#it's like. he designed himself to always submit into wHAT- WHAT WHO SAID THAT

[andaniellight]

I've finally reached the point where I can list down Son Sukku's signature acting choices/gestures habit thingy but the most subtle habit that I just can't get out of my head because how important it is to me is that if I had a nickel for every time Son Sukku softened his voice and facial expression to address genuine and pure respect to other male characters that his own character thinks they deserve it, I'd have two (2 ✌🏼) nickels. One happened in Designated Survivor 60 Days, and the other in D.P. season 2. Which isn't a lot, but it truly never failed to warm my heart that it happened twice. Okay?

[lexosaurus]

Ghost Boy? In my college class? It's More Likely Than You Think

[ao3 link]

Warnings: None Words: 6,031

****

College was crazy. 

Okay?

There was absolutely no reason why college had to be as insane as it was.

Alright, maybe there was a reason. A reason called, "We have four years to make these students professionals in their chosen field, and some even less time than that."

Danny understood. He really, truly did. He knew that to work in his dream job at NASA, he needed to learn not just how to locate the constellations in the night sky, but also about subjects like chemistry, biology, calculus, physics—a lot of physics.

But seriously, when the hell was a guy supposed to sleep?

Last night's problem set only had five questions, theoretically. But it was run by a completely sadistic site that Vlad himself must have designed—that bastard—because while submitting a correct answer seemed to mark one of the five outlined stars in gold, the site also seemed to be more than happy to remove the gold star if he got a problem incorrect. 

Which meant that the theoretical five-questioned assignment ended up taking Danny many, many more questions than that. 

Just when he had thought the hell was over, he realized he still hadn't begun his paper for his mandatory freshman writing class. So then, he got the absolute pleasure of writing an essay about a stupid, Victorian-era play he didn't read regarding the symbolism of a hat as it related to...foreshadowing, or something. 

He didn't read it. He only signed up for this dumb writing seminar because the timing worked better on his schedule. He'd much rather be taking the writing class about horror novels. But unfortunately, that one happened during his mandatory physics course.

When it was all over and he finally caught sight of his pillow, he was pretty sure he’d shed a single tear. Did he remember sinking into the mattress? Closing his eyes, and drifting off?

No. He didn't. 

He was fucking tired.

But apparently, the universe did actually hate him because instead of being roused by his alarm the next morning, he was shaken by his ghost sense.

Oh yeah, apparently Skulker found his dorm.

Joy!

No seriously, fuck that guy. 

What the hell kind of sick weirdo wants to make a rug out of someone else's skin, anyway? Not to mention that Skulker had no conception of what a good time to hunt was, considering he seriously was trying to start chaos at five in the fucking morning.

Again, fuck that guy.

He only just barely had enough time to fly home, shower, hastily read over and submit his essay (he'd long since learned from high school that he couldn't trust himself that late at night to be coherent), and make a mad dash to his favorite bagel spot on the way to class.

However, the bagel guy—he had a name, Danny was almost sure—must have been under the weather today because, for some reason, he could not stop staring at Danny.

The instinct to run his hand over his face to check for post-fight ectoplasm splatters was a learned reaction at this point. But this time, he couldn't feel anything off. His skin was dry. Cold, like usual, but dry.

"Uh..." The bagel guy continued staring at him slack-jawed.

"Do I have something on my face?" 

That seemed to shake the bagel guy out of his stupor. He blinked, his eyes darting around to catch the eye of a few other customers who, for some reason, were giving Danny a really wide berth.

Did he smell or something? Had he forgotten to put his deodorant on?

Oh god, did his parents do something to make national news again? Did the news use a family photo when reporting the story or something? Why was everyone looking at him? Seriously, what the hell was going on today?

The bagel guy locked eyes with Danny once more, briefly, before darting back down to the register and handing Danny his change. "One everything bagel with cream cheese for the, uh—for—coming right up."

"Thanks," Danny said, trying to be as friendly as possible. Jazz always said that he shouldn't judge people for acting strange. That they could be going through something personal.

So, Danny shook it off. Maybe he missed a chunk of ectoplasm on his hair when he was showering. Skulker had nailed his shoulder pretty well. The green, ecto-infused smoothie he'd sipped that morning was working its magic to mend his skin, but who knew? Maybe a little bit of blood was leaking through his shirt. It wouldn't be the first time that happened, anyway.

Or the last.

Amazingly, he did get his bagel. But when the man handed it to Danny, his eyes were almost popping out of his skull. His heavily accented, "Ah, here is one—ah, your—your bagel," sounded especially halted today. 

But no. The big, gruff bagel guy wouldn't have stuttered. He wouldn't have been nervous to pass a bagel to a tired-looking college student either.

Danny must have misheard. 

He darted down the sidewalk. He was going to be late for class. And it was because of his internal panic that he didn't notice the girl with her nose buried in her cell phone at first. Not until she almost crashed into him, looked up, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"HOLY SHIT!" she yelled, her hands flailing beside her. Her phone flew out from her fingers and clattered on the pavement.

"Sorry!" Danny scooped up her phone from the ground and handed it to her.

She stared at him as if he were completely insane, making no move to take the phone until Danny leaned forward a little closer and pointedly said, "Here."

Whether or not this girl was hungover or still drunk from whatever party she'd been at the night before, Danny did not have time to work around her brain. He was going to be late for class!

"Fuck," she said, eyes still glued on Danny. She did, however, finally reach out and gently take the offered cell phone.

Which was all he needed.

Mission accomplished, he whirled back around intending on continuing his fast-walk-nearly-run pace to the science building, but caught the eye of a biker who seemed to go into a similar trance as the bagel guy and ended up crashing straight into a parked car.

"Oh my god!" Danny darted over to the strewn biker. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Stay back!" the man yelled, struggling up and holding his hand out to block Danny from seeing his face.

Was this guy...cowering at him? Like he was some sort of ghost?

No, no. This was silly. Now Danny was just being paranoid.

"Just stay back!"

An oddly phrased demand, and a little biting at that, but the biker did just crash into a parked car because of Danny and that other girl—who was currently holding her phone up at Danny—so he guessed he could forgive this random dude for being a little snappish.

Danny didn't have time to dwell on this stranger anyway, because holy shit his class was starting in ten minutes and if Danny didn't get his ass to the room right now he was going to be screwed.

So with one more apology to the biker, and one more glance to the strange phone-obsessed girl, Danny adjusted the strap of his bag back over his shoulder and took off down the road.

Not literally took off. Though, he really wanted to jet through the air today. He'd had these urges to duck out of sight and fly to class before, but it never felt so compelling as right now. 

Unfortunately, the street was crowded as shit, and in between classes as it was, the building would likely be crowded too. Finding a discreet place to transform would probably take just as long as running to the classroom like his half-life depended on it. And so, the latter option it was.

Somehow, he managed to make it to class with five minutes to spare. Okay, maybe not somehow. Maybe he did risk using his flight to propel him forward a little bit. Could anyone blame him? 

College was crazy. And anyone who thought they saw a guy not quite touching the ground when he walked could have just as easily been sleep-deprived and were almost certainly hallucinating. Humans couldn't fly! Only ghosts could fly, and Danny Fenton was clearly a human college student just running to class.

Gaslight, gatekeep, ghostboss—or whatever the saying was.

Energy was buzzing in Danny’s veins, and he found it a little difficult to stay in his seat. An aftereffect of only barely using his flight powers, he was sure. His body got a taste of being airborne, and now it didn't want to return to the laws of gravity.

Danny could forgive his ghost core for that. Gravity could be very exhausting sometimes. Especially when he was in the middle of a ghost fight and his enemy was hurling him to the ground.

But he was in a lecture, and it would look weird if this random college student was hovering over his seat, so Danny forced his butt onto the chair as he dropped his bag beside him.

Whispers fluttered around him, which wasn't too unusual. People often talked in pleading freak-out whispers to their friends after an especially grueling night of homework.

Danny was about to turn to his chemistry lecture buddy and do the same—because seriously, he was going to have nightmares over that damn assignment for weeks—when he realized that his chemistry buddy was not in his usual seat.

And then, a whisper caught the attention of his enhanced eardrum.

"...ghost..."

"...Phantom..."

Ah, that explained it. 

Oh yeah, it was all coming together now.

They must have been talking about the ghost fight from this morning, the one with Skulker. This city wasn't Amity Park, so the students here weren't exactly used to ghost attacks. Of course, the initial fight was probably very exciting for them.

And, well, his parents probably were on the news that morning, but likely only to be interviewed about the attack. Maybe they ended up rambling about ghostly habits and migration patterns or whatever other bullshit theories they’d been churning with recently.

So then, the bagel guy must have recognized Danny as a Fenton, a child of Jack and Maddie, the infamous, kooky ghost experts.

The effects of that realization were delayed, but when they finally hit, he felt like his brain was hit by a semi-truck. Because, shit. He didn't know if he could deal with his bagel guy knowing who he was. He was going to have to find a new bagel spot, wasn't he? 

Danny craned his neck over to the door. The lecture was supposed to be starting, but his chemistry buddy was nowhere to be found.

But then, to his immense relief that he wouldn't have to suffer through this lecture by himself, the door opened to reveal the tall, lanky form of Cameron, his chemistry buddy.

Danny eagerly moved his bag out of the way of Cam's seat, his woes of that fucking assignment hot on his lips, but before he could begin his trauma-dumping session, something strange happened.

Really, really strange.

As Cam began habitually walking over to his seat, he looked up, caught Danny's eye, and froze.

His mouth parted into a perfect 'o,' his eyes widened, and his eyebrows disappeared under his hairline. Then, he backed up, caught the bewildered expression of another student near him, and moved to another aisle.

Danny sat there too stunned to call out to Cam, though the intent was at the precipice of his being. Hurt stabbed his gut, and the social anxiety the A-List had trained his brain for in high school started creeping up his spine.

Did Danny do something wrong? 

Why had Cam moved away?

What did that look to the other kid mean?

He tried to think of a reason why Cam might have suddenly decided that Danny was a weirdo freak that should be avoided, but the only thing he remembered doing between yesterday and today was the two texts he'd sent at eleven last night complaining about the assignment. But surely, everyone had complained, right?

Or was the assignment genuinely effortless for everyone? And Danny was just an idiot who didn't understand some really simple concept, and now Cam had suddenly realized that he'd picked the wrong chemistry buddy to sit next to in class?

That must have been it.

Why else had he moved away?

Danny turned around, looking to the back of the lecture hall. But all he could see was a sea of faces all looking at him.

Okay, honestly, what the fuck was wrong with everyone today?

He whipped out his phone, paranoia striking through his gut like a spear. Maybe he'd accidentally revealed himself during the fight? But he checked Google, searching for Phantom's human identity, but all he got at the top of the search were old Reddit threads theorizing about which historical figure he could have been, and celebrity news sites spouting completely absurd clickbait-type theories about his past.

Is Danny Phantom Napoleon's son?

Could Danny Phantom be Related to George Washington?

New Theory Suggests Danny Phantom is Alexander the Great!

Yeah, like Danny was leading legions of ghosts around Europe anytime soon.

As Danny wracked his brain for what the hell he'd done to deserve the wrath of having his classmates stare at him like he was some sort of weird alien species and everyone was plotting on how to initiate first contact, the side door opened and the professor came darting in the hall with a stack of folders all but falling out of his hands and a muttering of breathy, "sorry, sorry," light on his lips.

The muttering broke out into jilted, uncomfortable laughter, and Danny still couldn't help the feeling that they were laughing at him. 

He tried to brush that off as just the remnants of his high school on him and keep his attention focused on his short, salt-and-pepper-haired professor who looked like he couldn't remember if he was going to a beach party or Burning Man today, and decided to dress for both. 

Yang put the manila folders down on the front table, miraculously without spilling any of the contents inside, set his bag down on the rolling chair beside him, and picked up a piece of chalk to face the board.

He held a hand up and began writing Chemistry 101 — Stoichiometry on the board.

Behind Danny, the snickers grew louder. 

Was there some inside joke that he just wasn't getting? Had his classmates prepared some sort of prank for the teacher today and Danny hadn't read the email? Was it April Fool's Day, even though logic and reasoning told Danny that it was only October?

"Sorry I was late, everyone," Yang began. "Now if you don't mind, I want to begin by going over a few problems from last night's assignment. I noticed a pattern in the problems everyone was getting wrong..."

Someone coughed rather obnoxiously behind him.

Danny felt ice begin to build in his stomach. 

"...so as you can see here, I noticed a lot of people forgot to calculate the used excess of iron to find the amount of excess reactants. Remember, guys, you can't just subtract the bigger and smaller masses in the problem..."

Another obnoxious cough. 

Yang didn't break stride. "...you have to actually convert it to moles and set up your mole ratio, and then convert back to grams. I mentioned this in class but it seemed like too many of you—"

"Professor Yang?" the impatient voice of Brittany, one of his classmates, said from behind.

The class broke out in a fit of whispers and giggles, this time not even trying to hide their restlessness.

"What is it?" Yang turned around, his chalk still hovering on the board.

And then he looked at Danny. His eyes bugged out like a cartoon, sticking out beyond the rims of his glasses. His jaw opened and closed like a fish, and he dropped the chalk on the floor.

Now, the class was roaring with noise.

Danny stared eye-to-eye with the professor for ten seconds or ten minutes. He didn't know which, and it didn't matter anyway, because then Yang's thin lips opened to exclaim a word that may as well have electrocuted him all over again:

"Phantom?" 

Confusion and panic hit Danny like a sledgehammer.

How did Yang know he was Phantom? Had he been revealed? Did everyone know he was Phantom?

And then he heard the whispers. 

"It's really him! It's Phantom!"

"Why is he here?"

"It's Phantom!"

No!

No!

How did everyone know his secret?

Danny had to stop this.

He had over four years of hiding his ghost half from his parents, the world, and most impressively, his parents. Over the years, he'd honed his ability at lying and using his silver tongue to smooth over situations with such practiced ease, he was expecting his Oscar in the mail any day now.

Which is why, like an utter pro, he jumped up from his seat and shouted, "It's a lie, I'm not a ghost!"

The room went silent, and then was launched into a frenzy.

"Phantom!"

"Is he delusional?"

"It's really him! It's Phantom!"

His panic was bordering on hysteria as it stampeded over him, beating his core so furiously that Danny thought it was going to jump through his ribcage.

He stood, his gloved hands held out in front of him as he began his best at pleading with the masses, but before he could grovel too much, Professor Yang's voice sliced through him like a knife, calling out, "Phantom! What are you doing in my class?"

Wait...

Gloved hand?

Danny looked at his hands again. They were gloved.

And glowing.

The relief was so heavy on his shoulders, his back, and every inch of his skin. It was also mortifying.

Because here he was, in his Chemistry 101 class not as Fenton, but as Phantom. 

"Holy shit," Danny muttered. 

What. The. Hell.

No, really.

What the hell?

How was this happening?

Had he really been so tired that he'd forgotten to change out of his Phantom form after Skulker's fight?

No, hang on—had he been walking around in his Phantom form all morning?

How had he not noticed?

Then all the memories came flying back to him at once. The bagel guy acting weird, staring at him like he wasn't sure if he should seriously give a ghost a bagel because "Do ghosts need to eat? Is human food poison?"

And then the girl. She hadn't screamed because she nearly crashed into a stranger, she screamed and threw her phone in the air because she'd nearly crashed into Phantom. And that's why she was recording him after, too. She was recording Phantom, a ghost that wasn't native to this college town.

Danny thought he'd die of cringe-fail right there because that meant she also recorded the biker crashing into a parked car and was probably uploading it to TikTok later. He was sure it would be trending in minutes.

That was, if she hadn't already uploaded it to Tiktok, and it wasn't already trending. His phone suddenly felt heavy in his pocket. 

He looked around at the faces of intrigue and excitement, feebly attempting to squash the anxiety that was currently tap dancing over his skin.  Okay, so his initial attempt at acting hadn't gone so well. That was okay; nobody could be perfect all the time. If he just channeled the inner cool and suave hero that he was, he could totally save the situation.

For sure.

He floated a few feet in the air. His legs felt awkward sprawled out, and he tried to form a ghost-tail, but somehow his sense of self was too strong for that today. No matter, to balance it out, he splayed his arms out wide and began doing jazz hands, saying, "It's me! Danny Phantom! Just here checking your classroom for ghosts!" 

There was a moment of collective pause before his brain caught up with what his mouth said, and then he scrambled, making a big show of ducking around the room to search for...ghosts, or something. He lowered to the floor to check under the auditorium chairs, flew to the front of the room to peek around the tables, and finally went up to the ceiling to glance around the four corners of the room.

Once he felt embarrassed enough, he stopped in the center of the room, puffed out his chest, and said, "Good news, citizens! There are no ghosts in this room!"

Whispers and mutters once again broke out from his classmates, along with a few giggles. In the front of the classroom, Yang's head was craned up to look at him, his expression showing pure bafflement. 

Okay, Danny was bombing this set. He was catching onto the vibe of the room, and had come to this very astute conclusion: there was no saving this. 

Time to abort the mission.

"Well, that will be all! Have a fun class learning about chemistry!" 

And then, without another word, he jetted through the wall and into the hallway of the building, turning invisible immediately. Fortunately, with classes having started several minutes ago, the corridors were mostly empty. Only a few stragglers remained, booking it down the halls and trying to duck inconspicuously into their classrooms. 

Danny cut around a corner of the hall where, thankfully, no one was standing. That didn't stop him from triple-checking over his shoulder (it was just the water fountain, Danny) before he let his ring wash over him.

Then, when he was sure he was human again this time, he ran down the hall and pushed open the auditorium door to his class which, by the looks of things, hadn't calmed down from their encounter yet.

The door hit the wall with a bang—oops, he thought he hadn't pushed so hard—and then every head was turned to him.

"Sorry!" Danny rubbed the back of his neck and gestured vaguely to the clock on the wall. "I lost track of time."

The room was...silent. Incredibly, confoundingly silent. 

That wasn't good.

On instinct, Danny glanced down again to make sure that he was wearing his red hoodie and blue jeans and not his Phantom black and white jumpsuit. He was, in fact, wearing the right clothes. And out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the glint of his black bangs.

