#most fics are just him as a side character as far as i can remember

[baekuras]

anyhow how the fuck did I miss Kiyan’s tag on AO3 getting over 100 now? Good fucking work team thank you

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘'𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ⌝

DREAM RECALL “You know what I think of you?” He says, the bed squeaking as he leans forward, dangerously close. “I think you’re scared.” He drawls, eyes boring into your own with such vigor that you almost felt pity for the anger that consumed him. How miserable he must be to live like that. — “I’m not scared.” You calmly state, shifting against the pillows as you instinctively try to create distance between the two of you. Quickly taking note of your hesitant body language, he smirks, “no? Then prove it.”

“Prove that you’re not afraid of the darkness, of my darkness.”

wc -> 17k (oopsie daises)

pairings stepbrother!beomgyu x stepsister!reader warnings stepcest, daddy issues, some mommy issues, character death, emo/punk!beomgyu + he has an eyebrow piercing, major asshole!beomgyu, mentions of alcoholism, lots of arguing, angsty as shit but with a happy ending, talks of grief and letting go, smut (again, stepcest), virgin!reader, loss of virginity, softdom!gyu but he's also a menace, guilt ridden sex, unprotected + pullout, handjob + vaginal fingering, some cum eating, use of "sis" both outside and during the smut (I cannot stress this enough), might be teetering on the edge of dubious consent at some points but nothing crazy. dead dove do not eat

#serene adds ✎ I have no clue of how this happened lol. PLEASE read every single warning I am begging you. don't read this if as much as one single tag made you waver. ⎯ aside from like the fact that it's stepcest, I fucking love this whole fic. I'm so proud of it and I would actually cry if someone (who got through it) would be up to share some thoughts :>

“There’s still time to turn back..” You mutter as you lean against the leather of the passenger seat. Listening to the bustling engine slowly dying out as the car comes to a stop. “Come on princess, don’t be like that.” Your dad sighs as he retrieves the key, turning it between his fingers. “You knew that this move was coming and-“ — “Yeah, I did. But not this soon, not now.” You argue, folding your arms across your chest in defiance. “You could’ve at least waited until I was out of college, until I had gotten my own place.” 

More than anything you wished to be able to change your father’s mind, to turn things back to how they were before he met Ms Choi. But that was of course impossible, and now you were paying the price for not getting a room on campus. “But look on the bright side, it’s a mere fifteen minute drive to school, and Beomgyu has his license, I’m sure he could take you someday.” Your dad tries, a small smile on his face. — You grimaced at the name, your chest churning in disgust at the mere thought of sharing a car with that thing. 

A tap to your window makes you turn your head in its direction. There stood Ms Choi, she sends you a small wave and before you know it, your father had climbed out of the vehicle, leaving you to sulk. Their voices are muffled through the thick glass but you can see them enveloping each other in a tender hug, your dad leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. With a small grimace your gaze flickers to the small bracelet around your wrist, its fine silver glinting in the sun and your chest contracts slightly. You supposed you should feel happy for him, it had been a long time since you’d last seen your father so at ease, so in love.  

And it wasn’t like you didn’t like his new girlfriend, no you were quite fond of Ms Choi. She was nice, often bringing freshly baked cookies whenever she came over, remembering your favorite foods as she made them when you visited. Most importantly she made your dad feel things he hadn’t felt since the passing of your mother. — You just couldn’t understand how such a sweet woman had managed to raise such a being of a son. 

Beomgyu was far from anything his mother represented. He was loud, obnoxiously so, his foul mouth going off every other second, spewing his hatred for the world and the people in it. Beomgyu listened to deranged music, the kind that made your ears bleed. He blamed his father for all his problems, not to mention taking his pent up anger out on his sweet mom. — The black charcoal around his eyes represented that of the rotting darkness slowly eating away at his soul, and you wondered if Beomgyu had always been angry. Perhaps he came out like that, you were almost certain that he was a menace even as a small baby. 

You had been to Ms Choi’s house a handful of times. It was a small two story flat, neatly decorated in light and inviting shades and smelled of roses. Had it not been for the first room to the right on the second floor, you would’ve probably loved it there. — The small hallway is familiar as you stumble inside, a heavy suitcase clutched tightly in your grasp. “Oh dear, let me help you with that”, Ms Choi fusses as she reaches for your bag but you merely shake your head, “I’m fine miss, don’t worry”, you assure her. 

She turns to your dad who was carrying at least twice your baggage as he walked up the dainty pathway leading to the house. “Beomgyu ought to come down and be of some assistance”, she murmurs as she throws a glance over her shoulder, her eyes traveling up the staircase by the end of the hall. — “I’m sure we’ll be fine!” You quickly chirp, dreading the thought of having to deal with him so soon. But there was no changing Ms Choi’s mind as she immediately calls out for her nuisance of a son. 

You swallow thickly as an eerie silence follows, your dads girlfriend huffs out a short breath as she fiddles with the jewelry around her neck. “Beomgyu! Come down here!” The nervous edge to her voice was palpable and part of you took pity on the sweet lady for being stuck with such a being in her house, no less as her biological child. 

Soon the floorboards above you creak, the old house immediately giving away the presence of someone else on the top floor. You tried tearing your gaze from the stairs, but it seemed impossible as Beomgyu’s figure emerged. His step is heavy as he drags his feet across the floor, his hair had grown longer since last you’d seen him, and that was over four months ago. You often did your best in avoiding him, thus leading the two of you to meeting less than a dozen times during the two years in which your parents had been pursuing one another. Well to hell with that plan now, you thought. 

“Hi darling, why don’t you say hi to-” — “I know who she is.” He cuts her off, sparing you a mere side glance before his gaze shifts to your dad struggling with the suitcases, a look of distaste on his face. “A-Alright”, Ms Choi clears her throat as she motions toward your father, “why don’t you help bring their stuff inside.” She receives only a small huff from her son as Beomgyu pushes past the two of you to venture outside. You don’t miss the flicker of disappointment on his mother’s face. No matter what he did, she would always cherish and protect him. You couldn’t understand why. — She turns to you with an apologetic smile, “your room is down the hall to the right.” 

The stairs felt eternal as you pulled your suitcase up, intent on not needing any extra hands. And when you finally reach flat ground, you heave a sigh. Though the comforting peace was short-lived as the thumping beat of a heavy bass filled your eardrums, the sound overpowering that of the wheels on your suitcase as you rolled it along the wooden floor. With a frown you near the first door, it was slightly ajar, allowing for the ear piercing music to float out into the small corridor. Already familiar with the layout of the house, you recognized the room as Beomgyu’s, and as the owner in question was currently downstairs, you dared a small peek. 

You can’t remember actually being inside his room, merely passing it in search for the bathroom as the first floor lacked one. And it was unlike anything the rest of the house represented. It was messy and crammed. The once cream white walls were covered in a variety of posters portraying his favorite bands, one of which you guessed to currently be playing through the large speakers by his desk. — His bed looked as if it hadn’t been made in weeks, possibly months and he seemed to be making good use of his floor as an alternate wardrobe. His computer was on as well, the bright light of the screen catching your attention in the otherwise dim room as the curtains drawn prevented much sunlight from reaching through. 

Upon closer inspection your eyes widen as you realize what kind of video was playing. The almost naked woman in the footage emits a pornographic moan and your jaw slacks as you take a couple of steps back in complete disbelief. — The room was like a tainted mark left on an otherwise clean canvas. The black lungs of a smoker, rotten and decaying. The only flaw in an otherwise picture perfect home, and you would’ve probably pitied the poor soul living here had it not been Choi Beomgyu. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

The raspy voice sends a shiver down your spine as you twist on the spot, coming face to face with the inhabitant of the room you’d invaded. Beomgyu lingers in the doorway, your discarded suitcase lazily kicked to the side as his brows furrow, the glinting metal on one of them catching your eye, had he always had that piercing? — You gulp, fists clenching before relaxing again. 

“I uh…I was.. I was looking for my room..” The excuse was petty, and you knew he could tell by the way his lips pulled into a small grimace. “Well this certainly isn’t it.” He spits, taking a charging step forward and you feel yourself immediately faltering back against his desk. — “Out.” He grits, and you could’ve sworn you heard the way his teeth ground together as his jaw flexed.

Not having to be told twice, you quickly slip out of the room, the door being slammed shut on your ass in a mere second. “What a dick”, you mutter, though you supposed it was somewhat deserved as you went in his room without permission. — Your own bedroom, on the other hand, matched the rest of the house. It was small, barely fitting your bed and a study desk, but the window gazing out over the front yard was remarkable. Your fingers graze along the lace curtains as you think of the multiple ways in which you’d be able to decorate the tiny space. Perhaps living here could become somewhat bearable, you thought. 

⸝⸝

No. You quickly found that it would become most unbearable to thrive under this roof. Dinner was awkward. As awkward as it could possibly get. The air was dense, laying on top of your table like a thick blanket, enveloping your party of four in a stale silence. The sounds of silverware scraping against porcelain plates fill the dainty dining room. Every bite felt like a piece of rock sliding down your throat and no matter how hard you trained your gaze to the cut piece of meat in front of you, Beomgyu’s eyes felt like daggers on your skin. Was he still mad about earlier? 

“So, Beomgyu, I hear you’re about to start your senior year as well.” Your father clears his throat, turning to the younger male with a small smile. Beomgyu’s gaze finally shifts away from your near sweating figure and over to your dad as he sends him an almost unnoticeable nod. The statement made your eyebrows raise in surprise, he was a year older than you, shouldn’t he have graduated before summer? — Beomgyu answers your unspoken question in a bored sigh, “failed my last year.” 

“Oh but he’s worked hard to be able to retake his classes this upcoming semester!” His mother suddenly butts in as she places a hand on top of your father’s. You watch their small exchange before your eyes flit over to Beomgyu who looked almost disgusted at the close proximity your parents held. Of course he would be against it, you wondered if there was anything that didn’t make his nose scrunch up in disdain. 

“Then perhaps the two of you can study together?” Ms Choi suddenly exclaims as she looks to you with an expression best described as hopeful. “Your father tells me you do well in school.” — “Of course, my princess is in the top of her class”, your dad boasts as he flashes you a small grin. You sheepishly nod, cheeks reddening at the sudden attention directed your way. “Why, isn’t that an amazing idea, Beom?” His mother cheers to which her son grimaces, “wonderful.” 

You didn’t like Beomgyu. And you thought you had every reason not to. You had never met someone so completely disregarding of other people’s feelings. Someone so selfish and arrogant, someone who took so much for granted. Like his mom. — You supposed you envied him a little. Ms Choi was such a wonderful person, not to mention an amazing mother. You often found yourself reminiscing of what you’d lost when in her presence. But Beomgyu seemed to hold little affection for something you longed so desperately to have. — You remember the evening clearly, the first night you met, two years ago. 

Dinner was awkward even back then. 

You’re sat gathered around the very same table, in the very same seats. Back then you had a small crush on him, on Beomgyu. How could you not? He was everything you weren’t, everything you thought you wanted to be. The expressive t-shirt he wore, a band you didn’t recognize, but you guessed it to be some type of rock. His slightly baggy jeans, decorated with a few simple chains. Dark hair, though it was shorter back then, and of course, the liner around his eyes. It was impossible not to be drawn to him. But he didn’t look at you, not once. 

You helped your dad clear the table whilst Beomgyu accompanied his mom in the kitchen as she prepared dessert. “What do you think of her?” Your father asks with a hopeful smile. You knew that he was nervous about introducing someone new to you, and Ms Choi would be the first woman he’d seen since your mother’s passing. You weren’t oblivious to the fact that your approval weighed like a ton of bricks on your dads shoulders, and you didn’t want to let him down. 

“She seems sweet.” 

He sighs, a relieved sigh. “Do you like her?” You ask, unable to hide the small frown on your face. Your father remains silent for a moment, his hands busying themselves with stacking the plates on top of one another. “I do”, he nods, his face immediately lighting up as he sees your small smile. But before you get another word out, the voice of Ms Choi pierces the quaint house. 

Neither of you move, but the conversation between Beomgyu and his mother was no longer private. “Well if that’s how you really feel, then perhaps you’ll find your father’s place a more suitable living space.” Ms Choi exclaims, her voice is thick, as if on the verge of breaking at any given moment. A brief silence follows her words, and you hold your breath.

“That piece of shit lowlife?” Beomgyu suddenly seethes and his mom quickly interrupts him. “Don’t call him that.” She sounds almost pleading. — Her son chuckles and if you had been able to see him, you would guess that he was shaking his head. “You still let him get away with all the shit he’s done?” — “Oh come on, you know it’s not like that, Beom..” 

“He’s an asshole, mom.” Beomgyu finally states, his voice holds no resentment, in fact it barely holds any emotion at all. “And you, you’re both naive and stupid for thinking he’s anything else.” — Then he re-emerges from the kitchen, not sparing either you or your father as much as a second glance as he heads for the front door, it slams shut behind him, leaving the faint sobs of Ms Choi to echo through the small house. 

Your dad rushes to the kitchen, but you remain frozen in place. His small whispers of reassurance carry out into the dining room as he tries to comfort the crying mess that was his girlfriend. Your eyes flit between the small opening to the kitchen and the hallway; feeling more than conflicted as you gnaw on your bottom lip.

After a few moments of hesitation, you finally come to a decision as you tear yourself from your spot by the since long vacant table. Quietly, you retrace Beomgyu’s last steps and you, too, push the heavy door open. — The cold night air hits your bare arms making you wrap them around yourself as you begin walking down the gravel pathway. You really had no idea of where he might’ve gone, or how you were even supposed to find him. But as you push the squeaking fence gate open, you know that you won’t have to look far. 

Perched on the sidewalk, knees tucked to his chest, Beomgyu leans his chin on top of his folded arms. Drawing in a small breath, you muster up the courage to do what you had come out here for. — He doesn’t say anything as you take a seat beside him, mimicking his actions by pulling your knees to your chest as you wrap your arms around them. You weren’t exactly good at comforting people, but you knew what sadness felt like, it was all you had been able to feel for three months after your mother’s death. 

“You here to fuckin’ lecture me too?” He spits, his gaze is fixed on the asphalt road in front of him. Perhaps Beomgyu’s sadness was different from yours. You shake your head, though you’re unsure if he can even see it. And for a moment, everything is silent. There was a nervous feeling bubbling within your chest, you didn’t know if it was because of your small crush on him or because of the argument you just witnessed between him and his mom. The argument sounded stupid in your ears, and it got you wondering.. 

“Why do you hate your father?” Your words ring out in the quiet night air, and somewhere to your left, you feel Beomgyu shift against the concrete sidewalk. You guess he hadn’t expected the question. — “‘Cause he’s a piece of shit.” He huffs, though his voice lacks the spite it held when in discussion with his mom. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you frown. “But he’s still your father, isn’t he?” 

Beomgyu might as well have laughed in your face. He shakes his head, one of his hands ruffling through his dark hair before he lets it fall to his side. “That changes nothing”, he states. You were tempted to disagree, it changed everything, didn’t it? To hate someone, to hate someone so close to you, someone so important.. You don’t think you could ever hate your father. 

“Have you tried talking to him?” Perhaps it was a stupid proposal, but in truth, you were at loss for ideas. Beomgyu snorts, his worn out sneakers kicking a few small rocks as he lets them roll out across the street. “You can’t talk to someone like him, and even if I could, I would have nothing to say to him.” — He draws in a sharp breath, holding it for a good moment before he slowly lets it go. “Some people..” he begins, his fingers picking at a few strands of vegetation that had managed to seep through the cracks of the constructed road. “Some people don’t deserve to have kids, some people shouldn’t have them.” 

You’re silent after that, unsure of what to say. He was right, some people were not meant to be parents. You wondered what his dad could have possibly done to warrant such hatred from his only son. It felt wrong to pry, so you didn’t. He would tell you one day, when he was ready, at least you thought so. — “But your mom is–” 

“My mom is stupid.” He spits, his expression suddenly turning sour. You didn't like how Beomgyu spoke about his mother, or how he spoke to her. “She doesn’t understand how fucked up dad is, and she still defends him despite everything he’s done.” — He bites the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowing together as his gaze remains ahead. “She’s truly pathetic.” 

Your chest churned at the statement. And perhaps your relationship with Beomgyu would’ve turned out different, had you not said your next words. But you couldn’t help it, and you didn’t regret it either. “At least you have a mother.” It angered you. It angered you that he treated people so close to him with such hatred. Did he not understand? Not everyone had the privilege of seeing their mom everyday, not everyone got to feel her warm embrace, eat her food, have her kiss your cheek. 

Beomgyu’s hatred was selfish. He was selfish. Because you would have done anything to see your mother one last time. — He turns to you, and for the first time that night, he looks at you. “And that makes you so special?” His gaze narrows down on you, the dark liner around his eyes only makes his expression look twice as gloomy. “You think you’re the only one who’s life is shit just because your mom went and died?” 

His words stung, like salt on a fresh wound, slowly being rubbed in. You fight back the tears that were prickling in the corners of your eyes. You just wanted to help. But you were obviously not very good at comforting people, still, you thought that he might’ve been at least a little understanding. How idiotic of you. Beomgyu rises to his feet, giving the gravel beneath him one final kick as it flies everywhere. 

“Don’t think you know the first thing about me just because you’ve heard me and my mom argue once.” His expression darkens even further in the pale night, and you swallow a small sob. “And don’t for a second think that we have anything in common, or that you have the right to talk to me like that.” He snaps, hands digging into the denim of his jeans, the chains on them rattling as he does. 

“It’s not my fault your mommy died, but let me give you a piece of advice yeah?” He leans down, his face inches from your own and you resist the urge to pull back, instead blinking up at him as a nasty sneer casts over his features. “Get over it.” 

With that, he straightens himself back up, letting out a small scoff as he turns on his heel before venturing down the street. — Beomgyu didn’t come back home that night, Ms Choi told you so, you didn’t know where he went, you didn’t care. From that point on, you hated Choi Beomgyu, you hated everything that was him, everything that reminded you of him. But most of all, you hated anything that made you feel like he had made you feel that night; the night he’d left you on the street to sob in your hands. 

⸝⸝

Your first official night under Ms Choi’s roof felt weird, it didn’t feel at all like home, maybe because it wasn’t, or maybe because you laid in bed with the knowledge that Beomgyu was only a room away. — It was dark, the soft glow of the moon seeping through your lace curtains. You had yet to fully unpack, your small night lamp long forgotten about in one of the boxes downstairs. The room smelled weird too, it didn’t smell like home, like mom. 

Despite it being years since she passed you often found resolve in venturing inside your parents room, the room that smelled the most of her. How you would let the tips of your fingers trail across the smooth bed sheets as you imagined her sleeping form. — The first months after her passing you even found yourself going through her old clothes, trying to keep anything that carried her scent close. But even the house itself held her presence, her laughter echoing off the walls, her soft hum as she prepared dinner, her cheerful voice as she skipped down the stairs. 

This house did not hold a single trace of your mother, she was truly gone. Your dad had moved on, he had fallen in love, he’d stopped being miserable, he no longer cried for his deceased wife in the darkest hours of night. Did that make him a bad person? You wanted to hate him for leaving your mom behind, even though she was technically the one who had left you. You wanted to tell him that he should never love a woman that wasn’t her. But you couldn’t. And you wouldn’t. — Your father was happy now. 

Perhaps Beomgyu had been right that night. Perhaps you should get over it. Perhaps you should’ve gotten over it a long time ago. But you didn’t want to, because getting over it meant letting go, letting go of your mom, and you didn’t want that. She was your mom.

Your fingers instinctively reach for the bracelet around your wrist, fiddling with the silver anxiously. This was your last piece of her, your last line, the string that still connected you to her. — You treasured it dearly yet you couldn’t but feel almost melancholic whenever you turned the jewelry around in your hands, an immense wave of sadness washing over you as the small piece kept reminding you of what you’d lost. 

You shake the tears away, sitting up as you lean against the bed frame. You wouldn’t cry tonight, you wouldn’t allow that. Instead your mind wanders down the hall, down to the room on your left. You wondered what Beomgyu was up to, was he already asleep? Maybe he was feeling restless too.. “What the fuck”, you scoff, shaking your head at the glimpse of sincerity you cast his way. Having already gone through with that mistake once, you would be sure to not make it again. Beomgyu didn’t deserve your sympathy. 

He didn’t deserve anything. 

⸝⸝

The following weeks went by in almost a blur. Your dad and you got settled in quickly, and with the help of Ms Choi, you now had a wildflower blooming by the sill of your window. Not to mention the pink rug you had so carefully picked out as you laid it in the center of your room. — But happiest was probably your father. It was sweet, seeing how giddy he got whenever the new woman in his life was around, you liked watching him fall in love. And without you even realizing it, the small house soon began to feel like home. 

Even you and Beomgyu got along fine, if getting along was what you could call it. You had silently conducted a small routine which was to be strictly followed by the two of you. It helped ensure that you wouldn’t have to run into one another more than absolutely necessary. — First, you always used the bathroom at seven. He was never up by then and you enjoyed having free access to both the shower and toilet as you took your time getting ready for the day. 

Second, your rooms were strictly prohibited areas, under no circumstances were you allowed to step foot inside his personal space, nor was he to do so in yours. That didn’t change the fact that he would continuously blast his ear screeching music so loud that the floorboards thumped in rhythm to the beat. Nor did it change the way you threw your hairbrush against the wall in an attempt to get him to shut up, not that it ever proved successful. 

Third, and perhaps the most important one; you did not know each other outside of home. Senior year in college started about two weeks ago, and within the four confined walls of the school building, you and Beomgyu were nothing but mere strangers. Not that the same couldn’t be said for the way you treated each other back at home. Which leads you on to another unspoken rule, the rule that made your parents believe that you got along just fine. 

You think it was said last rule that made everything come crumbling down one October night. 

“A whole week?” You splutter, your fork slipping from your grasp and hitting the porcelain plate in front of you. Ms Choi makes a small grimace at your blunt shock but quickly masks it with a smile, “yes, me and your father were thinking..” — “Come on princess”, your dad interrupts, leaning forward ever so slightly. “You’re more than old enough to sit the house for a week, besides, we’ve been meaning to get some alone time.” He sends you a look that practically screams, “don’t fuck this up for me, alright?” 

With a small groan you nod, “yeah it’s alright I suppose.” But it wasn’t, in fact it was far from it. This meant that you would have to spend a full seven days, locked up in the same house as Beomgyu, with no one to save you. “Is this what people call dark humor?” You mutter, though not loud enough for anyone to pick up on, at least you thought they couldn’t. Opposite you, Beomgyu’s lip twitches as his tongue prods against the inside of his cheek, his fingers playing with the rings on his hands; clearly not oblivious to your small comment. 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine”, Ms Choi adds in a most lighthearted tone. Your dad slowly nods as his gaze flits between you and Beomgyu, watching as you both turned to shoot him a small smile. 

⸝⸝

“And don’t forget to lock the door, oh and I’ve written down all the emergency numbers on a piece of paper plastered on the fridge, and there’s–” — “Dad, I’m fine.” You take his hands in yours, giving them a light squeeze and your father grins, “right, sorry princess.” He throws a quick glance over his shoulder to where Ms Choi was waiting by the car, having already shared a most quick farwell with her son. 

“Go, I’ll be okay”, you sigh as you urge him toward the door. “Alright, alright, just promise to call if anything happens.” He pleads as he ruffles your already disheveled hair due to the amount of hugs he had insisted on. You give him an affirmative nod as he steps out. “Love you, princess!” Is the last thing he gets out before you close the front door in his face, worried that you might never have him leave if you didn’t. The hallway quickly becomes enveloped in a near deafening silence, the emptiness of the house palpable. But the short-lived peace would soon be disrupted. 

“Fuck, are you fourteen or twenty?” Beomgyu jeers as he leans against the doorframe leading into the living room, arms folded across his torso. He’s dressed in a pair of loose jeans that hung low on his waist, and had it not been for the even baggier t-shirt thrown on his chest, you would’ve probably caught more than a glimpse of his stomach. The piece of jewelry on his eyebrow glints in the faint morning light as he sends you a small frown. 

It was too early for any of his snarky remarks, you thought as you swallowed a deep breath. Just ignore him, don’t bite back, that’s what he wants. But as you watch his conceding smirk practically double in size at your silence, you find yourself unable to hold back. “Well at least I talk to him.” It was a low blow, and you knew it. You didn’t care, for the way his face dropped, if only for a brief moment, made it all worth it. 

Beomgyu was quick to hide his initial surprise as he shifted against the doorframe, his dark eyes narrowing down on you. “It’s hardly like you’ve got anyone else to confide in”, he drawls, and you bite the inside of your cheek at his subtle acknowledgement of the lunches you spent alone in the school cafeteria. Your fists clench, your anger on the verge of slipping past the weakening brims of your control. 

“You think you’re so much better, huh?” Your angered huff is met by a low chuckle but before he gets a reply out, you cut him off. “I’m not the one retaking a whole year of college, I mean, I knew you were stupid, but this exceeds any of my previous assumptions.” The words slipped from your lips without you being able to stop them, and it felt good, really good. Beomgyu’s jaw visibly clenches at the insult thrown his way, the arms over his chest flexing as his body tensed. 

Feeling almost high off of the harsh remarks, you continue. “Let’s not even bring up your mom. You can barely look her in the eyes, you treat her like absolute shit, and at your grown age too.” — It’s his turn to flare up now, his previously stunned expression immediately morphing into a scowl as he charges forward. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about her in front of me.” He seethes, teeth grinding against each other as he reaches you, his fingers wrapping around the collar of your blouse as he shoves you against the wall with a thud. 

For the two years in which you had known Beomgyu, sorry, been acquainted with, you don’t think the two of you had ever as much as even shook hands, much less hugged. But now his face was only inches from yours, burning with so much rage that you thought you might just combust into a pile of ashes on the floor. His chest heaves, and his grip on your shirt is near deadly as he yanks the fabric up, his taller frame looming over your own. 

You scoff, trying to mask the unease that immediately surged within your chest at his close proximity. “See? Can’t even bring your mom up without you throwing a hissy fit", you jeer. — The scowl once on his lips, slowly turns into a sneer, a sly look emerging on his face, like you had just said exactly what he needed to hear, given him the opportunity he’d been searching for. 

His breath is warm on your already hot body as he speaks. “Well it’s not exactly like you’re any better.” You catch his tongue dragging across his bottom lip, as if savouring the moment, his eyes focused solely on the way your once stoic expression fell. “Can’t even mention her without you bursting out into tears.” — You open your mouth to object, your brows furrowing at the accusation but he’s quicker, shamelessly cutting you off to get his point across. “There’s no use in denying it. Don’t you think I’ve heard you? Crying in your room late at night, crying for your dead mommy.”

His gaze snaps to your wrist, hand darting out to grab ahold of it as his thumb slides across the bracelet resting there. “And this? A souvenir of her death? That’s pathetic.” He cocks his head to the side, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. “It’s like a child sleeping with stuffed toys”, he sneers, letting go of you with a small grimace before his grip returns to the collar of your shirt. 

You hated the way your teary eyes almost immediately gave you away, and you fervently tried to blink them away; much to no avail as Beomgyu chuckled. “Did I hit a nerve?” He wonders, voice laced with fabricated pity. It made you sick to your stomach. — “Sorry, princess”, he coos, but nothing about the way he gripped onto your flimsy blouse made for a convincing apology. Your eyes narrow at the familiar nickname and his smirk only widens. “Isn’t that what your daddy would say? Princess?” 

Hearing the name you treasured so dearly coming from his mouth, the word tainted with his hatred and evil, it made you bite the inside of your lip, hard. “What? Don’t like it?” He hums, his fingers on your shirt loosening, if only slightly as he leans even closer. It was easy to make out the details of his face now, the piercing stuck through the skin of his eyebrow, the area slightly red, as if irritated. The dark charcoal around his eyes, you wondered if he slept in it, probably. You will your gaze to stay locked with his, not daring to glance down at his lips. 

“Then what should I call you? Sis? Sister? Little Sister?” He looks almost as if he’s about to burst into laughter and you wanted nothing more than to slap that disgusting smirk from his face. “I’m not your sister.” You state, refusing to ever be perceived in such a way. — Beomgyu let’s his head fall to the side, his brows raising in a flicker of surprise. “But we’re family now, aren’t we?” 

You close your eyes, thinking that maybe if you just pretended that he wasn’t there for an extended period of time, he might actually disappear. But once you reopen them, you find him still watching you, his smirk stretched so wide that he almost appeared uncanny. “You don’t know the first thing about what makes a family.” You let your words linger in the now very thick air, watching with an almost gleeful expression as Beomgyu lets out a small scoff, though leaning back as he lets go of your shirt. 

“Quit trying to act like you’ve got me all figured out.” Is all he says, his voice now eerily calm, a kind of calm that makes your blood run cold. — “Then quit acting like such a terrible person, and maybe people would start seeing you for something else.” You mutter, your words not intended for his ears to catch, but they do. His gaze flickers over your body, pressed against the wall in an attempt to create as much space between the two of you as humanly possible. 

He shakes his head, his lip twitching as he runs a hand through his long hair. “How about you quit trying to act like you know what makes a terrible person.” — His words leave you silenced long enough for him to make his escape as he heads for the staircase. The last thing you see is his dark retreating figure, the sound of him trudging up the steps filling the house. You slump against the wall, letting out a shaky exhale as you let your eyes fall closed, already dreading the week ahead. 

⸝⸝

To your surprise, day one and two went by like usual, with the absence of your father and Ms Choi of course. You and Beomgyu managed to avoid one another just like normal, and whilst you ate dinner downstairs, he always brought his food to his room. Sometimes it was almost as if you were living alone, you had the whole house pretty much to yourself and you often took the opportunity to lounge by the sofa in the living room. 

After your fight two days ago, part of you had thought that things might worsen even further between the two of you. But if anything, you’d seen even less of him than you usually would and you think you could count the interactions you’d shared with him on your fingers. 

Your whole body feels heavy as your head hits the pillow that night. Four more days, you tell yourself. You could do four more days. All you had to do was keep up the role you’d been playing for the past three days. 

And as you lay in bed, you let your thoughts wander, wander to your dad. The two of you engaged in shorter calls every evening. It was a nice distraction from your otherwise plaguing reality. Your father told you about the beach, the ocean and the seashells; he and Ms Choi were staying at a hotel by the seaside for the week, and you felt your heart swell at the excitement in his voice. 

“You’ll have to come with us next time!” He exclaimed, the powerful winds surrounding him made his words come out jagged on the other end of the line. Still, you thought you were able to make out the faint sounds of waves crashing against the shore as he walked along the water. — “I’d be happy to”, you agree, a small grin playing on your lips at the thought of going on vacation with your dad again, it had been so long. 

Soon Ms Choi joins your conversation, you hear them share a quick kiss before her tender voice addresses you. “How’s Beomgyu doing dear?” She wonders and your smile immediately falters at the mention of his name. You bite your lip, unsure of what to say, did she not talk to him, not at all, not once? — In the end, you settle for something for half a lie and half a truth. “He’s doing fine.” 

Your dads girlfriend exhales on the other line as she thanks you. “Are you two getting along well?” Your father asks, a hint of suspicion following his inquiry. Even though Ms Choi was quick to defend her son, your dad still seemed to hold back when it came to him, if only slightly. “We’re doing just fine.” You lied, not wanting to address just how awkward things were and how you most definitely wanted them to return home as soon as possible. You wouldn’t ruin your dads shot at happiness just to soothe your own worries. 

But as night approaches, the faint glow of the moon seeping through your thin curtains, you find yourself unable to sleep. Though this time, it’s not because of your reeling mind, rather a faint noise coming from the room down the hall and to your left. — During your previous nights, the house had been eerily silent, almost deafening as it added to the feeling of you living there alone. And Beomgyu was not one to play music at such an hour, even though he was likely still very much awake. 

With a small frown you sit up, fingers grasping the bed sheets beneath you as you shift on the mattress. It was near impossible to make out any details regarding the noise, only a hushed sequence here and there could be heard and your frown deepens. But your desire for a full night’s sleep quickly overweighs any doubt as you’re reminded of the early morning class you had the following day, and the bed squeaks as you gingerly climb off of it, quietly venturing out into the dark hallway to face whatever awaits you. 

You’re able to locate the source of the sound as soon as you step out into the dark hall, and your throat goes dry as your eyes seize the door leading to Beomgyu’s bedroom. — The floorboards creak under your weight, making you freeze as you listen for a shift in the noise coming from his room, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. 

