#please do read through its entirety

[noodlepai]

My bf for almost 3 years has been accused of being a gr00mer, p3d0, scammer, basically everything under the sun, and lately it's gotten so bad that he is now worried about his real life safety as people have went as far as to publicly state where'd he be going irl

this document goes into depth on everything, it is a long one, but it is very important as this has still not stopped, and with the guidance and encouragement of my therapist, I will be looking into any sort of government resources for his safety.

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

so: masking: good, unequivocally. please mask and please educate others on why they should mask to make the world safer for immune compromised people to participate in.

however: masking is not my policy focus and it shouldn't be yours, either. masking is a very good mitigation against droplet-born illnesses and a slightly less effective (but still very good) mitigation against airborne illnesses, but its place in the pyramid of mitigation demands is pretty low, for several reasons:

it's an individual mitigation, not a systemic one. the best mitigations to make public life more accessible affect everyone without distributing the majority of the effort among individuals (who may not be able to comply, may not have access to education on how to comply, or may be actively malicious).

it's a post-hoc mitigation, or to put it another way, it's a band-aid over the underlying problem. even if it was possible to enforce, universal masking still wouldn't address the underlying problem that it is dangerous for sick people and immune compromised people to be in the same public locations to begin with. this is a solvable problem! we have created the societal conditions for this problem!

here are my policy focuses:

upgraded air filtration and ventilation systems for all public buildings. appropriate ventilation should be just as bog-standard as appropriately clean running water. an indoor venue without a ventilation system capable of performing 5 complete air changes per hour should be like encountering a public restroom without any sinks or hand sanitizer stations whatsoever.

enforced paid sick leave for all employees until 3-5 days without symptoms. the vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through industry sectors where employees come into work while experiencing symptoms. a taco bell worker should never be making food while experiencing strep throat symptoms, even without a strep diagnosis.

enforced virtual schooling options for sick students. the other vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through schools. the proximity of so many kids and teenagers together indoors (with little to no proper ventilation and high levels of physical activity) means that if even one person comes to school sick, hundreds will be infected in the following few days. those students will most likely infect their parents as well. allowing students to complete all readings and coursework through sites like blackboard or compass while sick will cut down massively on disease transmission.

accessible testing for everyone. not just for COVID; if there's a test for any contagious illness capable of being performed outside of lab conditions, there should be a regulated option for performing that test at home (similar to COVID rapid tests). if a test can only be performed under lab conditions, there should be a government-subsidized program to provide free of charge testing to anyone who needs it, through urgent cares and pharmacies.

the last thing to note is that these things stack; upgraded ventilation systems in all public buildings mean that students and employees get sick less often to begin with, making it less burdensome for students and employees to be absent due to sickness, and making it more likely that sick individuals will choose to stay home themselves (since it's not so costly for them).

masking is great! keep masking! please use masking as a rhetorical "this is what we can do as individuals to make public life safer while we're pushing for drastic policy changes," and don't get complacent in either direction--don't assume that masking is all you need to do or an acceptable forever-solution, and equally, don't fall prey to thinking that pushing for policy change "makes up" for not masking in public. it's not a game with scores and sides; masking is a material thing you can do to help the individual people you interact with one by one, and policy changes are what's going to make the entirety of public life safer for all immune compromised people.

[khizuo]

Remaking the Tumblr post for Maha’s fundraiser so that we don’t have the defunct gfm attached. Before scrolling past this, please read it in its entirety.

1. She is currently in a lot of danger. A while ago she was half outed as trans. People around her are suspicious and are looking through her phone. She is terrified of police involvement if they find evidence that she is trans. On top of this, Iraq is going to be bombed again soon, this month.

2. We don't have a lot of time. Since Trudeau resigned, the new Canadian PM is likely to be Poilievre, who is running on an extremely anti-immigrant policy. She needs to be in Canada before the next election happens, which could be as early as late March. This means we need to raise as much money as we can ASAP.

3. We're shooting to raise $15,000 by the end of January. She needs this money to make the flight and to pay living expenses once she reaches Canada. Please, please donate if you are at all able. If you cannot donate, please share this fundraiser with people you know who can donate. Share it with your friends, family, on social media, on discord, anywhere.

4. Maha has been trying to leave for years. She worked three jobs to try to raise money to leave, but her savings got destroyed because she developed cancer from USAmerican bombs. The previous GFM was abandoned and Maha was unable to get the money. We really, really can’t delay things further.

The fact that our post for Maha’s first fundraiser got over 10k notes is absolutely amazing. I’m sure we can do it again and raise enough money for her to leave this time. If you reblogged the previous post, please reblog this one as well. Please donate what you are able, and share <3

[hurlingdown]

Grr i love your zoro fic, do you write for ftm character? If you do please ftm sanji x domtop male reader 🫠🫠🫠 WANNA EAT HIM OUT SB

I WANT MORE! — TOP MALE READER X VINSMOKE SANJI

synopsis. sex with sanji always feels good. it's exciting. and fun. there's an issue though: it's just good, but never too good. well, here's the thing — sometimes, overwhelming pleasure bordering on overstimulation might be a good way to spice things up . . . wc. 1.7k

tags. ftm! brat! sanji, dom! reader. cunnilingus, squirting, multiple orgasms, cum eating, overstimulation, choking with thighs, reader's a little little mean, fluff!

Sanji gasped into the back of his hand, panting desperately. 

Two warm palms had reached between his thighs and gently pried them open, a wet sensation digging into his clothed cunt. 

“F-fucking hell, sweetheart,” Sanji muttered as your tongue drew up to swipe against his soaked clit. He let out a sharp exhale as you mouthed him through his boxers, wetly sucking at the fat nub. “What—what is this? Where’d you learn this from?” 

You didn’t respond, too occupied with what was in front of you. The stain only grew in size as you buried your face into the sweet, musky scent, and you hummed with satisfaction, making him jolt with a whine as the vibration sent a shockwave of pleasure straight into him. 

“Answer—hn, me!” Strong thighs clamped down around your head as he mindlessly rutted back against your mouth, making you see stars. “Who taught you?” 

“No one,” you said, or at least tried to say, as your mouth was muzzled by Sanji pushing his wet cunt at you, smearing your face with saliva and slick. You had read about it in one of Robin’s books, and had wanted to try it. 

“What? Who?” he asked dumbly, throwing his head back onto the pillow as he rocked his hips against your mouth, trying to coax your tongue out. “It better not have been those—hngh, women at the island!” 

You almost wanted to laugh at how ironic it was, that the infamous Vinsmoke Sanji—known for being a womaniser—was now jealous of the women he usually fawned over. 

“Hn, hah, this ain’t half bad—” 

You growled, annoyed at him for using your mouth like one of his toys. You held his thighs still over your shoulder to stop him from moving, lips curling with amusement at the way his hips bucked, not understanding your displeasure. “What?” Sanji panted, raising his head to glance at you irritatedly. “Get on movin’!” 

You frowned. Who did he think he was? 

With measured strength, you pulled back just enough to show him a sickly sweet smile. “Shall I help you take it off, Sanji?” Fingers grasped the hem of his boxers as you pressed two thumbs into his lower crotch, enjoying the way he squirmed at your touch. 

“Y-yeah,” he muttered. “Take it off already.” 

What a brat. Perhaps you spoiled him a little too often. 

You peeled the clothing off, revealing a lovely, fleshy pink cunt, its lips parted and drooling all over the sheets already. It was always a sight to have him under you, his hole pulsing around you as you drilled your thick cock into him, but this—this was something else entirely.

“Hold your legs open for me.” 

“What?” 

“Do it, or you won’t be coming tonight.” 

Sanji frowned, opening his mouth as though to argue back but then deciding against it, that getting to come was far more important than any sense of self-worth tonight. He reluctantly brought his legs up and slowly spread them for you, flushing and trembling as the action exposed the entirety of his pussy to you. 

Sanji thrust up against you impatiently and you immediately grabbed his hips, tight enough to bruise. You glared up at him with a warning, to which he completely ignored. “Hurry up, sweetheart,” he griped, rubbing his wet folds on your lips. “Wanna come.” 

Oh. So that was all that he thought of you: something for him to hump on. You were going to teach him a lesson. 

“Yeah?” You grinned. “You wanna come?” 

“So bad,” Sanji whined, hips bucking as you held him still. “Just fucking go already!” 

You pretended to frown and pull away, only to have him whimper, eyes widening and shaking his head frantically. “You want me to go? I’ll go.” 

“No! Not what I meant—goddammit, sweetheart, you know what I want, so give it to me already.” 

You barked out a laugh. “I’m not a mind reader, am I? How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?” 

Sanji glowered at you, almost shivering with frustration. He knew what you wanted. You wanted to see him beg, to come undone before you even touched him properly, and he was so close to doing whatever you wanted him to if it meant he would finally be able to come. He squeezed his eyes shut, sparing them of any humiliation. 

“Please,” he whined your name softly. “Fuck me with your tongue.” 

You smiled, pleased. “Fine with me.” 

Without wasting a moment, you shoved his hips up at the same time as your tongue plunged down, sliding between the slick folds of his pussy to penetrate him. Sanji jackknifed off the bed with a hoarse scream, one hand letting go of his thigh to blindly grab for your hair, tugging at the strands painfully. 

“Oh fuck—please!” he cried out, legs spasming as he shoved your mouth deeper into his cunt. You lapped at his insides with abandon, drinking and swallowing greedily the slick that drenched his hole, enjoying the way the salty tang of it rolled deep down your throat and left a fragrant aftertaste. 

Drool dripped down your chin as you ate him out messily, loosening the most tender parts of his insides the way you had never been able to: by pounding your fat cock inside his pussy, or having him take your thick fingers as you stretched him out—those were good, too, but no, this was so much more sensual, and tasted so much better, and you were almost angry at yourself for not trying this sooner. 

Sanji was a sobbing, whining mess when you raised your head to look at him again, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he cried out your name, begging you to take him and then take more of him. “So fuckin’—good!” he moaned loudly. “I want more!” 

It’s filthy, humiliating, and so fucking arousing, and before he knew it, he was rutting back against your face, lost in so much pleasure, all at once way too much and not nearly enough to satisfy just yet—

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come!” Sanji screamed, back bowing off the bed as he came all over your face, thighs involuntarily clamping down hard around your neck, choking you so hard you blacked out for a second. 

The next thing he saw when he came to his senses was your face, shiny with his come and slick, edging toward his pulsing cunt again. 

You grinned at him, almost wickedly. 

“No, no, no.” Sanji shook his head wildly. “No more. I just came, please, sweetheart, please—” 

“You said you wanted more.” 

“Just give me a second—I’ll be ready for you in a second. Please, baby.” 

You ignored him. “I’m going to give you what you want, since you’ve been so good for me. Right, Sanji?” 

Without waiting for his answer, you grabbed him by the ass and hoisted him up into the air, sucking eagerly at his oversensitive clit as his breath seized up, lips parting and yet unable to make noise anymore, just trembling and convulsing as the muscles in his thighs continued to spasm with too much pleasure it nearly bordered on pain. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks as Sanji gasped and shuddered, clutching your hair so hard you thought you felt them getting torn up by the roots. And then you committed the next atrocity. Instead of diving in and slurping his pussy like you did before, you stuck your tongue out, using the hands gripping his ass to slowly push his cunt up your tongue, and then down, and then up again, repeatedly—fucking your tongue with his hole. 

Sanji gave a helpless whimper that sounded suspiciously like your name as he writhed on your tongue, pupils so dilated you could barely see their rim. “Please,” you thought you heard him sob faintly, as though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for anymore. 

“Please what?” 

This was his last chance to stop you—you weren’t that cruel, after all. 

“Please,” he cried weakly, “make me come again!” 

You grinned, a sense of pride overwhelming you as you dove back in to finish the job—he was so well-trained, so good for you. And who were you to deny him? He was begging so nicely, after all. 

Sanji let out a stream of broken moans as you continued your assault on his pussy, his thighs clenching around your head so tightly that stars pooled at the edges of your vision. Your tongue reached deep inside him and caressed a spot so good and fucking right that the coil of pleasure in his stomach started to get looser, and wetter, like a dam being driven to burst—a feeling he scarcely ever felt, but whenever he did, whenever he did—

You latched your mouth over his entrance, sealing it properly as he squirted down your throat. 

His lower half went limp in your arms as he continued to tremble and whimper, and you feared for a second that you might have broken him. But when he opened his half-lidded eyes to look at you with a tenderness that you rarely ever saw, you knew that wasn’t the case. 

“Never knew—” Sanji panted for breath, “that you could be so mean.” 

“Did you like it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Want to do it again?” 

He snapped out of his daze, eyes widening with horror. 

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. “Not now. I meant after.” 

“Oh,” Sanji said, softly. “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.” A second shock seized him as he looked at you, almost guiltily. “What about you? You haven’t come yet.” 

“No. Making you feel good was enough.” You smiled reassuringly, despite the fact that you were so hard it fucking hurt, aching with the need to feel his cunt tightening around it, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to take it. You’d take care of it later, in the shower, maybe, jerking off to thoughts of earlier. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Go sleep, I know you’re tired. I’ll clean you up. And, I love you.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he mumbled tiredly. “So much.” 

masterlist! # i apologise for accidentally blue-balling the reader again it was not my intention; also i love you anon i didn't know i needed this until i started imagining it

[hoseoksluna]

BOOKWORMS | knj

pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader

genre: smut; fluff

word count: 4.4k

summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(

note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!

side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks &lt;;3

You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind. 

Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world. 

You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.

Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.

“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.

It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.

Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do. 

He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.

The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing. 

You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.

***

Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.

Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.

“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear. 

You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”

His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs. 

“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”

Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life. 

“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through. 

Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.

You raise one of your eyebrows in question. 

“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”

You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”

“He got some!” 

Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”

“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again. 

“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.

“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”

You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.

“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”

You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction. 

“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.” 

It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.

A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.

“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”

Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?” 

You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.

“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face. 

You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.

“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”

You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 

“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”

You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”

“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“That’s my girl. 

You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.

“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”

“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties. 

His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.

“Fuck, baby.” 

“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”

Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.” 

He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear. 

“Sit on the counter.”

You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you. 

Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”

You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die. 

Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all. 

Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”

He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it. 

You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.

“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”

You nod.

“Use your words or we’re stopping.”

You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”

Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning. 

Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.” 

You do, weakly.

“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”

You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.” 

He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.” 

You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper. 

Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans. 

“Come on.”

Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense. 

“I got you.”

Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.

“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.” 

You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?” 

He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.

“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.” 

One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word. 

Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls. 

“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast. 

“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.” 

He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.

“You forgot something.”

He thrusts again, harder this time.

“What?” you breathe out, meekly. 

“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”

He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you. 

“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”

He grinds, hips rotating in circles. 

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.” 

Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him. 

“Please, hmph, fuck me.”

Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.” 

He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over. 

“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?” 

You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.” 

He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants. 

“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”

Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.

“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.

Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him. 

He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?” 

You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.” 

Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.” 

From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like. 

Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.  

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”

The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses. 

“Look.” 

You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.” 

He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing. 

Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.

You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in. 

He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair. 

And you do the same for him.

Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[4ranghaes]

I just read your bnd as subs post and omg that was SO hot 😭 got me giggling and kicking my feet fr i need them so bad </3 although i was wondering if you were planning on making a similar post but for them as doms? I'm so curious as how you perceive them in that aspect. We're switch!bnd enthusiasts in this household ‼️

ੈ✩‧₊˚ bnd as doms!

bnd legal line x reader [smut, separate classifications for each, SMUT!!!!! MDNI!!!!!!]

a/n - i am also a switch!bnd enthusiast but i will say jaehyun’s and riwoo’s was very hard for me😭 still, i hope you enjoy!!!!!! also i got carried away with leehan’s😀

sungho 🎀 [soft dom!sungho, fem!reader, fingering, daddy kink, big dick!sungho]

“my beautiful girl,” he cooed, his big hands resting on your thighs as they framed his body. your naked body was sat atop his thighs, sungho’s slim frame resting against the headboard, watching you in delight as he rubbed his thumb against your clit.

your eyes were almost constantly closed, your body moving backwards and forwards slowly as though trying to grind against the single digit he was allowing you. sungho had a drunk smile on his face as he watched you.

“sungho please,” you pouted, grabbing his wrist and looking at him with big eyes, “i need more.”

“you need more?” he repeated, using his other hand to cup your face as tears lined your waterline, “oh baby, don’t cry. i’ll give you more, what do you say?”

“please, daddy.”

“that’s it, good girl,” he smiled, wiping away a tear as he started unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down just far enough to see his boxers, which he then pushed down just far enough that his cock sprung out.

you bit your lip, moving one of your hands immediately off of sungho’s stomach to grip the base, sungho’s body flailing slightly at the contact.

“that’s it,” he hissed as you began massaging the tip with your thumb, “you having fun, love?”

you smiled, nodding, “can i put it inside?”

sungho smiled, cooing as he kissed you gently, “such a good girl for asking, of course you can. don’t force yourself though, go slowly.”

with a nod, you lifted your hips, holding sungho’s cock as you guided it to your entrance and started sinking down slowly.

the thick head entered your body with a moan from both you and sungho, your thighs twitching around his body as you tried to go as slowly as you could, sungho’s huge cock always a struggle to fit inside in its entirety.

you opened your eyes, seeing your boyfriend’s pouting face watching where your bodies met. his eyes flickered up to yours as you whimpered.

“come on baby,” he cooed, flipping your bodies without removing his head, “let me do it for you.”

riwoo 🦦🍡 [hard/service dom!riwoo, fem!reader, frustrated!riwoo, cunnilingus, fingering]

“leehan-ah, this is the ninth time now! get in on dongmin’s line!” riwoo yelled, glaring at the members through the mirror, “got it?! i’m not gonna say it again.”

leehan nodded solemnly before riwoo turned to look at you, having just walked through the door, ready to pick your boyfriend up from practise as you always did on friday nights.

“is it already 10?” he sighed, as you nodded, trying to hide the shock on your face as his unusually harsh demeanour. “okay,” he sighed after the song was through, “go home.”

