#i should be asleep but this is what i'm thinking about

[beomiracles]

𝓟𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝓒𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ In Strawberryland, where all the people are happy, and a little fruity; Little Apricot finds herself drawn to the only thing the village seems to resent. — For in a lonesome house by the far end of the valley, where the sun never seems to shine, and the grass never seems to grow, lives a boy who was once as peachy as one could be.

Nowadays, he's grown somewhat of a hermit, and should his sharp glares not be enough, his harsh words certainly will be when he fends off any visitors that may dare come his way. No one knows what happened to the boy. Though one thing was clear; every peach Beomgyu touched quickly turned rotten. ⸝⸝

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 16k ་༘࿐

𝓹airings peach!beomgyu x little apricot!reader (f) 𝔀arnings heavy grumpy x sunshine trope, fairytale themed (kinda goes in threes, at least in the beginning), mean beomgyu, naive/gullible reader, longing/yearning, unprotected sex, creampie, little apricots cum is described as a jam-like texture, cum eating, oral (f. rec), overstimulation, beomgyu is fuzzy (cause peach fuzz), lot of kissing, loads of sexual tension..

#serene adds ✎.. hello!! I'm so so excited for this fic you guys seriously have no idea, imagine my current excitement and then bump it up 100x! I've worked so hard on this fic, but most of it felt so natural when I was writing, everything kinda just flowed? I hope that shines through!! ahh, and I can never shut up so here we are at 16k when my target was 7k but oh well.. oh but I would love to hear your thoughts on this!! merry christmas!! consider this my gift :3

THIS FIC IS A PART OF AN EVENT, GET REDIRECTED TO THE EVENTPOST !

The sun rises early in Strawberryland, its warm rays casting the plump little houses in an orange glow. It’s quiet, for the colorful meadow has yet to wake up. The birds are still sleeping soundly, the deers hidden in the treeline as they huddle close to one another. All that can be heard is the soft rippling of clear water as it runs along a small stream. Everyone is asleep, all except for one.  — Little Apricot rises just as the sun, and she does so with excitement. 

Pots and silverware clank together, creating a chaotic atmosphere in your tiny kitchen as you shuffle about. The soft hum of a foreign melody dances across your lips, your hands working diligently as they alter between stirring the jam that was cooking on the stove, and onto unscrewing the lids of the many jars you’d prepared. An outsider would think something big was coming, that this might’ve been a special day indeed. 

And it was. For Little Apricot at least. 

“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty…” You point to each neatly secured jar, filled to the brim with creamy orange jam. They’re topped with a matching ribbon, tied nicely around the plaid and orange lid. And they’re now all ready to be handed out. — “Forty-nine…” You trail off, gaze lingering by the last jar, “Fifty…” 

With pursed lips, your hands hover above it, debating on whether to shove it in the already full basket alongside the rest. In the end you do. And with your bright orange coat pulled over your body, you step outside, letting the warm sun caress the soft skin of your cheeks, causing a smile to spread across your face. Today was a good day. 

Your steps are light and cherry as you skip down the cobbled road that takes you through Strawberry village. The happy song of the melody you sang rings out into the air, and you only tune it down to a soft hum as you approach the first door of the day. — With a gentle knock, you wait, swinging back and forth on two legs as you balance the heavy basket in your hands. 

The blue door to the little hut swings open and you’re greeted by a mess of hair as bright and blue as the sky itself. Blueberry Kai greets you with a smile, his sapphire like eyes sparkling in the sun as they land on the basket in your hands. “Hi Little Apricot!” He almost sings the words and you refuse a giggle as you coyly avert your gaze. 

“Hi Kai, I brought you one of these..” You reach for one of the jam filled jars, handing the boy it as you await his verdict. — Kai’s smile widens as he takes the jar from you, and it seems small in his large hands. “You’re too good to us Apricot”, he says, though doesn’t refuse your kindness but rather thanks you with the promise of bringing a fresh blueberry pie in the following days. 

You continue like that, happily skipping down the road that looped around the village. And for each house you stopped by, the grin on your lips only grew, as did the warmth on your face and the love that filled your chest. Gradually your basket emptied and got lighter, and once you’d delivered Lemon Drop Soobin his jar, all that remained was one. 

The bright and orange little jar looks lonely as it rocks back and forth by the bottom of your now comically large basket, and with a small frown you glance toward the forest line. “Hmpf”, you huff, shaking your head sharply before turning on your heel and marching toward the dark trees. You had made enough jam for everyone in this village, and you’d make sure to deliver it as well. 

..Suppose you had underestimated the dark and menacing nature of the woods just slightly. But it wasn’t like the forest in Strawberryland was always this…scary, it just so happened to be the part where one individual resided. The youngest of the village speculated that his presence is what caused the nature around him to turn dark, that his vile and evil ways killed everything around him. You didn’t believe such nonsense, yet you found yourself gripping the basket tighter in your hands as you carefully trudged forward. 

You’ve been walking for a good twenty minutes, following a sparse dirt road as you peer through the thick tree trunks, when a small cottage suddenly floats into vision. Your heart beat immediately picks up, thumping loudly against your ribcage as you with hesitant steps approach. — The small hut looks just like the others of the village. Or at least, it used to. 

The white paint on its sides had been dirtied by nature's force, vines climbed the walls and tangled around the windowsills where the peachy paint had chipped. The roof was a round and once warm shade, though now, it looked just as lifeless as the rest of the house. You wondered how anyone could possibly live like this. 

A small wooden sign is shoved into the ground, it is just as battered as the rest of the place and reads the words, “Keep Out!” A flicker of uncertainty passes you by, but you ignore it. It was probably just something he had put up to scare any kids that dared come this way despite their mother’s warnings.

As you heave the steps up his front door, you try to remember what he’d looked like. You don’t think you have seen him for quite some time now. For he only ventured into town when he needed something, and judging by the state of his small cottage, it had been a while. Still, you figured that he deserved a jar of jam just as much as anyone else. It wasn’t like he was a criminal or anything of the sort…He was just, well… Him. 

The knock you deliver to his door is just as soft and cheerful as the others had been. Though this time you have to remind yourself to smile, it didn’t come naturally when your heart was palpitating at a near alarming rate. — You wait another minute, nearly two, but there’s still no answer. With a small frown you try your luck again.

Another soft knock. 

“Hello? Is anybody there?” You call out, the shaky edge to your voice coming off a lot stronger than you’d hoped. But you hadn't come all the way out here for nothing, and you would be damned if you didn’t get this last jar off your hands. A few moments later, you hear it, the soft rustling of something, of someone, moving on the other side. 

And much to your delight, the door swings open mere moments later. Though the sight you’re met with does little to ease the agitated beating of your heart. A tangled mess of unkempt dark brown hair, paired with fierce and menacing eyes and a nasty scowl that stretches across his pale lips. — Peach Beomgyu looked ready to beat you bloody. 

Your words get caught in your throat, and as much as you try to swallow, not an ounce of saliva will go down. Clearing your throat, you readjust the basket in your hands, wordlessly extending it in front of you. Beomgyu’s gaze falls on the lonesome jar before snapping back up to you. His brows furrow, twisting his face into even more of an accusing look as his eyes narrow on you. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” His voice has got a clean cut edge to it, sharp and impeccably demanding. Suddenly, your usual lines all diminish into nothing, your brain melting into a pile of jam as your mouth goes dry. “I… I brought you some-” — “I can see what it is, do you take me for an idiot?” He snaps, effortlessly cutting you off as he shoves your basket back with a look of sheer distaste. 

Your mouth opens and closes, like that of a goldfish mindlessly swimming around in its bowl. “Y-Yes but you see I”, you swallow, “I made it myself.” And though you knew your words to be true, they were hardly convincing as you stumbled over them. Beomgyu’s brows rose on his forehead, but he did not look surprised, merely lightly interested. You counted the win anyway. 

With trembling arms you extend him the basket once more, encouraging him to retrieve the jar. But he only looked at it as though it would jump up and bite him in the face. “Well you’ve wasted your time then”, he grunts, averting his gaze as he urges you off his porch. You won’t budge, feet clamming to the old wooden boards as you stubbornly present the jar for him. 

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hand through his dark hair, and you’re surprised when his fingers don't catch onto the mess of strands, in fact the brown locks looked almost…soft. You shake your head, blinking twice as you pick the jar up, shoving it against his hard chest as you peer over at him with a determined expression, your lips pressed together in a firm line. 

“I’m sure you can reconsider”, you probe, much to little avail as Beomgyu’s scowl only grows. You were sure you’d overstepped for good this time. — But he doesn’t shout, nor does he tell you to get the hell away from his house. He chuckles. And though it’s far from an actual laugh, it’s something other than the tired and displeased groans. It makes your stomach flutter in an unfamiliar way. 

You almost expect him to wipe a half-hearted tear from his eye. To maybe condole you on your gullibleness or your overbearing kindness. Well, and a small part of you hopes he might actually accept the jar. — He does none of those things, instead he takes a small, almost unnoticeable step back. And before you know it, the door is slammed shut in your face, leaving you alone in the dark and menacing forest once more. 

With a petulant huff, you glance toward the window by the door, just in time to see him drawing the peach colored curtains in front of the glass, blocking him from your view. “Bastard”, you mutter as you step off the porch, kneeling down in front of it to place the jar down, “I’ll just put you right here…” 

As you trudge down the dirt path leading from his cottage and back to the village, you can feel his lingering gaze on you, peeking through the light and peachy curtains. You smile to yourself, feeling accomplished despite his refusal, for you did not take his cruel words personally. — At the end of the day an angry person will always be the angriest with himself. 

⸝⸝

It quickly becomes somewhat of a habit for you to make fifty jars instead of forty-nine. At first you had told yourself that the number was just much more satisfactory in itself, and that it was easier to make five full batches rather than four and then some. But you could only lie to yourself for so long. And when you find yourself on Beomgyu’s doorstep a third time in the span of two weeks, you know that the extra jar is more than just a number. 

He doesn’t answer you when you call for him, but you know he’s there, listening, even though he doesn't want to, because he can’t help himself. And each time, you place the little jar on his porch. The orange jam is a stark contrast to the dull forest all around, and is easily spotted. — You keep returning, not because you fancied being ignored outside his shut door, or because you enjoyed the muddy walk to his little house. But because whenever you returned, the jar from last time would be gone. 

And when you for a fifth time find yourself on his porch, swaying back and forth as you hum along to a quiet melody, you’re surprised when the door actually opens. He’s frowning, lips tugged into what you presumed to be a permanent scowl. You wondered if he ever smiled. — Beomgyu gives you a quick one over, his gaze undoubtedly lingering by the jar in your basket. 

He clears his throat, “What the hell are you still doing here?” His question catches you off guard and you blink as your attention returns to the present moment. “Huh?” Is all you can muster, the response coming out as a question of your own. — Beomgyu scoffs, rolling his eyes as if he’d just asked you the most obvious thing. “You’ve been out here for twenty minutes, what the fuck do you want?”

Twenty minutes? Had it really been that long.. You would admit that you usually lingered for a minute or two before placing the little jar and returning back home. It wasn’t like you were waiting for him, well… You might have been. Suppose that today your mind had travelled a little too far, even for your own liking. But to think that you’d spent a whole twenty minutes in front of his door, lost in thoughts.. 

“I… Well I..” You bite the inside of your cheek, your brows creasing into a confused frown. You open your mouth to speak, but what comes out is not a coherent response, rather… “Your hair is brown.”

Beomgyu looks taken aback for once, his own frown deepening tenfold as he regards you with confusion. “So?” He retorts, folding his arms across his chest. — You don’t think it had ever occurred to you, but the unkempt and wild mess atop his head was a dark shade of brown, nearly black. It suited him, sure, it made his already sharp features and dark eyes stand out even more. But you couldn’t help but wonder why… 

All of the people in Strawberryland had cheerful and bright colors. You thought of Blueberry Kai’s bright blue hair, Lemon Drop Soobin’s warm yellow and Yeonjun Sorbet’s striking red. Yet Peach Beomgyu had…brown hair? It didn’t make any sense. — Beomgyu looks almost insulted as he waits for you to respond, impatiently tapping his foot against the threshold. 

“Isn’t your hair supposed to be…peach colored?” You say, pointing a curious finger to the mess on his head. Beomgyu frowns, reaching a hand up to run through the dark locks as he waves you off, huffing in dismay. “What’s it to you?” He tsk’s, his attention flickering down to the jam in your basket once more, and only when his gaze meets yours do you register the silent question behind his eyes. 

“O-Oh, right I brought you more jam!” You force a small smile, the least you could do was be polite. You were determined to make friends with him, one way or the other. And as you hand him the glass container, Beomgyu takes it. It’s a huge first step, and you feel your heart swelling at the action. He twists the jar between his fingers, studying it like it might explode on him any second now. 

At last, he gives a small hum of approval. — “It’s good, right?” Your question comes out too cherry, already celebrating your small victory. Beomgyu quickly shoots that bird down with a sneer. “I’m being polite, there’s a difference.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his eyes taking over your hopeful frame once more. “Though I’m sure you couldn’t tell the difference even if you wanted to.” 

The door slams shut on your nose. 

Suddenly, the forest is cold again, the heat falls from your face, the fire coursing within you being drowned out by a bucket of cold water. Well, there goes that. You wait by his door for another five minutes, but the small cottage is silent. The curtains are drawn, shutting you out, just like he did everybody else. 

With heavy steps you climb off the porch, cringing at how the old and withered boards creaked under your weight. Your sigh echoes against the tall trees that loom above you, and you slowly make your way down the muddy path. You had noticed on your second visit that flowers didn’t seem to grow here, any sign of vegetation seemingly drowned out by the nearly unbearing anger and resentment that lingered in these woods. 

Had Beomgyu really caused all of that? 

You think back to your brief encounter with him, with Beomgyu. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind seemed to get caught on his brown hair, you couldn’t quite shake it off. You only knew one other brown-haired individual here, and that was Gingerbread Taehyun. But Beomgyu and Taehyun were far from alike, and you shake your head once more. 

Something was wrong, very clearly so. For the way Beomgyu had disregarded the matter, shoving it aside like it pained him to be reminded of… You longed to know what could have caused it. And you find yourself imagining a different Beomgyu, a Beomgyu that smiled. With light and peachy hair, a pink blush coating his soft cheeks, warming his pale face up. You imagine a Beomgyu with dimples that dented into his skin hard from laughter. 

You imagine a happy Beomgyu. 

The fantasy makes your steps return to their usual light skip, and by the time you re-enter the lively village, you feel happy again. 

⸝⸝

With your basket filled once more, you head down the cobbled road, taking you around Strawberry town. Today you were in a particularly good mood. You don’t know if it had to do with meeting Blueberry Kai out by his berry bushes, or if it had to do with the little rabbit you saw in your garden this morning. But you were determined to make this day a perfect one. 

In fact, you were in such a joyous mood that the dark clouds crowding the village did not bother you as you went knocking on each and every door. For each smile you received, for each jar you handed out, the love beating within your heart only seemed to grow. —  When you turn off the large road, and venture onto the muddy path taking you deep within the forest, you’re filled to the brim with love. And if there was one person in Strawberry village that needed it, it was Peach Beomgyu. 

You think you’re about halfway there when the first droplet lands on the tip of your nose. The cold water makes you frown as it slides down your face, catching on your bottom lip. Sticking your tongue out to taste it, the sweet flavor fills your mouth. After that another one follows, then another one, and another one. It’s not long before rainfall is pouring down over you, clinging to the leaves and splashing against the forest floor in dramatic effect. 

Blinking the droplets from your eyes, you scurry forward, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you hurry. Mud clams to your orange shoes, dirtying them in disgraceful shades of brown. But you carry on, relief flooding your chest as the familiar little house floats into vision. You do not stop to consider who’s door you were actually knocking on when you slam your fist against the weathered wood. 

Today, you have no time to wait outside for another five minutes, you have no time to bicker with the grumpy man over his doorstep and you certainly don’t want to turn on your heel and endure the unpleasant walk home. There was little that could diskindle your spirits, but rain and mud were definitely two of them. 

Much to your immense relief and surprise, the door glides open a mere minute later, revealing a confused looking Beomgyu. The smile stretching across your lips only seems to make his scowl grow. Yet you persist, giving him your widest and most pleading eyes as you silently beg for him to let you inside. — Beomgyu’s harsh gaze flickers from your wet coat, clinging to your body and the adamant look on your face before shifting to the heavy rain that battered against his porch. 

With a displeased groan he steps to the side, allowing you to skip inside the small cottage. Your excitement as you enter his home is followed up by a small squeal, your gaze darting around as you take in the unfamiliar surroundings. — Beomgyu’s house was unlike anything you had ever imagined, not to say that you had spent a deliberate amount of time trying to figure out how he lived, you had merely been…Curious, so to say. 

From the peachy curtains to the matching sets of creamy pink pillows that adorned his small sofa, everything seemed to follow a peachy theme. The fireplace sparking in the middle of the room draws your attention and you quickly find yourself huddling in front of it as you rub your cold hands together. 

Your quiet ‘woah’ as you pull your orange coat from your wet body rings out into the silent house. The kitchen by the corner looks to have been used recently, a small pot of something placed on the stove. Amazed by the fact that Peach Beomgyu lived like any other resident in Strawberry village, your jaw hangs open as you remain frozen in place. 

Somewhere behind you, Beomgyu emerges from the hallway. He stops a good distance from you, leaning against one of the crowded bookshelves pushed up alongside the wall, his arms folded across his chest. You send him a bright smile, “Thank you”, you say, not knowing how else to show your gratitude for his hospitality. 

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, a small scoff passing his lips as he averts his gaze, his dark eyes lingering on something you couldn’t quite catch. A brief silence follows, it’s almost awkward.. You’re not exactly sure what to say, what he would appreciate hearing, if anything even suited those pesky ears of his. 

So you hum, quietly rocking back and forth on your feet as you glance at the decorations above the fireplace. They were nothing fancy, and most of the tiny figurines looked old, perhaps he’d inherited them. Come to think of it, you don’t remember ever hearing anything about a family member of his. The thought sadeness you for reasons you cannot understand. It wasn’t like Beomgyu was opposed to the solitary life he lived, he’d chosen it for himself, hadn’t he? 

Yet you can’t help but purse your lips at the thought of living like this, no matter how cozy his quaint little cottage was, it still lacked the warmth of love. — “It is a lovely home you’ve got”, you say, trying your best to show interest in the way he’d decorated the space. But Beomgyu doesn’t seem to buy into the mundane compliment. He merely shrugs, letting out a small grunt as his dark eyes flicker back to you. 

“Why were you out in the rain?” It’s the first time he’s ever asked you an actual question, the first time he’d even seemed moderately interested in anything that regarded you. Your smile only widens, and you can see the way his face twists in distaste at your ever so cheerful attitude. “Well why do you think? I was delivering jam!” The exclamation immediately makes you jump as you come to your senses and you reach for the basket you had discarded on the floor. 

The small jar is wet and you wipe it against the sleeve of your shirt before skipping over to him in order to hand him it. Beomgyu’s arms remain stubbornly crossed as his gaze flits between the orange jam and your hopeful grin. With a small groan he relents and plucks it from your waiting hand, shoving it onto the shelf next to him as he averts his attention elsewhere. 

You wondered if your presence made him uncomfortable. Judging by the way he stood, the greater portion of his body turned as far away from you as possible, and his jaw clenched, you would guess it did. Then again, was there anyone Peach Beomgyu liked? You did not take his grumpy demeanor or his shortcut responses personally. Still, there was an unmistakable opportunity at hand, and you would be a fool not to take it. 

“Mind if I take a seat?” You ask, but you’re already approaching the small couch. Beomgyu’s lip twitches, but he gives a small nod, his arms returning to their crossed position over his chest. His sofa is oddly comfortable, allowing you to sink into the cushion as you lean back slightly. The warmth of the fire caresses your cold face, slowly melting the layer of metaphorical ice that had built around you. No amount of fire would be able to melt the harsh ice block surrounding Beomgyu, you thought with a small grin. 

He remains unmoving and unspeaking, quietly watching you from his spot by the corner of the room. You did not insult him on his lack of manners, he had actually allowed you inside his home even as you showed up unannounced, perhaps that was more than enough. — Your attention falls on your muddy shoes and a pang of guilt flares through you. “Oh, sorry, I should’ve taken these off!” 

Beomgyu opens his mouth to speak but is quickly interrupted as you kick the pointy orange heels off your feet, scurrying toward the door as you place them right in front of it. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, don't worry!” You say as you dart for his kitchen. Quickly disoriented, you tug open drawers and pull cabinet doors in search of anything to clean the stain you had left on his floors. “Where do you keep your towels?” You ask, so caught up in trying to resolve the mess you’d unintentionally caused that you didn’t even notice him creeping up behind you. 

“Here”, he says as he hands you a peach colored rag. You freeze, for his voice came from just above your ear, his chest nearly pressed against your back. The scent of fresh peaches made you nearly drowsy as you blink before gingerly accepting the cloth from him, trying your hardest to ignore the way your fingers brushed against one another, the tingle that the soft fuzz coating his skin left. “I… Thanks”, you coyly mumble, desperately wishing he wouldn’t catch on to the stammer of your voice as you round him in the small kitchen, quickly slipping away from his intoxicating presence. 

What was that.. You think to yourself, brows knitted together in a confused frown as you find yourself on the floor, scrubbing the muddy stains away. The sounds of his approaching footsteps make your eyes widen, and you refuse to turn your head in his direction. — “It’s really not necessary”, he mutters, the usual grumpiness to his voice replaced with something akin to guilt. But you firmly shake your head, scrubbing even harder at the old wood. “It’s fine, no problem! I caused it!” You chirp, ignoring his small huff as you continue to clean. 

When you’re done you gingerly rise to your feet, clutching the now dirty rag between your fingers as you bite the inside of your cheek. Beomgyu reaches for it again, but you quickly pull back, you don’t think you could bear feeling his skin against yours a second time. “I’ll put it away!” You quickly say, plastering on the biggest of grins you could muster, “Where do you want it?” 

Beomgyu’s expression is unreadable as he studies you for a moment. It looks almost as if he’s about to say something, but he stops himself, shaking his head once as he points down the hall. Quickly nodding, you follow in that direction, the sounds of your feet padding against the floor ringing in your ears. 

Finally away from his intense gaze, you exhale a sigh of relief as you turn to relocate yourself. The dark hallway had led you to what you presumed to be a small washroom, racks of clothes crowded the vast majority of the space, and you found a small sink as well. You place the dirty cloth in the hamper before turning to head back. But before you can even get as much as another step in, a door to your left catches your attention. It’s slightly ajar, letting on to the bed inside. 

Quickly glancing down the hall once more, you dare a small peek inside. Beomgyu’s bedroom did not match the rest of the house. It lacked all the peachy colors, instead it was crowded from head to toe in… books. Sure the bookshelves in the living room had caught your attention earlier, but just as the old figurines, you’d figured that it was something he’d inherited. Now you can’t help but wonder if Beomgyu actually enjoyed literature. While the prospect did indeed seem odd, it wasn’t entirely out of place either. There was only so much entertainment out here..

But before you get the chance to investigate further, the sounds of floorboards creaking pulls you from your brief trance. Sharply turning on your heel, you make your way back into the living room where Beomgyu was waiting for you. — The rain was still pouring down outside, and you had little clue of just how long you were going to be stuck here. 

As your gaze falls on Beomgyu, you feel your breath getting caught in your throat. You don’t know what it was, but something had changed. Something that made you so impeccably drawn to him in a way you could not fathom. You tried to reason with yourself, you tried to shift the blame onto the weather, onto the clumsy mistake of waltzing inside his home without as much as a second thought. 

But as your eyes linger by his dark ones, the narrowed gaze he still held, you find that it’s none of those things. Suddenly you know why you keep returning to this small hut, why you bother with the twenty minute walk back and forth, why you face rejection on his doorstep each time. — You felt empathy for him, perhaps even pity. You pitied Beomgyu, the lonely boy who lived all alone out in the forest, with no one to come visit. 

And perhaps that was naive of you. To even think that he cared about something as trivial as a bit of company. Yet you couldn’t find it in you to take his mean and cruel demeanor to heart. Because no matter how harsh the bark was, he never seemed to bite. He had let you inside his home, in spite of your persistent nagging on his porch for the past weeks. He hadn’t minded when you dirtied his floors, and even now, he didn’t seem to want you to leave. 

So were you really that naive to think that what you were doing was right? That what you were doing was appreciated by him, even if he didn’t show it. You want to think so. 

“Do you want me to make you tea?” You chirp, breaking the thick silence that had filled the small living room. Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow at you, but merely shrugs. You weren’t even sure if he had the ingredients to make tea, you had just assumed… It was something everyone had, no? 

Ignoring his nonchalant response, you walk past him and into the small little kitchen once more. It wasn’t at all like your big one at home, but then again, you doubted that he spent his days making fifty jars worth of apricot jam. — He doesn’t follow you, and part of you is relieved. His absence allows you to work casually as you still tried to figure out what about him had made you so nervous all of a sudden. 

You take your time as you bring out a pot, setting it down on the stove as you fill it with water from the tap. Once it’s slowly boiling, you rummage around to find yourselves a pair of cups to drink from. Pulling drawers upon drawers open, you cough as the smell of dust invades your senses, some of these looked to have been kept shut for years. 