So then, what the fuck?

Alright, there was no need to panic. He was human, his classmates were human, they'd just met Phantom, and now Danny was busting in the classroom late. It wouldn't be the first time he was late to class, anyway. Lots of students were late for chemistry! 

With his brain sufficiently pep-talked, he pointed as inconspicuously to his seat as he could and said, "I'll just...take my seat." 

No one responded, so he took that as his cue to begin his walk of shame up the steps of the auditorium aisles to his usual seat near the front, which was still amazingly void of students anywhere near it.

"Phantom?" a voice rang out from the spattering of students around the room.

Danny missed the next step and ate shit on the floor. His bag hit his back heavily, and he could have sworn his shoe nearly flew off his feet. He scrambled to stand, his hand missing the railing only once, before he managed to stand back proud and tall. Sort of. His backpack had slid off one shoulder, and his body was hunched forward and he tried to regain his breath because holy shit, it actually really hurt for his torso to land on the corner of the step.

He rubbed his sternum, sure it was going to bruise, and coughed out, "Uh—what?"

"Phantom!" the voice, now too familiar, repeated. "You're him. Phantom."

Danny glanced up, and dread not only slammed into him with the force of a semi, but also backed up and floored it into his soul again. And again.

Because that voice was none other than his Chem 101 buddy, Cam.

No, Danny was a magnificent actor. He surely could save this one.

What did people always say? Something about the third try being a charm?

He could really use a charm right now. Unfortunately, Murphy seemed keen on watching him suffer instead.

"No—no way! I'm not a ghost! I'm totally human, guys! See?" Danny said with quite a lot of conviction, waving his hands beside his body like some sort of circus display.

It was so conclusive of a performance, that Cam simply laughed. 

Shit. This was not how he wanted today to go at all.

"I can't believe I never put it together before! Did people really buy that in your hometown?" 

"What act? I'm not acting!" Danny insisted.

But his classmates, it seemed, were even less convinced. 

"Seriously, it's so obvious."

"How did no one notice?"

"They're literally the same person it's crazy."

"What? No! No we're not the same person!" Danny insisted, trying not to sound desperate and hopelessly failing. "He's my—uh—twin? Yeah, that. He's my twin."

"He's obviously not," a classmate said.

"He is. He died in the womb," Danny refuted.

"Okay, now you're just being ridiculous."

"Does it sound better or worse if I say that my mother drank ectoplasmic smoothies while she was pregnant and that's why he turned into a ghost?"

"Fenton!" Professor Yang called out.

Danny felt his blood turn so cold they started forming frost in his veins. 

And then, he refused to look down because he was pretty sure ice crystals were glueing his feet to the floor.

In his panic, he'd totally forgotten that this was, in fact, a classroom. With a professor. And not just any professor, his chemistry professor. As in, the guy that had the sole power of crushing all of Danny's dreams of working for NASA via the power of the curve.

Yang took a step back, colliding with the chalkboard behind him and smearing white dust all over his brightly-colored shirt. But he ignored this, instead finding it more pertinent to fold his arms and regard Danny with a look of pure incredulation. "Are you really Phantom?"

"What? No!" Danny said. However, as luck would have it, that gasping answer caused him to inhale the wrong way, and coughs shot up his throat to overtake his body.

And then like the valiant superhero he was, he began having a coughing fit. In front of his classmates.

He knew Sam and Tucker always called him a dork, but this was really unfair.

"You okay, Phantom?" one student asked.

Danny tried to argue, "I'm not Phantom," but unfortunately for him, he hadn't stopped coughing yet.

Taking his silence for a confirmation that he was in fact the elusive ghost known as Phantom, another classmate commented, "I didn't know Phantom breathed."

Not-so-quiet whispers and mutters broke out around the class at once discussing theories of his cardiovascular system.

All while Danny was doubled over, trying desperately to reclaim what little of his dignity was still left. As well as reclaim some of the oxygen that his body seemed more than willing to push away for some reason.

Seriously, was he out of karma yet? 

Okay, Universe, if this is your way getting back at me for reading the Cliffnotes of that book for the essay last night, I get it. Cheating is bad, blah blah blah. I'm very sorry in a deeply remorseful way, so can we please stop ruining my life now?

"...so he wouldn't need to breathe!" A classmate's voice had stepped above the rest.

"That's what I said!"

"Dude, he's literally fallen asleep on my floor once. I'm telling you he needs to breathe."

That voice must have been Cam's.

Danny took a deep breath, regaining control of his lungs. "Wait, guys!"

But it was too late. And, oh god, why were people now giggling over their phones? Had someone taken a video of him earlier? Was he trending online right now?

If this got back to Sam and Tucker, he was never going to live this down. 

"Okay, okay!" Yang's voice rose in volume. "Class, settle down!"

The class went silent.

"Alright, I know we are all curious to know about Fenton's secret double life—"

"I don't have a secret double life!"

"Sure you don't, Phantom," Cam said.

"—But please, we do actually have quite a bit of material to cover today, judging by the very impressive homework scores from last night. And, by the way, class, might I remind you all that my office hours are on Mondays and Wednesdays from two to four. I won't name names, but I'll just say that if you need to make it a point to come for some review, you know who you are."

Was Yang looking at him?

"Regardless, if Fenton is done screwing around with his ghost powers, we do need to get through the material sometime this year."

"But I'm not a ghost!" Danny protested.

"Dude, you're standing in a block of ice," a classmate argued. 

"Holy shit, he froze his legs to the floor!"

Danny felt frost on his cheeks. "The A/C system is broken! Everyone knows that!"

"The ice is glowing." 

"So? A lot of ice glows."

"Fenton, please." Yang had never sounded so disappointed in his life. "I'd expect anyone in this class to know that ice is made of which elements?"

Danny hated where this was going. "Hydrogen and oxygen."

"And please describe the bonds to me."

"The hydrogens have a double bond with the oxygen, and then there's two pairs of electrons leftover."

"What shape?" Yang pressed, pushing his wiry glasses up his nose.

"Bent."

"Good, thank you. So we have two hydrogen and one oxygen in an H20 molecule, yes? And so tell me, would that configuration with those two elements cause anything to glow?"

"Um, no." Danny had the sudden urge to die. "Water does not glow." 

"But, interestingly, ectoplasmic water does glow, correct? Because....?"

They'd touched over ecton science earlier in the semester. "Because ectons are larger and can sit closer to the nucleus which results in atoms fusing and due to the greater amounts of energy they emit, some this excess energy can be seen in our visible spectrum."

Yang smiled and then gestured to the seat devoid of any humans near it that Danny, previously Phantom, had been sitting in at the start of class. "Thank you, Mr. Phantom. Now, if we're all done dillydallying, we have some stoichiometry to go over."

It took Danny more than a second of the awkward silence that followed to realize that oh yeah, his feet were literally frozen in place.

"So..." He glanced around the room, meeting the expectant gazes of his classmates. "Just to be clear, none of you care that I might potentially be..."

A ghost?

Phantom?

Some sort of weird mutant hybrid thing?

"Danny, you're the only one making a big deal out of this," a classmate answered.

Danny guffawed.

"Yeah, it's whatever. You're dead, so what? We're all dead in college. You're not special."

"I have a biology lecture later right after this for my weed-out course and going to that is basically the same thing as dying, I'm pretty sure," Cam joined in.

Danny resisted the urge to smack his forehead with his open palm.

He turned back to Yang. "And if I were maybe the—uh—being that kind of has saved humanity from being invaded by ghosts give or take one or two times, would that maybe get me extra credit on the next test?"

"No."

Well, that was a brutally quick response.

Danny shrugged. "It was worth a shot." He reigned in on his core's fluttering, and the ice began to melt around his feet. 

He tried to ignore the obvious phone flipped his way as he did.

Shit, this was going to be all over social media later. How embarrassing. He could only hope that Tucker wouldn't find it. But who was he kidding? If he checked his phone, he bet he already had about sixteen messages from Tucker laughing at his misfortune.

Once he finished freeing himself from his ecto-ice like some ghost toddler, he began a very graceful and humiliating trek to his seat, complete with multiple instances of him bumping into chairs as he trudged down the row. When he finally reached his seat, it was just his luck that the rusty hinges let out an obnoxious creaking wail as he lowered himself down. He winced, hissing out apologies, but in the silent hall, the sounds of the withered metal were almost too much to bear.

It was for that reason that his entire body refused to unclench until the professor was well underway with his lecture about excess reactants and whatever else they were going to be quizzed on next week.

He tried his best to pay attention and not check his phone for the no doubt endless notifications. He'd already made his presence too obvious in this hall, anyway. Professor Yang would have been thoroughly annoyed if, after everything, Danny decided to spend the remainder of the class on his phone.

Miraculous as it was, he did manage to survive the lecture.  

After class when he finally was able to check his phone, he saw that the world was too focused on the viral posts about Phantom being spotted outside of Amity Park to give any attention to the little itty bitty post of Danny, in human form, frozen to his lecture hall floor.

As it turned out, that post only had two likes—one of them was Tucker—and one comment from a random user reading, "lol why phantom freeze that dweeby kid to the ground???"

Danny didn't resist the urge to facepalm this time, and in fact did it so hard he was surprised he didn't give himself a concussion.

Well.

At least his secret was safe.

****

"You really don't care that I'm Phantom, do you?" Danny asked, looking up from the barely clean dorm room floor that his back was currently stretched out against.

"No?" Cam glanced from his notebook. "Why?"

"Uh, I figured the whole part where I'm a part ghost would have been a little weird?"

Cam's thin brows shot up to his hairline. "You're only a part ghost?"

"Yeah? Why, what did you think?"

"Oh, I just figured you were legit dead or something."

Cam uttered those words with such nonchalance that Danny reacted immediately, shooting up from the floor so hard he accidentally switched into his Phantom form.

"You thought I was dead?" His voice echoed when he spoke, and his ghostly tail wiggled underneath him. 

Cam's pointed look and handwave were explanation enough.

"Okay, you know what? That's fair." Danny swiped his notebook off the floor and forced his adrenaline-spiked body back into human form. "That's actually super fair."

"Yeah I mean, being a ghost is sort of Phantom's whole shtick, anyway."

"Right but like...wait, you didn't even care that you thought I was a fully dead and deceased ghost taking college classes? And you still wanted to do homework with me tonight?"

Cam, once again, only gave a very lazy shrug. "Well, yeah. I just want to pass this class, dude, and we've already established that we should tag-team team this class instead of trying to rawdog it by ourselves."

"I mean...I guess?" Danny blinked at his friend, his mind reeling with astonishment. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Says the ghost-human person or whatever. Now, are we gonna finish this prelab assignment, or are you gonna keep having an existential crisis about your place in the Universe?" 

Danny slid back on the floor, propping his knees up to lay his notebook against. "No, you're right. We need to finish this prelab."

"Thank fucking god."

****

[read more of my stuff here]

[dailydemonspotlight]

dude i fucking love your series so much, every time you post i get so excited i love learning even more about the demons in smt rahhhhh. anyways can you do lilith? i love like loveeeee her new design in vengeance and think she looks so cool :3.

Lilith - Day 76

Race: Night/Qadištu

Arcana: Devil

Alignment: Neutral-Chaos

July 22nd, 2024

Abrahamic mythology has a lot of rather infamous figures who lay on the more... 'evil' side of things, so to speak. Of course, we have demons like none other than Lucifer himself, to the demons of the Ars Goetia, to even more morally gray figures like Mastema. However, a character that is among the most interesting (and confusing) in the several variations of Abrahamic myth has to be Adam's first wife, a woman who refused to be subservient to her husband- the powerful turned-demon, Lilith.

First off, I just wanna say that I ADORE her redesign as a Qadištu in Vengeance. As someone who just started playing Vengeance for the first time, I love all of the Qadištu almost equally, but Lilith's redesign hits incredibly hard for someone who was already a massive fan of her original design. Her joining this quartet of demonesses is an incredibly nice idea, and I'm, again, a major fan of her redesign. Even though all of the Qadištu originate from Abrahamic mythology, Lilith is a notably obvious example, though of course, this isn't the only design she's had throughout the series. She's had several redesigns, being one of the most recurring demons throughout the series- whether it be her full tits-out design in SMT I, to the most recurring design, her classic look originating from the Playstation port of SMT I, to even her incredibly alien design in SMT IV. Of course, like a lot of recurring demons, she's also one of the most iconic figures in Abrahamic mythology, so why don't we get into that?

Lilith's existence is somewhat contested in scholarly circles, being never actually mentioned in most translations of the Bible- in the original text, Lilith is used as a word for 'creature of the night,' literally translated to 'Night Monster,' though some translations also translate it as screech owl. Most knowledge of her as Adam's first wife appears to be based on extrapolations, as well as what can be seen almost as a plot hole in the Book of Genesis, as two differing creation myths seem to connect back to the idea that there was an 'Eve before Eve,' or 'first Eve.' In the story, while God was presenting animals to Adam, it's said that he may have presented another human to him due to contradictory accounts of the biblical text. This seems to be where Lilith comes into the Bible, being commonly believed to be a woman who refused to submit to Adam, and as such, left the Garden of Eden after failing to satisfy Adam and believing herself to be equal to him. This led to Eve coming into being, a subservient being to Adam. Don't look at me, sexism was just... a thing back in the day.

After her escape, Lilith bore several children, though she was threatened by an angel that they would kill those children. After said children were, well, slaughtered, she grew furious and began to birth demon children known as Lilim... who probably deserve their own spotlight somewhere down the line. It turns out that the demons who began to replace her children were powerful enough to go toe-to-toe with the angels, and joined the demonic ranks somewhere down the line... I think. As revenge on top of this, Lilith also began to ruthlessly target children, apparently being responsible for stillbirths, and if one wasn't to circumcise their child if they were born a boy, she would invoke her wrath unto them as well. How? I dunno! But I guess that's why people are circumcised. How do these always eventually come back to screwing with the genitals? Whatever.

However, where Lilith herself came from is actually an ancient Sumerian text, where she's depicted as a succubus and demoness who first appears in the text 'Gilgamesh and the Huluppu Tree.' In the text, she appears as a demon who builds a house in the domain of a goddess of eroticism, right under the titular Huluppu tree. Gilgamesh, a grand hero depicted in many Abrahamic texts, appears and strikes down the house and Lilith herself for sullying the garden. This story paints her as a sort-of symbol of feminine rebellion, something which would be convenient and easy to extrapolate into being Adam's first wife. Given the connections between Sumer and most Abrahamic religions, it was easy to see the purported first wife of Adam before Eve being, well, Lilith! Recently, the few sources we have on Lilith, however, have been heavily disputed, but as one of the only origins I can work off of, I have to take what I can get.

Her scant references as 'Lilit' in the original Hebrew bible seem to have been what gave her life in the extrapolations, as even though she was referred to exactly once, her role in Sumerian mythology seemed to make a perfect connection to make her into Adam's first wife. Another source we can work off of for Lilith, past the Mesopotamian text, however, is that of an indisputable reference to her in none other than the Dead Sea Scrolls, being as follows.

And I, the Instructor, proclaim His glorious splendour so as to frighten and to te[rrify] all the spirits of the destroying angels, spirits of the bastards, demons, Lilith, howlers, and [desert dwellers] ... and those which fall upon men without warning to lead them astray from a spirit of understanding and to make their heart and their ... desolate during the present dominion of wickedness and predetermined time of humiliations for the sons of lig[ht], by the guilt of the ages of [those] smitten by iniquity – not for eternal destruction, [bu]t for an era of humiliation for transgression.

This does seem to show that Lilith is a part of Abrahamic mythology, though some sources, such as several Rabbi, claim her not to be. It's a very complicated topic overall, as almost everything around Lilith tends to be- her murky stories seem to be based primarily off of educated guesses, unfortunately. However, with her being mentioned in one of the oldest surviving sources for Biblical study, she does appear to be, well, around, so to speak. While still vague and obscure, she's definitely a force that appears to exist.

Now, with all of that out of the way, her depictions in SMT are incredibly varied, but I'd like to specifically point to her in SMT IV, being a tempter who brings Walter to her side. A lot more can be said of her depictions, but this DDS is growing rather long, so I'll have to cut it short. However, given her calling to Flynn and Walter to partake in the apple of knowledge, I love the allusion she gives to her role as Adam's first wife, and perhaps even being the tempter of Adam himself to eat the apple.

[phillipfancypants]

I wish I knew people irl who like Stormlight so i shall submit you all to my ramblings instead.

This song is so Kaladin coded and I feel like people more creative than me need to be aware of its existence.