Carefully you creep forward, a hand on the wall to guide you as you near your target. The closer you get the clearer the noise gets, and for a moment you wondered if he was hurt as deep grunt-like sounds slipped through the crack of the wooden door. What would you even tell him? Biting the inside of your cheek, you shake your head. Just yell at him, cause a scene, do something.

Your fingers are wrapped around the door handle when you suddenly stop, your heart practically leaping out of your chest as a small moan reaches your ears. Stunned, you remain frozen in place as you listen to the ragged breathing of Beomgyu, coming from inside his bedroom and your foggy brain slowly pieces together what he was up to. A wave of disgust washes over you, perhaps even embarrassment at having caught him doing something like that. 

It takes you about half a minute to snap out of your initial shock, eyes darting back down the hall as you plan to make your escape, because there was no way you were going to let him know that you’d heard him. But just as you turn around to head back to safety, a deep groan makes you halt. “Mhhn fuck”, Beomgyu grunts, his voice muffled by the wall separating you but you clearly catch the ragged moan following the curse. 

You thought you could make out something else in the far background, a faint whisper of someone else. He hadn’t brought someone over had he? No, that’s impossible, you would’ve known. And soon the all too familiar and almost theatrical moan of a woman pierces the air.

Teeth latching on to your bottom lip, you stand torn, your brain desperately yelling for you to leave, to forget that any of this ever happened, to not pry further and spare your last bits of sanity. But another part of you, a far more sinister one, keeps your body locked in place, making you unable to move neither forward nor back; forcing you to listen as your Beomgyu gets off to some cheap porn video in his room.

You felt dirty just by hearing him, but the other part of you felt something dangerously close to excitement, your heart thumping unmistakably faster as your gaze flickers back toward his shut door. 

“H-ah..” He breathes and you swallow a gulp, sweat sliding down your forehead at the strange feelings swirling inside of you. Your hands clench at your sides, shivers rippling through your body as you hold your tongue, terrified of making your presence known. — He should be ashamed, not you, you had merely passed by, right? So why did you feel so bashful standing here, right outside his room, in the middle of the night, like some creep. 

“Mhhn fucking hell”, he croaks and you screw your eyes shut, desperately trying to erase the images playing in front of you like that of an old film. Images of him, his head thrown back, his lips slightly parted, lidded eyes and his hand… his hand wrapped around– “Oh my god”, you breathe, bracing yourself against the wall as your head falls forward. You had to get out of here. 

⸝⸝

Disgusting. That’s what he was. Not only a loathsome person but a pervert too. And as you walk down the familiar street, your school bag flung over your shoulder, you think of ways to confront him about his behavior. He was in the wrong here, not you. Besides, your request for him to keep it down at night was reasonable. 

The wooden fence gate feels rough under the tips of your fingers as you push it open, your eyes falling on the quaint house before you. The gravel makes a crunching noise beneath your shoes as you near the front door, the lump in your throat only growing in size. — It was such a pretty house, and to think that something so dark resided within its walls made you sick. Still, you unlock the old door and make your way inside. 

The familiar scent of roses invades your senses almost immediately and you take pride in the comforting smell, allowing yourself to just stay for a moment. You knew that he was home already, having spotted his car on your way back, and it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out where he was currently lounging at. — Discarding your bag alongside your shoes, you begin the small journey up the stairs, not planning on prolonging the inevitable conversation. 

The blaring music fills your ears as soon as you reach the top step and you heave a sigh. You could do this, you wouldn’t back down. — The first knock is petty, weak, barely audible over the heavy bass thumping on the other side. You bite your lip, raising your fist once more, this time you give the wood a harsher tap. But still, nothing. You stand there for a moment, listening to the unfamiliar song playing and you wonder why he felt the need to drown himself in music as vile as that. Perhaps it was to quiet the undeniably gruesome thoughts you could only imagine filled his mind. 

“Beomgyu!” You shout his name, knuckles near hurting as they pound the door in front of you. Finally, the loud melody comes to an abrupt halt and you can hear him shuffling about inside his room, the soft padding of footsteps approaching and soon he reveals himself. — He looks the same as he always did, as he always had. Except he looks…different. You think it might have something to do with what you had heard him do the previous night. Because something was different, something was no longer the same. 

“What do you want?” He spits, the words sound almost like an accusation and you watch as his brows furrow, dark gaze narrowing down on you. Suddenly, you feel your composure crumble, the phrases you’d gone over in your head so many times on the way back home suddenly diminishing to nothing as you stand before him. Your lips part, for whatever excuse you could possibly find but Beomgyu beats you to the case. 

“If you’re here to complain about how you miss your daddy then I don’t give a shit.” 

Your mouth closes again, your brows mimicking his frown as you peer up at him. Is that what he thinks of you? Is that how he perceives you? As nothing more but a crybaby who can’t go a day without her father, who sobs herself to sleep in the absence of her mother? — “That’s not why I–” — “Like I said”, he cuts you off, his gaze hardening, “I don’t give a shit.” 

The grimace painting your face is surely unmistakable and your fists clench as you swallow back the insults waiting on your tongue. “Well I do”, you say, masking your otherwise trembling voice with firmness as you maintain the tense eye contact. Beomgyu appears, if not surprised then at least taken aback, his lip twitching as he lets out a short huff. He folds his arms over his chest, covering the print on his black t-shirt, seemingly waiting for you to continue. 

“I’m here to…to ask you..” You find yourself stumbling over your rehearsed lines, mind fumbling for a way to approach the situation without making it awkward for the both of you. Not wanting him to know that you’d heard him but also wanting him to be aware of the fact that you knew exactly what he’d been up to. — “What I want to say is, please keep it down..at…at night, some of us are trying to sleep you know..” 

Carefully you peek up at him, trying your hardest to subtly gauge his reaction. But Beomgyu only hums, his brows raising in play-pretend surprise as he leans against the doorframe. “Keep what down? It’s not exactly like I’m blasting music or anythin’” he muses. You shake your head, “that’s not what I’m asking, I’m asking you to keep it down when…when y-you you know..” 

The smirk slowly etching its way to his lips should’ve told you everything you needed to know. That he was just looking for ways to push you further, to rile you up and get you flustered, but for some reason it didn’t, and you kept going. — “When I what?” He wonders, eyes flickering over your guarded stance as you awkwardly shift in front of him, letting your weight fall on one leg. “Come on, you know what I mean”, you practically whine, not caring about how immature and childish you sounded as you avoided actually uttering the words out loud. 

“When I jack off?” He asks, his tone nonchalant as his hands slide down the pockets of his already low hanging jeans. You meekly nod, gaze dropping to the floor as your cheeks flush with color. “Y-Yeah that…you’re kind of..loud”, you cough, anxiously crossing your arms over your chest as you clear your throat. 

Beomgyu seems to be considering your words for a moment, his attention fixed on something behind you as he quietly hums. But then he leans forward, his face landing almost inches from your own and you can clearly see the smudged liner around his eyes now. “And you’ve got a problem with that?” He tilts his head to the side, studying you expectantly. 

“Come on now, sis”, he drawls and you cringe, hating how the word sounded on his lips. “You can’t possibly tell me that you’re not twice as loud when you touch yourself.” — The statement made your eyes blow wide as your jaw slacked. Feebly you shake your head in an attempt to deny his accusations. “I- No!” You shriek, taking a small step back as your hands wave in objection. “I don’t– I don’t do stuff…stuff like that..” 

Beomgyu’s smirk widens as he watches your apprehensive response, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Stuff like that?” He repeats, the sentence sickly sweet on his tongue. “You mean you’ve never played with yourself like that? How dull.” — You swallow, your throat suddenly feeling beyond parched as you shake your head once more. Was that so bad? Did that make you so different? You’d never understood the appeal, never felt those feelings, never even had a boyfriend. It shouldn’t matter should it? 

So why did it make Beomgyu look at you like that? Like you had just become something completely different in his eyes, something prized, something desirable. “Really?” He repeats, as if unbelieving of what he was currently hearing. Your quiet “no” is met by an even more menacing smirk as his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek. 

“Why, your daddy must be real’ proud of you then”, he grins and you feel your stomach twist. — “N-No he doesn’t care about stuff like that.” Because why would he? He was your father, sure you were close but some things were better off kept private. But it seemed no matter what you said could make the hungry look in his gaze go away and you felt your heart rate increase tenfold. 

Beomgyu merely scoffs, clearly not buying your truths. “Well then your daddy doesn’t know how much of life his daughter is truly missing out on.” — You frown, straightening your back if only slightly as you regard him with a hint of determination. “I’m not missing out on anything, to be frank, I’m quite happy the way I am right now.” You give a short pause, stopping only to give him a quick one over. “Not that the same can be said for you.” 

It feels good to watch his once smug expression morph into a much more scowl-like one as he lets out a short huff. When he doesn’t say anything, you feel a proud smirk crawling its way to your lips and you barely manage to conceal it as you turn to walk back to your room. — Only when you’ve reached your door, does he speak again, and you’re surprised to find him still lingering by his own doorway. 

“Do happy people cry everyday too, or is that just you?” 

⸝⸝

You’re unable to get his words out of your mind and you spend the majority of the following night mulling over them. “Do happy people cry everyday?” Do they? Was crying necessarily a bad thing? People cry when they’re happy too, people cry for a variety of reasons. Some merely sniffle,  some sob whilst others practically scream. Could happiness really be measured in tears or was that just something he’d said to get on your nerves, to have the last word? 

You lay tossing and turning in bed, your blanket bunching up around your legs before you eventually kicked it off again. — If only your mom was still around, she would be sure to have an answer, for she always did.. You nod to yourself as you mindlessly fiddle with the bracelet around your wrist.

Perhaps you were over analyzing his words, twisting and turning something completely meaningless for hours on end. But it was the only way you’d be able to feel at ease. You had a habit of trying to understand things on a deeper level, knowledge comforted you. It was why you nearly drowned yourself in your studies, why you spent so much time indulging in literature or film. It was your escape. 

Part of you supposed you should have Beomgyu completely figured out by now, with the way you memorized each snarky comment of his. But you never did, it felt like you knew nothing about him yet everything all at once. Maybe your knowledge of him was biased. You’d been quick to snap his picture, to paint a vision of him so sinister that you found it hard to view him any differently. — In your eyes, Beomgyu was a selfish and bad person, a person who did not feel empathy nor compassion for others. And perhaps that was why your theories about him seemed to lead you down the same path each time. 

But you didn't think that you were a close minded person… Was there really something you had missed, something you had overlooked? Was there more to Beomgyu than he let on to? 

You don’t have to ponder much longer for a quiet knock to your door rips you from the deep thoughts previously consuming your mind. With a small flinch you shot up from your bed, crawling back against the headboard as your eyes trained on the entryway to your room. For a moment you think it might be an intruder, but what kind of thief would knock? — Not only knock but proceed to open the door without waiting for a reply. You only knew one person so unthoughtful. 

Beomgyu’s shadow is dark, shielded from the dim luminance of the moon mere feet away from him as he stands in the doorway. One step forward would reveal his face entirely, and you find yourself both longing and dreading for him to move. — Why was he here? You guys made sure to avoid one another diligently so why was he willingly ruining it? 

“I can help you.” 

His voice is low, but he speaks clearly. A crease runs along your forehead as your brows pull into a frown. “Help me?” You repeat, the confusion evident in your tone as you shift against the pillow behind your back. Beomgyu nods, taking a bold step forward which casts an eerie glow across the side of his face. Your gaze flickers from his intense and dark eyes to his lips, pulled into a small smirk and your stomach drops. 

You knew why he was here. Because what other motive could he possibly have? — You had seen the way he treated those around him, you had witnessed the effect he had on his mom as she fell to her knees in tears, the way his words had sliced through you like daggers of a knife, shamelessly cutting your barely healed skin. Beomgyu made things around him die, every touch of his was poison, lethal. And now he had come to kill you too. 

It wasn’t like his sudden change in demeanor was unexpected, you knew that he was capable of breaking things, breaking people. He had just never paid you much attention because he thought you were already broken. The death of your mother slowly eating you away as you cried for her each night. — But you can tell he’s had a change of heart, the way his eyes rake across your body, barely concealed by the flimsy pajamas you wore, untainted, untouched, pure. Ready for him to kill. 

“I don’t need your help.” You try to evade him off, convince him that you were no object of his affection. But it was impossible. Beomgyu shakes his head, slowly approaching your bed before he takes a seat, causing the cushion beneath him to dip slightly. — “You don’t even know what I’m about to offer you”, he muses, fingers trailing up your exposed leg and you quickly withdraw it, stuffing it beneath the blanket. 

“I know that I do not need it”, you bite back, twisting your body as far away from him as possible. He huffs out a short breath, biting the inside of his cheek, seemingly in deep thought. You peer at him through the corner of your eye, lips curling into a small grimace. — “Do you plan on living in the dark forever then?” He finally wonders, his voice a mere murmur and you frown. “I could show you, show you the light”, he hums, fingers drumming against the mattress leisurely. 

You’re unable to hide the scoff you emit before turning back to face him. “You couldn’t find light if it so much as presented itself in front of you.” Beomgyu’s jaw visibly clenches at your words, his hand stilling against the bed as his gaze flickers up to meet yours, an underlying twinge of curiosity lingering behind his otherwise cold and emotionless eyes. —  “No? And why’s that?” 

Your lip twitches, a small grimace of pure disgust threatening to overtake your entire face as you regard him with disdain. “Because something as dark and twisted as you cannot possibly seek light. You repell it.” 

The last sentence rings out in the silent air, and you watch as the intrigue in his eyes becomes put out like that of a dying fire. His expression contorted into the one you knew so well, the cruel one, the one that hurt people. “What, and you think you’re some kind of saint?” He jeers, trying to mask where your words had evidently stung. — Were you a saint? Hardly. But you didn’t hurt the people around you just because you could, just because life had treated you unfairly. That was the difference between you and Beomgyu. 

“You know what I think of you?” He says, the bed squeaking as he leans forward, dangerously close. “I think you’re scared.” He drawls, eyes boring into your own with so much vigor that you almost felt pity for the anger that consumed him. How miserable he must be to live like that. — “I’m not scared.” You calmly state, shifting against the pillows as you instinctively try to create distance between the two of you. Quickly taking note of your hesitant body language, he smirks, “no? Then prove it.”

“Prove that you’re not afraid of the darkness, of my darkness.” 

You remain silent for a moment, watching as he awaits your answer, your next course of action. Was this a bad idea? Probably. You had told yourself over and over that you wouldn’t let yourself get consumed by him, become tainted by his flawed hands. Yet you find yourself reaching for the blanket covering your body, pulling it from your legs as you discard it on the floor. Beomgyu follows the movement with an amused look, an almost wicked one before his smokey eyes snap back to yours. 

“Fine”, you say, adjusting yourself on the bed as you let your hands fall to your sides, “show me.” The simple statement makes his face twist into a look of pure smugness and Beomgyu wastes no time in scooting closer, fingers wrapping around both of your wrists as he positions himself before you. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me”, he murmurs, his lip twitching into a sinister grin as he does. It was almost as if your obliviousness spurred him on, your naivety making his mind reel. 

His breath is warm on your face as he studies you closely, from the way blood rushes beneath your cheeks to your eyelashes fluttering as you try to focus with him so close. “Have you ever kissed someone before?” He asks, the underlying curiosity in his words palpable. You try to think of any occasion in which you might’ve, but after a good moment you shake your head. “Only once…in middle school, a smell peck on the lips..” You admit, albeit a little sheepishly. 

The smirk on his face only widened, exposing his sharp teeth as Beomgyu chuckled. “That doesn’t count”, he states, seemingly pleased with your answer, with your honesty, your trust. Biting your bottom lip, you swallow before nodding slowly. “I’ll show you how to.” He then mumbles, and suddenly his nose is practically grazing yours. You suck in a sharp breath, eyes widening as you watch his confident ones. 

Then his lips press against your own, and they’re surprisingly soft. At first he remained still, completely unmoving and you wondered what on god's green earth he was doing. But soon he lets his eyes close, one of his hands letting go of your wrist as he cups your cheek. The small caress makes your eyes widen further and you resist the urge to pull back. Unsure of what to do with yourself, you hesitantly respond to the tentative kiss, letting your eyes flutter shut as well. 

You knew that you shouldn’t be doing this, that it was wrong, taboo even. He was your step brother.. at least he was bound to be once your parents got married. Guilt roots itself in the pits of your stomach, making it twist and turn uncomfortably as you try to relax in his grip. — He doesn’t push you any further and it takes you by surprise. Instead he lets his lips linger on top of yours, and when he pulls away moments later, a small pecking sound follows it. You watch through lidded eyes as his narrowed gaze studies you, the hand on your cheek moving to your chin. 

“How was it?” He wonders, as if expecting a review of some sort. Your mouth parts but you can’t seem to find the words. How could you describe the shame and the guilt? How could you ever verbalize the way his soft lips had felt on yours, such a thing was impossible. — “It felt weird..” Your hushed whisper echoes out like church bells in your ears and you remain very aware of the way his fingers reside around your chin, locking your face in place. 

Beomgyu lets out a short breath, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down as his gaze catches onto your exposed teeth. “First time always feels weird”, he states and before you get to prepare yourself, he dives right back in, except this time he goes straight for the kill. — You let out a small yelp as he pries your mouth open, immediately slipping his wet tongue inside to slide against yours. You can still taste the minty toothpaste on him and the sensation of something so wet and…alive, in your mouth, makes you cringe. 

You still allow him to kiss you, to push you back against the pillows as his hands roam your body, his poisonous touch spreading across your skin like wildfire. You knew that this was exactly what he wanted, to ruin something so perfectly pure, to take something from you that you could never get back. And for some reason, you let him. — Only when his hand reaches the waistband of your pajama shorts do you stop him, eyes wide as you push him back. 

“Wait.” 

The kiss breaks with a wet sound and a small string of saliva still connects the two of you. Struggling to find a suitable approach to the matter, you let your gaze drop to his chest, heaving a small sigh as you bite your lip. “I…I don’t know if…I mean I haven’t..” Honestly you didn’t even know what you were getting at yourself, you supposed you wanted to prolong the moment, if just a moment longer. 

Beomgyu regards you with an expression you don’t think you’d ever seen on him before; a mixture of both intrigue and desire. “Are you scared?” He wonders and without thinking, you nod. His lips stretch wide, the hand on your shorts moving to your inner thigh as he gives it a light squeeze and you nearly flinch at the touch. “Good”, he huffs, his fingers venturing beneath the fabric of your pajamas as he gauges your reaction closely. 

When he pulls your shorts down, you gingerly try and conceal yourself, your cheeks flushing in all shades of red as your thighs squeeze shut. “Don’t be embarrassed”, he tsk’s, his hands on your knees as he firmly spreads them. — “I’ve seen plenty of pussies before”, he merely shrugs, “yours won’t be any different.” His reassurance didn’t help ease much of your worries as you let him pry your legs open. 

He starts slow, and you’re thankful; his index and middle finger gently rubbing you through the soft cotton of your panties and you resist the urge to hide your face as you squirm against him. — It wasn’t like you’d never touched yourself, because you had…you think. Like any other young teenager you’d experimented a little with your body, but as an inexperienced 15-year old, the results had proved futile. You never had the urge you suppose, you didn’t even know how it was supposed to feel like. But as Beomgyu touches you through your underwear, a strange feeling mingles alongside the guilt and shame in your stomach. 

His eyes are on you, on only you, watching as you bite your bottom lip, your hands fidgeting with the bed sheets as you try to suppress the small noises bubbling in your throat. Not until his fingers find your clit, rubbing it deliberately through your panties, do you let out a small squeak. “Is…Is it supposed to feel like that?” — Beomgyu’s dark gaze shifts from your spread legs and over to your wide stare. He nods, “does it feel good?” 

“Strange..” You quietly whisper, though you made no move to stop him as his index finger hooks around the waistband of your underwear. “Yeah?” He murmurs, taking his time as he slowly pulls the piece of garment from your body, letting it slide along your legs before he discards it on the floor. “You’ll get used to it”, he muses, eyes shifting to your exposed cunt as they visibly darken, “it comes with experience.” 

You had no clue what to expect, what to feel, how to respond. Your whole body felt tense as his cold fingers brushed against your naked skin, inching their way up and suddenly it felt like you were under a microscope, every single part of you being presented under a stark light. Beomgyu on the other hand, seems far more at ease as he lets two of his fingers swipe across your cute folds, teasingly pushing them apart as he slowly rubs you. 

It takes everything in you not to cringe at the weird and damp feeling pooling between your legs, the consistent throb of your cunt and the small cry you emit as he flicks over your clit once more. He sighs, “virgin pussies are my favorite”, his gaze shifts to his already glistening fingers, “they get wet so easily.” — You merely let out a small whimper at his words, thigh involuntarily twitching, the movement immediately catching his eye as his lips curl into a smirk. 

“W-Wait!” You croak as you suddenly feel him prodding against your fluttering hole, your muscles taut as you shift on the bed. Beomgyu stops, hand resting against your core as he studies you with an indifferent expression. “W-Won’t that hurt?” It felt embarrassing to ask, but the thought of him pushing something inside of you…it scared you. — But Beomgyu only shrugs. “It might”, he drawls, his fingers resuming their work on your cunt as he repositions his index one right above the tight rim of muscle, “depends on how bad you want me.” 

Want him? You didn’t know if you wanted him, it wasn’t like you liked him, right? You hated Beomgyu, you’d hated him for two years. You hated how he treated his mother, how he treated you, with such coldness and such little empathy. You hated how he made you cry, how he made you feel small and weak. You hated how he made you feel bad for grieving your own mother. 

But as your gaze shifts to his face, and as you will yourself to look past the cruelty, the darkness, you can still make out the boy you met that night, the one you’d had a small and what you thought was an insignificant crush on. From the black charcoal around his eyes, to the silver jewelry bored into his eyebrow; his black hair, nearly reaching his shoulders now, and his dark eyes, his eyes that both scared and intrigued you. 

You gasp when he without warning pushes his finger past your folds, immediately curling it inside of you, making your back arch off the bed in sheer surprise. Beomgyu’s attention is solely on your flushed face, watching in contentment as you writher under his touch, as you slowly lose yourself. — “O-Oh..” Is all you manage to squeak out between the ragged breaths. It felt weird and uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt, instead the fluttering sensation in your stomach only seemed to grow. 

“Such a greedy pussy”, Beomgyu hums as he feels you pulsate around his finger, “sucking me in like a complete whore.” You shake your head, “I-I’m not..” The words die in your throat as he adds he slides a second digit past your tight rim, making you shriek as he stretches your cunt. 

His touch felt poisonous but you couldn’t find it in you to push him off, to tell him to stop. No matter how many times you told yourself how wrong it was, you couldn’t help but slowly succumb to the darkness that was Beomgyu. Wanting, no needing, more. It was as if he’d introduced you to a most dangerous drug, and you find yourself desperately seeking another fix, a stronger one. 

Your short nails have torn the bright sheets covering the mattress, and your arms tremble as you lock eyes with him. Satisfactory, that was the only way you could describe the expression painting his face. You don’t think you’d ever seen Beomgyu as anything but angry, but this…this was far from it. He looks ready to devour you whole, his brooding eyes fixating on the way your jaw slacked, your saliva coated lips parted and your eyebrows drawn together in such an endearing manner. 

“Feel good?” He wonders, his brow twitching slightly when his thumb presses against your clit, eliciting a high pitched moan from you as you squirm against him. “I’ll take that as a yes”, he drawls and before you know it, his fingers are gone, making a sloppy sound as they withdraw from your cunt. You whine, hips bucking up in an attempt to seek his touch and your cheeks flare up in color. “W-Why did you stop..?” You pathetically wonder, biting the inside of your cheek, thinking that you had possibly done something wrong. 

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything as he brings his sticky fingers to his face, inhaling your scent before shoving them into his mouth. Your jaw falls open in bewilderment, how could he just do something like that so…casually. — “Come on now princess, we’ve only just gotten started.” 

Even more? 

Your already wide eyes dilate even further, completely forgetting to be angry over the nickname he’d used as his hand dips inside the waistband of his sweats, pulling his hard cock from his briefs. It wasn’t like you were a total prude, you knew what a dick looked like, you just…had never seen one up close. — Beomgyu takes his time as he wraps his fingers around its base, languidly stroking himself as pearly beads of what you could only assume to be precum spilled from the slit on top. 

The thought of having that inside of you makes your throat go dry and you shift uncomfortably on the bed. “Come on now, sis, don’t grow shy on me”, he drawls, stifling a groan as his thumb flicks over his tip. The knot in your stomach returns and you shoot him a glare, “I am not your ‘sis’”, you state through gritted teeth. But Beomgyu only chuckles before leaning forward, his face drawing in close once more. With one hand still on his cock, the other one presses flat against the mattress as he hovers in front of you. 

“Lie down.” 

His sharp command sends a shiver down your spine and you hesitantly comply, awkwardly sliding yourself down between his parted legs until only your head remains perched on the pillow. From this angle, Beomgyu’s long hair falls in front of his face and you resist the urge to reach up and brush it away. Instead your nervous eyes flicker to his cock as he gently taps it against your inner thigh. Your gaze lingers on the way his arousal spills onto your naked skin and suddenly a wave of realization washes over you. 

“Shouldn’t we use a condom?” You whisper, biting the inside of your cheek as your attention flits back to the smug expression on his face. “Why? That takes away half the fun”, he hums, letting his tip part your puffy folds as he nudges it against your throbbing clit. “H-ah b-but isn’t it unsafe?” You whine, unable to keep from grinding against him, desperately seeking his touch. 

Beomgyu lets out an exasperated sigh, reaching a hand up to run through his slightly disheveled hair. “Don’t tell me you’re scared”, he grunts, his fingers clasping around your chin, pulling your face so that it rests inches from his. Your breath is uneven and jagged as you reluctantly meet his gaze, a quiet “no” spilling from your lips. — He grins, tongue dragging across the bottom row of teeth in his mouth, “such a terrible liar.” 

You don’t have time to think, much less act before the head of his cock pushed past the rim of taut muscle as he slid inside your warm cunt, almost immediately groaning at how you wrapped around him so deliciously. — “Fuck, you really are a virgin aren’t you?” He breathes, lips hovering above yours and you weakly nod. The stretch of his thick cock making you go near cross eyed as you grasped at his shoulders. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before and you were sure that Beomgyu enjoyed every second of it. 

He had been the first, the first one to get his hands on you, to spew his poison all over your pure and innocent virgin body, and he would make sure to do so thoroughly. His mouth is on your neck, tongue licking at your skin and you cringe away from the action but he doesn’t falter, lips immediately chasing yours as he keeps you in place. The kiss is rougher than the previous, hungry and disoriented as Beomgyu messily jerks his hips against yours. Your nails dig into the apex of his shoulders and his name echoes through in the pristine bedroom as you moan out in pleasure. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum right away if you keep that up”, he grunts, fingers digging into your cheeks as he withdraws from your lips. Your eyes widen as you feebly try and shake your head, dreading for him to finish inside. But he doesn’t, instead he redirects his focus to your neck, resuming what he’d been doing as his tongue darts out to swipe across its juncture. You squeal when his teeth graze your skin, the hands on his shoulders moving to his dark hair. 

The marks he left on your untouched skin were bound to linger for at least a couple of days, he made sure of that. Reveling in the fact that you’d let him in, let him close, allowed him to take something so precious, something that you had been clinging on to for so long. He would have you, all of you, even if only once, he would be sure to leave an impression. 

And you know that you should feel ashamed, feel guilty, dirty even. But something feels different, something about him, about Beomgyu. It’s not the Beomgyu you loathed, the Beomgyu who’d made you cry, the Beomgyu who made you feel worthless. — None of the anger, the hatred, the fire; none of that lingered right now. And had it not been for his sharp teeth on your skin and his rough pace as his cock rammed into your throbbing cunt, the moment might’ve even been tender. 

There’s an unfamiliar feeling building in the pits of your stomach and it had long since overridden the previous shame and guilt. Unsure of what to make of it, you desperately tug on Beomgyu’s hair, eventually making his head raise from your chest with a small frown, the liner around his eyes even more smudged than usual now. — “I’m…I…” your face turns beet red as you stumble over your words, not knowing how to express yourself. 

He licks his already wet lips, his pace momentarily slowing and you whimper at the discomfort soaring through your body. “You close?” He asks, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. You open your mouth only to close it again, nodding sheepishly as your hands twist in his hair. Beomgyu groans as he lets his fingers slide down your stomach, reaching where your bodies connected like one, middle finger rubbing your clit menacingly as he watches you arch against him with a broken moan. 

Your first ever orgasm felt out of this world, your cunt clenching around his cock with such vigor that you thought you might cry, a string of incoherent and high pitched whines ripping from your throat as you pull Beomgyu close, and for the first time, you’re the one initiating the kiss as you slam your lips on his. — He groans into your mouth, letting you slide your tongue against his, albeit a little awkwardly as you had no clue of what you were doing. 

Finally, as your climax comes to an end, you find yourself relaxing against the mattress, the fingers in his hair loosening their grip as you allow yourself to kiss him slowly. — “F-Fuck princess”, he grunts, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth before letting go. You respond by eagerly raising your hips to meet his, wincing at how sensitive you felt as his cock twitched inside of you. “Fuck, fuck, wait”, he breaths, tearing himself from you as he swiftly pulls out with a small hiss. 

In your euphoric state, your eyes drift to his hand wrapped around his shaft, quickly jerking himself off as his gaze fixates on your wet cunt. Then he notices you, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he reaches for your wrist, “come here”, he urges as he guides the flat of your hand to wrap around his cock. — Blinking, your attention flits between his expectant face and his heavy dick in your grasp as you contemplate your next move. It wasn’t like you’d ever done something like this before but it looked easy enough when he was doing it. 

With determination you begin to carefully stroke him, biting the inside of your cheek at the squelching sound erupting as his arousal smeared across your fingers. Beomgyu’s hips jerk forward and your movements stutter. — “H-ah, fucking hell d-don’t stop”, he groans, his jaw slacked as his eyes tightly squeezed shut. A quiet “sorry” slips from your lips and your pace returns as you work to get him off. 

“F-Fuck go a bit faster, yeah?” He mutters, his hand joining in on top of yours as he ups the intensity. Merely following his command, you grip him tighter, drawing a strained moan from him as your fingers drag across his tip. — It made you feel oddly powerful, seeing him like this, his otherwise indifferent face completely flushed, and instead of presenting himself with a mean scowl, he looked to be in complete bliss as he let his head fall back. 

A final twitch of his causes hot liquid to spurt from his throbbing cock, the white substance coating both your hand and lower abdomen. He heaves a sigh and you feel him slowly go soft in your hand before you pull it away. Beomgyu runs his fingers through his hair, parting it before letting his arm drop back down, his gaze landing on the mess on your stomach. He tsk’s spreading the sticky fluid across your skin. “What would your daddy think if he saw you like this, hm?” He murmurs, licking his lips before bringing his cum-coated fingers to your face. 

You shake your head, without the waves of pleasure sparking through you, the shame and the guilt suddenly crawled right back. “I- I don’t want to talk about him..” You whine, trying to force the image of your father out of your mind. — “His beautiful princess, completely ruined by something so…what did you say I was? Dark?” 

Without warning he pushes his wet fingers inside your mouth, making you cringe at the salty taste of him. “I bet your daddy would hate you forever”, Beomgyu finally states, watching as you frown, lips closing around the digits in your mouth. — And when he finally withdraws them, you splutter, “my father doesn’t hate me, but yours seem to do.” 

Beomgyu’s jaw twitches, his lips curling up into a small scowl and the desire previously filling the air slowly simmers out. You knew that he wanted you to feel just as miserable as he did. But you wouldn’t let him, you wouldn’t let him get to you like that. — Half expecting an insult thrown your way, you’re surprised when he merely tucks himself back into his sweats, rising from the bed as he regards you with dark eyes. “Fine, keep living with such fantasies and we’ll see just how long it takes for them to get crushed.” 

Without as much as another word, he leaves your room, the door slamming shut behind him as the small house falls under an eerie silence once more. 

⸝⸝

Your parents came home two days later, and though you wanted to say that things had changed between you and Beomgyu after your…night together, it was safe to say that they hadn’t. At least not on his part. You on the other hand, couldn’t get the feeling of his hands off of your body, it was like he’d permanently imprinted himself on your skin. It feels disgusting, and you had spent three hours in the shower the morning after, vigorously trying to scrub the venom from your system. But it never worked, his touch lingered like that of a tattoo, forever sealed onto you. You could never take back what had happened that night. 