As a last resort, you tug the cabinet door above the fridge open. And your eyes immediately widen as they fall on the empty jars stacked inside. All of them are cleaned out, the glass reflecting in the dim light of the kitchen. Your gaze lingers by the orange lids, and the silk ribbons you’d tied around them still intact. A small smile tugs at your lips, your heart warming at the sight. He even kept the jars. 

Quickly slamming the cabinet shut when he approaches, you turn to him with a flushed expression. “Where are your cups?” You squeak, the surprise in your tone evident, not having expected him to reappear so soon. — Beomgyu leans against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest as he nods toward the one drawer you had yet to open. Mentally slapping yourself, you turn to it with a tight smile as you pull it open. 

As you prepare the herbs for the tea and check on the water, you try to make plain conversation. You ask him about the weather, about what he does during the days or if he has any upcoming plans. You find that he’s a very concise individual, and you’re never able to pull more than a short sentence from him as he begrudgingly responds to your persistent interrogation. 

Still, he stays in the kitchen until you finish pouring the cups. Whether that was because he didn’t trust you around his house or because he wanted to be there, remained unknown to you. 

The tea is boiling hot against your tongue, yet you insistently bring it to your lips, taking small and hesitant sips as you desperately avoid his gaze. For someone so short of words, he seemed to have no problem staring at you. You told yourself that it might have to do with his lack of social interaction. But his unyielding gaze slowly chipped away at your resolve, making you all the more anxious as you glanced out the window, wishing for the rain to let up soon. 

It still felt so surreal, standing in Peach Beomgyu’s kitchen, drinking tea from his cups, as if this was just another Thursday afternoon. But his prolonged silence made the growing tension between you feel anything but mundane and ordinary. Did he really not have anything to say? You had tried every approach imaginable, there was nothing that would get him to utter more than a small hum. 

As your eyes peer out the window, and over what you imagined to once have been a garden, a new question surfaces. — Your attention flickers back to him, still by the door frame, he’s gripping the cup in one hand, barely having sipped his tea, he seems far too preoccupied with watching you. 

“Don’t you grow any peaches?” You ask, letting your head fall to the side as you take your turn in studying him. Beomgyu’s unreadable expression morphs into a small frown, and he ponders your question for a moment. When a whole minute passes, you think he might not reply at all, it wouldn’t be completely unexpected, for he had little manners as it was. But then he suddenly shifts his weight over to his other leg, readjusting his hold on the cup. 

“No.” 

He states firmly, finally bringing the peachy mug to his lips as he takes a sip of his tea. It’s your turn to frown, your gaze dropping to the brown mixture swirling in your own cup as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Why not?” — Everyone in Strawberryland tended to their fruits, so why didn’t he? 

Beomgyu shrugs, appearing more than disinterested in the conversation taking place. “I don’t like them”, he says, the nonchalance in his tone taking you aback as your eyes snap to him. Don’t like them? But he was Peach Beomgyu, was he not supposed to love peaches? You want to ask him what he means by that, what made him so resentful of the one thing he represented. But the closed off look on his face made you waver. You did not want to blindly push and prod at buttons which you had no clue of. 

You remain silent, awkwardly sipping your tea as you avoid his burning gaze. 

And as your cups emptied out, the rain stopped. 

⸝⸝

Peach Beomgyu did not like visitors. In fact, he detested them. Much so that he had gone to the quite extreme length of putting up warning signs in front of his house. And while the signs did their job at keeping nosey little kids out, they seemed futile on that persistent ball of joy that would skip past them as she neared his cottage. 

Beomgyu could not understand what made Little Apricot come back over and over again. He could not understand what kept you in such a jolly mood and he could certainly not fathom the reasoning behind the little jars of jam you would leave behind. — It irked him in a way that was beyond explainable. And every three or four days, he would be pulled from whatever book he was reading by two curt knocks to his door. 

Internally groaning he would shake his head, ignoring the fierce ray of sunshine on the other side. But you just wouldn’t leave. The sounds of you humming along to a light melody would slip through the cracks of his shut door, it would creep inside his house and dance across him, taunting him with its sickly sweetness. Beomgyu would swat it away, pressing his nose further into his book as he desperately tried to ignore any signs of your presence. 

You would always leave after a few minutes, taking your light and cherry song with you as you did. And Beomgyu would always sigh out in relief, ignoring the small tug at his chest when the silence enveloped him once more. — He would get up, carefully pull the curtains to the side as he watched your bright orange coat disappear into the thick forest of trees. 

Then he would open his door, stopping in his tracks as his gaze flickered down to the little jar you’d left behind. When it first occurred he’d slammed the door shut. Ignoring the jar for a good twenty minutes before ripping the door open again with a frustrated huff, finding the jam still there, its bright orange color stinging his eyes. 

For some reason, Beomgyu had picked it up, he’d turned it in his hands and opened the lid. The creamy jam smelled just like you, the soft and sweet aroma of apricot prickling his nose in a most unfamiliar way. And he’d taken the jar inside, stubbornly ignoring it for a whole day before he finally caved. — It tasted just as delicious as it smelled, as delicious as you smelled. 

Beomgyu finished the jar in half a day, and when it was all empty, he found himself staring at the clean glass with a confused frown. It was just jam. He scoffed as he shoved the empty jar into a cabinet, blatantly ignoring the fact that he had yet to throw it away, telling himself that he might find use for it in the future.   

When you returned mere days later, he ignored you, yet he found another jar, just like the first on his porch. It would go on like that, and for some reason, Beomgyu found himself listening after that sickeningly cheerful melody you always sang. And everytime you knocked on his door, his fingers would itch to reach out and open it, for reasons he could not understand, and did not want to. 

But on your seventh return, you did not give your usual curt knocks, you did not hum along to any melody at all. At first, Beomgyu didn't even believe it to be you. But as he opened the door, and found Little Apricot on his porch, drenched from head to toe, he found himself unable to move. Not even when you pleaded with him so nicely did it register what you were asking. 

And suddenly you were inside his home, the place he treasured so dearly and had sealed off to the rest of the world. Yet you had managed to worm your way inside, and the feeling that bloomed within his chest was like no other. — You were everywhere, the same sickeningly sweet scent of your apricot jam now filled his entire home. It clung to the walls, soaked in the carpets and dusted off on the furniture. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t block it out, and you occupied his mind and body fully. It confused him. 

You quickly made yourself at home, and Beomgyu noted that you were just as dutiful about any other task as you were your jam. Rushing about even though you barely found your way, tugging cabinet doors and pulling drawers open as you made the two of you tea. — He doesn’t know why he lets your eager hands wander over his belongings, why he drinks the tea you make him or why he even bothers to answer any of your invasive and prying questions. 

He feels nearly dizzy in your presence, it’s a strange and uncanny feeling, a feeling he hasn’t felt in years, if ever. And Beomgyu doesn't know if he should fear the warm and fuzzy feeling that spreads within his chest as he looks at you, or if he should give in to it completely. Though if he did, he feared that you wouldn’t ever look at him the same. 

Oh but Beomgyu likes the way you look at him. With big and hopeful eyes. You don’t seem to understand just how messed up he is, or perhaps you do, and in that case you had to be stupid to ignore it. Naive. That was probably the right word. Gullible, sweet, and far too kind for your own good. Did you not know not to trust everything you see? He shakes his head at the thought. 

Still, there’s an odd feeling of comfort in the way you embrace him, with your kind words and quiet care as you deliver him jam. He doesn’t want to let go of that feeling just yet, though if he ever tries to pursue it, he thinks you might crumple in front of him. — It has him torn. And as he lies in bed that night, the smell of apricots linger around him, pressing in on him with a demanding force. 

He groans as he turns over, burying his face in the pillows. But all he can see is you, your bright orange coat, and he can smell you, you’re everywhere, plaguing his body and mind. He twists uncomfortably, stubbornly ignoring the heat pooling in his stomach, refusing to let his hands wander as he tries to block out any thought of you. 

Beomgyu wishes that you won’t come by his house again. He knows he won’t be able to stop himself if you do. 

⸝⸝

The soft knock to your door makes you tear yourself from the empty jars you were currently wiping down, discarding them on the countertop as you make your way over to the entrance. Your steps are light and cherry as you skip over, fingers twisting the lock, an excited grin already plastered across your face. — “Blueberry Kai!” You squeal when you’re met with the sight of the blue haired boy, his tall frame looming over you as he gives a shy nod. 

“Hi Little Apricot!” He says, his face flushing in an adorable shade of blue. Your gaze drifts to his hands, clutching a blue box tightly. “I uh..” He sends you a coy smile as he extends the box, “Got you this.. As a thank you, for you know.. All you do.” 

It’s with wide eyes that you happily accept the gift, feeling its weight in your hands as you gently pluck the lid. Your attention falls on the freshly baked blueberry pie and the sweet aroma immediately fills your nostrils. With a wide grin, you glance up at him, “You’re the best Kai!” 

The two of you settle out in your garden, amidst the many apricot trees you had planted, all blooming with ripe and orange fruits. Hungrily wolfing down the pie Kai had brought, you barely make time for conversation as you focus on savoring the flavors on your tongue. And when you for the fifth time exclaim, “It’s delicious!”, Kai can’t help but chuckle. 

Once the wave of desire has cooled off, and your stomach starts to feel full, you lean back in your chair as you regard him with a questioning expression. It looked like something was bothering him, for his usual lopsided smile was nowhere to be found, and his brows furrowed across his forehead. — “Is something up?” You ask him as you wipe your lips on the corner of a napkin, gently placing it down as you twist in your seat. 

Kai’s head snaps in your direction, and he gives a sheepish look, as if you’d caught his drift of mind. “Yeah I just..” He trails off, as if unsure of how to word himself properly. You wait, your legs swinging back and forth as your bare feet drag through the wild grass, the feeling tickling your sensitive skin.

“Have you been seeing Peach Beomgyu?” 

The question was not one you’d expected, and you feel your face heat up as you turn your gaze back to the blue haired boy. “I deliver him jams, just like everyone else!” You say, plastering on an even wider grin as you try and brush past the topic. But Kai doesn’t let it go, his brows creasing even further as he leans forward. “Why? I mean, it’s not like he’s done anything for you.. And I’m not saying I don’t think it’s kind of you”, he takes a breath, slowly letting it go. “But what if he’s just using you, Apricot?”  

Your frown makes him immediately continue as he says; “I mean, he’s not exactly friendly.. I’m just afraid you’ll end up getting taken advantage of, your kindness is something many of us take for granted…” — His words made you think, your chin jutted out as your mind traveled back to the visits you’d paid Beomgyu. You recall the many times he’d slammed the door in your face, and the times in which he hadn’t opened it at all. Suppose Kai might have a point… 

But you also remember that rainy day not too long ago. You remember the way his gaze lingered by you, the way your heart fluttered at his mere presence. It couldn’t possibly be what Kai was implying, could it? If he was really taking advantage of your kindness, why did your heart beat so quickly at the thought of his name? 

“I think he deserves the jam just as much as anyone else in Strawberryland”, you state, nodding to yourself as you sink back in the chair, arms spread on the armrests. Kai bites the inside of his cheek remaining quiet, though the look on his face told you that he wished to intervene further. 

“I talk to him”, you shrug, acting as if the matter was nothing short of common for you. — “He is actually quite an interesting person, if you give him a chance.” You send Kai a small smile, but the blue haired boy doesn’t seem to buy it as he runs a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know Apricot… There’s a reason he lives out there..” — “Like what?” You cut him off, leaning forward in an instant with an almost challenging look on your face. 

Kai opens his mouth to speak, then he stops himself. You watch as he battles with himself for a moment before finally sighing. “Well he’s…Different.” — “Different how?” You knew you were pushing him now, and that he soon would be caving, but you didn’t care. For a small part of you, a part you had tried to ignore for long, felt the need to defend Beomgyu, even if you hardly knew him, it felt like your responsibility. Because if you didn’t, then who would? 

“You don’t know?” Kai suddenly asks and your face falls for a moment. Didn’t know what? Kai shifts in his seat as he glances around your flourishing garden, as if checking for witnesses, and when he speaks again, it's in a hushed whisper. “You know… About the peaches..”, he murmurs, swallowing as he holds your gaze. 

“The peaches?” You repeat, a little too loud for his liking as he winces. “Yes”, he mutters between sealed lips. “He can’t… I mean, he says he doesn’t like them, but the truth is he can’t even grow them.” Kai leans back up as soon as he’s uttered the words, hurriedly checking his surroundings once more before shrinking back against the backrest of his chair. 

Your face contorts into a confused grimace, “Can’t grow peaches?” That’s ridiculous, everyone in Strawberryland grows their own fruits, what could possibly make him so different? Kai slowly nods as he fiddles with the spoon discarded on his empty plate. “I mean, I’m sure he doesn’t want to either, but even if he did, he physically can’t”, he shrugs before continuing, “That’s why he moved out there, so that the rest wouldn’t have to know how much of a failure he was…” He says the last words with a hint of sympathy, and you couldn’t help the way your chest churned at the thought. 

���You’re saying I should stay away from him?” It’s not a question but a statement, you didn’t need an answer because Kai had already made himself clear. Yet he gives a firm nod, letting the silverware drop back onto the plate. “Yes”, he says, “I’m worried that whatever curse lingers around him might transfer onto you…Besides, who knows what he’s capable of..” 

It hurt, hearing him speak so negatively of Beomgyu. Suppose you had grown a small attachment to the grumpy peach, so what? Delivering him some jam every now and then certainly didn’t harm anyone. You failed to see Kai’s reasoning, failed to see the worry laced within his words. Still, you did something most uncharacteristic, you lied.

“I won’t go see him.” 

⸝⸝

Your basket isn’t as heavy as usual when you skip down the cobbled road. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that you had only brought three jars of jam today, and they were all meant for one person. — Throwing a final glance over your shoulder, you venture off the main road, emerging into the thick treeline as you begin the journey to Peach Beomgyu’s house. 

Not only had you brought jam, but you’d put in the effort of baking muffins as well. They had come out slightly burnt, their edges a refined and dark black but you didn’t mind, they tasted just as sweet and you were sure they would go well with the jam. — To thank him, that was the goal of today, you told yourself. To thank him for his hospitality as he let you stay last time, and enough jars of jam to last him well over two weeks. 

As you near the now familiar house, you can’t help but feel a sense of excitement. It flutters in the pits of your stomach, swirling around as your heart beats steadily within your chest. Had you not been so focused on the task at hand, perhaps you would’ve noticed the way the trees seemed to sway, the leaves rustling despite the lack of wind and the eerie silence that fell over the woods on this particular day. 

But you don’t, and soon enough, you’re making the steps up his creaking porch. Your soft knock somehow seems to ring out like thunder in the thick and quiet air. — Glancing around, you prepare for the inevitable wait as you sway back and forth on your feet. But to your surprise, it is mere moments later that the door is ripped open, revealing a disheveled Beomgyu on the other side. 

Immediately you notice the subtle flush across his normally pale and cold cheeks. His dark hair stands in all directions, and you frown as your gaze flickers over his dark eyes, his pupils widened to an extent that nearly concerns you. Was he sick? Had you come at a bad time? Your attention falls on the way his chest heaves with each jagged breath he takes, and it trails along his arm, finally landing on the way his fingers bore into the wood of the doorframe to steady himself, knuckles turning white at the sheer force he used. 

“Beomgyu, is everything okay?” You ask, blinking the shock away as you readjust the grip on your basket. He doesn’t say anything, and you were just about to suggest coming back another time when he suddenly lurches forward. — You barely have time to realize what’s happening, but the feel of his vice-like grip around your wrist makes you wince as he yanks you inside. 

The door slams shut behind you and the smell of peaches suddenly infiltrates your every sense. You don’t think you have ever smelled anything like it before. It was strong, sweet, almost sickly so. It felt far from the citrusy tang apricots carried and you frown as you glance around the area. His living room looks the same, kitchen too, where was the smell coming from? — A chill runs down your spine as you pick up on the sound of a lock clicking behind you. Beomgyu’s harsh exhale is hot against the back of your neck, and it makes the hairs there stand tall as you freeze in place. 

When he places an equally warm hand on your shoulder do you realize that the smell is coming from him. He’s practically radiating it. And along with the thick layer of heat that coats him, it pulsates off of him with steady rhythm, slapping you across the face as you squint up at him. Just what was going on.. “Beomgyu..?” He doesn’t answer, and you fervently search his gaze, only to find that he’s looking at something completely different. 

You cover your mouth with a trembling hand, a confused and alarmed frown painting the rest of your face. He must have caught something, a virus of some sort, something that made his body flare up like this, something that made him smell so…So truly divine. You shake your head, screwing your eyes shut as you take a step back. 

He still hasn’t said anything, not a single word from the moment he ripped his door open. And when he takes a step forward, you find yourself immediately faltering backward. He chases you, with deliberate and long strides, and you don’t stop until your back hits one of his overcrowded shelves, the books and figurines on it rattling as you do. You turn your head in surprise, only to feel his hot fingers on your chin as he steers you back his way. 

Beomgyu pries your hand from your lips, his breath audibly hitching in his throat when his eyes fall on your open mouth once more. He looks ready to swallow each shaky exhale you emit, and before you can protest does he slam his lips against yours. — Your eyes shoot open, your hands flying to his shoulders in an attempt to push him back. But Beomgyu was strong, scarily so, and he easily shoves you up against the shelf. 

The small noise of surprise gets drowned out by his harsh groan, his hands gripping at your waist as he shoves you against the stacked books. — “B-Beomgyu wait- This isn’t…” You  manage to gasp when he parts for air. His face is flushed in a light pink, and the mess of dark brown hair lays in uneven sections across his hungry eyes as he pants. It didn’t make any sense, none of this did. 

Your basket had fallen to the floor due to all the commotion and one of the jars had rolled onto the hard wood. Beomgyu didn’t even seem to register the chaos he was creating as he pressed his lips back on yours. He kisses you with a need best described as insatiable, leaving room for nothing but his demanding ways as his tongue shoves past your parted lips, slipping into your mouth with urgency. 

The shock slowly begins to wear off and you realize what’s actually going on. Peach Beomgyu was kissing you, well, he was damn near eating you. It didn’t… You didn’t… Your thoughts seemed to cut short, any sense of semblance slipping through the cracks of your fingers as you helplessly chased them. — You should push him off, you should yell at him and ask what in the world had gotten into him. 

Because Peach Beomgyu didn’t make friends, and hell, he certainly didn’t kiss people. This was completely unwarranted and you deserved more than an explanation for his near outrageous actions. 

For some reason, you find yourself pulling him even closer. 

It barely registered at first. Your fingers moved on their own as they clutched the shirt he was wearing, tugging him against you with a force just as strong as his. You couldn’t explain it, the need to be close, the need to give in to every single thought that yelled for you to back away. — Kai’s words linger in your scrambled mind when Beomgyu’s hands go to the back of your thighs, hoisting you into his arms, forcing a proximity that was dangerously close. 

Perhaps you should’ve listened to him when he’d told you to stay away. When he’d warned you about Beomgyu. Something was not right with him, you knew that, every fiber of your being told you that this was a bad idea. Yet your mind couldn’t seem to overpower the fire that spread inside your heart, clutching it tightly in its grip, pulling you towards Beomgyu. 

You have always followed your heart. You followed it when you delivered jam, because it fluttered when the others appreciatively accepted their jar. You followed it because it beats extra hard when someone smiles your way. You followed it because it made you happy. Even now, you followed it, you followed it through the thick and dark trees, through the wilted flowers and the eerie silence that led all the way to his house. 

You followed your heart all the way to Beomgyu, until you finally found yourself in his arms. 

A noise of surprise rips from the back of your throat as he walks you over to the couch, setting you down amongst the peachy pillows. He stares down at you for a moment, his tongue swiping across your plump lips, and you find yourself mesmerized by him. In the dim light of the fireplace, he didn't look at all like his cold and mean self. Beomgyu looked warm, flourishing and alive. 

The strong scent of peaches radiated off of him in waves, making your eyes flutter as you got a whiff of him. — Your mouth opens, you want to say something, you want to confirm that this moment is real, that this is just not a figment of your imagination and that you are actually here, that he’s actually here and that he’s… Him. 

“You smell good.” His voice is gruff, and you can barely make out his dark eyes as he leans down, for his brown hair covers the majority of his flushed face. — You squeal when his lips drag across the juncture of your neck, when his hot tongue presses against your skin. “Like apricots..” He murmurs, as his nose nudging against your collarbone, “But better.” 

He inhales sharply, the groan he emits going straight to your core and you feel a strange wave of desire build in your stomach. It felt weird, though not unpleasant, and certainly not unwelcome. — Still, you shriek when his fingers reach for your orange coat, insistently tugging it from your body. Beomgyu doesn’t even seem to register your bashful exclamation as you try to cover yourself, instead he tugs at your blouse, flicking the first few buttons open as his eyes rake across your warm skin. 

“Fuck”, he grunts and you would be ashamed to admit that the small slip of his tongue made you throb. — “Do you like this?” He asks, his hungry eyes suddenly latching onto yours. Your face was practically on fire as you nodded, and Beomgyu’s smirk grew wide. “I can tell”, he then adds, making you jump as his hand slides up your inner thigh, stopping all the way under your plaid skirt, his fingers inches from the lining of your panties, “You reek of it.” 

“I…” You did not know if that was a compliment or not. But you meekly tried to close your legs, only for Beomgyu to pry them apart again as he pushed your skirt up over your hips. — His breath is warm, much warmer than the fire sparking next to you. It makes your skin flare up as it caresses you. 

“Please”, he murmurs, the words barely audible as his head drops down between your thighs. “I need to taste you, just once.” — You weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but the strange flutter rising in your stomach had become almost impossible to ignore and out of sheer desperation you nod, breathing out a small, “yes.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t need to hear it twice. Two of his long fingers slip around the hem of your panties, tugging the garment down your legs, though giving up halfway when his impatience got the better of him. The sound of cotton ripping fills your ears, making you dizzy as he exhales against your bare cunt, nearly panting against it upon eyeing the orange cream that your arousal had built up. 

Your eyes fly open when he first licks a stripe along your core, a surprised moan leaving your lips as you peer down at him. Fingers digging into the plush and peachy couch, you swallow, your gaze training on his brown hair as it buries between your legs, longing to reach out and touch him. — The first, almost hesitant taste he’d gotten only seemed to make him spiral even further and you choke on a small gasp as the bridge of his nose presses against your clit, his tongue dwelling deep inside your cunt as his hands grab at your waist, sliding down your thighs. 

His eyes flutter in ecstasy, the creamy taste of apricots overwhelming his taste buds as the acidic sensation floods him. He quickly realizes that he needs more, and a lot of it. “W-Wait, wait, Beomgyu–” The tingling feeling bubbling within you felt like it was about to implode on you, it made your thighs tremble and your head spin as you fought to stay somewhat composed. 

But it’s like he’s on a different planet, nothing you said mattered when you were so perfectly spread before him, your warm and inviting cunt just waiting for him to completely devour. Your soft whines and silent pleas made his head spin, and he knew he needed more, as much as possible. 

Your head tips back when his fingers suddenly slide between your soaked folds, digging into your quivering cunt as he curls them. — “B-Beomgyu..” His name leaves your lips a mere whimper, though you’re not sure what you’re even asking of him. You want to say something, to convey the heat inside of you, the feelings swirling within your chest and the fierce beating of your heart. But the words get caught in your throat, your eyes screwing shut as pleasurable vibrations course through you. 

Beomgyu moans at the taste of your release on his tongue, greedily lapping up every single droplet of creamy apricot as he tugs you closer. He doesn’t seem to worry about breathing, and his chest heaves dramatically against the couch cushion, his hips stuttering as he shudders. — The feeling of his tongue against your clit suddenly goes from overwhelming to overbearing, and your thighs clamped around his head as your hands push him back. 

“N-No more!” You gasp, your face flushed in all shades orange as you blink fervently. Beomgyu groans when he separates from your cunt, a displeased look flashing across his desire-filled expression. The lower half of his face is coated in a thick layer of something dangerously close to the apricot jam he’d been feasting on for weeks. He blatantly ignores your gawking stare as he wipes the mess from his cheeks, stuffing his fingers into his mouth, his eyes already searching for more as he attempts to spread your legs once more. 

You whine, rubbing your thighs together in embarressment, resisting a shiver as his hand runs across your knee and down your calf. “One more”, he says, and though his voice is masked by a layer of determination, you can still decipher the silent plea as his dark eyes search yours. — Biting the inside of your cheek, you shyly avoid his gaze as you let it wander across his body. 

With a slightly shaky hand you point to the shirt he’s wearing. “T-Take it off..” You murmur, the small sentence nearly inaudible. The uncharacteristic smirk he’d been wearing since your arrival quickly finds its way back to his lips and Beomgyu complies as he tugs the garment over his head, discarding it on the floor as he turns back to you with a look of expectancy. 

Admittedly so, you had been craving a closer look at him since the day you’d first found yourself on his porch. Something about him pulled you in. Perhaps it was the subtle pink flush of his face, one that had intensified right now, making him almost glow. Or it was the soft fuzz that crawled across his skin, it feels ticklish under the tips of your fingers as you trail them along his naked chest. Peach fuzz, you think to yourself with a small smile. — Beomgyu shudders, but bites back another comment as he watches you with dark eyes. 

Your attention flickers to his hair, dark and unkempt. His hair left a lot of questions, some which you had spent more time pondering than you’d like to admit. Your hands card through the surprisingly soft locks, giving them a gentle tug and Beomgyu groans, his head immediately falling forward as he wraps an arm around your waist. 