My personal interpretation of the lyrics below the cut:

“There’s a voice that pulls me stumbling through a symphony // and the less of it I need the more I get” (the calling of honor and his need to do the right thing, even when it always ends up with him worse off than he started)

“Till I’m swept up by the shape of all the centuries // like an echo in the chambers of my chest” (his connection to the history of Roshar as a Knight Radiant)

“I think she fears I’ll be a servant to my history” (the “she” in this song reads very much as Syl to me. This is referring to every time Kal goes into a dark place when he thinks of all the people he’s lost)

“Or worse a slave to someone else’s misplaced doubts” (he’s often feeling he has to prove himself as worthy)

“And so I try to hard to kill what’s out to kill me// until I’m blind and hiding in the lion’s mouth” (he’s often blinded by his duty to protect himself and his companions that he ends up in over his head. This reads very much like book 1 to me with the bridge maneuvers)

“And the words she aches to hear pour through my canyon//and they’re singing in the caverns of my limbs” (the words are the ideals, also caverns makes me think of the chasms )

“And though I do my best to try to understand them // they only follow me like vultures in the end” (most of book 3&4 have Kaladin struggling to find and speak the fourth ideal. Also the symbolism of vultures being animals that prey on the dead. Kaldin’s 4th ideal is that there will be those he cannot protect, and the words follow him like vultures, surrounding those he’s lost)

“I once read that I should write something worth reading // or I should do something worth writing about” (these feel like the influence of Lirin and Dalinar on his life, Lirin wanting him to help people through the study of medicine and Dalinar encouraging him to join him in battles)

“As my ears they buzz like bees upon the ceiling//I start to pour a little more than I’m allowed” (all the feelings of what people want him to be and what he himself wants to be are overwhelming)

“I said our hearts know deeper seasons than our memories//she said this harvest might sustain us for a year” (this one is weird but I think it’s saying that the gut feelings of why you make the choices you do are more important that the logical reasons. Kaladin nearly breaks his oaths a couple of times doing what’s right, and Syl is telling him that this way of living isn’t sustainable for either of them)

“And of all the thousand ways the world could tempt me//I’ve never met a better fighter than her fear” (the world seems to be designed to make Kaladin give up, which is Syl’s biggest fear)

“So as I try to breathe the air that she is breathing//and we dance a lightless dance upon my floor” (idk I haven’t found a way to connect this yet other than that air and dance are often associated with Syl)

“I am yearning to tell her she’s all I’m needing//but I’m drowned out by all the noise outside the door” (the noise outside the door being all the directions Kal is being pulled in between his family, his squires, all of urithuru, his own depression, and everything else that I’m forgetting)

“Carried by the current of the morning//miles below the surface of the dawn” (Kaladin’s depression is like night, and the dawn is the light of being able to move on. Being miles below the surface, he knows a better world is up there, but it seems impossibly far)

“This is not the place that I was born in//that doesn’t mean it’s not the place where I belong” (he was raised a dark-eyed surgeon’s son and now is a soldier and a symbol of hope to his country. I love that the song ends with him coming to terms with his place in the grand scheme of things, and knowing that he is enough and he can protect those he loves)

[g-xix]

hey love could u maybe write headcannons for callux

Dating Callux Headcannons

Dedicated to the lovely @lia-wrld who i'm glad agrees there needs to be more Callux content on this site. I mean, look at that picture, he's too cute not to write for. That being said, here's some dating headcannons:

-Night owl and early bird duo. Whenever he goes to bed late, you go to bed early and whenever you wake up late, he's up early. - You two NEVER feel sleepy enough to go to bed or wake up at the same time... -That means that whilst you're in bed, eye mask on and eyes shut and ready to sleep- he's sat up in bed next to you, laptop keys clicking every so often whilst he does some latenight work. -You never really mind it though, as whenever he begins tapping the keys he mumbles a little sorry, and tries to keep one hand on your head- fingers threaded through your hair and gently stroking and massaging your scalp. -Plus he always sits with one leg splayed out so that you can wrap your arms around it and cuddle that instead. 

-He generally has to wake up earlier because he has early meetings with his team about his shoe company and other hustles- but he always makes you breakfast when he wakes up before you. -Whatever he has- he makes two of, and leaves it on the kitchen island with a paper towel over it, so that you can eat whatever it is whenever you get up. -Generally he makes a cream cheese bagel with cress for himself, but always leaves the cress out for you- knowing how much you hate those leaves.

-I feel like the two of you would adopt a cat together. -After the first two or three years, he would have enough experiences to be able to deduce that you LOVED cats. -Like, whenever he went 'round to JJ's to watch the football, you'd always drive Cal over so that you could have an opportunity to say hi to JJ's cat Buu, and you'd even started feeding the neighbours cat, whenever he climbed over the balcony and sat on your windowsill.  -Cal adopts a little ginger persian kitty and surprises you with it on your birthday. -You literally shed a tear when the little thing is handed to you- the way he's so small he fits in your two hands, and rolls his fluffy little body over to paw at your fingers. -Cal's videoing the whole time and lets out soft chuckles from behind the camera, his own heart melting at the sight of his gorgeous girlfriend petting the tiny boy

-Asks you to model his NoTwoWays shoes CONSTANTLY. -Once he's finished a new design and his team says "The next step is to take the promotional pics", he's already typing a text telling you you're needed tomorrow to model the new pair.

-You teach him the piano. -When you saw the old piano in the corner of his flat- perfectly in tune despite collecting dust across the keys, you felt the need to play a familiar tune. -Out of practice, you hit a few wrong keys, but the overall sound was still recognisably a very well renditioned copy of an old John Legend song. -At dinner that night he'd quietly ask whether you could teach him how to play the piano, having heard your playing whilst he was sat working in the office. -Of course you said yes -Once a week you'd sit with him on the stool and give him guidance in playing the piano. 

-He'd be so massive on praise. -Like, not even as a kink- just generally, he'd just celebrate the little things with you- get a cake or something when you've got a raise at work and just want to tell you how proud he is of you, and how special you are <3 -He would also be big on praise in a kinky way tho. -Can imagine him giving it rough, but his favourite way is just doing it lovingly- going at a slow pace, kissing all the way through -Would mumble praise like "you're so gorgeous" and "you're doing such a good job" -This man n soft sex >>>>

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

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

[justplainwhump]

Mac

A short character intro of some sort, for the character that has lurked in the background of Adrian and Blanca's story since their very first chapter. The sixth guard dog.

[Pet Safety Masterlist]; this piece is referencing [Favor].

Content / warnings: BBU, (indirect) dehumanisation, captivity, briefly referenced/implied noncon.

In the nights in his cell - or kennel, rather, he didn't know why but there was a difference and it made his stomach uneasy - Mac had a lot of time for thoughts. And he used it. He thought about fights, about technique and strategies, about his opponents and their strengths and weaknesses. He thought about winning, about the feeling of triumph, and how stale it was. Like the tasteless, grayish mass that came from a dispenser in the kennel wall, a viscous nutri-shake, that fell into a stainless steel bowl welded to the floor. Victories in his fights were just the same. Bland, insipid, and utterly necessary to survive. 

Mac pulled down the lever and watched more of the nutri-shake fall into the bowl. Sometimes he thought about how long he'd have to hold it down until the room would be flooded. Sometimes he wondered, if the person he'd been before would've known how to calculate it. The pet he was now sure did not. He stared down at the food below him, let himself sink to his knees before he bowed down to eat it. He'd never been further from being a person.

He'd been allowed to eat at a table, real food, with taste and consistency, back at his owner's place. He'd had the others to talk to, Guards, like him. They hadn't been what people called *friends*, he wagered, at least he hadn't actually liked them, but they had existed together, shared a life and the dedication a common goal - to keep their master safe and satisfied. They hadn't been friends, but in lack of better terms, they'd been a pack.

Here, everyone like him was an adversary, who'd fight him to the death the next day or another. And those not like him were the ones who didn't care about if the others died, or Mac did.

It was exhausting. A feeling that wasn't going to bring him anywhere. That was why when Mac had time for thoughts, he didn't think too much about his pack. 

He thought about his owner.

—

Jack Donnell took great pride in his belongings, and that had always included his WRU-trained Guards. Six of them, all of the same height, featuring the same dark hair, same broad shoulders, same mannerisms. He employed a retired WRU Guard handler for some hours a week to make sure the Guards worked like one. He also bought the consulting services of a WRU Romantic Trainer - not for the Guards to be involved directly, but to make them part of intricate designed "scenes" that Mac learned to hate.

Jack wanted to be a ruler, a conqueror, and every once in a while he loved to dress his Pets up in accurate costumes, only to make them submit to him in every scenario possible.

Mac had endured. He'd been a good pet. Until the day a new business partner of Jack's had shown up with his Romantic.

Blanca.

Blanca was petite, with the sort of auburn hair that could look dark brown in one moment and light up like fire in another, with a seductive sway to her hips, full lips that curved into a knowing smile and clothes so tight they left nothing about her curves to the imagination.

Hot, Mac knew he was supposed to think. 

He didn't. 

Please spare her from this, he'd thought instead and closed his eyes. Prayed, almost. As if he knew, how to. 

As if there was a God who'd listen to a pet. No. Their only Gods were their owners.

And while her owner had all but fled the room and left his subject in the hand of another, Mac had stayed by the door, standing at attention, while he watched his master brutalize her.

It took hours.

And after Jack was done, he'd simply smiled to himself, sauntered towards Mac without another look at the broken figure of the Romantic behind him, and patted Mac's cheek. "Good boy," he'd said, and left. 

That moment had been the first in Mac's conscious life, that he'd felt something a Pet was never supposed to feel.

He'd felt hatred. Plain, pure, seething hatred, for the one man he was supposed to love. 

He'd felt it every day since.

-

--

tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl

[docpiplup]

13th part of the bookscans of Al Andalus. Historical Figures, here's the previous part

Ibn Hafsun: the unredeemed rebel

There are historical figures whose lives go beyond what the most fantastic novel could be. This is the case of Ibn Hafsun, a rebel leader who, until the reign of Abd al-Rahman III, will keep the emirate and the Cordovan caliphate.

Muhammad I succeeded his father, Abd al-Rahman II, and since his accession to the throne the internal peace that al-Andalus had enjoyed until that time was broken. Toledo, with the help of Christian troops from the north, revolted, and after some initial successes, they were soundly defeated in the battle of Guazalete, with thousands of victims among the insurgents and his allies. The region of Mérida also rose under the command of Ibn Marwan al-Chillíquí, “the son of the Galician”, a muladí, to whom he submitted in first moment, and with which the emir will end up agreeing, maintaining this region a regime almost independent of Umayyad power. But it would be another muladí, the one who would raise the flag of rebellion in the mountainous areas from the south of al-Andalus, resisting the Cordoban forces for many years

Umar ben Hafsun was the son of a wealthy family. His father, a nobleman peasant, lived on the income provided by his possessions of Ronda. He was a muladí, let's say second generation, since his grandfather was the first convert to Islam in his family. They called him Cha'far al-Islamí, ““the new Muslim." Some Arab historians point out that the family descended directly from a Visigoth count, Alfonso.

Umar ben Hafsun was the eldest of two other brothers and always distinguished himself for having a very temperamental and impulsive character. One bad day he argued with a neighbor and the argument led to the impetuous young man killing him without mercy. Fearing the action of justice, his father, even disowning him, He sent a few of them to hide among the fragility of the mountains kilometers away from Ronda, in the same place where, years later, he would establish his headquarters. But that restless spirit was bored in those solitudes mountains and opted, in the company of some bandits, to carry out several blows by hand through the fields, until they captured him. It didn't come out at all badly, because the governor of Malaga, who knew nothing of the crime Ibn Hafsun had committed on the unfortunate neighbor, limited himself to giving him a sovereign beating.

In case things got worse, he decided to go to Africa. Once there he settled in the city of Tahart, where a compatriot who was tailor, took him as an apprentice. It was evident that the boy was not going to win life with the needle and fate wanted another Andalusian to pass through the workshop of tailor shop and struck up a conversation with Ibn Hafsun. They talked about the country and how, for a brave soul, it would be

easy to achieve great goals if he rose up in rebellion. -;You think, unhappy thing, that By handling the needle are you going to free yourself from misery? Go back to your country and wield the sword. You will be a fearsome adversary of the Umayyads and you will reign in a great nation. Something like that seems to have been said to him by the Andalusian traveler and it gave the tailor's apprentice something to think about. He decided to return home, take advantage of his father's protection. or take advantage of the protection of an uncle who was more tolerant than his father.

In the year 850 he returned and it was not difficult for him to gather around him a series of subjects who, like him, were willing to live outside the law. The environment was conducive to the designs of the future rebel. They frequented the southern districts the agitators and highwaymen, without the power center had enough strength to finish them off. Soon, he and his crew, established in an almost impregnable enclosure, perched on the heights of a rocky crag, the famous Bobastro, earned a reputation for daring and brave men, carrying out looting operations on the rich towns of the plain. So many blows of the hand ended up awakening the restlessness of Córdoba who sent an expedition under the command of one of the best generals of al-Andalus, Hashim ben Abd al-Aziz, who managed to get the rebel. Ibn Hafsun agreed to march to Córdoba and place himself at the service of the emir, and for a time, he belonged to the army, distinguishing himself in various actions of war, but that life of discipline on the one hand, and the limitations of citizen life for another, were not made for him. To this we must add the contempt that high court dignitaries felt for Muslims of recent conversion, which led to a discussion with the prefect of Córdoba. Ibn Hafsun fled to his Bobastro, in

those moments guarded by an Umayyad officer. He evicted him, he appropriated of his concubine and, as soon as his arrival was known, the crowd that had always accompanied him began to gather. Now, more than ever, he was determined to emancipate himself from Umayyad power and create an independent "principality".

They resumed the action, continued with the robberies and their good fortune made that several towns fell into their power: Auta, Mijas, Comares and perhaps the important stronghold of Archidona. Around the year 886 he helped another rebel like him that had become strong in Alhama, besieged by the Cordoban forces at command of the emir's son, al-Mundhir, who twice rejected the departure of the defenders of Alhama. But, after two months of siege, when the chances of success were in favor of Córdoba, al-Mundhir received the news of the death of his father and he had to leave to take over power, raising the siege of the city.

Al-Mundhir might have ended Ibn Hafsun's nightmare if he had not had such a short reign. Enterprising, brave and generous, the Umayyad prince died in just two years, in dramatic circumstances and so strange.

Meanwhile, Ibn Hafsun was making a name for himself, moving away from his image of robber. Now he was establishing himself as a politician and as a champion of the oppressed. Al-Mundhir was busy receiving the oath of allegiance and in thebcelebrations that were celebrated for his ascension to the emirate... and the rebel of Bobastro, a good orator, inflamed the spirits talk-

ing to free themselves from the oppressive yoke of the Umayyads, which overwhelmed them with taxes and despised all those who were not Arabs or Muslims always. His speech was very well received everywhere, especially among the muladíes, who saw in him their natural leader. There was no longer any talk other than Ibn Hafsun throughout the mountains, of his respect for women, of his sense of the justice that repressed any mischief or violence, of his respect for those who fought at his side. He had invented some military decorations, consisting of gold bracelets, which he gave to those who had fought with courage, in the middle of a solemn ceremony... He was already behaving like a true lord. At the same time, its area of influence was increasing, and his domains grew. He took Priego and reached Cabra. He took over the castle of Iznájar and left it in the hands of his supporters. It was becoming a real headache for the emirate.

Al-Mundhir went out to fight him a year after his accession to the throne. The Cordoban forces recovered the castle of Iznájar and the rebels wereb evicted towards Lucena, but these successes did not put an end to IbnvHafsun's activity. In the spring of 888 the emir, in person, besieged Archidona, captured the representative of Ibn Hafsun, another muladi, who ended up crucified among a pigband a dog. The city surrendered and its leaders ran the same luck, as well as other rebels faithful to the cause of Bobastro.

Al-Mundhir planned to deliver the final blow in the rebel's citadelband established his war camp at the foot of the imposing castle. Did the muladí got scared

seeing the Córdoban troops at the gates of his fortress, or did he believe that he would not have sufficient capacity to withstand a long siege? We will never know, but Ibn Hafsun entered into talks with the emir, promising to surrender whenever he and his family were offered privileged treatment in Córdoba. Al-Mundhir must have thought that this approach of his enemy was sincere and he wrote a letter in which he was promised immunity and total respect, sending it to him along with fifty mules to transport his belongings. But the temptation was stronger than the supposed good intentions of Ibn Hafsun. As the convoy ascended toward the steep Bobastro, the rebel who had arranged to stay with the emir, fled at night, caught up with the convoy and drove away the horsemen who accompanied him, requisitioned the cavalry and appropriated the gifts that al-Mundhir sent to the rebel's family.

Seeing himself mocked, the emir renewed the siege and swore not to move from there until he finished with Ibn Hafsun, but a few days later, al-Mundhir fell ill. made come from Córdoba to his brother Abd Allah to maintain the siege, but the arrival of the prince coincided with the death of the emir. The throne passed to Abd Allah, since the deceased had no children of age to succeed him. The emiral troops wanted continue the siege, burying al-Mundhir there, but Abd Allah did not seemed to agree with this idea, and in the end his opinion prevailed. He carried the body of his brother to take to Córdoba, and the siege of Bobastro was gotten up. The new emir requested Ibn Hafsun to refrain from harassing the funeral procession, and that his desire, as ruler, was to maintain good relations with him. Honored as an enemy to be reckoned with, the rebel

behaved like a gentleman respecting the troops who were retreating accompanying al-Mundhir's corpse.

Under Abd Allah, Ibn Hafsun's activity was incessant, making use of any means to maintain their domains, which extended from the south of Córdoba to the Mediterranean. It will not hesitate to put on, for short periods of times, in the service of the Umayyads, to later walk away without caring about sacrificing the hostages he has left with them. On other occasions he will ask for help from Muslims from North Africa... Many times he will be the winner and many times will be defeated. In 891 he suffered perhaps his most notorious defeat at the hands of Abd Allah, partly because some of the muladi's troops abandoned him. He lost the majority of the places that considered him as their lord and had to make a pact with Córdoba. The pact was maintained for a short time and in 892 it was already, again, in war footing, Re-conquering for him the squares of Archidona, Elvira and Jaén, to recover its former power, it only lacked the fortress of Poley and the population of Écija. However, in the six years that followed these rebel successes, Ibn Hafsun was more or less still, and even Elvira lost.

It seemed that, winning or losing, the emirate could never end that dissidence, but a personal decision by Ibn Hafsun was going to turn the situation. The rebel returned to the faith of his elders, he turned to Christianity and he had himself baptized with the name Samuel, while his wife took the name of Columba. The Mozarabs of Córdoba celebrated this decision in style, but among the muladíes, some sincere converts to Islam, they did not like it at all. Part of hisbfaithful turned their backs on him and refused

to obey him. This conversion had such an impact that even a pious Maghrebi warrior led a small troop of fighters for the faith who went to al-Andalus to fight the renegade.

He turns to the Christians, who do not trust him, and tries withbnewly established monarchies in North Africa... and of course keep going playing "cat and mouse" with the emiral troops. But the death of the emir Abd Allah and the ascension to the throne of his grandson, the future first caliph of al-Andalus, Abd al-Rahman III, will completely change this state of affairs. The failures of Ibn Hafsun were multiplying. Slowly but surely, Abd al-Rahman was recovering, one by one, the rebel strongholds that, day by day, were more isolated. Only his children remained by his side and were in charge of continuing maintaining the insurrection in the mountains of Córdoba and Málaga.

