#that this poor dude is going through. I mean I get the anxiety it's not really something he was trained for lol

[vaguely-concerned]

that banter lucanis has with davrin where he tells him he shouldn't be letting assan go soft, because when you let that happen to 'predators like us' you turn them into sheepdogs. all anxiety all the time. ...lucanis baby is there something you want to talk about. I mean I know you'd literally rather die but well if you need it the offer is on the table lol

[pa-pa-plasma]

i don't think i'll ever get over how people treat kids that aren't good in school as worthless no matter what. "oh it can't be that bad" my guy idk how to tell you this but the last time i went to a normal high school the principal called me into his office to brag about how he failed me in all of my classes before the semester was even finished & i should quit while i'm ahead cuz i'm too stupid ("officially" diagnosed as such by a school counselor & a psychiatrist!!) to succeed. & this is considered normal

[occamstfs]

Triple Shot Theft

Trying to nab himself a sweet treat, Liam finds himself growing into the behemoth whose order he stole.

Shorter story! Petty thief to meathead bodybuilder, hope you enjoy this slightly more succinct story! -Occam

The coffee was in his sights. Liam just needs to wait for a moment when the mobile order counter was unattended andddd- There. He’s already out the door and headed down the street with enough caffeine to get him through his morning. I mean he’s not proud of his little act of delinquency, but it’s not like anyone’s suffering right? The coffee shop has unlimited resources, they'll make whatever poor schmuck whose drink he just nabbed a new one. 

Speaking of, now that he’s home free it’s well time for the first sip. Liam briefly checks the name on the cup, Elijah. “Well Eli, cheers to you. Bottoms up-” Raising the steaming togo cup to his lips Liam prepares for the ritual first burning sip. Not checking the label as he wants to be surprised by whatever hides underneath the lid. As soon as the drink touches his tongue it is revealed to be quite the unpleasant one as he rears back from the scalding drink and grimaces.

Totally unrelated from the boiling heat, the taste was the single most bitter thing he’s ever experienced before in his life. Sticking his burned tongue out before whispering a complaint he checks the label, “Jesus Christ dude!? What the fuck did your order?” Taking no time to analyze his criticism of a man who is by all intents his victim, his eyes grow wide as he sees the drink is a Black Dead Eye, that is drip coffee with three shots. 

He feels his heart flutter as he thinks about the amount of caffeine he now holds in his hand and plans how he is going to ration it out so he doesn’t completely overload himself. His mind briefly tries to picture the type of man to order this, though before a clear thought could be produced he shrugs and takes another sip. Could’ve at least had some syrup in there guy. Still taking a strained sip, an idea unfamiliar fills his mind, ‘psh as if I’m gonna drink some empty calories to start my day.�� 

Eliam’s eye twitches as he scrunches his face, presumably from the bitterness and grunts, “ugh, I hate-” Feeling a frog in his throat he clears it a few times in short succession. “Man, this drink sucks.” His brow immediately furrows as he hears his voice almost sounds deeper to his ears? Eliam eyes the drink for half a second before shrugging and assuming he must be coming down with a cold. Something within his subconscious questions how that will affect his time at work? No, not work, something else. Something close though, his arm rises in a right angle and he tilts his head as the thin limb tries to flex, immediately confused as to why he just did that, after a pause he reconsiders. Why does his bicep look so puny?

Uncomfortable with his bicep barely manipulating the sleeve of his shirt he considers, “Maybe I should start hitting up the gym?” Eliam scratches at his chest and frowns as he feels truly no muscle definition hiding under his T-shirt. His head buzzes with foreign emotion and instinct as the general apathy he has for his body and appearance is rapidly being replaced with disdain nearing disgust. He grunts and keels over as static, burning pins and needles, begins to overwhelm his senses. In the process he nearly spills his coffee which hits him with far more anxiety than losing a drink you didn't even pay for should.

His mouth is cold and dry as he stares at his nearly lost midnight dark drink and, even greater than the bizarre numbness and strange sensations contorting his body, he feels an urge, a need, to drink. Lips puckering as they strain to get closer to the cup as he brings it to his mouth, his legs give out and he falls back against a shop window. Passersby sneer at him as doggedly sits on the sidewalk and raises the cup completely upside down and lets it pour into his wanting mouth. His throat struggles to keep up as something besides himself, something with a will stronger than his own, forces him to down the burning drink in one go.

Mission accomplished, he gasps for air and wipes the few drops of coffee that landed outside of his mouth off his face before sucking them off his stained finger. When a businessman looks down at him with an eyebrow raised Eliamh feels a burning in his chest at the challenge. His jaw clenches and every muscle burns with the desire to show the pen pusher what’s up, dude doesn’t even know what the grind is! Eliamh’s eye twitches and he clenches at his gut as for the first time in his life it seems to be straining his intentionally baggy shirt.

The pettiest thief struggles to stand, using the wall for support as his legs suddenly struggle to carry his body. All the while making embarrassing grunts. He begins burping loudly as his stomach tries to get him to reject the drink in the only way it can. He feels more bloated with every labored breath and heavy movement, his midriff now exposes his thin treasure trail as his arms begin to fill the sleeves of his wrinkled button up. In between burps and groans he just gets out in his now decidedly duller voice, “Whuh- what was in that cup-” 

Usually happy to hide, Eliamh feels a rising need to challenge every man in sight, realizing something is beginning to overwrite his usual instincts, his rational ideas. As his pants begin to strain, thighs and ass bulging larger, Eliamh realizes that no matter his new desire to post up he needs to wait out whatever, uh, food poisoning this is. Stumbling into the storefront he’s thus far used as a stabilizer he groans out to the clerk, hand covering his mouth as he tries to hold back a loud burp, “Burmgh- I, ugh. Need yer restroom, dude.” Mouth curling into a frown at the clearly unwell man the cashier just points to the room at the back and Eliamh quickly stumbles through the door and locks it behind him.

Panting, Eliamh falls to the floor. Sweating through his clothes he leaves a trail on the door as he slides against it. Unconcerned with the filth of being on a bathroom floor his mind screams as his body begins to expand in every direction. Fabric tears as his bloated gut redistributes itself across his whole form. His arms that only recently bulged with any weight at all suddenly rip entirely through his shirt. Veiny biceps tear through, bursting larger than his thighs before his forearms race to match. His hands grow rough with callouses as he tears at his clothes as they begin to suffocate him.

Elijam’s shoulders pecs are initially inhibited by the clothes barely hanging in there. As soon as they give way and his torso is freed to the air do they begin their transformation outright. Drool pouring from his mouth as his mind flitters between the horror of becoming something anathema to himself while at the same time rapidly recognizing the arms as the powerful weapons he has honed for years now. Initially absent, the muscle on his chest pointedly makes up for the years spent abandoned. Pumping larger as his lungs expands and his chest widens to match shoulders that thicken to be shoulderpads, his pecs begin to become unseemly. Weighty enough that his current legs could never support them, his pecs surge to a size where the idea that he could ever be anything but a diligent bodybuilder is foolish.

His rougher hands trail down his sweaty, impossibly large chest and find that there are now swaths of his body where his bulging biceps and dense pecs collide that he simply can no longer touch. Moving down to feel abs as they push themselves out of his lower torso like cobblestones, his grunts and burps turn to deep moans as he bathes in the pleasure of becoming Elijah. Finally reaching low enough to free his package as it begins to fill his constricting pants, Elijah palms his balls as they begin to fill his body with hormones that make his boorish mindset make far more sense. 

Outside in the store the clerk contemplates calling the authorities as the deep moans echoing from the bathroom begin to scare off customers. Back in the restroom the bodybuilders thighs expand to truly the size of tree trunks as they lengthen along the cold tile. Immediately do they tear his pants as it becomes clear that he’ll never take a step without his massive legs rubbing against each other. It’s a wonder his package has any room at all to be as large as it is given the real estate taken up by his massive lower body. In no time at all the sweaty behemoth finds himself filling the small room with his musk which only heightens his heady delight.