“was it okay, hyung?” jaehyun asked, riwoo nodding with an unbothered look on his face as the boys either collapsed to the floor or grabbed their water bottles.

“i’m going first,” riwoo said, still sounding annoyed as he grabbed his stuff, grabbing your hand and dragging you out the room. you waved bye to the members, allowing yourself to be taken through hybe’s hallways.

“are you okay, baby?” you murmured, catching up to your boyfriend and kissing his shoulders as you held onto his arm.

riwoo rolled his eyes, grabbing you and pulling you into one of bnd’s composing rooms. “no,” he sighed, as you leaned forward, ready to relieve his stress through cuddles, or domming him as usual. “take your panties off.”

“w-what?”

“now.”

you nodded quickly, removing your bottoms and your panties, revealing yourself to your boyfriend as he sighed. “sit on the desk.”

“on the desk?”

“do as i say, y/n!” he cried, shoving all the stuff on the desk to one side as you climbed on obediently, “spread your legs.”

you nodded, spreading your legs and revealing your now wet pussy to the boy in front of you. riwoo sighed, his head nudging against your thighs to get them to open wider as he kneeled on the floor in front of you. he started leaving soft kisses on your inner thigh, his head brushing over your heat as he did so. your hand rushed down, grabbing at his short hair.

"patient," he said, glaring up at you, as you nodded quickly.

one of his hands gripped your thigh, massaging the fat as he worked his way up your legs, his mouth now at your entrance as he sighed; as though all his worries were melting away. he leaned forward gently, his tongue kitten-licking at your clit. you gasped, hips moving involuntarily to chase the feeling before riwoo grabbed them, yanking you forward so he had you exactly where he wanted you.

he went in then, his mouth moving faster than you could comprehend, his lips and tongue occupying almost every area of your pussy. of course riwoo had eaten you out before, but it was never like this. his tongue was lapping at your hole, his nose massaging your clit as he did so. you were a whining-gasping mess.

"riwoo, please, riwoo— ah! oh my god!"

you felt him smirk against you, moving one of his hands from your hips to move expertly inside you. you bucked your hips up at the contact, his whole mouth now concentrated on your cunt as you moaned.

"sanghyeok- i- i'm gonna cum!" you whined, grabbing at his hair, making him grunt against you.

"enjoy it," he smirked, moving away to look up at you, "cause i'm not stopping any time soon.”

jaehyun 🪻🐕 [fem!reader, soft dom!jaehyun, cunnilingus, munch!jaehyun, fingering, body worship, reader kind of described as having big boobs? but its not anything really]

“hey love,” jaehyun smiled. he was fresh out the shower, his hair partially dry, face bare, a black hoodie and pair of checkered boxers covering his body as he sauntered into his bedroom, where you lay on the bed.

you were in one of his t-shirts and the panties you’d been wearing all day, the impromptu sleepover leaving you with little else to wear to sleep in.

“hey you,” you smiled, jaehyun’s eyes flicking up to your teasing face. a november chill ran in the air despite the heating being on in the dorms, leaving your nipples visibly hard where the t-shirt was stretched across your boobs. jaehyun’s eyes flitted down, a smile gracing his features.

“you look gorgeous,” he groaned, crawling onto the bed, his head dipping down as he reached your lap, pressing deep kisses to the skin of your thighs.

you reached down, playing with strands of his black hair. he looked up at you, head still tilted down, not taking his eyes off of yours as he kissed up your stomach, moving closer to your face. suddenly, he stopped, shifting to hold his body up with one of his hands and using the other to peel your panties off your body. you bit your lip, watching as he continued to kiss down your legs.

“so gorgeous,” he mumbled, making sure to take your panties off the whole way, paying attention to every centimetre of your body as he went. he brought the material up to his face, breathing in your scent with a smirk before putting them in his hoodie pocket.

you let out a laugh at the action, not taking your eyes off your boyfriend as he moved towards your bare pussy, leaving kisses along the skin. he tapped the outside of your thigh twice, instinctively you moved your legs, spreading them so he could see your cunt.

myungjae grunted at the view, bowing his head again to press a kiss to the outside before using his fingers to spread your wetness around. whines began leaving your mouth as he paid close attention to rubbing your clit, slowly, but strong.

“so beautiful, my love,” he murmured, laying down on his stomach between your thighs as he began kissing your thighs again. you moved your legs so they were wrapped around him, “so, so gorgeous for me. every part of you. keep moaning for me, you sound beautiful.”

his finger was inside you now, his lips taking the position on your clit as he kissed and sucked gently, pulling away every so often to view your face. shaky breaths were being drawn from you, paired with a loving gaze down to him.

“my girl,” he murmured, reaching his spare hand up for you to take. you intertwined your fingers with his before resting it on your boob. you could feel him smirk into your pussy, beginning to massage the fat in his hand.

he was sucking and flicking his tongue relentlessly, basically making out with your pussy as two of his fingers continued to feel around deep inside you, pressing hard against your walls.

“myung–myungjae,” you gasped, trying to stop your hips from bucking as you felt your high approaching, your heels digging into his back as if to push him closer. jaehyun didn’t respond, lost in the taste of your cunt, “i– oh! oh my god, jae– i’m gonna—”

taesan 🐈‍⬛🎸 [fem!reader, hard dom!taesan, dacryphilia, masturbation, mentions of nudes + overstimulation]

“baby girl,” he tutted, walking into his bedroom, “you couldn’t wait for me, hmm?”

“i’m sorry,” you sobbed, hand immediately removing itself from inside your panties. “i– i couldn’t— i’m sorry!”

“it’s okay, baby,” taesan cooed, coming and sitting on the bed beside you, “i teased you a lot, didn’t i?”

you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes at the memory of taesan's pictures he was sending you all through today’s schedules. it started with pics of the new outfits, as he knew how much you loved them, then it became lower, more revealing, and started showing off more and more.

“but baby…” he started, trailing his hand over your stomach and over the top of your panties, cupping your heat in his large hand, “…why did you stop?”

you grabbed his wrist, looking at him with big, wet, pouty eyes that made his stomach turn, his dick hardening in his pants, “c-can you help?”

“i will,” he hummed, a smile spreading across his face, “after you get yourself off first, i’d hate to intrude, you know!” you whined in response, before taesan's gaze suddenly harshened, removing his hands from your body, “i think that’s more than fair, y/n.”

you sniffled, nodding. taesan came and sat behind your body, as you moved up close to his chest, leaning your weight against him.

“now show me,” he murmured, beginning to kiss your neck.

you were already wetter for seeing your boyfriend, and now with his hot breath up against the sweet spot of your neck you were positively dripping. your fingers returned to your clit, rubbing smooth circles as your eyes fluttered shut, you bit your lip, your breathing becoming uneven.

taesan, wordlessly, moved his hands to your body, cupping your tits and beginning to massage. his lips attached themselves to your neck as you flung your head back onto his shoulder.

“come on, my girl,” he cooed, watching your fingers slowing on your clit, “keep going. you’re almost there.”

his mouth was next to your ear as he whispered the words, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear afterwards. your hips started grinding against your fingers, you felt empty not having anything inside but you knew it was nothing compared to the length of taesan’s fingers, so you didn’t even bother. the movement of your hips rubbed against taesan’s slowly, now able to feel his hard cock against your ass; you whined.

“need you so badly,” you whined, taesan smirking at your words, “need your cock! please! oh— i’m cum– ah!”

your finger sped up, taesan’s big hands dropping onto your thighs and just holding lightly as you brought yourself to your peak, your body falling limp against your boyfriend’s after you finished.

he smiled cockily, pressing soft kissed behind your ear and to your neck before moving your body so he had you where he wanted you, “my turn now, princess. let’s see how many times you can cum tonight, hmm? since you want to cum so badly?”

leehan 🪸🐠 [soft dom!leehan, fem!reader, quickie, lovesick loverboy!leehan fr, cumming inside]

“princess, i–” he cut himself off with a tilt of his head and a whistle, smiling as he circled your body.

“what?!” you laughed, turning to follow him with your eyeline.

“no, let me see the back,” he said, turning you round, whistling once again, “wow.”

“you like my dress?” you smiled, batting your eyelashes over-exaggeratively with a giggle. it was jaehyun’s birthday, and the boys had booked a posh restaurant for the celebrations; so of course leehan had to buy you a dress to match the occasion.

“i think it’s a very pretty dress picked out very well,” he smiled, circling back to your front and gripping your waist. you stumbled towards him, “but i think you’re gorgeous. your body– you… oh god.”

“you don’t look too bad yourself,” you smiled, straightening out his suit. leehan moved closer to you, hands holding your face as he pressed a kiss to your lips, your hand lightly grasping his tie. suddenly, you pulled away. “donghyun… no.”

“what?!” he laughed, as you rolled your eyes, stepping away, hand still gripping his tie lightly.

“i can feel your boner against my thigh,” you said, pointing down to the obvious bulge in his trousers.

“is it so bad i find my girlfriend so strikingly beautiful?” he questioned, looking at you expectantly. he turned you around, pressing wet kisses to your shoulder, slowly undoing the zipper along the back of your dress.

“no, leehan! do it back up, we need to leave,” you said sternly, looking over your shoulder at the boy.

“what’s the time?”

“10 to,” you said, looking at him confused.

“10 minutes,” he mumbled, kissing down your back, “that’ll do.”

he zipped your dress back up, just as you asked, before scrambling up the material from the skirt, pushing it above your waist as he bent you over the dresser in his room.

“leehan!” you gasped, his hand grabbing your cunt suddenly, finger digging in your panties to feel your wetness.

he smirked, kissing your shoulder gently, “what’s got you so worked up, princess?”

you moaned as he rubbed circles against your clit, “donghyun, quickly! please!”

he smiled, quickly pulling your panties down to your thighs, before undoing the zipper on his dress pants, pulling out his hard cock. he swiped his fingers through your wetness, using the slick as lube to give himself a couple of pumps.

“i’ll go slowly, darling,” he muttered, nipping at your shoulder as he began shoving his cock into your tight hole. you both let out groans and hisses. you pushed your hips back slightly, chasing the feeling of his rock hard length inside you. his hands were on your waist, gripping tightly, both the dress material and your skin. “you feel how hard i am, love? god, that’s all you, princess. all for you.”

you whined as he pulled out again before thrusting back in, suddenly he stopped, kissing your neck, lifting your hair gently.

“i’m gonna go fast, okay? cause we need to hurry,” he murmured, you nodded widely, whining in response and shoving your hips back further. leehan laughed, “good girl.”

he started up a brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass as you moaned, high-pitched whines slipping out too. leehan was grunting and panting in your ear behind you, constantly muttering about how gorgeous you are.

“all mine,” he groaned, “wearing the dress i got you. this pussy… all mine.”

“all yours, donghyun-ah!” you whined, gripping onto the dresser like your life depended on it, “ah– i’m gonna— ugh! leehan!”

“i got you, princess. i’ve got you,” he panted, the pace of his hips not letting up as his cock started twitching, “c-can i cum inside, princess? god, fuck— don’t want to ruin yo– your dress.”

“yes! please! cum in me!”

[allbark-no-bite]

american boys hate to lose.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: you finally get a taste of Jake Seresin, but you may have bit off more than you can chew

warnings: 18+ smut, heavy sexual themes, lack of use of condoms

author’s note: part 2 of ‘don’t write check you can’t cash’ is here! i would highly recommend reading that before this but do with that what you will. dare i say there will be a part 3?

(you can read part 1 here!)

————————————————————————

You can feel his eyes on you, burning into the back of your head, daring you to turn around and meet his gaze. You haven't so much as looked back in his direction since the training meeting started but you know he's there and you know that he's looking at you.

If you were more reasonable, you'd write it off as the residual heat of the evening seeping in through the window of the ready room being cast upon the back of your neck, warming your skin with it's golden orange hue. Such a feeling would render you lazy and cat-like, content enough to slouch in your chair and soak up the rays until only the ending of the meeting would force you to move from your state of tranquility.

Instead you sit up right in your chair, rigid and uncomfortable as your skin buzzes feverishly.

It's the same scrutinizing feeling that you felt that day out on the tarmac and the same one that you felt as he stood back and watch you play pool at the Hard Deck.

It's ridiculous it what it really is, the fact that you're not grown up enough to just turn around and ask him what the fuck his problem is. He's the one who very clearly laid down the law. He has no right to test your strength to adhere to it.

And tested you he has.

Jake's been at your throat all week. It was almost as though he had decided that he couldn't have you and therefore he would hate you enough to make up for it.

"Had enough, Lieutenant?"

From your limited line of sight—face down in the position of a push-up—all you can see are the scuffed toes of his tan combat boots. He's crouched down on the pavement, balanced on the balls of his feet, leaning down beside you so that he's inches from your ear.

Not yet ready to answer him, all you can do is huff under the strain of your screaming muscles, which are about fifty push-ups past fatigued. You can hear the uncomfortable murmurs of the rest of the Dagger squad watching yours and Jake's show down from a distance.

He'd been a bitch all day. Nagging, nitpicking, critiquing every little thing you did both in and out of the air. Finally, you had had enough.

"I said, have you had enough, Lieutenant!?"

His voice was so familiar and yet utterly foreign in the moment. It caused that twisting feeling in the pit of your stomach to return, the one that you didn't know what to make of. As if you couldn't decided whether you were pleased at his attention or fed up with his attitude.

Gasping, you swallow a glob of spit in your throat, trying to pull yourself together. You're not sure how much longer you can hold this position before you physically collapse. A groan escapes you unwillingly.

"As soon as you say you've had enough, you can get up. Until then, I've got all day."

You could feel the tension in the air between the two of you. It had been building steadily for the entirety of the day and this altercation had appeared to be its breaking point.

You stare at the ground, hoping he will take your silence as an answer.

A part of you was glad that you couldn't see his face and he could't see yours. It's hard to look him in the eyes sometimes.

Bradley must notice your agitation because he cocks you a questioning a brow when you finally catch his eye, having been viciously chewing on your pen into order satiate your frustration whilst listening to Maverick give his brief. You wave off his concern with a dismissive flick of your hand, as if to indicate that it's nothing for him to worry about.

You doubt he's convinced but he doesn't push you any further. If he thought Jake was bothering you, he'd be out of his chair and across the room in a matter of seconds. You don't know how you would explain to him that you haven't been able to forget the press of Jake's body against yours at the pool table or the way his voice dripped down and seeped into your spine even as he yelled at you.

The sound of papers flipping and notebooks closing draw you back to the present.

"You're dismissed. Your report time is at o'six hundred tomorrow," Maverick states, bringing the meeting to a close.

Your eyes dart to the clock mounted on the wall, unaware that the time had eluded you so quickly. You're evidently so distracted that Rooster's already gone by the time you gather up your things. Something about a hot date, he'd said.

Glad to finally escape the tension that is this room, you can already feel the ease flooding back into your body, that prickling feeling of dread and restlessness finally leaving your skin as you reach for the door. Instantly the world feels a little brighter, like maybe you'll even brave the evening traffic just to take the scenic route home, roll your windows down so that you can hear the waves breaking on the beach and smell the salt air.

A voice jerks you from your day dream, and immediately you're reminded of just the reason for your foul mood.

"You know, you're a bigger thorn in my side than I thought you were going to be."

You stop just outside the doorframe and the door swings shut. There's no one but the two of you left in the room.

"Is that your way of saying that you're not used to people not letting you push them around?

"I'm saying most people don't enjoy being yelled at."

His green eyes twinkle and his mouth pulls into a smirk that dares you to challenge his statement.

You swallow the spit in your throat, biting your tongue because you know that your argument won't come out convincing enough.

"You were being a bitch," you say instead.

"You wanted me to be."

"That's all I can seem to get from you."

Rather than the snarky reply that you've already braced yourself for, Jake takes two steps towards you and immediately you shuffle backwards, meeting the wall in the process. With nowhere to go, you have no choice but to remain trapped between him and the wall of the room.

Now cornered, he is dangerously close.

A sharp but smokey musk stings your sinuses— one that will become synonymous to you with his presence. The stench of jet fuel makes you lightheaded for just a moment before you snap back to the present.

His sharp green eyes narrow down at you. Your face feels hot under his gaze. Eye contact is becoming a common theme for the two of you. You can't look away.

He is close. Very close. In retrospect, he has never had any concept of personal space. Since the day you met Jake, you have always been somewhat off-put if not startled by his forwardness. The way he had reached out to correct your posture at the pool table without prior warning nor consent had nearly killed you.

He was going to kill you.

Hardly breathing, you take him in with a certain clarity. You haven't been able to put your finger on it, but his face has a certain rawness to it — a natural ruddiness that you can't explain. The waterlines of his green eyes are invariably tinged a pale pink, likely permanently wind burnt, and his nose is always a touch red. Early traces of crows feet pull at the corners of his usually hooded green eyes. Speaking of, now you realize they're not even all that green. The soft golden tint becomes apparent looking into his eyes. If it weren't for their undeniable vibrance, maybe you would be able to breathe right now.

Your attention falls down to his plump pink lips. And maybe those. They shine with a particular wetness, and your cheeks burn with the thought.

His hand lifts from his side and immediately your eyes fly back up to meet his gaze, praying he hasn't caught you staring. Instead he curls his fingers into the side of your jaw and stares at you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression on his face. You wish that for just once in his life he'd express some sort of overt emotion. He doesn't speak, and all you can do is swallow against the press of his thumb.

Your mouth parts slightly, attempting to speak, to say something —anything to alleviate the silence— but nothing escapes besides a noiseless breath of air.

Jake dips his head down timidly, as though he's testing the waters.

Unable to comprehend what he's doing, your first reflex is to replenish the distance between you, and your head jerks backwards. However, it is forced to come to a stop when it hits the wall a millisecond later.

Jake pauses, mouth inches from yours.

Despite the panic that is threatening to take control of you, telling you to push him away, to tell him to stop because this is entirely wrong, you do nothing but stand frozen. Your heart is in your throat, pounding hard enough to stall your breath.

