#if there's one trope i absolutely dig

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

oooo it's been a while since the last snippet :]c it's another fantasy au one where I'm! Putting! Barnaby! Through It!

a minor warnings: implied/referenced major character death <3

 No one eats dinner, and Frank won’t stop tapping his spoon against his bowl. Tok tok tok it goes, over and over again.

Poppy made a simple stew from their provisions, but only Eddie and Sally make an attempt at tasting it. Their halfhearted ‘it’s good’s don’t pierce the pressure weighing down on them all. Barnaby swears he can taste it, thick and cloying. 

Already he keeps catching himself looking for Wally. Where is- he starts to think, and then he remembers the moment Wally fell with a spear piercing his chest, and the grief rises so fast it nearly drowns him in a heartbeat. Barnaby can’t bring himself to try and hide it behind anything but a stony mask. In any other situation he might try to put some levity into the group. Cheer up the sad and empty faces staring into their meals. 

He wouldn’t be able to think of a single lighthearted thing even if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

Tok tok tok-

Shuffling from Howdy’s tent has everyone glancing over at it, and Frank’s spoon stills. Howdy briefly woke up while Poppy was cooking. All he did was sit up, look at everyone, then pitch to the side and vomit. They got him into a tent before he passed out again, mumbling something about puppets. Frank made a comment about how Howdy was supposed to be a bit out of it, not at fae-drunk levels of hazy. Eddie had muttered back a dejected apology, and after that the camp was silent until Poppy’s announcement that dinner was ready. The spoon continues tapping when the shuffling stills.

Tok tok tok-

Since Eddie and Sally saying that dinner is good, there hasn’t been a noise beyond the occasional sniffle. It’s a good thing Julie isn’t trying her stew - it must be disgustingly salty from all the tears dripping into it. 

Tok tok tok-

Barnaby sighs through his nose and puts his bowl down, sick of looking at everyone’s misery. He would say that he’s going to go sleep, but he has a feeling that none of them are getting a wink tonight. 

Tok tok-

Before he can stand, Frank blurts, “We shouldn’t have attacked it. It was a mistake.”

“Please don’t,” Julie begs.

“There’s no need to rub salt in the wound,” Sally says firmly, her stew starting to sizzle from the rising heat in her hands.

“Not right now, Frank,” Eddie mutters. 

Frank visibly bristles, and he launches to his feet. “I refuse to pretend not to have seen what I did! The truth is a terrible thing, but someone needs to say it. Wally lied to us.”

“Frank…” Barnaby warns.

“We shouldn’t have attacked the demon,” Frank barrels on, ignoring him, “because there was no need to. It didn’t eat Wally until the end because the demon is his patron. Wally was never a wizard at all, he was a warlock-”

Barnaby lunges with a deep bark that echoes against the trees. The crickets symphony falls silent. Frank trips backwards over his seat, staring up with wide eyes as Barnaby stalks around the fire, growling. Eddie and Sally slowly stand, inching between him and Frank. 

Barnaby stops, snout bunched and canines bared. He jabs a claw at Frank. “Don’t you ever say that again. Ever.”

Frank’s mouth flaps uselessly for a moment. When he speaks, it comes out as a whisper, “I’m-”

“If you end that with right instead of sorry, I’ll make damn sure that you are.”

Frank wisely keeps his mouth shut. The crickets continue chirping.

Barnaby glares at him until Frank looks away. Barnaby straightens his vest with a sharp tug and strides away from the fire, towards his and- his tent. Just his, now. Murmuring breaks out at his back. He yanks the flap open, grabs his pipe and herb pouch, and heads towards the forest. He pauses only to listen by Howdy’s tent, waiting to hear proof of life before continuing on.

Once he can’t see the firelight anymore, Barnaby chooses a random tree and sits heavily in front of it. Rough bark digs into his back through his vest. A night bird hoots overhead. Crickets continue to make their music, but Barnaby wishes they would shut up for good. 

Light from the full moon pours through the branches to provide just enough light to see by. Barnaby holds up his pipe and quickly puts it to the side to take off a grimy glove. The heart-pad and blue fur underneath contrasts vibrantly with the dust-grayed rest of him. After a moment he removes the other glove, wincing as the leather drags over his injured knuckles. He turns his paw over and scowls at the dirty black edges of the red-raw scrapes. He should have punched harder. He hopes it scars, even though he knows it won’t.

The gloves themselves are scuffed up, but not beyond use. Barnaby folds them into his pocket and gets to work lighting his pipe. He packs it and instinctively opens his mouth to ask Wally to light it for him. The words die on his tongue as he turns only to see dark forest. Empty woods save for the tiny blue lights of night wisps floating on the breeze. 

Barnaby stares into the darkness with yawning dread. He keeps looking. How long will it take him to stop? How long until Wally’s face starts to smudge in his memories, until his voice is gone and Barnaby doesn’t even remember what his smile looked like? How long until Barnaby only thinks of him in passing? 

He doesn’t want to reach that point. He desperately does. 

Will it hurt more or less? Does it matter? He wants it to ache until he dies.

Barnaby frantically fishes his sparkrune out of the herb pouch - only there for emergencies, when Wally or Sally isn’t there to light it for him. It will wear down to a nub within the month. He strikes his thumb claw against it, and sparks fly expertly into the bowl of his pipe. It takes a moment to catch. Barnaby lifts the bit to his lips and takes a drag before enough smoke forms for a lungful. 

Maybe he should have grabbed the stronger stuff. If he breathes enough of it, maybe he’d be able to see Wally. 

But Barnaby doesn’t get up in the end. He sits against the base of a tree and hugs himself, the pipe’s intermittent glow betraying the shine in his eyes.

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[featherymainffins]

Me when the narrator is an external entity with its own motivations and agendas and the script it makes you follow is not the one you are confined to but be well aware that all folly has its limits and all relationships might sour

[themirokai]

I got this comment on a story from my Other AO3 Account this morning.

(Info redacted because I prefer keeping these accounts separate but no one follows me on the side blog I have for that account.)

The story was posted almost a year ago and is relatively “popular” by my average statistics even though it has tropes and themes that are big turnoffs for a lot of people (hence separate accounts). This popularity is undoubtedly because it’s a Marvel Loki story and that fandom is massive.

So there is obviously an algorithm or a bot scrubbing ao3 statistics and leaving this comment on fics that meet a certain metric with the main character of the fic inserted into the comment.

I had a little time to kill this morning so I decided to investigate further. And y’all this is so predatory. Come on this journey with me. It made me mad. It may make you mad.

First, if you go to Webnovel’s website, you HAVE to choose between male lead or female lead stories before you can go any further. WTF?

And that’s weird, but this gets so much worse. This is basically a pay-to-read site that has different subscription models. Which… okay BUT! The authors don’t get paid! Look at that comment again. They’re promising a supportive and nurturing community, but zero monetary compensation. It’s basically, “post your stuff here so we can get paid and you can get… nice vibes?” I mean look at this Orwellian writing:

Using the phrase “pay-to-read model” in the same sentence as “qualitative changes in lifestyles for authors” deliberately makes you think that you can get paid and maybe even make a living on this website. But that’s not actually what it says and authors will not receive one red cent.

Oh but wait, the worst is still to come. In case this breaks containment (which I kind of hope it does) this is where I mention that I’m a lawyer in the US.

I don’t do intellectual property or copyright law but I do read and write contracts for a living. So I went to look at their terms of service. It was fun!

Highlights the first, in which Webnovel gets a license to do basically whatever they want with content you post on their site. This is how they get to be paid for people reading authors’ writing without paying them anything.

Highlights the second, in which Webnovel takes no responsibility for illegally profiting off of fan fic. This all says that the writer is 100% responsible for everything the writer posts (even though only Webnovel is making money from it).

Highlights the third which say that by posting, the author is representing that they have the legal right to use and to let Webnovel use the content according to these terms. So if a writer posts fan fiction and Webnovel makes money from people reading the fan fiction, and the House of the Mouse catches wise, these sections say that that’s ALL on the writer.

So that’s a little skeevy to start off with but the thing that is seriously shitty and made me make this post was that these assholes are coming to ao3. They are actively recruiting people in comments on their fan fiction. And they are saying they are big fans of the character you’re writing about and that they share your interests.

They are recruiting fan fiction writers and giving every impression that you can make money from posting fan fiction on their site and hiding the fact that you absolutely cannot but they can make money off of you while you try, deep in their terms of service which no one but a lawyer who writes fan fic and has some time to kill will read.

I see posts on here regularly from people who don’t understand how this stuff works, don’t understand that they (and others) can not legally make a financial profit from fan fiction. And there are tons of people who will not take the time to dig into the details.

Don’t deal with these bastards. Fuck Webnovel.

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART TWO ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: he should have waited for you. but no, toshinori felt like he had something to prove. now, roles are reversed and he needs your help. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 5k tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (male receiving), piv, sex pollen trope but make it canon specific, dirty talk, praise kink, denied feelings, deeply needy fucking, size difference, toshinori being a good old fashioned lover-boy (again), enemies-to-coworkers-to-lovers hits hard a/n: oh wow a part two,,, i'm sick in the head ← previous | the tag

This ain't great.

This is, uh, bad actually.

Like, Toshinori has absolutely no idea what to do, bad. 

For Christ's sake, he's All Might. He should have known better. He should have known to wait for you — but no, he just had to calm his nerves by beginning your usual shared patrol an hour early. 

It's been one week, two days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes since he last saw you. Not that he's counting. It's not like he's suddenly acutely aware of the time he's spent apart from you, or anything. 

Japan is locked in a heatwave. 

(Or, maybe it's just the fever in his bones.)

Large, calloused palms dig into his eyes as he leans back against the rooftop's barrier and groans. Toshinori drops his head against the iron railing in defeat, sending a twang through the hot air. Sweat is running down his back beneath his suit, tracing the curve of his spine.

Oh, and he's hard.

Painfully hard.

Like he said, this ain't great.

The call went out that they spotted the same love quirk user from last week holding some sex workers at gunpoint. He should have waited. The two of you could have handled him easily. 

But, no. Toshi had to go and think he had something to prove. 

He groans again, pounding his knuckles to the gravel.

It's going to be all over the evening news. That clip of him, panicking, and absolutely decking the very-much-not-a-real-violent-threat-of-a-man in the face on reflex after being hit with his quirk. He couldn't help it. It was like... a knee-jerk. It's like suddenly you're being touched everywhere and nowhere. It's strange. Sort of violating. It... I-It was just all he could do, okay? 

And he apologized! Plenty! A-And Officer Tsukauchi said it was fine, that he had it handled, as a bunch of officers began to help the now-unconscious offender out of the storefront's debris.

...Toshinori's phone is ringing.

He has half the mind to ignore it.

But it's the guitar riff from 'Bad to the Bone'. 

It's you.

He barks out a huffed 'shit' before digging his phone from the pocket in his belt. Even your picture glowing alongside the phone call notification is enough to make his cock throb. 

It's not even racy. It's blurry. It's in the All Might Agency's lobby. You're smiling. It's such a rare sight. You're holding up your official hero license and a big thumbs up.

He took the picture a few years ago. It was a big deal, a huge win. Your hair was a little shorter, and your hands weren't as scarred from Pro-Hero work as they are now. And god, that smile. 

...Jesus, you're just happy and he's this horny? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Toshinori picks up on the last ring.

"Where the hell are you?" comes your voice, cutting through the sound of wind — he can hear the thrum of your bike's engine in the background, "I've been looking all over for you, and I just got a call from Tsukauchi — are you alright?"

The sound of your voice is making his mouth dry.

"I'm fine."

He's not fine.

He's sitting here, aroused out of his mind and in pain, trying to battle through the mind-numbing, knuckle-breaking heat of desire. He can't even come close to the word 'fine'. He's a mess. All he can do is sit here and sweat because he knows no amount of trying to jerk off is going to solve this problem.

He's so not fine.

You can tell.

Tsukauchi gave few details — just that whatever the hell happened sent All Might hightailing it outta there. And, after getting a brief description of the prep, you had a pretty good idea why. 

Your fingers twitch against the throttle.

"Send me your location," you say sternly; the glint of your helmet's visor catches the passing lights of traffic as you talk into the built-in comms system, "I'm coming to get you."

"No," he grits out, tugging on a piece of his blonde fringe, "N-No. I'll be fine. I-I am fine. Just need some time—"

"Toshinori," you bark back as you check for an opening between cars; your whole body is hot and it's not just from the summer heat, "I'm not asking. Let me help." 

...Oh.

Help. Right.

It's ambiguous and sort of ominous but, if he squints, it's the first time either of you has even come close to talking about what happened last week. Y'know. When he kissed you in your entryway, the way he ate you out on your couch, or the way he absolutely fucked your brains out in your bed. All because you had been hit with the same quirk influence he's riding out now.

His location pings up on your visor's HUD. 

"Be there in five."

And you hang up.

Because — I mean, what else is there to say? You are going to do what you have to to help him. Just like he did for you. Then, maybe it will be even! And then, maybe, this feeling that has been eating your heart away for the last week will disappear. Right? And things will go back to normal!

...Right?

Ha! B-Because, yea, that feeling is definitely guilt, right? Like... You... uh. You feel bad. Because... he had to... help. And you haven't helped him. Right. Yes. 

Yep.

Not because you can't stop thinking about his hands on your face, cradling you tenderly as he drove himself deep into you. Not because you can't stop thinking about the way he looked up at you with his tongue flat on your clit. Not because you can't stop thinking about his voice, or his smile, or his laugh, or his—

The telltale roar of a motorcycle sets Toshinori Yagi's stomach ablaze. 

Immediately, the air gets thicker like the feeling before a summer thunderstorm. He knows you're here. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and before he can rub the feeling away, you're there. 

On the roof.

"You look..." you breathe out as your feet touch down with a crackle of lightning crescendoing around you, "Like shit." 

(Truly he looks divine. Rosey cheeks, his chest heaving. His eyes are half-lidded. There's a bead of sweat that runs down his jaw, down down down, down his neck, then disappears beneath the collar of his suit.)

Toshi sighs. It's a ragged sound. He pulls his knees up, trying his best to hide the apparent tenting across the front of his hero costume. He scrapes his rough palm down his face.

"Don't start—"

"Did I look this bad?" you ask, voice hiking an octave as you move towards him. You keep an even distance. Your face is morphed into a look of pity, but there's something in your voice that makes the knot in Toshinori's gut wind tighter, "He got you good, huh, Tosh'?"

He can't do nicknames right now.

"Ha, ha," he grits out, the trademarked All Might boisterousness dying in favor of the lackluster, dry humor he was born with, "You're real funny, zippy."

It's your favorite flavor of him. The man is out of the limelight. Though he may still be bigger than life biceps and thick steel-corded quads, the facade has fallen. 

"And you're a mess," you sigh as you squat down, rummaging in your pack for something. It's a water bottle. You offer it as you watch him. 

The condensation kisses his fingertips as he takes it and pops it open. 