His eyes cross as the few shreds of Liam that remained ingrained in his psyche through it all begin to give up the ghost. His balls pulse as the paltry aspects drain from his mind and every inch of him fully shifts to that of Elijah. Memories of countless hours spent underneath the bench press bar, tracking protein consumption, comparing his form with other massive titans. At the very same moment do loads begin to fly. Shooting high enough to grace the ceiling, his spunk stains the wall behind him like splatters on a canvas. His impossible changes took less than a minute but in his ecstasy he feels each and every one of Elijah’s memories soar to fill his mind.

Stumbling to his thick soled feet Elijah scratches his head as he tries to think how he’ll leave this store with nothing to cover his titanic form. The cogs of his mind turn slow enough that it seems like he can barely produce a thought at all. He grabs toilet paper to start to clean the mess made, but only ends up smearing it against the walls. Suddenly he laughs a dull guffaw as he remembers he lives nearby, just needs to run through the store and he’s home free. He’s sure the customers won’t mind seeing him in the buff, he thinks as he smirks at his peaking bicep. 

His cock stirs again as he wonders when he got this pump in. Knowing he doesn’t have time for another session right now he covers his impressive package with his torn clothes and sprints through the lobby, the clerk doesn’t have time to finish his name before he’s exited the storefront and begun to sprint homewards. Pushing through any man who doesn’t quite move out of the way in time, Elijah hits himself in the head as he realizes he needs to apologize to his bro for stealing his coffee this morning. Just as soon does the thought fade with another slow witted guffaw. He’s sure Elijah won’t mind, he’d probably do the same even. After all, they’ve got a lot in common.

[miraclewoozi]

HIGH FIDELITY, PT 1. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

pair ; vernon x fem!reader.  content ; strangers to lovers.  up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader.   fluff, angst, parts two and three will contain suggestive themes and smut. (MINORS DNI).  warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage.  wc ; 13.5k ( ~35k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

“What do you mean, no?”

Your best friend and longest standing employee Seungkwan turns his head away from the customer he’s serving to look at you with filth in his eyes. Unsurprisingly, his features don’t soften when you double down on your response to him.

“I mean, no,” you laugh. “I’m running on fumes, dude. I’m not going. No way.”

“But…” he whines, putting down the record in his hands. “No, come on. I told you about this weeks ago. You’re really gonna make me go on my own?”

“You won’t be on your own. Chan’s still going.”

Your younger friend, upon hearing his own name, whirls around from where he’s been rearranging the wall of cassettes and lifts an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“You’re still going to that guy’s show tonight, right?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. Why?” Chan eyeballs your guilt-adjacent expression for a second before his face falls and he looks at Seungkwan with a curled lip. “What did you do? Why’s she not coming anymore?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Seungkwan barks. The customer he’s still not finished ringing up flinches at the lift in his voice, but he doesn’t notice. “Why is that always your first–”

“Shut up, don’t start this right n–”

“I’m not starting anything! You started–”

“Guys!” You interrupt, looking between the two of them and doing your best to smile apologetically at the poor lady fumbling through the cash in her fingers like it’s an Olympic sport. “Can we park this one? For five minutes? Please?”

The bickering pair fall quickly into silence and Chan sends one last glare at Seungkwan before he turns back to the cassettes, grumbling something under his breath. 

With a clearing of his throat the only giveaway, Seungkwan drops seamlessly back into his customer service voice and plasters a charming smile onto his lips. He checks the register and warmly tells the young woman her total, holding out his palm for her to place the money into. Even knowing him as well as you do, the switch-up gives you a little bit of whiplash.

The customer passes over her cash and accepts her change from Seungkwan’s hands before making perhaps the swiftest exit you’ve ever seen anyone make. No sooner has the bell above the entry to OFF BEAT Vinyl rung and the door has clicked shut, the two men turn once again.

But not on each other.

On you. And it’s the more gentle of them that pipes up first.

“Why aren’t you coming?” Chan asks, abandoning his little project and hurrying over to the desk with a frown. You’re sure it’s supposed to look sympathetic to whatever issue it is that’s changed your mind, supposed to fool you into believing that this has nothing to do with him still blaming Seungkwan entirely. But… you know him better than that. You know them both better. If Chan and Seungkwan weren’t both employed by you, you don’t doubt that they would have ripped each other to shreds within the first hour of meeting. Their dynamic is fascinating to watch — one minute, the best of friends, the next just seconds away from throwing fists; you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had to send them to different rooms to avoid having to clean blood and tears off your shop (and sometimes your apartment) floor. 

“I didn’t sleep so well last night, I just want to go to bed early. Is that… okay?” 

(This is an embellishment of the truth, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.)

“No,” they both exclaim at the same time, but Seungkwan goes one step further and slams his hands down on the counter for good measure. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him, but he keeps his palms flat and doesn’t give any indication that he’s about to apologise, so…

“Okay — God.” You turn away from them, heading towards the little office out the back of the store to try and get a few minutes’ respite. “Whatever. Fight with the wall, you guys – I’m not going. Check in with me before you head out, okay?”

Behind you, Seungkwan dramatically calls you a traitor and says he’ll never forgive you for this, but you just shake your head and continue on your way. The world falls into silence as you shut the door after yourself and you lean back against it, letting out a deep exhale and pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Now, you did have an awful night’s sleep last night, and after how on-and-off busy the store has been all day today, the headache you woke up with this morning has only slowly gotten worse. But there are reasons for those things outside of what you’re going to admit to out in the main storefront. As close as the three of you are, there are some things that you’ve always thought it wise to keep… a little bit hushed. Especially at work. 

When Chan and Seungkwan start an inquisition into your private life, it feels like it may never end. And so sue you, you’d actually like to make it home at a reasonable time, today. 

True to your parting request, the two men close down the store for you while you sit out the back in your ‘office’, lights dimmed, pouring over both a new store playlist you’re trying to compile and a few less exciting — but actually important — tasks. Chan heads out first, all puppy-dog eyed when he pokes his head through the door and asking if you’re really not coming out. You shake your head, telling him to have fun and tell you all about it on Monday when he’s next penned in.

Seungkwan is slightly less easily brushed away. A few minutes after Chan says his final goodbye, your other employee slides into your office and shuts the door, sitting down in the armchair opposite you with his eyebrows scrunched together.

He doesn’t speak for almost a full thirty seconds, at which point, you look up at him from the small mountain of receipts you’re trying to organise and click your tongue.

“What?” you ask, leaning back in your own chair and crossing your arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You know why.” Seungkwan shifts forward on the cushion until he’s sat almost entirely on the edge of the seat. “You might think you’re really good at hiding your shit, okay? But you’re not. Not from me.”

“Please,” you sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m telling you, I’m just tired today.”

“And I’m telling you that I know you better than that. Come on, talk to me.”

This is, unfortunately, something you can’t deny. It also seems to be his unfailing last line of defence every single time you’re stubborn over discussing your problems. One of these days, you’ll be ready for it — you’ll have a response sitting on the tip of your tongue ready to shut the conversation down, and he’ll be the one on the spot, and you’ll treat yourself to a pint of ice cream or something when you get home as a victory snack. But today? Isn’t that day; Seungkwan stumps you, once again, so you groan in defeat, cradling your head in your hands.

“I went on a date last night,” you say under your breath.

“What?”

Clearing your throat, you look up at him. You say, louder, “I went on a date last night.”

His eyes blow wide and if he could get any closer to you without actually sitting on top of your coffee-stained worktop, you think he would. Which is strange, if you really let yourself think about it, because Seungkwan is sort of an ex-thing, and talking so openly to someone who has quite literally been inside you about going out with other people… shouldn’t come as easily as it does.

But that was quite some time ago, and for three long months, you drove each other nuts. The two of you are way better off as friends. (Whether you’re better as colleagues is still up for review.)

“You what?” he whisper-shouts. It feels almost like he’s hinting to an invisible audience that this piece of information is extremely scandalous: all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Which would be fine, except it’s not really that scandalous at all, and neither should it be a surprise: you’re single, you have been for a while, and you have an entire sub-folder in your phone dedicated solely to dating apps — you’re at perfect liberty to go out with whoever you like. You just continue to stare at him, refusing to repeat yourself for a third time. 