In 914 a cruel drought struck the entire country. Several epidemics were declared and famine appeared with its aftermath of countless deaths. Nor Abd al-Rahman III nor Ibn Hafsun were in a position to fight. Furthermore, the rebel was sick and seemed to have forgotten the care earthly, he only cared about being right with God, the God of the Christians, and locked up in the church of Bobastro, he dedicated himself to exercises of pity imploring the eternal salvation of his soul. His life was extinguished inbSeptember of the year 917, and he was buried as a Christian. His death saddened the Mozarabs and delighted the Muslims who celebrated it with actions of gratitudes.

Ibn Hafsun was never completely defeated and with a program of action and governmentbless erratic, perhaps he would have achieved great things. It cannot be denied that he was brave, audacious and reckless on many occasions and that Abd al-Rahman, sobgenerous with the defeated, he would have done well to respect their remains. When Ibn Hafsun died, he took control of Bobastro, he will have them unearthed and displayed in Córdoba as a trophy, in a gesture inappropriate for a character as great as him.

How did Bobastro end? Well, as was predictable. Ibn Hafsun left four sons and a woman. The eldest, Cha'far and his sister Argéntea, seemed to be Christians, while the other three, Sulayman, Abd al-Rahman and Hafs,bcontinued to be Muslims. Only Cha'far had inherited some of the spirit combative of his father, but the others would soon be fighting among themselves.

Cha'far, before the first victories of Abd al-Rahman III over the ancient strongholds who had belonged to Bobastro, requested a truce. It was granted and they waited events. Abd al-Rahman, the third son of Ibn Hafsun, was established in Ojén, when the Cordoban troops reduced it. He asked for forgiveness and was transferred to Córdoba where he ended up earning a living as a calligrapher.

Sulayman and Cha'far did not get along and the latter was murdered in Bobastro on October 30, 920, perhaps at the hands of his brother or at his instigation. Sulayman took up his position in Bobastro and Abd al-Rahman III continued to surround the stronghold through the capture of all the surrounding towns. In 927 he achieved to get rid of Sulayman

who died in an ambush. His corpse was decapitated and his head sent to Córdoba.

Only Hafs remained, who took possession of Bobastro for the fourth time, but without great hopes of being able to retain it for long. After six months of trying to resist, Hafs wrote to the monarch offering his surrender and the abandonment of that eagle's nest that was the fortress of Bobastro. In January 19, 928 the white flag of the Umayyads waved over those rocks. Hafs and the remaining members of his family were sent to Córdoba, but since they had surrendered without fighting they were not punished. Hafs was even able to enlist in the Umayyad army. Argéntea professed in a convent and, over time, she would become a martyr, condemned for apostasy and for insult the official religion.

It had taken Abd al-Rahman III ten years to take over Bobastro after the death of Ibn Hafsun. The peaceful conquest of this enclave of so much significance had an enormous impact throughout Spain, both in the Muslim as in the Christian and, also, in North Africa where the rebel was well known. Abd al-Rahman III wanted to set foot in that cursed place of rebellion, which had caused so many troubles to his predecessors and to him, and together with his son, Prince al-Hakam, who was only thirteen years old, ran, to the last corner of the Bobastro fortress, with the legitimate pride in having been its definitive conqueror. Andalusia remained completely pacified.

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Shackled (Chapter 5)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Pogue! Reader

Warning: There are some intense, dubiously consenting and nonconsensual sexual themes in this series, MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS DNI.

Summary: You hate Outer Banks with a passion and are working hard to get out despite all the obstacles in your way. Rafe himself eventually becomes one of those obstacles after a night of low impulse control. Will you be able to overcome him or with you have no choice but to submit.

Slow Burn

Series Masterlist

Two months

That’s how long you had been adhering to your new schedule, which now included Rafe. 

When you arrived from the mainland, you went to Barry to collect your inventory and rested for a bit when you got home. 

Days were spent cleaning the house and making much-needed repairs courtesy of your father. Restocking food and supplies, again due to your father's negligence and chaotic behavior. Washing any and all fabrics in the house before having them ironed and folded in their designated areas. 

It felt like these errands and chores shouldn’t take long, but your father's destructive tendencies and residing deep into the cut without a vehicle made it very difficult. 

Every Thursday evening, without fail, Rafe shows up to pick you up from your home, blows your back out like a man starved, and drops you off at the ferry the morning after.

With Rafe requiring your attention, you needed everything to be done in such a short window of time that you couldn’t sleep two days out of the week. 

However, when you felt the need to complain, you remembered that you wouldn’t need to do this for much longer.

You only had about 16k left to raise before you said goodbye to Outerbanks for good. 

That didn’t meet you couldn’t dread restarting the week. 

When you get off the ferry and grab your luggage, walking out to the main road, imagine your surprise when you spot a familiar truck with a familiar face.

Rafe. 

You pretended not to see him and continued your journey to the bus stop. You and he had not discussed the status of your interactions outside more intimate settings, so you assumed it was to be kept on the low.

You weren’t complaining, despite your fronted devil-may-care attitude about the situation, you didn’t want Mary and Ether to know that you and Rafe were fucking.

You would repeat to yourself that you can’t betray friends you don’t consider friends. But nowadays you aren’t so sure. 

You sit by the stop and pull out your phone, sending Barry a message that you were on your way and to give you about an hour and a half. You pull up a random game, but before starting it, you hear a loud beep, and your attention is taken away from your phone towards the offending noise.

Who else do you see? But Rafe is across the street, staring at you.

“Get in, loser,” he calls playfully, a smirk adorning his face.

You’re positive it wouldn’t be a good idea to follow his instructions, so you stay where you are, unsure what to do about the situation. 

You see Rafe sigh deeply before hopping out of the truck and walking in your direction.

As he stops in front of you, he bends over to grab the handle of your bag; and before he can turn away with it, you grab it, stopping him from going any further. 

“What?” he asks 

“What are you doing here?” you retort 

“I thought it would be gentlemanly of me to pick you up from the ferry.” he places his free hand on his hip as if the answer were obvious. 

You give him a look cueing your disbelief.

“Alright, you caught me. I hoped we could hang out this week since your weekends are always booked.” 

Your look of disbelief carries on. 

“I mean it. I want to get to know the person I’m perpetually sticking my dick inside and vice versa.”

“I can’t,  I have things to do and -” you start, but he cuts you off, raising his hand.

“Yea, yea, I get it, your errands and chores,” annoyance lacing his tone.

This wasn’t the first time you and Rafe had this conversation, so you weren’t sure why he didn’t expect you to reject him this time. 

“That’s why I’m going to help you with your little to-do list,” he reveals.

You’re taken aback by his confrssion.

“Why?” you ask

“Are you gonna make me say it?” a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. 

You tilt your head in confusion.

“I’m horny,” he says, voice deadpanned and a serious expression plastered on his face.

“Oh,” you say 

“Right,” he grabs your hand and pulls you toward his truck. 

“I have to visit Barry first and go home to clean the house.”

“Done and Done, now get in the truck” he places your bag on the floor of the passenger seat once he’s settled. 

You walk around to the other side, hop into your designated seat, and wonder if it was a good idea to let Rafe push the boundaries like this, but the thoughts vanish once you realize how much easier it would be to get your chores and errands done for the day. 

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. 

*****

When Rafe took you to collect your supply, the shock on Barry’s face from seeing you and Rafe together was exactly as you expected. 

Once he overcame his surprise, your banter continued, except you were short again. 

“Barry?”

“Look, sweetheart, this wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last, but I always come through for you, right?” 

You nod 

“You have to understand my reluctance, Barry. Put yourself in my shoes. Understand the position I’m being placed in right now,” you explain. 

“I get it, sweetheart, I do, but I’m tight right now,”

“I’ll cover you.” 

You turn your head to Rafe, who has no dog in this fight, a tense look on his face as his jaw clenches.

“What?” both you and Barry say simultaneously.

“I’ll cover for you, Barry, but whatever she sells now is what she gives you next week, and you will get her the full amount.”

“Look at that, country club steppin’ up, alright, you got my word,” Barry says 

You don’t say anything as shock strangles your vocal cords. You give Barry an affectionate hug, and walk back to the truck with Rafe.

Rafe pulls out his wallet and hands you the amount you missed with Barry being short, plus more. 

You don’t touch it. 

“Why did you do that?” you asked 

“Because I’m horny and we still have to stop by your dad’s.”

You grab the money and placed it in your bag. It didn’t matter to you, this only meant that Barry owed Rafe, and you had nothing to do with it.

[minato-division03]

The sun was now starting to disappear from the horizon as the shade of numerous colors mixed in together at the time of dusk —And that was the same time Shirazuki household had been visited by some unexpected guest at her doorstep.

But when the ex-idol had gone out to check it up, she only found a package neatly wrapped in a beautiful piece of cloth hanging around the handle of the door instead of any sight of its sender.

Deciding to inspect it first for safety reasons, she cautiously unwrapped the parcel until she saw what had been sent to her residence.

First one she saw was a knitted scarf with the design of an adorable but insightful animal, the ‘Barn Owl’,

Next was a set of cute macarons which was actually the scented candles with a sweet and fruity mixed berries fragrance,

And last one was an elegant set of twelve necklaces in the theme of zodiac star signs,

Last but not least, there was a card written “Happy Birthday & Happy New Year!” submitted with the address from the people of Nara Division

—Somewhere in a car that was heading out of Minato ward—

“Really, you should put the birthday card outside of the furoshiki,”

the young(?) man with shades said as he just casually opened a can of tuna in his grasp, not even caring that he was in someone else’s car,

“or somewhere else more easier to see —Receiving something from the seemingly anonymous sender normally startles the person who used to be at the center of the limelight, you know?”

A cold glare was pointed to the speaker from the driver seat.

“I don’t wanna hear that from someone who almost caused a ruckus in Ms. Queen Card’s birthday the previous October,”

the much older man in his usual dark colored suit retorted with somewhat hostility in his tone.

“Aww~ Don’t talk about the water under the bridge, shall we?”

that enigmatic nonconformist shrugged in an unserious manner while he was savoring his quick supper.

“That queenie is already pretty smart on her own. I know she would know in a heartbeat that the little gift I added to Misaki’s thingies was more like a greeting toy than some real threat —Well, wouldn’t we all live for some excitement?”

As the shades he always oddly wore indoors and outdoors still covered all parts of his eyes, the older man couldn’t make a guess of what was actually in this shitty cat’s head.

Turning away from his troublesome accomplice, Chishio let out a long sigh as he fought down his own urge to pack this cat in some blank luggage and send it back to where he should belong. To be honest, maybe the reason why he often got disturbed by his antics was because it reminded him so much of himself when he was with his young master and the kids in his team.

…And he never understood what in the world had made Shūkaidō think that his earnest young master could replace him when the adoptive son of his was the troublesome person like THIS of all time.

Miku blew out the match and watched as the wick on her new candles that laid on top of some trays on her bedroom floor caught aflame. A small, delicate fire that allowed the mixed berry scents to fill her room.

Surrounding her on the floor was a ring of unscented candles.

With an exhale, she tilted her head back and closes her eyes, canceling out everything around her, including the owl scarf that rested on her shoulders. Cancelling the sound of her beautiful new With her nose, she breathed in the unfamiliar scent, her ears focused on the white noise that played on her computer and the light chimes from her new necklaces that hung on her jewelry altar, and zeroing in on the heat that rose from the candles around her.

“My circle is cast.”

Thank you for the gifts!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

A for effort for dear Námo

This is for all the people who made me really like Námo, like @maglor-my-beloved, @z-h-i-e, and of course, my Valar-liking friend @the-red-butterfly.

Please enjoy 715 words of Námo having a less-than-ideal day with his wife.

(Also...Fëanor, because always Fëanor)

“I do not look that grim,” Fëanáro bellowed, looking – as far as Námo was concerned – much dourer than his beloved wife had ever depicted him in any of her tapestries.

“Is it too much to ask that she not slander me more than strictly necessary? Already, you lot seem to have decided to turn me into the villain of your little tale of woe; do you absolutely have to make me look like one in every hanging as well?” The wavering soul sniffed in vexation. “My children see this as well, and my poor mother has to weave these atrocities! Who designs those abhorrent pictures?”

Námo steadied himself, trying hard to remember the breathing exercises his beloved siblings had shown him to deal with the stress of his workplace; these new-fangled ideas brought to their realm by the returning exiles and odd guests alike did have their undeniable advantages, he had to admit.

“I shall have words with my wife,” he declared placatingly, but a tight knot of apprehension started swirling deep within his core. As was custom, he did not meddle in Vairë’s work and she kept mostly out of his.

It would take incredible tact and quite a bit of sweet-talking to get her to understand that one of his charges – and she’d know which one right away – had complained about her handiwork. There was a distinct risk that she’d take the broom she used to tidy up the bits of discarded and cut-off thread in her halls and sweep Finwë’s oldest and Míriel’s only son straight into the void.

Tired of Fëanáro’s antics, Námo removed himself with as much grace as he could muster and went straight to his beloved wife’s halls where she sat, frowning and weighing a few spools of thread pensively, in front of a half-finished tapestry of a particularly bloody battle.

“Husband,” she greeted without turning around. “What say you? This one or this one for the blood?” She held aloft two reels that looked to be the exact same shade of crimson to Námo.

“That one,” he replied and tapped the one closest to him. “I’ve come to transmit the grievance of one of my charges.”

As she whirled around, he steeled himself against the inquisitive touch of her mind, brushing against his own with tender confidence. “Oh?” Vairë cocked her head.

“Someone expressed moderate displeasure about the way they’re shown.” He cleared his throat sheepishly as her brows drew together in dismay. “That someone,” he went on bravely, “thinks that their beauty might not be rendered satisfactorily by your impeccable art.”

“Oh, she said that he’d complain,” Vairë grunted and threw the bobbins to the stone floor to clasp her hands around her knees in an expression of benevolent patience. “And you’ve come to impart that questionable insight right away?”

“Indeed,” Námo sighed; he saw his wife’s eyes darken and her glance flit over the rows of neatly arrayed spools that turned one wall of her halls into a mesmerising mosaic of colours. 

“Leave it to me, husband,” she then said in a tone so sweet and soothing that he was now convinced beyond a doubt that she was indeed plotting to teach the unruliest of the High Kings of the Noldor a lesson.

“I submit to your wisdom and skill,” he replied hastily lest he be entangled in marital doom amongst other shenanigans. “Far be it from me to lecture you on your own unique gift.”

With those conciliatory words, Námo returned to his own tasks, happy to have handled things so well.

The very next day, Fëanáro – flashing red and orange with anger – came to him and led him to the newest addition to the hanging decorating every wall, courtesy of his esteemed spouse.

“Oh,” Námo gasped and fell silent. Vairë had indeed made Míriel’s son blindingly handsome, but – on the other hand – he was now tiny, dwarfed and overshadowed by his children and siblings. “Well, you’ve never said anything about your height.”

Smug as a cat that had gotten to the cream, he drifted away and left his very animate ball and chain standing in front of the offending tapestry, fuming and raging. 

At the very least, Námo thought, Fëanáro was much restored and almost his old self again…for better or for worse.

That's it...that's the burst of energy for today lol

Lots of love!

[bookofjin]

Annals of Emperor Wen of Zhou, Part 5 (ZS01)

[Yuwen Tai publicly denounces Gao Huan.]

At the time the Wei Emperor was just then making designs against Shenwu of Qi, and again dispatched to levy troops. Taizu therefore ordered the former Inspector of Qin province, Luo Chao, to be Great Chief Controller, and lead 1 000 light cavalry to proceed to Luo. Advanced the conferrals on Taizu to Combined Archer-Servant of the Masters of Writing and Great Acting Tribunal of Guanxi, the remaining offices and ennoblement like before. Taizu therefore transmitted a call to arms to the region's garrisons which said:

[I] have heard that yin and yang alternate in usage, growth and decline follow after each other, and if there is hundred-and-six, nothing is heard of three and five. When the august house initiated the succession, they moulded and fashioned the Green Growth, protected and calmed the Four Seas, and benevolently nurtured the ten thousand things. Turning to reach the Xiaochang era [525 – 528], difficulties and disturbance rose up again and again. Long and Ji were agitated and astir, Yan and He turned their heads to look behind their backs. Although the numinous mandate began again, and there was a time for washing away and settling, yet the followers of trouble-makers following that grew feathers and wings.

The traitorous subject Gao Huan, his capability and knowledge less than mediocre, set out from the lackeys and menials having scarcely heard of courtesy or righteousness, and straight-away, as the singular falcon or dog who would put his strength into military action, put on a brave face for kindness and favour, consequently he climbed in glory and honour. Incapable of utter sincerity and full steadfastness, he gave sole attention to and believed in perfidious deviation, and therefore urged Erzhu Rong to act in this way with usurpation and rebellion.

When Rong, due to monopolizing government, had submitted to execution, and [Erzhu] Shilong, due to malignant factions, made an outside rebellion, Huan persistently made vigorous effort, enabling him to gain the Imperial Capital. Again he urged the Tuwan boy [Erzhu Zhao?] to then be a cruel regicide, temporarily installed the Jianming [emperor] [530 – 531], to command Under Heaven, and made use of pushing forward the Putai [emperor] [531 - 532], intending to steal power and authority. Each ended up deposed and repudiated, and both were brutally murdered. Hence he declared to the troops North of the He, making using of chastising the Erzhu, and urgently passed along a petition with proposals, stating he would capture the slanderous traitors. He already has acted to depose and dismiss, and thereupon is about to usurp and regicide.

Since people's expectations have not yet changed, he fears the cauldrons and pots exchanging places, and therefore beseeches the imperial house, to compel indeed people's heart. Heaven just now gives to Wei, which surely will have a ruler, and to assist and support with sagely clarity is sincerely not Huan what gives his strength to. [?] Yet Huan blocks up troops and is at ease with cruelty, and consider himself as meritorious. He broadly spreads out belly and heart to straddle provinces and join up commanderies, among the keys to governing forbidden door none are not in his personal faction. He always acts with covetous cruelty,a yayu窫窳 as a living person[?]. And the old generals and famous subjects, upright people and straight gentlemen, constantly develops sores and bruises, every movement snaring them in entangling nets.

Formerly there was the General of Guards, Yi Lin, pure, chaste, tough, and resolute, one who belonged to the forbidden battalion[?], and the General of the Straight Chamber, Xianyu Kangren, loyal, bright, valiant, and outstanding, among the claws and teeth was he. Huan gathered them up and slaughtered them, not even making it heard in a memorial.

