#having figured out a way to save asks to my drafts i can now breathe a sigh of relief

[atomicami]

bull ride

contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader

- summary: you spend the night out at a bar and decide to challenge yourself on the mechanical bull to impress abby. when abby sees you from the crowd, she ends up giving you something else to take a ride on. (part 4)

- content: smut MDNI, porn with plot, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel and jerry are both alive, jerry is not a doctor, reader has a business degree, family & work drama, bar setting, some alcohol consumption, truck sex (bit of a quickie), fingering (a!receiving), strap usage (r!receiving), strap sucking, abby referring to the strap as her cock, basically save a horse ride a cowgirl tbh 🤠

- author’s note: hi everyone… i know i’ve been very inactive this year but this part has actually been sitting in my drafts since march so i figured i’d at least post it for the few people who’ve been waiting this long to read it, i hope y’all enjoy it

previous parts: quick fix, surprise visit, charity work

It’s been a week since the bake sale, meaning that it’s also been a week since Abby last had her hands on you.

You’d be lying if you said that this week was flying slow for you right now, because to your surprise, seven days flew by like seven minutes, and before you knew it, it was officially Saturday.

You’re sitting in your room by your dresser, fully dressed from head to toe in the finest Western apparel that you own, finishing the touches on your makeup in the mirror. You then look down at your phone for a moment, still eyeing the last text that Abby had sent you.

She invited you to go to Wild Randy’s tonight, and while you were excited to see her again, you were dreading it at the same time.

It was mainly because Wild Randy’s was the go-to place for you and Joel, and as bad as you want to sneak off with Abby again, you knew that you’d also have to make sure you wouldn’t get caught by your dad either.

You take a few deep breaths before standing up and adjusting your belt, then grabbing your phone and bag before exiting your bedroom.

“Dad! I’m ready to go!” you call out as you strut down the stairs. Given that you always take longer than him to get ready, you figured he’d be sitting on the couch waiting for you, but to your surprise, he wasn’t there.

“Dad? Where are you?” you call out for him again, entering the kitchen to find it empty as well. You roam around the house for a bit before entering the garage, seeing him still in his work clothes working on blueprints. “Dad…are you not coming?”

Joel looks up at you, frowning once he sees you ready to leave. “Oh, shit…it’s Saturday isn’t it?” he says, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry kid, I know we go to Randy’s every Saturday but…work’s just been tyin’ me down lately.”

You nod to your dad in acknowledgment. “Well, we can skip tonight if—“

“No, no, no, s’alright,” he says, quickly cutting off your words. “You go. There’s always next weekend right?” he looks down for a moment at his workspace before looking back up at you. “Are you gonna drive yourself there or…?”

“Oh, um it’s okay Dad, I can text Dina for a ride.” you take a few steps closer to him before continuing. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask him, receiving a nod from him in response.

“Okay, well…don’t stay up too late, we have to go to the hardware store next week to start getting supplies for the Mitchell home.” you remind him as you walk your way to the door.

Joel clicks his tongue at you in response. “Thanks for remindin’ me, kid. Don’t have too much fun out there, alright?”

You smile and nod back at him before leaving the garage. Even though you felt bad that your dad couldn’t come, you can’t help but feel relieved about it either. With your dad out of the way, you’d be able to get some time with Abby without the risk of getting caught by him.

You pull out your phone to send a text to Dina telling her to pick you up, and in less than ten minutes she was already honking at your door. While checking to make sure you have everything, you exit your house before locking it, walking down the porch to see Dina inside her car with the windows rolled down.

“Hey, you!” she shouts out, leaning forward over her steering wheel. “Ready for Randy’s?”

“You bet I am!” you shout back to her as you hurriedly get into the passenger side of her car and sit down.

The ride to Wild Randy’s was pretty quick, given that there’s never a rush hour on Saturdays. Aside from the twenty minutes it took Dina to find an available parking spot, the two of you were now quickly settled at the bar.

“So tell me, how’s it going with you and Abby?” Dina asks you as you both sit yourselves down on the bar stools.

Before you can respond to her, Jesse ends up cutting in from behind the bar with two beers in his hand. “Wait a second, you’ve been having a thing with Anderson?” he asks you, popping open the two bottles before handing them to you and Dina. “Didn’t you say that your dad doesn’t want you around her?”

You nod to him in response. “Yeah, and I mean I’ve been doing that for what, four, five years now? But I needed her to come over a few weeks ago to fix an outlet in my living room and it just like…happened, you know?” you explained, taking a sip from your beer.

Dina quickly gulped and set her bottle back down on the bar. “Wait a minute…is that why you were acting so weird during movie night?”

“Yeah…” you tell her with a nod, taking another sip out of your beer. “Anyways, she told me she was going to be here today so…” your words drift off as you turn your head around in search of her, and you are quick to catch her entering the bar with her group of friends. Not only that, but her father was also nowhere to be seen.

It was the first time you saw Abby like this, outside of work and not in her work clothes for once. She was wearing a pair of jeans instead of her usual cargo pants, a pair of western boots instead of her usual work ones, and her tool belt was ditched for a leather belt with a metal buckle on the center. She also had on a tight button-up that showed off her muscles, and to top it all off, a cowboy’s hat that rested over her braided blond hair.

You hate to admit it, but she was looking pretty damn good right now.

Dina suddenly snaps her fingers at you to get your attention, causing you to swivel your chair back around. “She’s there right now isn’t she?” she asks you, receiving a nod from you in response.

“Yeah, I want to go talk to her but…” your words drift off again as you turn back to see her. As you check her out, you notice from the corner of your eye some movement going on towards your left. You fully swivel your chair around this time to get a better look. It appeared to be a group of employees carrying out a large mechanical bull inside an inflatable ring, while another employee stood next to them, giving them orders on where to position the machine.

“Jesse,” you call out to him, swiveling your stool back to face him. “They’re bringing back the bull?”

Jesse looks up briefly to see the mechanical bull being set up before looking back down and pouring some contents into a cocktail shaker. “Yeah, we’ve been getting so many requests to bring it back up after our last bull broke down last year,” he explains as he continues preparing the cocktail for the customer in front of him.

You briefly look back at the bull for a moment, then look over to where Abby was. At that moment, an idea instantly sparked in your mind. What better way could there be to catch Abby’s attention than impressing her by taking a ride on the mechanical bull?

The sound of a loud microphone tap shakes you out of your thoughts, and you look over to see the bar’s owner standing in front of the bull with the microphone in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he calls out, quickly grabbing the attention of all the patrons inside the dimly lit bar. “I’m pleased to announce that we now have our brand new and improved mechanical bull back into our bar!” he announces, quickly receiving cheers and applause from the customers. “Now who in here…” he says, pointing a finger around the bar. “Is gonna be the first one to be brave enough and take her for a ride?”

You look around the bar to see several amounts of people already preparing themselves for the challenge. Part of you wanted to not do it, but a bigger part of you wanted to ride that damn bull like there was no tomorrow. You were willing to do it, just for the sake of impressing Abby. Neither of your dads were here right now, so who knows when you could get another opportunity like this? It was either now or never.

“I’ll do it!” you shout out, quickly raising your hand to get the owner’s attention.

Dina quickly grabs your hand and pulls it down to your lap. “What are you doing? Are you seriously gonna ride that thing?” she asks with concern.

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by the owner shouting at you. “You right there! Come on up here!”

You look over at the man before back at Dina. “I guess I am now,” you tell her with a shrug, hopping off of the bar stool and approaching your way towards the ring.

As you walk away from the bar, Jesse comes to Dina from behind, leaning into her side. “I’ll bet you $20 that she won’t last the full five minutes.”

You watch the owner squint to try to get a better look at you as you get closer to the inflatable ring. “Well well well, what do we have here!” he says as you make it to the ring, now standing next to him. “If it isn’t Joel Miller’s daughter herself. You think you’ll be able to handle the bull, Miss Miller?” he asks, pointing the microphone towards you.

You grab the mic from the owner and hold it closer to yourself. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see but…I think I could handle her,” you tell him with confidence before handing the mic back to him.

Numerous amounts of patrons clap and cheer you on in response. As the owner continues to speak to the audience, you step into the inflatable ring, watching as your boots sink inside. You look at your surroundings for a moment, seeing all of the customers placing their bidding money into a hat and passing it around the bar. The hat goes around past Abby as well, and you could’ve sworn she had slipped a hundred-dollar bill in there for you. Her eyes then meet with yours for a moment, and so does that stupid smirk of hers.

“Alright Miss Miller, you have five minutes up on the clock now, if you can make it to the end, you win the bidding money, got it?” the owner explains to you.

You nod at him in acknowledgment. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

You then turn back around so you’re facing the bull. You take a few steps backward as a head start, then quickly run forward and hop on top of the bull. Your hands quickly grab onto the handles, and you keep your legs wrapped around the sides of the bull. Lastly, you position your hips on the bull by pushing them forward, keeping yourself as close as possible to the saddle.

The bull was quickly activated as soon as you sat down, and so was the timer. The machine began to rock back and forth, slowly to start. Once you felt like you were getting the hang of it, that’s when the speed began to go faster. Your grip on the bull progressively gets tighter and tighter the more that the speed increases. It eventually escalated to the fullest speed, the bull now moving and spinning around like crazy. Time has never flown by slower for you than at this moment. On the inside, you were getting so dizzy to where you were going to be sick. But you couldn’t express that. Not in front of the audience. Not in front of Abby.

Regardless of it, you refused to let go. You held onto the bull like your life depended on it, waiting for the timer to count down to zero. Five minutes felt more like an eternity to you right now, but you soon start to feel relief once you hear the audience begin to count down.

Ten, nine, eight…

You lock down your grip on the bull’s handles.

Seven, six, five…

Your legs remain secure on each side of the saddle, and your hips push forward against it. As much as you were trying to hold onto the bull, you couldn’t help but imagine your hips pushing forward on Abby’s str—

Four, three, two, one!

The timer goes off, and the bull begins to slow itself down. As the machine comes to a stop, you instantly loosen your grip on it. You let out a breath of relief as you look up, watching all of the patrons cheer and applaud you. One of the employees approaches to help you, and you carefully hop off the bull before exiting the ring.

“I have to say you did phenomenal on that bull there, Miss Miller.” the owner tells you through the mic, handing you the bidding money. “Anything you wanna say to the audience?”

You take the money from his hands before taking the microphone. “Well, first of all, thank you all for bidding on me, and second…” you pause for a moment before continuing. “And I don’t mean to self-promote but…if anyone here needs any construction help…be sure to contact my dad’s company, Miller Contracting. We’re the best in all of Austin.” your eyes scan around the audience before your gaze fixes on Abby. You keep your eyes on her for a little bit, smirking at her before looking back at the audience and walking off, a last set of applause happening as you do so.

You make your way back to the spot where Jesse and Dina remain. “See? Told y’all I’d beat that thing,” you say, flaunting your bidding money in front of them. Jesse leans forward on the bar to get closer to you. “Mind if I get a cut of that?” he asks, trying to grab the money from your hand.

You move your hand away from him and shake your head. “Hell no, I won this fair and square,” you tell him, clutching the money close to your chest. “Besides, didn’t you bid against me anyway?”

Jesse scoffs, still leaning forward on the bar. “Yeah, but I still have rent to pay,” he replies before taking his weight off the bar to assist another customer.

You simply roll your eyes at him and chuckle in response as you count your money. “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s not even that much—“ your words quickly cut off once you notice something unusual on the hundred-dollar bill. You pull it out of the thin stack, seeing a note attached to it that reads:

“Meet me at the parking lot in five. —A”

You smirk to yourself upon reading the message, not even realizing that you were doing so until Dina points it out. “She wants you to go see her, doesn’t she?” she asks, crossing her arms at you.

You simply nod at her in acknowledgment. “Yeah, she does…” you reply, reaching to the bar to grab the rest of your things before saying goodbye to Jesse and Dina. Upon leaving, you look over to see Abby on the other side of the bar. You watch as she pays for her beer and leaves from the other exit. The thrill and excitement starts to consume you already in seeing her again.

The cool air hits you once you exit the bar. You roam around the parking lot in search of her until you hear a faint whistling sound from behind. You turn around to see Abby’s prominent figure from a distance leaning on the side of her truck. You don’t approach her quickly though. Instead, you take your time walking your way towards her.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t the bull tamer herself…” Abby says, taking her weight off the truck. “You looked good up there, you know…riding that thing.”

You smirk and take a step closer to her. “I’m glad. Wanted to put on a show for you there,” you tell her quietly, and she leans in to give you a kiss, the rim of her cowboy hat slightly brushing over the top of your head as your lips briefly connect.

“You know…” she tells you quietly, slightly separating her lips from yours. “I’ve got something else that you can take a ride on for me…”

“Oh yeah?” you whisper back to her. “And what might that be?”

“Why don’t you hop in my truck and find out?”

And with that you take a step back, letting Abby unlock her truck before opening the passenger door and entering inside. Upon opening the door, you couldn’t help but notice that the windows in Abby’s truck were slightly darker than the last time you saw it…did she seriously get her windows tinted?

Abby holds the door open for you, and you quickly climb inside and hop onto her lap before she closes the door and locks it, now confining the both of you inside. Your thighs wrap themselves around Abby’s lab and you push your hips forward over her crotch, just like how you did on the bull. You could practically feel the bulge of her strap under all that denim.

Abby lets out a soft groan at the sudden friction. “How about you get it wet for me first, yeah?” she says, reaching down to the lever on the bottom part of the seat and pushing it back to give you some space on the ground.

You don’t even think twice about it, instantly dropping down to your knees and unzipping her jeans before pulling the thick black strap out of her boxers. After seeing the sight of it, you were pretty shocked. You didn’t get a good look when she fucked you last time, but now that it’s in your hands, you’re amazed that you were able to take the immense length of Abby’s strap.

Your fingers wrap around the large piece of silicone before you lean into it, lips instantly wrapping around the tip. You gently suck onto the tip for a moment, then slowly work your way down to the base of the strap. However, your mouth couldn’t last being down so deep, so you briefly pull it back up to the tip before going back down, repeatedly continuing your movements thereafter.

Abby lets out a quiet groan as she feels the base of her strap rubbing against her clit. Replacing your mouth with your hand, you look up for a moment to see her head slightly tilted back, her cowboy hat obstructing her view as well.

You keep stroking her strap with one hand, spreading your saliva all over from base to tip to distract her. As you do that, you use your other hand to gently shift the harness to the side and sneak your fingers into the crotch of her boxers, instantly finding access to her wet pussy before sliding two of them inside.

Abby notices the sudden shift of movement and looks down at you. “What the hell are you—oh fuck—“ her words get cut off with a quiet groan as you begin to curl her fingers inside of her. “Oh fuck yeah, k-keep doing that…”

You smirk back at her as you continue to pump your fingers inside her, now fully diverting your attention away from the strap for a moment. Your other hand moves to keep the harness of the strap pushed to the side while you finger Abby’s pussy, and you look up to keep an eye on her every movement—the way her hands grip the seat of the truck, the moans and whines escaping from her mouth, and how her eyes were tightly shut and the head was thrown back in pleasure. You’d be lying if you said that the way she looked right now wasn’t turning you on because you can just easily feel your arousal pooling in between your thighs as you do this to her.

“God, fucking hell—go…go faster…” Abby whines out to you, tightening her grip on the seat as she manspreads herself farther on it to give you more space. You simply nod in acknowledgment, speeding up your pace inside her in a desperate effort to get her to cum.

You can visibly see her breaths getting deeper, and you can practically feel the way her cunt began to contract around your two fingers, knowing that she was getting close. Within moments, your fingers get instantly coated with her release as she cums around them with a loud groan. Her breathing soon slows down as she recovers from her orgasm and she looks back down at you. Your gaze stays fixed on hers while you slide your fingers out of her pussy and place them into your mouth, sucking them clean while you get a taste of her release.

“My god…” Abby pants out, still trying to catch her breath. “No one’s ever made me cum that fast before…you’re good at this too, you know.”

You smirk back at her as you sit back for a moment, briefly resting your weight on the back of your boots. “Looks like you’re not the only one who’s good at making a quick fix, Anderson.” the blonde simply shakes her head at you in response before patting her hand on her lap. “Your turn now, angel. Get on up here.”

Without hesitation, you slowly lift yourself from the floor of the truck and climb onto Abby’s lap in the passenger seat, her large hands quickly roaming up and down your hips as you do so. You watch as she scrunches up your skirt around your hips and brings one of her hands down to the crotch of your underwear, smirking once she senses the wetness underneath it. “Looks like she’s pretty eager to take a ride, don’t you think?”

You nod quickly in response, and you lift yourself to hover over the strap. Abby helps you out by shifting your underwear to the side and spreading your puffy folds open. You grab the strap with one hand to align it with your entrance while you grab onto Abby’s shoulder with the other to support yourself as you go down.

The tip meets with your entrance, and you whimper at the sudden stretch. Your grip on Abby’s shoulder tightens as you try to maintain your balance over her lap. And then, little by little…you begin to sink down her strap, all the way until your folds were pressing over the base of it.

Once the entire length was inside you, you used your other hand to grab Abby’s other shoulder for balance. The feeling this time was a little more difficult to handle in comparison to how Abby had fucked you at the bake sale. You weren’t bent over, nor did you have the support of the counter either. You were completely sat upright, in the confined passenger seat of Abby’s truck, with her strap so far inside you that she could visibly see the tip poking out of your lower stomach. It sure felt overwhelming, to say the least.

“Fuck…you look good for me like this…” she mutters out quietly as she runs her thumbs down your stomach, gently pressing onto the bulge that was being formed from her strap. She watches as you continue to stay upright, now squirming in her grasp as a response to the pressure she was giving to your stomach. “You know…it’s not gonna feel any better if you don’t move.” she continues, now bringing one hand further down to rub your clit. “Take a ride on it, princess…It’ll feel good once you start moving.”

Your eyes flicker down to the watch that was wrapped around Abby’s left wrist. You glance at the time.

10:39…10:40.

You take a deep breath and tighten your grip on Abby’s broad shoulders. As her hands remain planted on your body, you begin to lift yourself up before going straight back down. You repeat the process, now developing a slow pace on her strap.

Abby smirks as she looks up at you, watching every moan and whimper escape from your lips as you fuck yourself on her cock. “There we go, that’s it…atta girl…” her praises and coos continue, now leading you to move at a faster pace. As you begin to ride her faster, Abby notices how close your head is getting to the ceiling of her truck every time you go up. While keeping one hand planted on you, she quickly takes off her cowboy hat and places it on your head, fixing up the rim so she can still see you. “Prettiest cowgirl I’ve ever seen,” she mutters out quietly, placing her hand back onto your hip as you keep riding her.

As you keep riding Abby’s strap, you take a glance out the window, making you slow down to get a better look. You see some people leaving the bar and walking their way back to their vehicles, and your heart begins fucking racing when they pass by Abby’s truck, completely oblivious of the events that are happening inside it.

“Hey,” Abby squeezes your hip, causing you to direct your attention back to her. “They’re not seeing any of this, you know…” she pauses for a moment before continuing. “But I bet you want them to, don’t you? It’s obvious you enjoyed throwing on that little show back there at the bar earlier, so would this be any different?” she asks, leaning in to kiss you. “Would it be any different if those same people saw a pretty cowgirl like you slutting herself out for me like this? Riding my cock and making a mess all over my lap? Hm?”

You whine back at her, shaking your head. “Yeah, I knew you’d like that, my filthy little cowgirl…” she responds with a smirk. “But you see, that’s why I have all of my windows tinted now…because I don’t want anyone to see what’s really mine.”

Your pussy practically throbs at her words. You were so distracted by what Abby was saying to you that didn’t even realize that you had stopped riding her. Your arousal was now just soaking up her cock and jeans. Abby looks down at her lap and smirks before looking back up at you. “I didn’t tell you to stop now, did I?” she asks, giving you a smack on your ass. “C’mon, cowgirl…keep fucking riding me.”

Your pace now begins to quicken this time, and you move your left hand to the armrest that was above your head, gripping it as you keep your other hand on her shoulder. “F-fuck, Abby…f-feels so good….” you moan out to her, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the tip of her strap presses onto your cervix while you ride.

“Oh yeah? Does it feel good, princess?” she asks, admiring how you were starting to go dumb on her cock. “That’s it, keep riding me, just like that…Ride me just like how you were riding that damn bull.”

Abby’s words had your stomach doing fucking flips. You tried your best to maintain your fast pace as you rode her strap, but your legs were quickly starting to give out. “A-Abby, help me…please…”

“Aw, you poor thing, getting tired already now aren’t you?” Without any warning, Abby tightens her grip on your hips and begins to slam her cock right into you. You yelp in surprise as your left hand flies from the armrest back onto Abby’s shoulder, and you continue to push your hips down as Abby keeps thrusting inside you. “C’mon cowgirl, be a good girl and cum for me now…”

Your cunt begins to clench around her strap, indicating that you were about to cum. Abby looks down at your pussy, watching in awe as a white ring began to quickly form on her strap. Her thumb meets with your clit, quickly rubbing it as you continue to cum all over her cock, whimpering and moaning out her name as you do so.

As you finish riding out your orgasm, your pace begins to slow down and you rest yourself on Abby’s chest, panting deeply as you try to catch your breath. Before Abby pulls herself out, you grab her left wrist again and glance back down at her watch.

10:43…10:44.

“Four minutes,” Abby says, looking down at her watch. “Looks like you made a new record.”

You playfully push her arm back as she brings her hand back onto your hip and slowly pulls her strap out of your fucked out pussy, causing you to whine at the loss of it. Keeping you in her arms, Abby trades places with you and carefully rests your limp body onto the seat while briefly she gets onto the ground. She peeks through the fogged up windows, making sure that the coast was clear so she could get out of the truck.

As you watch Abby hop off her truck, your eyes start to feel heavy from the exhaustion before quickly fluttering shut for a moment. As your eyes were closed, you could feel Abby’s large hands move your body around before the sudden warmth of her tongue makes contact with your sore cunt, causing you to involuntarily jerk away.