He pulls you onto his lap in seconds, making you straddle his hips, ignoring the way you wince as your sensitive cunt makes contact with the rough fabric of his pants. — Your gaze drops to the not so subtle bulge straining against the fabric, your hands tentatively palming him through the material, carefully gauging his reaction. 

The strands of his dark hair tickle your neck as he leans forward to press languid kisses along your shoulder. His teeth drag across your skin, and for a moment you thought he might actually try and take a bite out of you. It was like he was trying to merge with you, to envelop you fully, like that was the only way to extinguish the fire burning within. 

He helps you with the zipper, swiftly tugging his hard cock from the confinements of his pants, giving it a few deliberate strokes as he directs kisses to your blazing skin. — You can’t help but eye the way his fingers wrap around his shaft, noting the way he presses his thumb against his slit, shuddering against you as he does. Eager to do the same, you reach out. Beomgyu freezes when your hand joins in on top of his, but makes no move to brush you off. 

Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of light and pink precum dribbling from his flushed tip, it perfectly matched the flush of his face. Beomgyu chokes on a strained moan when your fingers swipe across his slit, gathering the sticky and sweet substance on your hand as you bring it to the lips. — He tastes sweet, like peaches, ripe and perfectly harvested. You sigh at the euphoric taste, your eyes fluttering as your tongue darts out to lick at the remnants that had spilled down your chin. 

Beomgyu’s throbbing cock twitches at the sight and he doesn’t hesitate as yanks you forward. “Don’t do that”, he breathes, “Please. Don’t do that.” It sounds as if he’s using all his willpower to hold back. You didn’t want him to. You wanted to see him just as he was, every last bit of him, you wanted to see it all, to familiarize yourself with everything that was him.  

“You taste good”, you say, the compliment coming out a little breathless when he presses the tip of his cock against your overstimulated cunt. “Yeah?” He asks, pushing past the tight rim of muscle as he eases his way inside, bringing you back onto his thighs. “You do too.” — His words barely register in your mind, for it’s far too clogged up on the feeling of him, throbbing and alive, inside of you. 

His hands are on your waist again, pulling you forward as he sets you in motion. You gasp at the way he brushes up against every bundle of nerves, soft eyelashes hitting your cheeks as your eyes flutter. — With trembling fingers you reach for his face, you wanted to kiss him again, you wanted it more than anything. In this very moment you felt greedy, selfish almost, your body moving on its own accord as you sought out pleasure. 

You had always considered yourself a selfless person, always giving and giving, never expecting anything in return. It felt strange, you had never desired anything the way you desired Beomgyu right now. The feeling scared you. Was this what Kai had warned you about? Should you have listened. — Even if you wanted to, you don’t think you could ever stop now. It was too much, he was everywhere, all at once. Yet there never seemed to be enough. 

Your lips crash against his with urgency, somehow the kiss turns out sweet. It’s soft, gentle, caring. Beomgyu hums into your mouth, the taste of peaches and apricots mixing with one another. It tastes sweet, refreshing, and exciting. — Your combined moans echo out into the small cottage, the fire burning alongside your already blazing bodies, intensifying the raw and intimate moment. 

Suddenly you know what you’d been longing for all this time, what had been missing in your otherwise mundane but joyful life. Delivering jams wasn’t enough, the warm smiles only eased the loneliness in your heart to an extent. No, this, this was what you needed. Another warm body against yours, someone to devote yourself entirely to, someone who acted without expecting anything in return. You would like to think of Beomgyu that way, even though you know you probably shouldn’t. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect- I..” Beomgyu cuts himself off as he pulls back from the heated kiss. Sweat slides down his forehead and you lean in to press a small peck between his furrowed brows. His jaw slacks as he lets ragged breaths pass his parted lips, his hips jerking up to meet yours. — Large hands slide down the sides of your trembling thighs, running over the curve of your ass as he squeezes the soft flesh there. 

“D-Don’t know how much longer…I’m..” You stumble over your words, foreheads pressed against one another as small wordless sounds of pleasure rips from your throat. Beomgyu hums, his fingers creeping up your spine, dark gaze trained to your tits, catching the way your perky nipples strained against the cotton of your blouse. — “Fucking perfect.” He grunts, repeating himself over and over, enjoying the way it sounded on his tongue. 

His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing it in gentle motions. The action makes your teeth latch onto your bottom lip as tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. With a small cry you feel your orgasm course through you, your cunt desperately clenching around his cock, pulling a string of curses from Beomgyu as his head tips back, exposing his flushed neck and bobbing adam's apple. 

The peach cream is warm as it sputters from his twitching cock, spreading throughout your belly when he finishes inside of you. It’s unexplainable, the closeness, the intertwinement, you feel almost bound to him in that moment. — His body feels electrifying against yours, the soft fuzz tickling you when he pulls you to his heaving chest. 

It feels idyllic, being so close to him. He doesn’t feel at all like the Beomgyu you had acquainted yourself with. This feels raw, it feels real. The weeks you’d spent carefully peeling the layers back had led you here, a place in which you never would’ve even considered finding yourself in. — And when you peer up at him, you find it hard to ever look away. He looks dazed, half a smirk plastered onto his face as his arms tighten around you. 

You did not know if this had been a mistake or not, you did not know if you would come to regret this the following day. But right now it felt just right, just perfect. — You wish to stay like this, if just a moment longer. 

⸝⸝

You found that Beomgyu liked to sleep in. 

As usual, you had woken along with the sun, rising as the first rays cast upon you. Stretching out with a small yawn, you freeze when your feet hit something hard. Cracking a groggy eye open, you find your toes stubbed against the armrest of a peachy couch. Shaking your head as you blink the sleep away, you glance around. — You were in Beomgyu’s living room. 

Your gaze falls on the fire, it had since long died out, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Then onto the discarded basket, tipped over on the floor a few paces away. And then to your bright and orange coat, thrown on the cream colored carpet. — At last, you settle on him. Beomgyu lays sprawled out on the sofa, taking up the vast majority of it as he forces you into a compromised position somewhere between its backrest and him. 

With a small grunt you ease yourself into a sitting slouch, steadying yourself with a hand on his naked chest. The pink flush had gone down, and he no longer looked as if he were on fire. In fact, he looked almost peaceful like this. Blissfully asleep as he takes slow and steady breaths through his slightly parted lips. His eyes move behind closed eyelids, lashes fluttering, as his nose scrunches. 

You reach out before you can even stop yourself, fingers carefully carding through his dark hair. Memories of your previous night together flash before you, replaying themselves in crisp clear quality. You remember his warm hands on you, his fuzzy skin against yours, his lips, the way he tasted, the way he made you feel. — Your body tingles all over at the mere thought. 

Mindlessly your hands wander, not stopping until they reach a peculiar little mark on his ribcage. At first glance, it looked nothing out of the ordinary, and you would have probably brushed it off as a birthmark, had it not been for the way Beomgyu flinched when you pressed against it. — He groans, rolling over on his side, now facing you as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him as his face nuzzles against your stomach. 

“Too early..” He complains, his voice muffled and laced with sleep as his hands clumsily grab at your hips. Pursing your lips, you reach for the mark once more, pressing the tips of your fingers against it. Beomgyu groans as he attempts to swat your hand away, persistently ignoring your advances until you finally speak up. — “What’s that?” 

“Hm?” He raises his head, blinking against the bright sun before his attention shifts to where you’re pointing at. A small scoff passes his lips, his expression morphing into one of recognition and distaste, like you’d just reminded him of something he’d been trying to forget. — “It’s nothing”, he grunts, heaving himself into a sitting position as he stretches. Your eyes trail his figure with far less shame than you would’ve liked to admit. But as they do, you encounter several marks of the same kind. 

“Beomgyu, there’s one here too”, you point to the reddish hue on his forearm. How had you not noticed these yesterday? Then again… Your cheeks flush as you recall the events of last night, quickly shaking your head as you try to rid yourself of such thoughts. — Beomgyu huffs, waving a dismissing hand your way as he tries to brush the topic off. “Don’t they hurt?” You quire, pushing the conversation further. 

Beomgyu sighs, running a sleepy hand through his disheveled and dark hair. “Yeah, sure”, he mutters but doesn’t seem too bothered by the admission. — “Had them for as long as I can remember”, he then adds with a small shrug, “something about peaches bruising easily.” 

You don’t question him on the topic again, he didn’t seem keen on talking about it. And you respected that. Yet you couldn’t help but get lost in thought as your mind pictured the dark spots. Were Kai’s words true? Had Beomgyu himself began rotting?

⸝⸝

You visit Beomgyu the next day, and the day after that, and even the one to come. He doesn't question your sudden appearances. And you no longer have to wait outside his shut front door, for he opens it right away, even if he lets you inside with nothing but a short nod or a small grunt. 

The two of you don’t do much. You drink tea, sometimes you eat biscuits with the jam you brought. Other times he allows you to scour his crowded bookshelves, you use him as your own library, picking a book and returning with it a few days later. — Beomgyu will often sit on the couch, you by the warm fireplace as you ramble on about the book, sharing your thoughts excitedly. Often it felt as if you were conversing with yourself, but you knew that he was listening. You could tell by the way his lip twitched, or the way he rolled his thumbs over one another. 

Neither of you bring up that night, the night where you had.. It’s buried, buried beneath the small talk. Buried beneath the tea and the biscuits, beneath the silence of just enjoying each other’s presence. — Beomgyu never tells you to leave, but you do so anyway. And though your heart yearned to spend another night in his house, you were not so sure that it was a good idea. You had yet to tell anyone about it, not even Blueberry Kai knew. The secret burdened you, in a way. 

Beomgyu never mentioned the bruises again, so you didn’t either. Sometimes you would catch a glimpse of them, when his shirt slid up as he reached for a book on the top shelf, or when he rolled his sleeves up to do the dishes. If he ever caught you staring, he’d make sure to cover himself again. The sight pained you, and you wished there was something you could do. Anything. 

When you weren’t at his house, you spent your days researching, as silly as it might sound. In the short span of a week, you had learned everything there was to know about peaches. From their soft and fuzzy outsides to their pink and creamy insides. You read about growing peaches, about harvesting peaches, you read about which seasons they thrive in and which they don’t. — Safe to say you confidently called yourself an expert. 

Yet there was one peach you couldn’t quite seem to figure out. 

Beomgyu was nothing like the peaches in the books, with the exception of the soft fuzz that coated him and the pink flush of his cheeks whenever he got flustered. And as the night drags on, your tired eyes follow along the written liens on the page before you in a lazy manner. With your head propped on your hand, you stifle yet another yawn as you blink the sleep away. 

No, this wouldn’t do. All answers were not in books, and certainly not answers about Beomgyu. With the quick shake of your head, you slam said book shut, and with newfound determination you rise to your feet. — If you couldn’t ask him about it, then you would simply have to work with what you’ve got; and that was a whole bunch of newfound knowledge on peaches. 

⸝⸝ 

The next morning you leave home before the birds wake. With nothing but a short blink of sleep but energy to feed an army, you march down the cobbled road. You don’t have to look for the small pathway that leads off the main street anymore, your feet take you there on your own, allowing your thoughts to wander as you dwell into the thick forest. 

Beomgyu’s familiar house makes your chest swell, and your pace quickens as you approach. — The knocks you deliver to his door are sharp, demanding and slightly impatient. With the small click of your tongue, you glance around the silent woods, tapping your foot restlessly against the old porch. A minute or so later, the door glides open, and you’re met with a freshly woken peach. 

“Do you know what time it is?” Beomgyu retorts, though his voice lacks its usual bite, he’d stopped using that with you. “It’s almost seven”, you chirp as you brush past him and into his homely living room, having already made yourself more than comfortable within his house. Beomgyu’s protesting groan becomes a faint background noise as you settle the heavy basket you were carrying onto his dining table. 

It’s just now that he seems to notice it, his eyes scouring the items stacked inside, neatly concealed with a plaid blanket. — “What’s the meaning of this?” He mutters as he nears you, his chest brushing against your back as he reaches past you to peel the blanket off. You freeze, swallowing a small gulp as you blink a couple of times. Beomgyu had started doing that.. Being so close, you mean. It was as if the matter of personal space didn’t occur in his mind. Not that you minded, however it reminded you of your night together, and that was something you did mind. 

“Peaches..!” You chime, trying your hardest not to let on to your flustered state. Beomgyu, on the other hand, goes silent behind you. His warm breaths are slow and steady against the back of your neck as his fingers fiddle with the handle of the basket. “What for?” He asks, his voice gruff and unreadable. 

Hesitantly, you reach for one of the smaller bags, holding it up as you show him the tiny seeds inside. “They’re not peaches yet..” You murmur, and you’re thankful that he can’t see your face as it twists in embarrassment. — “I thought we could plant them together”, the proposal comes out a mere whisper, the words getting caught in your throat as you avoid glancing behind you to get his reaction. 

Another eerie silence follows. 

It drags on for nearly a whole minute before Beomgyu finally shifts behind you. “No.” He firmly states, the abrupt refusal washing over you like a bucket of ice cold water. This time you can’t hold yourself back from twisting on the spot, coming face to face with him. — “Why not?” You press, your brows furrowing as you grip the small bag of seeds. 

Beomgyu leans forward, restricting the already confined space between the two of you. The back of your thighs press against the dining table, and you find yourself leaning backward when his nose nudges against your own. — “Because I don’t like peaches.” His expression is painted with distaste, as if the word itself spread a bitter taste on his tongue. However, you refused to back down, and with a small huff you shook your head; shoving him back as you grab the basket and head for the smaller door that leads out into his garden.

The fresh morning air is soothing against your burning skin, still tingling where his warm breath had caressed. You take in a deep breath, savoring the cool air as it slips down into your lungs. As you do, you survey the garden. While it wasn’t in horrible condition, it looked like it had been left unattended for the greater part of its existence. Yet you march forward, finding a nice open patch of grass as you sink to your knees. 

You rummage through the basket in search of the small shovels you’d brought. Then comes the process of tearing up the ground beneath you. It’s a tedious process, but one that you find to quite enjoy. A familiar sensation of calm and peace washes over you as you work just like you would in your own garden; shoveling the soil into a pile next to you. 

The sun is warm against your back as you work, yet its rays don't quite seem to reach the lonesome cottage, for the dark forest surrounding you shuts it out. — Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you find yourself completely engrossed in the task at hand. Much so that the sound of the door being opened and closed passes you by unnoticed. 

Beomgyu’s steps are heavy as he slowly approaches your hunched over form. You feel his presence before you see it. The way his gaze tears holes through the back of your neck, dark and piercing eyes locked on your every move. He stops a pace away, maintaining a safe distance, as if the seed itself were to jump up and swallow him whole. 

It’s quiet, neither of you saying anything as you let the tense air speak for itself. You can feel him watching you as you shovel more dirt, having made a decent depth to the hole. Briefly, you consider the fact that this might’ve been a mistake, that you had overstepped once and for all, and that this time, he wasn’t just going to brush it off as insistence. — When you reach for the bag of seeds, he suddenly speaks up: 

“Why are you doing this?” 

You hadn't expected him to ask that. Quite frankly you had expected him to drag you away. To shut his door in your face and tell you to never come back. His question makes you waver, fingers hovering above the opening section of the little bag as you freeze mid-action. Why were you doing this? To say pity felt derogatory, for you didn’t think Beomgyu longed for pity, if anything he repelled it. So what was it? 

“Friendship”, you finally say, your hands resuming their work as you shake a few seeds out onto your open palm. “It’s what friends do”, you add as you turn to peer up at him. It was hard to make out his expression, the sun behind him momentarily blinding you. But his scoff is loud and clear, and you catch the way his fingers twitch as he resists the urge to clench them into fists. 

He mutters something under his breath, the words inaudible to your ears. Then he crouches down next to you, the action taking you by surprise. A small, almost unnoticeable smirk is tugged across his lips, it's a strange look on him, one you don’t think you’d ever seen. — “Friendship?” He echoes as he glances toward the bag in your hand. You nod, rolling the seeds on the flat of your palm, “Are we not friends?” 

Beomgyu pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze trained on something beyond your line of sight as he peers out and ahead. “I don’t know..”, he murmurs, his eyes briefly dropping to his own hands, splayed out in front of him. — “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend.” The admission is followed by the soft flush of his neck and cheeks, the light pink radiating on his skin. 

His words make your chest tighten, the corners of your lips falling as your face drops. Never had a friend? You’d always assumed that Peach Beomgyu liked it better that way. Perhaps not, perhaps he was just as lonely as he looked right now. — Placing the bag of seeds down, you reach over, clasping his hand in yours. The small seeds linger within your intertwined palms, enveloped in the warmth simmering between you.  

Beomgyu’s brow twitches, his dark eyes lifting as they lock with yours, a silent question lingering within them. — “I can be your first friend”, you smile, even though your stomach is fluttering with nerves. He looks slightly taken aback, like he hadn’t expected for those to be the words to come out of your mouth. His lips part, only for him to close them soon again, silently nodding. 

Your heart was practically ablaze. 

Only when his hand squeezes around yours do you seem to remember yourself as you shake your head. “Right”, you say as you point to the little hole you had dug, “Let’s plant these!” — Beomgyu seems hesitant at first, his eyes flickering between your intertwined fingers and the soil patch. Still, he reluctantly gives in as he lets you guide your joint hands toward the hole. 

You make sure to gently pat the little seeds in, taking a moment to lean back and admire them before motioning for Beomgyu to cover them with dirt. He complies, gingerly scooping some into his palms as he covers the hole back up. Together you flatten it out, your hands bumping into one another as you do. It’s impossible to ignore the way his fingers flare up in pink whenever they touch yours, and you smile at the discovery. 

When you’re finally done, you lean back up, placing your hands on your knees as you regard the small patch with pursed lips. “Now we wait”, you huff, realizing that even with the help of Beomgyu it would take a good couple of months before these were even close to being done. To wait and for so long for something was awfully boring. 

With a reclined sigh, you begin collecting the tools you’d used, shoving them back into the basket. Beomgyu had gone awfully quiet next to you, quiet even for him. You pay it no mind, far too busy with re-organizing yourself. It’s not until his warm fingers suddenly grasp your chin, his touch feathery light yet scorching hot, that you react. 

Your wide eyes barely manage to meet his upon turning your head before his lips press against yours. The sudden kiss takes you by surprise and you blink a couple of times before allowing your shocked eyes to fall shut. — It didn’t feel like it had that night, this was slow, timid almost, and Beomgyu was far more hesitant this time around as his hand went to your waist. It was cute, you thought. 

And when he finally pulls back, there’s a warm pink covering the entirety of his face as he clears his throat into his closed fist. “Do..” He begins, quickly trailing off as he avoids your gaze. “I mean, is that something friends do?” — You frown, mouth opening and closing as you think of an answer. 

“I don’t…I don’t think so. I think it’s something that more-than-friends do…”, you shyly admit, watching as the color that had just begun fading off of his face resurfaced once more. — Beomgyu grunts, shaking his head once, as if banishing the embarrassment from his mind, his dark hair falling in uneven sections in front of his eyes. “Then..”, he puts on a more stoic expression but you catch the nervous fidget of his fingers as they play with a strand of grass, “Then I want to be ‘more-than-friends’ with you.” — “If…If that’s okay?” He quickly adds, his face falling for a brief moment. 

You can only nod, a grin stretching across your lips so wide that the corners of your mouth hurt. “I would like that very much.” — Beomgyu exhales a heavy sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping slightly as he peers at you through dark strands of hair. You awkwardly clear your throat, feeling your own face heat up at the request you were about to make: 

“Can you…do that again? The kiss I mean..” 

He chuckles, and you think it was the first time you ever heard him even remotely laugh. — “Without a doubt.” 

⸝⸝

Things became different with Beomgyu after that. But it was a good different. It was different because he had started coming to you. — It had shocked you at first, when he’d knocked on your door, and you had opened it, expecting anyone but him. Even more so when he’d willingly accompanied you into town. Though he didn’t say much, he still followed along as you browsed the different stands, humming a quiet yes to whatever you found interesting. 

People cast glances your way, but he didn’t seem to care for them. And neither did you, for the warm feeling of your hand in his washed away any other thoughts. — He even met Blueberry Kai once, though their first meeting was stiff and beyond tense, you couldn’t help the way your chest swelled at the accomplishment. 

Beomgyu was polite, at least when he wanted to be. He stopped to hold the door for others, picked up a lost purse and returned it to its owner, and he carried your basket when it became too heavy. After a while he started accompanying you when you went out to deliver jams, and the faces of others as they opened the door soon grew from shock to recognition as Beomgyu slowly made his way back into society. 

Still, you preferred to spend quiet and lazy days at his house. Away from everyone else, just the two of you, basked in a different kind of tranquility. Sharing soft kisses on the couch, long mornings in bed, reading out in the garden, and having tea in the kitchen. — It was a simple life, a life that had been right under your nose all along. 

And the peaches soon bloomed, much to everyone’s surprise. The first ripe fruits, hanging off the tree, pink and plump. Beomgyu watches as you reach for one, plucking it from its branch as you turn it in your hands. — “Perfect, no?” You say as you let your fingers glide over the familiar fuzz covering the fruit. 

Beomgyu hums as he, too, reaches for one. The shirt he wore rides up his stomach, exposing his flushed skin to you. But there were no bruises this time, they had faded months ago. And none of you questioned it, though you were certain you knew why. — Beomgyu brings the peach to his nose, inhaling its sweet scent as his eyes flutter. A small smile splayed across his face, that was also something different. 

Your gaze lingers on his frame just a moment longer, fixated on the dark hair on top of his head. Only… It wasn’t dark, not anymore. — You reach up to card your hand through his soft locks, fingers catching one a strand by the very top. You run it between your thumb and index finger, its peachy color glowing under the sun. 

To think that a little bit of love was all someone like him needed to bloom. 

It was a funny thought indeed.

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[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood

suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.

satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.

satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.

god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?

it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.

but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?

"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.

everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.

bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.

god, why the fuck does he even like him again?

satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.

god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?

"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.

it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.

it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."

he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.

"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.

satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.

"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.

he blinks. "what are you..."

satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"

"but this is -"

before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.

"...your room."

he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.

but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.

he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.

what's wrong with him? seriously.

suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.

nee-chan~ (2)

his sister? it beeps.

nee-chan~ (3)

no, don't. i'll ask shoko

you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.

seriously, i mean it

after a moment, there's another message.

are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?

don't come over. slut

...what?

the message notification disappears along with the message.

suguru gets a strange feeling.

he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.

does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.

the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.

there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.

ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.

but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.

picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.

shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.

he raises a brow.

"she's sleeping."

"how do you know i'm here for her?"

shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."

"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."

the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.

he pushes past her, and she sighs.

there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.

and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?

you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

it's romantic, sure. intimate.

but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?

with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.

he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.

(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)

"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.

"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"

his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.

"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"

and without you, there is no rest.

as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.

all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.

"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."

"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."

you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.

it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.

he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.

should you laugh, or cry?

"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.

but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.

maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.

"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."

neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.

not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.

satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.

because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.

there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.

and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.

now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).

now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.

(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)

"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.

blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.

you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.

now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.

she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.

where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.

she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.

it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.

when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?

"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."

when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.

you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.

otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?

you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.

satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.

his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.

your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.

satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.

he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.

geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.

his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.

he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.

does he leave marks on geto?

"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.

and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.

satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.

his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.

maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.

for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.

"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"

if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.

"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.

you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.

"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."

"you were with him."

"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."

satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.

it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.

"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."

he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.

"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.

please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...

tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.

"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."

another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.

he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.

you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.

the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.

you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.

a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.

"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."

it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.

you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.

you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.

"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."

satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.

"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."

there's a flash of rage. irrational.

he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.

but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.

and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.

but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.

you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.

maybe there's something you can do about this.

[vhswolf]

The rumours got it wrong! | Landoscar X reader

No warnings just fluff

"Are you excited about your first time in the paddock, darling?" Lando asked while driving to the place.

"Too excited! I want to see you and Osc one the podium." Lando smiled and nodded.

"We will do our best, promise, pretty." I kissed his cheek and sat back.

"I feel like I will be on a lot of gossip sites today." Lando laughed.

"I'll make sure to post a photo of the two of us with the caption saying we're just friends."

"No need to lie..."

"The problem is the lie or me calling you a friend?" He teased me, making me roll my eyes.

"Stop, I'm just saying that..." He stopped at a red light and looked at me. "OK! I don't like you calling me a friend, I almost cried when Osc said to Charles we were just besties, you don't need to do it too."

"Oh baby, don't cry, you're too hot." He put his hand on my thigh and squeezed it.

"Stupid." I chuckled.

"I wished we could say to the world we're dating, I'm pretty sure Osc too."

"I know, that's why I love both of you." He parked the car, we got out, and we started to walk into the paddock.

"Don't look at me like you're in love, you know to avoid gossip pages." I punched his arm while laughing.

"Shut up!" We go to the paddock and the cameras started to click.

"Smile, you need to look happy by my side." Lando whispered.

"I'm always smiling next to you, handsome." I whispered back. Soon enough we got to the McLaren garage where Oscar already was.

"Hey, Osc!" Lan said, making him look at us.

"Finally!" He walked to us. "Welcome." Oscar said and hugged me. "You're looking good, baby." He whispered before letting me go.

