#fuck me ill have to learn how to draw sans

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hey, you remember all those vague asks about someone angrily writing a Sans x Barnaby fanfic?

Yeah, well, I did it.

I'm working on the rest of the fic, gonna have at least 10 chapters with a bunch of lore sprinkled in between, but here, have this snippet for now:

All was peaceful in Home, as it always was. That's what Barnaby loved most about it. Everyone was friendly, playful, always willing to listen to his jokes (even if some of them were bad, and he got a tomato or two thrown at him in response.) He especially enjoyed spending time with Wally and Howdy, always willing to teach Wally a new joke or two, before using those new jokes in Howdy's Bugdega.

This particular afternoon, however, Barnaby was lazily lounging under a shady tree. Howdy was busy with some new stock in the shop, and Wally was playing a new complex game with an excitable Julie and a reluctant Frank. As for the others, Eddie was busy delivering mail, and Poppy was helping Sally with a new playscript. So, here Barnaby was, alone and letting out a loud yawn while coming up with some new comedy acts.

“Hm… maybe an airplane joke? Nah, nah, I've already made plenty of those. Something about bones? That could work, but how would I include the topic into an act…?” He mumbled to himself, putting a paw up to his chin in thought.

Then he felt the ground under him… shift.

Sink.

Slowly sinking deeper beneath him.

“What the..?” Barnaby looked down, confused as to why the grass seemed to be growing higher around him.

The sinking began to grow faster now, panicking the big beagle.

“W-Woah, woah, what's going on?!” Barnaby tried to scramble off the ground, but before he could, the grassy ground fell under him all at once. He yelped as he fell beneath the tree's roots, falling down a tight twisted tunnel. Barnaby reached his arms out, in the hopes of latching onto a stray root to climb his way out, but to no avail. He let out a grunt as his head harshly hit a rock on the way down, and his vision went black.

Barnaby didn’t know how long he was out for. However, he did know that, instead of waking up at the bottom of a dirt tunnel like he expected, he woke up in… a snowy forest?

“Ugh…” Barnaby groaned, wincing as he slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head. With another wounded groan, he looked around in his new environment. The sky seemed to be replaced with a rocky roof, indicating that he was still underground, but… that doesn't explain the evergreen trees or the snow that seemingly fell from nowhere.

“… the hell..?” He mumbled, confused and unsure what to do.

“Hey, buddy.”

Barnaby stiffened at the sudden voice, turning around slowly. There stood a… a skeleton?

“I think you dropped this.” The skeleton spoke in a lazy voice, wearing a blue hooded jacket and a seemingly-permanent toothy smile on his face. In his left hand, he held Barnaby's hat, tilting it out to the beagle. Barnaby must have dropped it when he fell down here.

“Uh… thanks.” Barnaby hesitantly took the hat from the strange skeleton, trying to offer a friendly smile in response, before putting his hat back on.

“No problem,” the skeleton replied simply, putting his hands back in his pockets. “The name's Sans. Sans the Skeleton. What's yours?”

“… Barnaby. Barnaby B Beagle.”

“Nice to meet ya, Beagle. So, what were you doing on the ground? Didn’t look like you were making snow-dogs or anything.”

[mynameisnotthepoint]

Ossan no pantsu EP 6

Disclaimer: I had already watched this drama with subs that were mostly machine translated, so this is less of a first time reaction and more of an "i finally have the whole picture now". This will contain spoilers, so be warned!

As always: thank you to @isaksbestpillow for continuing to provide us with excellent subs to this drama!!

Quotes

"They tried to look like they were having a blast. But I don't think they did it for you. Daichi-san did it for Madoka-san, Madoka-san did it for Daichi-san." (Moe to Makoto, translation by isaksbestpillow)

"You finish university, desperately look for a job and when you finally achieve your dream[,] your parents get ill and you have to take over the shop. You say you want to take the job since you got hired, so your parents say: 'The company doesn't expect anything from a mere woman.' It was that kind of time. However, now you can do what you like, so you must not stop looking for what you want to do. I only know my parents' shop and my part-time job, but I do housework. I like cooking and I am good at it. I don't like cleaning. Maintaining relationships with the neighbors is hard. Sorting waste is such a bother. But when I think it's a job that only takes three minutes, I feel pathetic for not being able to do it. We're a family but everyone has their own schedule, so I'm not saying we should eat dinner together every day. But when you take it for granted that you can come to the table whenever you feel like it, I don't like it." (Mika to Moe and Makoto, translation by isaksbestpillow)

My long jumbled thoughts/recap

Carlos is me after that first scene, which was basically a repetition of the last scene of episode 5.

Mika and Makoto are basically wearing the same colors (blue and orange) but in reverse, with Mika having much more blue on her than Makoto orange. This really reflects how considerate they are of each other at this point: Mika apologizes to her friend on behalf of her husband, while he isn't even helping with cleaning up after the party that he derailed. (Makoto's shirt has a little dog on it tho!!)

"I'm not interested in real-life romance," Moe says (translation by isaksbestpillow). She will draw the wildest fanart and wants her ship to be together forever, but she doesn't want that for herself. And yet she isn't repulsed by people in real-life being (cute) together. I love her so so much, she deserves the world. Also, I agree with @bengiyo's interpretation that she had this conversation with her dad in the upstairs hallway so Kakeru could hear it too.

I dislike this man with all my heart. He is despicable with how he treats his juniors, especially women. Also the way he talks about his wife *shudders*. He is the kind of person you want to write completely off, to ignore and yet you will always encounter them. And Shimura-san is so strong: she serves him, NOT because she is scared, but because she finds him so beneath her that he's not even worth arguing with. Makoto is more bumbling and likeable, but in the beginning he truly warranted the same treatment. I truly like how Furuike is used as a sort of mirror, or even a magnifying glass for Makoto: because of witnessing an even worse man in the same environment, does he realise truly how much he fucked up.

I love Kakeru's outfits, and this is one of my favourites. I also love that he isn't the only male person there! In old fashion cupcake, there were always ONLY women in the spaces the two mains visited, which is a tad unrealistic.

I also noticed he does wear different shades of nailpolish and his make-up and hairstyles differ too, although he does seem to have his preferences. It doesn't look professional, which is normal, he is still learning!

Mika is so proud of her lunchboxes. They look so so good. She is a part-timer and she takes pride in her work. This is contrasted immediately with Moe canceling her part-time job at the bookshop because of her period cramps (very valid!) but Moe frames it like it's OK because it's "just" a part-time job. She sees it as not as important/serious as a full-time job.

As an aside, it resonates so much with me, Moe thinking you have to endure the menstrual cramps once you start working full-time. It's what I thought too... and still I go to work, with the caveat that I also work part-time, and thus don't have to go in every single day.

Mika tries to give her daughter some advice, and see Mika's smile leave her eyes after Moe tells her that her advice is not really from experience (and thus a bit hollow). But Mika swallows the jab at her authority/respectability, and keeps on smiling. When she puts the food she happily cooked in front of Kakeru's door, and then knocks on Moe's door for dinner and Moe answers she'd rather not right now, you see her smile slowly slipping away. Anger and sadness replace it.

My heart breaks for her. She keeps this family together, told them she wanted to talk about something and sent a picture of food. She hints and hints at it "how is the chicken?", "It's delicious even when cold". And yet no-one picks up on it. Her hopes are on Moe, but Moe is in pain and too absorbed with her own problems - Mika doesn't even expect much of Makoto. Yet her husband talking about how Moe is a girl and can take it easy on the job hunt, finally cracks the tension that has been building up. I included her whole monologue in the quote section, because I felt like it was so poignant. This is a self-actualised woman, who wanted to work in publishing but had to go home to her parents. She had to give up on her dream, found a new thing she excels at, cooking. And yet, because she is a homemaker (as expected of her by society), her prowess in the kitchen goes unnoticed at home, while at work she is lauded with an award. The "I'm not saying we should eat dinner together every day. But when you take it for granted that you can come to the table whenever you feel like it, I don't like it" hit me so hard. She does so much and gets nothing in return. Dejected, she retreats to the room she shares with her oblivious husband, and watches videos of the idols she adores, getting lost in their world, where hard work gets rewarded.

The scene between Moe and Mika in the parents' room truly brought me to tears every time I watched it. I, like Moe, have probably said things that inadvertedly hurt my mother. I, like Moe, have also disregarded my mom's advice. Moe and Mika are the closest, so it feels earned that Moe is the one to deliver the praise. And finally, Mika's forced/barely there smile becomes more real again. That hug between them was WONDERFUL.

Makoto acknowledging the thing he left up to superstition - his repair of the tanuki statue curing his daughter - was actually solved through hard work and decision making from Mika. As @twig-tea pointed out, this makes her the hero of the story, not Makoto! It fucking hurts that Makoto only realises years later what his wife has endured and continues to endure for the sake of the family. Daichi said in EP 1 that Makoto's hobby was his family, for Mika the family is her work, her life work.

Makoto, Moe and Kakeru getting the tickets of Mika's favourite idol group for her is also what finally unites them and gets them to have dinner together. Her hesitation is heartbreaking, and will be in the next episode. But I love this first instance of the family being a unit in the series.

I agree 100%, Makoto. Daichi and Madoka are indeed precious. @bengiyo and @twig-tea have both written very good posts/thoughts about the scene Makoto has with Madoka and Daichi (I also really like the way twig-tea describes Carlos as an "almost [...] non-verbal narrator").

I know this post is already super long (these keep getting longer), but this episode truly made me think of my mom. She, in many ways, is just like Mika. She works part-time (80%), does and has done most of the house work as well as the cooking, keeps up with everyone's schedules etc. After watchin this episode for the first time, I talked about it with her. She also escapes, but she does into fantasy/sci-fi middle grade and YA novels, which have clear heroes and villains and also end happily, are a nice pace to read and have huge series she can get lost in. She has been reading e-books ever since I renewed her library card. I feel like I owe her so much and live at home, yet can't help her completely because she has her set ways of doing things and I can't always just disrupt them. But I do side-eye my stepfather for not helping out more, too. Having a full-time job does not give you the power to just do the odd jobs around the house that you wish to do.

[likeastars]

YURI TIME!!!!!!!!

I actually wanted to rec you a lot of these!!!! But you know them already >:/ you're too yuri informed I've been yuri beaten >>>>>:/

Anyway. I love both liar satsuki can see death and i see you aizawa-san and the way they're all about building connections with the people around them!! Especially in liar satsuki the cast of characters is so varied and creative (ATOU-SAN I LOVE YOU).

For me the biggest surprise among all of these was I love Amy because I was expecting a fun yandere story and then it became???? A touching commentary on mentally ill people falling in love and creating environments in which they can thrive???? It's so cute and so silly I had so much fun with it!!!

Also I started brides of iberis and why did you have to make me sad. Am I not sad enough normally why did we have to be sadder.

LET'S GO TO THE RECSSSSSSS

1. Her tale of shim-cheong/her shim-cheong: this one is required yuri reading. I wanted to do a manga section but I needed this one to be the first bc it's so good man. I was crying I was bawling I couldn't put my phone down. The art is a bit rough around the edges but it can be stunning and the plot is a fun retelling of a korean tale (of shim-cheong. Duh) but YURI!!!!!!!! It's a classic poor girl and rich girl fall in love but it's so well written it becomes so much more. It's such a beautiful conversation with the reader about misogyny and how brutal it was at the time and how it affects everyone independently of class. Our protagonist (poor girl) is obviously more physically in danger because of it (men steal her stuff, almost beat her up and sexually harass her) but we also follow the toll it has on the other main character (rich girl) and the way it doesn’t even allow her to have a name, which we never learn through the course of the story. She also has a dog motif going on which. Hell yeah. The comic gives a lot of dignity to characters like the prostitute, and it does a wonderful job of depicting queerness very explicitly (there's a scene where rich girl is dragged in a brothel by her brother when she's like 5 and she goes WHOOOOAAAAAAA)

Tw: violence, some blood, religious people being awful, sexual harassment (very well handled), general time-typical sexism, some slight ableism (<not handled as well)

2. Doughnuts under a crescent moon: this one has the very simple premise of two coworkers finding striking a friendship and finding solace in each other. It tackles these themes of queer shame and self sacrifice for others in a very grounded way that makes it a perfect comfort read. It also does a very good job of handling the experience of asexuality/aromanticism

Tw: self hatred

3. Everything by Arai Sumiko lmao: you might know this author for the guy she was interested in wasn't a guy at all (the green leasbians) (it's so cute and fluffy I bought it and now it sits on the shelf near madoka ohoohohoh) but she's written a lot of these like. One shots and concepts that are very interesting and fun, like "the real Momoka" where a butch and a femme switch names since they feel like they suit each other more, and they have to be in love for a while but the butch thinks she's just being played with :) I love Arai's style so much it looks like ice-cream, and I love her character design!!! She draws a lot of these women that are kinda alt (AND BUTCH HELL FUCKING YEAH) and don't really fit in into the classic rooster of manga characters :))) so just go through her stuff!!! Have fun!!!!

4. Some reincarnation manhwas: reincarnation manhwas used to be surprisingly... fruity? Before they started being mass produced like factory products. Some examples include: beware of the villainess, where the titular villainess tries to survive in her favourite story, realises the leads are trash and cures their misogyny with the power of SWORD. the og novel protagonist legit falls in love with her and she and the actual male (ugh) love interest fight all the time over the villainess' attention. One of my very first manhwa and and onemy fave storie in general <3 another cool one is your throne, all about the political intrigue where two women discover they can swap bodies and decide to kill their common ex. Top tier content. This one's a bit more subtle but they actually have a lot of romantic coded scenes, like calling each other "the one they love" and shit. It's there but I don't think the author intended it

It's very very well written BUT DON'T READ THE SECOND SEASON. IT'S TRASH.

Tw: violence, blood, abuse, sexual harassment

5. Surviving romance: still a manwha, but we're skewing more into webtoon territory. Still implied queerness but. It’s there. Come on. Girl ends up reincarnated in a novel but... shit happens. I'd feel bad spoling you the first few chapters of the comic because they are literally Insane. But she needs to find the unknown extra who saved her life (FRUITY) and there’s some music sharing and songs involved (EVEN MORE FRUITY) but I have to say this is just a genuinely well crafted story about finding community and a meta story about stories and reading. A bit of a mindfuck toh but really good

Tw: violence, gore, blood, zombies (don't ask), suicide, body horror (IT'S REALLY LIGHT HEARTED I PROMISE

6. Muted: <<This is fully webtoon territory!!!! I understand not wanting to get into it bc it's an app and you have to make an account for it (and the quality of the stories has started to get real bad real fast recently) but there's some gems in there if ya wanna try dabbling in it>>

THIS IS ABOUT GAY WITCHES!!!! AND TRAUMA!!!!!!! Stunning art, amazing story about the shackles of heterosexual abuse, and POLYAMOROUS GAY WITCHES AND DEMONS!!!!!!!!!! Amazing. Stellar. 20/10

Tw: blood, gore, some body horror?? (<demon possession), self harm (<for rituals), burn scars, parental abuse (this is an heavy one guys. Real heavy but real well written) and all of that jazz

7. The witch: GAY WITCHES AGAIN!!!!!!! I might have a type. This one follows a witch through the centuries as she meets people and falls in love again and again, until she meets the dragon 💖💖💖💖💖💖 this one's narrated like a fable and it takes the story reaaaaal slow and it takes many many chapter before the two leads even meet. WORTH IT THOUGH. SOOOO WORTH IT

8. Nevermore: I've been obsessed with this webcomic for years I don't even have the energy to talk about it anymore lmao. It's about tragic dead poe gothic lesbians. What more could you want??? If you want to learn more about it just go through the "nev" tag in my blog you'll learn more than enough.

Tw: violence, blood, neglect, medical abuse, ableism (<well handled), doomed yuri

9: facing the sun: this one is sad. Well written, splendidly drawn, with an amazing world building and characters with extremely interesting relationships between that but MAN is it sad. A woman falls in love with her medical support robot which gains sentience and with it mental illness. Kill me with an hammer.

Really good but :((((((

Also independently punished if you don't wanna read it on webtoon

Tw: WHERE DO I EVEN START. EVERYTHING. TOO SAD DO NOT READ (well. Do it actually. Just don't blame me.)

9. Tiger, tiger: LAST ONE!!!!!! SORRY FOR RAMBLING <3 Girl takes her brother's place on his merchant ship to study sea sponges and an eldritch horror falls in love with her <333333 this one's independently published, and the author's on tumblr!!!

Tw: some nudity, some violence, some body horror (by the eldritch horror)

*twirling my hair* do you have some good yuri manga recs?

(lying on my stomach and kicking my feet) i'm SO glad you asked!

to preface this i'll be excluding better-known yuri or yuri that's recently gotten its flowers (whether thru virality or adaptations) (e.g. in love with the villainess, love bullet, bloom into you, etc. etc.) and will instead be recc'ing works i don't often encounter in the wild. some will be more well-known than others, but all of these i've enjoyed and would encourage others to check out! under the cut because. this got. so long. i heart yuri <3

multi-chapter

the princess of sylph (ongoing; self-publishing): plot-heavy fantasy yuri between a bereaved princess with the aura of a thousand sad hamsters and a persistent nun whose silliness conceals a deep well of trauma. gushed about it plenty here. i recommend starting with the serialized version, the proceeding to the twitter version + extras. cw: blood, violence, dismemberment (nothing too graphic, more standard monster-fighting fare).

i love amy (completed): school loner strikes an unlikely friendship with the girl known (and feared) for her violent tendencies and single-minded obsession with the school prince. cute but striking and skilled art with a surprisingly nuanced handling of trauma and neurodivergence. cw: attempted child murder, animal death (non-graphic). there are also depictions of standard yandere fare (kidnapping, torture basements) but they're always presented comedically.

i see you, aizawa-san! (ongoing): girl who steadfastly pretends not to see ghosts meets one she just can't seem to ignore: a deceased classmate and former j-pop idol, who has taken to haunting their classroom. ft. art that harkens back to classic shoujo and a supernatural mystery centred on the relationship between the two leads--that one of them can't seem to remember. cw: blood, body horror.

school zone girls (on hiatus): slice of life yuri comedy ft. a massive interconnected web of girls spanning at least three schools. it juggles gut-busting comedy with genuine heartfelt moments of character growth and connection and expresses it all through a solid, dynamic art style. the sprawling cast also makes for incredible outsider pov moments that lets us really appreciate how far some characters have gotten. this genuinely motivated me to revamp how i approached ensemble casts for my ocs.

brides of iberis (completed): wedding planner unenthusiastic about her engagement falls in love with a bride she's taken as a client. bittersweet but deeply loving; and so compassionate to each and every character, even the men the female leads have relationships with. cw: infidelity.

destroy it all and love me in hell! (ongoing): model student finds her miserable, tightly controlled life unraveling after being blackmailed by the class truant into indulging her ugliest impulses. toxic yuri extravaganza eleganza between two girls desperate for escape and the catharsis of fucking! shit! up!!! also hits that sweet sweet "love triangle as a conflict of ideals" beat. cw: blackmail, coercion, bullying, violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse, adult/minor relationship.

yuri is forbidden for the yuri otaku (completed): passionate himejoshi enrolls in an all-girls private school to observe class s yuri in action, but never to engage in it herself--at least, until a misunderstanding wins her the resident gyaru's heart. a surprisingly poignant exploration of being queer in a repressive society and experiencing your queerness through the safety of unobtainable fantasy.

the superstar idol crushes on me today too (ongoing): failed idol-slash-middling radio personality finds an unwanted superfan in the country's biggest superstar. explores the merit of pursuing your artistic passions in the face of repeated failure, and what makes an emotional anchor in the fraught seas of showbiz. they are also just so so funny. what if i emphatically declare you my rival in show business but you've been in love with me since you saw me in a cooking show as a child actor and you take any excuse to spend time with me and have my attention with blinding enthusiasm

normality and monsters (ongoing): outcast weirdo witnesses the class idol devour their homeroom teacher in one bite and begs to be trained in the art of appearing normal. the art is snappy and charismatic, the monster design is properly grotesque, and the friendship of convenience between the two leads teeters between overcoming the monster's nature and just being a prelude to the monster acquiring a new meatsuit. cw: blood, gore, death, body horror.

a monster wants to eat me (ongoing): suicidal girl meets carnivore mermaid who promises to eat her if she develops a desire to live. it's been a while since i read this one, but the monster designs are once again sick as fuck and the drama of being cared for by a creature that finds you tantalizing is sooo juicy. cw: suicidal ideation, blood, gore, violence, body horror.

liar satsuki can see death (completed): high schooler who can see corpses before the death occurs strives to save as many lives as possible despite being branded a liar by the entire student body. this and ryouko's other manga, a walk to death, are pretty banging declarations on the value of living ironically (or maybe aptly) wrapped in so much death. blanket cw for blood, gore and death bc i tell you every mini-arc somebody dies in a fun new way and we'd be here all day if we listed them out.

anthology:

i'm the villainess but i'm being captured by the heroine?!: an anthology featuring heroines of otome games swerving hard and sweeping the villainess off her feet. i am such a sucker for villainess yuri. mean women forever. my favourite chapters are vol. 1 ch.1 and vol. 2 chs. 1 and 4.

honourable mentions:

my idol sits the next desk over! (completed): loner idol otaku ends up deskmates with her oshi and between jealous sabotage from a rival stan and the herculean task of acting normal around your fave, lands herself in the first and closest friend group of her life. one girl does explicitly have romantic feelings for another girl, but i bumped it down here because it isn't explored to the extent it could have been. it felt like it was setting up a slow burn only to end abruptly. do not recommend if you want a love story, do recommend if you want lonely people forging deep and enduring bonds of friendship.

the one within the villainess (ongoing): the villainess of an otome game reawakens for her condemnation and sets off on a path of vengeance for the sake of the beloved transmigrator who's occupied her body for years. it's ostensibly het, but to hear the way that the villainess speaks of her transmigrator, the first person to love her wholeheartedly and wish for her happiness and so inadvertently prevent her from becoming the hollow bitter woman she originally grew into...... like. that is yuri. like what if i knew your life in its entirety and loved you for it and i found myself in the position to give you the happiness i always wished for you to have. what if we wrote fix-it fic for each other on the fabric of the universe. what if we never even had a conversation but we knew each other the best and loved each other most. and we were both girls. do you understand why i'm insane about them

[hongism]

give and take - k.ys, j.wy, k.hj 18+

pairing; wooyoung x yeosang x hongjoong genre; angst, smut, 18+, the angst isn’t bad i swear it’s temporary wc; 16.8k summary; watching the two people he has feelings for come together in a relationship that holds some of the greatest moments of intimacy. and sure, yes, yeosang acknowledges that it could be something purely physical for them, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the two people he has feelings for are fucking and have been fucking right under his nose for the last several weeks. warnings; explicit smut, fingering, oral sex: m, dirty talk, praise, lil degradation, slight exhibitionism and voyeurism, explicit smut, multiple orgasms, come sharing, masturbation, handjobs, threesome, sub woo, sub yeo, dom joong, yaknow the works an; happy belated valentine’s day! i hope you all enjoy muahmuah xx also this is grossly unedited im sorry but my internet is gonna go out again at any second and i just wanna post this ;;-;

﹊﹊﹊

It starts, as many things do, with a little bit of jealousy. And honestly, Yeosang could not for the life of him tell you what exactly that jealousy was in the slightest (at least that is what he tries to convince himself on nights where his thoughts all but consume him). He was not the first to notice the sudden dynamic shift between Hongjoong and Wooyoung, and he was positively certain that the others would catch up soon enough. He was the third to detect the shift in their demeanors around each other; Seonghwa obviously being the first since he’s so close with Hongjoong and apparently has to vacate his own bedroom whenever Wooyoung disappears inside. Jongho, the ever-observant and perceptive youngest, was the second to notice, and he is actually the one who prompted Yeosang to take a deeper look into what was going on.

At first, Yeosang thought nothing of it. Hongjoong and Wooyoung had been getting closer, moving past those first fumbling awkward moments they had in the beginning and blossoming into a closer relationship. It seemed only natural for the two of them to spend more time together. Then Jongho pulled him aside one day after Wooyoung quite deliberately turned down the opportunity to play games with San and Yunho. 

“What’s going on with Wooyoung-hyung and Hongjoong-hyung?”

Yeosang had blinked dumbly at the younger and made some sort of dumb noise asking why Jongho would be bringing the question to him of all people, then it sunk in that of course he would bring it to Yeosang. Yeosang is both the one who has known Wooyoung the longest — and is subsequently the closest with the younger brunette — as well as Wooyoung’s roommate, so he spends a considerable amount of time with the man.

“He’s not mentioned anything to me?”

Yeosang cursed himself then for sounding so dumb and unsure, but it was the truth in the very least, and Jongho gave a slight shrug before walking away with a shady ‘maybe you should pay closer attention, hyung’ that left Yeosang glaring at the spot where the youngest just stood. 

Pay closer attention to what?

Yeosang didn’t have any idea what exactly he was supposed to be paying attention to, so he just did what he thought he did best, which was observing from the sidelines. One good thing about being quiet by nature was being able to examine conversations and interactions with greater care, as well as listen in on things that perhaps he should not be listening to but sometimes the others are just too loud for him not to overhear.

After Jongho mentions it to him though, Yeosang truly does start picking up on things. How Hongjoong snaps at Wooyoung in practice only to give him a twisting smirk afterward, how Wooyoung side-eyes the leader before dipping into the bathroom on movie nights, and especially how Hongjoong always waits three minutes and forty-five seconds before getting up to head down the hall proclaiming to need ‘sleep’. Yeosang is positive the two are doing something behind everyone’s backs — well everyone except Seonghwa, because the eldest always stares after Hongjoong’s back as the man departs with a look in his eye that Yeosang is incapable of placing. 

The most important thing is that Wooyoung is spending less and less time with Yeosang, and consequently, Hongjoong too is spending less time with Yeosang. And the visual truly didn’t think there was anything wrong with it at first. He wasn’t bothered or bent out of shape about the increase in their shady encounters or whatever it is they’re up to because he didn’t think it was too out of the ordinary. 

Then Wooyoung asked for a raincheck on their typical Thursday evening ramen stop. Yeosang saw him darting off to the studio moments after, and he didn’t return to their shared room until Hongjoong did. (Yeosang definitely did stay up waiting for either man to return; he didn’t need the confirmation, of course, he could have just assumed, but what’s several hours of lost sleep to him now?)

And after that, Hongjoong canceled one of their producing sessions together saying that he was simply too busy that day to check in on Yeosang’s progress. He had promised to look over his work and listen to his song when they returned to the dorms, but when Yeosang packed his things and left the studio for the day, he saw a very distinctly Wooyoung-shaped figure dipping into Hongjoong’s studio behind him. 

Yeosang thought he wasn’t one to get jealous. He thought he had learned that lesson the painful way when Wooyoung started casting him to the side to spend time with San instead of him, then when Hongjoong and Seonghwa called him out for the behavior, the issue had been resolved and Wooyoung returned to giving him ample amounts of attention. So truly, Yeosang cannot understand why he feels the small stirrings of jealousy in his gut whenever he sees Wooyoung running to Hongjoong. And even worse are the nagging jealousies that come when the leader is the one to seek Wooyoung out. Yeosang cannot for the life of him rectify that one, because why is he jealous of his best friend for simply spending time with Hongjoong?

He cannot admit it out loud, but in the nights where he finds himself staying up late and waiting for Wooyoung to return with Hongjoong, he thinks deeply about those curling tendrils in his gut. 

Yeosang has come to the conclusion that for once in his life, he does not like this because it makes him feel like he is missing out on something. That is a startling realization in and of itself because Yeosang has never been one to care much about those sorts of things — it just isn’t in his character or personality — so at first he denied that possibility and tried to look to other sources. When nothing else could ever make sense in his mind, Yeosang just had to accept that this was a new and growing feeling to work through. And perhaps it has something to do with the other emotions swirling through his gut that he refuses to name.

Which lands him where he is now: outside Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s door with hand raised and ready to knock on the wood. It isn’t Wooyoung and Hongjoong inside though, not at this time of day, but rather Seonghwa, the one who has the most amount of contact with Hongjoong and also the one who vacates the room whenever Wooyoung comes running over. So if anyone is going to be able to cure Yeosang’s illness that is Not Knowing What the Fuck is Going on, it will 100% be Seonghwa. Yeosang dares to bring his knuckles down on the wood and raps against the door several times before he hears Seonghwa make a noise from inside the room. 

“Hey, Woo, he’s not here right — oh, Yeosang!” Seonghwa blinks several times at the man before him as though he cannot believe that it is Yeosang and not his best friend standing in front of the door. “Are you looking for Hongjoong too? I’m afraid he’s still holed up in the studio right now.”

“W-What? No, no, hyung, I was looking for you,” Yeosang says with a quick shake of his head. Seonghwa’s eyes remain wide in surprise as he speaks, but once the words process, the older steps to the side and beckons for Yeosang to enter the room.

“Don’t be a stranger, of course, sit wherever you’d like. I was just reading a bit.”

Yeosang has no earthly idea how long this conversation might take. For all he knows, it could take a whopping two minutes or perhaps thirty minutes that falls into a lecture about jealousy and all that. So he resolves to perch on the edge of Hongjoong’s lower bunk, nudging one of the stray plushies to the side to make room for himself while Seonghwa pulls the chair from the desk to sit across from Yeosang. It already feels like something of an intervention, and Yeosang makes a note to choose his words very carefully to avoid sounding too upset or jealous about the situation. 

“Has Wooyoung mentioned anything to you recently?” He starts, but perhaps that isn’t the best place to start at all, he realizes once the question is already out.

“Is there something he is supposed to have mentioned?” Seonghwa asks, tilting his head further to the side. 

“No, like — that’s not what I mean. Has he said anything—” This is the moment of truth for Yeosang. Either Seonghwa picks up on his jealousy in an instant, or he receives a straightforward answer and moves on with his life with at least a bit of understanding. “—anything about why he’s spending so much time with Hongjoong-hyung these days?”