“You haven’t even been home, have you?” Seungkwan asks after letting the dust settle, the silence just on the brink of uncomfortable. “Oh my God. Tell me everything.”

“Shut up,” you groan. “His name’s Wonwoo. I met him on Hinge. And fuck you – yes, I went back to my own place.”

You pause for a second, taking a breath when his features cloud with the question he’s about to ask. 

“It’s just-... so did he.”

Seungkwan leaps to his feet and claps loud enough that your already tender eardrums feel assaulted, adding an ‘I knew it!’ for good measure. You cringe at his volume, rubbing your temples – you should’ve known telling him this wouldn’t calm him down, but a small part of you was still hoping. This time, he actually does circle around the desk, carelessly shoving a few bits of paper out of his way before sitting on the newly cleared wood. 

“Had you up all night, didn’t he?” Seungkwan asks. You shove his thigh, looking away from him, embarrassed. “What was the date?”

You just wish it was the kind of embarrassment that he thinks you’re feeling. Flustered, shy, giddy even. But it’s not any of those things.

“If I tell you, will you please turn it down a notch?” You ask, and Seungkwan nods, giddily kicking his legs over the side of the desk. With a sigh, you continue. “We just went for a drink. It wasn’t special, okay? It was bad. We had nothing to talk about, he was awkward, I didn’t even wanna be there – I took a bathroom break after like… a half hour, and I tried to bail but I’d left my phone on the table so I had to go back.”

“And how did that end up with him in your panties?” Seungkwan asks, thankfully a little quieter when he speaks this time. 

“Do not talk about my panties out loud ever again,” you grunt, drumming your fingertips on the arm of your office chair. You give a dejected sigh as you answer him properly. “I guess… It felt like a sign that I was trying to give up too early. So I stayed a little longer, told him the truth about how I was feeling. I don’t know, maybe it took the pressure off or something? But we got talking a little more, we found some stuff we had in common… It just got easier and he started cracking a few jokes, so…”

“So… he laughed his way into your—?”

“He doesn’t drink alcohol,” you interject slowly, narrowing your eyes. “I asked him if he minded driving me home.”

“You devil,” Seungkwan grins, lightly prodding your calf with the side of his foot. “Was he good? Was it big?”

“Seungkwan!”

“Did he make you–”

“He was gone this morning when I woke up.”

Your friend doesn’t say ‘oh, shit’ out loud, but he doesn’t have to. The silence he suddenly falls into speaks for itself, his newly adopted slack-jawed expression the exclamation mark at the end of his unspoken sentence. 

“Always the fucking ‘nice’ guys.” You push up from your desk and start to gather your things, shutting off your computer and grabbing your phone off the desk. You’re over it – you can deal with all this tomorrow.

Seungkwan hops down, biting the inside of his cheek as you pull your keys out of the pocket of your jeans. “Come with us tonight,” he tries one more time, laying a hand on your shoulder and sounding the kind of gentle that makes your skin itch. You swerve out from beneath his palm, shaking your head at him again. “Maybe it’ll take your mind off it.”

“I don’t need my mind taking off anything,” you insist softly. “I’m fine, I just don’t feel like going out. Gonna order in some food and get my ass to bed. Okay?”

Knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, your best friend finally stops pressing. He circles around you and flicks on the overnight alarm, letting you lead your way out of the office and then through the front of the store. He helps you pull the shutter down and tests the lock for you, as he so often does, before he holds both of his arms out in front of him. With a resigned roll of your eyes, you walk into his embrace for a couple of seconds.

“I’m okay, Seungkwan. Go without me. Have fun and let me know if this Vernon guy is any good, okay?”

“We’ll miss you,” he says as you pull away, and you clap him on the upper arm once before turning away, slipping your headphones on over your ears. 

What you neglected to inform Seungkwan, even after allowing yourself those rare few moments of vulnerability, is who you bumped into on your way to the bar where you met Wonwoo last night. The encounter that set the tone in the first place. The reason you were so cold with the stranger who sat across from you in the booth, the reason you tried to bail, and two-thirds of the reason you’ve felt so damn out of it all day. That’s a story for another time, you tell yourself on your walk home. Maybe. 

But… then again. Maybe not.

You’ve been marinating on your couch in a pair of sweatpants and a crisis hoodie for at least two hours and are currently on your second bowl of evening cereal when you hear a knock on your apartment door. You purse your lips and set the spoon back down inside the milky sludge, but you don’t set your ‘dinner’ to one side just yet. It’s probably just the old lady next door, asking if you’ve seen her cat, Houdini (you can’t help but feel like she was asking for trouble giving him a name like that) (in any case — no, you haven’t), or the middle-aged couple opposite asking you to turn your music down (you won’t) (it’s not even that loud).

You’re not getting up. All you have to do is wait for them to give up and away. 

Knock, knock, knock.

They’ll leave. 

Knock knock. 

Any second, now.

…

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

You groan loudly as you haul yourself to your feet and skid over to the door, crossing your arms tighter over your chest to try and shield you from the chill that always lingers in the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Mrs P,  I haven’t seen H—” you start on exasperated autopilot, falling quiet the moment your eyes land first on Chan’s beaming smile, and second on Seungkwan’s guilty eyes. “How… the fuck did you guys get in here?”

“We followed someone in,” Chan tells you as he slides past, inviting himself into your haven and heading through to the living room where your favourite album is spinning on your record player. “That really tall guy – I think he lives on the second floor? Crazy hairline. Like, right back h—?”

“Cool,” you interrupt, except it’s actually everything but cool. Seungkwan steps through the door too, following behind you as you stalk after your younger friend. “Next question. Why are you guys in here?”

“You’ve been in a funk all day,” Chan says, tossing himself down onto your couch and nearly tipping your cereal all over the cushions. He eyes the glass you have on the side-table, raises a brow and looks back at you. “And you can’t deny that. You’re drinking rosè and eating fruit loops at 9pm on a Saturday. You need to get out of this apartment.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” you tell him, sitting down on the armchair to Chan’s left that only ever gets used when these two idiots show up at the same time. 

“One hour?” Seungkwan tries again, crouching down in front of you and taking hold of your hand. “You don’t have to be out late. And – and I’ll open tomorrow. You can stay in bed as long as you want.”

“Do you guys ever stop?” You ask them, and in tandem, the two men shake their heads at you. “I’m staying here. You’ve gotta go, or you’re gonna be late.”

Chan whines your name loudly, stomping like an upset toddler. “You know it won’t be as fun without you.”

“It’s gonna have to be,” you shrug, picking your feet up off the floor and resting them on the coffee table. “Come on. I’m serious. Get out of here.”

Seungkwan watches you for a moment longer but when you eye him sternly, he stands up again, giving your hand a squeeze and sending a nod to tell Chan to get up and follow him. First taking a long sip from your wine glass, the younger man does as he’s instructed, concern etching a frown onto his lips as he walks towards the door.

“If you change your mind, you know where we are, okay?” Seungkwan says and you nod at him. “See you in the morning.”

The door clicks shut behind them and you feel your shoulders droop, a long sigh leaving your lungs now you’re finally back on your own again. You roll your head side-to-side, relieving a tiny bit of the tension that you’ve been holding up in your neck all day, before relaxing back against the cushions behind you.

I’m not going out tonight, you tell yourself as you try to time your breaths to the beat of your music, letting it drown out the fact that the young couple who live two doors down have started arguing just outside your front door. It’s not gonna happen. 

There’s no way. 

The chill of an ice-cold glass meets your palm not even an hour later.

Chan and Seungkwan had been sitting on the stairs outside your apartment building, giving you fifteen more minutes just in case you happened to change your mind. To your credit, neither man had expected you to get out of your quarter-life-crisis outfit. Each gave a whistle of approval as you stepped outside into the air in a nice pair of jeans and a cute, long-sleeved shirt.

