#i feel like i should know those characters on the bottom but its been a bit since i watched season one

[hypnagogics]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know ♡ if you'd like to be tagged in future works, fill out the form here! until next time ;)

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[chocosvt]

HER | part four.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

here we goo. part four :o i can't believe it's already the fourth part!! i guess the last chapter ended on somewhat of a cliffhanger so may this quench your curiosity! but, beyond that...

this part has a punch of its own... dotdotdot...

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

Wonwoo was lucky to discover an empty, spare guest bedroom down an off-shooting hallway for you two to refuge in while the volcano settled upstairs. Furthermore, he was grateful that you had relaxed enough to be released from his straightjacket arms, and even more grateful the room was quiet. The confrontation had shot his nerves. His hands were still trembling. As you took a seat on the bed, Wonwoo moved toward the window and stared into his darkly silhouetted reflection, taking paced breaths until everything stopped pressing down on him. He’d already had his fair share of stalling fights between Vernon and other drunks at the downtown bars.

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight. 

“Fuck, I feel like absolute shit…” you groaned, and when Wonwoo turned around, he saw you crunched up, fingers digging at your hair while you sat at the very edge of the primly dressed bed.

“Should I get you anything?” He asked in a soft voice, coming over to crouch down in front of you. “Do you want some water?”

You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring into your knees that were bent and flush against your chest. For a moment, there was nothing said, until you sniffed that very distinctive sniffle of someone who’d just snorted a line. Rubbing at your nose, you nodded.

“Please?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Wonwoo didn’t know where to get water, though he did remember the bottle dropped at the bottom of the staircase. He practically ran to grab it. Coming back into the spare room, Wonwoo clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and joined you at the bed.

“Here,” he offered, uncapping it for you.

You sipped from it eagerly, gulp after gulp, then wiping off your lips when it became too cumbersome to swallow.

He took the bottle back, capping it again and throwing it somewhere random on the bed. Wonwoo could see with concern that you weren’t entirely there—jaded, from the drinking and smoking and intaking a dangerous substance you probably shouldn’t have. Your face appeared so hazy, disconnected, as though you were staring off into a warm light buried in the distance that only presented itself to you.

“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” Wonwoo sighed into the dark room, rolling up his sleeves, unsure of what he should do or even say.

You sniffled again, and shook your head. “I feel sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry... what do you want to do?”

Breathing out heavily at the small amount of labour it required to look backward at the bed, you nodded. “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo said, feeling relieved, “that’s a good idea.”

You smiled at him, though it was misted over and a bit loopy. 

He watched you lean down, fiddling with the tiny buckle belonging to the right heel strapped over your foot. Afraid you might hit the floor like a flour sac if you stayed hunched over for too long, he instantly squatted down to help you, gently nudging your hand away.

“I’ll take them off for you,” Wonwoo reassured, loosening the buckle enough to slide the expensive, black heel from your foot, doing so with the utmost delicacy, akin to sorting fine china.

Just before he removed the other heel, Wonwoo caught you staring down at him with a particular admiration behind those glassed eyes that made his entire chest become swollen. He tried to ignore the feeling, no matter how elated it made him on the inside.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem,” Wonwoo answered, standing up and gesturing to the bed, “do you think you’ll take a nap?”

“… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay… should I get Princess to come stay with you? Or, I can always get Mingyu, too. Whatever you think is best.”

You were still looking back at the guest bed, unresponsive, and Wonwoo had wondered if you even heard him speak. The moonlight that cascaded in from the windows patched an intricate shadow overtop the quilt, and you started spreading your hand across it, as though you could pick up the silhouette and move it.

And then you glanced at Wonwoo again, smiled slightly. “Would you lay down with me��� if I asked you?”

He immediately cleared his throat, “uh, lay down with you?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I need your company. Please?”

He clenched his fist tight, an index nail carving along the cuticle of his scarred thumb. Logically, Wonwoo should leave—he should march back upstairs and go search for Mingyu or Princess to help nurse you through your brain fog. Realistically, however, Wonwoo wasn't going to do any such thing. Realistically, Wonwoo was very high, and very delirious, and completely at your beckon.

Kicking off his sneakers, Wonwoo crawled onto the guest bed alongside you. He breathed out a sigh of comfort as his back was perfectly cushioned by the supple pillows organized against the headboard. If he thought about it for too long—relaxing on a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s home at two or three in morning beside a girl who’d just snorted coke upstairs in the attic and nearly leapt on her friend in a fight—his head would start to ache. So, Wonwoo didn’t think about it. He let everything happen as it naturally desired to.

You tucked yourself close against Wonwoo, closer than what was appropriate for two people who were presumably friends, stretching your leg across his waist and latching it over his hip, an arm around his wide chest, your head settled cozily underneath his chin.

He couldn't care less about the morality.

Especially when he wriggled his arm beneath you, his knuckles coming to stroke up and down your bare, soft back, feeling along the subtle groove of your spine with every lulling, especially tender caress. Truly, Wonwoo didn’t know why he cared so remarkably little about how wrong it was to touch you and hold you. Maybe it was your shallow and warm breathing that kept tickling his neck, or the weight of your leg against his pelvis—you as a whole seemed to smudge his rationality—his own personal drug.

“Can you please tell me a story?”

“Hm?” Wonwoo murmured, stilling his fingertips at the top of your shoulder blade. “Tell you a story? Why’s that?”

“Because, my head hurts. And I want a distraction.” You then poked your face up from his neck, staring at Wonwoo through the clouds in your eyes, sounding sleepy enough to lose consciousness. “And I love the sound of your voice, and how it makes me feel.”

He proceeded to rub something off your chin with a few brushes from his thumb, and nodded, tucking your head back down.

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

“Wait—” you suddenly mumbled, awkwardly reaching behind you for his hand rested against your shoulders, “—I liked when you were going up and down. It felt good. Please, can you do some more?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just stopped to think,” Wonwoo hummed with an amused smile, continuing to stroke his knuckles and hearing the heavy sigh you breathed aloud.  

He thought a few moments longer for a story that he could tell you; something interesting, but not too detailed.

“I’ve got one.”

He made a rumbling noise in his throat to clear it, staring off at the dresser mirror opposite to the bed, where Wonwoo could just decipher that vague, silvery thread outlining your entangled bodies.

“When I was around eleven, twelve years old, my family used to go to this waterpark every summer, like an hour car ride from our house. My brother and I made up this game. We called it lifeguard, or, like, swimming attendant. Basically, you play dead in the water, and whoever’s the attendant has to save you. Anyway, it was a pretty stupid fucking game to play at a water park as you can imagine. But when we got there, the lifeguard wasn’t in his chair. So, like, my brother, trying to be cool or funny, thought it would be a good idea to sit in the chair himself. I had to pretend to drown.

The problem with that, though—the actual life guard was coming back. He sees me pretending to drown, thinks I’m actually drowning—I don’t know, I guess I was selling it super well—and he dives right into the water, pulls me out and everything, lies me across the cement all surgical like. I’m so fucking embarrassed, my brother’s ran off somewhere—I just go along with it while everyone’s watching, knowing damn fucking well I’m a sham. My mom’s panicking. She didn't realize it was part of some idiotic game we made up. I hated my brother for a week straight. I’ve refused to swim ever since.”

There was a chuckle against his neck, and Wonwoo felt your body vibrate with a soft fit of laughter. He hadn’t recalled that story in years, though it dusted off the latent anger toward his older brother that he had never quit holding. Nonetheless, it was still rewarding to tell you. That water park was once his most cherished place to visit, admittedly during a much different period in his life, when the only thing he worried over was whether or not they’d have his favourite ice cream flavour or if he might miss that gigantic bucket full of freezing water that dropped every half-hour.

“I’m sorry that happened…” you mumbled against his neck, your breath akin to a sweeping feather, “but it’s a bit funny.”

“No, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, grazing his hand low to the base of your back, “I can laugh at it now... even if I’m still mad.”

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

“I just want to know… when did you move here? Did you come here for university? Or, was it before that? And, like… did your family come with you? Did you move alone? I’m just curious…”

“So, I spent two years at a university in Korea, for something different than what I’m doing now. It was accounting stuff—”

“Oh, more boring.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo laughed, reaching his hand underneath the warm plump of your thigh to adjust it more comfortably against his hip, “I actually agree with you. It was boring, and I was… to put it lightly, miserable. Very, very miserable. So, I dropped it, had a really long and excruciating conversation with my brother about the whole thing—what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. I have an uncle that lives out here. Not close to our school. He’s hours away. But I figured, I’m old enough. I need, just—I need a fucking change. I’ll move out, stay with him, find my footing. And, uh, I ended up here.”

You smiled against his skin, lips practically pressed at his neck, and then you exhaled, pulling a shiver along the length of his spine.

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fleshed deeper against the underside of your thigh as he sighed into the still bedroom air, thinking back to the pressure, the bickering between himself and his parents, the desire to at last pull the pin and take a risk, even if said risk was going to crash and humiliatingly burn at his feet. In a way, it had. But with you, his reward was building back up again. It wasn’t all fruitless.

“Me too.”

"Thanks for sharing that with me,” you murmured, snuggling impossibly closer into his body and breathing him in like the sweet, baked scent of pastries fresh from a hot oven, or the airy honeysuckle outside on a summer’s day. “I like knowing about you.”

For once, Wonwoo wasn’t scared that you knew.

Maybe he should be scared. He wasn’t being cautious enough, instead pouring more soul into his heart than his logic. But then—why did it feel so good in that moment? Something he was terrified of had flipped on its head and turned into a real, tangible happiness. He continued to lay with you in the silence. The ceiling was full of shadows that he studied to keep himself awake while his thumb rubbed easy circles into your thigh. Your body was giving him heat.

If no one ever opened that door, Wonwoo wouldn’t complain.

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

Rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, he massaged away the desire for sleep that had finally managed to catch up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—” he began slowly pushing himself upward, helping you in the process with an arm at your waist, “—I’ll grab your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

Nonetheless, he knew you couldn’t stay cocooned against him forever, even if he wanted it more than his next breath. It felt awfully vapid to lose your warmth. The air around him was so much colder, like an icy metal. Wonwoo had nearly stumbled over his sneakers as he searched around the end of the bed, prompting him to squat down and shove his shoes back on. Next, he collected your lacquered, expensive high heels, which had practically blended into the darkness if not for the moonlight raining through the windows.

You were sat at the edge of the blankets, waiting for him.

“How do you feel? Better?” Wonwoo asked while crouching at your knees and fishing up the right heel first.

“My head still hurts a little. But I think I’ll be fine,” you admitted, allowing Wonwoo to softly touch at the back of your ankle as he helped guide your foot through the black loop. “It’s like—I can feel it a lot more now. I’m getting that weird, dreamy sensation, right before it really hits. And my mouth is kinda dry.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, now helping to fasten on the other heel, “I’m sure there’s more water upstairs. Is that too tight?”

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Should we try standing?”

Wonwoo straightened back up, reaching out his hand for you to grab. Carefully, you intertwined your fingers with his, and then he accepted some of your weight as he gave you a supportive tug. At first, you wobbled, but Wonwoo was right there to steady you.

You complained about the dizziness, but after a few more steps it had gotten better, and Wonwoo let go of your hand.

“Oh—uh,” he gently grasped your elbow, “before you leave—”

Lifting up your arms, you watched rather cluelessly while Wonwoo pinched at the fabric of the very short, white skirt and tugged it further down your thighs, covering the sensitive areas where it had ridden up when you were stretched out against him. A hand latched into his shoulder for balance, and you sighed out gratefully.

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please don’t tell me if you saw my underwear.”

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

Wonwoo stayed quiet, but then he couldn’t fight his smile.

“… I know. Cute.”

You seemed flustered at the offhanded comment, which came as a surprise to Wonwoo, because he truthfully didn’t believe much—if anything at all—could fluster you. The phone in his back pocket buzzed with a text message and Wonwoo assumed it was Vernon asking him about where he’d gone. It was best to go back up to attic and reunite with your friends rather than dwell in the guest bedroom for an eternity. Though, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave at all.

“Uh, Wonwoo? Can you please wait one second?”

As you two paused at the door, his hand fell off the knob.

“Everything okay?”

Uncharacteristically, you fumbled with your fingers, tugging at the joints like they were disconnectable. He tilted his head at you, curious, and when your eyes locked with his he bit back a dumb facial expression at how wide your pupils had dilated, like an ocean abyss.

“Um, so, that girl Seokmin was talking about earlier? Sarah Gomez?” Sarah? He knew you meant Sierra, though he didn’t bother correcting the mistake. “I chatted to Vernon about it. He said she likes you and was flirting and... well, like, I-I have no issue if you… if you like her and want to do something, and—” you took in a really big, long breath that felt like a reach for self-comfort, “—just, if you two want to start hanging out, if you can still make time for our writing.”

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

“… Oh, you think—no, Her. It’s not anything. It’s nothing."

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

And it was exactly that. Wonwoo would never—could never feel anything even half as strong as the yearning he felt for you. It was something unmeasurable, something bigger than the universe, and yet, it fit into the core of his own chest like a dense and heated star compacting in on itself. Despite being so numbed by heartbreak, and years of a growing apathy, and all that disappointment he harboured toward himself, Wonwoo had sensed each and every time you thawed him out. You—a light, and yet a cold, awakening breeze.

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

Your shoulders began to sink as you relaxed at his remark.

Wonwoo shook his head. “She’s nice. But I’ve talked to her once, and that was tonight, for like, two minutes at most.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I just—I didn’t want you to think that I hated it, or that I was going to jump her ‘cause of what happened upstairs… I don’t want to talk about what happened upstairs, actually, but that’s not what—anyway. Sorry. And, uh, thank you… for being there for me. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“No, no. Nothing is ruined,” Wonwoo reassured you, picking up your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m having fun. It’s all a lot but… I’m enjoying it. I’m always going to be here for you, alright?”

You smiled at him. It was oddly shy, but Wonwoo loved it.

“So, if you want to head back up, I’ll join you soon enough," he said. "I’m gonna attempt to find a washroom in this place.”

“There’s one by the staircase. Clara and Bells used it.”

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

After you disappeared back upstairs to the attic, Wonwoo locked himself in the washroom for a moment of quiet. He checked his phone, realizing the time—3am—in addition to the horribly spelt text messages from Vernon, saying that Mingyu had taken Bells on a walk outside to calm her down. He sighed, signing off on the texts with a thumbs up. The night was only getting louder. Wonwoo didn’t know how much longer he could survive or who he would even call upon to get a ride home. Everyone was plastered or buzzed.

He had no desire to sleep here overnight, though if push came to shove, Seungcheol would likely have guest bedrooms to spare.

Turning on the sink faucet, Wonwoo set his glasses aside and cupped a handful of cold water against his face. It was a shock at first, yet it felt so refreshing, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but splash some more water until he felt the drops begin uncomfortably running down to his elbows and nudged the tap back off. Once patting dry his cheeks and forehead with a towel folded through a rung secured into the wall, Wonwoo proceeded to sit down on the tiled floor.

Readjusting the glasses back to his face, he stared across the dimly lit room at the half-opened shower curtain and its patterned seashells. For a second, he didn’t move at all. But then Wonwoo was getting up, walking over to the curtain and yanking it fully open. He returned to his initial position, sitting against the wall, and started counting all the different seashells. They weren’t organized in rows like the yellow rubber ducks from his aunt’s shower curtain back in Changwon—they were miscellaneously placed, spotted more than organized, and Wonwoo counted all the shells at least three times.

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

Deep within his pocket, Wonwoo’s phone buzzed again.

[ Vernon | 3:09 am ]: h ey glasses where tf are yoi?

He decided to text his friend back, though he knew Vernon was most likely off his face and wouldn’t notice for another hour.

[ Wonwoo | 3:09 am ]: Washroom. Be up in a few.

To his surprise, Vernon’s little typing bubble immediately appeared. Wonwoo developed a sick, squirmy feeling in his stomach for some reason, only to watch the bubble abruptly disappear and not return. God—he hoped the boy hadn’t fucking fallen out the window or slipped off the billiard table in his inebriation.

Setting his phone down on the tiles beside him, Wonwoo raked his fingers through his hair and sighed aloud again. He didn’t care much about messing up the very particular way he’d brushed and swooped it. Instead, Wonwoo thought about you.

He was just with you, and yet he missed you.

Unsure of when the feeling had ever started, Wonwoo began to recognize the ache for you  some time ago—and like a little kitchen light in a prairie house that never burnt out, seen across meadows and rivers, even through the darkest nights—Wonwoo had felt the ache ever since. He thought it would die away quietly. It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. He thought that love would never again step foot inside the house that was his heart. But it had. And it was the little light.

His phone vibrated.

Wonwoo glanced down at the illuminated screen, skimming over the jumbled, misspelt words to Vernon’s text with little regard, thinking nothing of it other than how sky high his friend was.

Another text. He scooped the phone up, grumbling to himself.

[ Vernon | 3:12 am ]: yo I dont mean t be weird buthahha I’m not gbnna lie u shud come upsrairds of u wanna see it

[ Vernon | 3:13 am ]: acyaully don’t lol

Wonwoo had not a fucking clue what Vernon was rambling about and was half-considering it to be all hallucinations. Maybe another fight had broken out. Maybe you were dancing on the table and had kicked over someone’s drink. There was a small cherry pit of curiosity in his stomach, though Wonwoo wasn’t ready to get up. He sat on the washroom floor for another ten minutes or so, deciding that he would go back upstairs, pitch his goodbyes, and book an Uber.

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

After playing with his hair in the mirror and smoothing out the pieces he’d disheveled, Wonwoo at last pulled open the door and emerged back into the warm corridor, the music still soaring underneath his feet. He began making his way upstairs and back to the attic space. There were at least ten new people to fill the smoky room, none of whom Wonwoo recognized, though he assumed most were Seungcheol or Mingyu’s friends. Vernon was seated on the couch, his arm sunk around a girl’s shoulders—the girl that had almost bumped into him when leaving the kitchen hours ago.

Someone had cranked the music loud enough to rumble the speakers sitting on the desk. Wonwoo could hardly decipher a single word that came from Vernon’s mouth, forcing him to lean further down as he grasped onto his friend’s hand and announced his leave.

“Awe, you’re headin’ out?!” Vernon shouted into his ear.

“Have to,” Wonwoo replied, “my brain’s gonna pop.”

Vernon slapped his shoulder. "All good—hey, thanks for even comin’ along, y’know? Stay safe. Text me when you get home.”

“Yeah, will do. Uh, you seen Princess or Seungcheol?” He asked by Vernon’s head. “I’d be nice to see them before I leave.”

“No fuckin’ clue where they went, to be honest!” Vernon answered, leaning back with a shrug. “Oh! Fuck!” He’d suddenly latched onto Wonwoo’s arm. “Dude, you missed it. But if you’re lookin’ for Her—no luck. She’s uh, a little busy right now.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled. “I can’t fucking hear.”

Vernon proceeded to jerk his friend closer, breath fanning hot against Wonwoo’s ear. He turned frozen solid as he intently listened.

“Her—she came back upstairs, high as a fuckin’ kite. Mingyu came back up right after. I don’t know what happened, but, like, within a few minutes, they were on each other, man. I got scared—thought they were gonna start fuckin’ on the table. But, nah, Mingyu took her to the bedroom down the hall. We all scurried down and listened for a sec. Holy shit—she had to be gettin’ pounded—like, must’ve been face down ass up, fuckin’, gettin’ her guts rearranged or some shit. They were both so out of their minds. It was insane, y’know. You’re not gonna see her for a good while.” Vernon then sat back with a hopeless, husky laugh. “Mine as well shoot her a fuckin’ text and hope she can still read when Gyu’s done with her!”

For a second, Wonwoo didn’t believe him. Not at all. He thought it was a joke—staring at his friend, waiting for his face to break like sundried clay, not caring whatsoever that the girl tucked against his side was clearly annoyed at their conversation and waiting for Wonwoo to leave. It was all a stupid joke and Wonwoo wanted to hear Vernon say it. And then, he would punch him for it.

“Funny,” he chuckled.

But Vernon merely shrugged, folding an ankle over his knee. “Hey, Glasses. Dunno what to tell ‘ya! S’all true. I saw it. So Did Seungcheol n’ Princess. Go down there! Listen for yourself!”

Wonwoo shook his head, beginning to laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Jeez! I’m just tellin’ you the truth!”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Wonwoo shouted overtop the bass, smiling, even though he was feeling more and more enraged under the surface. “You’re high as a kite, too, yeah?”

“I saw it, man!”

“Yeah. Actually—go fuck yourself. Night.”

Vernon stretched out a hand, attempting to catch Wonwoo by the elbow as he brushed past him, yelling something that was drowned to the humid, loud atmosphere. Wonwoo still believed it was a joke—a very awful, incredibly distasteful joke that he would probably ignore Vernon over for at least a few days. Wonwoo knew he wasn’t your boyfriend. He knew you most likely didn’t reciprocate the all the same feelings with as much passion as him. But you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t discard him after he’d been so vulnerable.

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

Vernon’s words wriggled in a bold font to the forefront of his mind, even when he wanted to squeeze them out. But Wonwoo was exhausted, and now highly annoyed, and he knew the last thing he should do is excavate a truth that would be better off buried.

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

And so, he walked up to each door, lightly attempting the handle or pressing his ear to the wood. He found nothing, and the relief that opened up and flowed throughout his body was equivalent to the freshest breath of air. Wonwoo was about to text Vernon that his stupid stunt had failed when he heard it—that suspicious, croaked sound which prompted his fingers to stop dead in their typing tracks.

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

No, it was the music. It had been playing all night, anyway.

But then there was a thump. Once, twice, three times.

Wonwoo shoved his ear back against the crack in the threshold, one hand coming to rest ever so softly on the brass handle.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Muting even his breath in case it interfered with or somehow warped the noise, he listened longer, his stomach twisting in knots.

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

There was ice in his veins. All the blood froze so quickly. It was cold enough to turn his skin to frost but Wonwoo kept listening.

“If I fuck you any harder, I’ll break this fuckin’ bed, sweetheart. Is that what you want, huh? Tell me, baby. Are you that much of a slut for me? Hm? Are you that much of a whiny slut?”

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

“No—nonono—m’such a slut for you! Such a whiny l-little... Fuck! Mmm—c-can’t take it, Gyu! S’too much!”

“Move your fuckin’ hand! Take it, just like you asked for. If you’re gonna act like such a slut then fuckin’ take what I give you!”

Wonwoo couldn’t bear to hear a second longer. He knew it was your voice, your skin, your breath, your pleasure. It was entirely you at the rigid and exploitative hands of Mingyu. And Wonwoo felt sick. Something acidic surged up his throat in a stinging burn. With a hand latched over his mouth, Wonwoo raced toward the washroom, immediately locking himself inside before collapsing at the toilet and upheaving all the contents in his stomach. The nausea had never hit him so quickly before. His insides filled with even more dread.

But he wasn’t actually sick.

It was merely the horrible, haunting anxiety that came with opening up—its effects reaping toxically into his flesh because it had all been thrown back in his face like a sloppy high school lunch tray. It was hearing the girl he positively loved moan and writhe and beg for another man who didn’t care for her interests or thoughts or soul.

He’d cut himself open for you, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

—JUNE 16TH.

By the time Wonwoo woke up, it was five in the evening. His face was practically plastered—no, moulded, into the pillow—with a dried trace of drool streaked down his cheek. Wonwoo had never drooled before. The groan he released upon rolling from his stomach to his back was groggy and brittle, with his hand slapping cluelessly against the bedside table until he managed to grab hold of his black-framed glasses. He slid them on, and then wiggled further up the bed.

Before his irritable hunger, or the twisting of his full bladder, or the headache pulsing behind temples, Wonwoo felt a very gorged wound scissored into his heart. It was stinging raw, like sea salt from the ocean touching at an unbeknownst cut hidden somewhere sensitive on the body. Except, Wonwoo knew exactly where the cut was and how deep it ran and how much he was struggling to even breathe. He stumbled into the washroom, switched on the faucet, but Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to stare into the mirror.

Instead, he crouched down to his haunches, hands shakily gripping at the edges of the stone-cold porcelain for stability while the water gushed above him. With his eyes pinched shut, Wonwoo focused hard on every breath he took, so hard that white smudges began blossoming against the pitch blackness of his eyelids. His mouth suddenly jutted open, and he inhaled the biggest breath he could manage, but it cracked somewhere in the middle and Wonwoo knew he was going to start sobbing.

Unable to hold the sink any longer, Wonwoo let go of its sharp edges and curled up tight on the floor, the tears sprouting unbridled and glossing to stain over the rouge of his cheeks. In his mind, it was the most pitiful sight. He thought he would have learned his lesson the first time about opening up and trusting another, yet, somehow, he was back in the same fucking place. He thought he was being cautious. Not cautious enough. He thought he was taking his time. Not enough time. Wonwoo never judged anything right.

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: haven’t heard from u since Friday

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: pls tell me u made it home alright

…

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:30 am ]: Hey Wonwoo! It’s Seungcheol (got ur number from Seokmin btw)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:31 am ]: Really nice to meet you and glad you could make it out! Ur a super cool dude. Idk if you like pickup basketball but I always play on weekends at the uni B gym. If you ever want to come down or wtv let me know!

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:35 am ]: Princess says ur awesome

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Make it home alright?

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: It was nice to see you!!

—JUNE 18TH.

[ Vernon | 10:01 am ]: Seokmin and I r going mini-putting at that glow in the dark place I got fired from lol u in or nah?

[ Vernon | 10:25 am ]: helloooooooo? u there beautiful?

…

[ Vernon | 3:45 pm ]: glasses are you fucking alive dude?

[ Seokmin | 3:50 pm ]: Everything okay? Did u get sick?

—JUNE 19TH.

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: okay haha it’s not funny anymore

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: wonwoo I swear if you don’t fucking text me back in the next 12 hours I’m breaking ur door down cuz wtf man im fuckin pissing my pants over here

…

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: hey!!

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: I hope you made it home okay :) sorry I didn’t text you.  I’ve been sick as a dog omg but I feel better today

[ Her | 9:02 am ]: I’m so glad u came even if it was a little tense or overwhelming at times lol. I loved seeing u there. don’t quite rmbr everything that happened but I’m sure it was fun

[ Her | 9:03 am ]: miss you a lot alrd

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: we still good to work on the book tmo?

Since he slept well into the afternoon, Wonwoo didn’t notice any of the morning texts until much later, when he finally sat down at the dining table to slowly nibble a piece of strawberry jam toast. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Vernon or Seokmin’s texts, more so the fact he had been trying to stay off his phone altogether. It was just too much and he couldn’t afford to worry about anyone else but himself, though, he supposed it might be time to answer poor Vernon.

Wonwoo had disregarded your texts—didn’t glance at them for longer than a millisecond or absorb one written word. At the moment, he didn’t know where he stood with you. Saturday had been brutal, Sunday was stupendously worse, on Monday he’d called in sick because the thought of stepping one foot outside his apartment made him ghostly ill, and Tuesday, today, he was quite mopey, lethargic, and hardly contained enough energy to even feed himself.

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Wasn’t feeling the greatest.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: I promise I’m alive.

He set the phone down beside his plate, continuing to tear at small sections  of the toast to make it easier to eat. Wonwoo didn’t bother replying to anyone else. If they were truly that concerned as to why he hadn’t answered—which he knew they weren’t—then Vernon could disseminate whatever information he pleased.

Poking his glasses up with a pinky finger, Wonwoo saw his phone screen illuminate with a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: jesus christ wonwoo

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: don’t scare me like that I legit thought something happened to u

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: man check ur fucking texts lol

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: My bad.

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm]: soz u got sick

[ Vernon | 1:46 pm ]: u feel any better?

No—Wonwoo had almost audibly laughed. He felt pulverised, like a piece of trembling jelly hardly able to walk. If he was lucky, he might be able to keep the toast down without his grief getting in the way and tormenting the nutrients back out of him. But it wasn’t like his friend could do anything about it or make his nightmares end.

[ Wonwoo | 1:47 pm ]: Yeah, I’m okay now.

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: yeah got pretty sick myself tbh

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: next day was ass

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: well uh if theres anything u need lemme kno im gonna b out today I could prob stop by whenever

After thumbing up the message, Wonwoo grabbed his plate, walked over to the sink, and tossed it in, hearing it crash into the stainless-steel emptiness. He didn’t know what else he would do today. Probably nothing at all except lay in his bed and sleep.

[ Her | 7:00 pm ]: hey pls check ur messages <3

…

[ Her | 8:09 pm ]: hey can u fucking check ur msgs

…

[ Her | 10:15 pm ]: wonwoo this is embarrassing for me PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHECK UR MESSAGES!!

Hearing his phone ding for the third time that night, Wonwoo at last rolled over to drag the device aglow from the bedside table. As he lazily fixed the glasses over his face to squint across the fine print, his stomach dropped faster than the incline on a roller coaster. You were getting blatantly impatient with his lack of response.

The thing was, he always answered you. Even if he was in the middle of working, or blazed from his head to his toes, or half-asleep and hardly conscious—Wonwoo would always make time to text you back because there was nothing more important in his life.

It wasn’t that he was void of all desire to talk to you—it was that his body physically couldn’t allow it. His fingers suddenly felt so stiff, like they were wooden, and his mind flashed blank with not a single word to spare. He was still devastated with you, and that was putting it fucking mildly. Breathing out all the conjured despair and pain through his nose, Wonwoo left the phone on his nightstand, rolling back over to his side in another attempt to sleep.

—JUNE 20TH.

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: wonwoo why aren’t you answering me?

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: I was going to get rly mad at u and send a long nagging text or a voicemail but I feel like somethings wrong

[ Her | 8:10 am ]: we’re supposed to write today :(

[ Her | 8:35 am ]: I’m starting to get worried ugh

—JUNE 21ST.

[ Her | 11:20 am ]: wonwoo can you please send me something so I know you’re okay? even just a thumbs up?

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

[ Her | 9:30 pm ]: okay it’s basically been a week since the party and idk what to do. I’m so fucking pissed off at you bc why can’t you just answer me? Ik I’m not blocked which leads me to think you’re not pissed at me? otherwise u would block me

[ Her | 9:31 pm ]: you’re reading my texts ik u are

[ Her | 9:34 pm ]: just why are you doing this I don’t understand I feel like crying bc I don’t know what I did or why you’re ignoring me?? if I did something can you please tell me I just hate this fucking guessing game and I hate you for putting me thru it

[ Her | 9:35 pm ]: fuck you honestly

[ Her | 10:36 pm ]: but I still miss you so much

[ New voice mail from Her | 10:58 pm ]

—JUNE 26TH.

Wonwoo felt the phone continuously buzz in his pocket for the third time that afternoon—he was getting another call while at the pharmacy and at that point even his boss was beginning to take note. He hardly ever worked morning to afternoon shifts, but another staff member was sick and so Wonwoo was unfortunately hailed upon to take their place, though, he had realized it might be a good idea for him to experience the fresh, softer air against his face, which chiefly prompted him to accept. Even if he had thrown up his breakfast in the washroom just before his shift started, at least he’d tried to eat something—thawed out blueberry waffles with butter were still too much for his stomach. He should probably stick to toast.

As he stood behind the counter, marking down another bundle of vitamin bottles and their expiry dates from the clipboard, his boss was handing out prescriptions. Wonwoo was in the midst of a long, impossible-to-hide yawn when his phone started vibrating again, that stupid Sencha ringtone practically grating his ears.

“Wonwoo,” his boss said, “I think you better answer that.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’ll shut my phone off.”

Her reading glasses were poised at the tip of her nose as she typed some information into the computer, each click from the chunky keyboard notably slower than the last.

“Well,” she huffed, clearing her throat, “whoever it is, that was their fourth time calling you… I do believe that warrants some attention. Now, if you’re sure it’s nothing at all, then I’d rather you keep that phone in your locker, alright?”

He paused, staring down at the clipboard in his hands.

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

Glancing over the shoulder of her pristine white lab coat, his boss nodded, and Wonwoo left the clipboard sitting alongside the vitamin bottles. He slipped into the employee break room and out the heavy backdoor, stepping behind the building for the utmost privacy.

Wriggling out the phone from his pants pocket, Wonwoo stared at the four separate notifications, all spread out within the past hour. Vernon had been attempting to reach Wonwoo for whatever reason, though he didn’t know what could possibly be so goddamn pressing that a text message wouldn’t suffice. He didn’t want to find out, either. But Wonwoo had already excused himself, and he didn’t want to waste the precious five minutes he’d been anointed.

He dialed his friend back. The call was picked up instantly.

“Vernon, what the f—”

“Glasses! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered your stupid phone! Where the hell are you, anyway? Mars?!” His voice boomed through the staticky line like a boxer’s jab and Wonwoo immediately moved the device from his ear, taking a second to orient himself.

“I’m at work, dumbass. Use your fucking head.”

“Work?! Oh, give me a break. Work! That’s your excuse?!”

Letting his temple prop against the uncomfortable brick wall, Wonwoo rubbed at his nose, his eyes squeezing out the sunlight.

“Just tell me why you’re blowing up my phone…”

“How about ‘cause I almost got mugged! That’s why!”

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

“Your girlfriend, that’s fuckin’ who!”

Wonwoo pushed off the wall using his shoulder, taking a few steps across the cigarette butt-littered walkway. He absolutely hated it beyond comprehension whenever Vernon referred to you as his girlfriend—even more so now—though he was plagued by the thickest confusion and he needed Vernon to calm down in order to explain everything succinctly.