“Hm?” Seonghwa seems genuinely perplexed by the question for a considerable amount of time, eyes darting down to look at a spot on the floor as he mulls over the question. Then, he shakes his head a few times and draws his lips into a tight purse. “Not to me at all, no. Has something happened between you two? Is he not speaking with you? Did you have a falling out? If something happened the—”

“No, no, hyung, please,” Yeosang interjects in a rush. Seonghwa cuts his thoughts short with a small frown, and Yeosang knows he is going to have to offer more of an explanation than that to ease the older’s worries. There is a bit too much shame burning at his gut presently though, a nagging and lingering feeling of embarrassment as he realizes he will inevitably have to admit that he is jealous of all things. And that is going to be another issue because Seonghwa knows him almost better than Wooyoung does, and the older for sure knows that Yeosang is never one to be jealous. 

“It’s okay if the two of you are having issues, Yeosang. It happens to everyone, especially people who have known each other for as long as you and Wooyoung have. I’m not trying to insinuate anything of course, but I just want you to know that there’s nothing to be ashamed of if that’s the case.”

God, Yeosang wants to crawl into a tiny hole and die more than anything else right now because fuck this feeling.

“I’m just — I’m only asking because h-he turned San down the other night to spend time with Hongjoong. He has never done that. He and San are th-the closest and they never turn down the opportunity to spend time with each other, and it seems so odd that he would deny San so that he could spend time with‌ Hongjoong instead, and that’s just weird. It’s weird, and he doesn’t talk about it with me, he doesn’t mention it or anything like that, then he goes off and forgoes our plans together to be with Hongjoong too. And that’s fine, yeah, like they should spend time with each other, I don’t mind that part. Just… Hongjoong did it too and rain checked one of our producing lessons because he was apparently too busy with his own work and — and...”

Yeosang’s voice dies in his throat when he finally brings his gaze up to look Seonghwa in the eye, and the expression staring back at him is so raw and understanding that Yeosang cannot physically force any words out at that point. A small smile curls at the edges of Seonghwa’s lips, he huffs out a quiet laugh, and then his chin dips closer to his chest as the laugh overwhelms him. Yeosang, on the other hand, feels positively childish and stupid now that the admission is out there.

“I told them people would start noticing,” Seonghwa mutters more to himself than to Yeosang, but the younger picks up on the comment nonetheless. So he does know what’s going on between them. “Listen, Yeosang, yes, Wooyoung and Hongjoong are spending lots more time together. Yes, they are being a bit inconsiderate when it comes to the other members, but they are… at a phase in their relationship with each other where it’s easy to get caught up and spend unearthly amounts of time together. I have talked with both of them before about being a bit less persistent and intense, as well as prioritizing other people before themselves. But I am more than happy to talk with them about it again if it would help satiate your hurt feelings a bit?”

At least Seonghwa didn’t call him out on his jealousy. He should be grateful for that much. Why isn’t he grateful for that much? Oh, because of whatever the fuck Seonghwa’s rant is supposed to mean. ‘At a phase in their relationship with each other where it’s easy to get caught up and spend unearthly amounts of time together?’ What the hell is that supposed to mean? Seonghwa is still smiling like he knows, and Yeosang is fully aware that Seonghwa does truly know because there is that lingering odd emotion behind his eyes again that Yeosang despises so much.

“I — wait, what?” Yeosang’s brain is running on pure fumes at this point. The confusion has mounted into something immense, and he hardly remembers why he was so upset at this point now because of the bewilderment rushing through his system.

“I can talk with them again if you’d like?” Seonghwa repeats his previous offer, eyes wide as he blinks at Yeosang and awaits an answer.

“No, the — the part about their relationship?”

Seonghwa glances off to the side, and he seems to think over what he’s said before his eyes widen a bit in shock.

“A-Ah! Um, no, don’t — I don’t mean anything crude, of course!” Anything crude? Yeosang’s mind certainly wasn’t going down that path before but now that Seonghwa has mentioned that, it is now. And frankly, that throws him off more than anything else because he never would have assumed that that is what was going on behind those closed doors or anything. He has known Wooyoung swings both ways with little care since well before Wooyoung knew himself, and well, Hongjoong told the whole group that he’s pansexual when they chose him to be the leader because of transparency and honesty or some shit like that but... still. Yeosang would expect something like that to happen between Wooyoung and San but with Hongjoong? He can’t even imagine that — not that he wants to imagine it! He would never do that!

Yeosang’s cheeks flush a deep red when he realizes what Seonghwa means, and the older in turn figures out that Yeosang’s mind was indeed not traveling down that path and he has just caused it to. It’s a disaster, truly, and neither of them seem put together enough to even try to recover the situation. All Seonghwa does is push up from his chair and move towards the door. Yeosang doesn’t have time to wonder what the hell he’s doing or if he’s preparing to kick Yeosang out because when Seonghwa opens the door, it’s Wooyoung who stumbles in with a huff.

“Hyung,” he whines through a pout, not even taking notice of Yeosang’s presence on the edge of Hongjoong’s bed. “He sent me back here and said to wait another hour for him to come home. A whole hour!”

Seonghwa bears a strained smile, and he must look over in Yeosang’s direction because only then does Wooyoung shift and take note of the other presence in the room.

“Oh shit, were you guys — do I need to leave?”

“No, Woo, we were just having a chat,” Seonghwa insists, waving the younger man in. Wooyoung regards his best friend with a wary stare that has Yeosang’s stomach turning in knots several times before he swallows the feeling down. “Um, but since you’re here, this is the perfect opportunity to chat! Between the two of you!‌ So why don’t I step out and—”

“No, hyung, it’s okay.” Yeosang is the one to utter the words, and he does so as he pushes to his feet and away from Hongjoong’s bed. This is not what he came here to do, and yes, Seonghwa is right: they should talk, Yeosang should be honest about his feelings, but he also knows Wooyoung. He knows Wooyoung will whine and complain about Yeosang being too clingy or pointless jealousy or roll his eyes and unintentionally make Yeosang feel even worse about how he feels because that is just the way the other man is. It’s not from a bad place or a toxic place, merely Wooyoung’s way of handling issues, and inevitably Wooyoung will come crawling back to Yeosang’s bunk and cuddle him for a week straight before even thinking to hang out with another member. But right now, that isn’t what Yeosang wants. Mostly because he does not want to acknowledge his jealousy or the fact that it isn’t solely directed at Hongjoong spending time with Wooyoung. It is also directed at Wooyoung who is taking away from Yeosang’s time with the leader. Yeosang needs to work out those feelings before even thinking to discuss the issue with either man.

Seonghwa fixes him a startled glance, one that flits back to Wooyoung’s form several times, but Yeosang ignores it in favor of walking towards the door and replacing Wooyoung’s spot in the doorway. The oldest doesn’t seem pleased with his avoidance, as evidenced by the way he clamps a hand down hard around Yeosang’s arm before he can fully step out. 

“I don’t want to have to play the parent and mediate between the two of you here,” he hisses more to Yeosang than to Wooyoung, but the youngest of the trio hears the words nonetheless and blinks over at his best friend with a bewildered expression. It’s then that Yeosang knows with full clarity that he is completely and utterly caught. Even if he tries to escape now, Wooyoung will come running after him and demand an explanation. “If he hears it from you then he’ll be more like to pull his act together and realize that I’m being serious.”

“Is something going on?” Wooyoung inquires at last, voice much fainter than it had been before. Yeosang manages to slip one glare in Seonghwa’s direction before he dares to face Wooyoung head-on. 

“I just came to ask hyung why you seem to be spending so much time with Hongjoong these days.”

And Wooyoung has the nerve, he has the audacity, to actually look startled by that statement. Like he cannot believe that someone has caught on and realized how much time he’s spending with the leader, and he cannot believe Yeosang would go to Seonghwa of all people for answers. When Wooyoung shifts to look at the oldest, Yeosang doesn’t miss the way he sends a panicked expression of ‘what the fuck did you say to him’ and that’s when Yeosang’s mind really spirals.

At this point, he just wants to know what the fuck is going on so he can push his mind away from the gutter, but Wooyoung’s flushed cheeks and nervous glances are doing nothing to deter Yeosang from having the thought that perhaps Hongjoong and Wooyoung are spending their time together in a more intimate manner and he really needs to —

“He’s bothered by the fact that you keep shrugging him off for Hongjoong,” Seonghwa states, bringing Yeosang’s rampant thoughts to a screeching halt in an instant. “Which I told you both about before but you insisted th—”

“Hyung, it’s really okay, I just meant it as a harmless question, I’m not — it isn’t a big deal.” 

“Is this about me rain checking you on Thursday?” Wooyoung asks. He points an accusatory finger in Yeosang’s direction, and the older of the two is certain that he doesn’t mean it in an accusatory way but he feels pinned and cornered by the gesture either way. “Yeo, I’m really sorry about that. I just wasn’t feeling up to going out that day and—”

“But you went to hyung’s studio right after and didn’t come back until Hongjoong-hyung did,” Yeosang counters before he can stop himself. That lingering bitterness returns to his gut as he mentions the memory, along with the subsequent memory of Hongjoong pushing him to the side for time with Wooyoung.

“In the studio?! Are you two out of your minds?!” Seonghwa hisses and reels on Wooyoung, who blinks back like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“It’s — Yeosang is right there, hyung! Can’t you save the lecture for later? Or go chew hyung’s ear off instead of mine? It was his idea!”

“His idea? His idea! Of course it was. Let me guess: he felt bad for pushing me out of the room so much?” Seonghwa scoffs none too quietly. The bigger picture is started to come together, the puzzle pieces are slotting into place, and Yeosang is edging dangerously close to what he believes to be the truth. 

He can’t stand the suffocation that comes in the air a moment later, almost like his own throat is trying to choke him and end him right then and there. So, he does the only logical thing he can think of and slips out of the open bedroom door as Seonghwa snatches Wooyoung’s ear and tugs mercilessly on the cartilage. The content of their argument is no longer important, not with the knowledge Yeosang has gotten so far, and it’s frankly stupid that he is even feeling so… whatever he is feeling right now. He wanted an explanation, he wanted to know what secrets they were hiding behind closed doors, and all the signs are pointing to one thing Yeosang doesn’t want to imagine.

Yeosang unfortunately doesn’t make it even a foot outside the door before he is running face-first into someone, and judging by the height of the person he nearly just clobbered to the floor, it has to be none other than Hongjoong. Yeosang steadies himself on the other’s shoulders to keep them both from tumbling, and he brings a shaky gaze to the person’s features in search of a confirmation.

Sure enough, it’s Hongjoong, alright. Beanie squishing his mop of hair down, thick black-rimmed glasses sitting atop his dainty nose, and a bag slung over his shoulder that must contain his producing equipment. Yeosang says the only thing he can think of, which seems to be a common trend with him today.

“You’re back early.”

Hongjoong regards him with an expression of confusion and bewilderment, then Yeosang realizes that Hongjoong only told Wooyoung that part so he shouldn’t really have that knowledge, but then again, what’s the big deal? Why should it be odd for Wooyoung to tell his best friend something about their leader? Is that a secret for just the two of them to know as well? Or can Seonghwa be included in their little secret circle too?

“Yeah, I — I thought I would be able to focus but I kept getting distracted so I just packed up and came home to work on stuff instead.”

Yeosang dares to ask.

“Can I come by and work with you on some stuff then?”

“A-Ah, maybe in a bit? I’ll text you and let you know. I really need to hunker down on these…” Hongjoong trails off and rubs at the back of his neck. Yeosang doesn’t miss the way the older man glances off towards the door to his and Seonghwa’s bedroom. 

“Yeah, of course, hyung, no worries,” he forces out, adding a tight smile that he hopes will ease Hongjoong’s stress a bit. The older nods as Yeosang steps out of the way, heading into the bedroom without further ado. 

There is no real reason for Yeosang to stick around so he doesn’t; he merely heads for the living room and makes himself at home on the couch, perching on the cushions in a way that gives him a clear view directly down the hall. He has one more lasting curiosity, and he’s determined to get the answer right now rather than waiting god knows how long for the next opportunity. Thus, he waits. Two minutes pass, then ten, along with some slightly raised voices and Yeosang is sure that Seonghwa is chewing them both out in there, but he can’t make out anything of what they’re saying. Then after twenty long minutes, Seonghwa slips out of the room with a huff and a grumble, eyes rolling nearly to the back of his head, and he snaps the door shut behind him. He doesn’t even glance Yeosang’s way as he dips into the kitchen, although that’s probably because he’s covering his eyes with one of his hands and mumbling about always getting a headache because of those two. 

Still, Yeosang waits. Another two minutes meld into ten. Wooyoung still hasn’t left the confines of Hongjoong’s room. It’s odd and peculiar in his mind because Hongjoong insisted that he needed to focus, he needed to work, but Wooyoung has to be — and Yeosang says this as lovingly as possible — the most distracting human being on the face of the planet. 

It is enough to grab Yeosang’s attention by the horns and drive him to push up off the couch. He doesn’t think twice about what he is doing, that twisting and churning in his gut is the only thing on his mind right now, but he doesn’t stop his warpath until he reaches the end of the hallway where Hongjoong’s door sits on the right. A few seconds of precious silence pass, then he leans towards the wood and presses his ear to it. 

For a moment, he feels entirely too foolish because he doesn’t hear a thing other than the quiet clicking and tapping of what must be Hongjoong’s computer. He turns to leave with his chin tucked to his chest in shame at the thought of how certain he was they were doing something… something in there. Then there’s a quiet moan, followed by an airy giggle that can only be Wooyoung, and a sharply hissed ‘stop that’ from Hongjoong.

“But I’m having fun, hyung. Aren’t you having fun?”

“The only thing I’m supposed to be having is you sit still while I work. You promised to be good if I came home early.”

“And you promised to make me see stars with how hard you’d fuck me. That’s not happening right now either, is it? So why don’t we…”

Yeosang’s brain turns to radio noise. Television static. Microwave beeping. All three at once. Or is that an actual microwave beeping? Is Seonghwa cooking something? He has no clue. He can’t see straight either honestly, mind too overwhelmed with what he has just heard, and shaky legs carry him back to his own door before pushing him inside with as much haste as he can muster. 

Fuck me.

Wooyoung said the words with undeniable clarity. Yeosang shakes against the door, hand still clasped tight around the knob as though it will do him any good. 

Fuck. me.

It really shouldn’t be a big deal. Yeosang should not be bothered. It’s only natural and expected for men of their age to have pent-up sexual frustrations, and of course, they have every right to exercise those urges however they want. Given their orientations, they would slot together perfectly too so why, why, why is Yeosang so bothered right now? It’s shameful the way his jealousy twists further in his gut, and he slides down the door until he’s planted firmly on the ground with knees drawn up to his chest.

He feels so fucking foolish. Thinks back to all the times he and Wooyoung have cuddled and been in close proximity over the years. The way he tried to be daring and bridge the gap between them. The lingering curiosity of blossoming emotions in his chest. The moment he realized where he sat on the spectrum when Wooyoung’s laugh sent such intense feelings of pure love through his chest that Yeosang couldn’t look him in the eye for well over a week after. Hands searching for Wooyoung’s in the dark, clasping tight together, and the fleeting sensation of lips dragging over Yeosang’s knuckles. Breathy laughs exchanged in the dark, soft admissions of love that Yeosang refused to amount to anything more than a friendship but secretly — oh so secretly he wished for more. Wooyoung’s touchy affections that came in the form of sloppy kisses on the cheek and teasing bites to the neck and shoulder. Then came San. Wooyoung stealing away from him. Hands finding San’s instead, hugs and cuddles going to the other man as Yeosang fell further and further away without even trying to pull Wooyoung back. He watched him go without putting up a fight.

What did he do then? The only thing he thought was logical: seek out the member he has the most in common with, the one who seems to understand him better than anyone, one of the view who understands and appreciates his need for quiet moments of peace.

Hongjoong.

Late nights in the studios, backs hunched and aching as they bent over a computer and Hongjoong showed him the steps to his artistic process. Compliments shared in amazement and wonder because Yeosang could not fathom how incredible Kim Hongjoong could be, yet still the older managed to exceed any expectations like it was the easiest thing on earth. The pride that would swell in Yeosang’s chest when Hongjoong congratulated him on a job well done, when he would mention the younger on his lives, the excitement in his hyung’s eyes whenever Yeosang would pop his head into the studio late at night. Hongjoong clasping a hand over Yeosang’s own shaky ones as he practiced for a cover. Whispered praises and reassurances when Yeosang would miss a note or slip up. Slow patience that waited for him without fail. Yeosang hates that he was foolish enough to let those feelings of admiration morph into the desire to be close to Hongjoong all the time, to cling to him, kiss him, have him for himself. 

And he especially hates that he was never able to bury those dwindling emotions of love and affection he felt towards Wooyoung, because now? Now it’s like he is living a nightmare. Watching the two people he has feelings for come together in a relationship that holds some of the greatest moments of intimacy. And sure, yes, Yeosang acknowledges that it could be something purely physical for them, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the two people he has feelings for are fucking and have been fucking right under his nose for the last several weeks. He wishes he could be heartbroken or something along those lines because that would be a normal reaction. That would be typical and explainable and easier to manage than the sensation in Yeosang’s gut. In that moment, he gets some clarity that it is, in fact, not jealousy of either party. It’s a desire to be involved, a want to be there with them, and a need to be involved. Did he mistake it for jealousy? Every time he saw one running to the other, he thought it was merely envy that twisted his gut, but now… now Yeosang is coming to realize that it wasn’t envy or anything like that. He just wanted to be another piece in their puzzle because those two are the ones he’s closest to (and effectively has all too real feelings for), and it pains him so much that his eyes burn. 

There are tears on his cheeks now surely, but his body has entered an odd state of numbness that he can’t piece together and cannot bother to piece together either. He doesn’t think twice before pushing himself back up to his feet, hands shaky and unstable as he moves for the dresser and pulls out a fresh set of clothes, dead set on taking the bathroom and washing his feelings away in the shower. What Yeosang doesn’t account for, however, is someone being in the hall at the same time he is, and he runs face-first into a chest.

“Yeosang?”

Fuck, and it just has to be Yunho of all people too. The one who probably won’t let Yeosang get by without drawing all his worries out of him and making sure he’s alright. And no, he’s not alright, and he doesn’t really want to be right now, but Yunho doesn’t need to know that. So Yeosang shrugs off the hands that find a home on his arms and tries to step around Yunho to get to the bathroom that is so so close yet so far away because of the wall standing before him.

“Are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, leave it alone, Yun,” Yeosang mutters through his teeth. But apparently, he can’t have a moment’s peace because Seonghwa must have heard the litany of questions and gotten concerned as well, his voice coming up behind Yeosang like a cruel shadow.

“Yeosang? Is something wrong?”

Yeosang doesn’t turn around but he doesn’t need to because Seonghwa closes the distance between them and steals a glance around his shoulder nonetheless. Yunho seems to be in the dark still in the very least, but Seonghwa will most certainly be able to figure out the source of his tears.

“Yeo… this — how bad is it? This is why I wanted you two to settle it then and there!”‌ Seonghwa exhales. His brows draw together to form a tight line that pains Yeosang to look at.

“Settle what?” Yunho inquires, blinking between both men, and his grip on Yeosang’s arms finally relents in that moment of shock. Yeosang takes the moment of freedom like a lifeline and pushes past Yunho to dart into the bathroom without further ado. Neither man behind him can catch him before he snaps the door shut in their faces, twisting the lock and trapping himself in the small room.

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa calls through the door, and he brings his fist down on the wood as though it will do any good.

“Maybe we should give him some space, hyung…” Yunho’s voice fades into the static running through Yeosang’s mind, and he no longer processes their conversation as he cranks the handle of the shower to let the water heat up. The pain in his chest also dulls, but only when he lets hot water run over his bare back, forehead pressed to the tiled wall. 

Things are catching up to him now. Reality is seeping in and he is realizing all the things that have been happening behind their backs for the past several weeks. He blames his own imagination for the flashes that come through his mind as he tries to wash the feelings away. Wooyoung pressed under Hongjoong’s weight, fervent touches and lingering kisses. The same hands that held Yeosang’s dragging over the contours of muscles and skin, filling in the gaps that Yeosang wishes he could have filled. Or perhaps Wooyoung would curl himself into Hongjoong’s lap and hold the leader as close as possible as he so dearly loves to do with the others. 

Perhaps it is more intimate and special with the two of them, however, and maybe Hongjoong fucks up into Wooyoung like that, holds him close while he works in the studio, and maybe that’s what they do when Yeosang is turned away. He bets that Hongjoong praises Wooyoung too as he loves to give all the members a litany of praises whenever they do something well, and Yeosang’s desires turns ugly when he thinks of Wooyoung being praised for being good for Hongjoong, nice and pliant and perfect for him, and fuck Yeosang wants to be part of it so badly it hurts. He wants Wooyoung to stand off to the side and watch, wants his own best friend to see him fall apart under Hongjoong’s touch. Wooyoung is such a brat that he probably acts that way in bed as well, and Yeosang feels nearly light-headed as he imagines himself being the one to receive Hongjoong’s attention and subsequently Wooyoung’s as well like he would be some example for Wooyoung to follow on how to be good. 

Yeosang doesn’t feel disgusted by the thoughts but rather the way his own body responds to the images floating through his mind, the way his member reacts to it, and the temptation to reach down and stroke himself to completion is intoxicating. He cranks the water instead so that it’s nearly icy on his skin to keep his mind from wandering too much into the inappropriate territory even though it’s already there.

The cold is barely enough to stave off Yeosang’s churning gut because the sound of that quiet moan and Wooyoung’s delicate giggle are in his ears again even as he steps out of the shower and wipes the droplets away with a towel. It persists even when he leaves the bathroom, darting into the hall to make a break for his room in case anyone was outside waiting for him, but thankfully this time he has the hallway to himself and can make it to his shared room with Wooyoung without much issue. Yeosang only says ‘much’ because just before he opens the door, a noise carries down the hall and to his ears. One that is unmistakable but most likely only audible to someone like Yeosang who is standing in the hallway. 

Another moan. This one is much more high-pitched and strung out than the last, bordering on the territory of a squeal, and based on the all too loud thud that follows, Yeosang can picture what’s going on with too much clarity.

“Hyung!” Yeosang’s heart surges forward in his chest, and he whips around like someone else has spoken the word, but it’s very clearly Wooyoung’s tone. Nonetheless, Yeosang shoves himself into his bedroom and snaps the door shut behind him as quickly as possible, flipping the lock for good measure because his cock is too hard to be ignored now. Part of him wishes he had more willpower to avoid this, and yet he’s too weak in the end. 

Less than five minutes later, Yeosang finds himself curled under the sheets of his bunk, eyes blown wide open and staring at the ceiling above his head as he drags the flat of his hand over his cock. The friction is delectable at best but still not enough to satiate the arousal blooming in his gut. Arousal that only deepens when his mind recreates the images from earlier. This time he’s with them, imagining himself sitting off to the side as Hongjoong works on‌ Wooyoung’s body.

“Sit still and watch me punish him.”

Curse his imagination for being so potent that he can practically hear Hongjoong’s words on his ears.

“Touch yourself for us, Sangie, you know you want to,” Wooyoung would purr, still giggling even though he’s in trouble and about to be punished. 

Yeosang presses his palm down harder against his cock. He won’t last more than two minutes like this; he’ll probably come like a teenager in less than that if he jerks himself with too much haste. So he forms a tight ring around the base of his cock and squeezes just hard enough to stave off the heady sensation in his veins. He debates going down to grab the small bottle of lube from Wooyoung’s end table. That’s too much effort right now, he needs his release soon, and he frankly doesn’t have enough patience in his body at the moment to finger himself open.

“You’ll be good and come when Wooyoung does, won’t you, Sangie?”

He wants to so badly. He knows he would be so good under Hongjoong’s control, he would take anything given to him because he wants that so badly, he wants someone to take the control from his hands and be at their mercy. He wouldn’t fight it or talk back, he would be so good it hurts, and a weak mewl tumbles from his lips before he can stop it. 

Yeosang flings his free hand up to cover his mouth as though someone is going to hear the quiet noises, and when he presses the butt of his hand down again, more whimpers fall out. He can’t stop the noises nor does he try to any longer. The desire for a release is too overwhelming, mixed voices touching his imagination and seeming too real for Yeosang to handle as he ruts helplessly against his palm for that delicious bit of friction. And when he comes, he comes hard and fast, eyes rolling back in pleasure as his hips continue to cant up into his hand. He moans out Hongjoong’s name as he comes and doesn’t stop to think about quieting the noise this time in his fog of pleasure. Come spills over his palm only to be smeared over his skin when he can’t stop the movements of his hips. If he thought that would end the vision in his head, he was quite wrong, because after the haze covering his thoughts disperses a bit, it comes rushing back.

“I thought you said you’d be good for us, Sangie. You came before me.”

“I told you to come with Wooyoung, baby. Why couldn’t you do that simple task?”

“You always say that you’re going to be good for us, Sangie. Yet you can’t even seem to live up to those words.”

The tears that hit Yeosang’s cheeks next are ones that come from pure overstimulation and eustasy. Heat swarms his skin, a pretty pink blush that causes his whole body to flush, and his hips just don’t stop moving even as his mind cries out for a release from the self-inflicted torture.

“Pl-Please, Woo,” Yeosang whimpers to the air above him. “I’ll — I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, p-please.” It is all too much for him to handle right then because the next thing he knows, he is coming yet again, but it’s a painfully dry orgasm since he didn’t give himself any recovery time. He releases a choked sob that breaks into a strangled moan instead, then his hips finally rest and give his poor leaking member a break. The only thing that can leave his lips for several minutes is a series of gasps and pants, chest heaving desperately as he tries to catch his breath.

When he finally recovers, Yeosang pulls himself down from the bunk and strips once more now that he’s gotten the fresh set of clothes dirty and soiled. It’s as he is pulling a shirt over his head that the door handle jiggles to no avail.

“Sangie? Did you lock the door?”

Fuck. Wooyoung. He won’t have any knowledge of what Yeosang has just done, or that Yeosang knows what he was just doing himself, but the red hot shame burning in Yeosang’s gut. He just jerked off to the thought of his best friend and his hyung including him in their personal business. Yeosang doesn’t even know if either of them would be okay with such a thing, and yet —

“Yeosang? Are you in there or not?”

“S-Shit,” Yeosang exhales to himself, tugging his shirt the rest of the way and rushing to get to the door. He flips the lock and swings the door wide open to greet Wooyoung with wide eyes and mussed hair. Wooyoung’s hair is damp and clinging to his forehead; he looks fresh out of a shower, and Yeosang has no doubt that he and Hongjoong showered together after their… activities. “Yeah, sorry, S-Seonghwa-hyung wouldn’t get the hint that I didn’t wanna talk to him right now.” It’s only a partial lie, enough to cover what Yeosang was actually up to, and Wooyoung seems to buy it by the way he shrugs his shoulders quickly and brushes past Yeosang to get in the room. He doesn’t stay long, however, coming in simply to fetch his phone before darting back out of the room. Yeosang wants to ask where he is going, but at the same time, he can probably guess that it has something to do with San or Hongjoong again.

Yeosang doesn’t stay to watch him go. Instead, he dips back into their shared bedroom and shuts the door, intent to sleep through the rest of the day and push these lingering thoughts out of his mind. It’s only when Wooyoung returns hours later whining to himself about how San never lets him win a game that Yeosang dares to speak. He waits until his friend curls up in bed and gets comfortable, throat lodged with emotion.

“I…”

Wooyoung doesn’t offer even a noise of acknowledgment. Maybe he’s already fallen asleep. Perhaps Yeosang shouldn’t say anything or he should say this for another time, but right now he just wants to see. Test the waters. Gauge his reaction.

“I know about you and Hongjoong-hyung, Woo.” Curse him for stuttering when he did, and curse him for not having the balls to say it outright. How hard should it be for you to say to your best friend “I know you’re fucking our group leader under everyone’s noses”? Saying something cryptic like “I know what you’re doing with hyung” sounded too scary in Yeosang’s mind, but maybe he could have had a better approach. Especially since the bunk under his creaks and the sheets jostle, then a Wooyoung-shaped shadow darts across the room. The door swings open, Wooyoung slips out, then it slams shut, causing way too much noise for the hour.

Yeosang isn’t sure what he was expecting. He knows Wooyoung avoids confrontation. This should have been expected, yet as Yeosang curls onto his side and faces the wall, the tears that slip out his eyes are more painful than before, and he thinks vaguely in the back of his mind that Wooyoung doesn’t want him to have anything to do with the relationship he shares with Hongjoong.

Morning is awkward and stilted. Wooyoung most definitely went to Hongjoong’s room and told him what Yeosang said; Yeosang can see it in the way Hongjoong’s gaze slips between both boys throughout breakfast. He is a bit thankful that Hongjoong doesn’t look towards him with the same amount of fear and shame as Wooyoung did earlier, and there is no disgust or embarrassment in his stare either — only concern. Seonghwa is still worried about Yeosang’s crying in the hallway yesterday, as is Yunho because the dancer got Yeosang coffee and a plate of food, staying by his side all throughout breakfast with a hand placed over Yeosang’s thigh the entire time. The tension is palpable, and there’s no doubt that everyone knows something is wrong in some way.

Seonghwa keeps sending Hongjoong looks across the table, even as San and Yunho try to bring some energy back to the table and dispel the awkwardness. Those glances are probably the thing that prompt the leader to speak. And so, Hongjoong is the one to breach the subject, but he does it in a way that Yeosang could never have expected, and based on the way Seonghwa chokes on his syrupy coffee, the older had no clue this was Hongjoong’s plan either.

“Some of you have noticed that Wooyoung and I are spending a lot more time together these days.” Yeosang dares to look over at his friend, but the man is staring down at the table with cheeks so red and flushed that he’s nearly purple. “It’s because we’re fucking.”

There goes Seonghwa choking on his coffee, Mingi gags around a mouthful of rice, Yunho’s hand squeezes painfully on Yeosang’s thigh, San bites back a laugh and cheeky smile, and Jongho drops his spoon on the edge of the table in shock. Another clatter follows as the same spoon hits the ground, but Jongho doesn’t even move to pick it up and instead stares directly at Hongjoong like the leader like he’s just kicked a dog or something.