He takes a long drink, caps it off, then presses the cold bottle to the back of his neck. It does little to dissipate the tension in his broad shoulders. The sensation arguably makes it worse. Another bead of sweat runs down his back.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

We're never gonna talk about this again echoes somewhere in the back of his mind. At this rate, they're gonna have to talk about this. Because once is just a fluke. Twice is a problem. A real problem. 

He places the bottle back on the ground after another long sip.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Despite your desperate attempt to remain levelheaded, you know exactly how he's feeling at this moment. You gotta admit, his self-control dwarfs your own though. You could hardly keep your hands off him the second he walked in your door. 

You wrestle your bike helmet off, and Toshinori has to quell the wave of longing that rises in his chest. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and neck. He suddenly wishes he made you look this way — windswept and sweating. 

The jet-black helmet lands on the rooftop with a thwat. He can see his ragged, flushed reflection in the black visor. 

Your voice is soft. "Hey."

It brings his focus back to you. His mouth is dry. Big blue eyes swivel as they rake across your face — and he hates how his cock jumps at how softly you speak next.

"What do you need right now, Toshinori?"

His chest is rising and falling a little faster. The usual steadfast expression on his face has melted into something doe-eyed and boyish. It makes your heart clench. 

"Are you sure about this?" his voice cracks as he swallows roughly. It's a non-answer. It's a metaphorical boot-kicking-in-the-door, though. Toshinori rakes his hands through his hair, "I-I... I can wait it out—"

You exhale tightly; your rationale is clear. Totally unbiased and very much not rooted in an unabashed obsession with the way he touches you. 

"Tosh', you helped me. I won't sit around and let you suffer when the same hand is dealt your way."

He drops his head back again. Another twang echoes through the night air. 

"Plus," you offer with a slow, crooning smile, "I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

It takes a second.

Then, one blue eye cracks open. Long, dark blonde lashes flutter a bit — and then, he's smirking. 

Ha. 

Right.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his head still dropped back and shoulders slumped. 

"Sure as I'll ever be, big man."

That's the only permission he needs.

Toshinori Yagi is fast. He has to be. He's the Number One Hero in all of Japan. Top of the popularity ranks, fan-favorite, best stats in history. Being fast is part of the gig. 

He's fast to sit up and catch you in a kiss that feels like a bruise — tender and aching and miscalculated. It's teeth and tongue and then a deliciously low noise that rumbles up from his chest and sets your whole body on fire. 

His grip is rough — his fingers fist your hair as he drags you closer, his mouth presses firmly to yours as you scramble against the rough rooftop. It's... 

Needy.

You're crawling towards him.

"That's my line," he breathes out, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth and pressing back in to steal your breath. His grip tightens in your hair. His voice is so low that it feels like someone lights a fire under your skin. It's rough and breathless and so not All Might.  

"It's a good line," you mutter back as your brain stutter-steps. You pull away to crawl closer and straddle his hips. Your knees pin his cape to the gravel. You're kissing him again, letting his feverish need set the pace, "Worked on me."

You can feel him through your hero suit. 

His suit's pants are thick, made of some patented material you can never remember the name of — but his arousal is more than apparent as you settle your weight down against him. The added pressure earns a throaty hum of approval. 

You always forget just how big he is in this form — his hands dwarf your hips as he drags his grip down, allowing himself a little bit of an edge when he unceremoniously bucks up against you. 

"Sorry," he slurs out, his boots scraping against the roof; it's utterly pathetic, "Sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," you breathe out as you follow his lead and continue the movement, grinding your hips down, "I asked what you needed—"

"Anything," Toshinori's words rush out with his blue eyes screwed closed tightly as he grips your hips and slots his mouth back against yours, "Anything you'll give me."

...How is he so romantic? Even in a moment like this? Even when he's blindly seeking friction through his pants, bucking his hips against your own, as he moans into your mouth. 

"Hands? Mouth?" you parrot his line of questioning from your previous encounter; it seems to knock some sense into him.

His breath catches. Blue eyes widen minutely. You feel him twitch beneath you.

"God, mouth, please—"

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be here? 

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be helping him work off his belt, work off his tactical pants? Who knew you'd be watching his taut stomach flex as you push his costume's top higher up his torso, who knew you'd be dragging his stupid All Might-themed boxers down his narrow hips to spring him free? 

Who thought you'd ever see him like this, so desperate and winded and needy? 

Not you, that's for sure. You never thought, in all those years you sat in prison, this would be your life shortly after: giving head — happily — to the man who put you there in the first place. 

And here you are, slipping him a tentative look as you wrap a gloved hand around his hardness and smirk. 

"Is this okay?" you murmur up at him, on your hands and knees. You're teasing him. He knows this. 

Toshinori laughs — an incredulous bark. It's all you need to hear as confirmation. 

The sound splinters into a choked moan when you bend down and take him into your mouth.

He sees stars.

This is going to be a problem.

All he can do is lean back and grip the guard rail over his head for dear life because ho-oly shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. His biceps go taut, his knuckles white, and he tries so hard to keep his hips still as you hum around him. His whole body shudders — his thighs tensing under your other hand as you balance above him. 

This is — son of a bitch. Your grip around the base of his cock tightens incrementally, and as you lap at the head of his cock, his thoughts die in a strangled burst of pleasure. 

Then, his hand lands on your cheek.

The touch is reverent. Holy. Tender and adoring.

"Jesus, Der'," he slurs out, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to keep his eyes on you; he can't stare too long. The sight is too much. Too pretty. Mouth full of him, "You're such a good girl." 

There it is. 

The little bit of praise he slipped you before. 

If the iron rail creeks beneath his tightening grip, neither of you pays it any mind. 

You're on your knees, gloved hand around his shaft, watching his face contort into something so wonderfully steeped in bliss. You've got more important things to mind rather than the structural integrity of some stupid rooftop rail. 

Like the way his stomach clenches — the way his abs tighten. Like the way he says your name or the way he chokes out a nervous laugh when you take him just a litttttle deeper. 

"Fucking shit," he hisses; you make a mental note to rib him for his language some other time. Hearing him curse like this is a hell of an indicator for your ego that you're doing a good job, "Der', if you keep that up—"

"What?" you rasp, spit connecting your mouth to his cock, "You'll cum?"

Something snaps. 

It's a flash of red and blue and silver and blonde, his cape tearing through the air. 

Suddenly, you're pinned to the rooftop — gravel scrapes as your boots kick and grapple for purchase. Your elbows scuff against the ground. The wind is swept out of your body and he's kissing you so roughly you swear you taste blood. One of his hands is locked around your jaw. You're effectively trapped. 

All you can do is let out a shaky, startled, yet painfully aroused laugh. 

His other hand isn't gentle — it's tearing at the bottom half of your suit, unceremoniously snapping the button of your tactical pants open and shoving his hand down the front of them. You can feel a slight shake in his fingers as they delve past your underwear and slip into your folds.

"I need you," he hisses; his eyes are dark, and you can see the edge of frustration building. You know the feeling. 

Another kiss.

Suddenly, there are two fingers in you. 

You whine against his mouth.

He doesn't waste any time. He can't. Not when all he can think about is splitting you open on his cock. You're right here and you're soft and beautiful and fuck, he can't even think straight when you clamp down on his middle and ring finger. 

"Be nice," you warn between pants and whines and whimpers. It's an empty threat.

"Or what?" he chirps back, working his fingers in and out; his voice hitches along the syllables, trying his best to sound unaffected by the little breathy sound you let out when he kisses your jaw, "You'll cum?"

It's your turn to laugh. Your hands grapple with his cape, trying to anchor yourself in any way possible. You fist it as his fingers continue the task at hand: opening you up enough to take him. His knees nudge your legs open a little bit farther. Toshinori's body feels like it's on fire. 

His heavy, hot cock drags up the inside of your thigh and he shudders. 

His face is pressed to your shoulder in a flash; it's good because he doesn't see the blissful smile working its way across your face as our own arousal builds. 

"You're soaking wet," he strangles out; his pride is overshadowed by the embarrassing need to have you. He feels like if he doesn't, this raging fever will just get worse and worse and worse. 

"Par for the course," your words hitch on a hot wave of arousal as his palm grinds down against your clit. You grip his wrist, trying to ignore the tell-tale shake in your legs. His hand is holding your face.

"At least I'm doin' something right," he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek as he relinquishes his fingers from your heat and drags your mouth across your jaw, "Y'think... Think you can...?"

Take him? Yea.

You're a brave girl. 

Yea, that shouldn't be a problem. 

What is a problem is your riding gear and hero suit — but Toshinori can't be bothered. He's grappling with them for you, hauling you into his arms as he drags them down enough. They get caught on the tops of your boots, but he doesn't give a shit. Not when you're here, spread, and glistening before him. Not when you're in his lap, half-dressed, and trying to maneuver yourself down onto him with some semblance of grace. 

Everything is bigger when it comes to Mr. Double Detriot Smash.

Again, you're a brave girl. You're not going to shy away from the upgraded dicking down you got last week. Hell, that was great. Filled you up perfectly, and hit all the right spots... and now, you're realizing that the already tight fit is going tobe a littttle tighter. 

Your knees are like jello as your fingertips dig into his shoulders. Your hair is wild — and you're sweating. He's no better off; there's a crease of worry in his brow, even amidst the blinding heat of desire that's eating him up inside. 

He knows he's big. He's huge. He's... 

This is the first time he's ever had sex in this empowered form. 

Not like he advertises this as a service.

He'd be lying through his trademarked smile if he said he wasn't nervous — but there you go, giving him just another reason why he should buy a ring tomorrow and give you everything you've ever wanted because fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you're so tight and hot and wet and the sound you make the second you sink down on him—

"God, yes, Tosh'."

The gasp that wrings itself from his mouth is utterly pathetic. He doesn't care. He truly can't even think straight — all he can do is dig his fingertips into your hips and slam his mouth against yours to muffle the whines crawling up his throat. 

"Stay right there," you whisper; there's an edge to your voice of warning. He's trying to listen. He's trying to be a—

"Good boy."

You're holding his face and he can't seem to catch his breath. His boots scuff in the dirt, his brows knit, and he inhales sharply when you clamp down on him for good measure. Fuck. Shit. God, nonono. He needs to move. He needs — c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please.

"Der'—"

You're kissing him again — and then you move. Slow at first, a little hiccup of your hips. Then, more assured, more confident. An easy up, then down. Then again, and again, and again. And again. 

"God, yes," he nearly cries; he smothers his desperate moan into a kiss that melts away time. Toshinori's hands are trying to find purchase, trying to help guide you up and down his cock as best he can. He doesn't want you to do all the work — he wants to help, "You're so fucking good, Der'."

"Y-Yea?" you breathe out, your entire body shuddering at the praise. Your hip tightens, and you don't even have the wherewithal to consider the cramp. You're not stopping for anything.

Not when this is, like, the hottest thing you've ever done. 

"You have no idea," he melts into another kiss that's all tongue and adoration, his bare thread composure snapping up like his hips in a testing manner, "Lemme fuck you, please, Der', please, please, I promise I'll be good—"

It certainly felt good.

All you can do is hold onto his shoulders. 

If you've learned one thing in the time you've known Toshinori Yagi, it's that he's a man of his word. He holds promises in the deepest homes of his heart, ensuring that nothing prevents him from honoring them. He's dedicated entirely to those around him and to seeing them prevail. Toshinori, even on his worst days, never makes a promise he can't keep. 

So, promising he'll be good?

I mean — it depends on the definition, doesn't it?

If 'good' is desperate, pathetic, fast drillings of his hips as you cling to him and gasp? If 'good' is filthy, muttered praise into your collarbone as he slams into you again, and again, and again?

If 'good' is scrambling in the gravel, being pressed flat as he takes you from behind?

Then, yea.

He's really good.

He's incredibly good — especially as he presses his chest to your back, and wraps his arm around your front. His fingers are greedily pushing through your folds as he keeps up his thoroughly rough pace. The thick, calloused pads of his ring and middle finger grace your clit and you nearly scream. 

The gravel is biting into your knees and palms but you don't care. Not when his mouth is on your neck and he keeps saying your name over and over and over and over again as he drives you into the ground. Not Derecho. Not some tender version of a nickname.

Your name. 

The hot fire of your arousal is building steadily — the wet, explicit sounds of him pushing his cock into you over and over again as he pins you are doing plenty, but it's the way he says your name that really seals your fate. 

Toshinori isn't here right now. Come back in two business days. He's lost in the bone-deep influence of this quirk, hellbent on filling you up and proving he's a good boy. He can give you everything. A ring, a house, a life — three more motorbikes and whatever you want on top of that. 

Fuck, he loves you.

Your fingers dig into the rooftop. 

"Oh, fuck, Toshi — yes," you cry; there's a crack in your voice, "Right there. K-Keep... Keep doing that—"

"C'mon, I wanna f-feel you cum," he babbles as you bury your face into his elbow bracing his weight, "Come on, Der', you're such a good girl, you're taking me so well, I know you c-can—"

Everything is Toshinori. His breath is hot against your neck as he pants, and his voice — so low and honeyed — is right in your ear as he moans.

Even now, he's ever so selfless.

"I need you to cum first," he grits as his fingers work your clit just a little faster, "C'mon, Der', you're doing so good — you deserve it, you deserve to cum so hard—"

Your knees jerk — and the world's best orgasm rushes up to meet you headfirst. A snap of lightning ignites your skin as you lose all control, and so suddenly Toshinori is right behind you, tumbling down the white-hot bliss of the best sex he's ever had in his life. 

He made you snap, he made you lose control, h-he made you cum—

His composure shatters. There's a guttural sound wrenched from deep in his chest and it's delicious. He finishes with a series of frantic thrusts that make you whine. His mouth is on your neck, your cheek, then your mouth. 

You crane yourself back, humming delightfully into the kiss that quells the rolling tide of desire into something softer. 

His whole body shudders as the after-quakes of your orgasm ripple along him. All Toshi can do is smother his sounds into another kiss. This one is slower. It's needy in a different way. 

When the kiss finally slows, it takes a second for him to peel his eyes open.

You look thoroughly wrecked. 

Your expression is that of a woman exhausted. 

Toshinori is suddenly aware of his own bulk, his own weight. Gently, he presses a hand to your cheek as he pushes himself up and off of you. His muscles burn — and pulling out of you makes his entire chest ache. 

The feeling wrings a gasp out of you. 

You exhale slowly, through pursed lips. Then, you brace yourself up on your elbows and hang your head. Toshinori flops gracelessly onto his back, his arms and legs spread with his half-hard cock sloped against his stomach. Your slick is coating him. His pants are half down around his ankles, and his usual up-right bangs have sagged. From heat or exhaustion, you're not sure. 

It sure as hell is cute. 

"You okay?" you ask after a second, taking him in as he begins to catch his breath. 

"Oh, yea, just peachy," he rumbles. The thousand-yard stare into the evening air is a hell of a thing on him. 

It makes you bark out a laugh.

Toshinori lolls his head to the side lazily, taking you in.