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

“Okay, chill out, for just a second. And then talk to me. Because I don’t have a clue what you’re yelling about. I told my boss I’d be five minutes and I’m wasting out the clock.”

“Fuck—okay. So, I was gettin’ gas, alright? Mindin’ my own business when I see Her come outside the store. I thought, oh, hey, I know we’re probably not on the greatest terms yet but I’ll say hi.” He heard the boy cut himself off, and then laugh a bit, as though he were still reeling from the incident. “Dude, the second she sees me, I think I’m gonna die. She practically corners me at my Camry, like, askin’ me all this stuff: what happened to Wonwoo? Where’s Wonwoo? Do you know what’s goin’ on? Why isn’t he talkin’ to me?”

At that point, Wonwoo had squatted down in the middle of the walkway, rubbing a hand dreadfully against his cheek. He didn’t have a cigarette on him, but if he did, he’d be smoking it down to the pathetic nub. Vernon coughed and then started up his story again.

“I try to tell the chick—hey, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue! He told me he wasn’t feelin’ well, we haven’t spoken much—like, fuck if I know all the details to your goddamn life! She doesn’t believe I’m givin’ the full truth. I tell her again: look, he’s real private, he doesn’t talk about much. If he is goin’ through somethin’, just give him space and time—blah, blah. She tells me I’m a bad friend! Like—what the fuck, first of all! A bad friend?! She’s—okay, anyway—"

Wonwoo began to pull at some green sprigs of grass pushing up from between cracks in the cement, just to give his nervous, trembly fingers something to do. His heartbeat was climbing higher in his throat.

“She thinks you hate her, o-or I don’t know what she fuckin’ thinks, actually. What I do know is that she hates me ten times more than she did before, n’ that you need to get off your fuckin’ ass and talk to her! Do y’know scary it is to have Her yellin’ at you?! I thought she was gonna light my hair on fire with the gas pump or some shit! Fuck. My heart’s like, still racin’. And not to terrify you but she might stop by your place later today—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupted Vernon while shooting back to his feet, beginning to anxiously pace all over again, “you think she’ll stop by my apartment? No, that can’t—” Wonwoo stumbled on a rock, then reared his foot to punt it hard across the cement, “I-I don’t want to talk to her. I fucking can’t. It’s too much.”

“I don’t know what to do about that…” Vernon sighed, followed by the distinctive spark of a lighter crackling in the background. “Didn’t even know you were ignorin’ her… what happened, anyway? I mean, this shit seems real serious.”

The silence was so thinned but still unbearably long, and as Wonwoo listened to his friend ignite a blunt in order to mellow out, he felt that unmistakable pain twist at the pliable centre of his chest, like he was being carved into with a whittling tool.

Put simply, Wonwoo wasn’t ready to see you, let alone have a civil conversation that could be separate from his bitter, hurt emotion. There was too much he needed to decide alone, and as the hot, stinging summer air around him became concerningly harder to breathe, Wonwoo had no other choice but to hang up on his friend and burst back into the employee washroom. Eventually, his boss had stopped by to knock on the door, to which Wonwoo answered with the most reluctant, pained, hoarse voice he could muster.

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

“… I’ll give you a few more minutes,” she answered after a momentary pause, most likely realizing something was very wrong.

 But he couldn’t hide it any better than that.

Wonwoo stepped inside the pottery shop, the bells overhead tinkling, and the attention of his landlord now piqued as she glanced up from the earth-coloured vase being washed by her paintbrush.

“Back from work?” She asked.

“Yeah…” he sighed, making his way toward the staircase, already reaching for the handrail, “can hardly stand. I’m exhausted.”

Sweeping some dried pieces of clay off her messy, weathered apron, she lent Wonwoo a sympathetic smile. “Well, rest up.”

He nodded at her.

Coming up to his apartment, Wonwoo was inexplicably relieved he hadn’t run into you at any point. He clicked his lock shut with another sigh, a more distant one that arose from somewhere so dusty and cold inside his chest. Maybe Vernon was right, Wonwoo thought while kicking off his shoes. Maybe it would be best to get such an excruciating, uncomfortable conversation out of the way rather than ruminate over how awful it was bound to be.

He scrubbed his hands clean at the sink, then trudged into his bedroom to change from his pharmacy appropriate clothes.

But as he came to sit at the edge of his bed, thinking back to that night—all the touches and tender glances and how foolishly he presumed it would be okay to open those clandestine, personal pages he always struggled to share—Wonwoo knew it was still too premature. If he were to speak with you now, nothing productive or relatively good would come from it. He leaned forward into his hands and raked them distraughtly through his hair, tugging against the black fronds until he worried about legitimately pulling them out.

You were obviously concerned and worried—he knew that, and part of him ached because it was due to his own ignorance.

It just couldn’t happen yet.

Wonwoo was mad at you. He felt betrayed, disrespected, used. There was sadness, heavier than his body weight. So much emotion was blistering and alive inside of him with nowhere to go.

Collapsing backward, arms tossed beside his head, Wonwoo closed his eyes and hoped he might fall asleep deep enough in order to never wake up. That way, he would never have to face reality—he would never have to stand in front of you and cough up some half-baked explanation that only served to protect himself.

Through the haze and mist of his bizarre dreams that whipped by akin to reels from old age movies, Wonwoo saw someone he didn’t think would ever reappear in his subconscious again—Jeanie.

He had no idea where he was, or what those disembodied figures were that shifted in the blurred distance. She was the only detail he could pinpoint. Wonwoo walked toward her, pushing through something invisible but notably thick, like molasses. He tried inconceivably hard to absorb the intricacies of her face, but when he stared for too long, her features would start moving, almost melting off her as though she was a wax figure in a sweltering auditorium.

Yet, he could hear something.

There were voices becoming louder in his ears, and the more intently he listened for them, the clearer Jeanie’s face became.

The girl’s hair was chin length, dark. Dark like timbre. Or very fine-grated flint. It looked soft to one’s touch, if, in fact, one could possibly touch her without her shattering. I remember thinking that. The girl will shatter if I bump her, even if it’s an accidental thing—a gentle scraping sort of contact that wouldn’t even disrupt a feather.

I remember her eyes, too. My brother owned a box of marbles when he was twelve years old. When I looked into the girl’s eyes, it was like I was eight again, staring over the discarded sewing tin that held my brother’s smooth, large, galactic marbles he told me to never play with. I hated him for it. I think a part of me still does. But I don’t feel that resentment when I look into her eyes. Rather I feel the mystery and curiosity I believed was permanently erased alongside my youth.

Then there were her lips, which were small but plump. They seemed almost stained. I thought an artist took a stroke of watery, blood red paint to her mouth. It’s even hard to hear her when she speaks. I have to lean in so closely that my chest shrinks in on itself with coyness. I love it too much but I can’t let the beautiful, quiet girl know.

Wonwoo knew every word—he could recite them endlessly, without a sweat or a hiccup. It was his own writing after all, from the book he’d attempted to write for her during their relationship. Finally, he could see Jeanie standing in front of him, at the edge of clarity. Close enough to embrace and kiss and beg so pathetically for forgiveness.

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

The voices scattered in a mere instant, whisking away into the baby blue nothingness that engulfed him like a handful of sand grains on a windy beach. Instead, he heard knocking. It rattled his brain.

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

The atmosphere started to crumble. He was caught in that peculiar stretch of being half-asleep and half-awake, when it’s impossible to decipher reality from the reverie that doesn’t quite want to let go just yet. Everything shuddered and swayed like a house on stilts.

“Wonwoo! Open the fucking door! For fuck’s sake!”

And then, he was shooting up in bed, fast enough to prompt the dizziness that whorled the entire room into a confusing mélange of shapes and evening clementine colours. His heart was barraging against his chest, and Wonwoo had to settle a hand overtop the pulse to confirm with himself that the organ was still inside his body. As he wiped off the sweat that glistened by his temples, trying to mentally grasp the fading fragments from his dream, Wonwoo heard the knocking sound again. Louder. As though his door would cave in.

He knew it was you. You weren’t going to leave, either, not unless someone had to drag you out the building by the ankles, or until you spoke to Wonwoo about his impromptu ghosting.

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

He was pissed that such a bittersweet dream had been ripped away from him like everything else in his life—most often love and trust—and he was pissed that he never got any closure.

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

Stumbling into the living room, Wonwoo approached the door that was currently receiving the abuse of a lifetime. His hand grazed the knob, though it was nothing akin to the first time he’d let you inside his apartment, so nervous, flustered, doubting himself. When he opened the door, Wonwoo opened it with an unwavering abruptness that presented you at the threshold, your closed fist left still in the air like you were a marionette frozen by your orchestrator.

With your mouth agape and soundless, Wonwoo wondered if you would even speak. The shock was slowly spreading throughout your face, adorned as usual with that picture perfect makeup.

But he’d assumed too quickly.

“Jesus fucking Christ! So, you are alive!”

He stepped aside while you stormed into the apartment, and then he let the door swing shut, capturing the two of you in privacy.

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?! Did you forget how to read?! Write?! Answer your fucking phone?! I mean, would it kill you, Wonwoo, to text me back? Even just one word? Or, is that too fucking difficult?! It’s not like I’m asking for a goddamn scripture!”

Since March, Wonwoo had known you. It was nearly July.

Never had he seen you like this before. Sure, there were times you had gotten angry and that short fuse inside would burst. It was always jarring, but you tended to regain composure within the next minute or so, shaking off the confining chrysalis of your rage.

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

You were furious. Wonwoo watched you begin to pace the living room, your hands gesturing about wildly. There was practically a radiation that glowed from around you, red like singed charcoals.

“I can’t believe the rollercoaster you have put me through this past week, you asshole! I mean, seriously! I've never been this baffled! At first, I just assumed you were sick! Because—who wasn’t sick after that night? But we had to write the next day, and you always get back to me, so when you didn’t, my stomach started twisting up! I thought, something has to be wrong—Wonwoo doesn’t do this! He never stands me up! But I didn’t want to pry, because you fucking hate when I pry, so I left it alone! I left it and then I still get nothing!”

A Rubik’s cube was sitting on the coffee table. For some reason, you snatched it up and started jamming at the panels while continuing to pace the living room. Your hands were fizzling firecrackers, surging with ample energy, needing a task to direct all that accumulated anger so the fingers wouldn’t fly off your joints.

“But I see Vernon getting gas! And, wow, everything is just so peachy for him! Life is so sweet and sugary for the local drug dealer who just milked hundreds of dollars out of some stupid rich kids and their latent drug addictions! And you know what I had to do? I had to back him up like a feral fucking cat just to wrangle some information about you! Because I thought maybe you were dead, or kidnapped, or you just suddenly hate me! I looked like such a psychopath!” 

You slammed the unsolved Rubik’s cube back onto the coffee table hard enough to dislodge a few pieces. They spotted his carpet like blood spatters. A tattered, deep breath was sucked up your nose.

“So, here I fucking am, screaming my head off because I am so pissed at you, Wonwoo! I want an answer even if it kills me!”

The air was dead silent, and Wonwoo wanted to let the room breathe for just a minute at most. Every single word you had spewed was compressed into the spaces of his apartment and if he didn’t give the atmosphere enough time to settle then his walls would undoubtedly burst. You refused to stare anywhere else but him. There was so much need and pain and agony behind those glassy eyes.

Wonwoo glanced down at his socked feet, swallowed hard, and then back at you. He had to speak. Nothing else would suffice.

“… Honestly… there’s no answer I can give you that won’t hurt, or make you any less upset… I don’t want to drag this out, either.” A subtle breath entered his mouth. “Her, we shouldn’t do this anymore—the book. I don’t want to help. You can finish it yourself.”

It was sharp, so meticulously sharp—a clean, smooth cut.

Though he was calm water on the outside, he felt a trembling behind his ribs. His heart was groveling with him to not be so cruel.

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

Something wasn’t connecting inside your brain. For some reason, you could not comprehend what Wonwoo was insisting. His patience was translucent and the longer he stood across from you in the living room, thinking about his interrupted dream and the vulnerability you stepped all over and the time he wasted—he could only get angrier. His fingernail scraped over his thumb like a tooth.

You wiped something off your face and started to laugh again.

“God—okay. There’s—I’m sorry but there’s absolutely no way you just said that to me… I come here, sick to my fucking stomach, worried about you. Yes, I’m mad but—I-I still care. And you—you’re going to—fuck.” A hand then clasped over your mouth as you pointed your gaze to the shag carpet, and for a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t decide if you were masking a laugh or a sob. “You’re going to tell me that we should just… stop, in your words. Or, you’ll stop, and I can keep trudging on. Am I hearing that right? Is that what you said?”

Wonwoo nodded.

He hadn’t realized it, but he’d just detonated a bomb.

At first, there was not a single crease or wrinkle that ruptured your disturbingly placid face. But, surely enough, he was beginning to observe the slow, inevitable fracturing that started with a twitch in your upper lip, and then a wicked furrow pulling down your brow, and that irritable blinking of your eyes as though someone had just blown a cloud of dust into them. Wonwoo knew it was coming.

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

“No, actually—” you stepped toward him, fingers pinching at the thick, almost palpable air while your eyes fumed with every malevolent thought that burned inside you, “—fuck you, Wonwoo.”

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?!” You screamed, your palms slamming against his chest and prompting him to stumble backward. “If I don’t leave, then fucking what?!” Even though it was just you shouting, it sounded like there were hundreds of anguished women behind each word.

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

“Y’know what I think, Wonwoo?! I think this is just like that time at SRX, when you told me the same fucking thing! You just picked up all your shit and left! No explanation, no prelude, no nothing! Is that what gets you off? Huh? Treating everyone like they’re pieces of scrap metal with no fucking emotion?! You can just do whatever you want! Doesn’t matter! Who gives a fuck about whose feelings I’m totally disregarding, whose time I’m wasting. I’m Wonwoo! I get to pull the plug on everybody because who cares!”

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

And while Wonwoo knew the better choice was to maintain his quiet, mature composure, it was much easier to disregard the guise altogether—chuck it straight out the window like a browned banana peel because as much as he’d like to believe he was refined, evolved, and in control, Wonwoo hadn’t ever been anything of the sort.

He shook his head at you.

“I disregard people’s feelings? People’s time? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Wonwoo! Don’t be so damn deluded!”

“Do you even hear yourself? A single word that you’re fucking saying? I disregard people’s feelings? Well, what about you, then? You—and, sorry if this puts a nick in the perfect, angelic image you have of yourself—but you just use people. And I don’t want to be used anymore. There’s my fucking answer that you want so badly.”

You gagged at him, slack-mouthed down to the floor.

“I use people? Wonwoo, are you fucking insane?!”

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

He laughed at the demand, rubbing a hand across his scalp. “Oh, come on—don’t make me spell it out for you, Her.”

“No, please do! Please spell out in that scholar-kissed, prestigious vocabulary of yours how I’ve used you!”

Wonwoo paced over to the fireplace mantel, this light-headed, tingly sensation beginning to merge with his blood and flow to every crack and crevice of his body. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but now that you two were shredding into each other, Wonwoo saw no point in sugar coating a damn thing. If you wanted the truth, then he would give you exactly that—it mattered no less to him.

“The book. How is that not obvious? I mean, for the last few months, that’s all I’ve done. Is help you. You didn’t even care about who I was before. You just wanted someone who could make your life easier and bend to all your whims at the drop of a hat. I’m the one who has to put up with your obsessions and gripes and your crazy fucking mood swings—I mean, do you even know how draining that shit is? You don’t, because you care about you. You care about writing this masterpiece for Mingyu—who, I should mention—doesn’t give a fuck about you. But you know that, right? You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?

You know it when he treats you like a dumb object, belittles you in front of your friends, puts down and shows no support in your interests—like, really, Her? That’s who you’re in love with? That’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you just like him for his status? Is it because he pays for your coke and your clothes and your entire fucking life? And what about Seokmin? Your little puppy dog. Always so eager to do whatever you ask of him. He just does all the shit that’s not worth your breath. So, instead of wasting your time, you waste his instead.

Bells and Clara? Why the fuck do you even keep them around? You treat them like they're insufferable. But you know they make you look better—so much smarter, more organized, goal-driven—they’re just the two annoying drunk girls that tag along because as much as you despise them you just can’t deny how good they make you look. But that’s what you do! You use everyone around you and no one ever says a fucking thing because you’re such a tyrant!”

Wonwoo was fully cognizant of how sadistic it all was—that’s what he intended. If every word was not going to lacerate or bite or sink so painfully deep into your tissue that it felt like a bony dagger, then there was no point in saying anything at all. You were across from him, vibrating like an excited atom, your fists clenched while every possible hue of rage spilt down the length of your hollow face.

Simple enough—you’d asked him to spell it out, and that’s what he’d done. If could make it any clearer, he would. You then gulped, and there sounded a quiver to your voice that Wonwoo had never heard before. He stood tensely, awaiting your response.

“H-Hm, so… that’s what you think of me?” The end of your question sharply pitched off. “That’s your conclusion?”

“It is,” Wonwoo answered, pressing up his glasses.

Rolling your shoulders and clearing your throat, you nodded, meanwhile you stared down at your hands which began to slowly unfurl. Wonwoo realized that your fingers were trembling like dry, autumn leaves in a soaring wind. He’d never seen that before, ever.

“So, actually, what I think—” you coughed, placing an elbow overtop your mouth to catch the spit, “—I think that…”

For a moment, Wonwoo thought it was over. Your voice was so quiet, hushed, with hardly an ounce of tenacity or grit. But he should have known better than to suspect you of being so spineless.

“What I think, Wonwoo, is that you love to write, and read, because the only person you can communicate with is yourself. You… you are so emotionally stunted that it should be fucking studied. That was the most I’ve ever heard you speak, and you used all of it to basically call me fake, manipulative, and shallow.”

“Because you asked.”

“God. You are so empty, Wonwoo. You’re just a shell. You would rather exist inside your literary delusions than reality because there is nothing for you here. No real relationships, no real aspirations, nothing. And you know why that happened? You can’t fucking talk about anything. Instead, you just hold it all inside—you hold it and hold it until it starts seeping out and poisoning everyone around you. It’s your own fucking fault, Wonwoo. You're gonna drive everyone away. And then have the audacity to somehow point the finger, like they’re the one with the fucking problem. But it’s you.”  

He could almost hear the clatter of the metal against the hardwood as you dragged out the metaphorical dagger. There was even a physical pain throbbing at his lower back, though, Wonwoo quickly began to accept the pain was aflame everywhere on his body.

Your lips were pressed together in a strict, firm line. If you opted to speak just one word more, then maybe the dam would break, and his apartment would transform into a sodden, soaked mess.

He watched your head begin to shake, and then you were swallowing down a gigantic, stinging lump. Of course, even at your most barren, emotionally exhausted self, you would get the last word.

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

He closed his door at the sound of your wrenched sob in the corridor. There wasn’t much else for him to do other than click the lock shut, pick up the broken pieces from his Rubik’s cube, and walk back into his bedroom. Wonwoo whipped the curtains shut, crawled underneath the cold, thin covers that he stretched over his head.

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

There was nothing even relatively stimulating that Wonwoo could do apart from aimless surfing through his phone, sparing the occasional glance toward the directory desk with its few uniformed clerks. A navy-blue suitcase was at his side, stuffed full of folded clothes and charging cables. As organized earlier in the year, Wonwoo had spent the week at his uncle’s house—even his older brother managed to stop by for a few days to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday.

For the most part, Wonwoo enjoyed his time there. The house was more like a cottage, situated on a fresh, small lake shaded over by the summer canopies of sycamore and evergreen trees. While he didn’t dabble in any swimming, Wonwoo had liked stretching out on the webbed hammock down by the firepit, rocking himself back and forth using a long leg that he kept strewn over the edge.

He missed that peaceful feeling engendered by the lakeside wind and the rustling leaves—how rejuvenating it all was to escape the monotonous hell that was his life back in the grey, stiff city.

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

Unfortunately, whether he liked it or not, Wonwoo had to go back and he had to pick up where he’d so painfully left off. No more pieces of refrigerated chocolate cake straight from the box or sitting outside on the maplewood patio to jingle a fake mouse at the paws of his uncle’s cat. No more packed joints beside the ebbing shoreline at midnight, or waking up to the most ethereal, golden light warming through the curtains as though the skies were made with honey.

Wonwoo sighed, plugging in the earbuds left dangling at his shirt collar. He scrolled through his music looking for a song to play.

Above all, it had nearly been a month since he last spoke to you.

Spoke wasn’t even the right word. That day, Wonwoo had set out to ruin you, because he could not bring himself to steep in all that misery and vitriol alone, bearing its weight like he was made from pressurized diamond when in truth—he was flaky and feeble.

The weeks that passed afterword were all blurred together. He talked to no one. Seldom saw anybody. Wonwoo had hardly existed.

A voicemail was still sitting in his inbox. You had sent it to him during a late night in June after the crazed party at Seungcheol’s family mansion, though Wonwoo never bothered listening to it because it was one of his biggest weaknesses—your voice—the most beautiful sound in the world as you had once phrased to him back at the café Wonwoo used to frequent. Then, he’d laughed it off, believing you were beyond full of yourself. Gradually, however, it became truth.

To hear you talk was to feel so in love that it physically ached.

“Train to Lees Station will be arriving within the next five minutes. Please make your way to platform C for boarding.”

The announcement finished with a ding.

Wonwoo got to his feet and grabbed the suitcase handle, beginning to pull it behind him while following the small, silent crowd toward the elevator. It was finally time to go home. Although home didn't seem like much to him anymore, if not just an aimless place in a bleak city that had lost all its warmth.

10:48 pm.

Wonwoo couldn’t sleep, or even take a nap.

When he would rest his head against the window, his eyes could only stay shut for no longer than a measly, frustrating minute. He’d completely exhausted his playlists. By midnight, the train would stop at his station, anyway. There was nothing left for him to listen to… except that voicemail. It was an awful fucking idea, but Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake the temptation since it first crept into his memory all those hours ago.

Wonwoo didn’t want to think about you—not until he’d stepped off that goddamn train and had fully left all remnants of his short summer vacation behind. When he was back amongst the ignorant city people, and those towering glass infrastructures, and the constant honking, beeping, and roaring of motorized vehicles, would he even probe the thought. But—then again—so much time had passed. So much time to regret, anguish, and loathe his actions.

“… So, um—I-I just want to say first and foremost how much you suck for doing this to me, actually. You… god—fuck, if I have to blow my nose one more time… you suck, Wonwoo! You just—you fucking suck so much! You and your stupid privacy! I-I’m not trying to invade your life o-or get—or pry into something I shouldn’t be—I just want an answer, I want clarity, I want you to—I want—I need you to be a fucking person and just talk to me so I don’t hate myself! Because right now I feel like this is all my fucking fault!

… And it sucks because I don’t even know who I can talk to about this. I want to talk to you. But I can’t a-and… oh my god… we were supposed to write a couple days ago. At the park. I knew you weren’t going to show up but I went there anyway. I tried so hard to put down a sentence. But I hated all of it. I looked back at everything I’d written so far and I wanted to erase every single fucking word and blame you for it… f-fuck… I’m running out of stupid fucking tissues… oh… where’s the extra box?... I’m such a wreck.

… And, um, oh my gosh. Yesterday, at the mall, I went shopping, and I saw this really cute shirt. It was so pretty. Um… dammit! Sorry, I just hit my elbow… that hurt, Jesus Christ… uh—right, so, I saw this shirt and it was so cute with little buttons on it. It was white and blue. A little bit of frills. I know you don’t like frills but I promise it was just the right amount. A-And I have the perfect skirt to go with it. So, um, I put it on, and it fit really nice. I took a picture in the fitting room and I wanted to send it to you but you’re not talking to me right now. But, uh, I did buy it.

I was wearing it today. But then, like, the worst th-thing ever happened… um, it ripped. I ripped it. I don’t even know how, I was just going through my closet and it caught on a broken hanger or something and then all I heard was a b-big rip… it’s totally ruined now. I don’t know but I burst into tears. I was crying so hard and you were the first person I wanted to call but you’re not talking to me, a-and—fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore… I just—I’m mad at you, I’m so fucking mad but I still care and—please, I miss you. I really, really miss you, Wonwoo. It hurts inside.

I’m sorry this is so long… I think m’gonna stop talking because my sinuses are closing up and my throat is burning. Um, I’ll go n-now. Just—fuck you. Please text me or call be back. Please.”

The message blipped off.

For a moment, he was frozen solid, staring back at his reflection through the dark window at his shoulder. I’m so fucking mad but I still care. Then, in an instant, Wonwoo had wished he never listened to the voicemail. He tore out his earbuds and bundled them up, shoving them into his pocket alongside his phone.

He was on the precipice of a horrifying change, but he didn’t know exactly what—just that he was looking at something so smooth and grey and warmed up from the blistered sun.

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

By the time Wonwoo had returned to his apartment last night, he was dead tired—a zombie, practically—scuffing his feet against the wooden flooring with his suitcase rolling behind. Face-planting upon the bed that hadn’t felt the dip from his body weight in a week, he thought he would rest his drooping eyes and give himself a moment to settle. Except it wasn’t just a moment, it was hours and hours of sleep that felt like a single second. When he woke up, his arm was completely numbed from being tucked under his cheek.

It had actually scared him. Wonwoo immediately shot up, staring down at the lifeless limb which he couldn’t move an inch.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself hoarsely, squinting against the sunlight which blinded the bedroom. “How long was I out…”

Digging the latter hand into his pants pocket, he let the blood slowly tingle back into his other arm while checking the time on his phone. However, the device was dead. For all he knew, it was the year three-thousand and there would be flying cars and Blade Runner infomercials gleaming in the city smog. Once he was able to move his arm, Wonwoo slid off the bed and laid down his suitcase, beginning to zip open the compartment.

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

Letting his phone recharge on the bedside table, he returned to unpacking. His laptop, toothbrush, books, socks, pairs of underwear and oversized shirts—he stored everything back in its appropriate place, tossing the occasional article into his laundry hamper, until the suitcase was nearly emptied. The only item which remained inside was a small plastic bottle, translucent orange, baring a white prescription label with a few pills remaining side.

His venlafaxine.

Wonwoo had started taking the medication again, roughly a week after his fight with you. Upon completely losing his ability to sleep or eat or survive an entire day without crippling in on himself like the world was a sinkhole waiting for him to slip, Wonwoo came to the realization that—what the fuck—he didn’t have to plainly suffer, and that all the time he spent ignoring the drug because he couldn’t even value his life enough to swallow one tiny pill was a useless, cruel disregard for the body that tried so fucking hard to protect him.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

By the time Wonwoo ate breakfast—a simple piece of toast with peanut butter—his phone was halfway charged.

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

“Get over it, Wonwoo. Don’t overreact... c’mon, c’mon, don’t give me that sad little face… it was funny!”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

“Oh, you just said a curse word. Mom is gonna be so mad. Kids your age aren’t supposed to start swearing yet.”

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Well, what if she takes away your books? I bet you’ll get upset then, won’t you? Or those weird little playing cards you have. What if she’s so mad, she burns them! You’ll cry yourself to sleep like a little baby.”

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

“I know you do. And I let you sit here sulking. But now I’m just trying to get you to talk instead of mope. When you’re in a bad mood, it puts mom in a bad mood, and then I have to suffer with both of you being all brooding and cranky. Talking is an important skill, you know? Especially when you’re all pissed off. ”

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

“I really don’t understand why I’m the piece of shit, here. We always play Lifeguard at the water park. Now you want to throw a tantrum because, what? It was funny!”

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

“Okay, so what? Did you die, Wonwoo? Did you get banned from the park? Did you ruin your entire life?”

“No…”

“Exactly. It was uncomfortable, and you didn’t like the situation. I get that. But you put yourself in that position, alright? Stupid shit always happens when we play that game. You know the consequences. We’ve been over this before. Remember when you threw that life preserver on my head and almost gave me a concussion? I was pissed at you. But you’re a kid, and you weren’t really thinking, and I should’ve known. That’s why I didn’t curse you out. Let’s say we both learned a lesson from this and call it a day, huh? C'mon, the bucket is filling up. Let's catch it before we leave.”

—JULY 28th.

Wonwoo was sitting in a wicker-back chair downstairs in the pottery shop, his laptop placed on the corner of a table that had been covered with a white, plasticky sheet. The white was hardly visible through all the smears and stains attributed to month-old dried paint and clay. His landlord had asked him if he would oblige to waiting for the mugs her last class had just sculpted to finish drying in the kiln while she ran to the bank. An egg timer was placed on the desk in her office, and Wonwoo could hear it ticking away in the background.

The door to the shop had been propped open using a mandala decorated rock, and while Wonwoo browsed along an online book on his laptop, he partly listened to the miscellaneous bits and pieces of conversation pushed indoors by the midday summer wind.

Initially, he’d dreaded coming back to the city after the week-long repose at his uncle’s, but in truth, Wonwoo was adjusting better than anticipated. Maybe because he was attempting to look after himself more than usual—he was actually taking his medication and he’d weened himself from frequent, almost daily smoking to once every few days, though Wonwoo did realize his bud was getting low and the only person he knew to inquire for more was Vernon. He hadn’t seen his friend in person since the party, and their texting had admittedly dwindled ever since Wonwoo fought with you.

That was just over a month ago now.

Wonwoo had gone an entire month without texting you, talking to you, seeing you. He was doing better, feeling lighter.

But there remained one core part of him that was still very incomplete and damaged. Suddenly, Wonwoo was shivering in his seat. The warm sun was brightening up the shop and reflecting its light off the stained glass windchimes dangling from the ceiling, though he chose to blame the chill on the breeze trickling indoors.  

Deep down, however, Wonwoo knew he’d done something wrong. So, very, very wrong. He’d hurt you like a bullet through bone.

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop, where he’d been staring into the screen with a glazed over and distant expression. Instead, he saw a young woman, about his age, walk into the pottery shop hand-in-hand with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t recognize the woman’s features—chin length, wavy hair, coarse and russet brown, tanned skin and a face polka dotted with freckles. Piece by piece, the memory rebuilt itself in his mind and he felt somewhat stupid.

“Oh—jeez, Wonwoo! What the heck—you’re like, the last person I would expect to run into here. Wow, it’s been a while!”

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

Sierra, the girl who’d fashioned together his drink.

“Yeah. That feels like forever ago... what’re you doing here?”

He pushed down on the laptop lid and sat up straighter in the wicker chair, accidentally looking into the eyes of the girl who was shyly clinging to Sierra’s side. She immediately glanced elsewhere.

“I live here, actually.”

“Oh! That’s cool,” Sierra smiled. “Your family owns it, or?”

“No. The lady who runs the pottery shop also has ownership of the units upstairs. She rents them out. I live up there.” He pointed his finger toward the ceiling as to emphasis his point.

“Okay, okay, that make a lot more sense. Still really cool.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh—yeah. So, this is my younger sister, Cora,” Sierra explained, grabbing onto the petite girl’s shoulder. “She was supposed to have her first class today, but she was feeling, um—well, you know how kids are. She’s just a bit shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, of course not,” Wonwoo concurred, noting the resemblance between the two. “I was deathly shy when I was little.”

“Right? We were just gonna stop by to meet to the teacher ahead of her next class. I thought it might make everything easier.”

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

“Yeah, said she had to run to the bank. I’m sitting down here because I’m waiting for the pottery to finish drying in the kiln. I would give you an ETA, but I have no idea when she’s coming back.”

Glancing down at her sister, Sierra ruffled the girl’s hair.

“That sucks, huh?”

But she said nothing, just clung tightly to the back of Sierra’s yellow shirt, deciding to nod her head in response. Sierra shrugged.

“Is she usually here around this time?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo confirmed, “you could try again tomorrow.”

“Okay, wicked. I would wait but I’ve got a list of errands for today and I’m not even halfway through. And I’m sure Cora wouldn’t want to sit around, anyway. We just got a pool put in at the house.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

“No, not at all. The most I do is dip my feet in.”

“Aw, boo,” she said with dismay, shoulders sagging. “Well, it was nice running into you, Wonwoo. And—um, it might not be your thing, but I work at the Honeymoon almost every night—like, six to midnight. So, if you’re ever in Centertown, you should stop by.”

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

Once they left the pottery shop, Wonwoo set his elbows onto the plastic-sheeted table and leaned into his cold hands, sighing heavily as the egg timer continued ticking. Sierra was polite. She seemed warm like the sunshine and beautifully sincere. Wonwoo could read from her tender brown eyes that she desired more out of him—a friendship, a relationship, maybe something blissful, blurred, and in between. Though, it was nothing Wonwoo could give her.

He thought about the comment she made in regards to their pool—if he ever swam. Wonwoo didn’t swim, not since that horrible incident of Lifeguard all those years ago, back at the waterpark he used to attend alongside his older brother. Still, it got him thinking.

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

It contained all the video clips he’d taken of you with the camcorder throughout your writing journey. He had every single one, from the grassy running ring at the high school to the footage he’d taken of the evening sky the day you two visited the beach.

His mouse hovered over a clip.

Fuck—he really shouldn’t do that. Every moment would sting like a red hot, peeling sunburn. The mouse moved away from the video clip and Wonwoo sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand against his face at the near torment. But… it had been so long. He missed you.