“Does anyone have a problem with that?”

Hongjoong’s gaze finds Yeosang immediately. Oh, so the question is targeted at him. Yet even as everyone else at the table denies there being any issue with such a thing, Yeosang can’t bring himself to shake his head or deny it. It’s not that he does have a legitimate issue with it, he merely wishes to slot himself in their space and be part of it. He can’t very well admit that over breakfast with the rest of the group though, especially not with how Wooyoung reacted last night. Hongjoong doesn’t wait for a response.

“Just because we have this relationship now doesn’t mean any of the group dynamics should or have to change. We are by no means exclusive or closed off to just each other. Understood?”

A chorus of affirmations greet Hongjoong, and Yeosang actually joins in this time despite the clench of his heart.

If Hongjoong expected the conversation to fix everything on a whim, then he would be sorely incorrect.

Wooyoung continues to avoid Yeosang. He won’t come into the room at the same time as Yeosang, only comes to sleep if San or Hongjoong kicks him out of their rooms, and is always either sleeping or gone by the time Yeosang gets up. Despite Yeosang constantly looking over at his friend, Wooyoung almost never looks back, and when he does, his expression twinges with something Yeosang would almost call guilt. He tries not to think about that bit too hard or too much.

Hongjoong, on the other hand, actually makes an effort to do things differently. He invites Yeosang to the studio much more often, asks him to accompany him as he picks up food for the rest of the group at least two times a week, and Yeosang finds himself frequenting Hongjoong’s room to work on producing practice a lot more as well.

Yeosang can’t complain because it’s what he wanted and missed so dearly, and he should be content that at least one of his crushes is giving him such devoted attention, but he is loathe to admit that part of his heart is dedicated to Wooyoung and Wooyoung only. That part is shattered in a thousand pieces every time Wooyoung sees him and turns to go in the opposite direction. He doesn’t last longer than a week with Wooyoung’s behavior, and the breaking point is a Saturday evening when Yeosang steps out of his room to see Wooyoung leaving Hongjoong’s with an unreadable expression. Hongjoong steps into the doorway right after, hand chasing Wooyoung’s and catching hold of it before the younger can dip out of his reach.

And now, Yeosang suddenly feels like he’s watching something that he shouldn’t be because Hongjoong places his free hand on Wooyoung’s cheek and leans his forehead against the other man’s, lips moving quickly and quietly as they speak to each other. Wooyoung nods several times before stepping back and turning around. His body tenses a bit as he sees Yeosang standing at the other end of the hall. They regard each other with equally wide eyes and lingering stares for several seconds before Hongjoong prompts Wooyoung to move by slapping the flat of his hand down hard on his ass. Wooyoung releases a startled yelp, cheeks flushing a dark red before he rushes to San and Yunho’s door and enters without even bothering to knock.

Hongjoong finally looks at Yeosang. The younger can’t describe the feeling that swoops through his gut, but Hongjoong is smirking at him and making him feel like that infinite space between their bodies is nonexistent. It’s like the man is standing right before him and cascading warm breath over his lips and neck, then he tilts his head to the side and motions towards his bedroom.

“Did you still wanna get some work done?”

Yeosang responds with a quick nod and dips back into his own room to snatch his phone up off the dresser before fully stepping into the hall to meet Hongjoong by his door.

“No laptop?” The older regards him with a curious stare even as Yeosang shakes his head a bit.

“Just wanna watch you work some, I think. If that’s okay?”

Hongjoong’s lips twist into a gentle smile, and warmth fills his gut.

“Of course, Yeo, come on.”

Yeosang half-expects the room to reek of sex and debauchery, or for the bed to be a wreck, but that’s not the case. Everything is almost too perfect by Hongjoong’s standards, like Seonghwa came through and raided the room before Yeosang stepped in. In fact, he’s almost certain that Hongjoong went the extra mile to change the sheets, but he doesn’t comment on it even as Hongjoong settles down in the bed and pats the empty space next to him. Yeosang climbs up beside him, heart in his throat and threatening to choke him out.

“I think I’ll be able to finish this one either today or tomorrow so I can submit it for the next album,�� Hongjoong mutters. Yeosang watches with wide and careful eyes as he tugs his laptop into his lap, pulling the music file up to pick up where he left off. Yeosang is frankly not paying any attention to what’s happening on Hongjoong’s screen. He’s too busy looking at the man’s side profile, the way his brows draw together in concentration. Hoodie drawn over his head with headphones pressed over one ear and the other pressed further back on his hood.

“Hyung…” Yeosang trails off, unsure of how to voice what it is he’s after, and Hongjoong’s lingering stare only makes him more nervous. But then, the older shifts in the bed and presses his back further against his pillows. He lays his laptop to the side, for the time being, throwing his legs out, and Yeosang inhales sharply at the way Hongjoong motions to the space between them. Is he asking Yeosang to —

“Do you wanna lie down?”

Oh. Of course. Why would he think Hongjoong wanted something else when he and Wooyoung have each other for that? Still, Yeosang slips between Hongjoong’s legs and presses his head to the man’s stomach like it’s glass. Once he’s fully situated and comfortable, Hongjoong pulls his laptop back, placing it atop Yeosang’s stomach without missing a beat. The angle is a bit awkward on his neck, but Yeosang doesn’t complain because he gets to be this close to Hongjoong and in his arms like this. It’s practically intoxicating, and Yeosang almost feels light-headed by the time Hongjoong shifts their position to tug Yeosang further up on his chest, letting the younger drop his head into the crook of his shoulder.

Hongjoong doesn’t speak; he merely lets Yeosang rest against him like that with the familiar beat of his track playing faintly through his headset, and Yeosang watches on with less interest than usual as he drags things across the screen and into place. Then, after some unknown amount of time, Hongjoong decides to pipe up.

“When I talked to the group last week about Wooyoung and me, you were the only one not to say you were okay with the arrangement.” He murmurs the words softly, and Yeosang nearly doesn’t pick up on them at all. The moment they process though, he stiffens in Hongjoong’s hold. Although the man isn’t holding him there against his will, Yeosang feels somehow trapped and unable to escape.

“W-Wooyoung — he ran away from me.” Maybe that’s an exaggeration but the man did straight up bolt out of the room when Yeosang brought it up.

“He’s afraid that you hate him.”

That has Yeosang pulling himself forward, knocking Hongjoong’s hands away from where his laptop sits in Yeosang’s lap. Yeosang has enough decency to snap the laptop shut and push it to the foot of the bed before shifting to face Hongjoong. The look in the leader’s eyes is unreadable when they finally look at each other.

“Why would I hate him?”

Hongjoong merely lifts a brow in response. He seems to weigh his next words on his tongue and teases the corner of his lips a few times before deciding to speak.

“Do you not?”

“Of course not,” Yeosang mumbles. “I don’t hate either of you.” He dares to look towards Hongjoong once more, eyes finding the leader’s and searching for any sort of reaction but there isn’t much there. 

“Then why didn’t you come talk to me as well?”

“I figured…” Yeosang doesn’t really have a response for that. He was cowardly more than anything else and afraid of what sort of conversation they might end up having. “I thought you would want the conversation at breakfast to be the last of it.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up for the past week.”

“What?” Yeosang didn’t even have the slightest clue that Hongjoong was wanting to talk about it. Since everything fell back into their usual routine, he simply assumed that meant everything was fine.

“When you told Wooyoung that you knew about us, what were you referring to?”

Yeosang’s cheeks heat up a bit, and he has to drop his gaze to the bed.

“I heard the two of you… I heard — y-yeah.”

“Heard what?” Hongjoong presses again, and this time Yeosang releases an exasperated sigh.

“Christ, hyung, do I need to spell it out? I heard you both moaning a-and it didn’t take much to realize what you were doing!” That pulls a loud laugh from Hongjoong’s lips, and he throws his head back with the sound.

“That’s not what he thought you heard, Yeosang,” Hongjoong says through the laugh. Yeosang swallows hard in response, sitting back a bit more and straightening his back. “He thought you heard what came after that, which is why he’s been so avoidant with you.”

“What came after?” Yeosang echoes, instinctually gripping the sheets in his fists. Hongjoong’s lips stretch a bit further into a smile.  

“He also didn’t hear the noises coming from your room after because he was in the shower.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Yeosang is so fucked. Hongjoong heard that? What all did he hear? Yeosang remembers moaning Hongjoong’s name a bit too loudly, but he also said Wooyoung’s name, so which did he hear? Or did he hear both? How could he not say anything about it for an entire week?

“But frankly, I didn’t hear it either since I was with Wooyoung in the shower.”

Yeosang can hardly breathe at this point, eyes stuck and fixated on some point on the mattress, and that’s not what Hongjoong wants apparently because a single finger curls under the base of his chin. Hongjoong lifts his head until they can look each other in the eye again.

“Seonghwa told me that you had been crying before taking a shower yourself. Then after you came out, he went to check on you but your door was locked, and… he heard you inside moaning my name.”

“I-I can ex-explain. It’s not — it’s not what it looks like and I—”

“And Wooyoung’s.”

“Hyung, I…” Yeosang is fumbling to figure out what he can say to get himself out of this situation. This is probably the worst thing that can happen right now, and if Hongjoong knows, then Wooyoung most likely knows too and maybe that’s the real reason behind his avoidance these days. Maybe he’s so disgusted by what Yeosang did that he doesn’t want to even look at him again. But the look in his eyes has never been disgust — only some odd mixture between guilt and sadness. 

“I didn’t tell Wooyoung that part honestly. I figured… he wouldn’t take my word for it. So I think it would be better to show him, don’t you?”

“Show him what?” Yeosang exhales. Hongjoong presses forward so far that his breath ghosts over the younger’s lips, and Yeosang chokes on thin air.

“That you want him just as much as he wants you.”

“He… he wants me?” The disbelief is palpable, but Hongjoong is patient as always, releasing a small hum and shifting behind Yeosang to grab hold of his laptop and headphones again. 

“The thing he thought you heard that day — I enjoy riling him up maybe a bit too much, and I kept teasing him with the thought of someone walking in and catching us. The only person he wanted to interrupt was you, and he kept saying your name over and over like a prayer, so loud that he thought you heard him. And thus your reaction… or rather your confrontation scared him and made him think that you were disgusted by it.”

Yeosang feels like he’s been thrust underwater, ears ringing and head clogged with a myriad of thoughts that refuse to make any sense whatsoever. He understands the basic gist of what’s going on in the very least. Hongjoong knows he jerked off to the thought of him and Wooyoung, Wooyoung wants him to some degree, and Hongjoong is pressing closer and closer now that he has slid his laptop off the bed and tucked it under the bunk. And while Yeosang certainly doesn’t want him to stop, there is the nagging thought in the back of his mind that while Hongjoong said that Wooyoung wants him to some degree, Hongjoong never said whether he wants Yeosang in the same way or not.

“B-But what — what about you?” He whispers, too scared to raise his voice any further than that. Hongjoong hums as he leans a bit closer, and Yeosang falls back onto his elbows. “Do y-you want me too?”

“I certainly wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t,” Hongjoong says in response. He pauses in his push forward, giving Yeosang precious time to think and breathe easy for a few minutes. “But I won’t do anything that you don’t want to do, and I won’t push you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Meaning that… if you want this but are uncomfortable with the idea of having an audience, we don’t have to have one.”

Audience? 

When the realization sinks in, Yeosang draws his hands up to cover his face and hide the rampant blush that takes over his cheeks. Hongjoong is quick to respond, hands coming up to join Yeosang’s and gently clasp around his wrists.

“It’s okay, Sangie, baby, you don’t need to hide.”

Baby. Kim Hongjoong is positively trying to kill him on the spot. 

“You’re so pretty, so so pretty especially when you blush like that,” Hongjoong continues. His voice comes out in a soft murmur, coating Yeosang’s ears like honey and dripping down to his gut where the threads of arousal begin to coil. 

“Hyung,” Yeosang exhales in a tone so breathy and whiny that it nearly doesn’t come out at all. 

“I need a firm yes or no on whether you want this before anything else, Yeosang.” Hongjoong begins to pull away, and that is the breaking point for Yeosang’s sanity practically because he lurches forward and snatches Hongjoong by the collar of his hoodie, wrenching him back down to hover mere centimeters over Yeosang’s lips.

“Yes, hyung, the answer is yes, please, for the love of all that is good in this world, please just—” 

Thank god Hongjoong cuts him off or else he would have just kept on babbling for an eternity. Yeosang falls quiet with a startled gasp as Hongjoong plants his lips atop the younger’s, and the arm that holds him up buckles under the sudden weight on his body. The both of them tumble down to the mattress at an awkward angle, Yeosang’s arm trapped behind his back and Hongjoong’s foot tangled in the sheets, but neither of them pay much attention to those issues. The priority seems to be each other’s lips, not that Yeosang is complaining about the way Hongjoong rushes to swipe his tongue over Yeosang’s lower lip. He grants entrance to his mouth with perhaps too much ease. The moment Hongjoong’s tongue breaches his lips and begins to explore his mouth, Yeosang chokes out a wanton moan that reverberates through the older’s mouth and pools heat in his gut. 

It’s only then that Yeosang decides to resituate their position some, and he kicks at the sheets to unravel them from Hongjoong’s feet before pressing up harder against the leader’s body. Hongjoong seems to get the hint and leans back as well, letting Yeosang have a few precious moments of control as he eases Hongjoong back onto the pillows and straddles his hips like this is what he was made to do. Yeosang is already panting and out of breath, cheeks alight with embarrassment still, but he looks an absolute vision in Hongjoong’s eyes with blond hair enveloping his forehead like a halo and lips glistening with spit. He finds a shred of sense left in him to ask one more question before he lets Yeosang dive back in for more.

“Do you want Wooyoung to watch?”

And this admittedly is not a fantasy Yeosang ever pictured or imagined. He figured he would be the one doing the watching, he would sit on the sidelines while the two fawned over each other and fucked, but this? This is something tantalizing indeed, and Yeosang would be damned if he didn’t take this golden opportunity now. Especially with the knowledge that both Hongjoong and Wooyoung have thought about him in the throes of passion.

“Is that what you thought of when you were jerking off, Sangie?” 

Yeosang can only whimper in reply, hands drawing up from where they sit atop Hongjoong’s chest to cover his blazing cheeks again, but Hongjoong is quicker this time. He keeps Yeosang’s hands right where they are by clasping his fingers around the other man’s wrists and watches on with pure admiration as Yeosang writhes a bit atop him.

“Hm? Is it, darling? Does dirty talk make you shy? We don’t have to do that if it makes you too uncomfortable. Give me a safe word as well just in case we need to stop.”

“No! No, no,” Yeosang denies in haste. “I… um, we can u-use red because that’s easy to remember.” Hongjoong offers a hum in approval, and Yeosang has to swallow his nerves before admitting the next bit. “I l-like being embarrassed a bit.”

“Do you, Sangie? Tell me what else you like.” Hongjoong is practically purring the words, and Yeosang thinks it will send him spiraling over the edge. The teasing glint in the older’s eyes is lethal too, turning Yeosang’s insides to mush and his limbs to jello, and he can’t think of anything he wants more right now than for Hongjoong to utterly wreck him on this very bed with Wooyoung watching on. 

“I like — like being good a-and hearing that I’m doing well.” Yeosang slips his hand around Hongjoong’s. He slowly tugs it upwards, guiding the man’s hand to his neck and measuring his reaction the entire time with wary eyes. Hongjoong seems to forget what breathing is for a moment, and when he finally does breathe again, it’s merely a sharp and painful inhale of air because Yeosang is closing Hongjoong’s own fingers around his neck and blinking at him with wide and innocent eyes. “Being choked feels really nice too. And I want Wooyoung to watch… to watch you ruin me.”

Hongjoong’s fingers twitch around his neck, and Yeosang knows that his words have a visceral effect on the man just by that reaction. He also feels the way Hongjoong’s cock twitches in the confines of his pants, right against the curve of Yeosang’s ass, and that brings a swell of pride to his chest.

“Do you want to ruin me, hyung?” He asks, batting his lashes for good measure, and fuck, it’s so worth it. It’s so worth it because Hongjoong growls in response and pushes Yeosang down so that he’s flat on the bed once more. 

“Fucking hell, Yeo, how can you be so — holy fuck, you’re so perfect.” Hongjoong maps a path from the tip of Yeosang’s nose down to the collar of his shirt with his lips, leaving a wet trail behind, and once he reaches the space hidden behind Yeosang’s shirt, he uses two fingers to tug the material down just enough to expose more of the milky skin underneath. Yeosang doesn’t have time to ask what he’s doing despite the confusion rushing through him because Hongjoong latches his lips around the spot, teeth nipping at the skin until red blooms under his touch. And god does it feel euphoric to be marked by Kim Hongjoong, to be claimed by him and wanted by him, and Yeosang is certain that all reason will leave his body before Wooyoung even gets involved. 

Hongjoong chooses that opportune moment to pull back. First, he admires the way Yeosang’s chest heaves, the way sweat beads his brow and causes his hair to cling to the skin there, and the way Yeosang already somehow looks so fucked out and beautiful that it’s unimaginable. He weaves his hands down the expanse of Yeosang’s chest to catch hold of the hem. Ever so slowly, Hongjoong tugs upwards, and it’s so painstakingly prolonged that Yeosang loses his patience before the shirt even reaches his sternum. He yanks the fabric from Hongjoong’s grasp and pulls it up over his head on his own, throwing it off to the side haphazardly without even bothering to check where it falls. He knows how to play Hongjoong so well, just what he needs to do to get under the man’s skin, and he does it with such ease that it’s laughable. Because the second Yeosang leans back to the bed and flutters his lashes up at Hongjoong, the leader is hissing through his teeth so loudly that the air comes out in a whistle. 

Then he grips his hoodie but the hem and tugs it over his head, but he leaves the plain undershirt underneath on for the time being as he twists around and catches hold of his phone. Yeosang’s arousal deepens as he watches Hongjoong tap furiously at the screen. Then he has an idea that is probably far too risky but also far too alluring to pass up on.

“H-Hyung, could you…” Yeosang loses the confidence to finish the question, hand stretched midway to Hongjoong’s. Still, Hongjoong pauses and looks directly at him. His dark eyes are glazed with lust and arousal, and they bear such a seriousness to them that Yeosang has to swallow around nothing to get his next words out. “Send him a picture,” he tries again, pushing more willpower in this time. “With your hand around my neck.”

“You’re unreal.” Hongjoong’s tone bears a quake this time, audible proof that Yeosang is having such an effect on the man, and the younger revels in it as he tugs Hongjoong’s hand down to the column of his throat. 

That’s all the incentive Hongjoong needs to bend over the other, and his hand squeezes a little bit around his throat. Yeosang’s cock twitches between his legs, right where his hyung’s crotch rubs atop his, and the sensation is so heady and thrilling that Yeosang dares to rut against Hongjoong again. He pushes his tongue out just a little bit, catches the tip between his teeth, then shows off the somehow innocent for the camera when Hongjoong angles it above his face. 

“For fuck’s sake, Yeo, I’m not gonna be able to wait for Wooyoung to drag his ass in here if you keep that up.” Hongjoong snaps the picture as quick as he can before tossing his phone off to the side in a huff.

“Keep what up?” Yeosang asks before sinking his teeth into his lower lip. The pair spend about two seconds staring at each other, Yeosang with a playful gleam to his gaze and Hongjoong with a more looming and dangerous one that has Yeosang’s stomach doing small backflips in anticipation. They’re interrupted by the sharp slam of a door somewhere in the dorm, and that’s followed by a skid and another smack of what sounds like a body on the wall. Another three seconds pass before the door to Hongjoong’s bedroom swings wide open, hitting the wall so hard that Seonghwa yells down the hall about disregard for common decency. 

“Can you at least pretend to be civilized, Wooyoung? You don’t need to act like an animal just because you’re about to get boned! And keep it quiet this time!”

The newcomer comes in a blur of dark hair and tossed garments, and Wooyoung doesn’t even wait for the door to be closed completely before he’s stripping down to his underwear.

“I’m here! I’m here, hi, fuck, oh my god, I’m here. Why didn’t you get me sooner, hyung?” Wooyoung hisses as he shuts the door in a rush, flipping the lock before stepping further into the room. 

“I didn’t tell him he’d just be watching,” Hongjoong whispers into the shell of Yeosang’s ear. It draws a blush out of the younger man, one that persists as he and Wooyoung make eye contact. Hongjoong drags the flat of his tongue across Yeosang’s cheek and presses a sweet row of kisses to the same line of skin a moment after. “Why don’t you break the news, darling?” 

“Break the news? The fuck, hyung? Did you invite me just to kick me out?” Wooyoung protests.

“I told you to trust me, you brat,” Hongjoong counters, passing a half-hearted glare towards the younger with a small sigh. “You’re here to watch the show.”

“Well, I’ll do that fucking gladly,” Wooyoung huffs. He makes for the bed, moving to join Hongjoong on top of the mattress, but Hongjoong slings his legs over Yeosang’s body and steps onto the floor to block Wooyoung’s way instead. Yeosang scrambles to push himself up onto his elbows. With wide eyes, he glances between the pair, swallowing around nothing when Wooyoung rakes his eyes over Yeosang’s bare chest leading down to the bulge in his sweats. Hongjoong places a hand over Wooyoung’s chest, and slowly but surely, the leader backs him up until he stumbles back into Seonghwa’s desk chair. “Hyung?”

“I said you get to watch. Not touch.”

“What? Hyung, you can’t seriously—”

“Per Yeosang’s request. Can’t you do it for him, my baby?” 

Wooyoung sucks his lower lip between his teeth and inhales sharply at the small pet name. Yeosang watches on with wide and curious eyes, from the way Hongjoong drags his hands over Wooyoung’s tan skin to the way Wooyoung’s hips tremble in an attempt to stay on the chair.

“Good boy,” Hongjoong hums when the younger doesn’t budge after a few moments. He slips back to the bed, still smiling from ear to ear as he moves, and he greets Yeosang with a wet and sloppy kiss. It’s a mess of teeth and spit, something inherently dirty in the best way possible, and Yeosang can’t hold back the light groan that rumbles through his throat when Hongjoong brings a hand down to palm at his erection. “You still want me to ruin you, darling?”

“Always,” Yeosang exhales against his lips. At that, Hongjoong leaves him with one more chaste kiss then dips lower, not wasting any more time before pulling something out from under his mattress. Yeosang’s body tenses in anticipation at the sight of it, and even more so when Hongjoong curls his fingers around the band of his sweats.

“Be as loud as you wish. Wooyoung is such a sucker for pretty moans,” Hongjoong teases, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Hyung!” Wooyoung protests in an instant, and he nearly bolts up from his chair. Hongjoong levels him with a glare though, the power dynamic slipping through and baring itself to Yeosang’s eyes, and it would taste a lie if he said he doesn’t want Hongjoong to dominate him in such a way as well. 

“Today is all about Yeo, but I’ll be kind enough to let you touch yourself too. But you can only come after he does.”

Wooyoung doesn’t voice his protests, but Yeosang can see the disapproval in his eyes. There is no opportunity to dwell on it for long because cold air suddenly hits his crotch and he feels his cock spring loose without warning. He draws his legs together to hide himself, a sudden bashfulness taking over him within seconds. Hongjoong drops his clothing off to the side, and it hits the floor with a soft thud before Hongjoong is back between his legs and easing his knees apart. 

“Don’t hide yourself, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Yeosang’s knee. “You’re so beautiful for us—” another kiss, this time higher on the inside of his thigh “—so precious and perfect. Next time I’ll let Wooyoung worship every inch of you, I promise.”

Next time. That insinuation has Yeosang preening, hips canting upwards towards Hongjoong’s body, and the older man stills him with a deftly placed palm on his cock.

“A-Ah, hyung,” Yeosang chokes out. The pressure increases a bit, drawing another louder moan from Yeosang’s lips. Hongjoong takes the opportunity to spread his legs once more, although this time he makes sure to press them wider than before, and Yeosang has never felt more exposed in his life. Hongjoong is still kissing a path up his bare leg when he reaches for the bottle of lube. The click of the cap sends a jolt through his nervous system, cock twitching weakly on the vee of his hip. 

“Hm, are you that excited, baby? You’re doing so well already. Wooyoung always complains about how slow I am when we do this.” Yeosang can do nothing but blink down at where Hongjoong is perched between his legs. Wide eyes meet his and maintain a steady sense of eye contact even as he pours some lube onto his fingers. “Am I going too slow for you, Yeosang?”

“A… a little bit,” Yeosang admits, shifting his elbows on the mattress. 

“But you’re doing so well for us, darling. Being so good and patient, hm? What more could you want?” Hongjoong trails a finger from the head of Yeosang’s erect cock down to the base. Even the slight touch has Yeosang whimpering in need, and he tries to rut his hips up into the older’s hand, but Hongjoong doesn’t let him. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll ruin you good and nice, okay?”

“Please,” Yeosang pants. Hongjoong traces down further with his lubed fingers, using his index finger to rub small circles around Yeosang’s hole. With his other hand, he takes hold of Yeosang’s cock, then without warning, he encircles the entirety of his member in the wet heat of his mouth. “Oh m-my god, hyung!” Yeosang throws his head back against the bed. His back arches painfully with the sensation, but Hongjoong doesn’t let up until his nose brushes Yeosang’s crotch. It is vastly impressive but Yeosang is far too engulfed in the feeling of Hongjoong’s mouth around his length to think too much about it. What he does know is that Hongjoong takes him all the way to the back of his throat without gagging in the slightest, and Yeosang wouldn’t call himself small by any means, so if that’s not the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed, he isn’t sure what could top it.

Yeosang squeezes his eyes shut as Hongjoong ravishes his cock, taking in the feeling of the man’s tongue tracing along the underside of his length. Hongjoong certainly sucks dick like it’s his last meal on earth and his only purpose in life. Though the number of blowjobs Yeosang has received are few and far between, he knows this is going to ruin all blowjobs in the future for him unless Wooyoung is the one to give them. Hongjoong keeps circling that index finger around his rim. It’s teasing and prodding, like he’s trying to get Yeosang to cave and beg for it, but Yeosang is too lost in the heat of Hongjoong’s mouth to even think to ask for it. Ironically, it’s Hongjoong who grows impatient as time passes on, and he at last slips one finger past Yeosang’s tight ring and buries the digit two knuckles deep in him.

Yeosang blindly reaches down to grab Hongjoong’s wrist. He desperately tries to push his finger deeper, to prod further and find that elusive spot that feels oh so good, but Hongjoong keeps him from doing so. The leader slips off his cock with a lewd pop, leaving a trail of spit to dangle between his lips and the head of Yeosang’s cock. The effort of having Yeosang so deep for such a long period of time shows on his face: his eyes are a bit puffy and red around the edges, tears glisten in his waterline, and the tip of his nose gleams just a little brighter now. Yeosang could get drunk off the sheer sight of him like this.

“Be patient, darling,” Hongjoong reminds him as he pushes Yeosang’s hand away from his own. “You’re so tight that I wanna spend some extra time prepping you, okay?”

And yes, Yeosang is touched by the gesture in the very least but he’s also quite annoyed because he wants Hongjoong deeper and deeper with each passing second. He only gets part of his wish when Hongjoong descends back on his leaking erection, scooping up the trail of precum and saliva with the flat of his tongue and diving back down on him. Somewhere in the haze of his thoughts, Yeosang thinks that having his dick sucked by Kim Hongjoong is a wholly spiritual experience. 

That point is proved further when Hongjoong pushes a second finger into his hole and gently settles it into his heat without moving for several seconds. Then, he twists his digits to the side and begins to fuck those two fingers in and out of Yeosang’s tight ring as slowly as possible. That has Yeosang’s moan devolving into choked mewls and whimpers, and his thighs tremble under the repetitive double stimulation that never stops even for a second.

Hongjoong has a talent at taking people apart it seems because he does it with Yeosang so easily that the younger is already seeing stars without having come a single time yet. Wooyoung is thoroughly enjoying the scene before him with rapt attention, and for once he actually remains rather quiet as he watches on, aside from the occasional moan and groan. The feeling of Wooyoung’s stare firmly planted on his body, from his face down to where Hongjoong’s face meets his crotch, leaves Yeosang feeling even more light-heated. He’s fairly confident that this with either send him spiraling into unknown territory or he will just straight up pass out after coming once. 

There is no time to worry about those minute details in the coming moments: Hongjoong works a third digit into his hole, and when he does, he pulls off Yeosang’s tortured cock with a lopsided grin. 

“Isn’t he so good and pretty for us, Woo baby?” 

“Y-Yes, hyung,” Wooyoung answers quickly. 

“Are you getting close, angel?” Despite Hongjoong’s stare being directed at Yeosang, the latter is vaguely aware that the question is meant for Wooyoung, but still, he nods a few times for good measure. That draws a laugh from Hongjoong’s chest. The noise resonates in Yeosang’s body, leaving him with a steady thrum of pleasure, and Hongjoong speeds up the pace of his fingers as he pumps them in and out of Yeosang’s hole. “You look so heavenly like this, Yeosang. Panting and mewling as I fuck your hole with just my fingers. You’re so desperate for something bigger, aren’t you?”

Yeosang is losing control over his own inhibitions and slipping into a place he rarely goes. 

“Y-Yes, yes, hyung, I’m — want more. Want more, please, give me more,” he babbles back, too lost to think about piecing full sentences together. Hongjoong is quick to pick up on the shift, especially in the way that Yeosang’s body turns to jello in his touch and becomes fully pliant under him. The leader snakes a hand up Yeosang’s side and finds one of Yeosang’s own hands on the bed. He laces their fingers together, clasping tight at the younger’s hand while offering a sweet and gentle smile. 

“Hyung has you, darling,” he murmurs. “I promise.” It’s the reassurance Yeosang needs to let go, and he lets himself rut down on Hongjoong’s fingers. They find a rhythm like that — with Yeosang’s half-hearted and shaky bounces and Hongjoong’s timely thrusts — and each jab to his prostate has Yeosang crying out for more. He wants to hold off, wants to make it last longer, come while Hongjoong is balls deep inside him, but Hongjoong seems determined to draw at least one orgasm out of him before they go any further. 

And that’s exactly what he does.