I want this if you want this, but not if you don't, you want to tell him. I will find a way to go on if you don't.

The muscles in his jaw clench, like he's trying hard to make up his mind.

And then without warning, his mouth captures your lips in a hard kiss, driving them open with the force of it. Gone is his previous hesitation. He is voracious; all tongue and teeth. You swear you feel the wall rattle against your back as he pushes you against it.

The thought that anyone could walk in at any moment hardly even flashes through your mind. All there is is the bruising force of his mouth on yours, pulling you further and further into the inescapable depths of desire.

Your hand finds the short crop of his blonde hair and fists into it, tugging roughly on the golden strands. It makes him grunt, the noise muffled by the press of his lips against yours. Jake's hands find your hips, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your flight suit to bring you closer to his body.

When your lips part to breathe, he licks into your mouth, tongue dragging along the slick of your teeth just so that he can taste you. Like he's been just as desperate to taste you as you've been. One of his hands finds the length of your throat and wraps around it, using his thumb to tip your jaw back up so that he can capture your lips in another bruising kiss.

Your need for air forces you to place a hand on his chest, pushing him away hard enough that he gets the hint. It takes more force than it should, and Jake pulls away, breathing hard.

As your senses come back to you, so does your common sense, and all you can think is: there's no way that just happened.

The sight of his flushed cheeks, blown pupils, and swollen, spit slick lips is what kicks you into gear. Anyone could walk in here at any moment. You can't even begin to explain how bad of a situation that could be.

"We should go," you breathe, heart still pounding in your chest.

Rather than pulling away, Jake lingers, hovering over you. "Go where?" he hums. "I've got you right where I want you." His mouth dips down to the barely exposed part of your collar. You swallow thickly as his mouth moves up to your neck, lip pressing to your exposed throat.

"Really," you stress, a bit desperately, your eyes darting to the closed door as he kisses up your neck. "We can't stay here."

To your immense relief, Jake finally pulls away.

"Okay," he agrees, a bit too easily. "I'll bring you home."

——

The car ride is strange but not uncomfortable. Strange because you keep looking over to your left and Jake is sitting there, one hand on the wheel, aviators perched on his nose as he watches the road. Strange because he doesn't ask you for directions, just drives in comfortable silence, the radio turned low enough that you can still hear the gulls squawking as you drive by the beach.

You turn to look at him as he pulls the truck to a stop and reaches for the keys to turn off the ignition. He's smiling and doing a poor job of concealing it.

"I didn't invite you in," you inform him, although your voice doesn't sound too firm in the statement. You'd been so sure that you wanted this back when he was kissing you, but now that the aftermath of your decision is playing out, you're nervous you're making a mistake.

You'd known that anything involving Jake was a risky game from day one. Between his looks and the all-American southern boy charm, it was a dangerous combination. There's a difference between wanting the idea of something and actually having it.

Jake just huffs, his smile still nonchalant as he looks over at you. "I can't walk you to the door?"

You can feel your stomach twisting again. "I suppose."

Your fingers feel numb and tingly as you push the key into the lock on the door and twist, your heart a bit in your throat because you're all to aware of Jake standing less than a foot behind you. It takes you a few shaky tries but the door finally cracks open.

Realizing that you can't avoid the inevitable any longer, you turn back around to face Jake. He's leant against the side of the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest and looking not at all like he isn't supposed to be here.

You stare and him and he stares back at you.

Without a word, he steps forward, into your space, and leans down with the intention to kiss you. Your stomach twists tighter than it was before. You turn your head before he can kiss you, and you feel his lips brush your cheek. 

"You can come inside. I- I just need a moment," you confess. "Maybe a glass of wine or two."

Jake chuckles as he draws away, giving you the space that you silently asked for, and for that you're grateful. 

"Okay," he concedes. "Lead the way, then."Once inside, you set your things down and escape for the moment of space that you need to clear your head under the pretense of needing a shower. It's not totally untrue. The day had been busy, more so than usual, and you were still sticky with sweat. You leave Jake in the kitchen to find the wine on his own.

While the tub fills, you're finally able to rid yourself of the clothes that you have been donning since the day began at roughly 6 am. Though you're usually a shower person, you've learned a bath is the most effective way get rid of the stress of the day.

The scalding water welcomes you and a sigh escapes your mouth when you sink down to your shoulders. The basin is deep enough that it could fit two people comfortably. You unpleasantly note that that's a thought you've never had until now.

The steam releases the tension from your shoulders and eases your persistent headache. Although you are well aware that Jake is just a few rooms away in the kitchen, the urge to close your eyes and sink in is too much to resist.

He had leaned in first. Backed you against the wall of the ready room and hovered inches from your face. There had been an out. It was brief, but it had been there. And you just stood there, barely breathing, watching him. You had seen the gun in his hands and willed him to use it.

His mouth was just as hot and demanding as you had come to know him. You remember breathing in and all you could smell was him, feel his hand on your jaw, his fingers digging into your skin. He had been the one to pull away, although just barely, and hovered inches from your face once again.

Being so close to him, it was the first time you had noticed the gold in his jade green eyes. From a distance, they were a stark green, but your new found proximity told a different story. You have not been able to see them as anything other than that obscure green ever since.

You break the water's surface and draw in a deep breath, smoothing your wet hair away from your face.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come back up." Jake is leaning against the open door frame, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

You hum, blinking the dripping water away. "Sorry," you murmur, although you don't know what you're apologizing for. He could do that, draw apologies from your mouth even when you had done nothing worthy of forgiveness.

He sighs and moves across the bathroom with languid familiarity, and you have to remind yourself that this is real. It is a strange concept to grasp, seeing him here, in your house. It's surreal to you, the thought that he exists beyond the base and is so domestic.

"Wasn't looking for an apology, kid. Just came to bring you some wine." He produces a glass that you failed to notice originally and sets it on the ground next to him, crouching down beside the tub. One of his hands dips in to swirl the water with the tip of his finger.

Though he doesn't stare, you are keenly aware that he can surely see more than just your naked shoulders through the clear bath water. Strangely, you don't flush at the thought.

His chin comes to rest on the edge of the tub, and his green eyes watch you with a curious guile. It is a look that you have come to enjoy for its fleeting but ensuring familiarity.

You sink back into the tub, feeling the tickle of the water as it laps at the nape of your neck. "You just wanted an excuse to look."

The corner of his mouth quirks faintly upwards. "I'll take what I can get."

As you watch each other, you come to the realization that you could want this. This moment. This life. Him.

For a glimmer of a second, you see yourself making dinner, a green eyed toddler balanced on your hip. The dog he didn't want barks at the front door as his truck pulls into the driveway. He finally walks into the kitchen after a long day in the air and wraps himself around you from behind—

Jake wiggles his fingers in the water, disrupting the calm surface of it.

"Get in," you invite him. It's a well intended, genuine proposition, and one you see no problem with. After your breach of professionalism in the hangar, sharing a bath seemed to rank decently low on the scale of scandal.

"No," he huffs, dismissing the idea, but his eyes twinkle, at least humoring you in his refusal.

Not allowing yourself the be disappointed with his answer, you let your cheek rest against the rim of the tub with a wistful smile. "Should I get out then?"

His fingers brush the inside of your knee and ghost down your calf. "No," he says again. "I like you like this."

Naked. Exposed. Relenting.

You smile at each other with your lips pressed together to convey what the two of you won't say out loud. Something inside you knows he won't be this way tomorrow. He won't share this same look with you, won't be this gentle or tangible again.

His hand curls around your ankle, his thumb working into a particularly tender spot. You wince, a hiss escaping through your teeth as you refrain from jerking your foot away from his digging fingers. It hurts at first, the rough massaging of his fingers into the muscle, but the discomfort dissipates when he draws your foot up and places a delicate kiss to the arch. You feel your cheeks warm. His green eyes linger on you.

"We should talk," you murmur softly.

"About?" he hums coyly, pressing another tender kiss to your ankle. The hot trail of his lips lingers on your skin.

Getting him to talk has been like pulling teeth, and it's obvious that's not about to change now.

As much as you want to remain here with his lips pressed to your skin for forever, you sit up in the water to face him, and he pliantly releases your ankle back into the bath. Without saying anything, you lean forward and search his eyes for any sort of sign of what all this is about, wondering if it's some sort of sick joke and he's just fucking around with you.

His green eyes do nothing but watch you keenly, his eyebrow quirking as he stares back at you. What exactly you're looking for, you don't know. You want to ask him what the hell you're doing here, sitting in your bathroom, too close to be considered professional, but all you can do is stare and listen to the sound of his breathing.

Your bodies have drifted closer to each other during the process, only separated by the rim of the bathtub. Your faces mere inches from each other, he tips his chin up and your noses brush. You can feel the hovering warmth of his lips over your own. The exhale that escapes you is shaky and surely he hears it. Jake's gaze dips to your parted lips and then flickers back up. With more care than you would have imagined him capable of, he presses his mouth to yours.

This kiss is more hesitant than the first, softer and more timid than anything. His lips are pillowy, and you have to shove down the urge to take the plump pout of his bottom lip between your teeth. A wanting ache pools into your stomach. It is the second time that you've known the hot pulse of his mouth and basked in the taste of him.

All too soon, he pulls away, but nevertheless, you're breathless, still trying to comprehend it all. There are a lot of conflicting emotions racing through you, and you're not sure of which ones to trust. A part of you knows this isn't right. He's both a coworker and a friend — not to mention nearly ten years your senior.

But he's smiling at you with those beguiling green eyes, and you're learning that very little matters when he looks at you like that.

The towel you wrap around yourself serves little purpose because as soon as you step out of the tub, Jake is crowding you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

He pays little heed to your insistence that he'll slip on the wet floor in his socks, instead choosing to kiss along your bare shoulder, mindless to where you're going. The two of you hit the wall before you make it anywhere else so he traps your body with his and connects your lips again.

He licks into your mouth, tasting you with an assured vigor. Using the leverage of your position against the wall, the next kiss is harder, trapping you between his body and the plaster. You have to remind yourself to keep hold of the towel around you. You free hand curls around his head to grasp onto what is left of his cropped hair. It is soft and downy between your fingers.

His teeth catch hold of your bottom lip, and he sucks on it gently, causing you to exhale shakily, dizzy with his taste. When he releases it, there is hardly enough time for you to breathe before his mouth captures yours again.

The lack of space between you creates an air that is suffocatingly hot and needy. Your lips feel swollen and slick with spit. He nips at the tender skin, and this time you whimper.

Jake pulls away when you lean forward to chase his lips again. His hands go to his shirt, pulling it over his head with one forceful tug. The flesh of his torso slides over muscle with the effort. His pants go next.

It is the first time that you see him naked. The first time you see him in anything other than a clean cut, military issued uniform, an image so conventionalized in your mind that it had become impossible to imagine him any other way. It is a type of unearthing for you, because you realize he's not unlike what you expected him to be.

Like his cheeks, his broad shoulders are tan and golden, even darker in comparison to his sun brazen complexion. The handles of his hips fade into large quads, tense with muscle. He's full, as one would think a man should be, his muscles swollen to the point that it looks skin splitting. It is foreign to you, his sturdiness, barren of boyhood.

Your towel goes next, and it falls to the ground at your feet, abandoned on the bedroom floor. Then he's kissing you again, your mouths raw and wet from tasting each other. The only breath you can suck in is his own.

As if he can sense your building headiness, Jake eases up a bit, connecting a few relatively tame pecks to your lips. Doing so, he grins against your mouth. Your eyes are closed but you can imagine the confident, all too relaxed look on his face as he says it.

"Just let go."

You have never been good at opening up, something past boyfriends have begged you — tears dripping down faces in college dorms — to do. You grew up alone, in a normal sized house with regular parents who fought enough to talk about divorce but never enough to do it. And so when you get scared, the nervous tendencies and self preservation that you learned as a child take over. Like a dog who learned not to trust a man's raised hand. Always ready to bite. Always on guard with your chest heaving wide and teeth bared.

He hovers, as if knowing not to push you. You are the same in that way, in your astuteness for each other. It was as if you knew each other without trying. His fingers smooth along the ridges of your spine. Pressed against his body, you linger indulgently at the hollow of his throat. His skin smells salty and raw, unsullied by the usual cleanly redolence of woody soap and washing detergent.

The thought occurs your to again.

I could want this.

It feels good if nothing else.

You unclench your jaw and become nothing beneath him.

Jake pushes you back until you're laying flat against the bed, and you have almost completely reversed positions. He follows, taunt muscles moving fluidly under bronze skin as he crawls over you. Wanting him closer, your legs hook around his waist, pressing his hips into your own. You can feel him harden at the contact.

There's no teasing, no rough foreplay, no biting remarks. He explores your body at his own pace, his large calloused hands pawing at the swell of your breasts before sliding down to squeeze firmly at the muscle of your ass.

The drag of his thigh against your clit is enough to draw a gasp from you, and he grins against your skin. Jake kisses along your chest, tongue teasing up the valley of your breasts while you grind your hips up into him.

A desperate whine slips out of your throat when he lifts his head. He moves up on the bed and plants a chaste kiss to your lips to quiet you. Then he pulls away again, face hovering over yours. His green eyes are bright, returning a sort of youthful gleam to his face.

"What?" he inquires, asking in the manner of someone who already knew the answer before they spoke.

"Want to feel you."

He hums, hand slipping under your hips to press them up into his own. The hard—hot—outline of his cock twitches against your bare skin. "You can feel me plenty."

He waits for the answer that he wants.

"Want to feel you inside me."

Grinning, he mocks an 'ahh' of understanding before leaning back to dig in his dresser, supposedly for a condom. For a glimmer of a moment, you lay back and marvel at the sheer size of him—the thick build of his shoulders, the hulking mass of his thighs, the size of his hard cock.

Catching onto your staring, Jake pulls a smirk that says he's pleased with having caught you doing so. Humility has never been a characteristic that you would have attached to Jake, and perhaps it was his resulting confidence that made his lack of the virtue so forgivable.

You wave him off when he comes up from the dresser empty handed. You'd take a plan B in the morning if you had too. He raises a brow, mouth quirking at your disregard but doesn't comment on it.

Jake crawls back over you and teases the tip of his flushed cock at your entrance just to hear you whine before sliding in. His size is by no means deceiving. The stretch of him stings. Jake quiets your grunt of discomfort by pressing his mouth to yours, tongue entangling with your own.

Your fingers dig into the hard muscle of his back, nails leaving half moons in his skin. His breath fans over your face, nose brushing yours as he hovers, waiting.

"Relax," he murmurs, one of his large palms rubbing up the tense muscle of your side. He can feel the tension beneath your skin, quivering with anticipation.

"Move, Jake," you pant from between your clenched teeth.

"Relax," he repeats, sterner. The tone of his voice tells you that he's not going to move until you do.

Huffing, you will your spine to loosen, try to let go of the tension in your hips. It's hard to concentrate when all you can feel is the splitting stretch of his pulsing cock inside of you, but you manage to relax enough that the clench of your knees isn't so tight around his hips.

"Atta girl."

Gently, as not to move too suddenly, Jake rocks his body into yours, hips rolling against your own. You close your eyes and breathe him in. Like a match being struck, the movement ignites a spark in your abdomen. The tone of your whines change from discomfort to pleasure as he continues to rock his hips.

"Fuck," he groans. "You're tight. But takin' me so well."

Face tucked into his neck, mouth pressed to his ear, all that comes out is a moan in response.

Jake's hand glides down your side, blunt fingers bumping over the ridges of your ribs and across your hip. His palm smooths over the curve of your ass, hand cupping the underside of your thigh and hiking it up without warning. The change in angle allows him to sink deeper into your, hitting a spongey spot that has you mewling.

Your fingers dig into the flesh of his shoulder, nails digging crescents that are sure to draw blood. The breath that escaped him is sharp. He grits his teeth, mouth pressed to your throat as he sponges kisses to your skin.

Something tells you he likes it, the pain. Not necessarily in a masochistic way, his psych exams would never let him get away with that. But you suspect it's more of a reminder that he's human. You know for you it is.

You know that your time is not unlimited and despite that fact that you're good at what you do, your role as a fighter pilot has an expiration date. The average time spent in the field is ten years, and even then most didn't stay in that long. These days, every mission you come back from is a miracle. Eventually you run out of those.

Jake's palm that isn't supporting your thigh slides back up your ribs until his fingers find yours link them, and bring them above your head. The position stretches the expanse of your body out across the bed, exposing you entirely to him. Jake abandons the crease of your neck to suck a bruise to the underside of your breast, a spot he knows will be hidden by your bra should anyone care to look. The laving of his tongue along your nipple sends a shiver down your spine.

Between the rocking of his cock inside you and the attention he's paying to your breasts, you reach your breaking point. You squirm beneath him, walls clenching around his cock as you come. The orgasm travels all the way down to your toes and has you curling them into the mattress.

Jake isn't far behind you. He comes without warning, without asking in or out. You feel it when he releases inside of you, hot and overwhelming. You close your eyes, your head falling back against the mattress as he pulls out. Your used cunt clenches around nothing, already missing his absence. With your heart beating fast inside of your chest, you're grateful that the fan had already been turned on in your bedroom. It helps to cool your flushed cheeks.

Somewhere to your side, you feel the mattress dip and Jake rolls off to lay beside you. He says something but the words are nothing but noise in the back of your fuzzy head. You know you need to clean yourself up, get up and brush your teeth, but you're suddenly more tired than you've ever been in your entire life. Five minutes just to close your eyes won't hurt.

——

You wake up with a start hours later. At first you're confused. The bedroom is oddly bright and your alarm hasn't yet gone off. The sight of Jake tangled in your sheets, snoring occasionally beside you brings it all back.

The soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table swallows his body in a golden brown hue. He's faced towards you on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other cupping the underside of your thigh, which is slung over his hip. Wide awake beside him, you use the opportunity to observe his face freely.

A faint smattering of freckles that look more like sun damage than anything hide behind his tanned complexion. They creep down the bridge of his nose and across his strong cheekbones, hardly noticeable unless you were to really look.