“Whatever…” he sighed to himself, clicking the video.

It took a moment to start up.

“Okay! So, this is Mooney’s Bay. It encompasses chapter three, and—Wonwoo, you have to film my intro! Why are you filming the sand?”

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

“I’ll stand in front of them… okay, are you zoomed in?”

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Remember when I zoomed in and you said I shouldn’t do that because it doesn’t capture the scenery properly?”

“Well, I said that because you were zooming in on me when you were supposed to be getting the ambiance shots! That’s why I said don’t zoom in. You can zoom in for the intro. Is the light better?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Does my hair look good? Actually, do you think it’s too windy? I’m worried about it being too windy, and then I can’t hear my introduction. I have to be able to hear my introduction. I’m really nervous. Wait—let me take off my flip flops. There’s so much sand in them and I hate it. Okay. Am I covering the people?”

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, this is Mooney’s Bay, and… and… wait—oh no! I forget my lines. What was I supposed to say, again?”

“I’m not sure, it’s your script. Something about chapter three.”

“Oh, I remember now! Okay, again from the top. Cut this out!”

He remembered that warm day as clear as the bay’s shiny water—specifically, the plethora of takes he had to film because you kept fudging up the script typed out on your phone. Wonwoo surfed through the rest of the clips pertaining to the beach, smiling to himself whenever you would fumble the words for the umpteenth time and groan in sheer frustration. Eventually, the backdrop turned from blue skies to an evening sunset. You two had spent hours there, and the filming had ended with tangy lemonade and watermelon.

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, introduce the flavour. Like show and tell.”

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. This is my flavour: it’s strawberry cheesecake. The red bits are the strawberries and those chunks are the cheesecake. I picked it because this is the flavour I got when I went on my first date with Mingyu. I love strawberries the most. Cheesecake is my favourite cake. Um… I don’t really know what else to say…”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

“Not perfect even though it’s your favourite things?”

“Well—because the ice cream is too hard. I like soft ice cream. If I waited like, ten minutes, then ate some, it would be higher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Okay! You’re not supposed to be inserting your personal comments! You’re just supposed to say prompts and stuff. Don’t make me revoke your camera privileges.”

“You know anybody else with my camera operating skills?”

“Seokmin.”

“He couldn’t film his way out of a paper bag.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t already said.”

The abrupt end to the video made Wonwoo sink down in his chair with a dumb, wide smile. You did in fact, wait the entire ten minutes for your ice cream to significantly melt in the cup, then forcing Wonwoo to watch with unfiltered judgement as you stirred it up like a smoothie. You said it helped with your sensitive teeth.

He could understand that.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to watch much more, he chose one final clip to open—the most recent one he’d taken. It was from the day you raced home in the rain after exploring the nature museum, right before Princess had swung by to pick you up. He had been fooling around with the camcorder while you two sat on the couch.

“… Um, so… do you care if I keep this shirt? It’s a good bedtime shirt, and I don’t really have any. I mean, only if you say it’s okay.”

“Uh, sure. I hardly wear it anymore, to be honest.”

“Oh. What’s it from?”

“A math competition thing. If you straighten that part out… that’s Euler’s number… this other one is your classic integral.”

“Hm, yeah. That’s such a great conversation starter. Have you guys ever heard about the integral symbol? Such a classic!”

“You jest but it got me quite a bit of recognition.”

“Like you want recognition.”

“Yeah, that’s why I stopped wearing it.”

“Ah, okay.  So if I wear it out, will I get random geeks coming up to me on the street asking about it?”

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

“Yes, so when they come up to me, I can say I have a really smart, talented, loser friend who owns it. So I can brag about you.”

“That’s… nice, I suppose. Can you drop the loser part?”

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

“Seriously? Life has already humbled me enough, I think.”

The clip ended, and Wonwoo was staring back at himself in the screen’s black reflection. He could recall that oddly hollow feeling which situated uncomfortably large in the pit of his stomach when he realized how much he missed you.

But how could he not yearn for you? When you were so captivating, and infinitely brilliant, and stubbornly hard-headed in a tantalizing way that made him feel completely alive and invigorated.

I fucked up—it was all he could think as he pushed his laptop away and buried his head into his arms—I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up and I pushed away the most amazing girl I’ve ever known.

Suddenly, the small egg timer that had been sitting on the landlord’s desk a room away erupted. It started rattling and clanging and while Wonwoo should have shot up from his seat to turn it off and check the sculpted mugs cooking in the kiln, he stayed in his seat.

He felt glued to it.

All he could think about was how badly he needed to talk to you, hear your voice, see your face, smell your scent. Maybe he didn’t deserve it—Wonwoo knew he didn’t—but he loved you too much.

He couldn’t let you fade into a deep, dark memory.

—JULY 30th.

Wonwoo hadn’t been to his favourite café on Sunnyside Avenue for almost two months. He was therefore quite surprised at their new interior upon giving into a last-minute whim—visiting for a quick coffee. They had finally swapped their metal chairs for more cushiony seats, and the circle tabletops for square, wooden ones. The style of chalk writing on the overhead menu boards had changed, too.

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

Usually, Wonwoo only stopped at the café to work on his writing and indulge in a raspberry lemon scone that was supposed to be a treat for having been productive, though he always ate it before a single word would ever grace the paper. Since he began helping you with your book back in March, he frequented the café less and less. It brought a smile to his face, recalling the incident of you slapping your hand against the window and jarring him half to death.

He used to be so afraid of you. Never would he imagine the comfort you’d end up bestowing him—and the fact he’d lose it all.

“I can help whoever’s next!”

Turning his attention from the corner where his old table used to sit—now occupied by two girls sharing a latte and giggling as they perused their phones—Wonwoo approached the barista he failed to recognize, waiting to take his order. Realizing he’d lost his metaphorical loyalty badge and that he could no longer just coolly toss out, ‘the usual’, Wonwoo had to remember what it was he even liked.

“Just an iced coffee,” he said, “and, uh… do you still have those scones with the raspberry and lemon filling?”

As the barista pressed something into the tablet screen, he shook his head. “Unfortunately they’re not made here anymore.”

“Oh, damn.”

“We do have a new strawberry scone, though, for summer. It’s got a confectionary sugar drizzle. It’s pretty popular.”

“Uh, don’t worry about it, I’ll just take the coffee.”

“No problem, man. Total is three ninety-nine.”

“Card, thanks.”

It might have been stupid, but Wonwoo couldn’t think about strawberries without thinking of you, because you always smelled like a sweet, ripe, and vibrantly red strawberry—it was the scent of your skin, which he so pathetically missed feeling warm and velvet against his. He bet one-hundred percent you would have ordered that scone.

After tapping his phone against the card reader, Wonwoo stepped aside and waited for his coffee. It was a Sunday. He had work tomorrow. There wasn’t much happening in his life.

“Iced coffee, right here.”

The barista slid the cardboard cup across the counter. Wonwoo grabbed it with a polite thank you, and then settled an inspecting glance around the café for a place to sit. He shouldn’t have come in the afternoon—it was always their busiest hours apart from early morning—and it seemed the redesign had promptly boosted their relevance, because Wonwoo couldn’t remember a time when the tables had ever been so filled. He stepped further into the seating area, though, someone familiar had just caught his eye.

Princess.

She was sat at a table close to some beautifully potted ferns and palm leaves, typing on a laptop while a plate with a half-finished sandwich and a plastic cup of matcha remained by her elbow. At the exact moment that Wonwoo saw her, Princess had also looked up, and as though by magic, their gazes caught without hesitation.

At first, Wonwoo panicked. The breath dropped out of his chest and he pondered waving to her, turning tail, and fleeing. There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was aware of the fight between you and him—she was your best friend—and Wonwoo knew from the manner in which her lips apprehensively curled into a numb smile that Princess already knew everything. Still, she waved at him.

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

Maybe it was an indescribably stupid decision, but Wonwoo opted to swallow the fear and dread and anxiety in his throat. If she didn’t want him to sit with her, then he trusted that Princess would make such a boundary extremely clear—but Wonwoo had to try. He had to make some sort of initiative, some form of amends, and above all, he wanted to know about you, even if the answer hurt terribly.

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

Princess’ tattooed hands stilled on the keyboard. She flitted her round, deep brown eyes up at him, and he felt frustrated that he could extract little to nothing from their depths. Again, she smiled.

“I’m alright. Just working on some forms for work.”

Wonwoo nodded. “Do you, uh… do you care if I sit?”

She didn’t speak, but continued to stare at him with a lip worried between her teeth, and it was then Wonwoo could realize the conflict swimming through her gaze. The panic started to build again, and the regret surged into his stomach like a tsunami.

“Really, I don’t mean to make things awkward,” Wonwoo was urged to clarify, the cold cup feeling increasingly slippery in his clammy hand, “I can go. I don’t want to cause any problems."

“No, no—” Princess shook her head, meanwhile her tone remained strained and uncertain, “—it’s okay. Uh, yeah. Sure. Take a seat. I mean, it’s plenty full in here. I’m not that busy.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You can sit, Wonwoo.”

He exhaled softly, proceeding to pull out the chair. It felt quite nice sitting against a cushion rather than the hard metal he remembered.

Princess reached for her matcha, placing the straw between her lips and taking a long, heavy sip as though to prepare herself for the awkward nature of their incoming conversation. Wonwoo did the same. He didn’t even know where to start. Was it better to burn off his nerves through small talk or jump straight into the heat?

She moved the long braids off her shoulder, heaved in a breath.

“Well, let’s just get the bulk of this talk out of the way. I know what happened. I know you’re not friends with Her anymore. I know the way it ended was super ugly. I know that she spent, like, three days at my apartment, miserable, in tears over you, Wonwoo. So, I do feel a certain way toward you. I hope you can understand that.” She closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. “But, we’re adults. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about… some things.”

“No, I—I get that.”

Already, he wanted to throw up. Despite all his repressing, he could still hear that choked, vulnerable, completely broken sob you croaked out the day you left his apartment—how mercilessly it had haunted him for the entire week—made him believe he was a monster, a masochist, the lowest form of human being. Wonwoo felt there was no excusing it. He would always hate himself for it.

“What are you curious about?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Princess glanced down for a second, staring at the smooth, black surface of her laptop. She then clicked her nails together.

“I-I just… how could it… how could it go so wrong?” The girl wondered aloud, leaning back into her chair, seeming despaired at the aftermath. “From the second I saw her get defensive of you at Spring Street, I knew how much she cared. I knew that you meant something to her and for whatever reason, she wasn’t going to let anyone screw it up. And she became so much lighter. Everything wasn’t an attack. Everything she did wasn’t so agonizing anymore.”

Wonwoo’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing underneath the table, the nervous energy accumulating rather than draining away. He wished he had the perfect answer, but he couldn’t yet find one.

Her head tilted, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t know… I thought you could be so good for Her. She doesn’t have anyone in her life that’s like you. But—I mean—fuck, we’re here, now, aren’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, staring straight into the girl’s shiny, unwavering eyes that held so much sentiments of angst and betrayal, like she herself was carrying your rage. “Princess… I… I want, so fucking bad, to give you a good answer for why everything blew up. I do. But—just—every time I try to look inward, every time I try to understand it at its core, I feel like it’s all shrouded. I know I fucked up. I know it. She made—makes—me happy, too. But I’m not there yet.”

“You’re not where?” She asked, pressing forward. “At a place where you can understand what you did? Why you did it?”

Fiddling with his cup atop its cork coaster, Wonwoo nodded.

He then chewed into his bottom lip, feeling the skin break.

“Can I ask… what did you think of me? When she told you what happened? If you have to be brutally uncouth, I don’t care.”

Princess abruptly laughed at the request, head tumbling forward into her gold-ringed hands. He wasn’t sure if she would oblige, as the laugh sounded nervous yet tinged with disbelief, which led Wonwoo to believe she had thought some very unpleasant things.

“Um… let’s see...” she chuckled hesitantly, smoothing antsy hands along her dark skin, “I was definitely gagged, let’s start there.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I just—I didn’t believe that you would be capable of being such a fucking asshole. I mean—” she collapsed back into the chair, throwing up her arms, “—can you blame me? You’re quiet, well-mannered, intelligent. Everyone loved you at the party. I think the fact you could turn around and be so… s-so cruel, so hostile, like you were—I don’t know—trying to gut her, just seemed impossible. But Her doesn’t lie. She has no reason to make it up. I wasn’t able to think much at all because I went comfort mode. I just wanted to focus on getting her mind off you.”

“And… afterward?”

“Well, I wanted to destroy you, obviously.”

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

Instantly, his stomach dropped to his feet, and Wonwoo was certain his face had paled like a washed-out t-shirt. Princess’ gaze settled upon him with intense focus. Wonwoo scratched at his thumb.

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer. Even if he wanted to, the words erased from his mind in a mere snap of one’s fingers. Instead, Wonwoo stared at the girl while she politely waited for a sign, knowing his very loud, lacking response was an answer enough in itself if his eyes weren’t already panicked and practically writing the narrative for him. To admit his true heart to another person was the most horrifying predicament Wonwoo could articulate. He was far from capable.

Princess raised her brow. “I’ll take that as a—”

“You can’t tell Her. Please, please, please, whatever you do, whatever you think of me—just, please don’t tell Her,” Wonwoo blurted, the perspiration drenching the palms that sunk into his knees. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if she finds out. Really, I—”

“Wonwoo.” Princess reached under the table, and he felt her cool, soft hand settle overtop his. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, okay? Just breathe. You look like you’re going to have—"

“Don’t say it,” he exhaled shakily, “I-I know…”

He proceeded to close his eyes, draw in a long, deep, thorough breath, while his knee continued jittering and his chest felt so tight and twisted with fear. He closed his eyes and recalled the washroom belonging to his aunt’s house in rural Changwon, with the bright blue shower curtain and its pattern of yellow rubber ducks. 

Wonwoo counted all the rubber ducks on that childhood curtain, the number having been scorched into his mind like a scar, until he felt the world fall back into tune. The steadiness of Princess’ hand over top his was a gentle reminder that he was indeed alive and not a puddle of mistakes melted to the café floor. Pushing up the glasses that had slipped down his nose, he reopened his eyes to see the girl’s the sympathetic, earnest face. Wonwoo cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah—I’m okay… just—uh, th-thank you.”

She pulled her hand away, smiling, “no problem.”

The two proceeded to sit in silence as Wonwoo further collected his bearings. He glanced around the café, recognizing no one else amongst the crowd, and spotting more and more modifications that had appeared since his last visit—the light fixtures overhead were different, the decorative wall art had been replaced, and the baristas were all wearing hats with a new, improved logo. So much had developed in his absence. So much had to change.

He looked at his iced coffee, which he took a sip from, and realized that he didn’t prefer the taste quite like he used to.

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I don’t deserve this. I know that me even asking this might seem so unprecedentedly stupid. Her probably doesn’t want you talking to me, which I get, and I know you feel conflicted about me being here… but… fuck… Princess, I have to know something about Her. Anything. I don’t care if it’s the smallest, most insignificant detail you could think of. Just one thing… that’s all.”

The delivery was undoubtedly begging, perhaps pathetic, but he could not find it within himself to care. He missed you too fucking much, to the point it was becoming insufferable, unliveable.

Folding one leg over the other, Princess leaned back and grabbed onto her matcha, spinning it slightly. She was no longer meeting his eyeline, and that drowned his hopes in a watery grave.

He settled his elbows onto the table, his finger gripping at the air with every pleading word that he could somehow conjure.

“I know you don’t want to; I-I know it. I know she fucking hates me, detests me, wishes we never met. But this is the most regretful I’ve ever been, a-about anything in my life. And—I know that I’m pushing you—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry—if I can just know one thing, I’ll leave you alone. I-I mean, is she… did she get a new shirt, after that one ripped, on the hanger? Does she still go to the SSA meetings? Or—I don’t fucking know—is she writing? Is she doing something new? Have you seen her smile at all? Or heard her laugh? Genuinely laugh. The one where she can’t even breathe and she grips onto you and buries her head into your neck? Is she still just as quippy? Constantly rambling over herself? I miss that so much… I miss all of it… everything about her… there’s nothing I don’t miss.”

Princess was biting her lip, refusing to say a word.

Wonwoo hadn’t intended to barrage her. Nonetheless, he couldn’t leave the café without wholeheartedly trying.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, placing his forehead against the black wood of the table, breathing back the bitterness, the frustration, the tears. Princess was a boulder, it seemed. He’d lost, picking his head back up after a moment of composure, and pushed out his chair.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, her gaze heavy with sadness.

He nodded. “I just—I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

“Bye, Princess,” he answered, his throat irritably tight.

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

As her voice picked up amongst the cluttering dishes and drawls of conversation, Wonwoo turned around to see the girl’s remorseful expression and the hands shoved tightly under her arms. Princess paused, staring at the coffee mug he’d abandoned at the table.

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

But Princess shook her head, making a twisting motion at her lips like she was fastening the lock to a chest. It was her one thing.

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

It had been far too long since Wonwoo last texted, spoke to, or saw Vernon. When he left for an entire week to stay at his uncle’s cottage in the midst of July,  he hadn’t even shot the boy a message that he was leaving. As cold or uncompassionate as it may have sounded, Wonwoo never really considered Vernon to be that important or necessary to his life until he sat back and thought about their relationship: a studious loner with an unperturbed drug dealer who somehow formed a bond that hadn’t predictably eroded.

Sure, it helped that Vernon became his plug and there was technically a reason for their symbiosis, but what Wonwoo hadn’t taken note of was their closeness over the months.

Perhaps it was guilt, or the sting of losing you and having experienced Princess treat him like an ugly secret, or the simplistic, innate need for human contact, that Wonwoo finally decided to reach out and invite the boy over for a smoke. Vernon agreed, though it wasn’t until the near cusp of midnight that he stopped by. Together they sat on the complex rooftop, two perfectly packed blunts between them, lit by their sparking lighters. The conversation drifted from topic to topic like a passive leaf being tugged through a breeze.

Wonwoo was able to realize how desperately he needed a moment like that—no guards, no anxiety, no hyper-analyzing every little goddamn comment or action—just friendship.

And Vernon made it easy.

“Not to mention the fact that Seokmin—he fuckin’ sucks at mini-puttin’ by the way. Jesus Christ, man. There was a twelve-year-old girl a hole behind us who was makin’ shots like Tiger Woods, and then here we are, waitin’ for Seokmin to make a shot that is damn near impossible to—like, okay—tell me why he’s got one leg on the fuckin’ rock and the other stretched halfway across the laneway like he's droppin’ into the splits? Why does it need t’be that hard!”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo half-laughed, half-coughed into his elbow, the smoke instantly rushing back out his mouth.

“Holy fuck. I wish I’d seen that in person.”

“No,” Vernon deadpanned, rolling up his sleeves, “you don’t. At that point, just pick up the ball and move it into the hole, man. That twelve-year-old’s got places to be and we’re over here climbin’ on rocks and crawlin’ under bridges like it’s a fuckin’ jungle gym.”

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

“Oh—me too,” he chuckled. “Fuck someone once in the storage closet at glow-in-the-dark mini-put and suddenly you’re ‘a detriment to the company.’ Like, get the fuck outta my face.”

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

“Yeah—just sold her like two-hundred bucks of ecstasy.”

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

“No, no—Ruby’s chill! Always came to work stoned half the time, though. Dude, no. It was the other girl that fuckin’ ratted on us.”

“Damn… so, is Ruby the one?” Wonwoo teased.

As Vernon removed the joint from his lips, a swift trail of smoke ejected into the nighttime air. He huffed in disagreement.

“Nah. She’s a good friend you can screw on the low. Know you guys won’t catch feelings. Makes it easy. That’s what I’m about.”

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

Scraping his thumb against the rough spark wheel of his favourite Bic, Wonwoo lit the small, dancing flame, bringing it close to his blunt and crisping the paper more heavily. He proceeded to draw in a long, smooth breath. The atmosphere was almost silent if not for the distant murmur of midnight traffic. Wonwoo watched the abundant smoke as it slowly streamed out his nose. It eventually dissipated against the blackness, existing just long enough for Wonwoo to appreciate that weightless sensation it gave him.

Vernon swept a hand through his hair, smiled at Wonwoo.

“Okay, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off—” the boy began with notable caution, taking a quick hit before removing the blunt from his lips “—but, uh, what exactly… did happen… between you and Her?”

For a moment, the vigilantly placed question hovered in the cool summer air as Wonwoo breathed out another cloud. However, he didn’t let the smoke disappear on its own, rather he blew into it harshly and forced the flurry to melt. One way or another, he knew this topic would surface. And Vernon was right—he completely had the right to tell his friend to fuck off—because no matter how much time had passed since, Wonwoo still felt the wound with all the freshness and intensity of that night. He remained stiff, thinking.

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

“Y’know, it doesn’t matter. We’re havin’ fun, anyway.”

Wonwoo was going to agree—yeah, let’s skip it—but at the last second, he burned the reliable safety of his choice. The thing was, he hadn’t really discussed the fight with anybody. Sitting down and talking to Princess didn’t bestow the alleviation or closure that Wonwoo thought it would, especially considering her loyalty to you and the fact she hadn’t desired that conversation more than she desired a hole in the head. He was able to relieve some tension upon visiting his uncle’s, but, ultimately, Wonwoo was doing the exact thing you had accused him of—letting things sit and fester.

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

After tugging at the edge of his thick beanie, Wonwoo rubbed a knuckle against his forehead and decided to bite the bullet.

“Uh, no—all good. You’re curious, I get it.”

Vernon’s eyes widened underneath the moonlight and the warm, glowing radiance that crept over the building precipice. He nearly choked on the smoke.

“Wait—dude. Really?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo angled his face toward him, nodding.

“Okay, uh… wow. Wasn’t expectin’ to get this far.”

“Need a moment to catch your breath, yeah?”

“Psh—shut the fuck up, Glasses… actually—no, yeah. Let me take a hit first. I feel like this is gonna be a deep-dish pizza, y’know?”

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

He copied his friend, crisping the blunt one last time before pressing his lips around the paper and drawing in a big breath.

Right before the prickling could desiccate his throat, Wonwoo exhaled everything into the abrupt breeze—not just the smoke, but his fears, his worries—whatever might stunt or thwart him from understanding that it wasn’t so terrifying to be candour.

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

“Okay, player. You’ve got my attention.”

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

What’s going to happen if he chokes on all his words?

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

Wonwoo, you have spent practically your entire life writing and crafting sentences and the most adolescent, tormented prose imaginable—how is it that you cannot configure one thought?

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

He thought about glancing at Vernon to gauge his reaction, especially when his friend didn’t offer one word in response, not even a pointed hmph, or a sniffle, or something satirical to suggest that all his teasing had some actual truth and substance.

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

“And… that night, at the party, we had this really sincere moment… I mean, maybe it wasn’t that sincere—she’d just done a line of coke and had been sipping alcohol and smoking all night. But that’s how it felt when it was happening. After the bullshit with Bells, I took her to a spare bedroom to calm down. She asked me to lay with her.”

Wonwoo paused to collect his breathing. Even just the memory of your body pressed against his was enough to rake up those buried emotions from his insides like old, autumn leaves. The memories of your heat, and the giggling into his neck, and the way your fingers would occasionally trace shapes on his chest as you listened to him talk—nothing had ever felt so cosmically right.

“Um… yeah. I don’t know why I agreed. I didn’t care about if it was wrong or right. If Mingyu came barging in, or someone else, or—fuck, if the goddamn roof caved in—I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her so fucking bad. We didn’t kiss or anything. We just laid there together, like, intertwined, you know? I told her some stuff. We were just talking… I think, in my mind, I just wanted to have this moment where I was something to her, more than a friend. And I just—I put this stupid fucking notion in my head that it was true.”

Eyes squeezed shut, blunt poised between his fingers, Wonwoo rode the high of another hit, ignoring the deep, sensitive pain cutting his bone marrow. He kept excavating despite the hurt.

“But—I-I mean, a girl like that?” He laughed, head bending down between his propped knees. “A girl like that, you know? She is so—sh-she’s—I shouldn’t want her at all. I should want nothing to do with her. But—I don’t know—she has drive, and things she’s passionate about, and she can be so unrelenting and fucking bossy, but then so soft, and calm, and I just get drawn into her like a moth to a flame. I think everything’s okay, you know? I don’t get that… that dread—that feeling like I’m constantly failing, and useless, and like everything is out to get me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t glanced at Vernon once. He didn’t want to.

That way, it felt like he was alone, talking to himself, maybe talking to the moon. It erased the veil of pressure and eased his typically constrained, rigid muscles. Feeling his glasses begin to slip, Wonwoo lifted his head, pushing the circled frames back up his nose.

“I don’t know why it’s like that. I don’t know why it’s her, specifically. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. She has Mingyu to love. And it just—it fucking frustrates me so much—" Wonwoo breathed out the irritation, licking his lips, “—because we’re having this sweet moment, and it’s so perfect, and right. But then all of a sudden, he’s just—he—she's letting him fuck her. Like that moment we had was nothing, like I didn’t just be the most open I’ve ever been with her. And—I know, I know—she’s high as fuck and not thinking straight. So, what do I chalk us up to, then? A bad trip? A blur in time? A moment you live once and then just forget? What the fuck do I make of that?”

Something crackled inside him, akin to match being lit, palpable enough that it motivated the boy to his feet because this cramped, knees-to-chest position wouldn’t suffice in channeling the energy he felt. Wonwoo moved the blunt to his lips, attempting to speak while it hung at the corner of his mouth, though he only left it there for a few seconds in his urgence for another hit. He started pacing.

“That was such a dogshit moment, you know? Going down there, wanting it to be a lie, almost believing it, but then—I hear it. I-I hear the way she’s getting fucked and I hear her moans and her whimpers and I hear the way he’s using her.” Wonwoo kicked a stone off the edge of the building, one hand shoved into his sweats pocket while the other fed him a brief inhalation from the blunt. “I’ve never felt that before. Awful. Like, indescribable devastation. I ran to the washroom to throw up because my body just couldn’t handle it. It felt like such a kick in the fucking teeth. And I was mad at her—like, fuck you for throwing back all that trust into my face, you know?”

He shook his head, then balancing at the rim of the complex like a fall from that height wouldn’t leave him broken.

“I was so fucking pissed at her…” Wonwoo muttered, staring down at the shadowed streets, “every time I thought about it, I just felt sick… but, obviously, we have to hash it out. That’s why she jumped you, or whatever—I wasn’t texting her back because I knew nothing good would come from it. Like I said, though… she’s unrelenting. Shows up at my door, banging on it like there’s a murderer outside. I was in a terrible headspace. I… I kind of…”

The words jammed on his tongue.

Wonwoo had to walk away from the ledge as a foggy sensation muddled his senses. Hands, beginning to tremble, pulled in torment down the back of his black beanie, the blunt caught between his fingers as he remembered the inexcusable maliciousness to his ranting. It echoed through his head like a gong.

He squatted down, rubbing at his wrinkled, aching brow.

“I… I basically—j-just—I tore her to fucking shreds.”

There was so much emotion clogging his throat. Every word was a struggle to enunciate, and each one burned and stung more tangibly than the last, as though he’d swallowed knives.

“It didn’t even feel good, you know? It wasn’t cathartic, or victorious. I felt like… do I even deserve anything? She went into the hall and… that sob. Oh my god… bawling her eyes out because of my stupidity. Because of my inability to be a fucking person as she mentioned.”

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

He reached out his hand, letting the small bits of rubble stick to his fingertips, thinking, about everything, how he destroyed it. You were just a panicked river, trying to heal and soothe, but the message was lost under the current. Wonwoo had been a scalding fire, one that charred everything the instant it touched his vengeful heat.

There were only ashes. He didn’t know how to rebuild a relationship from something so fragile and ruined at his beckon.

The frustration was boiling in Wonwoo’s gut. All his shortcomings, the ignorance to the flaws he buried, how he treated you—it was all bubbling together like some sort of poisonous, infectious brew and if he didn’t somehow release pressure then he would crack like ceramics. Wonwoo maneuvered the thick blunt from his fingers into his palm where he crushed it, hard.

“Uh, Wonwoo? It’s… it’s okay, man. You—”

“Fuck!”

The tattered piece of crisped tobacco paper and grinded weed flew into the air, the breeze pulling the remnants somewhere unimportant. Vernon immediately smothered his words. He could only stare, frozen, as Wonwoo tore off his glasses, rubbing a sweater sleeve against the beginning pricks of tears that bulbed up from his eyes. He sucked in a long, shuddering, ragged breath.

“I fucking hate this, Vernon. I-I’m everything she said I was. I do it to myself. I always do it to myself. I want to change so badly but it never feels like it’s happening fast enough, a-an-and—and—and—”

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

Vernon was on his feet in an instant, quickly brushing his hands off against the fabric of his jeans, the blunt now tucked behind his ear. Wonwoo continued rubbing into his eyes. His friend’s face appearing before him was nothing but watery smudging, almost like a ruined oil painting. Wonwoo hiccupped.

“No—Vernon—y-you don’t understand, you—I-I fucked up, alright? I fucked up so bad! I—” he could hardly breathe, his glasses dropped somewhere on the roof, “—I just wrecked everything and—”

“Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!” Vernon gripped his shoulders and shook them sternly. “Shut up! You’re takin’ all the fuckin’ air!”

The abruptness snapped a wire in Wonwoo’s brain. It was so unexpected that he almost wasn’t sure if it happened. However, his torrent of seemingly endless anxious thought began to falter, with a very slow but gradual concentration toward the softness rosying his friend’s blurred face. Vernon rubbed against Wonwoo’s trembling arm, and with a gentle tug, urged him to sit down.

“C’mon, get on your ass… there ‘ya go. Awesome. Now… where’s your—oh, shit—they’re right here. Lucky you, huh?”

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

As Wonwoo busied himself with carving those scratches against his thumb, Vernon extended a hand to his friend’s cheek.

“Let me rid get of these tears… so you… can actually… see…”

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

“Let’s put these on, yeah? Are you okay with that?”

Vernon seemed to accept the quietness as him not quite being ready, and so the boy settled for resting a tattooed hand on Wonwoo’s knee, familiarizing him with a grounding touch. In due time, Wonwoo was relaxed enough to properly swallow.

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

Wonwoo sniffled, imitating a rumbling sound to clear his brittle throat, meanwhile there was a breeze ghosting along his exposed nape. It was just as comforting as Vernon’s touch.

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m just glad they didn’t get crushed.”

When his friend’s calm face clarified in the silver moonlight, with his unjudgmental eyes, and his compassionate smile, Wonwoo began to realize that… perhaps, being trusting and vulnerable and honest was not the worst thing in the world. There was merit and relief. There was a friend waiting on the other side with an open hand.

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

“Listen, Glasses. If you’re gonna apologize to me, then shove it right back up your ass. Seriously. There’s no need.”

“Well, I mean…” Wonwoo wiped his runny nose, “I kind of unloaded on you, and, I didn’t intend for that. I really didn’t.”

“I asked you a loaded question in the first place, didn’t I? I ordered a deep-dish pizza and that’s what I fuckin’ got.”

“Well… I-I… I’m glad you can look at it that way.”

“God, Wonwoo. You’re actin’ like this was a total blindside. I know you, y’know? Maybe not to a tee, but I know you.” Vernon kept his hand against Wonwoo’s knee, dusting some grit from it. “And I know you’re gonna feel regretful about all this, but you shouldn’t, alright? ‘Cause, look—you did somethin’ that most people—they go their entire lives without doin’. You dug deep and acknowledged your flaws. And not just the pansy shit, like—oh, I’m bad at time management, I forget to put the dishes away, I don’t fill up the ice cube tray, I never reply to texts—I mean the real stuff.

The really dark, uncomfortable stuff that we know is there but it’s so much easier to ignore. The stuff that gets in the way of our happiness, or success, or connections—bein’ the sin-sincerest versions of ourselves—it’s so much easier to pack all that bad stuff down. It’s there but at least it’s not out here. But then, like, maybe one day it is out here. And it’s hurtin’ everything around you. And some people will still let it slide because there’s always somethin’ else to blame. What is that bullshit—acceptance is always the hardest part? I don’t fuckin’ know. Anyway, you should give yourself some credit, Glasses. Seriously. I’m proud.”

“Proud?” Wonwoo chuckled weakly, returning the warmth of his friend’s honeyed eyes. “That's such a mom thing to say.”

Vernon’s hand shifted to whacking Wonwoo’s arm. “Don't get smart.”

“No, uh—I’m joking. Thank you, Vernon… really.”

“Hey, I know I’m your drug dealer, but I consider us friends, y’know? And not every friend’s gotta be your support beam. But I think you’re someone worth supportin’… hey—that sounded pretty smart and eloquent, right? I’m basically you, now.”

Wonwoo smiled. “You're missing the glasses.”

“I’ll just take yours,” Vernon chided, giving his friend’s chest a light push, “what’re you gonna do, anyway? Four-eyes.”

“I think if you wore these for more than five minutes… you’d get a migraine,” Wonwoo supposed, watching Vernon nod his head.

“Damn. You’re probably right. Not worth it.”

“Mmhm…”

“… But, um… y’know what I do think is worth it?”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

Vernon paused, as though to contemplate his response, but when the words left his mouth, there was pure firmness behind them.

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

Pressing his lips together, Wonwoo stared off into the corner.