For some reason, a small part of you doesn’t want to. 

Beomgyu avoided you, and when he wasn’t avoiding you he was glaring. His dark and piercing eyes followed your every move whenever you were in his field of vision. But there was something else too, a sense of superiority. — He knew that you were constantly dealing with the consequences of that night, he could see the way your mind haunted you with the memories, and he took pride in watching the shame and the guilt practically eat you alive. — He was on top of the world and you were scrambling to even get by. 

So one could easily imagine your surprise when one evening, you found him in a state you never thought you’d ever get to witness. 

It was late, but your small family had yet to eat dinner, and you watched as Ms Choi darted across the kitchen, in full with preparing your meal. You helped her set the table as you laughed at a couple of your dad’s terrible and overused jokes. It had taken a whole of three days for you to be able to look him in the eye after he’d come home, and you still felt terrible whenever you caught him and Ms Choi sharing a kiss; knowing that one tiny slip of your lips could manage to ruin something so perfect. 

You trusted that Beomgyu wouldn’t utter as much as a single breath about what had transpired that night, but you still startled when his mother taps your shoulder, whipping around as you come face to face with her. — “Dear, do you mind fetching Beomgyu, dinner’s almost ready”, she smiled, that warm and comforting smile she so often gave her son, only to receive a mere huff in return. You nod, slowly making your way out of the kitchen as you head for the hallway, dreading having to speak to him, much less in private. 

The steps creak under your weight as you drag yourself up the stairs, drawing out the moment for as long as possible before you inevitably reach his door. With a small sigh, you knock. There’s no music coming from the other side and you frown, what’s up with him? — Another knock, but nothing. You bite the inside of your cheek, a wave of frustration crashing over you at the thought of having to call out for him. 

“Beomgyu?” 

A third knock. You wait for at least a minute but there’s nothing, just silence. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep, still, you should wake him and let him know that dinner was ready, Ms Choi had asked you after all. — Your hand is near trembling as you grasp the handle, twisting it before pushing the door open. Slowly adjusting to the darkness of his room, you peer inside. But to your surprise, he wasn’t there. 

Your footsteps make a thumping sound as you hurry down the stairs. If he wasn’t in his room then…Your gaze flickers toward the dining room and kitchen before settling on the front door. “Did he mention anything about going out?” You call out for Ms Choi and she soon appears in the doorway, a bowl of salad in her hands. “No, is he not in his room?” She wonders, her face quickly falling. 

Noting her worried expression you quickly shake your head as you try and reassure her. “I’m sure he just went for a walk, I’ll go check.” — Your dad’s girlfriend gives a small nod as her gaze, too, flickers toward the door. “Alright..” 

⸝⸝ 

The cool night air hits your face and you mutter a few curses under your breath, scolding yourself for offering to do something like that when the last thing you wanted was to be out in this cold. — As you walk down the graveled path you let out a tired groan, what were you even thinking coming out here? It wasn’t like he was just going to magically appear or something. Fucking asshole, had the nerve to leave without a word and now you had to go looking for him. 

But as you push the small fence gate open and turn out and onto the street, a familiar scene flashes before your eyes. Nostalgia fills your every fiber as your eyes fall on Beomgyu’s figure, perched on the sidewalk as he hugs his knees to his chest, just like he had that night, that night two years ago. — But something was different. That night, the one where you had learned to hate him, it had been a warm night, and Beomgyu had been burning with rage. Today, the air is much colder, and Beomgyu is no longer on fire, instead he’s shivering, his whole body quivering as small sobs escape his soft lips.  

You freeze at the sight, breath catching in your throat as you regard his almost pathetic frame, curling in on itself as his fingers dig into the flesh of his calves. Part of you wants to leave him there, perhaps even make fun of him, it was most tempting to finally get back at him for the way he’d ruined you. — But you weren’t Beomgyu. And you wouldn’t do that. 

Instead you find yourself slowly approaching, and just like that night two years ago, you slide down next to him on the cold pavement. He doesn’t seem to register that you’re there, and you sit in silence for a brief moment before addressing him. — “Beomgyu?” — His head jerks at the quiet whisper of his name, his usually narrowed eyes wide in shock as they flicker over to you. His cheeks are wet, stained with his tears and the liner around his eyes had run down his face in messy streaks. A few strands of hair stick to his forehead and his lip trembles as he sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Leave me the fuck alone.” He croaks, but his voice comes out weak and raspy. His hands wipe at his face, but it only spreads the mess already there even further and he lets out a frustrated groan. — You don’t say anything, because last time you tried to comfort him you only ended up getting hurt. Instead your gaze flits to his discarded phone between the two of you. The screen was broken, likely from him smashing it on the asphalt beneath. You frown as it suddenly comes to life, vibrating against the hard ground. The bright screen illuminates the dim street and your eyes land on the caller-ID. 

“Dad.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t make a move to answer, merely turning his head away as he continues to sob into his arms. “Don’t”, he mutters as he sees you reaching for the device, “he’s drunk.” — You purse your lips but your fingers still clasp around the phone, your thumb swiping to decline the call. Upon being presented with his lockscreen, you can make out at least another fifteen missed ones. Your chest churns at the scene, for whatever reason, you do not know. The bright light vanishes as you power off his phone completely, tossing it to the side as you stretch your legs out in front of you on the pavement. 

It takes him about a minute to lift his head from his arms and his breath is still uneven as he speaks. “What does he want?” — Biting your lip, you gaze ahead, tracing the outlines of each car parked down the street, memorizing their plate numbers. You didn’t know how to answer his question, so you remained silent. Beomgyu shuffles next to you, mimicking your movement of unfolding his legs. “I bet he wants money..” He then adds in a snarky tone, wiping his face once more as he snivels, “money to sponsor his fucking addiction.” 

You throw a quick glance in the direction of his discarded phone. “Why do you still have his number?” It was obvious that he didn’t like his father, so why let him bother him like that. Beomgyu shakes his head solemnly, his fingers twisting against one another as he opens his mouth only to close it again. “Wouldn’t it be better to block him?” — “I can’t.” He suddenly exclaims, turning to you with a small frown. 

Why not? Why let something like that plague you, why not just cut it off, why not just let go? 

It was then you realized that perhaps you and Beomgyu shared a lot more than you’d initially wanted to admit.. Your eyes drop to the bracelet around your wrist, the silver glinting under the moon. — When your attention returns to him, you find him already watching you, his gaze following yours as it resided by the jewelry on your arm. You think he might make another comment about it, but he doesn’t, instead he merely sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“I think..” You begin, your voice a quiet whisper as you stare past him, eyes drifting off into the distance as you let the words roll off your tongue. “I think you’re stuck on what could’ve been rather than what you have.” Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, his gaze mindlessly dropping to his hands in front of him as he bites the inside of his cheek. “What I have”, he mutters with a small frown, clearly not intended for you to hear but you did. 

“You have your mom.” 

He scoffs, already anticipating your next self-victimizing rant about how yours was dead. “My mom is-” 

“A wonderful person.” Your statement catches him off guard and his attention shifts back to your face as he studies you with a look of wariness. “And you would see that if you spared her more than a glare”, you continue as you watch his skeptical expression. — You had never felt anything besides hatred for Beomgyu, and you had been so blinded by your rage that in a way, you had become almost exactly like him. But as you finally take a step back to view him completely, his disheveled frame, his slumped shoulders and runny makeup — pity washes over you, the same pity you had felt on that night two years ago; the night everything went wrong. 

“Stop holding her accountable for his mistakes.” 

You can see the twitch of his face at your words, as if he wanted to refuse them, to lash out on you, but he didn’t. Instead he looks to you with the most sorrowful look you’d ever witnessed on him. — “How do I do that?” He wonders, his voice is thick, laced with his previous tears. Biting your tongue, you hold back from saying what you thought he wasn’t ready to hear but Beomgyu clings to you, his hands wrapping around the fabric of your shirt, his grip near trembling. 

“I miss my mom.” He whispers, his voice breaking as a lonesome droplet falls down his cheek, slicing through the dark smear of charcoal on his face. Your jaw falls open, stunned by the way his resolve so suddenly crumbled. And as you heard the words leave his lips, “i miss my mom”, you could practically feel every single one of his emotions as they washed over him in thunderous waves. — You missed your mom too, you missed her terribly. 

He hiccups, his tears creating a damp spot on the shoulder of your shirt. “H-How do I get her back..?” The question comes out muffled as he grips you tightly. “Please…I want my mom back.” — Your eyes sting and you feel yourself slowly losing your composure as you draw in a ragged breath. With a small push of your hands, you manage to create some distance between the two of you, enough to where you could see his wet face, his glossy eyes and swollen lips. 

“You have to let him go.” 

You reach for his phone, powering it back on. Beomgyu looks hesitant as he wipes his eyes, exhaling shakily when you extend the device to him. “The longer you let him ruin you the more you and those around you will suffer.” — With wobbly fingers he grasps his phone, slowly finding his dad’s contact info. He wavers, thumb hovering above the block button as he bites his bottom lip. 

You don’t know why you felt the need to help him, why you felt like you had to comfort him, reassure him. — “You’ve said it yourself haven’t you? Some people don’t deserve children.” His gaze flickers up to meet yours at the statement, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Don’t let him have that privilege”, you say as you let your hand rest on top of his. 

Beomgyu slowly nods, reluctantly pressing the dreadful button as he erases his father from his life. He purses his lips, breathing out through his nose as he stares at the screen for a minute, as if contemplating his next move. — “He’s gone.” He finally states, the frown on his face only deepening as he swallowed thickly. 

“Sometimes it’s better that way”, you mumble, letting go of his hand as you lean back, your gaze dropping to the bracelet around your wrist. 

Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, blood rushing through your body as you reach for the small lock, carefully unclasping the piece of sacred jewelry. Beomgyu and you…You weren’t so different, you think. And if he could do something, something like that, then who says you couldn’t? 

His eyes are on you, watching intently as you with shaky hands let the bracelet fall from your skin, feeling oddly empty without it. — It feels light in your hand, and you wondered how something so significant could weigh so little. It made it easier to let go. — Beomgyu lets you grab his wrist, the frown on his face creasing further when you tie the silver around him. 

“Now she’s gone too.” 

You give him a small smile, meeting his wide eyes as they shift from the bracelet around his wrist and your relieved expression. 

It’s without thinking that you lean in, softly pressing your lips against his in a small kiss. But this time you didn’t feel guilty, nor did you feel dirty or ashamed. Instead it felt nice, it felt like closure. Letting your eyes flutter closed, feeling his warm and damp skin against your own, a stark contrast to the cold night surrounding you. Beomgyu lets you kiss him without protest and you feel the faint caress of fingers to your cheek. 

When you pull away he chases after you, only to be stopped by the palm of your hand on his chest as you shake your head. “It’s not like that. You know it too.” Your soft whisper makes his jaw clench, his fingers dropping from your face as they curl into fists. Then he nods, the corner of his lips pulling upwards, “yeah.” 

Gingerly rising to your feet, you dust some off the dirt from your jeans before your attention returns to him, still perched on the sidewalk. — Your outstretched hand is met by the raise of his eyebrow and you roll your eyes, “come on, I think there’s someone who would like to talk to you.” Beomgyu frowns but takes your hand nonetheless as he lets you pull him up. 

You walk like that, hand in hand, and it feels nice. Your heart sinks a little at the thought that it could’ve been like this from the start, had things worked out differently. But as you turn to walk through the small fence gate, and your eyes fall on Ms Choi, anxiously waiting by the front door, you find yourself smiling. And instead of grieving what you could’ve had, you would focus on what you did have. 

Beomgyu audibly swallows next to you as his gaze surveys his mother, and as Ms Choi notices the two of you approaching, her face lights up. — With a final squeeze of his hand, you let him go. It was satisfactory in itself to see him walk up to his mom, letting her wrap her arms around him for the first time in what you could only guess to be years. But they both made it look so natural as they fell into each other’s embrace. And it only confirmed what you had known for so long.

That Beomgyu was and had always been, a mommy’s boy.

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𝐚𝐭𝐳𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦'𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 .ᐟ

all works of writing/summaries are not owned by me, and all credits go to the respective writers! this list will be updated periodically with stories i have read ♡ i thought that as a writer myself who consumes talented stories on this site, it would be good for me to show you all a fraction of what i read myself tehe (i read majority poly!teez/mc so that category will be filled!!) ☆

— note: 90% of these fics will contain mature themes, since it's all i read! please read the specific author's notes before reading!

❤︎ - personal favorites

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ

— ❤︎ mists of celeste (??/reader, several pairings) by @hongism

genre: scifi/space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut, fluff

summary: sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you.

notes: as an atiny on tumblr.com, i feel like it's a rite of passage to read moc. it's one of the best written works i have had the privilege of reading. it's gripping, it's heartbreaking, it's filled with yearning and love, and has you hoping that the characters survive this ordeal. san i love you most you can tell by the masterlist alone that she has crafted a whole space pirate universe intricately and with the utmost care. she deals with the trauma of the characters so so well and i cant lie ive cried a lot reading it jdhdksjddj, it's the fic that made me start reading ateez ff, i mean, i started reading before even knowing ateez and i had to have a separate tab open to remember who was who. that alone can tell you how much of a work of art this is. omg, im blabbering, but please read this.

— hotel california (ot8/reader) by @mint-yooxgi

genre: yandere, demon!au

summary: checking in to a hotel ran by yandere!Ateez, the boys decide she can no longer leave

my notes: im not too sure how i came across this work, i think it was an endless scroll of me trying to find something to read, but nevertheless, this story. i have not finished it yet (a great and utter pity) but from what ive read so far. im actually very concerned on how much ive read of this in one night 😨, i think the plot is so so unique, i love a strong mc who does not take any shit whatsoever, i love gaslighting demon!ateez 🙂‍↕️. i had to stare at the wall several times while reading,, felt like jim in the office truly. UGH it's just so good??? i can't recommend enough!! PLEASE READ.

— ❤︎ the answer (ot8?/reader, side pairings) by @berryunho

genre: cult au, thriller

summary: life is great until your best friend goes missing your senior year of university, leaving little more than an apology and goodbye. Months later, you’re determined to find out what happened to him and discover a situation much more complicated than you would have ever anticipated - as in - Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers 'sect.'

my notes: i first discovered this fic on ao3 and somehow found out lauren had a tumblr blog but i digress – i found this one night and was so excited that i found something so so unique and different and i am pretty sure i didn't sleep until 4am reading everything omg . it's truly so funny and i adore the main character more than anything, the snide remarks truly encompass and make you feel their emotions? cult leader hongjoong is something else... without spoiling hfjdjf. i beg lauren often for a spoiler because it's just that good. please read.

— OUTLAW (ot8/reader, side pairings) by @staytinyville

genre: wild west!au, smut(?), angst

summary: you thought you would be spending the rest of your life tending to the hotel your family ran. while you knew it was common to see bandits come and go in your town, you felt safe in your home. at least safe enough with a weapon at your disposal. however you were no match for eight men who were known to most as outlaws around the plains. hawt kind of adventures did they go on?

my notes: i started reading this a while back and have yet to finish, but so far the premise is so so so interesting and i love readying cowboy aus rjkfjkdrfkj ITS SO GOOD!!!! I CANT WAIT TO CATCH UP

— sway with me (ot8/reader, wooyoung/reader) by @luvt0kki

genre: sci-fi/space/futuristic!au

summary: former noble turned space pirate, wooyoung was now part of one of the most revered and hunted group of pirates of the galaxy. sure he’s only known them for six months but there’s only so much you could do in a ship when you travel from one planet to the next. the ship was their home, his home…and the members of this crew were friends that he felt he was fated to meet.

my notes: tokki already knows all of this but,,, i started this a month or so ago? and i read the first chapter and i legit lost my mind,,, in the calmest way possible... the first chapter is gripping and it sets a environment that i very much would love to live in??? it's just so so well written, and the reader is very much my type NDFAKKJ ANYWAY... it's told from the pov of wooyoung and i love it??? so MUCH?? please read ok bye

— one more rep (woosan x reader) by @cheollipop

genre: smut, f2l, trainers woosan

summary: san got a little too excited watching you exercise in purple – his favourite colour – and wooyoung was nothing if not a tease. turning their attention back to you, they didn't expect to see you equally worked-up.

my notes: ???? i actually read this a few times,,,, this fic yall.... i cannot... the mental image of woosan in the gym makes me delusional enoughdsjkaskfjksd PLEASE.

— like a dream (yungi x reader) by cheollipop

genre: bf!yungi, smut

summary: with only the orange hues of the lamp illuminating the room, they have you for the first time, and it feels just like a dream.

my notes: yunho and mingi are my weakness,, so the both of them together.....

sᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

to be added!

ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

— horizon by @pxedpiper (ft. ateez/f.reader)

genre: pirate!au

summary: once a princess of a kingdom you loathed to call yours, you have somehow found yourself aboard a pirate ship, stuck on the ocean waves. now you try to figure out how to escape them, but as you continue to journey with them, you find yourself wondering if you even want to.

my notes: i just found this the other day but remembering reading it a while ago! it's so so well written and i enjoyed it sm 🥹

ʏᴜɴʜᴏ

to be added!

ʏᴇᴏsᴀɴɢ

to be added!

sᴀɴ

to be added!

ᴍɪɴɢɪ

— safe haven (mingi/reader) by @atxxzist

genre: bodyguard!au, fluff

summary: your father has had enough of your shit, and hires Song Mingi; his best friend's son, to be your personal bodyguard

my notes: is it possible to fall down the mingi hole deeper than i already have? maybe! this fic pretty much lives in my head,,, endlessly,,,, i love mingi. i love this au so much and i especially love bodyguard aus, i think it's one of my favorite genres and this deepens it.... PLEASE READ.

ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

— rough rider (wooyoung x afab!reader) by @choism

genre: smut

summary: In which you meet a hot twink at a club who has a slightly unhealthy obsession with the 2000's and y2k bimbocore.

my notes: i......... there's no way i can describe this fic... if u yearn for wooyoung the way i do. read this.

— what happened to slow down? (bf!wooyoung x reader) by @ja3hwa

genre: smut

summary: coming back from a house party, you and woo couldn't seem to keep your hands off one another. everything was happening so fast. you two didn't even make it to the bedroom.

my notes: insert a photo of someone throwing a phone and screaming crying, then picking it up to read the rest. thats me kjrfakfajkf

ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ

to be added!

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XVI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Chapter warnings: A bit more graphic violence. Character death. If you made it this far, you'll be fine...⚠

16. epilogue

John Constantine stands on the rooftop, looking out over the glittering lights of the city. 

He wants a cigarette so fucking bad, but like he can hear you grousing about how he was given a second chance and he shouldn’t waste it, he pops a stick of gum instead. 

It’s not the same thing. 

He misses you. 

He can’t stop himself from thinking about that night, not so long ago, when the two of you headed off an early Apocalypse by the skin of your teeth. He remembers how in the end, somehow he found the strength to stumble to your side, and how whatever small grain of hope he’d allowed himself vanished at the sight of you, the Spear piercing your heart to the hilt, your body deathly still. He’d collapsed to his knees beside you, clutching your cold little hand in his. The knowledge that your eternal soul was saved was hardly a consolation at the moment–he was the one who was supposed to die, not you. 

He’d tried to budge the spear–but couldn't. 

And so he’d clutched at your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles as silent tears slid down his cheeks. 

“She saved me,” Angela had said, making her way on shaky legs over to press his shoulder. 

You saved him too, he realized. If not with anything but the determination of your love, you’d saved him, and he was finally able to save you in turn. That should count for something, but at the moment it was all so raw that he still wanted to curse God for taking you from him in the mortal realm, if not the next. 

If he ever wanted to see you again, he was really going to have to walk the line. 

He and Angela had both jumped as a bedraggled Gabriel surfaced from the bottom of the pool–their wings naught but bloody stubbs protruding from their shoulders. They had looked upon your lifeless body with zero remorse. They dared to say with their usual blind righteousness, “You should rejoice, John. She’s gone home.”  

John had narrowed his eyes, but his scathing tirade died on his tongue as a hulking figure had emerged from the water behind the ex-angel, his eyes glowing that deadly blue. Constantine had felt nothing but the most un-Christian gratification, as Wick seized Gabriel’s head in his massive hands and twisted.

The angel sank back to the bottom of the pool, and Wick stepped over their body to pull himself out of the water, a horrific wound barely knit together over his abdomen. Paying it no heed, he’d collapsed to his knees beside your body, tearing out the Spear and throwing it to clang against the far wall before sinking down to weep upon your shoulder. It had been unsettling for Constantine, not to see a man cry, but the utter despair with which Wick expressed himself. In a way, he found that he envied him. 

“My little bird,” Wick whispered desperately against your lifeless flesh. “I will find you again. I swear, I will find you again.” 

In a strange twist…Constantine found that he actually felt sorry for the dhampir.

Whatever his sins…his love for you had certainly been real, and true. 

But then…you had that effect on people. 

♰♰♰

Constantine continues to stand vigil on the roof, and there is something about the warm desert breeze that night, like a breath of heaven on his skin, that reminds him of you. 

Then something silken soft brushes against his face–and in his mouth. He spits, making a show of expelling something from between his lips. 

“Really? I gotta use the tattoos on you?” 

Laughing, you assume your most corporeal form, appearing in front of him. Your raven-black wings enclose the two of you like a privacy curtain, a cozy little space just for the two of you. Steadying yourself with hands on his chest, you incline your head for a kiss. 

He grants it, his soft lips lingering on yours, his big hands on your waist pulling you closer. “You’re back early.”

“Hmm.”

“I was afraid he might not let you go.” 

You reach up to brush dark hair out of his eyes; he softens for your touch, a small sigh betraying his enjoyment. “He’s happy with our deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.” 

He has trouble hiding how relieved he is to hear this. Fighting John Wick wasn’t something high on his list of suicidal things he wanted to try out, but he might have had to, had the vampire hunter not been in such a seemingly generous mood. 

He had to admit, he’d never envisioned himself in a polyamorous relationship with a dhampir and an angel. 

At least, that's what they think you are, or some derivative anyway. The black wings are a little wildcard–but then, you had been carrying around a baggie of blood taken from the other Antichrist, which was pierced perfectly by the Spear. Beeman theorizes that it counteracted the blood of Christ in a way that somehow saved your life. And after Constantine’s little deal with Satan…supposedly, you were home free.

Or at least…no longer damned by default.

You liked being an angel, so far. You still had the immense power to help people, but didn't have to get your hands quite so dirty to do it. 

And, he won't admit it, but you're pretty sure John Constantine has a wing fetish.

You think about the first time you'd appeared to him, about a week after your supposed death. He'd broken into your apartment, and was just sitting amongst your things. You'd been trailing him invisibly, not having quite gotten the hang of your corporeal form yet. You didn't even really know what you were, yet. You kind of fancied yourself a sort of guardian ghost for John, your heart breaking all over again as you watched him mourn you. 

You didn't think that he could sense you–but when you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out to touch his face he’d straightened like you'd slapped him. You'd watched as he’d rolled up his sleeves, admiring those corded forearms even as he chanted the words and joined those archaic tattoos. The magic in them felt like being tugged hard by a rope, and suddenly–he could see you. 

You're not sure who was more shocked: him, or you. 

“Y/n?” 

You swear his hands shook as he reached for you. And then his eyes went wide, as his gaze fixed behind you, on what you would soon find were oil-black wings, your feathers shimmering with green and violet highlights in the low light. 

With no concept yet of what you'd become, you’d flung yourself into his arms, and he'd welcomed you gladly. Finally, when you could come up for air again between heated kisses, he demanded, “Have you been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Mostly.” You'd gone to check on Wick for a little while, trying to comfort him in the manic depths of his grief, but he’d been untouchable. 

Then, he’d disappeared. 

You will admit, that you’d been more worried about Constantine, if for anything because you knew Wick was a survivor to the bone.

“I thought…I was a ghost,” you'd admitted. 

Constantine actually laughed, a short, disbelieving burst of mirth. “Oh, honey.” He’d cupped your face in his large hands and kissed you deeply, filling your heart with something like sunshine. Then, his attention had turned to your wings again. He ran an experimental hand down your silky flight feathers, and a delicious shudder ripped down your spine. “They’re sensitive,” you admitted, and the look John Constantine paid you could have melted granite, one angular black brow lifted high.

“Are they now?”

Suddenly you could barely speak past your libido lodged in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, and his fingers found their way into your hair, drawing you to him again. The new addition of the wings made things interesting between you, but somehow you managed to come together with only one casualty of a lamp you never really liked much anyway. 

It reminded you of the first night you made love in this bed, riding his beautiful cock while he teased your needy little clit with his thumb. Desperate for each other, hardly able to believe that this was real, that you were even allowed to have this blessing after everything you went through…you came together as you held on for dear life, your eyes locked with his as you found bliss with his body joined with yours. 

“There's a Touched By An Angel joke here somewhere,” he’d teased in the aftermath, as you curled up in his arms. 

“I always thought that show sounded like something you'd have to report door to door,” you mused, winning the coveted prize of his mirth, and his lips on your forehead. 

Much later, while you were cooking for him [and you, because God you missed solid food] he told you, “I never thought I’d say this…but we better go find Wick. He's gone on a rampage killing vampires, but I don't know what he'll do when he runs out of fangfaces to mangle.”

You looked back over your shoulder from the stove, your eyebrows raised high. “Where?”

“Last I heard, he was tearing Portland apart.”

“Fuck.”

Constantine offered you a commiserating ghost of a smile. 

“The High Table…are not going to be amused by that?”

“Ah…probably not.”

Your heart fell like a stone. “Will they go after him for it?”

“I would feel sorry for anyone they sent his way, but…”

You sigh. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“I suppose.” He looked down at the table. “Well. I had you to myself for all of 24 hours.”

“John…do you want me to yourself?”

He’d looked up at you through his dark hair, those eyes filled with a mix of heart-crushing sorrow and longing, his long fingers clenching then unclenching upon the table. The bond between you was different, after your transformation, but you still could tell in a rare instance this man was nervous. 

“I’m not saying I think I’m…husband material or that I’d even make a good boyfriend, and I know you deserve better…but…I love you, y/n.”

How far you'd come, that he could say that last part aloud. 

All you had to do was die. 

You’d nodded in earnest, your knees weak. “We can work with that.” 

Suddenly he was on his feet, and you gravitated towards him until you were in his arms again. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, for so long that you almost burned the chicken, and you found out that when you're that happy your wings flutter, the same way your toes curl. 

♰♰♰

In the end you’d convinced Constantine that you should probably go on your own, not knowing Wick’s state of mind, and you caught up with your dhampir at a cabin deep in the Snoqualmie Forest. It seemed he’d retreated there to heal after tearing through the vampire population of Seattle, almost like he was daring the High Table to come after him. 

It was a beautiful setting, the fir trees towering all around. The cabin was small, rustic, and you wondered if Wick did not build it with his bare hands. The air smelled fresh, and clean, and reminded you of a different time, long ago. Something that came to you as fact, in the fever dream of your resurrection, and somehow you were allowed to retain the long buried memory. 

When you were a young woman, in another life, 300 years ago, vampires ravaged your village, killing and pillaging as they pleased, the dead including your own parents and young sister. A dhampir named Jardani Jovanovich came to hunt them. Tall and true, dark as the devil himself, and from the moment you laid eyes on his tall, terrible form, you’d felt as though you had a fever burning inside you. He’d looked your way from astride his beautiful black horse, as though you’d said his name, and when your eyes met you knew he’d stolen your soul. After he delivered the heads of the strigoi to your village starosta he took you as his wife, and the two of you never looked back, and never separated, until the day you died.

Despite the fearsome man he’d been, Jardani Jovanovich had always been good to you. 

Perhaps it was this memory that gave you the courage to let yourself into the cabin, as though you had every right to be there. It was deathly quiet, and an empty bottle of vodka on the table, along with a pile of bloody gauze, perhaps explained why. You found him in the back bedroom, half-clothed, passed out on his side. 

You weren’t sure there was any good way to go about this that wouldn’t startle him, so you shed your shoes and lay down beside him, taking his hand in your smaller one between you on the counterpane. Now that you’d found him, you wanted to sleep. You’d flown (on the wing!) all the way from L.A., after all. Being an angel–or angel-ish–was strange. You got the sense that you didn’t need food, or drink, or sleep–but you liked to have it. The cold damp wouldn’t kill you, but you certainly felt it. Perhaps this is why you snuggled into Wick’s furnace of a body, as you dozed. 

You half-woke to the sound of him mumbling in his sleep–or rather, the vibration of it from within his broad chest. “Yelena Ivanovna, gde ty byl…”

Where have you been?

“I’m here,” you answered softly, not really awake yourself. 

“Hmmff,” he’d answered, holding you closer with a grip that would have crushed a human woman. You managed to worm loose a little, perching on his chest. 

“Jardani,” you’d said softly, brushing back his unkempt dark hair.    

That was when his eyes finally slitted open, slowly focusing on you. Then they drifted up, taking in your wings. Maybe he thought he was dreaming, for he questioned nothing at first, simply taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “Milaya…my pretty little bird, what wings you have grown.”

“You like them?” 

You sit up, straddling his torso, and as his hands gravitate to your jean-clad thighs he seems to begin to realize this is not a dream or a drunken vision–you are here. 

Bolting upright, he seizes you in his arms, holding you hard against him. “Y/N?” His face is buried in the bend of your neck; your name is lost in the distortion of a sob. 

“I’m here,” you told him again, running your fingers through his tangled dark hair. 

“...How?” he asks as he pulls back to look you over again, seemingly in awe of the feathered appendages protruding from your shoulders, but most amazed by the smoothe, unbroken skin over your breastbone. 

You have a scar there, where the Spear pierced your heart. You wondered if you would have managed to heal, had Wick not wrested the blade from your body so quickly. 

You shrugged, because you really didn’t know the answers, and his calloused fingers caressing your chest so gently crossed the wires in your brain. You couldn’t help but lean into him, winning something like a growl from deep in his throat. 

“Do you remember what I told you would happen, when we finally found ourselves a bed?” He'd almost posed it like a threat, his hands ghosting over your breasts, running down the ladder of your ribs. It felt marvelous, and you giggled nervously as you undulated against him. 

“I might recall something of that nature…” 

The sound he made was nothing less than animal, as he fell on your lips and devoured you whole. You let him gladly, giddy with bliss as he seemed bent on tasting every inch of your bare skin with his seeking lips and tongue. “You are so beautiful, my love, my darling little angel, my own heaven on earth.” He whispered this like a prayer upon your skin, consecrated each word with a kiss, and you utterly melted beneath what was nothing less than an onslaught. 

You lost track of how many times you came, in that man’s mouth, on his thick fingers, and with his insatiable cock buried inside you. By the time he was done with you, for the moment, at least, your body was covered in lovebites, full of his cum, and your usually supernaturally sturdy limbs were rendered into utter jelly. You could do nothing but curl up with him under a blanket beside the fire he’d built for you, joyfully stupefied by his relentless affection.  

 Later, you ate soup together made from a freeze-dried packet, and it tasted like a gourmet meal when eaten in the warm glow of his tender gaze upon you, your legs tangled under the table. You talked of what happened after you died, and what you can’t remember but you theorize happened in the interim. You wonder if the High Table witch’s spell was another factor in your taking on a new earthbound form, rather than going on to Heaven like Constantine had bargained for.  Wick found it amusing that you thought you were a ghost. “I felt you,” he tells you regretfully. “But I was mad with grief–I thought I was hallucinating it. I am sorry…I let you down.”

Perhaps he is thinking back on how he wept on your corpse and vowed to find you again–but you were there all along.

However, you shook your head, reaching out for his big hand on the rough-hewn table. “You didn't let me down. We’re both still new to this, aren’t we? And John figured it out.” 

Wick narrowed his eyes a little at the mention of your other beau. It’s funny– you really could not have picked two more opposite sorts of men. “Yes. He is very clever, your John.”

You smiled a little, perhaps masking the bloom of warmth in your heart that flowers any time you are speaking of John Constantine. “He is.”

“He loves you?”

You can't stop your lips from curling a little more. You'd in fact heard it from that stubborn horse’s own mouth.

“Yes.”

“But he was not good to you?”

You sighed. “Things were…complicated.”

“They are not now?”

“Less so, maybe.” Somehow, you thought you were actually telling the truth. Something about the lifted weight of certain damnation brought a lightness to John that was never there before. He is more open, with you, at least. He is, in fact, damn near affectionate, when you're alone together in your own little world. Maybe the truth of this showed on your face; Wick seemed attuned to your every tell. The look he paid you next  was nothing less than wolfish, long in fang and a sharp hunger in his gaze. 