Your knees and elbows are bleeding. You're picking out the gravel stuck to your palms. You're in no better of a state — your pants are half on, wrenched down over your riding boots, and your uniform's top is pushed up over your breasts. His orgasm is leaking out of you, and the insides of your thighs are coated with your own arousal. Your hair is a mess. 

You're both messes.

You laugh again — and his own laugh starts shortly thereafter. Before you two know it, you're both locked in a laughing match that only ends when you try to reach to shove his shoulder. Your abs burn. Toshinori tries to muscle the grin off his face but fails.

Fuck. 

Fuck, that feeling hasn't gone away. 

It wasn't guilt.

Mayday, mayday, abort, abort, it wasn't guilt. He's smiling at you in the moonlight, looking so utterly wrecked and handsome and gentle—

His hand moves, a single crux finger gracing the curve of your arm soothingly. It's slow. Tentative. Hesitant. Not too much, not too little. 

Toshinori's voice is rough with sheepishness.

"Are we, uh, are we never gonna talk about this, too?" he asks. 

The touch and the question make your heart kick into a stutter. 

You swallow roughly.

"I..." you drop your head, as you wet your lips; play it cool, "Is it something you... want to talk about?"

"...Do you?"

A non-answer.

Your lashes flutter as your stare widens. You open your mouth, about to say something, but suddenly both of your phones are blaring with a city-wide alert. 

It takes a second for it to register — and as suddenly as the moment came, it went. 

ALERT, ALERT, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, MULTIPLE HOSTAGES, ARMED GUNMAN, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, ALERT, ALERT!  

You're struggling to haul your pants up as All Might fumbles with his belt. You hop on one foot, cursing as he scrambles for his phone in the gravel.

"You gotta be kidding me," he grits quietly, thumbing through the notification as you struggle in the middle distance behind him, tripping into your pack as you try and button your pants. 

"Time to go?" you ask pathetically as you try to ignore the feel of after-sex between your legs. 

"I guess that conversation is going to have to wait until later," he says apologetically, bending to grab your helmet. He offers it as you shrug on your pack; there's a sudden cocky confidence seeping back into his posture, "So let's make this quick, shall we?"

You swallow down a rush of worship. 

"I guess so," you remark easily, again trying your best to seem cool. That's your whole persona after all. Little miss spiteful, cold, rough-around-the-edges...

Beautiful, perfect, lovely, Toshi muses as you shove your helmet on and jut your chin his way. You flick your eyes toward the edge of the building.

He's already got a running start. 

"After you, All Might."

"Race you there, Derecho." 

[theother-victoria]

Mr reca word vomit bc the brain worms won’t leave my brain!!! I promise I’m Very Sane abt this man

TAGS: not proofread, written before his release so potentially ooc and I’m too lazy to rewrite it post-release, secret relationship trope, reader wears lipstick, making out eheheheheh, reader is smaller/shorter than him, this is my propaganda and sign for u to become a reca kisser too

TAGLIST: @akutasoda, @https-sourlimes, @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii (putting you on the reca kisser agenda >:3), @harque, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz

Ok so imagine being in a secret relationship with the man himself…

Like the two of you HATE each other’s guts in public. As a rival film producer, the public loves to pit your films against each other, and the two of you as well apparently. There have been so many instances of you making small digs and sly remarks toward each other during interviews that it’s become somewhat expected by now. You have a gripe with the pacing of his films and his fame. He has a bone to pick with your cinematography.

“That manic director’s most recent film? I would give my thoughts, but unfortunately I fell asleep not even halfway through.”

“That uninspired, dreadfully dull and artistically lacking director? All their films look the same. I couldn’t differentiate them even if I wanted to.”

No matter how critically acclaimed your work is, he always has something to say about it.

Even if it was in the back of an alley with his hands gripping your hips tightly and teeth nipping at your neck.

"It took until a quarter of the way through the movie before- hah- your cinematography finally showed some signs of thought put into the shots. I know you can do better than this. So why- mmph- did it take you so long?"

You angrily nip on his bottom lip. A flash of satisfaction runs through you when you hear him hiss and taste blood on the tip of your tongue.

“Like you’re one to talk with the horrendous pacing of your newest film! Tell me, what was the plot of it again? Because I- mmm!?- already forgot the direction it was supposed to be taking twenty minutes in!”

"Well, you just simply lack reading comprehension. Not my fault, of course.”

“Oh, you little piece of-!”

He shuts you up with a rough and messy kiss. Your legs immediately go jelly and were it not for his leg slotted between yours and pushing you up against the wall, you think you would’ve collapsed right there and then.

When he pulls away, your lips are glossy and swollen. There’s a dazed look in your eyes that makes him smirk in satisfaction and without any hesitation, he pulls out his camera to take a few shots.

“Yes, yes, wonderful! That expression really suits you!”

Anger looks good on you, but he much rather prefers this expression.

He leans in for another kiss and because you can’t say no to him, you indulge him- until you hear footsteps nearby. You hurriedly clamp your hand over his mouth and wait until they’re gone before glaring at him.

“Stop running your mouth so much in public! You’ll give us away at this point!”

“Then stop being so loud,” he hisses back, though he’s in no better state than you, his-already-disheveled hair an absolute mess now from you gripping it. His flushed face is littered with lipstick marks and you can’t resist the temptation to add a few more.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he huffs out as you place a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. A soft kiss to his eyelid makes his eyes flutter shut and an affectionate sigh escape him. He smells of the chemicals used to develop film and strong coffee…

Then there’s a gasp and the undeniable sound of a camera shutter going off. Caught red handed.

You pull apart from him with a surprised gasp and expression. Strangely, he doesn’t look fazed at all. Still as smug as ever.

You whirl around to see an equally-shocked photographer standing there. Paparazzi, from the looks of it. He was probably going around and looking for some potential shots before accidentally stumbling upon something that would make front-page headlines. When you look back at him, then at the photographer, there’s even more people now snapping away at the two of you in a compromising position.

With the damage already done, you try to leave before he stops you. His jacket resting on your shoulders dwarfs your smaller frame and he yanks on the film strip belt to reel you back in. The crowd of photographers has doubled now, murmuring excitedly to themselves.

“Wh- let go! The paparazzi are having a field day-!”

He silences you with a swift kiss and a pinch to the inner thigh. The cameras flash even more rapidly now.

“Let them see for all I care.”

enjoyed this? my taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[sabersandsnipers]

Drabbles: Just One Bed (part ii)

Featuring: Astarion, Halsin, Gale, Raphael

A/N: I love that you are all as obsessed with the one bed trope as I am lol. Inspiration courtesy of @creativepromptsforwriting

Astarion

You can’t explain the pleasure that courses through your veins every time Astarion feeds from you. The delicious waves of heat that writhe in your lower abdomen. The light feeling that envelopes you as your blood is slowly drained from your vessels.

This current feeding session isn’t any different. Slight moans leave your lips at the delicious feeling floating through you. Astarion cradles your head for easier access to your neck, his other hand grips your thigh, holding you in place.

Just when the edges of your vision begin to blur, his fangs part from your skin. You let out a breath, heat flushing through you. His tongue licks the remaining blood off your neck. The hot feeling of his tongue gliding along your skin earns a shiver from deep within you.

“Thank you,” he sighs, hovering over you. “I was feeling so weak.”

You simply nod, your mind so mushy you can’t even form a coherent sentence. Your limbs feel like jelly. Your breaths come out in heavy bursts, as if you just were running uphill.

Astarion notices your state, taking in the paleness of your skin, and the slight shake in your hands. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” It’s the least he could do after taking so much from you.

You look at him, an incredulous look on your face. He’s never invited you to stay with him before. Not that the invitation isn’t tempting. The last thing you want to do right now is drag yourself to your own tent. Besides, you find Astarion’s presence comforting, despite his history.

“Sure,” you respond, your body relaxing a bit.

Sleep is quick to find you. After a few hours of dreaming, you wake to find yourself in Astarion’s arms. His face is buried in your neck. Your body is flush against his, and you can feel the firmness of his body.

You smile to yourself, happy to help find comfort in any form.

Halsin

The grass beneath you tickles your skin. The hardness of the ground presses into your back uncomfortably. You always admired Halsin’s connection to nature. But did he have to be so connected he had to insist on sleeping in the woods?

Traveling with Halsin alone meant “using the forest as your resting place”, as he had said too excitedly. You couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. He was absolutely giddy at the prospect of a sleepover with you under the stars.

But now, with twigs digging in your back and rocks up your ass, it’s hard to see the bright side of the situation. You toss and turn, trying to find any sort of comfortable position.

“Are you alright?” You hear Halsin’s deep voice ask.

You squirm against the ground again. “I’m alright. I just…feel a little exposed is all.”

He chuckles. “Understandable, seeing as it’s your first time sleeping in the forest.”

You hear him shuffle closer to you. The heat of him is quick to reach you. “Come here,” he says, reaching for you.

You allow him to pull you onto his bare chest. The firmness of his body is somehow more comfortable than the hardness of the ground. He wraps his arms around you, securing you in place .

Every inch of you is acutely aware of his proximity. He seems unbothered by your positioning though. You will admit, laying on top of him is much better than the cold, hard ground.

His thumbs trace circles along your exposed skin, and your arms wrap themselves around his neck as you find the most comfortable position you can.

“Better?” He asks. His voice vibrates through you.

“Much,” you tell him, and he lets out a contented sigh.

Gale

Your group was lucky to reach an inn before the storm began raging. The dark clouds stirring above you gave evidence of the snow about to fall. Goosebumps pebbled your skin as the temperature dropped.

You’re grateful to have an actual bed for the night as well. Not so grateful you have to share with someone else. But if you had to share with someone, Gale isn’t a bad choice. He’s one of the few members that’s actually considerate, even selfless.

The bed is pretty small, and even with the fireplace going, you find yourself growing cold. You pull the blanket around yourself as tightly as you can, careful to not take too much cover away from Gale. You can feel warmth radiating from him, though, and your body craves it.

Your teeth chatter suddenly, and you clamp them in an attempt to smother the noise.

“You’re cold aren’t you?” Gale suddenly asks. You turn to face him, a slight flush heating your cheeks as you notice he’s sleeping shirtless.

“I’m fine,” you lie, not wanting to complain.

He sighs, motioning you over. “Just come here. We’ll stay warm if we’re close.”

You know you should deny him. Snuggling with a companion is a risky game. But you trust Gale.

You scooch over into his embrace, sighing at the warmth of him. He wraps his arms around you as you rest your head against his chest. Your fingers are freezing, so you place them against his torso.

He hisses. “Your hands are freezing.”

You giggle. “Sorry. I hope you don’t mind.”

You feel his mouth move against your hair. “Not at all.”

His skin nearly feels like fire against the cold, but it’s also a welcome feeling. You admire how he holds you so tightly. You breathe in his scent, noticing how it comforts you.

It doesn’t take long for his heat to seep into you, and eventually, a deep sleep overtakes you.

Raphael

It’s either sleep in his bed with him, or sleep in your cell. He says you should call him merciful for giving you a choice, but it doesn’t feel like mercy. He’s so pleased with himself when you huff with frustration at his offer.

Sleep with a devil, or sleep behind bars. You’re not sure which one is worse. In the end, you choose the option with the bed. Knowing Raphael, it will be one of the most comfortable beds you’ve ever slept on.

He doesn’t hesitate to instantly invade your personal space when you crawl under the sheets. You feel his presence at your back, and you know his eyes are raking over you, taking in every detail he can. Searching for every button he can push.

He presses himself against you, wrapping an arm around your torso to hold you. A tingly feeling builds in your lower abdomen. You scold yourself. This creature simply wants to tease you.

And tease you he does. He traces those claws of his along your thighs. He lets his soft breaths linger at the back of your neck. He never reaches for an intimate part of you though, but will get close before backing off again. It leaves you feeling empty, and it drives you mad.

“I won’t be sleeping tonight, will I?” you ask him, a small shake in your voice.

“Not a wink, little mouse.” You can hear the smug smile in his voice.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Okay, so vampire Eddie is a pretty standard trope at this point, but may I offer...Twilight vampire Eddie who is absolutely pissed off about his sparkly existence?

Eddie actually isn't that old, he was turned in the 80s when he was around 20. He lives with his small and not only vampire family. There's patriarch Wayne, his partner Scott who always becomes a teacher no matter where they move, Claudia Henderson and her son that have been with them ever since Scott noticed Dustin being unusually quiet in his class and soon after, Wayne kicked out his abusive father.

The problem with living with a smart man who loves educating people and a man who never received the education he deserved is - they take school really, really seriously. Whenever they move, Eddie usually has to re-join high school, it's all "just so that you have some socialization! Also we need to be able to blend in, so look around and see what's normal with young people! Also I'm pretty sure some of the stuff we know is now obsolete or disproven, so make sure to tell us!". And Eddie loves Wayne and Scott, he really does, but he had trouble blending in even when he was alive, so now? Impossible. As for gathering information, Eddie has been trying for decades to explain to Wayne that even if becoming a vampire healed the wounds from the lynching mob, it didn't do shit for his ADHD, so there. Wayne finds Eddie banging his head into a desk one day and chanting "WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-TIK-TOK?!"

So yes, Eddie hates being a forever highschooler, but it also means he can run DnD clubs everywhere he joins and he's not even lynched for it like in the 80s, so hey, progress! He gets mostly content with his existence, except that he's fucking sparkly and can't turn into a bat, so what's the point?!

But then a huge group of people moves from the close town of Hawkins, they had a really fucked up earthquake - Wayne told him all about it, he often volunteered in rescue and high risk works, and he's never seen anything like it - and their little town becomes way more crowded. There are high school freshmen just begging to be introduced to his club, Hellfire, although one of them is scary observant and Eddie is really sure that Jane knows he's a vampire.

And then there's Steve Harrington. A young man with the prettiest hair ever who joined Eddie's class, apparently he needs to repeat the last year too because if your school burns down, you can't take final exams. He's stupidly pretty, snarky, bitchy, and even though he could be partying day and night and spending the rest of his time on dates, he prefers to hang around with the freshmen. Lucas tells him one day that Steve got badly hurt when he was digging through the collapsed middle school, finding and rescuing their whole group, and well...Eddie respects that. Dustin absolutely loves Steve and maybe Eddie feels a bit jealous, but he has to admit - the guy is cool.

The problem with Steve Harrington is this - he's seen so much shit that nothing really fazes him. Eddie loves shocking people. Steve is unshockable. It becomes their little game, they get close, Eddie realizes he has an embarrassing crush, all that jazz. He tries dropping hints, he slurps his bloody lunch from a bottle that has a "THIS IS DEFINITELY TOMATO JUICE AND NOTHING ELSE". He wears a cape. He adopts a horrible Dracula accent. Nothing works. Steve always just laughs and tells him that he's weird and that's why he likes him.

Finally, Eddie has enough. They walk in the woods to get high, Eddie decides to break the ice, he scoops up Steve, does his whole dashing-through-the-woods thing, and he hopes that he can finally share his secret with Steve.