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

“I’m serious! You know she’s perfect for you, right? A bossy girl who’s about her shit but can soften up for you is exactly what you need. Girls like that—they care so fuckin’ much, y’know? And she’s majorly into you. I saw how she hugged you at the party. How she got all smiley and sweet. I mean, she was gonna punch Bells in the fuckin’ face to stop her from makin’ a move on you. She’s got a man, I know. And I’m not sayin’ be a fuckin’ homewrecker. But, like, I don’t know… Mingyu’s all image and no substance. A fuckin’ airhead.”

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Yeah, well, I liked him a lot more when he was handin’ me two-hundred ‘a Seungcheol’s bands. I know he just invited me to that party ‘cause I can get him n’ his rich friends high. I’m not stupid. Keep your enemies close, and your friends—wait, fuck—keep your—”

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

“Yes! Don’t let her go! Are you crazy, Glasses?!”

“What am I supposed to say? I-I was such a cunt.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man—offer to lick hers. Bet she’ll forgive you right there on the spot. Damn. That’s how I’d do it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

“Eh, whatever. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Wonwoo exhaled a large, solacing breath, glancing toward the moonlight that beautifully shimmered down in its pearlescent webs, bathing the rooftop akin to the blue mirages at the nature museum.

Vernon was right.

He couldn’t let this be the end of your story.

—END OF PART FOUR.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Jealous!Possessive!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A night out at your favorite local hangout is what he promised you after being away on deployment for so long, but one small incident throws him over the edge into full on possessive episode. Something about the way he is pulling off to the side of the road might mean he can't make it home before reclaiming his prize.

Word Count: 5.1 k

Warnings:

“Come on, you promised,” you say as you straighten your skirt and adjust your top, looking back at Simon from within the bathroom mirror as he stands behind you, watching you finish getting ready. “You said we could have a night out once you got back from deployment, just the two of us. We always stay in; I want to go out.”

Simon sighs; he can’t ever say no to you even though he is not keen on the idea. “I did, didn’t I,” he agrees with defeat as he advances into the bathroom until he is within reach to wrap his arms around your middle, pulling you flush against his broad, hard chest. “Ya know I’m not against it, I don’t like to fuckin’ share ya is all.”

Heated lips are caressing the skin of your shoulder making it prickle under his touch as he kisses all of that exposed skin. You only allow yourself to enjoy the feeling for a moment before you shift in his grip, any longer and you are going to be right where he wants you: at his mercy and forgetting all about going anywhere tonight.

“Later,” you breathe. “I promise; just want you to take me out first. A few hours at the bar, a couple drinks with a bit of conversation, and then we’ll be back to end the night right, okay?”

He nods. “If that’s what ya want, sweetheart, then that’s what we’ll do,” he agrees and you pull him in for a kiss on his lips before sending off to get dressed.

The bar is already gathering a good crowd inside by the time you arrive. With Simon’s hand firmly wrapped around your hip, you enter the familiar hangout and instantly you are drawing looks in your direction. It’s easy enough to get attention, being as massive of a man as Simon is, it isn’t difficult, but that is exactly what he wants. He needs those here to see his hands all over you, needs those around to be aware of who you’re here with so that there won’t be any trouble tonight.

He knows what a prize he has; you are his and god help the idiot that doesn’t get that.

It is the same each time you step foot out of the house together, some part of Simon has to be connected to you at all times: a hand on your lower back, his arm snaking its way around your waist or hip, your combined hands locked into one another. Anything and everything to show that you are taken. Those brown eyes scan the area, taking note of those that look your way as you walk to where you’re going to sit.

A table is chosen off to the side, one out of the way of the main area where you can be more secluded. Here he can have you all to himself just the way he likes it. From the minute he returns from the bar with your drinks and he sits down, his coarse hands with those rough fingertips are on you, lightly brushing over the tops of your bare thighs that poke out from the bottom of your skirt. That brown gaze cannot stay off you as he looks you up and down as you talk through his mask which he occasionally pulls up to sip at his glass of bourbon and take a drag from his cigarette.

After a while you decide you want one more drink and move to get up to go order. Simon tries to convince you otherwise, he can go get whatever you need just as he has all night, but you dismiss him.

“I’ll be right back,” you say as you give him a quick kiss on his exposed lips and walk off before he can answer.

He should be the one to get it, he shouldn’t have allowed you to go, but he let his judgment lapse as the night has been fine so far without consequence. He looks up as you make it up to the bar all alone and unattended and out of his immediate reach. Standing there looking like you do, short skirt and tight top showcasing your most tempting assets, it would be hard for anyone not to have a peak.

It is then that Simon catches a bastard plastered off his rocker stumbling over from a few seats down, right to where you are. There aren’t many other pretty little things around tonight and so Simon is sure this asshole is going to shoot his shot cause there is no way he is wanting to go home alone and that has his blood already boiling.

A few slurred words he musters out to get you to engage with him, even though you are quickly shaking your head it isn’t enough to get him to leave you be. Simon is getting up from his seat when the drunkard’s hand inches down onto your lower back, thumb rubbing up and down, catching you by surprise to make you gasp. You have no time to react before Simon is seeing red and he moves in hastily with his fist clenched and ready to connect with the guy’s mouth.

“Get your fuckin’ hand off ‘er,” his angry voice bellows as he rips the guy away from you and shoves him hard causing the idiot to stagger over his unsteady feet. Emotions are high so once he’s got him off you fists start flying from both: one for touching you and the other for having his play messed with. Too bad for the drunk that Simon isn’t one to be messed with; his fist wallops him square in the jaw so that the man falls to the ground.

But it isn’t finished, not until this bastard learns his lesson. Simon makes his way on top of him and waylays into the man with heavy punches that make repeated contact with his face, not giving the guy a second to get any hits in himself.

“Ya like putin’ your hands on things?” Simon growls menacingly through the tussle, “just fuckin’ try gettin’ ‘em on me. Fuckin’ can’t, can ya?”

The altercation is drawing stares from the other patrons, though no one is really keen on getting in the middle of things. You can’t blame them; Simon is a huge man with enough weight to throw around and that makes him a formidable opponent to anyone outside of a heavyweight boxer. Who is going to willingly step in front of a freight train barreling down the tracks?

“Simon, fucking stop,” you beg as the corner of your eye clocks movement from the bartender bolting up towards the front of the bar to where the bouncer stands just outside the door. “You made your point. We’re going to get kicked out. Fucking let him go.”

Simon doesn’t care; another man has put his hand on you and he can’t let that go. He won’t. You are his, HIS, and inebriated or not he will not stand for anyone trying to move in on his territory. This idiot is gonna learn real fucking quick to fear his masked face and think twice whenever he comes in here again.

“Goddammit Simon,” you sigh under your breath angrily as you know what’s coming next - two people are fast approaching. The bartender is back with the bouncer in tow who immediately jumps into ripping the drunkard out from Simon’s grasp and standing them both back to their feet, but separated.

“You’re outta here, buddy,” the bouncer says to a panting Simon and points a stern finger to the exit with a look in his eyes that says not to take this further or else. “Leave, now.”

You wrap your hand around Simon’s wide bicep and tug, but he has some parting words for the prick with the bloody nose still standing close by. “Best learn your fuckin’ lesson not to touch what ain’t yours. Next time ya might not be so fuckin’ lucky,” he growls menacingly before flexing in your grip, ripping his arm away.

"Come on," he barks at you as he storms out while you quickly pay the remaining tab, offer an embarassed apology, and rush after him.

By the time you get outside Simon is leaning against your car with a cigarette already pressed between his pursed lips as he irately sucks the stick down fast as he can, billowing smoke out like a chimney. His shoulders are tense, his free hand clenching and unclenching itself at his side. You storm over to him, the heat in your cheeks making your face burn as your heartbeat pounds heavy and fast in your chest.

“What the fuck was that?” you ask, venom in your tone.

He avoids your question, his eyes pointed at the ground. “Get in the car,” he says sternly through another large cloud of smoke.

You know he isn’t drunk, he’s barely finished two glasses of bourbon all night, so you want to know why the hell he flew off the handle like that. You know that Simon can be a bit jealous, a bit possessive, evident most when you two go out together. If he catches a lingering eye there will always be a stern glare or at most a bark to back off, but this is the farthest he has ever taken things and you aren’t sure what to feel about it all, so anger settles in first.

Shaking your head, you stand your ground. “Not until you tell me what the fuck is wrong with you,” you demand, but he just silently opens the driver side door as he flicks the butt of his cig to the ground. “You realize they may never allow us back in, right?”

“Get. In.” he orders with authority as he sits down. “Now.”

This isn’t getting anywhere and you’re done causing a scene in public. Gritting your teeth behind your closed lips you march over to the passenger side of the car and fling open the door to scramble inside, slamming it shut before he does the same, starts the car, and peels out to head back to your shared flat. You cross your arms over your chest and huff, agitated that the night has to end this way when moments before everything was going fine.

“Whatever,” you spit back harshly.

Keeping his eyes fixated on the road ahead, uncomfortably shifting in his seat a few times, Simon drives on in complete silence. His grip on the steering wheel is turning his knuckles white from the pressure and yet he won’t let up. Fine, if he wants to stay quiet that’s his prerogative. Too bad for him you aren’t done speaking your peace yet.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you say, breaking the heavy stillness that permeates the car, “you’re always getting jealous of shit that I can’t help, but this time you’ve gone to far; Christ, you’ve been gone for too long to ruin our time together like this. What are you, twelve? The guy had no chance in hell of getting any farther than that, but you had to go and blow it all out of proportion. I could have just told the bartender and gotten him thrown out or something and we could have gone back to enjoying our night, but no.”

You continue your tirade as Simon turns the car down a deserted road and you notice something is off. This isn’t the usual route you take back to your place; you think it a little odd, but you are too angry to care and so pay that small detail little mind. “You and your goddamn jealousy are really turning me off lately. Get it together, Si. What are you so worried about, hmm? You think he's just gonna steal me away just like that without even trying?”

Simon still isn’t saying anything and that only makes you more agitated. The least he could do is apologize and promise to make it up to you for ruining the night. Spitting a few more heated things under your breath as you turn your head away, you don’t notice that the car is suddenly being pulled over to the side of the road until he brings it to a full stop in the grass off the shoulder, putting it in park and turning it off.

The spot is shadowed by a group of trees that block the nearest streetlight just a few feet away. You can just barely make out the outline of his body in the dimness, though you can clearly hear the movement of him adjusting his seat, slamming it back until it latches, followed by his hand reaching around near your side until he latches onto your wrist.

“Ya think I'm worried about some bastard tryin’ to take ya from me?” he asks, speaking for the first time since he told you to get in the car.

“What’re you…?” you ask back in confusion as he pulls and keeps pulling at your arm until you are forced to move closer, your hips within reach so that he can take hold and forcibly guide your body directly over top of his lap, knees digging into the seat cushion until you are straddled over his crotch. The steering wheel bites into your lower back as you fit yourself into the tight space between Simon’s hulking form and the dashboard panel.

Without a single word, he pushes your hips down hard to press your pussy flush against him, your legs being forced to spread wide from his stocky thighs pushing them apart as your skirt rides up to your waist. He then starts to grind roughly against you with rocking movements, hips rolling into you again and again. The hot air of his mouth can be felt on your lips as it filters through the fabric of his mask, your faces so close together that only that thin piece of cloth keeps your mouths from meeting.

Over and over he pushes himself up against the crotch of your panties unhindered by the opening, his cock bulging and straining against your sex the longer he ruts into you with just a few measly layers of fabric between your bodies. His cock is hard and unyielding as it rubs into your petals trying to push through and up into your entrance.

Your panties are bunched in your slit, slowly dampening the longer he grinds into you until the fabric has been soaked through and gathering on his jeans. The adrenaline coursing its way through your veins heightens all of your senses so that every hard touch of his hands, every nuzzle of that engorged appendage between your thighs, every trace of his fingers over your bare skin feels like electricity and you can hardly contain yourself. The anger that was festering now alters course as he forces you to ride him by guiding your hips down to get just a little more friction; now it is replaced by a much stronger emotion: desire.

“Do ya not understand, luv? Guess I’m gonna need ta be more direct,” he says, the cold spot growing on his denim now being felt against the skin of his inner thigh. “First, take off the mask.”

With unsteady fingers you search for the edge of his balaclava and draw it up over his mouth, his nose, over his forehead, and finally off his head entirely so that his face is revealed to you. His hands leave your hips, one clasping around your chin to wrench your head out of the way while the other paws heavily at your breast as he leans his face in towards your neck.

“Now I’m forced to make sure my pretty girl knows who the fuck she belongs to,” he groans, low and guttural before his mouth is on you.

Sharp teeth are dragged down the length of all that delicate skin on your throat, bursting capillaries to leave his mark before his mouth latches on to the side just below your ear and you feel the sting as his teeth dig in. The pressure is so hard from the suction of his lips you can almost feel the skin bubble up into his mouth; there is no question that there will be a big, angry, purple blotch by tomorrow if he keeps at it. And he doesn’t seem like he is going to let up anytime soon, not until his signature takes.

Stinging and pressure, mixed with Simon’s warm, sticky breath moistening your skin from his lips, and your sanity is slowly fading. You want to stay mad at him, to make him pay for the way he acted, but the longer he works your body the harder it is becoming.

“What if I’m still too angry to do anything with you?” you question.

Even you don't believe that lie, but still you aren't going to give in without a little pushback.

His movements don’t even slow for a second. “I don’t fuckin’ care,” he says in a breathy whisper, punctuating each word for emphasis.

Simon groans into your skin so that it vibrates in his mouth, his hand around your breast kneading it more aggressively as he can’t get enough purchase through your clothes. He needs these damned things gone and quick, his body is burning to touch all that soft flesh. Fabric strains and seams pop as he grabs your shirt in his hands and pulls, ripping the skimpy thing right down the middle and leaving the top and your bra in tatters just to pull your tits out of the opening the tear has created.

“Fuck this, need ta feel these,” he breathes as his face dives back into your neck.

Tits palmed in his gigantic hands, his fingers toy with the nipples ceaselessly until you can feel a pulsing deep in your clit from the stimulation. A pathetic whimper escapes your lips that you can’t swallow down and you swear his mouth is forming into a smile against your skin.

Finally he emerges from your throat, lips swollen and red from the constant pressure against your neck. The warmth of his breath makes your neck tingle where his saliva has dampened it. “Let me make this crystal fuckin’ clear. You’re mine,” he breathes, his low, gruff voice sending shivers down your spine. “Mine: with, taken, spoken for. I don’t give a fuck how far ya were gonna let it get with that bloody bastard, you’re mine. And no one, no one, touches what’s mine, understand?”

There is no fight left in you to deny him of anything, not the way he has your mind already in a disorienting haze. You nod your head in submission, even though you can hardly remember what he just asked.

“I’m the only fuckin’ guy for ya,” he groans with a malicious smirk, “the only one that can have ya. And ya want me too, don’tcha sweetheart? Ya know I’m gonna be tha only one to always protect ya, to look after ya…”

Reaching his hand between your bodies, he shifts his hips under you so that he can undo his belt buckle, then the button on his jeans, and finally pull down the zipper. Sticking his hand inside the shadowed recesses of his boxers, he pulls out and releases that thick, veiny appendage that has been steadily engorging from the moment he got in the car. It throbs and jerks in his hand as he pulls up his shirt over his chest and angles his cock up towards his stomach.

“..and if I have my way tonight I’m gonna be the one watchin’ my DNA leak outta ya just ta prove that you belong to me and only me,” he says, breath hitching from the sensitivity as his hand moves over the tip.

He pulls your hips forward so that you are positioned over top of it and you can feel his cold piercing brush against your clit as he forces you to grind on him over your panties. That fucking thing is always a surprise, the Prince Albert he’s had since before he even joined the military, though it is always a welcome one. He’s teasing you, tempting you, forcing you to fall apart without giving you anything more than a raw humping and it’s working like a charm. Up and down his cock strokes through your clothed petals, rendering you a writhing mess.

“I’m not playin’ anymore when it comes to you,” he says firmly. “I know what I got and I ain’t sharin’. You’re the only one I want and I won’t have some bastard try to take ya away.”

Aggressively, calloused fingers divide through the strands of your hair at the back of your head so that his grip is securely woven into you. He holds your head in place as he locks his auburn gaze onto your eyes, mouth inching ever nearer, but stopping just shy of your begging lips.

“Next guy that touches I’m gonna fuckin’ kill,” he breathes as his mouth connects with yours mercilessly, stealing the air from your lungs as he captures your lips to claim that mouth as his property.

Minutes pass with him overwhelming your senses: his thick cock slipping between your legs, his lips locked to yours in that fight of back and forth, his fingertips digging into the bulk of your hips to hold you down onto him. It’s almost too much and the longer it goes on the worse of a mess you become.

The tears are pooling at the rims of your eyes, your body aching and overwhelmingly sensitive that all you want to do is put his cock in, have your pussy swallow him up and fill you full so that you can finally come and end the torment, but he doesn’t stop. No, he wants you to cry for it, plead for it, be so incredibly desperate for it that you’ll let him do as he pleases without question.

He wants to ruin you for anyone else, keep you so addicted to him that you won’t think of even looking at another. Just as addicted as he is to you.

Your limbs are vibrating, tingling and near numb as he forces you to roll your hips over his piercing persistently to catch it on your clit until you can’t see straight. You press your hands into his bulky abdominals, using his torso as leverage to keep you steady. A bit of precum dribbles out of his tip and down the shaft, into the hair trailing down his pubic bone to his cock.

He switches up the rhythm a few times to disrupt the constant repetitive pressure that is needed for you to climax so that you are whimpering in distress, practically begging him with incoherent sounds to stop teasing and just let you come already. It’s too much, he feels too good; you need to come after all this buildup.

“P-please, p-pleas-se,” you stammer.

Grabbing your chin, Simon forces your face pointed towards his. “Look at me,” he demands and you lock eyes as best you can through your shimmering vision. “Keep those pretty eyes on me. I want ya to show me how well ya suck it and maybe if ya fuckin’ do it right I'll put it in ya and not make ya wait till we get home.”

His efforts have worked like a charm so that you don’t even balk as you push yourself off of his lap and move onto the seat beside him, moving onto your side and lowering your head until your lips are near the tip of his cock. Looking up, you hold his gaze through your thick eyelashes as you grab the base with your hand and wrap your mouth around it, pulling in the tip with your tongue.

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s it,” he sighs, “show me how good ya suck it. But keep them pretty eyes on me.”

There is condensation gathering steadily on the inside glass of the car to fog the windows as you take him all in until you reach your hand, suctioning your lips around the shaft as the saltiness hits your taste buds before drawing your head back up. The veins that run the length of his cock are pulsing with his rapid heartbeat and they throb against your tongue as you come back down as far as you can. You repeat the same movement over and over again, breathing through your nose to help keep your throat from spasming.

Simon looks down at you, keeping up that eye contact as you choke, your mouth so full of him that you can’t breathe. You never let your gaze falter, no matter how hard he hits your gag reflex. He’s so big there isn’t enough space in that orifice to fit him all in, though you try. Small droplets stream down from the corners of your eyes to match the dribbles of saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth and he gently wipes some of them away with his thumb as his hand rests on your cheek. Even with everything working against you, you are still sucking on him with everything that you have and goddamn is he bewitched by the way you look gagging on his dick.

“Such a pretty mouth, baby,” he praises, making your stomach flip-flop excitedly.

The more you suck, the more his hips begin to rock until he is thrusting his cock smoothly into your lips, fucking your mouth so that you don’t need to bob your head anymore. He thrusts into your throat repeatedly and soon they become more desperate the more that familiar warmth gathers itself in his belly, threatening to tear through him without warning. It’s after a few more minutes of this that he abruptly stops you by shoving your shoulders back, pulling your lips off from around his cock.

There’s only one place he wants to come and that isn’t your mouth.

You are being lifted up like he owns you and moved back over his lap while his hand adjusts his cock between your thighs. He holds onto the base as he takes the crotch of your panties with his opposite hand and wrenches them to one side so they are out of his way. He aligns himself and the tip of him pokes against your entrance that is dripping and ready.

“I only want what’s best for ya, sweetheart. Wanna keep ya from all them bastards that won’t treat ya right. I know ya better than anyone, so you’re not gonna fuckin’ question how controllin’ I am movin’ forward, are ya?”

Agonizingly slow his cock breaks through the threshold of your pussy with a shared involuntary gasp. You mewl loudly, choking at how quickly it stretches you out and he’s barely even in at all. Simon stops at the edge of his hand so that the tip rests just inside that moist barrier. “Answer,” he pushes for you to respond to him.

You nod your head vigorously, unable to speak.

He grins devilishly through heavy breaths that make his broad chest rise and fall at a rapidly growing pace. “That’s right; you’re not. Good girl. Don’t worry, it won’t be all bad. Just let me handle things and I’ll give ya everything you could ever fuckin’ want; what’s mine is gonna be yours. And what’s yours tonight…is me.”

With that he slips in the rest of his cock as he pushes you down hard onto him, filling your tight cunt until he gets to the base and there is nothing he left he can give. You cry out as your back hits into the steering wheel, causing the horn to beep briefly before Simon pulls you against him.

You are so fucking warm, so soft and your body so pliable under his hard grip that is around your ass. “Mine, only mine,” he repeats the assertion with more desperation in his tone as the squeezing from the walls of your pussy around his rock hard cock makes him so delirious it’s as if he is losing his goddamn mind.

Grunting through those first few bits of movement, he wastes no time in making your body bob up and down on him. He lifts you up only to slam you back down harder and harder each time, shoving his cock as far up into you as possible. But it isn’t enough; he needs more. He craves to fuck you harder.

Holding your waist he leans you both back to change the angle of his hips so he can pound into you as he has you secured to his chest. The sloppy sounds of your overly wet cunt being penetrated roughly grow louder, keeping time with his growing desperation. There are no more thoughts left inside his head except one and that is to rut into you until he comes.

You moan as Simon’s cock rubs into that sensitive bundle of nerves within you time and again. How you’ve lasted this long is a miracle, but that is quickly coming to an end as your orgasm cannot be held off any longer. The warmth in your stomach has gathered to its peak and all you can do is whimper in short bursts to let him know that you are about to fall over the edge.

His pace is relentless as he pumps with those powerful thrusts that bury him deep with, unyielding as everything comes to a head and with a shudder your orgasm rockets through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp. God, it doesn’t stop, second after second it just keeps building stronger and stronger. Simon does not let up and soon you are whining from the over-stimulation.

Thrusting through your release he finally feels that chord that has been tensing in his core snap tight and he is spilling over the edge with howl, his hands crushing your hips until they are stinging from the pressure of his strength.

His face juts forward to yours so that he can capture your mouth, kissing you through the pain until he has rode out his orgasm and can let go of your body. Minutes lengthen so that time seems to slow down, but soon his pace eases until he comes to a stop.

“My good girl, my pretty thing,” he pants through the euphoria coursing through his veins. “Gotta get ya home. Wanna make sure your a complete fuckin’ mess until there isn’t a doubt in your mind that I’m the only one for you.”

[seeingivy]

the beach

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

an: 14k. buckle in. song mentioned is sparks by coldplay!

previous part linked here

--

to sukuna’s mother

eren: we’ll be there at five am. 

lana: OH ITS HAPPENING 

sukuna: did she slap you? 

lana: DID SHE KISS YOU? 

eren: she cried a bunch while watching it. and she hasn’t said much…she’s just been staring out the window of the airplane blankly

lana: oh that’s not-

sukuna: AHAHAHAHAH

lana: well, anyways. we’ll wake up for you.

sukuna: she’ll be fast asleep. i will wake up for you. 

eren liked a message 

The second Eren closes his phone, he looks to his left to find your pink, teary eyes looking at him and immediately pales. Your eyes are positively red at this point, an itchiness settling in his throat at the sight of it. 

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” he asks. 

“No.” you murmur. 

Eren pauses. 

“Did you want to say something?” he asks. 

He watches you pause, almost like you’re mulling over the question. He supposes that it was quite stupid for him to ask, because if it were him in your spot, he probably would have talked your ear off for every little detail. 

“You can ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth, I promise.” Eren adds. 

You give him a halfhearted nod, before looking back out at the window, at the little lights glittering amidst the clouds beneath. It’s like being asked to pick up each grain of sand on a vast, mile long beach. Almost impossible. 

“I don’t even know where to start, Eren.” you murmur. 

Eren gives you an understanding nod before yanking out his laptop before setting it flat in your lap. You swallow hard, knowing fully where he thinks you should begin. With that USB that’s been burning in your pocket, ever since he handed it back to you at the house. 

Of Eren’s interview, on the Life in Love podcast. 

Eren leans into your space, handing you one of the earphones that you settle into your ear, as you press the little play button at the bottom of the screen. The video starts - Eren and Lana sitting with the chunky headphones on their ears - with the interviewer sitting in between them. 

“We’ll start with you, Eren. Have you ever been in love?” the interviewer asks. 

You watch as Eren’s face splits into a bright smile, surely one that was echoed on your face too the day after the beach, as you feel a twinge in your chest. That whenever you saw clips of the interview, they filled you with such intense, deep rooted hatred for Eren that all you saw was red. 

And that he didn’t even deserve one fraction of it. 

“Yes. Of course, I have.” he responds. 

“The person that you’re most associated with, Eren, is your co-star, Y/N L/N, from Attack on Titan. Can you comment on that, on what it’s like to have your first love be something so public?” the interviewer asks. 

Eren sighs, before he leans back in his chair. 

“First love is a funny way to describe it, when it almost feels like it’s more than that? I know a lot of people like to assume things and we’ve never said it publicly, but we did date. Obviously. She’s basically been scored on my heart since the second I met her in my chemistry read, but we ended up officially dating around season three of Attack on Titan. But it’s almost like that concept or notion is too trivial to explain what I even felt for her. She was never just my girlfriend or just my best friend.” 

“Was it one of those…acting became too real situations?” the interviewer asks. 

“I guess that you could say that. We had originally started, I guess, thinking that way when we started doing our character work. It was a whole thing we did together, while we were filming Attack on Titan. Method acting. The reason Y/N and I act so well in Attack on Titan, and win awards from it, is because we had started doing it outside of it too.” Eren responds. 

“Can you elaborate?” the interviewer asks. 

“We had started by kind of putting ourselves in that headspace, off of the set, in order to feel more connected to our characters, their relationship together. I think one of the things about Attack on Titan that makes it so compelling is the fact that my co-stars and myself, not to pat myself on the back, put time and effort into translating our characters into something that is real for us.” Eren states. 

“It’s also something that you kind of just possess as an actor with certain co-stars. Some movies, like rom-coms or drama pieces, just function and work so well because you have that chemistry with the person whose on the other side. And make no mistake, Eren and Y/N aren’t short of any chemistry themselves.” Lana responds. 

“What it is about her that struck you really differently, Eren? Clearly the two of you have a special relationship that you haven’t really been able to replicate else place, certainly not with Hyla Clarkson, for example? I mean, if you’re comfortable, you can share what you told me before you we started recording.” the interviewer states. 

A searing, red hot anger flares through you, at how friendly, how approachable the interviewer seems. The fact that they’re purposely trying to make him feel safe, just to later edit the words as they see fit. 

“Make no mistake, what I have with Hyla Clarkson is like that thing thing that Y/N had with Ricky James. We all have managers, we all get asked to do things that we don’t exactly want to do. I guess that’s the part that people don’t really understand, when they find out about PR relationships. That it seems so morally wrong. But we’re all actors, we’re all part of the entertainment industry - it’s almost like it’s part of the job to do these types of thing. And at that point, Y/N and I weren’t dating and I have strict managers, so…” Eren states. 

“Are you saying that your relationship with Hyla Clarkson wasn’t real?” the interviewer asks. 

“The first time she kissed him he threw up on the other side of a yacht. Do you think his relationship with her is real?” Lana asks, earning a laugh from the two of them. 

“It’s kind of hard to wrap your head around. But we do these things, pretend a little. It’s basically like we’re acting all the time. None of that chemistry, or that character is there. I don’t even think I could ever really like her like that. And it’s not like the relationship I have with Y/N. You asked me why she was different than everyone else? It’s easy. I’ve never met anyone else like her. I’ve never had a relationship like the one I’ve had with anyone else.” 

Eren sighs, nervously knitting his fingers togther, before he talks again. 

“I grew up with this backdrop, of this really fractured relationship with my brother. I was always told as a kid that my family, that the people around me who were real, were the things that were going to keep me tethered to my real life. That if I choose to do this, that I’ll be in the public eye, that people will say things, and it’ll be on me to build trust. To choose the right people.” Eren starts. 

“It was already so jarring to feel like I couldn’t trust my own brother, that my only family didn’t want me. And Y/N…she just kind of walked into my life and there was something so earnest about her. She felt like family basically the second, or third time I had talked to her. She was just something so real. And I’m not sure if it’s because she had a normal childhood, if she came into this on her own or what, but she always got to give me that dose of reality, of realness that I had always craved.” he continues. 

“She was really gentle with me. Always quick to wipe my tears away, to give me support, that felt more full and honest than anyone else. Some part of her made me feel like a real person. I’d always be in my own head, convincing myself that I was made up sometimes, that my feelings were manufactured, that I was just putting on a front for everyone, but I never really felt that way with her. She’s always seen past that, always seen me, in our relationship. Even when we were just friends.” Eren finishes. 

“And that’s just a quality that she naturally possesses. The first time she met me, she basically had no reason to have any trust, to have any good conviction of me. But by the end of the third or fourth day I knew her, I basically felt like the girl had seen right through me. All the way down to my core. And of course, all she saw was good. That’s how she is. I think for people like Eren and I, who naturally think so rotten of ourselves, someone like Y/N, whose so determined in how she shows her love, you almost….start to love yourself too. It’s not something that’s isolated to her, but it’s definitely something rare. People like Y/N and like Marco Bodt…that type of thing is just a part of them.” Lana states. 

“That’s wonderful to hear, especially from you. Y/N has an interesting track record with her own friends, like Historia and Jean and Mikasa that many people have pointed out before. That there’s a part of her that’s conniving, that she uses those around her to get to the top. Is that ever something you’ve noticed, Lana? Especially as someone who would be in competition with her, as a singer-songwriter yourself.” 

“Absolutely not. I think she has drive and ambition and I think that people confuse that with being conniving or competitive. Her existence means that people are going to put her against me or Historia, but that’s just because we’re women. That has nothing to do with something that’s isolated to Y/N and more with people who are just shitty and can’t see two women succeed at once.” Lana states. 

“She’s very focused on her craft - any role, any song she writes - they’re so deeply personal and authentic. That’s why she is so successful, why people covet after her so bad. I don’t consider myself to be in competition with her at all. And if I actually thought I was, I don’t think I would even last a day.” Lana continues.

“That’s something I’ve always admired about her. You’re in competition - and people are putting you there, against people you love - and you have that thing you really want, you’ll do anything to get it. There’s a mentality that people get about it. There’s only one person who ends up on a pedestal and if you have to kick people off to get there, that’s what it is. But she never, ever, put her own friends at stake in ways that she could to do that. I mean all of those rumors about Historia were coming out and she wrote dorothea of all songs, about how important their relationship is always going to be her.” Eren states. 

“You have to hold onto those type of people around you, in this type of industry, when you find them.” Lana states. 

“Good thing for me, then. I never intend to let go.” Eren adds. 

The interviewer smiles, turning to the camera, before talking again. 

“Eren’s prepared a song for us, his first in a while, that he’s going to perform for us live. What’s the song called, Eren?” 

“Sparks.” 

“Any hints to what it’s about?” 

“It’s quite obvious.” Eren responds. 

Lana starts strumming on the guitar, as Eren sings and those godawful tears of yours return. You loop your arm through Eren’s free one on your side, entirely jarred by how calm Eren is watching the interview. At how he’s not a mess, a ruin, like you are at seeing this. 

My heart is yours It's you that I hold on to Yeah, that's what I do

And I know, I was wrong But I won't let you down Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, I will, yes, I will

Yeah, I saw sparks Yeah, I saw sparks And I saw sparks

The video ends, as you wipe the wetness away on your cheeks and look over at Eren on your side. You lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, unable to look at his piercing green eyes, as he returns the favor and leans his head on top of yours. You try to figure out how to broach it - this big mess of questions in your head - but it seems that Eren saves you from figuring that out and talks first. 

“You said the other day on set you wanted to know why I want on that podcast and said what I did. You wanted to know if I still cared about you…do you know now?” Eren asks, his words so slow and careful. 

“Is it idiot day?” you ask. 

“Huh?” 

“Is it idiot day? Do you really think I’m still sitting here being mad at you? You….” 

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, brushing the softness on his cheek. 

“I have a hundred things I have to say to you. I-I don’t want to speak wrong. Can you give me a second?” you ask. 

Eren smiles, lifting his hand to place it over where yours is on his cheek. 

“I made you wait like…three years. I think I can wait a second for you, Margaret.” Eren whispers. 

You frown, nodding as Eren places his hand on your head and leans it back onto his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Bruce.” you murmur back. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.” Eren repsonds. 

--

It’s only when the two of you are walking up the cobblestone path, barely illuminated by the light of the rising sun, that you realize that Eren’s brought you back to the same beach house that the two of you had visited before. 

In the past twenty four hours (the ones you’ve been awake for anyways), the only thing that seems to be replaying in your mind is that night. Because every action of Eren’s that you’ve doubted seems painfully obvious now. The song he wrote, the way he insisted that the two of you were real people, only together. 