You all set off in the direction to the Arrowhead (so-called thanks to the venue’s unconventional triangular room shape) and both of your friends managed to successfully paint a few smiles on your face along the way. Once inside, Seungkwan dragged you by the wrist up towards the main bar space. Before you even had time to process the blurred faces that you walked by and the fuzzy neon signs all the way up the stairwell, enthused cheers and applause from the room ahead and the melodic strumming of a guitar drowned out the dread you’d been feeling ever since you woke up.

“This guy is not covering U2,” Chan says almost incredulously as he thrusts the drink he paid for into your hand. You manage to work your way through the crowd a little: it’s busier in here than you’ve ever seen it before, and certainly way more full than you would have really expected, but there’s still just enough movement room.

“Yeah, he is,” you say as you weave your way into a decent spot, where you can actually see the musician whose logo has been plastered on every notice board around town for the past month and a half. You even end up with a bit of breathing space, which is a rare, but welcome, treat.

But whatever you were about to say next – about how you don’t like U2, and how you’ve never really forgiven them for putting their entire new album onto everybody’s iTunes back in 2014 – dies a magnificent death on your tongue. You pause with your drink halfway to your lips as your eyes land on the main attraction, the man up on the stage; he has a small band up there, too, but all the lights draw your focus to him. His eyes are sparkly. Both his hands are wrapped around the microphone like he’s caressing it, his rosy lips brush over the metal as they move with each word that comes out of his mouth. Watching him quickly becomes almost hypnotic.

So. This is Vernon.

Long, dark hair sits low over his temples, perfectly parted and shaped in the middle to frame his brows. The top few buttons of his emerald satin shirt are popped open, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, the hem half tucked into his black jeans. He has rings on almost every finger. A silver chain around his neck. He looks good, but his voice?

I think I hated this song ten minutes ago, you think to yourself, but there’s something about Vernon’s deep, rough-edged tone that has you considering never listening to anything else. If you could stand to look away from the way he cradles his mic, and the way one of his eyes squeezes tighter closed as he lifts up into a higher note, and the way he moves on the stage like he was born to be on one, you might notice your friends (and everyone else around you) equally entranced by this gorgeous rendition of Beautiful Day as yourself. You can’t, though, so you don’t. 

You keep your attention locked on the singer and instead start to wonder just what he injected the air with when he stepped out from behind that curtain. 

Vernon’s eyes flutter back open right as he hits the final line of the song, a smile spreading over his lips. You realise only now that you’re hardly breathing, nor blinking — your body doesn’t remember to function in the ways it needs to survive, too caught up being immersed all the way to the last beat. You think he looks right at you from up on the stage, you swear one of his eyebrows lifts and his features twist into a satisfied smirk. You’re certain, because for half a second it feels like the world tumbles into slow motion and it’s like he’s reading every single one of your secrets, scouring every corner of your mind. 

And then… he looks away. He looks across the crowd applauding and cheering and whistling for him, before crouching low and taking a sip from the water bottle sitting on the floor beside his mic-stand. Only then does he speak. 

“Risky opener, I know,” he chuckles, his speaking-voice deep and smooth and wholly entrancing. The room erupts into soft laughter, a series of whoops coming from the crowd, everyone disarmed by his slightly awkward charm; the singer’s cheeks turn rosy and a gummy smile lights up his face before he continues. “Thank you guys for giving it a chance, though. If you didn’t know… I’m Vernon—…”

You’re hooked on his every word as he starts to introduce himself and the band behind him — everyone is, but you don’t care about the people around you. Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder with your two best friends and with every breath inhaling the overpowering cologne of the guy standing right behind you, it feels, in a way, like you and the singer could be the only two people in the entire room. 

The set lasts just over ninety minutes and is a carefully put-together mixture of mostly original songs and a couple of crowd-pleasing covers, a few slower ballad-types to offset the higher energy rock songs that he beams the whole way through. In-between, Vernon wins over the crowd with his dry sense of humour and a natural charisma that has you feeling mortifyingly warm, despite the fact that you know he isn’t speaking directly to you when he breaks to talk. You’ve been to more than your fair share of gigs in this venue over the years, but few performers have ever made one of their shows feel so genuinely intimate; by the time he says goodnight and heads off the stage, bidding everyone a safe journey home, it feels, in a weird way, like… you know him.

Most of the more local artists who play in the Arrowhead tend to hang around after their sets – sometimes they’ll have copies of EPs, others come with pins and badges showing off their logos, various cute freebies for people to take home. A few even just stand around in the bar and talk for a while, thanking people personally for coming, sharing information about their upcoming releases and future gig schedules. Unless you’ve been really blown away, this isn’t something the three of you often stick around for, though.

It’s therefore a bit of a surprise that when Vernon re-emerges some fifteen minutes later, you don’t even have to convince your friends to work your way into the crowd already starting to form. If anything, the look exchanged between you all establishes that wanting to praise this guy and say hello is very much mutual; the time that ticks by before you’re face-to-face with him really feels like no time at all.

The people in front of you move off to the side and you catch your first actual, unobstructed glimpse of him. He takes a sip from his glass and wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand before greeting you kindly. Somehow, he’s even more handsome up close. You really didn’t think it was possible. 

“Amazing set, man,” Chan says brightly, doing little by way of snapping you out of your trance. “Super fresh.”

“Seriously. So, so good,” Seungkwan gushes.

Vernon pushes away from where he’s leaned against the bar, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and extending it to your friends in turn. 

“Thank you so much,” he says. “Glad you guys liked it.” Another one of those easy, bright smiles spreads over his face. Maybe you entertain, for a second, that it grows a little more when he holds his hand out to you, too. 

You’re still stunned into silence by how breathtaking he is, but you put your drink in the other hand and wipe the condensation off your palm on the side of your jeans before shaking his hand, as well. He’s really warm, maybe even a little clammy, but when he squeezes with his fingers and looks straight into your eyes, this becomes a very negligible detail.

“Your vibe really reminds me of someone… God, what was his name-...” Chan starts to babble, clicking his fingers at lightning speed as if it’ll help him remember. “He was on that survival show-...”

“We’re sorry about him,” Seungkwan interjects after a few more seconds of nonsense and half-spoken, incorrect names, lifting a hand and covering Chan’s mouth. “He gets a little… it’s just when he’s excited.”

“No I don’t,” Chan huffs, swatting Seungkwan’s hand away. You inhale deeply, trying not to cringe as you watch Vernon’s amused eyes bounce between your two friends like he’s watching a tennis match. 

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Case in point—” Seungkwan starts, at which stage you lay one palm on each of their shoulders to try and get them to stop talking.

By some miracle, it works. At least, their mouths stop moving; there’s definitely a silent conversation ongoing in the filthy looks they continue to exchange, but they stop bickering aloud and that’s good enough for you, for now.

“Come on, let’s leave the poor guy alone,” you say, and Chan shoots Seungkwan a filthy look before he nods and takes a small step back from the altercation. 

Vernon’s eyes glitter under the venue’s neon lighting, wide and focused on you while you do your best to mediate. You only notice this when you look back at him, by which point it’s far, far too late to stop the eruption of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re really good,” you compliment finally, a smile tugging your mouth up on one side. 

“Thank you.” Vernon grins, briefly dipping his head in your direction, but looking for a second as if he’s about to say something else. His chest rises with a breath, his lips push forward like they’re about to separate again, but before he can, Chan finds one more thing to come out with. Of course. (Seungkwan, regretfully, was right — he does get a little…)

“Do you like records?” he asks, pulling Vernon’s gaze away from you. The singer tilts his head, questioning. “Records. Vinyl – albums? Records.”

“Shit – yeah.” Vernon nods then. “Yeah, sorry. I um-... Sure. Yeah. Totally.”

“She owns a record store,” Chan says, jerking his head towards you. You feel your eyes blow wide and you’re tapping harshly at his back in an instant, begging him to stop. “OFF BEAT Vinyl. Not too far from here – it’s a cool spot.”

“No kidding?” Vernon says, glancing back in your direction, but you’re too busy silently pleading at Chan to shut up to realise.

“Mm. You should swing by, some time,” Seungkwan agrees, and all of a sudden, you’re overcome with the urge to fight him, too. “We all work there.”