“Hey, relax…I’m just cleaning you up a bit,” she mutters out to you. You simply nod in response, eyes remaining shut as your body eases in and relaxes into her touch again. The gentle movements of Abby’s tongue and lips on your pussy easily removes the tension in your thighs, making you feel as if you were now sinking into the leather of the seat. You then start to feel some shifting of your clothes along with the sounds of the truck doors opening and closing right before you briefly fall into a state of slumber.

The sudden rumbling movements of the truck cause your eyes to slowly flicker back open. You wake up to find yourself lying on your left side in the passenger seat, but now with the seatbelt secured over you. The dim lights of the truck are no longer present, only the faint brightness of the music player on the dashboard is the only thing illuminating your vision right now. The sounds of the few cars on the road surround you, along with the country music quietly playing inside as well. You look up to see Abby with her gaze fixed on the road, with one hand planted firmly on the steering wheel while the other simply rested over on the center console.

You rest your hand on top of hers, and Abby quickly notices that gentle touch of yours, briefly glancing down to look at you. “Hey there…” she says with a smile before looking back up at the road. “You were out for most of the ride, feeling any better?” she asks, gently enclosing your hand into her large palm.

You shift around in your seat, no longer feeling as sore as you were before. “Yeah, a little…” you tell her, resting your head back on the seat as you watch her drive. “I had a really good time tonight, you know…” you tell her, to which she smiles in response.

“I did too,” she replies, quickly looking over to you again. “Felt nice to finally escape from our dads for once.”

The speed of the truck soon starts to slow down before coming to a halt. Your heart instantly sinks to the pit of your stomach, and your smile begins to fade. You knew what this meant.

It meant that you were back home. Your time with Abby was now up.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and sit up completely to look over at the sight of your house. All of the lights were shut off, except for the faint blue light of the living room TV, and you could easily see your dad’s head tilted to the side, indicating that he was now asleep.

You let out a sigh. “I…I don’t want to go back in there,” you say, turning your head back to look at Abby. She simply sighs and gently rubs your shoulder. “I know you don’t, angel…but we can’t risk it. As much as I can’t stand your dad, I don’t want him to get worried about you either.”

Your head hangs low now, nodding in acknowledgment. Abby’s hand gently holds your chin to lift your face. “You know this won’t be the last time, right?” she asks you, to which you nod again.

“I know, I just…I’ll miss you, Abs…who knows when we’ll see each other again?” you ask back, looking up into her soft blue eyes. She nods back at you in response. “It’ll happen again soon, okay? Just know that I’m always gonna have you on my mind, alright?” she says before quickly leaning in to kiss you, the rim of her hat on your head brushing over her hair this time as she does so.

You instantly kiss her back before pulling away to grab your things from the ground. You take a deep breath and open the door, exiting the truck and closing it. Your boots now meet with the concrete of the sidewalk, and you walk your way to the front door of your house. Before you go in, you look back to see Abby watching you from her truck, and you two give each other a final wave before she drives off to park into the driveway of her house.

As the lights of Abby’s truck shut off now, you turn back to the door to unlock it. You slowly open the door just enough to squeeze yourself inside before closing it and locking it again. You turn around to see Joel fast asleep on his recliner while the TV screen illuminates the whole room. Without making a sound, you tiptoe on over to pick up the remote from the coffee table and shut off the TV. You set the remote back down and turn over to pick up a throw blanket from the couch to tuck your dad in before heading upstairs to your bedroom.

The door creaks slightly as you enter inside. You slowly close the door before letting out a sigh as you set your bag down on the ground before kicking off your boots. You take off Abby’s hat and set it on top of your dresser before the rest of your clothes come off of you and to the ground until you’re down to your underwear. You pick up a random oversized shirt from your dad’s company and throw it on. As you’re taking off your makeup, your phone buzzes on your bed, and you reach over to pick it up.

“Abby: I’ll be thinking of you.”

You look up from the screen to your right, seeing her broad silhouette in the bedroom window across from yours. The two of you stare at each other for a bit, until you wave her off and get into bed, to which she does the same right after.

Not only was this the first night the two of you had officially spent alone together, but it was also the first night where you both just couldn’t take each other off of your minds now.

And all you could do was just wait until your path meets with hers again.

- tags 🏷️: @nyctophiliq @lucidfairies @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @abbysfavewh0rx @lia-winther @grooviestcowboy @pretty-prrincess-13 @iwillkilyou @erinsdeluluworld @elliens4 @totallyghostdgirl @sirenbxby @bellaramslover @uraesthete @cherrycolouredflunk @whorn3y @thatonementallyillsimp @elliewilliamsmunch @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @mochiivqi @floptron @swtsuna @naomis-daydream @hunnybunnyhazel @paprikahoernchen @bbglmfao @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @littlegingerperson @ur-fav-pixi @2busyfangirling @lmaoo-spiderman @olive-fics @onlinelesbo @piscesfairyyy @mrsandersons (striked means i couldn’t tag)

2024 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

[delopsia]

Thot for you.

You’re not sure how it started but you and Rhett figure out he rides best when he doesn’t come for a day or two before rides. He makes it far on the circuit so pretty soon it turns into a week or more and he’s a hot, needy mess. He wins (of course) and cries when he finally gets to come.

Eeek! I thought I answered this, but I must've forgotten to save my draft 😔

The way that this is like...Rhett's own personal heaven and hell, all at the same time. He's scoring higher than he ever has, consistently dominating the scoreboards and earning rounds upon rounds of applause, but also, he's losing his damn mind.

It was cute when the deal was, "No sex 48 hours before the rodeo." He could handle that. Between work and sleep, he hardly even noticed, but now the finals are creeping around the corner, and you haven't let him cum for nearly two and a half weeks now.

Rhett's never really thought of himself as being obsessed with sex or anything of that realm, but fuck, he can't quit thinking about it. Sits there rethinking his life choices when he wakes up hard in the morning, catches himself idly palming at the bulge in his jeans while he's resting in the pasture.

Everything is reminding him of the one thing that he wants, and you're. Not. Helping. Wearing those damned shorts that flatter your thighs, sitting in his lap, kissing his neck, innocently riling him up, and never doing anything about it.

Of course, he could succumb to the urge in his lower belly and touch himself, but he already knows that you'd figure it out if he did so. He's already in this deep. So he keeps clinging to that last thread of sanity until the moment he's climbed on the back of that multi-thousand-pound animal.

The rush of turning around and seeing his name jump up to the #1 slot was enough to distract him from it for an hour or two. Adrenaline and disbelief blind him from thinking about anything that isn't related to winning the rodeo.

You're not sure when he broke.

All you know is that you were stopping at the house to wash up before going back out to see his friends when, all of a sudden, he started fussing. Batting his pretty eyes at you, whining for his reward, so damn eager that he trips over his own words.

"I, I want...want—" He's cut short by your finger, pressing against his lips, big, dark eyes downright shimmering as he looks at you.

He's so pretty once you get him in bed. Unbuttoned flannel pooling at his sides, chest heaving, head rolling back and forth as your hand works him. Slow, tight strokes that pull noise after noise out of his throat, pitchy and broken apart by babbles of your name.

"Please, please, please!" He hiccups, squeezing his eyes shut, a stray tear rolling down his flushed cheek. "Wanna cum!"

"You can, dummy," you breathe. "You won, didn't you?"

His head bobs up and down with a nod. "Mhm."

You wish that you had brought a camera into the bedroom because the sight of his orgasm washing over him is one you never want to forget. Back arching off the bed, head thrashing as he cums with a sharp cry, grunting with every rope of cum that paints your hand.

It's one of those orgasms that take him a moment to come down from, and when he does, his bones have been replaced with jelly. Lazily blinking at you with that dumb, crooked smile, grumbling when you ask if he still wants to go out. It's probably the only rodeo night where he's asleep before 1AM, but come morning, he'll be waking you up bright and early for a round two, three, and four.

You hardly get anything productive done that week.

[alexshenry]

Hello, sorry if you answered before but can you recommend some of your fav rwrb fics?

Hi, anon! Sorry for this very late reply, I saved your ask to my drafts and then wasn't able to find it 🤦‍♀️I answered with some of my favourites here already, and I have a tag with fic recs, aswell. I also recommend following @rwrbficrecs. I'll soon be making a rec list, so I'll have a more comprehensive list then.♥

The two loves of my life I will never stop recommending:

God Save the Blessed American Mom by zipadeea - On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life. Alex gets shot instead.

This broke me, healed me, and made me fall in love with every character all over again. Everyone's emotions towards the events are so nuanced and realistic, and the writing is soooo stunning. Just make sure to have tissues ready.

but i can count on you to tell me the truth when (i've) been drinking and you're wearing a mask by anincompletelist (soldouthaz) / @anincompletelist - The room goes quiet again, Alex too focused on the sound of his own breathing. He’s already started, he figures, and the person still hasn’t left. But this next bit is a little more personal, and Alex isn’t positive what the parameters are for one-sidedly conversing with a masked stranger about your best kept secrets at a halloween party when you’re so drunk that the floor is beginning to look like it may open up and swallow you whole. Isn’t sure if that might be better anyway.

You know when you read something so beautiful you feel tiny butterflies in your stomach? This is what this fic did to me. Very gorgeously written, especially Alex's inner thoughts. I will never be able to look at my ceiling the same way again, thank you Sarah ♥

Other fics I read recently and wholly recommend:

The Arrangement by cmere - Shaan approaches Henry with a deal from the Queen: agree to an arranged marriage with a woman to flaunt in public, and he can enjoy the services of a male escort in private. Alex doesn’t actually care about him; it’s just a job. Right?

You Can't Deny Me Anything by Dawg1515 - That night at the Lake House, Henry is getting ready to leave when Alex wakes up feeling sick. Faced with memories of losing his father, Henry decides to stay and take care of Alex. They have some things to talk out.

Falling Down the Stairs of Your Smile by chamel / @cha-melodius - The movie is over and it’s getting late, but all Alex can think of is that he really doesn’t want the night to end yet. Which is crazy. Twenty-four hours ago Alex was actively cursing this man’s name, and now he seemingly can’t get enough of spending time with him. It doesn’t make any sense, but somehow it does; it’s the same feeling that he was chasing all those years ago in Rio, the one that pushed him to go up and introduce himself at exactly the wrong time, the one that made the hurt of that encounter linger for so long in his psyche. (A canon-divergent fic in which Alex spends another night at Kensington after the hospital visit and learns some very surprising things about Henry (and himself)

come pick me up by smc_27 - Alex is an Uber driver. Henry needs a ride to the airport.

[lenialenient]

Fuck it, first 6 Real Jobs chapters under the cut

1 - Neither beautiful nor well written

A dark purple filter dims the crowd that makes up the bulk of the hall. Every seat is filled as the light remains on Julia and Julia only.

“Hi,” she says into the microphone bubble in front of her mouth. It resonates all the way to the last row, all four walls, and the double door entrance. Julia smiles sheepishly. The crowd smiles back. She takes a moment to breathe.

“As some of you might know,” Julia says, but is interrupted by another wave of star-struck cheers and whistles. “Yes, yes, thank you, thank you so much.” She starts over. “As some of you might know, I’m a writer and a poet and I wrote a little something called The Secret of Neverward–” Cheers. Jubilation. People with Neverward shirts rise from their seats. People raise their Neverward posters into the air. “And I am, obviously, extremely successful. Mad successful. And they ask me: Julia! How come you’re so successful? Well, I’m here to tell you!”

Julia clicks on a PowerPoint via a tiny remote in her hand, then grabs a bottle of revitalizing color-protection shampoo from the shower basket and squeezes a dime-sized amount into her palm.

“This right here is not what the writing process looks like.” Julia points at the screen behind her. The PowerPoint shows a photo of herself at a desk in a room with a large window, smiling a toothpaste-advertisement smile into the camera, one hand confidently placed on an old-timey typewriter, the other hand holding a cup of coffee up to her lips. It draws a sensible chuckle from the purple crowd.  

“In actuality,” Julia says while massaging the shampoo into every centimeter of her pink-stained scalp, “it looks more like alarm clocks set to four-thirty in the morning. It looks like drafting scenes in the notes of your phone while on public transport, because every second counts. And also-” Julia turns up the water, picks up the showerhead, and starts rinsing, “I drink green tea rather than coffee.”

The audience laughs.

“Honestly, it’s healthier, and it gives you almost the same effect.” Julia smiles ahead and her reflection in the shower screen smiles back, water dripping from her lashes. She lets the hot water run over herself a bit longer.

“When I wrote Neverward,” she says, “it was sandwiched between jobbing at Subway and studying for my linguistics degree. I had no money. I had no guarantee anyone would want to read it. I had no time. I made time anyway. Because that’s the thing-”

Julia shuts the water off and watches the showerhead’s stream turn into a drizzle. The bathroom’s quiet now. “I knew that I wanted to create something meaningful, and to get this piece of myself out there in the world where it could be meaningful for someone else, too. That was what I really wanted.”

Carefully, she steps out of the shower. “Once you have a goal, a real goal,” she whispers, “you can start working toward it. You can start to figure out how to get there. And once you know how to get there, there is only one more thing you need. Determination.”

Julia dries herself off and wraps the towel around her torso. With it firmly trapped underneath her arms, she shuffles across the part of the apartment’s living room that’s actually the living room and to the part of the living room that’s actually the kitchen. She boils water.

Clipping her hair down to a crisp 5mm last week easily shaved ten minutes of blow-drying and ten minutes of styling off her morning routine. Not to mention, it saves her two hair washing sessions a week. No one can tell whether her hair is greasy if it barely exists, and that’s valuable, valuable time. Dress, cardigan, tights – laid out the night before. Another pair of tights because chub rub has chafed through the inner thigh area. Finally, Julia sits down at the kitchen/living room table with a mug of green tea.

The tiny desk in Julia’s room can’t rival the magical feeling of a common area before anyone else is awake. Hayal is the only possible encounter at five in the morning, should she drag herself out of her room on a quest for coffee. She’d give Julia that specific look and say “you really don’t need to sleep, do you?” and Julia would answer: “Oh no. Absolutely not.”

Julia closes her eyes and takes a breath, hands hovering above the keyboard.

Okay. Go.

She opens her mailbox.

Nothing. No subjects in bold, no names that haven’t been sitting there already, not a single message with a Re: in the subject line. Face illuminated by the white shade of empty inbox, Julia taps her fingernail on the laptop’s surface. She refreshes just in case, then scrunches her lip. Fine.

Still drumming on the laptop, Julia moves the cursor to the Sent tab, takes a sip of green tea, and leans in close. Then, she opens the Word document she wrote the email in.

Is this a pointless exercise? It might be. Pretty sure it’s not acceptable to send a query letter to an agent twice, even when the words have been switched out for better words.

… not just a whodunit with superpowers but an analysis of what makes humans lose their humanity. She deletes humans and writes people. Sure, it was a word play, but it made her sound like a psychopath.

It’s fine, one of these days she’ll have to send more queries anyway.

Actually.

The entire sentence feels like something an unpleasant person would write. Not just a whodunit – who does she think she is?

…it’s a whodunit with superpowers.

Julia takes a sip of tea.

… a whodunit with superpowers where every superpower fits into

… a whodunit with superpowers where every character’s unique power fits perfectly into the murder case, making it a mystery until the end

… until the very end

… until the end

… a whodunit with superpowers where every

Julia paces the kitchen. “A whodunit with superpowers…” The stove time display tells her that about twenty minutes ago it turned six. “A whodunit. With superpowers.” She catches the eye of her reflection in the microwave. “What the hell. You’re just saying words.”

With a fresh cup of tea, Julia sits back down in front of the whodunit with superpowers. She closes her eyes, shakes her head to rearrange her thoughts, and goes back in. Calmly, she reads the paragraph she’s been working on, whispers along. Then she reads the paragraph again, slower this time.

Julia leans back into the chair, all the way, as if she could merge into the backrest. Her eyes burn. She uprooted the entire paragraph. The sentence is nicer, but the rest doesn’t fit anymore. Everything’s just pieces, nothing’s connected. The query letter is falling apart in front of her eyes.

Julia reaches for the backspace button and knocks over the mug with her elbow. It sends a stream of green tea trickling down the side of the table and Julia watches. Watches, until two hot tears run down her cheeks and she wipes the mug off the table and listens to it break on the wooden tiles.

She sits there until it’s seven, waiting for this feeling to pass. There’s been a sob, maybe two, but she’s breathing now.

She takes another, deep breath.

She moves the cursor to the little x in the top right corner and closes her mailbox.

She closes the document and doesn’t save the changes.

She cleans up the shards from the floor and slides them into the trash bin.

She blots up the tea. She closes her laptop.

Julia sits there, pointless and still, as the room progressively sheds the night and the gray becomes lighter. Three hours gone to waste. Nothing got done today.

It’s quiet. Julia sits.

Then she stands up, grabs her Subway uniform, her university backpack, and leaves for work.

2 - That white canvas must be turned into something

Hayal wakes up dehydrated, disoriented, and with a side of that headache that presses down onto your nose bridge. She shifts in her bed, rustling the sheets, but doesn’t manage to get up. Sweeping her arms across the mattress, she feels for her phone, then for her charger, plucks it in, and finally unglues her eyelids to look at the time. It’s 13:38. Hayal puts her phone face-down and burrows herself in her blanket.

The fact that she didn’t have to be anywhere was such a cathartic thought to wake up to in the first weeks post-uni.

Several minutes pass.

Hayal groans and pulls the phone into her cocoon. There are things. So many. The little bar at the top of the screen is littered with icons. Instagram and Twitter, four new emails. Four? Hayal resists the urge to shut the whole thing down. Air starts to become scarce in her blanket shell, and she strikes a deal with herself that she’s allowed to break out of it as soon as she’s answered those goddamn emails. She slows her breathing, and the sound of her overgrown nails hitting the phone screen takes over.

Two people are inquiring about new commissions and two people are inquiring about commissions that are overdue. One week and two days, respectively. Hayal goes into her notes and copy-pastes her answer templates. She tells the first two people what she’d charge and that she’d be happy to accept their commissions on those terms. She updates the other two on the status of their art pieces and asks them to be patient just a few days longer.

Finally, she wrestles herself out of the blanket. For another several minutes she lies there, head on her pillow, eyes closed, and breathes in the recycled air as long as it still feels fresh. She’s won that battle, let’s not lose that grip. Get up. Get some water, don’t let dehydration make a home here.

Hayal rolls off the mattress and manages to catch herself just before stepping on the drawing tablet on the floor. God, that would have been fatal. She makes a mental note to either put it away properly next time she passes out for the night or pull back the curtains before she tries to navigate her room. She knows neither of these will happen.

Tablet under her arm, Hayal emerges from her door and squints into the kitchen/living room. “Morning.”

“Morning,” replies the green-dyed weirdo at her kitchen table without so much as raising an eyebrow. “How long have you been going for?”

“Don’t know. Five or six. Seven, maybe?” Hayal drops the tablet on the couch and trudges over to the overstuffed cupboard to pry out a can of instant coffee powder. “I see the SAI interface when I close my eyes.”

Kiwi hums thoughtfully and returns to the academic discipline of distressed typing.

While the electric kettle labors, Hayal fills a glass with tap water and sips it looking over Kiwi’s shoulder. “Do you think you’ll ever be tired of writing Stasi papers?”

“I’m legally not allowed to be tired of writing Stasi papers, I think.”

Kiwi’s sacrificing a lot of typing speed on account of the fact that only one of his hands is actually on the keyboard. With the other, he attempts to simultaneously text what Hayal can only guess are several people.

Hayal spoons a generous amount of coffee powder into the communal Stay strong, Friday’s coming! mug Kiwi got from his parents. While pouring hot water, she takes a moment to mourn the broken espresso maker. “Julia’s gone already?”

“Yeah, Subway.”

“I thought she didn’t have to work until evening.”

“That’s Monday.”

“What’s today?”

“Wednesday.”

“Oh.” Hayal blows onto the coffee-adjacent broth. “That’s harsh.”

“Yeah.”

The almost comfortably familiar sound of Kiwi bouncing his foot like an industrial grade jackhammer draws Hayal’s attention toward the fact that he not only has his stupid-big platform boots on, but also a generous amount of stupid-big eyeliner. His phone keeps buzzing.

“You heading out?”

“I’m meeting the band in a minute,” he says. “But also I’m rushing a deadline, so.”

Hayal takes a careful sip. The coffee still burns her tongue.

“And I kinda messed up because Tien’s already at the bus stop.” Kiwi’s fingers stop typing as he throws Hayal a glance from the corner of his eye. “She’s coming over so she doesn’t have to wait in the cold while I finish this thing up.”

Hayal holds her breath to narrowly avoid choking on her coffee and pulls the mug away from her face. She wipes at the few drops that hit the ground with her sock. “Is she? Now?”

“I mean,” Kiwi turns and holds onto the back of the chair. His voice is drawn out and apologetic. “You were kinda still asleep five minutes ago, so I didn’t really...”

A key turns in a lock, followed by a click. There’s just enough time for Hayal to shoot Kiwi a strong-eyed look before the door swings open to reveal Tien in all her pierced face, spiked hair, combat booted glory – the living proof that punk is on life support. 

Hayal is painfully aware of how she’s standing here in her pajamas and dark under-eye circles and overgrown side-cut, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in her hand at two in the afternoon like someone who’s got nothing better to do.

Hayal looks at Tien, Tien looks back.   

“I thought you’d ring,” says Kiwi.

Tien tears her eyes away from Hayal and jangles a pair of keys. “Yeah, well, I still got those.” A glance back to Hayal. Back to Kiwi. “I can still give them back.”

“No, no, someone reliable outside the apartment having spares is a good thing.”

Tien pockets the keys and closes the door.

“Give me like five more minutes,” says Kiwi and – now two-handed – steps up his typing pace.

Hayal would give a leg for something to type. Kiwi’s the only one barely escaping the weird energy in the room. She tries giving Tien a smile but it ends up all teeth, and all sideways instead of upwards. Tien blinks at her a few times, no smile, but nods. Then, she leans against the doorframe, going through her phone. God.

Hayal stands there, winding the grimace off her face. She could go and hide in her room but not without making the impression that she’s going to go hide in her room. She sips her still too hot coffee and reads Kiwi’s Stasi paper over his shoulder.