Except Steve just pats his back and says "Wow, that was cool, man! You'd be amazing at track. Great core strength too," and Eddie's head implodes.

"Okay, Steve. Don't you think there's something rotten here?" he tries.

"I mean, it's the woods. Of course there's something rotting all the time."

Eddie tries again. "You've noticed something strange, haven't you. I'm inhumanly fast and strong."

"I sure didn't expect that! You must be secretly training. I didn't know this town had a gym."

Again. "My skin is pale white and ice cold."

Steve is watching a nearby squirrel instead of looking horrified. "Yeah, not all people tan great, Robin is like that too. And I told you, man. Your circulation is shit, you need better socks and some gloves too."

"My eyes change color."

"Yeah, I know, I do envy you that you can wear those cool contact lenses. My eyes are too dry for that."

Eddie is growing desperate, he's gesturing at the trees because Steve doesn't listen. "I speak like I'm from a different time."

"80s slashers will do that to you. You basically live on those. But I gotta admit that they're pretty fun. Oh look, she's got an acorn! Clever girl!"

"Very clever. Also I never eat or drink anything."

"Hey, I'm not judging. Some people prefer one or two meals in a day instead of the whole five meal thing."

Eddie feels like howling and he isn't even a werewolf. "I. DON'T. GO. INTO. THE. SUNLIGHT."

Steve's eyes finally leave the squirrel. "Duh. We've already established you can't tan."

And Eddie's had enough. He tears off his t-shirt, marches directly into the sunlight and throws the biggest tantrum of his life. "STEVEN HARRINGTON. PAY ATTENTION. I am 20. I have been 20 for a while now. You know what I am, right? I am a vampire. So ask me the question, what do we eat? That wasn't a fucking tomato juice Steven!!!"

Steve just watches him with quiet amusement, as if he's waiting for something.

Eddie doesn't notice. His monologue is reaching its most dramatic part. "I've killed people before! I'm the world's most dangerous predator!"

Steve snorts. "I saw you trip over your own feet in the cafeteria."

"Not the point!"

"You told a waitress "you too" when she told you to enjoy your meal."

Eddie actually howls now. "THE POINT IS." He spins in the sunlight and sees the reflections of light off his skin. "I wouldn't have minded becoming a vampire, but let me tell you. Being stuck in high school forever? Sucks. Craving chips and throwing them up whenever you try them? SUCKS. And thinking you've become the legendary creature of the night when you're a glorified glitter mascot?! And you can't even fly?! DOUBLE SUCKS."

He points at his bare glittering chest. "THIS THE SKIN OF A FUCKING DISCO BALL, STEVE!"

Steve just laughs and gets up from the tree stump he was sitting on. "Thanks for sharing. I was kinda hoping you'd finally ask me out since this is the first time we've had some privacy, but this was interesting too."

Eddie's sharing mania suddenly stops. He realizes he's shirtless in the middle of the forest, and his yelling has scared off the squirrel. He promptly grabs his shirt and puts in on. "Um. You...you wanted me to ask you out? Because I totally want to do that. Yep. But I thought it would have been unfair to ask you before I told you-"

"That you're a vampire? Dude, I know."

Eddie blinks once. Then again. "Excusemewhat?"

Steve smiles at him and touches his hand. "Look. After what happened in Hawkins, I know the smell of blood. I knew it wasn't tomato juice. Also I've accompanied the kids to enough monster flicks to know."

"Oh." Eddie licks his lips and doesn't really know what to say. "Um. What...does that mean for us?"

Laughing, Steve grabs his other hand too. "Definitely two things. One - you can and should kiss me. Two - you can stop wearing that cape. I got your point."

"Oh okay. Cool. Will do. Both."

And since Eddie Munson is a vampire of his word, he does.

(Wayne is absolutely delighted that Eddie is dating, he watches sports with Steve and discusses the pros and cons of Steve becoming a paramedic. Scott helps Steve with some of the subjects he's struggling with. In return, Steve works with Robin to find a makeup brand that is fully sparkleproof, giving the vampires a chance to walk in the sunlight again. And sometimes, he helps them answer the questions that have been plaguing the Munson-Clarke-Henderson household for years...such as: what is TikTok?)

(oh and also. Turns out Steve really thought Eddie was wearing creepy contact lenses. That one aspect of vampyrism he found very cool)

[ienjoywritingfilth]

Night of the concert deserves a part 2! 🫶

hope u like it and i hope i get some reviews pls. i really love reading them all an i have almost 500 followers!!!!!!!!!!!!

pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!reader

trope Best Friend's Dad! Joel Miller

summary: after a really close call Joel does his best to stay away from his daughter's seductive friend. but all goes awry when she comes to sleep over one weekend.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), dubcon, oral, infidelity, unprotected p in v, absolutely filthy talk, chair sex, creampie, daddy mentioned, somnophilia, other shit i might have forgotten

word count: 6.1k

part ii of 'the night of the concert'

Joel hasn't been able to stop thinking of that night. The night of the concert. The night you threw yourself at him. 

When he frantically fucks his wife it's your cunt he sees behind his eyes. When he drives to work he gets hard as he remembers the way your tits bounced as you rode him. And above all he recalls that sultry voice you put on for him. 

When was the time you fucked college pussy, Joel? 

Not since college. 

You'd been so slick and warm, so perfect around him. Your cunt had the kind of grip that makes his balls tighten just at the memory. 

So when Sarah asks one morning a month or so later if you can spend the night this weekend Joel chokes on his coffee. 

"Her parents are arguing all the time now. Her mom threatened to file for divorce," Sarah says with a frown as Joel wipes at his now stained work shirt.

"I'm not home this weekend," Angie says tapping on her phone before glancing at her husband. "You'll have to check with your dad. But I don't see why not. Right Joel?"

Sarah looks at her dad with pleading eyes. You haven't been over since everything happened and Joel knows it's been hard for Sarah. She has no idea what you did. 

"Right," Joel finally nods, digging into his eggs. "Yea no problem kiddo." 

What else could he say? He's never told his wife or daughter what happened. How could he do that without blowing his life up? 

The entire week leading up to the weekend Joel thinks he'll fuck it out of his system. He goes down on Angie every night that week leading up to her flight. He fucks her in every position and he fucking loves it. So does she, claiming that college Joel is back after one particularly satisfying session. 

But it's not enough. He's taken to sitting in his truck parked in the garage late at night when everyone else is asleep. Only then does he pull up your Instagram and begin stroking his cock vigorously. He watches your reels and pinches to zoom in on photos you took of yourself at the beach. He comes harder to static images of you than inside his own wife and that's how he knows he cannot be anywhere near the house this weekend. 

That Saturday Joel drops Angie off at the airport so she can go on her yearly trip to her sisters back in Colorado. Of all the fucking weeks for her to be away. 

"You gonna have a movie marathon while I'm gone?" His wife grinned at him. "Or just be lazy by the pool?" 

"Thought I might go fishing with Tommy."

Angie's face went grim. "I don't know that I want the girls alone in the house, Joel." 

"Why not?"

"Her friend is going through a tough time," Angie said sympathetically. "Her parents are divorcing and then suddenly we're both gone? I just feel like you should be there for her."

Joel felt his entire body break out in a flush. Angie is so damn thoughtful. It's what he loves the most about her. 

"Okay sweetheart. I'll stay home." 

----------

When you come to the house that sunny Saturday afternoon and knock on the door, Sarah is in the bathroom. Joel hears her calling him from where he sits in the garage reading magazines. 

"Dad? Can you get it?"

Joel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was keeping his promise to Angie, but he didn't want to be thrown into the fucking lions den. 

He feels the sweat accumulating down his back as he tugs the door open. 

You're wearing cut offs and a tight tank top that holds you perfectly. The entire outfit is molded to your body, showing Joel every curve. He can see the red strap of a swimsuit underneath. 

"Hi Joel." 

You smile at him like everything is normal. Like last month you didn't ride him and beg for him to fuck you. 

"Come in," Joel offers. 

"Thanks." 

You're carrying a yellow tote bag covered in lemons. Joel tries to fix his attention on that until Sarah comes to greet you. Southern manners insist he wait with you when everything in him tells him to hightail it the other direction. 

He wills his cock to stay flaccid, but just in case he goes to sit at the kitchen table, muttering that you can join him if you want. You do, slipping into the seat across from him. To your credit you look just as uncomfortable as Joel feels. 

"You want a lemonade?"

"No thanks."

He notices how you twirl a strand of your hair around your finger before anxiously picking at the pale blue polish on your nails. 

"I just wanted to say thank you for not saying anything to Sarah about. You know."

"Of course," Joel says with his neck bobbing as he swallows. "I know how close you two are." 

He doesn't add the other things. I can't stop thinking about it. I want you gagging on my thick cock. I want you bouncing on it again. I wanna fuck you full of my cum. 

"I'm really sorry, Joel."

You say it so sweetly and filled with so much regret that Joel feels like a perfect asshole. Here you are anguished about the entire thing and he's been getting his rocks off to it since it happened. 

Sarah's footsteps are heard on the stairs and you both look to her as she enters the kitchen. 

"Let's go swimming," she announces, grabbing you by the wrist. You giggle, following your friend out into the backyard where the glittering pool awaits. 

Joel tells himself that he just wants to tidy up the house, but it's just denial on his part. From the kitchen he can see into the backyard where the two of you jump into the pool, splashing and giggling. 

He focuses on you, watching the skimpy style of your suit cut into your ass, leaving most of it on display as you pull yourself out of the pool. Was it done intentionally? Were you hoping he'd see? 

Dirty old pervert. She thought she was coming over to see a friend. Not to entertain you. 

Still he watches as you oil yourself up, tugging down the collar of your swimsuit to get as much of your flesh as possible. You look so good from where he's standing, all sun kissed. He can still recall the silky smooth of your thighs. 

He forces himself to putter around the house, not letting himself linger at the windows. He tries to ignore the sound of you splashing. 

When his stomach begins to growl he heads for the fridge, barely able to hold in the groan when he sees you already there, your head ducked in as you search for something. You're completely soaked, your hair damp over your shoulders. The cold of the fridge and your damp suit have your nipples poking through your suit, absolutely begging for his mouth. You must notice Joel because you straighten, looking concerned. 

"Sorry," you say, your body dripping onto the ceramic tile. "Sarah said you had popsicles? She wanted one."

Joel hides the grimace at your words, his cock twitching curiously at the image of you soaking wet and licking a Popsicle. 

"We're all out," he lies. 

"I'll tell Sarah." 

Joel doesn't answer, but he watches your ass jump deliciously as you jog back outside through the sliding doors. 

He runs to the bathroom, the door barely closed as he tugs his cock out of his jeans. He spits into his palm and begins to jerks himself off. Images of your wet body in that skintight suit have him throbbing and releasing ropy strings of cum within seconds.  

He looks up into the mirror and sees the flush to his cheeks. The way his mouth is wet and rouged from biting his moans back. He’s fucking disgusting. But at least now he can get back to normal. Now he can order pizza and eat it with you both before retiring early. 

The pizza arrives just as you and Sarah come in, citing that it's getting cold. You're both wearing the towels around your bodies, but Joel can't help but notice that yours is slipping down, affording him a generous glance if you pointed nipples once more. 

"Gotta send out some quotes," he tells you both as he hands over the BBQ chicken pizza. "You two have a good night."

 He recuses himself to his home office beside the garage, thankful that he made it the entire day without one misstep. There have been too many close calls and too much tension and all of it on his end. He tries to ignore everything and focus on his work. 

"Done in the shower if you want it!" 

Your muffled voice calls out to Sarah, startling Joel from just staring at his computer. 

"Thanks!"

He hears his daughter enter into the washroom, the shower running. The gentle sound of footsteps on carpet stop outside his office door and Joel realizes he's barely breathing. He knows you’re standing on the other side.

Don't come in. 

He watches passively as the door to his office is cracked open and your head peeks in. 

"Hey, can we talk?" 

He's safe behind the desk, he figures. If he does get hard you won't be able to see it. He gives you a patient smile. 

"Of course. Come in."

He regrets it the second he says it because when you come around the door and close it behind you, he sees that you're just wrapped in a towel. You stand on the other side of his desk, all concern and nervous lip biting. 

"I just wanted you to know that when all that stuff happened last month I was in a really bad place," you explain. 

Joel hears you speaking but all he can focus on is that your toenails are peach. That your legs are kissed from the sun and bare. That your breasts swell under the towel. Then he realizes you've stopped talking. You're staring at him quizzically. Shit, did you ask him a question? His chair creaks as he leans back in it. 

"We don't have to keep going over this. I understand." 

You step closer to the desk, nodding. 

"I know. But it's important to me that you know."

Joel feels himself relax and he shuts the laptop. Maybe this evening won't be as stressful as he thought. You’re being mature about everything and he doesn’t want you to be in more pain. Your parents are splitting up, you need support.

"It's important for you to know that I didn't plan it or anything," you emphasize.  

"Okay."

"Not like this time." 

Joel is nodding in understanding when he suddenly freezes. 

"Wait what did you just say?" 

He sees the small curl to the corner of your mouth. You’re amused.

"Sarah mentioned Angie was gone for the weekend. So I told her I was having trouble with my parents and asked if I could stay here. It was the only way I could think of to see you again that wasn't suspicious."  

Joel’s eyes go wide. You make an exaggerated pout when he doesn’t answer.

"Joel I can't stop thinking about how it felt to ride your cock that night." 

Joel almost gasps with how hard he gets at your confession. The head beading with pre-cum, soaking his boxers. 

"I can't stop thinking about that night," you say before slowly slinking towards him when he still doesn't answer. "And I don't think you can either." 

It takes a moment for the words to completely register, but when they do Joel makes sure to lean forward, covering his throbbing erection. 

"You need to leave," he says with what he is praying sounds like authority. "We ain't doing this again." 

Please leave. Please fucking leave. I'm not strong enough. 

"I need something to cum on," you say.

"I don't care," Joel says quickly, his eyes on the floor. "Get out."

"Uh uh," you tease with a smile. "Lean back." 

"Leave."

"Show me."

Joel's cheeks are bright red, sending a thrill through you. With a dejected sigh he moves backward in his office chair, removing his arm from where it was resting over his lap. The thickness of his cock is straining against the zipper of his jeans and he spreads his legs wide, almost challenging. 

"I forgot how big you were Joel," you breathe, coming to stand in between his parted legs. Your hands land on his shoulders so you can lean forward, your mouth at his ear. 

"Remember how it looked fucking my pussy?" 

Joel says nothing but you see his neck bob when he swallows. He's angry and horny and frustration pours off of him in waves. 

"You've had your fun, now get out." 

 You grin to yourself before shaking your head. 

"You don't want me to leave."

Joel opens his mouth to tell you exactly that when your fingers come to the towel folded under your collarbone. Before he can say anything you've unravelled it, letting the towel drop to the floor at your feet. 

