions in the US) her whole career and one year she was on the bargaining committee and her babies know damn well never to trust a boss, not even one who says all the right things — if she ever finds out the way Nile said "like Quynh?" when Andy promised to protect her, she will lose her mind with pride

(Nile was 18 and freshly graduated from high school in 2012 when CTU went on strike for the first time in a generation and she brought her mom snacks on the picket line)

one of her very favorite things is getting her students to laugh despite themselves at her "oh my GOD you're so EMBARRASSING" old-people jokes

she's one of those teachers who can get 30+ teenagers to go dead silent with judicious application of body language

she's known to occasionally go easy on grading subjective things like essays when she knows students are having a particularly rough time at home, but the second she gets the feeling they're taking advantage and not trying their best that shit is over and they better mind their Ps & Qs

she's the kind of person who says old-people shit like that

she gives her students assignments like "help 5 neighbors register to vote" and "write a compare/contrast table about the candidates in this local election" and "research 5 different ways you could get grant money to do X" and other practical civic-minded shit

standardized testing is her supervillain origin story, just kidding it’s Rahm Emanuel, why the fuck did Obama trust that asshole

After her husband died:

she would have lost her goddamn mind if it weren't for her church friends after her husband died, people from the church raised money so they could make ends meet while his pension paperwork was taking forever, church friends watched Indy so Nile could go out for the soccer team, etc etc

she sold her and her late husband's house and moved to a 3-bedroom co-op unit when Nile started high school, it's more affordable and it meant she didn't have to worry about household repairs in the same way, she can use a wrench if she needs to but she doesn't have time and it just makes her grief flare up (co-op housing has a long history in Chicago and other US cities (like Washington DC where I live) as a way for Black people to access decent, affordable housing in the face of entrenched discrimination)

the move meant putting a longer commute between her and church, but she didn't even bother looking for a church closer to their new home, she loaded the kids into the car on the weekends, parking is hell in their new neighborhood but it's worth giving up a hard-won parking spot to not have to wait so long for the L on Sunday mornings

Indy lived with her through college and he was gearing up to get his own place when Nile died, Dorothy was planning to move into a one-bedroom in the co-op building because she doesn't need so much space anymore, Indy took a day off from his new job (not so new anymore, her baby's so grown!) to help her sort things to donate when those dress-uniform Marines came to their door

part of her wishes she could've been home more and not had to rely on Nile so much for help with Indy, but he's turned out such a kind young man, and he's a much better cook than his sister is (was, oh God — no wait, is! she’s alive! what do you mean you’ve been alive all this time??)

some of the girls from church are encouraging her to check out this social dancing thing, nobody's pressuring her to date but there's definitely been some ribbing, and with Indy out of the house... maybe? probably not, but maybe

Her feelings and beliefs and likes and dislikes:

she's an absolute badass and also she's a soft human woman with lots of feelings

she's very, very traditional in some ways, and part of her mixed feelings about Nile following in her dad's footsteps is gender stuff, she's proud of her daughter and would never stand in the way of what Nile wants to do with her life, and if Nile came home and told her she's a lesbian she would never reject her, but if Nile came home and told her she's bisexual maybe she can just try focusing on men? “I love you sweetheart and I want you to be happy I just know how hard it is already for us in this world” type shit

she has been on team natural hair basically her entire life and one of the worst fights she and Nile ever had was over Nile wanting to straighten her hair as a pre-teen

Indy takes more after her and Nile takes more after their dad, she's so proud of both of them, but Dorothy's activism was mostly wearing her natural hair to work and daring bosses to give her shit, Indy's out there marching in the streets like her parents had and she WORRIES

she teases Indy for going to so many protests like he's using it as an excuse to meet girls, but she WORRIES

when she turns 60, she gets box braids with streaks of dark purple, subtle enough that it's still work-appropriate but it makes her smile, she may be old now but damnit she’s still pretty!

she loves Grey's Anatomy and Star Trek and she watched Bridgerton all in one day

she has a dirty-old-lady celebrity crush on Chris Hemsworth

if she's ever masturbated thinking about Donna Summer, well, that's nobody's business but her own (do non-Americans know about the queen of disco??)

If you want to read fic featuring Dorothy:

I won't have to leave alone, 1000 words, Nile has a nightmare and decides to go tell her family she's immortal

I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore, 65k, Nile adjusts to immortality and does a lot of soul searching about what it means to "do what we think is right", Booker goes to grad school for trauma studies, the working title of this fic was Booker Reads Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and Goes Down on Nile and the final product has an annotated bibliography in the author's notes if you’re into that kind of thing, a lot of my Dorothy Freeman headcanons were born of my process writing this

Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat, 2279 words, college AU, Nile brings her Jewish boyfriend home for Christmas

a contribution I made to Shitty Old Guard Deaths: (Booker, USA, 2025, cause of death: a mother’s righteous wrath)

#nile freeman #nile's family #dorothy freeman #tog headcanons #tog meta #mine #long post

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spield · 5 years ago

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journey to i - kakasaku

Author’s Notes: This has been in my google docs for so long, I’ve forgotten all about it. I low-key panicked when I couldn’t find it my files hahaha. But here it is. Not much romance, but more of... hmm, you tell me what you think it is in your comments! ;)

Disclaimer: As I’ve said before, sometimes I just write to get things out THEN edit it after. This is the case for this one. Will probably edit this soon though!

In the end, when Sasuke asks, Sakura says no.

She takes his lone hand, kisses his palm and whispers why she can’t.

Sasuke doesn’t understand but he sees the longing in her green eyes, and ah, that he understands. So he pokes her forehead, just above her seal, and hopes they meet on the road and promises a cup of tea.

She doesn’t linger to watch him leave. Instead, the moment he turns his back, she turns hers too. One feet in front of the other, she walks through the paths of her village, through the market and takes a few turns and goes inside the Hokage tower.

In less than an hour, Sakura files her indefinite leave with a promise to assist, help and support members of the Shinobi Alliance on her way but with no promise when she’ll come back.

Kakashi is outside when she steps out, no signs of his hat and coat but with his trademark slouch present. He must’ve jumped through the window, Sakura thinks amusedly. Somehow, even through everything, under the fading light, he still looks untouchable. Perhaps, especially now. “You going somewhere?”

“You just approved my papers.” Sakura smiles, waving the scroll in front of him. “You know where I’m going.”

Kakashi’s dark eyes - eyes, how odd - are unreadable as he says, “No. No, I don’t.”

There’s much left to say, but years of cowardice and hiding are not easy habits to break. So Sakura heads home, and is gone before the sunrise.

At the end of it all, Sakura goes on a journey to retrace her own family’s history. Beyond Konoha, beyond the Land of Fire and beyond the world of the shinobi.

Because before Sakura was the Fifth’s Apprentice, before she was The Scorpion Killer and way before she was the leftovers of an old genin team, Sakura was a Haruno.

And all Haruno go back to the sea.

She left Konoha with just one bag filled with colorful clothes that she never got to wear. Clothes that her mother and father gifted her year after year, holiday after holiday, even when she couldn’t wear them. Not in the village of leaves, not when they smell of the sea even if they’ve never touched it.

So, Haruno Sakura goes home.

This is what Sakura tells the Godaime, the Rokudaime and anyone who asks.

(This is what she tells herself, however, in the end, it’s still heartbreak that leads her away from Konoha. When she meets Sasuke for tea, she hopes they could talk about how Konoha broke their hearts in the way it never did to Naruto.)

All questions are quelled by a calling, by the vast distance, beyond the greens of different trees and blues of different seas tug at her heartstrings, whispering, “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.”

Sakura circumnavigates the world and through her journey, she meets a monk, a lover and a heathen.

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs. From what she’d gathered throughout her years of friendship with Kankuro, they were pretty lenient to whatever gods their shinobi choose to worship.

“Maybe, you know, except for another Rabbit Goddess,” Kankuro backtracked, fingers uncoordinated and stiff from fighting, trying to balance a sake cup. It was the first time they’ve seen each other after the war, on the tails still of victory and defeat. High off it. “Yup, maybe not another Rabbit Goddess, maybe not Jashin either - everything else, fair game.”

“Faith is an interesting reprieve from the terrors of life.” Gaara said, righting his brother up with his sand. His teal eyes are fond and warm, and new. His gourd is nowhere to be seen and he looks so young for a man who led their army. “We let people have their gods.”

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs, or rather, they’re known for not being known for it but still, it’s where Sakura meets the monk.

Suna welcomes her with open arms because the sands may be forever shifting, but it never forgets. It remembers her as that 15 year old prodigy who saved their Kazekage’s brother, that 19, 20 and 21 year old who performed miracles in the battlefield with eyes fierce and elbows deep in people’s guts. Suna loves her for what she represents - grit, dirt and kindness honed by the cruelty of the world.

(Abandoned. That’s what Suna and Sakura had in common.)

Sometimes, Sakura wishes she could see what they see too.

Now, she’s 23 years old. Two years after the war and she’s still so tired.

In Suna, she’s given free reign of the hospital. Overseeing their developments in prosthesis, their puppet corps turned into experts of the field. She supposes Sasori would be rolling in his grave at the thought of how his notes revolutionized the entire field of artificial limbs - if he had a grave that is.

(Sasori was a brilliant man. Mad, yes, but brilliant - and aren’t the brilliant ones always are?)

When Sakura lessens her healing and caseload citing more hands-on training for the Suna medics, Gaara doesn’t ask. She’s still brilliant with her lectures and demonstration and nobody dares to question the greatest healer of the nations.

It is on the first day of her sixth month when she sees the monk. There’s some sort of blessing ceremony to be done to the new ward of the hospital. The Kazekage’s invited the religious leaders of Suna to bless the place.

Several came, all with different garments and different rituals. One came with water from a blessed oasis, all barefooted and with hair reaching up to the backs of their knees. They spoke a language she’s never heard, words running over like water over rocks in a bubbling stream. Another came in traditional Suna garments, and sprinkled sand over the white tiles of the new ward - under the setting sun, it looked like fairy dust and gold.

Many came and went, but one remained still at the outskirts of the crowd, quiet and familiar.

“It’s the first time he’s gone out in public since Chiyo-baa-sama’s death,” Kankuro shrugged when Sakura asked. “He’s kind of particular and all that.”

It isn’t until the sun dips down the horizon that the monk steps forward. At this point there aren’t anyone left but Gaara and Sakura but nevertheless, they receive no acknowledgement from the stooping man.

He’s quiet, as he bleeds his chakra to the floor and down every grain of sand in the ward. It always amazes Sakura how chakra lives in non-combatants - a proof that it exists beyond duty. And proof that it can, perhaps, one day exist only for beauty.

“Do you think he takes confessions?” Sakura whispers. Gaara’s lips quirk upwards, knowing that she knows the difference between a priest and a monk and yet indulges her. “Perhaps. If he does, let me know.” They’ve all got sins to unload, Sakura muses. And yet, despite being weighed down by all the choices she’s made and been forced to make, it’s not what spills from her mouth when she finds the monk a week after.

Or rather, he finds her. Coughing, old and sitting on her table.

There’s something about him, lungs barely holding on and yet still at peace, old age running lines on his face that had her saying, confessing - “I believe I am lost.”

The monk pauses, eyes torn away from the window and gravitating towards her face. Sakura doesn’t expect a response, after all, he hasn’t said a word to anyone for years. But, he shakes his naked head and offers her a smile, “Nothing is ever really lost.”

That night, she receives a missive from Konoha, like she’s been receiving for the past eleven months but this time, there are two of them. One is a response to the report she wrote about the progress of her study in prosthetics and the other, the other smelling of home and written in a piece of old weathered paper. It almost makes her smile. Mr. Ukki misses you.

Sakura doesn’t stay long after that. She fears that if she stays so near to home, its voice will overpower her roots’, and the sea has been waiting for her since she was born.