“Alright,” he says finally, and shuts the laptop.

Tien sighs in relief. “You done?”

“No.”  Kiwi stands up, disappears into his room, and emerges with his guitar case. He slides the laptop into his backpack. “I’ll take it along.”

“You suck at multitasking,” says Tien.

“I’ll make it work.”

Kiwi slips on his leather jacket and throws his guitar case over one shoulder, the backpack over the other. He waves to Hayal before heading out of the door. “I’ll be back at some point tonight.”

“Have fun, be yourself, et cetera.”

Tien gives a slight smile before pulling the door shut. “See you around, Hayal.”

With the door closed, the apartment is vacant. Except for Hayal, of course. She empties her coffee mug in silence, drops onto the couch, and pulls out the drawing tablet from underneath her.

See you around.

What the hell, she thinks, as she puts pen to screen, is that supposed to mean. 

3 - An oddity, a nonentity, or a disagreeable man

“I feel like I should’ve warned either of you,” Kiwi says, trying to sit on the metal bench in a way that wouldn’t have him freeze his ass off. Throughout all of December there’s been the cold without the snow and that trend is continuing well into January.

“We can handle it,” says Tien. “We’re all adults here.” She’s given up on the bench, instead leaning on the glass wall of the bus shelter, partially blocking out an ad with a grotesquely big and uncomfortably close face of a white woman with white teeth that watches over the bus stop.

Kiwi and Tien may have occupied the glass house, but they’re not alone at the stop. Three teenagers on their way home from school and two older women shift impatiently. Kiwi can look at them through the ad-free wall to his left and they can look right back. Which, he supposes, is the reason why they’re staying outside, limiting themselves to the occasional outraged glance thrown his or Tien’s way. The teenagers whisper and giggle with each other.

Kiwi drags the soles of his boots – five centimeters thicker than they need to be – back and forth over the concrete and fidgets with the straps of his guitar case. It could be the eyeliner, it could be jeans so thoroughly ripped that he’s wearing tights underneath to not freeze to death. It could be the fact that his hair is green – or meant to be green, as it’s also bleach-blond where Hayal’s missed a spot or two with the dye, and dark brown where the roots have grown out. It could be the fact that all that spills over a wildly outdated glam-punk bandana. It could also be the fact that he’s a man* with an asterisk that, no matter how hard you look, never leads to any tangible footnotes. At least Tien is flashier than him. And at least she’s here. Had he been alone, he would’ve had to tone it down.

Kiwi pulls out his phone and texts Oskar.

Kiwi [14:11]: We’re on our way

Kiwi [14:11]: For real this time

Kiwi [14:11]: Sorry

The bus turns into the street just as he shoves the phone back into his pocket. When they get on, Tien manages to snatch seats facing each other. It’s not too crowded yet, just enough for each double-seat to have – in true German fashion – exactly one person and one bag on it.

Kiwi doesn’t want Hayal to be the topic hanging in the air so he says: “I’m just gonna need five minutes to work on the essay at Oskar’s, ten tops.”

“You’re not gonna do it.”

“Am too.”

“Wait.” Tien’s eyes focus on something Kiwi doesn’t immediately manage to pin down.

“Wait, let me see your tongue.”

Kiwi scans the interior of the bus – he catches the gaze of one of the women from the bus stop, who immediately averts her eyes – before he turns back to Tien and reluctantly sticks his tongue out just enough for her to see the piercing.

“Goddamn,” says Tien. “When did that happen?”

“Last week. Saturday.” Kiwi lowers his voice. “Does it look infected? Because it’s kinda…” He gestures vaguely.

“Yeah, no. It’s just gonna look shitty for a while.”

Kiwi’s phone buzzes.

Oskar [14:13]: oh nice cause mona and I realized songs arent quite the same without any strings

Kiwi [14:16]: I said SORRY

Oskar [14:17]: are you bringing food as an offer for forgiveness

Kiwi [14:17]: I’m not

“Had no idea you were planning on getting something like this done,” says Tien. Her legs are stretched all the way to the seat across from her. “I could’ve recommended you a place.”

“I wasn’t.”

Tien slides a few centimeters up on her seat, props her elbow against the window, and tilts her head against her fist. “Did you have beef with your mom?”

“Why is that – why are you the second person asking this?”

Tien gives him an overstated shrug. Kiwi squints at her before he goes back to typing.

Oskar [14:17]: boo

Oskar [14:18]: but seriously

Oskar [14:18]: you ready for now?

Kiwi [14:19]: If you mean the song you gotta put that in quotation marks or something because otherwise that’s confusing

Oskar [14:20]: youre the one who named it that

Oskar [14:20]: ready for “now”, the song?

Kiwi [14:21]: Actually I think we should take out the spoken part before we try the whole thing for the first time

Kiwi [14:21]: The “I tried wanting less, I tried wanting more” part

Oskar [14:22]: kiwi, my dude, my love

Oskar [14:22]: weve been revising for the past like month

Oskar [14:22]: you have that is

Oskar [14:22]: and i mean didn’t you text me at 2 in the AM about how we need that part

Oskar [14:23]: about how important it is

Oskar [14:23]: about the emotions

“By the way,” Kiwi taps his fingertips on the phone screen without actually typing. He speaks very slowly. “Did I mention that she invited herself and dad over? Again?”

Tien grimaces. “Seriously?”

“They’re still guilt-tripping me because I didn’t come home for Christmas so I couldn’t really, you know, say no.”

Slowly, Tien’s face transitions from empathetic disdain to suspicion. He sounded too prematurely apologetic just now, didn’t he? “When did they say they’re were gonna come exactly?”

Kiwi shifts his weight, keeps his eyes on the phone. “Friday.”

Tien rises in her seat, lips thin. “So, what, you’re gonna miss practice?”

“I’m trying to move it to Saturday, okay? My mom just takes two days to reply to a message.”

Tien drags a hand down the side of her face. “Kiwi…”

“’I’ll be there. I’m gonna make it work somehow. Promise.”

Kiwi [14:24]: I guess it’s too emotional

Kiwi [14:24]: Kinda cringy

Kiwi leans back against the squiggly bus seat pattern and looks at Tien. “You’re so serious about this lately.”

“Maybe,” says Tien, “I’m getting kinda impatient. We’re not really doing much.”

“We can’t really do much until my finals are over.” Kiwi bounces his leg. On the other side of the dirty window, towering grey blocks start to make way for yards and fences. “At least I can’t, anyway.”

“When’s that?”

“The last one’s Monday in two weeks.”

“Hmm,” says Tien.

Oskar [14:25] were not gonna film today  

Oskar [14:26] so id say lets try it out anyway

The outskirts of town harbor a now empty house that belonged to Oskar’s grandparents before they died two years back. In those two years it’s been left mostly untouched, which is why Kiwi would never dare to actually go inside the house, but the shack that stands in its yard – formerly a workshop and equipped with electricity – couldn’t be a more convenient place for Divine Discontent to practice their songs.

Kiwi and Tien haul their instruments off the bus and walk the rest of the way through a desolate early afternoon suburbia. Fewer eyes means Kiwi doesn’t feel compelled to powerwalk constantly, but there’s something eerie about this place. Like it’s saying that if he only changed the trajectory of his life five centimeters to the right, he, too, could have a lawn and a fence someday. 

Because you can’t hear the doorbell in the workshop, Tien hands Kiwi her bass case, vaults over the fence, and opens the gate from inside. The stiff winter grass crackles under their boots as they make their way across the yard.

Mona’s spinning idly on the stool behind her drum-kit as Kiwi opens the door to the practice shack. Her drumsticks are fixed behind her ear in her rose-colored hijab, and with the matching pastels and expertly-carved makeup, she looks like someone who either has fifty thousand followers on Instagram or who aspires to have fifty thousand followers on Instagram. Oskar rests one of his arms on the mic stand, the other in the pocket of his sweatpants. He wears big shirts and lets his dark hair grow to his shoulders. Hayal once said that nobody in Divine Discontent looks like they’re playing the same music. Tien argues that they can make the lack of consistent style work as a style in itself. Kiwi, meanwhile, maintains that post-progressive pseudoglam queercore cannot be reduced to a singular cohesive look.

Oskar and Mona abruptly turn and start clapping in formal unison as Tien and Kiwi enter.

“Oh, fuck off,” says Kiwi. A grin sits on his face though, and he can’t seem to wipe it off. After easy greetings and one-armed hugs, he squats down to unpack his stuff. There’s no point in taking any jackets off, since the workshop is barely any warmer than outside.

“So, are we all good to go?” Oskar asks.

“I’ve been for weeks,” says Mona. “I really wanna know what it sounds like in all its glory.”

Kiwi sits there, backpack unzipped, his hand inside instinctively grabbing his laptop.

He looks up, at Tien, her bass guitar hooked to the amp, and at Mona, drum sticks in hand, hovering over the toms. One second passes, two seconds pass.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Kiwi zips the backpack shut again.

Oskar picks up the mic and throws Kiwi a glance. “So, with or without the spoken part?”

Kiwi breathes in. “Without.”

Disappointment flashes over Oskar’s face for a second, but he shrugs. “Sure thing.”

Kiwi leaves his backpack by the door and unsheathes his guitar. He throws it on and takes his spot in Divine Discontent’s formation.

4 - Times New Roman, Twelve-Point, Double-Spaced

Julia kicks the door shut behind her. Her legs are sore, her backpack is heavy, a grocery bag dangles from the crook of her arm because her hands are busy – one with the keys and the other holding the phone that she, under no circumstances, can take her eyes off.

It’s all about the tiny 1. All about that little symbol and the promise of 1 new message(s). She saw it on the tram home, the sender, the subject, everything but the actual email. Reading the actual email requires preparation and a specific setting, but she can confirm that the email’s neither from Amazon nor Duolingo and that is, in fact, a Re, and what’s more, it is Re: QUERY SFF.

A drawn out “Welcome back” wavers over to Julia. Groceries in her arms, she crosses the living room, past Hayal who’s sprawled over the entire length of the couch, eyes staring up at the ceiling and the drawing tablet on the floor.

“Having a crisis?” Julia asks, pulling discounter pasta, tea, and soup cans out of the bag and stuffing them into her third of the cupboard. There’s no time to actually cook dinner tonight.

“Yes.”

Julia stocks her part of the fridge in record time and throws the shopping bag on the shopping bag pile. An unheard-of amount of energy is bristling within her, as she slips into her room and re-emerges with her laptop. “What’s the crisis about?”

“I thought I could take a break and play Animal Crossing for like an hour,” says Hayal.

“And you can’t?” Julia props the laptop up on the kitchen table, presses the power button, and sits.

“I can’t.”

The moment the laptop whirs to life, Julia starts drumming her fingers on the table. Deep breaths. She knows there’s nothing to expect. She knows that everyone who’s ever published anything will tell her that they’ve collected fifty or seventy or a hundred or two-hundred rejections before there’s been a trace of interest from a literary agent. So, this is going to be a rejection, and that’s fine.

“But aren’t you having a break right now?” she asks Hayal.

“I guess I’m having a break.”

Julia’s desktop appears and her fingers fly over the trackpad. Her inbox still shows her the same notification when it stretches across her screen – as if she needs reminding. This wasn’t the first agent she messaged, but it was the first who responded. Okay, reject me.

“Then what’s stopping you from playing Animal Crossing?” she asks, hovering the cursor over to the email.

 “Gee, Julia.” Hayal says. “Am I supposed to have my break and enjoy it too? Like some hedonistic glutton?”

The notification dissolves as Julia clicks the email. Then it sits before her, open, accessed, unveiled. It’s shorter than expected, just a small block of text, but you can’t start a message like this at the beginning. You start in the middle, you start where your eyes happen to look the moment it appears, and you start with keywords. And there is one:

Unfortunately.

That’s a rejection. That’s a rejection, alright.

Julia reads the whole message, beginning to end. Beginning to end, again. Still a rejection.

Julia breathes in and out. A rejection was fine five seconds ago and it is fine now. She expected nothing else. It’s time to say ‘okay then’ and close the email and make soup for dinner. But the cursor doesn’t move a pixel and neither does she.

A wave of some type of emotion washes over Julia, and that’s a problem. There’s a problem and it needs to be reviewed right now, or she’s not going to last.

She opens a blank Word document.

You got your first rejection, how are you feeling?

Bad.

But why so?

Judging by the immovable blinking cursor, she’s already written herself into a corner.

Am I arrogant? I didn’t really think the first rejection wasn’t going to be one. This is the first agent who responded. Of course it was going to be a rejection. It would be so incredibly arrogant of me to think it wouldn’t be one.

Behind her, the couch rustles. She turns and watches Hayal collect her drawing tablet and pen from the floor. Julia refocuses on the Word doc in front of her and tightens her lips.

Did you hope it wasn’t going to be a rejection? She types.

I guess. But wouldn’t everyone?

She taps her finger on the table and straightens up.

Why did you hope it wasn’t going to be a rejection?

Julia already knew she wouldn’t be able to answer that question when she typed it, so she’s not surprised when all she can do is sit and stare at the letters.

A few seconds pass before Julia hits the table with the palm of her hand and rises from her chair in the same motion Hayal jumps.

“Sorry.”

“Writing problems?”

“No. Not at all.” Laptop in hands, she scurries off to her room. There, she powers up her old printer. While it sputters ink onto paper, Julia rummages through her drawers until she finds a roll of tape and rips a piece off with her teeth. She snatches the email – still warm – from the printer, climbs on top of her office chair, and tapes the rejection to the wall.

Carefully, she steps back down and takes a moment to behold her work. A white A4 paper – two thirds blank and one third standard rejection lingo – taped to the center of the wall above her desk.

She can work with that.  

4.5 - Julia is sixteen

And the pattern of her room’s carpet stamps itself onto her calves as she sits cross-legged on the floor, leaning in on the screen in front of her.

“Once you know what you want, you can start to figure out how to get there,” Michelle says. Very emphatically, because it’s very important. “You break that huge goal into tiny goals and then you set yourself one or several tiny goals every year, or half a year, or even every month, whatever works best for you. You’ll be there before you know it.”

Julia pauses the video and pats the carpet in search of her journal.

Monthly goals, she writes down, underlines it.

Monthly chapter goals.

Monthly submission goals?

She unpauses the video.

“But you need to put in the work,” Michelle continues. “It’s not going to be a walk in the park, alright? If you don’t ‘have time’” – she does air quotes – “to work on your project, you need to make time. If you don’t feel like writing today, that’s just a feeling, and you can push past that.” 

The background in Michelle’s videos is one giant bookshelf. Some of the books are facing forward – those that have her name on them.

“Number three. Effective time management is pivotal,” says Michelle. “Try taking the twenty-four hours of the day and assigning them a purpose. If you mark down work for eight hours, plus getting there and back – that makes it nine hours – and sleep for eight hours, you are at seventeen. That leaves seven hours you can potentially spend working on your project.”

Julia seesaws her pen up and down against the pages of her journal. On bad days, school’s also eight hours. But she needs to account for homework. The view count below the video hits around thirty thousand. How many of these people are still in school, Julia wonders. Not a lot, probably. She’s got a head start.

“Number four. It’s obviously a long-term commitment, maybe a forever commitment, and putting in the work is key, but there’s a useful thing that you can do right now. It sounds cliché, but I promise it’s going to give your confidence a boost, and it seems like it worked for Octavia Butler, if that’s anything to go by. That is, speak your goals into existence. Say ‘I’m going to be a best-selling author.’ Or write it down, after all, we’re writers.”

Not all thirty thousand are going to be bestselling authors. Or authors at all. Who knows how many of these guys even have a finished novel to their name? Julia does. Almost.  

“Say it not like it’s a thing that you want to happen,” Michelle says, “but say it like it is a thing that is going to happen. Make it destiny. Make it inevitable.”

Julia grabs her journal and her pen. Then she puts the pen back down it in favor of a sharpie. She dedicates one page for each statement.

I am going to be a published author before I’m 20.

She flips the page.

I am going to be a renowned author before I’m 25.

She flips the page.

I will be extraordinary.

5 - The Sad Lesbians, not the Cool Ones

With a single tap of Hayal’s pen, gray fills the entire canvas. She sighs and reverses, zooms in and squints for gaps in her line-art. Ah, there we are. A shirt line doesn’t quite connect to the skirt. She draws in what’s hardly more than a dot and tries to match the pressure so it’s the same weight as the rest of the lines. Good, fixed. On the next, resolute tap, gray spills over the entire canvas again and Hayal hangs her head in defeat.

She shoves her tablet closer to the edge of the bed and drops onto her back, closes her eyes, and takes a second to very purposefully, very consciously, groan. With a question of what’s the time, anyway, she pulls out her phone. 22:31, the night is still young.

A couple of seconds later, Hayal’s scrolling through Twitter. And another couple of minutes later, a notification pops up on the top of her screen.

“What-!”, she yells, before the phone slips out her hand.

For a moment Hayal lies there in silence and accepts that she dropped her phone on her face. She picks it up and rubs her nose. When she turns the screen back on, she does so carefully, with the lightest press of a button, like the message is going to disappear if she looks at it directly.

No, it’s still there.

Tien [22:34]: How are you?

“What!” Hayal reiterates.

She stares at the message until another one comes in.

Julia [22:36]: What are you yelling about

Hayal pushes herself off the bed, zigzags through her mess and, two seconds later, stands in Julia’s room, gripping the doorframe.

“Tien messaged me,” she says.

“She did?”

The tidiness of Julia’s room is passively shaming. There’s not a thing on the floor, instead, the things are on shelves, and some of them are organized alphabetically. All that’s on the bed is Julia, already in her pajamas, the phone next to her, and the journal she’s just putting down.

“Look,” says Hayal. She clambers onto the bed and levels the phone to Julia’s face. “It’s all spelled out, too. And the first letter is capitalized. I know she has auto-capitalization off. She’s a lowercase texter. And the punctuation? There’s a whole question mark.”

Julia’s eyes move from left to right until a smile springs up in the corner of her mouth. “’Lean Mean Tien Machine’?”

“That’s from back when we were still together.”

“And you didn’t change her name?”

“Was I supposed to?”

“I guess people usually would.” Julia shrugs. “One could argue that it implies that you’re not over her.” 

“I mean, I absolutely am not over her but that’s got nothing to do with my shitty phone organization.” Hayal withdraws her phone and scrolls. “Most of my contacts are just numbers. I read the messages to figure out who it is.”

“Am I saved as anything?” Julia asks.

“Yeah, you’re ‘Julia’.”

“Ah.”

“Okay, focus.” Hayal calls up the message again. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Well, how are you?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“You could tell her that.”

“I don’t know,” Hayal sways from side to side. “She’s being serious, right? She’s using her serious voice, with the question mark and all. Shouldn’t I be serious, too?”

“You weren’t?”

“No, it was a joke.”

Julia shuffles a bit. Hayal squints at the phone, chewing on her lip.

“Do you think she wants to get back together?”

“Did she text you at all since you broke up?

“No.”

“Chances are good, I guess.”

“Ah. Oh.” Hayal grinds her teeth and leans against the wall. “Oh man. Oh boy.”

“Do you want to get back together?”

“No.”

Julia smiles a little helplessly. “You should probably tell her that?”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“’Cause. That’s not really a good answer to ‘how are you’. Also I love her so, so much.”

“Oof,” Julia sits back, journal clutched to her chest. “Oof, Hayal.”

Hayal keeps sitting on Julia’s bed, back to the wall and the phone in her lap. She takes several deep breaths. She calls up the messenger keyboard and backs out again. She briefly considers sending only a solitary crying-laughing emoji. Then she’s typing.

“You got something?” Julia flips through the pages of her journal, furrowing her brow every few entries.

“Mhm.”

Why are you asking, Hayal types, and deletes.

How come?

She deletes.

Why do you ask? She hits send, sets her phone to vibrate, and puts it face down on the blanket. Don’t look at it again, don’t wait for typing… to pop up next to her name. Just chill. But how? Julia’s scribbling something in her journal. Hayal slides down the wall a couple of centimeters and folds her arms. There are tall stacks of paper and even taller stacks of books on Julia’s carefully organized desk. The walls are blank save for a singular slip of white paper printed in a font too small to read from here.

The phone buzzes.

Tien [22:54]: You looked really done when I saw you today

Hayal’s mouth opens as if she’s going to say something. Obviously, she isn’t.

Hayal [22:54]: Yeah I’m kinda tired

Tien [22:55]: can’t sleep?

Hayal [22:55]: Drawing all night

Should she mention it? Yeah, she’s gonna mention it.

Hayal [22:56]: Sort of live off it now

Tien [22:56]: FOR REAL?

Tien [22:56}: THAT’S INSANE

Hayal [22:57]: I guess

She peppers the crying emoji into the message. Twice. Then she deletes the second one and sticks with that.

Hayal [22:58]: It’s a lot tho

Hayal [22:58]: I haven’t seen the sun in months

Tien [22:59]: don’t leave the house much?

Hayal [22:59]: Not at all

Hayal [23:00]: Like I straight up couldn’t tell you when I last went outside

Tien [23:00]: hayal. that’s like a recipe for depression

Hayal [23:01]: I know

Hayal chews on her bottom lip. She’s halfway into deciphering the individual book titles on Julia’s desk, when the phone buzzes against her palms.

Tien [23:03]: actually

Tien [23:03]: do you feel like leaving your cave

Tien [23:04]: cause I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while

Hayal slams down the phone like it bit her. She looks at Julia with big eyes. Julia looks up from her journal.

“She says she wants to talk.”

“Oh, there it is.”

“What do I say?”

“Don’t ask me, you know yourself better.” Julia furrows her brow. “And Tien definitely. Do you want to talk to her?”

“I think. I wanna see her.”

Julia vaguely gestures towards the phone. Hayal picks it back up and takes a deep breath.

Hayal [23:05] When?

“I’ve never actually been in a real relationship, you know?” Julia says, eyes back on her journal. “I’m probably not the best person to ask for advice.”

“You haven’t?”

“I mean technically I have.” She bounces the closed pen off the current page. “But I don’t really think that counts because both of them were before I realized I like girls.”