"Jesus," Joel croaks. He's never seen your fully naked body before, and now that he has he'll never forget it. All lush curves and perfect fucking tits that make his mouth go dry. Your sweet pussy glistens with arousal. 

"It's okay Joel," you whisper softly as you step towards him, drawing his big palms up with yours. He doesn't fight you on it, not even when you begin pressing them against your waist. "You can touch."

You're still damp from the shower and you smell like his wife's shampoo.

"Shouldn't," he says in a slur, even as his hands grip tightly around your naked waist, pulling you towards him.  

"You should," you coo as you lower yourself into his lap. "We both know how good it feels." 

Your knees are on either side of his thick thighs, holding yourself just above him until you take his cock out from his jeans. Joel says nothing, only watching passively. He can't control it, he can't deny you, and he was an idiot to think he could.  His cock is throbbing by the time you bring him out of his pants, the head sticky with pre-cum. 

"You want me to stop?" You ask playfully, your thumb tracing the slit as he shivers. "You want me to leave?" 

Your hand is going around the shaft and tugging when he tries to answer. Joel groans under his breath. 

"We shouldn't..." Joel says it but there's no power behind it, especially when your hand slides down the base, twisting when you reach the springy hair there dense and lush.

"We really shouldn't," you whisper, your mouth sensual as you bite your lower lip in a mockery of regret. "It would be so bad of us."  

You tease the tip of him between your pussy lips, gliding the head between the seam, tickling your clit. Joel feels his eyes roll back at the pleasurable sensation before he forces them open so he can watch. 

"You think about me when you're with her don't you?" You whisper with a Cheshshire grin. "You think about fucking this tight little cunt when you're with your wife, don't you Joel?"

Yes, he does. But he'll never admit that to you. Instead he's silent, just watching you line the head up with your dripping hole.  It looks so good, so perfect and wet. The warmth of you teases the head of his cock and he suddenly can’t take it anymore.

"Put it in," Joel instructs throatily. 

You nod excitedly, crouching and just about to lower yourself onto his length when the shower down the hall suddenly turns off. Your eyes go wide, the realization that Sarah is going to be exiting the shower any second. 

“I better go.”

But Joel is in a frenzy, the scent of you in the air and your wet cunt dripping onto his cock. 

“You wanted this cock," Joel murmurs before grabbing your thighs and spreading them widely over his lap. "Show me how much you want it."

You gasp at the intrusion of his thick cock, your hands flying to lace around his neck as he urges you to take him deeper. 

"She's she's gonna. . . Gonna be out," you groan, sinking into his lap.

He feels you hesitate before he starts rolling his hips and you welcome him deep. You don't want to fight it. 

"Just for a minute," Joel says, pulling you further down onto it. Your thighs spread and he watches your pussy swallow him. “Show me how bad you want this cock.”

"I do," you groan with your head lolling back. "But we're gonna get caught.”

Despite this your cunt twitches around him, your eyes beginning to shutter.

"Show me how you fuck a married man," Joel growls against your temple, starting to bounce you in his lap. "Remind me why I need this cunt."

Instinctively at his words you start to bounce on it. It's wrong, it's so fucking wrong but it gets you so wet. You're rolling your hips when you hear the door to the bathroom creak open. You nearly leap out of your skin. You shoot a wide eyed look of concern at Joel. He raises a forefinger to his plush lips, signalling for you to be quiet. 

You try to pull yourself off of Joel's lap but he shakes his head before burying himself deeper into you. He puts his hand over your mouth when you begin to whine. 

Your feet don't touch the ground. They just bounce in the air as he fucks up into your swollen cunt. You're drifting into a haze of pleasure when there's a knock at the door and Sarah's voice floats in. 

"Dad, have you seen---" 

You're bouncing on his lap, your tits jumping. Joel gropes them, his eyes on your body even as he speaks. 

"Your friend was in the backyard last time I checked," Joel says as he fucks up into you, watching the way your brows knit together. "Try there." 

"Okay."

Sarah leaves the hallway and Joel can only grin at your cock -drunk expression. You’re close, and it only takes a practised rub of his thumb on your clit to have you whining into his palm, your arousal dripping down his cock. He pulls you off of him, amused at the soft whine you utter. 

"Sarah's gonna figure out pretty quick that you're not out there," he tells you. "Head out." 

He says it with authority and for once you listen. You nod, pulling the towel back around your body and slipping out the door. Joel is still sitting here, his cock hard and soaked with you. 

----------

It's only a matter of time before he hears the two of you giggling as you watch a movie, chattering away. He knows Sarah pretty well, she'll be asleep soon. She's never been able to stay awake during any movie they start this late. 

Your laughter peals through the house and Joel feels his tummy tighten. When he sees his cock lengthening under his sweats he's disgusted. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? The shit he said and did. That wasn't him! He's never talked like that. And yet the memory already serves to get him throbbing. He should go to bed, should do anything but sit here turned on out of his mind. He hears padding of feet and knows that you and Sarah must be heading to bed.  

“Night Dad!”

“Night babygirl.”

He waits for the door to shut, counting fifteen minutes before exiting the office. He sees no lights on under his daughter's door. Good, you're both asleep. He creeps towards the kitchen, planning on grabbing a piece of pizza and a water before retiring for the night. He's wandering in the dark home on his way when a shape on the couch stops him. 

It's you, sleeping on the couch. You're wearing a skimpy pyjama shorts and white tank top. Your breasts are rising and falling with each inhale of breath. He comes closer, standing next to the sofa and watching you sleep. 

You’re beautiful like this. All vulnerable, your face smooth. He can't stop looking at your tits through your shirt, missing them already. He can't help it; they fit so perfectly in his hands. Without further thought he tugs the shirt down, letting your breasts spill out and the nipples are already tight buds when they touch the air  You stir briefly at the sensation but remain blissfully asleep.

Joel watches your face, waiting for you to do anything but you continue to sleep. Your lips are parted as you inhale softly. Joel feels hypnotized as he pulls his heavy cock from his sweatpants, already drooling with pre-cum. 

He presses the warm, spongy tip of his cock to your soft lips, feeling like every nerve in him is on fire the second they touch. Pre-cum clings to your pouty, parted lips when he pulls back and he feels his balls tighten at the sight.

Just a little inside, he reasons. You'll never know. Your mouth is so warm and tight and he'll stop before you wake up. 

With slow precision he slips the head between your parted lips, hissing at the wet scorch of your mouth. He feeds his cock slowly into the welcoming warmth, eyes fixed on your face. You’re still placid, huffing a bit in your sleep before settling again.

It’s so wrong to take you like this but Joel can’t stop himself. He saws in and out of your mouth and his movements are frustratingly slow. The tip of his cock is coated in your saliva, but he's desperate to go deeper. He can't stop himself. He thrusts in, feeding it over your wet tongue with a grunt. 

He's hardly surprised when you suddenly blink your eyes open. You're groggy from sleep when his find him standing next to the sofa. His thick, hard cock slowly flexing into your mouth.  You go to pull back in surprise but his hand cradles the back of your skull, keeping you in place. 

"You're okay," he murmurs down at you. "Shhhh."  

He tenses and waits for you to pull back from him. He is sure he'll hear your screaming echo through the house. And he'd deserve it: he's been fucking your mouth for the last two minutes. He's surprised when instead you move your face forward, sucking him deeper. Lightning bolts shoot down from the top of his head and he holds in a moan. 

Your hand comes to stroke the base of his fat cock as your mouth forms a tighter O shape. Joel tilts back, pelvis jutting forward into your mouth. You take him down to the base, your head bobbing along him. 

He watches you take him deeper into your mouth, drooling around him with your eyes gazing up at him. He can see your free hand snake down under the blankets, rubbing furiously and he grins.

"You wanted this didn't you?" 

You nod shallowly around his girth, letting him shove his cock deeper down your throat. He fucks your face slowly, taking his time to pull out, your bottom lip cradling the head before thrusting in over your waiting tongue. 

Joel slowly removes himself from your mouth. He isn't going to be satisfied with fucking just your throat. Wordlessly he tugs the blanket off of your lower half, not even stopping to look at you when he hooks his thick fingers around the waistband of your pyjama pants. You lift up, helping him to tug them off and toss them onto the floor. 

You don't speak; unlike last time you both know you have to be quick and quiet. Sarah could wake up at any minute. That’s part of what makes it hot for you, knowing that your best friend’s dad has his thick cock out, ready to fuck you on the family couch.

Joel tugs his sweatpants all the way off, throwing them to the end of the couch before crawling over you. His large body covers you and its mere seconds before he's pressing his cock against your slippery pussy lips. 

He pulls down your tank top more, wanting your tits to be fully exposed to him. The pink nipples harden under his ravenous gaze. You murmur in surprise when he tilts you back, lifting your breast to his mouth and sucking in one achy nipple. 

You gasp at the sensation, your cunt tightening around his cock. Joel groans against your chest, his big hand hand moving to do the same with the other. Soon enough your nipples are wet with his saliva. He watches your head fall back, already so turned on about the illicitness of what's going on. Joel grins wolfishly, grabbing his throbbing cock by the base and slapping it against your clit. 

"You want this married cock?" Joel grunts down at you quietly, watching as your eyes fight to stay open on his face. 

"Yes," you slur already drunk on him and the moment. "Fuck yes I want your married cock."

 You give a little whine, your body shifting under him desperate for friction. Joel watches the needy way you move for him, trying to urge the head of his cock between your spread thighs.

"Beg for it," Joel whispers gravelly. His voice is hard and hushed in the darkness. 

"Please," you whisper without any hesitation. "I need it in me." 

Joel feels heady with power when he hears your desperate supplication. Your hips are arching to meet his. 

"Again," he hisses, slapping his cock harsher against your mound. You whimper back, tits bouncing as you take in the jolt of pleasure. 

"I'll do anything you want," you promise, rolling your hips up against him. He releases his cock, letting your hips maneuver until he's nestled at your entrance. "I'll give you anything, anything. Just fuck me with your big cock, please." 

Joel should make you keep begging for all you've put him through, but you're soaking him and he hasn't even entered you yet. If he wasn't rushed he'd take you apart piece by piece until your were a slobbering mess. But he needs to rush. 

He holds himself on his forearms, caging you underneath him and grunting as he starts to feed his cock into you. Your arms go around his shoulders before you bury your face in his neck. 

Fuck you're tight. Your pussy a velvet clench that welcomes him, moulding around him. He grunts into your hair as he buries himself deeper, holding in groans when he hears your desperate whimpers for him to go deeper. 

When your ass hits his pelvis you swallow and whimper lustily in his ear. 

"M'so full, Mr. Miller." 

Joel has to clench just teeth from moaning. You know exactly what you're doing using that name and you both know it. You make an achy groaning sound, like he’s so fuck you can barely stand it.

He thrusts into you, watching with satisfaction as your tits jiggle deliciously for him. He doesn't see the smile spreading across your features. And now for the first time in the evening you speak in that low, seductive purr.

"Fucking a college girl with your married cock," you say nibbling his ear, feeling him falter. "And you're so hard aren't you? You like doing bad things, huh?" 

Joel grits his teeth, trying to ignore you and just cum. You're just a vessel for his seed right now. Your body bows underneath him, pliant and willing. 

"Is that it, Joel? You pretend to be a good man but at the end of the day look at you," you say, letting him bounce you harshly along his cock. "Fucking a girl half your age on your couch when your wife is out of town." 

"Shut the fuck up." 

Joel gives a growl and you gasp as he maneuvers your legs up, pressing them between your bodies. He's folding you in half and before you can say anything he's entering you brutally once more.  

The slaps of his balls against your ass are no longer muffled, but neither of you notice. You're both so far gone, practically animalistic at this point. Joel is sweating, his hair falling into his eyes as he draws out and slams back into you. He enjoys the sight of your tits rippling when he does. 

"Just admit it," your murmur between slaps as you bounce under him. "Admit you wanted to do this a month ago."

"I did," Joel grunts into your neck even though it shames him to admit it. "I did okay?" 

"Yeah, you did," you say with a soft giggle that’s girlish and cruel. "You wanted this pussy." 

His hips slap against your ass more quickly, several harsh thrusts before he stops, panting. You're smiling up at him, looking more devious than normal. He grips your wrists, holding them above your head, stretching you out before he pulls out and slams back into you. 

"You gonna shoot your cum deep, Joel?" You ask with your tits bouncing in his face as he fucks you into the sofa. "Gonna watch me push it out?"

He groans gently as he slaps his hips against yours, his cock sawing in and out of you. He watches your body twitch, your hips rolling the best they can in your position. And then suddenly he feels his release imminent.

He pulls out of you, going to kneel on either side of your waist. You pout in disappointment. He grunts, jerking himself off aggressively, his teeth clenched and his wrist moving jerkily. You cup your breasts, silently presenting him his target. His cum soon splashes over your tits in milky ropes as he breathes raggedly. 

And he should be finished. He's fucked you, he's cum. You're both panting and flushed but Joel is mortified to find he's not close to being finished.

"I'm still fucking hard," Joel groans.

He's still so turned on, shocked at how good you feel even after he's cum. It's been decades since he could fuck like this. He still sits up on his knees, but now he taps your thigh.

"Ass up. Now." 

You do as he asks, presenting yourself to him without question. He grips handfuls of your ass, letting them fall together and clap for him before marvelling at your messy pussy as you arch your back for him. You're so fucking puffy and slick. Once again he slides in, pressing you into the couch underneath him. 

You both gasp at how good it feels, your hand going to clench his stationed on your hip. Joel's mouth is at your ear. 

"Just tonight and never again." 

He needs to make it clear that after tonight this is done. No more games, no more seductions. This one night is all you get. He gradually picks up speed, watching your ass jump as he pulls out and thrusts as deep as possible. You look so good from this angle, all submissive.  

"Need more," you groan over your shoulder. 

"You're gettin' more sweetheart," Joel pants against your ear before straightening, his hands coming to spread your cheeks so he can watch himself pulling out. You coat the length of his cock in cum, leaving it shiny when he pulls out to admire how it looks. You feel even better when he then feeds it back into your twitching pussy. 

"Yes, yes," you moan quietly, your hands gripping the arm of the couch in front of you. You bury your face in the pillow, not wanting your moans to be heard. You know you're drooling, your body his to use and to fuck.  

"Gonna fuck your ass next," Joel promises as he thrusts, not knowing where this beast inside him came from. He gives your ass a slap. "You want that? Want me to fuck this sweet little ass?" 

You want to nod but all your energy has left you; you just lay there and take him, feeling his fat cock filling you to the brim over and over. He forces your wrists behind your back, pinning them there at the base of your spine as he drives himself deeper. You're at his mercy and the realization makes everything in him tighten. He can do whatever he wants with you tonight.

"Joel you're so deep," you moan into the couch cushion, your body jolting with every jerk of his hips.

The blanket is forgotten on the ground, your naked bodies writhing on the couch in the very spot where you first rode him. Only now instead of being a reluctant participant Joel is in full control, his large body covering yours, flattening you against the cushions as he fucks into you from behind. 