His fair hair and blonde lashes make you think that he was probably even blonder in his younger years. His lips match the flush of his cheeks, a dusty rose color with a plumpness that most girls usually spend good money trying to achieve.

But as the glorious post-sex haze fades away, so does your blissful negligence. You have a training meeting in an hour, and yet here you are, sleeping in the bed with a man that you barely even know.

You should go, get up before he does so that you're not leaving for the meeting at the same time.

Shifting across the mattress proves to be a relatively easy task. Jake barley moves an inch as you slip from his grasp, the mattress creaking just slightly beneath you. It's when your feet hit the cold floor that the latest problem presents itself.

Lukewarm liquid escapes down your thighs, creating a trail of creamy liquid down your bare legs. A recap of the night's events plays through your head. You didn't use a condom.

"Fuck me," you curse quietly, rushing toward the bathroom as best you can with semen dripping down you legs. You awkwardly step into the shower and rise yourself off, already making plans to buy a Plan B as soon as you can. Nothing will be open this early so you'll have to go after the meeting.

You creep back into the bedroom in search of your uniform. To your dismay, Jake turns over as you tiptoe across the room. After a moment, he sits up slightly, watching as you yank on your clothes from last night. They're rumpled from spending the night on the floor, but you've shown up for work in much worse condition. Jake hasn't said a word.

When you reach for the door, he's still watching you. For a second you panic, wondering if you're supposed to kiss him goodbye or at least say something as you leave.

If he's expecting you to and you don't, you set a clear boundary to whatever is going on between you. If he's not and you do, it could be the last time you see him inside your bedroom.

Before you can think twice, you mutter a goodbye and dart out the door.

[riki-dazed]

When camping with your best friend (with benefits) doesn't go to plan

NSFW smut · block & don't read if you're uncomfortable · reader gives a bj, cursing · wc: 1139 · requested

Your phone vibrated in your hands, you shifted your gaze down to it to find a text from your best friend.

come to my tent

there's no one here atm

A small smile found its way across your lips, you wasted no time in hurrying out of your tent and down to where Riki's was pitched.

Some of the boys invited you and other mutual friends to go on a short camping trip with them out in the woods, you were ecstatic over the fact it meant getting to spend more time with your favourite person, Riki.

"Took you long enough," The said boy teased as you unzipped the opening to his tent and threw yourself inside, while simultaneously shushing him by placing your finger across your lips. You made sure to close the entry back up.

"The others left to go on a walk, my baby, there's no one here," He spoke, his deep voice was tainted by firey excitement, yet it was still hushed and cautious. The tone of his voice was music to your ears.

The pet name caused you to erupt into quiet giggles as you crawled over to him on all fours before settling on his lap, straddling his thighs. The both of you shared a swift look, nothing but soft smiles filled the tight, dark space.

You wasted no time in closing the few inches that were left between the two of you. Your stomach erupted into an array of butterflies as you engulfed his soft, plump lips with your own. Your lips danced against one another's. Goodness you loved the feeling of his lips, no one else's could compare or even come close to how good his pillowy ones felt against you. You could've stayed making out with him like that all night.

His touchy hands only added to your butterflies.

Riki's smile broke the kiss for a split moment as he breathlessly spoke against your swollen, red tinted lips, "What if I invited you over to talk? You're so needy,"

He pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a quiet, high-pitched moan from your throat that drove him wild. He loved the noises you'd make, even more so considering he was the only one who got to hear those heavenly sounds of yours.

You could feel him growing harder and harder under his sweat pants, and although the feeling of him against your clothed core was making you feel lightheaded, you successfully fought the urge to grind down onto him. You had a different plan in mind for your best friend that evening.

Riki watched you carefully with a raised eyebrow as you climbed off him, a tender look settled in his eyes. You kneeled beside his large body as he laid back and propped himself up on his elbows. Feeling more playful than usual, you began to fiddle with the waistband of his sweat pants, salivating when you noticed he only had sweats on.

"Baby, please," Riki almost whined, which only turned you on even more, "Please do something,"

You smiled to yourself as you watched his twitching bulge, proud of how hard you've managed to get him by barely even doing anything. A string of hushed curses escaped his lips as you palmed him through the gray fabric.

"..I'm already close," Riki groaned, sounding like he was disappointed. You chuckled in reply before you ever so slightly pulled his sweat pants down, finally revealing all of him. 

You placed a few soft pecks on the sensitive skin, followed by some kitten licks. After licking up the shaft, you proceeded to take the entirety of his length into your warm, more than welcoming mouth. You sigh in content. He sucks in a breath, the vibrations only adding to his dizziness. He could've sworn he saw stars.

"Oh my fuck, y/n," His hips bucked upwards mere seconds later, his member perfectly hitting the back of your throat, "J-just like that,"

After a few minutes of Riki squirming underneath you, you decided to give your mouth a quick break as you continued the job with your hands. You knew exactly how he liked it best.. and boy did you do your best for him. Riki's head fell backwards at the sight of your small hands wrapped around him, sticky and wet. His chest tightened with every kiss you left on his tip.

"And to think you called me the needy one," You chuckled quietly as you played with him against your tongue,

"I will never not be needy for you," His eyes shut, his eyebrows twisted in pleasure. He was in such a state of pure bliss he could barely choke out coherent sentences.

"Y/n.. I-I'm gonna cum,"

What did I do to deserve having him like this for me?

"It's okay, let go for me," You reassured Riki before taking him back inside. The wet warmth made his abs tense up for what might've been the fiftieth time underneath his thin, white tee.

"F-fuck.. Fuck," One of his hands found its way into your hair, gripping the strands tightly between his fingers. He helped guide your head as it bobbed on him.

As Riki coated the inside of your mouth, you made sure to swallow every last sticky drop while maintaining eye contact with him. He looked so prettily fucked out, the sight had you squeezing your thighs together.

Mustering up all the energy he had left within himself, Riki sat up and went straight back for your lips, his grip in your hair not budging. He could taste himself on your tongue.

"Are y'all done yet..?"

Your jaw fell open at the sound of the familiar voice that came from outside the tent.. That was Jay.

You stared at Riki, your eyes wide. He stared back at you just as shocked as his hand fell from your hair, he was still trying to catch his breath. The panting boy immediately pulled his sweats up, his lips pursed, holding back a laugh.

"Did they hear us?" You mouthed, he shrugged in reply.

Your hand flew to your face, covering your mouth as you tried to not make any further noises. Riki's eyes focused on the entry to the tent.

"I'm already close~" What sounded like Jake's mocking voice was heard next, you gasped quietly.

"How long have yous been out there!?" Riki shouted, your body fell forwards across his as your cheeks flushed red. His long arms wrapped around your figure, you couldn't help but laugh against his torso.

"We didn't want to interrupt.. Now stop sucking dick and come out here to eat proper food," Another one of the boys added which had caused Riki to quietly start laughing with you.

You spent the rest of that night hiding your face as the boys continued to crack jokes non-stop.

...

Copyright © 2024 riki-dazed. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED | Do NOT edit, copy, translate or repost any of my work without permission.

[aphroditesswan]

just read yur kinich fic where he called yn princesa and allat and CHAAATTT ??? I CRAVE MORE OMG 😭😭

sorry i disappeared guys ijbol im cooking up sum interesting 👅👅

but while i do that i should totally make more fics in the meantime so here you go my babies 🫦

fem reader + mexican/spanish speaking kin, lowk a little angsty idk i was depressed when i wrote this, oral (kin receiving), praise praise praise lots of praise, blood mention but its the abyss and its sexy, gentle-ish kinich he js kinda lays back

“thats it, hermosa, right there,” kinich couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he was around you, you just made him want to talk.

not to mention just how perfect you looks between his legs, like you were just so naturally made to be there sucking him off as you pleased.

he couldn’t resist how your lips hugged his shaft, the slow drag of your tongue as he resisted the urge to tighten the gentle grip on your head and push your head down further just to hear the prettiest of whines slip from your mouth, muffled by his thick cock.

he wanted to be gentle today — something sweet as a celebration for coming home to each other after the war. he missed you so dearly, thought about you with every monster he stabbed through the chest and wondered how you were holding up with every person he saw that he couldn’t save.

but right now, all of that was forgetting as he ran his fingers through your hair. he sang your praises as you sat on your knees in front of him, sweats pulled down just enough to free his cock from their confines because god, you couldn’t resist how his sweats hugged his hips with small beads of sweat decorating his bare torso.

“fuck—just like that princesa, i miss you sooo much,”

he groaned out, head falling forward as his mouth hung open in pleasure, in gratitude, in devotion, in pure love.

“thought about you the entire time. missed you s’ much, mi hermosa. shit, all i wanted was to be with you.”

he was especially talkative tonight, a bit of blood from the abyss still staining his cheek, parts of his biceps, a couple blotches on his pants. it didn’t seem to bother you, so it didn’t bother him. he would’ve went crazy without you for any longer, he needed you in anyway that you wished. he would have gotten on his own knees and begged to touch you, begged to hold you again after the night and frankly the morning after the war that the entirety of natlan had.

he needed you in the most carnal way — when he swung his claymore and watched the way it all morphed into glowing yellow and teal, when he spat at the monsters he slayed and looked for the next route of information, when he watched a saurian or a tribe member fall and take their last breathe, all he could think of was getting home to you. finding you, holding you so tight that you nearly popped.

he was barely paying attention to the pleasure you gave him, looking down at you and admiring just how gorgeous you looked. messy hair, visible exhaustion, smudged makeup, sweat and grime and blood in oddly gorgeous patterns along your body that he was entirely positive only you could pull off.

“so gorgeous, mi princesa. right there, thaaats it. so good for me, yeah?”

his voice was lower than usual, an insatiable need to see you messy and marked with him. to see that you were his, to see physical proof of your devotion to him.

he couldn’t help but hold onto your head as he was close, grunts low and ragged as he came down your throat with his hand holding the back of your head.

“fuck— there were go princesa there we go, y’ take me so well.”

when he pulled from your mouth, he cupped your jaw with his rough hand, a bit bloody and bruised from swinging his claymore so recklessly.

he admired the shine of his cum on your lips, lining your mouth with a glossy shine that he thought was so much better than any lip gloss he had ever gifted you.

“i’d kiss you but it’d be a waste if you didn’t taste more of me. come up here and let me eat that pretty pussy, yeah princesa?”

woo!! sorry guys im lowk depressed 🥹 but the gears r TURNINGGG trust

[aerynwrites]

Sacrifices

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

A/N: sorry for posting a day late. Been busy with holiday things, work and school. Hope you enjoy! and if you do please consider leaving a comment or reblog! even if you just scream into the tags i really really do love reading your all's thoughts - incoherent or not haha. Word Count: 3k Warnings: Canon typical Violence, (attempted) self sacrifice, mentions of grenade based injuries, description of gore/injury, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, soft/fluff towards the end. Summary: The team is on a mission and quickly becoming overwhelmed. In the middle of a push through enemy lines, reader is the only one who notices the grenade that was thrown. She acts to save the men she loves.

The firefight has been constant it seems like, your entire group pinned down between sandbags and barricades and royally pissed off Russian soldiers. infiltration has been slow - almost nonexistent, your group moving forward only a few feet at a time, rushing from one barely there cover to the next. 

Your comms erupt with staticky calls of enemy movement before abruptly clicking off as gunfire takes its place.  Shouts from Price and Ghost trying to get air support and medical and god knows what else, just anything to help you all.

The mission has gone to shit. Gone from infiltrate and extract to a fight for your lives.

“Sunny, you with me?” 

Gaz’s voice fills your ears, your callsign pulling you from your own mind as you move to click the button to respond. 

“Repeat.”

“I see an opening,” Gaz says again, and you look over at him from where he sits several feet away from you, behind a concrete barrier matching your own. 

He gestures with his hands towards some cover a few yards up, and after a quick glance and no small calculations of your own, you think it might work.  Ghost and Soap are already there, having made the move ages ago but leaving you and Gaz unable to join them.  

If you can all get together, you might stand a chance at rushing the remaining enemies, pushing your way into the base and…

You nod.

“I’ll cover you,” Gaz says, “Then you three will cover me.”

“Got it,” you say, voice buzzing in your own ears. “As good a plan as any, at this rate.”

An all to familiar rough baritone fills your ears, and you have to fight back the smile twitching at your lips. 

“If ya quit your yapping,” Ghost says, voice firm, “You’d both be ‘ere by now.”

“On my mark…” Gaz says.

And then he’s calling out, a storm of bullets raining down as you sprint towards your team mates. the noise is deafening yet despite it all, it’s like you can hear everything. 

The beat of your heart in your chest. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The blood rushing in your ears, the sounds of your rubber soled boots hitting the cracked concrete. 

Thump, thump

The rush of air in and out of your lungs.

Thump, thump.

The all too familiar gentle jingle of a grenade pin. 

Thump, thump,

Two more breaths. Too long, you think. 

Thump, thump.

The sound of metal clattering against concrete. 

Thump. Thump.

No one’s seen it, the rattle of gunfire too loud, their focus too drawn in by the enemy. 

Thump, Thump.

It’s close to Soap and Ghost, just behind them - too close-

“Grenade!”

Your voice is barely audible over the chaos, the sound that your heartbeat was drowning out crashing over you all at once as you throw the entirety of your body weight forward. Soap had heard you just as your fingers dig their way under the straps of his tac vest, shoving him forward and down, right on top of your startled lieutenant who sees what you’re doing much to late to change the course of events. 

“Sunny, no-!”

Soap collides with Ghost - bodies toppling onto crumbling concrete, unable to keep their feet underneath them as you fall on top of them. You wrap your arms around Soap as the grenade explodes, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you try your damndest to shield him and Ghost from it. 

It happens fast - faster than you’d ever imagined something like this happening - faster than your sprint over here. There’s a flash of light, burning heat, shouts cut off by a deafening blast as searing pain shoot through you.

Metal on your tongue.

More gunfire. 

You think your comms are going off but your head feels like its spitting open, ears ringing and you feel like your burning and freezing all at once. Teeth chattering and adding to that blasted ringing in your ears-

“-get out of there now!”

That you hear, along with the warnings of in coming air support. 

Instinctively you go to move, but pain blinds you, ripping a scream from your throat as pain shoots from your side up to your arm and down to your very toes. 

Soap is above you then, eyes panicked as he looks from you down your body then back up at Ghost.

“Lt! What the bleedin’ hell are we doin’!” He yells, fighting to be heard over the gunfire. 

You take this moment to look around, chest heaving as you struggle to breath, mind desperately searching for context. 

Ghost is up again, gun pointed over the concrete barrier as he continues to lay cover fire. You’re vaguely aware of Gaz just behind you, yelling into his comms about a man down and needing medical immediately and ‘we have to move!’

Your eyes then fall down to assess yourself, only to feel complete and utter fear pin you to the ground beneath you. Your side - the little exposed below your tac vest, your hip and your leg-

You have to look away to fight the vomit fighting its way up your throat. It’s a bloody mess - literally.nSoaps hands are covered in the viscous liquid as he put pressure on the gaping wounds, trying to stem the blood pouring from your leg.  You think you saw bone-

Black seeps in at the corners of your vision and you are only kept from the creeping darkness by a warm hand on your face as Soap’s own appears above you, and - why is it wet?

“Hey! Hey lass, none of tha’ now-” he gently taps your cheek. “Now why did you go ‘an do something right stupid like that?” He asks, trying to force that teasing lilt into his words but failing as the panic overrides it. 

Your mind is turning to mush, tongue heavy in your mouth as that coldness from earlier starts to slowly creep forward, starting at your fingers and moving ever upwards. 

“Do…do what?” You ask, fighting against chattering teeth.

Ghost turns then, speaking between breaks of gunfire as the telltale sounds of jets appear in the distance. 

“Use yourself as a fucking human shield is what!” He bellows, and even in your delirious state you can see the wrath in his eyes as he shoulders his gun once again, pointing at Soap. “Get her up, we have to move now!  Or whatever heroic bloody deed she was trying to commit will be for nothing-”

Gaz speaks now, glancing from you to Ghost.

“Lt. I don’t think she’ll-”

Ghost lunges forward then, gripping Gaz’s vest in his hands so tight you’re worried. 

“Don’t finish that sentence, Garrick,” Ghost bites. “No man left behind. Ever. Now move!”

Soap barely has time to mutter an apology before he tying something around your leg and yanking you up from the ground. 

The pain is all consuming. You think you scream but can feel it being cut off as something wet comes up on a cough. That all too familiar metal taste flooding your tongue.

It hits you then, with the taste of blood in your mouth and the tunnel vision closing in..

You’re dying. 

The world shudders around you as Soap runs full speed with your team, trying in vain to keep you as steady as possible as Ghost and Gaz lay cover fire for your retreat. 

Your head lolls backward, knocking against Johnny’s arm with every step, and you just manage to see the vapor trails of fighter jets above you, the white wispy clouds left behind giving you an odd sense of comfort in this moment. 

Johnny looks down at you as the earth shakes beneath his boots and he barely even stumbles. 

He always was the most agile of you all, Ghost the strongest - both of them protective. Even now you can feel Johnny’s arms tighten around you, can hear Ghost’s commanding shouts- although you can’t make out what he says. 

You’re too far gone for that.

Your fingers grip weakly at the various pockets and straps of Johnny’s tac vest as he starts to slow to a stop. You’re in the forest now, the towering tops of the trees creating a vast circle in your ever narrowing vision. A clearing? 

Wow...the sky is pretty too. A very faint pinkish hue dusting the sky behind the fluffy clouds. It must be approaching evening, the sun moving to sink below the horizon…

Night time…sleep sounds really good right about now. You’ve been fighting it -  the pain being your main focus, but now it’s all you want to do. Even the pain is starting to fade-

“No, no - “ another tap to your cheek and your eyes flutter open weakly. 

Johnny’s face is above you again, and you realize he’s kneeled down on the ground again, your legs outstretched in front of you as Gaz works quickly to try and do something about your injuries. 