“Ha,” says Hayal, “how long did they last?”

“Longest was three weeks. I honestly thought I was the problem.”

The phone in Hayal’s hand buzzes.

“Still not entirely sure I’m not.” Julia says.

Tien [23:07]: i’m kinda tied up with some band organization stuff right now, but have you ever seen us all play

Hayal [23:07]: Only on youtube

Tien [23:08]: you could join us for next band practice

Tien [23:08]: that is if you want

Tien [23:08]: it’s friday

Hayal holds her breath, tracing the little letters with her eyes. She gets up, opens Julia’s door, and shouts into the rest of the apartment: “Kiwi?”

After a couple of seconds, there’s a muffled answer through the wall: “Yeah?”

Hayal crosses the kitchen and pokes her head into Kiwi’s room.

“Do you mind if I tag along on Friday?”

5.5 - Hayal is seventeen

Closer to eighteen, and when she comes home from school, her mom is waiting for her in the kitchen, sitting at the table in a superficial state of calm, holding a dainty cup of coffee to her lips. The green-white-checkered tablecloth has been cleared of everything but an equally dainty saucer, and a stark white envelope.

There’s a moment of pause in which Hayal’s brain time-lapses the past couple of months, trying to recall something that she’s done that she shouldn’t have, and arrives at the conclusion that there’s nothing in that A-student life of hers that fits that description. But then – hold on – hold on. Hayal steps closer and scans the address on the letter.

“No.”

“It’s the moment of truth, baby.”

It’s been how long since she sent in the portfolio? Months, too many. She thought they’d ghosted her by now. Hayal hesitates to pick up the envelope. It’s all by itself on the table, flat and white, and automatically generated, valid without signature. Looming.

Hayal grabs it. Pokes through the glue, pries it open with her fingernails. Unfolds the letter.

It’s quiet. Enough for Hayal to hear the ticking of her mom’s wrist watch.

“’You have been admitted.’”

The cup clinks against the saucer, Hayal’s mom rises from her chair.

“You have been admitted,” Hayal says.

Her mom wraps her arms around her, actually picks her up a little, which she hasn’t done in approximately eight years.

“’You have been admitted’!” Hayal screams. She pumps her fist into the air, letter still in the other one, nearly topples her mom. “I’ve been fucking admitted!”

“I’ll excuse the language this time.” Hayal’s mom sets her down, hugs her again. “This is fantastic. I’m so proud of you, Hayal.”

There’s a sting in Hayal’s eyes, but it’s the best kind of sting that could possibly be in one’s eyes.

“Oh,” she gently frees herself from the hug. “I need to –”

“Yes. Go.”

Hayal runs to grab the jacket she put down five minutes ago and pockets her phone, her keys. Erdem’s head pokes out from the corner, exuding an aura that only a thirteen-year-old with headphones dangling around his neck can exude. “Why are you yelling?”

Hayal doesn’t stop walking as she turns around, claps her hands in front of his face.

“I’m going to art school! Ha!”

Two seconds later she’s on the stairs, speeding past the other doors and speed-dialing Tien.

C’mon, pick up.

It rings two, three times, then it clicks.

“What’s wrong?”

Neither of them are phone call people.

“Guess what,” Hayal says.

There’s a moment of static silence, as if Tien is actually trying to guess.

Finally: “No!”

“Yes!”

“Oh, fuck.” Tien laughs, first a little, then a lot. “Oh shit! Wait, hold on, I’m coming over.”

“No! I’m coming over already, you stay where you are!”

“Let’s meet in the middle.”

The park’s rusty with fall and the onset of evening. Between the people lying in the grass, catching the last scraps of light, Hayal sees Tien jogging her way. She’s not hard to spot in her all-black. Her shoulder-length hair is up in a ponytail, she’s wearing her glasses instead of contacts.

“You fucking –” is the first thing Tien says when she’s within shouting distance. “You fucking artist, you!”

There’s the tightest possible hug, and when they separate, Tien takes Hayal’s face in both hands and kisses her, again.

6 -Local Bassist Tien Thanh Le Demonstrates German Efficiency by Causing Two Crises at Once

The bus smells almost like new car. Hayal traces the randomized pattern on the seat in front of her. She knows her shoulders are up to her ears, and she knows that must be terrible for her already wonky posture, but she’s going to cut herself some slack because, after all, she’s out here, in public. She sits in the window seat and Kiwi by the aisle. If he hadn’t managed to push his parents’ visit back, chances are Hayal wouldn’t have come either. 

“Okay, but,” Kiwi sends a text and sets his phone down on his leg, “how come? Since when have you two been talking again?”

“Literally only the two days. She really just went ‘hey, Hayal, how’s it going? I wanna talk to you, so how about Friday’ and I was like –” She looks at Kiwi with the most shaken-to-the-core expression she can muster.

Because the silence had been broken, she had wondered if they’d go back to sending good morning and good night texts now, but Tien hasn’t messaged her since. Hayal also hasn’t messaged Tien.

“How do you feel about that?” Kiwi asks.

Hayal leans her head back against the seat and stretches her legs under the one in front of her. “I don’t know.” She eyes the lifeless fluorescent lamp on the ceiling of the bus. “I’ve been missing her.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another one while Kiwi checks his phone.

“Hope this doesn’t get messy,” he says. “Even if you two get back together, Julia’s in her room now, so-”

“Hw- Wha- Now, hold on, now, mister. You’re kinda skipping several – kinda skipping the whole staircase here. We’re not trying to get back together.”

“Okay,” says Kiwi, with special emphasis on the ‘o’. He passes his phone from one hand to the other. “So, what is it, then? A ‘we should stay friends’ thing?”

Hayal gives him a Look.

“See, this is important to me because I love you both.”

“I genuinely don’t have a clue.”

“But, I mean, you…” Kiwi fizzles out at the sight of Hayal’s index finger raised towards his face. “Yeah?”

“You know, you can keep prying,” she says, a twitch in the corner of her mouth, “but I will pry back.”

“I’m like ninety percent sure there isn’t a single thing about my personal life I haven’t told you at some point.”

“Mh-hm.” Hayal glances at Kiwi’s phone. “Like whatever is going on between you and Oskar.”

Kiwi shoves the phone in his pocket and folds his hands. “Fine.”

Another bus stop, five minutes of walking, and a few jabs at a lack of punctuality later, Hayal finds herself holding a camera and filming Divine Discontent starting the same song over and over. That’s something she’s volunteered to do, not just because she’d hate to sit on her ass and watch while everyone else is trying to create something, but also because she’d like it to seem as if Tien wasn’t the only reason for her being here.

The aesthetic dissonance between the four members is only more potent with the thick jackets everyone’s wearing. Yet Divine Discontent come together to deliver the world’s most concentrated and also only interpretation of post-progressive pseudoglam queercore – a genre that Hayal had trouble visualizing up until right this moment.

She’s got to admit, they are leaving an impression.  

It’s mindboggling how Oskar’s able to sing his heart right out, even though he knows people can hear and see him – and how Kiwi plays as though they couldn’t. Either the bass is more prominent in this song than in others, or you only really notice the bass when you begin to notice the bassist. In her heavy leather jacket and fingerless gloves, Tien works through the strings. In this moment, she radiates such an unfair amount of confidence that in the rare case of Tien messing up her chords, Hayal is more inclined to believe that something is wrong with her own ears. Mona’s awkwardness around people that aren’t part of her little in-circle falls away completely and Hayal hopes for a drum solo in the other half of the song, because the vision of her unrestrained drumming is just delightful.

The problem is, Divine Discontent has yet to get to the other half of the song. The second verse is as far as they get before someone – usually Kiwi – overwhelmingly Kiwi – calls for a redo.

Every time the music stops and the band take a couple of seconds to refocus – and for Kiwi to brief everyone on an alternate version of the lyrics he’d like them to try – Hayal carefully sets the camera on an old workbench that she herself would not dare sit on, squats down, and burrows her hands in the pockets of her parka. The shack is cold as hell and her back hurts from standing – something that she, come to think of it, hasn’t done a lot in the recent past.

“Ready?” Kiwi asks into the room. Hayal picks the camera back up and aims. After three nods from his bandmates – and one from Hayal – Kiwi begins to pluck the intro from his guitar strings.

Since Oskar’s the only vocalist but all members of Divine Discontent have tried their hands at songwriting, they’ve made it a habit to establish a personal signature by giving the intro of a song to whoever wrote the bulk of it. This means, to his mild distress, that two thirds of Divine Discontent’s songs start with Kiwi’s guitar.

Upside down, but I try standing my ground/ An hour, a decade, to speak out loud are the first lines Oskar sings, his voice the cue for the other instruments to kick in. The plan is to record two versions, one with a spoken bridge to the last chorus, and one without. As last time, however, the second instance of And now I’m glad I wasted my childhood/ Because now if I wanted to I could/ Live twice as fast and skip all the dull parts is the farthest they’ve come before Kiwi stops playing the guitar to rub his hands over his face and groan. One after the other, the instruments fall away.

Hayal stops recording.

“What now?” asks Tien.

“I can’t deal with the – it’s still –” Kiwi gestures, as he tends to, in shapes that make no sense to anyone but him. “Ew.”

Tien sighs, twice as long as someone would normally sigh.

“No worries,” says Oskar. “How about five everyone?”

“Ten,” says Kiwi.

“Even better.” Oskar pulls a bag of loose tobacco from his pocket and taps it onto a sheet of rolling paper.

“Uh-huh. I see you,” says Kiwi. He leans his guitar against the wall and wipes at his forehead.

Oskar gives him a grin, already heading towards the door. “Voice maintenance. What can I do?” 

A clang of sheet metal announces the door dropping shut. Mona stretches, shakes her arms, stands up, and stretches again. Hayal and Tien stand idly.

“So, how is it?” asks Mona slowly. She cracks her fingers, first cupping her right hand with her left, then her left hand with her right.

Tien grimaces at the sound. “How is what,” she asks.

“Hayal’s here so you can have a conversation, right?” Her eyes dart from Tien to Hayal.

“Ten minutes might just be enough for a conversation,” Kiwi says, “and I have a feeling the break might stretch a little.”

Mona nods thoughtfully. “Might just stretch a bit.”

“I’m never telling you anything ever again.” Slowly, Tien turns to Hayal, her lips approaching a smile. “Wanna go and have a conversation?”

Hayal follows Tien out into the yard, leaving behind Kiwi and Mona’s discussion about whether ‘live twice as fast’ is pretentious or not, past Oskar who gives them a thumbs-up and is met with an affectionate middle finger.

They find themselves stopping and standing behind the workshop; the yellow motion sensor light drowns out the blue hour and Hayal can see the air she breathes. She leans against the sheet metal wall, her hands in her pockets. Tien stands in front of her, her hands in her pockets as well.

No one says a thing.

“’Suuup,” says Hayal, as blatantly embarrassing as possible – ‘cause if you do it intentionally you can’t do it accidentally.

“Yeah, shit.” Tien says. “I forgot what I wanted to say.”

Hayal debates whether she should grin at Tien. She’d like to.

“Alright, it’s back. Be prepared.”

“Preparing.”

Tien brings up her hands, thumbs in line with her fingers, and jolts them back down in a parallel motion. “I saw you on Wednesday,” she says.

Hayal nods.   

“And it kinda pulled the rug out from under my feet how much I –” she stops and squints at the air, “– miss… your presence? In my life?”

Hayal blinks. “Holy shit.”

“Look, listen,” there’s a lopsided grin on Tien’s face, “as sappy as it is, gotta let it out.”

“Okay,” Hayal says. “Okay, okay. Okay. Let me think.” She breathes in, out. “I miss your presence, too. I really do. I mean, you’re pretty much the coolest person I know.”

Tien smiles. She says: “How are you doing right now?”

“Mentally?”

“Yeah.”

Hayal chews at the inside of her cheek. “Okay. I’d like to say I’m doing okay. I’m a bit behind on commissions which is, you know, stressful, but – I’m doing okay.”

Tien’s smile more and more turns into a diagonal line.

“What about you?” Hayal asks, something she hadn’t done enough in the past. “How are you?”

“Been better,” says Tien. “Worse, too. Spent a lot of time at my mom’s house lately, that’s as close to vacation as I’m gonna get.”

“Cool,” Hayal says. She smiles. There’s so much more she wants to say, but more could lead to more still.

With her boot Tien flattens the frozen grass before she looks back up at Hayal. “When I said I miss your presence – I don’t know if that’s weird – I’m not saying that we need to be together again. I mean, not that that’s impossible…”

“Do you want to be back together?”

“Don’t know. You?”

“Don’t know.”

A beat of silence.

“When I say I miss you,” says Tien. “What I mean is I miss you. I miss talking to you and seeing you and sitting in cafés talking for hours about whatever shit is on our minds, you feel?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“And,” says Tien. “We don’t need to get back together. We don’t need to be together to be together, right?”

“So, you’re asking a year later if we wanna stay friends?” Hayal asks.

“I guess, yeah. Because I wanna spend time with you and I like you.”

“I like you and want to spend time with you, too.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” As is her first reflex when a conversation flattens, Hayal reaches for the phone in her pocket and finds two new emails. She stuffs it back quickly. “Do you feel like sitting in a café and talking for hours about whatever in the near future? I feel like I need to get out more.”

“Sure,” Tien says, and that feels nice.

There’s a mechanical buzzing in the air and just when Hayal glances up to the motion sensor lamp, Tien pulls her own phone from her jacket. Her face lights up as she checks the screen. “Oh shit, I need to look at that real quick.”

She turns away from Hayal, hunched over her phone and reads with wide open eyes. Hayal resists the urge to look over her shoulder.

Tien keeps standing there, frozen like that even after the light of her screen stops illuminating her face.

“What happened?”

Tien turns around with a grin on her face that seems to get wider by the second. “Let’s go back inside.” She takes Hayal’s hand and draws her back towards the front of the workshop. “There’s news.”

***

Kiwi stands between Oskar and Mona, huddled around Tien’s phone screen as she holds it up to them, arm fully stretched. The brightness is turned all the way up and makes Kiwi squint. What glares back at them is an email correspondence. Subject: “A question” sent by Tien Thanh Le, “Re: A question” answered by Michael Grünberg, Event Manager. Kiwi’s still frozen solid as Oskar high-fives Tien’s free hand. Mona gapes, switching back and forth between looking at Tien and looking at the phone. “You need to give me a pinkie promise that this is not a prank.”

“Read it again, if you have to.” Tien grins, ear to ear. “No prank. It’s real, black on white.”

Mona gasps. In lieu of her own hands being enough, she clutches Tien’s hands to her chest and bounces up and down, squealing in delight. (Tien neither bounces or squeals with her – can’t risk her hard-ass punk cred.)

Kiwi stands there stock-still, fingers frozen in the middle of reaching for the phone, which has since traveled from Tien to Oskar and from Oskar to Hayal. “Wait. No, wait. What? What? What is this?”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Tien says. Kiwi can’t recall the last time he’s seen her so giddy. “The opening act at Tristan’s dropped out, so we’re up.” 

“Tristan’s?”

“It’s a bar.”

“Opening act?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Us?”

“Opening act.” Tien nods. “Us. You can repeat the rest of the sentence as well if that’s what it takes.”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” says Tien.

Kiwi takes a step back, a step to the side, and one to the other. Cranes his neck to look at Oskar. At Mona. Hayal, too. No one else seems as alarmed as he is. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish. “When did this–” He gets the phone from Hayal. He reads over the email again. Looks up, looks down. Up again. “Who is this, even?”

“Tristan’s event manager. I’ve been scouting for places we might have a chance in,” says Tien, her voice aims for calm and confident, specifically cause Kiwi is neither. “I’ve been sending emails and requests for a while now.”

“And, and,” says Kiwi, “and you didn’t say anything? Anything at all?”

“I may have forgotten to mention it.”

“You can’t just sign us up for a concert!” Each of Kiwi’s sentences comes out a different pitch than the one before. “We can’t even get through the entirety of ‘Now’!”

“It’s not a concert,” Oskar chimes in. “Makes you think too big and intimidating. It’s a small gig at a niche club, that’s all. It’s LGBT-friendly, too. Mona’s been there before.”

“They have pretty decent non-alcoholic options,” supplies Mona.

Kiwi turns around to Oskar, mouth forming a couple of soundless shapes before finding his voice. “Were you in on this?”

“I was in on this.”

Kiwi turns to Mona. She gives him an apologetic smile.

“No.”

“I wasn’t at first, if that helps.”

Kiwi takes another step back, unable to close his mouth, and gestures helplessly at all three of his bandmates. “What the fuck?”

Hayal, sucking air in through her teeth, withdraws to fiddle with the camera.

“Why am I–” Kiwi swallows down a voice crack, potentially several. “Why am I the only one who didn’t know about this?”

“It’s not like we all actively conspired against you. Tien just told me at some point,” Oskar says, “Mona figured her out eventually.”

“But you didn’t tell me?” Kiwi’s voice climbs the octaves and remains adamantly on the verge of a shriek. “None of you?”

Tien and Oskar exchange a few negotiating glances – a ‘you do it – no, you’ type deal – Mona investigates the wall with a tight mouth.

Oskar sighs, resigned to his fate. “We figured,” he says, “it would stress you out.”

“AND IT IS NOT DOING THAT RIGHT NOW?”

“Okay,” Oskar says. “Okay. Breathe, Kiwi.”

Kiwi, all red in the face, does not do that. “And it’s so soon, too! There’s no way we would have time to – Do we even have a set? Do we have enough songs?”

“We’ll do covers in between original ones,” says Tien. “I’ve thought about this.”

“You’ve thought about this!?” Kiwi whirls around, points at Tien, points at himself. “Maybe you should’ve thought about involving me in the decision-making process!”

Hayal murmurs to the camera: “He’s got a point.”

Kiwi clutches his feverish forehead, finally breathes, or at least forces his chest to rise and fall. “No,” he announces, “No, no, no. No bar. No gig. We’re not doing this.”

Tien, Oskar, and Mona look at each other and the temperature in the frigid shack drops further. On their faces, in order: Stoicism, patience, and uncertainty. What is not there is compromise. 

“Okay, well,” says Kiwi. “I’m not doing this.”

He snatches his guitar from its resting place against the wall, its case from the floor, and squats down to get one into the other as fast as humanly possible.

“Kiwi, come on,” says someone – Oskar – but Kiwi shrugs it off in his rush to pick up his jacket, shoulder the guitar case, and make it to the door. There’s another bargaining “Kiwi!” before the metal door slams shut and the sound reverberates across the yard.

***

Kiwi speed-walks past the fences of afternoon suburbia. Part of his brain registers that he’s still wearing an outfit he put on under the assumption that he wasn’t gonna be alone in public, part of his brain registers that he’s freezing his ass off because he didn’t actually put the jacket on, but most of it is preoccupied with the fact that his bandmates collectively backstabbed him. That’s what they did, so he wasn’t wrong to storm off. No reason to feel bad about it. He doesn’t owe them to stay and listen to their excuses, he doesn’t owe them shit.

About halfway to the bus stop, hasty footsteps catch up with him. Kiwi considers walking faster, but that’d mean he’d end up sprinting and that’s just not attainable with a guitar case on your back. He turns around, sees Hayal, and is immediately stung by guilt.

“You’re really just gonna leave me like that?” Hayal pants. As soon as she comes to a stop, she braces her hands against her knees. “With my ex and two people I sort-of-know-but-not-super-well? That’s cold.”

“Sorry,” Kiwi catches his breath. “Really. I just – What?” He points his jacket back in the direction of the practice shed. “Did you hear this? Did you see this? Please tell me what I think happened actually happened and I didn’t just overreact.”

“You didn’t overreact. I think.”

“I can’t with this.” He takes a step towards Hayal then a step back. “I’m leaving. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to cut your time with Tien short. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, we said our pieces.”

“Yeah?” Kiwi’s already walking backwards down the sidewalk.

“Yeah.”

The two of them continue at a pace that allows Kiwi to hand Hayal the guitar case for a second to slip on his jacket. He’s still shaking his head when he drops onto the plastic bus shelter bench. Hayal sits down next to him and buries her hands in her parka.

“Should be here in like five minutes,” he says to the time display on his phone’s lock screen. With finally a second to rest, he leans his head back against the glass wall. And because it is a glass wall, Kiwi has no problem spotting Oskar jog down the street once he turns his head to the left.

“Careful, you’re in throwing range,” Kiwi says, back on his feet, his phone raised, as Oskar approaches the bus stop.

“I come in peace,” says Oskar, voice calm as a Sunday morning. He’s not wearing a jacket either. “Lower your weapon and hear me out.”

Kiwi doesn’t change his stance; his phone remains in the air.

“Look, Kiwi, we love you, but we need to put ourselves out there at some point and so far you’ve kept stalling and dodging every opportunity.”

“So you decide to just go behind my back? What kind of friends do that?”

“Not the most graceful maneuver for sure.” Oskar concedes. “But–”

“But? You’re really going to but me right now?”

“You don’t come out of your shell unless you get a little push.”

“Push,” says Kiwi. “That’s not a push, that’s betrayal.”

“You don’t come out of your shell unless you get a little betrayal, then.”

Kiwi jolts his arm back, ready to chuck.

Oskar raises his hands.

“So, Tristan’s, right. It’s small. It’s niche. Relatively non-threatening. That’s why Mona suggested it to Tien in the first place.” He tilts his head gently. “It’s a real place that actual people go to. YouTube’s not doing anything for us, so we have to take actual steps. This is an actual step. People would actually see us, hear us.”

“I think,” says Kiwi, “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Look–”

“No.”

“This whole thing was definitely sneaky and lowkey unfair–”

“Highkey unfair.”

“–and highkey unfair, but two weeks from now, when we’ve had our gig, and we’re standing on a little stage and a couple of people are cheering because they liked what we did, then it’s gonna be okay. Promise.”

“Well! Look!” Kiwi gestures very intensely at nothing in particular. “Two weeks from now! I’ll be neck-deep in my history didactics exam!”

“On a Saturday?”

Kiwi opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times. “Monday. But I need that weekend to cram.”

“You’ve still got two weeks.”