"Thank you." The boys gave me a big tour of the garage, introducing me to everyone they walked by. After forcing me to do a photoshoot in the car, they finally had to go do their jobs, and I sat back to watch them race. The race was amazing, both boys got podium, and to celebrate the McLaren team dragged me to where the team and wags go after a race even though I'm not none of that to them. Lando ran to my, he gave me a big hug before jumping on the team by my side. Oscar was more contained, he hugged the team and threw me a little and quick wink, I smiled at him as he walked to go talk to Lan.

After all the celebrations and champagne sprays, we got to the hotel.

"Did you like it?" Oscar asked, giving me a lot of kisses.

"I loved it, can I go more times?"

"Anytime you want, princess." Lando said, dropping on the bed, clearly tired.

"I have to say, it was way harder than I thought it would be, not kiss you all the time." Osc said, finally letting me go, I lay on the bed next to Lan and nodded.

"Me too."

"You too? You jumped on her."

"C'mon, I was too happy, I didn't really think about it, I just did it."

"I know, but you should be more careful." Osc squeezed himself on the bed between me and Lando.

"We're just really close friends." Lan teased me, but I was too tired to get back to him.

"I hate you sometimes, Norris."

"You don't."

I woke up with Oscar laughing at something.

"What?" I asked, still half asleep.

"We just found out that you're cheating on Lando." I looked at them confused.

"With whom?"

"Me." I looked at them even more confused.

"What?" Oscar's phone made his way onto my hand. An Instagram page with photos of me and Lando, and photos of Oscar clearly flirting with me and me being all into it.

"That's... C'mon, why am I the one getting cheated on? I was the one flirting with the two of you, I'm the least likely to get cheated on." Lando said pouting like it was a real thing.

"OK, we did an awful job at trying to hide it." I looked at Lando. "If you weren't all love-dovey..." I chuckled, Lan looked at me and rolled his eyes crossing his arms over his chest. "But, I mean... what should we do about it?" The real question is will PR management be pissed at us?

"We should go get lunch together, I want to feed the rumours."

The rumours did got all wrong, but we can blame them, nobody would think I could bag the two more handsome and talented boys on the grid.

[ylangelegy]

new traditions 💍 joshua x reader.

it's christmas day and joshua still loves you.

★ fiancé!joshua x reader. ★ word count: 1.3k ★ genre/warnings: fluff, talk about marriage/weddings. heavily inspired by toneejay's bagong tradisyon. ★ footnotes: this is a quick one (a 1/2, if you will), but it's a christmas gift for the first friend i made on here. @chugging-antiseptic-dye, it's a privilege being a carat the same time as you! i offer you your husband (literally), and one of the songs that you & i bonded over. i'm in your corner all the way across the sea. 💌

The brass of the apartment key is cold between your fingers.

You turn it over, absentmindedly tracing its biting and shoulder. This is one of two copies; the original remains in Joshua’s safekeeping.

Speak of the devil, you muse when you hear his faint call of “Love?” from the living room. 

You tear yourself out of your thoughts enough to pocket the key and pad out of the apartment’s one bedroom. What greets you is a sight for sore eyes. Cardboard boxes strewn across the floor, luggage bags practically bursting at the seams. 

In the middle of it is Joshua. Your Joshua. 

After all these years, you’re not any less accustomed to the sight of him— even if it is just him in a black, ribbed tank top. He had opted to dress down, knowing that moving day would entail a lot of hauling and organizing. 

When you step into the room, the initial look of frustration on his expression gives way to something more affectionate. This is what his friends constantly teased him about— how Joshua was so damn soft for you.

It didn’t matter. It was a feeling you reciprocated, anyway. 

“Love,” he starts as he gets to his feet. From the look of it, he had been sorting through the cutlery. “Where did you pack the mugs?” 

You gingerly step through the fort of boxes, your eyes skipping over the tape bearing the contents of each carton. “Should be with the plates,” you note. “It was one of the last boxes you brought in.” 

Joshua lets out a thoughtful hum. In the next five minutes, he finds exactly what he’s looking for. 

“Thank you,” he says distractedly. “Love you.” 

There it was. The easy, unconscious way in which Joshua would dole out those words. It didn’t matter where the two of you might be, whether you were with friends or if it was just the two of you. 

Ordering takeout? I’ll have a pizza. Love you. Visiting his parents’ house? Shop with mom for a bit, ‘kay? Love you. Falling asleep together after a long day? A yawn, and then a quiet exhale. Love you.

To Joshua, loving you was as much of a given as breathing. 

There are times when you underestimate it, when you think the words may lose their gravity because of how often he says them. That had been your fear in the beginning. You kept the words close to your heart, saving them for special occasions and big moments.

Consequently, you don’t respond to him, too distracted by the box containing your pillows and comforters. As always, Joshua refuses to stand for that. 

With a furrowed brow, he abandons his mug-organizing to saunter over to your side. 

“I said,” he says pointedly, his arms finding purchase around your waist. He gently pulls your back to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I love you.” 

The petulant tone of his voice draws a laugh from you. You can’t quite turn your head to see his face but you can already imagine the expression he’s sporting. His lips, downturned into a frown. His eyes narrowed slightly. 

“I love you, too,” you respond. You reach behind you, the position a little awkward, as you attempt to pat Joshua’s hip reassuringly. 

He lets out a low scoff. His hands move up to your shoulders so he can ever so carefully turn you around until you’re facing him. 

You’ve never been a particularly superstitious person. Neither is Joshua. Even so, the two of you didn’t want to risk anything, and so you subscribed to every existing credulous belief about moving houses. 

You didn’t do it on a rainy day or a weekday. You opted for a day where the moon phase would be a new moon. Most importantly, you made sure to arrive before six in the morning. The last one was a nod to starting the new day, supposedly promising homeowners a prosperous beginning. 

At first, you had been vehemently against the thought of getting up at the crack of dawn to begin the whole moving process. Now, though, you find yourself grateful for it. 

The sunlight starting to streak through the window has Joshua glowing as he holds you. He’s incandescent, all honeyed skin and warm eyes. The real clincher is that he looks at you like you’re the sun itself. 

“I see how it is.” He heaves out a dramatic sigh, his gaze fond despite his alleged annoyance. “I put a ring on your finger and you get cocky.” 

Said engagement ring glints in the morning light as you go to rest your arms over Joshua’s shoulders. You return his jab with a roll of your eyes.

“Are we really going to fight on our first morning in our new place?” you bite out. 

Joshua responds with an exaggerated gasp. “Who said we’re fighting? I would never fight you. I couldn’t bear to do it.” 

You have half the mind to push the envelope, to insist that his attitude has led to a good number of spats. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right, too. Joshua would sometimes be on the verge of tears when the two of you were getting into more serious arguments, and it was in large part because he couldn’t stomach the prospect of even raising his voice at you.

When you don’t contest him immediately, Joshua flashes you a winning smile. He rewards your concession with a lingering kiss to your forehead, and you begrudgingly take the ‘prize’. 

His lips are still on the top of your head when he mumbles, “Say that again.” 

“Hm?” 

“I liked the sound of that. ‘Our place’,” he hums as he pulls away to grin at you. 

Joshua wasn’t always vocal about his feelings on your big move, but it was in moments like these that you’re reminded just how badly he wanted it. How he had dragged you to IKEA every weekend in search of the perfect table linens and curtains. How he had gone through all the forms and processes with ruthless efficiency. How he had begun to include it in his prayers, the plea unassuming and full of hope. 

Lord, please let me have this. 

You’ve never been able to deny Joshua a thing. Your fingers go to stroke the short hair at his nape. Instinctively, his eyes flutter close at your ministrations. 

“Our place,” you concede to repeating. “Welcome to our place, love.” 

The dreamy smile that tugs at his lips makes it all worth it. His eyes flutter open, and he stares at you with a new kind of devotion. 

There’s still a lot that the two of you have to do. Joshua has yet to contact an internet provider to get the apartment WiFi. You need to figure out how to transport the bigger pieces that the two of you have purchased, like the couches and the wardrobes. 

But for now—

Joshua leans down to kiss you. And it’s everything. It’s his litany of love you’s throughout the years. It’s the way his hands shook when he got down on one knee. It’s the unpacked couple mugs, and the bed that you’re going to share, and the life that awaits the two of you. 

When he breaks the kiss to breathe, he doesn’t go too far. His mouth is still against yours when he softly says, “This is the best Christmas ever.” 

Initially, you want to agree. Instead, you find yourself whispering back, “No.”

You go on, “We’re going to have a dozen more Christmases together.” 

“A hundred,” he shoots back in between giggles.

You’re not usually one to give in to your fiancé’s hyperboles, but you’re willing to make some exceptions. “A thousand,” you promise, making him laugh a little more. 

Outside, day breaks. 

There is a key in your pocket, a ring on your finger, and your heart in Joshua’s safekeeping.

BONUS — translated toneejay's bagong tradisyon for your reading/listening pleasure. here's to the loves that last us entire lifetimes.

This year The two of us will live Under the same roof Oh, oh You said You're excited to see What our new traditions will be Oh, oh And Christmas will never be sad again Because you have me And I have you Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh Our bodies May grow old But my feelings for you Will stay the same Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh If there is no more love That only means I'm no longer around If there is no more love That only means you're no longer around Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh This year The two of us will live Under the same roof

[daengtokki]

part eight // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 13k

RATING: mature/explicit/mdni—contains: self harm, hallucinations, monsters(?), medication mention, pregnancy, fluff...and a new OC

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

COMMENTS: Hi guys, I'm kinda back. I hope you all enjoy part eight! We still have a long way to go. Please reblog and help support me and my work! I love and appreciate you all very much ♡ ˎˊ˗

[ ML — DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST ]

TAGLIST: @kkamismom12 / @r0tt1n / @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz / @reignessance / @velvetmoonlght / @ghostedgameplays

It’s not as bad as you thought it would be. It doesn’t look quite like how it sounded when it hit the floor, but each side of the music box separated from itself on impact, and now it’s a sad shell of its former self. You can fix it, though—you have to fix it.

You lower yourself for a closer look, making sure to avoid the sparkling glass covering so much of the floor. The glimmer of something else catches your eye, so you move carefully, pinch the silver chain between your fingers, and pull it from its tiny pool of water. “Can I wear this until it’s in one piece again?”

An odd request, maybe, but Seungmin doesn’t bat an eye at it. “You wanna wear St. Michael? Are you feeling guilty again, or…” he pulls his shirt over his head, sweat soaked from his workout—disposing of the body. “Feeling the snares of the devil?”

“Should I be feeling him?” That wasn’t a yes, but you clasp it around your neck anyway.

He smiles at you and shrugs.

“You’re no devil”

“No? You’re just blinded by me. Biased.”

“True. What did you do to me?”

His face falls in confusion. “Nothing. I mean…I always wondered if—“

“Minnie, I’m joking.” But he still has that worried look in his eyes. It’s been a while since you’ve seen it. “What have you always wondered?”

Now he seems reluctant to finish. Seungmin grabs his clean towel and shorts and looks toward the door, but he turns to you again. “…if I did do something to you that night. It’s silly.”

“When I passed out?”

“When you died,” he corrects you. “You were dead, no pulse. One minute and…forty seconds.”

“You never told me that”

“I never told you how long you were gone?”

“And that I had no pulse”

He takes a few steps toward you. “No, I guess I didn’t. I thought you knew.”

Seungmin touches the medallion on your chest, examines it, avoids looking directly at you. He’s thinking, you assume, about whatever it is he believes happened when you died for one minute and forty seconds. His hands are warm on your skin, and you’re already craving his touch again, but his mind seems to be somewhere else entirely.

“I was wearing it that night. Usually, I take it off when I go to bed, but I fell asleep reading.”

“What night?” You take his hand in yours, but he slips away and starts toward the door. “Seungmin, what night?” The air starts to feel thick with tension. Seungmin’s mind still turns so quickly sometimes, but not this quickly.

“Can we talk after I shower?”

/ / /

The living room fills with the scent of almond blossom tea and Seungmin’s steamy, citrusy shower. He spent a long time in there—washing away his kill, thinking of a way to tell you his story, wondering if it’s time. It has to be. Seungmin knows you’ve earned every truth he has to give. It’s the least he can do. He stares absently at the floor with his mug cupped in both hands. “The night my mom and stepdad died.”

Your mind goes every which way, wondering what direction his story is going to go in. “They both died the same night?”

“Yes. I should have told you this when you opened up to me months ago.”

“No, not if you weren’t ready”

It feels so complicated in his head, but telling you everything takes no more than ten minutes, even through the tears that eventually start falling. And in that ten minutes, you end up on the couch, Seungmin curled up in your arms for comfort. Still, he left out a few details, like her voice starting right there in the greenhouse; his trip into the woods hoping to be taken by the thing that lived there—still lives there.

He melts into you even more. “That’s worse than I could have ever imagined, my poor sweet Minnie.”

The ground in Uljin is sour, except for where his mother rests, and everything about your visit there starts to make sense. The shed is the rotting corpse of his stepfather, and its arms still reach far enough to hurt Seungmin. The garden he and his mother created; the greenhouse, and every single everlasting flower that it holds seems to keep him here, reaching a little further and giving you who you have in your arms.

“I’m so glad you made it through.”

“Did I? Sometimes it feels like I died back there…” he stops and sniffles, wipes his cheeks, “in the woods.”

“You didn’t. You’re here with me, like you’re supposed to be.”

Seungmin is exhausted, physically and mentally. His eyes close, and his body relaxes as he puts his arms around you again.

“The woods where he left you. The same ones from your dream last night?”

He mumbles a yes.

“The ones we drove through…I didn’t like those woods”

“There’s nothing to like about them”

“They felt haunted”

“That’s one way of describing it. They were like that long before I put him the ground, and now it’s worse. The dirt he’s decaying in hates me just as much as he did.”

“He’s still there? Is she?”

A long blank stare, followed by a slow nod. “Yes.” Seungmin looks at you, still so full of secrets, but he’s running out of energy to keep going.

“What did the rest of your family think happened?”

“That he killed her, and disappeared”

Now it’s your turn to close your eyes and relax in his embrace. Just learning about his past is tiring, and overwhelming. How could a nine year old come out of that? Seungmin did, but it damaged him so severely he can no longer live a normal life.

“I was sick before any of that happened, though,” he starts again. “Umma knew I was seeing and hearings, but she didn’t know what to do, except give me this…” He touches the necklace again, presses his lips to your chest, “and pray, read to me, surround me with flowers. But I was so much worse after he left me in the woods. And he didn't believe I needed a doctor."

For the first time in a long time, you’re lost for words. There’s not much you can say right now to bring him the comfort he needs, but your touch might help. You kiss his forehead, and rub his back until he lifts his head to look at you. He just stares, searching your face for something; waiting for more, maybe. Does he still think the things he tells you will scare you off?

“It’s genetic, isn’t it?” He asks.

“Yeah, I think so”

“So…the chances of one of them being sick—”

You knead your fingers into his neck and squeeze before he finishes. If only you could make this one worry go away. “They’ll be okay. We’ll worry about that when…if…the time comes.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“You’ve been seeing things, too. Has that ever happened before?”

“No”

/ / /

Why are you seeing things? The thought hadn’t occurred to you until now, because everything from the last several months has been some level of strange. The dreams felt like dreams, even after you discovered they were echoes of Seungmin’s nightmares, and even how easy and beautiful it felt to fall for him didn’t seem unusual. The truth is, that’s never happened to you...nobody has ever been as close to you as he is. The connection is preternatural. If there were ever time to use that word, this is it. “No, I’ve never even seen a ghost. Seeing that dog under the bed is the first time something like that has happened.”

“So, maybe it was really there”

You shake your head. “If so, it had to have slipped into a tear in the fabric of space…a wormhole. Or it’s just magic.”

“Like Bulgae”

“Bulgae?”

“Mm, they’re just mythical creatures, a fairytale I guess. The fire dogs that chase…oh,” he rubs his chin with his knuckles, and his eyes wonder around the room. They land on the window, where the quarter moon stares in. “They chase the sun and the moon. Do you think there’s a tear in space under my bed?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Minnie”

“Are you up for a long drive tomorrow?”

Seungmin doesn’t like going home—you assume, and he doesn’t pretend it’s easy. He does it as if it’s a necessary pilgrimage to a partially sacred place. He has to fight through the oppressive evil to get to the little bit of warmth still existing there, and he’s succeeded every time so far. But this is only your second time accompanying him.

“You can sleep if you’re comfortable,” his fingers run down your arm and wrap around your wrist. “I can see how tired you are.”

Yesterday was exhausting, and your dreams kept you up most of the night. The dog returned, just the white one, but it didn’t try to hurt you. It didn’t even look at you. You watched it from the balcony as it struggled to reach what you assume was some representation of the moon; a glowing blue sphere in the middle of the city, far too low to be any celestial body. Upon waking up, you decided it had been the weirdest dream you’ve had in a long list of weird dreams.

“Okay.” You don’t fight him, or the overwhelming urge to close your burning eyes. “I’ll try.”

When you wake, the car is parked, and you’re alone. Seungmin kept the engine running, the music low, and the doors locked, and when he returns several minutes later, you’re already sound asleep again. He gets in as quietly and gently as possible with the bag full of snacks he’s hoping you’ll like, but for now, he’s happy to see you sleeping so soundly. And that’s what he does for a little while longer—he watches you, listens to you breathing, and wonders if you’re in the middle of a dream. He hopes not. Or if you are, it’s a good one. Neither of you seem to have much luck with that.

You groan and shift, and Seungmin can’t help but reach out for you. He swipes his fingertips across your forehead, tucks some hair behind your ear.

“Where are we?”

“Almost there”

“Did you get me something?” Seungmin digs around in the bag and holds it out for you. “Oh a triangle, thank you!”

“Mhm, if you eat two you can have your cookies”

“Did you get yourself something besides coffee?”

“I’m not very hungry”

When he eats, he eats well, but sometimes he goes far too long without. “You didn’t eat before we left.” You don’t push it, though. The trip might be the reason for his lack of appetite, so the sooner you start heading home, the better. “Do you wanna bite? Just a little one.” Seungmin watches you unwrap it, and when you hold it up to his lips, he opens up and takes a much bigger bite than you expect. “Good boy."

He stops chewing, and a slow smile starts to appear. “Hm?”

“Oh…uhm”

He covers his mouth as he finishes chewing and swallowing, but as soon as it’s down, he laughs softly behind his hand. “Say it again.” Seungmin leans forward and takes another bite.

“Good…” you kiss the top of his head, and he laughs despite his mouthful of tuna and rice, “good boy.”

“Thank you,” he washes it down with his coffee and points to the remaining piece, “your turn, both of them.“

“Can I have a sip of your coffee?”

Seungmin smiles again, pretends to think…he never actually says no to you. “Yeah, one little sip.”

The road you’re on isn’t one you recognize, but the trees and hills are very much what you remember from your December trip. It’s so much different now—it’s brighter, and more colorful. The blue sky makes everything look bigger, and much less claustrophobic, and you hope seeing it like this is a little easier on him. Flowers are blooming all over the sides of the roads, and at the edge of the woods you pass; in gardens and open fields. His backyard will at least be dry and warm this time around. The forest is no different. It’s oppressive and dark. Eerily quiet, except for a few bugs chirping in the darkest corners. You roll down the window and smell the air, and you decide it might be the only nice thing about it.

“What was that?” You turn the volume down on the radio and listen again.

“I didn’t hear anything”

You wonder if he did, and he’s just pretending he didn’t. “That…” An unmistakable rumble, like the echo of a car engine in the distance, but not quite. It cuts out abruptly, and that’s the last time you hear it. When you look at him again, his face is blank, and maybe a little bit pale, so you drop it.

When you finally, truly arrive, you’re not sure if the car will actually make it up the slight incline to park next to the house. It’s not dry at all. The surrounding area is still covered in a wet muddy mess, almost as bad as it was in December…but somehow, Seungmin makes it.

“You okay?”

“Huh…oh yeah, I’m good. Just not wearing the right shoes for this.”

“Most of the area stays pretty nasty until the snowmelt dries, and then it gets muddy again as soon as the rainy season starts.”

His door pops open, “stay there.” He rounds the car and opens yours, “okay,” and kneels down.

“Minnie, I can get a little muddy”

“I know, but you don’t have to. C’mon.”

All you can picture in your head is him slipping, falling, and you going down with him, but then you remember how easily he managed this ground last time. Seungmin isn’t clumsy on his feet, only in his head, and only sometimes. He reaches back for you and wiggles his fingers. “Okay, okay. Brace yourself.”

“For what?” He grunts when you put all of your weight on his back, but he still stands without a problem. “You should be heavier than this by now, right?”

“I’ve gained eight pounds since I moved in with you”

“Do you gain less with girls, and more with boys?”

“I’m not sure, remind me to google it”

“That seems like a silly question when I say it out loud”

“It’s not. Is that what we’re having?”

“Hm?”

Maybe it was a slip-up, or maybe he’s dying to finally tell you. “Girls? Is that what we’re having?”

“I thought you didn’t wanna know”

Part of you does, especially now that you’ve started working on the nursery—just another step toward it becoming your new reality. “Do you think the tech was right about it?”

“She seemed confident, and she’s been looking at ultrasound babies for a long time.” Seungmin kneels again, and you put your feet down on the concrete walkway outside the greenhouse.

“Have you been thinking about names?”

His little smile answers for you, even though he shakes his head. “Not much…not really.”

Warm air and the heady scent of a dozen different flowers hits you when the door swings open. Your eyes water from it, but you blink it away as he grabs your hand and pulls you in with him.

“Tell me one you like”

“A name I like…hm, there is one, but it might be too…me”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing”

“Ha-neul”

“Haneul…it sounds nice when you say it. What does it mean?”

“Sky”

“Oh, that’s perfect. I like it, too.”

He stares at the flowers, and his grip on your fingers tightens. “I can’t think of another name to compliment it, though. So I’m not sure.”

“Maybe it’s too early for this part”

Seungmin pulls you with him toward the purple flowers, and when you’re close enough to be filled with their scent and only their scent, he lowers himself and kneels in the much dryer soil. When you don’t immediately follow, he squeezes and tugs a little harder. It still feels like an intrusion into his most personal moments, but he wants you here, so you lower yourself next to him and hold tight to his arm.

Being here now is different—she’s there, right below you, beneath the purple bushes whose roots certainly reach as deeply as she’s buried. Seungmin’s mother exists in the flowers in a way you never thought possible, and that’s why he keeps them close. This is you finally meeting her, you think.

“Umma?”

He waits, and you’re perfectly still and quiet as the moments pass. And then a few more moments. It’s getting late, so you begin to hear the growing sound of insects crying in their hiding spots, but nothing else. Eventually, too much time and silence passes, so you squeeze his hand and look at him. “Seungmin?” You can see the stain of a tear on his cheek. He’s biting down hard on his lip to keep some composure, but it isn’t working very well. “What is it?”

“She’s not answering”

“Try again…say something else”

He nods and takes a deep breath. “Umma, nae mal deullyeoyo? Please say something.” The sound of his shaking voice hurts. You know there’s still no reply, even before he releases you and spreads his palms out over the ground—what you don’t know is if this is the first time she’s been silent, and it’s not a good time to ask. If it is, you can only assume it’s because of his Haldol. Seungmin hasn’t missed a dose in over a month. It’s taken hold, and the sound of his mother’s voice is no longer there. This might not be the best side effect. “Where did you go?” He leans forward until his forehead touches the cold ground, and your hand slides beneath his shirt at the same time. It’s warm, and it’s soft, and as much as he wants to scream, your touch helps keep him calm. A slow, deep breath, and his lungs fill with the scent of earth and heliotrope. She’s still here, he thinks. “I know you’re still here.”

Your hand slides across his back until he rises again, but he’s dizzy, and a sour, nauseous feeling starts to rise in his stomach and throat. He turns and crawls away just in time. Seungmin vomits, coughs, vomits again…or tries to. Nothing comes up, but his body keeps telling him to try.

“She is, Min. Just like last time, and the time before that.”

He isn’t sure what you’re saying, but he hears your voice despite the muffled ringing in his ears. It helps. Seungmin isn’t sure he could handle the silence alone. “I’m sorry.” A fistful of dirt comes with him as he stands, and he tosses it aimlessly towards the mess. “You heard it in the woods, right? That sound.”

“The rumble?”

“Yeah…the rumble”

“What was it?”

“Something umma told me was just in my head”

If it’s in yours, too, that still doesn’t mean it’s real. Seungmin is giving you more than just his dreams.

“Maybe she’ll talk to you”

“Me? No. Why would she talk to me?”

Seungmin shrugs, but he has his reasons. “Just hoping, I guess.” He wonders if your strange connection exists in this way, even if he can no longer hear her. You’re seeing things, and you’re dreaming like him…so maybe he hasn’t completely lost his connection to his mother.

You turn away and carefully lower yourself to the ground, but you’re not prepared for this—you have enough trouble talking to tangible people in front of you. Nothing happens right away. Just the sound of the bugs, and the wind picking up and pushing against the glass panels. The sun is finally setting behind the trees, and the orange glow coming in looks like fire. “Susie, are you there? Your son wants to speak to you.” All you can hear is the sound of Seungmin sniffling and pacing behind you. “I would like to talk to you, too” The wind pushes harder against the greenhouse, and the lonely wind chime catches it and starts to sing. It slows down, and you look away for a moment to watch the tops of the trees stop swaying in the distance. “Is that you?”