“This does not mean I am letting you out of your promise to me. You will like New York.”

“For a visit,” you answered sweetly, ready to do battle. “But I'm not uprooting from L.A.”

He smirked at this, as though he did not think the matter closed by half. “Hmm. You think I will share you, little bird?” 

“I think…it’s the only way this will work,” you answered him honestly.

“You won't give him up?”

“I can’t,” you admitted. 

“Mmm,” he grumbled, that deep sound from his chest that did not fail to make your pulse quicken. “Stubborn woman. You always were a disobedient wife.” 

There was a sparkle of mirth in his dark eyes that signaled to you that this was an inside joke between you that you just didn’t remember. 

Or so you hoped.

“Honey, we are not married,” you dared to remind him. 

He smirked at you like you said something very funny. “Maybe not yet…but I know how to make you pliant and sweet…” 

The rabbit impulse to run came too late. You barely had time to even squeal before he caught you up in his strong arms and had you on the table, his narrow hips wedged between your thighs, your hands pinned over your head. All you were wearing was your panties and his oversized flannel shirt. You felt utterly vulnerable to him, and it was so terrifyingly wonderful you feared you might burst. “Give me…an hour…between these luscious thighs,” he’d purred, kissing down your neck as you tried to struggle, giggling all the while. “And you'll see things my way.”

He bites off one of the buttons of his own shirt, clearly not caring in the least. 

“That is so not fair!”

“I am not interested in fair,” he chuckled against your skin. “Only in making you mine.”

It occurred to you that not once had that intoxicating power of his surfaced between you. Were you immune, now that you're no longer a vampire? No bewitching scents, no tantalizing magic–the desire between you is fire, but it’s just pure, good ol’ fashioned, human lust, woven through with love, and it was its own potent magic indeed. 

“Jardani…”

He sat up on elbows above you, looking down at you with a warmth that rivaled the red hot coals in the stove as you stroked the hair out of his face, tracing the ridge of his brow. His eyes closed under the lull of your touch, leaning into your hand. 

“You need him, little bird? To be happy?”

“Yes,” you'd answered in a whisper, aware that something binding was happening between you. 

“Do you need me too?” There was a vulnerability in this simple question from this fearsome man that melted you to your toes. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, going for broke. 

His answering smile was like a baring of teeth. “My little angel is greedy.” He kissed you hard, your head pressing down into the table. “Fine,” he grumbled as you gasped for air, and maybe your sanity too. “I will grant you this. I am a generous man, ptichka. You will see.”

You were so delighted that you pulled him down into another tonsil-teasing kiss, holding him closer with your bare legs around his waist. “Thank you.”

He sat up to sweep you with a considering look, your body laid out like a feast for him on the table, and he made a sound that reminded you more of a bear, than a man. “But when you’re with me, malyshka,” he warned you darkly, “you are all mine.” Suddenly too impatient to even bother with removing your panties again, he moved them to the side so that he could sink into the wet heat of your needy cunt, stretching you deliciously while he played with your clit, his voracious tongue mercilessly toying with your peaked nipples. You came on his cock with a ragged scream, the searing pleasure of another release tearing through you like a punishment as much as a blessing. You were impressed that the table held, after the way he pounded into you, finishing with a roar like a battle cry as he filled you again with his seed. 

You held him, as he collapsed on you, and you knew you were going to have your hands full.  

Deep down, a part of you knew that he only agreed to this arrangement out of pure practicality. 

You don't know if he's immortal, per se, but he certainly isn't aging fast. You suspect your own situation might be the same. But John…is mortal, and even if you hate the thought, the fact is that you and Wick have time that Constantine doesn't. 

All the dhampir has to do is be patient. 

And, not piss you off, of course.

You keep telling yourself that just because you were his wife in a past life doesn't mean things are a done deal between you. You have to keep reminding yourself that you barely know him, because when you're together? 

Everything else melts away. 

♰♰♰

Perhaps Wick is patient, but he does not waste time. A month after Snoqualmie he’s already bought a house in Los Angeles, and a cabin in Big Sur. 

Oddly enough, the arrangement suits Constantine just as well. He’d meant what he said, that he wasn't relationship oriented, and you knew it. You had zero interest in molding him into something he didn't want to be. 

Besides.

You have your own thing going. 

You don't move into Wick’s posh manse in the Hills, despite his invitation.

You keep your humble apartment next to Constantine’s. You like your little space, and frankly…you need something of your own. Splitting your time between the two of them…can be intense, truth be told. Blissfully, maddeningly so, but sometimes, you need a break. 

You are having one of those, when you hear a knock on your door. John had been away on an exorcism, clearing out an infestation of aswangs in the Bay Area, and you were afraid you might not get to see him before your upcoming trip to Paris with Wick, to officially receive his release from Service to the High Table.

You missed him.

Eagerly you open the door.

“Hello, handsome.”

John Constantine looks down at you with that half smile that still quickens your heart, leaning on the door jamb. He could push you over with a feather when you see he is not only holding a bottle of delicious red wine, but a bouquet of flowers. 

Who is this man, and where is your surly demon hunter?

You can tell that they came from the gas station around the corner, but they are pretty, and that he even thought to bring them to you fills you with a fluttery glee. 

Amused by your stupefied expression, he lifts one angular eyebrow at you. “Hello, angel.”

You feel the warmth in his eyes to the marrow of your bones–and if you’re being honest, right between your thighs. 

You've really missed him. 

You express your enthusiasm by tugging him inside by his tie, pressing your lips to his. John puts down the wine and the flowers as you breeze by the table–en route to the couch, where you direct him to sit in no uncertain terms. 

The wings complicate things–you've discovered you can glamor them away to mingle with the public at large, but it doesn't actually make their volume disappear. It’s just easier to be on top–good thing you both like it. 

But you notice he flinches a little, and immediately you hold your weight off of him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.” Frowning, you undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. He lets you do what you want, having long learned it's no good to fight you. 

And, you suspect, he secretly likes being coddled a little. 

What he calls just a scratch is in fact angry claw marks that rake across his entire abdomen. “Oh, John. Why didn't you call me?”

“I just…wanted to come home to you,” he admits, looking up at you with those soulful dark eyes in a way that makes your wings quiver, your most visible of tells these days. 

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

You hold up your hands, and they begin to glow. 

Something else you've discovered? 

You can heal with your touch. 

You found this out when visiting Chas in the hospital, when he was trussed in traction, and the doctors weren't sure he'd ever walk again. Heartbroken, filled with guilt and the wish that it could have been different for him, you'd taken his hand and something poured out of you. 

His recovery within weeks was considered nothing less than a miracle, utterly boggling the medical community. Bless his heart, but Chas kept your secret. It was an ability certain clandestine government agencies, not to mention unscrupulous billionaires, would certainly have snatched you for. 

It also comes in pretty handy with a boyfriend like John Constantine. And others, too. You spend a lot of time in the children’s wards of various hospitals (in invisible form). You've discovered the ability is not infinite, nor without its price. You can run out of juice, and you have to take time to recharge. You will feel like shit tomorrow, but it's a price you'll gladly pay. You've downplayed that particular effect–John doesn't quite know the toll it takes on you, but you prefer to keep it that way. 

It still does not cease to impress you, watching John's skin knit back to its previous milky pale perfection, only the faintest hint of pink scars left behind in your wake. He sighs, his eyes closed, head tilted back in bliss.

“I warned it that my liver wasn’t exactly grade A, but it was determined.”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. You know he drinks a lot less now, but the bottles still appear with regularity. You lean down, catching his lips with yours. “You taste pretty good to me.”

He chuckles, holding your face in his hands. “Mmm, so do you, Girl Next Door. My favorite vintage.”

“Am I?”

You can't hide your surprise. You'd kind of assumed that he might start seeing Angela on the side eventually. They liked each other, and you weren't exactly in an exclusive arrangement, considering. But he looks at you the way he does when he's afraid he's said something that only belatedly he realizes is hurtful. 

“Yeah.” He cups your face in his big hands, and you feel your wings quivering again. “I know I don't tell you enough, y/n, but I love you. So much.”

You know you were always ridiculous, and becoming an angelic being of some sort has not changed that. Your eyes brim with tears, and your lip quivers. “Oh John. I love you too.”

He sits up to pull you into an embrace, holding you close against his heart. “Jesus Christ. I still don't know what I did to deserve you.”

You think about the journey that brought the two of you to this moment, and the transformations you’ve both undergone. It’s nothing less than incredible, really, and yet that is the miracle of the human spirit. The ability to endure, and to change. The power of love truly is an awesome thing. 

“Hmm. I think…you were just yourself.” He huffs at that, holding you harder. He’s getting better, at not hating himself all the time, but for a man like him it’s still a daily battle. So you tell him, and you will keep telling him, until someday maybe he sees the light that you saw in him all along. 

You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other. 

It's moments like these that you savor to the last second, knowing how very precious they are. Maybe you've never exactly received any direct marching orders from the Big Guy Above, but you can't really refute the existence of some sort of Divine entity after what you’ve been through, and you can’t help but feel like your time with either of your Johns is something sacred. You've learned, if anything, that He or She or The Universe, whatever you choose, works in mysterious ways, and maybe, just maybe, things have worked out exactly the way they should. 

the end.  for now.  until, it all begins again. but that’s another story…

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*starosta - the village elder/mayor figure *strigoi - evil spirits risen from the dead, vampires *aswang - evil, bloodthirsty, sometimes organ-eating spirit from Filipino folklore

__________________

You guys!!!!!! 😭😭😭 Finishing a story is always bittersweet, but I’m so happy to have gone on this journey with all of you! You kept me going with your love and your encouragement, and the way this story evolved thanks to your feedback is pretty cool, I have to say. It NEVER would have turned out like this without you! A huge thanks to @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @discoscoob @donaka-screaming @reallongwire @scarlettspectra @lilithlinen @lilspookymeh @xxjaejaexx-blog1 @casuallyobssessed @girl-at-the-verge @babsharrison @luminousmoon21 @luluvstars @lonelyspadez @desolatewrath @fernpetals @axshadows @junojunimo @nightmare-bean @ghcstpyre and so many others for your kindness and your readership, I really can’t tell you how much it’s meant to be over the course of this story! And a special thanks to @lilspookymeh , I know you haven’t been on in a while but in case you ever read this, your comments and analysis back when I first started this story were just utterly crucial in molding it into what it became, you’re so insightful and I can’t thank you enough! I love you guys! ❤❤❤❤❤

[brrahbrrahcharacterimagines]

My BFF (Kakashi Hatake x Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Reader

Word Count: 2071

Warnings: Alcohol mention, mental health mention, death of unnamed characters briefly

Request: Um hi, I love your writing!! 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 could I please request a Kakashi imagine?? One where Kakashi and reader have been best friends forever and think nothing of how couple like they act until something makes them realizes how attracted they are to one another? (Maybe a bit steamy?) Thank you! Again I’m in LOVE with your writing 💕- Anon

A/N: This is my first fic after literal years, sorry if it is a bit rocky! I hope you enjoy Anon, I enjoyed writing it and might even do a Part 2!

You had been friends with Kakashi for as long as you could remember. In fact, you had been best friends with Kakashi for as long as you could remember. One of your first memories is of the two of you swinging at the park together, both trying to swing high enough that you would flip over the bar. Even though you never quite accomplished that, you think back on those times together fondly.

As the two of you grew older and began your Shinobi training, you remained close as you rose through the ranks to Chunin and later Jonin. However, while Kakashi became a stronger ninja over time, you felt yourself starting to waver. Not that you weren't strong in your own right, but you began to feel as if you no longer wanted to be. Missions began to feel more and more difficult, as those close to you no longer returned with you.

Through all of your struggles, Kakashi remained by your side.

"I just don't think I can keep doing this," you cried into Kakashi's chest. He laid back on your bed, back propped up on the headboard as you relaxed into him. He raised his hand to the back of your head, rubbing your hair comfortingly. "Too many of my friends have been killed, I couldn't save them. I'm not strong enough."

A sob made it's way through your body, Kakashi continuing to comfort you. He didn't need to say anything, you knew he could empathize with your words. Eventually, sleep took over your body and the two of you fell asleep. While most would have looked at your positioning as that of a couple, neither of you paid it any attention. You were best friends after all, and no strangers to a sleepover.

- Moments like that felt so far away now, as you enjoy a life now as a civilian. Seeing your condition years ago, the Hokage granted you leave and you were more than happy to take it. Kakashi supported you the entire time, and it was his support that kept you to your decision even in your weakest moments.

The two of you spent less time together now, as your job no longer kept you close. However, that did not mean you did not make time for each other. As you put on the finishing touches to your outfit for the evening, you heard a knock on your door.

"Kakashi!" You grinned, opening the door to see your friend in his signature outfit.

"Hi Y/n," he replied cheerfully. Although you couldn't see his smile, you saw the light from it reach the eye he didn't cover.

"I'm just about ready." All you had to do was pull on your shoes, and you were ready to join Kakashi as you walked to meet your friends at a nearby restaurant. As you walked, you linked your arm in his. There was not a dull moment as the two of you made your way to the restaurant, Kakashi catching up on his recent missions as you did the same for him on how your own job was going. To onlookers, you were a cute couple giggling on your way through town. That thought never crossed your mind.

"You made it!" Hollered Guy as the two of you joined him and the others in the booth. As you were the last to arrive, there was admittedly little space for the two of you to squeeze in to.

"Let me go find a chair," offered Yamato, beginning to stand to do so.

"It's alright, we'll just snuggle," you said with a joking smile as you scooted in close to Kakashi. Thanks to his face coverings, you were unaware of the blush that crossed the man's face. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things you didn't notice. The way Kakashi looked at you under the moonlight as you walked together, his increased heartrate the moment your arm touched his, how his eyes lingered on you as you finished getting ready earlier that evening.

"Whatever you say," shrugged Yamato. Quickly, the group began laughing and joking as usual. It wasn't long before the drinks became alcoholic, and it wasn't long after that when Guy challenged Kakashi to a drinking contest. The two of them together in one place never ended without a challenge of some kind.

Laughing at their antics, you got up to go to the bathroom.

"Don't you dare get too drunk," you said, pointing your finger at Kakashi. "You promised to walk you home, and I'm not carrying you!"

-

Kakashi couldn't stop himself from watching you walk away, the slight swing of your hips as you walked was entrancing.

"Yoo hoo," teased Yamato, making Kakashi turn his attention back to the table. "See something you like?"

It seemed as if everyone else had noticed Kakashi's attraction to you, other than yourself. It drove him crazy. He wished it could be easy, and you would pick up on his behavior so you could just tell him off and he could move on. However, things don't usually go easy for Kakashi. He knew if you hadn't figured it out by this point, the only way out of these feelings would be for him to tell you himself. That was not something Kakashi wanted to have to do.

"So, when are you going to grow a pair and ask her out?" Said Guy. Knowing it was a sore spot, he decided to tease him a bit. "If you don't, I might have to ask her out myself."

Kakashi smirked, "she wouldn't say yes after I beat you in our challenge tonight." He threw back his next drink.

Guy turned red in his agitation, but he drank his as well to stay on pace with Kakashi.

"Are you sure you're not already dating?" Said Yamato. "I mean, you picked her up, walked here with her, and you've basically been in each others' laps all night. Not to mention you promised to walk her home, and I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time she invites you in."

"It's not like that," grumbled Kakashi.

"You don't think of her that way?" Prodded Guy, trying to use Kakashi's reaction as a distraction to allow him to drink faster and pull ahead.

"I didn't say that," replied Kakashi. He sighed. "She's clearly happy just being friends, and I can be happy with that."

-

You stood around the corner from the booth, remaining out of sight. You may not have heard their entire conversation, but you had definitely heard enough. Kakashi... liked you?

A million thoughts ran through your brain, and as much as you didn't want to admit it, the pieces fell together in a way that made sense. The way he always allowed you to be so touchy-feely in a way that nobody else was allowed, and the way he was always there to hold and comfort you. You would be lying if you said you didn't think Kakashi was attractive, but you had never truly opened up your mind to the idea of changing your relationship with him. Despite that, now that the thought has entered your brain, it refuses to leave. Your head was spinning.

Taking a deep breath, you walked back to your seat as if you had heard nothing.

"So, who's winning?"

"I am, of course," said Guy confidently. To your surprise, he was right. More empty glasses set in front of him than Kakashi. Conversation continued to flow, though admittedly you did not hear much of it. Your mind was preoccupied with what you had heard from Kakashi. Your body felt as if it was on fire everywhere where you were touching Kakashi, the proximity inevitable as you had decided to sit so closely in the booth. Every glance in his direction made things worse, as all you could notice was how beautiful he looked in the light. The slight flush to his face told you he was becoming tipsy. While your thoughts used to stop there, you couldn't help yourself from thinking about how he may look the same in other situations, blushed and breathless.

"Kakashi," you said softly, now aware of the quickness when he turned his face towards you, and the spark in his eye. "I'm not feeling well."

Concern graced his features immediately, "are you alright?"

"Do you think you could walk me home now?" As you looked up into his eye, your mind continued racing. It's as if you were trying to catch up on all the romantic thoughts you could have been having this entire time, if you had simply allowed yourself to notice how soft his hair looked, how soft it might feel if you ran your hands through it now...

Kakashi quickly made his way to get up as you did the same, bidding your friends a goodbye and leaving money on the table to pay for both his own orders and your own. You noticed it this time when Guy wiggled his eyebrows at Kakashi, winking at him which result4ed in an eye roll from Kakashi.

Had they always been this obvious?

Stepping out into the cool night air, you couldn't help but shiver. You felt Kakashi's strong arm wrap around your shoulders. Your face flushed, which did not go unnoticed by him. Luckily for you, he assumed it was related to your not feeling well.

You walked home in near silence, which you were grateful for. You were worried that if you opened your mouth to speak, you may say what you were thinking. Thoughts of Kakashi's arms around you, his hands around you.

As you reached your front door, you were relieved. Unlocking it, you weren't surprised when Kakashi followed you inside as usual. However this time, you were surprised when it made you flush again and tingle down your spine.

You sat down, reaching to take off your shoes.

"Let me help you," said Kakashi, bending to his knees as he grabbed your shoe in his hand to take them off himself. While you knew he was doing it thinking you were sick, you couldn't help the images that rushed to your mind seeing him between your legs.

"Kakashi," you whispered, making him look up at you. He noticed how flushed you still were, reaching up to press his hand to your forehead.

"What's wrong?" He said kindly, checking to see if he felt a temperature. When he noticed your forehead was not irregularly warm, he pulled away to look at your face. His breath nearly caught in his throat as he caught your eye, seeing you breathless as he looked down at you.

"How long have you liked me?" You whispered. His eye grew wide.

"What do you-"

"I heard you guys at the restaurant," you said, your voice still quiet. "Why haven't you said anything to me before?"

Kakashi sighed, leaning back as embarrassment washed over him. At least you can finally reject him, he thought.

"I thought it was obvious," he said, "and when I realized it was obvious to you, it had been long enough that I was too embarrassed to say anything."

"I wish you had told me," you said as you sat up further.

"I'm sorry," said Kakashi. "I just thought-"

Before he could finish his thought, he felt your hand on his face, reaching for his mask.

"You didn't let me finish," you said with a sly smile. He thought his heart stopped as he watched your movements, hand pulling down his mask. "I wish you had told me, so we could have done this a whole lot sooner."

You pressed your lips to his softly, and he felt as if he had been possessed by some jutsu, freezing. Your hands made their way to his chest, not helping his frozen state.

You pulled away, worried something was wrong. Your worried eyes searched his, looking for a sign of doubt. All you found was disbelief. Giving him a moment to take everything in, it wasn't long before you felt his hands on your back, pulling you closer again. His lips on yours again, you let yourself relax into his embrace. It felt like forever before you both pulled away, breathless.

"I'm glad you heard me," he said with a lazy smile on his face.

"Me too," you replied before smiling mischievously. "Want to do that again?"

[effwon]

'cause i don't think that they'd understand || ln4 x reader (Part 2/2)

Summary: Lando just wants to walk down to the garage before the Miami race with you by his side. George and Carmen walked in together, Alex and Lily walked in together, so why can't you, as well? Despite your self-consciousness, you agree to walk hand-in-hand with him down to the garage right before the big race, but it's a much harder ask for you than anyone could ever realize.

PART ONE HERE

Plus-size (she/her) Reader x Lando Norris

Warnings: Brief mentions of nausea/being sick, panic, reader is plus-sized and very down on herself about it, weight mentions, ect.

Characters: Lando Norris (your boyfriend) and feat Oscar Piastri as a last minute saving grace for you.

Rating: G.

Tags: @cthgee @hellof-1 @notpeachybby

Notes: Thank you for the feedback on part 1! Feedback is what keeps a writer writing, after all! I started this as an experiment and genuinely did not expect the love that would come with it. I put together a part 2 on the fly (I hadn't planned to write it, actually, I didn't think the response would be this high) and am happy to put this to rest now, to work on some other reader fics. I'm happy to entertain requests, just know that smut is not something I will write in detail (I know, that's what most of you want, I'm sorry). Thank you for the support!

Your eyes flutter open and all you can see above you is a blur of light orange and a bright light. A soft groan escapes the back of your throat, and you turn your head to the side to try and keep the light out of your eyes. Your head is swimming, like there’s a pressure pushing against your brain that you can feel as far as the back of your eyes as well. You are laying on something warm and soft, but most definitely alive - if the gentle shuffling beneath you is anything to go by, anyway.

You furrow your brows as you hum out another soft, confused sound. Very slowly, you try to sit up, but someone’s hand presses against your shoulder and applies a little force, enough to keep you from moving in your hazy state.

“Lando?” you ask, your voice soft and unnaturally raspy. Something isn’t quite right. You don’t remember falling asleep - you don’t even really know where you are, but it only makes sense that Lando would be the one with you…right? As you continue to blink your vision back to clarity, a face comes into view above you - one that is very much not Lando. It’s Oscar Piastri, that much your brain can at least piece together. Around him, the walls start to come into view. The ceiling, the toilet, the vanity to your left…

“Not quite, but I promise he’s coming.” Oscar says above you, and you are grateful that he’s barely speaking louder than a whisper. Your head is pounding and your stomach is churning as everything starts to put itself together. You’re only missing a handful of key puzzle pieces, now.

“Oscar?” You mumble, instinctively curling into his warmth for any ounce of comfort you can glean. One of his hands comes up and carefully, thoughtfully brushes stray hair out of your face. You realize he’s attempting to be soothing, as your brain keeps working to figure this out.

“Yep, that one.” he replies, flashing you a smile that seems, in your opinion, quite tense. Right, it’s slowly coming back.

The bathroom - Lando led you to the bathroom at your request, and then left to get himself into his race kit. You were sick, and immediately after vomiting into the sink, a panic attack had taken hold of you. And then –

Your eyes widen slightly in horror. Oscar, right. You had forgotten to lock the door and he - oh, god, he –

“How long was I out?” you ask suddenly, shooting yourself upright in his arms. He blinks back shock, obviously not expecting you to move so quickly, and looks down at his watch for a brief moment.

“Uh, three minutes? It’s not been long.” 

“Jesus,” you gasp, scrambling out of his comforting grip and backing yourself up against the wall. Oscar looks a bit lost, eyes full of concern as he holds his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed. “I’m sorry - oh my god, that’s - I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine. It’s okay.” he assures you, eerily still as he watches you with a careful gaze. “I’m sorry for touching you without permission. I didn’t want you to hit your head when you fell.”

“That’s not -” you shake your head, feeling your throat tightening with emotion. “No, thank you. That’s not the problem, I promise. I appreciate you.” Anxiety is beginning to swirl in your chest again, but you can feel just how fatigued your body is now. The anxiety, at least, is easier to manage versus pure panic, but it’s making your head spin. 

“It’s okay.” Oscar says again, a bit firmer this time. “I phoned Lando a moment ago, and he’s making his way back right now. I told him I’d stay with you until he got here.”

You nod, relieved to know that Lando would be back for you any moment. You are also grateful for Oscar’s company, regardless of the fact that you hardly know him. Clearly, he’s kind and caring - which doesn’t surprise you, really. Lando hasn’t ever had an off-color thing to say about him.

“Thanks, Oscar. I’m so sorry you had to witness all of-” you swirl your finger around in a circle, searching for the right word, “that. But it means a lot that you didn’t just leave me there.”

“Of course. I don’t know what’s got you so upset, but I hope that you feel better soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. I think it’s a little better already.”

Oscar smiles at you, friendly and kind, and before either of you can utter another word, there’s a frantic knocking at the bathroom door. Oscar’s head snaps back to the door, letting out a small “Oh” as he hops up to his feet and hurries over to unlock the door. Lando’s face comes into view as soon as the door opens, and he looks absolutely distraught. Your chest clenches, knowing that you’re the reason he’s out of sorts, and you lay your head back against the wall.

“When did she wake up? Is she okay? What happened?” you hear Lando ask frantically, firing questions at Oscar before they can be answered. 

Oscar takes it in stride, “She just woke up a moment ago, and she was a bit dazed. She seems okay now, but I don’t know what caused all of this.”

“Thanks, Osc.” Lando breathes, and you can hear the genuine warmth in his tone. “I’ll take it from here, mate.”

There’s a soft ‘click’ as the bathroom door closes, and a slightly louder one as Lando locks the door behind him. His footfalls are quick as he rushes over to you, immediately sliding down the wall to sit next to you on the floor. You look over at him, and your gazes meet for merely a second before he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

His scent and the warmth of his body is familiar and comforting in ways you couldn’t possibly verbalize. It’s akin to taking a deep, calming breath of air into your lungs and feeling everything inside of you just slow down for a moment. It’s the relief of the familiarity, the delicacy in which he cradles your head against his heart like you’re his most precious thing.

It makes a lump form in your throat. But you are far too tired for tears, now. Too tired for much of anything but this: sitting here on a dirty bathroom floor, cradled in Lando’s arms.

“I thought you were alright when I left,” he says, so very miserably, “why didn’t you tell me you weren’t? I would’ve stayed.”

“I’m sorry.” you murmur, your voice muffled by the fireproof suit over his chest. You can hear his heart beating rapidly, a gentle barrage of distressed thumps against your ear, and it twists something so deeply in your own chest. You properly worried him, which was the exact opposite of what you wanted to do. “I thought I could work through it while you were changing and that things would be okay by the time you got back.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he urges ever so softly, his hand running up and down your back in the most soothing patterns. You can’t help feeling the warmth of relief encompassing you being back in his presence.

It helps the words flow much easier, without stopping to doubt or scrutinize everything that comes out of your mouth. “It was a panic attack, it didn’t really pop up until after I had initially calmed down. It happens like that sometimes.” You explain, focusing on the ever-present beating of his heart beneath your ear. “Or - it happens like that a lot for me, I guess. Once the initial fight or flight wears off, the real panic comes out. It made me sick and, I dunno, I guess Oscar startled me when he came in and before I even really knew it, I went down.”

Lando’s grip tightens on you almost protectively as he registers your explanation. “Just went down? You say it like it’s the most casual thing.” He scoffs, but there’s no mirth or amusement behind it. You can tell he’s still nervous, still trying to process everything. “Oscar said pretty much the same. Blessing and a curse you forgot to lock the door then, huh?”

You laugh breathily at that, nodding your head in agreement. Had Oscar not been there, you surely would’ve hit your head on the tile and that could’ve been a much scarier sight to behold when someone came by to use the restroom later. As embarrassing as it was to break down in front of someone you hardly knew, you were grateful for his willingness to assist. You would have to find him and give him a proper thank you later.

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy.” You agree, nuzzling into his chest even further. If it were up to you, you would simply lay here in his arms all day long and not think a single thing of it - but you are distinctly aware of the time and of his looming race. Something he should be putting his entire focus into, and not on you. “Now shouldn’t you be out there getting ready for the race?” “Probably,” he admits with a chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “But I don’t want to leave here until I know for sure you’re alright.”

His thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze you. Perhaps you’d found him to be a bit taught and agitated earlier (and, perhaps, you had deserved that sort of response from him, given your nearly blatant refusal to simply walk across the paddock into the garage with him), but he’s back to his normal warmth and gentleness once more. A relief, you think, in and of itself.

“I’m alright now, really.” you say, lifting your head up from his chest to flash him a soft, sweet little smile. It isn’t a lie, either. Since he’s come back, you’ve felt exponentially better - a result of the panic attack waning and being in the comforting presence of the person you love most in the world. “I’d really like to go see everything else you wanted to show me.”

Lando’s eyes light up in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. He’s always been a bit reactive, with his heart on his sleeve, and you wouldn’t have him any other way if you’re honest. The genuine excitement that sparks on his face is everything you could ever want or need in life. Just to see him happy, it’s enough. It makes every horrible name you call yourself, every fear, every insecurity and every worry melt away into nothing, like it had never even been there to begin with.

“Let’s get some lunch at hospitality first, and then I’ll take you out to see the car afterwards.” He suggests, lifting himself up from the floor and offering you a helpful hand. “I know a little spot we can eat, away from the cameras and all that.”

Even after the hell you’ve put him through today, a soft feeling blossoms in your chest to know he’s still holding you to the forefront of his mind. He’s still looking for ways to make you more comfortable. He’s still loving you, despite your glaring insecurities. You take his hand, skin warm against yours, and lift yourself up onto your feet with his help.

“I think that sounds lovely.” you reply, reaching up and cupping his cheeks in your hands. You stand on the tips of your toes and lean in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to Lando’s lips. His breath falters for a mere moment, and then he’s kissing you back just as softly, just as gently. As you pull apart, there’s a shy smile on his face that makes your cheeks burn and your chest ignite with adoration. Even if you tried, you do not think you could possibly love him more.

“I think you’re lovely.” He shoots back, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Your cheeks burn even hotter at his remark, and you bury your face into his shoulder to keep the blush from being too obvious. 

“I think you’re going to make me too sick to eat if you keep this up.”

Lando tosses his head back and laughs, genuine and sweet, the sound washes over you with its subtle burst of serotonin - a much needed side effect.

“Fine, fine, I’ll save the ooey-gooey stuff for after the race, then. Just one more quick thing though-” he says, wrapping his arm around your waist as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple. This time, you choose not to shy away from his touch, no matter how big and gaudy your body feels wrapped up in his arms. “I love you.”

Your heart flutters like the wings of a caged bird, yearning to break out of your chest and nestle up tight within his own. You smile, tossing all of the bad thoughts from earlier in the day out of your mind completely. Once again you’ve learned: as long as you have Lando with you, everything really is okay. “I love you, too.”

The news articles do drop early the next morning, from multiple sources, with their rude and hateful headlines about you, your body type, and your worth in regards to Lando’s love. And, just as you expected, each and every one of them hits like a knife to your gut as you see them pop up one after another on your feed.

But, at the end of every single one of these articles is the same quote from Lando - the only quote he offered the reporters on the matter of your relationship during the entire day.

“Quite frankly, I don’t care what anyone thinks of our relationship. It isn’t their business, it’s mine and her’s, and I genuinely think she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. Nothing is going to change that.”

And you just smile.

[zwhoreo]

IM SO HAPPY TO HAVE FOUND AN X READER BLOG SPECIFICALLY FOR LUFFY hes my biggest comfort character and i never see a lot of ppl writing good content for him, so tysm ; v ; have u ever considered writing something about reader reacting to hancock’s fixation on luffy??? or like meeting her and how reader would react + how luffy would react in an au setting of having a girlfriend???!!! (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

you’re sooo sweet :’) I love writing for him sm I’m so glad I can be there for that <333

we’ll see how I did with this… hancock is a very important character to me and I haaate when luffy x readers villainize her. so I tried my best to be respectful in this fic and try something kinda different…

meeting boa hancock - luffy x f!reader

angsty fluff… mostly centered around you and hancock

summary: when you and luffy need to fight by hancock’s side in battle, you’re terrified of what might happen if she finds out you two are together. But, as you soon discover, you can find friendship in the most unlikely places.

words: 2.5k

________________________

Your wrist is sprained. It’s not your hand you use to wield your cutlass, thankfully, but the pain is hard on you, you’re ashamed at your inability to deal with pain, in comparison to your crewmates who sacrifice so much. You can’t climb sheer cliffs or take swords to the chest. Your body is weak, you fear, you don’t think you could handle taking on a crewmate’s pain, although you like to think you would try, because you’d risk your life for them. Right now you can barely handle a sprained wrist, made worse by the humiliation of a capture by the Black Dove Pirates, when your loving boyfriend had to battle to save you.