“And there are still two more exams and an essay! I’m busy!”

“Tien didn’t know that it was gonna be so soon when she messaged that event manager guy. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even expect a reply. But here we are. We have that chance now, even though it’s shitty how we got there.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that you should’ve considered this before organizing a gig without the whole band’s knowledge.”

“I mean I didn’t really organize anything–”

“Plural you.”

“Right.” Oskar takes a breath, decelerates the conversation. “Look, I’m sorry.”

Kiwi watches him, waits. “But?”

“No but. I am sorry.”

Kiwi crosses his arms.

“Is this really only about your exams, though?”

“Well, no, there’s also the whole ‘I’m super fucking mad’ aspect and–” He resets himself, takes a breath, then overenunciates every word. “I’m just not going to embarrass myself like this.”

Oskar furrows his brow.

“I don’t know if that’s a concept that you can grasp, though. Embarrassment.”

“Sure is. That’s why we didn’t tell you.”

“I’m going to throw up.” Kiwi steps back and leans against the shelter wall. “And what’s more, I’ll throw up directly, specifically, on you.”

“Boys,” says Hayal.

Kiwi and Oskar turn their heads.

She points at the corner of the street that’s currently being rounded by a familiar bus with a familiar number on display.

“Thank god.” Kiwi picks up his guitar and fishes for his ticket, which turns out to be redundant when the driver opens the doors in the back as well. One person gets off. Hayal gets on, waits.

“Alright,” says Oskar, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

“You’ll need to find someone else for the gig.” For a moment, Kiwi lingers with one foot still on the pavement. “I really, genuinely, have exams. I can’t.”

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Oskar raises his voice to reach past the closing doors. “The 26th is still two weeks and a day away. You’ve got time!”

Kiwi doesn’t respond. Air hisses as the bus lifts its sideways tilt back up and the engine shakes the floor below him. He watches Oskar turn around and saunter back towards his grandparents’ house, hands still in his pockets, before the bus turns out of the street and he loses sight.

“Kiwi,” says Hayal. She nods towards a free seat to her right and Kiwi plops down next to her.

He hoists his backpack onto his lap and starts rummaging through it. “Is it okay if I-”

“Sure.”

Kiwi pulls his headphones over his ears. For the rest of the bus ride, he closes his eyes and listens to the music.

[viii-the-strength]

Weekly reading!

This time I thought about making it pick a pile style. I felt very tuned in when I was shuffling and getting the cards so I chose them for all the groups at the same time and then looked and read them. That means that each group has no repeated cards. Sadly I had to rewrite some parts because the app worked terribly and I was writing everything in a draft. Next time I'll definitely do it in the notes or a doc.

This is the first time I do this so I am improvising and going with the flow, I don't know if next week I will do it like this or not. I still used the cards as always though, tarot and then A Yogic Path (chakra, ayurveda and yoga).

Here are my other readings!

To pick a pile please take a deep breath first and tune in with yourself. Please don't do it in a rush, in class, your job, etc. If you are curious save it for later when you can truly connect with your highest self. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them don't think too much about it and pick a crystal. You can pick more than one. Take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Journal about how the reading made you feel.

Now let's take a look!! (alt: 1 red jasper 2 tiger eye 3 clear quartz)

Pile 1

Cards: 9 of Swords reversed, XXI The World, Ace of Pentacles, 2 of Pentacles. Ajna reversed, Vata, Pranayama reversed.

You recovered from hardship or accepted something hard, a truth or a situation. You could have accepted help too, a hard thing to do sometimes.

Either way after the difficult times you are having your moment. The World is a beautiful card, the last one of the major arcana. You completed the journey and feel fulfilled. Maybe you finally got recognition.

Now another adventure begins, the ace of pentacles indicates that that beginning is about money. It could be a new business, some investments or maybe just abundance and monetary security. Perhaps the hardships mentioned before were related to money too.

Remember you can balance your work life and personal life though, don't prioritize your job because you had a hard time with money. Trust the abundance of your life right now. It doesn't mean don't be careful with your money, just put you and your wellbeing first.

Don't doubt your intuition, when something doesn't feel right keep it in mind. "Before making a decision, tune into your body. What is it telling you?" Pick your body cues. The more you practice this the more align you will be with your third eye chakra and intuition.

The Vata card is asking you to let your ideas flourish, but remember to also anchor them with action, so visions can manifest into reality. Don't leave your ideas just in your mind. (If you have any ideas related to business or money remember the Ace of Pentacles, now it's the time).

"Whenever things seem to be moving too quickly for words, come back to your breath". Remember to take pranayama out of the mat too, our breath is always there to support us. This reminds me of the 2 of Pentacles, find the balance. If you don't practice yoga I recommend looking for some pranayama videos!

Pile 2

Cards: XIII Death, Knight of Swords reversed, 3 of Swords reversed, King of Wands reversed. Manipura reversed, Kapha reversed, Niyamas.

Death is scary but it means evolution and metamorphosis. A loss is an opportunity to change but it is normal to feel sad and grief the past.

You can overcome this though. Seek help if you need to, you don't have to go through a hard time alone. Take time to process the situation.

You may feel like there's a weird atmosphere around you this week or that there's something wrong with you. A lack of harmony, volatility, rudeness...

Your solar plexus chakra may be blocked, making you feel unsure about what you really want. "Take some time apart from others, especially those who are trying to direct your path, and figure out who you are outside of everyone else." This ties with the King of Wands reversed and that weird atmosphere I talked about. You need some distance. "You need to unlearn all that you learnt", go to new places, try new things. Remember the Death card? This is a new you.

The Kapha card in reverse makes me think that maybe you needed this change. Perhaps you got too comfortable where you were. "Try something out of the box. See bigger dreams for yourself. Let go of habits that are no longer serving you, such as emotional eating or looking back into the past. Replace refined carbs, sugar, and dairy with bitter vegetables, tart fruit, and rich spices. It's time to shed your old skin and reemerge as your highest self and fullest expression".

I will leave you now with the Niyamas page (alt after the pic). Beautiful transformational energy in this group.

[Alt: NIYAMAS. Eight stages of yoga: laws of personal observance. You are beginning to reap the rewards of the inner transformational work you have done. This is just the beginning of a life-long practice of personal observance. Tune into what your soul needs at this moment. Are there toxins in your body and mind that need sauca, purity? Are you experiencing contentment, santosa, for all the blessings you have been given? Are you using your tapas, disciplined energy, to take you toward your Dharma, divine purpose? Continue the practice of svadhyaya, self-study. There is always more that you'll find when you open up the pathway to your true spirit. Take some extra time for yourself each day to practice isvara pranidhana, the celebration and contemplation of spirit.]

Pile 3

Cards: III The Empress, XVIII The Moon, 4 of Wands reversed, King of Swords, 8 of Swords reversed. Anahata reversed, Tamas reversed, Asana reversed.

First I have to say that I don't like reading The Moon as the opposite of The Sun. I don't think it is a card about melancholy, anguish and insecurity (at least when it's not reversed). To me it is about tapping into your intuition and seeing what you didn't before. Also you got one more card because they just came out like that jsjsj. Okay now we can get into your reading group 3!!

I think right now you are being asked to step into your feminine energy (this energy lives within everyone regardless of gender, also I may add that I do not like the "divine feminine" bs). You can flow with creativity, accomplish your goals, go into a time of abundance. But for that you need to be more in touch with the femininity in yourself.

The Moon is also a very feminine card, but this one is more about intuition and spirituality. Maybe this is what you need; understanding your intent, realising the cycles and patterns within your life, self-study. See the path that was hidden once.

This can bring a bit of self-doubt or gloom though. Sometimes things are easier when we are unaware. The 4 of Wands is also about family so with it being reversed it makes me think that perhaps you can discover something about your family that makes you look at them differently. It can also just be that you live away from them and miss them. Maybe they also are not spiritual or even are against spiritual practices (tarot, wicca, yoga, astrology....)?

The King of Swords may be asking you for a bit of structure and self-discipline in your life. This goes hand in hand with tamas and asana in reverse, but we will see that late

The 8 of swords is about being caught up in your own insecurities. Maybe it was your family making you insecure, you went through a heartbreak, or it was a moment of self-doubt but you are beginning to heal. Take a stand and be strong.

I'm really getting spiritual awakening from this pile. But first you have to work through some emotional blockages, let's see what the anahata reverse has for you (alt after the pic):

[Alt: Anahata. Heart chakra. Reverse. A heartbreak is holding you back from your truth, and the time has come to forgive. Your heart carries an intelligence, and when you close your heart, you are not able to operate as your full self. To follow your path, it is essential to heal the old wounds of the heart. Repeat the mantra, "Please forgive me. I forgive you. I thank you. I love you." Repeat these words using the names of every person who needs love, forgiveness, and gratitude. Each heartbreak carries a divine spiritual lesson, and you can hold onto the lesson while letting go of the pain. Honor the soul contract for what it taught you, and pave the way open for your heart to love again. Practice tantric eye-gazing and meditating on the heart-space, and spend time in green nature.]

This block explains why you may feel stuck, hence why tamas reversed is here: "You seem not to have the energy that you used to and feel like the fire within you has been put out [...] My dear, you have been in the cocoon for too long, and you've forgotten you have wings. Create movement and novelty in your life. Practice sun salutations upon waking, take long walks in nature, clean up your house. Let go of all tamasic foods those that are packaged, fried, or full of sugar and refined flour. It takes effort to get the wheels moving at first, but once you make that push, you'll be in effortless flow, kriya".

Following this it is obvious you are asked to take it to the mat too. "The mind has been in control for far too long and it will never answer the questions of your soul's calling. To talk to the spirit, you must talk to its home, the body. The solutions are not outside of yourself, they're in this very temple you abide in. Through movement and breath, you create space between the inhales and the exhales to discover your truth. The mind will tell you stories until the end of time-the body cannot. If it's been a while since you've done an asana, yoga practice, consider this is a request from the spirit reminding you to come back home to yourself".

If you do not practice yoga consider starting or continuing with a physical activity you like, but I think it is better if it is mindful (like pilates, tai chi, even running).

I hope it was useful!!! Don't forget to keep coming to this lecture during the week. Please let me know if it resonated 🩷 I hope this served you in any way.

[cassie-reader]

An Angel In A Dark Memory

Warning: Mentioning of SA

I thought that would be a night I would regret forever.

The night his nails dug into my sides. If I looked in the mirror now, I wouldn’t be able to see the bruises, but I can feel them. His skin stained mine with invisible scars.

I thought I would never be able to get rid of the feeling of his skin. Forever to relive that moment, unable to breath as my skin became a canvas of maggots. Throat raw with unheard pleas.

I thought I would forever be defined by that single moment.

When I chose to walk home from my office instead of calling for an uber. Everything after was a mere domino reaction. My ex just happened to be leaving the bar that night, choosing to be responsible and not drive. If I hadn’t waited for that car before crossing the street, I wouldn’t have bumped into a girl I went to highschool with. If I hadn’t stopped to have a three minute and twenty-three second conversation with her, I wouldn’t have had to walk in the back alley to avoid the large group of inebriated football players. If I didn’t have to avoid them, my ex wouldn’t have seen me walking alone. If he hadn’t seen me, he wouldn’t have offered to walk me home and I would have never accepted his offer, because even after our break up, I still felt safer with him than I did alone.

His only problem was that he was a jealous man and had a fear of being cheated on. If I hadn’t accepted his offer, he wouldn’t have asked for a second chance.

Another issue of his was that he was an angry drunk. He didn’t drink often when we dated, too afraid of becoming like his mother. He started drinking after the break up. It turned out that his fears were found, he was like his mother when drunk. If I hadn’t rejected him, he never would have touched me.

I shouldn’t have responded that night. I knew he was drunk. I knew I should ask for time to think about it. I knew I shouldn’t have said ‘no’ until he was sober and himself again.

But I didn’t.

In some ways, I led to that night.

I never intended for it to happen, but you can never foresee the consequences of your actions.

I thought that night would be the end of me.

It wasn’t.

Instead, I met him. To many, he may be a murderer, an assassin, but to me, he was my saviour. He saved me that night. Even when he was still a monster. Even when he was still the Winter Soldier, he saved me. Before he was Bucky again, before he was free from the hell he had endured, he saved me.

The most vivid thing about that night was him, the neon green peace sign spray painted on the wall of the apartment we were behind, and that damned paper I had to finish before we got out for the semester. Everything else-- my ex, his hand tight against my throat, my nail breaking as I clawed his skin in an attempt to escape, the tearing of my clothes, the pain… it was all a blur. I couldn’t focus on what was happening. I couldn’t focus on the pain, the thrusting pain, the violation.

The guilt.

It was easier to think about the neon spray paint on the wall. As his teeth broke skin and left bruises down my skin, I wondered why the artist made a wave in the middle of the line. When his lips left saliva on my body, I pondered why the artist did not take more care in keeping the lines straight. His fingers running up and down my bare side left me curious about what made the artist choose neon green for the symbol. It became apparent as he pressed his hot lips to mine in the middle of a plea, choking me with both his hand and tongue that it was not vandalism, rather an unfinished mural. I haven’t gone back there.

I wonder what it looks like now.

I can remember his burning skin on mine, his cruel hands as they explored the skin he never got to touch like this, his teeth carving bruises on my body and soul. When I heard his zipper as he worked to get his pants off, the thesis of my paper finally came to me. I had written the draft of the paper, yet couldn’t figure out how to phrase the thesis. It was ingenious, the very thing I need to prove that I was worthy of the degree I was about to earn. The human mind is an incredible thing and as a psychology major, I loved to analyse it. As he tore my world apart, as the pleas that left my throat raw for days encouraging him, as he used my body like it was his for the taking, all I could do was formulate more points I could add to prove my thesis and hit the word count. I did end up getting a 97.5 on the paper. I lost points for using “peaked” instead of “piqued” and using ‘an’ where I should have used “a”.

A stupid mistake really.

As I tried to figure out which synonym of ‘peculiar’ to use, the cool air replaced his hot, vicious touch. His screams replaced mine as a large man in dark clothing bashed his skull against the wall. I will never forget the way the blood dripped down, more like little streams.

It looks nothing like the movies.

There was nothing in my head except the scene unfolding before me as the man wrapped a hand around his throat. The metal whirling as he used his left arm to leave a dent in the face I once loved still plays in my dreams.

When the man turned to me, my ex dead at his feet, I felt no fear. A part of me, the part of me that I thought I had quieted once and for all, was hopeful that I would be his victim. I would rather be dead than live with what had just happened. With what the first man I thought I would marry did to me.

I had never seen such expressive eyes as he crouched in front of me, head tilted as he examined me. I couldn't look him in the eyes for long. He had saved me and instead of thank you, all I could think to say was, “My book.”

I wrapped my arms around my Psychology book that I hadn’t actually needed for class. Without a word, he lifted me into his arms and wrapped his jacket around my body.

I had just watched him beat my ex-boyfriend to death with his bare hands. Seeing him make a dent in his face, yet I couldn’t bring myself to fear him.

I knew I should. Everything about his outfit told me that he was a wild animal that needed to be restrained. His leather jacket reminded me of the straight jackets during World War II that my high school best friend and I learned about. His dark hair was like a mask, covering the face not hidden by the muzzle. Even his gun holster went right across his chest as if it too was trying to restrain him.

That was the day I knew I would never fear him.

His outfit seemed created as a reminder that he was controlled, owned. Even alone, he belongs to someone like a wolf in the zoo. I think some part of me knew, that night, that he was just as much of a victim as I just was. Maybe more of a victim.

I thought I would remember that night as the one where my weakness allowed my body to be violated.

I remember that as the night I met my soldier.

The night I met Bucky.

[emma-m-black]

The Daughter - Chapter Five

Tim Gutterson x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

Tim Gutterson comes to the unconventional aid of one Elenora Crowder, ward of Art Mullen and daughter of Raylan Givens.

This will be a multi chapter story and will get spicy as it goes. This is a rough draft and only slightly edited for grammar and spelling. Just needed to finally get it out because Tim Gutterson is one of my favorite characters, and there is not nearly enough fanfic for him.

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four

Chapter: Five

Elenora was placing a box in her bathroom while Tim leaned on the door frame, watching her. “You know, this place ain’t half bad.”

“See, I told you it was worth it.” Whispered Elenora as she set the box down on the counter.

“Oh, it was worth it.” Said Tim with a sly smirk. “Just make sure you leave that top drawer open for me. Also, I’ll be wanting the side of the bed with the view of the door, and I figure I should warn you I like to drink my juice straight from the carton.”

“Shh, now. There are others around, and I would really rather not have my second dad hear you. I would like once this is all said and done for you to leave in one piece, so you can circle the block and come back up.” Elenora said as she walked past Tim and into the main area of the apartment, just as footsteps could be heard coming through the front door.

“Guess who Art found wandering around on the street?” Announced Rachel as she entered the room carrying a box.

“New guy? Bout time he showed up.” Asked Tim as he walked across the room to take the box from Rachel.

Rachel confirmed his suspicions with a nod and a look of displeasure. “He’s that gun happy cowboy from Florida we heard about.”

Tim let out a laugh. “No shit? He must have really pissed off Florida if they sent him out here.”

“Wait? Cowboy from Florida?” Elenora questioned as her eyes went wide. “Cowboy hat? Lean? Looks like an asshole?”

“Yeah?” Began Rachel in response, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Elenora. “How’d you know?”

“Guys, I want you to meet the new guy,” Came Art’s voice as he walked into the room. “Old buddy of mine from Glynco. One of the fastest draws in the Marshal’s service.”

As Art said this, a man fitting the description Elenora had just given entered the room. His eyes landing straight on Elenora and a smile raised on his lips. “Hello, sunshine.” The man greeted as he scanned her over.

“Daddy?” Elenora questioned. Her hands shook, and she felt the sweat forming. Her mind was racing, and she could not seem to form a proper thought.

“There it is.” Said Tim under his breath, and Elenora could only think back to the previous night’s conversation about Tim waiting for the ball to drop on their relationship. Because this was a big fucking ball. She noticed her father seemed to eye Tim and look him over as though he was trying to piece together a puzzle.

Elenora stepped forward as she looked her father over. “What are you doing here?”

“I was transferred. Told Art to keep it a surprise. So, surprise.” Raylan approached Elenora and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. Elenora followed suit, but it was more of an automatic response than anything out of love.

“You’re Elenora’s father?” Asked Rachel, as the father and daughter pulled apart.

“Yup.” Raylan popped his ‘p’ as he replied and shoved a hand out towards Rachel. “Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens, pleasure to meet you.”

Rachel took his offered hand and gave it a shake with a smile on her face. “Deputy U.S. Marshal Rachel Brooks.”

When Raylan released Rachel’s hand, he turned to look at Tim. “That must make you the man that saved my little girl. Deputy U.S. Marshal Tim Gutterson, if I’m not mistaken?” Raylan stuck out his hand and Elenora noticed the way his eyes narrowed. Tim, who was still holding the box he took from Rachel, finally moved to set it down.

“I didn’t do much savin’, mainly I just threw a set of cuffs on the guy,” Said Tim as he took Raylan’s hand in a shake. “I’m sure she has you to thank for the skills I saw that night.”

Raylan had not released Tim’s hand. “I taught my baby girl how to protect herself against any unwanted male advances.”

“Daddy!” Elenora narrowed her eyes at her father and he finally released Tim’s hand. “Why are you really here?”

“I told you I was transferred.”

“You were the one that gave that perp twenty-four hours to leave town.” Tim said with realization. “Then shot him dead at the table, when he didn’t comply. I’m guessing it wasn’t a transfer so much as Art was the only one that would take you in?” Tim’s voice held a slight harshness to it, and Elenora could tell that Tim was making sure her father knew he was not the type to back down.

“Apparently, this is my punishment for takin’ out the bad guy.”

“Or mine.” Voiced Art as he walked over and placed a hand on Raylan’s shoulder. “Rachel and Tim will be your best friends here. Rachel will keep you out of trouble and Tim, well, Tim will watch your back and take out anyone before they have a chance to draw.”

Raylan looked between Elenora and Tim once again. “Army?”

“Rangers.”

“I thank you for your service. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with my daughter, in private.”

Nodding her head, Elenora looked from her father to Art. “Did you wanna order that pizza? Beers are cold and in the fridge.”

“Will do.” Replied Art.

Leading Raylan out of the apartment and into the hall, she walked a few more steps before leaning on the plastered wall. The only closed off rooms in the apartment were a washroom and a walk-in pantry. It left little privacy, but because the whole top floor was hers, the hallway was out of the way. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I didn’t wanna worry you.”

“Worry me?”

Raylan leaned against the wall and took his hat off. Holding it in his hand, he turned the hat over and ran his fingers along the brim. “With what happened to you down here, and what I did back there. I just wanted you to finish your school with nothing distractin’ ya.”

“You shot someone and got yourself shipped off back to your home state. This is after you shipped me off cause it wasn’t safe for me in the same state you were working. Please tell me you don’t expect me to up and leave again.”

“I mean it wouldn’t...”

“You have got to be fuckin kidding me, daddy! I have a home here, a job, friends, a life.”

“And I got people that will eventually want to use you to get to me.”

Elenora pushed off from the wall. “That ain’t anything new, daddy. I defended myself then and I will do it again. I love you, but I can take care of myself.” Moving past her father, Elenora walked back into the apartment, where it was apparent that everyone had been listening to their conversation. She paused and looked around the room as both Rachel and Art attempted to make themselves busy with opening some boxes. Tim, on the other hand, was leaning against the counter, next to the fridge in the kitchen, beer bottle in hand. His eyes were watching her from the second she entered and while she walked across the room to the fridge.

Pulling the door open, Elenora then reached in and grabbed a beer. Throwing the door to the fridge closed, Elenora twisted the cap to her bottle off and tossed it on the counter before bringing the bottle to her lips. Taking a large swallow, she let out a sigh as her father entered back into the apartment. She watched as he made his way to Art and, as the two of them started to converse, Elenora felt herself relax.

Taking a few steps, Elenora put herself at the counter next to Tim. “My daddy’s here.” Whispered Elenora.

“And he’s got a gun,” Replied Tim before taking another drink from his bottle.