“Did she…?” Seungmin asks, but a moment later, another gust hits, and a glass panel cracks from the pressure. “Oh no.” He heads for it to inspect the damage, leaving you alone with the flowers as you try with everything you have to hear something. “It might be okay,” he says, mostly to himself as his finger runs over the superficial crack. The greenhouse has survived the elements for a very long time, and one little crack is not going to bring it down.

“She loves you very much”

His arm slides around your waist, and his hand spreads out across your stomach. There’s nothing there to see yet, even with twins—but you’re much softer where his fingers knead and squeeze. “You heard her?”

Did you? You don’t remember hearing anything except the wind—no voice in your ear, or in your head, just the overwhelming desire to tell him. “I’m not sure, but…she does, Minnie. She loves you, all of you, the good and the bad.”

“I was excited to tell her about the twins”

It hadn’t occurred to you that part of this trip was to tell her the big news…that he’s going to be a father. During the first trip here, he was quietly joyous about simply not being alone, and that also just occurred to you—he was still brand new to you. His happiness is still so lost in him sometimes, buried under too much grief and damage. “Tell her...” You grab and pull him so he’s kneeling next to you, but you’re not sure if he’ll actually try to speak again. If he thinks it, that’ll be good enough.

Umma? I’m sorry I can’t hear you.

He waits again, just in case there’s an answer this time.

I’m going to be a father. Well, I guess I already am, but…they might be born in September, just like me. We’re having—oh, I can’t say it out loud. It’s still a secret.

“No, you can tell us. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Seungmin whispers, and he smiles when you nod at him. You weren’t sure you’d get another one out of him for a while.

We’re having boys…identical boys, umma. I’ll be the father dad didn’t get the chance to be. I’ll make you both proud.

The hanok, for as long as it’s been sitting here uninhabited (“fifteen years,” Seungmin tells you, “it was like everyone but me just forgot it existed.”), is still in surprisingly good shape. The outside is somewhat neglected, but it’s solid, and the inside…you weren’t expecting to see the inside, but Seungmin had the key in his never-ending collection of keys...the inside is nice, but dusty and a little damp, and it almost looks like someone still lives here. There are clean dishes sitting on the counter, like they were almost put away in the cupboard above them. The faded curtain is pulled open just enough to see down the pathway that leads to the greenhouse, and…two pairs of shoes sit neatly by the door you walked through. A pair of sneakers, and next to them, a pair of rain boots.

“Seungmin, are those…were those yours?”

He looks to the spot you’re staring at, and nods. “Yes, they were mine.”

“Can I see your bedroom?”

The afternoon sun is pouring in through his window, and even with the curtains closed, it filters in and casts a warm glow over everything. His yo, rolled up and covered; a desk still holding a stack of books; the bookshelf, and a chest you can only imagine is full of whatever this little boy liked to play with. Now you’re hit with another realization, even though you knew…he really was just a baby when this nightmare happened to him. Seungmin sat at this desk and practiced his spelling and multiplying, and in the same breath, he had to kill his stepfather to save his own life.

“I saw this in one of my dreams”

“What did you see?”

“In the park, when I first told you I was dreaming about you…one of them was this, I think. Your window, the bedroom.” Seungmin passes by and pulls at the curtains, and the light is almost too bright as your eyes adjust. “We were laying in your bed, and the sun was bright just like this, but it must have been summer. There were flowers outside, yellow and purple flowers. That was a nice dream. You kissed me before I woke up.”

“I did?” He leans in quickly and places a kiss on your lips, “like that?” He tries again when you shake your head, this time right between your eyes. “There?”

“Nope, try again”

“Hm, how about…” a soft one against your temple, but he huffs when you shake your head again. “Where does dream you want a kiss?” His eyes scan every part of you as he thinks, and eventually, he grins and goes for your neck.

“Up a little…perfect.” In your head, you’re doing your best to remember every detail of that dream, but you can’t. It’s long gone. “What was that? Thunder?”

The sun is still shining, but on closer inspection he can see the dark clouds in the distance, slowly moving above the trees. “I think so.” Seungmin forgot how oppressive the view is from here…the darkness of the forest in front of him, even in the daylight, makes him uncomfortable. “I’ll check the heat, and the water. We can spend the night if…” the rain starts almost immediately. “If that’s okay.”

“Here? I don’t mind, but only if you’re comfortable staying.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Actually, since I met you, up until now has been the longest I’ve gone without visiting, or cleaning up. It’s hard, and as many bad memories as this place holds…it’s still all I have of her.”

“Then yeah, let’s make ourselves comfortable here and get a good nights sleep.”

Once the heat is on and moving through the floors, the house comes back to life in a whole new way—it’s warm, and it’s cozy. This, plus the few good memories…it’s easy to see why he hasn’t completely abandoned the house. Seungmin begins to hum as he walks around lighting candles, and once he’s satisfied with his placement, he turns the lights low and joins you on the doubled up mattress in the middle of the floor. “Did you have enough to eat?”

“Mhm”

“Do you need more water?”

“No, I’m good. I’m comfortable.”

He touches your neck and pulls you close for a kiss. “Warm enough?”

More of the dream comes rushing back to you. “Perfect. I’m with you, I couldn’t be better.”

“Yeah…so you still like me?”

The face you make sends him into a fit of quiet laughter, and it might be the biggest smile you’ve seen him crack since he saw the twins two weeks ago. Seungmin’s never given you a good full-body laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, and an unusual one, because it’s so new to you. You can help but laugh with him. “Yeah, I think I still like you.”

“Good. If I think too much about us only knowing each other for four months, I start to wonder—“

“Don’t wonder”

“Don’t?”

“Trust me when I say I’ve found the one. So…boys?”

He smiles just as wide again, and the sparkle in his eyes tells you everything he wants to say. “Boys.” He nods and whispers. “I hope it makes it more real for you, and you’ll be happy with so many boys running around.”

“It does, and I am. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

It’s too warm eventually, and when you start to kick off the fluffy blanket, you know something is missing. Your leg slides across the mattress, and your blurry eyes pop open to his empty pillow. “Minnie?” You sit up and realize just how warm the house is—you rub a hand across your chest and wipe away the sweat starting to gather there. Maybe he got up to turn the heat down, or crack a window. “Seungmin?” You know you’ll have to get up at some point, so you just get it over with now. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. Why is your heart starting to race? Nothing is happening, nothing is wrong, so stop panicking. Your feet hit the floor, and the panic gets a little bit worse. Nausea works its way through you.

The bathroom is empty, and his bedroom is, too. The only other bedroom, his mother’s, is also empty, but you weren’t expecting him to be in there. There’s nowhere else except outside, and it’s still raining. The car is there, you can see it from the kitchen window, and when you finally head for the door, you can see it hasn’t been pulled shut far enough to lock. He is outside. You open the door and look out into the dark fog. Why would he come out at this hour?

“Seungmin! Dammit, you better answer me!”

Just the patter of rain on the roof and the windows. Nothing else. You almost go for your shoes, but putting them on seems pointless. All you’ll do is ruin them, and walking around in wet, muddy shoes as you search for him sounds much less appealing than doing it in your bare feet. The first step onto the grass is unpleasant, but after a few more, it’s fine, and you walk as quickly as you can toward the greenhouse.

hey

“Minnie…Min, was that you?”

You heard it, even through the rain, but he’s not in there. Seungmin is definitely not in there, and you don’t want to get any closer than absolutely necessary. The shed looks even worse than it did last time, and just opening the door feels like it could be disastrous. A few loose nails and pieces of rotting wood in the right spots; the whole thing comes crashing down around you. But maybe that would bring Seungmin out from wherever he’s hiding. “You in there, Min?” You whisper and close the gap, reach for the chain, and pull. “Why would you be?” It creaks so painfully loud, and the inside is dark and empty, just like you expected. “Greenhouse…greenhouse.” The door slams shut as you try not to break out into a run, and every hair on your body stands up.

The greenhouse is a welcome reprieve. It’s warm inside, but just like the shed, it appears to be empty. “Fuck…Seungmin! Where are you?” You’re wet, and starting to shiver, and the mud has covered you up to your ankles already. “You’re gonna be mad at me for coming out here…but, but…”

Sweetie

You spin around, looking for whoever is clearly speaking to you. “Who’s there? Seungmin why are you doing this?”

my little boy isn’t here

“Susie?”

he doesn’t know what he does when he comes here, and he’s doing it again…my poor sweet puppy

“Where is he? Where did he go?”

the forest

“He went into the woods?” The nausea worsens when you think about him lying in a clearing somewhere, lost in the dark. “Why would he do that?”

There’s no more voice. Susie goes quiet. “Okay, I have to find him.”

How, you have no idea, but before you even attempt to walk further than the greenhouse, you run back to the house and throw open every closet. Most of them are still full of their things, so finding a raincoat is easy, and finding his mother’s rain boots is a relief after the mess you made all the way up to your knees. You clean up before slipping into them, and they fit well enough. The raincoat is a little small, but not enough to keep you from wearing it. The only light you can find is an oil lamp under the kitchen sink, not a single flashlight in any drawer…and your phone certainly won’t do any good. But it works—the oil is good, and there’s plenty of wick soaking in it, so it lights easily. “This might be my only luck tonight." The rain slows a little, and half of the sky clears up enough to see the moon and stars. It’s enough to orient yourself before they disappear again behind the trees, and a quick look at the compass on your phone is the last thing you do before silence falls around you. The trees hold up the rain, and the dense fog seems to take in everything else.

“Minnie!” Your voice falls flat—no echo. A twist of the knob raises the wick just a little, and the light intensifies.

For a while, you count your steps. Walking in a straight line is impossible, but you follow what looks like a trail the best you can, because you don’t want to think about getting lost in here without him. At one hundred steps, you stop and call for him again.

Fifty more, you call again. Everything is still eerily quiet, and if anything was walking around near you (“fuck, don’t think about that…don’t”), you’d know it. Twigs would snap, and the muddy forest floor would give almost anything away.

Fifty more steps. You set the lamp down and cup your hands around your mouth, and this time an echo moves through the trees. The rumble answers back. “No…not you.” What the hell was that? “Seungmin…please.” You force yourself further in; twenty…thirty…forty steps, and then you stop and rest on a stump. These woods are so much like the ones you walked through when you were a kid—thick, and dark, and quiet. But Mothman never got you, and whatever is living in this forest won’t get you, either. You hope. A sudden fear moves through you, though, and calling for Seungmin again seems like an invitation for something else.

I’ll just look for a while…no calling

Whatever lives here would be much deeper anyway…right? I’ve barely walked a quarter of a mile in

but I’ve been screaming for the last fifteen minutes, and if Seungmin’s in here…why IS he in here? Is he looking for something? Is he sleepwalking? No, he’s never done that before

What if this place is more than haunted, and you’re slowly slipping into some other place? What if there’s no going back after this? You’re pushed back in time again, to the dirty living room carpet and your bare feet sinking in. Dad is right behind you in his armchair, sound asleep, so you managed to swipe the tv remote from him.

You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas…

“There’s a signpost up a head…” you whisper to yourself in a strange attempt to self-soothe. "Your next stop—" You had a nightmare after watching that episode, and you remember it well. “God, maybe I've been dead this whole time.” The warmth of the medallion on your neck is suddenly very apparent, and you rub St. Michael between your fingers.

who are you?

“No, I’m not hearing anything else. Shut the fuck up.”

we don’t recognize you

“Seungmin!” You’re up and walking as fast as you can on the uneven ground, but the mud and heavy lamp are weighing you down. And then you see him. Or you see something. It moves across the trees in the shadow of your light. If it is him, he would have heard you and answered. “Hello?” Your voice shakes.

hello?

“Who’s there?”

He appears from behind a tree, and stares at you, silent.

“Seungmin…oh my god.” He doesn’t move when you run to him, and when you drop the lamp and throw your arms around him, he’s warm and still. “Minnie, baby, are you okay?” No answer, but his arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you close. “What are you doing out here? I was so scared.”

“Don’t be scared”

“Can we please go back?”

“Back?”

It takes some effort to free yourself, but you pull away and look at him. The lamplight is casting a strange shadow on his face, and now you’re back in your nightmare at the Jasmine Hotel. “Am I dreaming. Are we having a nightmare?”

“No, I’m awake”

“Can we go back?”

He takes your hand when you hold it out for him, and then he leads the way.

Seungmin is covered in mud. He’s drenched, and pale from the cold rain, but he doesn’t seem to be shivering the way that you are. His hand is warm, like he just woke up from a good sleep, and when he turns his head to look at you, he smiles.

“Why did you—“

“You must be cold, Tokki. I’ll run you a warm bath when we get back, and make you some tea.”

The walk back is quick, and he finds his way out easily. The rain passed while you searched for him, and now the sky is clear, so the light of the moon guides you the rest of the way.

Seungmin is quiet in the kitchen, but you can hear him filling the kettle and lighting the stove, the clink of mugs, and his soft voice as he starts to sing. You wash up quickly, drain the muddy bath water and start to refill it as his voice gets closer and closer.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing in there,” he says it with a lighthearted sternness.

“I feel better. It’s your turn.”

He doesn’t fight you. Seungmin hands you your tea and starts to pull off his damp clothes. You want to question him again, but you’re not sure when to do it—after he gets comfortable in the tub, or when you get him back into bed? He might fall right to sleep once his head hits the pillow.

“What kind of tea?”

His shirt is tossed and hits the floor with a wet thud, followed by his sweatpants, and then his boxers. “Raspberry leaf, with a little bit of sugar. I know it can be a ittle bitter."

So he's in there; he remembered the tea he brought, and he remembered that you coudn't stomach it without some sugar. “Did you do that to yourself?” Two long scratches along his collarbone stick out against his pale skin. Another three run across his shoulder blades.

“You don’t have to stay with me. Get back into bed and get warm.” He lowers himself into the hot water, and lets himself sink in up to his chin.

“No…we need to talk, Seungmin”

“What do we need to talk about?”

He looks at you, and there’s nothing about him that seems defiant. The memory of what just happened might already be fading away. “Min, do you remember waking up and leaving the house? I woke up and you were gone, and I couldn’t find you anywhere. I was scared.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sweetie. It was his mother that told you where he went. “What were you doing?”

He shakes his head, “I’m not sure.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“I have? How do you know?”

Pushing him for answers won’t help, because now you’re remembering the whispers in the greenhouse. He doesn’t know what he does when he comes here, and he’s doing it again…my poor sweet puppy. His mother spoke to you very clearly. Seungmin wanders into the woods every time he spends the night here, and he doesn’t remember doing it. He enters a dissociative fugue, and it’s continuing even with the medication. “Have you been taking your Haldol?”

“I have, I promise”

You know he has, because you’re usually with him when he does. And because her voice are gone. “I don’t know why I asked that, I know you are.”

“You shouldn’t have been out there in the rain. You could’ve gotten hurt, or lost. It’s my job to take care of you, and I failed.” Tears start to well in his eyes, and you don’t think you can stand to see him cry right now.

“But I’m okay, and you’re okay. We’re gonna get back into bed and sleep all morning, and then we’re going home.”

“Home?”

“Home”

/ / /

Another heavy storm passes through, and it keeps you up for a little while longer, but when you wake around noon, Seungmin is fast asleep next to you. Whatever he did when he disappeared into the woods exhausted him, because he never sleeps in this late. Maybe it’s this place, though, and not just his strange wandering. You need to know what happened in there, and what was going on in his head, but you don’t expect him to remember much.

“Mmm…morning,” he mumbles when you pull the blanket over his bare shoulder. The heat turned itself off while you slept, but you’re too cold to get up and fix it. Seungmin shivers a little, and you know it’s because he was too tired to find something to wear after his bath. “Cold.”

“I know, it’s cold in here…c’mere. "He moves closer and lets you wrap yourself around him. “How are you feeling?”

Seungmin groans and sighs.

“You can sleep more if you need to, or I’ll make some coffee”

“No, I’m up”

“Okay…do you remember last night, Min?”

Seungmin nods, but you have your doubts. Before the two of you even got into bed the first time, you talked. As a matter of fact, you and Seungmin talked more than usual. Not hearing his mother’s voice bothered him more than he lead you to believe at the time, and you think he may have been considering stopping his medication. He didn’t say that, but you could feel it.

“I remember, yeah. We had dinner, and we talked…we talked about names more.”

That part of the baby name conversation actually slipped your mind, but you remember now.

“Ha-neul,” he says again, because it’s still on his list. “And…”

“And something with Hwa or Hae, yeah?”

“Hae? Ha-neul and Hae…sung?”

The unexpected third part of the conversation might be the last one concerning names, at least for a while, because the way he’s looking at you is a very loud please, say yes to these. It almost makes you want to drop the questioning and return to it later.

“We’ll put those in the yes column”

But you can’t.

“Good. We can still think about it, but they do sound nice together.”

Seungmin seems happy; genuinely happy, despite how strange yesterday really was, and you hate having to ruin it. “You woke up last night…early this morning, I guess. Very early.”

“I did?”

“Yes. I woke up around two and you weren’t in bed. You weren’t anywhere in the house, or the greenhouse. Seungmin, I couldn’t find you…anywhere.”

He looks at you like you’re joking, but his face falls when he realizes you’re being very serious. “I don’t understand.” He sits up and looks down at himself, seems to realize he’s naked under the blankets, and wraps them tight around himself. “Was I sleepwalking?”

“I’m not sure, but I guess it’s possible”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that before”

He doesn’t know what he does when he comes here, and he’s doing it again…my poor sweet puppy

“How often did you spend the night here? Before me.”

“Maybe… maybe once every month or two. Where was I?”

There is no memory of anything behind his eyes. They soften as they search yours for the answer you’re trying to give to him, and you can see the puppy coming out. “In the woods. I found you about a quarter of a mile in, soaking wet, covered in mud.”

“No, why would I do that? I don’t like going in there when it’s daytime, and last night was…”

"I know"

“Why would I do that?” He says it again, more to himself this time. “Why?” Seungmin rocks a little and takes a deep breath. “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”

Without another word, you rise from the bed and head for the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

You understand his hesitancy in believing you, or believing it wasn’t just another strange dream. The whole thing being a nightmare isn’t far fetched at all, for either of you, but his muddy clothes are still on the bathroom floor. You hear him following closely behind.

“You took a bath, and we talked a little.” You show him in the clothes, and he examines them silently. “You didn’t remember anything last night, either. But you seemed fine…you made me tea, and…take that off, look at your neck.”

He pulls it down and examines himself in the mirror. “Did I do that in my sleep?”

“And your back”

The blanket drops to the floor. His scratches aren’t as red and angry as they were a few hours ago, but they broke open and bled a little in his sleep. “Looks like claw marks”

“Claw marks, from what?” From whatever made him go there in the first place. “I think you backed into a tree, Minnie…that’s all you were wearing out there.” You nod to his pile of clothes, and then occurs to you to check his t-shirt. The back of it is dirty, but that’s all—no rips, no blood. “Maybe.”

/ / /

The rain clouds are returning again, and the overcast sky is making your bad mood so much worse. You weren’t expecting the trip to go well, but this was beyond anything you could have imagined. Now you can’t help but stare off into the woods as Seungmin starts the ritual of collecting his heliotrope.

“Are you still here?” You whisper. Part of you is wondering if some of last night was a dream, or a hallucination, because the voices you heard are beginning to come back to you. All of them. “Please say something to him.” When you turn, he’s holding his arms tight against his chest, head down, as if he’s protecting himself from something. “What’s the matter, Min?”

“Nothing”

At any moment, he could break—that’s what he looks like standing there…like the last leaf preparing to fall off the tree, or a glass of water halfway off the edge of a table. One little gust of wind could topple him. So why are you hesitating to go to him? “Do you need help with anything?” You take a few slow steps toward him, but he turns away ever so slightly.

“N-no, no. I’m fine.” He bends and picks up the shears at his feet. “I’m okay.”

You catch his gaze for just a moment. His face is pale and tired, and you wish he would have slept longer. You almost want to stay another night, just not here, so he doesn’t have to drive. “Seungmin, talk to—“ You grab his elbow and make him look at you. “…me.”

“I’m sorry”

All you see is red, and you can smell it on him. “What did you do? Let me see.” The blood is coming from somewhere on his arm, but you can’t tell where. All you know is that it’s all over him, soaking the front of his shirt, starting to drip from his elbow.

“I cut too deep”

That explains his lifeless face. Everything around you is covered in dirt, so you reach into his back pocket. The embroidered handkerchief is there, like it always is. “Why’d you hurt yourself, love?” He’s had enough trauma for one trip.

“I didn’t mean to…make such a mess...ah," he winces when you push it down against the cut.

The thought of him running those shears along his skin makes you tense up. Whether he meant to cut or not, something in him wanted to put the blade on his arm in the first place. “It’s okay, baby, I’ll take care of it.” You hold as tightly as you can. "But we need to get back to the house.”

It’s start to rain again, of course, and some of the blood washes away with it, but it hasn’t stopped by the time you get to the kitchen and examine it again. Blood pools in the cleanly cut skin and slowly drips down his forearm. Seungmin watches intently, and very calmly. “I think it slowed down,” he whispers.

“Not enough. You need stitched up.”

“I’m sorry I did that in front of you.”

“In this case, I’m glad you did it in front of me so I can’t at least take care of it. Is there a first aid kit somewhere in the house?”

“Uhm, yes, I think it’s still in that top drawer,” he nods toward the kitchen sink. “But it’s old.”

Better than nothing. You wrap him back up with a clean towel, rifle through a drawer you remember from last night, and you find it all the way in the back. It’s full of the most basic things, but it’ll do for now. You clean it…Seungmin holds in a cry and stomps his feet for that, and tears run freely down his cheeks after the burning finally stops. Two rolls of gauze later, and you wonder how long the blood will take to soak through completely. “I should take you to an emergency room before we go home.”

“I don’t want to do that”

“So we’ll go after we get home. It’s one or the other, Seungmin, because you need stitches.”

“Fine, we’ll get it over with here”

Seungmin’s mood starts to match yours, but his injury pulled you up a little—concern quickly replaced the confusion and anger, but now he’s confused and angry. You know it was intentional, but you decide to believe he didn’t mean to cut as deeply as he did, and by the time you get to a hospital, the gauze is already turning pink.

“Thank you for driving”

“Thank you for navigating”

“You did very well. I remember being here once, when I was…five or six.” He looks around the waiting room, and everything is so old, you assume it looked the same twenty years ago. “I broke a finger.” Seungmin holds up the ring finger on his right hand.

“Yeah, it looks a little crooked. Never noticed that before.”

“Kim...Kim Seungmin?”

A tall man holding a clipboard stands in the open doorway, and he looks directly at him in the crowded room. “You can follow me…both of you, if you’d like.”

Seungmin stands, hand still gripping yours. “Oh, he said you can come.”

The hallway leading to the partitioned rooms is just as aged. The colors are drab and depressing, and the smell of disinfectant almost chokes you.

“Have a seat, and I’ll take a look at this”

“Are you the doctor?” Seungmin asks, and he looks around nervously, but the man shakes his head. “Do you speak English?”

“No, I’m a nurse. And yes, I can speak English…why? Oh…” he looks at you and smiles awkwardly. And he switches easily from Korean to English. “I’m sorry, you don’t speak Korean?”

You shake your head and try not to feel like a burden.

Seungmin stretches his arm out as the nurse pulls his gloves on and slowly unwraps the bandage. “I just like her to know what’s going on.”

“Of course. Does this hurt?” He sees Seungmin wince as he gets closer to the wound. “I guess so. May I ask what happened?”

“Gardening accident. Very sharp tools.”

One last loop, and the bloody bandage is finally off of him. “Working in the greenhouse?” The cut still oozes blood, but much slower than before.

“Huh?”

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Seungmin looks at you, as if you have the answer for him, and then back to the nurse. “I thought you looked liked him, but it seemed impossible. You came back, Heecheol?”

The nurse nods, and his smile grows because his friend recognizes him. “You haven’t changed at all, Seungmin. Same face, same sad puppy eyes.”

You have to smile at that. Seungmin was a puppy to the people around him—at least the ones he cared about, and who cared for him in return. Before speaking again, Heecheol examines the cut with gentle hands, and then excuses himself for a moment to get a suture kit.

“You’re stitching it?”

“Yes. Unless you prefer a doctor, but they usually ask me to do them anyway.”

“When did you move back to Uljin?”

He re-gloves and opens the package before cleaning from Seungmin’s elbow to the middle of his forearm. “About a year ago. Living in the states was fine, but I think I needed a change.”

“Where did you live?” You chime in, and he gives you the same warm smile.

“Greensboro, and then Charlotte for a while”

“I can hear some accent in your English”

“I can hear yours, too…I’m guessing you weren’t far from there”

You nod and smile.

“Do you two live here in Uljin? Are you married? Oh, uhm, I’m just assuming you’re a couple. Sorry.” He focuses again, grabs the syringe full of lidocaine, and holds tight to Seungmin’s forearm. “This will pinch for a moment, but…after that it’ll feel much better.”

Seungmin nods and watches the needle slide in and out at each corner of his cut. The pinch doesn’t seem to bother him. “It’s fine. Not married, and we were just visiting. We live in Seoul.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Min. Is…Heecheol,” you have trouble with this pronunciation, but he doesn’t seem to mind, “is he the friend you told me about? The color one?”

“Yes, this is him”

“The color one?”

“What’s your favorite color?” Seungmin says, and he actually smiles. He’s smiling at him the way he does for you when he’s feeling good. “Is yours still green?”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything. Good and bad.”