Less than three minutes later, Yeosang has his free hand wrapped around his shaft as Hongjoong fucks into his hole with three fingers and a sense of reckless abandon. It’s purely euphoric, and the quick jabs to his prostate are what sends him fully over the edge. Come spills over his hand, coating his knuckles and fingers in the sticky white substance, and Yeosang lets the steady jerks of his arm come to a rest. Hongjoong, however, just continues to pump his fingers in and out of Yeosang’s hole, not waiting for the man to recover before he is back to toying with his prostate. 

“Hyung, t-too much, ah — ah, hyung, I can’t!” It is a delicious bit of overstimulation, and one that leaves Yeosang exhausted and panting for air. Hongjoong stops before it begins to hurt thankfully, slipping his fingers out of the younger before mapping a path with his lips up to Yeosang’s neck.

“Are you with me, darling?” He hums into the crook of his neck. Small love bites enunciate the words, and Hongjoong drags his tongue over each little mark he paints on Yeosang’s skin. 

Yeosang honestly feels like he is floating on a different plane of existence. He doesn’t process any of what Hongjoong said, only the touches and cool sensation of air hitting the path of spit Hongjoong left on his chest. It’s concerning enough to make Hongjoong sit back and look Yeosang directly in the eye.

“Yeosang, baby, are you with me?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes, hyung. I’m — I’m here, yes,” Yeosang replies this time as Hongjoong pulls him out of the state of delirium.

“What’s our color, doll?” Rather than responding, Yeosang preens at the name Hongjoong calls him, a lopsided smile covering his lips.

“I like that, hyung. Can you — can you call me that again please?”

“I need your color first, Yeo. Is it too much? Do we need to stop?” Hongjoong cradles the younger’s face in his hands, caressing the soft skin of his cheeks and trying to make the younger look him in the eye. Even the smallest touch sends Yeosang spiraling, like he’s swimming through dark water and can’t figure out what’s going on around him.

“I don’t want to stop. I’m… I’m okay,” Yeosang insists through a nod. “I just need a few minutes to recover a bit. ‘m still green, I promise. I’m too — t-touch is too much right now.” Hongjoong nods and retracts his hands from the visual’s face, and Yeosang instantly inhales a deep breath of air like he’s been starving for it all this time. 

“Have you come yet, Woo baby?” Hongjoong shifts his focus over to the other man in the room, and Yeosang follows his stare over to land on where Wooyoung sits. Said man shakes his head quickly, fingers loosely wrapped around the base of his cock. “Can you last a little while longer?”

“Y-Yeah, of course, hyung.” 

That has Hongjoong smirking again, and the leader slips off the bed to stand up straight.

“Good because I’ve changed my mind,” he hums, stepping closer to where Wooyoung sits. He steps around the back of the chair. Yeosang makes brief eye contact with the man as he lays his hands down on Wooyoung’s shoulders, eyes glinting a bit under the fluorescent lights. “Yeosangie is going to ride your pretty little cock, and I…” Hongjoong curls his fingers around Wooyoung’s jaw and shifts the younger to look at him. He pushes two digits past Wooyoung’s lips, pressing down so hard on his tongue that Yeosang can hear the way Wooyoung gags around him. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth just the way you like. Understood?”

Wooyoung mumbles around Hongjoong’s fingers, taking them deeper into his mouth without complaint, and that seems to be answer enough with the way Wooyoung blinks up at his hyung through his lashes.

“Good boy,” Hongjoong praises before pushing his fingers further down Wooyoung’s throat. “Yeosang, darling, take your time. There’s no rush, okay? Woo could sit here with my hand in his mouth for hours and be satisfied.”

Yeosang spends the next several minutes just observing the scene before him. It’s oddly euphoric to simply stare at them in this state, Wooyoung still seated in that chair and Hongjoong standing behind him with an arm curled around the front of his body. Wooyoung seems to be working his tongue over Hongjoong’s fingers based on the dripping trail of saliva that pools at the corners of his lips every few minutes. And Hongjoong was correct: Wooyoung seems perfectly content like that, happily lavishing the older’s fingers as Hongjoong cards his other hand through Wooyoung’s dark hair.

By the time Yeosang finally pulls himself to his feet, his legs are somewhat wobbly and shaky, but he drags himself to where Wooyoung is seated with little issue. While his own cock has softened down to a semi-hard state, Wooyoung is still rock hard and twitching between his legs, hands clasped tight around the arms of the chair. Yeosang drops himself to Wooyoung’s lap without warning, and it startles the man so badly that he bites down hard on Hongjoong’s fingers. Hongjoong takes it without complaint, only letting out a soft hiss and yanking Wooyoung’s hair until the younger moans around his hand.

“Are you feeling alright, doll?” Hongjoong leans over Wooyoung’s head to get in Yeosang’s space. The visual greets him with a quick and daring kiss, then places both hands atop where Wooyoung’s sit on the armrests. 

“Perfect as can be.”

Hongjoong smiles into the kiss. He pulls off too soon for Yeosang’s liking, but Yeosang understands why he does so after a moment because the leader slips his fingers out of Wooyoung’s wet mouth and takes to stripping himself of the rest of his clothes like the rest of them. In the break of touching from Hongjoong, Yeosang and Wooyoung finally look at each other — Yeosang with teeth sunk deep into his lower lip, and Wooyoung with eyes glazed in lust.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” Wooyoung admits after a second. 

“Well, you don’t have to wait any longer,” Yeosang replies with a smile before taking Wooyoung’s face into his hands. Their lips meet in a shy kiss at first, one that is testing and exploring the waters around them before they let themselves get caught up in the thick air of arousal in the room. Wooyoung shifts his hands to Yeosang’s delicate hips. He presses his thumbs to the pale skin there with enough force to bruise, but the pressure is heady and delicious in Yeosang’s mind. 

Yeosang blindly fumbles around between his legs in search of Wooyoung’s cock, and once he finally has a hold of it, he pushes up on his knees to make space for Wooyoung to slip his cock between the cleft of Yeosang’s ass. They both release a shaky sigh into each other’s mouths, and Yeosang is ready to fully drop his hips on Wooyoung’s cock if not for Hongjoong stopping him at the last second.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, darling, you need more lube.” Hongjoong disappears behind his back, and Yeosang doesn’t bother to see what he’s doing until he feels something cool hit his backside. His whole body jolts forward against Wooyoung, hands latching onto the younger’s shoulders as the chilly lube slips lower. That feeling thankfully doesn’t last long because Wooyoung presses back into Yeosang’s hole with much more ease this time. Yeosang sinks down onto his heels once more, taking the younger’s cock deeper and deeper until Wooyoung’s thighs are flush with his ass.

He looks up from Wooyoung’s chest, intent on kissing the man under him, but Hongjoong has occupied his mouth in the meantime. And if Yeosang thought seeing Wooyoung with fingers between his lips was a sight to behold, the image of him with a cock filling his mouth is even better. So good in fact that Yeosang goes a little breathless at the sight. Hongjoong has a hand wrapped around the back of Wooyoung’s head, tilting the younger towards his crotch where Wooyoung slurps messily around his member with no shame. Hongjoong coos soft praises down at the man all the while, and it spurs Yeosang to start moving his hips. He desperately wants to hear that praise as well, he wants them to tell him that he’s doing a good job and being so good for them. He is so needy for it that he works his thighs as hard as he can, bringing a pleasant burn to the muscles. 

Yeosang’s erratic movements have Wooyoung releasing a litany of moans around Hongjoong’s cock, hands fumbling to grasp at his hips so he can buck up into Yeosang’s tight heat with little sense of rhythm. There’s no real point in trying to find a rhythm with Wooyoung, Yeosang learns that quickly because every time he tries to build a steady pace, Wooyoung jerks up with a thrust that throws Yeosang off-balance. So, instead, Yeosang just focuses on his small bounces and grinding his hips down when there’s a break in Wooyoung’s thrusts. Wooyoung loses his control on Hongjoong’s cock soon as well, and his timed bobs turn into letting his jaw go slack so that Hongjoong can simply thrust into his mouth instead. The sounds in the room are purely erotic, too loud between the wet slaps of skin, Yeosang’s mewls, and Wooyoung’s gagged moans around Hongjoong’s member, but Hongjoong manages to be relatively quiet himself with only a few sporadic moans here and there. 

“Look at you, doll.”

Yeosang cracks an eye open, panting through a whimper when he sees the way Hongjoong is currently staring at him. 

“You’re doing so well for us. Look at him, Woo, look how good he is on top of you like this.” Hongjoong stretches his free hand out towards Yeosang. He reaches for the younger’s face, but Yeosang twists his neck at the last second and catches Hongjoong’s thumb between his teeth instead. He maintains a piercing stare with the leader as he sucks the digit into his mouth, effectively muting his noises. Hongjoong’s hips lose their rhythm, and he freezes with cock halfway down Wooyoung’s throat to just stare at Yeosang in absolute wonder for so long that Yeosang thinks he truly broke the man. Wooyoung slips off Hongjoong’s cock.

“Hyung,” he whines, tone so hoarse that Yeosang would be surprised if he could talk at all tomorrow. 

“S-Shit,” Hongjoong exhales, and it’s the first time that Yeosang has seen the man’s composure break in the slightest since this started. That causes his chest to swell with pride, heady arousal filling his veins, and he squeezes hard around Wooyoung’s cock. It’s all the younger needs to come, apparently, because Wooyoung releases a startled yelp that is so loud that Hongjoong has to rush to muffle him with his cock before someone comes rushing to the door. Yeosang isn’t expecting to come as soon as he does, but he is quick to follow Wooyoung in coming, hot spurts of come painting Wooyoung’s stomach and Yeosang’s hands where they rest atop Wooyoung’s sternum. He can’t stop moving, nor does Wooyoung let him with the grip he maintains on Yeosang’s hips, thus the two of them ride out their orgasms together like that until their bodies give out to the pleasure. 

Yeosang collapses forward, smearing the cum between their bodies further as he drops his head to Wooyoung’s right shoulder. Hongjoong is still working hard to come himself, and Wooyoung returns to his senses enough to assist him. Yeosang can only watch on from where he’s perched. Every muscle in his body aches and burns, but the lingering haze of his orgasms leaves him feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

“S-Shit, Woo, gonna come on you like this,” Hongjoong warns, fingers tightening around the man’s hair. Wooyoung pulls off his cock and replaces his mouth with a hand. He splays his tongue out before the head of Hongjoong’s dick, somehow managing to giggle as he strokes his hyung to completion. Hongjoong releases onto Wooyoung’s tongue and face, and Wooyoung takes every last drop until he’s milked Hongjoong dry. 

When he finally lets go of the man’s cock, Wooyoung turns back to Yeosang, twisting a hand through his hair and pulling his face up until they’re eye level, then he plants his lips atop Yeosang’s. The come is still there, sticking to his face and tongue, but Yeosang sinks into the kiss without complaint. Wooyoung thrusts his tongue into the visual’s mouth. Hongjoong’s come is salty and warm, so bitter that Yeosang almost chokes on it, but Wooyoung fares much better, although that’s probably because he has a lot more practice swallowing come than Yeosang does. Yeosang takes it as best he can, swallowing every drop that Wooyoung pushes between his lips, and he even goes so far as to clean the come off Wooyoung’s face between soft kisses. 

“Hyung,” Yeosang exhales, and he looks up to where Hongjoong stands beside them. Hongjoong seems to guess exactly what he wants with little trouble, bending at the waist to give him a sloppy kiss, and Yeosang hums into the touch. 

“What about me?” Wooyoung whines the moment they detach, and Hongjoong has enough mercy to offer a kiss to him as well.

“I’ll give you more in the shower,” he promises after pecking the younger’s forehead. “I’ll go get the water running. You two come join when you’re ready, yeah?”

Hongjoong leaves the two of them there, still seated in that damn chair with Wooyoung’s softened cock deep in Yeosang’s ass. They don’t move right away, and frankly, Yeosang is more than okay with that because his body feels weightless and unreal at the moment. 

“Want me to carry you to the bathroom?” Wooyoung offers through a smile. Yeosang only hums in response and tucks his head further into Wooyoung’s neck.

“I really… Wooyoung, I really like you. More than just sexually,” he admits, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the side of Wooyoung’s face. “You and Hongjoong both.”

“I like you both too, so I don’t see why that would be an issue.”

“Really?” Yeosang murmurs. And maybe it’s just the afterglow of the sex or the pent-up emotions rolling through Yeosang’s chest, but the corners of his eyes prick with unshed tears and his heart clenches in his chest.

“I thought it was obvious this whole time, yeah. And I know… I know Hongjoong feels the same even if he’s not always good at voicing his feelings all the time.” Yeosang squeezes his arms around Wooyoung’s midsection at that. A soft kiss lands on his forehead, then Wooyoung shifts their weight and tucks his hands under Yeosang’s thighs.

“Are you two dolts coming or not? I’m wasting hot water over here, hurry it the fuck up!”

“He loves us!” Wooyoung laughs into the shell of Yeosang’s ear, carrying him off to join Hongjoong in the bathroom before the leader complains again.

“Yeah, I think he does,” Yeosang murmurs more to himself than to anyone else.

﹎﹎﹎

[atiny-exol]

Vampire Ateez a Skz member is forcefully drinking from you

Warning: drug abuse, swearing, fighting, blood, drinking without your consent, nearly rape, kidnapping

A/N- Soooo I hope you enjoy it!!!

Requested: Yes

_________________________________________

Hongjoong

Hongjoong tried to get a long with the fact that skz is getting bigger and bigger

That they are getting more and more powerful

That he maybe has to make allies with them

But all his calmness is gone as soon as he sees the leader of skz all over you

His eyes shining in a dark red color and his fangs slightly digging on your skin

He is mad, no even more than that

Doesn't hold back anymore till the other leader finally learns his place

His place under him

After that he takes you home and tries to calm you down

Whispers in your ear

Pets your head

Makes you tea

All of that

A lot of snuggling

Will never ever let something like that happen again

,,And if you do this again." His look is cold, colder than ice and sharper than a knive as he looked at the skz leader with so much hatred. ,,I will not hesitate to kill you little boy. Never dare to lay a finger on something that stands under my protection."

Seonghwa

He doesn't even know how this happened

He went to a party with you

Lost you for 5 seconds

And the next time he finds you, you are laying unconscious under Minho

Skz often goes along very well, Seonghwa doesn't mind them but as soon as he sees the member of the rivals hovering over your body. Ready to suck your blood

He sees red

If Minho is alive after that a wonder happened

Because he should not be

Someone touch something that is very special to him

In fact the most special thing

And no one is going to hurt it

He leaves Minho laying on the floor and then places his jacket over you

Picking you up and carrying you home were he can nurse you back to a good state

Apologies a lot of times because he couldn't protect you

A single tear ran down his cheek and right after that a shaky sob was heard from your mate. It breaks your heart to see him like that, but there is nothing you could do to make him feel better. It doesn't matter what you are saying, he feels shitty for not protecting you like he promised you. His mate got bitten by someone else and it hurts him just as much as it hurts you.

Yunho

He is the softest person and trusts his family with his whole heart.

But one new member was very suspicious to him the whole time

Not that he would go against Hongjoong orders no

But the guy always was a little shitty in his eyes

He had the feeling to know him and to know that he has ill intentions

And he was right

One day you visited him and he had to do some things before you could leave

The guy, Hyunjin, started to flirt with you, telling you that he is the only chance for you to get out of this situation alive because skz is going to take ateez down

Of course Yunho heard that

He is angry. So is the rest of Ateez because they saw how Hyunjin tried to convince you to go with him

And after you said no he tried to drink from you even if you yelled at him to stop

No one of the holds back, but Yunho doesn't care about him

He just cares about you

Tries to calm you down

Draws small circles on your lower back while whispering calming words in your ear

,,Psssht princess/prince don't cry don't cry." his voice was barely a whisper. It hurts him to hear your heartbreaking sobs and the words you say. You are blaming yourself for that and it breaks him. Nothinh is your fault. None of this is your fault. He has to make you see that.

San

Leaves you alone for 5 minutes and guys are already flirting with you

But then he sees how you are rejecting the jerk

Beforw the guy leaves he tells you that you will regret that

And he was right

Just in this night some rivals attacked you both surprisingly

San saw how the jerk feed from you and the smudge smirk on his face as he let your body fall down on the floor

He tried his best to protect you, his mate, he was so angry that he thought he can do it, but there were to much

The next time he wakes up you are gone

And he is laying in a dark basement

Before he realizes who his enemies are

He saw them before.

And now where he know that it is skz

He even more concerned about you

,,Fuck give me my mate back you bastard!" San was filled with rage as the rival stepped in the room. His brown hair hanging in his face and a big smirk shooting at him. ,,Aww you want your sweet little mate back? To bad this is not going to happen. We will use you to get the others to and then your territory is ours."

Mingi

He doesn't hate skz, he never thought they are nice or something like that but he never hated them

What mingi doesn't know is that Jeongin the youngest of straykids would cause a lot of trouble

Jeongin is sweet, kind, charming and he knows it

What he also knows is that he wants you

And he usually gets what he wants

That's why it confuses him if you say no to him

But he couldn't bother less

He wants your blood

That's why he spikes your drink and get you out of the overfilled room

Even in your drugged state you tried to fight against him but he was way to strong for you

His sucks your blood and you feel damaged

Only Mingi is allowed to do that

And the taller one never drink so much that you get unconscious

If it want for mingi Jeongin drank too much and would have ended dead

But mingi isn't satisfied with on punch

No he is going to beat the small vampire

He will never come near you again

,,M.. Mingi.. N.. No" your weak voice suddenly gets the attention of the angry vampire. His head turned to your weak body and he immediately backed off, picking you up and checking if you are okay. ,,I.. If you kill him t.. That might end in a war between ateez and skz.." You said weakly and your boyfriend nods in understanding. ,,You are probably right baby. Come on let's go home."

Yeosang

He is not known for mercy

Neither is Felix

Felix saw you, he smelled your blood and he wants you

He wants to see you cry under him while he rips you away from your mate

He usually isn't that cruel but for you he has a special addiction

Yeosang knows that

Thats why he is always very careful around him

But you know that it would have happen sooner or later

Yeosang didn't watch for a few seconds and Felix already got you

It was horrible for you, it wasn't just the drinking no

He was touching you too without any consent

You cried out for help and just in the moment you thought that no one would help you

Yeosang appeared to save you

Felix immediately disappeared

But yeosang couldn't care less

He checks on you and brings you back home

He is apologizing and he feels horrible for not being able to protect you

Even if you say it's fine he knows that it isn't

But he can't turn back time

,,N.. No y/n h.. He He.. " Yeosang mumbled out and looked on the ground, his eyes fixed on one spot. His hand balled into a fist. ,,I will never forgive myself for not being able to stop him sooner." Yeosang wasn't the person who cried easily, so his tears staining his cheek breaks your heart.

Wooyoung

He trusted Changbin

He was friends with him and they liked eachother

So he trusted him to take care of you while he is gone for a while

But this was a mistake

Once he came home

He saw that the other vampires drinks from you while he muffled your screaming

His hands are all over your body

And Wooyoung sees red

He feels betrayed, hurt and most of all angry

Changbin doesn't get out of this alive

And you are shaking and crying in his arms

He will never forgive himself something like that

He will never trust anyone like this again

Doesn't want to face you

He distances himself from you

This one accident changed your relationship

,,N.. No leave me alone Y/N! " his heart ached just like yours. He doesn't mean it. You both know that, but the words still hurt. He is your mate, your boyfriend and the love of your life and now he is pushing you away. It hurts. It hurts so much

Jongho

Seungmin is small next to him

Physically he doesn't have a chance against Jongho

But he is smart, very smart

It wasn't easy but Seungmin got you

He wanted you, from the first time he saw you he wanted you and your blood

It was an obsession

A cruel obsession

He knows that jongho and you are mates

That you will never feel the same for him like you feel for Jongho

But if he can't have you, no body can

He drinks without your consent, against your will and tried to do everything to make you forget your stupid ,, mate"

Just in the time jongho gets you back

Seungmin is gone

And as you opened your eyes again, you didn't know where the person on front of you were

To say that jongho was shocked is an understatement

He was more than that

So much more than that

,,Y.. You.. You don't know who I am? Sweetheart don't play with me like that. It.. It isn't funny" His voice breaks a few times and he desperately hoped that this is just a sick joke of yours, but his hope got crashed down as you shook your head. ,,I.. I don't know who you are.. I-please leave me alone.."

[ashistrashhh]

here are some fic recs!! including sakuatsu, bokuaka, kuroken and matsuhana bc i couldnt help myself

if you want, ask me about a certain ship and ill give you some recs!

-sakuatsu-

Marble and Sandstone by red_camellia

rating: G words: 12,937 chapters: 2/2 

author summary: Miya Atsumu only cares about volleyball and nothing else. That is, until he develops a strange obsession with the marble statue of a young man that seems vaguely familiar in his university's arts department. One day that statue comes alive as the very real Sakusa Kiyoomi, and they are left with the mystery of why Sakusa Kiyoomi was turned into a statue and only came back to life when Atsumu touched him. Their new-found connection and the strange mystery turns Atsumu's life upside down, not least because of his growing feelings for Sakusa.

my notes: this was a rlly cute fic!!! 11/10 would read again!!

let it go (paint my body gold) by lunarism

rating: T words: 3,272 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It becomes a routine for them. Sometimes they go grocery shopping and make dinner together, other times they end up talking until Sakusa feels like his own shower and bed is calling him. Every single time Sakusa gets home, shrugs his coat off, balls it up, and proceeds to scream profusely into the fabric for a few minutes.

my notes: pining!!! sakusa!!! also casual painter!atsumu!!! and they paint together!!!

craft a miracle with these hands, lips, (silence) by chrysanthe (sonderesque)

rating: T words: 4,252 chapters: 1/1

author summary: ‘Someone is here to ruin your night,’ his door tells him. ‘You should let them in.’ “I’M HOMELESS OMI-OMI. HOMELESS,” yells the one here to ruin his night. “LET ME IN.”

(What does Kiyoomi sell his sanctuary for?)

my notes: hnnn rlly fuckin cute,, and domestic,,,,

Clipped To You by littleboat

rating: T words: 8,174 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It starts with Hinata Natsu, of all people.

Well, if Atsumu’s being honest with himself, it started way before that, but he’s not, so that’s besides the point. And thankfully, he’s just petty enough to blame all of his problems on a thirteen year old girl.

or Sakusa starts wearing hair clips and Atsumu is more than a little obsessed

my notes: minor kagehina, bokuaka // god these fics rlly make me simp for fictional characters even more than i should. but!! sakusa!!! in hairclips!!! and a pining atsumu!!!

learn how to lay me down in something other than danger, other than fury by rosevtea 

words: 34,211 chapters: 1/1

author summary: All of the ways fellow college TA Miya Atsumu reinvents Kiyoomi's definition of normal.

my notes: god i loved this. it’s a fake dating au and like,, even though they’re “dating” sakusa keeps letting his guard down little by little around atsumu and it surprises everyone. komori and akaashi just know  that they’re were genuinely pining for eachother

among probabilities and a thousand fates by aalphard

rating: T words: 15,675 chapters: 1/1

author summary: prompt fill for “in a world where the red string of fate exists, person a’s finger always twitches when person b, who can see the string, tugs on their string” | or sakusa thought he had a tic and atsumu liked to see his confused expression when it started to happen exclusively when he was around.

my notes: i! loved! it!! so basically atsumu and osamu have the rare gift of seeing the red string of fate, so they know its real but sakusa, like most other people dont believe it exists. so atsumu gives sakusa a (kinda) hard time. rlly cute!! i love soulmate aus!

-bokuaka- 

love in the time of wifi by dalyeau

rating: G words: 4,177 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Akaashi is coming to terms with the fact that he might be romantically interested in his volleyball captain. Hence, doing what any sixteen year old with a problem should do. He asks about it online.

my notes: really cute fic about akaashi asking what he should do about his crush on a site similar to reddit. its kinda a “i didnt know it was you” kind of fic and it made me happy

steam by orphan_account

rating: E words: 8,474 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

 bokuto: why is he so hot bokuto: why am i so gay kuroo: LMAO you mean your vice captain right bokuto: yeah

The coach blew the whistle for practice to begin, and Bokuto drummed his fingers against the bleachers, awaiting Kuroo’s reply. He was about to walk away, when his phone buzzed in his hand.kuroo: i got this bro bokuto: what bokuto: wtf does that mean

Bokuto started to panic.

my notes: explicit!!! but really wholesome. kuroo is honestly the best wingman. i also think this is my favourite bokuaka smutfic?? 

just to miss the sun by rosevtea

rating: T words: 15,126 chapters:1/1

author summary: Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

my notes: akaashi is a booktuber and bokuto crashes one of his streams. fans begin to speculate. rlly fluffy and can u tell i like bokuaka

brain fish by iceblinks

rating: T words: 12,026 chapters: 6/6

author summary: Akaashi wakes up to a string of texts from an unknown number. 

my notes: i love text fics and i love wrong number aus so u can tell how much i loved this. really fluffy and i come back to it time to time

-kuroken-

us three by honey_s

rating: T words: 5,137 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo’s gaze flits over to the utensil. His eyes bulge out of his skull. “Wh—is that a meat hammer? Put it back!” Akaashi’s head recoils back in confusion. “I don’t understand the problem here.” “Why on Earth have you got a fucking meat hammer? We aren’t going to kill somebody!” “Well,” Akaashi begins, clearly taken aback, “I apologise for assuming. I had heard Kenma-san had been hurt in school and after getting a message from both of you to meet late at night, I merely filled in the blanks and assumed we were going to beat someone up, for lack of a better term.” “Not literally! I meant metaphorically, or figuratively, or something!” “Idiomically?” “That isn’t a word, Bokuto-san.” “Jesus Christ,” Kuroo groans, dropping his head into his hands. “We're going to jail."

my notes: bokuaka and kuroo are ready to beat someone up for kenma!! and we stan!! 

Cherry Pits and Cat Tattoos by strawberryriver

rating: G words: 6,141 chapters: 1/1

author summary: 

Kuroo has been in communication with his soulmate ever since they were kids. They've known each other for so long that he never really worried about when or how he would meet them. At least, not until he meets the roommate of Bokuto's soulmate.Soulmate AU in which things written on your skin show up on your soulmate. Companion piece/same AU as Serendipty

--------------------

Kuroo Tetsurou liked to write on his arms. Despite his mother's half-serious warnings about “ink poisoning” or staining his skin, he insisted on marking his arms and legs wherever he could. Not like his best-friend-since-always Bokuto Koutaro, who had to write on his arms or he’d forget to breathe, but artfully. He’d draw designs, animals, the occasional chemical compound. The whole idea behind soulmates fascinated him: how one person could mark their arm and someone potentially thousands of miles away, would have that same mark appear. The amount of articles, studies, and books he’d read about the topic, even at a young age, could put an undergrad researcher to shame.

my notes: again with the soulmate au bc i cannot help myself. but really cute!!! probably gonna read this again later!

Boom, Toasted by protostar (hearthope)

rated: T words: 6,782 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

 FROM: yuuji any bets on who hes texting??

FROM: eita He's smiling at his phone. Kuroo, probably

FROM: kentarou Kuroo

TO: fake family Have any of you ever once considered not prying

FROM: eita You deserve it

FROM: yuuji how can we not when ur in love!!

Kenma gets a text from an unknown number. He'd be lying if he said the guy behind it wasn't kind of endearing.

my notes: again, i love wrong number texts. it focuses more on kenma’s friendship, but kenma’s pov with texting kuroo is more than him realizing feelings and stuff. really cute, ive read it multiple times. 

Japan's most subscribed by NeverNothing

rating: T words: 3,631 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo Tetsurou @blacktetsurou changed his bio : volleyball player, co-owner of Bouncing Ball Corp. and so much more ;)

my notes: i! love! social media! fics!!! really cute and basically people wondering who the mysterious kuroo is to applepi. 

MATSUHANA!!! the underrated gem

texting (with a capital S) by parenthetic

rating: M words: 2,119 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

my notes: honestly more funny than it suggests, but its matsuhana, they’re meme lords.

rated m for by orphan_account

rated: T words: 10,692 chapters: 1/1

author summary: He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

my notes: a very good voice actor au. there is some misunderstanding on hanamaki’s part bc he didnt finish listening to matsukawa, and this is really cute and i love matsuhana. 

In A Quiet Night, All Sounds Carry by levyovochka

rating: E words: 4,794 chapters: 1/1

authors summary: “Ah, ah, Too—!”

Hanamaki hates his university dorm.

“—ru, let me cum, please!”

Hold up. That’s a fucking understatement. Let him rephrase it: Hanamaki loathes his university dorm with passion. Detest the damned abomination, abhors it—

“—ru! Coming, coming—”

It has only been a month and Hanamaki already wants to die.

my notes: as u can guess minor iwaoi // rlly well written and bottom hanamaki rights and maybe my favourite matsuhana smutfic??? and hooh boy i simp for matsukawa

call me maybe by totooru

rating: T words: 33,689 chapters: 14/14

author summary: Hanamaki texts the wrong number when trying to extort tips out of Oikawa in order to defeat Iwaizumi in arm wrestling, and then continues to text the witty stranger who had answered.

my notes: minor iwaoi, daisuga, bokuaka // god i think this is my favourite matsuhana fic overall, maybe in general, but my god is it great. this is probably a common rec, but its understandable as to why it is. basically au where makki texts matsun (who goes to karasuno) instead of oikawa for tips to beat iwaizumi at an arm wrestling match. but they keep messaging. and holy shit i love their conversations. please read this, it is 256/10

there we go!! i might go a part two with more ships (kagehina, tsukkiyama and iwaoi) but this took up way to much time lol. i have an essay due in a couple hours. but hope u like these fics as much as i do!!