Keeping her gaze on her father, Elenora took another large drink from her beer. “I understand if you wanna start runnin’.”

“Ah, you’ve had a long day and I don’t feel like it’s much fair to make you run after me. So I think I’ll just stay right where I am.”

A buzz sounded through the apartment and everyone turned their heads toward Elenora and she just responded with a shrug of her shoulders. “Hey Art, said he was on pizza. I assume that means he’s payin?”

“Oh, alright. Wanna give me a hand, Rachel?”

“Fine old man, I’ll carry your pizza’s,” Said Rachel as she followed Art out the door with a laugh.

Once it was just the three of them, Raylan made his way towards the kitchen and looked between Elenora and Tim and when he reached the fridge, he held a hand to the door handle in question. “May I?”

“What’s mine is yours.” Said Elenora, before downing the last of her bottle. Once she was done, she placed the bottle on the counter and then reached forward for the bottle her father had just taken for himself. She cracked it open and took a drink.

“Good, because I’m gonna need a couch.” Elenora nearly spit out the mouth full of beer as she looked at her father. “Good to know that would have been your reaction. Don’t worry, the Marshal’s Service is paying for a motel until I get the living arrangements sorted. Besides, I don’t wanna get in the way of whatever boy it is you’re shaking up with.”

Eleanor just rolled her eyes at her father. “There is no boy.”

“Sure there is. Art told me you haven’t slept in your bed much this last week. With finals, I tend to find that a little odd given your study habits.” Said Raylan as he pulled another beer from the fridge.

“I’ve been staying with Mandy, and if I wasn’t studyin’, I was drinkin’.”

“Sure, sure. You keep him a secret for now, unless.” Raylan began as he closed the fridge and cracked a beer. “You two seem awfully chummy. Deputy Gutterson, you wouldn’t be the one preoccupying my daughter’s evenin’ time now, would you?” Raylan asked, starting down Tim. The tip of his bottle pointed at the man.

Tim responded with a cock of his head and a laugh, and when Raylan did not negate his hard stare, Tim straightened up. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I’m not dating anyone, daddy.” Said Elenora with a smirk.

“Well, you best be tellin’ this non existent boyfriend of yours that at some point in the near future, him and I are going to be having a talk. Most likely at the firing range or a dark, empty alley.”

“If I was seeing someone, why couldn’t you just be happy for me? Why do you need to threaten him? I’m not a little girl anymore, daddy.”

“Sunshine. No man will ever be good enough for you and you will always be my little girl.”

Soon Art and Rachel were back, pizza in hand, and the discussion of Elenora’s love life came to a close. After eating some pizza and drinking a few more beers, the group helped Elenora build up about a dozen bookcases and a few large cube storage units that she had situated as a divider between her living area and her sleeping area. When you entered the apartment, you were put into the middle of the living space. To the right of that was a large open kitchen area with a makeshift island that Elenora had created out of some rolling wooden workbenches, and to the left was the sleeping area, with the bathroom and a sliding glass door out to a small balcony. The balcony was just big enough for one chair but there was a small six step staircase that let you on to the roof, and a private area. There, Elenora had been gifted a patio set that had been left from a tenant five moves earlier. It was easier than actually trying to get anything back up or down.

“Nell, you know, you have the entire Harry Potter collection in five different languages right?” Tim ran a finger along the spine of each one as he inspected them. Everyone had left hours ago and Tim, too. He went home, gathered a bag of overnight items and a fresh set of clothes for tomorrow. Making sure that he took the long way back and that Elenora’s trigger happy father did not follow him. He even parked two blocks away and Elenora helped Tim enter through a back service door, just to be safe. “How did you afford all these? Didn’t realize being a student paid so well.” Elenora watched from the floor, where she was unpacking another box of books.

“I worked in the library at the university, and at a bookstore both before and after coming out here. I got to save up most of it. Got a little money from the government when my momma died. Daddy and a scholarship helped with the school. I like books. It’s nice to get lost in a good one.”

Elenora watched as Tim plucked Storm Front by Jim Butcher from the shelf and flipped it over in his palm. “This is a good series.”

“You, read fantasy?”

“Between the sandbox and my ass-hole of a father, it was an escape.” Tim placed the book back on the shelf and walked over to Elenora. “Speaking of fathers, yours is interesting.” Tim held out a hand and pulled Elenora to her feet. “Almost had to change my pants.” Tim had a sly smile on his lips as he spoke, and it made Elenora laugh.

“Well, you aren’t running, so that must be a good sign?” Elenora placed her arms on top of Tim’s shoulders and put her hands on the back of her neck.

Tim placed his hands on her hips and smiled down at her. “I said almost, and something tells me you might be worth staring down the barrel of your daddy’s gun.”

Pushing forward, Elenora brought her lips to Tim’s. She kissed him softly, and he responded in kind, his hands tightening on her hips but his pace matching her own. Tim was patient in many things Elenora had noticed, but with her, she noticed he would give off signs he was restraining himself. Trying to let her take the lead, let her be the one in control of the moment. It all made her toes tingle and her stomach tighten. It was one of the many reasons she was falling hard for Deputy United States Marshal Tim Gutterson.

Chapter Six

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Writing excerpt asks: 2, 6, 10, 11, 12, 13

2. that makes me laugh

Beatrice's response to Beast's final marriage proposal in "A Day Late" always make me laugh, because it's so unlike the way that moment goes in other "Beauty and the Beast" retellings.

Behind her, Beast said weakly. “You’ll…marry me?” The cloak slipped from Beatrice’s arms, and she cursed under her breath. “Yes, you overgrown throw rug, but first you have to live long enough to do it.”

6. that i struggled with, but triumphed over

This was a hard one to answer, because most of the stories I struggle with never get finished.

But now I have an answer! "A Garden of Wishes", my 12 Dancing Princesses retelling, was supposed to be a quick, easy retelling of the fairy tale that ballooned into the longest non-Arateph retelling I've ever finished. The first part came easily, but that last act terrified me. Then I almost finished, but had issues with the progression of those final scenes, and worried that I'd need to overhaul the whole story, so I was too intimidated to finish, and left it sit for months.

Then, when I finally buckled down, I realized that, as long as I was committed to the 2nd-person POV, all I really had to do was edit a couple of scenes in that last act, and then write about 1,000 more words to finish it off. Whether it counts as a triumph or not is open to interpretation, but I'm glad to have finished.

10. with characters i struggle with

My "Rapunzel" retelling set on Arateph remains in perpetual stasis because although I love the plot, I can't get a proper handle on the characters. But here's a snippet from one of the many wildly different drafts that shows a bit of their situation.

Camreth asked, "Do you even look up from that desk when I’m not around?” “Of course I do.” “Rarely.” “That’s not a bad thing,” Zemma said. “I’m a tower scholar. I’m meant to focus on my work.” “And they keep you prisoner to do it.” Zemma’s jaw fell, but she was unable to speak, save for a horrified squeak of indignation. “I am not a prisoner! I can leave whenever I want!” “Prove it, he said, crossing his arms. “Come with me.” Zemma’s indignation melted beneath a jolt of surprise—halfway between jumping off a cliff and getting a naming day gift. “Come? Out…? Where?” His smile and his eyes grew bright with possibility. “What’s Snowmelt without a picnic? I know a perfect place. Not far from campus. I’ve been dying to show it to you.”

11. with characters i want to write more in the future

I wish I could figure out a way to make use of my pre-revolutionary Arateph characters and write more stories with them.

Here's a snippet of Marastel and Jemrauth's interaction after the moment at Jemrauth's coronation, when he used his chosen virtue name to declare his intention to stay loyal to the woman his father forbid him to marry.

Marastel couldn’t smile anymore. “Jemrauth,” she said. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” “In intricate and exhaustive detail,” he sighed. “Shall I repeat the full lecture, or stick to the highlights?” “Your father?” “If he weren’t such a slave to decorum, I think he’d have dragged me away by my hair. I didn’t take two steps off the stage before his guards steered me toward his study.” “Was he that angry?” “Does Common Tephan have a word stronger than ‘livid’?” “Jemrauth,” she sighed, half in sympathy, half in suffering. “Apparently,” he said, with jovial irony in the words, “I have dishonored the crown, made a mockery of the sacred practice of virtue naming, and failed to live up to my first virtue name of Verinen—because it seems that failing to inform one’s parent of every nuance of a chosen virtue name counts as lying now.” Marastel sank into her chair. “All because of me.”

12. that has a particularly good bit of characterization

You once pointed this out as a good piece of characterization of Jemrauth and Marastel, and now it's the only thing that comes to mind as the one point where I was a little bit clever with my characterization.

Marastel found Jemrauth seated in his broad-winged desk chair, examining one of the daily reports, his reading spectacles firmly in place. Marastel loved and hated those spectacles; they added a graceful touch of distinction to his face, but he never smiled when he wore them. The reports seldom held good news.

13. that helped me understand a character better

Letter XIX in "The True Story" unexpectedly turned into a moment where Ben explained his character and backstory in great detail. The whole thing helped me to understand him, but this is where it started.

You ask me why these books--and the phenomena surrounding their existence--matter so much to me. I can answer only by biography. Wright and Co. is a small, cluttered, dim, obscure shop--you could find a thousand used book stores like it anywhere in the world--but from a young age (the shop was owned by my uncle then) it seemed a place of unique enchantment. I would spend summer days racing among the stacks and losing myself in books. I grew more jaded and cynical as I aged--most teenagers do--but whenever I was in danger of becoming a disaffected youth, there was something about the shop that made me feel there was something more than the meaninglessness of everyday life. Learning about the miracle of the books felt like getting the answer to a question I hadn't realized I was asking. Here was proof there was something beyond the mundane and predictable. Something too wonderful for the human mind to understand. Some wondrous power cared enough about the patrons of this shop to help them get the right story in their hands at the right time--even if that story had never been written. Other books have authors and publishers, but these books seemed like a gift from the author of imagination itself.

[project-aphelion]

05.24.2023 - Chapter 7

Word Count

> Chapter 7: 4632

> Total: 41464

Whale whale whale. The last time I updated was in June 2022. It’s basically been a whole year. What happened? I’m glad you asked!

First: I was just getting kinda tired or and burnt out by this story. It’s quite large and there’s quite a bit of intricate worldbuilding and backstories that weave through the narrative, so it uses up a Lot of my problem-solving brainpower. I got stuck in chapters 6 and 7 and couldn’t get unstuck, so I decided it was time to take a break from APHELION.

Second: But that doesn’t mean I stopped writing! I moved onto my backup wip, SUDDENCE, which is much smaller in scale and much shorter. I thought of it as my breath of fresh air, and I reasoned that if I managed to finish a draft of it, it would make me realize that i CAN write a whole story, and I would get a new surge of motivation and confidence for APHELION.

And what do ya know! I finished draft 2 of SUDDENCE last week! It clocks in at 49k words (which is more than what APHELION has so far, which is. wild) and it taught me a valuable lesson: KEEP IT SUPER SIMPLE. My problem with APHELION was that it was much, much, much too complicated for no good reason, and I had to learn how to pare things back.

That’s something I kinda knew for a while, but working on SUDDENCE really just drove it home, and it gave me practice for how to simplify things.

What’s Different?

So anyway! I know I skipped Chapter 6 (oops) but I finished Chapter 7, which is Rian’s chapter. In this one, he struggles with the idea of running away and having his own life vs. staying and helping ~save the world~. “Saving the world sounds pretty noble, why would he run from that?” BECAUSE you see the people he works with (or rather, for) may not have entirely noble intentions and helping them might end up (and did) hurt people. And Rian doesn’t want that on his conscience! But if he runs away, he loses his avenue to do good to the world because he’s just a 13-year-old kid. He doesn’t have the resources and know-how to run around and perform miracles. Plus, he hates being on his own. This kid’s got a lot going on.

Changed:

The entire second half of the chapter was changed. Originally Rian is asked to perform an interrogation with his superpowers, and it goes on for a while, and it leads to this whole thing of him accidentally implicating Cay etc etc ANYWAY that was the part that was definitely too complicated for no reason, so now Rian just pretends he has a headache and manages to get out of doing it. The whole thing about Cay was just taken out entirely (it was too plot-conveniency anyway).

I also rearranged the general order of events. Can’t go too much into it because #spoilers.

Excerpt! Here’s Rian and Holly, AKA his only friend in the world.

Holly sighed through her nose and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ri. I know you don’t feel well. Eat as much as you can, alright? I can help you eat the rest.” She tugged at one of his curls, frowning slightly. “And then we can do something about this hair—”

“I don’t want to cut it.” The words came out stuck together like jam. He felt awful for talking back, and he didn’t know why. Just yesterday he had threatened to shoot her. Why did this feel like crossing a line?

“You don’t want to cut it?” Holly tucked the lock of hair behind his ear. “What about just a little trim? So we can get this”—she drew her finger across his brow, sweeping the hair once more out of his eyes— “out of the way? Would that be alright?”

Rian didn’t see a point in arguing, so he nodded.

Holly smiled. “Okay, then. Now eat your breakfast. It’s good, I promise.”

His breakfast is pancakes, btw.

Up next: finishing Chapter 6. It’s actually mostly done, and there’s just a bit of action in the middle I have to figure out. This is a loooong one.

In other news: I’m rereading the Grisha Trilogy now that I finally got my hands on physical copies. My kinda odd opinion is that while everyone seems to hate how slow and political the second book is, I kinda like that aspect. I think Bardugo is veryyyy good at political intrigue, which is why I liked the first half of King of Scars but not the second half and why I probably will never finish that duology.

C’est tout!

-Emily

[loulougoingsolo]

Don't ask why I wrote this (thoughts on the latest Ear biscuit)

It's been a good while since I've written down my thoughts on an Ear biscuit episode. I can tell you, there are probably dozens of unfinished drafts saved on my tumblr. I'm determined to post this one - if that doesn't happen, hi, me, from the future, trying to cypher why this text never got posted.

This was the rpisode after Good Mythical Evening, and, as we learn from Link, Rhett is still sick, but I think it's safe to say he's not premused quite as dead as he was during the Streamys anymore. Because of all of my neuroses, I've been genuinely worried for a few days, but I guess it's okay to breathe again.

So, Link was doing the podcast with Jenna, and I have to say, this was an excellent episode. The past few times when Jenna had been on the podcast with both Rhett and Link, the dynamic has been a little off, more confrontational with Rhett and Jenna teaming up "against" Link (which of course is not really the case, but because I tend to see things more like Link than Rhett, I'm often rooting for him). This episode, Link and Jenna have a great discussion as complete equals, and it is really enjoyable.

First, Link and Jenna go through GME and the Streamys, and sounds like they are both proud of Link's performances on both occations. It seems Rhett was pretty sick on the night of GME already. I hope GME 4 happens next year, not just because I've loved every show thus far, but so they get a chance to do one with both guys not sick, and with the technical stuff going as planned.

My heart kinda melted, when Link said he was missing "his dude" at the Streamys, and turns out he had talked about what to say on stage with Rhett. The way he presented Mr Beast's award was epic, but apparently, had they won Show of the Year, something even better would have happened. Next year, maybe.

So, the majority of this episode is dedicated to a solo camping trip Link made (with Jasper) during their summer break. He compares notes with Jenna on why they both enjoy solo travels, and talk about things you gotta do to stay safe while staying in the wilderness alone.

The reason I ended up writing my thoughts about this episode, in particular, is that listening to Link and Jenna talk about how freeing solitude is. I got envious.

The reason I've been so absent from Tumblr and everything else is that with my parents getting older, a lot of my time these days involves me doing things for them. My dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's last year, and he no longer has his driver's licence. My mom has had some pretty major health scares in the past year, and it's near a miracle she is currently alive and actually physically functional. As if these things weren't enough, my sister was diagnosed with cancer, went through surgery, chemo and radiation therapy in the past year, too. She is doing better, now, but with my parents and my sister all struggling, I've suddenly ended up being very necessary. And that means, the most time I've had for myself in the past few months has been two days at most, but usually, not a day goes by without someone needing my help. And, I could really use a solo trip right about now.

Link talked about how being alone gave him a sense of being fully in control, and that made him happy. And for Jenna, solitude meant freedom. I can relate to both of these feelings. I've never really been able to be truly myself when other people are around, and it can be really suffocating. For me, it took a world wide pandemic to figure out that I actually like being me, but the problems, the anxiety and stress, emerge when I'm expected to interact with other people. As much control as I have over my own existence, I can't control other people. I've tried, doesn't work.

I csn't wait to see the video version of this episode on Wednesday. Link showed Jrnna a video he had made while watching the sunset with Jasper. I'm not religious, nor particularly spiritual, but if I ever feel connrcted with the universe, it's when I'm in the wild, surrounded by the beauty of nature. One August night this summer, I sat in the dark, staring at the sky, searching for shooting stars. I was alone at that time, apart from a million mosquitoes eating my ankles, and at the same time, I felt free, yet not lonely. And then I heard something crack in the dark, and, because I was in my garden, I calmly stood up and walked inside.

So, yeah, after sll of this nonsensical rambling, what did I actually want to say? Enjoy the little moments in life, alone or with someone you love. If you can, go on a solo trip - and if that is not an option, go outside, look at the stars and breathe. And even if this text probably isn't the best ad for this Ear biscuits episode, listen to it.

[roosterbruiser]

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SPRING MILLIE????????????

You got me like

https://youtube.com/shorts/oyteDl2icYY?feature=share

well....I'll tell you what happened at the spring.......

I'm highly about to NOURISH all of you!! but a few things o note before I post this!!

this is from a draft where I was writing in Jake's perspective

the prologue hadn't happened yet

Filly = Sookie

Eliza = Ruth

I stopped writing in his perspective bc I felt like a creeper!!

 Silver Spring is the only place in Silverkeep that could be considered nice objectively. It’s uncharacteristically pretty for Silverkeep--the kind of pretty that almost makes me feel guilty, like if I touched the Mona Lisa or sneezed on The Thinker. Maybe because it is so beautiful--that sticky, guilt-inducing kind of beautiful--that no one ventures down this way. We are almost always alone here, save for a few reckless middle schoolers that are easy to scare away and some drifters who mind their own.

The black cherry trees and American sycamores are thick here, sprawling across the hills and thinning only when the St. Augustine grass rolls to a sudden stop at the edge of the spring. There are patches of thistles and black-eyed Susan’s spanning across all this fertile land--it always smells sweet here. 

Jagged, brown rocks climb out of the green water and up the hillside--there’s a lip where we sometimes jump off. There’s a pipe, a big ugly and dirty thing, that acts as some sort of man made waterfall. Rock rose plants are starting to cover the pipe now--it’s been here for a long time. 

The water never gets very warm--there’s too much shade. But on days like today, days when the only solace is being neck-deep in a bath of ice, that’s mighty fine. The spring is not very deep, either--only nine feet at the very center. Hyde was the one that figured it out, diving into the murky water with a measly stick as his measurement gauge. 

Our caps and gowns are sitting in a sweaty, crumpled heap on a patch of blue sage. Bees are bumbling around the polyester, probably swarming around Sookie’s because of that sticky orange scent. None of our nice dress clothes are folded, shoes and socks and dresses and pants strewn about haphazardly. Crushed cans of Pabst are gathering in a small aluminum pile on the embankment. 

I’m getting drunk--not out-of-my-mind drunk, not ditzy drunk. But I’m more than tipsy and less than shitfaced. Everything feels quieter now, my body submerged in the cool water, my feet squishing in the dirt and moss at the bottom of the spring. The beer is sitting at the bottom of my belly the way I like it to--makes me feel warm and full. 

We’re soaked to the bone, every one of us. And everyone’s getting drunk, dipping under the surface and holding their beer can just above their heads. 

Sookie is close to me, just a few feet, just a few moments worth of wading away. She’s floating on her back beside me, face tipped towards the canopy of trees, eyes slacked. She’s grazing the rippling surface of the water with her nailless finger gingerly. She’s just in that pair of cotton underwear and a measly yellow bra now. I’ve seen her like this more times than I can count, I think. None of us ever bring our swimsuits so we’re always in our underwear, which is why I know that Hyde still wears tighty-whitey’s and Eliza wears underwear with the days of the week on them.

“Gonna see Emma this summer?” Avery asks from beside me, taking a final swig from his beer can before lazily tossing it aside. 

He means: are you gonna fuck Emmaline Odette anymore this summer?

“Nah,” I tell him, “she got a boyfriend now.”

I’m being honest: Emmaline Odette does have a boyfriend now, some college boy from Austin that can get her into bars. If she didn’t, we would probably not have sex again, though. She’s a prissy little thing--her nails are always clean and her hair is always combed. Having sex with her felt like taking a shower; I was cleaner after. When I was around her, breathing in that expensive hand lotion and kissing her lacy underwear, my chest ached. I always felt like what we had was fragile--like she’d come to, look down, and realize some mutt was eating her out. 

“Heard she was pretty heartbroken over the likes of your sorry ass,” Eliza calls from her spot on the muddy banks, lying on her belly and kicking dirty feet up behind her. 

I tried to end things nicely with Emma--but she’d started crying and kissing on me and pulling my zipper down. We almost had sex again right there on her front porch. But then I looked around at the pillows that were bought solely to keep outside and the wicker furniture and the TV mounted on the wall and caught a whiff of whatever perfume she had on and felt that burn in my throat. I’d had to shrug her off, buckling my jeans, wiping my fingers on my shirt. 

“Look,” I’d told her as she stared up at me red-cheeked and wide-eyed, “I just don’t like you like that, okay?”

I wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings when I said it--but I knew she’d keep trying if I didn’t say what I did. I figured she’d get pissed--push me off her porch or slap me across the face. Instead she just turned her cheek and bit her lip hard. I rode home adjusting myself in my pants that night, little white streaks hardening on my shirt that smelled like her clean arousal. 

“You are our resident heartbreaker, Jake,” Ruth sighs, climbing to sit beside Eliza on the banks, “someone’s gotta be.”

There’s that feeling now--sitting on my chest heavy as a mahogany tree. 

“I do what I can.” 

I don’t even know why I say it, but I do. It falls from my mouth, into the spring, then swims away like a water strider.