The Minister of Works, Gao Gan was in faction with him, they were always shadows and echoes of each other, and planned to imperil the altars of soil and grain. It was merely due to his perfidious aspirations he was not yet following, and fearing he would be the first to leak and drip, he therefore covertly informed the imperial court, causing Gao Gan to be killed, and only then wailed and replied to younger brother, claiming the Son of Heaven was constantly slaughtering.

Sun Teng and Ren Xiang are Huan's heart and spine, and both were sent to enter and live near the doorpost to wait for gaps and cracks in the state. When they perceived Huan's rebellious plans were about to issue out, they fled back home in succession. Huan more and more consoled and attended on them, and likewise nothing was put forth or reported on.

As such, when first Huan entered Luo, he basically had perfidious plans. Now his intimate Cai Jun has begun to shepherd He and Ji, and is lavishly being kind and supportive to them, so as to become the master of the Eastern Circuit.

Formerly the Great Chief Controller of Guanxi, the Duke of Qingshui, Heba Yue, his achievements and virtue plentiful and weighty, in rise and fall was someone to take refuge in. Huan was fond of chaos and happy with misfortune, and was deeply spiteful and venomous to him. He therefore furtively plotted with Houmochen Yue¤ his ruin and murder. [This?] field headquarters, due to receiving rules be in sole charge of campaigning, right then promptly chastised and slaughtered.

Huan knew his rebellious appearance had already been exposed, and bit by bit held close the battalions to resist. He thereupon dispatched Cai Jun oppose replacement, and ordered Dou Tai to assist him. He also dispatched Hou Jing and others, their stated direction Baima; Fu Shizhen and others to press straight on to the Stone Ford; Gao Longzhi, Pi Louzhao and others to station at and occupy Hu Pass; Han Gui's followers to hold close the multitudes at Puban. Hence he sent up a letter to the Son of Heaven, counting and discussing gains and losses, denigrating and defaming the Driving Carriage, and dominating and disrespecting the imperial court. Alleging those trifling contributions, he looks forward to this great treasure.

Gorges and ravines can overflow, but a mischievous mind cannot be fathomed. Sometimes he tells he will proceed straight to Jing and Chu and expand the border outwards. Sometimes he tells he will separately go to Yin and Luo, and capture those slanderous people. Sometimes he tells he intends to come and enter the Passes, and settle in battle with [this] field headquarters.

Now a sage clarifies and steers the cycles, Under Heaven is pure and unruffled, the hundred companions learn from each other, the Four Peripheries come together. People loyal and good [are?] who should be by the side of the ruler. And yet Huan's power and good fortune is for himself, giving birth this way to the steps of chaos. He joins together the Southern Basket [constellation] and points out deer as being horses. He bundles up and stores nefarious rebels to wait on our divine receptacle. If this can be endured, what cannot be tolerated!

This field headquarters to snap off and wash away firmament will personally accepted sacrificial meat, and with a honed host a million strong, and a thousand groups of horse archers, wrap up food and sit in armour, indeed the opponent is what we wait for, and that which is right-principled, to smash the flesh of this disgrace[?].

Furthermore there has again and again been written decrees, widely announced Under Heaven, declaring Huan a rebellious chaos-maker, and summoning troops to deliver the strike. Now [I] will immediately allot instructions to the generals and leaders, to respond to the moment and advance to chastise. Some will press on to his key points, some will assault his dens and dwellings, [like?] a lightning flashing or snake striking, fog gathering or the stars snaring. And Huan disobeys and burdens Heaven and Earth, the poison cloaking people and ghosts. To take advantage of this to sweep and cleanse away is easy as bowing down and picking up.

If Huan crosses the He to bit by bit pressure the Ancestral Temple, then [I] will allot instructions to the various generals to straight-away capture Bing province. This field headquarters will personally from the eastern camp entrance proceed in a flash to Yi and Luo. If he firms up his nests and caves, not daring to move out, [I] likewise will instruct the crowd of leaders, to go forward together along a hundred roads, to tear and rend apart the traitorous subjects and so apologize to Under Heaven.

Among his provinces, garrisons, commanderies, and counties, leading the land and common people, there are in some provinces and districts caps and crowns, in some achievements mediocre generations after generation. In both cases they ought to renounce rebellion and revert to obedience, and establish results at the army gates. The ordnances for ennoblement and rewards already have a separate framework.

Whoever among the hundred noble lords cannot make the effort!

[obeysalsaverde]

Prompt 5: Love at first sight (Satan/Fem Reader)

Way back at the start of this year, to celebrate reaching 69 followers on Twitter, I let people send me prompts for the Obey Me boys for 12 hours and then tweeted the resulting stories.

Here is story 5 of 11.

Characters: Satan/Fem reader

Prompt: Love at first sight

Submitted by @wrathfulgf on Twitter.

_______________________________________________

In all honesty, Satan had only agreed to be present for the welcoming of the human exchange student in the hopes of finding a chance to mess with Lucifer. When you blipped into the Student Council Chamber, wide-eyed and confused, he didn't expect his heart to falter.

He didn't anticipate the way his breath would catch in his throat, or the way his mouth would hang just slightly open. He didn't even notice that he'd splayed a hand across his chest, as if scandalised by the allure of this woman's entirely anticipated presence.

His mind was still blank when Diavolo and Lucifer had both said their piece and the eldest began to introduce those of the brothers who were present. To his chagrin, Asmodeus had to nudge him in the ribs before he could respond after Lucifer had introduced him. How humiliating.

"Yes, I am Satan," he said, coming to his feet slowly and extending a hand.

His words caught in his throat as he met your gaze. He waited for the touch of your soft skin against his palm before he closed his fingers carefully around yours.

"A pleasure to meet you."

He heard himself say the words, though he didn't really register that he was speaking. A bead of fear still lingered in your eyes as he shook your hand, but he watched it melt away at his touch. By heaven and by hell, your eyes and your smile were completely disarming. What was wrong with his heart? Why couldn't he breathe? His cheeks felt warm and he felt like he was falling, but not into darkness. It was like he was falling into water, ready to be caught by the soft smile that shaped your lips when he failed to release your hand.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Asmodeus's distinct giggle, and behind you, he saw Lucifer's disapproving look and raised eyebrow. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that you were looking into his eyes, and you weren't flinching away. What mattered was your skin. The way your hand fit perfectly into his, like they were pieces of a puzzle, designed to connect with one another. His chest thudded. He let out a shaking breath and then inhaled deeply, catching the scent of you—your shampoo, your perfume, the scent of your laundry detergent. And there was something so beautifully intimate about these things. So completely soothing. It settled in his stomach like warm milk and spread into his veins. Satan felt nourished, and he didn't give a damn how stupid he probably looked right now.

He'd never felt this before. It was new and terrifying and surreal, yet he felt calm. As if this was exactly where he was meant to be. He could see the blush rise in your cheeks the longer he held your hand and held your gaze. With your free hand, you tucked strands of hair behind your ear.

Then you looked away, your cheeks burning, suddenly shy. Satan almost cupped your face to bring your gaze back to him, but caught himself as he raised his hand. The spell shattered as you stepped back from him, still smiling, and his senses kicked back into gear.

Foolish! What's wrong with me? He chastised himself internally as Lucifer concluded the introductions and had you call Mammon.

But still, he could not tear his eyes away from your every movement. The way your idle hands fiddled with your hair, your clothes, your new D.D.D.

It wasn't until Asmodeus nudged him in the ribs again that he truly returned to himself.

"Somebody likes what he sees~" Asmodeus teased.

Satan scoffed and shook his head.

"Objectively, she is beautiful, yes," he said carefully.

To himself, he added: but she's more than that.

Satan love beautiful things; he always had. Art, literature, the sound of Lucifer's practiced hands playing the piano (though he'd never admit it), the song of birds in the forest behind the house, the wash of the ocean against a shoreline. He could be breath taken, mesmerised.

But this was different. Of that he was certain.

Something about you, the human who had just been transported to the Devildom, the woman who would be staying in the House of Lamentation for the duration of the year, made him feel something that he'd never felt before. It was something he had only read about in fairytales, learned about in books, seen in films, understood through music. He knew this thing was real, but he had never been touched by it firsthand. It was something he had never imagined he would get to experience for himself.

No, not he, Satan, the Avatar of Wrath.

But watching you find your bearings in this strange new world, there was no doubt left in his mind. What he had just felt, what he had experienced as you materialised in this room could only be described as one thing: love at first sight.

[statisticalsite]

Autumn Traffic Review & OTOs By Dawud Islam

Autumn Traffic Review

Introduction

Hi folks it's Anthony here back with my review of Autumn Traffic - another traffic related launch Autumn Traffic! Usual lineup here folks these traffic releases are ever popular always do very well and this time traffic from another brand new source and four other rotators.

Dawud Islam is launching with Brian Alcock who will be familiar to many of you especially if you're connected to Ministry of Freedom because he's obviously heavily involved with that program so it's going to be a good launch folks, do jump on Autumn Traffic go live on Monday the 26th of September at 9 00 a.m Eastern Standard Time so grab your link and all the usual bonuses apply hit up himself or Brian if you need anything for your copy of this product and the vendors look forward to seeing you on their members inside.

Autumn Traffic Review And Rating

Author:Dawud Islam

Product:

Autumn Traffic

Launch Date:

2022-Sep-26

Launch Time:

09:00 EDT

Refund:

30 Days Money Back Guarantee

Support:

Effective Response

Front-End Price:

only $12.95

Sales Page:

https://autumntraffic.com/offer

Recommended:

Highly Recommended

Skill Level Needed:

All Levels

Niche:

Affiliate Marketing

Verdict:

100% Legit!

[wp-review id="999"]

Autumn Traffic Review - What Is It All About?

Autumn Traffic is DAWUD ISLAM his latest traffic related product, it provides you with free daily traffic to any single URL of your choice from a brand new traffic source and it also includes daily traffic from four of my other traffic rotators that have been launched in the last year and they are: Spring traffic, Summer traffic, Winter traffic and Traffic Time 2.0.

Autumn Traffic Review - Features & Benefits

With Autumn you complete the four seasons of traffic now I know those in the US call this season Fall - in the UK we call it Autumn but it's the same thing. it's the season of the year that they call Autumn.

So as I said it's a brand new traffic Source it gives you daily unlimited traffic by that I mean the traffic's never ending once you've Supply this with your url. All you have to do is put it through a simple site tester and then you will get traffic to that URL every single day carrying forward.

So it doesn't get any easier than this as it says here: Push one button and enjoy free daily traffic forever! Now with all these products, they work best with opt-in offers that are you know designed to get people onto email lists so using squeeze Pages, free giveaways. That sort of thing is always going to get you a much better response than trying to go in with like a high ticket offer or a paid offer of any sort. That's the case with obviously all cold traffic sources like this.

But those of you that use the traffic wisely, can get a lot of sign ups with this and you can get a massive return on your investment over a period of time so it's got a very low entry price as well, just 12.95 to pick this up and click on the link underneath the video and you will also get access to my bonus page with the five bonuses that everybody gets which they'll go through in just a little bit.

Why Should Use Autumn Traffic?

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="225"]

DAWUD ISLAM CEO/CREATOR[/caption]

First of all let's have a look at the sales page which is awesome traffic doesn't get any easier than this push one button and enjoy free daily traffic forever!

No experience email list

No Tech skills require

Autumn Traffic is a complete set and forget system you really can get this set up in just a couple of minutes that submit any URL once and get free daily traffic forever from multiple sources. It works in any Niche they've had people that have successfully used this traffic to promote Click Bank offers so it's not just MMO traffic.

Autumn Traffic includes traffic from five different traffic Rotators solely newbie friendly and no list is required set it all up in seconds and Fast Action will 10 times your profits. With all these traffic releases DAWUD always make this point, those can get in on the first one or two days of the launch are always going to do way better than those who delay. The reason being that all of these rotators are completely empty when he first launched them.

Inside the Autumn Traffic Member Area

The Rotator at the moment has only got one link on it which is DAWUD test link that I always put on when his create the Rotator. Beyond that people pick this up on the first day they are going to be going on that Rotator and when the Rotator goes live just a few hours after the launch, there's typically only at that point you know maybe 10 links on it from people that have sent their links in straight away after purchase.

So for the first 24 hours before the vendor start updating the Rotator again, those people that pick this up right at the start, they get a lot traffic to their links - they probably get 50 60 70 hits during that opening 24 hours before it slows down to two or three hits a day or whatever.

So there really is a big reason to pick this up right at the start of the launch and people that buy most of my traffic products. Now have got into this pattern where they sort of get their link ready to purchase the traffic product right at the start of the launch so they can benefit from that additional Rush of traffic right at the start.

Some Words about the Autumn Traffic Vendors & How Does It Work?

Brian Alcock by the way is DAWUD ISLAM's launch partner. On this one some of you may know him. he's one of the admins on the ministry of Freedom John Armstrong's program so a lot of you may well have come across Brian just to confirm the other programs that you get with this.

So you get on all of these traffic rotators, your link will appear on all five or you can if you want you can submit a different link for all five of these rotators it's entirely up to you. Most people submit a single link to go on all five but you don't have to!

AUTUMN TRAFFIC, SPRING TRAFFIC, SUMMER TRAFFIC, WINTER TRAFFIC AND TRAFFIC TIME 2.0 and He'll also throw in my own course that teaches you how to get free organic traffic fit yourself. Total traffic so that's 15 different ways to get free organic traffic yourself so you can actually:

Learn the methods you can

Learn how to do a lot of the stuff that DAWUD ISLAM does to generate the free traffic.

So rather than go around buying programs like this you can just generate as much traffic as you like and this is just confirmation of all of the other programs.

Now I'll have a quick look inside the members area: Welcome from DAWUD and a welcome from Brian video and there's just an overview and then the vendors go into the main training session where obviously they teach you the type of links that work for the best.

Autumn Traffic Review - OTOs & The Pricing

Now I just have a quick look at the Autumn Traffic upsells and the funnel so as I said the front end is 12.95 that lets you put one link on the five rotators.

Autumn Traffic OTO #1 — Summer Traffic PRO Version

The upsell is the pro version upsell number one which is 47 that lets you put five more links on all five of the sales rotators so once again you'll get Five on Autumn traffic - Five on Spring Traffic - Five on Summer Traffic - Five on Winter Traffic and Five on Traffic Time 2.0 and again you can either put the same link on all of them or you can put different links on all of them.

Autumn Traffic OTO #2 - Total Traffic Fix

Total traffic is 197 dollars that will give you 10 free super solo ads to over 30 000 members across my 25 sites in the MMO Niche so if you've got an MMO offer you may want to consider that. You'll also get free VIP upgrades worth over fifteen hundred dollars at all 25 sites in a permanent Banner on the sites.

Autumn Traffic OTO #3 - Reseller Rights

Obviously this is an evergreen product people are always going to want free traffic. $47 and you can sell Autumn traffic as if it was your own keep 100 of the profits.

Autumn Traffic OTO #4 - Done for you weekly campaigns

$97 get sent three done for you campaigns with a complete done for you bonus page each and every week.

Autumn Traffic OTO #5 - Elite Academy BETA Tester

The top up sellers membership of the high ticket program the Elite Academy. The only program where every single member is making money because of the unique Rotator system and also the fact that every member gets a guaranteed product launch with the Dawud.

That is pretty much it folks if you want to pick this up obviously everybody gets these bonuses below, DAWUD will just show you they are delivered right inside Autumn Traffic in the resources. that you get with it the bonuses are one and then you can access the bonus there.

If you want to pick this up all you have to do is click on any of these green buttons that will take you through to the Autumn Traffic sales page when the car opens at 9am Eastern Standard Time on the 26th. click on the button there and then that will bring you into the receipt area Warrior Plus.

Conclusion

That's pretty much it folks I'm not going to give any star rating to this because it's my friend DAWUD ISLAM own product. I need to do is to thank you for watching and listening to this Autumn Traffic review if you've enjoyed it please click on the sharing buttons, and you will get informed every time I bring out a new review article.

This is me Anthony Smith with Islam from the elite Tigers group with my review of Autumn Traffic.

Autumn Traffic Bonuses

I will also have a look inside the members area there it is and also have a look at the upsell: The front end is 12.95 the bonus is they've been using these bonuses for a while now so some of you may already have these that have picked up the previous traffic products but for those of you that haven't.

Tigers traffic is DAWUD ISLAM's Flagship traffic course

Ducky Dollars teaches you how to make money from social media and also use multiple links on social media which is one of the things that hold back.

Commission Blueprint is Glenn Koski's Flagship

Lockdown Formula was the release for total beginners that Jono Armstrong right at the start of lockdown

Dolphin Dividends teaches you how to make money from low content books.

Follow it through my Autumn Traffic Review & OTOs By Dawud Islam sources:

https://explorreviews.com/autumn-traffic-review-otos-by-dawud-islam/ https://twitter.com/explorreviews/status/1574781415958650880 https://www.facebook.com/explorreviews/posts/pfbid0dQVQTL3R5oCh8iRyHuMccwHix3xH1REUdgd5VbmJmquQb1ecnzxDoUfZhzC6QvSJl https://www.pinterest.com/pin/441845413454925411/ https://instaecomformulareview.blogspot.com/2022/09/autumn-traffic-review-otos-by-dawud.html

#AutumnTrafficReview #AutumnTrafficDemo #AutumnTrafficScam #AutumnTrafficRefund #AutumnTrafficOTOs #AutumnTrafficUpsells #AutumnTrafficBonus

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

[fett-djarin]

Stress Relief

Here it is! This is entirely self indulgent and filthy! Im a wh*re for the croissant guards

Also I headcanon Fox looking like how amikoroyoaiart draws him. her art is so good!

Commander Fox x f!reader

Crossposted on ao3

Rating: 18+

Length: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: Oral (m receiving), that good sloppy toppy, office sex, cursing, light grinding, making out

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

Bringing the Guard their morning caf had become a tradition, of sorts. You knew the caf in the mess wasn’t good--in fact, it was barely even palatable. When you first started as a new secretary, it had been your timid way of offering friendship to the imposing troopers who worked so hard to keep the planet safe. They warmed to you quickly. Thire was the first to remove his helmet in front of you, plonking it down on your desk and taking a long pull of caf barely a second after you handed it to him. At your stunned look, he had just raised a brow and said, “Long patrol last night,” with a shrug.