"I fucking deserve this," Joel mutters out between thrusts, tilting back his head. "Deserve to fuck this pretty pussy all night don't I?"

"Yes," you slur. 

Your head tilts to the side, your cheek crushed against the cushion. Drool seeps out the corner of your mouth, your eyes rolled back into your head as the pleasure overtakes your body. 

Joel feels animalistic, he feels powerful looking down at your body at his mercy. For a moment he feels affection for how much you clearly want this and want him. The look on your face is pure bliss. 

"Gonna bounce for me after this," Joel tells you in an urgent whisper. "Gonna fuck you in my bed and you're gonna bounce on my cock."

"Yes." 

"Gonna fuck you until you can't move," Joel promises, feeling lightheaded at the possibility of fucking you in that most sacred space. 

Your eyes crack open and you glance up over your shoulder to see him red-faced, shiny with sweat, his teeth bared. His eyes are bright and almost feral, like a wild animal. He's beautiful in his ferocity. 

"Finish inside me, Joel."

Joel knows that he should stop right now. He should grab a condom. He should check that you're on the pill. He should do so many things but all Joel can think of is filling you full of his seed. Of watching it drip out of your used pussy. 

"I need to feel you cum inside," you groan gently, looking at him over your shoulder. "Please fuck your cum deep in me, daddy." 

Joel holds in an eye roll.

This daddy shit again. 

He thinks about ignoring it or denying you a chance to hear him say it. But you've been so good for him, so eager and so fucking tight. He's never going to forget the velvet clutch of you, how you're perfectly moulded for him, how responsive you are. He lowers his mouth to your ear, releasing your hands. 

"Daddy's gonna fuck his cum so deep," Joel relents. "Gonna fuck you with his married cock. Gonna fuck his cum so deep you’ll be dripping for days." 

"Fuck, yes," you moan into the pillows, your ass jiggling with every thrust. "Fuck it deep, Daddy!"

He watches the frenzy you work yourself into, gripping the side of the sofa and fucking yourself on Joel's cock by moving yourself back and forth. It's only seconds before you cum hard, drowning Joel's cock in arousal once more as your eyes pinch tightly. 

"Daddy . . .  Daddy . . .  Daddy . . . "

It's a murmured chorus, a desperate plea as you ride your high, collapsing forward, only to have Joel continue pounding into you.  Joel is so close, he feels his balls tightening as he fucks into you with brutality, the sharp slaps filling the room. 

"Gonna take my cum like a good little whore," He groans, his cock almost a blur as he slides in and out of you. He pulls himself completely out before burying himself once more.  

"Fuck yea I am," you moan softly, wishing you could see his face as he pounds into you. "I'm your good little cum-whore, Daddy."

Something about that phrase in your broken, whimpering voice has him there at the edge. His hands go to yours curled over the couch arm once more. He covers them with his own, using the momentum to pound into you as deep as physically possible. You head jerks with the power of his body driving into yours, your body completely at his mercy, your ass rippling with each thrust of him.

"Take Daddy's cum now," Joel groans, pushing in as deep as he can go. "Take it and---"

Anything else Joel was about to say vanishes as the room lights up and the familiar visage of his wife Angie appears her hand on the light switch.

She looks confusedly around before her eyes rest on the scene before her. She looks to see her husband curled over you, his cock wet and free of a condom. She sees the way your eyes are rolled body and how your body is positioned, succumbing to his violent thrusts before caught, Joel attempts to stop. 

But he's too far gone, the buildup already mounting and before Joel can move you off of him or do something to salvage this, he comes violently.  

And then so do you. 

[aluciahaz]

One bed trope with Adam except we wake up in the middle of night feeling him unconsciously grinding his hard-on against us and we take it into our hands (literally) to help him🫣

( he wakes up before we actually do anything so it’s all consensual ofc.. )

🦅🦅LETS FUCKIBG GOO🦅🦅 i love (babying) this dumb bitch!!! this is kinda more ooc adam but i hope you still like it !

truth prevails

—adam x gn!reader

—tags : handjob, bottom adam, dom!reader, absolute overuse of the nickname baby and baby boy 😭

what a fucking wake up call.

you really should’ve just made adam sleep on the couch.

honestly, you aren’t even that surprised that he was grinding against you while asleep, murmuring your name in a soft voice. it was quite nice actually, compared to his usually brash one.

especially his whimpers.

“lemme cum...please-fuck….” his head would nuzzle further into your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his hips kept bucking up. so he was in that type of mood, huh?

well… then maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in his fantasies for a just little bit. after all, it was hard to get him to bottom without him throwing a tantrum. which, of course would just lead him to get wrecked, just the way he liked it.

“adam.”

“mm…mhm?” his eyes slowly open, his arms still around your waist as you turn around to look at him. his confused expression is almost cute in a way, although a bit disheveled with his hair falling in front of his face.

“what were you dreaming about, baby?” you ask, a smirk forming on your lips as you stroke his hair, running your fingers through his coarse strands. your other hand snakes around to his hip, teasing his waistband just slightly.

adam, now shocked, looks at you with an almost abashed expression before clearing his throat, going back to his egotistical persona.

“uh, psh, fucking you, duh,”

well, at least he was honest. somewhat.

“and begging for me to let you cum?” you ask bluntly, raising your eyebrow at him as you chuckle. his mien was what you could on describe as flabbergasted. it was clear he had no idea what he was doing to you just a few minutes ago.

clueless, cute, baby.

you coo at him, the hand on his hair moving down underneath his chin as you cup it gently. still sleepy, instead of pulling away with a scoff like usual, he leans into it, letting his instincts take over.

“how would you know?” he says with a grin, clearly doubtful, yet the anxious twitch of his smile shows that he was less relaxed than he portrayed himself to be.

“you talk in your sleep.”

“…” he stares at you for a few seconds before laughing nervously.

“nooooo…?”

the deadpan expression on your face says it all. so much so it makes him feel way too awkward, forcing him to retract his statement.

“…sorry.”

“i don’t know why you try even and lie when you’re so bad at it.”

he frowns at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“whatever! are you gonna do something about my hard-on or keep making digs at me?”

“i could always do both.”

the smirk on your face widens as your hand slips past his waistband, your hands tracing his v-line ever so delicately, your touch light as an angel’s feather.

“you just have to say please.”

“fuck you.”

“not today, honey,”

adam just rolls his eyes, grumbling as he ponders on what to do. that’s not good, he isn’t made to think.

quickly, your hand under his chin places a finger on his bottom lip, just barely tipping over to make its way inside of his mouth to distract him.

“come on, baby. don’t you want to be a good boy for me?” you kiss his neck, gentle and sweet like a divine’s touch. “just think about how nice it would be to let everything go, let me take care of you. my perfect, little angel.”

he stifles a moan, but with how close the two of you were, you could hear it clear as day. usually, it would take way longer to get him in such a state, but apparently the tedious process was 2 times faster when he was sleepy.

clearly this means you should do this more often.

"...please-ah!"

he can't even finish his sentence before your hand wraps around his cock, stroking it in nice, slow movements as you whisper in his ear. "good boy!" you praise, your fingers leaving his lips and slipping underneath his light shirt. with the tips of your fingers, you pull and twist at his sensitive buds, reveling in his sweet whimpers and cries as his chest jerks up into your hand.

"tell me what you really dreamt of, baby. were you all pliant underneath my hand? maybe even getting fucked by me? tell me truth."

all he can do is whine as his legs quiver, digging his head further into the crook of your neck as he pants. his wings start to flap a little against the bed, and only from a few touches.

"okay okay! i—yeah," he tried gulped away his embarrassment, but the heat on his face was a clear indicator of his nervousness. "you—you fucked me and told me all these-these stupid little compliments-yes, oh—!"

you laugh as you he bucks his hips into your grip, trying to chase more pleasure before pulling away, deaf to the groan of annoyance coming from the man.

"don't get greedy, baby boy." you chide, shaking your head in disapproval. "take what you get, nothing more, and maybe you'll get a reward!" you say, kissing his cheek sweetly in contrast to your cruel command.

"oh—oh, okay! oka—ayy!" he mewls shakily, clawing at your waist as he tries to stop his hips from moving. surprisingly, he does quite well, letting you take control of the pace with only a few jerks up into your fist. but, you decide to let it go, after all, adam was being sweeter than usual.

"alright, alright, you can move now, baby. you did so good for me."

"yes! finally—ngh! fuck—thank you...!" he cries, moving his hips quickly into your grasp as he finds himself getting lost in his own pleasure.

you didn't even need to remind him to be grateful, how polite! he's learning!

he wails your name like a weeping sinner, hoping that you'd grace him with your love and mercy.

which, of course you would. for once, he's earned it without much push at all! perhaps this would set as an example on what he should do next time instead of being a brat all the time.

"cum for me, my love. you deserve it," you croon, moving your fist faster and faster with his pace. the hand on his chest presses harder onto his nipple, twisting the way you know he loves—as much as he denies he's a masochist, you know by the way he keens that he's just being proud—and let him keep babbling about anything that comes to his muddled little mind. yeah, you'll bless him just this once.

"i love you, love—love you, i love—ah—ah!"

adam sobs shamelessly as he reaches his climax, his hips stuttering as he slowly returns from his high. his whole body goes limp as he shuts his eyes, his hands falling from your waist as he steadies his breathing.

you wipe the tears away from his eyes, peppering his face with kisses.

“see? this is what you get for being good.”

“mm..mmmhm,” adam hums mindlessly before falling into silence. strange, he was usually big on pillow talk—

you hear a soft snore coming from beneath you, slow breaths loud amongst the quietude of your shared bedroom.

…seems like your baby boy fell asleep.

a/n - please someone request like a mommy/daddy kink for any of the goobers i write for i am INSPIRED rn im opening my reqs rn 😭

tags : @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

[a-hazbin-reader]

how about going on a fancy ball with Alastor? Something like Charlie trying to make the hotel more popular or Lucifer is hosting a ball or something?

Omg the ballroom trope

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being rude??

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor absolutely loves any opportunity to show off and going to a ball is no different

He's going to look the best, dance the best, maybe even steal the stage and sing the best

Then to top it all off, he's going to have the best date there as well

It doesn't matter who's hosting it or who's going to be there, he just knows that with you on his arm there are going to be eyes all over you two

Spends the entire day picking out his outfit then pretending it was just something he threw on last minute

Will then pretend like he's fretting over it in order to get your attention, giving you a loving look when you fix his hair or shirt

As his date, no matter how much work you do or don't put into your look, he'll pretend you're effortlessly just as breathtaking

Makes a big show of entering the building with you, one arm around your waist and the other making dramatic gestures

He's very romantic with it, introducing you proudly to everyone as the two of you mingle

You lose him for a bit when he runs into a few people he recognizes and gets wrapped up in conversation with them

Which is fine, there's plenty of things to do at a ball besides hang out with your date

Like eating good food

Or drinking everything that is offered to you

Or sulking because Alastor is ignoring you

You're downing your third glass of champagne when suddenly Zestial is extending his hand out to you

Well who could say no to dancing with Zestial??

It's very proper and formal, a little difficult to keep up with but Zestial makes you look so elegant

Somehow, you end up dancing with Carmilla next, who puts your physical prowess to the test and leaves your legs shaking

You end up with a much more familiar face next time in Rosie, the lovely woman giving you a break with a gentle dance

And all your dance partners are overlords?? Not even Charlie or Vaggie can seem to get a dance in with you

You're so busy trying to keep up with the next overlord that you don't even notice the game of keep away they seem to be playing with Alastor

"Alastor! Show a girl a good time won't you?"

"Now Rosie, as much as I would love to-"

"The song is starting! Let's dance!"

He looks away for one second and the next thing he knows you're being passed around like an appetizer

He's struggling to get to you without making a scene, practically tossing aside dance partners when it's time to switch

"Alastor!!!"

"I sincerely apologize, Vaggie my dear, but I must get back to my date~!"

But somehow someone beats him to you, his ears folding back and eye twitching at the sight of you dancing with Vox

You look nearly bored and unimpressed, hardly enjoying yourself at all as Vox talks your ear off

Well that's just not right

Seems like Alastor just needs to get you a better dance partner

All his manners and grace are suddenly gone, literally bumping Vox off the dance floor and taking his place

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

You at least have the decency to look a little shocked by Alastor's actions, immediately closing the distance between the two of you to dance with him

"So sorry about that, darling! I was a bit busy but I hope you saved a few dances for me!"

What a sweet man you have

He literally hogs you for the rest of the ball, refusing to let you dance with anyone else or even letting go of you

Don't think about how attractive it is when he digs his claws into your hips whenever someone else tries to dance with you

You spend all night either hanging on his arm or with your arms wrapped around his neck

Not that you care, you like being the center of his attention and being so close to him

Alastor definitely tries to play with you a little bit during some of the dances though, whatever he can do to fluster you

Has dipped and kissed you under a spotlight at least twice already

But you can always get him back, dancing is one of the few times his guard is down enough for you to fluster him back

Watch his ears stick up straight if you take the lead in the dance and his cheeks will flush ever so slightly

You hardly look away from each other all night, it's quite romantic and a little embarrassing for any bystanders

At one point, Alastor takes the stage and sings some horribly romantic song while dancing with you, making sure everyone sees who you're here with

Zestial and Carmilla are paying off Rosie in the background, having lost their bets to her

"I told you that Alastor would break after Vox!"

This one was so cute and fun to do!! I hope you like it!!

[ouiouimochi]

Soshiro Hoshina headcanons

pairing: soshiro hoshina x reader

genre: romance, fluff, miniscule baby sized angst

wc: 1k

warning/s: short, there's mention of seggs but only that-not much details, no beta we die die, wonky phone format yey

note: "bold italic" means it was spoken in a different language

✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑

he's deffo a polyglot— he's part of a renowned traditional clan. I'm sure he had lessons as a kid since he's a direct heir? he also reads a lot of literature so that's something

pre-dating, soshiro would definitely be telling you phrases in different languages

you may or may not understand some if not all of what he says

but one day, he made a mistake (or was it?) of saying his confession in a language you actually understood and can respond in

“I love you, you know?”