“All right, let’s go,” you cough eventually, grabbing both men by the wrist and tugging. Vernon chuckles softly at the interruption; it’s almost as sweet a sound as his singing.

“OFF BEAT Vinyl,” he repeats, tasting the store’s name on his tongue, swirling it around his mouth like a wine he’s trying to savour. “For real. I’ll look it up.”

Chan grins proudly, finally letting himself be pulled away from the singer, and you manage to make exactly two paces before Vernon’s voice rings through your eardrums one more time.

“Hey, uh – what was your name?” he asks. It’s unmistakable who the question is aimed at (your friends don’t even entertain for a moment that he could be asking them), but regardless, it takes you a moment to let yourself believe he really wants to know. Vernon doesn’t push, though – he knows you heard him and he waits for your answer, leaning a little forward. 

So, you look over your shoulder and you tell him. You see his lips move silently as he repeats it to himself, just like he did with the name of the store. He tastes it. Plays with it on his tongue, remembers the way it feels. As if it’s something he really intends to remember.

“Cool,” he breathes, pushing his hair back and off his forehead and making it very difficult to feel in any way rational. “Well – it’s great to meet you guys. Thanks for coming out, again.”

Finally, you manage to get your friends away. One of them, at least – Seungkwan decides that he actually wants to grab a few copies of his EP (‘one for me, a few for the store’) and rushes back towards the singer; you tell him to just meet you back at the bar.

Then, with another round of drinks on order, you turn to Chan and land a gentle thump on his bicep.

“Dude,” you groan, and he looks at you incredulously, rubbing his upper arm with a pout. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Chan asks. 

“Tell him about the store!”

“I mean – I didn’t think it was classified?” he says. “Shit’s slow right now, and he seems like the kind of guy to have a record collection. What’s the damage?”

Seungkwan appears behind you with his hands full of CDs, badges and a scrap of something that you’re reasonably sure is firstly, a napkin, and secondly, has been signed. So you rest your elbows on the bar and place your head in your hands, grumbling quietly about how you don’t know you’ve managed to survive this long knowing these two losers.

“Because you love us,” Seungkwan says, fastening a button to your t-shirt. “Stop trying to deny it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, accepting the drink from the bartender and taking a long sip. “God, you better have been serious about opening up for me, tomorrow.”

(Well. You have to give it to him: he was.)

“It’s just my opinion!” 

From your perch on top of the store’s counter, you raise both of your palms in a display of your innocence. Chan stands in the middle of the R&B aisle, looking personally offended, fingers curled around the top of one of the wooden crates holding your stock. 

“Me saying ‘I don’t think Welcome to the Black Parade is the best track on that album’ is not me saying that it’s a bad song.”

“But how can you say that?” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who’s hearing the opening note to Famous Last Words and feeling the same way as they do with the Black Parade?”

“Most iconic doesn’t mean the best,” you counter. “Besides – I never said you weren’t allowed to have it as your favourite. It’d be a boring game if we all had the same answer.”

“I cannot cope with you anymore,” Chan whines. “You know what? No. I don’t even believe you. You’re just being a contrarian.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask. 

“Because it’s the best song on the goddamn albu–”

The bell above the door chimes loud and clear through the store and both of your squabbling voices fall silent. Your head turns in the direction of the entrance, an autopilot greeting already forming on your lips, but you feel them fall slack the moment you realise who it is that’s just walked in.

It’s been five days. Though it would be a mistruth to claim you hadn’t thought about the singer since the night of his gig, it’s not one to say you didn’t think he would ever actually come into your place of work. 

Much less at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. On a Thursday.

He pops his wrists as he walks a little further into the store, glancing around. Barring one of your regulars who walks about with his earphones in all the time, the store is completely empty; an adrenaline spike prickles the hairs on your arms, all the tiny muscles beneath your skin pulling them to stand upright. 

“Hi,” he says once he deems himself to be close enough, stopping in his tracks and kicking the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Hey,” you greet him in return. 

“I’m-... Vernon. We met at the show, the other night?” 

“Yeah — yeah, I remember you,” you smile. “I’m-... well. I’m still y/n.”

“Still y/n,” he says on a relieved exhale, grinning and glancing away from you. “I uh… I just had some free time. Thought I’d swing by and see what you guys had going on here.” Vernon adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, the silver of his rings glinting under the flickering yellow light overhead.

(It was definitely somewhere on your list of things to get fixed. Honest.)

“Sure, yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard and trying your best not to stare at him. It’s hard, though – in broad daylight, the way the flannel tied around his waist floats down over his hips and the way his jeans hug at his thighs is… you don't even have the words. “Let me know if you need help finding anything, okay?” 

“I will.” He starts to thumb through one of the wooden boxes, offering a small smile your way. “Thank you.”

You’re holding your breath a little as he pulls a few 80’s rock albums out, his lips downturned in surprised approval at some of the records you carry. He holds onto a couple as he moves around the store and the entire time, you can feel Chan and Seungkwan staring at you. If there wasn’t a very real danger of Vernon looking your way again at a moment’s notice, you know you would be showing them your middle finger.

Really, they come away lucky.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been trying to find some of these,” Vernon says after a few minutes, sauntering toward the desk – you’re still sitting on top of it, your legs swinging in the air beneath you. “Might have to make this my new stop.”

And displayed beside you on the counter – right by the cash register – are a few of his albums. The ones Seungkwan picked up after the show; until about two seconds ago, you had forgotten they were even there.

Vernon’s face lights up when he notices, turning to Seungkwan. “Come on, no way. I thought you were kidding about that.”

“Deadly serious,” Seungkwan laughs. Out of the corner of his eye, he must see you start to freeze up: he keeps talking instead of letting the silence settle. “It was on the speakers yesterday. Four people asked us about you.”

“For real?” Vernon asks. When all three of you nod your heads, you see the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his neck. “Wow. Thank you – um. That’s really cool of you guys.”

“It’s good music,” Chan shrugs. “You’re super talented.”

You’re not sure what it is about the onslaught of passive praise that gets so deep into Vernon’s head, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself other than repeatedly saying ‘thank you’. Relief comes in the form of another customer jingling the bell above the door and drawing the attention away from him for a few moments.

“I’ll take these,” he says breathlessly as he turns to face you again. You find yourself a tiny bit lost in the warmth of his eyes and it takes you a second to remember to swivel around and slip off the other side of the countertop. You do, though. Eventually. 

“Nice,” you say softly as you shuffle through them, ringing each one through. He’s got pretty decent taste, even if less than a week ago you were actively cringing at his choice of cover song. (It’s okay. That was before you knew better.) “Do you– need sleeves, or…?”

“I’m good. Thank you, though.” Vernon rests his hands against the edge of the counter and drums a quiet rhythm out with his thumbs as you tap away at the register. “Are-... you guys busy tonight, by the way?”

You look up from placing the records into a paper bag, glancing over to your colleagues who both rush to shake their heads. Vernon looks from them, to you, and you mirror their action. Even if I was, you start to think wistfully. I’d make time.

“I’m playing at the Orchid? Uh— it starts at eight thirty; I could get you guys on the list, if-... um…”

“That’d be awesome,” Chan says, nodding so hard you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his shoulders and start bouncing across the floor. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungkwan adds. 

Vernon grins at them both, humming softly, before turning back to you and fumbling with his wallet to take out his card to pay for his purchases. You turn the machine around to face him; he hovers with his hand just above it. 

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” He says.

You can’t help the delight that rises inside you, as if it’s been injected straight into your bloodstream. It’s everywhere, all of a sudden. In your brain and your heart and your bones and in your lungs.

Yet, you somehow manage to keep your composure when you say, “yeah. Maybe you will.”

The payment goes through and you slide the bag over towards Vernon, your eyes never leaving his and his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers brush over yours as he takes it from you, the bite of the cold ring on his index finger a shocking contrast to the warmth the rest of his hand radiates. You hope your little gasp isn’t too audible, but… the way Chan whirls around to face away from the scene in front of him (presumably to poorly conceal his laughter), you know you haven’t gotten away with it.