Sookie is gone--the water she was occupying vacant. There isn’t even a ripple; it’s just still and quiet. Hyde is rough-housing with Avery now, splashing each other. Eliza and Ruth are leaning back on their elbows and talking about something that’s making them blush. 

I almost call out for her--but then I feel the energy around me shift like it always does when she’s near. It’s like turning an old television on and basking in that staticky silence before the picture blinks on--knowing that it is on but having to strain for proof, a weird sort of blind faith. There’s a great settling that spreads all across my body, starting at my submerged chest and ending at my toes buried in the mud, when I feel her wet breaths on the back of my neck. 

“Freeze,” she whispers behind me, pressing her fingers into my back like they’re a loaded pistol, “this is a stand-up.”

I can hear her smiling--know that she’s biting her lips and that lipstick is probably on her teeth again. She sounds tipsy--but not drunk. 

Raising my hands in surrender, I turn so she can see my cheek. I can’t see her very well; she is just a blurry image of blue and yellow and olive and black. But there it is, there’s that smile and that gap between her teeth. 

“Please,” I whisper pitifully, “I have a family.”

She digs her fingers deeper into my back, those pink nails cutting my skin. 

“Get me a beer and no one gets hurt,” she says. She nudges me again, pushing me towards the dwindling case of beer on the embankment. “G’on now, boy.”

I take a step, bobbing in the water, but then whip around and lunge with utter abandon. She hardly has time to think, move, gasp before I’m pulling her under the water with me, wrapping my arms around her. She wraps her arms around me, too, pushing all the air out of her lungs so it races to the surface in fat bubbles.

We stay under there and I blink, trying to get a glimpse of her through the murk and curly tendrils of her hair--but I can only catch fragments of her body: her missing pink nail, the precious column of her throat, her belly button. But then I see it: her yellow bra, the flimsy thing, has been accidentally nudged aside and her left breast is exposed here beneath the surface of Silver Spring. 

Her breast is supple, the nipple pert, and her skin is goosed.

I think I can imagine what it would feel like on my tongue--her skin wet with the muddy spring water, metallic and dirty. Her nipple would be cold from the water when I wrapped my lips around it, when I let my palm fall on the skin of her right breast, the ditzy yellow fabric sopping and sticking to my flexed fingers. Maybe she would make a pretty noise--

All the blood in my body is rushing down, down, down before I can help it, before I can even think to close my eyes. 

Lorde help me. 

She seems to notice at the same time as me, thrashing herself to the surface while tugging the strap of her bra back up over her dainty shoulder. I come up just a moment after her, panting, running my hands over my face.

Baseball. Peanuts. Sweaty helmets. Wooden baseball bats. Cleats. Chewing tobacco.   

She’s already looking at me. All that makeup is melting off her face--black and blue and pink staining her skin like pretend bruises. Her eyes are wide, mouth parted just slightly. She’s trying to see if I saw, I know that she is.

I don’t lie to Sookie--I can’t lie to Sookie. So instead of saying anything, I grin. It seems to disarm her slightly because her lips twitch into a smile, too. 

“You look like a banshee,” I tell her.

She exhales. She was holding her breath before. 

“I am a banshee,” she tells me. 

She comes closer to me, so close that I can smell her yeasty breath. 

Shin guards. Home-plate. Dirt. Jock-straps. Catcher’s glove. Hotdogs. Mustard.

Before she can say another word to me, I catch her jaw in my left hand, holding it in place gently. She’s completely subdued, just blinking up at me with all that goopy mascara streaming down her face. And I know we aren’t alone right now, but I know that no one is watching us, too. I know we’re just drunk enough to kiss and then say that we were out of our mind’s the night before. But I won’t kiss her right now--not even now that all that Barbie-clit lipstick is smeared across her chin and cheeks. 

I wipe her face with a wet, flat palm. She lets me, bracing when I press down hard, letting her eyes slip shut when I wet my hand again. But then the banshee is gone and it’s just Sookie staring up at me. I like her exactly like this--with a naked face and wet hair and warm breath. 

“Someone oughta teach you how to put makeup on, Sookie-girl,” I whisper to her even though I don’t mean it at all.  

She grins. 

“You first, pretty boy,” she whispers. The cicadas are starting to sing their song.

I swallow hard--I can feel it on my palm every time she swallows.  

Baseballs. Mascots. Urinals. Nets. Curveballs. 

[sunriseverse]

24. “i don’t blame you, i wouldn’t love me either”

not as angsty as it could be but still…

hrems

*herms

whatre u doin

im bored

i wish u were here…

i mean im glad ur staying in bed bc ur sick but

Hermann stares at the screen blearily, eyes stinging slightly even with the brightness all the way down. The messages are timestamped an hour earlier, and he hadn’t seen them until just now, exhausted and fast asleep, having crashed in bed for a nap due to the aforementioned sickness.

His brow furrows as he tries to recall what event the other could possibly be attending; as far as he knows, there isn’t any sort of party; if there had been, Newton would’ve talked his ear off about it. If not a party, though, then what?

Newt? Where are you? he types, having to concentrate extra-hard to avoid typos. For a second, the screen reads sent before switching to read at 11:26 PM. After a few minutes, he’s about to give up hope of receiving a reply, but then the little pencil icon appears.

im not in thne lab if thats what ur askign 

im in my room

*asking

*the

Hermann smiles slightly at the typos; Newton always thinks faster than he can type or speak, and it’s endearingly extremely clear in moments like these. 

im just

sad

i think? idk i might just be hungry…

The messages are rapid-fire, and it’s like having the biologist by his side; his tendency to go off on tangents in real life conversations transfers over to text, as well, the jump from topic-to-topic, while jaring for outside observers, is familiar to Hermann. Comforting, even.

im in love and it hurts

Hermann draws in a deep breath, surprised. Newt, are you drunk?

no im not stop worrying

okay maybe im overexhausted 

i havent slept in 36 hrs

Newton! Hermann wants to snap, scold him for his feckless attitude, but text doesn’t carry the tone properly. He wants to force the other to take care of himself properly, but he’s aware that Newton is a fully-grown adult, and as stubborn as a two-year-old to boot.

but like ive only had 1 glass…

but im sad and im rly into him but hes not interested…

fuck tendo i tried to give him flowers and he asked me *why*

and the other day i used the “are u a book cuz im chevking u out” joke nd he stared at me blankly

*checking

i mean its like

“i dont blame you, i wouldn’t love me either”

Hermann stills, because he remembers both of those incidents. He—he’d thought it was a mix-up, or that the biologist was mocking him. Heart racing, he rereads the messages. Oh. Newton, I’m not Tendo. There’s a second, before the pencil icon returns.

fuck

oh god im sorry

ignore that all pls

im so sorry hermann

Wait! Hermann types, but it’s too late. The screen reads sent but remains that way. Hermann’s heart clenches. He wants to get out of bed, race to Newt’s room; demand did you really mean that? but he can barely stand at this point, fatigued as he is.

With a frustrated groan and a sneeze, Hermann settles back under the blankets, miserably hoping he’ll be well enough to try and speak to Newton in the morning. He hopes…oh, damn that. He fervently desires that Newt feels similarly—what was originally simply a crush has grown and mutated in the past decade to something more deeply rooted; the scent of formaldehyde and a quick smile, the intonations that mean fond exasperation and a scratchy call me Newt!

It isn’t love, not in the way it’s classically portrayed, but it’s…something. Something beyond mere friendship, that much is certain.

He drifts off to a restless sleep.

When he blinks awake, the first thought in his mind is ow followed quickly thereafter with Newton! He checks the time. Past nine in the morning. His congestion has cleared up a fair amount, and he no longer feels like falling over when he stands up.

The walk to Newton’s room is a blur; two months post-Slattern (post-almost apocalypse, as Newt would say) the Shatterdome is almost half-empty, and he doesn’t pass anyone in the halls.

The door handle, when he tries it, is locked; he bangs on it, calls, “Newton? Newton!” Despite what most assume, of the two of them, Newt is the only one who can wake up before ten with any amount of regularity, and Hermann doubts he’s asleep.

A few beats pass, and Hermann waits with bated breath, before the locking mechanism clicks and the door swings open to reveal a red-eyed Newton, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a loose, faded graphic tee. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice hollow. “Can we just—can we pretend I never said that?”

“Absolutely not,” Hermann snaps. “For once in your life, Newt, act like an adult and face things head-on.” It’s a low blow, and they both know it, but Hermann, in the face of adversity, is prone to slipping back into old habits.

“I’m sorry,” Newt repeats. “I thought you were Tendo.”

He tries to slam the door shut, but Hermann insinuates his cane in the way, ducks inside before Newt manages to stop him. “Quit saying that.”

“Well what do you want me to say?”

Hermann’s lips pull back in frustration, teeth bared as he hisses, “The truth!”

“The truth?” Newt laughs, semi-hysterically, throws his head back. “The truth, Doctor Gottlieb, is that I am, for some insane reason, irrevocably attracted to you!” He’s almost shouting at this point, hands clenched into fists.

“As am I!” Hermann spits back, almost a snarl.

It takes a second to register, for both of them, what he’s just said, and Newt gapes at him. “You—what?” he breathes, features slack with surprise.

“Yes!” Hermann snaps. “There, I’ve said it—at least I’m not trying to hide from it!”

“I wasn’t!” Newt shouts back, throwing up his hands. “I kept trying to express interest, and you kept thinking it was just a mistake!”

“Well how was I supposed to know you weren’t mocking me?” Hermann questions hotly.

Newt lets out a bark of laughter. “Mock you? The hell, Hermann? I might be a dick sometimes, but I thought you held me in a higher regard than that!”

Hermann glares at the other, flushed, and sputtering. “…apologies,” he says slowly. “I didn’t intend to imply that I think of you as…morally deficient.” Newt huffs.

“You bastard,” he sighs. “You handsome, annoying, brilliant bastard.” This time it’s Hermann’s turn to sputter incoherently, blushing hotly at the compliments, and fixes his gaze on an interesting sketch on the wall, fingers fidgeting with the head of his cane. Newt’s gaze tracks his movements, and from the corner of his eye, Hermann catches him grinning.

“So,” he says, sidling up to Hermann, “what do you say we order take out for brunch and cuddle on my bed?”

Hermann clears his throat, trying not to blush further as Newt slips his hand into Hermann’s, and finally meets his eyes. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Newton.”

[bananaminbaby]

help! my tap is leaking!

pairing: Nanami x reader

cw: 18+ content - minors dni, penetrative, unprotected sex, degredation, creampie, cheating

note: part of jupiter's ( @luvjiro ) The Hub Collab. I just couldn't keep hot neighbour Nanami in my drafts for any longer.

New neighbourhood brings about new sounds, new scenery, new people and new... well, issues.

To be fair it started off innocent. Exchanging smiles as you're walking past, saying hellos and good mornings, the obligatory 'how was your week?'.

That turned to finding out a shared fondness to sweets and cakes that lead to giving home baked goods every now and then. Then, when trouble arrived and there was no one to save you, he came along naturally, fixing your taps and car.

Every meet was accompanied with lingering stares that seem to be doing more action than the shy and 'accidental' touches. You were well aware of the tension in the air and you think, so is he.

Everyday your actions get bolder and as expected, his reaction to it is as forward as you'd hope.

"Hey Nanami, thanks for coming over," you said as you opened the door for the man.

He easily slid in and already familiar with you house, he made his way to your kitchen unprompted. "No worries, I was free today, so anything to take my boredom away is welcomed," he sent you a charming smile.

Nanami settled his toolbox down next to him once he made it to your kitchen, "So, did this just happen?" He asked, gesturing to your leaking tap.

"Yes, oh my God. I turned it on this morning and it sprayed everywhere and now it won't stop dripping. It even got onto my favourite nightdress," you pouted.

"Oh no, you poor thing," he placed his hand on your shoulder apologetically. Then, he bent down to open the cabinet, "I bet all of that must've scared you and got you wet all over," Nanami glanced back at you, making your breath hitch. His eyes confidently met yours then his gaze slid down to your chest, and before he turned away, you didnt miss the little smirk that sat on his lips.

Oh okay, two can play this game.

Nanami was settling onto his knees when you replied, "Oh, it was horrible. Drenched everything- had to change out of my bra, and I didn't have any more of those everyday bras, so I had to go with my fancy bra."

"Oh really? Bet it suits you real well, doll," He winked. Nanami meant that wholeheartedly and you know that he does. That one comment made butterflies in your stomach and all of a sudden you were like a teenage girl blushing over something a boy said.

"Oh, stop it you," you nudged his shoulder, to which he only chuckled.

You figured that you'd be more useful preparing drinks and snacks for him rather than just standing there. You got the cups from the cabinet and was filling it out with ice water when he called you over, "Can you give me a hand for a sec?"

You walked back to where he was, finding Nanami on his back, fiddling on the pipes in the cabinet. "Yeah, what do you need?"

"I need a third hand- can you hold this bit for me?"

Nodding, you got down on your knees next to him and reached in. You couldn't really see where it was.

"Where is it?"

"It's deeper in," he said.

You tried to lean forward more, but your face was already smushed on the top of the cabinet.

"Hold on," You took your arm out and swung your legs across Nanami. "Can't see where it is," the position allowed you to sneak your head in to see what he was referring to.

What you didn't realise was that you were basically pasting your torso on Nanami's chest. He could feel your boobs fall on his chest and your crotch on his lower stomach. And when you tried to look into the cabinet, he was face to face with your cleavage, which was poorly covered by the shirt you were wearing. And it sure did show your fancy white bra that had pretty, dainty laces decorating it.

Nanami took a big gulp. This was the closest he's been to you. He could feel his dick react to what he was seeing and he's having a hard time peeling his gaze off of it.

"Is it here- Ah! There it is!" Your fingers brushed his, catching his attention, "I got it!" You looked down at him excitedly, only to find him already looking at you.

Once again, your breath hitched. He was close. Very close. And suddenly you were hyper aware of everything, what you're sitting on and what you're touching.

You watched as the side of his lips hitched up to a smirk. "You sure did, doll. Good girl." His comment made your pussy clench and he sure did felt that.

When you tried to shuffle back because of it, Nanami took a firm grasp of your hip. "Ah ah- I still need your hand, don't I?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"O-oh yeah, sorry."

Nanami went back to fixing and not long after he was done. "Okay, that should do it."

You got off him and stood up. And sure enough the tap wasn't dripping anymore. Nanami reached out from behind you and turned the tap on. "There you go, all fixed," you could feel him standing very close to you, but not quite touching you.

"Oh thank you so much, Nanami. I wouldn't know what to do with out your help," you said as you turned around.

Nanami placed his hands on your sides, caging you in. "No worries, doll. Always glad to help a neighbour in need."

"Well, I should thank you for your help, shouldn't I?" You look up to him with a teasing smile. You knew that he knew what you were talking about, judging by the step that he took towards you. "How about I grab my wallet from my bedroom?" You teased.

Nanami chuckled, "how about we do something else in your bedroom?" He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You pretended to think about his suggestion. "Hmmm... I don't know.. What can we do there?"

And Nanami plays along saying, "Well, I was thinking of something like," he says as he inches closer, "me and you," he comes closer, "on the bed," and closer, "doing something," his nose touches yours, "like this", finally he pushes his lips onto yours.

You stood on your toes to deepen the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Mmph... Jump, doll." You jump and he easily holds you up by your thighs.

"Bedroom?" He asks. With you giving directions, Nanami made his way to your bedroom and as soon as he reached your bed, he slowly lowered you on it, his mouth not leaving yours.

But when it does, you chase it, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. His big hands cups the side of your face. Then it slides down. Down to your neck, where he gives it a light squeeze.

"You're sure with this, pretty? You're gonna let me ruin you and your pretty little pussy too?" He asks.

You grab a hold of his forearm and nodded, "I'm yours to use."

Nanami smiled at your answer. Its just what he wants to hear. He slots his mouth on yours again, and his hands make quick work to undress you and himself.

"That bra sure does look good on ya, doll," he snaps the band of the bra, making you giggle. "Surprise?"

"Mmm.. sure is a nice surprise. Though I think I like you without it."

Once his underwear comes off, you push him back by his shoulders. You tell him to settle on the pillows. So there he sits, leg spread open, his cock already hard, one hand stroking it and the other splayed to the side.

You made your way between his legs and gave him a quick peck before moving down to his neck where you leave another kiss. Your hand grabs a hold of his cock, stroking it following his hands.

You swipe the precum off his tip and dove down. Almost half of his cock is swallowed by you and everytime you bob down you make sure to look up to him.

Nanami's abs contracts at each sharp breath he takes in. His eyebrows furrowing and hus lips parted letting his groans and grunts escape.

His cock was twitching in your mouth. Everytime you dive in deeper, his hips bucks slightly. You don't mind. Rather, you reward him by flattening your tongue against the two veins that run along his length.

"F-fuck... That's it, God you're so good."

When his dick twitches again, you gave it one last suck before coming up. His eyes follow yours, waiting for your next move. But when you settle your legs on the sides of his, he pulls you closer by the waist.

His hands run down to your ass where he spreads it. His lips connects with your neck, he feels it vibrate as you moan. Thick fingers circle your clit before going past it to finally sink into your cunt.

You gasp at the feeling and he took this chance to push his tongue in your mouth.

"Mmhm.. you're soaked, angel. You hear that?" He pushes his fingers in, making a wet squelching noise, "mmm... My fingers must feel so good in this tight pussy of yours..."

Looking at how his fingers continue to disappear in you, makes you impatient to have his cock split you open. "P-please, Nanami... I need you," you beg him.

"Hmm... Should I give it to you?" He asks, smiling at your scrunched up face. "Should I give you what you want?"

Not able to form words together, you fervently nod.

"You promise you'll be a good girl for me?" You can feel Nanami aligning his cock as it brushes against your pussy.

"I promise."

He crashes his lips on yours as he lowers you down. His thick cock sheathing its way in and you moan against his lips. You feel full when his entire length sits in you. Tip to your cervix and you pant against his ear.

Nanami doesn't wait, he grabs a handful of your ass and drags it up and down his cock. The way your cunt squeezes his cock is just so delicious and your desperate moans just fuels him on.

He takes a look at you all whinny and already looking fucked out. It makes him want to ruin you more. So he grabs a hold of your thighs and lifts you up before pushing you on the bed.

You gasp at the sudden movement, but you don't get a lot of time to think when he pushes your thighs against your stomach and gave a hard thrust.

"Ah! Oh God! N-Nanami! Too m-much," you try to push him back by his stomach, but Nanami just looked at you and smirked.

"Too much? Aww.. can't take it?" He slows down his strokes to a shallow grind. "This pussy can't take my cock, huh?"

His shallow thrusts barely helps. Every grind against you clit felt so good. "Or maybe is it because you've never been fucked this good before?" His hand came up from your thighs to grab yours, entwining your fingers.

"Your husband doesn't fuck you like this hm?" He gave a particularly hard thrust as he lifts your entwined hand to kiss on the diamond ring that was resting on your ring finger.

All of a sudden the ring felt heavier than normal. It didn't help either when Nanami doesn't stop his hard thrusts when he started taunting you. "I bet he doesn't know that his wife is such a slut," he said as he pinched your nipple.

You were embarrassed but pleasure was clouding your conscience - couldn't even string words together, so all you could do was whine.

"I bet he asks you why you won't close the blinds everytime you have sex," his hand creeps up your chest, to your neck then to cup your chin. Then he turns your chin to the side and suddenly you were looking straight out of your window to the house next door - his.

"Yeah, I can see it everytime - I can see him fuck you everytime he comes home from his trips," he turns your head back.

"But I can tell that you weren't thinking about his dick. Right, slut?" He asks.

When you don't reply, too lost in the pleasure, he once again grabs you by your chin and slows down his pace.

"Answer me. Or are you already too fucked out to answer?" He lifts an eyebrow.

"Whose dick-" thrust, "were you thinking about-" thrust, "when your husband is on top of you-" thrust, "fucking you on this bed?"

Every push of his cock was making your brain turn to mush. But his strong grip on your jaw made you scramble for an answer.

"Nghh.. ah! Y-yours..." You rasped out.

"Huh? What was that?"

"Ah! Y-yours! Yours N-Nanami! I-I think about y-your cock.."

An odd sense of pride filled his chest and satisfied with the answer, Nanami took a hold of your hips. The snap of his hips fasten and he pulls your hips down to meet his.

"Such a good girl... Nghh, fuck your cunt feels so good..."

You gripped on his arm, trying to ground yourself from the intense pleasure that you were feeling.

"N-Nanami, ah! F-feels good.."

You could feel yourself approaching your climax, the pleasure ballooning and your cunt clenching on his dick harder.

"I-I'm gonna cum.. oh God, 'Namin..."

His thumb moved to circle your clit, "Cum for me, angel. Go on..."

He fastened the pace of both his dick and thumb, making you scream at the overwhelming stimulation.

You came as you moaned and blabbered his name, all you felt was the pleasure and his hard cock that was still hammering into you.

He was close too, his cock twitched in you. The clench of your cunt felt so good, it makes it harder for him to pull out.

"W-where do you want it?" He asks.

"In me - don't pull out," your hands finds his once more.

The thought of filling you up was what pushed him over the edge. He came inside you. You could feel it. His cum splurting out, painting your cunt white.

He softly pulls out of you, and lays down beside you. Both of you still panting when you moved to lay your head on his chest.

His hand finds your ring adorned ones as he pulls you closer to him. He decided that it was a conversation for later.

Check out more -> The Hub Collab

[cloveroctobers]

JOHNNY “COCO” CRUZ x Black!READER / Summer Prompts

A/N: justice for coco until it’s backwards! This sat in my drafts for awhile but some motivation got me to write this out real quick! My birthday is officially in 10 mins so that probably also motivated this…s/o to birthday suits? Lmao 😜 enjoy!

WARNINGS: language, couple bickering, non-shy reader??

Using: #13. Heatwave from this prompt list here — https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com/post/653205377012367360/summer-prompts-heres-a-list-of-thirty-summer

Song choice: Beyoncé — heated

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞. .ೃ࿐ ·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞. .ೃ࿐ ·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞. .ೃ࿐

“The fuck?”