[memoriashell]

seashells and shores ( and something a bit more )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru, ensemble class 78; varyingly background / implied ships are sakuraoi / ishimondo / celeschi / naeleogami

crossposted on ao3

Notes: a very late day 3 for @tokomaruweek​. beach prompt! yesterday i was feeling a little burnt out so i decided to not write since i didn’t want to put out something half assed. hopefully this being a bit longer helps make up for it! ( and by a bit, i mean i basically doubled the word count compared to what i’ve done for this week so far lmao rip so much for hoping i’d catch up tonight )

rated t for touko's trauma. and also for junko having her tits out. thanks junko.

anyways tw for like trauma, the general self-depricating / self-concious stuff for toko but also like. her trauma w/ water is brought up since it's. beach? and also drowning doesn't actually happen but it is brought up. and touko mentions claustrophobia in relation to her trauma offhandedly once, and again, just generally feeling insecure.

also it's kinda implied that chihiro and celes are both trans thank you!!!

Summary:  going to the beach isn't exactly an exciting thought for her, given the fact she has no desire getting in the water.

komaru seems dead set on making sure she makes some memories anyways.

Do you want to come to the beach with us? That is the first text of the morning that she receives, courtesy of Makoto Naegi. Touko considers asking who he means by us, gathers that he probably means some assortment of their classmates, and ( while it is very tempting to say yes ) concludes that she can safely say no. And she intends to do exactly that, but she gets a set of texts that stops her from being able to do so.

touko-chan!!!!

ur coming with us, right?

you should come with us!

itll be fun!

So Komaru would be there too— their...friendship is odd, all things considered. Not that the knowledge of knowing she’d be there makes the offer any more tempting, but she bites her lip and considers what to say. Not that there’s really much of a question, just keep it blunt and to the point as per usual. No point in sugar coating things.

I’m busy. Maybe next time. She’s not that busy, current manuscript aside. Not that Touko intended on ever not being busy. It’s not her fault that Komaru is too dense to take a hint.

awww :(

pls?

if u don’t wanna get in the water, ill make sure they’ll leave you alone. im sure you won’t be the only one that doesnt want to!!

Ah. She might have to ( partially ) retract her statement on Komaru being dense. Had she figured out her reluctance without her even mentioning it, or had that just been a lucky guess? Maybe it was just Makoto’s luck rubbing off on her...

i understand if you don’t want to come

and i’ll leave u alone if u rlly dont wanna come.

but it wont be as much fun without you there :(

Urgh. Yeah, this girl doesn’t understand a thing, does she? She’s probably not even realized the impact her words have on her. Touko grumbles under her breath, but figures she should respond before Komaru sends another text begging trying to convince her.

Fine.

I’m not going in the water, though.

If this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.

That is a lie. Even if worst comes to worst and Syo feels the need to front for her, she won’t hold it against her. She’s the one who agreed, after all. It’s just one last attempt at offering her an out. To change her mind. Like she should. But Komaru is nothing if not stubborn, so she doesn’t really expect that offer to be taken up on. She starts making a mental checklist of what she probably needs to take with her, doesn’t get very far into that list because Komaru’s response is nearly instantaneous.

yayayayay tnk u touko-chan ily!!!!!! :D

we’ll pick u up k????

ur staying @ the place near the dorms right? see u soon!! ♡♡

Touko grimaces at the butchering of language that is Komaru’s texting ( and ignores her own fluttering heart upon seeing the casual hearts sprinkled in at the end ), and sends back, If you love me, fix your grammar.

The car ride over is mostly uneventful. In that she means she feels like she’s going to have a headache before they even get there and Makoto keeps giving her a sympathetic look. In other words, she’s learned that Komaru and both Asahina siblings should not be left to entertain themselves for the hour-long car ride, but the only silver lining here is that it was only an hour-long ride and hopefully they would be tired out for the ride back.

The highlight of the hour was that even if it’d been a tight squeeze in the backseat, that meant she’d been ( somewhat ) uncomfortably sandwiched between the door and Komaru herself. She’s a little surprised that it doesn’t set off her claustrophobia, but reckons that might just be because it’s too bright to remind her of being locked in a closet. And also because Komaru is generally distracting in close proximity, from the way she’d been halfway sitting on her lap, to the faint scent of what Touko figures to be her shampoo.

She also considers it a victory that she did not dissociate in the midst of that, but probably only because Komaru kept checking on her and apologizing for how close they are: she’d had to bite her tongue several times from saying something harsher than she’d really mean. She doesn't hate Syo, but probably counterintuitive to let them front today: whether they are aware of this, or simply just disinterested in trying to front right now, she is thankful. If nothing else, she would consider this some kind of learning moment. Maybe. Something to draw inspiration from?

Still, once she’s free from the confines of the car, she can actually relax a little— or does for all of two seconds before Komaru has grabbed onto her free hand and started dragging her towards the loud group that she recognizes as her class. Yuta and Aoi had bolted out of the car the moment they’d come to a stop to race to the waters ( she can’t imagine being that athletic and feels tired watching them ). Touko gazes back longingly at the confines of the car and the consideration that she might’ve been able to isolate herself there, but her grip’s pretty tight on her hand. Which is nice, and distracts her from thinking about escaping until it's way too late, and she’s forced to look at the group before her, and—

Slaps a hand over Komaru’s eyes with a groan. “Enoshima, wh-what the fuck, you—” She holds off on the ( derogatory ) word she wants to say, and just scowls at the sight before her. “This isn’t a...a nude beach? Are you t-t-trying to get us in trouble or something?” Granted she’s not technically completely nude, but also more revealing than she should be. Seriously, she would’ve figured that Ishimaru would’ve already told Enoshima off already because what else is he good for ( then again, he is single-handedly the only person who would probably take no real issue with it, or be naively convinced by her that it wasn’t really a problem, so maybe she really shouldn’t be that surprised ).

Enoshima cackles at her. “Don’t be a prude, Fukawa! Or are you jealous? I’m just trying to get a sick tan.” While she’s at it, where the hell is Ikusaba to keep her sister in check? Whatever, that’s not really important, and she refuses to dignify that with a response given that Enoshima probably only wants to get a rise out of her.

Instead, she makes sure to put a decent distance between them before removing her hand from over Komaru’s eyes with a huff. “Urgh, honestly...what on earth m-made her think that was a, a good idea?” She grumbles, glancing around now that she doesn’t have to stare directly at...that.

Actually, now that she looks around, the only seemingly responsible person from their class currently present was Oogami— and honestly, she seems too busy being in love with her girlfriend to count ( if it wasn’t kind of heartwarming, she’d probably be disgusted. Not in a homophobic way, in a general ew PDA sort of way ). As for any else viably responsible: Kirigiri being absent wasn’t a surprise, Fujisaki’s too soft to really keep people in check, Byakuya is...his own entirely separate category, and she would rather die than count Hagakure as responsible in any capacity. And Makoto might be a voice of reason, but she’s pretty sure he’s utterly useless here. Which is probably a horrible sign of things to come, but what else did she expect from anything involving her peers?

“You don’t want to go in the water, right?” Komaru’s voice cuts in through her thoughts, watching her closely before taking her hand to start pulling her along then. “We should set up somewhere to sit, then!”

We? She thinks, but instead attempts to free her hand from her grip and voices, “...Don’t you want to go in th-the water with the rest of them? You don’t have to, uh, to stay with me, you know. I’m not a k-k-kid.”

Her expression looks conflicted. “Well, yeah, of course I do want to! But only for a bit, probably? I mean, it’d be kind of rude to leave you alone since I asked you to come?”

She ignores the way her stomach twists at that, and purses her lips. “Technically s-speaking, Makoto asked first. You aren’t— it’s not rude of you to want...to want to have some fun without me. I know I’m n-n-not fun to stick around.” She knows she wouldn’t want to stick around herself if she had the choice. “It’s not like, like I wasn’t prepared for th-that.”

“Yeah, but— that’s the thing. You shouldn’t be! And I want to spend time with everyone, and that includes you too.” And now she’s sulking. God. Fukawa is about to growl back something she’ll probably regret saying, but is saved from doing so by a much calmer voice interrupting, having overheard their argument.

“Why don’t you go join your brother for a bit? Fukawa-san can join us if she would like to. We have an extra seat.”

Celes looks hot— and she means that in a very literal sense ( mostly ), decked out in one of her usual frilly black dresses. She looks out of place in the hot summer heat. Touko is also not sure where and how she managed to get a table out here ( and tea, apparently, and you know what she’s just not going to question it ), but Fujisaki is already pulling out the extra seat in offering, and she sighs reluctantly. Better this than feeling like she’s holding Komaru back.

“G-G-Go. Or...or I’ll let Syo toss you in the water.” Not really a threat - if anything, Syo would dive bomb into the water with her. Argh, maybe she should’ve just let them front today...

( No, no she shouldn’t have. The only person currently present that Syo would’ve mostly listened to would be Komaru— and maybe Makoto or Fujisaki if they were feeling generous— which is an entirely different set of issues she doesn’t want to linger on. Needless to say, she doesn’t particularly want Syo to cause chaos today )

Touko is saved from having to argue further with her on this because as Komaru opens her mouth to protest, Yuta comes to steal her away, blabbering on about something about a game they should play: and while he’s definitely as oblivious as his sister, she’ll consider that a good thing, just this once. The only words Komaru manages to get in is to ask Toko to keep her bag for her, which she would’ve done anyways, picking it up from where she’d dropped it. She watches them wander off ( and only looks away when Komaru starts discarding the clothes she’d been wearing over her swimsuit ) before trudging over to sit next to Fujisaki, who flashes her a small smile as she types away on her laptop.

“I am surprised you came, Fukawa-san. You do not seem like the type for these activities. You are usually quite disinterested in participating in these kinds of things, in fact. Did something change?” Ugh. This is why Touko hates being around Ludenberg. Because she’s observant, generally only bested by Kirigiri in that regard, and is generally good at picking people apart when it comes to lies and acts and fronts ( though Touko would argue this is from personal experience, and not from being a gambler ). And this fact would have irritated her, quite honestly, if she had not self-sabatoged herself by taking it as an insult, instead.

“I-I-I get it. No one really wants...wants me here. That’s what you meant, right...? You don’t have to r-remind me.” She grits her teeth. If nothing else, when she isn’t busy lying, Touko can appreciate her honesty. The tiny hand that wraps around her wrist stops her from saying anything further, even if it doesn’t take much to wrench her arm out of Fujisaki’s grasp: but she gets the feeling she is only able to do so because she isn’t actually trying to hold on too tightly.

“I’m sure th-that’s not what she meant, Fukawa-san...” Ever quick to play peacekeeper, she supposes. Touko simply grumbles at her and rolls her eyes. “...Especially since not everyone was available today, it’s nice that you were able to join us!”

“Yes, it is a shame. I would have liked for Yamada-kun to have been able to help with my tea, today.” Celes sighs as if disappointed— really? That’s what she’s on about?

Touko does a second look at who is not currently gathered, and denotes, “Is Maizono st-still out on tour...?” She thinks Komaru had mentioned something like that in passing.

“Yes! Maizono-san is on tour, Yamada-kun is at an important convention, Ikusaba-san, she’s...doing some kind of training...? I think Kirigiri-san is supposed to be on the tail end of a rough case, and...” Here Fujisaki pauses to giggle into her hand. “I sh-shouldn’t really laugh at this really, but Ishimaru-kun got sick. Oowada-kun had to force him to rest since he had been trying to work through it and made it worse for himself... or so that’s what I was told.”

Oh, so that’s the reason she hasn’t heard the loudmouths today? She might take back her sentiments on Ishimaru being useless, but he’s on thin fucking ice. Of course the overachiever would get sick during the summer holidays— apparently, she’s not alone in that thought.

“Only Ishimaru-kun would get sick during vacation and still manage to find a reason to not take a break.” Celes rolls her eyes, but Touko gets the feeling she’s amused too.

“So wh-what you’re saying is, uh, is that Oowada’s going to get sick next...right? I guess— we’ll find out if idiots get s-s-sick or not.” Touko quips— which earns a softer laugh from Fujisaki, so that’s pretty good.

Of course, it wouldn’t be like her if she didn’t put her foot in her mouth almost immediately afterwards by asking why they aren’t going in the water: she’s not really surprised because Celes rarely participates in gym ( and coming from Touko that says a lot ), but she was pretty sure Fujisaki wasn’t that self-conscious of herself. Not as much? Not that she really has any place to talk in that regard.

“Well, we already went to the beach at the start of the summer holidays! I’m not really missing out on anything, and it’s probably not my last opportunity to go during this break anyways.” And then, a little more sheepishly. “...Also I’m close to making a breakthrough on this code, I think. I wanted the fresh air, but I don’t really think I can afford to take much of a break right now.”

“She would have stayed on the train if I did not warn her we were approaching our stop, I believe. And not all of us can be like Enoshima. The brazenness of that woman is truly something else.” Touko is not sure if she says that from a place of respect or fear, and honestly she relates. And also doesn’t say any further on the subject because Celes gives her a dirty look.

Her gaze goes back out to their peers— she is pointedly avoiding needing to look at where Enoshima is— and spots Komaru and Yuta splashing around with Aoi and Oogami. Well, it looks like just splashing at least, from where she’s at. And Hagakure, who really just looks like an out-of-place sea cretin with the way his hair floats on the water’s surface, so. There’s that?

( No, she’s not at all envious of the fact that all of them get to have fun because they don’t have crippling fears: the ocean does not instill the same fear of confinement that a cramped bathtub does, but fear— there is still the fear that something will tug her down and her body will simply let herself dragged underneath out of instinct, a fear of something worse if she tries to fight for survival— )

Focus. She can feel the way her breath catches a little, the uneasy way her heart beats and concentrates on calming down. She doesn’t seem to have gotten Syo’s attention yet, nor anyone else’s, thankfully. She’ll just...watch Komaru for now, yeah. It takes a moment to relocate her, head breaching from underneath the water and surfacing like...like one of the sea’s legendary enchantresses. She means that in a wholly respectful way, of course, watching the way she shakes the water from her hair, mouth open in a wide grin while she laughs. Touko doesn’t need to hear her to know that on the sole basis of her appearance— the bright look in her eyes is enough to say she is happily enjoying herself without her.

On that note, hm. Maybe she can use some of that for the basis of her next novel— something about a siren and a lady visiting the sea? Tragic romances are always a hit, aren’t they? Okay maybe a tragic lesbian romance is more self-projection, but that's besides the point. No one has to know its self-projection if people eat it up like anything else that has her name on it.

Or maybe you need to talk to a therapist more often? Syo contributes helpfully, apparently having become more conscious at some point. Maybe her panic hadn’t gone as unnoticed as she thought. Not that they’re wrong, but talking to a therapist isn’t exactly going to help with her gay pining ( unfortunately, she wishes it were that simple ).

Yeah, that’s not something she really wants to linger on, and as if Celes can read her mind, says, “How do you ladies feel about a bet?”

“Pass.” Touko says immediately, because she is arguably far from a smart person, but she is smart enough to know to not take her chances against the ultimate gambler. Celes ignores her.

“You see, I would bet that Komaru—”

“No. We’re leaving h-her out of it.” Toko interrupts, and Fujisaki ( thankfully, like the god sent angel she is, even if she seems too good to be real ) nods her agreement.

“I don’t think Naegi-kun would be really happy if he heard us talking about his little sister like that...” Her reasoning is fair, if nothing else.

“Fine. Do you think Naegi-kun is going to interfere on Togami-kun’s behalf, or help Kuwata-kun?” A painted fingernail points out the trio by the sea. Kuwata seems pretty intent on forcing Togami into the sea, suit and all, much to his disdain. The duo is yelling, probably. On the other hand, Makoto just looks like he doesn’t know whose side he’s supposed to be on here.

In the end, it doesn’t matter because by some luck ( or lack thereof ) Togami manages to trip on a washed up stone and ends up taking the other two boys down with him. The heir doesn’t even look all that mad, really, as Kuwata dunks him back under the water in retaliation: she knows what his angry face is, and that is not it, even if it looks kind of like he’s swallowing a lemon.

Or maybe that’s just her and her sour mood feeling like she’s swallowed several lemons raw because Touko doesn’t know how to make lemonade out of all the citrus life has handed her.

“By the way Fukawa-san, about Komaru—” Celes starts, but is interrupted by Komaru’s sharp yelling, which is followed by the wet feeling of her arms wrapping around her. Touko frowns, pushing her away.

“You’re w-wet.” She states the obvious as she makes a face, not that that seems to stop her. “Are you...you're done going in the water f-f-for now?”

“Mhm! It’s too cold in the water, honestly. You’re nice and warm.” Komaru hums happily, and she grabs a towel from her bag to wrap her up in it before she ends up being the next sick kid. “I was thinking we could maybe spilt a snack...? And then we could make a sandcastle! Asahina-san was telling me about shells she saw earlier that we could use?” Touko bites back a small snort at how childish she sounds.

“Yeah, yeah— let go of me, s-so I can get up...” She agrees, ignoring the curious way Celes’ watches their interactions. She mutters something that passes for a thanks before she leaves ( not that she thinks Fujisaki notices at that point, full enraptured by her laptop screen ).

By snack, Touko realizes that this is more of a way of making sure she eats lunch— Syo had not so accidentally let it slip once that when she gets caught up on things, she has the tendency to skip meals. She bites her tongue on saying that it wasn’t necessary and instead pays for their meal because she can do that, she has the money to spare for that kind of thing: and she knows she doesn’t need to, but sometimes she feels like she needs to make it up to her before Komaru gets sick of their friendship.

And if it comes off like a date, that’s simply just coincidence.

When they return to the shore, Komaru drags her off to an area a little more secluded— she doesn’t really realize this at first, simply accepting her fate to follow along, but notices she can’t really hear anyone else. It helps her relax, feel like she doesn’t need to be so guarded.

( It doesn’t stop Touko from briefly complaining about how sandy she’s going to get because of this, which is annoying. And then immediately shuts up because Komaru offers to let her borrow her clothes, and she has nothing coherent that she can say to that. She eventually manages to spit out a no when it becomes obvious Komaru is waiting for her to say something )

“Well, okay then. You can always let me know if you change your mind.” She says, then, “Oooh, Touko-chan! It looks like there are tide pools over here!”

Komaru leaves her to pick out shells for them to use while she does the dirty work of constructing a sand castle. “So you won’t end up too sandy,” she explains. “And I trust your eyes to pick out nice shells.” She can’t really complain— although she almost makes a scathing comment about the fact that her eyes can't really be trusted when she wears glasses— and just keeps away from the waves for the most part. The water laps at her feet while she lingers around the tide pool, and then returns with the fruits of her search.

It’s...not an awfully constructed sand castle. Well, that’s probably more than a little generous to say. You know, if she was going to compare it to something kids made. As it stands ( or doesn’t, if Touko is being honest ), it’s probably not the most...concretely built and looks like part of the base might fall apart at any moment, but doesn’t say anything as she dumps an assortment of shells at her feet. And then pulls out a towel, so she can sit and watch her work. It feels like there’s another problem with this, but she can’t quite place what it is; it’s probably not important enough to point out.

Going back to the novel idea: maybe it’s not about a siren after all. Maybe it’s about a sea princess instead. A lonely girl drowning in the waters called home, in a lonely castle, and—

“Here you go!” Komaru plops a shell into her hand with no warning and beams at her. “It’s nice and pretty just like you, Touko-chan. So you should keep it!”

She definitely doesn’t almost tear up upon hearing that, swallowing thickly as she bites back a self-deprecating, Are you sure it’s not just ugly like me? Instead, she picks out a small shell from the pile and holds it out to her.

“...H-H-Here. Completely plain and, and average like you.” And cute, but that’s not important. Still, Komaru looks like she’s actually said something of worth as she throws her arms around her neck.

“Thank you! I’ll take good care of it.” She acts like she’s given her a houseplant or something of actual value, and not a shell.

Stiffly— because she still really doesn’t know how to respond in these kinds of moments, despite being friends for a few odd months now— Touko pats her back and mutters, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is!” Komaru pouts at her. “It is to me. Isn’t that enough?”

She opens her mouth to point out that she’d really just been reciprocating a gesture, but the wave crashing over them interrupts the conversation— oh yeah, she thinks absently. That’d been the other problem that she’d noticed when Komaru had started building, but hadn’t thought it was a big enough issue to point out.

Once she processes that yes, that happens, her first thought is how cold she is now, soaked to the bone. Touko represses a shudder and tries to ignore the fact that she will need to shower later because salt water gets itchy. The second thing that occurs to her, in the midst of this, is that now Komaru is wailing into her shoulder.

“I should’ve been more careful, I’m sorry Touko-chan! You’re okay? You aren’t upset, are you? I thought th—” Touko leans forward to cut her off. Her lips taste like salt, and vaguely reminiscent of the sweet snack Komaru had coaxed her into splitting. She wants to bite down on her lip, a nervous habit, and pulls back before she can accidentally manage to bite the other’s lips instead. The implications of that are a lot more than she’s willing to handle right now, and averts her gaze as soon as she leans back, so she does not have to acknowledge her actions.

That doesn’t stop Komaru from throwing her arms around her a little too eagerly, a grunt at the impact of their bodies colliding. “Too m-much.” Touko manages to wheeze out, and before she can start apologizing again, follows with, “I’m not upset. I should probably just...just buy something overpriced from one of th-the nearby shops since our clothes are soaked now...”

She takes this in fairly good stride, jumping to her feet and pulling her up by her hands. “Can I pick out an outfit for you? It’ll be fun!”

Their ideas of fun are very different quite frankly, but considering Komaru won’t overthink her appearance like she does, thus meaning it’ll be more time efficient. And quite frankly, she’s tired, so she just agrees. On the condition they can just go take a nap in the car afterwards.

Touko doesn’t quite agree with Komaru’s fashion choices, but she picks out clothes that cover up everything that needs to be hidden, so she can’t exactly complain. Nor does she complain when they do less napping and more snuggling in the backseat. Which means on the ride back, Komaru ends up falling asleep on her shoulder. She thinks about how pretty she looks in the light of the sunset.

Maybe she can rethink her next novel being a romantic tragedy.

[tanoraqui]

[previous]

They go to Lotus Pier, of course. It’s close, it’s safe, there’s soup and shock blankets ready, and there are plenty here who couldn’t make the trip into the endorheic Undersea proper. Lotus Pier is a town in the mortal world, not the Summerlands, but its inhabitants are mostly fisherfolk and others who make their living on the lakes. They know better than to ask questions of strangers after sundown, especially on a night like All Hallows’ Eve

Wei Wuxian sneaks away as soon as everyone stops fussing over him, which does take some time. He does stop to look, though, out over the lake. He might even sit on the edge of a pier, dangle his feet in the nearly-winter water.

Jiang Cheng finds him, with accusation and resignation. “You’re leaving.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re going back, to fight Blind Michael.”

It almost feels good to hear it said aloud, in a sickening, cathartic way. “Yeah.”

Jiang Cheng’s voice could not be more full of scorn. “Why do you always need to play the hero?”

Because I was a lost and forgotten child, too, once, in much better circumstances, and someone found me. Because he’s a monster, and needs to be stopped. Because if I don’t, I might miss him. 

Because here’s one last story: once upon a time in Faerie, there was a race who could neutralize the magic of others. Who could tears spells to pieces and end a glamour with a touch. Unsurprisingly (though not justly) they were feared and hated, huted and killed. But it’s harder than one may think to completely exterminate a people - people are stubborn like that. Bits and pieces slipped through, cousins and merlins and even the occasional fullblood

Until one day there was a born a changeling child with that particular, rare quirk of changelings where instead of weak with the power in their blood, they are strong, stronger than can be imagined or contained

This boy’s parents were killed - for their blood and powers or simply because they were in someone’s way, or perhaps even by natural accidents and illness; history doesn’t say. He grew up more on the streets than not, at first protected by the instinctive glamours of childhood, and then by his powers as they grew. Until rumors started to flicker around him and he was found by a great faerie lord, taken in and offered home and family in exchange for loyal service. 

This is, of course, the story of Wen Zhuliu, infamous knight of King Wen Ruohan of Golden Sun, who could tear the magic from a faerie’s blood with a single touch of skin to skin. Their pointed ears would stay, their colored hair, their hind’s legs or stony skin or what not. But never again would they spin an illusion, slip through shadows, shift from one form to another or borrow power from blood or a hundred other necessary marvels.

As such this is also the story of how the heir to the Duchy of Lotus Lakes came to be lying unconscious on a mortal hilltop, undergoing experimental surgery from the best Daoine Sidhe bloodworking healer in a century, with the help and bloody donation of the only Docchas Sidhe anyone had seen since his mother stopped her dancing. Wei Wuxian didn’t know what he was doing, Wen Qing hypothetically knew what she was doing, and likely neither of them would be able to recreate it, for several reasons. But a the start, they had one crippled Merrow and one 3/4 Merrow, 1/4 Docchas Side, and at the end, they had one Merrow exhausted and unconscious but restored to full magical health, and one....about 99% Docchas Sidhe, 1% of his father’s blood still clinging to the edges

(that saved him, later, when a Wen archer managed to clip him with elfshot. He still had something left to burn out)

(he didn’t think to mourn it in the heat of battle, and barely did later - it turns out that chronic iron poisoning is a thing, if you spend three months surrounded and pierced by it yet somehow survive, but not a thing that can be survived by any but the mostly bloodymindedly enduring race in Faerie. There was never any turning back.)

“Because someone has to,” Wei Wuxian says, and gets to his feet, tucks them back into shoes. Almost as an aferthought, he adds, “Hey, can I borrow your knife?”

“My knife,” Jiang Cheng says almost blankly.

“Your knife.”

the Duke of Lotus Lakes wears a knife at his hip, as well as a trident on his back and a ring with the power of a whipping electric eel. Unlike the others, it’s neither heirloom nor pride of office, but it is finely wrought silver, hilt and blade alike, and given to him by his father for his tenth birthday.

"Here,” he snarls, draws it and just barely shoves it forward hilt- rather than point-first. “Bring it back or don’t come back yourself.” And he stalks away.

Wei Wuxian learned a great deal from the Night Haunts, and from his own subsequent bloody adventures, and (no offense, Toby) he doesn’t have any mortal drag on his ability to stride into Faerie lands. He doesn’t need to consult any Firstborns to take the Blood Road that is his birthright. 

Blind Michael is as tall as the sky and as seductive as an undertow and as cruel as nothing found in nature, because it takes a mind and will to be truly cruel. Wei Wuxian already sent his candle away (it got Wen Ning home, and that was what mattered), but he did leave his iron-tipped trident behind

It’s not a fair fight. On one side, an immortal, nigh-unkillable warrior, veteran of countless battles, trained by the most bloodthirsty race in Faerie and fueled by the fire of absolute certainty in his rightness. On the other, a bully who’s spent the last several centuries (millennia?) intimidating children. 

...Seriously, it’s over pretty fast. Knife and trident slide in together and pierce the rotten heart; get fucked, Michael. Acacia’s land, now.

I’d love to say “Wei Wuxian goes home”, but, well. That’s a messy question, isn’t it? He can’t stay for longer than a bit of blood-borrowed transformation will allow.

. . .

Epilogue, a few months later:

Nie Huaisang, barging into Jin Guangyao’s office with Wei Wuxian in favor-owing tow, sing-song and utterly guileless because this is a Nie Huaisang who...knows guile, but only as a toy; has never had to wield it as a weapon: San-ge! I have the best birthday present for you!

[raendown]

A commission for @sarcastic-mommy.

Pairing: MadaraSakura Word count: 6940 Rated: M Summary: It took yelling and insults and everything but an outright accusation for Sakura to get through to him - and then she got under him.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

A Pleasure Doing Business

She was wearing a new suit today. Madara’s eyes followed the woman closely as she marched down the hallways, hard green eyes staring bluntly forward, refusing to meet his gaze yet despite the clear glass walls making it all too easy. Almost every day for the past several weeks he had seen her stomping past his office with fury in every line of her body and always she wore a tidy power suit tailored specifically to draw his eye. Today’s suit was a crisp mint color that set off her bubblegum hair like a double stacked ice cream cone he craved to run his tongue over. 

The door of his office slammed against its own rubber stopper with an ominous rattle when she pushed it open. It was only in the past week that she’d finally bullied her way past the army of secretaries and assistants to approach him personally, tired of being given the run around by old men determined to talk circles around her without answering a single question. Madara was of two minds about this. On the one hand he would never say no to a pretty lady’s company, especially one with a mind as intelligent as hers, but on the other hand he was getting tired of being on the business end of that sharp tongue. 

Haruno Sakura was a name he had only vaguely recognized in articles from his local newspaper until the day she slammed in to his personal space with vitriol hidden in the legal jargon dressing up her temper as something almost polite. Then he was forcibly reminded of the girl he’d had a minor crush on in his senior year of university. He felt no guilt for forgetting her, it had been years since his school days and it wasn’t like they’d had any classes together; he’d never even really had more than a handful of conversations with her back then. For the first several times she barged in to spit the most politely worded acid he’d ever heard Madara thought she might have forgotten him as well. She disabused him of that the first time he caught her sneering at the MBA certificate hanging on his wall. 

She spared another glower for the intricately framed document now, something that had almost become a ritual of her visits. 

“Not only is everyone you employ morally bankrupt,” she growled, forgoing any pretense of friendly greetings, “but their boss is crooked beyond repair!” 

“I am their boss,” Madara pointed out.

“Yes. I do not retract my statement.” 

“Well a good morning to you as well, Haruno-san. I take it you received the latest proposal we sent you?” 

If he were honest Madara had only a very vague idea of what that proposal contained. Owning the company didn’t necessarily mean he needed to micromanage every piece of paperwork that left the building. That’s what he paid other people to do. Every member on the board of directors had been handpicked by his father, people he knew that he could trust to take care of the boring day-to-day. No need for him to bother them all by shoving his nose in to every little thing.

“This?” Sakura held up a folder he hadn’t noticed her carrying. “If you’re talking about this rag, I don’t know how you can dare to call it a proposal!” With a scoff she tossed it down on his desk. Madara watched the papers slip out with a mild expression, irritated to have a mess made of his work space but unwilling to show it. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not the one to yell at? Go talk to my board of directors.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in charge of them? How can you let them do things like this?”

Slamming her hands down on his desk put her in a rather suggestive position. Were he someone with a little less tact Madara noted that he could have slid his eyes down for the perfect view inside her top. It didn’t matter how attractive she was, though. He wasn’t a pig. And despite the base urges of his body to crawl between those deliciously strong thighs he wasn’t sure he would survive a woman who clearly hated him so badly. 