She bids Suna goodbye after a year of staying within its walls. She hugs Kankuro tightly, hold Temari’s hand and kisses Gaara’s cheek.

The Kazekage blushes underneath his hat and Kankuro jibes, “Well, if this is what farewell feels like, then you should say goodbye more often.”

For months, Sakura moves from town to town, village to village. Occasionally receiving scrolls from Konoha, asking her to lend assistance to a new ally or an old enemy.

It’s funny, how a great military power apologizes for its sins. Never acknowledging it, never calling it reparations, preferring the term “aid” when it only ever is leverage.

How odd.

How hypocritical.

(Sometimes, Sakura wonders if Uchiha Itachi was truly a loyal ninja of Konoha or if he was yet just another blinded soldier searching for idealism in a corrupted system. Was he a victim, truly? A hero? A martyr? To what end? For whom?)

In her bones, Sakura feels time slipping faster and faster, and despite these emerging thoughts, she wonders if spring has begun in Konoha.

She claims her free tea from Sasuke at a small town on the border of Iwakagure and Takigakure, almost half a year after she left Suna - two years into her journey.

“You need a haircut, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura greets and watches in satisfaction as the hobo-looking man looks up to her as she sits in front of him. His hair has grown longer, covering part of his face, finally succumbing to gravity and bidding the duck-butt style goodbye.

“Sakura.”

There’s something in the way Sasuke speaks her name. When they were kids, it’s always with dismissal and when they went on, it’s with a tone of chained fondness. During the war, it’s with disdain turned acknowledgement.

When they were in Konoha, Sakura could swear that she could hear pride in Sasuke’s voice, hidden behind the syllables of her name.

Here, he calls her with surprise melting into relief. Perhaps, being alone has taken a toll to her wayward teammate.

(Here’s the difference between the two: Sasuke is looking and running from something, Sakura knows where she’s going. Whether or not she’s running or looking too is irrelevant.) (Kind of.)

“Hey, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura smiles and waves a waitress down, “Fancy a cup of tea with me?”

Sasuke nods, his lips tugging upward. His dark eyes linger on the spider silk strands of her hair against the orange setting sun. Her hair’s grown longer, almost as long as when they were genin.

For a short moment, he’s filled with dread, struggling to remember what young Sakura looked like. He’s starting to forget, perhaps, and it is both a blessing and a punishment.

The shadows shift and stretch under the guidance of the setting sun, and they exchange stories of the road until the moon nudges the sun to rest.

It’s funny how easy they fall into bed together, right after tea.

Sakura’s childhood dreams featured more of a courtship, a promise and a marriage. Teenage Sakura’s fantasy featured more heated kisses, a fight and a leveling of a forest in rage turned lust.

But this, this is so much better.

Sasuke touches her with surprising gentleness and want, after they trip their way to his accommodations. There’s a softness in the firm kisses of his mouth, a tremble playing at the edge of his fingertips. It’s not a battle, or a dance but rather an introduction. A hello followed by oh... gods, yes, there --

Sasuke makes it good, despite only having one arm, it must be an Uchiha thing to be so good at everything, Sakura thinks as she lay beside her former team mate.

In a different life, perhaps, she would’ve married Sasuke, she thinks as she watches his lashes flutter as he sleeps. Perhaps, she would’ve give him a child, a girl with his eyes and her hair. A pink-haired Uchiha. But this is not that lifetime.

Instead, Sakura meets Sasuke again - or perhaps for the very first time - as a lover. Washed anew by his journey, Sakura gets to know her former teammate as a man who can reel out moans and gasps from her, who can, after they decided to travel together for a while, and will start a fire to keep her warm and will tease her about her love affair when he reads Kakashi’s letter over her shoulder. “Was he the reason why you didn’t come with me?” Sasuke asks. They’re in the Land of Snow, farther from where Sakura really aims to go, but she’s got time to spare and Sasuke might actually be killed by the Raikage if he’s found shuffling around near their country without an escort. Sakura glances at the words written on the wrinkled parchment (Naruto’s taking classes with Shikamaru. Lots of reading for him to do. He tried using Kage Bunshin to study and knocked himself out. Time is of the essence, he said, and I agree.) and pinches that flicker of hope budding in her chest.

She shrugs at Sasuke’s question, “I think... I think I wouldn’t have gone with you even without him in the picture.” Something sad flickers in Sasuke’s eyes before it’s gone, “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.”

In the frigid cold of the snow, Sasuke moves against Sakura as an apology and a goodbye. It’s more than comrades sharing warmth but less than lovers making love. At the back of Sakura’s mind, she wonders if Kakashi knows - if he’s angry or if, like always, he understands. (She misses him, even when they’ve never had each other like this. But the intimacy of sex is trumped by the intimacy in battle, in handling each other with precious care, scars and blood be damned. It is an intimacy borne of desperation, fostered by respect, watered with fondness -- and killed out of love. She misses him, but time is of the essence.)

Sasuke and Sakura split up at the outskirts of the Land of Stone at the start of her third year of travelling. He went East, she went West and that was that. A few days in, Sakura enters Asakura. Asakura is the city of heathens - prostitutions, gambling, and underground dealing. It’s the city of sin, which means, it’s also the land of base instincts and humanity stripped to its bare bones.

It seems like a city just right up her shishou’s alley. Sakura only had to follow the sounds of bellowing, of bodies of men flying out of tavern, and murmurs about a (beautiful but) crazy bitch burning through her own money to find Tsunade.

News of another jinchuuriki kage reaches her ears too, but she brushes it away. It’s been three years since she last saw her shishou and in the dim lights of the tavern, she’s glad to see her as youthful as ever, and tries to erase the image of her wan, old, and dying.

It is only after Tsunade wins that Sakura approaches with a bottle of sake on hand.

Glancing down at the large money of pot she just won, Tsunade’s heart pounds hard looking at the girl she broke and trained and broke again until she remade herself - her daughter in all but name - and chokes, joking, “Are you dying?”

When her girl smiles, all calm and accepting, and raises a bottle of the most expensive sake Tsunade ever tasted, something inside the old Senju crumbles.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Oh Sakura, what have you done?”

Tsunade’s hands are shaking, the fading glow of her uselessness mocking her in the darkness of Sakura’s rented room.

“Everything, shishou. I’ve done everything. I’ve read every book, prayed to every god--”

“God? What good is a god?”

Initially, Tsunade refuses to let her go. Forces Sakura to stay put with the same glint in her eyes when she taught the kid how to dodge, but it seemed the Slug Princess taught her too well.

Because after the barbs, sarcasm and nights of getting way too drunk off the pots of money Tsunade continues to win, Sakura says goodbye.

And Tsunade, not as bitter as she would’ve been, lets her go, and curses the gods for not taking her instead - because hasn’t she witnessed to many deaths already?

It’s at the fourth year of her journey does Sakura finally lays her eyes on the blue of seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands. The calling is silent now that she’s come.

She sheds her old life - her headband, her gloves and her boots and brings out the vibrantly colored fabrics from her parents. It’s silk against her pinkened skin, and the sand is warm against her feet.

It feels like a hug and a song of - “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.”

Kakashi writes to her and Sakura doesn’t answer with a letter of her own.

Instead, she sends Kakashi eel that she herself smoked, a small vial of pink sand and a kiss on a card.

That night, she dances under the moonlight like a flickering moth around the pyre she built.

The oceans sings for her and she is home.

After that, there’s no more letters from Konoha.

In the middle of the fourth year of her journey and the year mark of her semi-permanent residence by the seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands, Ino visits her. Ino, with her platinum blond hair arrives, still beautiful even with sweat dripping off her.

It takes three days of sunbathing, flower weaving and rebuilding of an old friendship before Ino asks her to come home.

“Haven’t you been away for far too long?” Ino asks, quiet and grown. The days of high-pitch screams and name-calling seems so far away from this little shack by the sea, in this little life her best friend built for herself.

They’ve spoken of their friends - Naruto’s marriage, Shikamaru’s courtship fo Temari, Ino’s love with Sai and they laughed like bells but Ino didn’t find an ounce of longing in her friend’s eyes, and she already knew she has lost.

Sakura looks to the shore, there’s a storm coming and hums, “Perhaps.”

The last letter she receives from Konoha is not a letter at all.

It’s a missive, an invitation - for the Rokudaime’s retirement and the Nanadaime’s ascension.

“God? What good is a god?”

Who knows? For believers, gods are good for much but--

Because Sakura is not a reincarnation of a god, when she touched Kaguya with her fist glowing green and blue, Sakura touched something not human.

And it touched her back.

A year into the peace, it rooted deep inside her bones, a poison of the gods against humans brave and stupid enough to lay hands on them.

It doesn’t take long for Sakura to understand her predicament. She was rotting inside out. Her chakra is poisoning her organs, taking bits off her little by little and so she left Konoha. In leaving, she left what was blossoming between her and Kakashi too in hopes that perhaps she could spare him from this pain.

But also, she left for this: the sea, the calling and the sand under her feet, and the presence drawing near.

On the last day of her journey, five years after she left, with her life force draining and yet stretching still - holding on, waiting, the Rokudaime, Kakashi, the man of a thousand jutsu, her lover, her love - arrives on the shores of this little island west of Whirlpool.

He is older, of course he is. But still, Sakura runs towards him and he, mask pulled down, feet bare and eyes warm - finally free-, takes the last step and meets her halfway. (There’s still much left to say, but they’ve had years of dealing with cowardice and hiding that they’re laughingly easy habits to break.)

#kakasaku #mild sasusaku #kankusaku friendship #gaasaku friendship #tsunade #journey to i #inosaku friendship #the aftermaths of touching a god

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studiesof-fandom-primaryblog · 4 years ago

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The Journal of Fandom Studies

Volume 1, Number 2, 1 October 2013

Augmenting fan/academic dialogue: New directions in fan research by Paul Booth [DePaul University]

Fan studies as a discipline is still in its infancy. But even given this nascence, there have been significant shifts in the ways that it has theorized, studied and investigated fans over the first two and a half decades of research. As scholarship, fan studies has moved away from ethnographic investigations of fans as the main object of study to focus instead on the output of fan discourse as the key mode of examination. At the same time, scholars like Henry Jenkins and Matt Hills, both central to the discipline, have opened dialogue about the nature of the fan/academic, often called the ‘aca-fan’. This article uses the lens of aca-fandom to analyse fan answers to interview questions at a large Midwestern Doctor Who convention. Fans were asked about the role that fan studies has played in their life, how they perceive the study of fans and whether fan studies as an academic discipline has an effect on their fandom. The fans’ answers reflect a critical awareness of fandom but a general ignorance of fan studies. This article argues three points to take away from this. First, fan studies needs to refocus attention back onto fans themselves through ethnographic work. Second, the discipline needs to refocus its output less on esoteric academic titles and more on popular venues. Finally, fans and academics should engage in specific dialogue to open up avenues for new fannish and academic exploration.

A case of identity: Role playing, social media and BBC Sherlock by Ann McClellan [Plymouth State University]

Many fans of Sherlock Holmes are now extending their interest in the famous sleuth into the world of social media. In particular, the BBC’s modern adaptation, Sherlock, seems to have grabbed the public’s attention with multiple character role plays on Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr. It remains unclear, however, whether to categorize these narratives as fan fiction or role play game. This article explores the genre differences between fan fiction and role play game and identifies specific genre characteristics that place social media fan narratives in the role play game category. While adaptation studies and much of fan fiction center on issues of fidelity to the source text, role play scholarship emphasizes recreating the world of the sourcetext. Role playing both expands the boundaries of the original series in that it provides viewers with more—more stories, more character development, more adventure—but it is also limited by the constraints of the original show’s characterization and overall narrative arc. Online role play characters must speak like their source characters, they must interact with other characters from the show in textually appropriate ways, and they must respond to new situations in ways that are consistent with their televisual counterparts. Looking specifically at BBC Sherlock role plays on Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter, this article explores the ways in which contemporary audiences are using social media to challenge traditional understandings of genre, world building and fandom in order to approach a greater verisimilitude of play.