“Cool,” he says, hesitating another second before finally pulling himself away. He bows his head in the direction of your friends, sending another of those irresistibly sweet smiles at you, and then he starts off towards the door. “See you, then.”

You feel your heart finally start to slow down as you grip the counter for dear life, setting out a long, drawn-out breath. What just happened? Why do you feel all… fuzzy?

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” Chan asks in the deepest voice he can muster, snapping you out of your own head none too pleasantly. You turn in their direction as your other favourite moron feigns tucking hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes across at Chan.

“Yeah… Maybe you will.” And Seungkwan’s imitation of you is a little too accurate. Creepily so, and you want to curse him out for it. Instead, you scrunch up a bag to throw towards the pair of them, grinning despite yourself as they both swerve to dodge it.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you chastise them. You don’t have any bite, though, your brain still tingly and positively reeling and seeing Vernon’s dazzling smile every time you so much as blink. And when Seungkwan takes a running start and launches himself, full-force, into Chan’s unsuspecting arms? When Chan lifts him up and spins him around, and when they start making kissy-noises at each other between unearthly cackles? 

You know that the next few hours are going to be the longest of your entire life.

The rest of the afternoon goes by without much disturbance and with evening plans now in place, you make the executive decision to send the boys home half an hour early. The three of you agree to meet outside The Orchid at just after eight o’clock, giving you all a chance to eat, wash up and change before the show; your friends separate and head in the different directions to the places they call home, making a promise to text your group chat before you leave to coordinate the link-up time. You head back into the office to finish tying up your loose ends and manage to depart just an hour later. 

On your way to your apartment, you plan everything out to the minute in your head. You even allocate yourself twenty minutes to sit on the couch and decompress from your working day. So, when you settle down a little further into the cushions and put your head back, resting your eyes… when you tell yourself you’ll get up in just a minute and hop into the shower…

You certainly don’t expect to be woken up two and a half hours later as your phone vibrates on the floor of your living room.

With one eye still closed, you pick it up, yawning and stretching the lingering wisps of slumber from your body. Seungkwan’s contact name shows on your screen and you swipe to answer the call; on the other end of the line, a song you’ve never heard before is audible, but it’s accompanied by a voice you most definitely do know.

Everything snaps into place at once; in an instant, you’re wide awake, and you feel physically sick.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss into the speaker, scrabbling upright, tugging the phone away from your face to see the time. How is it already past 9pm?

“Oh, hello to you, too!” Seungkwan has to half-shout to be anywhere near audible over the music. You can almost perfectly visualise the way he’ll have sandwiched himself in a corner of the venue, pinching the bridge of his nose, head resting against the wall to try and block out enough sound to hear you. “Good to know you’re actually still alive!”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” you say, rushing through to your bathroom to check if you can get away with leaving the house as you are. (Jury’s out, but you don’t have much of a choice.) “I… don’t know what happened. I fell asleep – I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Seungkwan chides you again, this time reminding you that he’s been on your ass about going to a doctor to get your iron levels checked for months, that your timekeeping is terrible and that you really better hurry. You promise you’re on your way and hang up the call, pocketing your (horrifically under-charged) phone and slipping into a pair of sneakers you keep by the door before you head out. You told him you’d be here. Seungkwan’s voice rings loud and clear in your ears as you lock up your apartment.

But of course, bad things never happen in isolation. Waiting on the street outside your apartment block, you find yourself being cancelled on by not one, but two uber drivers: by the time the third reaches you, and has to follow the world’s most inconvenient diversion to get past some construction work, it’s 9:35. You know it doesn’t matter how quickly you run down the last stretch of the street and get up the seemingly never-ending staircase: it’s going to be too late.

You only manage to catch the literal last two songs of Vernon’s set. You’re not sure he even knows you’ve arrived, and in a way, you hope he doesn’t. Maybe having him believe you were a no-show is better than him knowing you’re about as low-functioning as a grown adult can be. You just slip in through the door as discreetly as you can and hover at the very back of the room as he rounds up for the night; Chan slips an arm around your shoulders as you turn to the bar and order yourself a drink, but it doesn’t do much to reduce the guilt that weighs heavy in your chest. 

Which… is odd, really, you suppose. Seeing as you hardly know the singer much beyond his name and, now, a fraction of his record collection. Seeing as you certainly don’t owe him your presence at any of his performances. But there’s something in the way he made sure to ask you personally if you’d be able to make it, too, and you can’t shake it off, and… yeah, screw it, maybe you did want to be here. Maybe you did want him to notice. Maybe you do care what he thinks of you. 

Maybe… you hope he feels the same about you.

Your drink hasn’t even arrived yet by the time you hear a chain of ‘excuse me – sorry, can I just? Yeah, thanks – sorry, excuse me’ -s behind you. Your eyes fly wide and you almost choke on your own spit at the sound, growing closer and closer, somehow audible over the background music floating through the speakers, over the other chattering voices and shrieks of laughter in every direction. Part of your breathlessness, admittedly, is to do with how immediately you just knew who that voice belonged to.

“Excuse m–” it sounds again.

And then, softer: “Hey.”

You turn around on your bar stool, barely managing to bite back a smile. “Hi.”

Vernon grins at you from a few feet away, a dark singlet hanging loose on his frame, showing off his long, lean arms, displaying the few bracelets he wears on one of his slender wrists. You’re staring – you know you are; you don’t even notice the fact that Chan takes several steps away from you, or how he throws a side-along glance toward Seungkwan, nor the fact that your two best friends start talking quietly among themselves, leaving you and Vernon almost alone.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I managed to…” But Vernon’s already shaking his head, coming up beside you at the bar, settling into the seat on your left. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, glancing over at you where you’re sitting. “I’m just glad you’re here, now.”

Chan stumbles over to you somewhere around midnight and claps his hand down on your shoulder, interrupting Vernon’s very enthusiastic explanation as to why flying is totally a better superpower to want to have than invisibility. Your giggles fall silent and Vernon stops mid-flow, waiting to hear what your friend wants to speak to you about. Unfortunately, Chan’s words are barely intelligible; it’s only when a marginally-better-for-wear Seungkwan appears too a moment later that you’re able to make any sense of him.

“We’re gonna–” Seungkwan hiccups, covering his mouth with his hand and wincing, no doubt at the burn of everything he’s had to drink now sitting high in his throat. “Gonna head out. Are you coming? We’ll split a taxi with you.”

You find yourself glancing over to where Vernon is standing, propped against the pool table that you’re now leaning on the edge of. He just smiles back at you, lifting his shoulders.

“I think… I’m gonna stay here a little longer,” you say after chewing it over. “You guys go ahead.”

Seungkwan looks between the two of you and frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vernon gently pipes up from your side, sliding over a little so that his palm rests flat on the felt of the table, his forearm supporting your hips from behind. But it isn’t you he addresses, despite this butterfly-inducing contact. All deep and serious, he says, “I promise, she’s safe with me.” 

He takes his time to show it on his face, but ultimately this satisfies Seungkwan, who (despite being just about able to support both his and Chan’s weight in his current condition) has before, and still will, ignore his body’s demands in the name of ensuring your safety. But maybe he sees a trustworthiness in Vernon, or maybe he knows that you can and do handle yourself quite well. Whatever it is, he’s happy with this development, and your two friends bundle you in a hug so tight that it squeezes the air out of your lungs before they make their way towards the exit.

Once they’re out of view, you turn back to Vernon again, raising both brows at the man now closer to you than he’s ever been. But it’s far from claustrophobic – not as these things can so often be. No. No.

It’s addictive.

“Oh you promise, huh?” The tease comes out before you can do anything about it. You even end up batting your lashes at him for good measure. 

“Cross my heart,” he says with a small shrug of his shoulders. His eyes dip from where they’re boring into your own, glancing down a fraction, just for a moment, and you’re sure you see him start to lean. Drawn to you like an opposing magnet, like a moth to a flame — his breaths feel hotter as they fan against your skin, his cologne starts to smell a little stronger… then, his fingers on the other hand curl around the pool cue he’s been balancing on his side and he drags himself away from you. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kick your ass one more time.”