As the others had become more comfortable with you, you had seen most of them without their buckets at some point--except for Fox. He always took his caf with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” and retreated to his office. You knew it was against regulation for them to remove their helmets while they were on duty. But even when you dropped off the caf in his office, he was at his desk with his helmet on.

“He keeps it on so you can’t tell if he’s actually asleep,” Thorn told you one day. “I suspect he even does it while we’re standing guard sometimes.” You laughed aloud at that. The serious Commander Fox, asleep standing up. He was right though, you never would be able to tell.

The first time Fox removed his helmet in front of you, you hadn’t expected the gray dusting his temples, but honestly you weren’t surprised. The poor man was stressed beyond belief and worked half to death. You were more surprised that he finally did it in the first place. Fox sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls, before taking the caf and giving you a tired smile. He thanked you by name that time. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

From then on, he had been without it more when you went into his office. You even caught him sleeping once--head resting on his folded arms, bucket set next to him--and had done your best to deliver the caf without waking him. Maker knew he needed the sleep more than he needed hot caf--if Thorn hadn’t told you he snuck naps with the helmet on, you would think he ran off caf and stubborn will alone.

One morning, after you had passed out caf to the others--and a little cup of whipped cream for Grizzer--Fox hadn’t made an appearance, so you made your way to his office to drop it off. You knocked lightly on the door. “Come in,” his gruff voice called, and the door slid aside. You smiled at him, noting the way his shoulders visibly relaxed at seeing it was just you. You set the cup down on his desk. You had just turned when a touch on your wrist stopped you.

Fox was looking up at you, helmet cocked to the side. “You know you don’t have to bring us caf every time you work, right? The boys better not be nagging you for it.”

“I know,” you said. “I enjoy doing it. And it’s the least I could do.”

“The least you could do?”

“You all work so hard. You deserve more, even if it’s just better caf.”

He squeezed your wrist gently. “You don’t owe us anything. It is our duty to the Republic--”

“I know, Fox,” you tried to hide your grin, and failed. “But you’re also my friends.”

That seemed to surprise him, hand falling from your wrist as he sat back in his chair and regarded you curiously. You made your way back to the door, pausing in the entryway and looking back over your shoulder.

“Have a good morning, Commander.”

“...You as well, ma’am.”

The door slid shut behind you. Fox slipped his helmet off, setting it on his desk and staring hard at the door you had disappeared through. His eyes flicked to the paper cup of steaming caf, brows furrowed.

It was the first time you had called him by his name.

Friends?

----

After that day, Fox seemed to be trying to talk to you more. Instead of taking his caf and running off, he would stay, either to chat or just hang around for a minute with you and the other Guards. Stone nudged Thire, who nudged Thorn, and they all looked over to where Fox leaned his hip casually against your desk and you were laughing at something he said.

“Did someone replace Fox while we weren’t looking?” Thire questioned under his breath.

“I’ve never seen him so...cheery,” Stone said.

You smiled up at Fox, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. They watched as your fingers grazed the back of his hand where it rested on your desk. “Think something’s goin’ on between those two?” Thorn asked, gesturing vaguely over towards you and Fox with his cup.

“Absolutely.” Thire didn’t hesitate to answer.

The three quickly snapped to attention as Fox excused himself, heading their direction. You gave them a small wave. Thorn was about to wave back before Thire thumped him in the arm.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Fox grumbled as he passed them, heading to his office. “Get to it.” You hid your laugh behind your hand seeing the three Commanders scramble to disperse.

Evening rolled around, and you cocked your head side to side, stretching your neck and shoulders. You had been going over forms all day, datapad after datapad, organizing reports and requests for the Chancellor and the Senate. Your shift was almost over, and you were getting ready to go home for the night.

Various members of the Guard had come and gone, leaving and returning from patrols. Senators and representatives had filtered through; less and less as the evening progressed. You were just getting ready to leave when Fox stalked through, back from his rounds, tense and practically vibrating with irritation. He didn't even spare you a glance as he disappeared into his office. If the doors weren't automatic, he likely would have slammed it shut.

You knew he had a thankless job--a job he had no say in having, either. Usually it was something to do with the Chancellor that got him so worked up. Half the time you thought Fox would strangle the man himself if he could. Maybe you should take Fox out to one of the cafes nearby, just for a second to breathe and not carry the weight of the Guard on his shoulders. Was that against regulation? It might be better to invite him back to your apartment. Or did that imply too much?

You pushed yourself up from your chair, mind made up. He could always say no. You wouldn’t be offended.

You paused outside the door to his office, listening carefully. You couldn’t hear anything from the other side. So, you knocked.

“What.” Fox’s biting tone surprised you, but you didn’t take it personally.

“Commander? I...It’s me,” you said hesitantly, and then wanted to smack yourself. Confidence. “Is everything alright?”

No response. You took the silence as a sign that he wasn’t interested in talking. That was fine. You didn’t want to impose if he needed time to himself. The door slid open just as you had stepped back, intending to leave. Fox sighed, jerking his head to direct you inside.

The door shut behind you, and Fox sat heavily in his chair at the desk. Another deep sigh, and his shoulders slumped. He pulled his helmet off, setting it aside, and you caught a glimpse of the dark circles under his eyes before he put his head in his hands.

“Commander Fox?” You took a tentative step forward, so you were close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder.

He looked up at you. There was still tension lining his shoulders, hands flexing into fists and then relaxing. Stress. He opened his mouth to say something, frowned, and then closed it again. He cleared his throat. “Did you need something?” You could tell he was making an effort to soften his voice, likely as to not snap at you again.

“I just wanted to check in, sir,” you said, coming around the desk to stand next to him, leaning your weight against it. “It looked like something was bothering you.”

He waved his hand in the air vaguely, brows pinched. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ you’re not one of my men.” He looked like he was debating saying more, so you waited patiently, quietly, hoping he recognized that you were here to listen if he so needed.

“As you likely know, there’s a gala coming up. Senators, politicians, ambassadors, Jedi….” Fox huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s going to be a security nightmare. And the Chancellor,” he spat, venom in his voice, “has been on my case about patrols and the Guard. Always demanding more. We’re spread too thin, and not getting the support we need--” he cut himself off. He was getting himself worked up again.

You placed your hand over his where it was clenched into a fist on the desk. It relaxed under your touch. Fox heaved another sigh mixed with a groan. “I’m behind on paperwork too,” he glared at the stack of datapads sitting to the side. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to find the time to do everything.”

“Hmm,” you reached over and picked up one of the datapads, skimming through it, hopping up so you were now sitting on the desk. It was just a patrol report that needed Fox’s signature before being filed. “What’s your CC number?”

“CC-1010,” he answered instantly, then regarded you with suspicion. “Why?”

You signed the bottom of the form: CC-1010, “Fox,” and submitted it.

“What are you doing?” his voice seemed to have kicked up an octave.

“Helping you with your work. I deal with paperwork and holoforms all the time,” you said, picking up another datapad and scanning through the information. “Most of the time it’s to make sure there’s a document trail. Most of these probably don’t need an in-depth review, they’re not important. They just go in the archives and are never looked at again.”

“I--you--that’s illegal,” he sputtered. But he seemed more surprised than serious.

You raised a brow at him, signing his designation and name once again before submitting the next form. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“No,” he didn’t hesitate. Interesting. Then he had a thought. “Your handwriting doesn’t even look like mine.”

“Doesn’t it?” you showed him where you had signed. It was almost identical to his scrawling script. His eyes flicked between the form and your face, incredulity on his features.

“How…?”

You shrugged. “It’s something I’ve always been good at. Saved me a lot of trouble as a kid when I needed my parents to sign for something at school. Especially when it was a disciplinary note.” Fox barked a disbelieving laugh at that and you couldn’t help your sly smile. “Even if I didn’t mimic your signature, no one would notice. Or care. You could mark the lines with an X and it would go through; it’s only the acknowledgement they care about. You can even draw a loth-cat face and have that be in the archive forever as a signature.”

“Don’t you dare,” he threatened with a chuckle. “Some of these aren’t just patrol reports though. I actually have to read through the more important ones.”

You handed him a holopad as you picked up your third. “How’s this: we work on these together; if I find one that has important information or requires more than a signature, I’ll give it to you.”

He regarded you for a long moment, debating your offer. Some of the weight had lifted from his shoulders; he looked less tense, less overwhelmed, even less exhausted. Then he slowly nodded. “All right,” he said. “But you have to let me buy you coffee for once.”

“You don’t have to do that--”

“We’re friends. Right?”

That stopped you short. You did consider him and the other guards friends, but to hear him say that he also considered you one...it was nice. It made a pleasant warmth flutter in your stomach, and you couldn’t help your shy smile at his words. “Right,” you agreed. The soft upturn of his lips made your breath hitch. He looked so young when he smiled.

The two of you worked in companionable silence, steadily making your way through the stack of datapads. You had been correct--most of them were unimportant; standard reports and forms that required a signature purely for protocol. Every once in a while you handed one over to Fox for him to read through. Slowly, your free hands had crept together, and Fox hoped to the Maker that you didn’t notice how warm his cheeks had gotten. 

Your thumb rubbed soothing circles over the back of his hand, and he didn’t notice he was staring at the way your fingers moved rather than reading through the form you handed him until you cleared your throat. “Fox?” you asked quietly. His gaze landed on your lips. He wanted you to keep saying his name, he wanted to hear it again and again--

You brushed a stray curl back from his forehead. A tug on your arm had you stumbling forward off-balance, and you would have fallen if strong arms had not wrapped around you and pulled you into an armored chest. Heat rushed to your face at the new position you found yourself in: sat in Fox’s lap, his hand still entwined with yours.

Then he kissed you.

It was gentle, soft. His lips pressed to yours chastely, far more gently than you expected him to be, and you felt the datapad fall from your hand. The sharp clatter of it hitting the ground made Fox pull back, but then you grasped the back of his neck, twining your fingers in his curls, and pulled him back to your mouth. He tossed his own back on the desk with a groan as your lips met again.

You licked the seam of his lips, and he opened for you. Fox was content to let you lead. His hand gripped your hip, and he sighed into your kisses, melting from your affection. You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that--tasting, breathing each other in, sharing languid kisses full of pent-up desire.

His wild curls were soft in your fingers, and he all but purred when you lightly scratched your nails along his scalp. The hard plastoid of his thigh plates was uncomfortable underneath you, and you shifted your hips slightly in an effort to find a more comfortable spot. The breath hissed out through Fox's teeth, and your face flushed with warmth realizing you had brushed against his codpiece. His fingers tightened on your hip and thigh, pulling you towards him, encouraging your hips to roll against him again.

It was an awkward angle, with you sitting with your legs thrown over his lap, but from the hitch in Fox’s breathing it was doing something for him. You hummed into his mouth before pushing yourself up, holding onto his broad shoulders for support as you swung one leg over so you were now straddling him, chest to chest.

“Better?” he rumbled, nipping your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. You squeaked as his palms cupped and squeezed your ass, tugging you closer. Both of you basked in each other's eager little breaths and soft noises, hungry and wanting for more.

"Mhmm." The new position allowed you to feel the firmness of Fox's codpiece against your center when you pressed your hips into his. Fox really appreciated the new position, with your tits against his chest and free access to grope your ass. He almost whined into your mouth at the steady slow grind you started against him.

You wanted to hear that noise again. An idea struck you. You wanted to taste him. One more deep kiss, then you shimmied back off his lap. Fox made a noise of protest and tried to pull you back to him, but you just grinned and shooed his hands away. The floor was cold on your knees as you settled between his spread legs.

“What are you--oh,” he cut off with a harsh breath as your deft fingers unclasped his codpiece and tossed it away. Immediately, your palm cupped the warm bulge at the front of his blacks. He shifted in his seat, and you noticed his cheeks and ears had flushed a shade darker. How cute.

“Commander,” you purred, slowly stroking him through the fabric.

“Y-yes, cyare?” His hands flexed at the arms of his chair. He was struggling to not reach out and pull you back on his lap. Normally so composed, Fox now looked wrecked with his lips slightly parted, kiss-swollen, and hair mussed.

“Will you let me suck your cock?”

Fox spluttered and fumbled at your bluntness. You bit your bottom lip, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, still slowly stroking him over his blacks. You could see him fighting with himself. Maker, he wanted it. He wanted to see your pretty lips wrapped around his length. But he also didn’t want you to feel like you had to--he also desperately wanted to pleasure you.

“Please?” you leaned forward and mouthed at his clothed erection, letting your spit soak the fabric. Your eyes locked with his, looking up at him with your best faux-innocent look, like you had no idea what you were doing to him. But Maker, you were hungry. You wanted him.

“Fuck,” the word sounded as if it had been punched out of him. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing the rich brown of his irises. “Fuck, yes--”

You wasted no time in tugging the band of his blacks down. A shiver worked its way through him; seeing you on your knees in front of him was a dream--a dirty little fantasy he would never admit to. Many nights alone in his quarters or in the showers he had roughly fisted his cock to the thought of you in situations that were most definitely unprofessional, biting the back of his hand to keep his noises at bay. And now here you were, the sweet secretary, making his dreams become reality.

The sliver of warm skin revealed to you made you instantly want more, and you couldn’t stop from pressing a light kiss to his hip. Then you eased his leaking cock from his blacks. Fox hissed in a breath through his teeth as your hand loosely wrapped around him, pumping his length slowly. The precum that dribbled from the tip slicked your grip. He was thick and firm in your hand, like velvet-wrapped durasteel.

The first stroke of your tongue against his cock made him curse. You licked slowly, working your way from tip to base and back, tracing the pulsing vein that ran along the underside. Taking the head of his cock in your mouth, you tasted the salty tang of the precum that leaked from him. When you hummed around him, his hand shot to your hair, fingers winding through the strands. He didn’t push you down or pull you away; instead, he merely just...held on.

Fox’s breathing kicked up watching you worship his cock with your tongue and hands. You enjoyed watching him try to hold himself together, slowly making him fall apart piece by piece. Your head bobbed up and down his length, each time taking more of him. Your hand continued to pump and work the rest you hadn’t fit in your mouth. He breathed out a string of words in a language you didn’t understand, but from the tone it sounded like he was praising you.

All his little noises were making the heat coil in your core. Wetness pooled between your legs, and you clenched your thighs together for the slightest bit of relief. You closed your eyes to concentrate, focusing on the weight of his cock on your tongue, the heat of his body. You slowly took more of him in your mouth until you felt his tip bump the back of your throat. Breathe through your nose. Fighting off your gag reflex, you swallowed around him.

“Shit! Shit, mesh’la--” Fox cried out above you, feeling your throat constrict around his length. He tugged gently on your hair, and you pulled off him with a gasp. “Fuck, if you keep doing that I’m gonna cum in your mouth.” It was meant to be a warning, but he sounded too breathless for it to carry any weight.

“But Commander,” you looked up at him, enveloping the tip of his cock in the heat of your mouth and gently sucking. His thighs twitched under your hands, cock throbbing, and you pulled off with an obscene pop. “That’s the best part.”

You were messy, letting saliva drip from your mouth and down his cock. You sucked, licked, and kissed every inch of his length until it was sopping. When you ducked down to take his balls in your mouth, his breath hitched, hand tightening in your hair, and a low moan came from him.

“Gedet’ye, mesh’la, gedet’ye--” Fox choked out.

“Hm?” You pulled back, hand wrapped around his cock and continued to pump him tightly. You twisted your wrist when your hand brushed over his head. He was panting lightly, and looked deliciously wrecked.

“Gedet’ye,” he said again, “please.”

You smiled at him, and he felt his heart jump. You looked filthy, lipstick--Coruscant guard red?--smeared, lips and chin wet with spit. “I want you to cum in my mouth, Fox.” Then you brought your mouth back to his cock and sucked, laving your tongue over the sensitive head as one hand stroked the base. The other came up to cradle his balls, and he was done for.

Fox cursed up a storm in both Basic and Mando’a, nearly doubling over as his orgasm was wrenched out of him by your clever mouth. You kept your gaze connected with his, eyes hazy and half-lidded. Warm spurts of his release filled your mouth and you eagerly swallowed it down, milking his cock until he had nothing left. Subtly, you rubbed your thighs together, so turned on it nearly hurt. Seeing Fox fall apart for you stoked the fire of arousal in your core.

He had an arm thrown over his eyes as he slumped in his chair, chest heaving for breath. “Stars above, you’re going to kill me,” he said. You giggled, hands running soothing motions over his thigh plates, even though he couldn’t feel it through the plastoid. He looked boneless and sated, which was exactly your intention--well, part of your intention.

Then he was guiding you back up, cupping your cheek and kissing you hard. It was desperate, deep, filled with so much emotion that you couldn’t decipher it, you only knew that you felt the same. You moaned into his mouth. He broke the kiss, and you noticed the glint in his eye and his sly grin before he kissed you again, standing and guiding you back to sit on his desk.

“Now it’s my turn.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8,347 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, attempted sexual assault, discussions of trauma, typical TWD A/N: This is Part 1 of the new miniseries! This should be 2 or 3 parts total, and it's kind of intense and a bit dark at certain points so heed the warnings ya'll. Summary: Y/N is considered quiet, standoffish, and even a bit odd by the group, but Daryl knows how much she does around camp to care for everyone. After a traumatic incident while searching for Sophia, Daryl starts to discover why Y/N is the way she is.

Your name: submit What is this?

The group was all sitting around the low campfire, eating some breakfast. The two Greene girls came out with baskets in hand. Beth approached Rick and held hers out. “We have some more eggs for you all. Our hens lay more than we can eat,” she said.

Rick gratefully accepted them with an earnest look and a nod. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“And some potatoes,” Maggie offered. Lori grabbed her basket.

“Really, you all are being so kind. If there’s anything we can do to help around the place just let us know,” she said.

Beth was looking off into the distance at you sitting alone, away from the group, your back to the farmstead. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked, without really thinking.

“Beth!” Maggie scolded her.