Smiling you spun right around to not only face Coco but you had a small audience which also included Letty and Gilly.

“Hey baby,” you fully turned to see Letty widening her eyes and blinking rapidly as she shook her head.

It took seconds for Coco to stalk towards you while Gilly politely coughed and shielded his eyes. Coco yanked the Sherpa blanket that rested on the couch, that one of your felines lounged on and began wrapping your body in. That’s when your elbows went shoving at the man’s chest who sucked his teeth at you.

“Cut it out,” he gritted, “why you out here like this? And I wasn’t expecting you back until the weekend.”

Rolling your eyes you huffed as you allowed your boyfriend to shield you in your home, “Is that why you’re still messing around with that AC unit when I had not only one but two appointments to have someone come out here to discuss central air options?”

“We don’t need that shit, mamita.”

Your laminated brows lifted at that.

A loud slurping sound made the both of you turn to Letty who now had her back to the two of you. “Nah she’s right, coco. It’s been so miserable here at home that I’m literally out here spending hours in the car’s AC, wasting gas.” She stated after swallowing her slushee.

“Yo, That’s why you asked me for $40 bucks the other day?” Coco grilled.

“Duh, keep up.”

Coco rubbed at his jaw as he sheepishly turned back to you, “I said I was going to fix the shit. I still had time but you decided to pop up early, huh? Gilly even came by to help me finish this last one. It’s being a real pain in my ass.”

You peeked at Gilly who awkwardly waved at you and then Letty who had a huge plushie resting on a side table.

“Looks like to me y’all were fucking around at the state fair instead.” You shoved Coco back who held his hands out, in fear that you’ll throw the Sherpa to the ground, “You’re lucky i finished work early. Now I can be here, working from home for when the next appointment comes around while you’re off at the club.”

The smile on your face did not sit well with the man in front of you.

Coco turned his eyes into slits, “I’m saving us money.”

“Until it breaks again.”

“So what happens when the central air decides to break? That’ll be even more expensive to fix than those shits that I’ve been fixing my whole life.” Coco argued.

One thing about Coco, he had the best handiness skill you’ve ever seen. The minute something went wrong in the house or your car, he was the first one to always jump on it. And it was one (if not the only) thing your father liked about him. You hardly needed a handy man to come around the house, if coco couldn’t figure it out—he studied it for awhile or watched some YouTube video to get it together. If it turned out to be a bigger job than he thought? The first person he would be calling was Gilly.

He even used to fix computers for extra cash way back when after he was discharged from the marines and roomed with the dumbass that shall not be named. You never doubted Coco from his skills, you knew how to give credit when credit was due but some things you didn’t mind arguing over.

“Johnny,” you breathed, “look at me. We’ve been in a heatwave the entire damn month. I went to Iceland for four days not only for business but to get away from the disgustingness for four days! Just to come back to my asshole being so sweaty, that you can probably go surfing down it.”

Gilly failed to cover his laugh but attempted his best to stifle it as Coco shot him a look. Letty on the other hand did not hide the scrunch of her lips.

“I get it, I do.” Johnny started, “but you can’t just be bussing it open, necked, doing that yoga shit. What if I came in here with the entire club? Then what?” He searched your eyes.

Sighing you leaned over, showing cleavage as you snatched your YETI into your hands, “then they would just have to enjoy the got damn show! Stretch marks on this ass, big areolas, hip dips, and cellulite. Real hot girl shit! Last time I checked this is our house not the club’s.”

You winked, taking a sip of water.

“Oh hell nah, that ain’t happening. I’m the only one that gets that privilege you hear me?” He tugged at your waist.

Peering up at him underneath your lashes you laughed, “yeah, sure whatever. As long as we don’t have AC in this hot ass weather? anybody can see this ass but there will be fees due to your ‘i can fix that.’ Attitude, believe that, mr. bob the builder.”

You mockingly went to drop your blanket but Coco wasn’t having that as his tight grip caught it before it could slip pass the girls. He yanked you to his chest, ignoring you groaning at the body heat he was always radiating.

Suddenly his tongue swept up against your cheek, catching the droplets that decorated your melanin.

“We got company right now so let me do what I do so I can really make you cry later.” He smirked at you, reaching over to flick a group of beads at the end of your braids, “got that mamita?”

Humphing you allowed the man to move around the living room, pass the tower fan and over to the AC Unit that rested in front of the screen door that led to the patio. Sauntering up and out of the living room you passed by Gilly who shook his head at you.

“This is the third time this month, y/n. There’s gotta be some warning when it comes to you like this.” The man continued shielding the side of his face as he made his way by.

Letty snorted as she called out, “imagine how I feel! And I live with these freaks.”

You spun around in your blanket, and gave you best model walk before glancing over your shoulder at the teen. “Oh please, I wouldn’t give a shit if everyone in here got naked. We all were born that way so what? It’s not to get weird, it’s because we have Johnny to thank.”

“That ain’t my fault!” Coco argued, gathering his chopped hair for the summer back, “blame that Mother Nature shit.”

Gilly suggested, “uh uh, bro It’s probably climate change or some shit.”

“I’m sure it was a fucken man that pissed Mother Nature off and now we’re dealing with the woman’s wrath, rightfully so.” Letty hissed as she bent down to pick up your ragdoll cat, “so yeah I’m blaming coco too.”

“What the fuck? What that gotta do with—

Holding your finger up, you tutted.

“Just say sorry, man.”

“Are you forreal? You’re supposed to have my back, fool!” Coco shoved the huskier man who now sat on the floor, toolbox in his lap.

A glint shined in Johnny’s dark eyes as they circled back to your smug grin.

“My bad,” he muttered but his eyes told you once that AC was fixed, you were in for some trouble and you could hardly wait.

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞. .ೃ࿐ ·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞. .ೃ࿐ ·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞. .ೃ࿐ ·�� ◌༘₊· ͟͞.

Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

���Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

[lovely-angst]

break ups and break ins

a/n: i didn't have any motivation to continue writing so it stayed in my drafts for forever. it's a super messy fic im not super proud of tbh i wanted to scrap it but i got so far lol

genre: angst to fluff

pairing: hawks x reader

summary: you and hawks break up, but someone breaks in?

word count: 3.7k+

09.16.21

-

"come on, stop being so sensitive," hawks groans with an eye roll as you gawk at him. "you think i'm being sensitive because I'm hurt that you're out there flirting with other girls while we are in a relationship?"

you scoff in disbelief before tears form in your eyes, "i can't believe you right now, keigo."

hawks' brows knit as he stares at you bewildered, "i've already told you that it's just an act i have to out up because of the commission. i can't let them figure out i have a romantic relationship with someone. you don't know what they would do or could do."

"but that doesn't mean you can flirt around with no boundaries!" your voice comes out loud as your arms flail out in front of you, tears streaming down your face, "do you know how much it hurts to see you on television sweet-talking every girl out there when you're my boyfriend? i thought you would respect what we have..."

"(name), just admit you're just jealous of the fangirls and leave it at that," hawks closes his eyes, shaking his head in frustration, "honestly, they appreciate me so much more than you do."

your eyes widen in shock as you feel your heart shattering into tiny pieces so small you aren't sure if you could piece it back up.

"keigo, i love you for who you are—not because you're hawks," your voice now small and laced with hurt. "if you can't see the reason why i am so upset, i think it's best if we end it."

hawks' eyes quickly glance to yours before they look away just as quick, "i think that's what's best too," he whispers, causing your brows to furrow in sadness as you purse your lips tightly.

taking a step forward, you wrap your arms around your now ex-boyfriend, taking in his comforting arms and smell, "thanks for everything." a heavy sigh left from his lips before he nuzzled into you, "can i hold you in bed one last time?"

words died in your throat as you felt the tears sting your eyes once more. a nod was your only reply as hawks lifted the two of you up with his large wings, carrying you into the bedroom.

no words were exchanged as the two of you allowed your quiet breaths to mingle together in silence.

-

your heart was still achey from the fresh break-up as your cries and tears quietly filled the air. your nose and eyes red and raw from all the wiping you had done—the tissues around you as proof.

"hey, come on. you can't keep living like this and expect to get better," mirko says and she stands infront of you with a small smile. "how about we watch something to distract your mind?" she suggests as she turns around to pick up the controller to turn the television screen on.

"hawks, being the number two hero must be so taxing! how do you do it?"

hawks gives that big bright smile you've always loved, "my fans always give me motivation to do my best! i love you my babybirds!"

"oh shit-" mirko quickly turns the television screen off before she turns over to you, watching as your lips quiver before you break out in another crying session.

"rumi," you whine, muffled behind your tissues, "he doesn't care for me at all!" letting out a sigh, she walks over and places a comforting hand on your hair before running her hand through your locks, "hey, don't say that. hawks' cared for you a lot. break-ups happen, but don't let it keep you like this. let's go out and have some fun today, yeah?"

your teary eyes glance up at her before you let out sigh, "okay."

but to your surprise, a quick hour later here you were on a chair getting your makeup done professionally as mirko sat on the couch, munching away on a carrot. "rumi? why am i getting my makeup done professionally?"

"my makeup artist is good at what she does when she beats my face with makeup for those hero galas. i thought it would make you feel better getting your makeup done professionally before we go out and explore the city a bit," she finishes, taking another crunchy bite of her carrot.

a small, "oh" leaves your lips before your attention focuses back on the lipstick that gently glided across your lips. "there, all done. you look great!" the makeup artist cheers as she hands you a mirror.

your eyes sparkled once you saw your reflection—you had never felt so pretty before!

"are you ready to go out now?" mirko asks with a smile as she stands from her seat. you couldn't help the small, yet excited, smile, "yeah."

-

your words had been on repeat in hawks' mind.

you were upset because of how he was treating his fans—flirting with his fans as you put it. it was a constant argument the two of you had and frankly, he was getting tired of it. why you couldn't understand where he was coming from?

he didn't want to break up because of something so trivial, but it seemed like a break up was the only option. but it was fine, his fans kept him going; or that's what he thought was keeping him going.

"hawks! we love you!" his fans cried as he landed down in front of them, his handsome smile swooning everyone lucky enough to get their eye on him. "thanks birdies! i'm always happy to have your support!"

"can i have a picture?" "sign my shirt for me!" "you're the best hero!"

fans; something he enjoyed about being a hero. everywhere he went, they were there to offer him their love and support which he appreciated and loved!

but there often came days when he just wanted to stay cooped in his apartment. away from the world and away from the hero hawks. he simply wanted to escape and enjoy being keigo for a little while.

maintaining a facade took a lot away from him. it was tiring, exhausting even, trying to keep up with how fast his mind was going. a million different things happening at once and hawks had to be able to solve them. a little much for a single guy, don't 'cha think?

landing in at his balcony, hawks let out a heavy sigh as he was finally done with another tiring day of being the number two hero. thankfully, he had the next day off to do, well, nothing.

staring at the dark apartment with a an empty look, hawks let out a groan of exhaustion before unlocking the door and stepping in.

it was quiet, extra quiet these days. since he had gone to living by himself again.

after removing his hero gear, hawks walked into the kitchen and frowned at his lack of food in the fridge. usually, you were always there to greet him with a smile and a hearty dinner after a hard day at work.

well, that didn't matter anymore because you two had broken up, hawks mentally responded to his thoughts.

it seemed like tonight was one of those nights he really missed you.

you made this place feel like home and the more he thought about it, you were his home. he was safe with you and it was okay to let hawks go for the night and just be keigo. you loved him as he came, his flaws and everything. even the emotional baggage!

letting out an exhausted sigh, hawks closed his empty fridge before making his way towards his bed, plopping down with a grunt. "i'll just get a bigger breakfast tomorrow," he noted, pulling out his phone to catch up on his social media for the night.

hawks wasn't expecting to see much on his social media, he's too busy to be checking these sorts of things. today though, he was a little extra bored at home—until he saw a photo of you that mirko shared.

hawks quickly sat up in disbelief. hawks was genuinely confused. you had always been super pretty, but you were extra pretty in this picture. was it because you were no longer his? his eyes glanced over you in the photo for many long minutes as he took in your beauty. you looked so ethereal.

hawks was so thankful for mirko, he would have never stumbled across this photo of you.

the more he smiled at the photo, the more his heart ached. if only he just listened to you more and tried to find a solution to this problem, you would still be with him, in his arms. he was a fool to let you go because he didn't understand your pain. especially when you were always there for him when you couldn't understand his pain.

hawks found himself pulling up that photo of you whenever the days were tough. it never failed to bring a smile to his lips.

until mirko deleted the post.

he should've saved it when he had the chance, hawks thought as he let out a groan upon finding no picture. but, maybe mirko still had it on her phone? thankfully, there was a top five hero meeting that day which meant he could ask mirko about the picture.

hawks sat impatiently in his chair as he drummed his finger against his thigh, counting down the minutes until the meeting would conclude. it must've been distracting, because mirko approached him first after the meeting.

"hey birdbrain, what's up with you? you looked distracted during the meeting," mirko questioned walking up to the winged hero. hawks perked up slightly, before giving her a smile, "hmm? nah, just sick of meetings, wanted to get out." mirko eyed him curiously, "if you say so."

"i saw that picture you posted of (name)," he commented, "you two were hanging out?"

"huh? oh, this picture?" pulling up the picture on her phone, she showed him the photo before pulling away to hawks' dismay. "yeah, we went out. it was about time too! (name) seemed to be enjoying herself, so i'm glad i got to capture that."

hawks couldn't help the smile on his lips knowing that you were happy and could enjoy yourself. he really just wanted you to be happy, even if that wasn't with him.

"if you wanted the photo, you could've just asked," mirko smirks, causing hawks to duck his head down in embarrassment. "but even if you ask, im not giving it to you." Hawks turned his head brows furrowed and confused, slightly offended, "why would you even suggest it then?"

"not sure, maybe it'll be a way to encourage you to find a way to get it."

-

mirko had an interesting way of talking, hawks thought as he continued on with his patrol. it seemed like she was hinting at more than what she was saying, but he wasn't really interested in solving puzzles when he was busy being the number 2 hero.

and boy, was he busy busy.

it felt as if all the villains knew hawks would be out on patrol today, using that to their advatange by stiring up so much more trouble than on a typical day—not that he couldn't handle it, it was just more work that he would have hoped to do that day.

from the sky, he could see a crowd forming below on the streets as they cheered him on for another successful capture. hawks let out an exhausted sigh, but floated down to greet his fans nonetheless. there even happened to be press.

"hawks! you were amazing out there!" "great work! i can always count on you!" "you looked so attractive fighting those villains!"

hawks lifted up his visor and gave the fans a handsome grin, causing a chorus of squeals. hawks glanced at one of the fans near him lips curled in a smirk, mouth ready to open and say a few lines that would send arrows straight to the heart when he subconsciously stopped himself.

closing his mouth, he gave her a gentle smile before a soft reply came out, "thank you for supporting me."

it was weird of him to respond to fans in such fashion, but your words were stuck in the back of his head. he wished he could have acted this way before you two broke it off, it would have saved a lot of heartache.

hawks hoped you would notice his change. and unbeknownst to him, you had.

your eyes were glued to the television that aired the news that also happened to feature your ex-boyfriend, hawks. your heart felt fuzzy as you watched him, he seemed different...more down to earth?

"your eyes haven't left the tv since hawks appeared," mirko comments causing you to avert your eyes embarrassed. "i was just interested in the news for today, that's all," you tried but knew mirko wouldn't buy into your lie.

"yeah, okay. keep telling yourself that," she chuckles as she she sits down beside you. "so, whats going on in that head of yours now?"

"he's different now, rumi," you state, eyes drifting back to the screen. "he's talking to his fans like they're fans." your shoulders slump sadly, "i wish he was like this when we were together...i guess he really doesn't care about me after all."

mirko lets out a grunt as she listens to your moping. turning towards her, you notice her adjusting her purple thigh high socks to sit snugly against her upper thighs, "you have patrol this evening?"

"yep, my turn for an evening patrol. they're not that bad, more bad guys come out at night," she jokes with chuckle but you don't find it funny. "i know you can easily beat them, but that doesn't mean i worry any less for you," you sigh. "stay safe please."

"will do, cry baby," she jokes once more causing you to angrily pout, "i'm not a cry baby!" "says the one crying over hawks. bye!" and with that she quickly leaves out the door before you could throw a pillow at her.

rolling your eyes playfully, you walk over toward the bedroom you shared with mirko. you had a nice futon on the floor beside of her bed that surprisingly was very comfy. organizing her room a bit and folding her clothes she tossed around, you tried to busy yourself until she came back.

which was surprisingly short.

you heard the main door swing open before hearing her move around the living room and kitchen. she must've forgotten something, you thought to yourself as you made your way toward the bedroom door you had previously closed behind you.

"rumi? did you forget something?" you ask as you open the door, just to find yourself staring at the stranger in the apartment who donned a black ski mask with some sort of weapon in their hand. unfortunately your voice had caught their attention and their head quickly turned toward you before bolting it down the hallway for you.

screaming, you quickly shut the door and locked it before the thief could get in. the rattle of the doorknob causes you to let out another shriek as you looked around for a way to protect yourself and to escape.

the only solution that came to your mind was to block the door with whatever heavy furniture mirko had on her room which consisted of her bed, a desk and her clothes drawers. you did your best to block the door, but it was proving to be not enough.

"open the door and i won't hurt you miss," the voice called out and you felt your stomach twist from their words.

you scurried around to look for your phone and thankfully found it amongst this chaos and your body went on auto-pilot and dialed the first person that came to your mind whenever you were in danger.

your shaky hand brought your phone to your ear as you ran into the furthest corner of her room. your free hand covering your trembling lips. please pick up.

"hello? (name)?"

"keigo please help me," you cried quietly so the person on the other side couldn't hear you, but the desperation in your voice was clear as day for hawks. "(name)? whats happening? where are you?" his voice was now firm and laced with worry as you began to sob in through the phone.

"i'm at mirko's and she just left for patrol but someone broke in and i hid myself in her room. i'm so scared, please come quick." and right after he heard you squeak in fear from the unidentified noises through your phone.

"i'm coming right now," you could hear the power his wings had as he lift himself into the sky, "does she have any windows you can exit from?" glancing behind you, you took a mental note that her windows were large enough for you to escape through—the only problem was mirko lived on the tenth floor.

squeezing your eyes shut, you nodded even though hawks could not see you, "yeah, but she doesn't have any escape ladders and i'm on the tenth floor." hawks cursed under his breath on the other side, "just hold on, i'm almost there."

clutching onto your phone, you jumped when the barricade you made against the door was getting tossed around from the force of the stranger on the other side trying to break in. scrambling around, you quickly unlocked the window before opening it, allowing the wind to flow in.

with another jolt from the door all of your barricades flew from the door, leaving it vulnerable. you knew the door would fall with his next move, so with trembling hands, you maneuvered your body outside the window, letting your bottom sit on the window frame.

from a distance, you could hear someone calling out your name. when you narrowed your eyes to focus, all of the stress left your body as you watched them shoot towards you. hawks had come to your rescue!

but hawks wasn't close enough.

the door behind you broke allowing the stranger into the room and before they could grab a hold of you, you jumped.

"(name)!"

as your body free fell down towards the earth, hawks used his wings to give himself one strong push forward before folding his wings tightly behind his back to gain speed to reach you.

reaching his arms out, he caught you in time before shooting back up towards the sky, "that was so stupid of you!" you shouted loudly against the wind, "what if i wasn't there in time?"

glancing up at him, you gave him a small smile, "i just knew you'd get to me in time ."

-

"agh, more paperwork i have to fill out!" mirko groans as she walks around her messy apartment after hawks and her had caught the suspect and had cops take care of him. as she walked away into her bedroom with a line of curses, you quietly turned over towards hawks who had his back facing you. he was on call with the commission.

"yep, i'll get that finished tomorrow," ending his call and stuffing his phone in his pocket, he turns around to find you staring at him. his cheeks flush slightly from the sudden eye contact, but he managed to compose himself. "are you doing alright? that must've been quite the terrifying experience."

"yeah, thanks for picking up. you were the first person i thought to call," you confess and he perks up. "oh yeah?"

"you've always kept me safe and i just really needed you when i was in danger. so thanks," giving him a smile he mirrors you. "of course, anything for you."

your heart flutters from his words, but you slightly turn yourself away, glancing down. you two were no longer dating, so there was no need to get butterflies over him again. "well, thanks again. you must have a busy day tomorrow."

"do you buy any chance still have that photo of you when you were out with mirko?" hawks asks suddenly causing you to glance up at him. "you know, when you two went out a couple weeks ago? you were all dolled up and honestly, just super pretty?" hawks says boldly with a sheepish grin.

"why are you asking?"

"send it my way."

you gawked at him, "you want me to send you a picture of me? we're not dating anymore, that would be weird!" hawks could only shrug, "okay, that's simple then. let's go on a date." you gawked even further, "what is going on inside of that bird brain? all this for a photo?"

"i want to be the one who takes those photos of you. i want to be the reason you get all dolled up. i know i messed up, (name). i've been changing the way i talk to my fans because i understand how i hurt you. could you give me another chance to make it better? i promise i will treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

this was coming too suddenly, your wounds were just starting to heal.

"you...you don't mean that, hawks," you say dejectedly as you back up to sit on mirko's couch. "i'm scared."

"he means it you know?" mirko pops out of the hallway suddenly and stands with her arms crossed against her chest as she stares at the two of you. "he's been asking me for that picture nonstop since he saw it online."

"but he really does love you still, (name) and i know you still love him too. go ahead and give it another shot, i'll be here to kick him to the curb if he does anything bad to you." she encourages, making you glance back towards hawks.

"promise?" your eyes are sparkly from the tears that had glossed over your eyes and hawks gives you a confident nod, "promise. i'll pick you up at six tomorrow?"

you couldn't help your growing smile, "yeah, i'll be waiting."

- e x t r a -

as hawks flew off towards his apartment, the notification ding of his phone went off causing him to take a look. you had sent him a text!

opening the message his eyes widen from the photo you sent, it was the cute pic of you all dolled up!

"i'm so in love!" he shouts loudly in the sky.