‘Drinking the Kool-Aid’ of cult TV: Fans, followers, and fringe religions in Strangers with Candy and Veronica Mars by David Scott Diffrient [Colorado State University]

This article explores episodes of the contemporary American television programmes Strangers with Candy (Comedy Central, 1999–2000) and Veronica Mars (UPN/CW, 2004–07) so as to ascertain and discursively frame the complex relationship between cults (or neo-religious organizations) and cult TV. Although different from one another in many respects, these two TV series share an interest in the cliquish formations of high-school life that divide students into warring camps of insiders and outsiders. Moreover, both programmes contain pivotal episodes in which the ritualistic practices of fictional cults are presented ambivalently – as a source of humour yet also as a gateway through which the unconventional female protagonists pass on their way to self-discovery. That journey has extraordinary resonance for fans or ‘followers’ of these programmes. As argued by Jonathan Gray in his recently published work on ‘affect, fantasy, and meaning’, fans and followers are viewers who are ‘most involved in their consumption’. As such, Strangers with Candy and Veronica Mars deserve scrutiny as steadfastly worshipped texts conducive to the kinds of meta-consumptive discourses and practices that might shed light on culturally entrenched attitudes related to neo-religious activities.

Community clip show: Examining the recursive collaboration between producers and viewers of a postmodern sitcom by Rekha Sharma [Kent State University]

In the new media landscape, exclusive communication within a TV show’s creative team or amongst its fans is no longer sufficient to maintain the continuation of the programme. Instead, a community arises through the collaboration of those behind the scenes and those in front of the screens. By utilizing interactive technologies, showrunners and audiences have redefined notions of media consumption and mass media. An illustrative case is NBC’s postmodern sitcom, Community (Harmon, 2009–). The show features metadiscourse on media production, responds to viewers’ feedback and preferred narratives and shares the creation of meaning with the audience. As a result, the show has developed an ardent following because viewers feel their concerns are directly addressed by the show’s creative team. Further, their contributions challenge the conventional belief that fan interpretations are merely secondary discourse to the primary television text, as Community fans’ works have helped shape the televised narrative. One episode, Season 2’s ‘Paradigms of Human Memory’, deals with the creators’ and viewers’ mutual conceptualization of time and reality encapsulated in the series.

‘I’m not a lawyer but …’: Fan disclaimers and claims against copyright law by Jenny Roth and Monica Flegel [Lakehead University]

Fan fiction has become increasingly widespread, and online discussions between fans about fan fiction and copyright reveal the extent to which fans are both governed by and resist copyright law, as they understand it. As complex agents both within and outside of law, writers and supporters of fan fiction reveal the problems of speaking against law from a position that is regulated by law, a position creative re-producers are forced to occupy in an increasingly copyrighted, patented and trademarked world. So long as those whom the law is meant to regulate see themselves as legitimate shapers of that law, even though they inhabit space outside the formal mechanisms of law or the legal world, the law will not be effective. When fans with little or no legal expertise invoke and interpret copyright, they reveal that copyright does not attend to the complex realities of creative production, nor the very active consumption, engagement with, and re-articulation of cultural artefacts and texts in society to effectively police at the grassroots level.

Continuing The West Wing in 140 characters or less: Improvised simulation on Twitter by Inger-Lise Kalviknes Bore and Jonathan Hickman [Birmingham City University]

Sharing some of the findings from a study of fans tweeting as characters from US TV drama The West Wing (NBC, 2000–2006), this article uses data from Twitter observation and fan interviews to examine how participants negotiated the structures of Twitter through this activity. In particular, we consider what implications that negotiation has for the resulting fan text; for how participants perform fandom through this medium; and for how they perceive the value of their fan practice. Through this investigation, the article demonstrates some of the ways in which Twitter facilitates and constrains articulations of audience engagement.

Keywords: Doctor Who; aca-fan; academy; convention; fan; interview; BBC Sherlock; Facebook; Sherlock Holmes; fan production; role play; social media; world building; Strangers with Candy; Veronica Mars; cult TV; cults; fandom; religion; active audiences; interactive media; postmodern sitcom; television fandom; textual poaching; virtual community; authorship and authority; copyright law and legal discourse; fan policing; fanfiction; law and society; producer/consumer relations; TV drama; Twitter; audiences; online communities; television.

#journal: jfs #text: academic paper #researcher: paul booth #researcher: ann mcclellan #researcher: david scott diffrient #researcher: rekha sharma #researcher: jenny roth #researcher: monica flegel #researcher: inger-lise kalviknes bore #researcher: jonathan hickman

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germanreich · 4 years ago

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Guren guren guren

Title: In the Absence of the Demon

Disclaimer: This is a fan-made translation from Chinese translations! Please go easy and enlighten us on any mistakes or deviations from the original light novel. All credit goes to the original author and illustrators. - Hyaka and Kuro Shion

——————————————————————————————

‘This is Ichinose Guren-sama.’

This was heard in one of the classroom of First Shibuya High School.

Until recently, everyone here should have been an enemy.

What greeted them originally was only scolding, ignoring and a cola bottle thrown from goodness knows where –

Opening the classroom door, there were a few students whispering in the corridor.

‘I heard he was selected as Kureto-sama’s direct subordinate.’

‘They say he was hiding his real strength, but was found out by Kureto-sama.’

‘He’s on good terms with Shinya-sama too, and his strength has even been acknowledged by those two from the Mito family and Goshi family.’

‘So which idiot said he was a rat from a bad family?!’

‘You said it yourself.’

‘No way! Stop joking!’

Guren himself, however, was ignoring those upsetting conversations. He sat at his desk, supporting his face with his hand and daydreaming. Evidently, he was lacking in sleep.

Overnight, he had been in the backseat of a car on the Tomei Expressway, bound for Tokyo via Aichi at 150 km per hour. During that time, his mind was fixated on what might happen in the future, and so he was unable to have a good sleep.

‘……’

Guren squinted his eyes, half-asleep, and gazed out the window.

Although it could not be felt in this classroom with its excellent air-conditioning, outside it was so hot that the scenery seemed to be enveloped in a heat haze.

Today was the 20th of August.

For normal schools, it would be summer vacation, but in this school there were no such holidays.

According to the news, the temperature these few days had set a new high. Why was it so hot? If the heat persisted, it might lead to stored food going bad, but since the world was going to end this Christmas anyway, to worry about food going bad would be utterly meaningless.

‘…… Guren. Guren!’

Someone called his name.

But Guren did not notice and continued to look out the window.

The owner of the voice grew angry and forcefully rapped the table.

‘Hey, Ichinose Guren! Why are you ignoring my questions?’

Impatiently, Guren glanced towards the source of the noise. There stood a girl from his class.

Her most noticeable characteristics were her bright red hair, strong gaze and pale white skin.

This was the daughter of the prestigious Jujo family – Jujo Mito.

She continued to speak.

‘Every day, you don’t train and you always have this dazed, dumb attitude…… has the fame from being noticed by Kureto-sama made you so arrogant?’

‘…… Who’s arrogant?’

Guren countered, and Mito angrily replied.

‘I’m talking about you! Ichinose Guren. In class you act as there is no one around you, during physical education and spells class you don’t use your true strength. What on earth do you want!?’

Faced with these questions, Guren was troubled over how to answer. In the first place, the content covered in class here were already below his intellectual level. There was simply nothing worth learning.

However, everyone here was his enemy, so there was no need to let all his enemies see his true strength.

And so, every day, Guren acted lazy and pretended to be a half wit – but even if he explained all this she would definitely still not understand.

In the Hiiragi family, to have value or to be famous – in the eyes of the people here, this was something to be celebrated.

Hence, for Guren to become arrogant or proud was not surprising, for this was something that was worth feeling proud over.

So was it better to act out that happiness? However, be it his terrible attitude or hidden true strength, both had already been seen through by Kureto, so was it still necessary to hide everything to such a degree?

In the midst of pondering all these, unexpectedly –

‘……Uwah~’

A yawn leaked out of his mouth.

This angered Mito even more.

‘What kind of attitude is that?’

‘Your yelling is making my ears hurt.’

‘First of all, just now during physical training, I saw that you lost to a classmate in an instant…… How can this be? Your strength shouldn’t be so low!’

Guren shrugged.

‘No, I really do only have that much strength.’

She grew even more furious.

‘And that is exactly the kind of attitude that gives others a headache!’

‘Headache? Why? You have no reason to have a headache.’

Mito spoke intensely.

‘Of course I do! If you laze about, those from prestigious families who hang out with you will also be laughed at and shamed, haven’t you noticed?’

No wonder she was so angry.

In other words, being Kureto’s subordinate, Guren was now grouped with Jujo and Goshi, so if his bad attitude were to be seen, he would also drag down the reputations of the others.

Guren smiled and said.

‘Why do I have to be concerned about your reputation too?’

‘That is because…… We are all Kureto-sama’s subordinates, in future we will also be companions working together, so……’

However, Guren was no longer listening.

Companions.

They were companions?

Kureto-sama’s subordinates, companions?

This was certainly fortunate, to be personally chosen by Kureto-sama to be one of his underlings.

This thought surfaced in his mind.

‘…… Haha.’

Guren laughed in a self-depreciating way, before yawning and continuing to support his head with his hand.

‘Hey Guren!’

Mito called.

The male sitting nearby began to laugh.

Hiiragi Shinya.

‘Come on, Mito-chan, don’t bug him anymore. It’s not like his laziness and disappointing attitude is anything new.’

Mito showed a respectful face to those of the Hiiragi family.

‘Ah, Shinya-sama. However……’

‘Anyway, to someone of his caliber, the curriculum taught at this school must be pointless. Right? Guren? Don’t you agree?’

‘……’

When Guren ignored Shinya, Mito grew angry again.

‘Hey, you! How dare you ignore Shinya-sama’s words!’

Hearing this furious shout, the people outside started to whisper again.

‘Hey, looks like that rumor was true. He really is on good terms with Shinya-sama and that girl from the Jujo family.’

‘So, does that mean that rebellious Ichinose branch family has sworn allegiance to the Hiiragi family… to Kureto –sama?’

Hearing that voice,

‘……’

Guren once more stared out the window and gently bit his lip.

In the past, the Ichinose family had been the most loyal to the Hiiragi family, and among the branch families had been the most prestigious and powerful.

But 500 years ago – they split with the Hiiragi family, and set up the religious sect ‘Mikado no Tsuki’.

With regard to the situation then, there were no exact reports, but the reason for this was something everyone knew well.

The lone reason, was simple a love story.

A heart-rending love story.

There had once been a beautiful Ichinose girl, the Hiiragi’s eldest and second sons both vied for her favor.

After a series of complicated events, the girl’s affection was successfully gained by the second son.

According to legend, the eldest son was unable to accept this reality.

Thus one night, the eldest son raped the girl, impregnated her and had the second son castrated.

After that, the eldest son had his own son, the girl and the second son cast out of the family.

The exiled second sun, together with the Ichinose girl, then set up the new religious sect ‘Mikado no Tsuki’.

However, their defeat was still apparent.

After all, when all was said and done, the eldest son was still heir to the Hiiragi family.

The one leading ‘Mikado no Oni’, was the heir to the Hiiragi family.

However, the eldest son did not destroy the organization set up by the second son and the Ichinose girl.

The reason for this, was to humiliate them.

So that the Ichinose girl who had not chosen him, and the younger brother who had betrayed him, would be laughed at and scorned for eternity.

He allowed them to live to suffer humiliation.

To allow their descendants to always bear the scorn of others.