“Well, I—I just mean she never eats with ya’ll. She seems like she’s always off on her own,” Beth explained, a little sheepish from her sister’s scolding.

The rest of the group was looking your direction now too, many of them asking the same questions in their minds.

“C’mon, now. That’s enough,” Maggie said. “Daddy needs help with the laundry.”

The group watched them head back to the farmhouse and Shane was the next one to break the silence. “It’s a fair question,” he said, chuckling to himself wryly, glancing back over his shoulder at you before leaning in to grab another helping of breakfast. “She hasn’t exactly meshed into the fabric of the group, has she?”

“Shane, give it a rest,” Lori said sternly.

“No offense meant but I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say more than two words at a time,” Andrea said. “You can’t pretend like there isn’t something… odd there.”

Dale hummed. “Not that it’s really our business, but she’s never said anything about what happened to her before we found her out by the quarry. I’ve tried to ask her about her family, what she used to do before all this,” he shrugged vaguely. “Never got a thing out of her. That’s her right if she doesn’t want to talk about it, but it does seem a little strange.”

“That’s all I’m sayin’,” Shane said. “Somethin’ weird with that girl,” he trailed off.

Daryl stood up, annoyed. “Ya’ll are a buncha busy body gossips. If ya’d open your damn eyes for two seconds you’d realize she does more for this group than most of ya combined,” he growled. “She gathered that wood burnin’ in your fire right there. Them mushrooms mixed in with your damn eggs, who the hell ya think found those? Ya think they just magically appeared along with that stuff you’re usin’ to make tea every night?” He tossed his empty plate down on the grass and scoffed. “People who don’t trust easily usually got a damn good reason. ’M outta here.”

Shane watched him go in slight amusement, but most of the others looked a little ashamed of themselves. Daryl was right, of course. You did do a lot for the group. You just kept to yourself. You didn’t make a big show of bringing back some meat or foraged food. You never complained when Rick or Shane asked you to do something. You took more than your fair share of the night watches. And the fact that no one knew anything about your past, the fact that you didn’t talk much, didn’t need any explanation to Daryl. Based on his own background, he could guess there was a reason you were the way you were.

A short time later, Daryl noticed you gathering up your pack and grabbing your pistol and recurve bow. He wandered over as you were snapping your knife into its sheath at your hip. “Ya headin’ out to search again?” he asked softly. You and him seemed to be the only ones who hadn’t completely given up hope of finding Sophia. You simply nodded once.

“Alright,” Daryl drawled. “What’s your plan?” Asking a question that wasn’t a simple yes or no was always a toss-up with you. Half the time he’d get a short answer, half the time he wouldn’t.

“North side of the ridge,” you said. Your voice was always quiet and measured. The archer usually wished most people would talk less, but with you he always hoped to hear more. The little that you said was purposeful and deliberate. There was no idle bullshit.

He nudged his nose up in a nod at you. “Alright. I’ll start by that creek and work along the south side. We can be close by in case either of us gets into trouble with walkers,” he said.

You simply nodded again and gave him a long thoughtful look. You did that a lot. Daryl had the feeling there was a lot going on behind your eyes, but you never spoke any of it. Surprisingly, he never felt nervous or uncomfortable when you looked at him like that. He just hoped someday maybe you’d open up a little bit more. The next moment you had turned and were heading toward the tree line already. Daryl scrambled to gather his gear and set off after you.

He could see your figure ahead, disappearing into the brush and soon he couldn’t see or hear you at all. He set out along the south side of the ridge as planned, picking his way along the creek, scrutinizing every inch of ground and hoping for a shoeprint.

Along the north side you were doing the same. You frequently knelt to examine some little scrape in the litter or soil and as you went you filled the little cloth bag you carried with edible and medicinal plants, berries, and fungi. The day wore on with no sign of the little girl and your frustration and fear grew even as the sun reached its apex in the sky and started to drift back down toward the western horizon.

You turned and started picking a new path back, heading toward the farm now rather than away. The deepening shadows made detecting print or trail more difficult but you kept your focus sharp on the ground as you moved, your bow slung over your shoulder next to your quiver.

You were becoming tired when you noticed an impression in the mud. You knelt, one knee of your jeans sinking into the damp soil. It was a boot print, but certainly not left by Sophia. You stared at the detail of the sole impression and your brow drew down low immediately. You have everyone’s shoe designs memorized. It wasn’t one you recognized. Your eyes drifted up and you could see a worn trail through the underbrush and more prints, heavy in the mud. There were at least three men who had left this trail, and they weren’t walkers. The path was straight ahead with no stagger and you could tell they were picking their way through the underbrush. You crouched and started to follow the trail. You needed to get eyes on these people. They were awfully close to the farm… Close enough, certainly, to see the smoke rising from the chimney and your fire circles.

You ghosted through the woods following the trail, moving as silently as you could. You’d been on the path for probably ten minutes when you could hear careless, noisy movement ahead. You must have caught up with them. Your heart hammering in your chest, you stayed low and crept closer. As you moved around a partially downed tree you could finally see the shapes of two men ahead. They were scruffy and filthy, clearly living on the move in the woods. You needed a closer look. You wanted to see what kinds of weapons they had on them. If you could scout out the group, you could determine whether something needed to be done about them or not.

As you tried to shift to another patch of concealing cover, you didn’t notice your bow catching on a low hanging dead branch. By the time you felt the resistance it was too late. The whole branch pulled loose with a loud snapping sound as it bent and cracked other dried branches and twigs on its way down. The two men you had been watching spun immediately and had weapons raised, rifles pointed in your direction. You were swearing under your breath and instantly on your feet aiming your pistol right back.

“Well, shit! What the hell do we have here?” one of the men asked, shifting a little to get a better look at you. “You alone out here, sweetheart?”

You fell an immediate swell of anger and dread rising up in your chest.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” the second man asked, grinning and revealing teeth that were tobacco stained and yellow.

“What’s a fine little thing like you doing out here by yourself? Don’t you know it’s dangerous? There are all kinds of monsters in these woods,” the first man said, looking you up and down thoroughly. His companion laughed.

Fuck. This was bad. Why had you pushed your luck and crept in so closely? Now you were outnumbered and you knew there was at least one other man somewhere that you didn’t have eyes on.

Your chest was heaving with anxious breaths from the rush of adrenaline. The first man stepped a bit closer again and you responded by taking a measured step back, your pistol aimed squarely at his chest. Now what? Should you make a run for it? Would they shoot you? Based on the animalistic looks in their eyes you knew things could go very bad, very quickly if you couldn’t get the fuck out of there. Your mind was whirring.

Suddenly, you heard a stick crack behind you and you turned instinctively to see a third man now rushing you. He landed a fist into your jaw and your vision went black as you fell to the ground, holding onto your pistol as tightly as you could. The pain radiating from your jaw into your head was overwhelming. You blinked, willing the darkness to clear, but it lingered as you suddenly felt rough hands on you, rolling you over and ripping both your bow and rifle from your back.

You struggled blindly and managed to get yourself onto your back again as the darkness in your eyes faded instead to the outlines of blurred shapes. You could make out the shape of the man standing over you and you instinctively raised your pistol and squeezed several rounds which sounded like cracks of thunder in the close woods. You missed, the scene still foggy, and you immediately squeezed again and discharged another round but the man leapt down on you with a wild yell, knocking your arm to the side and pinning it into the ground. His weight pressed down on you and you were vaguely aware of an acrid smell filling your nostrils, causing bile to rise up in your throat. He pried your pistol from your hand and tossed it away into the brush.

You writhed beneath him, struggling to get clear of his grasp but he was much bigger than you and soon there was another set of hands on you. You were rolled onto your stomach again and your arms were pulled back behind you and held painfully tight.

“We got ourselves a wild cat here, boys!” one of the men laughed. “Get her up,” he ordered. You were pulled roughly onto your feet, still trying to blink away the remaining fuzziness in your eyes and struggling against your captor.

The first man, who seemed to be the leader, paced over, watching you with a look of satisfaction on his face as you still tried to fight loose. His rifle was now dropped casually by his side. He grabbed your chin cruelly and pulled it up so you looked right into his eyes. His fingers dug into the tender spot on your jaw where the other man had hit you. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he murmured silkily.

You yanked your face from his grasp and he chuckled, glancing back at the other man standing just behind him. “She’s a good one,” he said, a sick smirk on his face. He looked back at you and his eyes roamed perversely over your body. “This’ll be fun.”

He turned violent and grabbed the front of your light cotton shirt, ripping it harshly down off one shoulder, tearing the breezy plaid fabric easily and popping off the first three buttons. The man holding you only tightened his grip. Your throat constricted so tightly it was hard to breathe. You felt like your heart was beating so hard that it would surely burst. You could feel everyone’s eyes on your newly bared skin. Next the leader withdrew a knife and pressed the point into the center of your chest just above your bra. You cringed at the feeling of the biting cold metal pricking your skin.

He stepped close into you and moved the knife up to your throat, pressing it to the side of your neck and drawing it lightly across your skin just enough to cut you. You winced and shut your eyes, trying to keep as still as possible with that blade to your throat and you soon felt a rivulet of warmth rolling down toward your collarbone. You opened your eyes as the knife left your throat and he slipped it under your exposed bra strap, rotating it and lifted up until the fabric started to separate along the sharp edge. Finally, it gave and the strap hung loosely down. He sucked in a hiss of breath through his teeth, his eyes hungry and crazed. “This will be a lot easier on you if you just cooperate. Then again… I like a woman with some fight in her,” he snarled. “Your choice.” His companions let out more appreciative laughter as fear twisted your stomach.

You felt yourself going numb. Suddenly, you couldn’t feel any pain anymore. You couldn’t feel the man’s hands pinning your arms back. You couldn’t feel the blood that was now running down your chest. Your eyes drifted to the leader’s cold, blue blade and then unfocused so the scene simply became a haze. And you suddenly realized that they hadn’t taken your knife. It was still in its sheath on your hip…

A short distance away, Daryl had been thinking that it was probably about time to call it a day and head back when he heard a series of loud gunshots. His body went rigid and he turned frantically, staring off into the brush. He strained his hearing to its limit. They’d definitely come from your direction. Abandoning any other thought, he sprung into motion, racing through the woods as fast as he could in the direction he thought the blasts had come from.

Back in camp, everyone else had heard the shots too. Shane turned and looked at Rick, his gaze intense.

“Were those gun shots?” Lori asked, fear in her voice.

“Yeah,” Rick said, rising to his feet and rushing to grab his gun from the stash of weapons in the RV. “Shane, T, Glenn, let’s go! The rest of you stay here!”

Hershel stepped out onto the porch and watched the group of men racing across the pasture toward the trees. He had a bad feeling in his gut. Maggie and Beth came out, the slamming screen door punctuating the piercing silence that fell after the shots.

Daryl smashed through the brush carelessly, his eyes scanning the ground for a trail, any trail, something to follow. Finally, his eyes locked on boot prints that were surely yours. He vaguely registered that there were much larger impressions in the soil too, several different boots much larger than yours. And they certainly weren’t from walkers.

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed under his breath. He froze and scanned the thick greenery. He strained his hearing again, listening for some sound, anything, to give him an idea of what was happening. Please don’t let me be too late, he thought frantically. He took off again but more cautiously, following the tracks you had clearly also discovered. Probably what had led you right into something…

Rick and the others were well into the trees now but Shane stopped everyone. “Rick, what the hell are we doin’ man? We don’t have a clue where Y/N and Daryl are. We can’t just go blindly crashing through here or we’re gonna end up in a bad spot too.”

Rick’s eyes frantically whirred over the seemingly endless tree trunks.

“Wait—I saw Y/N’s map yesterday. She had the whole thing sectioned out into search areas,” Glenn said. “Most of them were already crossed off.”

“Well, which ones weren’t?” Shane urged, checking to make sure there was a round chambered in his gun.

“Uhh—” Glenn’s mind raced. “I think—I think by that ridge, straight north of here. But I can’t be sure,” he trailed off.

Rick rubbed a hand over his face. They all listened for any sound, but the woods were oppressively silent now. “Shit…” he cursed under his breath.

“It’s the best we got,” T gasped, out of breath from the frenetic dash from camp.

Rick nodded. “Alright. Then we head north. Keep your heads on a swivel and your eyes peeled for any sign of Y/N or Daryl.”

Daryl moved as swiftly along the trail as he could. Suddenly, he spotted something lying on top of the litter out of the corner of his eye. Your pistol. Daryl grabbed it and the muzzle was still warm. Clearly, you’d been the one to fire at least some of those shots. “Fuck. Fuck…” He tucked it into his waistband and moved more cautiously now. His heart was pounding and sweat was pouring down his forehead. His knuckles were white on his crossbow. He rounded a downed tree and froze when he saw a dark shape on the ground ahead. His heart dropped into his stomach. Please don’t let it be Y/N… He was almost paralyzed with fear but he forced himself to take another couple steps. As he rounded the brush and straightened up, he knew it wasn’t you but his apprehension didn’t evaporate. It was a large man, clearly dead, completely covered in blood. The hair on the back of Daryl’s neck suddenly stood on end and he spun around, his crossbow up to his eye, ready to fire. But he dropped it involuntarily as he took in the scene before him, his jaw dropping partially open and his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was seeing.

You were standing there in front of him trembling from head to toe, your hands out in front of you with your knife clutched in one like it was a lifeline. Daryl could easily see the shakiness in your hands. You were completely covered in blood. Your clothing and skin were soaked in it, like you’d bathed in a crimson river. There was thick splatter on your face, neck, and chest. Your eyes were wide and fixed and you didn’t show any awareness that he was there in front of you. Daryl registered that your shirt was torn down from one shoulder and your bra strap had been cut. He didn’t need an explanation to know what the fuck had happened and rage swelled in his chest, stoking an intense fire. His eyes drifted down to two more bodies lying at your feet, each with uncountable stab wounds and one with his throat cut, his clothing drenched. The metallic smell of blood was in the air and Daryl could almost taste it on his tongue.

Still you showed no awareness that he was there. You seemed frozen, catatonic. He now registered that you had slash wounds through the fabric of your sleeves and cuts on your arms. Defensive wounds where you had blocked a knife attack. There was a purposeful cut partially up the hem of your jeans at the bottom, clearly from one of the men… It was nearly impossible to tell if you were hurt anywhere else because there was just so much blood…

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmured. “Y/N?” He took a cautious step toward you. “Y/N? Can ya hear me?”

Nothing. No reaction at all.

Just then Daryl heard the noise of several people in the woods nearby and he planted himself between you and the sound, raising his crossbow. “Ya better get the fuck outta here unless ya want an arrow between the eyes!” he roared.

Rick straightened up. That was Daryl. “Daryl?!”

Daryl gulped. “…Rick?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Shane, Glenn, and T! We’re comin’ to you! Are you alright?”

Daryl glanced back at you again. You were still just standing there shaking. “‘M fine. Wasn’t me who fired…” Daryl swung his pack off his back and dug inside it.

The men crashed through the underbrush and came into view, taking in the scene. “Oh my God.” The words spilled from Glenn’s lips. They were all glancing from the bloody bodies on the ground to your blood-soaked figure.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane uttered, pacing closer and bending to look at the slash wound in the one corpse’s neck. Daryl finally laid hands on his poncho and yanked it out of his bag. He turned to look at you and began approaching cautiously. “Y/N? It’s Daryl. Can ya hear me?”

Nothing.

Rick was slack-jawed as he looked at the scene. “Daryl… be careful,” he cautioned, eyeing the knife still gripped in your fist.

Daryl glanced back at him. “She ain’t gonna do nothin’ to me,” he drawled.

“Do you see this?” Glenn asked him urgently indicating the bodies. “This is insane. You don’t know that! She looks completely out of it, like she doesn’t even know we’re here!”

Daryl’s jaw clenched and he turned back to look at you again. “Don’t ya fuckin’ see her? She’s terrified. Look at her clothes. They were tryin’ to rape her,” he growled. “They deserve what they got.”

Shane straightened up from examining the bodies, glancing furtively over at you. “Maybe but… on the force, we’d call this ‘overkill’,” he said, backing up and exchanging a glance with Rick.

Daryl ignored him. “Y/N? It’s alright. You’re safe. Nobody is gonna hurt ya. Just lemme take your knife, okay?” There was no recognition on your face, your eyes still wide and fixed, until Daryl’s hand gently closed over yours and started to open your hand around the handle of your knife. He could feel you shaking beneath his fingers. “S’alright,” he said softly as your eyes landed on his face and then locked with his. Your brow drew down low, casting a shadow over the vaguely confused look on your face. As Daryl gently took your knife, he could see there was a very deep gash in your palm. It was bleeding heavily. He guessed it was either another defensive wound from you putting your hands up to stop one of the men’s knives or otherwise your hand, slick with blood, had slipped down onto your own blade when you’d been fighting them. “Glenn, get some gauze out of my pack and bring it over here,” he said. He spoke calmly and softly. He glanced back over at Glenn when he didn’t move from his slack-jawed frozen position. “Glenn. Gauze.” Glenn snapped himself out of it and went to Daryl’s bag. The archer gulped and draped his poncho over you, covering your ripped shirt. “S’alright,” he murmured again.

You didn’t take your eyes off his face. He wasn’t even sure if you realized the others were there. Glenn walked forward and handed Daryl the small roll of sterile gauze before backing up slowly. The look in your eyes was haunted and dazed and it left all of them feeling empty and concerned.

Daryl opened your hand flat and your eyes drifted down to watch him wrap the bandage over the wound on your palm. You couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t really feel anything, except Daryl’s hands on yours.

Shane turned to Rick. “Rick, what the hell are we gonna do about this? We can’t just waltz her back into camp covered in blood. You don’t want the others seein’ this… Carl? Lori? Or Hershel. Look at her. She looks completely unstable. This might be enough for him to kick us out right now.” He looked back at you over his shoulder.

Rick sighed heavily. “So, we’ll get her cleaned up first.”

Daryl was keeping one ear on the conversation going on behind him. “She needs stitches on this hand,” he drawled. “And who knows how else she’s hurt. Can’t see a damn thing on her right now. And since ya’ll are more worried about yourselves than her, I’ll take care of it. Why don’t ya just get the hell outta here,” Daryl growled.