Instead he deliberately yawned and flicked some of the papers back towards her, turning back to his computer in a clear dismissal. 

“Yeah, I’m in charge,” he said. “Which means I delegate responsibilities and I have delegated the unpleasant task of listening to your childish rants off to someone else. Go bother them.” 

“Ugh! How can you be so infuriating!? I don’t care what the rest of my colleagues think! Without me signing off there will be no contract with your company and I refuse to do business with someone who can turn a blind eye to such disgusting practices!” 

Keeping both palms flat on the desk, she glared at him over the massive wooden surface as though the weight of her ire alone could force him to break. Madara stared back at her with as little expression as he could muster. If nothing else these little visits were excellent practice for that fabled self control his brother was always nagging at him for lacking. So maybe he had a bit of a temper. Big deal. At least he hadn’t snapped yet and thrown anything at her no matter how many times he’d been tempted by the various heavy objects within arms reach. 

His lawyers had advised against doing that anymore.

“Nothing that goes on here is in any way illegal, I've been assured of that,” he said. 

“Oh you’ve been assured. Of course. I forgot how lazy you are. Still riding through life on daddy’s coattails and letting everyone else do the work for you.” Sakura dragged her palms back and straightened with a look of derision. “You haven’t changed at all, you know that?”

“I’m still as handsome as ever?” Madara grinned, enjoying the twitch of her left eye. 

“What does the outside matter? All I see are your ugly spoiled insides.”

He let the sound of his careless laughter follow her out the door, watching her storm down the hall to go bother the people who had actually written the proposal sent to her company. Only when she was well out of sight did he allow the expression to drop. Hands clenching in to fists, brows furrowing, he lowered his eyes to the mess on files spread across his space. Whatever was in there couldn’t be all that bad, could it? It wasn’t like they were doing anything illegal. 

Alone now, there was no one there to watch him consciously loosen his fingers only to drum them agitatedly against the deks. Letting your opponent see that they had gotten to you in any way was a weakness one could not afford. He’d learned that from his father. What bothered him was how right she was about the fact that he’d gotten most of what he had in life simply by being Tajima’s son, a fact he usually found some way to justify so he didn’t have to admit it even to himself. There was just something about Haruno Sakura that got under his skin the way no one else had ever managed to. Afterimages of those green eyes staring at him with disappointment made him scowl even as he shot one hand out to gather the paperwork together, dragging in towards himself.

Maybe he’d gotten in to university because his father paid off the school. And maybe he’d risen through the company so fast because no one dared say anything about their boss’ son. Yes, maybe he had even stepped in to the position of CEO because he inherited his father’s majority shares when he passed away of a lingering illness a few years back. None of that made him incompetent. Madara liked to think he was a smart man with more to offer than just his last name. He would show her. Whatever was in this stupid proposal that riled her up so badly, he was sure he could figure out a way to placate Sakura in to signing off on it. He might not pay as much attention as he probably should but he knew enough to tell that the shipping company Sakura sat on the board for was the cheapest and fastest way to ship the goods his company produced. 

Over the distant sounds of someone else getting screamed at Madara was able to read through every document in the folder. And with every line his grew wider and wider in horror. The part of his brain that desperately didn’t want to believe what he was seeing tried to come up with some plausible situation in which Sakura might have fabricated everything on these papers no matter how ridiculous but even as his thoughts raced for an excuse he knew that none of them could be true. There was no denying the signatures on the very last page. 

“What”-he whispered quietly to himself-“the fuck.” 

After reading through everything he organized the lot of it back in to the order it was meant to be and read through the whole thing again just to be sure he hadn’t imagined anything. It was hard to believe something this full of bullshit had come out of a company with his name on it. Suddenly all the times Sakura had leaned over the desk to scream at him felt much more appropriate. 

Distracted as he was by such awful discoveries, Madara nearly leapt straight out of his chair when the door opened with a smack of someone’s hand against the glass. He looked up to find the woman he’d just been thinking about storming back in to the room. 

“I didn’t mean to leave that with you,” she said, reaching for the folder he’d only just closed. 

“You’re taking it?” 

“Get your own copy if you want something to gloat over,” Sakura growled. 

Reaching across the desk, she took hold of the folder only to stop with an exasperated sigh when Madara put his hand down to keep the papers in place. “I’ve just read these,” he said.

“Congratulations. Now give it back.”

“I hadn’t seen these before.”

“Not keeping up with everything happening right under your nose? Figures. That sounds like you; just as lazy and entitled as you always were. Now let me have my documents!” 

Madara pressed down harder to keep them in place while his brows furrowed in irritation. “We’ve shipped with your company before. Have all the contracts we’ve made with you looked like this?” 

Seeing that she would not be getting the papers back until they had the conversation he wanted, Sakura took her hand back and folded both arms with a scowl. It was an unfairly good look on her and a testament to how shaken he was that Madara couldn’t even concentrate on the way anger lit up her features.

“Obviously some of the things in there weren’t part of the proposal, I printed them off myself as evidence to back up my claims against your frankly disgusting practices. How do you live with yourself?” The heat of her glare would no doubt have been much more effective if he weren’t already reeling with disbelief. Sakura gave him a rather suspicious look when he relinquished his hold, allowing her to slide the folder over and pick it up. 

“I didn’t authorize any of that,” he said. 

“Yes you did!” One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted in judgment. “Are you or are you not in charge of this company?”’

“Well- I mean yes- Haruno-san, I’ve never seen those documents before in my life! I swear to you! I had no idea any of this was happening!” Madara leaned forward as though a closer proximity might help impress upon her just how serious he was. Whether or not that worked, she didn’t look all that impressed. 

“Just because you’ve been complacent and made a clown show out of your own job does not absolve you of the responsibility. You turning a blind eye allowed for your company to take part in these disgustingly unethical practices and I refuse to do business with someone whose morals can be bought with compliments and a fancy office. Find someone else to ship your slave-made, cheaply sourced, landfill fodder goods! So long as I sit on the board it will not be us!” 

She turned to leave, stopping to look back when Madara stood from his chair with a loud clatter. “Wait! You don’t understand!” 

“Oh?”

“If I had known any of this was going on- you have to believe me, I would never have let any of this happen. Will you…” A scowl touched his face to match her, hating the words even as he forced them out of his mouth. “Will you help me?”

Sakura blinked. 

“Help you?” she asked in surprise. Madara pointed to the files she was holding. 

“You said you dug up a bunch of that evidence on your own. I can’t just fire my entire board without cause. Especially not since I’ve allowed them to take over so many things, they’ve probably got more power than me over this shit. Father told me I could trust them so I always figured there was no point in another pair of eyes looking over everyone’s shoulders. I just let them do their jobs and never gave much thought to whether or not they were actually doing it right.” Admitting that much stung. The rest he forced out between his teeth, guilt heavy in his chest but so unused to asking others for help. “I’ll need to get as much information as I can before I start making any accusations, I need to know exactly what’s been going on here and how much I’ve overlooked. Will you help me?”

“Well. I was not expecting that.” All the aggression seemed to flow out of Sakura’s body, shoulders lowering and one hip jutting out as she propped her weight on that side. Under better circumstances he might have been distracted by how the movement pulled at the skirt of her suit, by the way he wanted to tear that mint cotton off her skin with his teeth, but not now. He could think of nothing but how to prove his question was a sincere one. 

Bruising his pride a little was the only thing he could come up with, a sacrifice he hadn’t made for anyone since he was very young. Taking a deep breath, he took a quick glance on either side to make sure they weren’t being watched through the walls, then spoke very quietly. “Please.” 

“Just tell me one thing. Why should I?”

“Because you’ve been in here yelling at me about corrupt morals and shit for weeks now,” Madara growled, nearing the end of his patience. “You were the one who said we need to clean our shit up; I’m offering a chance for you to show me all the messes these people have made right under my nose.” 

“Oh if only I could go back to that first year in university and tell myself this moment was coming.” Smug was a damn good look on her, he had to admit that much. 

“So are you going to help me or not?” He demanded. 

He had his answer in one decisive nod and the way she too looked around furtively to make sure their conversation had no chance of being overheard. Then she stepped back over to hold one hand out across the desk. When Madara took it she squeezed his fingers with a grip much stronger than her slight frame belied. 

“I guess I do need to put my money where my mouth is. We should meet up somewhere private. I’ll gather everything I’ve dug up so far and all the contracts and proposals we’ve had from Uchiha Tech over the last few years.” Sakura let go of his hand to flick the hair back over her shoulder. “It’ll take a while for me to get it all together but I’ll contact you when I have it. Do you have somewhere we could meet?” 

“My place should do.” Madara scowled when she lifted an eyebrow at him but didn’t bother to defend his suggestion. Let her think what she wanted of him. 

As far as he could tell no one took much notice of Sakura when she left that day. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight by now to see her marching through the glass hallways with all the regal bearing of a queen traversing her own kingdom. Madara watched her go until the shape of her form was distorted by so many walls between them before leaning back in his chair and tilting his chin up to stare at the ceiling. He tried to imagine how he would have reacted to being openly accused of even half the things he’d just read, the terrible working conditions, the unethical demands, the work hours listed that clearly meant whoever produced their tech was either not taking breaks or working too many hours or both. Probably with scorn for the accuser’s overactive imagination or anger that someone could dare believe such things of him. In all the many rants Sakura had gone in to she’d never once outright accused him of anything, only hinted, something he realized he should have been grateful for. 

Now he sat and counted the ceiling tiles above him to distract his mind from instinctive rage as he tried to come to terms with the idea that she was right, he was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in this company. Whether or not these practices had been going on when his father was alive Madara couldn’t say but when he took the helm himself - well. He could see now that he really had been the lazy spoiled child Sakura had called him many times. Just because he hadn’t actively taken part in any of these barely legal activities didn’t mean he was blameless. He was supposed to be in charge. 

Yet here he sat in the quiet of his office and he knew that if he continued to sit here for several more hours not a single person would disturb him. He was so far removed from his own company and he had only himself to blame for it. 

Gathering evidence from his end wasn’t exactly some top secret mission dodging around the people who supposedly answered to him. Copies of almost everything sat right there in the room with him. Madara was horrified to realize that everything his directors had done had been with his full and completely ignorant approval. Every contract, every major decision, every change to the staffing policies, all of it had been laid politely on his desk and then filed neatly away after a quick glance at the cover so he could go on pretending he had any idea of what the fuck his actual duties were supposed to be around here. 

The easy life of luxury he’d been enjoying for years was slipping between his fingers with every file and folder he pulled out to actually read in detail but Madara couldn’t find it in himself to be too angry about that part. Lots of people worked hard for their money. It was probably about time he joined those ranks. Much as Sakura didn’t seem to think so, he really did have a work ethic hidden somewhere inside him; it was just that he’d thought he could trust the old geezers here and they’d seemed happier when he stayed out of their way. As a young man barely out of school being handed so much at once he’d thought it was all a dream come true and left it at face value. 

What a naive child he’d been all these years. 

Actually removing all the files he wanted for evidence took much longer than finding them in his mockingly well organized office. When Sakura told him she needed time he had chafed at the delay but in the end he was grateful for it, heading home each day with bits and pieces hidden in the briefcase most assumed was just for show. They’d been right up until recently. 

By the time Sakura contacted him on his personal cell - a number he would have loved to know how she’d got ahold of - Madara was only too glad to welcome her in to his home and the living room that now looked more like the archives of Uchiha Tech than a place to relax in. He felt validated in some strange way to see the approval in her eyes as she looked around at all the mess he’d made. 

“Well, someone certainly has been busy,” she noted.

“You’re not wearing a suit,” Madara blurted, immediately wanting to slap himself upside the head. Of course she wasn’t wearing a suit outside of work. It wasn’t like he’d never seen her in more casual clothes before, just that it had been so long the sight of her in little shorts and a plain tshirt did things to his belly he wasn’t all that prepared to deal with. 

Sakura lifted one eyebrow with a dubious smile. “I worry for your intelligence sometimes.” 

“Hey!” 

“Anyway, I’ve got almost this much crap myself but hauling it all here would have taken too long. Luckily my company likes to have digital copies of everything so I’ve brought a couple flash drives. Have you got a computer we can use?” 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

Madara left her alone just long enough to gently bash his head on the wall and grab his laptop from the next room. By the time he came back Sakura had made herself comfortable on the sofa, one pile of the papers he’d gathered pulled in to her lap where she could flip through it with ease. 

“These aren’t anything sensitive, are they? No client information from anyone else or the like?”

“I’m not stupid,” he grunted. 

She hummed distractedly and paused to look closer at something. “No, not stupid. You do have a brain in your head for all that you’ve insisted on wasting it.”

“Look.” Madara threw out a hand to slap down on the pile of papers she was looking at, blocking her view of them and capturing her attention for himself. “Fuck off, alright? If you just came here to gloat or whatever then you’re no longer welcome. You were right, I already admitted that, I can see how much of a willfully ignorant bastard I’ve been - but I’m making an effort here to change that, alright?” 

“Change what, exactly?” 

“My ways or however you want to say it. I want to do better than I have been. Be a better person, a better worker, leader. To do that I need to start with figuring out how deep this corruption in my company goes and how large of a chunk I need to cut off before I start cleansing the wound.”

For nearly a whole minute Sakura remained completely silent, staring at him with something unreadable in her eyes. “Medical analogies?”

“My best friend’s a doctor.” He shrugged. 

“I wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid,” Sakura murmured. 

When she broke eye contact to look away Madara studied the shape of her jawline, realizing suddenly how close they were. 

“Really? How did you end up here, then?” 

Her expression remained far away until she looked back to him again and Madara took several moments to study her even closer, anxious that he might be misinterpreting something. That look in her eyes was a familiar one. He’d seen it on dozens of women before, though he never would have expected to see it on her after the interactions they’d had. When the heat only intensified, however, all he could do was cock his head to the side and stare back, leaving the next move up to his guest. Lust was a game he was all too willing to play no matter how unexpected it was. 

Sakura didn’t seem very aware of the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, all of her focus locked on to him. All it would take was misinterpreting this one moment and Madara would have lost his only ally in taking down the ones he’d allowed to undermine him. Despite knowing that he still couldn’t quite stop his eyes from following that small flash of pink. 

“I’ve been asking myself that same question,” she said finally. He got the distinct impression she wasn’t talking about her career. “You really are putting in some effort here, aren’t you? Trying to be better?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

Madara balked. “What do you mean why?”

“This is a big life change. What motivated you to do it?” 

“Well”-he floundered for a moment, trying to put his thoughts in to words-“it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

She moved so fast and so unexpectedly that for a moment it didn’t entirely register what had happened. It took a few seconds before Madara groaned and let his eyes slide closed, cradling the back of Sakura’s head to pull her closer for a deeper kiss. Hopefully she could tell him later what the hell he’d said to get her going but for now he was happy just to enjoy the taste of bitter coffee on her tongue. 

After the many times he’d seen her channel so much passion in to her work it shouldn't have surprised him to see it again now, shoving him down on the couch with surprisingly strong arms and crawling in to his lap all without breaking their kiss. Madara grunted when his head glanced off the armrest but ignored it. His attention was better spent tracing the shape of her hips down to where denim gave way to smooth pale thighs. She kissed like it would give her the oxygen to breathe, like a beast let out of its cage after holding herself back, and that was definitely a feeling he could relate to. 

“Fucking stupid sexy asshole,” Sakura growled in to his mouth. “I hated you so much when we were in school.”

“Oh yeah, I really feel that hatred now.”

“You just had to grow up to be even more arrogant, even more hot!” When she pulled away he garbled out a protest only to fall silent as she tore her own shirt off, baring her teeth like an animal. “I kept telling myself ‘don’t look, just don’t look, he’s not worth it’. Then you had to go and be a good person? How dare you!” 

“Mph!” 

Whatever reply he could have given was swallowed in the fire of another kiss. Delicate fingers pulled at the hem of his own shirt and Madara responded instinctively, working a hand between their bodies to where he could cup the outline of one petite breast. It wasn’t like she was wearing any special sort of lingerie, just a plain bra with little blue polka dots, and still she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life. Probably it had something to do with the way she looked like some vicious lioness on the prowl. 

He truly did not mind being her prey. 

“Good to know we’ve always been on the same page,” he managed to get out between hot kisses. Sakura let out a filthy moan as though his words had hit something deep inside her. 

“Shut up and fuck me!” 

“Ha! You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Mindless of the papers that scattered in every direction or the hours it would surely take him to clean it all up later, Madara took shameless advantage of his larger frame to sit them both up and slam them back down on the opposite end of the couch, pausing a moment to enjoy the sight of pink hair splashed out underneath him. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since you waltzed in to my office in one of those stupid power suits. Do you know how good you look in those things?” 

Gasping for breath, she pulled him down without bothering to respond. That was all the invitation he needed. 

Removing the rest of their clothes wasn’t so much of a romantic process as it was an animalistic tearing of cloth, hands palming flesh wherever they could as they devoured each other with lips and tongues and teeth. It felt like only moments ago they had been nothing but partners in stopping crime. Now they lay naked with their hips rolling together, hard flesh grinding against coarse pink curls, long thighs parting to wrap around his waist. 

“I swear to god if you don’t have a condom-”

“Vasectomy,” Madara gasped. “Hate kids. Tested last month, I’m clean.”

“Then what in hell’s name are you waiting for!?”

“I thought you swore to god,” he said, grinning down at her. “But I can give you hell if that’s what you’re in to.” 

Sakura glared. Then her eyes softened to half mast when he reached down to trace her entrance, wet with a need he felt just as strongly, arching in to the touch. He could feel the muscles in her thighs loosen deliberately as he took himself in hand and lined up with the bliss waiting so eagerly for him. 

“Oh fuck!” The words hissed out from between clenched teeth as he slid inside, instantly overwhelmed by the heat that sheathed him in a perfect fit. 

For once in her life Sakura didn’t seem to have any words, although she clearly seemed to agree with his sentiments if the way her heels dug in to his back was any indication, pulling him impossibly closer. He was only too happy to comply. Curses filled the air as he sank deeper, rocking his hips in shallow thrusts until his pelvis lay flush against her. Then she moaned at him to move and that too was an order he was happy to follow. Pulling away was such sweet torture rewarded with the pleasaure of sliding back in and feeling her clench around him. It really had been too long.

Whether it had been a while for her as well or if she was just that desperate to feel him he couldn’t tell but either way Madara felt a little smug about the way Sakura arched her back when he slid one hand under the small of her back to hold their chests together, pulling her body in to his with each sharp thrust forward. He might have been embarrassed by the unfettered noises punched out of him again and again by such overwhelming pleasure if not for the fact that Sakura echoed him every time, filthy moans and gasps and sharp curses spilling from her lips without a single thought for decorum. It was driving him wild. He always had liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to show that she was enjoying herself - and he would be willing to bet Sakura had never been afraid of anything in her life. 

Her mouth now occupied driving him higher and higher, Madara busied his own with nipping a trail down the side of her neck, tracing his tongue down the ridges of her clavicle, worshipping every inch of pale skin he could reach without folding his body in a way that would interrupt the rhythm of their hips. If the world fell down around his ears he wasn’t sure even that would convince him to stop now. Not when Sakura was holding him tightly, arching up as though offering her breasts for his wandering teeth to feast on. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” she asked, breath hot between them, lips parted in a grin that promised blood. Madara wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. 

“That a challenge?” he demanded in panted syllables.

“Give me everything you’ve got.”

In that moment he would have given her whatever she asked; his time, his fortune, his very heart. He was almost glad she didn’t. A challenge had been issued and he was nothing if not a very proud man. Curving his spine ever so slightly gave him room to work a hand between them, scratching blunt nails down the soft skin of her belly just to watch her squirm, through the curls between her thighs. When he pressed his thumb down on just the right spot Sakura cried out sharply, trembling. 

“Like that?” Madara was aware of how smug he sounded. He didn’t care. 

Neither did she, it seemed, as long as he kept doing what he was doing. So Madara made another circle with firm pressure and grit his teeth when she clenched around him in response, knowing that if he couldn’t bring her over the edge soon he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back for much longer.

“Harder!” Sakura demanded, writhing like she could barely contain the pressure building inside. 

“Anything you ask,” he promised. 

His thumb pressed harder, circled faster, hips rocking back just to watch her cry out for him and then sinking back in with enough force he would not be surprised to find bruises on both their hips the next day. One more circle around her clit and Sakura convulsed like a woman possessed. Her body twisted underneath him, clenching around his length. There was nothing he could do but press inside one last time with a guttural moan spilling between his teeth even as he spilled himself inside her. Madara fell still, letting his head drop forward to rest against the top of her shoulder and breathe through the shudders wracking his body. He was far from the playboy many seemed to label him as but he’d had his fair share of partners throughout the years; none of them had ever been like this before. Nothing had ever left him feeling quite as shaken as the weight of Sakura’s fingers twisted in to his hair as though she never planned to let him go. 

When he felt more in control of his own shivering muscles he pushed himself up just far enough to look down at the woman spread out beneath him, this glorious powerhouse all wrapped up in a tiny perfect package. Sakura looked back at him through hooded eyes.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to respect me in the morning?” she asked with a hint of amusement. Madara let out a soft bark of laughter. 

“Maybe if you stayed the night.”

“Weren’t we supposed to be working?”

“Hey, you’re the one who jumped me,” he pointed out. 

Sakura puffed out both cheeks with annoyance, a startlingly cute display after leaping at him like a wildcat. “I would hardly say I jumped you!” 

Rather than argue the point, for once Madara decided to just let it go. Pulling away to sit up, separating their bodies, was as distasteful as it was necessary. Thankfully he didn’t have to go far. In one swipe he managed to grab some tissues from the nightstand and his pants from the ground before sitting up even farther to allow Sakura some room to clean herself up a bit. Sex was always a messy afair. 

In an effort not to stare like a creep Madara bunched his pants over his lap and took a moment to look around at the mess they’d made of his neatly piled paperwork. Cleaning that all up and reorganizing it was going to take hours but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that; he would have knocked over every crate and pile in this room for the chance to have this woman underneath him willingly. Not that he’d ever planned on mentioning that. He peeked sideways, wondering what it would take to have this again, already addicted after just one taste yet not entirely sure now was the time to ask for more. 

“Can you see where my shirt went?” Sakura asked. “If you want me to look through any of this I need a shirt on. Men always get distracted when there’s breasts flying about.” 

“Just appreciating nature’s good work,” he replied in a dry tone. His movements were sluggish as he reached for the shirt, trying and failing to be subtle about taking one last glimpse just in case this was his last chance to do so. She rolled her eyes when she caught him.

“You can see them again later - after we’ve actually gone through some of this.” 

Madara swallowed back the urge to squirm like an eager child but his voice was still embarrassingly hopeful when he snapped his head around to say, “Yeah? Again?”

Soft cotton slid through his fingers like the ghost of her touch, Sakura’s expression careful but open as she pulled the shirt from his loose grasp and tugged it over her head. Her finger lifted to twist the hem seemingly of their own accord while her gaze held his own. A thousand answers waited for him in those eyes. He wished he knew how to read them. 

“Well, I mean, it was good. No denying that. Apparently I misjudged who you really are underneath all that bluster and that stupid cocky grin; I wouldn’t mind digging a little deeper.” She shrugged, an attempt at being casual that worked about as well as his own attempt, and that was enough for him to understand.

“Right. Let’s get to it then.”

He strove for nonchalance and an offhand tone even though inside he was floating, lighter than he’d felt in years. When he asked for Sakura’s help he really hadn’t meant to ask for anything more, convinced she was only helping him because their agendas had finally aligned, but he was hardly going to complain about getting closer to someone who had always seemed far beyond his reach. He wasn’t one to question good fortune when it landed so nicely in his lap. 

“Now that your eyes are open, first we doctor whatever poison has spread through your company.” Sakura stood from the couch to pull her shorts on, prodding  her neglected underwear aside with one toe before looking up at him to wink. “Then maybe I’ll let you show me what sort of man you can really be when you put your mind to it.” 

Madara scoffed but it did nothing to hide the smile growing on his face. Courting this woman promised to be as much of a challenge as arguing with her was - and that was a challenge he found himself excited to face. When this was all over and the two of them had salvaged what they could of his company, maybe he should offer her a job. To have her light in all facets of his life; now that sounded like a worthy adventure. 

[jinmindeulle]

crowned ∣ jwy (4)

anyone but you

word count: 2.7k

genre: royalty au, prince!wooyoung x dressmaker!reader ∣ angst, fluff

warnings: a lot of minor swearing

a/n: if you want to be in the tag list so that you don’t miss the updates, just comment down below and i’ll happily add you! ♥

bring your tissues once again :(

Three weeks go by, and I never come across Wooyoung. Not once.

The first two, I kept myself busy inside the sewing room, with both of the dresses that the Queen had requested, a tuxedo for the King, and the wedding suit for the love of my life, who happens to be marrying someone that is not me.

San kept me company most of the time, trying to lift the mood every time he saw sad eyes and frowns on my face, or sensed that I was about to cry as I got started with the wedding gowns. I tried not to think much of it, but it was clearly impossible.

When the time came for me to choose the wool and cashmere for Wooyoung’s suit, I had the breakdown I was expecting to happen ever since that day. I was lucky to have San with me at the fabric shop, keeping me away from the curious glances from the shopkeepers and making sure I was breathing normally again. At the end, he just bought the fabrics for me and held my hand until we reached the palace gates.

Having San by my side was a blessing. He never failed to make a smile appear on my face throughout the whole wedding suit process. He hugged me tight, squeezing the life out of me when I gave it the last stitch, and whispered in my ear that he was really proud of me.

So now, having finished those and with just a couple of simple dresses to create for some of the royal maids, I had more time available to wander around the palace by myself, trying to figure out my next move.

The breakdowns came to an end the day I stored away the wedding suit. I chose that moment to be the closure that I needed, letting the last tears flow down my cheeks.

But no more, y/n.

I reach the kitchen, offering myself to give some help after realizing that the maids are busier than ever, going in and out, running here and there, cutting, mixing and boiling what seemed like a hundred meals at the same time.

“Have any of you seen my son?” I turn around, and with wide eyes, I bow at the presence in front of me.

The Queen inside the kitchen was a rare sight to see.

The half dozen women behind me chant a ‘No, your Majesty’ that seems to have been meticulously rehearsed. “What about you, miss y/n? You’re a friend of his.” She smiles softly, painfully reminding me of Wooyoung’s tender smile.

“Uhm…” I gulp, taking my eyes off of her to stare at the wooden floor. “I… I’ve been busy in the sewing room so I haven’t seen him in a while” I mutter.

She sighs “I’ll go see if San has. Tonight’s the engagement party and I can’t find him anywhere. Well, if you happen to bump into him, please let him know I’m looking for him. Thank you, ladies.” And with that, she leaves.

Just when I thought that everything was getting better for my mental health.

“I’m… I’m heading back to my sewing room, girls. Just in case… you need me.”

“Go, y/n. It’s okay, we can handle the kitchen by ourselves.”

I simply nod without looking up, and slowly go back to my work place.

I enter, and with the same pace, I go to what are labelled as Wooyoung’s drawers. I open the third one, revealing a perfectly folded and ironed Prussian blue suit. Without second thoughts, I take it out and put it on my desk. Right after, I open his wardrobe doors, looking for a black turtle neck shirt. I neatly fold it and place it over the suit. With this, he won’t need me.

It takes me a while to find matching shoes and a belt, but once I have them with me, I take a look at the clock hanging on my wall. Five thirty-nine p.m. Just in time.

I quickly make my way out, going down the hall and taking the paths that lead me to my destination. When I reach that wooden door, I sigh heavily, and go inside.

I take in my surroundings, making sure that he’s not here before he’s supposed to. All clear.

Carefully laying the outfit on his bed, I run away from there without looking back.

It’s been two hours since I’ve started this book and I find myself unable to go further than page three. I read the sentences but I don’t understand their meaning, because in the enormous garden that is right by my chamber’s window, an engagement party is being carried out.

I should be there, actually. Every person that works for the crown was invited, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I asked San to inform that I was ill, and that I was not going to able to make it.

When it was time for San to go to the party, he kissed the back of my hand and urged me to wait for him, because he wanted to come by and check up on me before going to bed. I nodded as a response, and threw myself into the middle of my bed, flat on my stomach.

Luckily, my windows draw out the noise, so I am barely able to distinguish the fancy orchestra playing and the light chatter of the guests.

I take my eyes off of the sentence that I’ve been reading for the last ten minutes and I sigh, annoyed at me and my foolish heart for falling for a man that I knew since the beginning was untouchable.

I throw that stupid book away from me, sitting down against the head of my bed. Closing my eyes, I try to think of something that can keep me busy the three hours left that I need to stay awake.

As I’m about to head out of the room so I can quickly go to the kitchen for food, I hear the music stop, the voice of the Queen resonating everywhere.

“I am so happy to be gathered here. Tonight, one of the most special nights…”

My mind goes blank, and I just stay still. Right in front of me, through the damned window, I can see his face. His defeated, shattered expression making my heart rate immediately stop. His eyes are glued to the dinner table sitting in front of him, and I gasp, knowing what’s about to come.

You promised that you would never cry again for him, y/n.

Well, fuck it.

As if my body was in a sort of trance, I slowly make my way to the window, touching the cold hard material with one of my hands.

Right by his side, a gorgeous young lady engulfed in a silk white dress, is grinning like she’s won the lottery, listening attentively to what her future mother-in-law has to say. The truth is I can’t hear her seemingly deep and emotional message, because my mind can only take Wooyoung’s sorrowed face.

His eyes leave the banquet, taking a look around the garden, as if he’s searching for something (or rather, someone) in the crowd that surrounds him and his soon-to-be fiancé. Suddenly, his dark orbs go wide, and the light that they seemed to have lost makes its way back where it belongs.

Right, he’s caught me staring at him through my own window.

I quickly take five steps back, trying to disappear from his sight as soon as possible.

Shit.

Earth, swallow me, please.

I keep going backwards, so at one point I just bump into my bed and lay there, too astonished with my stupidity to move an inch.

San left.