That Eren gave you so many signs. And that you didn’t know how to read them. 

The salty air stings at your nose as Eren pulls up the mat, pocketing the key placed under it, and giving you a smile. 

“Isn’t that really dangerous? To keep a key under their mat when they live so…out in the open?” you ask. 

“Sukuna put it there for me. And no one knows they live here. This is technically Lana’s brother’s house, so they never really suspected it.” Eren offers, shoving the key into the lock as he twists the knob open. 

You and Eren quietly set your bags by the door, making it a point to tip toe in the early hours of the morning only to pad into the main room to find Lana standing near the counter, cracking eggs into the bowl. 

“Oh my god! Don’t tell me that Lana No Middle Name Price is awake at a normal hour of the day?” Eren deadpans, giving her a jeering smile as she all but drops her little spatula and runs over to hug him. 

You watch the two of them, the way Eren seems more calm in his demeanour now, as the two of them lean against the counter and talk. His shoulders are more relaxed, the softest of smiles on his face while Lana looks unlike you’ve ever seen her. 

Her hair is extremely short, barely secured into a ponytail at the back of her neck with a pink ribbon. But even more than that, it’s something about her smile, the way her eyes are glimmering that it fills that gaping hole that’s been burning in your chest with the smallest warmth as you watch the two of them. 

“Sukuna’s going to get mad when you burn those cookies.” Eren states. 

“I’m not going to burn the cookies, Eren. That was one time.” she responds. 

“You almost fed your son a carcinogen. And burned the house down. Also, we all inhaled a lot of smoke so you probably ruined our lungs for all we know-” 

Lana lightly smacks him straight across the face, as he laughs and immediately swats her hands off. The two of them continue that way - pushing and shoving each other like siblings - until Lana pushes Eren a little bit too hard and he backs up into you. 

Eren immediately looks back, his hands on your shoulders as he stables your wobble, and you shoot him a grateful smile. It’s only then that Lana notices you standing there, at the front of her little kitchen, and you shoot her a smile. 

Lana’s quick to run to your side and give you a hug - the pressure on your body so tight that you can feel her squeezing that little burden of hurt that’s been sitting in your chest. Lana makes no move to let go, as you quickly deflate into her arms and start sniffling into her shoulder, immediate warm tears sparking in your eyes as her hands rub circles into your back. 

“We’ll talk, Tinky Winky. About all of it, okay?” she whispers. 

You give her a nod, as you wipe the tears from your eyes. You follow the two of them into the kitchen, as Lana continues to roll the little cookies into circular shapes. 

“Eren. Go away.” Lana states. 

“Wow. Is this how you repay me? After I take care of your son?” 

“He is your godson. You should be happy to take care of him. And they just left for their walk not that long ago, you can catch up.” Lana states. 

“Sukuna is a speedwalker. They’re probably long gone.” Eren whines. 

“Eren. Respectfully, get out of my house. Go sit on the beach and stare at the water like the little freak that you are and let me talk to Y/N in private.” Lana states. 

“I do not-!” 

“Yes, you do. Y/N, I swear to god, he sat out there everyday and we had to drag him back in like we were pulling an anchor out of the sea. Now get out.” Lana states. 

Eren sticks his tongue out, before shooting you a warm smile and padding out onto the sand. You stick your hand into the bowl, rolling the cookies into little circles with her as you give her a smile. 

“Cute ribbon.” you murmur. 

“I wore it for you. A Y/N classique.” Lana responds. 

You smile in response, as the two of you continue to roll the batter and decide what you want to talk about first. And just like Eren, she bites the bullet for you first. 

“Sukuna’s here. He’s just on a walk right now with Teddy.” 

You smile to yourself, the thought of it filling you with an immense amount of joy. 

“Do they do that often?” 

“Every day. Teddy’s quite the insomniac and wakes up extremely early. Sukuna lets me sleep in a little and takes him on a little walk along the beach. Says that they need their father son bonding time.” she muses. 

“I remember that about him. Theodore or Teddy, I mean. When Eren brought me here, in the dead of night, he was awake. With your brother, making cookies.” 

She smiles, setting the little tray in the oven, as she gestures for you to follow her onto the couch. 

“Theodore, huh? Eren did tell me he had quite the crush on you back then.” Lana states. 

“Huh?” 

“He doesn’t really go by Theodore. Eren and I call him Teddy and Sukuna calls him Theo, but…Theodore just feels a little bit too formal. He only uses it for really important people. Like you. And when he starts talking to Elsa on the TV screen.” 

“I’m glad I’m keeping such important company.” you respond. 

You laugh, hiking your knees to your chest as you decide to bite the bullet full on. 

“Lana….Ricky isn’t in his life, right?” you whisper. 

She gives you a nod, placing one of her hands on yours, as she gives you a warm smile. 

“No. Thankfully, he’s never even met Teddy. And he’s not going to.” 

“Does he know about him?” you ask. 

“Yeah. I had told him, a few weeks after it happened. When I started showing. And you know how he is…he wanted me to have an abortion and be done with it. But I…I couldn’t go through with it.” Lana states. 

She sighs, cracking her knuckles. 

“I know it seems weird. I really do hate Ricky, everything about him, but Teddy isn’t really…his in my mind. And-” 

“He’s your son. And Sukuna’s. I wasn’t even thinking that. And…and even if I was, you don’t need to explain yourself to me of all people.” you respond. 

Lana scoots closer to you on the couch, as she leans her head on your shoulder and you place yours on top of hers. 

“I kind of saw it as my way out for some time. LIke, I was so deep in with everything and all the people that we were working with. It would have never been acceptable to take a break, not unless I had to take one. And I’m not saying that I had him because I wanted to get away from work, but to me…it just kind of felt like a sign. I got to crank the brakes.” 

“I’m sure it was good for you, in ways that you might not even know about yet.” 

“I think he saved my life, Y/N. I was so deep in that shitty, self-absorbed bubble of the industry and how it is and he just…reminded me other things were more important. He took his first steps and he’s learning how to play the piano…his entire world is confined to what movie we’re going to play after lunch. Who's going to tuck him into bed at night. That’s how life should be. And that’s always how I wanted mine to look. Soft, calm.” 

You smile, squeezing one of her hands interlocked with yours. At the thought of Lana, wishing for this exact future when she was a kid, only to have it now. That she fought nail and tooh for it, but still got to have it. 

“I would have told you about Teddy. About everything. But I wanted to keep it as under wraps as I could and-” she starts. 

“You are entitled to share your secrets with whoever you want. You don’t owe anything to me.” you state. 

“I know. But just know, it’s not because I didn’t trust you. You mean the world to me, in more ways than you could ever possibly know.” Lana states. 

You shake your head dismissively, as she quickly brushes you off. 

“No, really. Eren and I…I know it can be really hard to understand why we did what we did. Why we kept so much but from you. But we grew up in this type of thing. It seems difficult to confront these things head on, when they’re basically what your whole lives have revolved around.” Lana states. 

“I get that. But…you guys seem fine doing it now? Especially with the documentary and all, I guess I just…wish I knew earlier. Could have helped you both to this point sooner. I feel shitty because you did it all on your own and you didn’t have to.” 

Lana smiles. 

“You know we only did that because of you, right? The documentary.” 

“You mean Eren.” 

“No. I mean Connie. Me. Sukuna, even. And you know how…private he is. But we did it because of you. You’ve always reminded us, in your own ways, not to take shit from people. And at this point, we don’t really have anything to lose. Only things to gain. Like you back in our life. Control over our lives again.” 

“You guys are building me up into this big thing I’m not. I hid out for two years because I was too scared to confront everything. I ignored all of you because it was easy for me to do. I’m far from this big..confrontational person you think I am. And I’m definitely not as good of a friend or supporter to you all like you think I am.” you murmur. 

“Or…you just think too little of yourself. You went through something big, traumatic even. So did we. It’s no shit that Eren was special to you, so of course the loss of him was going to be big. And you also had your fucking life’s work stolen from you, which is nothing small, Y/N.” 

“I guess.” 

“One of the biggest, most important things that Eren has taught me was having grace. Don’t ever tell him that because you already know how big his fucking head is. But…there’s a lot of patience that you have to have with yourself to get yourself out of that headspace. I lived there for years. And it is so not feasible for you, Y/N. At the end of the day, you’re still someone in our lives whose stood for the right things. And you still have that impact, even if you feel like that’s not what you’re doing right now. You don’t always have to be one thing to be the same person. Who you are, who you’ve always been, won’t ever change.” 

You swallow hard. 

“So you missed a few days? There’s another one tomorrow, Y/N. You lost a few years with Eren? That doesn’t matter because he’s still always going to be there for you.” Lana states. 

You give her a nod, embarrassed that she’s read so quickly through you when it comes to Eren, as you pinch a smile for her. 

 “Just like the moons and the suns, with the certainty of the tides, just like hope springing high, still you’ll rise.” Lana states. 

Eren’s words from the beach. 

“Maya Angelou. Eren’s told me that one before.” 

Lana smiles, rolling her eyes. 

“He’s cheesy. But it doesn’t make it any less true.” 

You wrap your arms around her, sighing into her shoulder, as she hugs you hard. 

“I’m really proud of you for owning it all. I hope that you get to drag Ricky’s name through the mud. For good this time.” you respond. 

“A girl can hope.” 

“And hank you, Lana.” 

She tilts her head in confusion. 

“You took care of Eren when I couldn’t. I won’t exactly be able to repay you for that.” you murmur. 

“Consider yourself repaid. You did the same for Sukuna before I knew him.” 

You scoff. 

“As if. Sukuna and I are nowhere near how you and Eren are.” 

She shakes her head dismissively, as she hops up on her feet and drags you by the arm to the hallway. The walls are littered in little frames, each little photo sweet little memories. 

There’s pictures of Lana, Sukuna, and Teddy on the beach and of Eren sitting at the piano with Teddy in his lap. Of Lana and Eren fast asleep on the couch and of Sukuna and Yuuji pulling each other’s cheeks as kids. And the last one in the row is of you and Sukuna, cheesing on the set of Ten Things I Hate About You. 

“It might not feel that way to you, but you’re his best friend. He’s told me that you were one of the first people - to meet him and treat him like a person. It’s no shit that everyone hated him when he was sixteen, but you were the one to extend your hand to him and be friends. Means a lot more to him than you think.” she murmurs. 

You give her a nod, as the two of you shuffle back into the kitchen and take the little tray of cookies out of the oven. You nicely plate them all onto the platter and turn around to wash your hands, as Sukuna, Teddy, and Eren pad back into the kitchen. 

“Ryomen Sukuna, if you track sand into my house again, I’m sending you right back out and you’re staying there for a few days.” Lana warns. 

You turn around to find Sukuna giving Lana an eye roll, as he leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. His arm is still secured around her as he faces the platter of cookies. 

“Lana Price. Did you bake something without setting the house on fire?” Sukuna asks. 

“Yes. I’m not incompetent, you know?” Lana responds, trying to shove him off. 

“Right. Making ready-made cookies is such a difficult task. Quite the feat if you ask me.” 

“It is! You have no idea.” she deadpans back, as Teddy runs up to hug her legs and she lifts him straight into her arms. 

Teddy reachs for the little ribbon in her hair immediately, twisting it in his little hands as he yanks it out of her hair. 

“Teddy, tell your dad he’s being very rude. And that I’m a very good cook.” Lana states. 

“Mommy. You almost made a car engine.” Teddy responds. 

“Buddy. It’s carcinogen. Car-sin-o-gen.” Eren repeats, annunciating every syllable. 

“Eren, quit teaching my kid bad words. You’re a horrible influence. And Y/N was watching me while I made them so…” Lana murmurs, pressing a kiss to Teddy’s cheek before setting him back on the floor and letting him run up in between Eren’s legs. 

Eren gives you a smile from your little vantage point near the sink, as he gestures for you to come closer to him. You follow and crouch down to where Eren - and Teddy - are standing as Teddy nervously peeks at you from behind Eren’s back. 

“Okay, bud. This is my pretty friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?” he asks. 

Teddy’s cheeks turn bright red, as he nervously toussles his hair, before extending his little hand to you. 

“My name is Theodore Price. My mommy calls me Teddy. And Eren. And my dad calls me Theo. And the mailman always calls me kid.” Teddy rambles. 

You fight the urge to laugh, at how cute he is, as you smile at him. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” you respond, shaking his little hand as you watch a little smile spread across his face. 

You look up to find Sukuna making eye contact with Lana, mouthing Theodore? as Lana shakes her head dimissively at him. You give Sukuna a smile, which he actually returns, before you focus back on Teddy. 

“I have a gift for you.” Teddy states. 

“For me? On your birthday?” you ask. 

“I didn’t buy it so it doesn’t actually count.” he responds. 

“Sound logic, my friend. What is it?” you ask. 

“You have to close your eyes and put your hands out.” 

You look up at Eren, giving him a disbelieving look, as he gestures for you to follow. You close your eyes and cup your hands out to the two of them, as you hear Eren laugh. 

“Okay. You can open them now.” Teddy states. 

You open your eyes to find a pink ribbon in your hand, specifically the one that Teddy just snagged from Lana’s hair, as you hear Sukuna and Eren laugh. You smile hard, twisting it in your hands. 

“Thank you, Teddy. That’s very kind of you.” you respond, giving him a smile. 

He returns the favor, his cheeks bright pink, as he runs up behind Sukuna’s legs and burrows his face into the fabric of his pants. You and Eren stand back up, as Eren leans into your space and whispers. 

“He still has a crush on you.” Eren states. 

“He’s a baby, Eren.” 

“You’re so rude. Babies aren’t capable of love?” 

“Well, you’re standing right here so that’s obviously not true.” you deadpan. 

“Haha. Now give it.” Eren states, holding his hand out to you. 

“Give you what?” 

“The ribbon, dingus.” Eren responds. 

“Actually, Eren. He gave it to me. Maybe if you were cuter, he’d give it to you.” 

“Okay, Megamind. Don’t get a big head now. I was just going to put it on for you.” Eren responds. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

You place the little pink ribbon in Eren’s hands, as he gestures for you to turn around. He’s quick to secure the ribbon into the little ponytail in your hair, giving your head a little pat when he’s finished. 

“So cute.” Eren says, sarcastically. 

“Shut up. I’m adorable.” you respond. 

Eren smiles. 

“Yes, you are.” he responds, zero hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

Sukuna gives Eren a nod, as the two of them switch spots, and he takes your side. You get to take Sukuna in full this time, at the little smile wrinkles near his eyes and the salty, beach smell that seems to emanate off of him. 

“Y/N L/N. Are you finally gracing us with your presence?” Sukuna asks. 

“Father Sukuna. I think I am.” you respond, placing your hands on your hips. 

Sukuna smiles, reaching forward to mess with your hair. 

“You and I are going to talk after breakfast. And that’s only because Lana will burn our house down if I leave her alone to it.” Sukuna states. 

“Deal.” you respond, smiling at him. 

--

You and Sukuna settle down onto the little patio, the waves of the ocean crashing against the sand in front of you. He sets the little plates in front of the two of you, giving you a smile, as you both lean back in your chairs. 

“Pumpkin pie?” you ask. 

“You want some?” Sukuna asks. 

“Sure.” 

And then Sukuna lifts the plate and immediately smashes the pie into your face. It’s cold and squishy, as you quickly smear it out of your eyes just to glare at him. 

“Eren! Bring Y/N a towel. And another slice of pie.” Sukuna states. 

Eren sticks his head out of the screen door, widened eyes at the state of you. 

“What happened?” Eren asks. 

“She fell into the pie. She’s always been such a clutz.” Sukuna states. 

“Into the pie? On the plate?” Eren asks. 

“Yes.” Sukuna responds. 

Eren gives the two of you a weird look, as he shuffles back into the house and returns with a towel. You wipe all of the filling off of your face before hitting Sukuna straight in the face with the towel and crossing your arms. 

“Is it asshole day, Sukuna?” 

“That’s rich coming from you. I’m the asshole?” Sukuna asks. 

“You just smashed a pie into my face.” 

“And you didn’t return my calls for two years.” Sukuna responds, glaring. 

You sigh, leaning back in the chair, as you look at him. 

“Make no mistake, Y/N. I’m not Eren and I’m not Mikasa. I’m not going to beat around the bush just for you.” Sukuna states. 

“Thanks, Sukuna. I can always count on you to support me.” you deadpan. 

Sukuna stops in his tracks, before swallowing hard. 

“Lana told me to be nice to you.” he states. 

“You don’t have to be. Whatever it is you’re feeling…I’m sure that I deserve it.” you respond. 

“Contrary to your belief, I don’t actually enjoy being rude. I actually hate it. But…there are things you have to know. You’re really fucking stupid sometimes, Y/N.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“You’re a changed man, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna shifts in his seat, as you quickly bite your words. 

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You really do seem different. Better.” you murmur. 

Sukuna smiles. 

“I am. Different. Better.” 

You lean forward, placing a hand on his forearm. 

“You’re a fucking dad, Sukuna.” 

“I know. Who would have thought?” he asks. 

“Me. I always knew you’d be great at this type of thing.” 

“Yeah right.” Sukuna responds, sarcastically. 

“No, really. You…you have that ability. The type that really good parents have. You always know what to give people, what they need to hear. You know that people don’t give things to me straight, so you always do it for them. And you’re the only person on my side - the only person who says that and means it.” you respond. 

Sukuna leans forward on his elbow. 

“I could have done better by you. I know that.” 

“Sukuna-” 

“The awards show. I could have stopped you. I…I figured that Historia and Jean were riling you up. That you were already far past a point of reason and I just…” 

“I would have cussed you out if you tried to go against me in that moment, Sukuna. Kicked you out of my house.” 

“I thought that much but…but still. I could have made you listen.” Sukuna responds. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I find lots of value in your words. But really, I wouldn’t have listened. And…and you were still there in the way that I needed you. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that the person who dragged me out of that dressing room that night was you.” you murmur. 

Sukuna sighs. 

“I fucking hate you for not talking to me, Y/N. I get not talking to anyone from Attack on Titan. To Levi, Hange, whatever. But I was never apart of that. I was your friend, Y/N. I was always on your side.” 

“I’m sorry.” you respond. 

“You don’t think I would have fought for your albums back with you? That I wouldn’t have wrung Eren’s neck out if he asked me to? That I wouldn’t have crawled into your shitty house and stayed there with you if you needed me to?” 

You swallow hard. 

“It’s embarrassing to be around people when I know I’m doing something wrong. But it’s infinitely more embarrassing when that person is you, Sukuna.” you respond. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean…you’re one of the best people I know. You’re always saying what’s on your mind, you’re exactly what I want to be. Honest. Earnest. A good friend. I know I can be shitty. It’s just really hard for me to do it in front of you.” you respond. 

“You think too much of me.” Sukuna states. 

“You think too little of yourself.” you respond. 

“Don’t quote my girl back to me, L/N.” Sukuna sneers, lightly shoving you. 

You smile. 

“Your girl, eh?” your respond, smirking at him as you watch a pink flush crawl up his neck. 

“Do you think you’re funny? We have a kid together.” Sukuna responds. 

“You have a crush on Lana.” you respond. 

“Okay?” 

“That’s so cute, Sukuna.” you respond, exaggerating each syllable as he rolls his eyes at you. 

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him as hard as you can as you feel the tears collect in your eyes. Sukuna pulls back the second he feels you sniffling, his eyes pinched in annoyance. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“I’m so happy for you, Sukuna.” you whisper. 

Sukuna deflates, pinching his lips shut. 

“You could have told me too, Sukuna. About all of it, everything that happened. When-when you were a kid. I would have listened to you. And I would never tell.” you whisper. 

“I almost did tell you. That night that we were in my trailer. When Historia released Lacy.” 

You gesture for him to continue. 

“I told you that…that hundreds, thousands of people loved me and I didn’t even know who I was looking at in the mirror. It was more humiliating for me than that. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was, how I let that happen to me-” 

You feel the tears immediately burn in your eyes. 

“-but it bothered me even more. Because I look just like Yuuji, Y/N. Yuuji means the fucking world to me, just like you do. Like Lana does. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him. And…and at that point I realized. That I didn’t even hold myself to that standard. That I didn’t see that happening to myself and think that I deserved better.” Sukuna states. 

“Sukuna. You deserve so much better. So much better.” you whisper. 

“I know that now. And I have it too, Y/N.” 

You and Sukuna turn your heads to look at Lana and Teddy through the window, the two of them showing Eren something in a book. The two of you smile at each other. 

“Luckily for me, Lana showed up right when I needed her. I can’t believe that I’ve been walking around her for years, on red carpets and at awards shows. She was right under my nose this entire time and I had no idea.”  

“There’s this legend. An invisible string of fate. That the person that you’re destined to be with, the two of you have a little string tied around your pinkies the second you’re born. And no matter how far you go, you’ll still have a pull on each other. End up together.” you respond. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m pretty sure the two of you have been making steps towards each other the entire time, Sukuna.” you respond. 

He smiles in response. 

“Me too.” Sukuna responds. 

You wipe the wetness from your cheek, as you lean back in the chair. 

“Okay, Sukuna. Give it to me straight.” 

“Give what? A slap?” Sukuna asks. 

“No. I know you. You’ve probably got a lot to say to me. So…just come right out and say it. I can take it.” 

Sukuna smiles, almost too sinisterly. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Positive? You can’t fight me on any of it.”

“Fine. Just tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath before talking, the tone in his voice so matter-of-fact that it catches you off guard. 

“You have no right to give Mikasa shit for picking another maid of honor. Even if Amy’s a bitch to you. Quit playing the victim with her on that one, becuase first and foremost, you will lose. And second of all, she’s getting married. You’re the one who needs to bite the bullet and make sure that she has a good day.” 

“Wait-” you start. 

“Why aren’t you writing any music anymore? Why are you accrediting all of your success to Danny and Sareen when you’re the one who wrote those songs?” 

“I’m not-” 

“Aren’t you though? And when are you going to stop punishing Eren for something that you did to him first.” 

“Sukuna.” 

“What are you mad at him for? That he didn’t tell you what he was going through? Isn’t that what you did to him first? Because yeah, you’d call him before all your shows and pretend like things were fine. And then Eren had to find out from a fucking interview that those two dickwads were starving you. That they were controlling you like you were one of their assets.”  

You sigh. 

“I’m not playing the victim with Mikasa.” 

“Aren’t you though? Because if it were me, if I had not talked to my best friend in two years despite the fact that she reached out multiple times, I’d think that I was in the wrong.” 

“I was struggling.” 

“And you don’t think she wasn’t? Did you know that she almost broke up with Jean in the years that you were gone?” 

You pale. 

“What?” 

“Did you ask her? Did you ask her how she was when you came back?” 

You swallow hard. 

“You don’t think that she needed you for that? For something as big as almost losing Jean when he’s always been by her side. You don’t think that she needed you for even small things even beyond that? Someone to talk to. Someone to support her?” 

“Are her and Jean okay?” 

“Yes. Eren was there. But Eren can’t exactly replace what you are for Mikasa. And god knows he has the emotional capabilities of a fucking teaspoon.” 

It seems that every time you’re at the depths of your regret, of your guilt, you find that there is always a way to sink down further. 

“Quiet now, aren’t you? Fight me about the music.” he states. 

“No.” 

“Because I’m right?” he asks. 

“So what if you are? I just don’t want to write anything anymore. It’s not that serious.” 

Sukuna leans forward, inches between your faces. 

“It’s not that serious, for any normal person. But it is that serious for you. Because you love to write music, Y/N. You scribble lyrics onto your scripts when you’re supposed to be reading them. You hum songs when you’re basically doing anything. And you’re not doing it now, because you’re still in that godforsaken hole you sank yourself into in your house.” 

“So what if I am, Sukuna? What if I am? Don’t you get that I’m fucking scared of this type of thing? That it is isn’t easy? I lost Eren. And then I lost my music. All of my friends. You don’t think that type of thing was fucking hard for me?” you respond, warm tears spilling out of your eyes. 

Sukuna leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing hard. 

“You were never one to back down from a fight. What kind of hold do you think those two idiots have over you at this point? Need I remind you, that they’re only famous, that they only have a claim to their names, because of you. Did you lose Eren? No. Because he’s literally peering through the fucking window right now because you’re crying. Did you lose your music? No, because he fought so hard to somehow get it back for you. And you didn’t lose your friends. We’re right in front of you.” 

You pull back, glaring at him. Because as annoying as he is, he always did point out the truth. You give Eren a smile through the window, gesturing to him that it’s okay, as he gives you a disbelieving look and walks away. 

“I’m mad at Eren for what he said to me.” you respond. 

“That’s valid. But have you ever considered that he might have been mad at you for what you said to him too? Or even worse, that you could have really hurt him?” 

“What did I say to him? Because he-” 

“You didn’t pick him.” 

“But, Sukuna. I had to do that. Sareen and Danny-” 

“So you get it. You get that what you did was because you had to. So why don’t you understand that what Eren said to you was because it was what he had to say too?” 

You sigh. 

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Y/N. You know I don’t say any of this to hurt you.  But you’re not twenty-one anymore. And neither is Eren. It’s time for you to face this head on. Both of you.” he states, the tone in voice so caring that it makes you falter. 

You sigh. 

“Did you know that Eren was struggling that bad?” 

“No. And I gave him tons of shit at the time for it. You’re not the only one with regrets.” he states. 

--

After a fresh shower, you pad back into the main room to find Eren in the kitchen, while Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy cuddle in the crouch. Eren gestures for you to join him at your side, as he pushes a little cutting board and the food towards your side. 

“Are you trusting me to cut the vegetables? Are you finally viewing me as your equal, Eren Jaeger?” you ask, feigning shock. 

“It’s a safety knife. That’s what Teddy uses when Lana teaches him how to cook.” Eren responds, smirking at you. 

You elbow him, accompanied with nice string of insults as you stand at Eren’s side. You look to the picture at the your side, of Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy dressed up nice in a little courthouse. 

“Hey. What’s this?” 

“Lana and Sukuna are married.” Eren states. 

“Excuse me. You said they were dating.” you state. 

“We said dating in the documentary, because they were dating at the time. But at their one year anniversary, they did a small little court wedding. The three of them got takeout sushi and came home like right after.” Eren states. 

You walk over to the picture, inspecting it in full this time. At Lana’s white slip dress, at their matching rings, and the little bouquet in Teddy’s hands. The three of them are smiling so brightly, Lana and Sukuna leaning their temples together, with their eyes closed and bright smiles. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?”

“How did that happen?” you ask, gesutring over to the three of them. 

Eren sets his knife down, lookng over at the picture as he places his hands on his hips. You can already tell from his stance that whatever he’s about to say is going to be bitingly sassy. 

“Okay. When two people love each other, they get in a be-” 

“Shut up, idiot. I mean, Lana and Sukuna.” 

Eren shoves you in the side, as the two of you avert your eyes to the three of them on the couch. 

“After that night, when I had said everything to you, I had immediately called Levi and Hange. Lana and I had been debating calling them and asking for help the second I ended up in the hospital, but that night was kind of the final straw for me.” Eren states. 

“Your injury should have been your final straw, Eren.” you respond, pinching your eyes at him. 

“At that point, I was ready to drag Scott Clarkson into the ground. From my standpoint, I didn’t really have anything to lose from suing them. And Connie and Lana, it didn’t take them much convincing to follow. But Levi basically wanted to stack all of our cards in our favor, that if we were going to say something, anyone else who has something to say would get to take that chance too.” Eren adds. 

“That’s where he came in.” you state, to which Eren gives you an affirmative nod. 

“Sukuna had told us almost everything about what happened to him, except for…you know.” 

The sexual assault. 

“Yeah.” 

“Lana was the first person that he told. And I don’t know what she told him, since that’s not something I understand having experienced but she obviously does, but…they both just kind of came to us one day. Told us that they wanted to own it.” Eren adds. 

“So, they just got close? From all that? Not that it’s not a thing that connects him, but he…he’s always so reserved.” you ask. 

“I think he just naturally gravitated towards her, that’s all. I think they have these deep, all encompassing emotions that they don’t share with other people. The feel things deeply, love really hard. It was just like an underlying thing…that they knew they would get along in that way. Like you and me.” 

“Like you and me?” 

“Y’know. We were close right off the bat. No awkward stage, no holding things back from each other. Well, in the beginning at least.” Eren states. 

You hum in response. 

“Sukuna met Teddy pretty early on. When Lana and Sukuna started dating, they were serious straight off the bat. He kind of just…fit in perfectly with them. Nothing really changed. Teddy just kind of called him dad in passing one day. No one really said much about it, but I did find Sukuna crying later.” 

You frown, clutching your hands on your chest. 

“I’m really happy for them, Eren. There’s no one who deserves it more than them.” 

You feel a brush past your shoulder to find Sukuna and Lana at your sides, the two of them tip toeing into the fridge and pulling a little box out. Eren hands you a little box of candles, as you pull out five little green ones. 

The four of you huddle over the cake, perfectly placing them and lighting them, as you walk over to where Teddy’s still sitting, fully engrossed into the screen. Sukuna turns to the three of you, quietly counting down, before you all burst out singing and Teddy turns around excitedly. 

You watch as Sukuna smashes a decent amount of frosting onto Teddy’s cheeks after he blows out the candles, as Lana quickly snaps a picture of the two of them with the cake. 

“Is that your thing now, Sukuna? You just smash dessert into people’s faces?” you ask. 

“Well, you deserved it. And I’ve been doing this since my first birthday with him.” Sukuna states. 

“Don’t tell me you smashed food in a grown woman’s face?” Lana asks, deadpanning. 

“It was pie. That hardly counts as food. And again, need I repeat, that she deserved it.” 

Lana comes over, securing her hands around your shoulders, as she presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“You’re rude. Our princess does no wrong.” she states, gesturing for Eren to join him at her side. 

Eren follows suit, gesturing for Lana to get in the picture, as he points the little camera at them, and you peer over his shoulder at the viewfinder. 

“Teddy. What did you wish for?” Eren asks. 

“Don’t say! Your wish won’t come true.” Lana whines. 

“Y/N!” Teddy states, giving you a bright smile. 

Sukuna laughs, reaching for his sides to tickle at him. 

“Sorry buddy. You already snoozed and lost on that one.” Sukuna responds. 

The three of them shuffle to the counter as Sukuna starts cutting the cake into little slices and placing them on the plates. After a decent amount of dessert and sweet pictures, Eren shuffles away with Teddy to set him to bed, as you shuffle into your own room and muse over what you’re going to say to Eren later. 

--

Eren makes his way down the following morning, to find the three of them mulling around in the kitchen. He makes it a point to shove Lana and smack Sukuna, before pressing a kiss on top of Teddy’s head and taking the seat next to them. 

“You’re not going on your walk?” Eren asks, looking up at Sukuna. 

“Someone already claimed the beach.” 

“Huh?” 

Sukuna points behind him, as Eren looks out the window to find you sitting there in the sand, on a little blanket. Your back is facing towards him, your hair slightly swaying in the light breeze of the beach outside. 

“What’s she doing?” Eren asks. 

“She wants to talk to you, Eren.” Lana states. 

Eren pales. 

“Out there?” Eren asks. 

The two of them nod as Eren feels knots twisting in his stomach, that whatever semblance of relationship that the two of you were building back together was going to come crashing down in a second. That the harsh, cruel justice that he was owed was finally going to be served to him. 

“Fuck. Okay. Do I look fine?” Eren asks, turning to the two of them. 

Sukuna and Teddy squint their eyes in confusion, as Lana gives him a big thumbs up and all but pushes him onto the patio. He turns around and gives her a pointed glare, which she only returns with a smile as he starts trudging towards you, feet digging into the sand. 

You notice Eren before he can creep up behind you, as you give him a smile and gesture for him to take the spot next to you. It’s decently overcast, a slight chill in the air as you pull your hoodie around you and watch the waves crash ahead. 

“Hey.” Eren says. 

Eren takes the spot at your side, hiking his knees to his chest, as your elbows brush against each other in the cold. 

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” you ask. 

“I beg your pardon?” Eren resopnds, eyes nearly bulging out of his head.  

You can barely contain your laughter, as Eren quickly catches on. His cheeks are positively pink as he starts grumbling under his breath about how mean you are and you choke out an apology. The two of you sit there in silence as the water pulls close to the shore, just to quickly retreat back into the big mass of water. 

You bite the bullet this time.

“The song that you wrote that day. The one that you sang to me on the beach.” you say. 

“Yeah?” Eren asks, almost too attentive as he hangs at the ends of your words. 

“That’s my first question. What did it mean?” you ask. 

Eren looks back out at the waves. 

“I thought that what we had ran it’s course when I wrote it. It was a few days before you got there. And by that point, I was already so down in it that all I was left with was the feeling of being grateful. That I did get to experience that love, with you, at some point. And you know. You’re the moon. I’m the ocean. It was a nice solace to think our love would last forever that way..” Eren responds. 

You nod in response. 

“That night. When- when you tried to kiss me. I told you I couldn’t because you were still with Hyla. Why didn’t you tell me then and there that you had broken up?” you ask. 

“I could have. But I wanted to know if you wanted me still, with such extreme urgency, that-that I kind of forgot that I was technically dating her in the first place. I said it before, but I never really considered that real, Y/N. She didn’t even warrant a mention in my mind. Or ever mean anything to me.” Eren responds. 

“Okay.” 