Ghost is there too, and he’s no longer shouting, just breathing hard into his mask as he gazes down at you - that earlier anger replaced by…is that worry? Concern…fear?

“I must…” you trail off,breathing a herculean task. “I must be pretty…pretty bad if you’re scared, Simon.”

Ghost flinches at the use of his real name. It was an unspoken rule to never use it in the field. Never use it outside of you and him and Johnny together. Never use it unless if was just you three or in more intimate moments. 

Yeah. Simon is fucking terrified. Feels like his heart is about to plummet into the dirt. Feels like his whole world is crumbling down around him-

“Why did you do that?” He finally asks, voice losing its rough edge as he reaches up to wipe at something on your cheek. Probably blood. “Why?”

You smile then. Despite everything, you smile. 

“Couldn’t…” another wheezing breath in, “Couldn’t let them get…my boys.”

Soap breaks then, a broken sound ripping from his chest as he reaches up with his free hand to grip onto one of your own, bringing it up to press chapped lips to bloodied knuckles. 

You can’t feel the tears when they fall onto your skin, but you see the tracks they leave in the crimson stains. Follow them as they slide from the valley of your fingers over the back of your hand before disappearing beneath the sleeves of your uniform. 

“Don’t cry,” you whisper, before choking on another cough. 

The wind picks up now, and you can see the tree branches quiver violently. 

“Evac’s here!” Gaz calls, and you can see the hope that sparks in their eyes as the blades of the helicopter come into view. 

Soap looks down again, another kiss to you knuckles before he’s moving taking you into his arms as he stands. 

It doesn’t hurt at all this time. 

“They’re ‘ere, bonnie,” he says, voice cracking. “Gonna fix you right up-”

You don’t hear the rest.

The thrum of helicopter blades drown him out and then, just as you see a team of medics jump from the interior, darkness finally consumes you. 

At least they’re safe.

It was all worth it. Just for that.

———

Waking up is like trying to wade through knee deep snow. It takes all of your energy, and every moment feels like an eternity with little to no progress. But you keep pushing, snippets of voices and small sounds urging you forward. 

Two voices in particular. Familiar. Warm. Scared. 

“I never thought I’d be the one by your bedside.” Ghost. “A bloody idiot you are. But our idiot, so don’t,” is he crying? “Don’t you fucking die on me.”

You hear Johnny next, it’s the only other voice your brain seems to register in this thick fog of unconsciousness. Along with the feather light brush of fingers in your own.

“Still cannae believe ya did it,” you can’t find it in you to be sorry. “Please, wake up lass…please.”

You eventually do - Wake up that is. 

And what a bloody nightmare it is. Blinding lights, the deafening beeping of a monitor in your ear, people shouting but only two of them are familiar, fighting to stay in the chaotic room as Doctors rush about an shine lights in your eyes and ask you all kinds of questions and then-

It’s over. 

It’s over and you have a flimsy plastic cup of water being shoved into your hands and fingers carding through your hair and lips pressed against your temple before two sets of eyes fix on you. One chocolate brown and the other a piercing blue as they look at you expectantly.

It’s a stand off for longer than you anticipated. Neither Johnny nor Simon speaking and you trying to catch up with how fast your brain is moving. Eventually you move to speak after taking another sip of water, a few drops slipping past your lips as your hands shake slightly. 

“I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Simon throws his hands up, a scoff slipping passed his masked lips, the sound muffled by the black surgical mask adorning his face. 

“Of course that’s the first bloody thing you say-”

“Well I’m not!” You argue, frustration bubbling up in your chest as the heart monitor slowly speeds up. 

Johnny tries to step in. “Lass, we dinnae expect an apology-”

Simon cuts him off.

“Speak for yourself,” he steps closer to the side of the bed, gripping the side-rail in a white knuckled grip. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was? Throwing yourself in front of us like that?”

You have to fight back the tears you feel burning at the back of your eyes. Anger, frustration, guilt all bubbling together in your chest in a confusing mix of emotions. 

Why is he giving you the third degree? 

“It’s not like I planned it Simon, I didn’t think-”

“You’re fucking right you didn’t think!” Simon roars, voice reverberating off the walls of the small hospital room. 

Johnny reaches out then, hand firm on Simon’s shoulder as he tries to pull him away from you. “Simon, that’s enough-!”

He shoves his hand away, turning to pin the sergeant with a fiery gaze before turning his attention back to you. 

“No Johnny,” he bites before addressing you again. “Did you know you died?” 

The words shock you, making you physically flinch back into the bed as Simons stares you down. And it’s in this suffocating silence that his statement brought on that you finally see it. The fear in his eyes. The fear that wavers just beneath the watery lash line of the eyes you’ve come to find solace in. 

You shake your head softly. 

“I…I died?”

Johnny nods, sniffling softly before swiping a hand down his face. 

“For five minutes,” He says softly, finally moving to sink into one of the chairs by your bed. 

“You died,” Simon repeats, voice having lost its angry edge. “And you could’ve stayed dead. Then you would’ve been six feet under with nothin’ but a fucking medal an’ a picture on the wall and-” he chokes. “And where would we be? Where would we be without you?”

Johnny takes your hand in his own - the familiar calloused warmth soothing to your battered mind and body. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out in measured beats as you try to digest this information. You’re only brought out of it when another hand takes your free one - this one also familiar in a slightly different way. 

It reminds you of why you did it in the first place. You love them. Both of them in their own unique way. Johnny is big and all consuming and loud and boisterous but gentile and just slightly soft around the edges when he needs to be. His hands are calloused and warm but smoother on the palms. 

Simon is…he’s somewhat opposite. He’s quiet and reserved and frankly quite intimidating on the outside. His words are few but meaningful. He’s large and imposing and can scare the living daylights out of someone when he wants but when he’s with you and Johnny…he’s different. He’s all gentle words and soft touches - as if you’re made of fine porcelain and he’s the bull in the china shop. His hands are cooler than Johnny’s but still soft in places and still just as comforting. 

“I love you,” you finally whisper, eyes peeling open to look at the men by your sides. 

“I…I can’t apologize because I love you,” you explain. “And if I had to do it all over again, I would. It was just…instinct.”

They’re both silent for a moment, your words sinking in until Simon lets out a rather uncharacteristic sniffle. He tugs down his mask, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes before bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a feather light kiss to your knuckles. 

“Yeah, well…” his voice is thick with emotion. “Leave the sacrificin’ to us in the future, okay love?”

He doesn’t say much more, never being one to talk much about how he feels, but you understand what was left unsaid. And so does Johnny, apparently voicing what your shared partner can’t.

“He’s right, lass,” he agrees, lips tugging up in the smile you’ve come to adore. “We just got somethin’ good. Too good for the likes of us. Cannae go losin’ it now.”

You send both of them a smile of your own, but it’s damped by the tears that finally spill over. Not sad ones necessarily, but tears created out of love and pure adoration for the men before you. 

The tears don’t make it far before Simon is reaching out, cradling your face in his hands, thumbs wiping them away before pulling his mask down just enough to press his lips to your own. You return the gesture, squeezing his hand when he pulls away. 

You then tug Johnny towards you, sniffling before giving him a quick kiss as well when he leans in. Then before you can move two sets of arms are wrapped around you, careful of your wounds but holding onto you fiercely. Whispered ‘I love you’s’ are murmured into your skin, fingers carding through you hair as you all finally relish in each other’s presence. 

For now you were all alive - alive and able to hold one another. 

And that would just have to be good enough. 

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Finale — Azriel x Reader

Summary: The grand Illyrian ball is here. Reader is more than ready to return to Windhaven and Azriel, but daddy Fin throws a huge spanner in the works. Life as they know it is about to change.

Note — I’ve tried to tag everyone who’s asked but there are some people that it simply won’t let me tag 🥲

Word Count: 10.6k (oop, sorry 😅)

Warnings: There’s a looot to unpack here. Depictions of violence and gore. Some light smut. 18+!

This place is cold and unforgiving.

The air in your lungs is constricted before you’ve even stepped through the giant gates. They call it the Hewn City due to its entirety being hewn from cold, hard rock.

But you get the feeling these walls are more than that. You can feel the horror in the cracks, the loneliness that screams behind its surface.

You don’t know how Mor has survived so long here. You’re already itching to get out.

A warm hand splays across your back, and you turn to face Fin. It’s not the first time he drinks you in so hungrily, but you could be forgiven for thinking so, by the way his eyes heat all over again. He glances quickly at your lips, and in this empty meeting room that he’s stolen you away to, you’re not at all sure that he isn’t bold enough to act on that hunger.

“Focus, High Lord.” You murmur, brushing the lapel of his tailored jacket. “You’ve an audience waiting for you.”

Somewhat of an infantile groan leaves him — one you’re not sure he’d share with many others. He dips down and allows his forehead to drop against your shoulder, slowly breathing in your scent.

“And if I said fuck the audience,” he murmurs, “and decided to stay here to dip under this gown and ravish you? What then?”

“Then I wager your subjects would be mighty displeased that you brought them here for nothing.”

“I could make you moan,” his nose nudges your neck, “loud enough to give them a show.”

“Later.” You promise falsely, and the lie is sour on your tongue. You step back and straighten yourself out. “You have a duty to attend to.”

The way his eyes sweep you tells you that you are the only duty he wishes to attend to. But he relents with a sigh and inclines his head.

“I do.” He admits. “And I will have to play my role out there. I’ll be mostly unavailable for the duration of this ball, so…I want you to go and have fun. Just don’t stray too far. I’ve organised the evening’s entertainment with you in mind, and I want you by my side when you see it.”

For a beat, you can only blink at him. You’re…touched, that he would do that for you. And your mind immediately starts swirling with possibilities of what that entertainment might be. Perhaps a show of professional dancers or a theatrical performance.

You study him, attempting to glean information merely from the expression on that granite-hewn face. “It’s Starfall.” You remind him. “Is that not the evening’s entertainment?”

He merely smiles. “I’ll send for you when it’s time.” He leans down, coasting his lips over one cheek and then the other. “Enjoy yourself.”

Without another word, he turns. Rolls his shoulders and slips into his High Lord roll. But before he can take a step towards the door, you're grabbing his hand.

“Fin—” You blurt, and he stops. You swallow as you stare up at him. “Just…please don’t let Tathaln Baralas ruin the camps.”

His gaze searches your face. You can’t get a read on his expression.

But then the corners of his lips curve up, and he’s squeezing your hand.

“I won’t let Tathaln become a problem.” He says, and then repeats, “enjoy yourself.”

The way he prises his hand from yours has an air of finality that stops you from pushing any further. You want to ask — beg, if you have to — for his reassurance. But he strides to the door, sleek black shoes clipping against the marble floor.

And left alone, you think you may have done all you possibly can do. That the rest is out of your hands.

So you attempt to shake off your relentless anxiety, and you go to find your friends.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Weaving through the mammoth structure and the sea of Illyrians that fill it, you’ve already witnessed three fights and two couples damn near fucking in nothing more hidden than the alcoves carved into the walls. Pretty tame for your people, but alas, the night is young.

There are so many pairs of wings. There is such a thick air of arrogance and ego and brutishness. You’re not quite sure where you fit in here, but before you can find a refreshment that will dull that feeling, strong arms are wrapping around your waist and yanking you backwards.

You scream, and no one around you bats an eyelash. You thrash and buck, but the attempt is met with—

Deep, smooth laughter that you know so, so well.

You relax in the offender’s hold immediately, and their arms loosen enough for you to twist in them.

You glare up at Cassian and send a punch to his bicep. “Asshole.”

“Ow!” He chokes on another laugh, and then he’s grinning brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in the fae light. “Hello, Sweetpea. I’ve missed you.”

Fuck, you’ve missed him too. And that’s all it takes for you to throw your arms around him and squeeze.

He smells like Cass. That rugged scent of his that is such a comfort. And the way he hugs you back, firm yet gentle, warm and loving and present, tells you that any previous anger he had towards you is a thing of the past.

“Windhaven is fucking boring without you.” He pulls back, holding you at arms length — and blinks. “Holy gods, look at you.”

“Look at you.” Your eyes rove over him, from his tailored, maroon-coloured suit to his brushed, slicked-back hair. His wings are squeaky clean and flared proudly. He’s stunning. Breathtaking.

He cracks another Cassian grin. “Who knew we could brush up so well, hey, Sweetpea? You’re absolutely gorgeous. I’ll be the envy of all these Illyrian males, knowing I fucked you—”

“Cassian.” You land another hit to his bicep. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve actually been sent to collect you. A certain someone is waiting for you on a patio. I’ll give you a clue — he, too, has fucked you—”

With a roll of your eyes, albeit a fond one, you’re breezing past him with a feeling of…need. To see Azriel. To have him ground you in a place and circumstance of such unfamiliarity. You need that comfort.

Cass follows promptly, slinging an arm around your shoulder — not just because he’s missed you, but because the leering eyes of hundreds of Illyrian males follow your every step. Those gazes seem to drink in your dress bead by little bead. They’re hungry for sex and for violence.

“Out here.” Your friend steers you down a hallway, untouched by not only guests, but also the horrific brilliance of the rest of this place. This is an area that most aren’t supposed to see, with chipped concrete floors and peeling walls. It’s so cold, so ugly and uninviting, that you can’t imagine why Azriel would summon you here, of all places.

But then a door appears at the end of the winding hall, open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to touch the threshold. The fresh air has goosebumps spreading over your skin.

“He wanted some private time with you. Rhys and I said we’d keep watch.” Cass studies you and huffs a deep, dramatic sigh. “I’m trying really hard not to feel left out right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t really want to be the third wheel—”

“Sure I do. I’ve told Az that he wouldn’t even know I’m there, but no, he wants you all to himself. Selfish bastard.” He reaches out, pulling the door open wider for you. And then he calls, “I hope you heard that, fucker!”

Strong footsteps emerge from argent moonlight, and Azriel’s voice is a lilting shiver across your skin. “You know I heard it, you idiot.” He says. “You…”

His words trail off as he takes you in, and suddenly you don’t know what to do with your hands, your face, with any part of you.

His stare holds the weight of a very ancient love, so much older than the both of you. It somehow translates that you had his heart in a previous life, when you were different people entirely, and you’ll still have it in the next, when your souls begin anew.

He swallows, loud enough that you all hear it. And his voice is husky as he says, “There are no words worthy of you.”

And you’re hit with a strange urge to cry. Mostly because you feel exactly the same way about him.

He is…exquisite. He’s slicked his hair back, and that alone is a huge thing for him — to openly show each and every curve and line of his face, with no strands to hide behind. The curtain of his thick, dark lashes only accentuates the honey of his eyes and the gold of his skin.

And the suit he’s donned for the evening — that same maroon colour that Cass is wearing. You wonder if Rhys, wherever he is, is wearing the same. Whether the trio look as breathtaking together as you expect them to.

“No words.” Az repeats, shaking his head. “The Mother herself must have sent you to me.”

Cassian smirks and rests an elbow atop of your head, regardless of your perfected hair. “I said the same.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I said something similar.”

“It wasn’t even close to that.”

“Be grateful of my winning charm—”

“Cassian.” Az cuts him off. “Why don’t you go and find Rhys?”

Cass lets out an infantile whine. “But he’s having private time with Zakai.”

“And I’d like to have some private time with Y/N, so. Run along.”

Your friend offers a great, dramatic huff that makes you grin, but he removes his arm from your head and turns.

“This whole coupling up thing is boring!” He calls, retreating down the hall.

And then it’s just you and Azriel.

Your love. Your heart.

You turn back to him with a coy smile, reaching up to fix your hair.

“Let me.” Az murmurs, and he steps closer, his fingers sinking into the strands of your hair. Up close, you drink him down even more, greedy and insatiable. You want to know every expression, every thought.

“There are no words worthy of you, either.” You whisper, and his eyes drop down from your hair to meet yours. “You’re a vision, Az.”

He studies you for a moment. And though his hands leave the strands, they lower only to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“What I am,” he murmurs, “is yours.”

Your eyes shutter, and you drop your forehead against his. Every last bit of trouble and turmoil you’ve experienced has been worth it to hear those words. You want them to mark your skin.

You push up onto the tips of your toes, slanting your mouth over Azriel’s. He wastes no time in sliding his hands to your waist and hauling you close to him.

You kiss him like doing so here isn’t risky. Like you have the freedom to kiss him whenever and however you both want, and there are no outer forces getting in the way. You long for the day when that will be the case. When you can love, and love proudly.

Perhaps that luxury isn’t too far out of reach.

Az seems to think so, too, as he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours once more, and he says, breathlessly, “Things are going to change — after tonight. I can feel it.”

You study him, searching for deeper meaning. And as though they can sense your anxiety, his shadows snake around your ankles in a soothing caress. “A good change, I hope.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. Me and you. I’m yours.”

You peck him once, twice. “And I am yours.”

Those words alone are enough to make heat blaze in his eyes. With adoration making way for passion, lust, he allows his gaze to rake over you, and he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“So fucking gorgeous.” His voice is guttural. “If we didn’t have to attend this ball right now, I would—”

The door flies open behind you, and Az looks more than ready to throttle Cassian as he prances back into sight and announces, “Found Rhys!”

“And we brought booze.” Rhys swiftly follows with a smirk. “Raided personally, by me, from my asshole father’s stash.”

Sure enough, his suit matches the other two. And seeing the three of them together like that, looking so beautiful, so proper, so…matured—

A lump forms in your throat that you force down. You furiously blink away the tears that sting your eyes.

Because it hits you, just then, how much you’ve missed this — the four of you, just being together, like old times. You were always such a strong unit, always driven by your love for one another, and the dysfunctional, unconventional, beautiful family you became. It’s been a long while since you looked upon these three males without burdening thoughts always remaining a step away. You miss the ease. You miss the love.

But here it is, right in front of you, just like it always will be. And in that moment, nothing else matters but your little unit. Just you, Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand.

As you shake out of your thoughts, you realise Rhys is staring at you just as intensely. Strong emotion swims in his eyes.

“…What?” You ask, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“You just…look incredible.” He smiles softly. “Every single star that soars above our heads tonight will have nothing on you.”