Of course, the castrated second sun could not produce children with the girl.

Hence, the child born of the rape by the eldest son – the Hiiragi boy became the adopted son and heir of ‘Mikado no Tsuki’.

The second son was always scorned.

The girl was always scorned.

The two of them continued to deeply love the other. Yet everything other than this was taken away.

Everyone in the families scorned them.

Humiliated them.

This was the price of betrayal.

The price of betraying the Hiiragi family.

And so, everyone in the families became used to scorning the Ichinose family.

That was why the Ichinose were always rats.

From the moment they were born, they were dirty, smelly rats.

Only, after a long time, all this simply became urban legend.

To the new generation’s Guren and those of the Hiiragi family, this was no longer a topic of importance.

That was why Kureto could calmly issue orders to Guren. The eldest son of the Hiiragi family, had forgiven the Ichinose family.

While this could be seen as violating tradition, it was still a reasonable thing to do. Anyway, things like the ancestors’ love stories, no one really cared about.

Being the loner among the ten families comprising the Ichinose, Nii, Sanguu, Shijin, Goshi, Rikudou, Shichikai, Hakke, Kuki and Jujo, the Ichinose should be the strongest.

If that family would follow Kureto-sama today – this was important enough to be a significant topic of discussion.

It could also be due to his controlling nature that Kureto-sama took Guren under his wing.

Recess was coming to an end, class would resume soon.

Hence, Mito huffily returned to her seat.

As she did so, she was also teased by Goshi.

‘You really don’t learn, huh. Why bother with Guren? Or do you like him……’

‘Shut up!’

Goshi had only said halfway before he was slapped.

Goshi laughed.

However, the rest of the class dared not to laugh. They were afraid of the revenge that came from laughing at a member of the elite families.

And so, everyone could only show kind, sincere smiles.

In the end, whether it was Jujo or Goshi, they were both venerated by the others.

The teacher was already standing on the teacher’s platform. The fourth period of the day began.

This class was on the ways to counter and deal with Western magic, a topic in which Guren had little interest.

Shinya, sitting next to him, lightly tapped his shoulder.

‘Hey Guren.’

‘……’

‘Hey.’

‘So noisy.’

‘Well, this is class. So try to speak softer, okay?’

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

But Shinya pulled his chair closer, leaned on Guren and whispered in his ear.

‘…… If I’m speaking so softly, will I anger the teacher?’

Guren turned with a face full of irritation.

Shinya was still smiling widely. In this school, there were no teachers who dared show wrath towards those who bore the Hiiragi name, Shinya was only saying this for fun.

Guren did not say a word. Shinya annoying him was also perfectly normal, there was no need to respond.

Yet Shinya did not seem to care and continued to whisper in his ear.

‘Tonight, <Hyakuya Sect> will come. So where shall we meet up?’

In this instant, Guren could not help the widening of his eyes.

His gaze locked onto Shinya.

This was not something that should be said in a school run by ‘Mikado no Oni’.

If they were to be overheard, they would immediately be arrested and tortured.

However, Shinya was still wearing his usual smile. Evidently, before saying these words he had already made untold preparations.

If so,

‘……Don’t scare me like that.’ Said Guren. Shinya grinned again.

‘That’s because it’s not good for you to always ignore people and even make Mito-chan angry.’

‘Stop joking around. I’m not interested in playing around with you.’

Guren said, directing a stern gaze at Shinya.

‘I’m not joking. I’m also not interesting in silly games.’

Guren stared at Shinya.

Shinya merely smiled and let Guren stare.

Guren had no inclination to trust Shinya.

Shinya had given him the piece of the chimaera called <Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse> that Mahiru had left behind, so to some extent he could be trusted, but if he let down his guard, he might be taken advantage of.

Therefore, it was necessary to act cautiously.

‘……’

Guren did not reply.

Taking the initiative, Shinya placed a piece of paper on the table. On it was written the address for rendezvous that night.

Shinya had left his fingerprints on this paper. If Guren gave it to Kureto, the place where they were to meet the <Hyakuya Sect> would be ambushed by the Hiiragi family, and Shinya would also be killed that day.

In other words, Shinya had exposed his weakness to his opponent.

With a shocked expression, Guren asked.

‘…… Why do you trust me?’

Shinya smiled.

‘Why don’t you instead say that you’re amazed at my alertness.’

‘Because your face annoys me.’

‘Ahaha. Even though I look so friendly?’

‘Shut up.’

‘….. Anyway, you may know nothing about me, but I’ve always heard about you.’

‘……’

‘Ever since I was young. From the time I first met Mahiru… Because, she always talks about you.’

Shinya said thus.

Guren smiled coldly.

‘Then, did you go mad with jealously? You really like Mahiru, right?’

In response, Shinya smiled lightly.

‘To be accurate, I have good feelings towards Hiiragi, but I don’t like her to that extent.’

‘……Humph.’

‘But, I really am jealous of you.’

‘Huh? Why?’

‘I’ve always been imagining what you were like. I wondered about if you were to appear before me, which of us would be stronger, and what you looked like, etcetera.’

This made Guren remember.

When he first entered the school, Shinya launched a surprise attack on him.

Of course, even now he could not ascertain the truth of his words, but maybe to some extend he was trustworthy.

Even so.

Guren picked up the paper Shinya left on his table and slipped it into his pocket, taking care to preserve Shinya’s fingerprints on its surface.

This action that purposely preserved the fingerprints was noticed by Shinya, who smiled.

‘How prudent.’

‘To avoid the fate of the trash that is not street-smart and is disposed of.’

Hearing him say this, Shinya was a little upset, and said.

‘…… That self-pitying talk…… If it were Mahiru she would definitely put on an annoyed expression, why on earth does she like you?’

‘Maybe my face looks friendlier?’

When Guren said this, Shinya looked at him in apparent surprise.

‘…… Ha, hahaha.’

He laughed.

Guren cast his gaze outside the window.

The schoolyard, as expected, was filled with dry heat.

It was summer.

Summer.

If this world were to end on Christmas day, this would be the last summer ever.

———————————————————

After class and club activities were over, the phone rang.

The caller ID read <Hiragi Kureto>.

The main candidate to be the Hiiragi heir, the student council president that no one in school could disobey.

After pressing the ‘Answer’ button, he heard the other’s voice.

‘What?’

‘No. Is there anything you need of me, Kureto-sama – that is how you should say it.’

‘Do you like oppressing your subordinates that much?’

‘Nah, just joking.’

‘Your jokes aren’t funny at all. Have you been spoilt so much by the higher-ups that your brain has also spoilt? (TN: Hurhur, pun intended)

‘Hahaha, do you want to die?’

‘I dare you to try. Do you think it’s such an easy feat?’

‘……No. But, you know, I really like that attitude of yours.’

‘Sigh~ What attitude do you like?’

‘Although your way of speaking is very sharp, when you cannot win against me you clearly recognize your own status; this attitude.’

‘……’

Guren did not respond. Because this was a fact. Right now, he could not afford to be surrounded by enemies.

‘Mikado no Tsuki’ could not afford ‘Mikado no Oni’ as an enemy.

This was not a simple child’s fight. Even if he attained victory with his sword, it would be meaningless.

If the people he respected and treasured were labelled as criminals, even the pregnant would not be spared.

Just like 500 years ago.

The situation had not changed at all.

Mito and Goshi, who had finished packing and were ready to go home, walked over.

Goshi saw Guren and snickered.

‘Making a call right after school ends, could it be your girlfriend.’

Mito overheard this, and –

‘……What!?’

For some reason she stared at Guren.

Guren ignored her and continued to talk on his phone.

‘Anyway, what do you want?’

‘During lunch break tomorrow, come to the student council room.’

‘No.’

‘Haha, you don’t have the right to refuse. See you tomorrow.’

‘Bleh.’

Before hearing the sound of Guren sticking out his tongue, Kureto ended the call.

Shinya, who was sitting beside him, lifted his head to ask.

‘Kureto-nii?’

‘My girlfriend.’

Hearing this, Mito rushed over.

‘…… Wait, wait a minute! You’re still in training, how could you engage in such leisure activities as dating?’

What on earth was this girl saying.

Guren stared at her with an irritated expression, before sighing and ignoring her. Mito was immediately angered and glared at him forcefully. Seeing this, Goshi burst out laughing for some reason.

Guren did not take notice and instead scooped up his bag and left his seat.

Behind him, Mito muttered angrily.

‘Why is he rushing off just because a girl called him? What rubbish.’

Hiding a smile, Shinya told Mito.

‘That call just now was from Kureto-nii.’

‘Eh? What, really?’

Shinya had overheard.

‘Are you going to the student council room now?’

Guren shook his head.

‘No, tomorrow, during lunch break.’

But hearing him say this, Mito was even more unsettled.

‘Wait, wait, you really talked to Kureto-sama like that? That question just now……’

‘How annoying.’

‘What annoying! Wait……’

To the sounds of Mito raging, Guren left the classroom. It seemed that Mito was not yet done ranting, so Guren bluntly closed the door.

In the corridor, Sayuri and Shigure were already waiting for him. They were now in the class just next dor.

‘Ah, ah, Guren-sama. We have been waiting for you!’

Shigure then spoke coldly.

‘Did those disreputable people from the Hiiragi family do anything to you today?’

Behind him was Mito who was complaining ‘Those who are disrespectful to Kureto-sama will blah blah blah’, now, in front of him was his aide who was calling the Hiiragi family disreputable.

Half wanting to burst out laughing, Guren resisted and replied.

‘Nothing at all. Just as usual.’

Sayuri still showed a worried expression.

‘What do you mean, as usual? Did someone throw a cola bottle at you?’

Shigure’s face immediately went cold.

‘If so, we must kill everyone in the Hiiragi family.’

From her uniform skirt, she pulled out a knife. She was serious.

But Sayuri did not notice this and spoke cheerfully as usual.

‘Oh yeah, Guren-sama! What do you want to eat? Whatever Guren-sama wants to eat, I can make it……’

‘Curry.’

‘Eh, again~?’

At this moment, the classroom door opened. Mito walked out and noticed Shigure’s cold glare.

‘Ah, Yukimi-san…… Such a scary expression, has something happened?’

‘No, nothing at all.’

‘Even so, it is better to speak of happy things here. As such, there are some things Yukimi-san should also tell Guren. With the disrespectful manner in which he treats Kureto-sama, right now Guren’s position is not very good.’

However, Shigure directed her cold glare at Mito and answered.

‘Guren-sama did not do anything wrong.’

‘Being his aide you always cover up for him……’

‘Outsiders have no right to criticize the master of my house. Your voice is very piercing, can you keep it down a little?’

‘……Uh.’

And so Mito embarrassedly silenced herself, casting a silent plea for help towards Guren.

‘Why’re you looking at me?’

Guren said, which made her blush for no reason.

‘…… I, I only, I was only thinking for your sake……’

‘Don’t pry into others’ matters.’

Goshi walked out from behind Mito.

‘Alright, stop teasing Mito-chan. Today’s that day right? The day that everyone plays nice and goes to Guren’s house to play, right? So let’s all get along.’

But this was the first time Guren had heard of such a thing.

‘Huh? What’s up with that?’

Guren burst out. Grinning, Goshi explained.

‘Well~ you see, we’re all united as Kureto-sama’s subordinates, so sometimes we should get closer right?’

‘No, never heard of that.’

‘Yes. Okay. Since I have just come up with such a brilliant idea, let’s all go to Guren’s place.’

‘Stop kidding. That would obviously never happen.’

Unfortunately, yet another nuisance emerged from the classroom, this time it was Shinya who walked out.

‘What, what? Such an interesting idea. I also want to go~’

His expression filled with annoyance, Guren whipped around to leave.

‘What idiots. Let’s go.’

And so he left, which Shigure and Sayuri following.