Eren pauses. You suppose your response was barely convincing and that he can most definitely tell. 

“I’m only telling you this part because Sukuna is going to tell you anyway and he’s been holding it over my head for weeks.” Eren states. 

“What?” 

“It’s embarrassing. Just- pretend like it’s nothing when Sukuna says it to you.” 

“Okay?” 

“The yacht. When-when Hyla kissed me.” 

“Oh. Vomitgate.” you respond, smiling at him. 

“Don’t call it that!” he whines. 

You laugh as you gesture for him to continue, his cheeks lightly dusted pink. 

“Hyla likes to wear a lot of lipgloss. And she..she always wears this red one. That smells like cherries.” he states. 

“Okay?”  

“I didn’t know that it tasted like cherries too. And when she kissed me, I-I could taste it.” Eren mumbles. 

“Congratulations? I’m glad it tasted good while you were kissing her.” 

“No! No, Y/N. You don’t get it. You….you taste like cherries when I kissed you. Or when you used to.” 

“Huh?” 

“The slushies. Your lips always tasted like cherries. So when she kissed me, I-I immediately thought of you. And…and then I realized it was her.” 

“And then you…projectile vomited?” you finish. 

“Okay, you promised you wouldn’t make fun.” 

You smile. Primarily because he’s so embarrassed that it’s cute. And that in the most evil way, the thought of him being so disgusted by kissing someone that isn’t you that it makes him vomit makes your heart warm in a special way. 

“I said no such thing, Eren.” 

The two of you sit there in silence for some time, as you muse over his words. The air only seems to get colder as time goes on, the clouds swirling in the sky above the two of you. 

“The things that you said to me, Eren. I-I know they weren’t true. But I want to know how you came up with them. Because I understand that it was something you had to say. But they just fell out of your mouth so easily. That you only wanted me for that and nothing more and-” 

“In no way were those words easy for me to say. Don’t even say that.” Eren states, the urgency in his tone so adamant that it makes you sweat. 

“How did you come up with it? Because it must have been in the back of your mind if-” 

“Y/N. I come from literally the shittiest, meanest place that you can imagine. I’ve told you before. The things that Zeke had said to me.” Eren states. 

“And?” 

Eren stops. His voice is softer this time, almost laced with a pinch of hurt. 

“When life gets harder, I have to get harder to match. If you show up and I can’t have you, the thought of it fills me with so much anger, so much hurt that it all comes out. On you. And that doesn’t make anything I said okay, but you being there. Having you so close to me and having to send you away. It had to be something cruel. You wouldn’t have gone otherwise.” 

“Well-” 

“Don’t even say that to me. Because I know for a fact that if I had told you any of this then, you would never leave. You wouldn’t listen to me because you’d want to stay with me.” 

“Is there something wrong with that? With me wanting to be there for you?” 

“Of course, not. It’s just that you being there with me required you to be there. With those shitty people. And if it comes to you or me, I’d pick you. Even if I had to do something shitty to make sure that you were far away.” 

You’re immediately reminded of the conversation that you had with Eren. Or more acutely, the fight that the two of you had. Of what Eren had said to you. 

But I couldn’t have you there. Because if it came down to it, when I had to pick between covering someone else or taking care of you, I’d pick you.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Of the implication that if Eren was faced with the choice - of you and Teddy or you and Connie - that he would pick you. 

Even if it was the wrong choice to make. 

“And Armin?” you ask. 

“That’s the thing about you two. You both came in so hot. I was expecting after the interview that the two of you were going to cuss me out, leave without even saying anything. But your instinct - both of yours - was to immediately believe it wasn’t true. Bittersweet, because you knew me well enough to know I’d never really say that but also shitty becuase then I had to bite back to make sure you left.” Eren states. 

You lift the little cover at your side and slide the little box into Eren’s hands. You see his eyes go wide immediately, as you hand him a polaroid camera, the exact specific brand that Erwin had gifted Armin all of those years ago. 

“I can make my amends with it. Even if it hurt my feelings. And hopefully that helps you make amends with Armin.” you state. 

“Where the fuck did you find this? I’ve been looking for this for a better part of the past year.” he states. 

“I found it this morning. And…I’ve eavedropped on one of your fights with Armin.” you state. 

“Nosy.” 

“Okay, I’ll just go return it.” you state. 

“No!” Eren states, quickly clutching his arms around the box as you laugh. 

Eren sighs. 

“Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” Eren responds. 

“I think I have an idea.” you respond. 

Eren smiles, albeit halfheartedly, as he looks down at the box. 

“My turn. Unless you had more?” he murmurs. 

“No. Go ahead.” 

“The awards show. What do you think about it now?” Eren asks. 

You sigh. 

“What you were saying, it seems much more obvious now. That it was Historia and Jean there. That they were riling me up. Historia, she was already mad at you for what I said, for going against what we had as kids, and for Jean. It was personal. He basically felt like you had betrayed him and told me that. I suppose now that if Mikasa was there, she wouldn’t have let me go as far as I did.” you respond. 

“Mikasa wanted to come. Danny and Sareen didn’t let her. They knew for a fact she wouldn’t let you. She’d want to be there for you in the way you needed. Probably put my face on a dart board and talk shit about me.” Eren muses. 

“I would have preferred that over what I really did. But I remember that now. Danny and Sareen said that her hysterics weren’t conducive to the situation. And granted, Mikasa’s never short of being dramatic but…always calm when you need her. I can’t believe I forgot about that in the moment. And Sukuna, he never gave his opinion. He just told me to make my own decisions and that he would support me, which makes more sense in hindsight too.” you respond. 

Eren nods in response, content with your answer. 

“Why did you cry when I was singing the grudge?” you ask. 

“Why did you cry when you were singing the grudge?” Eren asks. 

“The fight we had. You told me beforehand that..that I didn’t have any faith in you like you did in me. It was the first time that it might have crossed my mind. That you didn’t mean anything that you said and…and then I was singing a song about how I’d never forgive you. And you were crying during it. It pretty much sold me on the fact that I was right.” you respond. 

Eren nods. 

“For me, it was the fact that you were playing the piano. On your own. I was waiting for years to see you do it on your own, to take that step and be confident in your own abilities. You’ve always been great and all I wanted to do in that moment was to stand there. Tell you I told you so. And I couldn’t.” 

“What did you mean? When you said I didn’t have faith in you?” you murmur. 

“I was just really upset in that moment, Y/N. I didn’t-” 

“I want to know.”

Eren sighs. 

“You thought right. I was upset that you believed it so blindly. That you believed an edited interview of me. And what I had said that night, which you had every right to believe. I was just-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I wasn’t mad at you. And I’m still not. I regretted it after I said it.” 

“Okay. I appreciate the grace you give me, Eren.” 

“Nothing you haven’t given me first.” Eren responds. 

You both avert your eyes from one another. 

Anything else?” Eren asks. 

“I guess not. Is there something you want to tell me?” you state. 

“I want to know what you were doing in the years that I wasn’t with you.” 

“In the house?” 

“No. No, when you were with Danny and Sareen. After-after we said fishbowl on the rooftop.” Eren states. 

You sigh. 

“I feel fucking stupid about it all in hindsight.” you respond, warm tears filling your eyes.

Eren’s quick to notice, like he always is, as he pulls you closer to him and you lean your head against his shoulder. 

“Hey. You’re okay, just take a breath-” Eren whispers. 

“I did three albums with world tours back to back. Movies in the hiatuses.” you state. 

“And?” Eren murmurs. 

“And I didn’t take a break once. I-I only realized when I locked myself in that godforsaken house how much time I had lost. How much of it I swam through when I came back and Falco was basically grown. I left him when he was barely a teenager and then he was just…this whole person. Comforting me when that’s always been my job. That Jean and Mikasa had moved so far in their relationship that they were actually going to get married. That we all fucking grew up.” you respond. 

You wipe your nose. 

“I realized really quickly that I wasn’t making money off of the Lucky One. I had spent that entire first year, not even thinking about you or anything else, because I was just fighting desperately behind the sidelines to get them back.” you state. 

Eren snorts. 

“I think when you stopped fighting is when I started. We had won the lawsuit at that point and I-I was told to negotiate for whatever I wanted.” Eren responds. 

“How did you know?” 

“Danny and Sareen. At the awards show, they had made it a point to me. That it was always their goal. I had been inquiring about it ever since then and…the second you released the Lucky One and disappeared I knew they were going to do something. I tried to negotiate the entire album back, money and all, but all I could get you was the rights. And I’ve talked to Niccolo about it. You can re-record them or-or we can do something else but-” 

“Thank you.” you state. 

You look back at the ocean. You don’t say something for sometime, which fills Eren’s stomach with an overwhelming amount of discomfort as he rests his head against his knees. But you can’t even stomach it. How you’re supposed to thank Eren for what he did. For what he’s always done. 

For how consistent he’s always been. When it comes to you. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. 

You look over at him, or more precisely, at the little tattoo on his bicep as you open up his arms and rest your fingers against it. He mimics your motions, smiling at the little inked skin. 

“I was half convinced you were going to get it removed.” Eren states. 

“I almost did.” you respond. 

He laughs. 

“I always thought it was stupid. That you wanted to be the ocean when I thought you were the moon. You know, like a light shining on a dark night? That’s always what I thought you were for me.” you state. 

“It feels like there’s more to that statement.” Eren responds. 

“Can you see the moon right now?” you ask. 

Eren looks up at the overcast sky, the clouds dense above. 

“No.” 

“But you can see the ocean. All the time, whenever you want. The waves pull back, but they always return.” you state. 

Eren looks up at you, in confusion. 

“I don’t follow.” 

“I’m saying you picked right. I am the moon. Fickle. Unreliable. I disappear at the first sign of a storm. But the ocean…” 

You look over at your right, to the waves crashing. 

“It’s one of the only things in nature that keeps its promise. Keeps crashing back on the shore, against the pull.” 

Eren’s eyes falter. 

“You had every right to do what you did.” Eren responds. 

“I know that. But it was always you and me. From the start. I was the one who lost sight of that when I let you go.” you state. 

Eren swallows hard. 

“Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice in the smallest whisper. 

The fact that he even asks shatters something in you, into tiny little pieces. That you had sown so much doubt into him. 

“I…I had so much faith in us. What we had…it came to us so easily. Snuck on me so quickly that I took it for granted. I figured that if I had to let you go for sometime, you’d come right back to me. The same way that we were before.” 

“You were nineteen.” Eren states. 

“I was stupid. Because that’s not how you saw it.” 

“No. No, it-” 

“Don’t lie. You thought I left you.” 

“It’s water under the bridge.” Eren responds. 

You sigh. 

“Eren. Eren, if you felt that way, why didn’t you say that? I- I fucking adored you. I would have pulled back and said no the second that you had asked me not to. Surely you must have known that I would move any mountain for you?” you ask. 

Eren looks at you, the look in his eyes faltering as you realize. 

“Eren. Did you know that I would do anything for you? Did you know that I loved you as much as you loved me?” you ask. 

“I did.” Eren responds, the lightest hint of disbelief in your voice. 

You pull him closer, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Eren. You were my person. I loved you so, so much and you didn’t even know?” you ask, warm tears filling your eyes. 

“It wasn’t anything about you. It was me. It’s my fault that I didn’t think that.” Eren whispers. 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that, Eren.” you respond, pulling away from him as the hot, embarrassing tears pour down your eyes. 

At the fact that Eren’s so willing to forgive. So quick to look past the fact that you took the love that he had given you for granted. That you hadn’t appreciated it, and him, half as much as you should have and now it was never going to be the same. That he was so insecure in himself, that he couldn’t accept the love that you had given him. And that you didn’t even notice. 

Eren sits quietly at your side, making no move to comfort you this time. All you can see are his green eyes, looking directly into yours, almost like he’s waiting. Mulling over the exact words that he has to say to you. And the fact that he’s sitting there trying to comfort you, when he should be cursing your name, makes it ten times worse. 

“Y/N.” he murmurs. 

“No.” 

“Y/N.” he repeats, softer this time. 

You shake your head as he scoots closer to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he gives you a smile. He wipes away your constant stream of tears with his thumbs, as his face washes over in the softest, most comforting look. 

“You know that stupid, cheesy as fuck saying? That you can’t give love to someone else if you don’t have it for yourself?” 

“Eren.” 

“It’s not a bad thing to give yourself kindness. To give nineteen year old you grace the same way I give twenty-one year old me grace.” he whispers. 

“I was old enough to know better.” 

“And so was I. But your life isn’t meant to be a punishment. Neither is mine. We’re not supposed to sit here and never forgive ourselves over something what’s already happened.” he whispers. 

“I picked wrong. You- I let you leave, Eren.” you cry. 

Eren smiles. 

“Am I gone?” Eren asks. 

You sigh. 

That’s not the way you meant it. 

Eren smiles, tilting your face up in his clutches as he gives your cheek a little squish. 

“Answer my question, Margaret.” 

“Why do you call me Margaret?” 

“You first. Am I gone?”

“Yes.” you deadpan.

Eren leans closer to you, noses almost touching, as he whispers. 

“I’m right here. I’ve spent far too much time without you. Don’t tell anyone but…you’re kind of my favorite person, ever. You’re always going to be my best friend. And as long as you don’t send me away again, I’ll always be right here.” 

You sniffle. 

“I won’t tell anyone. There’s no one else to tell.” 

Eren smiles so wide, so bright at you repeating the same words you had used all those years ago to him, as he pulls you straight into a hug. You deflate straight into his arms, wrapping them around his torso as you inhale his biting, minty smell once more. 

“Wanna know why I call you Margaret?” he asks. 

“Please. I know for a fact that it’s not just some random name you picked.” 

Eren pulls back, a devious grin on his face. 

“Margaret is the name of the moon.” 

Of course. 

“...of Uranus.” he finishes. 

“Huh?” 

“Uranus. It’s the name of one of the moons of Uranus.” Eren repeats, emphasizing every last syllable. 

You can tell from the way he’s smiling that he’s incredibly pleased with himself. And it makes uou break out into a teary laugh. 

“You’re fucking with me.” 

“No, I’m not. All of Uranus’s moons are named after Shakespeare characters. And the first one that came to mind when we were having that talk out of all of them was Margaret.” 

“So you intentionally gave me a name based off of an anus?” 

“Not just any anus, Y/N. Ur-anus. It’s very significant to our relationship.” 

“Ew, Eren. Oh my god.” you respond, the two of you laughing as you look at him with disgust. 

“What?” 

“I can’t tell what’s worse. This or Hobo Eren.” 

“Hey.” 

“Nevermind. It’s definitely Hobo Eren. That’s an atrocity to humanity, Eren.” 

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m horrendous” he responds, slightly shoving you in the side as you return the favor. 

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page. It’s been putting a real damper on our relationship.” you respond. 

Eren looks over at you and smiles. 

“Are there any dampers on our relationship now? For real?” Eren asks. 

You shake your head.

“No. But…you and me on the same side now. Always. You can’t keep secrets from me and-” 

“I won’t.” he responds, definitively. 

“Then no. No dampers. You and me till the end.” you respond. 

Eren smiles as you look back at the waves crashing and  you lean your head against his shoulder again. He softly murmurs into your hair. 

“Why do you call me Bruce? Yours had to be just as deliberate as mine.” he asks. 

“You don’t need to know. It’s not half as cute as yours.” you respond. 

“Well, nothing is as cute as Uranus unfortunatley.” 

“Naturally. I…um. You…you know that shark from Finding Nemo? That…that pretends to be friends with the fish and then tries to eat them?” you state, giving him a peachy smile. 

“No fucking way.” 

“I’m sorry!” you whine. 

“You’re so rude, Y/N L/N. I gave you a sweet, sentimental nickname and that’s how you repay me.” 

“You gave me Uranus, Eren.” 

“There is nothing more scared than my anus, Y/N. You know that.” 

“You’re so immature. You have the humor of a twelve year old.” you respond. 

“And you love it. One would argue that…that you enable this behavior from me. I’d never make these jokes if you didn’t think they were funny.” 

“You tell jokes based off of me?” you ask, sarcastically. 

“Yes. I want to see you laugh. You think I’m just out here saying stuff just to say it?” 

“You’re full of shit.” 

“And you’re not even half deserving of my anus.” Eren responds. 

You and Eren bicker back and forth. And the sun rises, straight through the patches of the clouds. 

On the two of you, together again.

--

next part linked here

an: MEOW

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[breawycker]

He's the reason this show exists. Louis D'Esposito (co-president of Marvel Studios) showed him the comic when trying to get a collaboration with Fishburne's production company and Fishburne actually used to read the original Moon-Boy and Devil Dinosaur comics by Jack Kirby. He really liked them and got the idea to make an animated show about the series. He got Steve Loter who used to work on Kim Possible to help develop and Loter and his team made a rollerskating video with Sweatpants by Childish Gambino to pitch to Disney (which was used in the 3rd episode). He's also amazing as the Beyonder. Everyone should go watch Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur! It's got heart, great humor, awesome fight scenes, and some great representation! With the Owl House, Amphibia, and now The Ghost and Molly McGee over (😭), we can't lose this too.

[Photo ID: the poster for season two of Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur. The poster has a gold and light purple border with blue stars and gold star sparkles and in the center there is a large black rectangle featuring (clockwise from top left to center): Casey Calderon (Lunella's best friend and "manager". She is an original character for the show. Disney Wiki describes her as "a short 13-year-old Puerto-Rican-Jewish girl with brown skin, long black hair, and noticeably big black eyes. She possesses blush, lip gloss and nail polish, all colored in a coral-pink. She wears a blue shirt with a white collar, a black belt, and blue shorts with two large pockets in them. Additionally, she has large black shoes with white socks and wears gold hoop earrings." She is posing with her arms up and her pointer fingers pointed to the left, her right eye closed, looking pumped), Kid Kree (13 year old Kree warrior in training who is from the "Cosmic Cooties" storyline from her original series. He has blue skin and is wearing black, grey, and teal armor that covers everything but his mouth and has a black mohawk. His armor has this star/diamond like shape on it. He is smiling evil and is pointing his left arm put, his hand in a fist like he's gonna shoot a laser cannon), on the bottom we have some of the supporting characters all of whom are wearing a black "IS 833" shirt and striking different poses, which is the name of the school: a black girl kneeling down with a smug "whatever expression" with her hands up and flat like an "I don't know" pose, her black hair is partially down partially up in a bun and wearing long navy green pants, a lighter skinned person with shorter brown hair that spikes out on top, their right hand at their side, and their doing a peace sign salute with their left hand, in between these two groups is the Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur logo, then left of that is a boy in a wheelchair with brown shorts and short dirty blonde hair who's doing a similar pose to Casey but with his hands flat, a girl with dark long brown hair wearing blue, square glasses, an orange beanie, and long grey pants, her arms are crossed and she's doing a thinking pose, up to center left is the Beyonder (tall, skinny, sharp, dark orange skinned man wearing a mostly white but some black suit with blue quaffed hair, his fingers are very long and pointed almost like a claw, smilingly almost evilly with his right hand up like he wants you to give him a high five), in the center is Moon Girl (Lunella Lafayette, 13 year old black girl, short wearing her purple and yellow costume that has her dark brown hair sticking out as a ponytail, her mouth is the only thing visible and her goggles have a virtual eye shape that's like rectangles pointed up slightly. She's giving a triumphant stance, her mouth open wide in a smile, her hands in two fists pointed up), lastly is Devil Dinosaur (Large red T. Rex with black spots on his back, the way his scales look it's like he has little Devil horns on his head, he is wearing some kind of contraption as a backpack that gives him a mechanical left hand and the other is a three barrel gun that shoots the blue goop that traps people on bubbles). There is a large gold star behind both of them. On the bottom of the poster on the left is a stack of books behind a little Devil Dinosaur plushie and on the right is various beakers with a bubbling light teal liquid plus a little spherical gadget that is kinda shaped like Moon Girl. In the middle, the poster says that new episodes start on Disney Channel on Friday February 2 at 8pm and then on Disney plus the next day and below that it says OnDisneyPlus.Disney.com

End ID]

Hello sorry to bother you with this all of sudden ,and this might be coming out of nowhere, and I’m not trying to force you but I m trying to get more people into this show with great potential. If your not interested it’s fine but Have you heard of or watched moon girl and devil dinosaur? Season 2 comes out February 2.

The main character i love she gives me autistic vibes I’m autistic. The show has interesting characters, action ,great music, and animation ,good themes and representation, Anime references, it even has an eyecatch season 2 is going to be more story driven if you find that interesting. It be good if you watch the first 2 season 2 episode when they air so the ratings will be higher. And watch the other season 2 episodes when they air.

I think Disney might be trying to sabotage the show with them probably dropping 14 episodes on Disney + on February 3. They did similar with season 1 and the ratings where low ,please watch season 2 episodes when they air on. But more importantly also watch it on Disney + on feb 3 and when they air it on YouTube. Unfortunately they are dropping 14 episodes on Disney + so watch them all in one day but also when they air the first time.

I’m not just saying only cable just also. I’m saying please support this show. Despite that it still won 5 Emmys. Also if it’s no trouble could if it alright with you spread the word about this show to others you know like either online or irl. Time is limited!

I know of the show, but I haven't seen it. I don't have cable so I just watch everything on Disney+.

BTW, did you guys know that Laurence Fishburne is in this show? Morpheus from The Matrix. Isn't that crazy?

[munson-blurbs]

The ending was adorable 🥹 Everyone is going to ask for the proposal and the wedding and all that amazing stuff… but I really want to see the Disney trip and Wayne on Its a Small World 😂

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: The whole Munson clan embarks on their first trip to Disney World; as expected, it's filled with both magic and mayhem.

WC: 1.8k

A/N: Also requested by @tvserie-s-world!

June 2002

The Munson chaos, as it turns out, is not limited to Hawkins. It tags along everywhere, including family vacations.

Especially family vacations.

“Babe, where’s the sunscreen?” “I wanna see Mickey!” “Ed, have you seen my hat?” “I’m hungry!”

Taking a deep breath, you toss Eddie the bottle of Coppertone, remind Harris that you actually had to get to the Magic Kingdom before seeing any of the characters, find Wayne’s ball cap in the bottom of his suitcase, and scrounge up a baggy of Cheerios for Hendrix. 

“Okay, are we ready to go?”

Your question is met with an emphatic chorus of yeses as the five of you leave the hotel room and make a beeline for the shuttle bus. 

Eddie tries to scoop Hendrix into his arms; try as he might, your two-year-old’s chubby legs just can’t carry him very far, very fast. He scrunches up his face and squirms out of Eddie’s grasp. 

“Wan’ walk!” Hendrix pouts, lower lip jutting out in sheer defiance. 

An exasperated sigh escapes Eddie’s lips. “There’s gonna be a lot of walking later, buddy.” But he knows there’s no sense in arguing, and he settles for holding the boy’s hand. He’s heard tales of Disney meltdowns, but he was hoping to avoid one before the day even started. 

The Florida heat is no joke. It envelops you like a casing, and you’re grateful for the air conditioned bus. Everyone sits down, Hendrix on your lap, and you lean in to discuss the day’s plans. 

“So,” you begin, “I really want to get a picture of all of us in front of the castle. After that, we can split up. I know Harris wants to ride Space Mountain—”

“And Splash Mountain and Big Thunder,” he interjects, a seriousness in his eyes. As though you could have forgotten—all he’s talked about for weeks are those three rides. 

You nod in acknowledgment. “One thing at a time.” The reminder is gentle, a nudge to keep him focused on a single goal so he didn’t overwhelm himself. Turning back to the group, you continue the rundown. “Wayne, you’re fine taking Hendrix on a few rides by yourself?”

The older man grins. “Can’t wait to have that damn doll song stuck in my head.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie raise his hand. 

“Yes?”

“I’m actually gonna sit Space Mountain out,” he says, sheepishness seeping into his cheeks. “So I can go with Wayne and Hendrix, and then we can all meet up after.”

Harris looks at his father in bewilderment. “Dad, are you afraid?”

“N-No!” Eddie sputters, sighing when you shoot him a glare that tells him to be honest. “I mean, yeah, a little. But you and Mom should still go on it.”

“It’s just you and me, kiddo.” You smile at Harris and return to the task at hand. “And then we’ll all go on the Peter Pan ride together before we grab lunch.”

Everyone nods in agreement, though you know that actually executing the idea will be much more of a challenge. You take the win for now, climbing off of the bus with Hendrix in your arms with the rest of the family behind you.

A jovial melody surrounds you as you enter the Magic Kingdom, putting some extra pep in your step. You feel the excitement building; not just from the boys, but from the adults, too. Neither Eddie nor Wayne have been here before, and they’re just as eager to start the vacation.

Your breath hitches as you make your way down Main Street, U.S.A. and Cinderella Castle finally comes into view.

“I’ll be damned,” Wayne mutters under his breath, his voice breaking slightly. “Looks just like the movie.”

You reach out and take Eddie’s hand, squeezing it gently as the five of you take in the sight. Tears blur your vision, and you can only imagine that Eddie’s experiencing the same.

We did it. We’re at Disney World with our family.

You manage to stave off the tears long enough to ask a Cast Member to snap a photo with your disposable Kodak camera. 

“Say cheese!” The woman chirps with a smile of her own, and you all comply–even Wayne.

As soon as the shutter clicks, the usual pandemonium resumes. Harris is tugging on your hand and dragging you towards Tomorrowland. 

“Remember, Har,” you say, “we might have to wait in line for a while.” It’s a concept you thoroughly went over prior to the trip, but it never hurts to remind him.

Since you’d started out early, the queue isn’t terribly long; nothing that can’t be handled with a few rounds of I Spy. Before you know it, you’re boarding your tiny rocketship right behind Harris. The ten-year-old is practically bouncing out of his seat, and you’re more than grateful for the lap bar holding him in place.

Harris squeals with delight at each banked turn, even putting his hands in the air as he gets braver towards the end of the ride. Adrenaline buzzes through him when the ride comes to a stop, and he darts for the exit.

“Wait for me!” You call out, and he pauses until you get your very not ten-year-old body out of the cramped vehicle. It used to be a lot easier to stand up when you were his age, but you eventually catch up with Harris to head to Fantasyland.

What you find there is the last thing you would have imagined.

Eddie walks out of one of the myriad gift shops, with Hendrix in his arms and Wayne beside both of them. Your younger son has a pair of Mickey Mouse ears on his head, and one in his hands–for Harris, you assume–but what’s out of the ordinary is what the men are wearing.

“Oh…my…god!” You cackle, and Harris joins you when he sees his dad and grandpa wearing matching tall Goofy hats, the floppy ears swaying against their cheeks.

Eddie grins, doing a small spin that proves more difficult when carrying a two-year-old. “How do we look?” He asks.

Stifling further laughter, you shake your head. “Incredible.” When you reach him, you give him a quick peck on the lips. “I’ve never been more attracted to you than I am right now.”

“I think that says more about you than it does me, Sweetheart.”

Harris takes his souvenir from his little brother and slides the string under his chin. Both of them look absolutely precious, and you snap another picture before either can protest.

“Oh, one last thing.” Eddie reaches into a mouse-printed bag and pulls out a gold plastic tiara, covered in glitter with a photo of Belle in the center. He carefully places it atop your head and you secure it against your scalp. “There,” he murmurs, “pretty like a princess.”

A warmth settles into you that is unrelated to the humidity. You swear you could gaze into his eyes for an eternity, losing yourself in the hazel flecks that accentuated the chocolate irises—

“It’s Mickey!”

You follow where Hendrix is pointing; sure enough, the world’s most famous mouse was walking to a designated spot, flanked by an entourage of handlers. It’s the opposite direction of Peter Pan’s Flight, but you’re not about to compete with Mickey Mouse himself. 

Hendrix’s jubilation wanes as he gets closer to the character, chubby fingers digging into Eddie’s biceps. When he reaches the front of the line, he begins outright wailing, face buried in his dad’s shirt. 

Frowning, you try to peel him away. “Hendrix, it’s our turn!” You tell him, trying to rebuild the excitement with no success. “Don’t you wanna meet Mickey?”

“Too scary!” He sobs, his little body shaking with fear. 

You look at your husband, pushing away the urge to freeze up and throw a tantrum of your own. “Okay, I’ll take Hendrix; you and Wayne stay with Har—”

But Harris is faster, nudging between you and Eddie to place a hand on his brother’s back. “Hen, you don’t have to be scared. I’m gonna be right there with you.” He glances at Mickey, then back at Hendrix. “I know he’s a lot bigger than on TV, but he’s not going to hurt you.”

The crying subsides, save for a few hiccups. Hendrix sloppily wipes at his damp cheeks and holds his arms out so Harris can take him. They walk hand-in-hand, the youngest Munson glued to his big brother’s side. 

Harris waves at Mickey, imploring Hendrix to do the same. He obliges, albeit timidly, but there’s no mistaking the joyful giggle that escapes him when Mickey returns the gesture. 

Eddie laces his fingers with yours, metal rings warm from the summer sun. “Can you get a picture of this?” You nod and reluctantly let go of him, forever capturing the moment with the click of a button. 

The rest of the day is spent waiting in line, riding attractions with colorful scenery, scarfing down Mickey-shaped food items, and taking a much-needed midday nap at the hotel. The sleep recharges you enough to head back out to the park after dinner.

The sun begins to set, though the temperature barely drops a single degree. Your group finds a bench right outside Liberty Square. Wayne sits with Hendrix on his lap, Eddie next to him, and you take a seat at the end. Harris stays standing, leaning against the wooden back only to help him get his jumps out. 

“Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls!” A cheerful disembodied voice comes over the park’s sound system. “Our fireworks presentation, Fantasy in the Sky, is about to begin. Thank you!”

You dig in your bag and pull out some wax earplugs for Harris. Hendrix extends his hand for his own pair, always wanting to be just like his big brother. 

Fireworks light up the sky, bright pink and blue and green hues that leave wispy trails of smoke in their wake. Harris keeps his fingers pressed to his ears to block out any additional noise, but it doesn’t detract from the smile on his face. 

Perhaps the only person more enamored with the show is Wayne. The lights illuminate his awe-struck face, mouth agape, as though he’s in disbelief of the magic surrounding him. 

Eddie leans down to kiss your forehead and you rest your head on his shoulder. “Havin’ a good time, Sweetheart?” he mumbles against your skin. 

You nod, looking up and pressing your lips to his cheek. “Are you?”

He takes in the sight of his sons and his uncle, together in a place he’s only ever dreamed of visiting. And he has you by his side; more than that, you are the reason he’s here at all. 

“I’ve never been happier.”

--

[twst-hottest-takes]

OKAY TRAUMA OLYMPICS TIME!

Ranking every Overblotter based on how sad their backstory makes me: THAT MEANS IT’S VERY BIASED AND SUBJECTIVE!

Waves hands in a manic gesture towards the disclaimer* (Now is your chance to turn around!)

7: Azul Ashengrotto-Got picked on for being different. The thing that takes me out about Azul’s backstory and its connection to his overblot is how basic it feels. I’m not here to invalidate his feelings, I understand those insecurities, but apparently the only thing stopping more people from overblotting is that they can’t accumulate blot at the same rate because of lower magic output. If you ask me, the real tragedy of his character is his inability to acknowledge his own achievements. He says, “I’ll show them!” and, yes, hon, you did. Calm down. You are 17, nothing is stopping you from becoming the person you say you are (unlike half the other people on this list). (0/10 He tried to take advantage of my compassion and took my home away. He can cry harder into his money for all I care. Also bottom tier Overblot design.)

(Slight edit: changed Azul's age to 17 because I put 15 before. That would have been his age before turning human to go to NRC, but that might have been confusing and seemed inaccurate. Thanks to the person who pointed that out! The rest of the statement remains the same.)

6: Vil Schoenheit—Hates being typecast and treated like number two. Bro’s real crime is checking his socials too much and letting it get to him. I feel nothing for Vil and he’s only above Azul because his situation is a little less common as a one in a million super celebrity which can come with outlandish amounts of stress I can't comprehend. Again, the tragedy is his inability to be satisfied with his current state of his career and acknowledge his success because someone’s always above him. YOU ARE 18! YOU HAVE YOUR WHOLE CAREER AHEAD OF YOU! Give yourself some space to breath. He’s the one character you’d think would know and see a therapist. He’s so perfectly managed about every other element of his life it seems almost out of character for him not to be considering his mental health. If you consider he's even taking time away from his career to go to school and have "normal teen experiences" I don't know why I should feel bad. (0/10 Attempted murder. Jealous biotch. Probably, less sympathetic than Azul actually.)

5: Leona Kingscholar—Also hates his life situation and being treated like second fiddle. Leona is above Vil because he DOESN’T have a way out of being “typecast.” Time and talent can't save him. He was born into a situation where he can’t be anything other than the second prince and when he finally got a chance to be number one at something (Spelldrive at NRC) Malleus shows up to put him back down to second place again. Life seems to have a karmic way of making Leona nothing more and I feel that. Honestly, Leona’s state makes me cry but I can’t rank him higher because the canon content for his character is sparse. Most of the elements about Leona are things you have to look into and read out of his actions and backstory and while that’s not bad, it’s frustrating that a lot of people overlook them because they aren’t as explicit as the other characters. Leona’s depression is very real, but because the symptoms manifest as less sad-boy and more tired jackass a lot of people overlook his failing mental health. He’s badly written and I feel like the first iteration of his backstory (Book 2 in game) does the worst job about making you feel anything for him considering his actions. (4/10 Smart character with lots of potential but written like an idiot where it counted. Also attempted murder.)