“Right, I’m so sorry about your mother, Seungmin. I didn’t even know you lost her until my mom told me last year. She moved back here after my dad died, and now I’m taking care of her. She doesn’t have much time left…”

“She's sick?”

Heecheol nods solemnly as he checks the feeling of Seungmin’s arm. “Yes, end stage heart failure.”

“I’m sorry, Cheoli”

“I’ve had time to prepare and come to terms with it, which a lot of people don’t get. I am grateful for that.”

“Do you think she would still remember me?”

“My mom loved you, and she hated pulling us apart. She would, and she would love seeing you again—I’m sorry, I’ll be right back. I need different sutures.”

Seungmin turns to you when he disappears behind the curtain, and he looks like he’s ready to burst. His eyes are wide and watery, and his cheeks are starting to turn pink.

“What are the odds we’d run into him?” You run your thumb over the scar beneath his eye and wait for a tear to fall, but nothing comes. "Even in a small town?"

“It’s strange. Today has been very strange.”

After a few moments of silence, he returns, and he looks at both of you as if he’s figuring out how the two of you found each other. And how the two of you found him. “All ready, sorry.”

“It’s okay, we’re in no rush”

His mood has changed significantly, and now he has a very big reason to stick around a little longer. This place is not good for him, but you think his friend might be enough to outweigh the bad. The three of you are silent as he very carefully closes the wound, and he’s good at it. Heecheol is focused on his task, but every few seconds, his eyes move up to look at Seungmin—they look him over as if he could disappear at any moment and he doesn’t want to forget a single detail. Just as he’s finishing up, he does it again, and this time, Seungmin looks as well.

“I know you’re numb, but does it feel okay? Any pulling?”

“No, it’s good. It’s perfect.”

“I’m going to put a second skin bandage on it, over some gauze, and you won’t even have to think about it. Just go easy for a few days…no sliders…no fastballs.”

“I haven’t thrown a baseball in ten years”

It feels like you’re intruding. You don’t need to be here listening to them remember the past, even though you want to know more about the good parts of his childhood.

“How long will you be in town?”

“Well, we planned on heading home after I got stitched up”

There’s some hesitancy in his voice, and you know Seungmin is changing his mind about going home so quickly. You have no intention of pulling them apart again because the string between them is already reconnecting. It's obvious that the same force that ties you to him ties the two of them together as well.

“Maybe I’ll catch you next time,” he says, and as much as he tries to sound like he’s fine with it, he doesn’t.

“We can stay a little longer…if that’s okay with you”

Seungmin looks at you with his big wet eyes, as if you would ever say no to him. “Of course we can."

“Shift change is in…” Heecheol looks at his watch, “an hour. If you don’t mind waiting for me.”

/ / /

The weather finally changes. The rain stops, and the sun comes out, so Seungmin paces just outside the entrance to the hospital as you wait for him to speak. There’s a smile twitching on his lips, and you assume he’s thinking about his friend, and their past.

“How old were you when he moved?”

He stops and takes a seat next to you on the bench, and you’re relieved when he grabs your hand and squeezes. This was the first time since being with him that something truly got his attention more than you, and you have to admit that you’re a little jealous.

“I was eight…it was the summer before everything happened. We never even had the chance to say goodbye to each other.”

“I’m glad you found him again”

The doors slide open, and Heecheol walks out, freshly showered and out of his scrubs. He’s handsome; a sharp, fox-like face, and a sweet smile. The bounce in his step might not have been there a few hours ago, but it's there now, and it adds to his natural charm.

“Thank you for being so patient with me”

He makes sure to look at both of you as he speaks, but his eyes return to Seungmin and stay there. Had this one stopped and talked to you on the street, he would have caught you, too.

“Of course. Should we pay your mother a visit? Is she expecting us?”

“I called her and let her know. You’ve already made her day.”

Seungmin is nervous, and his legs are heavy as he walks up to the second floor. Memories are flooding back to him—racing up the four flights of stairs, and always losing because Heecheol’s longer legs carried him further. He has the stamina, but was never very fast. Luckily his arm was made for pitching. Was. Now, for the first time since he was fourteen, he’s wondering if he can still do it.

“She doesn’t get out much since the building has no elevator…just on good days.”

Good days that are few and far between, Seungmin guesses. Her heart won’t pump her blood the way it should anymore, and she’s slowly suffocating because of it.

“But we have a nice view of the water, and spring is coming early”

The front door clicks and creaks as he pushes it open, and the inside looks almost the same as he remembers it. After fifteen years and a move across the world, Seungmin expected some change, but he’s relieved that there’s so little.

“Umma, we’re here,” he calls out softly, and then looks to Seungmin. “Do you want some tea, or coffee?”

“No, I’m okay”

He heads for the kitchen anyway, and whatever he’s doing seems like routine. Electric kettle filled and on, mug from the cupboard, loose leaf tea scooped into a silk bag.

“Look at you, you’ve gotten so tall”

Her weak voice floats to him, and more memories unlock. “Eomoni!” It feels like no time has passed—he feels like a kid again, and he feels safe. Everything was good when he was here with Cheoli and his parents. There was no stepfather around, watching every movement, and judging every word.

“Seungmin-ah, you’ve grown into such a handsome young man.” She takes a few more steps toward the kitchen, but decides to take a seat on the couch instead. Seungmin can hear her labored breathing.

“Umma, where is your oxygen?”

“It’s giving me a headache”

Heecheol disappears into the bedroom, and he returns with a small pack slung over his shoulder, and a nasal cannula in hand. “You should have told me this was almost empty.”

“I have plenty, now you…come over here so I can see you better.” Everything about her, from her voice, to her face, to her informal mannerisms, is the same. She’s older than Seungmin’s mother would be now, but not by much. It’s the illness that’s aged her. “Yes, come sit with me.” His hand is squeezed between hers, and they’re cold against his warm skin. “Cheoli missed you so much, did he tell you that?”

“Umma…”

“What?” She turns, and Heecheol adjusts the cannula to her nose. “He tried finding you when he moved back last year, but he had no luck. And here you are!”

“I wasn’t sure if you had moved or not, but when I found out about…what happened, I figured you moved away.” Heecheol says.

“I live in Seoul, eomeonim. I’ve been there for five years”

“In Seoul? All by yourself?”

“With his girlfriend, umma”

“A girlfriend?” She says it as if it’s a shock, and her hands squeeze even tighter.

“Umma! Please…”

“Hush. How long have you two been together?”

Saying it is going to sound silly, especially considering the seriousness of everything between you. “Four months.”

“Four months?” Heecheol stops what he’s doing to look at Seungmin.

“Yes. It feels like we’ve known each other much longer, though.”

He nods, “that’s good…I’m glad you found someone, Min.

“Do you…?” He shakes his head before Seungmin finishes asking the question. His friend is handsome, but Heecheol has always been very particular about things, and even more introverted than him. He probably hasn’t changed much. “It’s a strange feeling to have someone when you’ve been alone for so long.”

“Yeah, I’m sure”

“What do you do in Seoul?” His mother interrupts, changes the subject. “For work?”

“I own the apartment building my father…my real father, left to me. So I guess…not much.”

“But you do well for yourself”

“I do, I’m very lucky in that sense”

Heecheol heads back to the kitchen to finish the tea he started, and Seungmin sits quietly, his hand still squeezed between hers.

“Soo-ji would be proud to see what a kind young man you’ve grown into”

“I’m not sure about that. I haven’t done—“

“You had to grow up without her. You made it through difficult times and you’re here, and you’re making someone else very happy, I assume. She would be very proud.”

Seungmin thinks about you sitting outside in the car, probably sound asleep, and he smiles. You weren’t very happy with his actions today, but he knows you are happy.

“You’re making us happy right now, Seungmin—Cheoli and I…Seungmin?”

“Yes, are you okay?”

Her voice falls to a whisper. “He needs you. As much as he tries to smile, and work hard, and care for his dying mother…he’s struggling. He’s alone, and I can only do so much for him. There has to be a bigger reason for you walking into that hospital and finding him there.”

No part of Seungmin wants to abandon his friend, but he has a hard time envisioning himself as someone else’s divine providence. Even with you.

“He wasn’t even supposed to be at work today. Cheoli was just covering for another nurse.”

“Here, umma…be careful, it’s hot.” Heecheol places it on the table in front of her, and then his eyes turn to Seungmin. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m sure”

“Oh, I guess we should get going. We’re going for dinner, and I’ll bring you something good back, okay?”

“Yes, good…don’t rush. You two have a lot of catching up to do.”

Heecheol is quiet on the way back to the car, but Seungmin can’t help but see the loneliness in his face now, and in his posture. “How have you been? He stops. They both do, and they face one another at the bottom of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? Yeah, yeah I’m okay. I can’t really complain.”

“You can if you want, you can complain to me”

“No complaints right now,” he smiles.

/ / /

Seungmin is surprisingly calm in the busy restaurant, but it’s obvious that Heecheol is distracted by something in his own head.

“I didn’t expect so many tourists this early,” Seungmin says, and he starts to scratch at the bandage on his arm.

You take his hand in yours and pull it closer to you. “Don’t scratch at it, you’ll make it sore.”

“I’d rather it be sore then itchy”

Heecheol doesn’t chime in. He’s staring at your clasped hands, eyes wide and glazed over until you loosen your grip and let go. Maybe he’s not a fan of PDA, which you don’t blame him for. You’re not a fan, either. “Are you and Seungmin the same age?”

“I’m actually a year older, so we didn’t get to have classes together”

A tiny smile tugs at Seungmin’s lips. “That’s why we spent almost all of our free time with each other.”

“So how did you meet?”

“Little league, we got put on the same team”

“Seungmin smiles even bigger now. “The Bears, I think I still have the team photo somewhere at home…” He turns to you, “probably in one of those boxes.”

“I’ll find it”

“Please find it. I lost so many little things moving around. So how did you two meet?”

You decide to let Seungmin take this question, and you hope he can simplify it and somehow make it sound normal.

“Uhm, she walked by me outside of the convenience store by my building, and pretended to be lost…so I helped her home.”

“That’s very cute”

“There was a little bit of chasing, but we figured it out eventually. You said you’re single, right?”

“I am, yeah…I never really dated much. I’ve tried, but it’s hard.”

“You can visit us in Seoul. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable there, being yourself. It’s easier.”

“Easier? How do you know?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time getting a feel for people all over the city. And I’ve taken plenty of them home.” Seungmin cocks his head to the side, and Heecheol’s eyes move between the two of you. “Men, and women…yes. And you would probably do better than I ever have.”

This is the most carefree and comfortable you’ve ever seen Seungmin in someone else’s company. It took what felt like a very long time for him to soften up for you, but this was almost immediate. The moment he realized who he was taking to in that hospital, he started to become lighter; a completely different person—one that didn’t wander into the woods in the dark, or feel the unbearable need to slice his arm open from the turmoil rolling around inside of him.

“Is it that obvious? I guess it is." Heecheol laughs.

“What, that you prefer men? I've known that since I was eight, and we went to that birthday party at the ice rink. Do you remember?”

“Oh my god…uhm, Junsoo, our catcher who couldn’t catch very well. He was turning nine.”

“Right, his older brother was there, and you stared at him the whole time”

“Mhm. Jinhwan. He was twelve, and he was already the best hitter for the senior league. And the best forward on the hockey team. And—”

Seungmin‘s hand jumps up to cover his mouth, and he laughs with his whole body. A sweet laugh, though, the kind that Heecheol can laugh along with and not feel embarrassed. “Yeah, I knew…I knew you like I knew myself.”

“And you were always a mystery to everyone else, but I understood why. We made a good pair.”

“You still do. I don’t hear him laugh like that very often.”

Heecheol turns to you and smiles. “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t feel left out of the conversation.”

“Not at all. I like listening to the two of you talk, and it’s nice to hear him laugh.”

“Still a little mysterious, Mo?”

He rubs at his bandage again. “Not on purpose.”

/ / /

As hard as you try, staying awake on the drive home is nearly impossible, but you shake yourself awake every time you feel yourself slipping. Seungmin has to make this drive, and you know he’s even more exhausted. Finding his friend did perk him up, though, and the music playing on the radio is more upbeat and louder than you’re used to.

“Don’t stay up for me, relax”

“I’m alright. We have a while to go still, so promise me you’ll pull over if you get sleepy.”

“I promise”

He gives you a sweet, sleepy smile, and you’re almost positive you’ll end up in a hotel somewhere tonight. “I like him.”

“Do you? Seeing him again…it felt like no time passed at all, and like nothing bad ever happened.”

“Finding each other again is something special. He loves you, Minnie.”

“We were kind of isolated to each other, aside from the team…but even then, it was just us all the time.”

He didn’t see the way Heecheol looked at him, and maybe it was just disbelief...maybe he couldn’t believe his own eyes—his best friend, back, right in front of him. But you don’t really believe that. Heecheol loves Seungmin the way that you love him; in a way you can’t really describe in words. You can feel it.

His mind goes back to eomeonim and her concern for her son; his loneliness, and believing there’s a reason why they found each other again. But love is a strong word for someone who was there for three years, and then left for the next fifteen. As soon as that thought crosses his mind, he looks at you, nodding off again, and remembers your four months together. Things couldn’t get much more serious than they are now. But he needs you…he loves you? Seungmin isn’t sure he has much more to give after you and two children.

“How are you feeling?”

“My arm feels fine, it’s just a little sore”

“Not that…everything else”

“You mean last night?”

“Yes, last night”

Seungmin thinks. He doesn’t know how to answer this, because he still doesn’t remember a single thing between going to bed around midnight, and then waking up at noon. The scratches on his back are itchy now that he’s thinking of them, but otherwise, there’s nothing. Just what you witnessed. “I don’t remember any of it, so…it’s like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m glad you don’t remember, but I wish I knew why you did it”

“Did you see anything else while you were looking for me?”

See? No. Heard? His mother’s voice, whatever is in the woods, and maybe even his stepfather’s voice outside the shed. That hadn’t occurred to you until right this moment. The hey that you thought was Seungmin, it definitely wasn’t. “I didn’t see anything.”

He looks at you, waiting for more.

“I heard things, but…I was tired, and scared”

“I’m sorry. I’m grateful you cared enough to look for me, but I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“Of course I cared enough, I’d do it again if I had to”

“That’s the last time we spend the night there”

The alarm keeps ringing. Why is there an alarm on in the first place? You somehow form that thought and that question in your sleepy, foggy head. The room is still so dark, though, so it can’t be morning yet. Where is he?

“Where are you?” You’re not even sure it comes out of your mouth. “Seungmin!”

“Hey…I’m right here. I’m sorry.”

The bed moves as he crawls up and grabs his phone, turns off the sound, and the room is finally silent. You turn onto your back and pull yourself up against the pillows, but your head throbs. Opening your eyes feels like it might be a mistake.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to shut off the alarm from last week. Do you need anything? Does your head feel any better?”

“A little…I didn’t mean to yell, I’m sorry. I think I was dreaming.”

“It’s okay”

“My head is better than it was.” His half smile is what you see when you open your eyes, and then his dark hair sweeping across his eyebrows. “Your hair is getting so long.” You reach out and brush some of it away from his forehead, and then your eyes fall to your stomach.

"What time is it?” You set your hand on it and breathe deep, and Seungmin sets his hand on top of yours. Then you switch.

“It’s almost ten, you slept for a while. Oh, I felt something!”

“Did you?”

“Yes, a little kick I think”

“Good, I’m sure they know you’re here”

His smile grows until you see all of his teeth “yeah?” The other hand finds a new spot and waits, but he pouts a little when nothing happens. You don’t feel any kicks or flutters, and he doesn’t either. “It’ll be nice to see them again.”

“What day is it, Min?”

“Wow, you must have slept very well, that’s good. It’s Monday.”

“Monday?”

“Monday the 19th.” He waits as you think. “Your fancy ultrasound is tomorrow. We get to see them in more detail, right?”

“How did I forget?”

Seungmin moves his hand again and waits, and when nothing happens, he’s back up and digging through his dresser for a change of clothes. “They’re wearing you out, but…that’s why I’m here.”

Thanks to him and his attentiveness, getting to week twenty-two was easier than you thought it would be, despite your exhaustion. You’re not sure if this nurturing side of him was always there waiting to come out, or if he’s just been working overtime to be the dad he desperately needed as a child. Whatever it is, he’s doing well.

Seungmin has been okay for the last two months—no hallucinations, no urges, and no truly bad days. He still gets quiet and sulks, but not lately. A new tenant moved in a week ago, and it’s kept him busy until today. The distraction has been good for him, and watching him focus on work was a nice change.

“What are you smirking at?”

“Hm?” His phone is lighting up a smile on his face. It falls a little, but comes back along with a blush on his cheeks as he gets himself under the blankets. “Just talking.”

“Talking?”

“Heecheol sent a message earlier, and I forgot to reply until now”

“Good, I wasn’t sure if you were keeping in touch. How is he?”

“Tired, he said, but he has to work all night so he can’t get any sleep. I was thinking of asking him if he wanted to visit, but only if you feel okay.”

“He can visit whenever he likes, and you two can do whatever you want. Baseball game…night club? Maybe both. You deserve a nice night out.”

“I’ll ask him. Do you think he’d want to stay for a while?”

The idea is nice. “A while…like a weekend? Or a week?” But the more time spent with Seungmin, the more likely it is that Heecheol will see the other side of him, or be around for one of his bad days. “If he wants to. Maybe we can start with a day or two, so we don’t scare him off.”

Seungmin studies you for a moment, and then nods. “Yeah, I guess so."

"I think he would love to spend as much time as possible with you, though"

"I’ve been alright since the whole disappearing into the woods thing, right?”

“You have. You’ve been present, and happy.”

“I’m trying really hard”

There’s a choke in his voice as he says it, and you go back over everything you just said to him in your mind. “You are, I know…and you’re the reason why I’m doing so well right now.” He moves closer until your arms open for him. “You’ve been there for me every single day and night.”

“Have I? Have I been good enough?”

Seungmin still has a hard time believing it, you know that, even as you hold onto him and squeeze him tight.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for wanting a sleepover?

So, I [16NB] recently made a new friend [16F]. We've known each other for a while, but didn't quite get along. However, we found a new activity that let us get more time to know each other, and it turns out that when we spend time together she's great.

However, I'm pretty sure outside that activity things aren't going too well for either of us. There's a lot going on, I struggle with doing much about it on my own, and she doesn't quite seem ready to open up. I just want to cheer her up a bit, and maybe do more of our shared activity.

So after the latest time we got to do the activity we hung out for a bit and I ended up taking her to my house? And, like, my mom [momF] used to be super strict and I'm not super good at talking to people when too many people are around and I didn't quite know how to just ask if my friend could stay over. So I figured out a way to, like, get my mom to ask for me if she wanted to stay. It probably freaked mom out a bit, but I think probably she'll get it once she sees what my friend and I have been up to.

Me and my friend got to hang out for a bit, and then when she and Mom were asleep I put together all the prep stuff for that activity, as a surprise for everyone when they wake up. I really do think they're both going to love it, but I know probably I should have just talked to my mom instead of causing a few hundred dollars of property damage.

So, uh, AITA? And please answer quickly, my phone kinda messes up when the activity is going on.

[crivalsduo]

holiday spirit

my final fic for @alterdnbweek! i'm so sorry it's a day late, i hope you enjoy.

Techno’s neck was stiff and his back was sore. If he could feel his arm, it would likely be sore as well but his arm had fallen asleep, pinned between Dream’s boney side and the floor. A blanket was haphazardly spread out beneath, all lumps, because neither of them had intended to fall asleep. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing Techno remembered clearly was laughing as Dream was lying practically on top of him, arguing about who was lamer.

With a yawn, Techno tilted his head left and then right, trying to work out the kink in his neck. Dream was still asleep, turned towards Techno, chest rising and falling steadily. A bit of drool had pooled in the corner of his mouth and his ear flicked occasionally. Techno smiled.

He’s probably gonna have one heck of a headache.

There was a headache trying to creep up on Techno. It was dancing around the edges of his vision. The sunlight that was streaming into the room, brightened by the fresh snow outside, didn’t help matters. But he hadn’t been drunk enough last for the headache to take hold and he hadn’t been drunk enough to forget Dream’s earnest response to his teasing. The pillow that they had tossed back and forth was shoved between them now. Techno lifted his free arm, flexed his fingers, and brushed them against Dream’s cheek. His fur-covered nose twitched but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Sorry, man, I really gotta pee,” Techno whispered as he carefully pulled his arm out from under Dream. It didn’t wake him though he curled up into himself further. Techno took a moment to toss the part of the blanket he’d been lying on over Dream before he stood. His knees creaked when he stood and he made a mental note not to sleep on the floor again. He ducked under some of the holiday decorations hanging in the archway between the living room and the kitchen as he headed towards the bathroom.

By the time he was done, hands still wet and smelling of soap, Dream was still asleep on the floor.

“Dream.” Crouching down next to him, Techno put a hand on Dream’s shoulder. The thought crossed his mind that it’d be kinda funny if he splashed some cold water on him but the look on Dream’s face last night when that confession had slipped out stopped him. Techno gently shook him. “Wakey wakey, Dream.”

One green eye opened and then the other.

“Huh…?”

Sleep was making him slow and it took him a moment to assess the situation, pushing himself up and looking around. A piece of his hear had fallen in front of his face and Techno reached out to brush it back. Dream watched him.

“I said, it’s time to wake up. You’re sleepin’ right in the middle of my floor,” said Techno, hand lingering near Dream’s shoulder as he fully sat upright with a yawn.

“Your—” Another yawn. This one was followed by a disgruntled noise. “Your eggnog sucks, Techno. I feel like shit.”

Techno laughed, doing his best to keep his volume low though it still earned him a feigned dirty look from Dream.

“I don’t think it was the eggnog’s fault, man.”

Looking over at the mug he had shoved under the bookshelf last night (it was now knocked over and pushed further back and if they had taken a closer look, they would’ve found fox fur sticking to it), Dream shrugged.

“Whatever,” he said and held out a hand. Techno took it immediately, lacing their fingers together. A bemused smile twitched across Dream’s face. “Help me up.”

Techno’s cheeks were hot and bright red. He should have known that’s what Dream meant. In hindsight it was obvious. He cleared his throat and stood, pulling Dream up with him.

“Right, right. I knew that.”

Dream wobbled a little, leaning into Techno’s side. He was leaning more than Techno thought was needed, even with the cloud of sleep and eggnog induced hangover clinging to him. A curse was muttered under Dream’s breath about the prosthetic leg before he straightened and looked at Techno. It was the perfect chance for Dream to tease him but that would mean coming very close to acknowledging what had happened last night.

“You—You definitely didn’t,” said Dream.

Both of Techno’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Y’know what, you’re right, Dream. I did think you wanted to hold my hand.”

Now it was Dream’s turn to blush, pink and splotchy beneath the thin layer of tan fur.

“Oh my god.”

He had nothing else to say to that and Techno grinned. The fire had gone out – Techno hadn’t planned to fall asleep and so hadn’t put a log or two on – and a slight chill crept into the room. Still leaning into him, Dream was warm and Techno smiled.

“How about I make you some tea?” he asked. “It might help with your headache.”

There was a moment of hesitation and Techno knew that he was debating denying the existence of the headache that was obvious in the way Dream was squinting and his ears were pressed flat. But he nodded, loop his arm around Techno’s. It wasn’t far to the kitchen but Dream’s gait was stiff and he stopped to yawn. Techno glanced up then nudged Dream lightly with his shoulder.

“Look, Dream. Mistletoe.”

Dream’s ears shot forward and he looked up.

“What!? Why—You put mistletoe up?”

The mistletoe was hanging down in the middle of the doorway, between garlands of sweetberry branches. A few red and green plaid bows that had Niki’s distinct flair where nestled in the leaves as well. Techno vaguely remembered helping to hang the garland but if had noticed the mistletoe then, he didn’t remember. He also wasn’t that upset about it.

“It’s a tradition,” said Techno.

“It’s stupid,” said Dream. His cheeks were still pink.

Techno lowered his head just a little.

“It’s festive. C’mon, where’s your holiday spirit?”

The way Dream rolled his eyes with a huff was expected. Techno had seen that exact expression on Dream’s face dozens of times and he never got tired of the amused, mischievous glint in Dream’s eyes that came with it. The crooked grin that his scarred mouth was pulled into was also expected and it was another thing that Techno never got tired of, that after everything, he still found reasons to smile. What was unexpected was the kiss.

Dream tilted his chin up, grin still on his face, and pressed his mouth against Techno’s. It took Techno a second. A noise of surprise tried to work its way out of his throat but he pressed a hand against Dream’s side, carefully tugging him closer, and kissed him back. The kiss tasted like morning breath and old eggnog and cinnamon and Techno could have kissed him just like that forever. The slow, hesitant way Dream finally pulled back made Techno think he felt the same way.

“How’s—How’s that for holiday spirit.”

Techno laughed.

“Smooth, Dream,” he said and kissed him again.

[quintessenceofdust88]

🎄🎄 The Christmas Book - A Tale in 4 parts: part 2 🎄🎄

(I should be writing the next chapter of Little Blobs and/or finishing Flaming Delights, but this was screaming at me to be written, so I'm guessing Flaming Delights will be a post-Christmas Hallmark movie, and this will be my Christmas gift to y'all.)

Part 1: [2025]

2030

It's five years before Buck and Tommy manage to get Christmas off together again, and the twins are absolutely thrilled about it. They're four years old now, able to understand what it's all about, and very excited about spending the holiday with both their Daddy and Papa.