However, Sayuri occasionally glanced back over her shoulder.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Guren asked.

‘……Are those three following?’

‘Yes.’

‘…… Haa, those idiots really took it seriously.’

Shigure lifted her head to ask.

‘Should I destroy them?’

‘If you can even shake off Mito, that would be not bad already.’

‘…… That is true…… Uuu…… I am not strong enough, I am very sorry……’

‘No, forget it, I’m not angry or anything.’

Guren gently petted Shigure’s head, causing her to look at him in surprise. On her usually emotionless face, a dazed expression seemed to emerge.

Compared to this, the reaction from the side was much bigger. Sayuri’s face was filled with panic.

‘Ah! Ah! What was that just now! Shigure is so sneaky. Me too! I also want to be petted by Guren-sama!’

But Shigure grabbed and restrained Sayuri’s hand, saying.

‘…… No. Last time Sayuri confessed to Guren-sama and was petted, this time it’s my turn.’

‘Eh~ Yuki-chan is so sneaky. I also want to be petted.’

‘No.’

‘But, but.’

They argued so, but the two aides were already showing expressions of understanding.

When petting Shigure’s head earlier, Guren had slipped the paper Shinya had given him behind Shigure’s ear. On it was written the time and location of the meeting.

2am.

Hikarigaoka Park.

In front of the tennis practice courts.

This was the meeting with the <Hyakuya Sect>. Naturally, the name <Hyakuya Sect> was not written on this paper, but there would definitely be preparations to be made. Weapons had to be readied. Or perhaps they would have to move stealthily and not let anyone notice.

Shigure spoke.

‘Putting the jokes aside, today I need to take in the laundry, so I shall head back first. What about you, Sayuri?’

‘I need to go the supermarket. Today, everyone……’

She glanced back. Guren confirmed it.

‘Probably so. That bunch is very annoying, we can’t shake them off.’

‘I see. Then just to be on the safe side, I will prepare their shares too.’

As Sayuri said this, Goshi snuck over.

‘Ah, to be able to eat Sayuri-chan’s homemade cooking? I’m really looked forward to it.’

Sayuri answered his smile with a cold aura, before saying.

‘Then I shall prepare curry, Guren-sama.’

With this parting statement, she turned and quickly walked away with Shigure.

Seeing them leave, Goshi sped up to walk side by side with Guren.

‘…… Guren you really are sneaky~ to have two such cute girls serve as your aides.’

Shinya also walked side by side with Guren.

‘You could just ask your family for the same.’

‘Ah, Shinya-sama… Nah, I’m not as good as my younger brother. Actually, they don’t really think much of me……’

‘But now you are Kureto-nii’s subordinate.’

‘Oh yeah, that’s true. After that all my attendants’ attitudes towards me changed, but that immediate change is what’s repulsive…… It feels like my brother is also more nervous……’

The two people by Guren’s side chatted as they walked.

‘You’ve really made up your mind to come to my house?’

As Guren asked this, Goshi nodded.

‘Yeah. Can we?’

Shinya then smiled.

‘Ah, is it that? You’ve hidden many R-rated books in your house, so us visiting is a problem for you?

Actually, it was not because of hidden porn magazines that he felt trapped. Even if it were people from the Hiiragi family who came to check, they would still not find anything of significance.

Why did Goshi suddenly want to visit Guren’s home? Shinya had also taken notice of this issue.

No matter how you put it, today was the day that they might meet the <Hyakuya Sect>.

Was it possible that Kureto had found out about this –

That the meeting tomorrow afternoon in the student council room was just a cover, and that he actually knew that they were meeting the <Hyakuya Sect> today.

Guren directly interrogated Goshi.

‘…… Were you ordered by Kureto to keep surveillance on me?’

Shinya looked over at Guren and Goshi. Evidently, he had also been thinking about this.

Goshi shrugged.

‘Nope. I haven’t gotten any instructions from Kureto-sama.’

‘Then why do you suddenly want to come to my house?’

‘Because we are companions.’

‘Huh?’

‘We are also classmates, if this were a normal school, it would be the summer holidays now.’

‘So?’

‘It’s the time for everyone to play together. Right?’

However, Guren wore an expression of complete befuddlement and shook his head.

‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

Goshi laughed.

‘Really? Okay, the truth is that~ I got scolded by my parents yesterday.’

‘Parents? What did they say, that you have to gain as much of Kureto’s favor as the Ichinose?’

Goshi shook his head.

‘No, no, the opposite actually. They said that the Ichinose trash are still traitors and will soon be shunned again, so I should not associate with them so much.’

His parents certainly had foresight, thought Guren in his heart. However, it seemed that Goshi intended to ignore his parents’ criticism.

‘You should listen to your parents, or you’ll become bad.’

‘So what if I’m bad.’

‘You rebellious rascal.’

‘Haha, just like those who steal motorcycles for a joy ride? That also seems like a great activity for summer~’

‘Go die.’

‘Hahaha’

Goshi laughed.

From the side, Shinya asked.

‘Does Goshi have a motorcycle licence?’

‘Ah, no. What about Shinya-sama?’

‘Me neither. But I can ride one during training.’

‘Ah, me too~ but it’s more fun to take the public’s possessions? I also want to ride a motorcycle bike.

Even as they conversed, they continued to follow Guren. Obviously, they planned to follow him home.

In the middle of Shinya and Goshi’s discussion of motorcycles, Mito spoke.

‘…… Can I, um, ask you something?’

It seemed that she also intended to follow Guren home.

‘…… Um, just now, you petted Yukimi-san’s head.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Ah, that…… that……’

‘What about it?’

Mito was having trouble forcing the words out.

‘…… The two of you, uh, are going out?’

‘Ah?’

‘Uh, or is that even if you are not officially dating you would touch your subordinates so tenderly? Or unless, unless, even at night……’

‘What are you saying?’

‘To lay a hand on your subordinates who cannot disobey you, what kind of person are you……’

‘You’re really noisy.’

Guren let out a sigh and stopped listening.

This group of rascals, what were they up to since just now? Their inane chatter was just like that of normal school students. In the first place, to play with friends, this idea was something Guren could not understand. To gather at his house, what did they want?

Was it to play poker?

‘……Good grief.’

They walked out of school.

The weather was the usual oppressive heat.

There were still students training in school. This was the type of school it was. Even if the <Hyakuya Sect> attacked and decreased the school population, no one would stop to rest.

The order to lockdown all information had yet to be rescinded. Only the few in the higher ranks knew about their state of war with the <Hyakuya Sect>.

Even so, small conflicts were taking place unceasingly. Not just in Japan, but even in the branch organizations all over the world, fights were starting to take place.

Hence, to say that the headquarters of ‘Mikado no Oni’ in Shibuya was the most peaceful place left on earth might not be a lie.

Even the <Hyakuya Sect> could not easily lay siege to Shibuya.

However, this school with its concealed traitors was a different story.

As Guren looked around the school, he thought of all the things Mahiru had done.

About dyeing this school crimson with the blood of students, and the things he had done in his youth.

Mito noticed his distant gaze.

‘……Time passes really quickly, huh.’

Was Mito also comparing the schoolyard before her eyes to the scenes of that day?

The scenes of blood and corpses everywhere.

‘Yeah. That’s true.’

It seemed like he had made no progress forward at all, but time was already slipping away.

Mito spoke.

‘In this short time, I’ve already been saved by you twice.’

‘It was just luck.’

She laughed bitterly and lifted her head to gaze at Guren.

‘…… You said it was by luck, but wasn’t it because of it that you ended up grievously injured and comatose for a month?’

‘I was just careless. Furthermore, sleeping is my hobby.’

‘You’re always cracking jokes to change the subject…… But, Guren.’

Saying this, she gripped a small piece of the back of Guren’s shirt.

‘……I really want to show my gratefulness. So, I want to repay you.

‘Repayment, huh. Like how?’

‘…… Like, until the day Kureto-sama officially acknowledges you, and gives you the position of honor you deserve in ‘Mikado no Oni’, I will always support you.’

Nosing into affairs that were not hers – this is what Guren thought, but did not say aloud.

‘…… Furthermore, the current Guren, father would never accept……’

‘Huh?’

‘Nothing, just talking to myself.’

For some reason she stepped back shyly.

Guren really couldn’t understand her feelings.

He could not understand Goshi’s feelings either.

Why care about the Ichinose trash? Why support him? In Aiichi, the research on Kiju, that if discovered by the Hiiragi family would be severely punished, had already begun.

Yet this bunch of people trusted him so easily.

Companions? Friends? To gain position under Kureto? These kinds of words were too foolish.

It was just as Goshi’s parents had said, the traitorous Ichinose family that was rotten to the core, was too dangerous to get close to.

But even so they said they wanted to be friends. They said that they wanted to deepen their friendship as fellow subordinates of Kureto. It seemed that they did not suspect him as all, and were still innocent and happy in their roles as the young mistress and master that were coveted by their families.

‘……’

Could he kill these two with his own hands?

Guren mulled over this in his head.

Because they were enemies, enemies of the Ichinose family, there would come a day when it had to end. When that time came, could he do it with his own two hands?

In Ueno he had not killed them. That should have been the time to do it, yet he could not. Whether or not this was the right thing to do, he had no idea. It was not a matter of principle. The point was that he should have acted, but he could not.

– I couldn’t do it.

‘……’

This sentence reverberated in his head.

Once again he recalled Kureto’s words to him.

‘Although your way of speaking is very sharp, when you cannot win against me you clearly recognize your own position.’

Kureto had said this before.

But was it the truth?

His ambition was ultimately just empty talk, if Shigure and Sayuri were to be captured and held as hostages, would his ambition be so easy dispelled?

Or was it that he still held such an innocent way of thinking that he could not even kill Mito and Goshi?

If so, he should just discard his ambition. For he had already dragged in his comrades in the Ichinose.

The war had already begun.

It had already begun long ago.

Despite all this, Goshi exhibited no anxiety at all, and asked with a face filled with expectation.

‘Hey, is your place far away?’

‘If I say it’s far will you go home?’

‘No way.’

Guren sighed.

‘It’s not that far…….’ He replied tiredly.

Translator’s comments

Hyaka: The history of the Ichinose and Hiiragi is so dark. Guren can also be very dark. Also, why is Guren so popular? First Mahiru, then Shinya, then Mito, not to mention Yuu-kun, Shigure and Sayuri…

K. Shion: Cos he is Guren that’s why. .__.

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deliciousscaloppine · 4 years ago

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Hot Takes Galore: A brief overview of fandom backlashes that influenced fanfiction writing traditions as I have personally experienced them:

In today’s segment I am going to talk about copyright infringement.

First let me preface this by saying I have only ever been in 3 fandoms, starting from 2008 and I have never been terribly active - like this blog has been the most active I’ve ever been in any fandom ever. I am not going to talk about particular fandom dramas because I am pretty clueless about that. What I am going to talk about is that friction between “reality” and online spaces that brought about changes that are still in effect today in the way fanfiction is written and perceived.

In 2008 as I was entering, nearly every piece of fanfiction had a disclaimer about the author not owning the characters, which were the property of Corporate Entity X, or Author Y, and also not profiting from the work in any shape or form. At the time getting money from writing fanfiction was a gigantic taboo, and almost no one did it, or advertised that they did.

But as I understand through convention culture printed writing did circulate in exchange for money (zines), and at least in Japan one could sell doujinshis (self-published stories and comics, often within the framework of another work) in certain events. Although this was largely considered “illegal” under copyright laws, and artists could be persecuted or blacklisted from entering the industry if discovered. That’s also why fanartists often to this day may screen where and when their work is viewed, and move to take down reposts, or call others to protest if artworks are circulated without permission outside of the artist’s page.

Older fandom people also hated authors that moved against fanfiction, a big case being Anne Rice, the vampire lady everyone - including me - copies when writing about vampires. And now I am going to talk a little about that.