Just as you think you’re about to get choked up all over again, Cassian smirks and declares, “I said the same.”

You scowl, reaching out to swat him. “No, you did not. Just accept you’re bad at compliments and move on.”

“I’m a master at compliments, thank you very much.”

Az slides an arm around your waist and quirks an eyebrow. “You took Sacha for a drink and complimented her by saying you look like you bathed. You’re hardly a poet, Cass.”

It’s Cassian’s turn to scowl then. “Well, what I may lack in poetry, I make up for in the bedroom. As Y/N clearly knows.”

A snarl rips from Azriel’s throat. “Watch yourself.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and smacks Cassian upside the head. “Don’t wind him up, dickhead.”

“Who are you calling dickhead?”

“I’m calling you dickhead, dickhead.”

The bickering becomes background noise as you prise the bottle from Rhys’s hand and take a generous swig — none of which he even notices, as he and Cass continue taking swipes at each other.

And as the liquid burns your throat, you meet Azriel’s gaze. Both of you grin. He takes the bottle from you.

In that moment, all you feel is happiness. Beautiful familiarity. Rhys and Cassian tearing chunks out of each other while you and Azriel watch and laugh from the sidelines. It makes your heart feel heavy with such warmth that it may just burst.

You do not need lavishness or luxury. Your life is nothing special, but you do not want for anything.

Just this. Only this.

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“Who knew so many Illyrians could dance?”

Rhysand’s steps are swift and flawless. It’s situations like these — ones of strict propriety and, dare you say, class — that you’re reminded he’s only half-Illyrian. The other males around you may be trying their hand at dancing, but Rhys flows through each number with barely a thought.

You smile up at him, secure in his hold. A dance floor full of Illyrians is a temperamental and, quite frankly, stupid idea. Anyone who gets too close to another’s wings is asking for a punch. Or five.

But so far, it’s been surprisingly uneventful. And you might even begin to relax and enjoy yourself — if not for the images you keep glimpsing in your periphery.

Every now and then, a flash of bright red will pass you by as Kaeda is spun from one set of burly arms to another. Her dress is the same shade as her hair. It’s alarming. Makes you think of blood.

And even more alarming, perhaps, is the pair of eyes that follow you from the dais. Fin spares only cursory glances to the rest of his guests, from where he sits on his throne in pensive silence, but his eyes linger heavily on you. Hungry, flaming eyes that follow your every move. And standing at his side — Tathaln Baralas.

The Lord of Fenlaros is even bigger than you remember. In a tailored suit, he looks…all wrong. That kind of finery will never work with him. He’s rugged, and cold, and something tells you that while Fenlaros is considerably more civilised than the majority of Illyrian camps, Tathaln Baralas feels most at home with the bare necessities. Luxury is nothing but a fly buzzing in his ear.

But he will tolerate that fly, you know — can tell, precisely from the way his dark, frightening eyes watch the room with more intensity than any single person should harbour. And that intensity is directed solely at one person. Azriel.

Tathaln watches the shadowsinger as though he’s weighing up whether he can kidnap him from this event and force him to Fenlaros. It makes your stomach turn.

“You seem on edge tonight.” Rhys’s deep gaze studies you. His hand presses firmer against the small of your back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t worry.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to his father, or to Kaeda, or to her father. Or even just to the evening in general. But you squeeze his hand, all the same.

“You’re the best.” You tell him. “And you should be dancing with Zakai.”

His eyes glimmer with his signature charm. “Oh, I will. But I always intended to save the first dance for my best girl.”

The sentiment is so…Rhysand, so comforting, that you almost — almost — start to think that everything will be alright.

But he spins you under his arm, and it’s like being spun straight back into reality. Because as you turn, that gaze from up on the dais meets yours again.

And this time, it’s not just hungry — but possessive.

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You dance and dance until your feet feel like they might fall off. Although, you’re not sure how much of that can be attributed to Cassian stepping on them throughout his uncoordinated prancing.

But the more the night wears on, the more your stomach churns with deep, unrelenting anxiety. You feel sick. Like a shadow of doom is looming over your shoulder and waiting to pull you into its thrall. By the time Cassian hands you over to Azriel, you’re not entirely sure that you won’t be sick.

Az studies your face with clear concern on his own — concern that doesn’t make his steps falter. He’s a natural dancer, taught and honed by Roza. Almost as good as Rhys. He moves as swift as flying, but his expression doesn’t hold the same ease.

“What is it?” He asks, and his thumb sweeps a stroke over your hip. “You don’t look well.”

So badly, you want to lean into his touch. But…not now — not with Fin watching. You dare a quick glance at the dais, and sure enough, his eyes stalk you. They follow everywhere Azriel touches your body. Strangely, the hunger in them intensifies. The hickory shade of them has darkened until it’s almost a stark black. He licks his lips and watches Azriel’s fingers caress you through your dress.

“I’m just…ready for this night to be over. You know all this luxury isn’t my thing.”

His hands press firmer against your skin. “I must say, as much as I’m loving this dress, I’m equally excited to rip it off—”

“May I?”

Two seconds. You look away for two seconds, and Fin is suddenly off the dais and behind you. The guests around you all watch with curious eyes.

Azriel pauses, his lingering touch letting you know just how reluctant he is to let you go.

But ultimately, he is wise. And ultimately, he concedes.

“Of course, High Lord.” He inclines his head. “She’s your special guest, after all.”

“Yes.” Fin’s eyes don’t stray from you. “She is.”

You know it’s deliberate — the way he makes sure everyone is watching as he scoops you into his arms with a small lift off the ground. And then he begins dancing, and everyone else resumes.

As you follow his steps, you allow yourself the chance to look at him. Look at him, and wonder if he’ll hate you after all this is over. You…you don’t want him to hate you. That complicates things, but gods above, it’s true.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and you may as well be the only two people in the room as he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “When you look at me like that, Y/N, it makes me think I’m not such a bad male as most would think.”

“You’re not.” You respond almost immediately, and you mean it. “I think it’d surprise you to know how highly you’re regarded. Everyone in this room who is looking upon you—”

You yelp as he suddenly dips you, his lips at your ear.

“Everyone in this room,” he says, “is looking at you. And rightfully so. You’re a masterpiece — my masterpiece.”

The compliment — the possessiveness — all seems extreme. But then, you think everything about Fin might be a bit extreme. He doesn’t do anything by halves. The blush that dusts your cheeks seems to please him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is like gravel. “That not a single male in here can take their eyes off you. You are the envy of every female. Stripped of wings, but not of raw, natural beauty.”

He straightens you out before you can reply, and your head spins — with the sudden movement, and with the whiplash of the comment. It both pleases you and reminds you how exposed your back is — the trauma that everyone can see.

“Charming as ever.” You swallow, hope the smile on your face is convincing. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Words are not necessary — not tonight.” The song you’re dancing to fades to an end, and he steadies you gently on your feet. His gaze sweeps you again, and he remarks, “The stars will begin their journeys soon.”

In the strange headiness of the evening, you almost forgot that this is, essentially, two events wrapped up in one. Starfall, and Fin’s lavish ball. Perhaps seeing those stars will bring you some semblance of peace — make you feel less lost than you do right now, as they travel somewhere unbeknownst to you, and perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, also.

“Will you be joining us outside to watch them?” You ask.

A strange smile curves his lips. “Indeed I will. It’s a magnificent sight to behold.” He steps back, bowing to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. And then he straightens up. Retreats.

“However,” he says, “I do believe the entertainment I’ve arranged for you may just outshine those stars this year.”

He saunters away, back to his dais. And as he lowers himself into his throne, he meets your gaze.

That same old thirst in them is unquenchable.

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The males are treating the stardust like it’s the snow that so often coats your respective camps.

The first specks of it showering down on you were surprising, beautiful. But in true Illyrian fashion, what started as a cordial gathering to observe the soaring, luminous beings, has been reduced to little more than a drunken bust up.

You don’t know which camp launched the first clump of glimmering dust at another, but that was all it took for chaos to break out. The fray jostles you away from your friends until you can no longer feel Azriel pressed to your side or hear Cassian’s constant chattering. Try as you might to locate them, it’s impossible to see past giant, burly males with alarming wingspans. It’s a sea of dark hair and tan skin.

You push and push your way through, looking for a small exit through the gathered bodies. Your gown is trampled on, and you’re shoved this way and that, taking a few handfuls of stardust to your face and neck and arms. The feel of it is a cold contrast against your hot skin.

Just as you spot an opening to squeeze through, a male is careening into you and taking you down with him. It stuns you so much that you forget to brace yourself for impact. You’re about to tear your skin open against the sharp ground—

But huge, warm hands from behind catch you beneath your arms and keep you upright. Set you on your feet.

You turn, smacking straight into a broad expanse of chest. And a little higher up — long hair and wicked eyes. A taunting grin. Too-sharp teeth.

Tathaln Baralas seems to command the area around him so much that the fighting moves away from you both. A fact that makes him so incredibly smug.

“You’re welcome.” He sounds as rough and rugged as the mountain rock.

You clear your throat and incline your head in reluctant thanks. You’re not too keen on the idea of lingering for a chat with him.

But before you can so much as turn, his hand is fastening around your wrist. It’s not a tight grip, and yet it’s a warning — that it could become tighter if you tried to move.

“I’d like to go and find my friends—”

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to work out why the High Lord is so taken by you.” He angles his head, and his eyes travel down, a smirk toying with his lips. “Besides a magnificent pair of tits, of course.”

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rip your arm away. “You do him a disservice by thinking him so shallow—”

“Does Rhysand know you’re fucking his father?”

“You’re mistaken, my lord, and I’ll thank you to let go of me.”

“My daughter’s warning was clearly of no use. Perhaps I’ll be able to drive the message in harder. Whatever you’re planning—”

“There you are.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Rhysand’s voice saves the day. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The most minuscule, tiny beat passes — but Tathaln Baralas is no damn fool. With such blatant reluctance, he lets go of your wrist and takes a step back.

Rhys presses himself against your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He stares at Tathaln as he says, “My father wants everybody rounded up. It’s time for the entertainment he has planned.”

It’s a cloaked order, and you can see how much the Lord of Fenlaros wants to grit his teeth against it. But again — no damn fool.

“I’ll help gather everyone up.” He relents, and then he turns and pushes through fighting males as though they’re not there.

Rhys turns to you, concerned eyes taking you in. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You respond vaguely, linking your arm with his. “When this is all over, I will be.”

Little does he know, it’s not only the ball that you’re referring to.

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Like petulant children, the bustling males don’t want to go back under the mountain for the remainder of the ball. They want to stay outside and frolic in the fallen stardust and maybe fight or fuck in it, too.

But somehow, Fin commands their return. And the silence with which they now all stare up at the dais has you wondering if there’s anybody he can’t get to obey him.

Roza, probably. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Gods, you’d love to be with Roza right now, Spending quiet, quality time together. Blocking out the world in its entirety. You’re glad, so heavily pregnant as she is, that she’s not here tonight — but still, you can’t help wishing she was—

A loud clap sounds through the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You force your eyes into focus once more, and though you’re buried a few rows back, Fin finds your gaze immediately. He smiles.

“I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming here tonight.” He addresses the room. “I understand that Illyrians have a way of life that you like to keep loyal to, and that integrating with other camps is not normally a done thing. I appreciate you keeping your minds open and straying from your traditions to honour this event.”

The crowd stirs and murmurs, and every person packed within it must be wondering why Tathaln Baralas is the only camp lord up on that dais with the High Lord while the others all congregate on the floor, common as muck. They are not privy to the things that you are. You have a horrible feeling that that is all about to change.

“While there have been a few…hiccups, this evening, I have mostly been impressed by how well you were able to interact.” Fin goes on. “That is exactly what this little experiment was intended for. Because that’s what this ball was — an experiment. I address each and every Illyrian when I say this: change is coming.”

No.

Your stomach bottoms out. Hands turn clammy in an instant.

Surely…surely he hasn’t just ignored everything you’ve said. Surely this hasn’t all been for nothing.

“You may recognise the male behind me.” He’s not looking at you now. His eyes skim the room, but they don’t stray in your direction. “Tathaln Baralas — Lord of the Fenlaros camp.”

At that, a small burst of cheers breaks out from one section of the room. Fenlarions, you can only assume. You’re too panicked to care.

Tathaln takes a step forward, not quite in line with Fin, but almost. He seems to be fighting back a smirk. And as you feel another heavy set of eyes on you, you look to your left — to a few steps down, where Kaeda stands. She eyes you with what must be triumph in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk.

This…this has all gone very, very wrong. You’ve fucked up — failed. Perhaps even doomed the lives of countless people. Fin may have poured sweet sentiments into your ear and boosted your confidence, but you so clearly weren’t enough. Weren’t enough to appeal yourself to him, and weren’t enough to save Illyria as you know it.

You’re not at all certain that you aren’t going to faint. Whatever is about to be said or done, you don’t want to be here for it. You want to gather up Azriel and Cassian and Rhys and get the fuck out of there, far away from this, from him. You look frantically around for them, but you’ve lost them again. Can’t even glimpse the backs of their heads.

“A short while ago, the Lord of Fenlaros came to me with a suggestion. A proposition.” Fin slides his hands into his pockets; a strangely arrogant gesture that tells you just how at ease he is. “But before I tell you all about that, I would like to speak to you about somebody else. Another one of your own who I have recently had the delight of spending my time with. Getting to know.”

It takes a delayed moment for you to realise he’s staring at you once more.

Staring firmly, unflinchingly at you.

He extends a hand in your direction, and everybody — every single fucking person around you — turns to get a look, also.

“Sweet Y/N,” He cocks his head. Smiles. “Would you join me up here, please?”

You falter on the spot, forgetting entirely how to move. Every pair of eyes…the attention…it’s all too much. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone can see you, your scars.

“Y/N.” Fin repeats. “This is for you, after all.”

Someone shoves you in the back, and snickers titter around you, the sounds swimming from one ear to the other. On shaking legs, you slip between bodies. Bodies with faces attached that won’t stop looking at you, staring at you, wondering why you, of all people, have caught the High Lord’s attention. A lowly Illyrian female without any wings.

Numb from head to toe, you climb up onto the dais. Fin takes your trembling hand. Pulls you to his side.

Only then do you find Azriel, Cassian and Rhys in the crowd. All staring up at you with alarmed, horrified expressions. They can sense something very terrible is about to go down, too.

“For all of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her — this is Y/N.” Fin speaks loudly, clearly, his tone clipped. “She hails from the Windhaven camp. She is Illyrian in her own right. She has a brain wise beyond her twenty years, and a heart of solid gold. She cares for Illyrians — for all of you. Cares for your futures.” A very, very potent pause. His expression changes — darkens. He purses his lips. “But you all do not care for her, do you?”

Silence. Nobody knows where this is going. There’s a slight movement in the crowd, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your friends pushing closer to the front.

“You cannot claim to care about her — about your own females — when you are willing to do this.”

So quickly, Fin’s hands are gripping your arms, and he’s wrenching you around on the spot. Forcing your back to them. Forcing them to swallow down the sight of your ruined back.

But your scars poking through the sheer fabric is not enough for him, it would seem. Those hands of his, gentle at times and dangerous at others, skate over your shoulders. Stop at the top of your back, where you hate so profoundly to be touched.

And he rips the fabric open like he’s cleaving air.

The cold air hits your exposed back, and surprised murmurs ripple through the room. Each and every one of them will have seen clipped wings before — but not this. Not the brutal hacking you were subjected to.

On instinct, you’re fighting against Fin, trying to turn, trying to hide. He holds you steady.

“Her own father did this to her.” He announces. “As so many of you intend to do to your own daughters, no doubt. Look at her. Look at how she suffered, and believe me when I say, again, change is coming.”

“Father.” Rhysand’s voice reaches you from behind, severe, outraged. “Stop this.”

It surprises you that Fin immediately turns you back around. But you are under no illusion that he’s listened to his son’s plea. He simply isn’t finished.

There is not one part of you that isn’t shaking. You stare firmly at your feet, refusing to meet any of the gazes pinned on you. Some may be pitying. Most will be delighted.

“I understand that Y/N may not appreciate what I just did. And rightfully so.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, the rip at the back of your dress is mended. But the damage is already done. “She has a right to those feelings. A thing I believe you Illyrian males do not understand. That your females feel. That they can rightfully be hurt, and they can rightfully want to be avenged. Y/N?”

You know he’s addressing you, asking you to look at him. But you can’t move. You can’t…can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling like you want to throw up.

“Y/N.” He repeats, softer this time. “Look at me please.”

You pause.

And then you do.

You turn, and you look at him with an expression that will never promise forgiveness.

To his credit, he studies your face. It’s like he’s searching for an answer as to whether his little stunt was irredeemable. His eyes swallow your expression, and a moment passes between you. One that doesn’t include everybody else in this room.

You imagine you look hateful. You imagine you are sneering, and clenching your jaw, and allowing him to see that you will not stand for such disrespect from anybody, including him.

And he…he looks upon you like he wants the rest of the room to disappear. Like he wants nothing more than to steal you into his arms and spirit you away, far away from this.

You take a small step back.

“I got you a gift.” He says, too quietly. Extends a hand again.

You feel yourself shaking your head. You cannot speak. But this does not deter him. He retracts his hand and murmurs to somebody — somebody you can’t see around the roaring in your head — “The box, please.”

As blurred movement stirs in front of you, you angle yourself towards the crowd — towards your friends. You search their terrified faces without seeing them, and you know that they are just as powerless as you are. Even Rhysand. That throwing themselves in the mix may just make the situation worse.

And you don’t even know what the situation is. All you know is that your heart is thudding and your ears are screaming. All you know is that you feel…betrayed…by Fin making a spectacle of you like this. That your body and mind are having such violent reactions because your vulnerabilities, insecurities, may just be the evening’s entertainment that you’re supposed to somehow enjoy—

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to the High Lord, and a tear escapes the corner of it. You pretend it doesn’t exist, even if Fin’s gaze tracks it and softens.