“I love you too” you'd respond

so when dating him, he'd call you all sorts of endearments in different languages

your favorite has to be the one he uses in your native language/the language you understood

that's bc it reminds you of how he confessed to you— wait maybe he's been confessing to you all this time but you just weren't aware

you loved it when he spoke in the language only you two knew (as far as everyone was concerned)

your flirting consists of calling each other by endearments in different languages

the poor defense force can only watch and listen

imagine what's it like to be in operations and hearing,

“Good luck, mi amor”

“Aking sinta, be careful”

although they barely understood, they knew the context from your tones

cue the groans of embarrassment from everyone aside from you two lmao

you two bond over reading

it'd be funny to have the two of you be the duo where one reads classical texts

the other reads ahem ahem fanfiction

we know who is who here

soshiro would be open to listening to your fanfiction rants

he thinks how fanfiction sometimes has better plot than some of what he read

he'd sometimes catch you smiling and kicking your feet up in the air and softly smiles at how adorable you were

he'd know what genre you were reading by your reactions too

he knows you're reading fluff when you're smiling and giggling to yourself

he knows you're reading angst when you bite your lips

he knows you're reading smut when your face is just blank

soshiro would definitely tease the heck out of you for reading smut while in his presence like,

“Dear, I'm right here?”

like why go for fiction when you can go for the real thing right?

he would definitely pout if you don't take notice of him while you're engrossed with reading

he definitely bites

like come on what are those fangs for if not for that-

imagine you two were just cuddling and he let the intrusive thoughts win of biting you

ever since then, he kept biting you randomly

his bites would hurt— sometimes would draw blood if he felt like it

it comes so randomly too like

he's having cuteness aggression? he'll bite you

he's hugging you from behind? he'll stuff his nose into the curve where your shoulder and neck meet then bite

he just want to bite you fr

even sometimes during bedroom activities ngl i dig that-

his breakup trope is definitely the “his first priority was his job, you were second” or “he had too little time to spend on and with you”

ik it's been covered by a lot of writers already but d a m n it hits like a truck

imagine he had to say at the start of the relationship that he can't promise to make you his priority

that you were not the first thing he'd come runing to

that he won't always be able to come home

that one day he won't even be able to come home

you were a fool to believe that you understood, that you accepted it

but to save you the pain, he breaks up with you, or you break up with him

he was fully aware of what a relationship with him implied

up to the imagination if you two ended up back together or just full on angst

when you get married or engaged, he'd give you a ring and would be absolutely obsessed with how the band looks on your finger

even though it's impractical for a soldier to have a ring on the field, he'd hang it on a chain around his neck

reminding him about the promise he must keep close to his heart

a promise to come home to you

he'd always touch and rub the ring on your finger

when he hugs you

when he cuddles you

when he claims you (aha)

one time he overheard you gushing about your ring to your friends and he couldn't help but smile

he'd note to himself to tease you about it at times

when there was someone hitting on you(if someone had the balls to lmao) he'd come up to take your hand in his

he'd bring it up to his lips to kiss the ring specifically so that the person trying to flirt with you focused their attention on the band

so that they'd take the hint to back the fuck off

you found his gesture to be endearing and he ends up habitually doing it every time you see each other

when you're on your period

he's very careful with you

very very soft and affectionate to you

absolutely spoils you

but there are times that he’s busy with his duties, so he stops by to check on you whenever he was free

he'd constantly be asking if you needed anything before he went to your quarters

suggestive 18+ CHILDREN LOOK AWAY

there would also be times when you two were cuddling

he would be horny— it just happens I don't make the rules

you know he's in the mood when he cuddles you from behind, digging his face into the juncture between your neck and shoulder

he’d leave behind light kisses at first, before proceeding with longer and wetter ones on your skin

“Soshiro?”

“Hmm?” he'd act innocent as if he didn't have his hardened crotch pressed up against your ass

“I'm on my period”

“So?” he grins into your skin before biting down

“Soshiro, no” you smack him

buuuutt if you were also in the mood

imagination 🌈✨

✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑❥๑✧๑

taglist: @justwinginglife , @lumiambrose , @minasfwoopyponytail , @ryescapades, @iamjellyfish , @17020 , @floweringdaisie

[chocosvt]

HER | part four.

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

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

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight. 

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

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

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

“Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

“… I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn't care less about the morality.

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

“Can you please tell me a story?”

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

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

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

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

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

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

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

“I’ve got one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

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

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

“Oh, more boring.”

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

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

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

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

“Should we try standing?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

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

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

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

“… I know. Cute.”

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

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

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

“Everything okay?”

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

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

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

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

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

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

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

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

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

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

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

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

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

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

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His phone vibrated.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Funny,” he chuckled.

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

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

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

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

“I saw it, man!”

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

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

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

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

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

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

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

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

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

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

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

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

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

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

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

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

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

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

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

But he wasn’t actually sick.

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

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

—JUNE 16TH.

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

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

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

…

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

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

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

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

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

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

—JUNE 18TH.

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

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

…

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

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

—JUNE 19TH.

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

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

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

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

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

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

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

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

…

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 20TH.

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 21ST.

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

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 26TH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

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

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

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

“Vernon, what the f—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

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

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

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

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

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

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

“Back from work?” She asked.

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

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

He nodded at her.

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

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

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

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

It just couldn’t happen yet.

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

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

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

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

Yet, he could hear something.

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

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

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

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

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

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

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

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

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

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

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

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

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

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

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

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

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

But he’d assumed too quickly.

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

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

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

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

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

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

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

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

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

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

Wonwoo nodded.

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

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

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

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

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

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

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

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

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

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

He shook his head at you.

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

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you asked.”

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

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

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

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

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

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

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

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

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

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

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The announcement finished with a ding.

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

10:48 pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The message blipped off.

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

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

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

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

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

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

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

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

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

His venlafaxine.

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

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

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

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

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

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

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

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

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

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

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

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

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

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

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

“No…”

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

—JULY 28th.

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

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

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

That was just over a month ago now.

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

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

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

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

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

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

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

“I live here, actually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

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

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

“That sucks, huh?”

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

“Is she usually here around this time?”

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

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

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

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

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

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

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

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

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

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

His mouse hovered over a clip.

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

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

It took a moment to start up.

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

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

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

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

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

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

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

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

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

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

“That’s disgusting.”

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

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

“Seokmin.”

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

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

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

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

He could understand that.

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

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

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

“Oh. What’s it from?”

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

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

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

“Like you want recognition.”

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

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

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

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

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

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

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

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

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

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

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

He felt glued to it.

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

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

—JULY 30th.

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

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

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

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

“I can help whoever’s next!”

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

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

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

“Oh, damn.”

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

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

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

“Card, thanks.”

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

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

“Iced coffee, right here.”

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

Princess.

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

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

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

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

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? Because—”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I—I get that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And… afterward?”

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

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

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

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “I just��I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

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

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

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

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

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

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

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

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

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

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

And Vernon made it easy.

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

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

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

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

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

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

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

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

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

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

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

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

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

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

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

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

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

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

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

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

“Wait—dude. Really?”

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

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

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

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

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

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

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

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

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

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

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

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

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

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

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

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words jammed on his tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

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

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

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

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

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

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

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

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

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

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

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhm…”

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

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

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

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

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

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

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

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

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

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

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

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

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

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

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

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

Vernon was right.

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

—END OF PART FOUR.

[magicdustsworld]

Redemption (2)

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your professor is supposed to teach you the lessons to redeem oneself. Then... why does this lesson seems nothing like any other?

Tropes: Professor/Student, explicit smut

Warnings: Profanity, age gap(Levi is in his early to mid 30s, Reader is in early 20s), blackmail, dubious consent, nonconsensual groping, fellatio, cum swallowing, minimum prep, light bondage, hair pulling, videography, humiliation, degradation, spanking, orgasm denial, protected/rough, mind break, undertones of sadism and angst, absolute filth, mean!Levi, semi public, college/modern AU, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 3.8k

Event: Part 2 submission for levievent day 10 - age differences.

A/N: please heed the warnings, some parts may be uncomfortable to read and Levi is portrayed in a very OOC manner.

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

|PREVIOUS|

"Very well," Levi takes a singular step towards you—only now, the intimate proximity starts to dawn. "Let's start with your first lesson on redemption."

You blink, too conscious about your attire and the enclosed room. Swallowing a lump, you ask "What lesson?"

"Do you have to be somewhere now or later tonight?"

Slightly do you tilt your head, raking through your schedule for tonight. Well, there's the frat house but that's easily skippable when your reputation and life is on the line. You shake your head, "No."

"Good," Said so, he pivots on his heel, locking the door and–

"Why did you lock it?"

A huff is incited akin to a laugh, a fact that sends a tremor down your spine. He turns to you, "As much of a harlot you are–" stepping up, he flicks the collar of your obscene uniform, trailing his fingertip to the button which barely concealed your modesty. He holds one of your breasts over your uniform, giving it a firm squeeze, "–I'd assume, you don't want an audience, or do you?"

All of a sudden, everything clicks.

"Excuse me?" You sneer, eyes flashing with a blaze as you grasp his wrist and immediately tear it off yourself. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? That's highly inappropriate."

Inappropriate, really?

In response, he can only pass you his impassive expression, "There's the brat again," he rolls his eyes, "Have the guts to speak about fucking appropriateness when you show up–" gray eyes rake over your figure so leacherously that you are forced to wrap your arms around yourself. "–like a walking advertisement for debauchery. Please," he scoffs, voice straining with disgust, "I have seen more modesty in a stripper."

The sting of the insult cut through you like a cold wind, chilling you to the core. On cue, you tighten your hold over yourself, trying to soothe the ache of the degradation with the brush of your thumb rubbing circles. Burns culminate over your cheeks, hot emotion welling up your eyes–threatening to fall any second. It's a constant struggle to put on the veneer of stablity.

Cold. It's too cold. Someone. Anyone. Just banish this chilling cloak that's heightening your senses.

Your pray is returned when Levi's calloused hand grips your jaw. It's warm. But it's too warm akin to boiling lava and it burns you, so you don't want this. You don't want any of this. Fingernails of yours dig into your arms with so much force that it breaks skin–drawing blood.

He forces you out of the reverie and when you gaze into his eyes, instead of indifference, you see darkness. So deep, so depraved that your inner instincts scream for you to run.

Leave. Run. Now.

His voice is a husky whisper when he speaks, "You show up like a slut, you will be treated like one." His hand descended down to your shoulder and just at the contact–

"No!" You choke out, fliching away from his touch as you stumble but regain balance. Breathing through your mouth, eyes are wide open as the dread of the inevitable grapples you. "St-Stay back, don't touch me."

He blinks, retracting his hand, "So that's how it's going to be," he mutters under his breath, sauntering past you and finally rope of suffocation around your neck loosens. No sooner does the breath of relief leaves you, his voice reaches your ears, "You can leave." He pauses, there's a click of something. "I'll meet you on Monday in the head office with the dean and your parents."

"What? No... y-you can't do t-that," Turning towards him, you are still holding yourself. Standing near his desk, Levi's gaze is stuck on both of your pictures, no try at shifting his attention at the real you. "You said, you'll give me a chance."

"And you're throwing that chance away. I am only left with the other option."

"That's no chance, that's exploitation! You're trying to take advantage of me."

His eyes flickers over to you now, "Am I?" The pause only makes the beating of your heart to accelerate. "And what if I am?"

"You can't do that."

Levi heaves a sigh, picking up the picture in which you're smoking the Marijuana, "You still don't get it, do you?" He asks, prompting a raise of your brows while his eyes are stuck on your photographed mien. The bliss of pure ecstasy clouding your eyes, a stark contrast to the fear sated gaze before him. "The days for you to pull the strings is over. Now–"

The waft of an unnatural wind wisps the picture from his hand—falling on the floor. His movements are poised– elegant even, feet squashing your photo, he strides to you, "I won't force you."

He extends his hand again and when it contacts with your skin—it's the same goosebumps as before. "We can forget any of this ever happened and meet after the weekend or..." The pads of his finger brushes over your collar bone to the back of your neck as he coils a strand of your hair in his fingers, "You can agree to let me teach you a lesson on redemption."

Said so, like an upcoming storm deflecting it's path, he backs away. No longer the touch pricks your skin, no longer you're suffocated with the palpable tension.

Tucking his hand inside his pockets, he finishes, "The choice is yours."

There is no choice here.

It's a straight up threat to either give into his perverse wishes or he'll make sure, your life is ruined beyond repair.

Stuck in between a rock and a hard place, there's only a handful of options laid before you.

You don't want this.

Curse to all the entities responsible for putting you in such a situation.

A depraved man and a desperate girl—there's only so much that can happen.

"I agree."

.

"This is the final warning, brat." Levi looks down on you, the vigour of a lofty frown stretched on his lips. "Do this properly and don't you dare use your teeth."

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'll ever end up doing this. Forced to your hands and knees, before your professor with his legs spread wide, he pumps his manhood before your eyes. And God– isn't he huge? How can you ever take that? A thin trail of hair marks the the base of his shaft.  Momentarily, you are stupefied with the display of self-satisfaction, Levi bestows on himself; his manhood standing erect as a tempting exhibit.

"Get to it," On his command, you extend your hand, holding his cock by the base. Moving your palm over the glans skin, gathering the moisture in your mouth, you swirl your wet tongue over the tip—following the same method you do while you give anyone head.

Apparently, Levi isn't just anyone.

He clicks his tongue, threading his fingers through your head, he gives it a sharp tug; inciting a protesting groan from you. "None of that shit. Open your mouth, wide."

You don't have the time for that.

Levi is forcing his cock inside your mouth as you struggle to take him wholly. The sheer girth of it stretches your mouth to the maximum–jaw straining in an uncomfortable manner and the lack of lubrication on his member could only make it difficult to move your mouth against him. Giving yourself a minute, you hollow your cheeks, coating the skin with saliva as you start to move in a slow, steady pace.

A low hum of satisfaction escalates from him and you find yourself eager to please him. This is what you have to do. Please him. Satisfy him. Show him that you've the potential and finally be off the hook. You bob your head in a to and fro motion, gradually increasing the speed as he fills himself in your your wet cavern as much the muscles would allow. Guttural groans escapes him followed by a series of curses as his grip tightens over your hair, "Loosen your jaw, make sure I reach all the way."

Almost on instinct, you try to deepthroat him and your gag reflex comes to play. Tears spring up your eyes, trailing down your cheeks so does the drool as bile akin to acid rises up due to thr intense penetration. Quickly, you recoil back, giving yourself a minute to stabilize your breathing before starting your performance again. (Although mindful to not surpass your limits). Lapping his cock and sucking him all the way that the tip touches your uvula.

Salacious moan leaves his mouth, snapping his hips forward to meet your mouth while he guides you on his cock via your hair. "Mhmm, been upto this all the while cutting slack, huh? Agh– fuck, at least you learnt something useful, didn't you nasty little slut?"

The abjection pours down your ears making you suck in a breath. Yet, it still manages to send a shiver of pulse down your core. Shifting your focus onto giving him the stellar blowjob, you try to not think about about your arousal.

It will be over soon.

His cock twitches inside your throat. Fuck! He's close.

Levi's frame goes rigid–halting your movements as well, he holds you in place, nostrils near his pelvis. No sooner than you can comprehend, thick ropes of cum is shot down your throat.

"Swallow it all," He concedes and when you looked up, his pupils are dilated with wanton desire. "Don’t you dare let any of that filth drop on me."

Like clockwork, you follow. The musky, mettalic taste of his cum gathers on your tongue, you know better than to let it rest. Therefore, you swallow it down–each and every drop he has to offer.

Finally, you are let go off his cock with a pop sound, leaning back, you flutter your eyelids shut. The stench of his ecstasy still lingers in the air and the sudden removal of  his cock from your mouth leaves you empty. You grasp your jaw, pressing the area to soothe the ache.