Glenn stepped forward. “We are worried about her. But you have to admit that this is—this is—” He didn’t even know what word to use. Daryl just stared at him. You were hugging your arms around yourself now, still shaking. Your eyes were downcast, staring unseeing at the ground.

“Listen, I don’t give a shit what ya do. I’m gettin’ her outta here and taken care of.” He hastily shouldered his pack and his crossbow.

“Just—Daryl,” Rick started, pinching the bridge of his nose, the situation weighing on him heavily. “Clean her up a bit before you take her to Hershel to be looked over.”

The archer eyed him through a narrow glare for a moment before he nodded. He turned back to you, your frame swallowed up in his poncho. “C’mon. Let’s get ya home,” he said gently. Your eyes snapped up to his face again and you allowed him to lead you back toward the farmstead.

He picked a path carefully and finally the two of you broke out from the edge of the forest. The others back in the camp were staring at the tree line, wracked with nerves. Lori straightened up as she recognized movement. “Dale—someone just stepped out.”

Dale, standing on the RV, raised his binoculars to his eyes. “Oh my,” slipped from his lips.

“What? Who is it?” Carol asked anxiously.

“I think it’s Y/N and Daryl,” Dale said. “I can’t quite tell properly, but I think something is wrong with Y/N.” He squinted into the binoculars again. “My God. Her jeans are covered in blood and it—it looks like there’s blood on her neck, her face…”

Carol pressed a hand over her mouth. “Is she hurt?” she asked anxiously. “Was she bit?”

Dale shook his head, lowering the binoculars again. “They’re too far. I can’t tell what’s going on.”

Daryl looked up to see everyone standing almost in a line watching the two of you as you started across the field. He gulped and then put a hand lightly on your back, nervous and unsure of how you would react to the contact. He guided you toward his camp which was closest and was set apart from everyone else’s.

“C’mon and sit down, alright. We’re just gonna clean ya up a bit and then take ya to Hershel.” The look in your eyes was worrying him immensely but you sat down on a round of wood pulled up near the fire ring. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip, trying to figure out how he could reassure you. “Hey. S’alright. You’re safe.”

You met his blue eyes and he finally saw some sense of relief in them. His stomach flipped at the way they softened and he nodded. He took in the sight of you in his poncho again and realized you’d need something else to wear to go see Hershel that wasn’t half ripped off you. “I’m gonna, uhh—” he cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll put a clean shirt out on my cot for ya. Ya can change in in my tent and then we’ll just clean ya up a bit, alright?” He knew better than to wait for a response and climbed to his feet and disappeared into his tent to set the clothes out. He dug around in his duffel bag until he found one that was still folded tightly, definitely clean, and he set it out for you. You watched the handsome archer reemerge from inside his tent and nod his head toward it. “Alright. Go ahead. I’ll just be right out here.”

He watched you get up and disappear, zipping the door behind you. He paced in front of the fire circle, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip thoughtfully as the image of you standing there in the woods, frozen, absolutely soaked in blood with your shirt half torn surged forward in his mind and he felt another sickening swell of anger. Jesus. Things could have gone so bad with those men… and they were fucking lucky they were already dead when he got there.

The soft rustling of the tent fabric interrupted his thoughts and you stepped out in his long-sleeved flannel, looking a bit dazed still but more grounded. He nudged his nose up in a nod. “C’mon and sit down,” he said, gesturing to the round of wood again. You sank down on it. Daryl grabbed a bucket of clean water that had been warming in the sun all day. He grabbed a cloth from inside his tent and caught sight of your bloody and torn shirt discarded on the floor, feeling another tight twist between his lungs, like someone had tugged a knot there.

You watched him kneel down in front of you and sink the cloth into the bucket of water, wringing it out before bringing it close to your face. He hesitated short of touching you. “S’this alright?” he drawled.

You gave him a questioning look but finally nodded, just one slight tip of your chin. You closed your eyes as the fabric came in contact with your cheek and Daryl started wiping away the blood. The cloth stained crimson quickly. He cleaned the splatters from across your forehead and your nose and the spots on the other side of your face. With the red stains gone, Daryl could see the shadow of a deep bruise along the side of your jaw. Without thinking he gently clasped your chin and turned your head so he could examine it, a heavy shadow falling over his blue eyes. He sunk the cloth back into the bucket of water and wrung it out again, this time pressing it to the side of your neck.

Despite how gentle he was being, you involuntarily sucked in a sharp hiss of air through your teeth as the cloth found the cut on the side of your neck from the leader’s knife. Your eyes blinked open through your wince.

“Sorry,” Daryl drawled, pulling back to look at the wound. “Jesus… Those assholes had a knife to your neck?” he asked. It was rhetorical and he didn’t expect an answer. He wiped at the blood spatter and you closed your eyes again, trying to breathe deeply and still the trembling you still felt wracking through you. Daryl could hear a shaky quality in your breathing. Soon, your face and neck were clean and Daryl turned his attention to your hands. Your eyes were still shut as he rinsed the cloth out again in the bucket. “Lemme see your hands,” he said softly. You found the deep gravel of his voice comforting.

Out of everyone in your group, you usually felt like Daryl was the only one who really saw you. You’d wanted to get to know him better, but held yourself back. He seemed to seek solitude like you did, and you didn’t want to force yourself into his world.

He took your hand, your palm resting against his, and he swept the cloth lightly over the back of it and down each finger. The sensation sent goosebumps rising on your skin and you glanced up at the concerned and intent expression on his face curiously. You couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had shown you so much attention and care. He took your other hand in his now, the one with gauze around it and the deep gash in your palm. He rubbed the blood from the back of each finger and then flipped it over in his hand. He frowned as he noticed that your blood had soaked through the bandage. “Probably need stitches on this one,” he murmured softly. The cloth tickled over the underside of each finger now, sweeping off the ends. “Alright. Push up them sleeves,” he said, dunking the cloth into the bucket again for what felt like the hundredth time.

“What?” He was startled by your voice and his eyes snapped up to look at you.

He straightened up, one of his eyebrows quirking down at the question. “Ya had a buncha cuts on your arms. We need to clean ‘em up and check ‘em. See if ya need stitches anywhere else.”

You shook your head.

He gave you a questioning look for a long moment and chewed on his bottom lip. “Alright. Ya can do it. I’ll just go tell Hershel you’re on your way in, alright?”

You stared at him for another long moment as he set the cloth on the edge of the bucket, whose water was now stained a dark pink. You glanced up as he climbed to his feet and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “C’mon up when you’re done and we’ll get that hand taken care of.”

Daryl started over toward the farmhouse and as he approached Carol rushed up to him. “What happened?” she urged him. “Are you okay? Is Y/N?”

He stopped, his hand on one hip. He glanced back out toward the trees and saw the rest of the group making their way back toward camp across the field. “‘M fine,” he drawled. “Y/N ran into some men out there when we were searchin’.”

“Men? What men? What happened? Is she alright?”

Daryl chewed his bottom lip and shrugged vaguely. “I don’t know how to—how to answer that,” he said truthfully.

Confusion muddled Carol’s expression and she glanced in the direction of you over at Daryl’s camp. “Well, what happened?” she asked again.

Daryl looked at her seriously and shrugged vaguely. “Y/N killed ‘em. Didn’t have no choice.” He continued his path up to the house and bounded up the porch steps, knocking on the front door. Carol stared after him, a bit shocked. Maggie answered, looking worried.

“Were those gun shots earlier?” she asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm… Hey, can your dad take a look at Y/N?”

“Of course. What happened?” she asked, holding the screen door open so he could step inside.

Hershel was there in an instant. “Daryl. What happened? We heard those shots.”

“Y/N and I were out lookin’ for Sophia. There were some men. She—she ran into some trouble.”

Hershel took a deep breath and nodded. “Is she alright?”

“I think she needs stitches in her hand. She took a good hit to her jaw too. Might have a concussion. I dunno,” he said. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip again. “I know she’s got some cuts on her arms, defensive wounds, but she wouldn’t let me look at ‘em. Got a cut on her neck.”

“Oh my God,” Maggie said, her hand flying up to her mouth.

“What happened to the men?” Hershel asked.

Daryl quit chewing the side of his thumbnail. “Dead,” he said, watching the old farmer’s reaction closely, but the man’s face was blank. He simply nodded.

“I’ll get my kit. Have her come on in.”

Daryl headed back onto the porch to see how you were doing and you were on your way over. His eyes caught on the dark splatters and stains of blood on your jeans and the slit at the bottom. His stomach twisted. Maybe he should have had you change clothes completely… You were trying to ignore the eyes on you as you made your way over to the house.

Andrea and Lori exchanged a look at the state of your clothes.

“Come on in here and sit down,” Hershel said kindly. “Let’s take a look at that hand.” You offered up your gauze-wrapped hand and Hershel laid it out on the table, unwrapping the already blood-soaked bandage and taking a look at the deep gash. “Pretty deep cut here. Definitely need stitches.” He grabbed a needle from his kit and pricked the end of each of your fingers. They all twitched in response. “You can feel that?” You nodded. “Good. Looks like we dodged any nerve damage. Much deeper and you would have needed major surgery for a cut tendon and who knows what else. Maggie, dear, would you get the sutures set up while I clean this off?”

Nerve damage. Cut tendon. Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his spot leaned up against the wall. You hardly seemed to react to the news at all.

Hershel swabbed at your hand and you shut your eyes against the bite of the alcohol. “Now, Daryl tells me you took a good hit to the jaw. I’m just gonna check it and make sure nothing is broken.” He palpated both sides of your face, across your cheekbones and up your jawline. “Just a bit swollen,” he said. “Did you lose sight when you were hit?” he asked you, grabbing a small pen light and checking the dilation response of each of your pupils. You gulped and nodded. “Do you remember your name?” he asked you. You nodded again. “I need you to answer my questions verbally. I’m interested in your answers but also your speech.”

“My name’s Y/N.”

“When is your birthday?” Hershel asked.

You stared at him. “No one here knows my birthday. How will you know if I’m right or not?”

A small smile grew on Hershel’s face. “I’d say your speech and cognition are fine. Probably a mild concussion though with your eyesight blacking out. You’ll need to take it easy the next few days, rest and fluids, and let me know if you develop any new symptoms like vomiting or nausea, confusion, a worsening headache. Understand?”

You nodded again. “Yes. I understand.”

“Sutures are ready,” Maggie said.

Hershel put on a pair of clean gloves and prepared. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to numb you,” he said, propping your hand up on a towel so he could see it better.

“It’s alright. I would have told you to save it anyway,” you said. Daryl straightened up from his place against the wall and came to stand next to you. You could feel his eyes on your face.

“You’re one tough cookie,” Hershel said. “Let’s get this taken care of.” You hardly flinched as he passed the needle through…

Outside, Rick and the others were just arriving back at camp. Everyone gathered around and seemed to read on their faces that they were all unsettled.

“Rick,” Lori said, grabbing him into a hug. “What happened? We saw Daryl and Y/N come back. Her jeans were covered in blood.”

Rick looked down at her. “Nothing to worry about. It’s been taken care of.”

“Well, what was it?” Lori pressed him, her eyes still a bit wide and fearful.

Carol spoke up. “Daryl said she ran into some men and they’re—she killed them.”

Glenn and T were avoiding everyone’s eyes while Shane let out a frustrated sigh and paced away from the group, disagreeing with Rick still about the decision not to tell everyone you had clearly gone slasher on those assholes. Provoked or justified or not, Shane felt like that was something everyone should know. He’d gone far enough to describe you as a serial killer before Rick had stood him down. Rick nodded and looked at his wife and then at Andrea and Dale. “Y/N was attacked and she dealt with it. Hershel is gonna patch her up and there’s nothing to worry about.

“What if there are more of those men?” Carol asked fearfully.

“We only ever saw three different boot prints out there,” T reassured her. “But we’ll keep watch like we always do. We’ll be fine.”

Everyone still looked uneasy, but settled back into their tasks. Lori was about to go fetch some more water when Shane grabbed her arm and tugged her around the side of the SUV. She gave him a stern look and pulled her arm from his grasp.

“What?” she snapped at him, a bit unkindly.

“Rick ain’t tellin’ you everythin’,” he said.

Lori just stared Shane with a guarded expression. “I trust my husband. And you used to, too.”

“Yeah, well… What happened out there today? It should concern everyone.” His expression was dark and Lori felt her sense of unease grow.

Shane rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “Y/N just—” Shane let out a sigh that had the edge of a growl to it.

“What are you talking about?” Lori pressed him in an undertone. “Are we in danger?”

Shane straightened up and pressed his lips into a thin line briefly before meeting her eyes. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I’m not taking my eyes off that girl.”

Inside, Hershel tied off the final stitch and snipped the suture. “All done.” He applied a layer of antibacterial ointment and wrapped your hand in a fresh dressing. “Try to keep it dry. And I mean it,” he gave you a pointed look, “take it easy for a few days. Daryl, you hold her to that. Anything else you need me to look at? Your arms? Daryl said—” You shook your head no. “Alright.”

The archer straightened up as you climbed to your feet. “Thank you,” you murmured to Hershel.

Daryl held the door for you and you cringed at how everyone’s eyes were on you immediately as you stepped out onto the porch. You avoided them and started heading in the direction of your camp. Daryl was still in step beside you and you hazarded a glance in his direction.

He could read a question in your eyes. “I’ll keep ya company for a bit if that’s alright... Besides, ya should be restin’ and somebody needs to make sure ya take care of yourself.” You didn’t say anything, but that also wasn’t a refusal. Daryl could tell you were still reeling a bit, and he wanted to be there just in case.

You arrived at your separate camp area and watched as Daryl immediately went and stirred up the coals in the fire, adding more wood and soon having a nice blaze going. You headed for your tent and glanced back over your shoulder at him. “Just gonna change,” you said softly. He nodded and went about heating something for you to eat along with water for tea. He was sure you had collected more ingredients and remembered that your bag was still sitting at his camp. He jogged to grab it and brought it back along with your bloodied and torn shirt, not sure what else to do with it. When he got back, you were sitting by the fire in clean and comfortable clothes, his shirt resting over your lap. You held it out to him as he dropped your pack beside you.

“Thanks,” he murmured. The fabric was still warm from your body. “Dunno what ya wanna do with this,” he said, holding yours out in turn.

You stared at it for a long moment before your fingers closed on it and Daryl watched as you immediately tossed it into the fire. In a moment, it was only ashes and embers. He sank down beside you and felt you studying him. He turned and met your eyes and was surprised when you spoke. “You aren’t afraid of me now? Like the others?” you asked softly.

“Nah. Why would I be?”

Your striking eyes focused back on the crackling campfire and the embers dancing upward on the warm torrent of air. “You saw what I did. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Daryl peered at you curiously for a long moment. “Ya were only protectin’ yourself. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done worse if I’d been there,” he drawled, and you could hear anger in the tension in his voice.

“I blacked out,” you said suddenly.

“When they hit ya? Ya, yer gonna have a good bruise tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You cradled your injured hand absently in the other. “The last thing I remember was the one starting to cut my jeans and then—then I was just covered in blood and they were all dead. And next thing I know you were taking my knife from me.” You shut your eyes for a moment. “I don’t remember anything else.”

Daryl considered the regretful expression on your face. “Don’t matter. Yer safe. That’s what counts. Those men? They had it comin’.”

You looked up at him in surprise and he simply nodded and then grabbed a mug and filled it with hot water for you. You accepted it and dug into your bag, pulling out the small sack of foraged herbs from the day. You dropped a few berries and leaves into your mug and cradled it with your uninjured hand.

It was nearly sunset and the quality of the light was cooling, oranges turning to reds and then fading into deep purples and inky blues. You allowed yourself to frequently study the archer as he shoved a bowl of reheated stew into your hands or added more wood to the fire. You felt surprisingly at ease with him there and he didn’t seem at all bothered by the passing of so much silence. Maybe the concussion just had you slightly numb, but you didn’t think so.

“You aren’t going to ask me?” you finally said.

Daryl looked over at you and he felt a stirring in his chest at the way the firelight was catching the shine and colors in your hair and the soft shape of your lips. “Ask ya what?”

“How I—Why I—” You didn’t even know how to phrase it really.

Daryl watched you struggled for a moment. “Ain’t none of my business. But if ya wanted to talk about it, I’ll listen. Not gonna lie and say I haven’t wondered about what came before ya were with the group.”

You had been on the verge of speaking it but suddenly lost your nerve and sipped at your tea again. Daryl watched you withdrawing again and rubbed a hand a bit nervously over the back of his neck. Darkness had fallen completely now. “Well, I’ll leave ya alone. Yer probably sick of me anyway,” he drawled. “Get some rest, alright?” Daryl had climbed to his feet and started to head in the direction of his own tent but your voice froze him.

“It’s not that I want to be alone all the time…” Daryl could hear the crackling of the fire in the silence that followed. “It’s just that alone usually feels safer.”

He glanced back at you, turning partially. “Ya. I know the feelin’,” he said gently, pacing back.

You looked up at him and something about your expression, your wide eyes, went straight to his core. “Stay,” you said quietly. “Please.” You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment. “Being with you feels safer…” you admitted, timidly.

Daryl felt an ache in his chest and nodded. He grabbed a seat beside you again and puzzled over this unprecedented turn of events.

You seemed to come to some decision suddenly and looked over at him intensely. He caught your eyes briefly and then watched as you pushed up your right sleeve. At first all he saw were the knife cuts, crimson against your skin, but you turned your forearm toward him in the firelight. “This is what I didn’t want you to see,” you said. You gulped. You’d never told anyone, never shown anyone, literally never talked about what had happened to you since you got out. You’d vowed that you would just move on, but the longer you suffered in silence the worse it seemed to get, until you felt like it would consume you. And then today, with those men, you’d just completely lost it. It had triggered something, a memory or maybe more like a nightmare, and when you came to you were bathed in blood and didn’t even recognize yourself, couldn’t believe what you’d done. Enough was enough. Maybe if you spoke it, admitted it, dealt with it in some way… maybe it’d get easier.

Daryl stared at a scar on your forearm. It looked like a brand and the skin was still slightly pink, showing that it wasn’t that old. It was four numbers. 1048.