“For you.” He holds a box out to you.

For a moment, you weigh up the likelihood that you could just dart off the stage and make a run for it. Find somewhere to hide and cry. But as your hands extend outwards without you telling them to, you know it’s no use. You’re seeing this through, however reluctantly.

Your trembles are violent as you take the box into your hands — and almost drop it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. Fin smiles.

Every single person in that room watches you slide the lid off the box.

Every single person in that room watches you peer inside — and drop it. Stagger back.

“What the fuck is this?” You choke. “What have you done?!”

There are murmurs, people angling to get a look, as Fin casually strolls over to that box. As he reaches in.

As he lifts your father’s severed head by his hair and holds it up like it’s a fucking show and tell. And grins at it.

Steeled Illyrian warriors who have been bred for violence scatter back, curses and noises rolling off their tongues.

“Allow this to be a lesson to each and every one of you.” Fin speaks loudly, entirely unperturbed by the head dangling from his fingertips. “That while your camps are overseen by your camp lords, I am still your High Lord, and I am always watching, and listening, and waiting to act, if necessary. This male wronged somebody I care for. The only fitting punishment was this.”

Without a care, he drops your father’s head back into the box and kicks it away. You stumble back, back, toppling off the dais. Somebody catches you.

“I am your High Lord.” Fin repeats, seemingly unaware of the panic roiling in his audience. “I do not take kindly to being used or manipulated. I do not take kindly to somebody presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my court. And Illyria is part of my court — no matter how much you try to distance yourselves. You are under my jurisdiction. What happens to you is my call to make.”

For a split second, you can only hear certain words; used, manipulated, presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You think he’s addressing solely you, but he isn’t.

People are moving around you. Arms wrap around you. It takes a moment for you to register that it’s Azriel. That he’s tucking you between himself and Cassian and Rhys. They’re shielding you.

Fin is now pacing the dais, hands behind his back. “The Lord of Fenlaros spent months concocting –and perfecting — a self-serving scheme that he then presented to me, as though he has the authority to do so.” He stops, turning to Tathaln — a very pale Tathaln. “And while I agree there would be some benefits to what you proposed, your methods have pissed me off. And I don’t like being pissed off.”

Tathaln squares his massive shoulders. Steps forward. “I—”

“What gives you the right to delegate your daughter and sons to rival camps to do your bidding, without bringing your case to me first? I should have been your first port of call. I should have decided how this plan of yours should play out. Yet you schemed behind my back and tried to build power and gain favour in case I disagreed to your plan. So you could then build a cause against me.”

“My Lord, I assure you, that is not—”

“Yes — your Lord.” He reiterates.

And then quick as a flash, he’s drawing a sword.

Quick as a flash, it slices through the air and hacks Tathaln Baralas’s head clean off his neck.

It drops to the dais with a wet-sounding thwack. The rest of his body crumples to the floor.

You can’t breathe, or think, or hear. Can only stare at Tathaln’s open, glazed eyes, peering off into nothing. There are gasps and curses and panic. Hands claw at you. You can’t move.

And then a high-pitched, wailing scream rents the air, like nothing else you’ve ever heard. So loud, it snaps you out of your shock.

You turn, despite the hands that hold you firm and still. Through tear-blurred eyes, you glimpse Kaeda on her knees. Her beautiful face is screwed with despair. She stares at her father’s head, and she wails.

“Change is, indeed, upon us.” Fin says calmly, as though a river of blood is not pooling at his feet. “But it will be dealt by my hands, and my hands only.” He sheathes his blade once more. “This ball is over. You can all leave.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolls off the dais, tracking blood with each step. He disappears through a door without looking back.

And then chaos is erupting. Kaeda is still screaming. People are scrambling to book it out of there. You turn back to Tathaln’s head. Turn to your father’s, still in that box. You think you might be sick—

“Y/N.” Hands grasp your face tightly. Azriel is staring into your eyes, pleading with you to stare back. “We need to get out of here, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

You open your mouth, and a strangled noise escapes you. “I…I can’t…move.”

“You can. You can. Come.” His arms band around you. And though he holds you strong, you can feel that he’s shaken, too. “We’re leaving before the High Lord comes back. I’m getting you out of here. Hold onto me.”

You have no choice other than to comply. But your grip is as weak as you are. You can’t stop yourself fucking shaking.

You don’t hear the words that Azriel speaks to Cassian and Rhys. All you can hear is Kaeda’s screaming. All you can do is stare over Azriel’s shoulder at your father’s lifeless face. That face didn’t once look upon you with love in twenty years. Now, it certainly never will.

You keep on looking until Azriel spirits you both out of there, and the coppery tang of blood follows you all the way back to Windhaven.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Please try to drink some of that.”

Azriel perches before you, his eyes fixed upon the steaming cup between your hands. You can’t remember how long ago he handed it to you, or how long ago you made it back to Roza’s cottage, or how long ago you watched Fin cleave Tathaln’s head from his body.

The fire is roaring, and more than one blanket is draped around you, but you can’t get any warmth to seep into your bones. You shiver from head to toe.

“It’ll warm you up.” Az reaches out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “I added a drop of whiskey to take the edge off.”

“I need more than a drop.” Cassian’s voice comes from behind the sofa, where he’s been pacing pretty much since he entered. “What the fuck was that? Your father is insane, Rhys.”

Rhys hasn’t breathed a word — that you’re aware of, anyway. Just sat in the armchair and stared into space. 

But his eyes shutter now, and he murmurs, “I know.”

“Absolutely insane.” Cass repeats. The pacing continues, up and down and up and down. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten so close to him, Y/N.”

As if you need reminding.

Fin had made it clear that in some fucked up way, everything he did tonight was for you. He’d slaughtered two people for you. You’d wanted to stop Tathaln, but not like that…never like that.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you hear Azriel utter a quiet warning to Cass. Cass stops his pacing.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, softer. “I just…didn’t realise there was so much going on while you were in Velaris.”

“I was trying to help.” You whisper. “I didn’t mean for…I didn’t mean—”

“None of what happened tonight was your fault.” Azriel moves to your side. He pulls you close against him, arms soothingly wrapping around you. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. The High Lord does what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he’s coming for me next? I was scheming, too.”

Az growls quietly. “He can try. He won’t get close.”

“My father doesn’t want you dead.” Rhys rests his head back against the chair. He doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re wondering if he’s replaying the picture of bloodshed as much as you are. “If he did, he would have killed you there and then, alongside Kaeda’s father and…yours.”

Cassian spits on the ground. “And may your father never know a shred of peace.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing yourself to slump fully against Az’s body, be supported by it. You’re not sure you can hold yourself up right now.

And it’s not that you disagree with Cass’s statement…you’re just not sure what to feel right now.

You hated your father. Despised him. But—

But that kill was supposed to be yours.

Fin had taken that from you in some fucked up display of…of affection, you supposed. Maybe even of ownership.

“He may not want me dead,” you whisper, “but I don’t think he’s finished with me. He’s surely not going to let me come back to Windhaven as if nothing happened. And what of Roza and the babe? Are they safe with him?”

Rhys gives a slow, meditative shake of his head. He’s exhausted. You’re all exhausted. The smell of blood clings to you. “I checked in with her. Despite what he did, they’re always safe with him. As for everything else…I don’t know what he intends.”

“Change is coming.” Finally, Cassian sits down. “That’s what he said. Over and over again.”

You don’t want change. Not the kind that Fin is probably thinking. You don’t want extravagance or luxury. You just want…this.

This little cottage. Your friends. Your love. Your simple, quiet life.

It feels like it hangs in the balance more than ever.

Eyes open, you’re staring at everything you may just lose. But the second you squeeze them shut, you see such thick, alarming red. Hear the thwack of Tathaln’s head falling. Hear the carnal scream that rips from Kaeda’s throat.

Your heartbeat picks up, and tears prick in your eyes — but Azriel’s arms tighten around you.

“Easy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m right here. All three of us are.”

You know he can’t possibly be as calm as he’s making out. But he’s doing it for you — staying strong for you.

“You should try to sleep, my love.” He murmurs into your hair. “We all should.”

You focus on his warmth, his scent, but the tears keep coming. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.” He kisses you again. “For me.”

All you can manage is a relenting nod. And that’s all it takes for him to slide down and pull you with him. He holds you so tightly, as though he’s terrified of letting go. He bundles you against him, wraps a blanket around you both. It can’t be comfortable for him, his wings, but he lays there like it is.

A soft snoring from the armchair tells you that Rhys has already succumbed to exhaustion. You bunch your fingers in the front of Az’s shirt and force your eyes to close, even despite the horrors that await you behind them.

But after a while, you’re aware of the sound of Cassian traipsing to the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey that sits mostly drained on the side.

And you realise that in Azriel’s arms, you’d started to drift off, too.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You wake with a gasping start.

It’s pitch black in the room, besides the dying embers of the fire. Their muted orange glow illuminates the space enough for you to glimpse Rhys, still fast asleep in the chair. Cassian is sprawled out and dozing on the floor.

Any one of you could have stowed away upstairs in the privacy of a bedroom, but…you need each other right now. Each other’s comfort.

You don’t know what the time is; the middle of the night, judging by how dark it is. But there’s a lot of noise and foot traffic that’s carried past the house. You assume it must be Illyrians who have attempted to drown the night’s events in alcohol and are now skulking home.

You try to block it all out. Roll over. But as arms tighten around you and pull you flush against a warm body, you glance up to find Azriel awake, already staring at you.

You stare back.

That’s all you do for a while. Just…stare. Drink each other in. He is so beautiful. So brilliant. Your friend, lover and so much more.

“Hi.” He eventually whispers.

You scan his face. Murmur back, “Hi.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

A small shake of his head. Strands of hair fall from where they were earlier slicked back. The grandeur of the ball seems like eons ago, now.

“I can’t.” He says. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s rare…for him to lay vulnerable thoughts and feelings out like that. You study him again. And you want to reassure him, tell him you’re doing okay — but you’re not. Not right now. And don’t you owe him honesty in return?

“I’m scared.” You admit. Keeping your voice hushed doesn’t stop it from cracking.

Azriel leans down, dropping his forehead against yours. His hand rests at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles.

After a moment, he asks, “What went on in Velaris?”

You don’t know what to say. It was so easy, in the City of Starlight, to pretend to be someone else. Someone that Fin would desire and eventually trust. So easy to follow a plan unflinchingly.

But back in the frozen grips of Windhaven, you do not feel like that person. You do not know her.

“You said you were scheming.” Az presses. “What went on?”

“I told you…I was trying to convince Fin to reject Tathaln’s idea—”

“Convince him how?”

You swallow. Because you hate the truth. Back in the ordinariness of your Illyrian environment, your behaviour seems so, so bad.

“Did he touch you,” Az breathes.

“No.” You immediately shake your head. “I made him want me. I made him want me so badly that he would trust me and listen to me. I never wanted him to kill for me. And I never wanted him. Every single second I spent there, I just wanted to come back to you—”

His lips fold over yours, and he breathes deep and slow. You waste no time in kissing him back. That kiss is truth, and it’s love.

“Only you, Az.” You whisper as you pull away. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

But he’s not done with you. His mouth is on yours again, and he promises into it, “I’ve only ever wanted you, too.”

Not merely wanted, but needed. And you need each other now. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re not alone in the room — that Cass and Rhys are sleeping mere footsteps away.

Your hands are on each other, grasping at each other, and your bodies come together. It’s unhurried and quiet. Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours once, from the second he slides into you and you both gasp onto each other’s mouths.

Every slow thrust is one of love. Every one of them is a promise.

“Whatever happens,” he pants quietly, pleasure straining his voice, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together.” You vow. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and Azriel leans in to kiss it away.

He holds you as both your climax and his build together. He holds you as you bury into his shoulder to stop you from crying out. He holds you as you clench around his cock and he spills every last drop into you.

And he holds you as you catch your breaths and press your foreheads together, exhaustion beckoning you once more. He’s held you through so much, and he’ll continue to do so to whatever end.

Only when your eyelids are threatening to close does he brush his mouth against yours once more. And he says again, “We’ll face it together.”

There’s a stirring behind you. Cassian rolls over. Croaks out, “Can you quit fucking?”

And then he snores and he’s back to sleep, the fire warming his wings.

You and Az stare at each other and pause. And despite it all — everything that’s happened tonight — you both break into laughter. It vibrates through his chest and into you, the feeling pleasant, reassuring.

He kisses your forehead, a smile still ghosting his lips.

It stays there as he drifts to sleep.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“What the fuck is that?”

Your groggy eyes wrench open and squint at the weak daylight that filters through the cottage. Both Rhys and Cass have bolted upright. Az, too, is jerked awake.

A thumping lands on the front door, urgent, panicked. Anxiety floods your gut.

“I’m coming, fucking hell.” Rhysand clambers to his feet. He’s dishevelled and uncoordinated as he clambers to the door and rips it open.

“Rhys,” Zakai pants from the other side. “What the fuck is your father playing at?”

“What—”

It’s then that the sound hits you all. The sound of authoritative voices calling out. Of people shouting — arguing — back.

Rhys follows Zakai out of the door. You, Azriel and Cassian share a glance before the three of you are also following.

And what you find outside is…chaos.

The sight of Illyrians fighting is nothing new, but males are being ripped from their houses. Children and wives watch, tears staining their cheeks. Paper and clothes and belongings litter the ground as if they’ve been stolen and discarded. The sky is shadowed by the temporary night of soaring Illyrians

Your wide eyes swivel to a roof a few cottages down — where a male stands upon its tiles, his voice bellowing out. He’s leather-clad and puffed up by his own importance — one of Devlon’s cronies, you think.

He seems unperturbed by the pushback on the ground — the gathering, angered males, as he addresses anyone and everyone around him.

“If I call your name, you’re coming with me! You pack the bare necessities — we leave for Steelshore in thirty minutes!” He announces. “Rahu Sepheron, Venia Char, Falkon Galos, Telarion Krin—”

“He’s lost his damn mind.” Rhys grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“He’s actually doing it.” Ice shoots through your veins, nothing to do with the brisk spring morning. “The High Lord is actually splitting everyone up.”

“Zakai Athalar—”

“Fuck this.” Rhys grabs Zakai’s hand, turning to you, Az, Cassian. “Everyone get back inside. None of us are doing anything or going anywhere until I’ve spoken to my father.”

You don’t hesitate to turn on your feet and pull Azriel with you. You want nothing more than to hole yourself up inside the cottage and pretend that none of this is happening. That anxiety and panic isn’t turning your stomach—

But the second you step foot inside, you’re halting in the doorway so suddenly that Cassian smacks into you from behind.

Fin sits at the table, cleaning his nails with a dagger.

He drinks in the sight of you greedily. Glances down at yours and Azriel’s joined hands. Smiles.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re playing at?” Rhys pushes past you, storming over. “What the hell is all this?”

“This?” Fin sits back. “This, Rhysand, is the reality of war.”

His son grits his teeth. Clenches his fists. “What.”

“War is upon us. Days, weeks, months away. People will have to fight and people will have to die. It is my duty as High Lord to take necessary action to ensure we come out victorious. If I have to sever some relationships for that outcome, then so be it.”

Cassian barrels forward, nothing but anger given flesh. “And what is this supposed necessary action? Tearing families apart?”

Even he, with his quick temper and loose tongue, would never normally address the High Lord in such a way. But Cassian cares. He’s passionate about what’s right.

And what Fin is doing is not right.

But Fin vaguely smiles and picks an invisible piece of dirt from his jacket. “If need be, Cassian, yes.” He says. “I’m delegating Illyrians where they will serve me best in this war. That includes your cosy little unit here.”

“If we are truly at war,” Azriel says quietly, dangerously, “now is not the time to play games.”

“Who’s playing games, shadowsinger?” Fin shrugs. “Not me.”

You don’t think it’s accidental, the way the High Lord’s eyes slide to you in that moment. You look away, refuse to hold his gaze. You could swear he chuckles quietly as he stands up and tucks his chair in.

“So here’s how it’s going to be.” He rests his forearms atop of the chair. “Rhysand — you will be commanding a legion in Camp Theriel.” He glances — barely — at Zakai. “I do believe your lover has already received a summons to leave for Camp Steelshore, so he should probably run along, lest he gets left behind.”

“Father—”

“Cassian.” He interrupts. “You will remain here, in Windhaven — as a common foot soldier in this war.”

“A foot soldier?” Cass spits. “That’s beneath my rank and you know it. You’re only doing this because you’re threatened by Az, Rhys and I being together. How powerful we are. Everyone knows that.”

Fin simply tsks. “Watch yourself, foot soldier. You don’t want to slip further down the ranks, now, do you—”

“Fin.” Finally, you find your voice. You step forward, despite Azriel trying to yank you back. You stare pleadingly at the High Lord.

He turns to you. His eyes sweep your face. His expression seems to go somewhat…quiet.

You had begun to respect this male in some roundabout way. You don’t think you’d ever have fully trusted him, but…there was an understanding, for a time. An allegiance of sorts.

You’d seen a side to him that so few did. And though it’s nowhere to be seen now…you have to believe that it’s still under there somewhere. You have to.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please. This is our home. Our family.”

At the first sight of a tear rolling down your face, Fin swallows — hard. He clenches his fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

It seems like so, so long that he stares at you. So long that he seems to be fighting something internally.

So long that a small glimmer of hope ignites in you that perhaps he cares enough to listen.

But then his eyes are shuttering, and he’s looking away. He says, stiffly, “We all have to make sacrifices in war.”

“Fin—”

“Rhysand will go to Camp Theriel. Cassian will stay here.” His eyes open again. He looks from you, to Azriel, back to you. “You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.”

“What?!”

“You’d better say your goodbyes.” He squares his shoulders, not looking at you at all, now. “It’ll be a very, very long time before you all see each other again. If you see each other again.”

You open your mouth — to say what, you don’t know.

But Fin disappears before your eyes, leaving you — your family — alone.

What sounds far, far away is Cassian’s outraged ranting. Rhysand cursing his father. Zakai trying to talk to him, calm him down.