Usually, writers, just sit somewhere cosy and write, and often they have no idea, absolutely no idea, on how to manage their writing properties - usually a lawyer does that, and lawyers want A Lot Of Money (A brief brush with justice and lawyers over a civil dispute I won, cost me 1000 euros out of nowhere, in a single day, and no I couldn’t avoid it because I was the accused one, so I had to appear with some representation).

So sometimes, quite often, it’s a lawyer that activates a writer or other artist to move against “smaller” copyright infringements, in order to make bank. And if one suffers such a case, they should make it as apparent as possible to the other party that they have no money, and the pressure will go away immediately. But even MORE OFTEN a small copyright infringement, may lead to a sequence of bigger ones, and ultimately the de facto loss of rights from one’s writing properties, and of course revenue.

And for a lot of published authors, they just don’t know for how long they can publish things - publishing houses that have them signed can close, book sales can drop, tastes change, personal problems, and anything else may mean that they could find themselves without a source of income at any point in the future, while they are aging and becoming more and more irrelevant.

A very famous case currently, is that of Alan Dean Foster, the writer who has done some novelizations for movies like Star Wars and Alien, and is no longer receiving revenue from that - while his wife is hospitalized and their family needs the income - because Disney absorbed the company that had signed the contract with him, and chose to not honor the previous contract. To make them pay he will have to go into a huge legal battle with a corporate giant, which he cannot afford. But they still absorb income from these novelizations.

But how does fanfiction tie into that, and Anne Rice’s case (which if memory serves right, also went through a series of personal problems, including her husband’s death during that time).

So for a lot of writers, fanfiction may be that tiny breach that may threaten their rights in the future from tresspases of distribution networks. Meaning, people write vampire fanfiction based on Anne Rice’s work? What if another publishing house used the template of her works (historical settings, bleeding orifices, religious themes, homosexuality and sexual trauma etc) and produced a royalty free series of such works with a team of professional writers that do not own the work - who often have less rights, like not owning the characters, or the storylines, participating in a very small scale, so their payment goes down etc)

And in this way EVERYONE SUFFERS. Big Name Published Author fades into obscurity and goes into poverty and payroll writers are horrifically abused.

A lot of hobbyists, and hobbyist writers whose sole dream is to be published in some shape or form, do not really care, and do not concern themselves with the legal aspect of creation, or the technical skill that it takes to produce writing on a consistent basis, which can only happen if you’ve got your basic needs covered. So they might see this type of backlash as inherently privileged.

But it’s not really a privilege, there has been a global recession in basic working rights for everyone, and lovers of fiction don’t have to condone, of course, attacks against them, but they need to put that kind of backlash in perspective. Someone did write the content you enjoy, THEY ARE NOT DEAD YET, and may have opinions on how it should be managed, especially when it pertains to their livelihood.

It’s a delicate balance that we all must keep in order to keep corporate regulations out of it.

For instance with the recent danmei explosion The Untamed brought forth, Ao3 was banned in China. Now a lot of you might know that this was caused by some real person fic involving the actor Xiao Zhan, which led to a whole other level of drama. But make no mistake this was a political act to protect the interests of the domestic publishing industry as it prepares to do an international opening that will bring in several billions from foreign markets.

Because Ao3 has been expanding as a platform globally it brings about changes, and in many cases steals readers away from traditional publishing, so it becomes unacceptable economically for a bunch of hobbyists to influence tastes, market mores, and create sensationalism around certain properties out of literally the blue. This is not a good thing for a lot of corporate thinking, they set the product and we are supposed to buy it. We are not supposed to go, it would look greater with a bunch of anal, and then put forth a million words altering the character of the intellectual property.

Why you ask? Again, because another publishing industry might choose to imitate the style of danmei fanfics and produce works that hijack readership, or lead to breach of contracts, making an unsafe environment for workers in this industry (Xiao Zhan’s case.)

Nowadays I see more and more fanfic authors coming out of their shell to ask money for writing in the form of donations, patronage and commissions, as fandom involvement is also becoming vastly monetized. The market of conventions coming into social media platforms. A strange more exists still in which while “legally wrong”, as long as money is not asked on the publishing platform (Ao3), it may not count as copyright infringement. But fanfic authors, may still be treated with hostility for this, for not “deserving” to profit from someone else’s properties, or even worse for “stealing” readership.

For instance a recent argument I have seen from lgbtq authors, is that they remain unsupported by fandom spaces, who often proclaim themselves as lgbtq or lgbtq friendly (something that is not true), but at the same time they are not looking for published lgbtq stories, or authors, or even treat these with open hostility, or a lot of bias.

Fandom is not comprised from “readers” in the traditional sense, definitely not friends of literature, and it’s free, no one really has to pay anything to read a published fanfic. So it’s a pretty loose demographic with no set characteristics, and no interest in investing time and money in something for long. It’s an online social activity and not a readers’ movement, highly influenced by peer pressure and branding. It’s basically a gigantic group of people who don’t really do anything for no one, and may develop a parasitic connection to intellectual properties (I am sorry peers, it’s the truth).

And it’s perhaps the biggest counterculture scene at the moment in the developed world. To this day it treats even its own authors with tremendous suspicion, disregard and dismissal, meaning that even if someone can get some money and recognition locally through writing fanfic they are on thin fucking ice at all times for all the reasons but mostly attracting unnecessary attention to themselves and subsequently the scene. A pattern that we will see is endemic to all forms of fandom backlashes.

So to this day in contrast with fanart, fan writers may not be compensated for their troubles, but may also be ousted from their domestic professional spaces for writing fanfic that may infringe on their intellectual property.

The thing is, for me, that fandom culture can become incredibly supportive of corporate practices that harm actual people (writers, they are people too) but when they realize that the same corporate practices may be used against them, it’s too late to realize that it’s not a lottery of who wins by crying more, and by the time that happens, a corporation or industry who has used them to do its dark bidding, can stop catering to them because ultimately they have become again irrelevant once a well defined demographic of readers and viewers has been secured.

So if you are going to do counterculture, at least do it right. Be respectful of the writers/authors of the content you consume and mindful of their troubles, do not generate public strife that brings in political regulation in favor of corporate interests. Become interested in writing culture, support your fanfic authors with lasting engagement in their work, even if it escapes the narrow confines of a certain fandom. It’s simple. Eat, live, pray, fuck, or something.

#fandom history?

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imnotwolverine · 5 years ago

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Ready, set, …

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: Set life has its quirks and challenges. A fluffy, smutty Henry fanfiction to get you through the week. Bedroom fun found at the end. Ps. I should start thinking of a name for this series, any good suggestions?

Word count: 5.832

Disclaimer: smut and fluff

---

This is part 3 of the Tea for Two story.

Find the masterlist here.

---

< Back to part 2

An early alarm clock went. 5 am. I heard Henry groan as he rubbed his eyes. ‘Fuck.’ He moped softly, pushing himself off the bed and silencing the alarm. I looked at his naked, muscular, slightly hairy form, grasping for clothes. Kal got up yawning and stretching in turn. The morning ritual. I looked at Henry sleepily. ‘Early shoot?’ I whispered. He rumbled. ‘They changed lines. I forgot that meant an early day.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, wiping some hair from my face. ‘Hello princess.’ He said softly. ‘Well, you go do your Witchy things then. I’ll see you soon.’ I rumbled. He smiled, bending over to kiss me. ‘And we might need some new condoms at your place…just in case.’ He nodded at the dusty pack of condoms that lay discarded on the night stand. I chuckled as he kissed me more deeply. Tongues fighting. He moved on top of me, his weight pressing me down. ‘Mmpff.’ He huffed in frustration. ‘Alright.’ He sighed and nodded while unwillingly getting up. ‘Time to go. Come on Kal. See you dear.’ He blew a kiss and left. Moments later I heard the door closing behind him softly.

The first few days flew by. It was less erratic at work. Much more hectic personally. Somehow press really got air of something happening. We saw tele lenses sticking out of bushes, the odd journalist jumping us when we were drinking tea outside of the warehouses in a short break. ’Mr. Cavill. Who’s this? Are you dating?’ The loud shrieky voice sounded in my neck. I had difficulty not showing utter disgust when a camera was pushed in our faces. ‘Good sir,’ Henry said, getting up, placing his hand on the journalists chest. ‘This is private property. I must ask you to leave and request permission to shoot at the Chamber of MM Media.’ ‘But are you dating?! Mr Cavill?!’ The journalist continued, while one of the security men came strolling in, grasping the man by his shirt and pulling him away. ‘How do you stay so calm?’ I grinned, taking my last sip of tea, watching Henry sitting back down. People around us didn’t even seem very impressed, already having continued with their activities. ‘It gets easier.’ He gave me a sweet smile, which truly was creepy when he was in full costume. ‘What’s the planning for the rest of your week?’ He asked, fetching his phone from his pocket. It was Wednesday. ‘Free Friday afternoon, shopping materials for Poland on Saturday, which we’ll probably discuss on Sunday, then free again on Monday.’ He scrolled through his agenda. I took the hint and grabbed my phone as well, moving it around on the table so he could see my schedule. He grinned, looking up at me. ‘Let me get to the wardrobe department and see if we can get you off the hook on Sunday. I want to take you out for a trip.’ I raised my eyebrow. “CAST CALL, RUN THROUGH IN 5, HALL 2.4..” He looked up, then quickly returned my phone. ‘Would you like that?’ ‘Yea. Sure.’ I said, not quite sure what trip meant in this case. I shrugged as he gave me a quick peck on the lips and rushed off to hall 2.

It sure was magical, how quickly he could fix such things. Within the hour, my manager dropped by to tell me I could take the Sunday off - which usually was out of the question. I looked at her in surprise. She shrugged. ‘Orders from above.’ I squinted my eyes in disbelief. Above? But there we go. It soon was Saturday and I was in the minivan with the department, getting back from a successful shopping trip. Everyone made sure to quickly move all materials to the shipping boxes, ready to go to Poland, snipping off little bits to use for the mood-boards. After that I walked to the hall where they were shooting the last few scenes. I sat down in a director’s chair and sipped on some green tea, looking at the hustle and bustle.

Anya plopped down in the chair next to me. ‘His kisses are different now.’ She said abruptly. I looked up, raising my eyebrows. She smiled an endearing smile, then studied me for a bit. ‘Had a good shoot day?’ I asked. She shrugged. ’Twas okey. Yours?’ ‘Got some pretty materials for your future dresses actually’ ‘Mmm! Cool. Hey, but about those kisses. I think he really, really likes you. He seems different..’ He cocked her pretty head, pouting in thought. ‘Really…’ I smiled, then looked at my cup of tea. ‘So are you joining him to the premiere?’ She asked in girlish curiosity. ‘The premiere? Oh, no. I’ll let you have the honours. Don’t want to have fans going wild over some casual girl on his arm.’ She squinted at me. ‘They first thought I was the worst choice EVER for Yennefer. Now they make fan porn of me. Fans are so weird.’ She shrugged giddily. ‘I’ll let them have the illusion of Hollywood for a moment longer.’ I winked. She laid her hand over mine. ‘He accidentally grunted your name when we shot a make out scene.’ We both snickered. ‘This conversation is so weird.’ I said, laughing at her. She shrugged. ‘Actors life.’