After the engagement party came to an end, he showed up in my chamber. According to what he told me when I met him for breakfast the following morning, I was soundly asleep, all spread and hugging my favorite pillow. He didn’t know that I’d seen Wooyoung, but I thought that the best option was to stay quiet about it.

We chatted about my future plans and his intentions of helping me get over him in any way possible, even proposing the idea of staying with him from the time being. However, with the softest smile that I could master, I nicely rejected San’s offer. I had to take into consideration the fact that he still was Wooyoung’s best friend and in one way or the other, I would keep myself attached to him. He ended our conversation by adding that he had to go back to his land for some time, because, after all, he had work to do before the great day.

I hugged him as tightly as I could, wishing him the best and thanking him for everything that he had done, was doing and would keep on doing with the mere intention of just pulling me out of the hole.

So then, all by myself, I did not do much. When I felt like it, I went out of the palace with some of the maids and helped them get the enormous quantity of kitchen items, ingredients and decorations that they needed for that day. I took long walks along the lake at sundown, sometimes taking my book with me and reading a few paragraphs before my mind wandered somewhere else. Or rather, with someone else.

I finished the maid’s dresses within one week, so the only work that I had left was patching up the royal staff uniforms, with which I took my time, because I had a whole month left before resigning.

However, time flew by.

Without me even knowing, a month and a half went by with me and Wooyoung crossing paths not even once.

All of my stuff was already packed, waiting for San to come for it after the wedding. I didn’t want to give explanations to everyone in the palace, so I just threw the essentials inside a bag and hoped for them to be enough until San could pick up the rest for me.

 The morning of the wedding day, everyone was ecstatic. The busiest I had ever seen them, but ecstatic anyways. Maids running everywhere, wedding planners shouting and screaming instructions at anyone that crossed paths with them, guards making sure that no stranger entered the confinements of the palace, and the braid’s dressmakers going in and out of the lady’s chamber with cold sweat running down their faces.

I, nonetheless, had taken care of the gowns a whole week before the event. I took them with me to the King and Queen’s dressing room, smiling at their content expressions and bowing in gratitude.

⤷ A week ago

“I also wanted to bring you the Prince’s wedding suit.”

The Queen looked at me with a quizzical expression, giving away her dress to her lady-in-waiting for her to put it aside. “He actually requested you to be there and help him get ready. You know about his unwillingness to learn how to tie his ties.”

Right. Damn you, Wooyoung.

“Oh, yeah. Okay, then. I’ll just take it back with me. Good evening, your Majesties.” And with a last bow, I abandoned the room. “You just had to do that, right Jung Wooyoung? Fuck.” I mutter, going back to the sewing room.

Present time ⤶

I should’ve known that after what happened at the engagement party, even if it was as insignificant as staring into each other’s eyes for three seconds, getting away from him wouldn’t be that easy.

So now, pacing in front of Wooyoung’s chamber’s door, I tell myself that it isn’t a big deal.

Just go inside, give him the suit, tie his tie and leave. Easy.

Ha, right.

Taking at least five deep breaths, I shut my eyes tight and slowly knock on his door. I take a look at the suit in my hands, cursing the stupid tie that rests above it. I hate you so much, I want to yell at it.

But as I’m about to actually do it, the door flies open and a strong arm wraps around my wrist, shoving me inside of the room. The hatch is closed as fast as it was opened.

“Stop fucking avoiding me”

Oh? He dares to accuse me of avoiding him after having done the same? And he curses at me in the meantime?

I stare at him in disbelief, a shocked expression taking over my face. “Don’t pretend like you actually didn’t do it too.”

“Can we please talk?” his angry, accusatory tone suddenly changes for a more saddened, desperate one. “San told me you’re resigning.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about, Wooyoung. We have already said and done things that hurt each other, so I think that we are better off this way.” I quietly answer, giving him his outfit. “I’m here just so I can tie your tie for you.”

“Right.” He whispers, staring at the pieces of clothes that I placed in his arms. He keeps on rumbling, but his voice is so low and broken that I cannot make a word out. Without looking back, he goes behind his folding screen and starts changing into his wedding suit.

I feel tears picking my eyes and a lump on my throat slowly growing. You can do this, y/n. You just have to do one last thing and then you are free.

Free of what?

The discussion keeps going on my head, and I just let it be. I’ll never come to terms with myself if I don’t allow my mind to come up with nonsensical questions that hardly ever have an answer.

The quiet shuffle wakes me up from my daydream, and I know it’s time. I take the tie away from his hands, trying not to make physical contact whatsoever.

I breathe in and out while hanging the fabric of his neck, my eyes never leaving it. I take my time so that it can be perfectly done and no second tries are needed. I complete the knot by tightening it and drawing it up snugly to his collar, my hand lingering there for a few seconds before letting go.

“There you go” I mutter.

Just when I thought that I had made it, I make the mistake of my life.

My eyes land on his own, and damn it.

His dark orbs are nothing but glassy, defeated, hopeless. His cheeks are flooded with what seem like a million tears. His lips are trembling, threatening to let out a pained sob in any minute.

“I love you, y/n” his voice is soft, broken, pleading, shattering everything inside me. The sorrow and grief that had been raging in me for almost two months finally gets me, and I break down in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, Woo.” I whimper, as I feel his hands take the sides of my face. “I’m so sorry”

He takes a step closer, no more space between our bodies. His eyes are fixed on mine, their visible pain affecting me ten times harder than expected. I let out a choppy sigh, and with it, more tears.

“I love you, y/n” he repeats. “And I’ll never love anyone but you.”

I want to answer him the exact same, but he never lets me.

His soft, plump lips make contact with mine and all I can bring myself to do is lean in closer. His touch is desperate, hot and heavy, like he’s trying to take in every single part of me. Wooyoung’s hands leave my face but quickly make their way towards my waist, tightening his grip around me to shove me even closer, as if that was possible. My arms go around his neck instinctively, letting him take control over my lips.

We slowly, unwillingly, break apart gasping for air. Our tears keep flooding, but small smiles are taking over our swollen lips.

“What am I supposed to do without you?”

I shake my head ‘no’, leaning in for the last kiss that we’d ever share together. This time, is me who takes control, bringing him closer with my hands on his soft wet cheeks. “I love you so much.” I mutter against his lips, quickly letting go of him and making my way out.

I dare to look back once more, just to find him breaking down all over again.

“I’m sorry, Wooyoung.”

And with that, I leave the love of my life’s chamber.

part five: whatever it takes →

Here’s the fourth part of crowned ♥ I know this hurt even worse, but it’s getting better soon!

If you are reading this, thank you so much for being here, it means a lot to me ♥ Leave your comments, suggestions and ideas on the comments below!

Happy reading!

⇢ jinmindeulle

[tiesandtea]

Suede fell out of bed into Britpop and Britpop controversy about Blur and bisexuality and who was doing what to who in what direction, but between episodes of public drama was glammy rock ‘n’ roll in the most classic English tradition. After years off duty, Suede is substantially re-united (without Bernard) and active and playing their first stateside gig at Coachella. 

An interview with Brett Anderson by Chris Ziegler. L.A. Record, 15 April 2011.

How did Suede and Metallica ever get together for all-night rock sessions? Brett Anderson: Our press agent sorta said, ‘Hey, Kirk Hammett is a big fan— should we get you together?’ So we went out to San Francisco to Kirk’s place and spent a lot of time being a bit naughty and playing songs in his basement. He had a studio—a little bit of a jamming room. I remember running through ‘Metal Mickey,’ we did a bit of T. Rex—we were off our faces, anyway. He’s a nice chap!

Kirk said he was struck by how normal you were and how you didn’t spank your buttocks once. I should have spanked my buttocks. He was probably very disappointed. ‘This can’t be the real Brett Anderson. He’s not spanking his buttocks.’

What Crass lyric is so close to the front of your mind at all times that you can sing it to me right this second? ‘Do they owe us a living? Of course they fucking do!’ I love Crass. Feeding of the 5,000 was one of my favorite records growing up. I love that record. I love all the artwork. Talking about bands that draw you into a world—Crass really created their world, and it was a really confrontational, intelligent, political world. I really responded to it as a young teenager.

What part of the Crass ethos do you hold most dear? I don’t live on a commune in Essex. But it opened my eyes—if it’s done right—how powerful political music can be. I never wrote overtly political music, but I did write music that dealt with not like party politics, but themes of poverty and alienation and I used that in songs—that was possibly inspired by Crass.

How was Suede a political band? Dealing with the politics of life. Setting our songs in a real social context. I never wanted to be a writer who waved flags for a political party, but listening to the songs you can tell I was brought up as a member of the working-class, and you can tell the songs have a very strong left-wing bias.

You said you felt there hasn’t been a definitive genre of music invented in the U.K. in the last decade, and that you feel music is meant more to placate than provoke now. Why? I do very much feel that’s the state of things. I can’t see that the last decade has created its own genre, which is a terrible shame for that generation. Not to say there hasn’t been great music. There’s amazing music! I love discovering new bands and there’s a great wave of new bands. But the biggest cultural development of the last like ten years was computer technology. It wasn’t anything to do with art and music, and that’s a shame. Even in the 90s, we had dance music—definitely a 90s genre. Maybe people have become too knowing. There’s too much of a structured sense of what’s cool and what isn’t, and that comes from magazines constantly publishing lists which contain the same five Beatles albums and this kind of thing. There’s this constant pressure to comply with this very sort of rigid set of accepted rock albums. So bands are too afraid to go outside those reference points. I sense this real fear in the music industry. A lot of it is because the industry has become a lot more corporate. People won’t take risks anymore. In the early 90s—that’s the only time I can talk about because that’s when I started—magazines were putting unusual bands on the cover. Magazines put Suede on covers before anyone had ever heard of us. Commercially, that was very ill-advised—but at least it suggested they had a sense of purpose. Now I get the sense people only back who they think are gonna win, regardless of if they actually think it’s any good or not. They will back who they think are the winners, and they will write good reviews for the bands they think are gonna sell lots of records whether they like them or not, and I think that’s a fucking terrible way to be. People are too afraid of not being cool? Or getting it wrong? No one’s willing to get it wrong. No one’s willing to stick their neck out and become a hated figure. No one’s got that kind of confidence. Everyone’s too willing to comply. It’s a terrible thing. But things go in cycles, don’t they? Maybe it’ll move into another period where people are taking chances.

When is the last time you suffered Stendhal syndrome? At the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. I was looking at the Toulouse-Lautrecs, which were absolutely amazing. I’ve never been a huge fan of Toulouse-Lautrec before, but seeing the paintings in the flesh—as it were—is just so amazingly powerful. They’re so beautifully observed. I’m not sure if I actually experienced Stendhal syndrome, but I’ve read about it and it’s an extreme reaction to beauty—that’s the closest I can imagine it to be.

What’s it actually feel like? Like drinking too much coffee. Slightly restless euphoria. Or maybe I’m getting it confused with actually drinking too much coffee. I’m a huge fan of art . I spend a lot of time in galleries and that’s my favorite period of art as well—the post-Impressionists. Paul Gauguin and those artists. I love all the medieval painters as well. People like Bruegel and Cranach and Holbein. There’s something incredibly primitive about it—Bruegel’s ‘Return of the Hunters’ is so atmospheric. What I really like about Holbein is he’s such an amazing draftsman and a great observer of human features. He could completely capture a person. You’re looking at someone who lived 500 years ago but it could be someone passing you on the street. They’re so real. I love that about Holbein’s paintings.

Did you want to try and observe things that carefully in Suede songs? It’s difficult in the framework of pop music. It isn’t a very subtle medium. It doesn’t have as much as fiction or fine art. You’re in a very rigid structure—melody and rhyme and rhythm and those things are constricting you. I don’t think pop writers can ever take it to that depth of observation. But what pop writers can do is engage at an emotional level that other artists can’t do. The pop song, when done right, is incredibly powerful. That’s partly to do with the simplicity as well. Truth in music is incredibly important, but artifice can be incred- ibly important as well—that’s something I’ve done quite consciously. Lots of the songs I’ve written for Suede have been deliberately superficial but perversely enough there’s a kind of truth in that. A sketch is powerful because you fill in the missing pieces. You fill in the framework yourself. If it’s too full, there’s no space for you to interpret it.

Francis Bacon said, ‘The job of the artist is to deepen the mystery.’ Absolutely. One of the most important quotes ever about creativity. Something I’ve learned through mistakes over the years is it shouldn’t be too clear what you’re doing. Sometimes the sketch is so powerful because of the room for interpretation. As soon as you know what something is about, it somehow kills the mystery. And mystery is so important in music. That allows the song to have life beyond what it was intended for. When a writer’s writing, they have a very specific thing in mind, but they don’t know about the life of the listener. The listener applies his life to the music and there’s a new interpretation. That’s why a good song has so much power. It reaches into people’s lives. But to do that, there needs to be a sense of mystery. I’ve always tried to do that with detail. There’s this whole thing with great songwriters saying songs should be universal, but I actually think songs should be opposite—strangely specific and set in a place to make them real. I mean, still allow space for interpretation.

You said once that Suede writes about the used condom, not the beautiful bed. That kind of detail? That’s not my favorite quote I ever said—but it keeps coming back. It must resonate with people’s vision of what the band is about. It’s quite a crass way of saying it, but I suppose it’s got some sort of truth. I always wanted to document the sort of grubby side of life. I didn’t want to talk in rock cliché. ‘Baby, I love you!’ clichés. I wanted to sing about the world I saw around me, and the world I saw around me was the used condom. It was the dusty street, the flickering TV. It was that use of detail and the fact I was born in the U.K. that made me write about the U.K. in detail, and it became distorted into the cliché of what became Britpop later—but it was never this nationalistic, jingoistic intention. It was just a desire to write about the world I saw around me.

Did you have to feel like you were living a Suede song to write a Suede song? I don’t feel I deliberately changed my lifestyle. But I didn’t rein myself in. I felt justified in writing what I was writing—the right thing to do for my artistic vision was live the lifestyle I was singing about, but it’s kind of a chicken-and-egg thing. I was living that, obviously. But you can’t live that lifestyle forever and wanna remain alive. Things have to change. I championed—well, I documented it, and then you realize that what you’re documenting is quite harmful.

Did you think you were going to end up on a prison ship like Dan Treacy? Well, toward the end of the 90s, things started getting quite dark. Life was definitely changing. I thought, ‘Well, maybe we need to veer away from something.’ I always feel I’m slightly on dodgy ground when people talk about this whole concept of the artist as a damaged character—it’s such a powerful cliché that people really wanna believe in, and I think there’s so much great art made through clarity and sobriety. The damaged artist casts a huge shadow people sometimes can’t see beyond. Me personally, as an artist now I feel much more in control of my art. Much more driven. Certainly more than I did ten years ago. But people need to believe in that sort of figure.

Jason Pierce said he started Spacemen 3 because of people like Roky Erickson and Alex Chilton—that he felt he could do what they did because they were flawed and not professional and perfect. It’s the ultimate DIY ethic, isn’t it? The ultimate punk thing? Saying it doesn’t matter how incapable or damaged or all these pejorative adjectives you wanna apply—not you can still create art, but it almost makes your art more interesting or valid or gives it an edge you wouldn’t have if you weren’t damaged? Someone like Ian Dury—the ‘cripple as artist.’ It gives the audience a fascination, I think.

You said you were making music to find community in a fucked-up world. Did you ever find that community? It’s always a search for some sort of community, isn’t it? There’s a line from one of the old songs, ‘New Generation.’ ‘We take the pills to find each other.’ A search for human … ownership or whatever. I don’t know. It’s strange to say because I’ve always conducted my career and Suede’s career almost as outsiders. I’ve never felt accepted by the music industry. I still don’t. I’ve never felt part of any sort of gang, and I never really wanted to be part of any gang. The only gang I’m part of is this weird disparate group of non-members—the ‘others’—and I’m quite happy in that role as well. I don’t jealously look at other people’s lives and wish I could be like that. I don’t have that search for community I used to have— maybe I realized the reality of things.

Does that mean it’s not out there? That it was never there? Can bands create these communities anymore? That’s the definition of a decent band. They create a community. When I answered your question, it was in a personal sense. Whether I’ve found a community. But hopefully Suede as a band created a community. That was one of our real intentions—I loved bands like the Smiths who had this world you went into, with the sleeves and the reference points. You very much immersed yourself. I wanted Suede to have that sense as well. Almost a strong Suede way of being. The Suede army, as someone once said.

If you didn’t find community, what did you find? It made my life. It gave me all those things we were talking about earlier. It gave me everything. Gave me purpose in life. I wouldn’t ever advise anyone to do what I did! I’ve been incredibly lucky in my career. 99 percent of people who go into music won’t be as lucky. It is a lot to do with luck! The fact I’ve met Bernard Butler—little things! I might never have met him, and we never would have written those songs and Suede would have been a very different band. I never just say, ‘This is what you should do!’ I was just confident and stupid enough to do what I did, and it just sort of worked! But some of the decisions I made—they were pretty rash!

Is it necessary to commit totally to being creative to be good at being creative? To jump in with no safety net? Absolutely. You’ve gotta let yourself out there. I didn’t even have an instrument to fall back on! ‘I believe I got enough of a voice to say something interesting, and I’m gonna do it.’ Confidence verging on stupidity that happened to pay off!

Does pop music defend the brave and stupid? I think so. You have to push it as far as it’ll go. Part of the reason the public loves pop music so much is the drama of the story. You have people who have no idea about the drama and just wanna listen to Phil Collins records and that’s fine, but there’s a whole other group of people that love the back story—how it’s made and why people fall out and fall in love. It’s almost treating the world of music like you’re watching a soap opera and people love that.

Why do people fall in love? Probably some sort of chemical function. I don’t wanna be unromantic about it but it fulfills a necessary function for the human race.

[yukizakii]

finale

He hates him. He should hate him, but he doesn't. Because this is Kondou’s Shinsengumi that he entrusted to Hijikata, he must protect Hijikata. It has to end this way.

Souji's final moments, and his relationship with Death.

It has to end this way, is what he thinks as he tightens the ripped, dirty strips of cloth around his hand. He bites down on the cloth to hold it in place as he wraps it again around the hilt of his sword, tasting the dirt and blood from the road and battles fought before. It’s unpleasant, and for a moment his stomach seems to want to lurch and cough, but he pushes it down and clenches his teeth to pull the cloth tighter. It doesn’t matter anymore.

All that’s left is for him to die.

Souji isn’t afraid of death, hasn’t been for years. As a child, he had been afraid. He feared the death that had taken away his parents, and forced his sister, Mitsu, to grow up faster than she should have. After his parents’ passing, he had cried for months on end out of fear of Enma, the god of the afterlife, who would surely spirit him away as well. Yet as he had listened to the whispers behind closed doors in his home, his fear had been replaced with guilt. Souji had been young, but he was old enough to be able to draw his conclusions when he heard the tone of voice that came with the words burden and a waste of space. Afterwards, Souji simply felt nothing towards death other than acceptance that he too would meet that same fate someday, and perhaps for the better.

How wrong he had been.

Death was a blessing to him, a fortune. Death had stolen away his parents, but instead it bequeathed meaning into his life: to protect those who he cared the most. What a far cry he was from the hopeless child that had first arrived at the doorstep of the Shieikan, holding his wooden sword devoid of passion. Death was what had led him to Kondou, to begin training at the Shieikan as a live-in student and to find his purpose: To live to kill and be the Shinsengumi’s sword. The more that he wielded his sword and swore to follow the path of a warrior, the more that he realized how much death seemed to intertwine itself in every aspect of his life.

Perhaps Death was a blessing, but it certainly was not kind. When Souji had heard the word tuberculosis escape Dr. Matsumoto’s mouth, his first reaction was to laugh. He had been unable to stop, despite knowing how crazy he must have looked from an outside perspective. Surely this was karma, for the dozens of men he had killed on the battlefield without remorse. How especially thoughtful of Death to try and send him off by withering off his life force with each bloody cough. What mockery it was that the men Souji had killed would live vicariously until the last moment, but Death would not allow him the same grace.

Well, Death could try to take him down like that, but he wasn’t going to win. Death could go fuck itself if it thought it could make him go quietly. To live as a warrior was to walk the line of life and death every day, not knowing what would come next. Souji had embraced the adrenaline that came with the thought of potentially dying every time he raised his sword against another man. He loved the rush he got every time a blade got dangerously close to his face, or the feeling of his lungs heaving as he desperately tried to catch his breath in-between skirmishes. To die as a warrior would be an honor, and wouldn’t it be the most fitting for him to die on the battlefield, just as he had killed so many others?

Mitsu, he thinks, would be disappointed in him. Sad, even. But she will never know, and for the better; he knows that she has her own life and family to worry about during the war. She never did, and never will understand the lifestyle that her young brother chose to live. Souji had kept in touch with his sister sparingly throughout the years, but eventually he had stopped writing truths to her. His last letter a month ago indicated that he was fine, healthy, and participating in the Koyo Chinbutai with the remaining members of the Shinsengumi. He hopes that she will be happy with her life.

Kondou had written a letter to Mitsu as soon as he learned of Souji’s diagnosis, but Souji had been clever enough to have Chizuru intercept it for him. Chizuru-chan, can you offer to take Kondou-san and Hijikata-san’s mail today? Just say that you’re going on rounds with Sano. But give me Kondou-san’s mail. If you don’t do it, I’ll kill you. He remembers her round face staring back at him with confusion, before her features settled into one of sadness and understanding. Within a few hours the letter had been tossed into the fire as its final recipient, Chizuru watching him in silence.

Oh, little Chizuru. Frankly, she shocked him with her kind and selfless demeanor, even in the face of tragedy and death. He had expected her to instantly crumble like a child after witnessing what would be a series of nightmares to any other person, but it seemed that she stood with her back straighter with every harrowing adventure they went through. She was certainly one of, if not the strongest women that Souji had ever met. He thinks ruefully of the day they had first met—that innocent expression on her face had been unforgettable. He remembers the satisfying clink of the weight of his sword shifting as he had pointed it straight at her, and her eyes that seemed almost too large for her face fixating on the sharp tip. What a pity that I might have to kill such a cute little woman, he remembered thinking. But the last time Souji had seen her, he had been shocked by how much she had changed. She had chased after him with a stubbornness and determination that could have only grown out of pain and suffering. Her face had thinned as she had matured and grown, and he noticed that her eyes no longer had the innocent gleam from years before. Gone was that timid girl from that snowy night in Kyoto, replaced by a woman who had seen hurt and death and yet still raised her sword against enemies with them with unwavering loyalty.

That person is lucky to have her by his side.

Being in the Shinsengumi had changed them all more than they could have ever imagined. Souji and the Shieikan crew had always dreamed of being real warriors, but dreams could not have prepared them for reality. Kenjutsu practices turned to fights to the death, and bruises from wooden swords turned into nasty wounds that required stitches. Rumors, petty fights, and politics became daily roadblocks that they were forced to become accustomed to. The introduction of the Ochmizu and Rasetsu was perhaps the worst of all. But no matter how difficult things became, Kondou had remained kind and soft with every man and soldier, just as he had treated Souji as a student at the Shieikan. It was Kondou’s kindness, heart and unrivaled warrior spirit that made him a fitting leader of the Shinsengumi. Unlike that man.

That man, Souji thinks. That man’s name makes his blood want to boil, and when he thinks of his name now he subconsciously clenches his fist. Selfish, bilious, rude, and a man who had left Kondou to die.

But if Kondou had been the head of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata was the backbone and the spine that held it together. Kondou was a skilled orator and had the charisma and presence of a leader, but he was a gentle romanticist who liked to consult the books. On the other hand, Hijikata was all sharp edges and pragmatic, and a genius when it came to creating strategies that were critical to success. Even in the early days of the Shieikan, Hijikata had always been unyielding and harsh, allowing no one to talk down his dreams of hanging up his medicine box and taking a sword. When the opportunity had come to leave Edo and journey to Kyoto to join the Roshigumi, Hijikata had been the first to pull together the crew to plan their departure and involvement.

The Shieikan was where he grew up, but it was the Shinsengumi that became his home. When Souji thinks of the words family, he thinks of the Shinsengumi—and it is a family built by Kondou. For that reason alone, the Shinsengumi had been worth laying down his life for, all of these years. Souji thought himself as nothing more than a sword, and it was an honor to kill and bring death upon those that threatened the Shinsengumi’s progress. But beyond the skirmishes and public work associated to their name, there was a man who had shouldered burden after burden and rallied day and night for their success. The Shinsengumi and Kondou only rose to where it was today, because of Hijikata’s drive and leadership.

Souji knows that without Hijikata, there is no Shinsengumi. And because this is Kondou’s Shinsengumi that he entrusted to Hijikata, he must protect Hijikata. It has to end this way.

I heard that Hijikata Toshizou is staying in the inn in the next town over. Looks like he’s injured and only has one other companion with him. This will be an easy kill.

He hates him. It’s his fault that Kondou died, so he should hate him. He hates him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t hate him. Though he would never admit it out loud, Hijikata has always been like a brother to him. A bitter and sour one for sure, but like a brother nonetheless. When Souji had fallen ill, Hijikata had somehow always been the first one to scold him to go back to bed and to order Chizuru to make him medicine or soup. Souji had teased him—What are you, a mother bird hovering over her hatchlings? Really, you don’t have to seem so worried about me, Hijikata-san. Despite their constant bickering and harsh words throughout the years, Souji knows that he is a gentle, caring man beneath the demon-like exterior. But more than that, he knows that Hijikata loves the Shinsengumi more than anyone else.

Souji does not have much time left to give to the Shinsengumi, but Hijikata does. Souji cannot allow him to die. It has to end this way.

The lamps go off from the enemy, and he is alerted back to the present from his thoughts. He lets go of the cloth from his teeth, and drops his arms to his side. His right hand is now his sword—fitting now, that his body is now one with his sword. He closes his eyes, and breathes in the fresh night air. He lets his mind go blank, and draws on the power stored within his body to turn him into a Rasetsu. For the first time in months, he feels the air and power rush through his lungs and fill every space in his body with unbound strength; tuberculosis suddenly feels like nothing but a distant memory.

In the face of Death, he feels more alive than ever.

He steps into the moonlight, and hears murmurs from the men as they look at him. Gunshots whiz through the air, but he sidesteps them so easily. He hears the familiar Who the hell are you being shouted into the night, and his lips curl into a smile. Would these be his last words? How fitting, because he would absolutely love nothing more.

“My name is Okita Souji, the 1st captain of the Shinsengumi!”

Tonight, for the last time, he will be the Shinsengumi’s sword. Okita Souji smiles, and allows himself to fall into the familiar embrace of the battlefield.

Goodbye, Hijikata-san.

[mousehole5000]

tgcf lb the fourth chapter 23 - 33

“hmmm looks like theres people in the fertilizer. i shan’t say a word” ok king of minding your business i guess

oh looks like it has a long tongue. oh i dont care for that at all

The build of their bodies were similar, and atop their shoulders, all of them carried cudgels that were densely covered in sharp wolf teeth. It created an illusion that a pack of wolves had transformed into people. attack of the furries? okay.

It was easy to comprehend after thinking about it. This person had been buried in the desert sand for fifty to sixty years. The flesh of his body had long been transformed into nutrients for those Kindred Moon Herbs. He had been entirely consumed until the only thing remaining was a mere skeleton. when this book isnt being very funny its being very grim!!! yikes!! also this was an episode of hannibal 

Ke Mo definitely had never heard someone ask to go first in this place. His eyes widened and looked like bells as he asked in astonishment, “You want to go first? For what reason??” Xie Lian naturally couldn’t reply and say it was because he wasn’t scared. Thus, he chose an answer that conformed with the norms of society. “General, these are merely innocent merchants just passing through. They even have a child amongst them.” - love watching the immortals trying to act like humans. would have been funny if xie lian had just hit em with “well i cant die so its chill”

That young man had crossed his arms. With an indifferent gaze, he thoughtfully sized up the deep Sinners’ Pit.　　 A bad premonition sprung up unbidden in Xie Lian’s heart. “San Lang?”　　 When he heard Xie Lian call him, San Lang turned his head. He smiled faintly and said, “Everything’s fine.” - edgy bastard lets go

What Ke Mo had been cursing was, “It’s this slut again!” - me when a corpse gets up and knocks all my soldiers into the sinner’s pit what a relatable reaction

oh now im switching translations here we go

does hua cheng just straight up transform in the darkness? edgy bastard. also  hualian having their little discussion while ke mo keeps trying to attack im still amused by these kinds of shenanigans

banyue guoshi ma’am your backstory.... rough. im on your side im sure you had your reasons

why do the soldiers keep her up near the top of the pit of death if she keeps getting up and knocking them all in? am i missing something? or are they just that dumb/dead fjdf;adjsf

fu yao: y’all alive? lmk. if not ill guess ill go back to the the merchants who totally promised to stay put in the circle. in case its not clear i do not care what happens to said merchants.

hua xie... of course thats the fucking name he picked. also looks like that wasnt so much a parallel being drawn between xie lian and the general as it was the same exact line

fasdlkfjsldfdsf god xie lian really has a hard time. you help some orphans, you try to keep people from dying, you try to save an orphan and you trip and get trampled but you cant die so you wake up in a river full of corpses and just float away. actually tbh i really appreciate him as an immortal character this is the shit i like to see. love xie lian ready to defend himself from the slander of being completely flattened. he was only mostly flattened

cunty vibes so strong all the wildlife in a 10 foot radius just chuck up the deuces and split

ITS RAINING SCORPION SNAKES. THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO PUSH A REVEAL. love that the umbrella is just always on hand

okay i guess fucking. everyone is here now why not. we’re all in a hole covered in scorpions and everyone knows each other but not everyone is admitting it but we know. we know. still not 100% sure what is going wrt pei su/pei ming/general pei/pei junior im a bit confused idk

okay i cant explain it but im attached to him now.

i like banyue. i feel like theres going to be a few background female characters i really like but im not so sure theyll get a lot of development. wind master come back you and your lady friend i would like to know more of you. anyway fuck this pei guy(s?). also they just put banyue in a jar? fair enough

is xie lian another mc who cant cook? so much so that everyone who knows him just leaves if he offers? love that for him

okay we’ve got ONE identity admitted. i liked how casual it was. i wonder if hc was waiting for this bc yeah he was not subtle i feel like he definitely wanted xie lian to know. if he didnt then bruh. get lessons in how to act human please

screaming. no words. cant wait to meet him. and hua cheng please keep up the good work. i love that now we’re just. sitting. chatting. chilling. okay.

yeah it makes sense that hes an immortal i think you would have to take this attitude after 800 years

this authors note about not writing ugly characters.... fjkdalfdjfa obviously i dont think holding beauty as such high standard is good it warps our views and values etc etc but also i would expect nothing less from a story like this. yes we know everyone is going to be beautiful theyre immortal and beautiful and young forever

lmao at exile being a temporary banishment for crimes.... yeah that sounds about right tbh. rich elite fuckers

oh good we haven’t forgotten about human face disease boy. im wondering when we’re going to find out how important he will be bc he clearly matters otherwise he’d have been resolved already also yeah how tf does he have that disease that sure sounds like an issue

i dont like him. pei ming i also wish you to die of syphilis. also of fucking COURSE xie lian’s cultivation method doesnt let him read dirty books

im just saving this because its funny

okay lang qianqiu i see you falling asleep at the meeting. i like you already but you are not above suspicion. actually you know what i suspect you already. crown prince of the kingdom that conquered xianle? idk if youre good or bad but you know something i learned this lesson from beloved morally grey huaisang

okay last comment for this post. mxtx’s little authors note about everyone being straight except for hualian but you can make up headcanons as long as you dont split hualian up fjdlfakdj. i just find it silly to write a story thats so clearly for an audience that understands shipping and ships often and say not to split a specific couple up but i mean to be fair i kind of get it that sentiment as an author and not wanting people to do certain things with your work, although again i think its silly

i guess the point of this note is just to be clear that no one else is going to get together so no one argues about it and i dont actually know much about how this was published but it seems like it was serialized so i can see why that would be an issue. personally i dont really care for knowing stuff like that ahead of time but i know a lot of people do and it seems to be thing in other cnovels ive seen to know whos going to get together as far as major characters are concerned i guess thats part of the draw and i guess i kind of get it

not sure how much other romance will be in this but also i think its kind of ridiculous to be like “these are the only two gay characters” in a cast that just keeps growing but whatever shes really leaving that work up to the readers to make it happen which they’ll do anyways so whatever. also there had to be at least one of the 33 officials who fought hua cheng who thought he was hot. theres no way that didnt happen

[kalluun-patangaroa]

SUEDE: SLIGHTLY RESTLESS EUPHORIA

April 15th, 2011 

Illustration by Amber Halford

Suede fell out of bed into Britpop and Britpop controversy about Blur and bisexuality and who was doing what to who in what direction, but between episodes of public drama was glammy rock ‘n’ roll in the most classic English tradition. After years off duty, Suede is substantially re-united (without Bernard) and active and playing their first stateside gig at Coachella. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

How did Suede and Metallica ever get together for all-night rock sessions?