Tomorrow they'll go over to grandpa Bobby for lunch, but tonight, on Christmas Eve, it's just the four of them. The twins are lying on the floor in their matching PJs (it's a green set covered in gingerbread men that Maddie bought them and it's ridiculously adorable), their bare feet swinging in the air as they make drawings on the Christmas Book.

Buck and Tommy already glued some pictures to their 2030 entry: Stella and Leonardo meeting Santa (Leo had been very wary but polite, calling him 'Mr. Santa' and very sweetly asking for a puppy that Tommy and Buck had agreed he wouldn't get, not for another few years, and he had settled for a plushie one instead; Stella had sat by Santa's side with no fear whatsoever, promptly asked for a Wonder Woman doll and asked how many reindeer would be taking the sled, cause she wanted to leave a carrot for each one); the four of them plus Eddie and Chris in the ice skating rink (Buck had wisely stayed behind under the guide of keeping Chris company, and had taken a lot of shit from Chris himself for it, but it was better than making a complete fool out of himself on the ice. Stella and Leo had been naturals at it, just like their Papa); the kids baking cookies with Jee, Kevin, Denny and Mara.

Now Stella and Leo are adding their own decorations around the photos while Buck and Tommy finish decorating the tree. Every year they promise themselves they'll finish before Christmas Eve, and every year they fail to do so, but Buck has faith that next year they'll manage it.

"Daddy, can I draw ice skates like the ones we used the other day?" Leo asks, his clear eyebrows frowned in concentration.

"Course you can, buddy" Buck encourages distractedly, taking a step back to check the tree.

Some ornaments are not quite where he likes them, because the kids had helped during the whole process, so most of the cuter ones (especially the mickey-shaped ones that the twins got when Bobby took them to Disneyland the Christmas before) are hanging on lower branches. But over the last four years he has learned to value the process over the results, especially when baking or crafting is involved.

"Daddy" Leo asks again, his soft cheek supported by his hand as he looks quizzically at the page. Stella is drawing the fourth out of eight carrots, one for each reindeer like she had promised Santa, and although some of them look less carrot-shaped than others, it's the thought that counts. "How do you draw an ice skate?"

"Um", Buck says, not quite sure what to tell his son, and desperately looks at Tommy. Out of the two of them, his husband is the one with drawing abilities; Buck can't even play Pictionary without people thinking his bird is a car or vice-versa.

"Tell you what, Leo-bear" Tommy says, sitting down on the floor between their twins, groaning as he does so. Buck smirks teasingly at him, mouthing 'old man', and he knows the only reason Tommy doesn't flip him off is because the kids are there, but he might pay for his comment once they're asleep (he hopes he'll pay for his comment once they're asleep). "Why don't Papa draw it and then you color it and add the shoelaces? Those are easier, you draw them like spaghetti"

"Oh, like we drew in the birthday card we sent Nonna?" Leo asks, and Tommy nods in confirmation, taking the crayon from his son's hand and hastily sketching a small ice skate.

"Papa, can you draw one for me too?! And can I color it with my glitter crayon?!" Stella asks excitedly once she sees what Tommy drew for her brother, and Leo gasps.

"I want to use glitter crayons too! Can we, Papa?!" He asks, and both of them turn their puppy eyes at Tommy, which of course means he's doomed.

"Yeah, they're in the playroom drawer. Do you need help getting it?" Tommy asks, and Buck, as always, marvels at how good he is at giving the children their autonomy.

It's something they're both very adamant about. Buck's read about a thousand books about Montessorian education and found out it wasn't actually about raising sad beige babies, but about not doing things for the kids that they can do on their own, fetching their toys being one of them.

"Nope, we got it! C'mon, Stellina!" Leo answers, jumping up and offering his hand to Stella, who eagerly follows her brother down the hallway and into their playroom.

Buck looks at them, these two little wonders of nature they've been raising and that become more and more their own people every day, and his heart feels full. And then he looks at his husband, dutifully drying ice skates for their kids to color, and his heart feels even fuller, if at all possible.

He rummages through the Christmas ornaments' box, mostly empty by this point, until he finds what he was looking for. A branch of dried mistletoe, kept there for the last five years and that it'll still serve its purpose, he's sure.

Buck kneels down besides Tommy, holding the mistletoe over his head, staring expectantly at him until his husband looks up from his doodle and rolls his eyes, though his smile betrays him.

"I think you're tricking me into a kiss, mr. Kinard" Tommy teases, but he's already holding Buck's cheeks with both his hands, pulling him in for a chaste kiss.

Buck melts into it, allowing his lips to linger onto Tommy's for just a while longer. They've been together for roughly five years, kissed at least once every day (which means at least 1.800 kisses, and wow. That's a lot of kissing), and Buck still feels giddy every time they put their lips together.

"Ewwww, Daddy and Papa are kissing!" Leo says, sticking out his tongue, the glitter crayon box held tightly in his small fist. Stella, however, is looking at them with pure awe in their eyes.

"Awww, I think it's cute, Leo! It's like at the end of stories, there's always kissing" She says, looking at the two of them expectantly. "Do it again, Daddy? Please?"

Tommy and Buck exchange a sheepish look, and Buck's sure his cheeks are as red as his husband's. But who is he to deny his romantic of a daughter?

"Since you asked so nicely, Stellina" He teases, and dives in for a chaste kiss that Tommy happily retributes. The background noise is Stella's cheering and Leo's exclaiming 'Grossss', and Buck thinks that if people could explode from happiness, he'd be at serious danger.

"Okay, can we pleaseeee put the star now?" Leo asks once they're apart, and Buck remember he had promised to put the star under the kids' watchful gaze.

"C'mon, mini-menaces, sit here on my lap so we can watch Daddy put the star, and then you can finish your drawing"

"And then it's bedtime" Buck finishes while he rummages the box to get their trusted star out. "Or else Santa won't bring any presents to this house"

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul 

The threat of no presents is enough to get the kids nodding, and they scamper to sit on Tommy's knees, eagerly watching Buck. This tree is not as tall as their last one, and he won't need the ladder to place the star on top of it. They know the twins would love to help, but their coordination is not that good yet, and both Buck and Tommy have answered enough calls of children hurt by Christmas trees falling on top of them to be properly paranoid. Maybe in a few years.

For now, they are happy to snuggle into their Papa's broad chest and look in awe as their tall strong Daddy places the star on top of the tree. As Buck does that, his eyes keeps drifting to his perfect little family, and he realizes that the three stars he needs are right there.

Tag list (lemme know if you want to be added or removed :) ) :

@asmugfirefighter

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld

@buckleyskinards

[aishangotome]

[Silvio] A Love Tailored To You Part 4

Credit to @shatcey for providing the video upload.

Silvio placed the confiscated bottle on the table and led me to the bed.

No sooner had I sunk into the sheets than he began to undress me with urgency.

Emma: Wait, the liquor...

Silvio: I told you, you don't need it.

He pushed me back down as I tried to sit up, and then kissed my neck.

Emma: Ah...!

My clothes were disheveled, leaving me nearly naked, and he kneaded my breasts.

(Silvio, why are you so impatient...? )

(Last night, and three nights ago, I was supposed to be the bold one...)

(This way of making love, as if he's been holding back for so long––)

Emma: Mm... ah...

His ravenous kisses stole my breath, and my thoughts scattered like mist.

As our tongues intertwined, his fingertips trailed down my stomach and pulled down my underwear––

Emma: ...Nnngh...!

His fingers slipped between my legs and lightly traced my sensitive folds.

As he teased the shallow entrance, I could feel my honey overflowing.

Emma: Ha... Ahh...

A loud moan escaped my lips the moment his lips left mine.

Silvio: Spread your legs more.

Emma: I can't... My clothes are caught.

My skirt and underwear, half-removed, were now binding my legs together.

Silvio: Honestly...

Silvio completely ripped off my skirt and underwear, then forcefully lifted my legs––

Emma: S-Silvio!

He spread my legs wide, to the point where my feet were beside my face, exposing my soaking wet core.

Silvio: Don't tell me you're going to say you can't do it because you're embarrassed again.

Emma: Of course I'm embarrassed...!

Silvio: You want to be bold, right? Then don't rely on alcohol and just accept it.

Emma: ...!

(That's right, when I was drinking, I accepted this too.)

(If Silvio prefers that, I can't be shy.)

(I want to satisfy Silvio, not just the "different person" I am when I'm drunk...!)

Emma: Okay...

Emma: But at least let me hide my face with a pillow.

(In this position, I can see everything that's happening too clearly...)

I reached for a pillow, but Silvio snatched it away and threw it far away.

Silvio: No. Don't look away. Watch as this part of you is played with.

Emma: Nn...!

He kissed the insides of my thighs, leaving numerous red marks.

Those kisses gradually moved closer and closer to my core––

Emma: Aa, ah!

My back arched with just the flick of his tongue against my wet nub.

I couldn't bear the shame and tried to close my legs, but he spread my thighs wide open as if in punishment.

Emma: Aah... th-this, no...!

Being forced to watch as my most sensitive place was played with, my mind became a jumbled mess of pleasure and shame.

Emma: Nn, nhaa...!

I unconsciously closed my legs again, and this time he inserted his fingers inside me, stirring vigorously.

The sound of the water, so close by, melted away my reason, and a sweet wave quickly spread through me.

Emma: Aah––!

(Silvio, he won't stop!)

(What should I do, the pleasure won't end...!)

My toes curled, and my legs stretched taut.

I desperately clung to the sheets and endured, but the relentless pleasure only intensified.

Emma: Ah, uh... Nn...!

My body arched violently in the throes of the unending pleasure.

When the wave finally receded, my mind was completely melted, unable to think of anything.

Silvio: Hah, you're quite "bold," aren't you?

Silvio leaned in, spreading my legs further apart.

Emma: Am I... like I am when I drink that liquor...?

Silvio: If you were drinking that liquor, I wouldn't be able to do this.

Emma: Eh...?

Silvio: You seem to have completely forgotten, but when you drink that liquor, you become an unbelievable drunkard.

Silvio: I'll say it again, I have no interest in sleeping with a woman who's passed out drunk.

Emma: Then, last night...

Silvio: You said all those cute things about wanting to be ravished and accepting anything, then you just fell asleep.

Silvio: Completely oblivious to how I felt.

(That's what happened?!)

I had always thought that drinking made me bolder, so I was surprised and ashamed to learn this unexpected truth.

Silvio: In other words, you're the boldest and most erotic right now.

Silvio: It's quite impressive that you can do this much while sober.

Emma: ...!

He forcefully spread my legs wider, and the honey that spilled from between them trickled down towards my buttocks.

Silvio unfastened his clothes, and then pressed his heat against my wetness––

Emma: Wait, if you do it now, I'll really lose my mind...!

Emma: Nnh–!

The feeling of his heat slowly filling me brought back the intense pleasure from before.

Silvio: You wished for this yourself. Take responsibility and lose your mind.

Emma: H-ahh...

The moment his heat filled me completely, a pleasure so intense it rendered me speechless took over my mind.

Silvio: I won't hold back. This is for teasing me and then falling asleep.

Emma: S-Silvio... ah, uh... nn!

He stirred my softened insides with his heat, and physiological tears spilled from my eyes.

(I can't hold back my voice... My face is a mess...)

(But Silvio wants me so badly.)

(What should I do, I'm so happy, being loved like this, I––)

Emma: I love you. I love you so much. Being loved by you, the one I love so much, is driving me crazy.

Emma: So please, love me more––!

Silvio: Hah, I'll give you what you want. As a reward for becoming "bold."

Emma: Ahh...!

Completely exposed, I was melted by Silvio's raw love––

––Several days later.

I was attending a certain social party, accompanied by Silvio.

(There are a lot more glamorous people here than usual today. Many of the women are dressed up.)

Unlike nobles, merchants often bring flashy women with them.

At a party with many merchants gathered, there were naturally many alluring women present.

(I made an effort to wear a sexier dress than usual today, but maybe it's still not enough.)

(Even so...)

When I looked at Silvio beside me, he gave me a satisfied smile.

Silvio: What is it? Are you thinking about how you don't measure up again?

Emma: Hehe, no. I'm just happy to be here next to you.

Silvio: That's a pretty modest joy for the woman of the richest man on the continent, isn't it? Be more greedy.

He pulled me closer by the waist, our bodies close enough that I could faintly smell the scent of alcohol on him.

Silvio: Show them all that "this man is mine."

He whispered in my ear, and my heart skipped a beat.

Just then, a servant approached us and offered a tray with several glasses on it.

Servant: Would you care for a drink?

(Ah...)

The glasses on the tray were filled with that whitish liquor.

Silvio: What, are you planning to drink again?

Emma: No, I'll pass.

Emma: If I drink this, I won't be able to spend the night with you.

(Besides, I realized that I can express my love to Silvio fully without relying on alcohol.)

I clung to Silvio's arm more boldly than usual and leaned closer to him.

The eyes of the people in the venue gathered on us, but somehow, I was incredibly happy about it now--

It felt like that night, when I truly became bold, had deepened my love for Silvio even more.

FIN

.

.

.

Part 3

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[mj-iza-writer]

Stockholm Syndrome Vibes. Special thanks to @weirdthingweee for the request.

Whumpee had fallen asleep on their back. It was quiet in Whumper's room. They barely even woke up when Whumper crawled into bed.

"Goodnight", Whumpee tiredly whispered.

"Goodnight", Whumper sighed.

Whumpee was woken up by a loud snore a while later. They sat up and glared at Whumper.

"I told you you need to see your doctor about that snoring", they mumbled.

Whumpee rolled over and felt their nose.

"Why is it running?", Whumpee sat up again. They could see discoloration on their fingers in the dim light.

Whumpee hurried out of the bed and ran into the attached bathroom. They attempted to look into the mirror, but they had to hurry to the toilet.

"Whumpee?", Whumper sat up straight when they heard Whumpee throwing up. "What's going on?", they slid from under the covers and went to the bathroom.

Whumpee shook as they looked up at Whumper.

"I don't know."

Whumper reached for the light switch.

"Igh", Whumper grimaced.

Whumpee had blood dripping from their chin onto the toilet seat and floor. Droplets also trailed along the floor. Whumper guessed they would find more blood on the bedroom carpet and even Whumpee's pillow.

"What did you do... knock yourself out during a dream?", Whumper knelt down and reached for some tissues.

"Nuh", Whumpee stated as Whumper started to squeeze their nose.

"Don't tilt your head back. That's probably why you threw up.... you swallowed to much blood already, your body had to get rid of it", Whumper glanced into the toilet, "and by the looks of it you had swallowed a lot."

Whumpee winced as Whumper squeezed their nose harder.

"Hold that there for a few minutes. I'm going to clean some of this up", Whumper stood.

"Kay", Whumpee whispered, "reminds me of when you hit me that one time."

"That was a while ago", Whumper nodded, "I wonder why you're bleeding now though. We got past those days. I haven't hit you in years. I didn't hit you in my sleep did I?", Whumper looked at them with concern.

"No, you woke me up with your snoring though", Whumpee grinned.

"Hmph", Whumper chuckled, "I guess that was a good thing. This time, at least."

Whumper went on cleaning the floor.

"I think it stopped bleeding", Whumpee peaked out from the bathroom.

"Oh good", Whumper sighed, "nothing like a bloody nose at three in the morning."

"Where should I sleep now?", Whumpee looked down shamefully.

"Uh, in my bed like normal", Whumper looked back at them. The pillow already has blood on it, so it's not going to get any dirtier. I still need my Whumpee sized heater beside me to keep me warm."

Whumpee looked toward their pillow and saw the cover had been changed and it was now wrapped in a towel.

"Just in case", Whumper smirked, "can't have you getting blood on everything."

Whumpee nodded.

"Go ahead and get back into bed. We can clean the rest of this tomorrow. I'm too tired right now", Whumper yawned, "I'm going to the bathroom and going back to sleep."

Whumpee nodded.

"Could you tell your dream bullies to not beat you up", Whumper watched Whumpee walk past and crawl onto the bed.

"I'll try", Whumpee sighed, "can you tell your doctor that you have a problem with snoring, and that it is keeping your slave awake."

"You're not my slave.... you're my special baby", Whumper turned to walk to the bathroom, "and occasionally my pain in the butt."

"Who kidnapped who?", Whumpee smirked, "you asked for this."

"I said I was sorry", Whumper spoke over their shoulder, "you just looked so sweet when you walked past me. I just couldn't stop myself."

"Would you do it again if you knew this was how we would end up?", Whumpee's smile dropped. They had been nervous to ask that. "That snuck out... I'm sorry."

Whumper peaked out of the bathroom. Their face calm and serious.

"I wouldn't do it again if I knew this would have happened."

"Oh", Whumpee looked down.

"Because, I wouldn't want to kidnap you. I would hope I would be in a better mindset and be able to treat you well. I caused a lot of pain to you and I'm sorry for that. I only try to make it up to you."

Whumpee looked up quickly, "I would want that too."

Whumper got into bed and pulled the blankets up for them both.

"Try to get some sleep. Let me know if something else happens", Whumper sighed in relief.

Whumpee's eyes had already gotten heavy again.

"Amazing, you just woke up with a bloody nose. Plus, you threw up blood. Now you seem incapable of keeping your eyes open", Whumper chuckled as they tenderly moved Whumpee's hair away.

"Mmm sorry", Whumpee mumbled.

"It's alright. Get some sleep my dear", Whumper whispered.

Whumpee closed their eyes one last time.

Whumper listened to Whumpee's heavy bleeding for a few moments before turning over to go to sleep.

It was quiet in the room, or at least until Whumper started snoring again.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath

@porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened

@freefallingup13 @notpeppermint

@cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet

@painfulplots @whumpbump

@everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson

@legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace

@whumpanthems @lavndvrr

@ivymyers @starfields08000

@a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311

@whumpy-mountains @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @castiels-favorite-hunter

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm @starmoon-constellation

@bacillusinfection @whumpsandbumps

@tobiasbones @octopus-reactivated

@string-of-broken-hearts @weirdthingweee

[janeiscompletelyfine]

Merry Christmas!

I don't actually know what I'm doing, but as a Christmas present to anybody who wants it, here's some Christmas fluff. Very PG.

It's almost midnight.... two minutes and forty seconds 'til, actually, if you happened to be at the Potter's House and happen upon one James Potter, who was holding a comically large pocket watch about two inches from his nose. Regulus was going cross-eyed just looking at him try to stare down that silly ticking piece of brass (why would you use that when you could just look at the planets? Fucking stupid.) Although. To be fair. The hair sticking in every direction wasn't helping matters.

"It doesn't count, you know," whispered Regulus into the lowlight. James looked up, moving his head in that clumsy, half-asleep way.

"Mmmm?"

"You were sleeping on my lap for two hours, Jamie. You didn't stay up till midnight."

"Reg!" James put on his classic affronted face, but he was so dazed that he just looked sort of confused. "I'm offended!"

"Go go to bed, Prongs!" shouted Sirius across the room, not looking up from the man sleeping in his lap, sprawled out across the couch in a mess of gangly legs and curly hair.

"No!" James sounded like a child; he even jutted his lip out. "I'm staying awake!"

"You've just been halfway around the world, Jam," began Lily, looking up from the game of cards she was playing with Mary , Peter, and Pandora on the big armchair by the window. "Your brain literally thinks it's four in the morning right now. There's no shame in it."

"Two minutes!" croaked James. Then he yawned, mouth open so wide that Regulus felt Barty's attention turn to his teeth.

"No." Got to nip that in the bud.

"Aw, Reggie. They're just so beautiful!" Barty's head lolled over the side of the couch, where his partner Evan was lying spooned by his side reading a ridiculously heavy book.

"James wants his teeth to stay in his mouth. Don't you, Jamie?"

"Uh-huh." James eyes seemed to be drooping. "I like my teeth."

"Bet Reg likes his teeth, too," snickered Sirius. On his lap, Remus stirred and muttered something that sounded like stop making sex jokes about your brother and James. Which was useless, anyway.

"One minute now," hissed Marlene, swooping across the room and drooping herself over James' shoulder. Her Queen t-shirt was covered in lipstick kisses. "Should we do a countdown?"

"Come back here," came the response from a disgruntled Dorcas sitting on yet another armchair. The low lamplight shone bright shadows on her face. "I'm cold."

"Don't leave her now, Marls. Not after all this," laughed Lily, tossing one red ponytail over her shoulder.

"Same goes for you." Mary poked her best friend in the side. Lily did another one of her signature laughs, and grabbed Mary's hand in hers. She smiled. Regulus only knew one person who could light up a room with just a grin-- his Jamie, of course-- but Lily was pretty close. At least lit up the corner.

"Fifteen, fourteen," came the muffled countdown from Remus. "You have to kiss me when it's Christmas, Pads."

"Kiss you? Scandal," came Sirius' reply, a grin spreading uncontrollably across his face. "I'll get ready."

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine," counted Barty, much faster than nessecary. Slow down, came Evan's squashed response.

"Eight, seven, six," counted Marlene and Dorcas in unison, Dorcas's head on top of Marlene's, fingers wrapped together like a braid.

"Five, four, three, two," chirped Pandora and Peter, dropping their cards, faces alight with excitement.

"One," whispered Regulus. He couldn't help but smile. Then--

"James? James?"

James had passed out cold. Regulus laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead-- he could hear about the Christmas kiss in the morning.

Yeah so I actually have never written pure fluff before but here it is, hope you enjoyed! 🎄 Merry Christmas Tumblr, thanks for a great year and here's to many more!

❤️Jane

[muscariii]

Could you draw a little mini doodle of all of your favourite ocs next to each other?? No need for big effort, but I'd love to meet them!! :] Also happy holidays

Sorry for taking so long, thanks for the request!!

I was very excited for this one I gotta be honest...

I split them into sections to make it easier to see.

First there's my Elder Scrolls ocs because I love them all. We've got:

Rasha, who I'm sure I don't have to explain who she is at this point.

Setha-Ei (or Squints-At-Men). My precious little guy. He likes to punch things. He canonically has anaemia, horrible eyesight and he can't read (these are all results of jokes I made with my bestie and it was just too funny to not make it canon). Fun fact, he's sorta loosely inspired by Anjanath from mhworld.

Konrad is also a little guy. He gets angry a lot. And he's bad at controlling his magic.

Next we have my absolute favorites. These are ocs from a story/universe I'm working on. I'm still thinking if what to call it but I use Lorestone/Kamień Wiedzy in my head. We've got:

Diphy! She has amnesia and terrifying visions of the world splitting. The only thing she remembers is her own name and how to cook absolutely amazing food. She also has a weird artifact with her and it's a tool that will show her the way to stop her visions from becoming true.

Tagetes! He's basically a depressed guy that was asleep for a thousand years because he lost someone dear to him. He's good at making tools and prosthetics (he even made some for Diphy!). A few months after he woke up he was taking a stroll on a floating island near his house and he got caught in a storm and ended up finding a sarcophagus and a very confused Diphy inside it. Then he got dragged into helping her with her mission and recovering her memories.

And lastly, these two! They're also from the Lorestone universe.

Nyja is a very fun character for me and I love her very much. She doesn't exactly take part in the story and she's more of a lore character. She's basically something like a goddess of dead people that were wronged in life and she works for Judgement (the name is pretty explanatory but they basically decide the fate of souls based on what kind of person they were). She's very chaotic and unhinged and she ate an entire planet once. She has the title of Designer/Projektantka and what it means is basically she makes new vessels for souls that get a second chance at life. A fun fact is that she designed Myo's body.

Myosotis is also a very beloved character of mine. I'm still working on her design since I keep changing it over and over. She's a huge mystery for all the characters in Lorestone (except for Nyja cause she knows what's up). She's not exactly having a good time.

I could talk about my ocs forever, honestly. Very happy about this request. Maybe I should post about them and Lorestone more. Would that be fun?

[all-pacas]

i have been poking at this for ages and i hate it but i am BOUND AND DETERMINED to write fluff someday so here we go:

(you might recognize the first bit, i'm pretty sure i posted it before, i've been trying to make this story work for a LONG FUCKING TIME)

-

Chase buys the ring a few days before Valentine’s.

It’s the sort of expensive, impulsive purchase Cameron likes to tease him about: trust fund brat, she called him whenever he’d come home with a new TV or one of those new iPhones, and he likes to play into it, careless with money he really can’t afford to waste, all to make her laugh and tease him in the way she does: What would you do without me? she’d asked once, spotting him twenty bucks in the cafeteria.

Nothing, he thinks. And: nothing.

He’d gone to the jeweler’s looking for a Valentine’s Day present, so he buys a pair of earrings, too. Pearl, because Cameron has been hinting, and Chase finds it easier to do what she wants.

-

Valentine’s, Cameron gets stuck with a double shift. Chase has two appendixes and assists on a laminectomy and should spend the rest of his shift on transcriptions. Except House is sniffing around the OR via Kutner and Taub, and somehow it is crucially important House doesn’t so much as lay eyes on him: Chase knows, knows he’ll take one look and know about the ring, about all of it.

He does a couple extra hours in the clinic to avoid this. Has dinner with Cameron in the cafeteria at the end of his shift: she’s tired and quiet and only has fifteen minutes to wolf down her sandwich before she’s due back in the ER. He’s wondering if he should remind her of the day — Cameron can get weird about this sort of thing — but she has to go before he can really make up his mind. Gives him a tired smile and a quick kiss. “Don’t wait up for me,” she warns.

“Because you’ll wake me up when you get home?” he jokes, hopeful.