One more game of pool quickly turns to two, and it even threatens to become a third as you tease, again, that Vernon just got lucky and he flashes you another one of those looks that says ‘oh? Try me’. But as tempting as it is, you don’t think your pride can withstand any more losses. You resign yourself from the table with a huff when he rests his palms flat on the velvet covering, leaning towards you in that mouth-watering way he’s been doing for hours. The thing is, for the size of his pool-playing-ego, Vernon isn’t even that good. Not if you consider the number of completely missed shots, questionable connections and pocketed cues. But, because your own skill level leaves plenty to be desired, he doesn’t have to be up there with the big leagues. 

He just needs to be a tiny bit better than you.

Asshole.

An announcement for last orders from behind the bar tells you that it’s nearing one in the morning as he starts to circle around the table and makes his way towards you. The bar has emptied considerably since you arrived, the music has steadily started getting more and more cheesy, people in all four corners of the room have started draping themselves over one another like well-dressed blankets, having already chosen the individuals they’ve decided to take home tonight. By all accounts, it’s the perfect time to leave. If you head out now, you’ll miss the rush of people flooding into the street and, if you’re lucky, the surge in taxi prices. The really good takeout place around the corner doesn’t close for another half hour, too. 

There’s just one problem. You don’t want this night to end just yet.

“I think I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you say to Vernon, trying to stretch out a burning knot in your shoulder. “It’s like, a thousand degrees in here.”

Vernon nods. “Yeah – cool. I’ll come with you.”

And with your bag slung over the arm not causing you an ache, you start off down the stairwell. The doors are already open and the late night breeze has you feeling like you’re walking through the gates of heaven as you head outside. You inhale deeply, making the most of this very rare occasion of the city’s air not feeling thick with car fuel and cigarettes. Your eyes fall closed.

“I always liked being out at this time,” Vernon says as he joins you, leaning one shoulder against the brickwork of the outside of the bar. “Feels peaceful.”

“Sure,” you nod, craning your neck to look at him. His face is half-illuminated in the neon red of the bar’s sign above you. The harsh lighting and the shadows cast by his angular features have him looking… sort of sinful, in a weird artsy way that you can’t explain thanks to the pleasant buzzing in your brain. Straight out of an arthouse, indie movie. I bet he likes those, you think absently. 

He looks straight into your eyes, intense and focussed as if he’s trying to search them, though for what you’re not sure. Honestly, you think if he gave a few more flutters of those beautiful lashes, you’d bend in-half-and-half-again to give him anything he wanted, so in a way you’re interested to ask what he’s thinking about. You don’t end up saying anything, though. There’s something wonderful in these little unspoken moments with Vernon. Something raw. 

Something… unexplainable. 

Sitting at the bar and stealing tickled glances as the waitress fumbles and drops a tray full of glasses on the floor. Subtle winks of his right eye (always, you’re discovering, the right?) from across a pool table when he succeeds in making a shot he has absolutely no business pulling off. Standing opposite you in the store you own, waiting to find out when – not if – he’s going to see you, again –

“You know,” he starts, the tiniest edge of nervousness in his voice for the first time tonight. Is the performance adrenaline finally wearing off? Is he… maybe starting to feel a little shy? Whatever it is, your last train of thought melts away into the drain just to his right, and you focus on him as he continues down this new path instead. “I got a new coffee machine in my apartment last weekend and I haven’t had the chance to use it for anyone yet.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, swallowing. “I uh…” He bounces one fist in the palm of his other hand, searching for the right order to put the words into. “I mean, it’s not like, one of those super fancy ones, or anything… but it’s sorta retro looking? Which is cool, and—”

“Vernon?”

“Yeah?”

“You‘re a little out of practice, huh?”

He chuckles on an outward breath, bowing his head, a grin that threatens to split his pretty face in two taking residence on his lips. “That obvious?”

“A tiny bit,” you say. “It’s cute though.”

He glances up at you, head a little tilted. “Yeah?”

“Mm… getting less-so by the second,” you tease him. “You can just ask me to come with you.”

“I-…” he starts, but he takes a deep breath instead and corrects his posture, as if it’ll prepare him somehow. “Okay. Okay — do you… maybe wanna come back to my place, with me?”

Not without flashing him a look first that says ‘now, was that so hard?’, you find yourself nodding up at him. 

“I’d love to,” you say.

He pushes away from the wall and when you do the same, he falls into step, heading in the direction of his apartment. You try to discreetly roll your shoulder out again but it’s obviously not discrete enough; it draws his attention down to your arm, and he frowns slightly.

“Is that giving you trouble?” He asks. 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off, stretching the muscle as best as you can by tilting your head as you walk. “It’s been like this for years.”

He scrunches his brows. “Here — can I?” He asks, his fingertip looping beneath the strap of your bag. You look down at your shoulder, then back up at him, before raising one brow, dropping the other. 

“I mean — I don’t know if it’s your colour?” 

Vernon barks out a ‘ha’, easily slipping your bag down your arm, the tips of his warm fingers brushing against your comparatively cool skin. You make no effort to stop him. He positions it on his own shoulder instead, the one furthest away from you so he can still walk right against your side. 

“There’s a reason I wear all black, okay?” He says. “It makes everything my colour.”

His fingers smoothly slip between yours as he says it. It was quite the move, and for a second you’re impressed. At least, until it turns out that this simple action seems to jolt him back to his factory settings, because—

“I’m so serious about this coffee machine, by the way.”

“I know you are,” you laugh, bumping your weight against him and squeezing his hand. “I’m counting on it.”

“Okay, so,” you start, settling into Vernon’s couch and tucking one of your legs up beneath you. You cradle the mug of coffee he’s made you — admittedly, the retro-style machine was pretty cool — between both of your hands, a thumb brushing over the raised pattern on the ceramic. The fresh air from the walk here seems to have decently sobered you; barring a pleasant buzz, you feel almost like you haven’t drunk a thing. “How did you get into music?”

Vernon matches your posture play-for-play, biting the inside of his cheek before he answers. He drank less than you in the first place, but he seems steadier now, as well.

“Uh… a couple things, I guess,” he starts. “I mean, my parents are big into music. Sometimes they'd take me with them to shows and stuff, had a bunch of CD’s all over the house — all that. You know? I really grew up on it, so…"

You nod, tilting your head to gesture for him to continue. 

“Then… I don’t know. There’s- okay, I was kind of a loser in high school,” he goes on. You roll your eyes; Vernon nudges your thigh with his knee playfully, shaking his head. 

“I just mean, I didn’t have a lot of friends.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “So…, I mean, that’s— that’s whatever. The point is that I spent a lot of time on my own and I basically had an earphone in any time I thought I could get away with it, and–... and sometimes even if I couldn’t.” He chuckles. “Weird. Most of my teachers didn’t like me much either.”

You laugh too now, and Vernon bows his head a little; every single one of his handsome features brightens up and you don’t really know where to look. His never-ending lashes are so long they cast shadows down onto his cheeks, and the ambient lighting reflects off his eyes so beautifully that they look like they’re glimmering. 

He goes on, “there was one, though. My bio teacher? She was really cool. She had a lot more time for me than the others did. And uh, she called me into her office after school one day and just said… basically, my options were to start giving a shit about… cells, and mitochon– whatever, or start really working for this great big thing that I spent all my time daydreaming about. And it’s been a little up and down, but…”

He trails off, shrugging on one side.

“I think you’re doing pretty okay,” you chime in, leaning one arm against the back of the couch and resting your head in your palm. “I bet those kids would lose their minds if they could see you now.”

“Oh?” Vernon asks, setting his coffee down on the side-table. You click your tongue at him.

“Don’t– come on.”

“No, seriously,” he laughs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean-…” you start, shaking your head. “Okay. People go out of their way to listen to you. Everyone who comes to one of your shows… that’s an hour, two hours, whatever – of making people feel exactly the way you want them to feel. They... all want to understand you. Right?”