Brett Anderson (vocals): Our press agent sorta said, ‘Hey, Kirk Hammett is a big fan— should we get you together?’ So we went out to San Francisco to Kirk’s place and spent a lot of time being a bit naughty and playing songs in his basement. He had a studio—a little bit of a jamming room. I remember running through ‘Metal Mickey,’ we did a bit of T. Rex—we were off our faces, anyway. He’s a nice chap!

Kirk said he was struck by how normal you were and how you didn’t spank your buttocks once.

I should have spanked my buttocks. He was probably very disappointed. ‘This can’t be the real Brett Anderson. He’s not spanking his buttocks.’

What Crass lyric is so close to the front of your mind at all times that you can sing it to me right this second?

‘Do they owe us a living? Of course they fucking do!’ I love Crass. Feeding of the 5,000 was one of my favorite records growing up. I love that record. I love all the artwork. Talking about bands that draw you into a world—Crass really created their world, and it was a really confrontational, intelligent, political world. I really responded to it as a young teenager.

What part of the Crass ethos do you hold most dear?

I don’t live on a commune in Essex. But it opened my eyes—if it’s done right—how powerful political music can be. I never wrote overtly political music, but I did write music that dealt with not like party politics, but themes of poverty and alienation and I used that in songs—that was possibly inspired by Crass.

How was Suede a political band?

Dealing with the politics of life. Setting our songs in a real social context. I never wanted to be a writer who waved flags for a political party, but listening to the songs you can tell I was brought up as a member of the working-class, and you can tell the songs have a very strong left-wing bias.

You said you felt there hasn’t been a definitive genre of music invented in the U.K. in the last decade, and that you feel music is meant more to placate than provoke now. Why?

I do very much feel that’s the state of things. I can’t see that the last decade has created its own genre, which is a terrible shame for that generation. Not to say there hasn’t been great music. There’s amazing music! I love discovering new bands and there’s a great wave of new bands. But the biggest cultural development of the last like ten years was computer technology. It wasn’t anything to do with art and music, and that’s a shame. Even in the 90s, we had dance music—definitely a 90s genre. Maybe people have become too knowing. There’s too much of a structured sense of what’s cool and what isn’t, and that comes from magazines constantly publishing lists which contain the same five Beatles albums and this kind of thing. There’s this constant pressure to comply with this very sort of rigid set of accepted rock albums. So bands are too afraid to go outside those reference points. I sense this real fear in the music industry. A lot of it is because the industry has become a lot more corporate. People won’t take risks anymore. In the early 90s—that’s the only time I can talk about because that’s when I started—magazines were putting unusual bands on the cover. Magazines put Suede on covers before anyone had ever heard of us. Commercially, that was very ill-advised—but at least it suggested they had a sense of purpose. Now I get the sense people only back who they think are gonna win, regardless of if they actually think it’s any good or not. They will back who they think are the winners, and they will write good reviews for the bands they think are gonna sell lots of records whether they like them or not, and I think that’s a fucking terrible way to be. People are too afraid of not being cool? Or getting it wrong? No one’s willing to get it wrong. No one’s willing to stick their neck out and become a hated figure. No one’s got that kind of confidence. Everyone’s too willing to comply. It’s a terrible thing. But things go in cycles, don’t they? Maybe it’ll move into another period where people are taking chances.

When is the last time you suffered Stendhal syndrome?

At the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. I was looking at the Toulouse-Lautrecs, which were absolutely amazing. I’ve never been a huge fan of Toulouse-Lautrec before, but seeing the paintings in the flesh—as it were—is just so amazingly powerful. They’re so beautifully observed. I’m not sure if I actually experienced Stendhal syndrome, but I’ve read about it and it’s an extreme reaction to beauty—that’s the closest I can imagine it to be.

What’s it actually feel like?

Like drinking too much coffee. Slightly restless euphoria. Or maybe I’m getting it confused with actually drinking too much coffee. I’m a huge fan of art . I spend a lot of time in galleries and that’s my favorite period of art as well—the post-Impressionists. Paul Gauguin and those artists. I love all the medieval painters as well. People like Bruegel and Cranach and Holbein. There’s something incredibly primitive about it—Bruegel’s ‘Return of the Hunters’ is so atmospheric. What I really like about Holbein is he’s such an amazing draftsman and a great observer of human features. He could completely capture a person. You’re looking at someone who lived 500 years ago but it could be someone passing you on the street. They’re so real. I love that about Holbein’s paintings.

Did you want to try and observe things that carefully in Suede songs?

It’s difficult in the framework of pop music. It isn’t a very subtle medium. It doesn’t have as much as fiction or fine art. You’re in a very rigid structure—melody and rhyme and rhythm and those things are constricting you. I don’t think pop writers can ever take it to that depth of observation. But what pop writers can do is engage at an emotional level that other artists can’t do. The pop song, when done right, is incredibly powerful. That’s partly to do with the simplicity as well. Truth in music is incredibly important, but artifice can be incred- ibly important as well—that’s something I’ve done quite consciously. Lots of the songs I’ve written for Suede have been deliberately superficial but perversely enough there’s a kind of truth in that. A sketch is powerful because you fill in the missing pieces. You fill in the framework yourself. If it’s too full, there’s no space for you to interpret it.

Francis Bacon said, ‘The job of the artist is to deepen the mystery.’

Absolutely. One of the most important quotes ever about creativity. Something I’ve learned through mistakes over the years is it shouldn’t be too clear what you’re doing. Sometimes the sketch is so powerful because of the room for interpretation. As soon as you know what something is about, it somehow kills the mystery. And mystery is so important in music. That allows the song to have life beyond what it was intended for. When a writer’s writing, they have a very specific thing in mind, but they don’t know about the life of the listener. The listener applies his life to the music and there’s a new interpretation. That’s why a good song has so much power. It reaches into people’s lives. But to do that, there needs to be a sense of mystery. I’ve always tried to do that with detail. There’s this whole thing with great songwriters saying songs should be universal, but I actually think songs should be opposite—strangely specific and set in a place to make them real. I mean, still allow space for interpretation.

You said once that Suede writes about the used condom, not the beautiful bed. That kind of detail?

That’s not my favorite quote I ever said—but it keeps coming back. It must resonate with people’s vision of what the band is about. It’s quite a crass way of saying it, but I suppose it’s got some sort of truth. I always wanted to document the sort of grubby side of life. I didn’t want to talk in rock cliché. ‘Baby, I love you!’ clichés. I wanted to sing about the world I saw around me, and the world I saw around me was the used condom. It was the dusty street, the flickering TV. It was that use of detail and the fact I was born in the U.K. that made me write about the U.K. in detail, and it became distorted into the cliché of what became Britpop later—but it was never this nationalistic, jingoistic intention. It was just a desire to write about the world I saw around me.

Did you have to feel like you were living a Suede song to write a Suede song?

I don’t feel I deliberately changed my lifestyle. But I didn’t rein myself in. I felt justified in writing what I was writing—the right thing to do for my artistic vision was live the lifestyle I was singing about, but it’s kind of a chicken-and-egg thing. I was living that, obviously. But you can’t live that lifestyle forever and wanna remain alive. Things have to change. I championed—well, I documented it, and then you realize that what you’re documenting is quite harmful.

Did you think you were going to end up on a prison ship like Dan Treacy?

Well, toward the end of the 90s, things started getting quite dark. Life was definitely changing. I thought, ‘Well, maybe we need to veer away from something.’ I always feel I’m slightly on dodgy ground when people talk about this whole concept of the artist as a damaged character—it’s such a powerful cliché that people really wanna believe in, and I think there’s so much great art made through clarity and sobriety. The damaged artist casts a huge shadow people sometimes can’t see beyond. Me personally, as an artist now I feel much more in control of my art. Much more driven. Certainly more than I did ten years ago. But people need to believe in that sort of figure.

Jason Pierce said he started Spacemen 3 because of people like Roky Erickson and Alex Chilton—that he felt he could do what they did because they were flawed and not professional and perfect.

It’s the ultimate DIY ethic, isn’t it? The ultimate punk thing? Saying it doesn’t matter how incapable or damaged or all these pejorative adjectives you wanna apply—not you can still create art, but it almost makes your art more interesting or valid or gives it an edge you wouldn’t have if you weren’t damaged? Someone like Ian Dury—the ‘cripple as artist.’ It gives the audience a fascination, I think.

You said you were making music to find community in a fucked-up world. Did you ever find that community?

It’s always a search for some sort of community, isn’t it? There’s a line from one of the old songs, ‘New Generation.’ ‘We take the pills to find each other.’ A search for human … ownership or whatever. I don’t know. It’s strange to say because I’ve always conducted my career and Suede’s career almost as outsiders. I’ve never felt accepted by the music industry. I still don’t. I’ve never felt part of any sort of gang, and I never really wanted to be part of any gang. The only gang I’m part of is this weird disparate group of non-members—the ‘others’—and I’m quite happy in that role as well. I don’t jealously look at other people’s lives and wish I could be like that. I don’t have that search for community I used to have— maybe I realized the reality of things.

Does that mean it’s not out there? That it was never there? Can bands create these communities anymore?

That’s the definition of a decent band. They create a community. When I answered your question, it was in a personal sense. Whether I’ve found a community. But hopefully Suede as a band created a community. That was one of our real intentions—I loved bands like the Smiths who had this world you went into, with the sleeves and the reference points. You very much immersed yourself. I wanted Suede to have that sense as well. Almost a strong Suede way of being. The Suede army, as someone once said.

If you didn’t find community, what did you find?

It made my life. It gave me all those things we were talking about earlier. It gave me everything. Gave me purpose in life. I wouldn’t ever advise anyone to do what I did! I’ve been incredibly lucky in my career. 99 percent of people who go into music won’t be as lucky. It is a lot to do with luck! The fact I’ve met Bernard Butler—little things! I might never have met him, and we never would have written those songs and Suede would have been a very different band. I never just say, ‘This is what you should do!’ I was just confident and stupid enough to do what I did, and it just sort of worked! But some of the decisions I made—they were pretty rash!

Is it necessary to commit totally to being creative to be good at being creative? To jump in with no safety net?

Absolutely. You’ve gotta let yourself out there. I didn’t even have an instrument to fall back on! ‘I believe I got enough of a voice to say something interesting, and I’m gonna do it.’ Confidence verging on stupidity that happened to pay off!

Does pop music defend the brave and stupid?

I think so. You have to push it as far as it’ll go. Part of the reason the public loves pop music so much is the drama of the story. You have people who have no idea about the drama and just wanna listen to Phil Collins records and that’s fine, but there’s a whole other group of people that love the back story—how it’s made and why people fall out and fall in love. It’s almost treating the world of music like you’re watching a soap opera and people love that.

Why do people fall in love?

Probably some sort of chemical function. I don’t wanna be unromantic about it but it fulfills a necessary function for the human race.

L.A. Record (US Magazine), April 2011

[thewritingstar]

98 that’s a lot of questions I wonder if you could answer them all 🤔🙃

*Deep sigh and putting my hands together* BOI IF YOU DON’T THINK I CAN ANSWER ALL THESE BITCHES!! YOU COME INTO MY ASK BOX AND TELL ME “i WONDER” HOE DON’T WONDER ANYMORE. 

don’t come for me like this anon.....here ya go. 

smh

i answered all of these and it took forever so yall better read this shit

enjoy bitch

--

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

-Mugs

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

-both im a sugar addict

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

-bubblegum

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

-prob either really quiet or really loud

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

-I hate soda

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

-I really like pastel and goth styles

7. earbuds or headphones?

-earbuds

8. movies or tv shows?

-Both

9. favorite smell in the summer?

-Vanilla

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

-Flag Football (stealing the flags) and badminton

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

-dont really eat in the mornings but prob granola bar or left overs

12. name of your favorite playlist?

-Shower lol

13. lanyard or key ring?

-lanyard

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

-Sour gummi worms..that shit is CRACK

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

-Great Gatsby

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

-apple sauce or on one leg

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

-all black converse

18. ideal weather?

-warm and sunny

19. sleeping position?

-stomach, side, in a ball

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

-Laptop or phone

21. obsession from childhood?

-My little pony, littlest pet shop, Disney, elephants, Chinese food

22. role model?

-Tara Strong, Walt Disney, Francis Dominic 

23. strange habits?

-tugging my hair, biting my nails, wiggling on my heels like a penguin and going up stairs on all fours (when im home)

24. favorite crystal?

-answered

25. first song you remember hearing?

-American idiot- Green Day

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

-Eat 

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

-Eat

28. five songs to describe you?

-idk Cartoon theme songs lol

29. best way to bond with you?

-make me laugh or talk about disney

30. places that you find sacred?

-Flower gardens

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

-anything with my high heel boots

32. top five favorite vines?

-Road Work Ahead, Oh my god he on X Game mode, What the Fuck Richard, This house is fucking nightmare!, Happy one year babe! Im 27. 

33. most used phrase in your phone?

-YEET, Yall and bitch

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

-Stanley Steamer, The First5California.com song 

35. average time you fall asleep?

-now its 12 am -1 am... use to be like 10pm

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

-oh god that was so long ago i dont even know but it was one of the first ones like pepe or some some

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

-suitcase

38. lemonade or tea?

-raspberry ice tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

-dont like lemon in my desserts 

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

-A condom was thrown on my desk in french class (it was unopened thank god)

41. last person you texted?

-my mom

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

-Jacket pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

-HOODIE

44. favorite scent for soap?

-Vanilla or tropical

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

-Superhero

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

-Big shirt and no shorts (underwear obvi)

47. favorite type of cheese?

-I fucking hate cheese

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

-Strawberry or Lemon

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

-Its always fun to do the impossible- Walt Disney

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

-For my birthday my friend got my a “Sorry for your loss” card and i cried for 30 mins

51. current stresses?

-um everything..college and being the only snacc in my household

52. favorite font?

-comic sans

53. what is the current state of your hands?

-Still have both of them

54. what did you learn from your first job?

-That people are assholes 

55. favorite fairy tale?

-Disneys Rapunzel 

56. favorite tradition?

- My grandma got all the grandkids pjs on Christmas eve every year and we would wear them to sleep 

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

-Anxiety, Depression (sorta), Dropping my churro on the ground at Disneyland

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

-Quick Wit, Art abilities?, Standing on my head and making weird ass noises

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

-Already answered

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

-A really cool and cute magical one!!

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

-From Once Upon A Time, honestly they ave the best quotes. “So when I win your heart, Emma- and i will win it-it will not be because of any trickery, but because you want me”- Killian orrrrrrr He smells like forest”- Regina

62. seven characters you relate to?

-Juvia (FairyTail), Star (SVTFOE), Mabel (Gravity Falls), Maybec (Kingdom Keepers, sassy and artistic), Bubbles and Blossom (PPG) and Belle (beauty and the beast)

63. five songs that would play in your club?

-Boyfriend: BTR, Dancings not a crime: Panic!, Bang bang: Jessie, Ari and Nicki, Read you, wrote you: Drag race lol and Busted from Phineas and Ferb because I can

64. favorite website from your childhood?

-Webkinz, PetPetPark (STILL SALTY ABOUT IT) Club Penguin, Build a bear, Poptropica, i played every game yall

65. any permanent scars?

-only emotionally 

66. favorite flower(s)?

-Roses and water lilies..and every flower cause they pretty.. oh Dahlias too

67. good luck charms?

-petting my dogs. 

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

-Mango anything or Cherry. I hate cherry flavoring. 

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

-I have a great memory so i usually remember how i learned it, but.. Did you know that the water on the Jungle Cruise in Disneyland is 3 feet deep and dyed brown? Plus the water in all the parks is a special mix that doesn't contain chlorine because alot of people are allergic so its safe to touch? (learn from a disney doc)

70. left or right handed?

-right

71. least favorite pattern?

-those ugly ones on leggings.

72. worst subject?

-Math or english (haha and i like to write)

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

-Grapes and teriyaki sauce. if they on the plate. ill just dip them in. I have an addiction to teriyaki sauce. 

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

-I dont take any unless I have my period and my cramps are usually at a 10 so i try and take it when they at a 5

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

-when i was young 

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

-I LOVE potatos: Fries and mash are best plus baked. I HATE chips thou

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

-Any bright flower or ivy

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

-coffee, dont like sushi

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

-AHHHH my license is soooooo bad. I had strips of red in my hair (got it when i was 15-16) and i didnt know they took your pic at your permit test. Its awful. School is def better and my senior photo pops. 

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

-Jewel

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

-Fireflys (arent they the same?)

82. pc or console?

-Console 

83. writing or drawing?

-Both but im better at writing

84. podcasts or talk radio?

-Podcasts but I dont listen to alot. 

84. barbie or polly pocket?

-I played more with Littlest Pet Shop and My Little Pony lol (i have 400) prob Barbie thou

85. fairy tales or mythology?

-oooooooofffff cant decide

86. cookies or cupcakes?

-oooooff i love both but cupcakes

87. your greatest fear?

-wasting my life away.....or heights...certain bugs

88. your greatest wish?

-to be happy and have all my dreams (life, job, romance,etc) happen. Plus going to every Disney Park in the world.

89. who would you put before everyone else?

-Depends on the situation but sometimes you need to take care of yourself before others. If you arent doing good, how the hell you suppose to take care of others. 

90. luckiest mistake?

-hmmm idk being born

91. boxes or bags?

-depends on what im carrying but prob bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

-I love fairy lights

93. nicknames?

-any mispronunciation of my name, Dean, Big D (yes people call me this), Star, Sassafras and some more that yall dont get to know :) You can give me a nickname if ya want

94. favorite season?

-Spring and Summer

95. favorite app on your phone?

-Tumblr, Snapchat, Tsum Tsum 

96. desktop background?

- Its items from super mario and mario kart

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

- Eight

98. favorite historical era?

-oof im a history buff but I do love Greek and Roman because I love mythology...Maybe even 1800s.

hi if you got to the end of this then I love you and for proof leave me a 🐰

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

i don’t think i’ve ever Talked About This except in the briefest of passing, but i didn’t Record It anywhere else, and you don’t have to read this if you don’t want to. (Update: It got Really Fucking Long. Three screens so far!) 

But I think I need to write about it, before I start forgetting it’s A Thing again.

I struggle with something called Secondary Anorexia.

I phrased it as such very intentionally-- “I struggle with”, not “struggled”, not “healed from”, not “I had”. Because, as far as I can tell, from my own experience, my own perspective with having both, it’s a lot like my experience with depression, or the phobia, or ptsd, or adhd. The scars from it are always there. It’s a sort of addiction, to a sort of thought habit, that your subconscious thinks, for whatever maladaptive reason, will help you.

You can learn to recover your bearings after a breakdown. You can learn to return to normal more quickly. You can learn to cope with it. You can learn to be brave and fight with it when it starts acting up. You can even learn to defeat it! But the memories, scars, and habits remain with you, pitting your present condition against your past experiences, even when you’ve done everything in your power to train your brain.

Every single thought you have has the power to change your brain on a physical level. Did you know that? (This isn’t modern optimism; a real neurological fact based on science and studies.) Your Thoughts Change Your Brain.

But the thing is, sometimes your thoughts aren’t as Empowered to make as BIG of a change as that traumatic moment when your amygdala, and whatever other parts of your brain that process Thoughts and Emotions and Long-Term Memory got involved. 

You still have depression, or a phobia, or ptsd, or adhd. You’ve just learned to live with it.

And this anorexia? I’m still learning how to fight it. And I’m going to be honest, a lot of my motivation isn’t some abstract, long-term health goal, like “it’s not healthy to skip meals”. But I fight because, almost, almost as traumatic as the times when My Phobia was Triggered, were the times I passed out. Hit my face on furniture on the way down. Felt absolutely dreadfully ill even if I’d eaten that day, even hours after coming to, because my body was just so absolutely exhausted and hypoglycemic that I could barely lift my hand. The sociophobic guilt and embarassment when you pass out right in front of someone. Especially with your brain so fogged it would put San Francisco to shame, and you can’t explain it, or tell them how to help, or assure them you’ll be okay?

But even the thought of passing out, going through that again, isn’t enough to force myself to eat sometimes. (Because of how strong the fear is, I often decide, on a very conscious and willing level, that I’d rather pass out and go to the hospital than wind up being sick.)

The thing about e/metophobia is that, it’s a phobia. It’s an Irrational Terrifying Thing. (although, if you knew the way my body reacted before, during, and after it happens? You wouldn’t call it very “irrational”, my mother even said it might be a form of ptsd rather than specific phobia disorder. But I had the phobia long before I learned how Truly Miserable it would make me.)

And even with, gods at this point FOURTEEN YEARS of meditation experience, 18 years of practice with Disciplining My Thoughts, and lifetime of teaching myself to Be Rational in the face of Emotion? ESPECIALLY fear???

Even with my literal lifetime’s accomplishments in these fields, I can’t turn off the fear. I can’t work myself through it until the Stimuli (re: Stomach Feeling Bad) actually goes away. All the mindfulness exercises and self-talk experience and energy work and redirection and distraction and rest in the world can’t bring me back to a Stable, Calm Center when the phobia is even REMOTELY triggered!

I’m not in the mood to delve into everything the phobia does to me; there’s a reason that, even as transparent and convenient it is to have it on my blog here, records of the Actual Events get relegated to an entirely different blog. I can’t even stand THINKING about it. But I have e/metophobia because, in short, my body can’t handle it. My mind can’t handle my body going utterly insane with it. I have never, ever, EVER experienced that “relief” you’re supposed to feel when it’s done; that’s a big fat fucking myth to me. If hell is real, and my pagan ass is relegated there for eternity? It would be exactly That Phobia Trigger happening perpetually; there is literally no suffering in this world that affects me as deeply, completely, makes me unravel the way that having my phobia triggered does.

So, when I feel like It Might Happen? The only thing I can do to prevent it is Not Eat. (Sometimes it’ll happen even then. But statistically, when I feel that bad, if I don’t eat, it won’t. 99.9% of the time, it won’t Actually Do That if I don’t eat.)

So when I’m not eating? That’s what I’m doing. Not just feeding an Avoidant Behavior, but preventing dehydration; preventing hypokalemia and hypotension; I’m preventing trauma; I’m legitimately preventing my body’s condition from deteriorating any further. A little light-headedness is absolutely a small price to pay for knowing I can still stand. Still talk. Still go to work. Still do what I need to do. Still SLEEP.

It’s an absolutely essential defense mechanism for getting through any number of nausea sessions without utterly breaking down.

And yes, “Secondary Anorexia” is, in fact, the term my psychologist gave me by way of diagnosis.

I’m not sure what the criteria is, exactly, but my weight fluctuates wildly-- we’re talking up and down twenty pounds every month. In the past couple years, I only got as close to the “underweight” category as I was when I was a kid ONCE, when I was very ill. But for the most part, I can keep myself at a decent weight. With the help of medications at this point, of course... but days when even those don’t help? I’m still really prone to just, not eating. (With the meds, it’s not for a whole day. But I’ll skip a meal, sometimes two. I have to.)

And the sad/scary part of it is, it actually DOES help me. If I don’t listen, and try to make myself eat? I’m going to be traumatized. That’s just a statistical, empirical-data-supported fact of my life. The phobia is going to Be Triggered, and I’m going to Suffer Disastrously.

I wish I could pinpoint when that became the Standard, though...

I always figured there had to be Something Wrong with Being Afraid to Eat. Especially when I turned 18 and realized, that’s what I was feeling.

The way anorexia was taught in my middle-school class, as a Body Image Issue Exclusively, I didn’t think that was my problem. In fact, I didn’t even come to think that, hey maybe, being n@us0us all the time was, in fact, abnormal? (Part of that is probably because every time I told an adult I wasn’t feeling well, they told me to deal with it, or that I was faking, or that nothing was wrong because I Didn’t Have a Fever and The Phobia-Trigger Hadn’t Actually Happened. So SURELY I was just being a hypersensitive, overdramatic CHILD who didn’t know what her OWN BODY was telling her!)

--I’m sincerely so incredibly fucking bitter over that. Over that entire mentality. Something has been WRONG with me since infancy (my mother told me a couple years ago that, at the time she didn’t recognize it as a sign of tummy trouble, but when I was a baby I would curl my legs up against my body Very Often. There were times when I would just cry and cry and cry, and nothing would soothe me. How much of that might’ve been empathy in a tense and depressive household, and how much might’ve been colic, I can’t say. Obviously I just don’t remember. But Mom did say that. now that she did know what that meant, she wishes she’d looked into it.)

But anyways. This pattern, the evolution from “I don’t feel well after eating”, to realizing “hey I really don’t like feeling this way”, to “I feel sick, so maybe I shouldn’t eat right now”. to “hey maybe if I don’t eat, I won’t feel sick at all”... I don’t have any record of exactly how it evolved, except in Vaguest Life-Phase Memories.

In high school, I was writing and drawing emvents frequently enough to fill a folder with them. I used to skip breakfast in middle school, because I’d wake up feeling so sick.  (I remember a couple times, in my earlier memories, I had tried to eat when feeling unwell, and it only made me feel worse, to the point where I’d start contemplating Where to Go when it DID, which of course made Eating While Feeling Ill a very Aversive Thought. But I was so afraid of my parents forcing me to eat that, rather than explain to them that I wasn’t feeling well, I would make food, and either pretend to eat it and then HIDE IT, or throw it away when they weren’t looking. Sometimes I took toast or an apple to school, thinking my appetite would come back, but most days it went entirely uneaten.

And I remember... one morning, that I’m not going to detail. I don’t remember if stepmom took me or if I took the bus, so it might’ve even been elementary school. But I remember regretting eating, and then It Happened, and thinking back, I’m impressed with myself that I didn’t completely throw away the blankets afterwards. Then again, I don’t think my phobia was as Settled In at the time, because I didn’t have So Many Experiences to cement it as the immense Anticipatory Dread it would become.... but because of that morning, to this day I get immensely uneasy whenever I see those pancake-wrapped sausage things in the freezer section, and that unease is why I think I’ve never bought frozen breakfast food, because I can’t even have them in my peripheral vision.

Around the same time as that, I woke up feeling TERRIBLE, and was so open about my misery and panic that it shocked my stepmother into letting me stay home. I recovered, after not eating and a few hours of rest. I remember telling her, when I came down, “I think I’m nausi-phobic.” (I didn’t know e/metophobia was The Thing until I was about... gods, 16, maybe 17. But I knew how badly Feeling Nausea freaked me out, even at age 13.)

As for when my psychologist told me that what I experience is, indeed, a diagnosable Secondary Condition? It must’ve been around October or maybe November/December of 2017. (Those months when I got really, incredibly ill, and didn’t know why. Still don’t know why, to this day... but I’m making an appointment to figure it out. Sometime. You know that adhd struggle I keep talking about? Yeah, whenever I freaking REMEMBER to make an appointment when offices are actually OPEN.......)

Or it might’ve been after when she brought out that phrase, because I think I was working at this job when I was talking to her about my anxieties. (I remember, I was waiting at a bus stop to go to the dog-boarding job, so it must’ve been more recent, in fact...)

I’ve been typing at this for over an hour and I really need to go to bed, but.... I feel like I haven’t even put down half my thoughts here. I might resume tomorrow, if the inclination strikes. For now, just.... God if you read all the way down to here, first of all can I borrow your attention span, and second, thank you!