4: Malleus Draconia (TENTATIVE)—Doesn’t want to be alone. After all, what’s the point of being so powerful when it’s so lonely? Loneliness is a feeling that I think doesn’t get explored enough in the media I consume (maybe I need to look harder), so Malleus can be a little higher for what I currently perceive as his reasons for overblotting. He’s an immortal being constantly ostracized by the position he was born into and suffers from the classic conundrum of having to watch everyone he cares about go before him. For all intents and purposes he’s an orphan. He doesn’t have a lot of people he’s related to and can really consider close, so it hits him extra hard when they can’t be around anymore, and for all of his age, as a fae he’s really very young, immature, and inexperienced. The game is doing its darndest to make sure that he gets as thorough an explanation as possible and actively wants you to understand where he’s coming from and feel bad. So he gets the halfway point because as much as I love this kind of thing, favoritism and getting the longest time to explore his feelings only gets him so high. (6/10 I like that the MC has a personal stake in this one, and he's not actively trying to kill anyone.) (Since Book 8 isn’t over yet, his position is subject to change later.)

3: Riddle Rosehearts—Anal retentive to the extreme. Riddle’s mom is so hated by the fandom she is never getting a face reveal. Is now the time to express how bad I feel about Riddle being traumatized by strictness and rules to the point where he honestly believes that bending the most absurd rules will result in disastrous consequences? Maybe. I appreciate that we saw exactly the inciting incident that made Riddle the way he is now. So much of his character falls back on that one time he broke the rules as a kid, and it HAS SO MUCH IMPACT. He gets a lot of props for being one of the few overblotters to actually have character growth post-featured book. Riddle is a contender for second place, but his potential ability to grow beyond his circumstances makes him less tragic. (7/10 Riddle is a surprisingly strong first antagonist in the main story. Almost killed someone, but that was notably AFTER he broke down and turned into a rampaging monster.)

2: Jamil Viper—Can never be his true self. Jamil is another guy who was born into his lifestyle and has no feasible way out of what’s driving him up the wall. It’s not just about Kalim being naïve and sheltered, it’s about how Jamil himself can’t ever use the gifts he has or escape from that fate. He is better than Kalim at a lot of things, but has to act like an amateur so he doesn’t outshine the guy he’s been sworn to protect and serve. He has expectations set on him, and duties to fulfill, and his best route in life as presented to him is just to be as average and boring as possible despite his innate talent and potential. I don’t know if there’s supposed to be a way for Jamil to get out of his family’s servitude to the Al-Asims that causes him to be so bitter, so at this point I kind of assume he’s stuck and that makes it extra sad. The fact that he really just wants to go on vacation makes it hit harder that he’s not even that bad for a guy at a villains’ school. Book 5 giving him a chance to break out of that shadow is great, honestly. (8/10 I can't hate him. He just wants a break, man. He wasn't even trying to hurt anyone, but loses a point for dragging Yuu/MC into his scheme. [Don't y'all dare throw Kalim hate in here. That's not what this is about. I will fight you.])

1: Idia Shroud—Survivor’s Guilt. Book 6 really went there and we are going to talk about it. He did something he shouldn’t have as a kid and now he has to live with the fact that his kid brother is dead. He wanted so badly to undo what he did that he built a new version of him even though he knew deep down he could never replace Ortho. No. I’m sorry. You’re not beating that. That’s not event including the fact that he’s also stuck as a fracking guardian of the underworld in a family that is supposed to be incapable of overblotting in the first place. Idia has textbook depression, and that’s not a bad thing. He feels just as trapped as everyone else and doesn’t see a point to doing anything the conventional way if he doesn’t have to. Idia is NOT a perfect person or character, but as far as his writing for why he ends up doing what he does, I think he easily takes the cake. (10/10 Will weep again. Character writing, with a little dash of hope that he can find some bright spots in life. Extra points for Ortho telling him to keep living. Also, he has the coolest Overblot design. 100/10 for Technopunk Hades.)

This is a super abridged version of what I have to say regarding each of these characters, so I may have to write out actual essays and character analysis for them eventually. I tried to get out the gist of my rankings in as short a form as possible, but that might not be good enough for some people. Feel free to tell me how I misunderstand and mischaracterize your fave.

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

THE 100 DAYS OF JUNKAN

Hello everybody! I’m Carbonated-Jem! 

I sincerely hope you’re having a good day as this post finds you.

You’re probably wondering what this is. Well this my good compatriot is the result of a very ill advised task I put upon myself at the beginning of this year. There’ll be a TL;DR at the bottom for those who don’t want my full ramblings (sorry about that btw, not very good at this), but I do appreciate anyone who’ll give a silly person like me the time of day.

You see, I am a fan of Danganronpa, and as a result I like to read a lot of gay fanfic (and if I’m feeling daring I’ll even look at fan art, shocking). This series for all its ups and downs is quite important to me and becoming who I am today. Tokomaru especially helped me through a period of a lot of stress and depression, among other things. 

But as you can tell by the name this isn’t a Blog Dedicated to Tokomaru, it’s a blog dedicated to Junkan. Which might be very surprising to anyone who I haven’t divulged this info to personally. 

I try to make it a habit to not delve too deep into fandoms for the sake of my mental health, I look up fanart, read some appreciation posts on tumblr, read fics, and depending on the series make art for others to enjoy. However one thing I tend to become vaguely aware of regardless of whether I want to or not is what ships are and are not controversial. So I am very aware of the fact that saying I ship Junko and Mikan is bare minimum getting some weird looks from a lot of the people reading this.

Before I give a reason why I’m doing this let me just make clear what this is in the first place.

This is the 100 Days of Junkan, a project I undertook (Kind of as a joke) at the beginning of the year. I have made 100 Pieces to post across the next 100 Days. Some are finished art, some are sketches, some are sketches I added color to later, some are multiple images grouped into one day, comics, and far more. I’ve learned a lot through this project artistically, and some of the surprises I have in store will hopefully be worth the effort. I don’t know 100% for sure what day this post will be on, however the event itself will begin October 1st, and if I did the math right will continue all the way till January 9th. 

Why would I put this much time and energy into this ship, knowing that there are a lot of people who downright hate it? Simple, I just like the ship a lot, and wanted to make more art for it.

And I should further note, there are plenty of fans of this ship as well, however they may be disappointed to hear that unless you’re very much like me, you probably won’t enjoy what I’ve made with these two. In canon (much to my chagrin, because I’m not partial to the direction it took in DR3) this is a very abusive relationship. This is not really my thing, anyone who has seen the ship art I’ve done on my main page will know that I much prefer to draw soft, fluffy shipping art. I try to make art which will leave a positive vibe on people for the most part.

That said I understand why there are people who like this ship for how it is represented in canon. Shipping Junkan has taught me to stop being judgy of people for what they ship (I used to really hate Togami x Toko for example, and while it’s still not my thing I can totally understand why people are into it now). Everyone has their own reasons for shipping something, whether it’s an interesting dynamic, they just like seeing the characters kiss, as a coping mechanism, and plenty of other reasons. I have my boundaries of course, but at this point I try to be open minded towards peoples proclivities.

So if I’m not drawing a Canon Compliant Depiction of this ship, what am I actually doing here?

Well I’ve decided that I’m going to draw niche art for an already very niche ship. I like Junkan on the softer side, where regardless of where it's supposed to be in canon or an AU they just actually love eachother, I've seen and have been inspired by a decent amount of Fanfics depicting this exact thing. It's the dynamic that I find the most interesting personally, as I like the directions you can take it with the characters.

So that’s the deal, for 100 Days starting from October 1st you can expect this blog to post a constant flow of soft Junko x Mikan art. If that’s your thing, I sincerely hope you like all this! It’s been my number one goal to give some art to the people who share a similar desire for softer depictions of this Ship, along with all the people who have already made amazing pieces of writing and artwork depicting the same. If this isn’t your thing, I hope you’ll at least stick around to give it a chance, and if I can’t sell you on it like I have with some of my friends, I hope you can at least walk away from this with a shrug.

Apologizing in advance to all those who peruse the Mikan and Junko tag, because this is gonna be flooding those for awhile I imagine. I fully understand if you wanna block me for this, hope you have a lovely day after that! 

Now dear viewer, please watch this long road unwind and behold such sights as: Me slowly memorizing these two to the point that I can draw them almost entirely without reference at this point, inconsistent colors schemes,  inconsistent heights, so much goddamn blushing, AU’s galore, and the unspeakable things I learned how to do for this project! (And by unspeakable I mean I don’t wanna spoil the surprise!) 

Oh! And as an extra bonus to all this, go check out my AO3 account. I have a singular Junkan Fic on there right now, however as a little bonus for this event (and sure, thematic for Halloween) I’m going to be posting a Vampire AU Junkan Fic periodically throughout October. Partially inspired by the fact that Day 30 depicts a scene I came up with way before the actual fic, and I really want to have it written out and available to read before that post comes out.

The other reason is that if I say i’m going to post it here, that means I am required to actually do it by the law of my brain. Which will likely outweigh my complete lack of self confidence in my ability to write anything making me too paranoid to actually let it go public~

Here’s the link!

And if you stumbled upon this post through the Junkan Tag and not my main account, here’s a link to it!

You’ll find plenty of other Danganronpa Art, including Junko and Mikan on their own. I do other stuff but I imagine that’d be the most immediately interesting, but hey you never know. So hopefully if this blog doesn’t provide anything you’d be into, my normal works will catch your attention! 

I’ve also opened an Ask Box for this blog, why? I dunno. I’ll be real it just seemed like the thing to do. But feel free to ask questions and I'll try to respond best I can!

And finally here is the TL,DR for those who didn't wanna read through my mind numbing rambling.

I like Danganronpa, I like drawing Soft Junkan art for a lot of reasons. I’m posting 100 Pieces for 100 Days of this ship, and hopefully ya’ll will enjoy it. If not, that’s okay! I hope you have a great day! 

Reblogs Appreciated!~ Stay hydrated Everyone!~

[lurkingshan]

Unknown Episode 12

This the end beautiful friends. And I wouldn't say the show is going out with a whimper, exactly, but it's certainly not with a bang. This will remain one of my all time favorite Taiwanese dramas, but I will definitely be remembering it as being so so excellent for 10 exquisite episodes that built to such a beautiful peak and then inexplicably blew it on the dismount.

We already talked about episode 11 and the sex scene blunder, as well as some of the other missed beats there. Episode 12 moved on from the immediate aftermath of Yuan and Qian getting together to give us a sense of what their lives will look like now that they are together. One thing I definitely appreciated is that they aren't hiding this from anyone--they are taking the no shame approach to the change in their relationship, and I love that. I don't know that I entirely bought how brazen they were being, though. Making out in the open office space where Qian's employees could see seemed a bit much even if they weren't brothers, and given that the show didn't portray any awkwardness or any of Qian's expected discomfort with this big shift in their relationship, it came across a little silly and dismissive of how serious a change this should be for them. I would have really enjoyed Yuan threatening Qian with kisses if it had been a more private moment. And I deeply hated the top/bottom discussion amongst the fujoshi coworkers, that was just in poor taste and out of step with the tone of the show (can we just ban bls from doing scenes like this already?).

This final episode also failed to meaningfully resolve Qian's health issue in favor of introducing a new plot: Lili's accidental pregnancy. I have mixed feelings about this development. On the one hand, it helps to reinforce a theme of this family's resilience and ensures they will have a family legacy, and it led to hands down my favorite scene in the episode, which was the family discussion where they were moving between the bedrooms as Qian learned of the pregnancy, promised not to attack San Pang, and then immediately attacked San Pang when he stopped hiding. That was comedy gold and the cast was so excellent in every beat of it. On the other hand, I don't love this plot direction for Lili and I don't think the show really did anything to reckon with what a monumental wrench it will throw into her life plans (note that this is another departure from the book, where Lili ends the story a successful jet setting model who is still single and living her ideal life traveling for work). Lili wants a career in fashion modeling and entertainment; how exactly does having a child at age 23 fit with those goals? The show didn't even bother to consider her future in the way this story was framed. I would have preferred a time skip to do this plot at a more appropriate time for her; as it was this just felt a little careless.

In the end I am glad we got to see the family accept each other's relationships and Qian and Yuan settling into living alone together in the home they love, but I do wish the final two episodes had lived up to the promise of the rest. It felt like the first 10 episodes built so beautifully to a monumental relationship change, and then the show just kinda shrugged their way through the actual change in favor of random new plots and a list of ill-fitting Taiwanese bl tropes. After everything they went through, all tension evaporated instantly, no one was uncomfortable with the relationship becoming romantic, and there was no real nuance in the family discussion about it. They simply didn’t finish the story they started and given they had such strong material to work with from the novel, I will never understand why.

That said, even with a lackluster ending I will always be grateful that we got this gem of a show. Despite its flaws, this story contains some of my all-time favorite characters and relationships. Hats off to the cast and crew for delivering one of my favorite dramas of the year. And I want to also thank the folks on here who made discussion of this show every week so fun. We are a tiny little fandom but the love and devotion to this show was so lovely, and I am extra grateful to those who stuck to the weekly pact for the final episodes so we could keep posting and talking about this story for a couple more weeks. I hope we find another show to love together very soon!

[kengan-daddies]

You and Me Raian Kure

Anime : Kengan Ashura

Character : Raian Kure

Warning : Graphic Description of Violence, Gore, Bodily Fluids, Choking, Fingering, Deep Throating, Hair Pulling, Spanking, Shower Sex, breeding kink

18+ MDNI RAIAN KURE 18+ MDNI RAIAN KURE 18+

18+ MDNI YOU RAIAN KURE 18+ RAIAN KURE 18+

You sat on the bed, your legs crossed, your arms laying on your lap as you sat there in your and Raian's shared room, he was out on a mission at the moment, he left 2 weeks ago, and you've been waiting since. In those two weeks, you've been thinking of your and Raian's relationship, it was never established, yet you both acted like a couple. You slept in the same bed, you cuddled, you fucked, you ate together, you sometimes bathed together, you were a couple in every sense, and yet it's never been spoken of. Raian never cared to talk about it, every time you brought it up he'd either completely ignore you, get irritated, or just leave.

It was getting old, and quick, you wanted to get some closure to it, because you didn't want to be wasting your time and feelings on a man who was just going to replace you in the end. You put so much time and emotion into him, so much blood and sweat, you gave him your whole heart, body, mind, and soul. You refused to let this go to waste. You'd sometimes have doubts and worry. Doubts about his feelings for you, and worry for a new woman walking through that door.

'Raian always takes about a week to 2 weeks to complete a mission, so he should be home sometime today or tomorrow.' You thought, determination flooding your body as you kept pushing down the worry in your twisting gut. You were nervous, you were ready. The sound of heavy footsteps sounded through the halls making your back straighten out. 'Here we go.' You thought as you swallowed. The footsteps stopped in front of the door, blood seeping in under the door. 'He must be drenched, the savage.' You thought as the doorknob twisted and the door opened revealing Raian.

He was wearing a casual outfit, a black shirt with some black pants and shoes. 'The purpose of the black clothing is to hide the blood that may get on his clothes... but... he's such a savage, till that ideology goes straight out the window... he's soaked.' You thought as you observed his appearance. His hair was pretty much all red, streams and trails of blood covered his whole body, his clothes clung to his body like a second skin, seeming like he was drenched in water, just standing in one spot and the red liquid was making a pool around him.

In his hand he held a brown sack, good sized lumps could be seen pushing up against the fabric, as it too was soaked with blood at the bottom of the bag, leaving its own trail behind. 'Heads.' You thought as you gazed at the bag. He dropped it carelessly by the door, splashing the blood around it, he smirked at you. "Hey, hey, hey~! Did you miss me~?" He teased as he kicked off his bloodied shoes. His socks were black as well, along with also being soaked. He peeled off his bloodied shirt, dropping it next to the sack, it sounded like a soaked rag when it hit the floor. You stared at him with an almost bored look, his pale skin covered in blood, you'd be lying if you said it never turned you on.

Seeing him come home, looking like a savage beast who just slaughtered a whole village without care... It was sexy, and it was exciting, to know that you shared the bed of a killer. You stood up from the bed, your arms lazily crossed over your body as you stared at him. "You need to shower, you smell and look like pure shit." You said making him chuckle. "What? Don't like the smell of iron? I personally don't mind the smell, I find it... comforting." He said as his smirk became vicious. 'I can't imagine how the poor saps felt when they saw him, towering over them. Imagine the last thing you see is this fool.' You thought. You looked at him a little longer before you walked over to the bathroom door.

He watched you, like the predator he was, open the door to the bathroom. You looked over at him as you pulled off your own shirt, dropping it on the floor before you walked into the bathroom. He chuckled before he kicked the door behind him closed and stalked after you into the bathroom. He stood in the doorway, admiring your body as you stood there in your underwear, he watched as you turned on the shower getting it nice and warm for the both of you. He personally liked it to be scolding, but he didn't feel like getting fussed and cussed out, he hadn't seen you in 2 weeks, and he wanted you to be pleased and not upset with him.

Usually, he'd do pretty much anything to see you fired up and annoyed with him, it was sexy, but he'd never admit it, but he liked having you in his arms when he came home from a mission. He didn't even know when it started happening, he just knew that he started craving your attention whenever he was gone too long on a mission. Before he met you, he'd take his time on a mission, stretching them out to nearly a month, but now that you were in his life, he tries to end it as fast as possible. The sooner his mission is over, the sooner he can come home to you. He didn't like thinking about it, he didn't even like feeling the way he felt, but he couldn't control his heart, not when it came to you. He was weak against you.

You were staring at the water, watching as it went down the drain in a constant cycle. 'Just like me and Raian... Ring around the rosie, we all fall down.' You thought as you put your hand out, feeling the water hit your hand, feeling the temperature. The feeling of hands gently running up your waist almost made you jump, if you weren't aware of Raian being in the bathroom with you, you would've sworn it was someone else. 'This gentle touch, that's a another reason why I want to have answers... This is the touch of a lover.' You though, as you felt his hands trailing up your sides, slowly caressing over your clothes chest. "Pretty jumpy, aren't we?" He teased, you rolled your eyes as you unconsciously arched into his hands. He chuckles as he closes his hands around your breasts, gently squeezing them till it hurt before he released them and he'd do the same thing again.

You lightly moaned at the feeling as your hands pressed against the shower wall, you were pretty much just leaning against his hands, but he didn't seem to mind. As soon as you noticed steam coming up from the shower, you pushed his hands off you roughly and he chuckled at you. "Shower's ready." You said as you began undressing completely. He smirked at you, a knowing look in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest, satisfied with just watching you undress completely. You ignored him as you stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind you as you slicked your hair back from the water, you picked up your body wash, squeezing some in your hand, you rubbed your hands together, getting them soapy before you rubbed them over your body slowly.

You knew he was watching, so why not put on a show. You already took a shower earlier today, hence why you didn't need a rag or anything, you just wanted to tease him. Rubbing your hands over your arms, breasts, shoulders, stomach, thighs, ass. You paused for a moment, the feeling of being watched like prey making you hesitate, but not in fear... in excitement. You stepped back under the water, letting the suds get washed away. A Hand suddenly slammed into the wall in front of you, making you jump. He chuckled in your ear as his other hand rubbed up your side and over your stomach. "Quite the show you put on for me, I usually don't get such a sight, must be my lucky day then." He said. You huffed as you leaned back into his chest. "Please, don't get ahead of yourself." You said.

He just smirked, as he ran his hand up your stomach and over your breasts, the pad of his fingers running over your nipples a few times before he suddenly pinched one harshly. You threw your head back as you hissed, in pain and pleasure. "Asshole." You grunted out. "Heh, what happened to that tough act, ha?" He asked, amusement in his voice. You scoffed but you didn't say anything. His hand on your breasts ran up further till he suddenly shot his hand up and he gripped your throat. You gagged at the sudden choke as your reached up to grab his arm, his grip tightening, you gasped for air while his other hand went straight for your twitching core, he ran his fingers over your clit roughly making you whimper.

He smirked as he chuckled in your ear. "From tough girl to a whinny whore, oh how the mighty have fallen." He taunted. You grunted in irritation at his words. "Shut... up... cock sucker." You retaliated, he chuckled. "Still got air to talk shit huh? Well, let's fix that." He said as he tightened his grip on your throat. Your toes curled and your pussy pulsed. "Ugh...." You moaned out, you nearly squealed when he suddenly pushed two of his fingers into you. Your pussy pulsed and twitched to the sudden stretch, the pain making your eyes roll and flutter, your saliva mixing in with the water as it went down your body, mixing in with the constant red that spiraled down the drain, his fingers pushed into you quickly, in and out, in and out, in an out. Your stomach flexed as you humped his fingers.

"Look at you, damn near falling apart from just my fingers alone, how fucking pitiful." He chastised as he pushed in a third finger, you whined as your nails dug into his arm, as your core twitched and spasmed, your eyes fluttering close. 'I'm gonna cum...' You thought as you gave a shuddering sigh, but it all came crashing down when he suddenly released your neck as he pulled his fingers out. You threw your hands out in front of you quickly, catching yourself on the wall. Your legs felt weak as your knees tried to buckle under you. 'I refuse... I'm not gonna fall on my knees.' You thought, your pride keeping you from doing so, but it was all in vain when he suddenly pushed his foot into the back of one of your knees, making you fall to your knees. You hissed in pain when your knees hit the shower floor.

You snatched your head around to glare up at him, and he smirked down at you, unfazed by your harsh glare. "Damn, if only looks could kill, right?" He teased as he stared down at you. You huffed in annoyance as you moved to stand, but he pushed his hand down on your shoulder keeping you down on your knees. "Let me up, asshole." You barked, he simply chuckled at you as he pushed you around, the shower floor making it easy to spin you around to face you towards him. He gave you a knowing smirk and your eyes slowly trailed down until they landed on his hard cock. It was always a sight to see. The thick vein that ran up the side of it, the bulbous head red, the foreskin pushed back, the slight throb of it. It was beautiful. You looked back up at him before you sighed. 'Might as well try not to act like I don't want it, because we both know the truth.' You thought as you reached forward and you grabbed it.

Your grip was tight, just how he liked it, you saw when the head slightly twitched from the throb you felt it in your hand. 'If it's not his heart, soul, and mind I have control of, then it would be his dick.' You thought as you flattened your tongue and you licked the head roughly. He gave a sigh as his hand on your shoulder moved to the top of your head, his fingers pushing into your wet strands as he tangled his fingers into it. You kept your tongue flattened as you continued to lick over his head, it didn't take long before the taste of precum hit your tongue. Your hand slipped lower as you sucked him into your mouth, inching him in little by little, you scrapped your teeth along his cock as you'd always bite down some on the head before you'd suck him back in. Learning how to give Raian a blowjob was a task of its own. He never explained what he liked, he just acted when it wasn't enough.

He was like yourself, a masochist but he was also a sadist. Your hand cuffed his balls gently as you sucked him down your throat further as you got used to his girth, before you pulled back, scrapping your teeth along his shaft as you'd bite down on the head before you'd do it all over again. His head was thrown back as he gave long groans of pleasure, his hands tightening in your hair as his hips bucked suddenly making you nearly choke, your hands came up to his thighs, trying to have some form of control. 'One buck usually leads to many.' You thought, and you were right, because the one turned into two and two into four and four into a constant repeat. You kept your throat open as you allowed him to use your throat, as roughly as he'd pleased. His balls slapped the underside of your chin, your saliva leaking down, causing new strands to form each time you'd pull away.

He groaned loudly as he shoved his cock deep down your throat, and he just held it there. 'Son of a bitch.' You thought as your brow twitched, you looked up at him, and your glare hardened when you saw that shit-eating grin on his face. "You like choking on cock, right?" he taunted. You groaned in irritation. 'Cocky bastard, all because I came the one time he choked me on his cock, not my fault I wasn't in my right mind.' You thought. He pulled back slowly until he was completely out and you coughed some, the pent-up saliva in your mouth poured out with his cock, getting washed away down the drain. "Nasty bitch." He said as he grabbed your arm, hoisting you up from the floor, you stumbled some, your legs numb from being on your knees for so long, but he kept a strong hold on you.

He pulled you close to his body, your hands coming up to rest on his chest when he did. "But I like em like that." He said, as he roughly pushed his mouth against yours, your teeth clashed together making you moan from the pain but it was forgotten when his tongue came to dance with yours. Your slimy tongues danced around one another as you both fought for dominance, you almost never won, but you didn't mind it. Your body was pressed tight up against his, your arms slowly going up and around his neck, while one of his arms circled around your waist while the other reached down to smack your ass. You jumped at the sudden impact before another slap came down just as hard as the first one, you moaned sweetly into his mouth.

Your muffled moans became loud once he pulled back from the kiss, another smack and you hissed while he kissed down your jaw towards your neck where he latched onto your skin. Another smack, a hiss, and a bite. You grunted from the sudden pinch of his teeth on your neck, another smack this time you moaned, another pinch from his teeth, another smack, a painful suck. Your arms tigheten around his neck as your head threw back giving him more room to leave more marks. You whined, moaned, groaned, and cried as he abused your ass with hard slaps while he littered your neck with bites.

Then, the pain was gone, and in its place was a tongue and a soothing hand. You held onto him tightly, your mind hazy as you leaned against his body. 'He wasn't usually like this... Usually by now... He'd be plowing me, not caring about how much pain I was in... I grew tough from it... And now... He's suddenly different... Taking the time to smooth over my small wounds, almost as if to say 'I'm sorry.'... I don't know this Raian but... I also don't mind it either... It makes me feel... Special.' You thought. His hands suddenly trailed down to your thighs as he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He guided himself into your core, slowly pushing in, you moaned at the slow entrance, only for it to get slightly louder once he bottomed out. You whimpered once he fully entered, your face hiding into your folded arms, he just gave a small chuckle at your noise before he lifted you up and let gravity do its job while he thrusts forward. You both moaned at the action his dick seemingly going deeper when he did that. It didn't take him long before he found his rhythm, your body bouncing against him every time he thrusts forward.

'This is different... Way different... He should be ravaging me, taking me by force like an animal... A man without a conscious... So why?... What's causing this sudden change?... Is it me?... Is it Ohma?... Is it someone else?... I need to know... I need to know, Raian... Tell me...' you thought as you lifted your head up, your arms unwrapping around his neck as you tangled your hands into his hair. He stopped his movements when he saw the look in your eyes. "Raian... Be honest with me... Do you love me?" You asked him, his eyes slightly widened and his smirk slowly died down some.

He stared at you for a moment, not saying anything. The shower was the only noise you could hear. His eyes relaxed before his smirk widened once more, he didn't say anything as he turned off the water, opened the door to the shower, and promptly walked out of the bathroom. You were still in his arms, dick still inside, as you stared down at him in confusion. " Raian?... Raian answer me... I deserve an answer damnit." You demanded as you glared at him. He didn't say anything as he suddenly bent down your arms tightening around his neck before your back met the bed.

You stared up at him, you couldn't process anything as you watched him place his head on your shoulder, his arms tightening around you. "You want my honest answer?" He said, his voice low, you nodded your head. "Ha, so do I." He said. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, but you never got a chance to question him before he began thrusting. Your head went back as you moaned at the different position, his tip scraping your g-spot just right, your toes curling and uncurling as your arms tightened around his neck, your fingers digging into his back, your legs loosening from around his waist, he took advantage of that as he quickly grabbed your legs, bending you into the breeding position.

You whined at the sudden change you arms falling next to your head, your body moving with his thrusts. "Remember...What I told you?... About this position?" He suddenly said, you almost didn't hear him, your cloudy brain looking for an answer before your eyes widened. He smirked. "I'll only do that position with a woman, who I can see myself spending the rest of my life with." You said, repeating his words from long ago. He chuckled. "Does that answer your question?... Honest enough for ya?" He asked.

You stared at him, seemingly numb for a moment, before you placed your hands on his arms, and you smiled. His brows slightly twitched at the look in your eyes. It was always there, he could see it everytime he looked at you. That soft look in your eyes that he used to hate so much, he used to despise it... Thinking it was you pitying him, looking down on his strength... But he's grown addicted to the look... Possessive even... He noticed it was a look you only reserved for him and him alone. That was his special stare, and he intended on keeping it like that.

"I love you, Raian." You said, everything stopped. He stared down at you, shocked. The tender smile on your face, thoes pretty eyes full of love... Did he love you back?... Could he even love?... He had favorites... But someone he loved?.... He supposed so... He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you... He wanted you by his side forever. He never wanted you to leave, he needs you, to keep him grounded. He smirked. "Then, in that case... Let me fuck you like a lover." He said.

Your eyes widen, not expecting him to... Recuperate your feelings... In his own way that is. His thrusts suddenly picked back up in speed, as he bent over you making your body curve up slightly more, your knees on side of your head, one of his hands pressed into the bed next to your head while the other held the back of your knee. Your moaned in time with his thrusts, your hands curling into the sheets below, your eyes getting cloudy as they fluttered close. "I'm gonna fuck a baby into you... Showing everyone who you belong to... Just the thought of your belly swelling up is enough to make me cum." He said

His thrusts getting harder, deeper, faster. His balls slapping your ass, your slick pouring out, making the underside of his balls shiny as they left strands of your slick, making a white paste. Your back wanted to arch, your fingers found his thigh as you dug your nails into them, wanting something to ground yourself with. His hand suddenly grabbed your hair, puking it back harshly. You hissed at the pain, you almost thought he snatched you bald, but he didn't, he wouldn't, he likes your hair too much to do that... Plus he didn't wanna hear you bitching about it for days.

Your core tightened, the feeling of your release coming made your eyes roll, your stomach tighten and just like that, your world went hazy as you nearly yelled out your orgasms, Raian chuckled at you, watching you twist and whine as he helped you ride out your high. The twitching of your pussy along his cock made his spine twitch. "I'm gonna make you into a mother, have you carry my children, walking around with that swollen uterus." He said, he could already see it, your little waddles, your swollen ankles, your weird ass cravings, your mood swings, your swollen breasts, leaking milk for his baby. Just as he said before, just the thought of it was enough to make him cum.

He pushed all the way in, his cock pushed in completely. You could feel him twitching, his cum spilling into you, filling you up, his ball tightening up and he gave a groan as another spill came out. You could feel his seed, filling you up. He laid his forehead on your shoulder, as your hands came up, running your fingers through his hair and on the back of his neck. You both lay there, tired, sleepy, hot, sweaty. He didn't even try to slip out, as he flipped you both around. He laid back on the bed, sighing as he felt his body finally relax after his long mission. You lay against him, the sound of his heart beating made you calm down. You felt his hands rubbing up and down your back, lightly tapping your ass on occasion.

You opened your eyes, staring at the bloodied sack with the heads of a family of 9 in it, the blood had long since stopped pooling around the bag, you sighed as your eyes slowly drifted close, he refused to exit you until he felt his seed had taken root. And you were okay with that, if it worked, then a new chapter of your life can begin, and this time, you'll be with your other half to live it out.

[insom-nom-nom-niatic]

2 Of A Kind Ch. 3

CHARACTERS: Troy Otto X Fem Reader

WARNINGS: It's made for FTWD so you should know the basics. +SMUT (read at your own risk. I'm nobody's mom) +Fem receiving

There may or may not be a part 4... need to see how people feel about it. ALSO! Shoutout to all the GIF makers out there for giving me so many options and I love you all... I still feel the need to use the same one repeatedly, but you all help me fight that urge!

This is made for THIS anon request!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“Can I help you with that?”

Troy’s eyes grew dark, feeling his senses begin to tunnel into her and her alone. The woman merely smiled, adjusting herself under the blanket to the side. Her cheeks burned with a fury of confusion and anticipation as she stared back into the blue eyes watching her. “I mean-” Troy shuffled his feet lazily towards the right side of the mattress, closest to the woman. “You helped me so it’s only polite of me to offer my assistance. That is - if you want me to help. Not to be frank but, I could do a bit better than what you were doing.” Troy cocked his head to the side with a crooked smile when the woman scoffed exaggeratingly at his remark. It had been some time, if ever, that anyone had made him feel like this.

Powerful.

“Come’er,” She whispered to him, a voice sending shivers down his spine, but Troy followed her order. The mattress slunk down from his weight, dipping the two into one pothole in the middle. Her fingers ghosted over his hand, the wound on it open to the warm air. His eyes flinched at the sting that rang up his extremity as she placed the hand to her lips, gently kissing the inflamed skin while looking up at him through dark eyelashes. with a twist of his hand, Troy caressed the woman’s cheek, feeling the heat radiate from her dewy skin. Their eyes never broke until Troy lowered his gaze to her lips, softer than he thought they’d be, swiping one calloused digit across the delicate flesh.

With a smooth lick of his lips, Troy initiated the kiss. Pressing his flesh upon her own, feeling her warmth and hearing the ever-so-silent moan that escaped her lips against his. He thought about going slow. He thought about taking it easy with her and not being so forceful, but the sound she made turned him into something more than he thought he was. Deepening the kiss, Troy licked at her bottom lip begging for permission.

Denied.

He could feel her lips pull at the sides, smirking against his touch. This was a game.

A hand found its way to the base of her neck, his fingers dancing along her spine until she felt his way into her hair. Troy took a handful of lush locks, pulling it into a fist. Her body began to arch as her neck pulled back just enough to gain his awaiting tongue entry. His body began to barrel over her as she was lost in the feelings. She wasn’t one to ever relinquish control… yet, here she was. Allowing a stranger control over her body, and she liked it.