Levi's grip loosens from your strands as ragged breaths escapes him while he slumps down on his chair. His chest rises and falls in a rhythm, he looks down on you with half lidded eyes. And shit! He looks hot for the wrong reasons. From the expression that haunts his handsome face, its apparent you did a good job.

Shouldn't you be praised a little?

You have little time to complain before Levi is standing up from the chair, grabbing hold of your bicep, he pulls you up to your feet. "Hey– ah!"

Not a second later, you're being slammed onto the mahogany desk. Tits spilling out of your uniform, squashed on the sleek surface due to his manhandling. He yanks both of your wrists back, holding them via his left hand.

Click!

You try to turn around at the unusual sound—attempt proving to be futile with the way your body is twisted. However, your curiosity is brought to a rest when something foreign starts to slid around your wrist. Its his belt? Narrow and smooth leather yet the rough edges starts to dig into your skin. Levi wraps the object around your wrist multiple times–his pace, rushed yet precise–before securing it with the click of his buckle.

"Ugh– fuck! Why would you do that? " Objection quickly flows out as you tug on the restraints—tight.

He doesn't bother looking at you, eyes trained on the curve of your ass and the way your legs are positioned. Just perfect. Calloused palm grips your hips, brushing over the mesh of your skirt, "A birdie told me you were planning to run away." He says with mock amusement although the neutrality stays plastered on his mien. "Can't have my precious student running off in the middle of a lesson now, can I?"

"I wouldn't—"

"Quiet."

He hauls your excuse of a skirt upto your ass, the hint of a smirk slipping off when he notices the very obvious wet splotch on your panties. Filthy little slut. He yanks it down with a force that might have ripped it. Delving two of his fingers over your folds, he checks for the wetness; trailing it to draw circular motions over your swollen nub.

"Ahh– yes," your hips buckle, eager to feel more friction, a faint moan escaping from you. However, he retracts his hand and you let out a whine. In a way to just feel thr stimulus, you try to clamp your legs only to be greeted by a harsh slap on your pussy. "Aghh–"

"Keep them wide open like a good little whore."

He's enjoying it, you know. Toying with you, reducing you to a mere plaything at his disposable. You've never hated your professor as much as you do now for leaving you begging for more. You've never hated yourself as much as you do now for letting him do this yo you.

You can hear some shuffling before the ripping of a packet, soon Levi's latex sheathed cock head is pressing on your folds.

"Here's your first lesson," he grabs hold of a chunk of your hair, rotating your nape to face him. When you do, the least bit of self-esteem is discarded, his eyes are darkened with lust. Looking down on you like a predator to its quarry, "No crying, no moaning, no calling my name, nothing. I don't want to hear a sound." He jerks your head back, making you yelp aloud, "Is that fucking clear?"

It's painful to respond when he has such a vile grip on your hair, still you manage a nod.

Levi positions himself in your entrance, your saliva still lingers on his cock and wetness has gathered on your cunt. You don't need anymore lubrication. He retains you in a single position, clutching your hips before he is plunging inside.

"Agghh! Wait– eeeek– stop, ahh—" The burn surges through your cunt, excruciating hell befalling on you as Levi, quite literally, forces himself inside. It's no wonder he was big and the lack of proper preparation causes tears to spring up your eyes.

Once, he is buried to the hilt, he pulls back till the tip before thrusting himself inside—filling you up again. You shriek, nails digging into the palm of your hands while he sets a relentless pace; rendering you breathless. "Wait, aghh– Levi I– Ah!"

A harsh slap is delivered on your asscheeks and Levi clicks his tongue, "Can't even follow one rule, can you? And calling me by my name, where the hell is your manners, brat?" Said so, he smacks your bottom again—harder than last time. Using your binded hands as a leverage, he pulls you up, breath fanning near your earlobe, he snarls, "What did I tell about making a noise?"

The tears roll down your cheek. All of it hurts. From the way he is bullying your cunt upto his comfort and the slaps he confers upon your asscheeks. It hurts but fuck! You suck in a lofty breath, mouth wide open as the drool runs down your cheek. Why does it feel so good?

"Oi," He grabs your hairs again, yanking your head back with all the force he can conjure. Or maybe its just the half of it. "When I ask you something, you answer. Got that?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

You breath in, "Yes sir."

That's more like it.

That's what Levi wanted to say but that could give you the benefit of doubt. So, why should he?

You bit into your lips, trying to stop all the lascivious moans threatening to be released. A task proving to be a hassle with the way Levi was wrecking you open. Six inches plunging deep inside, he was deadset on ruining you beyond repair. Cheeks dampened with tears, your chest heaved up and down from a moment of reprieve. The erotic encounter seems to grow more brutal as the seconds pass. As if he liked to see you curse and whimper in this pain. Liked the look on your face whenever the pace would get merciless. (Something which he keeps all the way through)

Too far down the lane, you don't even register the strings of profanities accompanied by the absolute filth Levi speaks down your ears.

Velvet walls clamps down on his cock and just now, Levi notices the articulation of pure bliss on your face. He hates it. Still with your luscious strands in his hold, he unlocks his drawer—bringing out his phone. Unlocking it, he swiped to the video mode.

"Smile for the camera, slut."

Only then you notice the flashing of the device on your face. Eyelashes dampened with tears, the same rolling down your cheeks, drool falling off your lip and tits on full display, if someone you didn't know saw you right now, they would actually take you to be a slut.

"Lesson number two," Levi's voice reverberates in your ears as he leans to your level, "Acknowledgement. Go on, speak about all of your crimes," He presses on, forcing your face to be seen on the camera. "Why are you being fucked stupid, huh?"

"Si-Sir this isn't–"

"Speak."

The humiliation of the act gnaws at the recesses of your soul (or what is left of it). The derisive tone and taunting play only pushes you further into an oblivion of decadence. More tears escapes your eyes as again the sheer powerlessness of yourself in this arragement starts to dawn inside of you.

"Go on. Accept what you did."

You force a smile on your lips, looking at the camera as Levi looms over you, "I- I've been cutting slack– nghh– and wasting time with sm-smoking weed and drinking past aghh– my limit–"

"And?"

"An-and, I- I tried to ahh– te-tempt my professor. So h-he is teaching me a- aghh– lesson i-in learning." You aren't even aware of half the things that leaves your mouth now, too drunk on lust and the slick running down your thighs—you are already broken beyond repair.

Levi turns off his phone, tossing it to the drawer. He leaves your hair, grasping you by the hips again. He increase his pace, sweat glistening over his forehead and hair as it drips down on your skin. The sound of skin slapping echoes through each and every corner of the room, the combined acrid stench of arousal and slick wafting around.

He slams his hips against yours, "You like being treated like this, huh? Like a horny little slut begging to be degraded and used?"

All the overwhelming feelings clouds your judgement, blurring the lines between right and wrong, fantasy and reality as if the power of thinking is stripped off of you. "Ahh— yes, I do."

"Shit! You are sucking me in like a bitch in heat," His taunting words makes no sense anymore. The erotegenic exchange between his body and yours renders you to the deepest corners of a dark tale. "Mhmph, bet you haven't been fed a real cock right? First time, agh– no wonder you're going haywire with a little pain, fuck! A-ain't that right, whore?"

Wasn't this always supposed to happen?

Weren't you always just this? Just a cocksheath meant for other's pleasure? The desk creaks due to the continued onslaught. It's like you can see yourself from an omnious eye, reduced to nothing but a crying mess under the aggressive mimistrations of your professor. The hollowness settles in you, even the pain from moments ago seems to fade just as the humanity is swept from your eyes. You can hear a girl's voice, much like your own—asking for more, to be filled up, to be left as nothing but a broken doll.

Humorous, she is. How pitiful to willingly ask for to be treated like a rag doll? Could never be you.

Levi snakes his arm under one of your knees, raising it up—reaching faster and deeper inside your warm cavern. Velvet walls clamp tight around him, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach, begging to explode any second and with the ruthlessness he is bestowing upon you. You don't think you'll last longer. With the other hand, he reaches over to your pussy running with juices with yours and his. He brushes over your clit, rubbing circular motions and like that you're pushed over the edge.

"Hold it." It's funny how compliance has become second nature. It's okay. It's fine. You'll have your moment soon. Just– just please him now and you will rewarded soon enough. The thought alone helps you to withstand the painful event of stranding your orgasm. What's more insane is the sheer delight that comes with the pain.

And then you smile. Giggle even. What is happening with you?

As for Levi, he doesn't even care with all the shit you're blabbering and the dumb, drooling, giggling mess you are reduced to. He thrusts into you a few more times, the knot untangling in his abdomen as he reaches the peak of his ecstasy—emptying himself in the condom.

He pulls away and all of a sudden, like a bucket of cold water is thrown over you, you regain your senses.

"Get out." He says, pulling off the filthy latex sheath and discarding it in the trashcan.

What?

You blink, craning your neck to him, "Wa-wait, I haven't—"

"Third and last lesson for tonight," Levi stares down at you, all the serenity of releasing his frustration on you vanished from his mien. The same darkened expression from previous haunts his eyes again, "Repentence. You gain something, you lose something."

Said so, he unbuckles his belt from your wrists, tucking his attire in a proper manner. Without sparing you a glance, he is saunters to the window.

"Get the fuck out of here."

.

Six months later

.

Hitch's eyes are wide open when she sees the rank list.

Chugging down her drink, she calls your number. As soon as the signal connects, she is speaking before you could have the chance to say hello.

"Girl, you gotta teach me your ways." Her voice is akin to a high pitched chirp, she continues, "How the hell did you manage to bag a position in the top ten?"

Silence for a minute stretches in, then you laugh.

"Maybe, I just went through a redemption arc."

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

This is a mashup of various tropes. Don’t like don’t read. May include

- deaged danny

- Damian x Dani (serious chaos)

- dead Jazz

- dead Sam

- dead Tucker

- not-shit parent Vlad (kinda)

- the Waynes have a strength kink

So when Danny is 18 and have safely moved out, has financial security and can go no contact with his parents he decides to tell him that he’s Phantom.

It doesn’t go well.

By the time Jazz Sam and Tucker find him he is deaged to around 6. The fentonworks lab explodes.

Dani, who is 16 and was on her way to visit, came just in time to sift through the rubble and find Danny, who has only had enough memory to recognize her as his sister. She also finds three dead bodies. Jack and Maddie survived.

Scared and mourning, she takes Danny and runs to Vlad, who realizes how terrible and obsessed Jack and Maddie were and gives Dani lots of money to hide somewhere where the Jack and Maddie wouldn’t dare to look- at least not for a little while.

Gotham.

So she takes Danny and changes their names.

Elliot ‘Elle’ Jasmine Nightingale and Daniel James Nightingale, brothers and sister duo.

Dani- now Elle- still holds a grudge on Vlad, coupled with the Fenton stubbornness, she insists that she can pay rent/bills/groceries/etc. she gets an apartment in crime alley.

Because Elle doesn’t want to leave a paper trail, she does a less-than-legal job.

She joins a fight rink under the name of Phantasm.

And she’s great at it.

Shes spend the money on education for Danny, ignoring her education for the moment until Danny is old enough to join school.

Damian and Bruce were having major arguments, mostly about his violence and Damian quits being Robin and becomes Nocturne. (Bc I love that name)

He undercover a fight rink and thinks if he busts the rink Bruce will trust him enough.

He does recon and quickly realizes that one of the fighters was incredible, winning fight after fight without causing major injures to her opponents. Her name was Phantasm.

He decides that in order to find out more about her, he has to join undercover. It was only to take down the fight rink and learn more about the beautiful fighter that could bend him in half and nothing more.

Damian joins under the name of Ghoul and swipes some DNA from Elle, learns her (fake) name her (fake) backstory (family died in an heated lab explosion) but doesn’t understand why a chunk of her DNA was unreadable (ghost part of her DNA)

After a bit of digging, realized she didn’t attend school and the next morning Elle waked up to a letter starting that her full-ride scholarship to Gotham Academy has be approved (GA offers a afterschool care for students with younger siblings)

Elle never applied and is confused but accepts after Vlad, Ember, and Kitty convinced her.

She coincidentally is put in the most of the same classes as Damian, who she eventually crushes on befriends because he’s hot she’s suspicious of his faint and funky ecto signature.

So shenanigans include (not in this order and are optional)

- GALA where Vald announces her as Vlad Co heiress and the are invited to the gala and get a bit sus of Elle bc Vlad is sus

- JASON AS ELLE’S NEIGHBOR is actively trying to set up/prevent Damian and Elle getting together (either one works, as long as the plans fail comically)

- PRINCESS ELLE OF YHE INFINITE RELAMS + SUMMONING

- TALIA ATTEMPTING TO KIDNAP DANNY because he looked like Bruce/she wants another son and Elle absolutely beating her 7 different ways to Sunday and Talia telling Damian that she approves of her

- ELLE DESTABILIZING/GETTING REALLY SICK and Danny calls Damian in a panic because he knows Elle trusts him even if she won’t admit it

- ELLE GETS SAVED BY NOCTURNE and Elle instantly clocks him as Damian bc of his ecto signature and rips him a new one because look how vigilantism turned out for Danny

- THE BATFAM THINKING DANNY IS THE CLONE OF ELLE and investigating Cadmus, who could have ties to the GIW somehow

- ELLE BECOMING A SORT OF SERIAL KILLER to protect Danny (check the comments @emerald-fox-93 linked it :)))

- DASH BECOMING A GCPD COP AND HAVING TO ARREST ELLE because she killed someone who tried to kidnap Danny. Damian picks her up from the station after she calls him.

- PAULINA BECAME A LAYWER FOR WE bc I saw a post like that and it was fire. She eventually fights for the removal of the AEA (anti ecto acts)

- THE OTHER BATS GENUINELY BECOMING CONCERNED and began to think that Elle is mind-controlling Damian because he keeps brushing them off to hang out with her

- DAN JOINING THE JLA and calling up Elle when he needs her help and Damian being there and being like ‘wtf??’

Jack and Maddie eventually find Danny and Elle and Elle vanishes. Danny- who Elle hid when the Fentons stormed the apartment- calls Damian sobbing and pleading for him to find Elle because the bad people are going to hurt her.

Damian, knowing little to nothing about her situation, basically goes ballistic trying to find her. The family, titans, and the League gets involved because one 15 year old doesn’t realize he has a massive crush on his classmate. He calls up that every favors he is owed (and some that is not) so now basically almost the entire LOA is after a 15 year old girl who was kidnapped by the two mad scientists who are committing around 16 wars crimes.

They find her after the ghosts she’s Still in contact with realize she hasn’t texted in a while and they’ll help Damian on his manhunt

And because Elle is the high princess, the entire ghost zone is ready to help Damian get their princess/queen/regent back

Jack and Maddie never stood a chance.

Any more ideas?? Please tag me and comment 🙏 :))

Edit: I’m updating the post as I think of new ideas, so it’s changing pretty often, you’re not crazy, I just have no writing ability and too many ideas 🤪