The Black Doves are led by, well, Black Dove, a horrific man with a mysterious zoan-type devil fruit giving him the abilities of a kraken, massive, lethal tentacles capable of sinking ships. Restraining himself from a passionate fight, Luffy’s top priority was getting you to safety, you and your sprained wrist, you had tried to fight, after all.

But now the Black Doves have declared war, leaving you and the crew terrified of an unmatched battle with the notorious pirates and their mythical captain. But Luffy had a friend to call, a powerful friend, someone he told you was someone you could count on, that you had nothing to worry about now.

Boa Hancock.

You knew of her, of course, and you were thankful for the surprising alliance, until you remembered what Luffy had said, when he said it far too casually, that Hancock wanted to marry him.

You’re overcome with anxiety at not only the imminent battle with the Black Doves, but at the thought that you were in danger from all sides, the wrath Hancock would bring down on you if she ever found out you and Luffy were together.

In the heat of battle Luffy has often held your hand and given you angry kisses when he can. It’s a comfort for him, it gives him strength and motivation, it reassures him that you’re safe in his arms. He calls you pet names and hugs you and always makes sure he knows where you are, making sure you’re ok. But he can’t this time. You plead and beg him not to even though he doesn’t seem to understand why, really. He’s disappointed, but you assure him that before and afterward you’d get a special night together to make up for the stolen closeness.

_______________________

The rest of the crew are set to battle the titanic kraken guarding the gates of Dove’s hellish mountain island domain. A sneak attack is your only option but they didn’t make this easy. It would be you and Hancock against the top men of the crew, and Luffy would battle Dove. You aren’t confident in your abilities, you wonder why you’re here alongside two of the most powerful people of the seas, but Luffy wants you close, maybe. And he thinks this fight will be no problem, even though you tell him you have a sprained wrist and you’ll just drag everyone down.

And as soon as she sees you, the instant your eyes meet, Hancock despises you. Her gaze is deadly and cold, and even though you try to put distance between you and Luffy your very existence triggers pangs of jealousy within the empress.

Luffy, although largely oblivious to why, can sense the tension and he hates it. He wants you all to be friends, be a team. When you and Hancock stand in silence, staring at each other on the rocky shore, he complains, “c’mon! Lessgo!” with anxiety in his voice. And he holds both of your hands and pulls you two along behind him, making you and Hancock both blush, Hancock is transported to another more comforting world in that moment but you are so wracked with nerves that every sense around you becomes overwhelming and far too much.

You look at Luffy with begging eyes when he squeezes your hand and not Hancock’s, although she doesn’t seem to notice.

The three of you run up the jagged black-stone path into a bombed-out looking castle, you gingerly survey the landscape as crew members lay drunk on whiskey, passed out and unbothered by lightning flickering overhead. You came at the perfect time.

Before running off to find Dove, Luffy is about to lean in for a kiss when you dodge and shoot him a look. Which immediately makes you sad, because Luffy looks upset when he turns his back and heads off into a brutal fight that awaits him. It’s your biggest fear that you’ll lose him, made worse by imagining your last interaction as one of sadness, but you feel Hancock’s malicious eyes on you and there’s nothing you can do.

You hear a shout, suddenly, echoing through the ruins. A crew member has heard you, an axe wielding menace with glassy white eyes. Hancock whips her head around and immediately tries to turn him to stone, but the man is blind, you both realize. It’s no use.

“I’ll take him, just go!” you shout at her, the first real words you’ve said. And Hancock glowers at you and focuses her attention elsewhere, because the crew has been alerted. And Dove has risen, you see, coming face-to-face with Luffy and towering above him at what seems like at least twelve feet. Black tentacles begin forming from his massive, muscular frame and an evil smirk spreads across his face.

Your heart leaps into your throat for Luffy’s safety but you have other things to worry about. The axe wielding monster swings at you and you manage to dodge, drawing your cutlass. It’s a harsh and desperate battle, your movements still clouded by worry which makes the throbbing in your wrist worse, but it’s when you lead the sightless beast to a precipice that you trick him and let him fall to his death on the rocks far below. You’ve slayed your first Black Dove pirate, but there’s many more and you need to dive head first into war.

You’re amazed by Hancock, really. At a snap of her hands half an army turns to stone. Her control of haki is like nothing you’ve seen before, her sharp, quick intelligence adjusting at a moment’s notice to other forms of attack. She does all of this in heels, in a graceful dress, beautiful raven hair flying in the wind as she fights with all her heart. You find yourself envying her, her jealousy over you nearly matched by your own.

But she still kicks crew members out of her way and towards you with no real regard for your safety. She still hates you, just for being a woman on Luffy’s crew. Even though you’d done nothing wrong.

Despite Luffy’s best efforts, he’s smashed into the sharp stone by a tentacle and struggles to stand again, groaning and coughing. Dove sees his crew in danger and wants to make quick work of the two women disturbing the peace on his island.

There is too much evil in his heart for Hancock to turn him to stone. And his tentacles are too fast for her, she’s cornered, now, on a cliff and Dove is going to knock her into the ocean. At the speed of light the inky tentacles come, taking advantage of Hancock’s momentary stillness in her sinking terror and desperation, and how she sees Luffy on the ground and screams in worry and is distracted for a precious instant. But before she’s sent falling to her death, she’s knocked from the side, slammed onto the ground and tumbling, held in your arms, down an incline and into the remnants of a turret. Dove can’t reach you from here, giving Luffy enough time to resume his fight.

You had grabbed Hancock and pushed her desperately to safety, you had saved her, and now you both lie there in the dark on the dirty stone floor, all bruises and ripped clothes.

Your head rests on her chest, neither of you have caught your breath enough to get up. And from here you can hear her heart pounding furiously in your ear, she’s scared and curled in on herself.

You roll off of her, slowly sitting up, looking over at her as she rests sprawled on the ground.

She feels your eyes on her and sits up, face contorted with warring emotions. Her lips are set in a firm scowl. She’s staring at you but you see past the malice and now she looks like a scared animal desperate to survive.

“Are you ok?” you say gently, reaching for her hand.

She yanks it away from yours and scoots back against the wall. “Yes! I’m fine…” she hisses defensively.

But she’s clutching her wrist. And she may have just hurriedly wiped tears out of her eyes.

Before you can say anything else, she leaps up and runs to a window, scanning the battlefield for Luffy. Her hands grip the cold brick. She’s shaking slightly.

“Are you worried about him?” you ask quietly, standing up and walking towards her slowly.

“Where is he?” Her voice is quiet now. Images of Luffy’s battered body flash in her mind and you can see the same sickness within her that you feel, a worry over someone you love so deeply. The jealousy and fear of her leaves your mind and is replaced by one thought alone.

Poor girl.

“He’s going to be ok, I promise.” You place a hand on her shoulder making her flinch, but she doesn’t pull away this time.

She doesn’t say anything. But she’s still scared.

So you say, “hey, princess, I’m scared too. But… all we can do is hope and keep ourselves safe now, right? We did what we could. We brought down an army for him.”

She pauses again, head down. Until she murmurs, “…Hancock.” Another pause. “You can call me Hancock.”

You smile. You sit again and she follows your lead. “You really love him, huh?”

“…Yes. Of course I do.” A tiny tear forms in her eye again, even though her voice is still hard and cold. “…Sometimes I don’t understand how anyone can’t be.”

So you think very carefully for a moment, before telling her, “I understand. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met, he’s…”

“He’s perfect.”

“Yeah, that.”

And even though jealousy still blooms in her icy heart, Hancock feels herself soften. She doesn’t feel like sustaining her mirage anymore right now. The fear and the tears and the confusing comradery chipping away at her evil façade and now she’s just so, so tired all of a sudden. “[Name,] right?” she says under her breath.

“Yeah.”

“You really think he’ll be ok?”

“He always is.” And without Zoro or Nami there to reprimand you about trust, you take up the role instead, squeezing Hancock’s shoulder and saying, “have faith in him. Worrying’s not gonna help any of us right now.”

She nods, tightening her lips. And then, all of a sudden, she bursts into tears and hugs her knees to her chest, hair falling over her face.

“Hey, Hancock!” You slide closer to her. “Please don’t cry, he’s going to be safe…”

“No!” she hisses, gritting her teeth, “I… I don’t know where Salome is. I want Salome. Everything’s falling apart!”

“…Salome?”

“My snake!” she cries, sniffing and wiping her nose.

“Don’t worry about that either, ok? I’m sure she’s alright, it’s all gonna be over soon… just don’t cry…”

And now here’s something you weren’t prepared for, Hancock leans her head against your shoulder. Her sobbing quiets. She grows still. You smile, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“It’s gonna be ok,” you whisper again, “hey, can I see your wrist?”

And she places her hand in yours. You lift her pale, slender wrist and notice swelling just beneath the palm. You recognize this, you know it well.

You start to laugh, and her stare grows a little icy again. “What?” she snaps.

“You sprained your wrist. Here, look…” You raise yours next to hers. Your swelling parallels each other, you’re even more alike, now. You’re matching.

“We’re matching. I sprained mine too.”

She smiles. This is the first time you’ve made her smile. She even laughs a little, very lightly, her heart feels like it’s being squeezed, but by a warm hand, not by a cold claw.

You sit with her, and talk sometimes, until you hear Luffy calling your names. Hancock stands up and dashes out of the turret, running to find him, and he stands proudly although his body is weakened. Dove has fallen. You’re all ok. Hancock hugs Luffy and then hugs Salome, who is curled beside him. She looks happy, which makes you happy, too.

And then Luffy pulls you into a hug. You don’t care anymore, you just want to hug him, and Hancock got a hug so you get one too. You squeeze Luffy so tightly and you don’t want to let go, his warmth and scent soothing your body, his strong arms wrapped around you and his hands rubbing your back. You’re very nervous he’s going to try to kiss you but he doesn’t, like he promised, he knows he’ll have time for all of that later.

The kraken is gone and everyone is waiting for you at the bay. Hancock is tearful when she has to part with Luffy and, strangely, she is for you too.

“Come to me whenever you need! I’ll always be there for you!” she promises Luffy, her voice going up an octave when she talks to him. And then, before she leaves for her ship, she turns to you. “[Name…] I hope we’ll meet again.” Her smile is gentle, but very real.

“Me too!” You call out to her, following Luffy away, back to the Sunny, amazed at the events of the day, full of happiness and relief and still a slight stinging from your wrist but love can heal almost anything, at least a little bit.

And maybe deep in her heart, Hancock knows. The way you and Luffy look at each other, your soft voices, the way he walks close to you and how it seems like he’s always ready to lean in for a hug. It pulls at the back of her mind. A sting of pain. But she’s good at pushing these things away.

She’s just so happy that she made a friend today.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Of All the Gin Joints

Week #17 Prompt: "I can't believe you!" | Word Count: 1938 | Rating: T | POV: Nancy | Characters: Nancy, Robin, Steve, Eddie | Relationships: Ronance, Steddie, Past Mentions of Stancy, Fruity Four | CW: Language, Alcohol Consumption | Tags: Future Fic, Bisexual Nancy Wheeler, Old Friends, And Maybe New Love, Getting Together, First Kiss

Nancy lets her eyes adjust to the darkness and flashing lights of the club. It's not exactly her comfort zone. But she watches as the men, and the women, move to the beat of the music that's bouncing the speakers, thumping so hard she can feel it in her chest. 

She's never been anywhere like this, not really. It's not exactly her scene, never has been. 

So, she finds a spot to stand in the corner, leaving a buffer, so she can take it all in. She always needs to study first, she never just dives face-first into anything. Unless it's an emergency. And this? Not an emergency.

This is just an unknown, an exploration of her sexuality that might be coming later than most. She thinks she should have done this sooner. Maybe not the club part, but the acting on her interest in women. But she didn't. Not the women, and definitely not the club, so now she'd like to know more before deciding to be all in on being a club-going person, especially at her age. 

Watching, it's clear that everyone seems to be having a really fucking good time, and aren't paying any attention to her clinging to the shadows, like a wallflower.

She's about to maybe make a move more towards the center of the action, when she catches a glimpse of a familiar smile, and she steps to the side to see better, to clear her sightline, to really make sure. And, yes, it is Robin, bouncing, laughing, dancing with a guy, seemingly having a hell of a good time. 

It's not Steve, this guy is far too short, and it isn't until he turns that she realizes it's Gareth. He's just chopped off all his curls, which she thinks is kind of a shame.

But, beyond that, she knows if Gareth's here, that means Eddie's here, and if Eddie's here, well...there he is. Steve Harrington, bouncing, hair flying, looking twenty instead of over forty. 

Looking free.

And happy. Really, really happy.

She hasn't seen any of them in person in years, only recently watching from afar on the new Facebook thing that she was bullied into joining by Dustin. She's not too mad about it, since it means she gets to see pictures of all her old friends, and gets to know that they're doing okay out in the world, living their lives. At least when she remembers to login and check.

Nancy hasn't decided if she's going to approach them or not. This is new to her, and while she knows they'd be supportive and fun and totally in her corner, she was really only looking to dip her toes in, not plunge headfirst.

But she doesn't get to decide, because Robin's caught sight of her and is waving frantically, with an enthusiasm only Robin can muster. She's missed her, she realizes. Missed all of them.

She sees Robin turn and yell in the other direction, hands flailing, nearly hitting those around her.

She hasn't changed a bit. 

So, Nancy waves back, and heads her way. She's kind of glad the decision was made for her. It's easier that way, and she gets to see Robin.

When Nancy approaches, Steve is suddenly there, picking her up and swinging her around so hard, she feels her back pop. She's not sixteen, not anymore, but he doesn't seem to have gotten that message as he squeezes her against him, before finally putting her back on her feet but still doesn't let go.

"I can't believe you! You're here!" Steve says, smiling wide and so fucking happy. 

He's glowing. 

There's a ring through his eyebrow, and tattoos crawling up his arm, and yet, he looks exactly the same, somehow. Just really, really happy and all grown up.

It's a good look on him. Honestly.

He giggles, squeezing both of her arms, "Nancy Wheeler."

She almost corrects him, but it is Wheeler again. Her divorce was finalized and she took her own name back, and she doesn't expect she'll ever give it up again. It's who she is, and she kind of hates that she ever forgot that. 

"Where's Eddie?" Nancy asks, leaning towards Steve's ear, trying to be heard over the music.

"The bar!" Steve screams back, and she looks that way, expecting to see him in line for drinks, but he's behind the bar. Putting on a show, as always.

It's a little mesmerizing. But Eddie Munson always was, for better or worse. He had an unique skill for capturing an audience and refusing to let them go.

Steve wraps his arms around her neck from behind, forcing her to walk in front of him, leading her right towards Eddie.

"Look who I found!" Steve shouts and Eddie grins, leaning up on and over the bar to cup her cheek, kissing the other one.

"Hey, Wheeler. What can I get you?" Eddie asks, waving his arm down the bar in a sweeping fashion.

She isn't sure, so she lets him pick, and he gets to work, sliding and twirling, dragging the bottle upwards as he pours, and she grins. He was made for this, she's pretty sure. Putting a show, holding an audience.

She hadn't realized he was a bartender, but she crawls up on an open bar stool, to watch him work. She expects that Steve will sit down next to her, but instead he walks around behind the bar, and kisses Eddie before he makes himself a drink. It's not as impressive as watching Eddie do it, but it's definitely not Steve's first time behind a bottle either, that's for sure. 

"Do you own this bar?" she yells, and they both nod.

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she happened to stumble into theirs.

It really is a small world after all. 

She hadn't heard they'd bought a bar. She must be more behind on that Facebook thing than she thought. Or they've owned longer than Facebook has been a thing, and it was old news she'd just missed out on hearing. She'll have to ask Dustin, or Mike. Get filled in on what they know.

"It's great!" she screams back, and it is. It's a little loud, a little overwhelming, but it seems like a really fun atmosphere. 

They both smile, and Steve is holding his own drink, and Eddie leans over putting the finishing touches on it. Then Steve's back across the bar, sitting next to her.

"You're here by accident?" Steve shouts to be heard, and she nods. She heard about the queer friendly bar, that wasn't really a club exclusively for young people, and it looked like something she might want to check out, now that she's open to exploring that side of herself.

She should have known she'd be drawn right to Steve, the only other bisexual person she really knows. That's just how these things work with them. There are no accidents. They've all been tied together for a long, long time, even as they've drifted and lived their own, separate lives.

They try to talk over the music, but it's impossible, and Steve takes her by the hand and leads her behind the bar, and into an office. He closes the door, and the sound is suddenly gone. Silenced. 

"Soundproofed?" she asks, sitting down on the couch.

Steve nods, "I still get headaches sometimes. It gives me a place to go to get away from the noise if I need to, without having to go all the way home."

"Smart. That's smart," she says, looking around. There are pictures lining the walls, filled with tons of familiar faces.

"It was Eddie's idea," Steve says, grinning, "he just wants me to be comfortable."

Then he smiles a different smile, a softer one, "And nearby."

Nancy smiles back at him, happy he's happy.

"He looks good, by the way," Nancy says, "really good. You both do. Robin, too."

Steve just smiles, because he knows that's true. Time has been kind to them, all of them, it seems.

"Gareth should have kept those curls, though," she teases.

"Don't tell him that, it's a sore spot," Steve says with a grin.

"Mum's the word," she promises.

Then the door opens and closes, Robin sliding inside. She bounces up and down, clapping her hands, "Nance! I can't believe you're here!"

Nancy stands up, and hugs her. Robin isn't as awkward as she was at eighteen. But she's still got that funky style that Nancy's always been a little jealous of, if she's totally honest. That innate ability to just be herself.

Steve is standing there smiling, and then says, "I'll let Robin show you around and catch you up. Eddie'll cry around if I skip out on helping him."

Nancy knows that's not true. Eddie Munson worships the ground Steve Harrington walks on, and has since 1986. At first it felt like Nancy was losing something that she might want again someday, and wanted to bristle up at Eddie. Claim her territory. 

But she quickly saw how Steve looked back at Eddie. She knew that look, and well, and she was happy for him, even if it was kind of hard to let that door close for good.

By the time they all went their separate ways, it was pretty obvious Steve and Eddie were in it for the long haul, and probably would always be. 

And here they are, still together, and they still look fucking happy.

She's not surprised one bit.

And good for them. She isn't sure what it would be like to pick right the first time. She's picked wrong twice now, and she's not excited to do it again.

Women. She might try women for a while. Forget all about men for a stretch and see how that feels, how it goes.

Robin is sitting next to her, and as soon as the door closes behind Steve, leaving them in quiet again, Robin's asking a million questions.

Always curious, Robin.

Nancy answers them. Mike's good. Three kids that act just like he did, which he definitely had coming. 

Robin catches her up on everybody she's still close with that Nancy hasn't seen in a while, and it's nice. Comfortable, like no time has passed.

"You want another drink? Dance? Some food? Anything?" Robin offers.

"Yes," Nancy says, and hell, she thinks she might want it all.

Another couple drinks in, they are bouncing around the dance floor as much as their middle-aged knees will allow, when Nancy reaches forward to brace herself against Robin's hip.

She didn't mean anything by it, but the sudden shift on Robin's face is telling another story. 

Oh shit.

Okay, yeah. That. 

She steps forward, and Robin meets her halfway. Lips pressing against hers in a way that she only barely let herself think about, in a time gone by. The curiosity was there, down deep, back when they were just getting close. But Nancy didn't know how to define it, how to understand it within herself.

She does now.

Robin's hand slides up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades, as she kisses her in a way Nancy's never been kissed. Not by anyone, maybe. 

She should have known. She should have realized that this is what she was looking for, missing, late to understanding.

When Robin pulls back, she smiles, and Nancy smiles back, her heart beating hard against her chest. 

She wants to do it again. 

So she does, leaning up, pressing her lips to Robin's one more time, eager to see where this can go from here.

Hopeful, and excited.

Ready.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[katerinaaqu]

Heyyy! I adore your writting and all your analysis on greek mythology characters and fics. I was wondering what are your thoughts on the bastards of Odysseus myths? (Telegonus/ Nausinous & Nausithoos)

I am honored that you do! It means a lot!

That is an excellent question. Well if it was just their existence that we are discussing then absolutely I can imagine them existing. The problem with characters like Telegonus is that they are protagonists in Telegony which is contrasting the Odyssey in many parts! Likewise the twins as well! In both cases we do not have a hint in the Odyssey on their existence and remembering my random analysis on Odysseus and Penelope being childless for some time as well as the fact that even Odysseus himself was "much prayed for" could indicate that his family was not exactly the most fertile in the world. So I doubt that he would get his children with the goddesses while he was living with them. But let's see each individual thing. Sorry if this is long!

I have no issue entertaining the thought that Telegonus might as well exist, in fact I had made scenarios in my head on his existence. I just do not follow the plotline of Telegony (as you probably noticed from my fanfiction "The Death of Odysseus" ^_^). Odysseus stayed one year with Circe so I would imagine the existence of a son or even more children wouldn't be completely impossible but certainly if his son did exist then he probably would be born after his departure so Odysseus never knows his existence for there is no mention of children anywhere in the Odyssey. In fact I can imagine Circe totally hiding her pregnancy from Odysseus if Odysseus was still with her when she finds out. In one way she wouldn't want to put the burden to Odysseus's mind with such things after agreeing to let him go. Circe seemed much more honest on that and more independant. I doubt she would speak a word about any type of pregnancy to Odysseus for, one, she wouldn't want to force him to stay and two she is proud and strong. I an imagine her raising Telegonus by herself rather than mentioning anything to Odysseus. In my opinion if Telegonus exists, Odysseus never finds out about it. Could perhaps Telegonus travel in a similar way like Telemachus before to discover the roots of his father's side? Perhaps but in this case I would imagine this happening after Odysseus's death. Perhaps Telegonous and Telemachus somehow bond with each other (positively or negatively is anybody's guess)

Similarly I would treat the twins with Calypso Nausinous & Nausithoos. Again I do not like future writers, even Hesiod himself, mentioning how Odysseus "made sweet love" to Calypso and had children with her because we know that is not the case with the actual homeric story. However could the twins exist? Absolutely. If anything with Calypso it seems more probable given his misadventure being raped every night while staying with her for seven years. There is a very high possibility that Calypso got pregnant at some point, especially since the twins were born on Ogygia and do not play any other part in any mythological parallel that we know of. So as far as we are concerned the twins were born in Ogygia and stayed in Ogygia. Contrasting Circe I think that Calypso would absolutely try to take advantage of her pregnancy to hold Odysseus accountable and stay with her (I even imagined a scene to write on their departure in which Calypso changes her mind, tries to go after Odysseus and tries to tell him she is pregnant but Odysseus doesn't let her finish), which is why I do not think that once again Odysseus was aware of an existence of a child, Homer-wise. So I can imagine at some point after his departure, Calypso would give birth to her twins and keep them close. (and I have a VERY DARK headcanon about the kids themselves, if we do not take into account Calypso killing herself out of sorrow, solely based on her personality in the Odyssey thinking there was no problem for Odysseus to stay in even if he wished for death and cried every day. Also because I am a sucker for dark and dramatic stuff! XD)

To sum up I would have no problem into entertaining the thoughts of these children actually existing but I am convinced that at least Homer-wise, the kids were born after his departure and Odysseus was unaware of their existence. But that is just my opinion

I hope this helps! ^_^

[dreadpirateella]

uhhhh so I couldn't wait and finished The Neon Void... AND I HAVE THOUGHTS

putting a cut here bc this is gonna be loooong

and spoilers for all of Neon Void ofc

Dude ok just the writing in this?? This fic is SO well written like omg. All of the action scenes come across SO well, and as someone who can't write a fight scene to save my life, I just really appreciate that. Everything is so easy to follow.

AND THE DIALOGUE???? SO perfect omg. Everything felt so in character like this could be a whole season of the show. The way Leo's hysteria is written is just so crazy and so incredible. Like it's so clear that he's losing his mind but also so clear that he's still Leo. I'm just in love with it

and the looming threat of the Krang parasite?? Such a good like consistent villain. You can never go too long without remembering its presence and realizing what a massive threat it is!

The miscommunication between Leo and everyone else about what he plans to do with the key is also just incredible. The way they thought he was so far gone as to use it to release the Krang? That's just so heartbreaking.

AND THE REVEAL???? I just need to talk about it like genuinely it's SO well done. It feels a little out of nowhere (/pos!!!) and I really think it works bc it just totally catches everyone by surprise. Leo not even realizing that he's exposed until a few seconds pass it just perfect. Wondering why his entire family is staring at him like that and then realizing that they know is just *chefs kiss*

I LOVE everyone's anger when Void messed with Leo's stuff. Him stealing Donnie's bracelet and messing up his room, like you can feel the anger from the rest of the family and it's SO good.

also side note??? Mikey cutting Leo's arm off??? freaking awesome I LOVE when Mikey gets to go crazy

The emotions in this fic are just SO palpable. Like I felt the grief and heartache and confusion and anger radiating off of these characters through my screen. Every chapter is just so soaked with emotion it's freaking incredible. The writing in this fic is just phenomenal.

The brother's ninpo calming down and comforting Leo is also just such a good little repeated detail. Leo finally being able to contact his ancestors because he's back with his family once again is just SO good and so sweet. Karai is the most comforting presence known to man 😭

AND FUTURE LEO AT THE END???? was NOT expecting that I love it so dang much. Everyone in Leo's little mindscape journey at the end just yelling at him to go back to his family is just so so so sweet to read. And Leo's decision when he destroyed the key to stay with his family was just so beautiful. It just felt so right.

And everyone's reactions to every situation just feel so natural!!! I was reading it and something would happen and I'd be like of course that's how they'd respond to that! All of the Hamatos having that realization hit them that yes this is Leo and yes he's actually here is just so bittersweet to read. Knowing they grieved for FIVE years and now here he is right in front of them. It's just so emotional

I'm definitely gonna have more thoughts about this as more time passes so maybe expect more rambles?? and maybe some fanart too!!! Void's design is just too cool not to draw.

This fic sent me on a roller-coaster of emotions and I couldn't be more thankful for it. Thank you SO MUCH @sugarpasteltmnt for writing and sharing this incredible piece of art with all of us. You're incredible.

TLDR: I'm in love with this fic please go read it I'm gonna think about it for the rest of my life

[warabidakihime]

Rules and Roses Chapter 5

★ characters: kibutsuji muzan x reader x akaza

★ plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

★ fic playlist: sometimes, same day, as time stops, wolf’s song (this is also the vision board for the fic). 

★ content warnings : implied violence, self-harm and abuse, profanities, toxic relationships, smut.

★ Previous Chapter

a/n:

i MIGHT have indulged this chapter ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

and i most definitely had a change of heart as to where this story will go ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

as always, comments are always welcomes and super appreciated!

-

"Good day, Azudellin! Thank you so much for the warm hospitality you bestowed upon us. It's truly an honor to stand before you today in this beautiful province, surrounded by such a passionate and vibrant community."

Muzan said proudly as he stood at the stage with the rest of his political party sitting just behind him, who were also gazing at the huge crowd that gathered today in the city proper to attend the party's town hall. He stood there with a dashing smile on his face, patiently waiting for the applause and cheers to subside before speaking again.

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the front row, mirroring your husband's smile as you listened intently to his speech. For a brief moment, he turned to you, and a giggle slipped through your lips as you witnessed his smile getting bigger. 

"Good luck," you mouthed to him, to which he subtly and cleverly responded with a wink before turning to the vast crowd once again.

"I’ve traveled far and wide across our great nation, but each time I come here, I am reminded of what makes our country truly special. It’s the people—the heart and soul of our nation. And tonight, I want to speak to you not just as a presidential candidate, but as someone who deeply believes in the potential of every single person here."

Since you were at a fairly far place from home and currently a part of a really huge crowd, Muzan took it upon himself to double up the security in the vicinity, not just for your safety but for everybody's as well. Not that he has enemies (he's aware of) that are out to get him; it's just that elections in general are a time where anything can happen, and so it's still better to be safe than sorry. 

Akaza and Kokushibo are standing on each side of the stage upfront so that they have a fish-eye view of the whole venue, and god forbid something happens. Your two most trusted allies are just a few feet away from the both of you.

"I’ve heard your voices, your concerns, and your dreams. From the stories shared with me in the fields, to the struggles faced by our small businesses, to the aspirations of our young people yearning for a brighter future—your voices have been a guiding light for my campaign.

Azudellin is a province rich in history and potential. But like many places, you’ve faced challenges—economic downturns, educational disparities, and the need for better infrastructure. I know that these challenges are not just statistics; they are real issues that affect your daily lives. And I am here to tell you that change is not just a possibility—it is a certainty if we work together."

As your husband got into his speech, his passion for his cause was evident in his face, and the crowd started to clap for him. Some of them even stood out and cheered loudly for him. Chills went down your spine as the cheers got louder and louder.

Then, Muzan raised his hand to calm the applause and cheers, despite feeling elated at their passionate support for him. His smile never left his face as he continued his speech, his voice laced with passion and strong will.

"Thank you. We must remember that real change begins at the grassroots level. It begins with our children having access to quality education, with our farmers getting the support they need, and with every worker having a fair opportunity to succeed.

When I think about Azudellin, I think about resilience. I think about the community spirit that binds you all together. It’s in the way you come together to support each other during tough times and how you celebrate each other’s successes. That spirit is what will drive our nation forward."

The crowd broke out into another round of cheers and applause, and this time, you were cheering with them. You stood up proudly and gave your husband a warm round of applause. Your eyes were slightly misty because you were also incredibly moved by Muzan's speech. So much pride surged within your veins as you continued to watch him in awe. You were so damn proud of the man he's become all through the years. 

Images from the past flashed through your mind when you and Muzan were still in college. You could still remember how his eyes would twinkle each time he would share his dream to you and how much his voice carried so much hope. 

From the stage, Muzan saw you wiping your tears. You were so immersed in your little trip down memory lane that you couldn't help but get emotional. His eyes and overall expression softened, while his heart swelled with so much joy that he himself was this close to getting emotional himself. And the cheering crowd wasn't helping; they kept getting louder and louder as the seconds went by.

Once again, he raised his hand to calm everyone down, taking a deep breath to ground himself before facing the crowd again.

"I see the hope in your eyes, and I feel the determination in your hearts. This election is not about one person; it’s about all of us. It’s about what we can achieve together. Every vote you cast, every voice you raise, every action you take—it all contributes to shaping the future of our province and our nation.

I promise you this: I will not be a president who stands apart from you. I will stand with you, listen to you, and fight for you. Together, we will build a future where no one is left behind, where opportunity is abundant, and where our values of unity and compassion guide every decision we make."

From his post, Akaza glanced subtly at Muzan, who's clearly reveling in the love and support he's getting. Then he looked at the crowd; everybody was now on their feet, applauding loudly and chanting his name. Akaza couldn't help but feel immensely impressed by his boss' charisma and command on stage. It's like it was written in the sky that Muzan was born to be on stage. Born to be in the spotlight.

At this point, Muzan couldn't help but flash everybody with the biggest smile he has ever worn in front of everybody, but to you, that was a smile you'd fallen in love with twelve years ago. You already saw that smile a bunch of times. From the day you said yes to him when he was courting you, the day you celebrated your first anniversary, when you said yes to his proposal, and when the priest announced you as husband and wife.

'Hakuji Soyama x L/N Y/N - Just got engaged! (03/03/2015)'

As that flashed in your mind, you stopped dead in your tracks. It has been a few days since that day, and sadly, it has continued to haunt you. From time to time, either the photo or the words scribbled at the back would flash in your mind, making you rather uneasy and agitated. As much as you wanted to deny it, it was clear as day as to who you saw in that photo.

"Thank you, Azudellin. Your spirit has filled me with renewed strength and conviction. Let us walk this path together, with hope in our hearts and determination in our souls. The future is ours to build, and I believe with all my heart that we will build it together.

Thank you, and may we continue to forge ahead with courage and unity!"

As Muzan finished his speech strongly, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause once again, many of them even coming forward to shake hands with him and express their utmost support for him. The loud cheers woke you up from your stupor. Looking up, you saw your beloved husband get showered with so much love and support. Meanwhile, Akaza and Kokushibo were doing their best to do crowd control.

At that moment, your eyes darted from your husband to your personal bodyguard multiple times before Muzan's voice called out to you. From his point of view, you must be feeling quite overwhelmed given that there's a high volume of people walking and running from all sides, and so he took it upon himself to call you to him, but the loud crowd made it impossible for you to hear him.

"Madam," Akaza said while reaching out to you to guide you to Muzan. 