As Troy’s tongue ventured into the walls of her mouth, his free hand found its way up her chest, burning fingerprints into the skin he began to expose. With one final nip to her bottom lip, Troy backed away, his lips at least. His eyes regained control again, watching her once-hardened eyes turn soft and needy. The look she gave him through those dark eyelashes gave him the feeling of warmth… possessive… needed.

Fully collapsing into the soft sheet below, the woman gave up her fight. His touch felt too good to push away.

Watching his head dip below her chin, she felt his lips once again burn into her skin, just below her collarbone. His tongue swirled with small suctions traveling lower and lower. His nimble fingers pulled the blanket she was hiding under exposing both breasts to his full view. Troy glanced up, his fingers pinching the sensitive skin of her nipples.

He wanted to see her face as she let him do everything he wanted.

He wanted to see her vulnerable. He wanted to see her as his.

After a little while, he couldn’t take it any longer. Seeing her skin raised in goosebumps and her nipples formed into full points, Troy replaced his fingers with his lips. He hadn’t thought he had an oral fixation before, but the way his cock begged for his lips to have her, any part of her, was beginning to make the brunette re-think that. Her voice jumped when he sucked in a breath against her, biting harder than he had before. Her fingers weaved through the curly locks on Troy’s scalp, tugging ever so much with each moan that escaped her. Troy hadn’t realized that his hand had already found her most sensitive region until she shook under his grasp.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait!” She exclaimed, her fingers lifting his chin to look back at her. “If you’re going there, then I need something other than ‘fuck-boy’ to scream. So what’ll it be?”

Troy smirked, a devilish smirk, with one arm under his weight to keep him raised above her form. The hand that was at her core swiped the saliva from his lips before ghosting down her body, once more resting where he could see a glint of her slick dripping from. His eyes watched her skin react to his touch the entire time, her scars rough and coarse before his fingertips met more soft skin. He thought about toying with her, prolonging her wait for any form of identity of him, but he wanted to hear his name echo on those walls just as bad as she wanted sweet release.

“I’m Troy.”

As soon as he spoke, Troy delved two fingers into her core. Her hands fisted into his hair as he did so. He watched as her entire body arched from the mattress and her lips enchanted the delight of moaning his name. Enjoying the sight before him, Troy watched as she came to orgasm. His digits glided in and out of her sodden core, stretching the walls of her pussy farther with each spasm she had. As she began to clamp down, his thumb rubbed circles through her clit, only causing even more mess as she finally climaxed with a squirt of fluids soaking the bedding below her sweat-slickened skin.

She was a mess, a hot uncontrollable mess as she came back down from her high. She had completely forgotten she was even in company until she felt one strong arm tighten over her belly and soft curls itch across her cheeks. Troy knew she needed a little time, so kept himself busy making bruises to last her a few days on her neck. Once he felt her heart rate slow against his touch, he pulled back to look upon the magnificent work he had done. One arm, again held him up as the other moved slickened hair from the woman’s face. His eyes peered over her lips as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from dazing before meeting her watchful gaze.

“I suppose I should thank you.” She spoke quietly, much softer than normal. Her mouth upturned into a shy smile before turning to look at the ceiling. Troy chuckled tenderly. This woman wasn’t at all who he thought she would be as he peeled back layer after layer.

“There’s no need, I’m here to help, ma’am.”

Troy rolled over to the edge of the mattress, swinging his legs over the side. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome so he figured it was off to the couch for another night. Then, a soft touch wrapped around his wrist.

“Why are you leaving? Did I-”

“I didn’t want to overstay or put you in a position to ask me to leave.”

Troy looked back at the woman from over his shoulder. She sat where he had left her, trying to hide her modesty behind entwined arms and legs. The look she returned was not one that he had assumed he would get. Her coy smile beckoned his feet to not move. Her eyes were like a siren making any thought he had of leaving melt away.

“I’m grateful, I truly am -” her hand that was on his wrist weaved through a belt loop, tugging at the fabric, “- I need more, Troy. And given by how tight those pants have gotten, I think you need more too.”

[witch-hazels-musings]

favorite distraction 

warning: sfw, fluff, spice - character perspective - pining 

includes: Alhaitham (pre-relationship), Childe, Diluc, Thoma

character x gn reader | anthology 

Alhaitham

Alhaitham pinched the hairs on his eyebrow while he read the book sprawled on his desk. The words enticing him into deep thought even as he turned page after page. Every once in a while he’d come across a passage that made him roll his eyes but he never followed through with the action - it was more of a ‘in his head’ type of response. One that also reminded him to unclench his jaw. 

A flicker of light drew his attention. It started with curiosity but quickly spiraled into a focused observation as every synapse in his brain fired while looking at you. 

You weren’t doing anything spectacular. Mostly you were organizing a stack of documents he planned on dealing with later. It wouldn’t have taken him very long after all but he also found no reason to stop you if it saved him from doing work down the line. 

Surprisingly you never complained. If you did it wasn’t to his face. Or, at least, he thought so - to be honest there were a few times he disassociated when you talked to him. It wasn’t necessarily because what you were telling him was boring, it was more like it set off a chain-reaction in his head that he had to follow to its conclusion. 

He could note several occasions where you set off his brain - one of them being now. 

Your body language for-warned him you were about to turn his way so he dropped his gaze to his book. 

“Alhaitham?” He placed his hand on the page and looked up at you. His expression remained unaffected but the rest of him didn’t. His lungs breathed you in, his fingers twitched at how close you were. He wasn’t a man of many wants, preferred the simple things. A relationship was none of those - he didn’t need it. “I’m sorry but,” you pushed a form his way, the pages were sealed together but you’d turned to one in the stack and pointed at the bottom, “You forgot to sign this one.” 

He leaned toward the document, his hair brushing over your arm making you pull it back quickly. “Oh.”

“Let me know when you’ve finished.” You mumbled before rushing back to the stack of papers. Alhaitham was painfully aware of the way people looked at him, talked to him or about him, scoffed at his decisions no matter the kind. He wasn’t oblivious to their reactions, just indifferent to them. Why should he care - people should focus on themselves and not the lives of others. 

But --

Grabbing a pen, he signed the document and verified there wasn’t another one missing. He considered letting you check back in to find it was finished but, instead, he rose from his chair, placed the book he was reading upside down to not lose his place, and made his way toward you. 

“Here,” he called to you when he was close enough, his hand resting on the table. You were surprised to see him. Didn’t you just say to let you know when he was finished?

“T-Thank you,” you stumbled over your words as you took the document and placed it in the pile. He noticed you stealing several glances his way while you worked. “Um - did you need anything else?” You asked and, honestly, he didn’t know what to say to that. 

“No,” he answered which should have been the end to it ... 

But -- 

“You’re distracting.” He blurted out with an empty expression. Eyes locked on your face, taking in everything you did. 

Panicked, you looked at him, “I’m - oh - I’m sorry. I can leave?” He didn’t respond, so you did, “Yeah, right, I’ll leave. So sorry,” It was like watching a bird desperately try to grab all the twigs from the forest floor before fluttering away to their nest. He thought about helping but ultimately didn’t. 

“Alhaithaaaam,” a familiar voice broke his fixation on you. The blond burst through the door to his office so loudly it made you jump and back up into him. “Hey, I forgot my -- oh, hello, y/n,” Kaveh smiled and waved at you but all Alhaitham could focus on was the feeling of your arm against his palm and how warm you felt. 

“H-hello ... bye,” you said in one fluid sentence before dipping out the door and disappearing all together. 

Kaveh made his way toward the table, his head swiveling multiple times as if he were processing what had just happened as slowly as a turtle crawls. It took Alhaitham two tries to answer whatever question was thrown his way. 

“What did you say?” 

“My keys? Do you have them?” Kaveh asked and raised his brow. “Are you okay? You look ... odd ...” 

“I’m fine,” he huffed and turned to head toward his desk. 

“Okay ... well did you say anything mean to y/n? They looked odd too -” 

“You’re distracting.” 

“Huh? What did I do?” 

“No, I told them, ‘you’re distracting.’“ 

“Oh.” ... “OH!” Kaveh shoved the scholars shoulder before snatching his keys, “That’s so rude! Why would you say that?” 

“Why? It’s the truth.” 

“You can’t just tell people they're bothering you like that -” 

“I didn’t say, ‘bothering me,’ I said, ‘distracting.’” 

“I don’t hear a difference.” Kaveh crossed his arms and furrowed his brows at him. 

“How’s this then,” Alhaitham spun on his heels and returned to his chair. He lifted his book and found the spot he’d stopped at moments ago, “you’re annoying.” 

“That’s worse!” Kaveh shouted while Alhaitham started to read. It took longer than he thought it would for it to click, “Wait - was that directed at me?!” When Alhaitham didn’t respond, he threw his hands in the air and stormed off, “Whatever, just be nicer to people. And stop taking my keys!” 

The room fell silent again until he was left completely alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t understand why his honesty would come across as rude. 

You were distracting; then and now. 

You were so distracting that it took more and more of his energy to think about anything but you. 

--

Childe

“Do you have to go right now?” You asked and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. There was a small clock on your bedside but with how dark it was there was no way you’d figure out the time. “How’d they even call you this late?” 

“It’s a secret,” Childe said, grabbing the clock in your hands and placing it facedown on the wooden end-table. “Go back to sleep,” he kissed your forehead and pulled at the sheets that had fallen to your waist. The cool air caused goosebumps to rise on his back, he could only imagine what it did to you. 

“But I want to see you off. I’ll grab my --” Childe cut you off with a lingering kiss. His hand cupped the back of your head as he guided you onto the pillow still warm from when you were asleep. The silken sheets made it easy for him to leave you there even if it was difficult for his will to do so. 

“Back to sleep,” he repeated, his lips passing over yours as he spoke. The sensation drove him mad. He gripped the bedsheet to stay calm. 

“Not fair,” you breathed and he stole another kiss from you. 

“I won’t be gone long.” You nodded, he couldn’t really see you but he felt your nose run next to his, brush against his cheek. “Sleep,” he demanded and pecked your nose with a quick kiss before prying himself away from you. 

Gathering his things, he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door so he couldn’t disturb you. He caught his reflection in the mirror and lingered on several scars that lined his chest. A long gash that put him in a healing ward for nearly two weeks, another wound that kept him from using his delusion for a whole month. Though it wouldn’t have been that long if he’d listened to Dottore. Lifting his arm, he looked at another scar that he’d received from places he conjured in his nightmares. 

Clenching his jaw, he turned on the water and splashed his face with the cool liquid before throwing on his shirt. 

Childe was annoyed he had to leave so abruptly. He swore he’d smash his fist into the face of whoever called him away. He had his suspicions, only a small handful of Harbingers would be brave enough to request him in the middle of the night, and even fewer brave enough to enter the one place he forbade anyone else from ever stepping foot in.

Call upon him wherever, whenever, but don’t ever do it near you. 

When Childe finished putting his clothes on, he left the bathroom to grab his bag and pack away the other items he’d need for the expedition. Whatever it was it better be over quick. 

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he made his way to the door but not before glancing back at the bed, not before breathing through his straining heart at the sight of you asleep and bathed in moonlight. 

He was so weak. 

The bag slipped off his shoulder, fell down his arm and dropped quietly on the floor. He walked toward your side of the bed and looked down at your face. His hand felt magnified to you. It moved on its own to caress your cheek, hovered, trembled above you out of fear of waking you up. Out of fear of seeing your eyes look at him. Of your smile. Of the sound of your voice calling his name. 

If you asked it of him, he run to you without question. 

Kneeling, he watched you for a moment. Took you in. Reveled in the sight of you and became jealous of the moon. He dropped his head and took in a breath. 

“You’re distracting,” he professed, his hand rubbing his chin, covering his smirk and clenching jaw. Childe rose up just enough to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, “So damn distracting,” he whispered and watched how you moved beneath him. 

Tearing himself away, he picked up his bag and exited the room. Careful not to slam the door too loud in his irritation. 

The Fatui always talked about how Scaramouche had a sour look on his face, but they’d never seen his after being torn from the bed of his lover and favorite distraction. 

--

Diluc

He meandered through the halls of the Winery, eyes locked on the papers folded in his hand. He had a habit of tucking them behind themselves so he could hold onto them more comfortably. So he could keep his left hand free to sign a form or sniff a cup of just brewed wine. It felt like he’d only made it a few steps before someone else pulled his attention away.

“Excuse me, Master Diluc,” an attendant called to him with a sharp bow. He hated when they addressed him as such, but he stopped trying to fix it long ago. “The equipment you ordered arrived, what would you like us to do with it?” Diluc looked past the attendant toward the front door even though he had no view of outside from this angle. 

“Nothing is missing?” They shook their head, “Alright,” he turned back toward the cellar, “instruct Earnest to set it up in the back corner of the cellar. It should be clear as of yesterday.” 

“Yes sir,” they bowed.

“This new processing method is reserved for our non-alcoholic beverages. Do remind them when you see them,” they bowed again before passing him while Diluc returned to the papers in his grip. He lagged for a moment as he tried to find his place until catching his stride and moving down the hall toward the stairs. 

He drew closer to the study but before he passed through the door, a familiar laugh drifted toward him, stopping him in his tracks. Diluc glanced down the hall seeing only a sliver of light stretching across the ornate rug that had been there since before he was born. No other sound followed so he continued through the door as planned. 

A few moments later, he exited the study to investigate the source of the heart-straining laughter. 

Pushing the door to the bedroom open, he saw you laying across the bed. Your feet kicking in the air, hands holding a book which held your attention.  You laughed again, pressed the pages to your face with a lovely smile before pulling back and turning the page.  Diluc swore he wasn’t a jealous man but oh how he wished to be that book.

It took only a few strides to reach you, and a few less for you to finally look at him. 

“Hello, Handsome,” you hummed. 

He cleared his throat, “Hello.” His cheeks warmed at the nickname you gave him. Of all the things to say -- 

“Whatcha doing?” Lifting onto your knees, you ett him face to face. Closing your book over your fingers, you tapped his chest when he took a step closer to you.

“I might ask you the same thing,” he answered eyeing your book. 

“I figured I’d take a break. Wanna join me?” You inched toward him. His body reacted strongly to feeling of your weight against him as you slid your arms over his shoulder, falling into his chest. 

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes to avoid looking at your smile, “I cannot. There are still a few things --” 

“Boo -” you pouted, pulling away from him as you deflated. His hands held your waist so you couldn’t get very far. When they got there he wasn’t sure but they felt so right he didn’t question it. “Okay.” 

Diluc hated seeing you unhappy but he was terrible and finding the right balance. 

“Will you have dinner with me then?” 

He thought it was a silly question. The two of you always had dinner when he wasn’t otherwise incapable of it. With a smile, he told you his intentions, “Yes.” 

“Yay!” With that you were back in a state that made him swoon. He adored your smile more than anyone could. “I won’t hold you then,” you explained but not before you leaned in to kiss him. 

Dangerous --- 

It shouldn’t have distorted him so badly. He’d kissed you plenty of times before this - when one of you left the Winery grounds, when you’d both be too busy to see much of the other, in passing as if to tell the other, ‘hello, i’m thinking of you.’ They were simple but he cherished every one. This one, however, settled in his stomach to intensely. Before you could slip away from him, he pulled you back for another. 

and another. 

and another. 

Until you were laying on your back and his hands pressed into the well-made bed. He pulled back to take you in. How heavily you caught your breath, how tenderly your fingers pressed against his chest or rested against his stubbled chin. He kissed your fingers and you sang at the touch.

He said your name making you shiver at the sound, “Have I told you that you’re ... distracting ...” he breathed over your lips, gaze growing heavy as he looked down at you. 

Your voice had changed in such a beautiful way, “Good distracting or bad--?” 

“Not sure yet,” he answered as his lips connected with yours for a long, lingering kiss of many. 

--

Thoma

Thoma rolled onto his side. The warm sheets sliding across his skin while the sounds of birds and even earlier risers than him spilled through the open windows. He took in a deep breath, catching a whiff of familiarity and comfort. 

Something passed over his side and, before he knew it, that familiarity was pressing against his back. 

Thoma chuckled, “Morning.” He kept his voice low so as to not be so jarring. The only response he got was a unhappy groan. Slowly, he ran his hands over the arm pressed against him, across the palm of the hand that opened to greet him. He caressed the skin and his back grew warmer. “I have to get up,” he said, albeit reluctantly. 

“Mmm, no,” you mumbled, capturing his index finger in your grip. 

“Haha, come on -” He tried to pull his hand away but you held strong; stronger than anyone should be for just waking up. “Okay - okay, a little longer.” He submitted and you relaxed against him. 

Thoma closed his eyes but didn’t fall back asleep. Instead, he listened to the sound of footsteps in the polished hallway, heard whispers of attendants going about their morning, careful not to wake their neighbors up. The Kamisato Estate was more accommodating than people expected, even the staff quarters were more lavish than some of the hostels and homes speckling the island. Thoma wasn’t raised here, but he grew up here. It was like a home to him but you were changing that feeling every day. 

He didn’t just work hard for himself, he worked hard for those he cared about. Prying himself from your arms every morning took a little piece of him, he wanted to give you a good life. One outside of the walls of his employer. 

So, even though you had managed to slip another arm around him. This one under his head. He had to part ways. 

“Okay, time to --” Thoma was captured by you as you launched yourself up and hovered over him. One hand pressing into the bed near his face while the other landed at the back of his neck. He moved to his back and looked into your determined face. 

“I’m not ready for you to leave yet,” you explained, lips dragging down into a frown. Even when you scrunched your face up, even when your hair stuck out at all ends he thought you were one of the most enchanting beings he’d ever seen. 

Maneuvering his hand between the sheets and your limbs, he touched your forehead and let his hands run across your hair. “When will you be ready?” He asked, knowing no amount of time would be reasonable enough for you. Be it a few minutes, an hour, several days, if you could steal all his time you’d do it - and he was so very tempted to let you. 

If only you knew how often you filled his mind. How frequently he found himself thinking of you, looking for you, hoping for your well-being. He thought that after you agreed to be his, after you swore you’d be by his side that his passions for you would stabilize but that - he found - was not the case. 

“I’m never ready,” you answered. 

“I know,” he replied, cupping your face and pulling you to him. He kissed your lips gently, moved to your nose where he gave you another, turned your head without resistance to pepper the space below your eyes with more of his love. When he finished, your arms were shaking so he helped you fall to your side. 

“Thoma -” 

“Mmm?” He asked as he followed after you, his nose pushing against your jaw so he could kiss the warmth of your neck. 

“Y-your distracted --” 

He slid closer to you, placed his arm over your head so he could block you, wall off your expressions so only he could see. “I guess I am,” Thoma mused, his nose brushing against your own until you looked at him and he sealed your bravery with a kiss. 

--

[harukapologist]

rambling about Haruka

As an ND person I just hate how Haruka's character is either completely infantilized or reduced to a selfish, evil murderer, when, to me, he is so much more than that.

Especially the latter; I hate when any MILGRAM character is called evil because what's the point of MILGRAM, then? They're all morally grey! That's how they test us. But Haruka in particular because I feel like it comes from a place of ableism, intentional or not.

I'm not sure if I should put TWs, but well I talk about ableism, murder (obviously lol), childhood trauma and well... it's Haruka

Haruka's outburst in the VD and his implication of killing animals (I know it's basically canon but erm... i can explain why I think it's an implication later) (i just finished writing the post and actually i explained why at the bottom of the post but its not a full explanation so lol) are the reasons I see people calling him either evil or childlike, and while I do think that Haruka is stuck in a childlike state in some aspects, this is emotional dysregulation of an ND and/or traumatized person, to me.

The uglier sides of being ND/traumatized, the ones that get heavily stigmatized and seen as intentional or evil; I think this was a display of one of them. And I really wish to see more people focusing on Haruka's disability in the ways it can affect his communication and day-to-day life skills more than "oh, poor baby, he has a disability that makes him feel unwanted" without actually understanding the details of the disability and, well, the reason why it is a disability.

Like, the emotional dysregulation that comes with being autistic, which is my headcanon for him. The hyperempathy and literal thinking that might make him harder to communicate with, and get people frustrated with him more often.

That and being severely neglected; I think neglect is one of the lesser discussed forms of childhood trauma and the fact that Haruka was shown to be neglected as well as abuse really means a lot to me, because I think some people don't quite understand just how much neglect and isolation fucks you up.

All those factors combined are a recipe for an unstable, impulsive, clingy shell of a human, and him getting called evil for that really saddens me. It's important to remember that these MVs are extracted from the prisoners' own memories and thoughts. It comes from their perception of their surroundings, their murders, and their own selves. The manic look that Haruka has on his face for a lot of AKAA, for example. The makeshift shirt he's wearing, as if he's desperately trying to sew himself together into a normal person, the exhausted, frustrated look when he picks up the necklace, it's important to remember that this is how he sees himself. A monster who has lost control of himself. The line "I'll keep killing to be your good boy" was a shock, but the way he meekly apologized to Es at the end of his VD, I really think that shows that he feels guilty, that he wants to convince himself more than anyone that he was a good person, that he was really trying to be one despite how his unlucky life frustrated him to his breaking point.

As for his infantilization, it has already been addressed by many thoughtful members of the fandom and I'm grateful to see that, but I also want to say it myself since god knows I hate being patronized.

It feels very ableist saying he's just "someone stuck in a childlike mindset/age regressor" Yes, and how does age regression as a coping mechanism develop? Usually through prior trauma that makes you "stuck" at said age, and that can present differently. It can be longing and yearning for a simpler time, for an actual happy childhood, or having flashbacks to a traumatic event that happened at a certain age; it is not uncommon for trauma survivors to be "frozen" at the age their trauma took place.

I think both of these are the case for Haruka. Frozen at that moment, but trying to reduce himself to nothing but a little, unaware child to avoid reliving it again, relishing in the innocence and purity of his good younger times (emphasis on purity--Haruka's murder was by strangulation, yet there's a shot in AKAA where he's covered in blood. I know it's after he killed the animals, but he's in the stitched-together outfit here; I think there's more to this MV than just killing the animals. Since this outfit is... not very likely to be worn in reality, did the animal killing happen at all? Even if it did, I think this shot remains an indicator that he sees himself as impure; guilty. I have a LOT to say about the inconsistencies in Haruka's MVs, but I'll save that for later... Anyway, back on topic) It is NOT "having the mental capacity of a child, so being unable to date etc." Haruka has still lived 17 years, maybe even more, since he isn't too interested in remembering his age. How do you treat actual neurodivergent people if this is how you see him?

When I rewatch the MVs, relisten to the VDs, reread the interrogations and timelines, I see no evil, just an incredibly broken, misunderstood person.

[thepersonperson]

omg i'm so excited to find your blog!

its genuinely hard to find someone out here in the wasteland of jjk fandom who reads the manga and also doesn't discard the queercodedness of the characters and the interpersonal relationships between them!!

I'm curious if you have any ideas on how this all might end? Gege keeps saying the manga will end by the end of 2024 but it feels like there's so many things to be addressed.

I personally think it might end in either two options: cursed energy ceases to exist altogether (all sorcerers die and humanity is left to fend of for its own curses it creates) or everyone becomes like Maki (no/minimal cursed energy but can fight curses- too optimistic). Knowing Gege there might be a secret third, forth or fifth thing as well :D

I also think Megumi will be saved for sure and he will activate the merger, but also I'm thinking there might be a small little moment something like happened between Gojo and Geto in Shibuya otherwise Yuta laying there useless is so much wasted potential.

Do you have theories?

The burden of proof for queer readings is really high because the default reactions to them are 1) you’re reading too much into it due to personal/shipping biases and 2) unless the creator is explicit, it’s unreasonable to assume they would include queerness on purpose.

So it’s not uncommon for those who would otherwise have these readings to overcorrect and minimize the queerness to show they aren’t biased in that way. I find that to be incredibly unfair to creators that have to be subtle because of the political landscape or laws limiting queer expression.

What makes me comfortable being so overt about queerness in Jujutsu Kaisen isn’t Gege’s personal interest in yaoi and inclusion of characters indisputably outside of the gender binary. It’s the fudging dudebros.

You have to understand. I grew up on an internet where dudebros loathed any ounce of queerness. They unilaterally hated gay ships. There’s also the entire existence of the trap meme and slur used to erase the identities of characters that are trans or genderless.

But with Jujutsu Kaisen? Even notoriously homophobic Black Twitter is posting things like this.

This is unheard of. Instead of denying the queerness in Gojo and Geto’s relationship they are arguing over who tops or bottoms. (Honestly I am fascinated by how much black people, myself included, love this series. I’ve never been in a fandom where black culture is the default for memes. Calling Sukuna The Unc? Famous music artists Usher and Megan Thee Stallion like doing cosplays. I should probably do a whole post on that.)

And it keeps happening. I keep seeing dudebros have takes that put all of tumblr degenerates to shame.

They fudging reinvented mpreg with canon compliant mechanics.

It's not just limited to Satosugu. Just look at this.

And when you look at these people’s profiles, they are straight men. Most of their timelines are powerscaling, sports, busty women, or hentai.

If the dudebros are acknowledging the queer subtext as a part of canon, it’s no longer reaching to interpret the text that way as far as I’m concerned.

For your other points…

I doubt the manga will end in 2024 because of all the unexpected health related breaks Gege has taken. That statement was made before these breaks and likely under the assumption things would meet a specific schedule.

I don’t really have theories for how the series will end. Every time I try to guess the direction of the plot it’s always wrong. The only predictions I can make with some accuracy are things with respect to character relationships and motivations. I sure hope to get more character interactions and less death though! (<The delusions of a foolish creature.)

[vladdyissues]

Hi, I'm asking this question because I'm genuinely afraid. I want to post art I did/I commissioned a different artist of Pompous Pep on my blog, but I'm terrified of others attacking me. I've always liked this ship since I was kid and didn't it was considered taboo until I was older. How do you deal with hate? Would it be better to post on a side blog? My main DP AU does have Pompous Pep when Danny is in his early to mid 20s.

I answered a similar ask here, but this one also deserves its own answer. Here are some things you can do to protect yourself from hate:

✦ Turn off anonymous asks. That curbs 99.9999% of abuse, because haters are too chickenshit to send stuff that they can get reported for and possibly have their account terminated. If you do decide to open anonymous asks at some point and receive hate, you can still report it. More on blocking here.

✦ Make sure you tag your post with "pompous pep" so those who love the ship can find it and those who have the tag blocked can avoid it.

✦ As you can see, there are quite a few of us Pompep fans here on Tumblr, and it's good to be part of a community. Being able to laugh off anon hate with one another is a superb morale-booster. (If you spend any amount of time on Discord, DM me. We have a server, and you'd be very welcome there.)

Bottom line: Haters will always find a reason to hate something they don't like. You can never "perform" purely enough to please them, so don't even try. If you age up Danny and Vlad, they'll still bitch about the age gap. If you make them the same age, they'll bitch about the "toxic dynamic" of Enemies to Lovers. If you make an AU where they've always been friends and are the exact same age, they'll still accuse you of Shipping Crimes™ because it's still the same characters—even if all the obstacles that made the ship problematic have been removed. All you'll do is wear yourself out trying to conform to their standards, so just say "fuck em" and do what you want.

Me, personally, I've been in fandom too long to be bothered by anon hate. I report them, block them, and delete the message, and I don't waste any more energy than necessary. I also follow the golden rule of Don't Feed the Trolls. Haters thrive on attention, and if they get no response from you, they'll eventually give up their attack and move on.

I'm sorry that the actions of an idiotic, vocal minority have made you afraid to participate in fandom activities. No one should ever feel that way. Just remember that you're not alone. Almost all of us Pompep fans have dealt with negativity at some point in our lives, but that hasn't stopped us at all. We're still here, and we'll always be here.

✦ As for sideblogs, they're great if you want to keep certain stuff separate from your main blog, but it's totally up to you. Just keep in mind, if you want to block anyone from seeing your sideblog, it must be done from the Blog Settings of that particular sideblog. More on sideblogs here.

I hope this post answered your questions and eased some of your fears. If you have any further comments or questions, you know how to reach me :)

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Ok a rant about Cerri bomb and how much I HATE her

In the addict music video she was a very supportive friend of Angel and I loved her in the pilot! I wish we got that supportive best friend to Angel in the final product, but unfortunately she is a woman in a vivziepop show.

She’s AWFUL now I can’t stand her, the way she tried to make Angel relapse was so weird like pilot cherri wouldn’t do that! I also really dislike her design it has to be one of my personal least favourites (not the bottom though nothing is worse than alastors design to me) she isn’t enjoyable to watch anymore she had potential if she’d only been introduced earlier! Imagine if she was introduced in episode 4 and played the supportive friend she was originally supposed to be!

And GOD I hate her ship with pentious, it was SO RUSHED, so poorly done and the ship isn’t very “so cute and in love!!” When you remember she showed literally NO interest in him until Angel brought up that he has 2 dicks, and this is supposed to be a romantic relationship we CARE about.

Cherri didn’t need a romantic relationship she needed CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT we needed to get to know her! If you’ve only seen the show and no other Hazbin media at all (which shouldn’t be required you should be able to get all your info FROM THE SHOW) you’d barely know anything about her character or who she is. I wish we got pilot cherri bomb, and that she got a design update, and that her and pent’s relationship was either taken slower or didn’t happen at all

You silly little creature you, you have me writing in my notes app instead of Tumblr because I’m about to go crazy!

Cherri Bomb. More like Cherri what the hell happened

Anyway I’m gonna tackle this one thing at a time, and also forgive me if I word something weird I just woke up an hour ago at the time of writing this.

First thing, design: I personally quite like her design since it very loosely reminds me of Iris from Ruby Gloom with ofc the one eye, the very rowdy personality and kind of the hair, but those are very broad design choices and its just me remembering some random girl I thought was silly but like Iris did it better.

Okay now second thing and then we go into literally everything else: My blog has been an angry pit of despair for everything in Episode 6 as of recent so let’s tap into that again 🤏 just a little. I am going to give my classic centrist opinion and say I don’t mind Cherri Bomb all that much but I absolutely get why people dislike her, and I mean this in the kinda way as people who dislike… Idk Fukuchi from BSD. WILD jump in fandoms but gimme a second. I can’t 100% say that Cherri Bomb in the pilot was better than the series since we have no idea if maybe for some reason she was intended to be like that offscreen, but judging by the pilot and “Addict” alone, it’s very unlikely. I could see her maybe being a bad influence at times and being like “Loosen up dude we’re in hell and its Friday” or something (idk if they have Friday in hell but everyday is probably Monday 🥁) but overall I feel like she’d end up apologising for it. However on the other side of things, I can understand why Cherri did that in Episode 6. Of course not to say this is okay, but Cherri is still very clearly not in the “redemption” mindset. She’s happy the way she is and is really only focused on certain aspects of issues. We see her comfort Angel in “Addict” but thats basically the extent of it. Cherri’s definition of “self-care” seems to be less of actually taking care of yourself and more like just letting go and having fun instead which really only gives a momentary fix to the issue, much like how substances can be abused. Do you kinda see what im getting at? Cherri offering Angel drugs while he’s trying not to relapse is not okay, full stop. But her reasoning as to why makes a bit of sense for her purpose in the show which is honestly not much, since, as you said, she is a woman in a Vivziepop show.

To my knowledge Cherri is like 30-ish years younger than Angel Dust in Hell experience so she’s likely not reached a point where she’s gotten tired of how things work, as well as the fact we don’t really have much of an idea on her backstory aside from that random shot in “Addict” of that guy in a puddle??? But generally she seems to be in a better position than Angel is, so there isn’t really any reason for her to want to change, yknow? I will say I do like exploring characters that are good friends while still being bad influences at times, but I’m going to be honest I feel like thats really not what Angel needs right now. I wouldn’t be as pissy about it if she did end up apologising afterwards (I’m just gonna headcanon she did for my sanity) but even then as Angel’s friend we don’t know like… anything about her. I would’ve really liked to get some kind of callback to the pilot where Cherri mentions she thought Angel was dead until the random Sir Pentious turf war, and maybe we could see her actually being worried about Angel again instead of those 3 frames in “Addict”, but Hazbin is rushed and I guess we don’t have time for that. And also YES it would’ve been great to see her in Episode 4 and actually doing something but again, Vivziepop is boring.

Going forward I would really like to see Cherri, if not become a patron, at least try to be a better friend and sure if she wants to keep doing stuff she can keep doing it, but just don’t encourage other people to relapse. It is very simple.

SIR PENTIOUS! About Sir Pentious, this is going to be incredibly short. I don’t hate the ship but also I’m not really crazy about any of the Hazbin Hotel ships? I also don’t really hate any except for the genuinely horrid ones but thats basic sense. I absolutely agree with you, Cherri does not need a romantic interest. Romance doesn’t always = growth and growth should not always = romance. She needs some genuine character TLC and I hope to god she gets some in season 2. We’ve only seen a few minutes of her so I have yet to give a firm opinion, but as of now I’m just hoping they do something actually interesting with her instead of just alluding to Sir Pentious ship. Also the penis thing. 1. What was that, and 2. It made me and my friends briefly pause to sex Sir Pentious and come to the conclusion he is likely transgender/hj

TLDR; Please give us a fun Cherri Bomb again. ☹️