Not much later the last scene was cut and a flurry of set members once again flew out. Anya plopped out her chair, wrapping her arms around a tall man with full sleeve arm tattoos. She kissed him with childish excitement. Without looking back they walked out together, in full conversation. ‘Ready?’ I shot up in shock from his voice. He had sneaked up behind me and was standing there with his coat flung over his shoulder. He had already changed into his regular attire. ‘Ooph.’ I laughed. ‘You are quiet as a mouse.’ I wiggled out of the chair and smiled at him. He pecked me on the lips before holding out his arm, inviting me to take it. We walked out to his car as it was just getting dark. 8.30 pm. ‘Now for our trip. I’m invited by my horse riding trainer to a farm, just squeezing in a few hours in the saddle before Poland. I figured it’d be a nice outing.’ I looked at him. ‘Horse riding?’ ‘Like all fair knights do!’ He grinned. ‘Alright. Fair prince.’ I slithered. ‘Let’s fetch stuff at our houses, walk Kal, then drive there.’ ‘This evening still?’ ‘Yep, might as well get the drive over with. Can you drive?’ ‘Yea, want to switch?’ ‘No no. Just. Curious. Shift?’ ‘Of course. European remember?’ He snickered. ‘Americans ARE lazy.’

We had some quick food, fetched our things, walked Kal, then jumped into the car to drive north. It was deep in the night when we arrived. About 1-ish. And there was nothing around except for this romantically lit farm house with some barns. We jumped out and walked up to the house, some dogs greeting us with loud barks, tails wagging. A man came out in his night shift. ‘Ey ey. Easy boys…. Mr Cavill!’ A gruff, smoke-heavy voice sounded. ‘Mr. Games!’ The men greeted with loud pats on each others backs. ‘And ye brought a sweet thing with you.’ Henry moved aside, smiling at me. ‘Lisa. And careful. She can be feisty.’ Mr Games rumbled a loud laugh and hugged me tight. ’Welcome dear. Ai that wonderful smell about you. Honeysuckle?’ I looked at him in disbelief. ‘Actually yes. I don’t like perfume’s sold on the market so I wear..honeysuckle.’ ‘Such fine smell.’ He folded his arm around my back and guided us to the main house. ‘I got ye a nice little bed made. And ye know where everythin’ is. Make yourself at home. Me wife already hit the hay, so I’ll join ‘er if ye don’t mind.’ He chuckled with insinuating tone. ‘Of course.’ Henry said, winking. Mr Games prodded him playfully. ‘HA HA HA.’ He laughed a little too loudly, then nodded at me, before holding the door open for me. We walked inside. It was dimly lit. A wooden structured house with heavy beams, the smell of hay and horses protruding from its very core. The furniture was old english style. ‘Yer room is upstairs, hallway, far left. Bathroom right across. Sleep tight good folk.’ He whistled and his dogs eagerly followed him up the stairs, his short stubby legs making the stair steps creak heavily.

Henry yawned. ’Night cap?’ I looked at him. ‘Sure, why not. We’re off for 2 days, gods be blessed!’ I exclaimed. ‘Are you religious by the way? I’ve never asked.’ ‘Nope. You?’ ‘No, raised Christian, but not following.’ He pulled open some cabinets in the kitchen and pulled out two small brandy glasses and a bottle of strong liquor. ‘He makes his own, so, fair warning: it is strong.’ He put the filled glasses on the table. ‘Do you believe in a God?’ I asked. He sat down opposite of me, looking out at the dark fields outside. ‘I think it would be practical if there were a God. But never have I seen or heard him. So no, not a believer.’ We clinked our glasses. ‘And when did you learn to ride horses?’ ‘At my parents actually. We grew up on the Jersey Islands and our neighbours kept two ponies. Darling horses, but also so darn stubborn.’ He grinned. ‘Could you tell me about your sweetest memory of your youth, living there?’ I asked. He rolled around the drink in his glass, thinking. And so we talked for another hour or so. Eventually so tired, all we wanted to do was sleep.

It was around 10 when we woke up. And made love, as morning Henry so enjoys doing. I felt my innards burning from his pounding, laying on my back heaving heavily. ‘Goodness me.’ I laughed as he rolled over and supported his head, letting a finger travel over my body. He was panting slightly. I finally opened my eyes, seeing he was looking a bit pained. I reached out to him. ‘Hi.’ I said. ‘Hey.’ He returned, his eyes twitching between loving and regretful. I looked down at his glorious body, noticing something… missing. ‘C…ondom?’ His face broke in agony, his gaze looking at something on the bed table. ‘It broke.’ ‘Wow..you..’ I got up in shock, looking at rubber, then at him. ‘Do we need to get you a morning after pill?’ He said meekly. ‘Hopefully not, I am pretty steadfast with the pill.’ I looked at him in disbelief. He sighed, ashamed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I let out a breath I was holding. ‘Oh I’m so glad I use the pill. Please tell me next time. Oh my..this could have gone wrong.’ He sat up, looking apologetically at me. ‘I’m so sorry.’ ‘It’s okey. I just..didn’t notice.’ I sighed, then looked at him lovingly. ‘It should be alright.’ I continued, cupping his cheek. He smiled weakly, then pulled me close. ‘Ohhh. I’m such a fool!’ He said melodramatically. I snickered as I pulled his heavy body on top of me, hugging intently.

The day was filled with horses. Saddling horses, walking with horses, riding horses, combing horses, haying horses, moving horses from field to field. Henry clearly got the knack for it, gently and without force leading the horses around. ‘It’s all in the hips and eye contact.’ He said, leading a mare ahead, with a few horses following. It was just the two of us, as Mr. Games was drying off some horses at the stables. The day was running late and food smells were flowing out of the kitchen. ‘Mares love good hips huh?’ I joked, earning a cocky smile from him. ‘Well all joking aside, my hips are …sore.’ I said, somewhat surprised by that. He laughed at me sweetly. ‘Then let us rest.’ He said. ‘I thought you’d never say it.’ I grinned with a mocking tone. He raised an eyebrow at me, smirking.

The days flew by and before we knew it we were driving back to the Hollywood Hills. The return of bright lights, stressed out honking cars and general mess that was the city, I couldn’t help but sigh. I loved my work, my friends, the closeness of everything you need, but there sure were downsides to living in the city. He squeezed my leg while he drove south to drop me off at home. Our goodbye was sweet and relaxed. It had been good to be with each other for longer then just a few minutes. The eraticness was gone and had made place for trust and comfort. We kissed a long while in front of my door, Kal waiting impatiently to go in like he usually would. But this time we really said goodbye at the door. I stood and watched while Henry made his way down the stairs, Kal following with wagging tail. Down the stairs he turned around to look up, waving at me one last time before disappearing. We were getting better at it, I smiled, walking inside of my dark apartment. I didn’t even bother turning on lights, just dropping my stuff, brushing my teeth and heading for bed. It would be another busy week. And, the last week here in the US, which made shooting all the more crazy.

—

I was exhausted by the time it was Saturday. I could sleep anywhere, anytime. And yet I had to pack my stuff for my flight tomorrow evening. It was only now I really started to miss Bib. Usually it would be a whole hustle to get my way too old cat in the plane, having to do all these health checks, her being completely paranoid for the rest of the day. No more of that. I plopped on my bed. It was 11.30pm. I opened my Whatsapp to check on any messages. No message from him yet. I sent him a kissing emoji, followed by a sleeping emoji. ‘Flying tomorrow. When do you get to Poland?’ I fell asleep and only woke up again when the alarm clock buzzed 8 hours later. I groaned. He had responded. ‘Sleep well dear. Probably arrive there on Wednesday evening if all goes well. Wish I could travel with you :) Safe travels and contact me when you arrived!’ Followed by a picture of all his stuff being packed. All the picture frames, dog toys, some workout gear, put into boxes. I snickered. I didn’t bring quite as much with me. Just clothes and a few books. I owned this home and kept all my valuables in a locked closet, then rented out the apartment to colleagues who worked here off and on as well. I had to miss my stuff for these months, but oh well.

We were flying. I was completely dazed, barely striking up conversation with colleagues flying with me. I was too darn tired and all I wanted was that day off after landing. If anything I realised full well I wouldn’t be able to keep up this lifestyle forever. It made good money, which I invested wisely just so in a few years I could settle down and pick a more quiet hobby-that-made-some-money and live off the earnings of my investments. Always better than what most colleagues were doing; blowing through the money like there was no tomorrow. Expensive cars, clothes, going out for dinner every single night and then complaining they couldn’t go to the dry cleaners multiple times a week. Silly folk. I watched a simple romcom, listened to some music, tried to sleep in the rather uncomfortable seat I was situated in (squeezed in between two sizeable ladies who were talking extremely loud and were sweating like whales). I couldn’t describe the happiness when the captain announced we were starting to land.

*Lapalice caste*

It was morning in Poland, the sky and buildings as grey as last we were here. The communist building style really didn’t do any good for this culture. Nevertheless, it was a relief when the crew’s bus arrived and we were transported to the countryside. We were starting the set build at a castle, an artistic 20th century interpretation, absolutely lovely. A small encampment had already been made with running water, hot showers and a large food area. This would do for the next month. Our manager immediately started with nudging us to come up with ideas for the brainstorming session tomorrow, but I, like everyone else, simply ignored her. ‘Tomorrow Lazz. Don’t want to have more of us burned out.’ One of the men said, tapping her on the shoulder. We were escorted to our quarters. Shamefully..it were small bunk beds. I rolled my eyes. Well, no privacy then. Trying to stay awake for a little while longer I walked around a bit and sent a selfie with the set in the background to Henry. ‘Smells medieval to me!’ I added. ‘Gonna switch to European SIM. Add my number: 316123456789.’ Also, being back in Europe, and having switched sim cards, I took the opportunity to give my mother a call. She answered after some waiting. Always a busy woman.

‘Dear! How are you? Oh such things I’ve heard! Are you sleeping well?’ She rattled in dutch. ‘Hi mom. I’m pretty good. Kind of jet-lagging. Just arrived in Poland. So, mostly trying to stay awake now haha. How are you guys?’ ‘So good! Oh, exciting news. We got permission to start rebuilding the back of the house. It’s gonna be so pretty. I’ll send you the drawings.’ ‘Cool! With the wooden porch?’ ‘Yes. Oh it’s going to be lovely. Hey but what did I hear..or read. Are you pregnant?’ ‘What? No mom. Who told you that?’ ‘Oh my sister, you know she loves following your work. She told me you were seen with this actor and he was touching your belly and all.’ ‘If I would be pregnant I’d surely not forget to tell you mom. No. No babies coming. But I am dating, yes.’ ‘Is he good to you? Or is it a she? That’s fine too.’ ‘It’s a guy. Actor yes. And he’s a darling.’ ‘Oh so maybe babies at some point then?’ ‘Mommm.’ ‘What?! I had babies by your age.’ ‘You’re insufferable at times mom. So how are grandma and pa?’ I diverted the conversation. ‘Not great, you should call them. They have moved to a senior house and they absolutely detest it. Poor folk.’ ‘Ay…’ We chatted for a while longer. It was good to speak to her again, her voice rattling happily through the phone. At times it’s hard to remember how important family is, until you reconnect.

I ended the call and saw some more messages coming in from Henry (seen as an unknown number, since I switched SIM card). A whole selfie diary of what he had been doing that day. Working out, walking the dog, some more firewood with a shrugging emoticon (definitely hinting at jerking off) and finally a selfie of him having lunch with some of the cast. I snickered. ‘Busy man! And miss you a lot :) Especially seeing the tiny, tiny bunkbeds they got us xD Goodbye privacy..’ I typed. He responded. ‘We’ll make up for that on Wednesday then.’ Wink. I smiled, then wondered if they had installed the trailers yet for the lead actors. I started strolling around the area, and sure enough the shiny aluminium trailers appeared at the far edge of the campsite.