She laughs. “You wish.”

-

He’s asleep when she gets home, late that night. Stirs when he hears the shower, but wakes abruptly when she jumps him, almost literally: straddles him heavily and nips his jaw and kisses him until he rouses: she is slippery and damp from the shower, her hair wet and heavy and cold when it falls on his cheek, his shoulder.

They make love and he thinks about the ring after. He’s sleepy but Cameron is restless after a long shift, tired and simultaneously too wound up to sleep: he tries to stay awake to keep her company. She talks about her day, about running into Foreman in the locker room at one in the morning. House’s case and his team’s all nighter and Chase doesn’t like that much: not the lull and hum of her voice recounting symptoms and gossip but the way he can hear her smiling.

“Hey,” he interrupts, not opening his eyes — “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She breaks off; considers. “It’s two in the morning,” she teases.

They had an argument last year about it. She’d first asked him out the day after Valentine’s, he maintains: Cameron insists their anniversary isn’t actually until April. One of those little things. It bothers him, but he tries not to let it. Doesn’t matter, he’d told her: of course it does, she’d said. Otherwise our anniversary would be - what. That first time?

Why not? he’d asked, half joking, enjoying the indignant flush on her face. He’d like that, sometimes. To go back through the calendar, to push back the start of their relationship and make it so: not two years but three, five, six. He hums, shifts in the bedding. “I love you,” he says, and holds his breath until she murmurs it sleepily back.

-

In the morning he remembers to give her the earrings, and Cameron is appreciative, admires them nicely. She has the day off and Chase very reluctantly gets dressed for work. Cameron has been known to raid his shirts and sweaters for herself so he’d hidden the ring in the drawer with his socks and underwear, where he doubts she’d go looking: he bumps up against it while looking for socks.

“What time are you off work?” Cameron asks when he emerges, stretched out on the sofa with a coffee and wearing one of his sweatshirts and her new earrings.

“Not too late if we don’t get drowned in add-ons,” he says absently, looking for his bag and finding it behind the sofa. And then, experimentally: “Happy anniversary.”

“Don’t start,” Cameron sighs, and he tries to parse if she is more annoyed or amused or just hasn’t had her coffee yet.

Smiling over at her takes no effort, is not a lie. “Start what?” he asks, leaning over to give her a kiss.

She hums and doesn’t otherwise answer the question, brushing her palm over his cheek, stopping to fold down his collar. “Let me know if you have to work late.”

“I will.” Straightening, he admires her a moment: Cameron’s hair is unbrushed, she is wearing pajama pants and his sweatshirt, in his apartment with no intention of leaving. “I like you,” he says, and not marry me.

She smiles. “I like you too.”

-

He leaves the ring in his sock drawer. According to Cameron, their anniversary is in April. He can wait, he thinks.

[mammalsofaction]

Okay so,

A couple of weeks ago, I started getting back into my MARVEL phase, and since I had no intention of letting my Phineas and Ferb phase go in the meantime, it's cumulated into the desire of seeing a crossover. Before I remembered that a crossover existed, and it sucked. I DID end up rewatching it, and I fell asleep thinking about how wrongly it represented my favourite characters from BOTH fandoms. Natasha didn't feature, and they didnt even crack Tony out of his iron shell. They made Candace look like an idiot, and Isabella had such a small role as to be almost completely insulting.

I'm now 3/4ths of the way done, and the only reason it isn't is because I'm approaching the end of my semester, and I just got too. Overwhelmed. I really, really want to share what I have so far, because I had a TONNE of fun writing it while it was still going, and I'm already so so close to the finish line.

Context/Tags: Post Civil War, Prior to Ragnarok, featuring Irondad. Human Perry, selective mutism. OWCA is a bit more competent than usual in this fic, and while Fury doesn't completely LIKE Francis, there is an air of respect between the two of them.

This snippet mainly features the interaction between Perry, Francis, Carl, Fury, Natasha and Clint. Seeing (writing) these spies interact is at least half the reason I wanted to write this fic in the first place.

Snippet under the cut, Enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Natasha liked Perry immensely, the moment she met him.

He stands at attention just a little behind a man she assumes to be his superior; a white haired monobrow-ed man in an olive green uniform. Bartholomew "Perry" Fletcher cuts an intimidating figure, though apparently shorter in person than he seems from afar, just a little taller than Natasha herself. Much like Tony. His naturally teal hair is just as eye-catching as it had been in his profile photo, though it brings out his Australian complexion, and the brown of his eyes.

He’s dressed eclectically, in what she assumes is something of a uniform within the organisation. A brown Kevlar-and-silk waistcoat over a light teal dress shirt, pressed brown trousers and smart, steel-toed loafers, topped off with the ever-recognizable OWCA fedora.

His gaze is sharp, calculating, but not particularly unwelcome. Perry carries himself not with braggadocio, but the familiar confidence of a man who knows his own strengths, and what he brings to the table. A man who knows himself to be good at his job. Natasha should know; it is a look she sees frequently in her line of work, in the company she keeps.

Time will tell if Perry would remain among them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the esteemed Director Fury in the flesh." Said Francis Monogram, the superior in question, eager and a little bumbling. Natasha could see Perry rolling his eyes, even standing at attention, and Clint hides his chuckle with a well-timed cough.

“I wish I could say the same." Fury says, pointedly ignoring Monogram’s outstretched hand. "You understand this is no social call.”

Francis’ thick mustache quivers unhappily. It reminds Natasha of a fat, old caterpillar. “It never is. We’re glad to be of any service we can, of course. Agent Platypus will be glad to answer any question you have."

“Yes, Agent Platypus." Fury raises his eyebrow. Perry tilts his head when addressed. "Your reputation precedes you. We’ve been told you are OWCA’s finest.”

How someone could look so expressive and professional at the same time, Natasha can’t say. But that was Perry. I do my best, sir. He signs, simple and modest.

His ASL is sharp, quick and fluid, which confirms another point from his portfolio; selective mutism. Clint had been almost delighted to know. She respects that Perry does not pull any punches regarding how well they could understand him.

Nonetheless, a curly haired, freckled child (only a little older than Peter) standing with a clipboard by Francis’ side pipes up. “He said-,"

“We know ASL, kid, that’s not necessary." Clint intercepts gently. He shares a look with Natasha before addressing Monogram. “Sorry, should he be here? Or is he done?”

"Carl is head intern of the organisation.” Monogram answers dismissively, leading the way down from the rooftop where the helicarriers had dropped them off before going their merry way downtown. "I’m afraid he goes wherever I go. He will be responsible for addressing future reports of our meeting.”

Big job for an intern. He shares another look with Natasha, and they both turn to Perry, as if to seek his unspoken opinion on the matter.

Perry gives them a subtle nod.

Natasha chooses to leave it, and follows them down the stairwell.

“I trust you’ve been briefed of our recent little…incident in New York.” Fury starts, as they all make their way through the building. Presumably for Francis’ personal office.

“I’m led to believe it was an accident." Francis says, throwing an indecipherable look over his shoulder. “The Flynn-Fletcher brothers have great untapped potential, and while we’ve had cause to doubt their intentions in light of certain…developments, I am ensured it is not for evil.”

"You think it was an accident.” Fury echoed.

At this, Francis shrugs. "Weirder things have happened in Danville.”

Natasha makes note of the unmistakable coil of tension that grows in Perry’s form with every new mention of the Flynn-Fletcher brothers. Perry clears his throat, loudly.

Francis sighs, as if he had been reminded of an incredibly tedious thing. “Our sources tell us that the boys were only involved peripherally, in any case. The ray in question hadn’t been their fault, even if it had been intercepted and collected in their satellite. The real culprit is a criminal we have been pursuing for years; a Dr Heinz Doofenshmirtz, and his latest Power-Drain-Inator.”

Clint shares another look with her, eyebrows raised. Now this was a new development. “Not the most creative name." He quips.

Francis scoffs. “I assure you, it’s more than made up for in the invention itself, as well as its effectiveness."

Natasha straightens. “So it was effective?"

“Your being here seems tangible enough proof that it was." Francis points out, and she almost hates that it’s a sensible observation. “Doofenshmirtz inventions have a 96% success rate. He is the third most dangerous villain in our database. Agent Platypus, as his nemesis, had neutralised the threat as quickly as he was able-although not quickly enough, as it seems, to fully prevent any harm.”

It is clear that the accusation of failure had been the one to hit a nerve, and Perry looks away, ashamed. Natasha almost felt tempted to reassure him; nothing more upsetting to an agent of their calibre to be accused of failure, after all. But it had a ring of truth-it was only luck that the beam had hit the Avengers after the fight had been done with, and not a second before. Tony, in particular, had been severely incapacitated.

“And where do we find this…. Doofenshmirtz?” Fury asks, as they arrive on the bullpen floor. It is not so busy, but the few OWCA agents lingering don't bother hiding their curious eyes as even when Perry sends a withering glare in their general direction. Carl ushers them all inside Monogram’s office, the largest personal space on one side of the floor.

Inside, the space is decorated with lush carpets and a grand mahogany table, like a high school Principal’s office. There are floor to ceiling windows with a view to the parking lot, as well as a clever viewpoint of the building’s entrances and exits. Not so glamorous, but Natasha could admit it was practical.

Perry closes the door behind them, and clears his throat once again. Carl jumps.

“Yes sir,” He said, adjusting his glasses. “Being a Friday, considering what we understand of his schedule, he should either be at his home address, or shopping for groceries, since Dr Doofenshmirtz gets custody of his daughter on the weekends due to an agreement with his ex-wife in the divorce. However, certain developments were brought to light that it may be…unwise to act so directly.”

Francis, who had been typing away on his computer when they had arrived, swivels the screen around to show them a purple and white themed webpage that is–on closer inspection, turns out to be an encrypted Tumblr account.

“You’re kidding." Clint says. "He blogged about it?”

“He has more professional blogs as well,” Carl says, procuring a tablet from his pocket (Not Starktech. Most networks prefer to use their own developed tech, and Natasha notes that OWCA is much the same) for Fury’s perusal. "It’s almost comically incompetent, but he also knows we stalk him, so we feel some two ways about it. I would like to bring attention to his most recent post, dated this morning.”

"Looks like he’s entertaining company.” Fury agrees, passing the tablet down to Natasha (with Clint looking over her shoulder.) “I assume you have…plans, for detainment?”

"What’s stopping us from apprehending them all at once?” Clint asks, fingers pointing to the background of the picture taken with all of their criminals in frame. "We have tangible proof of their collaboration, written confessions to their criminal intentions, we know where they are-,”

"Doofenshmirtz is a criminal no matter who he chooses to collaborate with." Francis points out. “And we have records of worse collaborations. These aren't confessions–only intentions, not yet acted out. These posts were made nearly an hour ago, where they’ve made plans to tour the Tri-State Area causing general mayhem. By all means, we don't know their plans, we don't know where they are or where they plan to be, especially considering Doofenshmirtz own historically unpredictable patterns and impulse decisions.”

"And apprehending them in public is out of the picture, I assume.” Natasha says drily. Predictably, all three OWCA operatives tense unhappily. "Too much collateral damage, as well as risk of exposure.”

"It’s not like you can do much, without solid criminal charges." Carl mutters. “Not if we detain them in the Tri-State Area. Doofenshmirtz’s little brother is the current mayor, and he’s stupidly well-regarded. His influence is wide-spread. Doofenshmirtz also has an exceedingly amicable relationship with his ex-wife, who owns a very influential legal firm. She even kept his name.”

"So we can’t pin them on jack shit, is what you’re saying.” Clint surmises. “Not until they do something drastic. Not so long they remain in the bounds of the city. And they will remain here. We know they want something from Doofenshmirtz, and they don't know how dangerous he is.”

“And how dangerous is that?" Fury asks.

Francis and Carl simultaneously glance to the side, where Perry had chosen to take position by the side of the door.

"Not much.” Carl says. "Usually.”

Natasha quirks an eyebrow.

Perry coughs, to call attention to himself, and brings his hand up in a see-saw motion with a twitch of his left eye.

He’s unpredictable, Perry signs. We mean that. He’s ambitious, single minded, and persistent, with the genius engineering know-how to walk his talk. But he follows his own rules, and standards of conduct, which are almost admirable. He also has an almost debilitating case of ADHD, prosopagnosia, and PTSD. Trying to follow his sense of logic can be…. difficult.

“I can believe that." Fury defers. "What do you suggest, Agent?”

Perry glances towards Francis, as if to ask for permission. When Francis responds with a brisk nod, Perry wastes no time.

There is a protocol in place. We call it Walking the Dog.

[harleiquina]

Hey! I'm late for the party (because being overworked and underpaid sucks and always ends up in burnout -not fully recovered as of now, just with spare time because its Christmas, I'm working and nobody is calling so I can delve in Tumblr as much as my heart desires-).

First of all... I wrote my original reply around 2 or 3 am because my dog woke me up and I couldn't fall asleep again. So probably I had a point and eventually lead to something else because... sleepy brain goes brr.

About the writing

It is true that between saying it or just leave it out the text, leaving it out of the text is the safer option. There is also the posibility that it was planting an idea that never truly came to be so it is just dangling there with no other purpose... it happened to me a few times that I plant a seed of something in a story and then completely forget about it and sometimes I remember and remove it. I don't know how the time frame and due dates are in the process of creating a comic (if it was written arch per arch or if NG had all planned out and later came up with the different issues) but I guess that is they were going issue per issue -writing, drawing, coloring, formating and eventually printing it- there weren't many options to go back and fix something that didn't worked.

And yes... these were the '90s so... there isn't much to do about it.

In the end of the day, Sandman isn't Hob's story. Maybe there was a chance that if audiences liked him enough there could've been a limited run series of him through time and it didn't happened maybe there was a plan to do so but audiences preffered Death over him (can't blame them). Then the audience could've see him after his meeting with Morpheus and maybe growing a backbone eventually to stop his bussiness with the Slave Trade. We will never know.

Shipping and willingfully-ignorant fans

I'm not into shipping either (I'm not going to deny that in any fandom some edits or fanarts are cute) and in this particular case, even if I understand from where it comes from... I'm so done with it. Maybe if instead of casting the son they would've gone with the father things wouldn't have gone that far 🤣

Mischaracterization is a common phenomena in any fandom, sometimes it could be the main shtick to the plot of one pice of fanfic but when the bee-hive fandom accepts it as official headcanon there is no turning back and you just have to ignore it.

Had fandom had a more accurate-looking Hob they might've reacted differently. I haven't read the comics but I've seen a few panels... and he kind of grosses me out. There is no question there that he was on any easy-way to do money (thief, soldier, slave trader) with little to no remorse. But shippers only see what they want to see and leave any kind of nuance flies out the window.

There are (possibly) many fanfic writers that took Hob's dark past (in general) and did created well grounded stories where he gets to reflect on what he's done and how to atone for it. But fluff is fluff and it gets more views. And I think that's the root of it all... some people just want a cozy coffe-shop AU because they are only in there for the romance, others want to read something that will make them question either the character or themselves, analize how certain events played out or could happen. Pretty much as with movies you have the blockbusters, the historic dramas, the romance and an audience for each one of them.

It might feel like some of them are glossing over a very serious subject that should be treated with respect however there is a different place to tackle those subjects on... hopless romantic fanfics are not the right place.

However there is also those who go full "he did nothing wrong" and this could stem from both options: people who are racist themselves, or people that has no idea of what it being a part of the Slave Trade really means. Given that History is so far back, is easy to "forget" or even imagine the living conditions back then. Of course, those who have grandparents or greatgrandparents that have experienced it in the flesh will not let it fly.

In the end of the day it all depends on whoever is reading. They can be affected by it, shocked, outraged or not... that's how Art works and none of us has the right moral compass to tell others if they should be ashamed or not.

We can tell them to knock it off or at least tag properly, but thats an entirely different can of worms 🤣

Hob Gadling’s Involvement in the Transatlantic Slave Trade between the 16th and 19th Century

The Fallacy of (clumsily written) Racial Reconciliation or: Is show/Hob really different from comics!Hob

I originally wrote this a while back as a reply to someone else’s post, but since we’ve been discussing “Men of Good Fortune” (comics) and “The Sound of Her Wings” (Netflix) in our community over the past weeks, I’ve expanded on a few points of my original thoughts.

This post discusses difficult topics, systemic racism, questions of social (in)justice and problematic angles in writing. If that’s not your thing, this is the exit sign…

A question that comes up quite frequently is the following:

Is show!Hob different from comics!Hob?

Hob’s conversation with Dream in 1789 (and not just 1789) in the show has been significantly altered (compared to the comics), and it makes it tempting to believe this somehow makes him different regarding the more problematic side of his character.

In the comics, we have a bit of dialogue in 1789 that shows how deeply involved in the slave trade Hob was: “I sort of started it,” said with a hint of, dare I say, pride? And then brushing off Dream’s concerns by saying, “It’s a living.” Twice.

(They changed this to, “It’s just how it’s done”, and a shrug in the show.)

And it’s true: If this had been integrated into the show, it would have painted him in an even worse light. However, I personally think it was the wrong move to leave it out (Ferdinand Kingsley carefully voiced something along those lines as well btw). Because now the show pushed Hob’s whole involvement in the slave trade much more into the direction of, “Oopsie.”

Can we truly take leaving out the above dialogue as a hint that Hob might be a better person in the show? I’d like to really reflect on that--leaving out those comments can’t make him a better person. Even if we change his arc slightly and he “wasn’t that involved.” You’re involved, or you aren’t. There is no, “I tried a bit of slave trading and decided it wasn’t for me.” One could even argue it makes the angle of the show more problematic because it makes the slave trade a “little blip” in his timeline. Things like that can’t be a blip. I personally think the writers made a mistake here, but that’s obviously just my opinion.

If there wasn’t enough space in the show to expand on it (which I get for a side character), I feel they should have left out the slavery arc completely instead of keeping, but then minimising it (that might sound contradictory, but it only does if you don’t look at it too closely). It already didn't sit right with me 30 years ago to use slavery as a side note for showing a white person’s character development without properly examining the damage caused, and it still doesn't sit right with me now. It makes the plight of PoC a plot vehicle to centre white people’s guilt, and I always thought that’s a blind spot only white people have (and I’m white myself, to get that out of the road straightaway).

I’m not saying it couldn’t or shouldn’t have been used narratively. Or that you can’t show remorse and atonement/redemption for the most heinous acts (that’s not the same as forgiveness—I’ll get to that). Or that characters who have committed said acts are irredeemable. But it would have needed to be fleshed out instead of making it a comment in passing. Many books and movies do exactly that. But the point is that it’s never been fleshed out.

“But they had to shorten and streamline it…”—just no. Because to me (and ofc people are free to disagree), that exactly proves the point—centring the white guy while sidelining the people who suffer. I am a bit doubtful we’ll get anything remotely appropriate in the show after what we’ve already seen. Only time will tell, so I’m withholding final judgment at this point. Fact is: It is uncomfortable to watch for people with any sensitivity on the matter.

And yet, there is a lot of focus on leaving out Hob voicing his regret in 1889, since that (again) “would have painted him in a better light.”

While simultaneously regularly failing to mention that he proudly proclaimed he “invented” the triangle trade. Can we really pick and choose his traits like that? Hob is a materialistic opportunist who also has some regrets. That doesn’t mean he can’t exist as a character, or that we’re not allowed to like him (morally grey characters are often the most compelling ones). We don’t need to sanitise him though, or try to erase his problematic traits from canon. The same goes for other characters (yes, I’m looking at you, Dream, and I’m sure we’ll get to that very soon—in fact, we’re possibly starting tomorrow 🫣). If we are talking about Hob’s remorse, we are probably mostly thinking about Sunday Mourning, so I need to bring in issue #73 at this point (this is your spoiler warning if you don’t want to read ahead).

The Fallacy of Racial Reconciliation

Very plainly:

A black woman is used as a vehicle to forgive Hob. And said black woman has been written by a white male author for that sole purpose without giving her anything else to do. I personally think NG got that wrong. It was clumsy and insensitive to POC, and I really hope they change this for the show. It’s a fact that he really wasn’t good with writing black female characters in the whole run—they all get fridged in one way or another, and he even admits it in the Sandman Companion. And then turns around and basically implies that it's all okay now because “nothing bad” happens to Gwen once Morpheus is dead. She is allowed to be a vehicle for the character development of a white guy though. It’s just really insensitive, and I sincerely hope they don't put it in the show this way. And I’m glad that we're seeing hints it might not happen--at least the casting in the show hints at it (from Lucienne, Death and Rose to very likely turning Carla into a white man—we already met Carl, and that’s who he is IMHO).

There is also the not so small fact that Hob is, even in his guilt and shame (shame is always about yourself, and that’s actually very in keeping with his character), not honest with Gwen. The thing about him basically inventing the triangle trade, which he so proudly proclaimed in 1789?

The English who were so good at it? The “Jack” Hawkins he talked about in 1789? That’s actually this dude:

And Hob funded him 200 years before 1789, and enabled Hawkins. Hob was involved in what became the transatlantic slave trade well before 1789–he already funded it when he had money in the 1500s.

He carried that mindset around with him for literal hundreds of years and saw nothing wrong with it until at least (! more about that in a sec) 1789. Dream had to rub his nose in it, otherwise it wouldn’t even have occurred to him (or did it, and he just chose to ignore it--see below).

Hob has been written as a stand-in for humanity, British Imperialism and England over the centuries—with all that entails.

So how honest is he with Gwen? And how long, even after 1789, was he still involved, even after abolition in England (Somerset vs. Stewart declared slavery unlawful in England in 1772, but that wasn't true for the rest of the British Empire. Buying and selling slaves was only made illegal in 1807, while owning slaves only became unlawful with the Abolition Act of 1833, and it took another year to buy out slave owners to actually make it happen)? Because there’s still this:

“It got worse when they did [outlaw the slave trade]. You only needed one voyage in three to make a profit. You could afford to dump your cargo if… you spotted a British Man o’ War.” How does he know? Why does he have these nightmares? We can take a guess…

That’s not someone who tried it for a couple of weeks and then thought, “Sorry, my bad.” That’s someone who has been opportunistically involved from the 1500s and potentially until after slavery was unlawful in England, which it already was when he talked to Dream in 1789. So does his feigned ignorance of, "It's a living/It's how it's done?" really hold? Especially if he potentially kept going, even after that convo with Dream? When I wrote "between the 16th and 19th Century" in the header, that's exactly what I meant...

Guilt and Shame

Yes, what we see above and in all the other panels is guilt and shame. And it reminded me of this:

And I’d encourage everyone to really listen to what Jasper has to say, and sit with the feelings it brings up. Because I can still remember watching this in the George Floyd aftermath for the first time, and how deeply uncomfortable it made me—because he’s right.

Black people/PoC do not need to forgive and absolve white people from their guilt. They can if they wish to, but that’s their choice, not ours. It’s not for white people to absolve other white people from their guilt around the oppression of PoC. And that’s why it could be argued it’s not for white people to write a black character to do that in their stead either (they can of course, but then they need to live with the fact that people will call them tone-deaf). It could also be argued it is something that cannot be forgiven retrospectively, and white people need to be okay with that. It can only be worked on in the present with a view to the future. And as Jasper also so rightly points out:

The guilt is not even helpful (at least Gwen has the right sentiment there, but it’s still falls incredibly flat over all), and shame only centres ourselves.

Forgiveness vs Redemption

Hob Gadling's regrets don't make everything he did forgivable. I think it actually does the story a disservice if that’s our main takeaway, because this is truly one of the bits of The Sandman that’s written in an extremely tone-deaf manner. NG isn’t the first author who did this, but we can take something good and helpful from this, and that’s engaging with these questions instead of brushing them under the carpet—because that’s what literary analysis is about.

It should be clear that I do see Hob Gadling as narratively important because I see him as a stand-in for humanity, and more specifically, English history. And there is really so much to learn from that.

Writers can get things narratively right but still be emotionally tone-deaf due to their own blind-spots. We don’t need to assume malice, but we also don’t need to leave it entirely unchallenged.

And because of that, we can certainly see Hob as someone who has to live with his conscience, and the consequences of his actions, for the rest of his life and struggles with that (as he should). And maybe we can see him as someone who is now, finally, trying to do the work. Because that is what atonement and redemption actually mean:

Taking action to rectify past wrongs. Actively working against the harm once caused, and preventing it from ever happening again. And I hope that’s what he does, and the signs are there (but there are also still signs that he values covering up his immortality higher than e.g. telling Gwen the truth. And we can find a million excuses for why that is, but ultimately, none of them truly matter).

However, it is not the same as forgiveness from the people we have wronged. Forgiveness is not a prerequisite to redemption, although it can be a part of it if the person who has been wronged chooses to extend it. But the people Hob wronged are dead, while their descendants still need to live with the pain people like Hob caused to this very day. So while I don’t see him as irredeemable, I don’t think he needs to, or even can, be forgiven—especially not by black people (unless they choose to. But it is also fine if they don’t, and again, we need to be okay with that). And we could say, “But Gwen chose to.” To that, I say:

I wonder what Gwen would have said if he had been truly honest with her (which he wasn’t, see below panels). That wouldn’t have been an embrace is my guess…

[kdelarenta]

something something rebecca can't stand to look at amelia's face for too long because of the coldness and detachment she sees in her eyes, rook's eyes. he never looked at her with anything but love.

something something rebecca can't stand to hear amelia talk for too long because sometimes she'll say something brave and admirable, and it's like rook is speaking to rebecca through her. it's too much to bear.