You gingerly took his hand and let him guide you away from the roaring crowd. Akaza couldn't help but frown a little upon seeing the rather unusual look on your face. He knows you tend to get overwhelmed with crowds, but he can't help but assume that something else is plaguing your mind.

Muzan shared his sentiment as well, and so he called out to Akaza, "Escort her inside! I'll be right there." 

Akaza bowed and uttered a 'yes, sir.' before proceeding to guide you out of harm's way. 

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" Akaza asked you while you took a seat.

You smiled sheepishly and said, "A glass of water would be nice."

Akaza nodded politely and excused himself so he could fetch you your drink. While waiting, Muzan emerged from the door along with his political party. You could hear the noise from outside subsiding, which meant the people were gradually leaving now that the townhall was over.

Muzan immediately went to you, kneeling in front of you while wearing a worried expression on his face.

"Hey, darling, are you okay?" he said, one of his hands cupping one side of your face and his thumb caressing your cheeks tenderly as he tends to you.

You nodded and smiled fondly at your husband.

"I'm fine. I was just a bit overwhelmed earlier. You did a little too well back there with your speech that everybody was on their toes shouting their hearts for you," you joked.

Muzan snorted and chuckled at your joke, "Did I?"

"Mhm. Show off~" 

Your husband smirked at your joke, pinching your cheek playfully as he replied, "How can I make it up to you then?" 

"Madam, your water," Akaza said, unknowingly disrupting your sweet moment with your husband. You gratefully took the water bottle and mouthed a thank you; meanwhile, Muzan got up and sat next to you. 

After taking a swig of your drink, you turned to Muzan and said, "Since it would take us six hours to get back to Areswood, can we stay the night here, my love?" 

"Hm? Sure. I don't see why not."

Smiling gratefully at this, you leaned forward and gave your husband a peck on the lips, to which Muzan audaciously chased after your lips when you pulled away and captured them again for another sweet kiss.

"I was also hoping we could go on a date with just the two of us, like without Akaza or Kokushibo tailing behind us." 

Muzan was slightly taken aback by your request; his face was rather unreadable. There were a lot of things racing in his mind, mostly your safety, but you woke him up from his stupor when you pressed on, "Please?" 

After a few seconds of you doing your damnedest to give your husband the cute puppy face, he yielded. A fond smile danced on Muzan's lips as he looked pointedly at you.

"Your wish is my command."

You broke out into a huge smile and tackled your husband into a tight hug, almost pressing your whole body against his, totally not caring people were around.

"You're the best!" you exclaimed, to which Muzan responded with a fond laugh as he reciprocated your hug with just as much passion. 

He then placed a kiss on top of your head before pulling away from the hug to face both Akaza and Kokushibo. As much as he wanted to revert back to his stoic self, the smile that was tugging at the corners of his lip was winning, as you and the townhall had put him in such a good mood. 

"Tomorrow, have the day off. Azudellin is vastly big, so take the opportunity to roam around. I'll give you some pocket money. Just have your phones open just in case of emergencies."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Both Akaza and Kokushibo responded politely.

Muzan nodded. "We're done here, so have the car ready so we can all return back to the hotel."

He was met with another chorus of 'Yes, sir.' before the two of them hurried back to the parking lot to get the car ready to escort you back to the hotel. 

Muzan watched as Akaza and Kokushibo walked off. When they opened the door, the two of you noticed that the noise from outside had completely died down and the ambiance in the entire place had become more peaceful.

With a soft sigh of contentment, Muzan turned his attention back to you.

"Ready to go?" 

You nodded happily and said, "Yes."

As you both stood up, ready to leave the venue, Muzan placed a protective arm around you. "I must admit, I am looking forward to our date. Thinking about it now, it really has been a while since we last went on a proper one, no?"

You nodded in agreement, letting Muzan guide you through the now-thinning crowd. Akaza and Kokushibo were already waiting by the car, the vehicle's engine rumbling softly in anticipation of the journey ahead.

While walking side by side, you gave his waist a loving squeeze and even stopped him for a moment to give him another kiss on the lips, and your husband immediately picked up on the longing that lingered in the sweet gesture. 

"It really has. To say that I've been missing you is an understatement, to be quite honest."

Before stepping into the car, Muzan glanced at you one last time, his expression a mix of excitement and tenderness. "I feel the same way, Y/N."

"Let's make the most of our free time here, hm?"

"Of course, and I'll also see to it that we go on dates as much as we can when we get back home."

You smiled at this, clearly happy and thankful for Muzan's thoughtfulness. You really are the luckiest woman in the world. 

"I'd love that."

With that, Muzan opened the car door for you, and as you both settled inside, he turned to Akaza and Kokushibo. "Take us to the hotel, please. And remember, enjoy the day off. I trust you’ll keep things under control."

"Understood, sir," Akaza responded as he slid into the driver's seat, and Kokushibo took the front passenger seat.

As the car began to move, you turned to Muzan, your eyes shining with pride. "Your speech today was incredible, my love. You really have a way of connecting with people. I could see how moved everyone was."

Muzan smiled, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Thank you, darling. It means a lot to hear that from you. I put my heart into that speech, hoping to reach everyone in the crowd."

"You did more than reach them," you said softly. "You inspired them. I’ve never been prouder of you. Seeing you up there, speaking with such passion and conviction... it reminded me of why I fell in love with you."

Muzan's eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. "I’m glad I could make you proud. Your support means everything to me. I couldn’t do any of this without you by my side."

You blushed at his words, feeling the sincerity behind them. "I’ll always be here for you, Muzan. No matter what."

The car glided smoothly through the evening, and Muzan couldn’t help but glance at you with a satisfied smile.

"Tonight, let's celebrate. Not just the success of the town hall, but us—our partnership, our love. I promise, tonight will be special."

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

"I’m looking forward to it."

From the driver's seat, Akaza's eyes remained focused on the road, but a faint smile was dancing on his lips, but it immediately disappeared the moment he realized what he was doing. 

But he couldn't help it.

He couldn't stop himself from feeling genuinely happy for you at this very moment. And he couldn't help but feel admiration for the man he swore was the bane of his and your existence.

He bit his lips as he continued to drive back to the hotel. On the outside, he remained stoic, but from within, in the depths of his heart, he feels incredibly conflicted. 

"Akaza, what's wrong?" Muzan asked from the backseat. It was dark in the car, so no one could see how piercing his gaze was.

Akaza merely shook his head, not wanting to lose focus on his driving. "Nothing, sir."

Muzan's eyes narrowed slightly, his intuition telling him otherwise. "Are you sure?"

Akaza shook his head rather sheepishly.

"It's just... I noticed Madam seemed a bit off earlier. I wanted to make sure everything was alright."

Muzan glanced at you, his expression softening as he saw the concern in Akaza's eyes.

"She was a bit overwhelmed, but she's fine now. You know how these events can be."

Akaza nodded in agreement.

"Of course, sir. I just wanted to be sure. We can't afford any mistakes."

Muzan's gaze softened a bit as he saw the genuine concern in Akaza's eyes. "Your vigilance is appreciated, Akaza. But sometimes, it's just the weight of the moment. Thank you for looking out for her."

Akaza relaxed slightly at Muzan's reassurance.

"Understood, sir. I'll keep a close watch."

Kokushibo, who had been silent until now, chimed in from the passenger seat. "Akaza's right to be cautious, but I agree with you, sir. It seemed like a momentary lapse. We have everything under control."

Muzan nodded, feeling more at ease. "Very well. Let's focus on getting to the hotel. We all need some rest after today."

As the car continued its smooth journey, Muzan squeezed your hand gently, offering you a reassuring smile. "We're almost there, darling. Just a bit longer."

You smiled back.

"Thank you, Muzan. And thank you, Akaza. I appreciate your concern."

Akaza glanced at you through the rearview mirror, his expression softening. "You're welcome, Madam."

The car finally pulled up to the hotel, and as you stepped out, Muzan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you inside. Akaza and Kokushibo followed closely, their watchful eyes ensuring your safety.

Once inside your suite, Muzan turned to you with a tender smile.

"Now, let's enjoy our evening and tomorrow. Just you and me."

You nodded, feeling the stress of the day melt away.

"I couldn't ask for anything more."

*

The date was fantastic.

Azudellin was a feast for the senses. Grand, old structures lined the streets, their intricate carvings whispering tales of Phario's glorious past. You and Muzan, both art lovers, wandered hand-in-hand, marveling at the architecture.

At one point, a group of tourists recognized you, but instead of rushing over, they gave a polite nod and a smile, respecting your privacy. You sent them a grateful smile in return.

The bustling market was your next stop. Unlike the grandeur of the historical sites, the market was a riot of colors, sounds, and smells. The air hung heavy with the aroma of spices and sizzling meat. Muzan chuckled as you excitedly dove into the throng, bargaining for souvenirs.

You emerged with a delightful mix of treasures: a hand-painted fan for Kokushibo, a woven scarf for Akaza, some trinkets for the maids and guards back at home, and of course, presents for your friends as well.

"Don't forget about me," Muzan teased, his voice warm.

You winked. "Of course not."

Your fingers brushed against a rack of clothes, and then you spotted it—a button-down shirt made from a fabric that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. It was a perfect shade of blue, and you knew exactly who it would look good on.

Muzan slipped the top on, and your breath hitched. The rich blue brought out the vibrant contrast with his scarlet eyes, and the fabric skimmed his toned physique. 

A blush crept up your cheeks as you stammered, "It looks amazing! Absolutely perfect."

Muzan's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He struck a pose, eliciting a giggle from you. The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring hidden alleys and sharing stolen kisses, the joy of the day bubbling over in every interaction.

Dinner was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

The restaurant, renowned for its seafood, boasted a breathtaking view of the Azudellin coastline. As you savored the melt-in-your-mouth fish and the tangy local salad, you couldn't help but steal glances at Muzan across the table.

Gratitude filled your heart for this man, who brought so much love and laughter into your life.

The fairy lights strung across the restaurant balcony twinkled like captured stars, casting a warm glow over the table. The gentle sea breeze carried the murmur of waves and the scent of salt, creating a serenely romantic atmosphere.

You took a sip of your mango iced tea, letting the cool sweetness dance on your tongue.

"This has been such a fantastic day," you said, leaning back in your chair with a contented sigh. "Azudellin is simply amazing."

Muzan, seated across from you, mirrored your smile. His warm, scarlet eyes sparkled with genuine affection. "Absolutely," he agreed, taking a slow bite of his fish. "Though the scenery pales in comparison to the beautiful sight before me."

A blush crept up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment. "Muzan," you chided playfully, "you always know what to say."

He chuckled, making a rich, rumbling sound. "Flattery? No, sweetheart. It's the truth. Seeing you so happy and so engaged with everything today...it brings me a joy I never thought possible."

His words sent a thrill through you. It wasn't every day that Muzan, a man known for his sharp intellect and driven nature, spoke so openly about his emotions, but then again, behind closed doors, you always see this side of him, but even then, when he speaks from his heart, it never fails to sweep you off of your feet.

You reached across the table, your fingers intertwining with his. "Me too, Muzan. I wouldn't have wanted to spend this day with anyone else."

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment, punctuated only by the soft clinking of silverware.

"Remember that little market stall overflowing with fans?" you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. "I almost forgot how much you struggled with the heat."

Muzan's lips twitched. "An astute observation, my love. Although witnessing your bargaining prowess was...interesting, to say the least."

You laughed, the sound tinkling like windchimes.

"Oh, come on now, it wasn't that bad! Besides, you can't deny the satisfaction of getting a good deal."

"Perhaps," he conceded, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Though, I daresay the look on that vendor's face when you countered his offer was priceless."

You both dissolved into laughter, the memory of your playful haggling warming the night air. As the laughter subsided, Muzan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a tender whisper.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his scarlet eyes searching yours, "this day has been exactly what I needed. Honestly, it was a brilliant call suggesting this date."

A blush crept up your cheeks. "Really?"

He squeezed your hand, the warmth radiating through you.

"Absolutely. The campaign has been all-consuming lately, and quite honestly, there have been a few times where I felt overwhelmed. As much as I don't want to admit it, but as the day of the election draws closer, I can't help but feel nervous."

His gaze softened further.

"So seeing you so happy and so carefree today... it reminded me why I'm doing all this."

Your heart ached with a mix of joy and a touch of sadness. "I know this election means the world to you, Muzan. It's always been your biggest dream."

A flicker of regret crossed his features. "And it is, darling. But maybe I haven't been as good at showing you just how much you mean to me in all the craziness. These past few weeks, I've missed..." He trailed off, searching for the right words.

Taking a deep breath, you placed your free hand over his. "You've missed us, haven't you?"

You weren't accusing; you were just stating the truth.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Yes. I've missed us. I've missed these quiet moments, these shared laughs. Truth be told, I've missed you terribly."

His voice softened further, tinged with a hint of apology.

"I know you've been holding back a bit, wanting to be supportive, and for that, I apologize. But please, don't ever feel like you can't tell me how you're feeling, even when things are hectic."

His words washed over you like a wave of relief and understanding, and as cliché as it sounds, you're almost certain you've fallen for him all over again. 

All the wariness and anxiety that damn photo has been giving you these past few days have completely vanished. That old lady must've mistaken you for someone else, and there's also the possibility that the woman in that photo was just someone who resembles you, because you honestly could not picture yourself being in love with someone else. 

Muzan is the love of your life, and he will always be. You've built a life together, filled with shared dreams, laughter, and moments like these that reaffirm your bond. The thought of anyone else simply doesn't fit into the picture of your heart.

You pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the here and now.

The truth was in the way he looked at you, the way he held your hand, and the way he spoke with such sincerity.

Nothing else mattered.

You were certain of your love and of the future you were building together. As you squeezed Muzan's hand a little tighter, you knew that no photograph or fleeting worry could ever shake the foundation of the life you were creating.

You looked at your husband with misty eyes and a huge smile on your face and said, "I love you so much, Muzan."

His expression softened, his thumb gently stroking your hand. "And I love you more than words can express, my love."

With a tender smile, Muzan rose from his seat and walked around the table to stand beside you. He took your hands and gently pulled you to your feet. Under the fairy lights, with the ocean as your backdrop, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close.

"Let's make a promise," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze. "What promise?"

"No matter how busy life gets, no matter what challenges come our way, we'll always make time for moments like this—moments that remind us of why we fell in love in the first place."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but they were tears of happiness. "I promise," you whispered.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of love and contentment.

When the kiss ended, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Thank you for today, Muzan. I had so much fun."

He held you tighter and mirrored your smile.

"Anything and everything for you, Y/N.”

*

“What did you just say?”

Muzan's voice was dangerously calm as he looked at Akaza, his expression unreadable. But as the words sank in, his face turned sour.

“You're resigning? Why?”

Akaza winced but held his ground.

“No reason in particular, but I’ve been doing some thinking, and I figured it’s time for me to look for other opportunities elsewhere.”

Silence enveloped Muzan’s personal office in your mansion. Your husband stared pointedly at your bodyguard, clearly flabbergasted by the sudden decision to resign from his post. It was all too sudden, and rather... unexpected.

Akaza shared the same sentiment.

He hadn’t planned on resigning anytime soon; he was hellbent on seeing everything through, even if a bitter end awaited him. But after last weekend in Azudellin, an epiphany struck him.

Maybe it was for the best that he stood down and gave up.

He didn’t want to, but seeing you so happy and in love, maybe... Just maybe, it was okay to give you up as long as you were happy.

“I’m not allowing it.”

Muzan’s commanding voice snapped Akaza out of his thoughts. He looked up and finally noticed the fury on Muzan's face.

“We’re in the middle of the election season. You know damn well Y/N’s safety is at stake because of my candidacy, and you know how risky it is to entrust your job to someone else, Akaza. You’re the best at what you do, and you’re the only one I trust to keep her safe.”

“Sir Muzan, I understand, but—”

“No, you don’t understand!”

Muzan's voice rose, echoing through the office.

“You don’t get to walk away just because you’re having second thoughts. Your loyalty is not something you can just toss aside on a whim.”

Akaza took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“It's not on a whim. I've thought this through. I just—”

“You just what?”

Muzan interrupted, his eyes blazing.

“You think you can just leave and everything will be fine? You think I’ll find someone who can protect her like you do? I demand your commitment, Akaza. And I will not let you walk away when we need you the most.”

Akaza’s resolve wavered under Muzan’s intense gaze. He had never seen his employer this furious. “Sir, I—”

“No!” Muzan’s voice was thunderous now.

“You’re not resigning. You’re not leaving. You will stay, and you will do your job. Because if anything happens to Y/N, it will be on your head. Do you understand me?”

Akaza’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Muzan's words crashing down on him. He couldn't argue with the man because, quite frankly, he did have a very valid point.

Not just you, but Muzan also has a target on his back solely because of the elections, and this is not the time for any big changes, especially with everything so volatile. His resignation could create a significant gap in your security, jeopardizing not only his safety but yours as well.

Any disruption could have far-reaching consequences. 

“I understand, sir,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay.”

Muzan’s anger slowly dissipated, but his gaze remained stern.

“I'll let you go once the election is over and only once the coast is clear. But until then, I expect you to do your job and maintain the highest level of vigilance and dedication. ”

Akaza nodded solemnly. “Understood, sir.”

Muzan took a deep breath, his voice softening but still carrying a sharp edge. “I know this isn’t easy for you, and I appreciate your commitment. But I need you to understand that this isn’t just about personal preference. It’s about the safety of everyone involved, especially Y/N.”

Akaza met Muzan’s gaze, feeling the weight of his words. “I get it, sir. I won't let you down."

Muzan nodded, though his expression remained serious.

“Good. Remember, this isn’t just about duty. It’s about trust. I trust you to handle this responsibility, and I expect you to honor that trust.”

Akaza straightened, his resolve returning to his stance. “Yes sir."

As he turned to leave the office, Muzan watched him with a mixture of frustration and reluctant respect. The door clicked softly behind Akaza, and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Muzan sighed deeply, turning back to his desk, though his gaze lingered on the door where Akaza had just exited. The mounting pressure was more than he could handle, and in a moment of frustration, he struck out.

Against his will, the weight of exhaustion and doubt crept into his veins. He had always prided himself on his strength and capability, but the constant pressure of running Obelisk Kibutsuji, combined with the relentless demands of his political campaign, had worn him down.

The accumulated fatigue was making him question his ability to keep everything under control, and Akaza’s sudden resignation attempt pushed him to his breaking point.

It felt like a slap in the face, and Muzan simply couldn’t afford the added stress.

The fatigue was beginning to overwhelm him, while imposter syndrome whispered doubts that he was failing and couldn’t manage the responsibilities tied to his ambitions.

“Ah, this isn’t good,” Muzan said to himself, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of any unwanted distraction.

But the frustration was too much.

With a surge of anger, he brought his fist down hard on the table, leaving a nasty dent in the furniture and a painful bruise and cut on his knuckles. He winced at the pain, clenching his jaw as he tried to regain his composure. His heart raced, the pain amplifying his frustration, and he felt a moment of regret for not finding a healthier outlet for his emotions.

Just then, you appeared at the doorway, your face etched with concern.

“Hey, are you okay?”

At the sound of your voice, Muzan forced a small smile onto his face, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your timing always amazed him, even in moments like this. He turned to see you standing there, your worry evident on your face. You gasped as you saw the blood seeping through his clenched fist, your heart sinking.

His gaze fell to his injured hand, still throbbing from the impact.

"You’ve hurt yourself," you said, rushing over to him with a frown. "What happened?"

Muzan tried to downplay it. "I'm fine. It’s nothing. Just... got caught up in the moment."

He tried to brush off your concern with a wave of his hand, but his pained expression betrayed him. Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your touch tender and soothing. The sight of his injured hand and the distressed expression on his face had alarmed you.

"Oh, God, your hand is swelling." You winced as you examined his injured hand, and then you turned to him with a disapproving frown, but more than anything, you were hurting for him. "Care to tell me what happened?"

He quickly covered his hand with his other, though the damage was evident. "It's nothing, really. Just a moment of frustration," he explained, his voice calm but with a hint of weariness.

"It's nothing, but you look like that? Muzan, what if you got seriously hurt?" you scolded him, your voice laced with concern. "You know I worry about you."

He sighed, avoiding your gaze. "It’s just... the stress. The campaign, Obelisk Kibutsuji, everything. It’s been a lot, and I didn’t handle it well."

You gently cupped his face with your hands, brushing a thumb over his cheek.

"I understand that you're under a lot of pressure, but hurting yourself isn’t the answer. If you need to let out some steam, you can vent to me, you know?"

Muzan closed his eyes briefly, savoring the comforting touch. The warmth of your presence helped ease the tension in his shoulders and the gnawing stress that had been building.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just been overwhelming."

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I know, and I’m here to help. But please, stop resorting to things like this, my love. I wouldn't know what to do if you seriously get hurt."

Muzan opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you. I really appreciate your support. It means more than you know."

You leaned in and kissed his forehead softly. "I’ll always be here for you. If you need a break or just a moment to breathe, let me know. We can go for a walk or just spend some quiet time together."

Muzan wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "I’m grateful for you. I promise to take some time to rest and not let the stress consume me."

You held him a little longer, feeling the weight of his stress ease slightly in your embrace. "Good. And remember, if you ever need to talk or just want to escape the chaos for a bit, I’m always here for you."

"Thank you, Y/N," Muzan said wholeheartedly, his voice reflecting the sincerity of his gratitude.

You smiled, feeling the depth of his appreciation.

"Well, I’ve got a few errands to run today, but if you need anything, just call me." Your voice sounded anything but resolute as you hesitated, glancing at the dented desk and his swollen hand.

The pang of reluctance to leave him alone in this state was evident. 

“Actually, maybe I should stay a bit longer and help you get settled. I’m really not comfortable leaving you like this.”

Muzan shook his head gently, a reassuring smile returning to his lips. "I appreciate it, really, but I’m fine now. I don’t want you to miss your commitments because of me."

You looked at him with a mixture of concern and understanding. “Alright, but promise me you'll be careful and take it easy. If you need anything or just want to talk, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I promise,” Muzan said, his voice steady.

“Thank you. I’ll call Aoi to help you treat your hand,” you said, with a last, lingering look at him before turning to leave.

“I’m fine, darling. I have a first-aid kit here in my office. You can have her bring me ice instead.”

You nodded, smiling at your husband before giving him a kiss on the lips, hoping it would somehow relieve some of the burden he’s carrying on his shoulders. “Alright.”

With a final, affectionate glance, you gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading towards the door. As you left, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to stay longer, but you trusted him to handle things.

Muzan watched you go, feeling calmer and more grounded. As the door closed behind you, he gingerly walked to the corner of his office where he kept a first aid kit for emergencies.

With a determined sigh, he bandaged his hand, mentally steeling himself to face the rest of the day with renewed resolve. After treating his hand, he returned to his desk, ready to tackle the tasks ahead with renewed clarity and determination.

-

taglist: @bffrrufr @unadulteratedhandsbanditdreamer @unlikelybananawerewolf

[fruitcoops]

Flight of the Con-Gourds

Day 4! Characters belong to @lumosinlove, fest header credit to @noots-fic-fests <3 Today's movie is easier to guess--pop into my inbox or the notes to try your hand!

Day 3 Halloween movie: The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975). Did you find the line?

He hardly had to roll over at all—his nose smushed against a warm chest, apple pie and lingering Irish Spring and something savory-soft he had never known anywhere else. Sirius hummed, his hoarse throat giving way to something more wakeful with all the enthusiasm of a cat getting ready for a bath.

“Good morning.”

Sirius smiled to himself.

“I was gonna put coffee on.”

Coffee meant movement. It meant awake. “Non,” Sirius mumbled, pushing his face flat to the heartbeat in front of him. “Tu restes.”

Remus’ fingers carded through his hair in long, languid pulls. Bones? What were bones? Sirius didn’t know. Blunt nails found the back of his head and Sirius practically purred. “We have to go out. Pumpkins and cider, baby.”

“Smell like cider.” It coated the back of Sirius’ tongue when he breathed deep. Hot apples, wool scarves, a cloudy day. It hid just in the crook of Remus’ collarbones. “Nous restons.”

“You’re so snuggly today.” Remus sounded amused. “Good dreams?”

Probably. He felt relaxed enough for it, though he couldn’t remember any of them. The whole world was floaty and loose, except for their bed and the weight of Remus near. “‘Chais pas. Ici, restes.”

“We have to go,” Remus insisted. “All the good ones will be gone otherwise.”

Sirius frowned. “You’re not supposed to know about that.”

“About what?”

“Les citrouilles.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Un secret.” Sirius let out a breath and pushed his head back into Remus’ hand. He quickly took the hint and resumed petting him. “Un grand secret, a surprise.”

“Surprising me with pumpkins?”

“Mhm.” Remus liked them so much. They made him happy every step of the way, from wandering vast fields of mud for one with a perfect face to carefully etching his printed stencils into the hollow body. Roasted pumpkin seeds as a snack, of course, and ducking into the little shops at the patch just for a second, baby, I just want to look.

Sirius’ eyelashes fluttered at the thought—maybe it was worth it to get up for that, after all—but he regained himself and kept them firmly shut. It would be perfect. He knew it. And this could be perfect for a while longer, too. Remus’ chest was moving like he was asleep. Rise and fall, steady and slow, no rabbit-heart or lightning-feet.

Pumpkins stretched out in every direction as far as Sirius could see. Patchwork trees blurred the horizon if he squinted, but there was such brilliance surrounding them that the far reaches hardly mattered. Small and orange and green and lumpy and even some the height of his hip, waxy to the touch where thick stems fell in curlicues down their sides.

Remus would feel bad for the slouchy, mottled one across the way; best to keep him where he was, tucked under Sirius’ other arm with steam ghosting over the bits of caramel hair that escaped his cap. His laugh was muffled by the lid of something warm. Familiar and snickering, like he was up to some unnamed mischief. Sirius must have said something funny. Or, were they here with James? He’d like that, bringing James and Lily and the baby along.

“My legs are tired,” Remus sighed, even as he pulled them down a new avenue.

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile sweet. “I could put you in a wheelbarrow.”

A flash of golden-brown in the light, hot like fire but honeyed like a kiss when it found him. “I dare you.”

“I’d get in with you.”

“Put Lily in, you and Pots can push us around.” Remus blinked at something over his shoulder in mild surprise. “Oh, that’s interesting.”

Sirius looked back. The pumpkins they had passed…oh, hours ago now, were hovering gently above the straw-strewn field. Not far—a few inches, maybe, at most a foot. The heavy moon backlit them into strange shapes. “Huh.”

“I haven’t seen that before,” Remus said, supremely unbothered. “Is that new this year?”

He supposed it was. “I think so?”

“I like it.”

Well, Sirius thought, that was all that mattered. He had been dying to tell Remus about the trip for more than a week. They were supposed to have a light show here in the evenings, but the flying pumpkins were a nice touch for day visitors. A light show. Oh, god, he wasn’t supposed to tell Remus about that part. He’d have to remember to keep it under wraps. He’d been reminding himself all week.

[cybrsan]

Vignette: Duty — P.SH, K.HJ

STORY SUMMARY: For as long as he can remember, Seonghwa has dedicated himself to a single goal: making his father proud. To do so, he needs to win the Nightingale commendation, become the best of the best. But when he falls a step behind Hongjoong, he has to reconsider what it is he truly wants.

PAIRING: N/A, Seonghwa POV ft. Hongjoong (Future OT8 x Reader in main fic)

RATING/GENRE: PG-13 ; dystopian AU, steampunk AU

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol use (in a very unhealthy sort of way), self-deprecating thoughts and behavior, blood/injury, violence, strained father-son relationship, minor character death

A/N: This is the first out of six prologue stories that will be posted prior to the release of mine and Orion's main fic, Through The Darkness. Stay tuned for more <3

LINKS: ATEEZ Masterlist. Cross-posted on AO3. Story masterlist and glossary will be added once posted.

BANNER CREDIT: @kwanisms

General Elowen Nightingale makes for an imposing figure, dressed head to toe in military regalia. Her uniform is a stark white, not a crease to be seen, and decorated with numerous patches and medals that are a testament to her years of service and hundreds of battles won. Her honey-colored hair, streaked with silver, is pulled back into a perfect bun, and her piercing, grey eyes burn with an intensity that can make even the most hardened soldiers avert their gaze.

As she scrutinizes the crowd of cadets from behind her podium, Seonghwa finds himself having to make a conscious effort to maintain his position and not falter. His fingers itch to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of his own—far less decorated—uniform, his heart pounding in his chest. He has been in the Vanguard Program for a few years now and has known her since he was a child, but he’s still not used to being in her presence.

Hongjoong snickers from his place beside him, whispering, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa hisses through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes trained forward. “The last thing I need is to get in trouble for talking out of turn.”

“You have no reason to be nervous, Hwa, seriously. You’re one of the best in the class.”

“Says the General’s favorite.”

“Well, yes.” Seonghwa doesn’t have to look at Hongjoong to know there’s a smug grin on his face. “But that doesn’t make what I just said any less true. You have as good a chance as any to get the Nightingale Commendation.”

The Nightingale Commendation is a tradition of 30 years standing, named after the General’s family who established the program. It is the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a young, eager cadet, marking them as the one to watch (or the one to beat, in the eyes of their peers). It’s a ticket to swift promotions and the most coveted assignments. Naturally, everyone wants it.

Seonghwa can hardly even imagine being considered for such an award. He wants it, of course he does; after all, his name means “to be a star,” so being the rising star of the Vanguard Program would suit him. Or so his father says. But the idea of actually standing at the general’s side, his first medal pinned to his jacket… it’s almost too overwhelming to bear.

Though he won’t openly admit it due to the risk of relentless teasing, Seonghwa does feel put at ease by Hongjoong’s words. He glances toward him, momentarily forgetting the fear of being reprimanded. Hongjoong’s gaze is still cast forward, though he seems completely unfazed by the general or her commanding presence. He’s always been confident in a way that Seonghwa envies.

Suddenly turning his head, Hongjoong’s eyes meet his. In the harsh light of the auditorium, they seem a shade or two lighter than their usual brown. He smiles, though it isn’t the teasing grin Seonghwa was expecting. Instead, it’s soft, reassuring.

“Let’s promise each other that no matter who wins, we’ll celebrate together. Deal?”

Heat rushes to Seonghwa’s face against his better judgment. He’s so used to their competitive banter that this show of such genuine camaraderie has taken him aback. Still, he agrees without hesitation. “Deal.”

With that, the knot of anxiety in his chest unravels near completely. Having someone else be so confident in his abilities, someone who is so outstanding in their own right, is deeply comforting. Before either of them can say more, General Nightingale’s voice booms over the speakers.

“Attention!” she demands, and Seonghwa would swear she’s looking directly at him. “The time has come to announce this year’s recipient of the Nightingale Commendation. As you all know, this award is not given lightly. The cadet who is bestowed the honor will have earned it through their hard work, unwavering courage, and dedication to the cause.”

Sweat prickles at Seonghwa’s temple, a lone drop dripping down the side of his face and disappearing underneath the neckline of his shirt. This is it.

“Over the past few years, I have seen growth in all 46 of you; the Vanguard class of 1018 has been one of the most promising in our history. And while many of you have exhibited extraordinary promise, there is one cadet who has consistently exceeded all expectations.”

She pauses for a long moment, her eyes sweeping over the crowd. It’s as if she wants to savor the anticipation and make everyone squirm for as long as she can. Seonghwa can feel his heartbeat picking up again, and he even sees Hongjoong begin to fidget out of the corner of his eye.

Her gaze lands on Seonghwa and, for just a moment, he lets himself believe. But she passes over him without hesitation and immediately, he knows. He closes his eyes and prepares himself for what she is about to say.

“Congratulations, Cadet Kim Hongjoong. Please come up to the stage and accept your award.”

Seonghwa’s eyes remain closed as applause erupts around him. Deep down, he’d always known this moment would come, always known it would be Hongjoong and not him. But disappointment is not an easy pill to swallow.

“Seonghwa?”

Hongjoong whispers his name, and Seonghwa comes back to reality, opening his eyes to meet his expectant gaze.

“Congrats, Joong.” And he means it. He can get over his own disappointment in order to celebrate his friend.

He brings his hands together, mustering up a smile as he watches Hongjoong take the stage. General Nightingale hands Hongjoong the framed commendation before shaking his hand firmly. She then pins the matching medal onto his lapel—his first medal—and allows the crowd to cheer for a few moments longer.