The next few days was mostly just scouting the area for good shoot locations, collecting material and starting the build of the set for the first week. It was decidedly more relaxed then the previous weeks. To which I was glad. It also did wonders for the team spirit. Many nights we were huddled around campfires, drinking hot wine and making music. It sure felt like a small holiday. And I got to know my colleagues a whole lot better. We worked in a team of 15 for set design. 2 Of them were apparently going to get married in a month’s time, right after our crew was let off, 5 of them had gone to the same college, and most of them were utterly curious about my relationship with Henry. I kept it a bit under the wraps, but spoke honestly about how much fun we had. And how normal it felt. And yes, we were all official. ‘You are..so lucky. Urgh.. Why not me?’ One of my gay colleagues blurted out. We all snickered. ‘It’s the vagina I’d say..otherwise you surely would have had a shot.’ I winked. He warped his mouth in oo-ing shape. ‘Oh Hell! I’d let myself be rebuilt if that means I’d have a shot.’ We all belted out a loud laugh.

Wednesday came. The sun was starting to break through the grey clouds for the first time these days. How suitable, I thought, sipping my morning tea while looking over the hunting grounds that were being prepped for a scouting scene. More bushes, white biodegradable dye after which fake snow would be added. We were sitting around a large wooden board on two scaffolds, serving as huge meeting table. Materials for clothes were splayed out. I wasn’t really paying attention, since this part of the production would be running when I was already off-duty. ‘Hey, whatcha think, light or darker blue for him?’ One of the ladies woke me from my day dreaming. I stood up and looked at the scraps of fabric. ‘Darker. Besides the bias works better on this fabric.’ The lady smiled contently. ‘I told you.’ She said, looking at the other dressmaker who shrugged in slight annoyance. ‘Like she knows anything about cloth making.’ She shot me a dirty look. I shrugged in return, smiling. ‘Who knows!’ Which annoyed her even more. ‘It is indeed a better fabric to cut on bias though.’ The other woman retorted, nodding at me to acknowledge me. After they wrapped up their little meeting, the woman came up to me. ‘You sew?’ I looked up in confusion. ‘A bit. Made some costumes for fun before I got this job actually.’ ‘Good. And you helped buy they fabrics too right?’ ‘I was more a dumb force dragging along fabric rolls, if that counts as helping.’ She smirked. ‘Well silly questions maybe. But..Any chance we can borrow you for a few hours tomorrow and stand in for some fittings. Much better then that Polish girl they found. Can’t speak english, doesn’t understand fit..Urgh. And can’t have Ciri look like a mess.’ I raised my eyebrow, surprised by the request. ‘Uhmm..I’ll have to check my schedule. We’re doing a run-through around 12. And..and I’m not sure we share the same..build…Freya and I’ ‘That’ll be fine. Both small figure. We’ll do a further fit when she arrives - she got delayed…actresses…’ I shrugged, looking at my phone to check my schedule. ‘Alright.’

Not much later the main crew arrived in a large black bus. The first one getting out was Kal, who sprinted out like he hadn’t seen daylight in days. He sniffed and peed everywhere and greeted people with great excitement. The crew gladly petted him and started helping unpacking. Henry and Anya were in conversation when they got off the bus, joking around. Freya indeed wasn’t there. Hmm.. Then Henry noticed me and smiled an even broader smile. He walked up to me, carrying some of his luggage which he dropped to the muddy grass to give me a deep kiss. ‘Hi princess.’ ‘Hey you.’ I said with cheeky smile. He looked up to see what Kal was doing, now playing with one of the camera guys. He sniffled. ‘Good to be here. How are you?’ ‘Good actually. It’s been some lovely relaxed days, just building up, having campfires and the weather’s getting better too. How was your trip?’ ‘Decent. Some turbulence which got the ladies screaming.’ He rolled his eyes with amusement. I snickered. ‘But all went well…’ He fell quiet for a bit and looked at me. And I just returned his quiet stare, smiling. ‘Already found my trailer?’ ‘In the back, far right. A trailer with a view of the lake.’ I winked. ‘Best view in town.’ He smiled in return, folding an arm around me. The very weight making me have to shift my feet in the slippery grass. He stared out over the fields around him, looking at the crew walking around with set pieces, smiling proudly. I just took the moment to wrap my arm around his lower back, leaning into him.

‘Yea let’s get my stuff to the trailer and find something to eat. I’m starving.’ He said, his stomach rumbling. I snickered, diving away from underneath his arm and walking to the bus to grab some of the stuff I knew to be his. We walked up to his trailer, his PA already waiting there to hand him his key and schedule for the first week. ‘Argh..and back to dehydration nightmare again.’ He said, glancing over the schedule. We moved his stuff in, unpacked all his picture frames and put them on top of the floating kitchen cupboards and set up some dog food and water for Kal. He walked back to the door, pulling it closed. I could see his eyes darken with lust while he pinned me against the kitchen block. ‘No bunk bed here.’ He growled. ‘Mmm I have to do a run-through in 10. Later.’ I whispered in between his shower of kisses. ‘Mmpff.’ He cupped my jaw in his large hands. ‘I can’t wait.’ ‘I know.’ I snickered, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before moving to get back outside. He stopped me with one arm, grabbing me around the waist. He bit my neck playfully. ‘Rrr.’ He growled into my ear. I giggled, squirming in his arm. ‘Let me go!’ I puffed, pushing down his arm. He turned me around with great ease and looked at me, this time more sweetly, then smiled sheepishly. ‘Come look for me when you’re done.’ He said. I nodded, then pried myself out of his iron grip and made way for the set.

The camp fires were lit again and dinner was served. With the crew slowly growing in size it became more rowdy. I joined Henry and some stunt men around a fire, huddled against him while forking around in a plate of Chinese food. It was rather bland shamefully. The men were enthusiastically talking through some of the stunt work that had been planned. Burning building jumps, fighting with dogs, monster fights, the whole shebang. Henry was joining in with great excitement. He loved doing as much stunt work on his own as he could. A little boy’s dream of his. His arms flexed while he talked, his eyes gleaming. After dinner however, he soon lost out to his jet lag. He poked me out of my dreaming stare into the fire and whispered. ‘Join me?’ I nodded and smiled a tired smile. Without further ado we excused ourselves, I brushed my teeth and went to his trailer, Kal already sleeping on the floor, only his ears twirling up in curiosity.

Just moments after he turned the lock on the door I could feel his hands roam over my body. He pulled me flush against his chest, my back towards him as he sniffed my hair. ‘I missed this smell of you.’ He rumbled, lust trailing his voice. I sniffled, turning my head slightly so I could kiss him. ‘I’ve missed YOU.’ I whispered against his lips, a smile on my lips. His arms folded around me, squeezing me even closer as his head dipped down, his lips blazing a trail on my neck. ‘Very funny..Now..I would like to be patient, but…’ He swirled me around with a force I had not experienced of him yet. I barely had time to register what was happening when he swooped me up in his arms, needing just a few long strides to lay me on the bed at the back of the trailer. He quickly stripped off his clothes as I stared at him, my dazed head needing a good moment to take in what was happening while my gaze fell on his rushed striptease. I didn’t even think about undressing myself. He took my breath away as he had done a dozen times by now. That hair tumbling in unruly curls around his face, his flexing muscles, the slight smirk on his lips and that godly chest hair. By the time he looped his thumbs around the waistband of his boxers, he raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Undress.’ He simply commanded, his voice dark. I obliged gingerly, quickly wriggling myself out of my comfy outfit as I laughed at his impatience.

I was just about to unclasp my bra when he pushed me down on the bed, crawling on top of me. I gasped as one of his hands slipped around my throat (even though he was careful) and I immediately halted any further attempts to remove my underwear as his heavy body pushed me down, his lips meeting mine. Eager hands slipped down my panties, feeling how wet I already was for him. He rumbled a low chuckle as he reached his arm out towards a small drawer next to the bed, his eyes not leaving mine. I raised an eyebrow as he rumaged around in the drawer, finding what he was looking for: a condom. He kept his eyes trained on me as he ripped the packaging with his teeth, not looking away once. I felt myself get wetter by the second as I looked in his lust-laced eyes, hearing his ragged breath. He pumped his erection a few times before putting the condom on, his eyes finally trailing away. He looked down at his erection, now eagerly pressing against my hip. And he sure liked what he saw, because when he looked back up there was that all-familiar question in his eyes. I took a shallow breath, which was apparently enough of an answer as he pressed his lips against me more feverishly.

He was..impatient..to say the least. His lips bruised mine deliciously, making me moan and groan in response while his right hand moved aside my panties. He guided his erection to my folds, rubbing it generously against my core - earning another longing moan from me. Then he got up a bit, making eye contact once more. DO IT - I thought, but he waited, just tilting his head slightly. And so I wrapped my legs around his hip, pulling him inside of me. We both gasped, savouring the feeling of becoming one. He slumped forward a bit, leaning heavily on his arms as his head dunked down to bite the soft skin of my neck. Without breaking contact, he slowly pumped out, before pushing all the way back in. I groaned. He was so big. And hard. I scratched at his back as he started to slowly up his pace. ‘That smell.’ He rumbled, lowering it to a tone that sounded more like Geralt then Henry. I groaned and moaned as he started a frantic speed. ‘Oh gods.’ I moaned as his lips attacked my neck, jawline, cheek, forehead, eyelids. He did not leave one bit of skin untouched.

I felt he was getting closer to his release and tried to pry one of my hands in between us, to stimulate myself. He groaned, realising he had neglected my needs. I opened my eyes, seeing he gave me a pleading look before he pulled my arm away, pushing me over on my belly before pulling my hip up. My head still pressed to the mattress and my butt in the air, I felt a bit vulnerable. I tried to turn my head to see him, but he pushed my shoulder down. ‘Like that.’ He said darkly, and before I could protest he pushed back inside of me again. I groaned. He could reach even deeper in this position, hitting my cervix in a way I wasn’t sure I was enjoying fully. I wanted to sit up, change the position, but his strong arm kept pushing me down. He started to push into me again, something I wasn’t so very much enjoying. ‘Babe..’ I gasped, my voice laced with pain. He folded over me, pausing his thrusting as he finally touched my bud. I could feel his lips on the skin of my naked back. ‘That better?’ He asked, a touch concerned. I immediately felt that all familiar electricity coil up inside. I gasped again. He bent over further, involuntarily moving inside of me. I squealed it out as he hit an unfamiliar place inside of me, an orgasm bursting through me making my whole body shake. Was that my g-spot? I thought after some seconds. I had even forgotten about Henry’s heavy body pushing into me, only realising he was asking me if I was okay when the haze lifted. ‘Baby? Hey?’ He was holding himself still, his lips next to me ear. I finally managed to turn my head towards his face, a smile on my lips. ‘That was..’ I started..but couldn’t finish. I burst out into laughter. He nuzzled my cheek, finally understanding. A husky laugh rumbled through his chest. ‘Are you okay?’ He finally asked, his face more serious now. I nodded, closing my eyes and wiggling my hips, immediately feeling his erection hard inside me.

Staying folded over me like he was shielding me from the world, he started pulling and pushing into me. Again and again..and again. And boy. Did it feel good this time. His hand once more circled my nub while he played around with the angles of his thrusts. The higher he moved up my body, the more frantic were my shivers. I wasn’t even sure if it was just one very long second orgasm bursting through, or several. Not that I could even care anymore. I groaned, moaned and shivered while he pushed into me, his orgasm finally taking him over the edge as well. He groaned as his seed spilled inside of me, releasing the hand from my nub to steady himself. He took a few deep breaths, stilling himself, before gently pulling out. I flopped down on my belly, still shivering, while he rolled on his side. Our eyes met, a smirk on his lips. ‘I’ll remember that.’ He finally said as his hand travelled over my slightly shivering body. I sniffled, moving closer to kiss him. ‘Hi.’ I smiled, still dazed from my orgasms. ‘Hi.’ He responded, smiling a broad smile, pulling me even closer, folding his arms protectively around me. He nuzzled me, taking a calm breath. ‘How I missed you.’ I nodded in agreement, too spent to talk and instead just enjoying laying there in his arms until sleep overtook me. I had missed this indeed.

---

Part 4 >

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #smut #fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #poland #travel #setlife #fluff #teafortwo

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