You and Azriel are the only two who don’t say a thing. Just stand there in silence.

Because you know you can curse all you like. You can shout and throw things and damn Fin to a miserable existence. It may bring you some temporary reprieve.

But it will not change a thing.

Fin is your High Lord. His mind is made up. This is just the next round in his game.

Your family is being cleaved apart. You stand in that cottage where you all slept in each other’s company — not realising it might be the last time, ever.

Your head roars and your tears keep on coming. But you can do nothing but stare at Azriel. He stares at you, too.

You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.

It makes you sick to your stomach. Probably makes Azriel sick to his stomach, also.

But your locked, silent, crestfallen gazes communicate one sacred promise to each other.

Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

Authors note: Oooooof how are we all feeling? Good? Bad? Sad? Mad? Tempted to commit arson?

I just wanted to say thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. What started out as a fun little smut piece turned into a whole story I didn’t even know I had in me, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it — especially hearing from all of you. Your likes, reblogs, comments and asks have meant the world to me through this. Thank you so much for the wonderful responses 🫶🏻

For anyone who didn’t see my answer to an ask regarding this last part — I understand it might not be the ending everyone wanted or expected, but I felt there was still so much potential in the story that I wanted to leave it open to — perhaps — write a sequel at some point. I have so many ideas, and I’m totally willing to talk about it and answer any questions about it you have any!

Thank you, again, for all the support, darlings. And I truly hope you enjoyed Practice On Me. 💕

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[sv5hive]

keep the lights on | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: none!

word count: 694

notes: lets act like this isn't the first time i've posted since july guys thanks! not proofread at all it's like midnight pls.

masterlist!

placing the copious amount of snacks and popcorn on the table, you plopped onto the sofa and snuggled up to your boyfriend.

"so, what did you pick?"

you looked ahead of you to the screen and began reading the summary, brows pulling together tighter with every word.

"a horror movie? are you sure, charles? i thought you hated these kinda things."

"well, i haven't watched many of them, but i know you're a fan of them, so what's the harm in trying?"

the grin on your face grew at his effort as you nodded along to his words, still doubtful of his ability to sit through it in its entirety.

"alright, but you're not gonna be scared and get nightmares after, are you?"

"me? no, if anything i'll be your knight in shining armour tonight if you get scared!"

the movie began playing as you pushed yourself deeper into charles side with a knowing smirk, the screen casting a dim glow onto your faces.

"ok, if you say so."

and in all fairness to charles, he did manage to hold out for almost an hour before you noticed him flinch at a particularly unnerving jump scare. nudging him gently, you turned the volume down and whispered softly into the darkness.

"charles, you ok?"

he turned to you slowly, an almost dazed look in his eyes. and you weren't sure if it was the lighting or your vision, but his skin seemed positively pale.

"hm? yeah, yeah i'm fine."

you raised an eyebrow at his half-hearted response, wondering if he was regretting his choice (albeit a romantic gesture).

"are you sure? we can watch something else if you want, i think i saw harry potter earlier-"

he quickly brushes you off and grabs the remote to raise the volume again, rubbing your thigh gently.

"shhh, i'm ok. it's almost done anyways."

he turns back to the movie but you let your eyes linger on him for a few seconds longer, searching for any doubt but not finding any. hesitantly, you start watching again. and you really did mean to keep an eye on him, but found yourself getting sucked into the movie as time went on.

the room sunk into darkness as the credits began rolling and a dull silence filled the air. reaching for the tv remote, you looked over to your boyfriend next to you.

"so... what did you think?"

seeing the ghostly look on his face, you started to wonder whether a horror movie was really the best choice at this time of night.

"charles, you ok? you look a little...uhm..."

"me? oh i'm fine, mon coeur. see, i told you i would be fine! it's just a movie after all!"

he puts the bowl of popcorn on the side and stands to turn the lights back on. you sit up and turn to watch him curiously.

"are you sure? it's ok if you're scared it's meant to do that!"

he shakes his head, adamant that he wasn't affected by the chilling scenes.

"i am not scared. but, we are absolutely sleeping with all the lights on tonight. and that has nothing to do with the movie, before you ask."

you bite back a grin and look at charles pointedly.

"oh really?"

he nods his head rapidly, sitting back down on the sofa next to you.

"yep. and also, one of us has to stand outside the bathroom if the other one is using it."

this time you couldn't help it and let out a loud cackle.

"charles, my love, i know you only watched it for me and i thought it was really sweet of you but please, you don't have to torture yourself like that. i am just as happy to watch harry potter or cars with you."

charles breathes out a deep sigh of relief and runs his hands over his face at your words, a nervous smile on his face as he declares his own confession.

"oh thank god. i almost threw up in my mouth when the serial killer popped up out of nowhere. and i wasn't kidding earlier, i want all the lights on tonight."

[vagabond-umlaut]

affaire de cœur

Plucking one's heart from their chest and devouring it is all 'affairs of the heart' meant to the King of Curses— until his Queen walked onto the stage of his life, that is.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone'; gallons of domestic fluff between sukuna and reader; hints of spicy times; no warnings except sukuna is very much sukuna here but you too are there, so he's sort of a better sukuna... [not loads better, though]

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"Repeat those words after me, my lord."

"No."

The pouty face you vault his way from the other end of the bathhouse makes Sukuna huff an annoyed sigh. Few monsoons back, you would never even see him in the eye, gaze trained on his feet – until he lifted your chin up; even then you would shyly avert your gaze — yet, now?

Now, you show the boldness to wear such a pathetic expression while making such an imbecilic request– nay, demand of him– locking your gaze with his the entirety of the time, no less.

Another sigh finds its route past his lips. Watching the way those sin-filled lips of yours twitch in a tiny smile before dipping into a pout, he groans.

"Alright. Fine," Sukuna grumbles, resting his two arms on the edge of the tub while the other two move to card through his damp hair, "Will you ever leave me for another, woman?"

Your eyebrows rise for a beat, the second the question you chomped his ears off earlier for, leaves his mouth. Your lover rolls his eyes, loud scoffs erupting from him at the utter inanity of the whole situation at hand — you, not beside by him, but beside those damned towels and bath soaps; him, not soaking in the warmth of your flesh but of these bath waters; the humid bathhouse not resonating with the sounds of your whines but with the remnants of a query, whose answer he does not care the least for, for no matter what you say or do, he will not—

"Yes, I will."

Your clear voice scatters his thoughts away, akin a strong wind and a handful of chaff. Sukuna freezes, every crimson eye of his fixed upon your approaching figure– your soft footfalls, your yellow yukata, your simple hairdo, your angelic smile...

Your husband takes a while too long before discovering his lost voice, eyes narrowed, throat tight and chest heavy as he asks you, "You will leave me, pet?"

"Uh-huh, I sure will," you hum in response, sitting on the stool next to the tub and moistening a towel. Sukuna moves to grasp your wrist in his palm but pauses when he catches you switch your attention from the towel to him, a terrifying emotion brimming in your tender gaze.

You draw in a tiny breath before speaking, voice now a mere whisper.

"Show me someone who is the most feared creature to ever exist, yet is a sulking mess if he isn't being cuddled in bed till noon every single day; someone who detests humans like I detest carrots, yet visits the monthly market in secret, to get gifts for his close one; someone who everyone's told me is the worst, yet goes on to prove, again and again and again, how he's the absolute best in this world—"

You stop suddenly.

Chest growing heavy from an entirely different reason now, your lover drinks in the manner your smile widens, your fragile fingers letting go of the cloth to trace those markings on his skin instead – you resume.

"Show me someone whose embraces feel the safest place in all the three realms, and I swear, my king, I'll leave you and run to his arms without thinking twice."

For the first time in his millennium of existence, the two-faced curse feels the same distress of being paralysed, as his mere mien induces in the muscles of his miserable victims— except, it isn't the fear of an end to his life which is causing this abhorrent weakness to him unlike those worthless mortals— no.

It is the fear of the unknown, of the uncharted, which is rendering his powerful self so, so powerless before your blinding brilliance. Sukuna thinks death might be an easier journey to undertake than these odd realisations your voice and touch elicit in him always.

These days, more so.

This moment, very much so.

The addicting timbre of your voice rouses him from his musings, the second time that night.

"Is every–"

"Is that supposed to be a love confession?" Your husband cuts you off before you can finish your question. You slowly blink at him once then twice, before leaning backwards and picking up the forgotten cloth, a visibly coy giggle bubbling out you as you return to washing his skin.

"Yes," you agree after a beat, gaze darting to his face before skittering away again, "That is supposed to be a love confession for my beloved king; though I wonder what my lord thinks of it. Was it heart-touching as I intended to make it? Or did it sound too tedious to him?"

The addressed being deliberately makes a big show of rolling each of his four eyes at your query. "Neither," he says, curling his lip in a show of vexation before they lift a little at the lower lip you jut out, "And you should count yourself to be lucky that you're my wife, not a worthless mortal, pet. For if you were not my wife–"

"– you would've sliced me into halves without a moment's hesitation," you finish the rest of the sentences for him with a fond shake of your head. "Trust me, my king, I know you. I do, I rea– Sukuna!!!"

The startled shriek of his name— not my lord or my king but Sukuna —parts the curse's lips in a smirk, which widens on noticing the warm water slowly seeping into your clothes, making them translucent; and you staring up at him with a disbelieving look etched onto your pretty face.

Sukuna allows his smirk to melt away into a genuine smile, for once.

Nestling your drenched form closer to himself, he closes his eyes to rest his forehead on your shoulder, palms holding you as if you were not a member of the race he lives for the sake of tormenting, but an invaluable blessing, beings he has never believed in, sent earthward for his damned self.

Which is true, the curse reckons. You indeed are a blessing he knows he doesn't deserve – yet will keep for and with himself for an eternity and some more.

Pressing you closer to himself, your husband lifts his head to plant a kiss to your forehead, followed by your warm cheeks — hoping you'll understand the meaning behind every reverent contact he's marking your form with now.

After all, you know him really well, don't you?

[You do— which is only why you reciprocate every brush of his sharp canine over your skin, with a brush of your soft palm over the wicked, handsome, wickedly handsome visage of the love of your life.]

▸ masterlist

[caityjay13]

Dear Followers,

This is a PSA. Hikaru no Go (2020) is now available to stream on Prime Video. You should watch it.

But Caity, you may ask. Why should I watch this Chinese live action drama based on the popular turn-of-the-millenium Japanese manga and anime of the same name? The answer, my friends, is because it is fucking phenomenal.

Hikaru no Go is my favorite sports anime. It was one of the first manga I ever read. When I own a home someday and have bookshelves, it is one of the only manga series I wish to own in its entirety in print. The story is deeply compelling, moving, funny, relatable. It truly has something I haven't found in another animanga in twenty years.

And the Chinese live action adaptation takes that perfect, beautiful source material and creates something equally perfect and beautiful (if not more so? feels blasphemous to say, but boy howdy I'm not NOT saying it).

The way in which the original Japanese story—the characters, the culture, the game of go—is translated into Chinese is really masterfully executed. The story is incredibly faithful to the original, and when it does differ, it does so in really creative, thoughtful ways that really work.

The actors fucking nail it. Honestly all of them, but I'm looking at the kids in the first two episodes in particular. Blown away by the performances of a couple of ten-year-olds. Kids have a bright future ahead of them, damn.

This show has the budget. If y'all know me at all, you know I'll enjoy a low-budget wuxia flick because it's a good time, but damn, if I had standards, they would be met and exceeded by this show. The hair, the makeup, the costumes, the effects (there is an effect every time the "ghost" is on screen where he is partially translucent. It is perfectly executed and incredibly impressive, at least to my layman eyes). The very first opening credits scene is super beautiful, the end credits are beautiful, it's all just so pretty and polished and feels good on my eye holes.

Honestly, I cannot gush enough about this show. It ranks up with Nirvana in Fire in my heart (which I do not say lightly, considering I went through my entire list and lowered the ratings I'd given each show accordingly after I first watched nif so that the 10 weighed more heavily).

tl;dr: If you liked the hikago animanga, you should watch this show. If you never read/watched hikago, you should watch this show. If you did not like hikago, you should watch this show. Please watch this show, I am begging you.

Sincerely, A Rabid Hikago Fangirl

[chocosvt]

HER | part four.

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

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

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

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

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

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight. 

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

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

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

“Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

“… I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn't care less about the morality.

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

“Can you please tell me a story?”

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

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

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

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

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

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

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

“I’ve got one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

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

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

“Oh, more boring.”

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

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

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

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

“Should we try standing?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

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

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

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

“… I know. Cute.”

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

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

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

“Everything okay?”

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

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

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

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

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

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

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

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

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

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

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

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

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

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

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His phone vibrated.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Funny,” he chuckled.

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

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

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

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

“I saw it, man!”

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

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

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

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

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

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

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

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

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

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

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

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

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

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

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

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

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

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

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

But he wasn’t actually sick.

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

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

—JUNE 16TH.

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

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

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

…

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

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

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

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

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

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

—JUNE 18TH.

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

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

…

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

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

—JUNE 19TH.

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

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

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

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

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

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

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

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

…

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 20TH.

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 21ST.

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

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—JUNE 26TH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

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

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

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

“Vernon, what the f—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

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

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

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

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

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

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

“Back from work?” She asked.

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

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

He nodded at her.

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

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

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

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

It just couldn’t happen yet.

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

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

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

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

Yet, he could hear something.

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

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

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

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

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

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

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

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

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

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

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

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

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

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

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

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

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

But he’d assumed too quickly.

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

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

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

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

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

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

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

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

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

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

Wonwoo nodded.

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

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

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

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

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

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

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

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

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

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

He shook his head at you.

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

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you asked.”

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

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

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

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

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

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

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

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

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

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

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The announcement finished with a ding.

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

10:48 pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The message blipped off.

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

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

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

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

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

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

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

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

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

His venlafaxine.

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

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

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

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

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

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

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

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

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

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

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

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

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

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

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

“No…”

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

—JULY 28th.

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

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

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

That was just over a month ago now.

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

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

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

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

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

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

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

“I live here, actually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

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

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

“That sucks, huh?”

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

“Is she usually here around this time?”

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

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

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

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

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

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

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

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

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

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

His mouse hovered over a clip.

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

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

It took a moment to start up.

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

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

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

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

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

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

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

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

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

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

“That’s disgusting.”

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

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

“Seokmin.”

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

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

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

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

He could understand that.

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

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

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

“Oh. What’s it from?”

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

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

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

“Like you want recognition.”

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

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

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

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

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

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

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

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

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

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

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

He felt glued to it.

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

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

—JULY 30th.

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

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

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

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

“I can help whoever’s next!”

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

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

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

“Oh, damn.”

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

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

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

“Card, thanks.”

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

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

“Iced coffee, right here.”

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

Princess.

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

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

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

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

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? Because—”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I—I get that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And… afterward?”

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

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

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

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “I just—I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

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

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

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

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

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

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

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

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

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

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

And Vernon made it easy.

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

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

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

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

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

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

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

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

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

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

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

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

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

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

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

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

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

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

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

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

“Wait—dude. Really?”

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

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

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

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

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

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

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

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

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

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

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

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

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

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

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

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words jammed on his tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

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

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

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

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

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

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

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

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

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

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

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhm…”

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

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

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

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

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

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

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

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

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

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

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

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

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

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

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

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

Vernon was right.

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

—END OF PART FOUR.

[ogdit]

This Post is by someone that wants to remain anonymous, they DM'd me this and asked me to post

The callout campaign against Kagebros has gone WAY too far. The lengths these people have gone to violate someone’s boundaries and privacy in order to “warn” people is incredibly excessive and is dealing horrible damage to their mental health and wellbeing. It needs to fucking stop.

The situation has spiraled completely out of control, spurred on by people who would rather side with a proud AI artist than have a civilized, adult discussion about tracing. Said AI artist has a history of attempting to ruin Kagebros’ credibility, spreading disinformation and rumors about them and their nonprofit charity zines, now going as far as to allegedly incite people to nonconsensually take photos of them at their booth at TFcon Baltimore, and block-evading their socials in order to find more posts to pick apart.

As they have stated already, Kagebros never had ANY intention to scam people, which understandably doesn’t change how those affected may feel. That being said, they could have very easily traced over things without altering them in any way at all, like many others within the convention vending sphere have blatantly done without a callout from these same people who care so much about “calling out tracing”. There tends to be a gray area in the realm of tracing techniques within the art industry (especially professionally), and there is plenty of merit for their actions to be criticized. As they’ve stated, they were under the impression that Official artwork/figures were okay to trace over and alter, which they now know to avoid doing so in the future. Even if the details and credibility of the piece can be scrutinized, they still made a conscious effort to alter the pieces in question to be more original.

Although said effort may not be enough for most, they now KNOW that. End of story. They can't immediately change the pieces they had available for sale, and they should be showing change through their future pieces and actions, which is something that’s up for judgment by anyone. And yet the people starting this have needlessly dragged it on, inciting others to keep spreading the accusations to further audiences, leading to more harassment.

Seafoamsol had admittedly unblocked Kagebros and “offered” to have a talk with them about the situation, but their own intentions are extremely questionable, as a conversation should have been the first priority, rather than a callout post. They assumed Kagebros’ intentions without giving them a single chance to address it themselves before the callout, and are now going forward with the narrative of them being a scammer.

Again, if they truly were concerned, they could have unblocked them and had a conversation before the callout was made, instead of assuming their intentions were to deceive people.

The situation is very nuanced, meaning there's a lot of points to be acknowledged on both sides in order to come to a conclusion, which could have happened peacefully if adults just had a civil discussion with each other. There is a justifiable talk to be had here, and reasonable changes to be made, but this can’t be accomplished productively if people continue to jump to conclusions and assume intentions. This has done nothing–and WILL do nothing–but hurt people, if this behavior doesn’t stop. mistakes will be made, lessons will be learned. Please look at this situation in its entirety before coming to your own conclusions based on assumptions made by people with evidently questionable motives and a history of causing problems for others and driving them out of the community. 

Thank you for reading.