“Cadet Kim,” she begins. “You have demonstrated exceptional skills throughout your time in the program. You are an example to all cadets of what an elite member of the Vanguard should be. I am confident you will uphold the Nightingale tradition of excellence in service.”

Hongjoong’s face, lit up with pride, is something Seonghwa will fondly remember for a long time.

“You’re welcome to give a speech,” General Nightingale says, stepping back as she gestures to the podium.

“I want to share this honor with all of you.” Hongjoong’s voice is strong and unwavering as he addresses the entire class. “We are all the future of the Sector. We are in this together and I am honored to fight at your side.”

He pauses for a moment, his gaze landing on Seonghwa once again. “There’s someone in particular I want to acknowledge.”

The auditorium falls silent as everyone follows his line of sight. Seonghwa feels himself flush with embarrassment, but he can’t bring himself to look away.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, his voice much softer now, as if he were speaking only to him. “You have been both my fiercest rival and my closest friend. Always there to push me beyond what I thought was possible, or to pick me up when I fall. This award,” he holds the commendation up in the air for emphasis, “Would not have been achievable without you. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Seonghwa feels like he might pass out from all the blood rushing to his head.

“And if you or anyone else brings up the fact I got so emotional, I’ll take you to the mat.”

Just like that, the tension is broken. Laughter and cheers erupt as the crowd surges to life. The noise is enough to break Seonghwa from the trance Hongjoong’s words had him under and he can’t help but laugh as well.

Hongjoong takes a final bow and steps down from the stage, receiving some congratulatory pats on the back as he walks back down the aisle. Seonghwa notices the general watching Hongjoong closely, her gaze alight with something he can’t quite decipher. A mixture of approval and curiosity, perhaps? Yet he barely has time to question it before Hongjoong reaches him and claps him on the shoulder.

“Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?” he says, his grin widening as he scans Seonghwa’s flustered expression.

“Expecting what?” Seonghwa’s proud he doesn’t stutter. “That you have a sentimental side or that you would actually admit it in public?”

Hongjoong chuckles. “Hey, you’re the one that complains I don’t give you enough affection.”

“Still, I never would have dreamed of you publicly declaring your love for me,” Seonghwa teases. This banter is good—it’s what he’s used to. His heart finally settles in his chest.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, the act belied by the softness that lingers in his expression. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’ll try not to.” Taking a deep breath, Seonghwa allows some of his sincerity to shine through. “All jokes aside… Thank you, Joong. Your words really do mean a lot. And I hope you know that they’re returned tenfold.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Before either of them can say more, General Nightingale reclaims her place at the podium. “Cadets,” she begins, her voice cutting through the clamor of the crowd. The room quiets almost instantly, and everyone returns their gaze to her. “As you all know, this ceremony isn’t just about the Nightingale Commendation. It’s about all of you and how much you have achieved over these past few years. Some of you will move on to other assignments, and some will have to report for further training, but all of you are part of what makes our Sector so great.

Hongjoong, of course, will become a member of the Vanguard Elite squad. Like all the past commendation recipients, he will be awarded Flight status, which gives him access to the most advanced machinery, classified assignments, and even travel outside of the Sector. Considering his outstanding performance throughout his time here, there is no doubt that he'll excel in his duties."

There is a momentary pause as she locks eyes with Hongjoong, and a curt nod of approval is exchanged before she turns back to the crowd.

“Alongside him, the top 5% of the class will also become part of the elite squad. We have evaluated the performance of these three cadets on various fronts: combat skills, strategic planning, adaptability, teamwork, and overall growth. The names I am about to announce are the individuals who have consistently excelled across these parameters. When I call your name, please join me on stage.”

If Seonghwa had thought the auditorium was silent before, it was nothing compared to the hush that fell over the room now. For a moment, he wonders if it’s possible Hongjoong might be able to hear his heart beating from his spot at his side. The general calls the first name. Not him. Second name. Also not him.

Then, finally, “Cadet Park Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s knees almost give out from underneath him. He wasn’t expecting this. He had been so focused on receiving the Nightingale commendation that he failed to consider the possibility of being in the top 5%—of still being part of the Vanguard’s most sought-after squad. In his shock, his gaze instinctively drifts to Hongjoong, who smiles and mouths, “I told you so.”

Walking on autopilot, he joins his new squad mates on stage. Surely, this must be enough to please his father. He may not be the best, but he is still among the elite; that has to count for something. Turning to General Nightingale, he bows slightly before shaking her hand.

“Congratulations, Cadet Park.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I present to you,” her voice rings powerfully through the auditorium once again, “the top 5% of the class, our Vanguard Elites!”

The rest of the class cheers and stomps their feet, the stage shaking from the force of it all.

“Moving forward, the remaining cadets will be assigned based on their individual strengths and overall rankings.”

She begins listing the remaining names, but Seonghwa is too lost in thought to hear them. He's on stage, a member of the Vanguard Elites, standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the academy's most talented cadets. He might still be a step behind Hongjoong, but surely that doesn’t matter. They’re still a part of the same squad, the same team.

“Our ceremony has come to an end. Congratulations to each and every graduate; you have all worked hard and should be proud of your achievements. To those who did not graduate—this should serve as motivation for you to work even harder in the future. Is that clear?” The crowd responds with a short cheer of understanding. “As always, we commit our hearts, bodies, and minds to service—”

“For the glory of the Sector!” The entire class finishes the alma mater in unison.

Seonghwa is flush with pride, standing straighter and more confidently than he ever has. This is it. This is what he has been working for. As the crowd erupts into a final round of applause, he takes in the sight before him: the sea of uniforms, the smiling faces, people hugging and congratulating one another. Everyone disperses, wandering off in different directions, presumably to go celebrate.

But Seonghwa only has eyes for one person.

Hongjoong approaches him, still beaming, and salutes him. “I’m excited to work with you, soldier.”

Seonghwa returns the salute. “You’re not sick of me yet?”

“Well…” Hongjoong draws out the word, letting it linger in the air for a moment before laughing. “No, not yet. We’ll see if that changes, though.”

Seonghwa wraps his arm around Hongjoong’s shoulder, pulling the shorter man firmly against his side as they continue to walk. “Oh, shut up. You confessed your love to me, remember?”

Hongjoong curls his lip. “Keep bringing that up, I dare you.”

“Cadet Kim.”

Seonghwa almost jumps out of his skin when the general speaks up from behind them. Hongjoong flinches slightly as well but has a much smoother recovery; Seonghwa never would have even noticed if he didn’t have his arm around him.

Hongjoong separates from Seonghwa and turns around, standing at attention. “Yes, General?”

“At ease. I need you to come with me to my office. There’s much we need to discuss concerning the commendation and the benefits you have been awarded.”

“Oh,” a glimmer of surprise crosses his face. “Of course. Hwa, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Seonghwa just nods, watching as the two walk away. A pit settles in his stomach but he tries to ignore it. He decides to head back to their shared quarters on his own, his footsteps bouncing off of the polished stone floor. He begins the careful ritual of removing his dress uniform, his hands shaking slightly as he undoes each button, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

While shrugging into a more comfortable shirt, Seonghwa glances at his nightstand and is surprised to find his aurvox lit, indicating he has a message waiting for him. He presses play and instantly tenses as his father’s voice comes over the speakers.

“Seonghwa. I watched the ceremony. Call me immediately.”

A wave of apprehension rolls down Seonghwa’s spine. In the message, his father’s voice sounds stern, almost frigid. It’s the voice he always uses when he is about to scold him, but surely that can’t be right. He got on stage and his abilities were acknowledged by General Nightingale herself. He made it into the Vanguard Elites. It’s not the commendation, but it’s still something.

He takes a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking as he returns the call. The aurvox rings once, twice, before his father answers.

“Seonghwa.”

“Father. I—”

“You didn’t win the Nightingale commendation.”

Seonghwa’s shoulders fall. Any excitement he may have been feeling, any pride, is instantly extinguished by those six words. “No. I didn’t.”

“You need to try harder. Your win this year was supposed to make up for your brother losing the commendation to that rusted piece of scrap from the Outer Sector.”

“I know. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry—be better.” Seonghwa isn’t even given the time to respond as his father continues, “We are going to host a celebratory dinner for Hongjoong. His mother will be there so I expect you to be on your best behavior. After all, if you can’t beat him, at least make sure to use him. He might be able to aid you in the future, and Sunhee has plenty of connections.”

Seonghwa knows his father wants him to agree, but he can’t bring himself to say those words out loud. Use Hongjoong? He’s his friend. He won’t do it. He can’t.

“Seonghwa?” His father’s voice sharpens and Seonghwa flinches despite being nowhere in his vicinity.

“Yes, sir. Of course.” His words sound strained, but his father doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good. I will see you tonight. Dress well.”

His father hangs up without even saying goodbye, signaling that the conversation is over. Seonghwa places his aurvox back on his nightstand and immediately flops face down on his bed, groaning into one of his pillows.

He can hear the distant sounds of the other cadets, their conversations and laughter drifting in through the thin walls of his room. But they seem a world away to him now. He wonders if he's supposed to be feeling elated, liberated from the years of hard work and all-nighters that led to this moment. Instead, he feels numb.

He’s not sure how much time passes before the door swings open and Hongjoong walks in, a grin on his face. “Hwa! Both the general and I got the invite to your father’s dinner party tonight. You won’t believe what she told me—” He stops short when he notices Seonghwa’s current state. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. How was your meeting?” Seonghwa manages to muster up a weak smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. By the look on Hongjoong’s face, it’s not, but he doesn’t press for more information.

“It was good,” Hongjoong answers after a moment, his smile slowly returning as he begins to fill Seonghwa in on the meeting. He babbles on and on about all the different benefits he will be able to take advantage of, unaware of the bitter taste filling Seonghwa’s mouth.

Seonghwa listens, nodding at the right moments, but he finds it hard to fully focus. He should be focused on his friend, celebrating with him. Instead, all he can think of are his father’s words. “Use him.”

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong’s voice breaks through Seonghwa’s daze. “What’s going on?”

Seonghwa’s gaze snaps back to him, seeing the concern written all over his face. He attempts a smile again but it feels more like a grimace. “I’m okay, really. Just… there’s a lot on my mind.”

Hongjoong moves closer, shrugging off his overcoat and draping it over a desk chair before taking a seat next to Seonghwa on the bed. Their knees brush and Seonghwa jolts, pulling his leg away slowly enough for it not to be noticeable. As much as he wants the comfort he knows Hongjoong can provide, he can’t allow himself to indulge. Not now.

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” Hongjoong says, voice gentle. “Yeah, we compete, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be there for each other. We’re in this together.”

“I know, Joong,” Seonghwa replies, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s complicated, that’s all.”

Hongjoong stays quiet for a moment as if searching for the right words to say. “My mom always used to say that sometimes it’s the most complicated things that help us grow. They force us to confront parts of ourselves we aren’t comfortable with.”

Seonghwa feels a lump forming in his throat, his eyes shining with unshed tears. How can he explain that the uncomfortable thing he’s confronting is not a singular part of himself, but who he is at his core? That it takes into question his very values of duty, family, and loyalty? He can’t.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmurs, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Then, getting up, he heads over to the wardrobe in the corner of their room, pulling a bottle of some top shelf liquor out from behind a loose panel. They aren’t usually allowed to keep alcohol on site, but that hasn’t stopped most cadets. “How about a drink? We should celebrate.”

Uncorking the bottle, he pours two generous servings into crystal glasses and offers one to Hongjoong. Hongjoong hesitates, his gaze switching from the glass to Seonghwa and back again, but then he reaches out and takes the drink.

“To us?” Hongjoong raises his glass.

“To us,” Seonghwa echoes. He downs his drink in one go, the burn of it helping distract from his thoughts. The alcohol slides down easily, too easily, and he pours himself another glass.

“Careful,” Hongjoong warns. “Don’t forget we have that dinner later.”

“I remember,” he retorts, a little sharper than he meant to. It was only for a split second, his tone barely changed, but it’s enough for Hongjoong to pick up on it. He picks up on everything. Hurt flashes across his features and Seonghwa immediately backtracks, adding, “Maybe I just need a little liquid courage.”

“Liquid courage, huh?” Hongjoong sighs before downing his glass as well. “Just don’t get too drunk or you’ll leave me to face your father all alone.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

The opulence of the dinner party is overwhelming. Seonghwa expected it, of course, but still. Instead of being held in the Nexus Chambers like most work-related events, his father decided to host it in their manor which has been adorned with gold and crystal as far as the eye can see. Velvet chairs and couches have been set up to form intimate conversation circles while the occasional serving automaton weaves its way through guests to offer champagne and hors d’oeuvres. There’s even an auto-orchestra in the grand hall despite Seonghwa’s continuous complaints that their music is nothing compared to that of the street performers he heard during his mandatory field trip to the Outer Sector a few years ago.

He finds himself following from a distance as his father leads Hongjoong around the room, introducing him as the newest addition in the running for the title of the Symposium’s best and brightest. Everything he says is perfectly polished, enough to praise Hongjoong while simultaneously reminding everyone of his own affluence. Seonghwa can see Hongjoong’s discomfort, the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the polite, robotic nodding as he is passed from conversation to conversation. As a friend, he should intervene. As a jealous son, however…

He refills his glass.

At one point, Hongjoong walks over to him, a drink in each hand. He seems to hesitate for a moment before extending one to Seonghwa. “I just bumped into Wooyoung and his friend, Yeosang," he says, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

"You did?"

"They were with some new girl Woo has taken under his wing. I didn't catch her name, but apparently, she's the sister of the new Watch Master."

"Oh, them," Seonghwa sighs. "Watch Master Luxe, right? My dad won't stop berating my brother because of that whole situation."

Hongjoong takes a sip of his drink before answering. "Yeah, I know he still hasn't gotten over Junghwa losing the commendation to him."

"Let's not talk about it. But is that what you have in store? Watch Master Kim?"

"Shut up, Park."

That’s the only time Seonghwa gets to talk to Hongjoong before his father comes back into the picture, whisking him away. After that, Seonghwa’s descent into total, blackout levels of intoxication is swift, the drinking he did earlier in the night definitely not helping. His mind is fuzzy around the edges, making it hard to process what he’s doing or saying. He becomes a blur of motion, stumbling from one group of attendees to another, slurring his words and laughing at jokes that aren’t even funny.

The dinner bell rings and with unsteady legs, Seonghwa makes his way into the dining room. The table is long enough to fit 50 people on each side and is covered with more food than anybody could possibly eat. Guests begin to settle into their seats and he goes to join them, only to find that Hongjoong has taken his usual spot to the right of his father.

For a moment, Seonghwa stands frozen, the room spinning around him. That spot is typically the seat of honor, the seat reserved for whomever the patriarch of the family deems most worthy. First it belonged to his brother, and then it belonged to him. Now, it seems, it belongs to Hongjoong.

“Oh, Hwa,” Hongjoong begins to stand, sensing his distress. “Is this your seat? I’m sorry, Speaker Park said—”

“Hongjoong, please, I told you to call me Soohyuk,” Seonghwa’s father interrupts. “And you’re the guest of honor tonight, so you should sit at my right hand next to General Nightingale. Seonghwa can sit next to his older brother at my left. That’s alright with you, isn’t it Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa’s vision blurs momentarily as heat floods to his face. He tries to form words, but can’t seem to make a sound. It is as if his breath is trapped in his throat. The longer the silence stretches on, the harsher his father’s glare becomes.

“Seonghwa,” he repeats. It isn’t a request—it’s a command.

“Of course,” Seonghwa finally manages. “It’s fine.”

He slumps into the seat next to Junghwa, who claps him on the shoulder and whispers, “Guess neither of us are the favorite son anymore, huh?”

“Not funny, hyung.”

Junghwa scoffs, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I’m not trying to be funny. This is what happens—displease father enough times and you are easily replaced. Get used to it. I have.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply, instead reaching for the glass of wine that is being served with dinner. His hand shakes a little as he does so, enough for his brother to notice. Junghwa raises an eyebrow at him but mercifully stays silent.

After piling some food onto his plate, Seonghwa can do little more than pick at it, the appeal completely lost on him. His tongue feels numb in his mouth and all he can taste is the bitterness of the wine. He watches his father converse excitedly with Hongjoong, his eyes shining in a way they never do when looking at him.

“Seonghwa, how have you been, dear?”

Seonghwa startles, so lost in his own thoughts that he almost forgot he would be expected to entertain guests. He looks up to see Hongjoong’s mother, Speaker Kim Sunhee, smiling at him from across the table. Even if the dinner wasn’t being held in honor of her son, she is still apart of the same council as his father and would have been in attendance anyway, yet he failed to consider she might try to engage him in conversation. She’s a pleasant woman, and at any other time, he would have been happy to talk to her, but tonight, he can barely hold himself together.

“I… I’ve been well, thank you.” He hopes he isn’t slurring his words too much. “And you, Speaker Kim?”

“Well, I’m thrilled! After all, my son has received such a prestigious award—I couldn’t be more proud.”

Seonghwa nods, plastering a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you are. No one deserves it more than him.”

“Thank you for saying that. You’re very kind.” Her voice is soft with the kind of appreciation only a mother can have. Seonghwa can’t help but feel a twinge of envy; would his own mother have been as proud? “But I have to say, you’re a big reason my son is where he is today. You’ve been such a good friend to him, Seonghwa. He speaks very highly of you.”

The praise sneaks past his defenses, warming him from the inside out. For what may be the first time that night, he smiles genuinely. “I’m really happy to hear that. Hongjoong… he means a lot to me.”

His gaze involuntarily drifts to where Hongjoong is seated, his attention still occupied by Soohyuk. The light casts a warm glow on his profile, softening his features. For a moment, Seonghwa is captivated by the sight before the weight of his father’s order pulls him back to reality, and the guilt returns in full force.

“I can tell,” Sunhee says.

Before he can reply, his father stands, tapping his fork on his glass. “Everyone, can I have your attention please?” Once he’s sure that all eyes are on him, he continues, “As you all know, we are here tonight to celebrate the recipient of the Nightingale Commendation, Kim Hongjoong. I decided to host as he is a cherished friend of my son, Seonghwa.”

His father makes eye contact with him and smiles—that sick, twisted, vindictive smile. Seonghwa’s stomach sinks with dread.

“Before we continue, I feel it is only appropriate that he make a toast to celebrate his future squad mate’s accomplishment.”

The room falls silent, the air heavy with expectation. Seonghwa should have expected this, why didn’t he expect this?

“No pressure,” Junghwa says, a twisted sense of amusement in his voice.

Seonghwa glares at him before rising to his feet, swaying in place. He steels himself by gripping the edge of the table. His heart is pounding in his ears, his skin prickles with sweat, and the room seems to be closing in around him. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady both his hands and his voice as he raises his near-empty glass.

“To Hongjoong,” he begins. “To a friendship… a friendship that has meant so much to us both. And to… to a future that…”

His voice trails off, his words failing him. How is he supposed to toast to a friend he might betray, to a future that is so uncertain? He can’t, he can’t do this. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass and suddenly, it cracks, shards digging into his hand.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong gasps, shooting up from his seat. It almost seems as if he’s about to rush to his side, but Soohyuk stops him in his tracks. Hongjoong’s eyes narrow, but he obeys.

“Stay where you are, Hongjoong. Everyone, please excuse my son’s poor manners; it appears he has had too much to drink.” His father addresses the crowd rather than him. “Seonghwa, apologize and then go get yourself tended to.”

Seonghwa swallows hard, the taste of bile stinging the back of his throat. He barely notices the blood dripping down his fingers, staining the tablecloth red and pooling around shards of glass.

“I… I’m… I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I’m so very sorry.”

He bows his head before quickly turning and bolting out of the room, his vision blurring with tears. He barely makes it to the grand staircase before tripping over his own feet. His knees hit the ground with an audible thud, and he grabs the banister to keep from going down completely. He’s too far gone, too drunk and too devastated to get back up. His grip slackens and he lets himself slide down onto the bottom step, ignoring the bloody handprint he leaves behind.

Nausea roils his stomach, and that, combined with the hot tears streaming down his face, makes him want to retch. He places his head between his knees and takes some deep breaths. He vaguely registers that he should be worried about keeping up appearances in case a guest walks by, but it’s hard to give a damn about that when he feels like his world has turned upside down.

An automaton servant walks over and comes to a stop in front of him. Its glowing, mechanical eyes don’t show a hint of concern, but it wordlessly offers him a clean, white cloth. With shaking hands, Seonghwa takes it and wraps it around the wound. The fabric quickly darkens with his blood, but it staunches the flow enough for him to gather his composure.

He drags himself upright, leaning heavily against the banister. He hauls himself up the staircase, one agonizing step at a time. He isn’t particularly fond of the idea of staying in his childhood room, but going back to base and having to face Hongjoong might be even worse.

He stumbles into his room, the door creaking as it opens. Seonghwa sobers a bit as he’s hit with a wave of nostalgia, the unchanged interior reminding him of his youth from before he was a soldier. Moonlight peers in through the window, bathing his old desk in a soft, silver light. It reminds him of quieter, simpler times, hours spent studying in his room, playing with building blocks and paper dolls.

He takes a seat in his desk chair, and his eyes drift to the portrait of his mother hung above the fireplace. He barely remembers her face outside of what it looks like in the painting; she smiles down at him with a warmth he can no longer feel. Sighing, he takes a first aid kit out of one of the drawers and begins the familiar routine of treating his wound, years of muscle memory kicking in. He peels away the blood-soaked cloth, grimacing at the sight of the jagged shards of glass still embedded in his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he starts to extract each piece, ignoring the stinging pain that shoots up his entire arm. He sterilizes the wound with a stinging splash of alcohol and then hastily wraps it with a clean bandage.

Once he finishes, Seonghwa collapses onto his bed, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He doesn’t know how much time passes before he is brought back from the edge of sleep by a gentle knock on his door.

“Go away,” he croaks, his voice barely audible as he speaks into his bedsheets.

The knock sounds again, more insistent this time. Seonghwa immediately tenses. Is it his father, coming to berate him further?

“Seonghwa,” a voice murmurs from the other side, the timbre so soft, so hesitant. It isn’t his father—it’s Hongjoong. A rush of anxiety and embarrassment shoots through Seonghwa at the thought of facing him, so he buries his face in his pillow and pretends he doesn’t hear.

The knocking persists until it becomes too much of a nuisance to ignore. “I’m trying to sleep, Joong.”

There’s a pause before Hongjoong responds. “I know. I just wanted to check on you. Can you open the door?”

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The knocking stops and, for a moment, Seonghwa thinks that Hongjoong really walked away. But then he begins to speak again.

“Okay. We don’t have to talk. But listen to me, alright? What happened tonight… I’m not upset, and I don’t blame you. What your father did to you, putting you on the spot like that, it wasn’t right. Especially with you being as drunk as you were. I…” His voice hitches and Seonghwa can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he struggles with what he wants to say. “I should have stopped you from drinking that much. I knew something was bothering you, but I didn’t press you on it. That’s on me. Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Seonghwa bites his lower lip to keep his cries from becoming audible; Hongjoong is kind, too kind, and he doesn’t deserve that kindness. Not now.

A moment of agonizing silence passes before Hongjoong says, “I’ll just leave you to rest then. Goodnight, Hwa. I… goodnight.”

Months pass with Seonghwa avoiding Hongjoong whenever he has the opportunity. Between spending most nights sleeping at home instead of their shared room and investing himself in his new duties, It’s surprisingly easy. Even though they’re part of the same squad, Hongjoong is always on elite missions, carrying out confidential orders, or out to dinner with other high-ranking officials. Rarely do they go out on missions together, and when they do, there’s little time for personal talk as General Nightingale usually accompanies them.

It’s not that Seonghwa doesn’t want to make things better with Hongjoong—he does, truly. But every time he thinks about facing him, about bringing up that night, his stomach lurches with fear. He’s not ready to confront the guilt that still gnaws at him endlessly, not ready to face the gentleness he knows he will find in Hongjoong’s eyes.

It doesn’t help that his father, after inevitably finding out about their falling out, has been pressuring him every chance he gets to fix things. Not out of love or care, but because of the prestige Hongjoong now holds as a commendation winner and the connections he and his family have. If they do become close again, Seonghwa worries that, through him, Hongjoong will just become a pawn.

It’s a cold, winter evening when Seonghwa accidentally bumps into Hongjoong outside their quarters. He had just stopped in for a moment to grab a heavier coat, not expecting anyone to be there. Hongjoong is dressed from head to toe in his winter event uniform, the same striking red and black as usual but with synthetic fur lining the collar. He looks like one of the princes from the old-world storybooks Seonghwa’s nanny would secretly read to him when he was little.

“Hwa,” Hongjoong says, surprise evident in his voice.

“I was just leaving,” Seonghwa mutters, trying to move past him, but Hongjoong blocks his way.

“Please, don’t. We need to talk.”

Seonghwa worries his bottom lip, trapped between the desire to flee and the knowledge that Hongjoong is right and a conversation is long overdue; he’s been running for far too long. “Okay,” he agrees. “You’re right.”

Hongjoong walks into the room and Seonghwa follows. The space feels oddly unfamiliar to him now, even though it’s the place where they used to share countless meals and stay up late into the night talking. They sit down on their respective beds, the distance between them feeling far larger than it actually is.

“Hongjoong—”

“Seonghwa—”

They start to speak at the same time and immediately stop, cutting themselves off with awkward laughter. The tension eases, but only slightly. Hongjoong gestures for Seonghwa to begin first.

“I… I’ve been avoiding you,” he admits, his gaze fixed pointedly on the floor. “And I know that’s not fair. Especially not after the mess I caused at your celebration dinner. I—”

“Hwa, wait. You don’t have to apologize for what happened at the dinner. You were obviously hurting, and you needed someone. I should have been that someone for you. I’m sorry.” Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak but Hongjoong continues, “Wait. While I will apologize for that, and I don’t blame you for what happened that night, I am upset that you have been avoiding me. In fact, I’m livid. Since when do we not talk about our problems? I thought we were closer than this.”

The silence stretches on as Seonghwa struggles to form a reply. “You’re right,” he finally admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We… we are closer than this. I’ve just been so… God, I’ve missed you, Joong. I’m so sorry. For all of it.”

Hongjoong’s stern expression softens at that. “I’ve missed you too. More than I can say. Do you know how many nights I stayed out late, expecting to come home to one of your homemade dinners? Or to you nagging me about working myself too hard, or not cleaning up my side of the room? I didn’t realize how much I depended on you until you just disappeared. Maybe I should have appreciated you more, or—”

“No, no, you did more than enough for me. You are one of the only reasons I have made it this far, not just in the program, but in life. I mean, I was such a scared little boy before I met you, I—” Seonghwa takes a shuddering breath. “I still am. I was scared to death of what you would think of me after that night, scared of what my father might do, scared I would lose my position, lose you—”

Hongjoong jumps up from his bed, coming to sit next to Seonghwa so he can wrap him in a hug. “You won’t lose me. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says or does, you will never lose me. Promise.” His grip tightens as he says this, as if to emphasize the sincerity of his words.

Seonghwa feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he buries his face into Hongjoong’s shoulder, refusing to let them fall. He just allows himself to be held, to soak in the comfort. This feels familiar—safe, like home.

“I don’t want to run away anymore,” Seonghwa says.

“Good, because I can’t bear you running away again,” Hongjoong replies, his voice barely audible. “Move back in. Please.” Something about the way Hongjoong says this sounds like a confession.

“Okay, Joong. I will.”

They spend the rest of the night talking, laughing, making up for lost time. They agree that they won’t discuss their achievements, that they’ll put aside their differences, and just try to go back to the way things were. Time moves on, and slowly but surely, it seems to work. The following weeks are a whirlwind of vigorous training, missions, events, and more training, yet there is an underlying sense of peace and contentment that had been missing for so long.

Occasionally, Seonghwa still feels a tug of guilt, especially whenever his father decides to make some offhand comment. But when that does happen, all he has to do is look at Hongjoong and remember his promise. He won’t let anything get in the way of their friendship again.

One night, months after their reconciliation, Seonghwa walks into their quarters to find Hongjoong asleep at his desk, the dark circles under his eyes relaying his exhaustion. The sight is a familiar one; he remembers the countless times in the past when he found Hongjoong in a similar state. He quietly approaches him, taking in the numerous reports and other documents strewn about.

As gently as possibly, he picks Hongjoong up and carries him over to his bed, laying him down on top of his blankets. He softly brushes a stray lock of hair from Hongjoong’s forehead, smiling down at him as he sleeps. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, his body relaxing further into the comfort of the bed. Seonghwa contemplates waking him to eat, certain that he hasn’t, but decides against it. He seems like he needs sleep more than anything. Heading to his own bed, he crawls under the covers, ready to get some rest of his own.

Another year passes in a blur, with both Hongjoong and Seonghwa falling comfortably into their new roles. Hongjoong rises in rank, becoming a sergeant, while Seonghwa focuses on his own responsibilities, earning a solid reputation amongst their squad mates thanks to his meticulous eye for detail. Throughout it all, they try to carve out time to spend together when they can, refusing to let things get as bad as they were before.

One night, they’re out to dinner with Soohyuk, Sunhee, and General Nightingale to celebrate a recent win in which they managed to dismantle part of a criminal ring based in the Scrapyard. One of the leaders was captured and detained, thanks to the general’s brilliant plan and the Vanguard Elite’s flawless execution.

“Seonghwa?” His father holds up a bottle of wine, gesturing to Seonghwa’s empty glass.

Seonghwa clenches and unclenches his fist. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It’s a fine vintage.” The smirk on his lips suggests it’s more than a simple question.

Hongjoong clears his throat and turns to General Nightingale, smoothly redirecting the conversation. “So, General, can you tell me more about the new opportunity you mentioned earlier?”

Elowen stirs in her chair, eyes shifting around from person to person before settling on Seonghwa. He gets the subtle feeling that this is something he isn’t supposed to know about.

“We’re starting a new program at the beginning of next year,” she says. “The Affiliates Assembly has worked out so well that we want to open up more opportunities for those who already have a place in the Symposium and Inner Sector.”

“And what do you want with my son?” Sunhee asks, eyebrows furrowing. “I think he has plenty of opportunities open to him already.”

“Certainly he does. But, he’s one of our strongest soldiers and he could be an asset—”

Soohyuk clears his throat, putting a stop to the conversation. “I think it is best if you finish this conversation later.” He glances at Seonghwa. “Not everyone here is privy to this type of information, after all.”

Seonghwa feels a pang of irritation at his father’s needless remark. Hongjoong shoots him a sympathetic glance from across the table and opens his mouth as if to say something before deciding against it. The topic switches to that of the new flu that seems to be sweeping through the Outer Sector. Soohyuk reassures everyone that he has spoken with the Outer Sector representative and it is being contained—it shouldn’t spread to anyone inside the Ring.

Seonghwa forgets about the conversation entirely, having not wanted to focus on it for fear of his jealousy rearing its head. At least until a few weeks later, when Hongjoong bursts into their bed room, the door slamming shut behind him. Seonghwa nearly jumps out of his skin, dropping the book he was reading onto his bedsheets.

“Joong—” Seonghwa stops short, the words dying on his lips as he takes in the sight of the man before him.

Hongjoong’s chest is heaving with panicked breaths, his eyes wide with a fear unlike anything Seonghwa has ever seen before. His hands are clenched into fists, shaking at his sides. He doesn’t seem to even process the fact that he isn’t alone in the room, beginning to pace as he mutters frantically under his breath.

“Fuck, what the fuck… I can’t… the fucking lab… cogbrains, all of them…”

Seonghwa can’t make out everything he says, but it’s enough to send a chill down his spine. He gets up, approaching Hongjoong calmly, carefully.

“Easy, Joong,” he says. “It’s alright. Tell me what happened.” Hongjoong doesn’t seem to hear him, still muttering. “Hongjoong, hey!”

Seonghwa reaches out and grabs his arm with a firm grip, forcing him to still. His touch seems to jolt Hongjoong back into reality and he whirls around to face him,

“Hwa?” he whispers. His voice sounds so broken, so terrified, so unlike the friend Seonghwa has come to know and love. It’s heartbreaking.

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay,” Seonghwa murmurs, pulling the shorter man into his arms.

Hongjoong stiffens at first, but then his knees seem to buckle from underneath him as he collapses into the embrace. A strangled sob escapes him, muffled against the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt, the same shirt that he’s grasping onto so desperately.

“I’m not okay… It’s not… I can’t…”

“Shh, shh… I’ve got you.”

Seonghwa wraps his arms more tightly around Hongjoong’s trembling body, rocking him gently, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Even after he finally calms down, something about him is still so on-edge. He refuses to tell Seonghwa what he was upset about, no matter how much Seonghwa pries.

“Hongjoong, come on! Is it confidential? Does it have anything to do with what the general mentioned a few weeks ago? Why can’t you tell me?”

Hongjoong takes a shuddering breath. “I just can’t, Seonghwa. The situation is too complicated. I need to figure it out on my own.”

“What happened to our agreement to handle things together?”

“This isn’t… it’s not the same. I don’t want to bring you into this mess, it’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself just fine—you don’t have to protect me!”

Hongjoong just shakes his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looks like he wants to say more but instead gets up and storms toward the door.

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa calls after him, but it’s too late. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Seonghwa alone in the room.

In the following days, Hongjoong becomes a shell of his former self. He is silent and distant, avoiding everyone, especially Seonghwa. He disappears for hours on end, returning each time looking more drained than the last. Usually, around this time of year, he’d be talking about his upcoming birthday, pretending he doesn’t want anything while simultaneously dropping hints about the latest tech or some book he’s been eyeing.

Even without Hongjoong showing any indication of wanting to celebrate, Seonghwa is determined to do something to lift his spirits. He won’t let whatever secret Hongjoong is holding onto change their yearly tradition of celebrating together. So, he goes all out with the planning, and spends days scouring the Nexus shops for the perfect gift. He even debates heading to the pier to take a look at a different variety of items, but with the flu that has been plaguing the Outer Sector, that’s probably not the best idea.

He finds a leather-bound journal in an old-world antique shop, it’s pages yellowed by time but in perfect condition otherwise. Hongjoong loves to write, and he’s never owned anything quite like this. Seonghwa purchases it without a second thought, barely even glancing at the price. It’s perfect.

The morning of, Seonghwa comes back to their shared quarters at a time when he knows Hongjoong should be at training. His arms are full of decorations, and the journal is tucked safely away in a gift bag. He struggles with the door, having to balance everything on his hip in order to turn the handle, but when he finally manages to get it open, he freezes.

The room is empty.

Not empty as in Hongjoong just isn’t in there—empty as in every single trace of him is gone.

Seonghwa lets go of the decorations, dropping them to the floor with a resounding crash. Candles escape their packaging, rolling on the hardwood, disappearing under furniture. The journal lays abandoned next to a string of silver stars. He stares at the room in disbelief, taking in everything that’s missing. The usual clutter of papers on the desk—the clutter Seonghwa would always complain about—is gone. Hongjoong’s shoes aren’t haphazardly stashed in front of his wardrobe. His aurvox, his tablet, all of his devices are nowhere to be found.

He’s gone. Hongjoong is gone.

No, Seonghwa thinks. Maybe he went to another Sector on an urgent mission. Surely there’s a logical explanation as to why he would leave without saying anything. Seonghwa rushes out of the room, praying that General Nightingale will actually be in her office for once. The halls are eerily quiet as he sprints down them, and he can hear his own blood rushing in his ears.

Reaching the general’s office, he barely knocks, forgoing the usual protocol of waiting for her permission to enter. Elowen is seated at her desk, pouring over some files which she quickly closes upon his intrusion.

“Ah, there you are. I was hoping we would have a chance to talk.”

“Wait, before you say anything—do you know where Hongjoong is?”

She raises an eyebrow. “That is exactly what I was going to ask you.”

Seonghwa’s heart drops into his stomach, and his mouth goes dry. He has to wet his lips before asking, “But… but he was with you, wasn’t he? At training this morning?”

“No, he wasn’t,” she sighs and puts down her pen, rubbing her temples. “He never showed up for training today. In fact, he’s been MIA since yesterday.”

Seonghwa’s knees nearly buckle and he stumbles toward the nearest chair. He’s vaguely aware of Elowen saying something more, about how if Hongjoong isn’t found he’ll be marked AWOL, he’ll lose everything he has been working towards, so on and so forth. But he can’t focus on her words, not when he feels like his world is crumbling to pieces. Nothing he has ever felt, not losing the commendation, not what happened at the dinner, even comes close to comparing to the devastation he feels now.

One day turns into two, two into three, but Hongjoong never shows up. His family confirms that he has had no contact with them, and he is officially marked AWOL. Now, even if he does come back, he will never be able to return to the same life he had before.

Seonghwa’s initial shock turns into anger. How could he throw away everything he’s worked for? How could he abandon his responsibilities, his squad, his family… Seonghwa? How could he leave without so much as a goodbye? How could he break his promise? Each day, the betrayal and hypocrisy of it all festers, like a scab that refuses to heal.

To make things worse, the flu from the Outer Sector makes its way through the Ring, into the Inner Sector, the Symposium, and even the Nexus. It’s as if Hongjoong leaving started a chain reaction of unfortunate events. Soldiers are falling ill left and right, spending days or even weeks in the infirmary. The base seems to become quieter and quieter. At night, when Seonghwa lays in bed, alone in his room, it’s so silent that he feels suffocated.

One morning, one of his squad mates approaches him, a forlorn look on their face. “Hey, did you hear? Apparently Larkin is sick with whatever flu has been going around.”

Larkin is another member of the Elites, someone Seonghwa has grown quite close to over the past almost two years. The news is worrying—they still don’t know what’s causing the sickness, or what can cure it. Luckily, most people seem to recover with no lasting issues, but that isn’t much of a balm to his nerves. Maybe it’s because Hongjoong’s disappearance still feels so fresh, but the idea of anything happening to someone else he cares about makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

After he finishes up with his daily training routine, Seonghwa heads to the infirmary to pay Larkin a visit. It’s a cold, sterile place, the stark white of the walls and harsh lighting making everything seem so impersonal. The pungent smell of antiseptic fills the air, turning Seonghwa’s stomach. Trying to ignore it, he heads toward the reception desk, smiling at the woman working.

“Hi. I’m here to see a Mr. Ashwell?”

The nurse fiddles with the knob of her eyeglass, pupils moving rapidly as her eyes follow text only she can see. After a moment, she says, “Larkin Ashwell? I’m sorry, he’s in the restricted wing. No visitors allowed.”

“The restricted wing? Is this flu that contagious?”

She gives a non-committal shrug. “I’m just telling you what his file says, sir.”

“Oh… Well, thank you.”

He turns around as if to leave, but, when she looks away, he quickly slips down a side corridor. He can’t shake the nagging feeling that something weird is going on. If he leaves without seeing Larkin, he fears he’ll never get any answers.

He holds himself confidently, knowing that the key to deception is acting like you belong. He walks past all of the nurses and doctors with what he hopes is a determined look on his face. He nods at them, as if he is familiar with them, as if they should be familiar with him. Luckily, no one spares him a second glance, and he makes it all the way to the restricted wing with no issues. However, once he tries to open the door, an alarm blares.

“Shit,” he curses, glancing at the wall. He didn’t notice the ID reader.

Panicking, he backs away from the door, but it’s too late. Two guards turn the corner and spot him, looks of surprise crossing their faces; they’re both from his graduating class. He tries to explain what he’s doing there and, as sympathetic as they are, they can’t let him off the hook. He’s given a stern talking to from General Nightingale, as well as a warning that one more infraction on his record will terminate his status as a Vanguard Elite.

But the worst confrontation is, of course, the one with his father.

“Attempting to break into a restricted area? Must you continue to bring shame to this family? To me?”

“Dad—”

“Stop. If I hear about you doing one more thing—one more stupid, idiotic thing—the General will be the least of your worries. Do you understand?” His father’s voice is laced with pure venom and Seonghwa can’t help but flinch. “I said do you understand?”

Seonghwa bows his head, making himself seem as small as possible. “Yes, sir. I do.”

He should stop there. He should listen to the general’s warning, to his father’s. But whenever he tries to sleep, his thoughts go haywire. He remembers Hongjoong’s fear, the secret he was holding onto. He thinks about Larkin scared, alone, sick with some unknown disease. He can’t just do nothing.

And so he returns to the infirmary no more than a day later.

The same nurse is stationed at the desk and Seonghwa ducks around a corner, waiting for an opening. He’s learned his lesson—running into this blindly won’t get him anywhere. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually she leaves to go check on a patient. He hurries up to the desk, grabs a spare ID card, and throws it around his neck, heading back to the restricted wing.

This time, he's ready. He scans the ID and the door opens with a satisfying click. He slips inside before anyone can see him. The restricted wing is dimly lit and eerily silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of machines. He searches everywhere for Larkin, looking at every bed, ducking his head into every private room, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Eventually, a doctor walks up to him, a questioning look on their face. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

Seonghwa’s heart jolts but he tries to temper down his panic. Confidence is key. “I’m looking for Mr. Ashwell.”

They activate their eyeglass, and, after a moment, confusion crosses their features. “Hm, it doesn’t look like we have a patient here by that name.”

“What do you mean? I was just told that he was in the restricted wing.”

“I’m sorry, but there must be some sort of mistake. I can go talk to my supervisor and see if we can get this all cleared up for you.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. He shouldn’t press his luck any further. “No, no, don’t bother. It’s fine. Thank you for your help.”

Feeling defeated, he leaves the infirmary, dropping the ID card on the floor near the reception desk to make it look as if someone had just misplaced it. He feels a prickling sensation of unease as he walks out into the crisp night air. The base is nearly deserted at this hour, save for the on-duty guards standing watch and a few people prepping for early morning drills. He pulls his collar up against the bite of cold and heads back to his quarters.

It all seems too suspicious: Hongjoong is AWOL, Larkin is sick with some mystery flu yet missing from the infirmary… Something is going on. It can’t be a coincidence.

The next day offers no respite from Seonghwa’s worries. General Nightingale sends out an announcement to everyone’s aurvox—Larkin is dead. The news hits him hard, knocking the breath out of him. He can hardly make sense of it. The illness, as far as he’s aware, hadn’t killed anyone. Why now?

He can’t stand not having any answers, so he goes to the one person he knows who should. His father. Soohyuk’s position as a Speaker means he has access to information few others possess, or at least that’s what he always boasts. Normally, Seonghwa would avoid his father at all costs, and the idea of depending on him for any kind of help doesn’t sit well with him. But he can look past his father’s misgivings for something this important.

He finds his father nursing a glass of whiskey in his study, the amber liquid catching the light in a way that makes it seem to glow. Soohyuk raises an eyebrow at his entrance.

“Seonghwa. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Dad. I need answers. About this flu. About Hongjoong. You have to know something.”

Soohyuk looks at him thoughtfully as he takes another sip of his drink. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and Seonghwa fights the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“I know a lot of things,” he finally says. “But that doesn’t mean I can share all of them.”

“Someone is dead! If you know something, you should feel obligated to do something about it!”

“The world is full of death. There’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do about that.”

His father’s cold response sends a chill down his spine—Seonghwa can’t believe how callous he is. But he can also tell that he is trying to avoid something.

“There’s something more going on, isn’t there?” he asks.

Soohyuk puts down his glass, standing up and brushing invisible specks of dust off of his pants. “I think we’re done here.”

Something inside Seonghwa snaps. He walks up to his father, getting in his face. “Stop! Stop treating me like a useless child! I am a soldier, a member of the Vanguard Elite squad—tell me what you know!”

Soohyuk finally loses it, pure rage slipping past his mask of indifference. He grabs Seonghwa by the collar, slamming him against the wall and knocking the wind out of him. “Fine. You want answers? You’re right. There is something big happening. Something that I cannot tell you about. Maybe if you got the commendation instead of your friend, you’d be able to be a part of this.”

“I’m your son! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“You are not my son. A child of mine would never be so weak.”

With that, he lets Seonghwa go, leaving the room without sparing him so much as a second glance. Seonghwa falls to his knees, gasping for breath. His back throbs from where he hit the wall, and he’s certain that there will be a nasty bruise there come morning.

For a moment, just one moment, he considers letting it all go and falling back into the role of an obedient soldier and son. But after everything that has happened, he can’t. Determined, he returns to his room and starts to pack.

He waits for an opportunity, and it comes in the form of a mission in the Outer Sector. The job is a simple one, something about discontented citizens and potential rebellion. It’s the Vanguard’s job to make sure nothing goes awry. But that’s not what he’s there for. Not this time.

With the rest of his squad distracted with their orders, he slips away from the group, putting his stealth training to good use. He sticks to alleyways and small, unlit streets, moving farther toward the outside of the Sector. The buildings become more and more dilapidated, some even missing parts of their walls or roofs. He feels like he never truly realized just how stark of a difference there is between the comfortability he grew up in and the harsh reality of those not as lucky. But his eyes are open to it now.

There’s something wrong in the Symposium. Something wrong with everything he has ever known. And if he doesn’t try to get to the bottom of it, who will?

He takes some materials out of his pack and, after some careful manipulation, creates what he hopes is a realistic looking fight scene. Signs of a struggle, torn clothing, even his Nexus ID thrown haphazardly on the ground. All that’s missing…

Seonghwa cuts open his palm, letting out a hiss. He clenches and unclenches his fist, encouraging more blood flow. He smears it on the clothes, on the ground, until enough of him has been left behind to paint a convincing picture. He knows this is it. There’s no going back from this, not after what he’s just done. Not that he wants to. He feels oddly free, despite the pain throbbing in his hand and the uncertainty of his future.

Bandaging the cut, he starts moving again. He knows there’s one place he can go where no one would ever think to look for him. The Scrapyard. A place for all of the Symposium and Inner Sector’s trash, broken technology and rusted metal. He thinks most of the upper class has forgotten that it even exists. He knows he has to be careful there, since it is a place home to scavengers and outlaws—people hardened by years of living in the underbelly of society. But he also knows it is a place where it is easy to disappear, to start anew.

Pulling his hood up over his face, he steps past the threshold, a small entrance hidden by piles of discarded machinery and rubble. As he moves deeper inside, scrap turns into ramshackle buildings. Surprisingly, it’s not nearly as dismal as he imagined. There's a strange charm to the place, with twinkling string lights hung between stacks of old cargo containers, casting everything in a warm glow. He stumbles upon an open area where a market bustles with activity, despite the late. Even some children run by, chasing a dilapidated automaton that zips through the dust.

As he ventures further, he finds himself at a makeshift bar, crafted from old metal panels and street signs. The bartender is a burly man with a wild mane of hair and a scar over his left eye.

"You’re new here,” he observes, wiping down a cracked glass. "Name's Brio. What can I get ya?”

“How about a place to stay?”

He gives a hearty laugh and looks Seonghwa up and down. "Ain't much for lodgin' here, pal. The 'yard ain't exactly a popular vacation spot. But there's always someplace to squeeze in if you ain't picky.”

“I’m not picky.”

“I find that pretty hard to believe, lookin’ at ya. You seem like the Inner Sector type.” Brio squints at him. "On the run from something or someone, are we?"

“I just need a place to lay low for awhile, that’s all.” Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

Brio grins at him, showcasing his missing front teeth. “Not at all, kid. Welcome to the Scrapyard.”

Somewhere, a stolen letter sits in a locked drawer.

To: Hwa

[amalgamateofficial]

Hello! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you had any tips on how to write kaito and kokichis charecters? I've decided to write a fanfic of them and I decided why not learn from the best, haha. If you see this and answer it, thank you so much! :]

OMG I'm so sorry I didn't see this sooner! You asked this question like two weeks ago and somehow the notification got buried on mobile and it wasn't until looking at Tumblr on desktop that I spotted it. I check my Tumblr notifications every day so I'm mortified that I didn't see your question sooner T-T

But congrats on the new fic!! Writing Kaito and Kokichi can be pretty daunting, so I commend anyone who takes on the challenge :) I used to think Kokichi's the most intimidating character to write, but when I started Amalgamate, I realized writing Kaito felt equally terrifying, just in a different way.

The thing is, Kaito and Kokichi are both, well... liars (and I say that with love), so how you write the two of them can be affected a lot by whose POV you're using. The fic you're working on, it's Blood, Sweat, and Tears, right? Which is from Kaito's POV? I find that when writing from Kaito's perspective, it's fun to sprinkle in moments of self-awareness, and to do so in a way that's similar to the lens Kokichi might view him through. Kaito sees himself as a hero who always does the right thing, but Kokichi sees him as someone more self-serving and cowardly. However, when it comes to Kaito and Kokichi, the truth tends to lie somewhere in the middle between them. Kaito having moments of self-awareness -- that he might sometimes have self-serving ulterior motives, and that he might not always do the right thing -- helps Kaito grow. However, I think it's good for Kaito to also push back against Kokichi's views because they can be far too extreme in the other direction. Kaito might recognize that some of his personal traits have more negative qualities than he wants to admit, but at the end of the day, he is a good person. There's nothing wrong with Kaito noting his own hypocrisy while still standing up for himself as a whole.

And I think that works in the other direction too. If Kaito doesn't like being made to feel like a bad person, the same can apply to Kokichi. Kaito sees Kokichi as a troublemaker and even a villain depending on the situation, but the truth still lies somewhere in the middle. Letting Kokichi's humanity show through on occasion can help Kaito realize his own hypocrisy. Sure, Kokichi can be selfish, and maybe his actions sometimes seem cowardly, but so long as Kaito remembers Kokichi's a human being like himself, he can apply his own personal growth to the lens through which he views Kokichi. Maybe Kokichi's got some negative qualities, but it doesn't necessarily make him a wholly bad person, and just like Kaito, Kokichi has the right to stand up for himself.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that no matter how cliché it sounds, Kaito and Kokichi really are two sides of the same coin, and when one of them learns about their own self, they invariably learn about the other person too.

I have no idea if any of that was useful because I just realized I'm rambling lmao. But I hope there was something of value in there;;; But in the meantime, good luck with your fic!! Writing Kaito and Kokichi is so much fun, so I hope you have a great time with it ^^

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Cater Thoughts

Cater Diamond x Reader

Maybe it’s just the stuff that I come across, but a lot of Cater fics focus on his character flaws and personal issues. Which is great, and often a good read! But I was thinking about Cater who is doing the healing instead of being the one who is healed.

Let’s say you just came out of a relationship that wasn’t working for you. Your ex wasn’t a bad person. But none of his interests aligned with yours. Furthermore, while you put an ocean’s worth of effort into learning about his interests, his efforts were more like a single drop of water. When you started talking about something you liked, he often brushed it off and changed the topic to something that suited him. It was such a common occurrence that you kept quiet and let it happen.

Ironically, one day during your relationship, he asked you about your hobbies. Instead of feeling happy, your first thought was: “What’s the point of telling him?”

A few months after your breakup, you meet Cater Diamond. He’s fun, sweet, and as much as he likes to talk, he also listens. You don’t realize it at first. You continue on with your habits from your previous relationship—always nodding along to his hobbies, interests, problems, gossip, and whatever else he feels like saying. Everything goes smoothly. Cater never runs out of things to say. The conversation is always lively and you’re enjoying yourself.

One evening, the two of you lay beneath a tapestry of stars in the night sky while Cater points out various constellations. There’s a lull in the conversation while he snaps a picture of the dazzling display. Just as you’re about to ask him to elaborate on something, he asks you a simple question.

“Am I talking too much?”

You blink up at the stars. They blink back at you.

“No,” you say, somewhat confused. “I like hearing you talk. It’s fun.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He laughs and sets his camera on the grass, laying beside you. “I was worried that I was boring you. You don’t really say much about what you like, so I thought maybe you aren’t that into me.”

That wasn’t the impression you were trying to give at all. You roll to your side, facing him, and frantically try to assure him of your attraction.

“No, that’s not it! I just . . . I’m not sure if you’d be interested in the things I like.”

“Well, we can’t be sure until you tell me, right?” He reaches over and gently touches your cheek. Beneath this blanket of pinprick diamonds in the sky, Cater Diamond is the most dazzling in your eyes as he utters the words you wanted to hear this whole time. “Tell me anything you want. Cay-Cay’s listening.”

You’d think that it would all gush out like you opened invisible floodgates, but that’s far from what happens. You have absolutely no idea how to start. What do you say? You’re drawing a blank, and he can tell.

“How about listing a bunch of your favourite things?”

You try that. Luckily, Cater is an excellent conversationalist, and you end up saying a lot more than you thought you could. His reactions vary from subject to subject. For some, he’s just as passionate and knowledgeable as you. For others, he’s never even heard of them. But he’s more than happy to listen and learn.

After your stargazing date, he often sends you posts on Magicam related to what you said. You’re surprised he even remembers. The act of remembrance indicates importance, prioritization. The fact that he remembers what you like makes you feel loved. Like you’re important to him. It’s a non-verbal confirmation of your mutual affection, and you’re more determined than ever to show that affection to him ten-fold in return.

[fastandfictionalmen]

Is it casual now? (Fabio Quartararo fic)

Word count: 2.3k Fandom / characters / setting: motogp , Fabio Quartararo , Y/N Request: yes (private request. Theme: “Is it casual now” & a car smut scene) Pairing: Fabio Quartararo x Y/N Rating: Mature Genre / trope: smut, one shot Description: Fabio and Y/N define their relationship after having a steamy episode in the car.

We were on a drive back to Barcelona from Montmelo. Was I supposed to stop here? No. I barely knew where we even were, I knew what Google Maps was telling me on the phone and when I pulled over, I decided that this decision will just have to be one of the “say a prayer and hope for the best” ones. And I was most definitely not a “say a prayer and hope for the best” girl. I was a planning girl. A girl who didn’t do wild things. A girl who had schedules and timelines and checklists. But ever since first meeting Fabio, I had been dipping my toe into this other end of the spectrum. And that’s how I found myself here - turning the key and switching off the headlights of the car on a side road in a forest in pitch-black while my boyfriend…well, not boyfriend…situationship…lover ...we never defined it…had his hand in my panties. Me from a year ago would not recognise me now.

Fabio was charged after the test session today and also a bit tired, which is why I was behind the wheel of the rented BMW. In hindsight, maybe the wrong choice—because he got handsy as soon as we sat in the car. At first, I told myself—and him—to calm down. His hand on my thigh as I left the parking lot seemed innocent enough. Flirty, but nothing too much. But by the time we reached the first roundabout, his hand started drifting into X-rated territory. We were passing through the streets of Montmelo, with Google telling me to take a right turn in 200 meters, when his hand slipped beneath my skirt. He didn’t say a thing, just smirked as his fingers hooked into my panties, making me twitch.

“Fabio, god, please. I need to focus if we don’t want to cause an accident. We’ll be in the hotel soon, and then we can have fun,” I said playfully. His excitement and charged energy in the passenger seat was infectious.

“I know,” he replied, smiling, “but I want to do this now.” He emphasized his words by pulling on my panties hard.

“Fabio! I swear, if you continue this, I’ll run us off the road…and then we’ll never get back to the hotel.”

He laughed at my obvious mix of exasperation and playfulness. “Well then, I guess you focus on the road and let me focus on you.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes—it’s hard to focus on anything when your hands are all over me.”

“Oh really? So you can only think of me now, huh?” His grin widened as his fingers moved more beneath my skirt. “How about now?”

I gasped as he found the sensitive spot he knew all too well. “Fabio,” I managed to breathe out, “someone could see us.”

We stopped at a red light, and I turned to him. His face was a mix of excitement and desire, and he was sporting a huge grin. He knew exactly what he was doing to me and he was far from done.

“How about you find us a side road?” he suggested with a smirk.

“I barely know where we are. I’m not sure how to…” I started, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. I’d never seen this side of him before—so playful, so touchy. This was new, but it was doing something to me. We hadn’t been seeing each other for long, and it had always been casual, fun, and hot. But tonight, he was hotter for me than ever, and it was intoxicating. 

“And what if someone sees us? …Sees you? It’s not like we’re somewhere where no one’s heard of racing,” I countered, my cautious mind in overdrive.

“They won't. Just drive towards the forest there—we’ll find something. And remember—focus on driving,” he finished with a smirk, his fingers continuing their teasing as the light turned green.

Thank god no one was behind us. I stepped on the gas, making the fun decision for once. I turned towards the forest, finding a random road that seemed to lead deeper into the darkness. Fabio didn’t stop, whispering provocative things in my ear as his fingers explored. I hit the brakes harder than necessary, barely turning off the car before he slipped a finger inside me.

“Fabio, oh god…”

“See? It wasn’t that hard,” he grinned.

“What are you doing to me? Are we really about to do this?”

“Oh, we’re definitely about to do something,” he teased back.

“Fuck it,” I laughed. “I brought us here, so might as well. But I swear, Fabio, if someone sees us, after I die from embarrassment, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

“They won’t,” he said slowly, “and besides…you’ll be quick.”

“Me, huh?” My voice was barely a breath as his fingers continued moving between my legs.

“Oh yes,” he replied, his tone low and deliberate, “you.”

He shifted, unclipping my seatbelt. His own was already off as he motioned for me to come over to his lap in the passenger seat. He had already pushed his seat back and he grabbed my waist, helping me straddle him and move over the center console.

I looked directly into his eyes and burst out laughing. “Fabio…I’ve never done this. I have no clue…and we don’t have condoms.” The rational part of my brain was in overdrive and I couldn't escape the comedy of the situation: my rational half battling it out with me being so attracted to the man below me currently that I was throwing caution to the wind.

“Always the worrier,” he chuckled, “we won’t need them. Not yet. Don’t worry—have some fun. You’re tense, and I want to see you let go.” He smiled at me before kissing me.

I loved kissing him. He always started sweet, slow, his mouth firm and then adding intensity. His hands were low on my back, roaming upwards to my bra and below it. I could feel him in his joggers getting hard underneath me and I started slowly grinding on him while my hands were tangled in his hair.

He pulled out a hand from my shirt and grabbed my ponytail and pulled lightly so my head was tilted back breaking our kiss.

“Not so fast, miss. I want to focus on you now.”

He kissed down my neck, his lips hot and wet against my skin. “I want to see you cum,” he whispered into my ear before kissing me again. “I want to watch you let go.” His words sent a shiver down my spine, his fingers working their magic. It was the hottest thing I had ever heard a man say to me. He knew how to push my buttons and he knew how to push them right.

I started moving on him again, desperate for more, when he bunched up my skirt to my waist. Just touching him wasn’t enough. Feeling him hard against me through his joggers did something to me.

“Oh no…what did I tell you?” He playfully bit my collarbone. “Don’t tease me. I want to see you first.”

“Fabio, please…stop teasing with words and show me some actions,” I teased back. All thoughts of where we were—some random road in a dark forest—had faded into the background. All I could focus on was him beneath me.

“You want actions? Oh, I’ll give you actions,” he joked, his hand slipping into my panties for the second time tonight. He didn’t waste time, his fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I gasped, my breath catching.

His kisses grew more intense, as he matched the rhythm of his fingers with my movements. I could barely get out his name between breaths, lost in the sensations he was creating. His finger slipped inside me, and I gasped hard.

“Fabio…oh…don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t gonna. Don’t worry. Now, I want you to let go. Come on…let go,” he urged. He kept up the rhythm, his fingers driving me to the edge. My hands roamed his torso, desperate to feel more of him.

It was too much. I leaned back, my hands gripping his knees for support, and looked at him. He was perfect—his smile, the twinkle in his eyes, promising so much. He knew exactly what he was doing to me, and he wasn’t stopping. His hands picked up speed, pushing me over the edge.

“Fabio…don’t stop. I’m so close, please…don’t stop,” I begged, my voice a whisper.

“Yes…come for me,” he murmured, his words a final push. “I want to see you come. I’ve been thinking about it all day, every time I saw you so tense, so focused on work. I just wanted to see you like this…to see you lose control.”

Fabio continued talking, but I could barely comprehend everything. His fingers, his hand, my movements alongside them, the feeling was getting too much and I was about to come. “Fabio I’m - “, and in that moment he suddenly sped up his fingers a bit more and it threw me off the edge without being able to finish my sentence.

The sensation crashed over me. I kissed him hard, barely breathing, lost in the moment.

“Oh, Fabio…that was…” I had no words.

“I know,” he smiled against my lips, kissing me again. He slowly removed his hand and hugged me close. I breathed in his scent. A crisp shower gel which I didn’t recognise and…just him. I was still slightly trembling, trying to catch my breath, and leaning my whole body on him, while his hands continued to run over my back in slow circles.

“That was…,” I moved to look him in his eyes.

“I know I know,” he smiled against my lips again.

“You’re stunning. That was so hot…all I could think about the entire day was seeing you like this, falling apart on me…because of me.”

I started to move, feeling him rock hard beneath me. “Fabio…how about we switch—now it’s your turn. I should only be fair and pay this back,” I joked, my hands wandering down his perfect abs. I wanted to taste him, to see him come undone because of me.

“Oh no, not now. I can wait. I wanted to see you like this…but me? You can pay it back in the hotel.” His smirk told me he was definitely up for a fun night, despite the long day. “And besides, you said it—we don’t have a condom, and I’m not sure I could contain myself after this,” he added quietly, his voice a bit rough. He looked into my eyes, and I saw a mix of pleasure, want and that typical Fabio twinkle I got so used to recently..

“So come on,” he lightly slapped my ass, “get to it, chauffeur. We still have a 20-minute drive out of this forest.”

“Funny. You know chauffeurs don’t really give you these benefits with their jobs, so I’d change that if you want a happy ending tonight.”

“Nah.” He laughed, helping me back into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get us untangled, my chauffeur with benefits.”

He adjusted himself in the passenger seat, clearly trying to get comfortable despite the obvious strain in his joggers. I tried to smooth out my skirt and buckle myself in.

“Hands above the belt for the ride back now—got it?” I warned him with mock seriousness.

“I would never do anything else. I’m all about safety. I’m a good boy,” he replied, holding his hands up innocently.

“You don’t fool me, Diablo,” I shot back, turning the car on. The windows were fogged up so I rolled them down quickly and blasted the AC to clear them up. We started slowly back down the road and back to Barcelona again.

“Oh, and one more thing…” I said, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. “I never said anything about my hands.”

I reached over and placed my hand on his crotch, I could feel him tense a bit under my hand and his abs shook as he let out a laugh..

“You’re gonna be the death of me. Remind me to never let you go.”

“Really? Never letting me go?” I teased, squeezing him lightly.

“I would be an idiot to do anything to fuck this up.”

“Oh…so we’re a ‘this’ now?” I teased again. “I thought we were just casual.” We initially started this all off very casual and we were having too much fun to put a label on it. I wanted to stay private, and our schedules were messy so we agreed on meet-ups on the down low when we had time, with no big expectations. I was fine with that. I enjoyed my time with him but also enjoyed not stressing it. We would slide into each other's DMs on Instagram when we were traveling and we’d meet up. Sometimes a date. Sometimes a hookup up. Usually both. Keeping it casual was keeping the pressure off from both of us. Like today. I was for the week in Barcelona on a short work abroad vacation to catch a bit of sun when he messaged me that he had a test going on close by and asked if I was down to meet up. So I drove up there, did some work from the motorhome and watched the test session with the unsaid agreement that we would definitely be spending the night together. I had an overnight bag in the trunk of my car ready in case it would be his hotel and not mine.

“Oh, we’re still casual, huh?” he said, smiling, but leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

“I just had you come on me in the passenger seat of a rented car in a Spanish forest, and you’re saying we’re casual?” he chuckled. “Damn, woman, you’re a tough one.”

“I mean…when you put it that way,” I conceded, laughing. He had a point. This was far from casual. I had always been a monogamous girl, not one to sleep with someone I didn’t care about or wasn't serious about. The casual was there to not stress about separation, living arrangements, meeting the family etc. Our physical aspect was way more than casual to me. I made an exception because of circumstances rather than not wanting to be more serious. but as I sat there, hand in his lap, the lines definitely felt more blurred now.

“Oh, we’re so not casual anymore,” he said lightly after another moment of my silence.

“I am deleting that from being associated with us. No ‘casual’ anymore. Only firm. Serious,” he continued, playful but there was an undercurrent of sincerity.

“I can definitely feel that,” I joked, giving him another squeeze. His breath hitched, and I could see him trying to adjust himself again.

“Yep—sooooo not casual.” He paused. “I might have to ask our hotel if they have a chapel when we get there if you keep this up,” he joked, making me burst into laughter.

This is getting serious, I thought to myself as I was driving, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. I was falling for this man on the passenger seat. And this casual thing was not something we should be discussing now but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel warm and giddy from him initiating this line of conversation. I was so down bad. And it was so not casual for me anymore either.

I was falling for him, and this casual thing we’d agreed on was becoming something more—whether we admitted it or not.

“Yep. So not casual anymore, Fabio,” I finally said, breaking the silence.

“I love the sound of that,” he replied, taking the hand I had on him, intertwining our fingers, and kissing the back of my hand. My hand stayed in his for the rest of the ride.

He was right. So not casual anymore.