Vernon just looks at you, forehead a tiny bit creased — the cogs in your brain tick away trying to find a better way to explain what you mean, but he finally speaks. (You’re glad, because you were struggling to come up with anything else.) 

“Shit, I thought that was just an in to say you thought I was hot, or something.”

You push at his chest lightly, your palm lingering on his vest a moment longer than is, perhaps, strictly necessary. 

“Shut up,” you groan. But a second later… “I guess there’s that, too.”

He sits back a little, pushing his hair off his forehead with a chuckle. “I dunno, I mean — I sort of… is it weird if I don’t really think about it that way?”

“Of course not,” you tell him.

He gets that look back on his face again; the pensive one, where he appears like he’s seconds away from saying something else, something important. But he falters, and when he glances back at you, his engine stalls. 

Then, with a shake of his head, he says, “wow, okay, enough about me. I’m so sorry. Can I ask you a question?”

You take another sip of your coffee and set it down, too, nodding ‘yes’. To be honest, you were quite enjoying talking about him; at the same time, you know what it is to feel a little too perceived sometimes, so you let him move on without argument. 

“How do you just… own a record store?”

You laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve had to explain this one. (When was the last time one of your dates was interested enough to ask?)

“I’m not as good a storyteller as you are,” you preface, mirroring him when he rolls his eyes, pretending not to notice that he shuffles even closer. You launch into it easily enough — the old store owner was a friend of the family, he let you work there while you were in college, took you on full-time after you dropped out. When his eyesight started deteriorating, he chose to retire and told you it was yours, if you wanted it. 

“Place would’ve closed down, otherwise,” you shrug. “But I couldn’t do it on my own, so I brought the guys in to help. Two years later... yeah. I guess that's how.”

The whole time as you talk, his eyes don’t leave you. He’s quite expressive, you find — whether he’s lifting a perfectly shaped brow, nodding along to what you’re saying, smiling at you… you feel listened to. When he’s sat across from you, you feel heard; you feel known.

“Well, first — take it back. You’re a great storyteller,” he says. You feel your face grow warm and you nudge him with your knee, but you don’t argue — you aren’t convinced he’d let you win, anyway. “But that’s… really cool? Actually.”

“Oh yeah, I heard nine-to-five retail is the coolest thing you can do, these days,” you laugh.

Vernon scoffs at you. “You close at six thirty.”

(How on Earth does he remember that?)

To avoid thinking about it too much, and so you don’t have to try to navigate asking, you roll your eyes.

“You’re right,” you say to him. “That’s way better.”

“Do you like what you do?” He asks, and you tilt your head at him. “Well — okay. If you ignore the… boring, back-office stuff.”

“Yeah,” you say after a pause. “I guess I do.”

“Then it’s cool.”

Your coffees both go cold as you talk more, and more, and more — he asks about your life, and growing up, your friends, and he answers all of your questions in turn when you ask them. He has an interesting way of talking about himself outside of his job; it’s not so much that you have to pry for information, but he’s not super forthcoming. It’s as if he’s taking all of your questions at face value, like he doesn’t know how to go about expanding on them. 

Maybe he’s just more of a listener, you contemplate once he turns yet another of your questions back on you and you teasingly pull him up on it. It flusters him, which you can’t help but find very endearing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I just… you have such a pretty… voice?” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck, ears burning pink. 

“Oh?” You ask, stumped for a moment as your heart lurches in your chest. When he nods, you find the gall from somewhere to say, “takes one to know one.” 

(You’re not sure how.)

And on it goes. On, and on, and on. More questions, more answers, more lighthearted shoves and lingering touches and shy glances away from each others’ scorching gazes as heat rushes to your cheeks. He even shows you his record collection and puts on one of his favourite albums for background noise before you settle back into the couch. It’s so natural, even when the vinyl runs to the end and the only noise from the player is a distant crackle. Being in his space and having mindless conversation after mindless conversation feels almost as comfortable as being in your own home. 

You notice something, as you’re rounding off a monologue about why your highschool math teacher was the worst person you’d ever met. A tiny hair on the apple of his cheek. One of those lashes you envy so much. Even as you try to focus back on your closing remarks, your eyes keep dropping to it and you trail off into silence a few words short.

“I’m sorry, you’ve-… got an eyelash,” you say, tapping roughly the same spot on your own cheek. 

“Mm. I have a few of them,” Vernon counters, wiping the heel of his thumb against his skin. He misses, though, and drops his arm back down with the lash still stuck to his face. 

You move before you can stop yourself, hand lifting up to his face and hovering just a few centimetres away.

“Can I?” you ask. 

Vernon nods, wordlessly. He goes cross-eyed and his lids twitch in a flutter as he watches you get closer; you brush the lash onto your thumb and he only breathes again when you rebalance it on the tip of your finger.  You hold it up to him, settling back into your own part of the couch; he just stares back at you. 

“Make a wish,” you prompt. 

His confusion is poorly concealed, head cocked to one side as he looks from the lash to you and back again. “Huh?”

“Don’t you…?”

He shakes his head. 

“Okay, wow,” you laugh, glancing down at your finger too. “You have to make a wish on your eyelashes when they fall out.”

“No, I got that part,” Vernon snickers. “I just mean — why?”

“I—” you start to explain, but you fall short of an explanation and frown instead, biting the inside of your cheek. “… I don’t know. It’s just what you’re supposed to do. I’ve always done it.”

The downturn of your lips doesn’t last very long, though. 

“Well, what if it’s not an eyelash? What if it’s like… one of my eyebrows, or something?” He asks. 

It's such a simple but off-the-wall response that you can't help but laugh, except it comes on so suddenly you start to choke on your own saliva. One of his hands circles around you and rubs soothingly between your shoulder blades as you cough, succeeding in bringing him even closer and failing to lower the fever you’re starting to feel creep up on you. By some miracle, you don’t drop the lash, even as you hack pathetically into the crook of your elbow; Vernon waits for it to subside, a weirdly fond look on his face all the while.

Now, when you turn your head, he’s right there. In your space. His arm still around your back, the glint of the bar pierced through his brow drawing your attention up away from those smiling lips. 

“I guess it just doesn’t come true? I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve never tried wishing on an eyebrow before.”

“I’m just saying,” he starts, falling back against the cushions now he knows you’re not suffocating. His arm doesn’t move, though. If anything, he sort of pulls you with him. “What if it ends up like a reverse wish. Whatever I ask for, the opposite comes true, or something.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” you say, starting to bring your finger closer to yourself. 

Quicker than you can blink, he reaches to you and lightly lays his fingers around your wrist, stopping you in your path.

“Wait,” he says, pouting a little. “I didn’t say that.”

Both of you glance down to this new point of contact. Two sets of lips stay parted but two identical breaths remain held, burning in both your lungs and in Vernon’s. His gaze shifts back up to your face, eyes wide and wholly serious and unblinking. 

“What do I do?” He asks on the eventual exhale. It reminds you to breathe again, too.

“Close your eyes.”

It takes him a second to obey, but he does. His eyes flutter closed and you clear your throat, lifting your finger until it’s just in front of his face. 

“Make a wish.”

A few seconds later, his brows relax and he nods. 

“Then… blow.”

His lips purse and he pushes a breath through them, lifting the stray lash off your skin and sending it out into the room. He opens his eyes, then, smiling in a manner that you can tell is absolutely despite himself. 

He doesn’t move away, and his cologne, fresh and citrusy, mixes tantalisingly with the sandalwood candle he lit on your way back to the couch a little while ago, both accented by the chewing gum he popped to get rid of the mocha aftertaste still lingering on his breath.

“What did you wish for?” You ask, dropping your hand back down to your side.

He frowns. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” he says. “Pretty sure that’s against like… wish laws, or something.”

“Boring,” you chide, slumping your shoulders, but he just grins at you, darting his tongue out over his lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his Adam’s apple bob in a thick swallow and you can feel the gentle brushing of his thumb. The slow movements, up and down over the exposed area on your hip where your shirt has started to ride up, make you shiver, and you know your chest stutters when his fingers move to press wholly against your bare skin. You know he notices, because he does it again. And again, and again. 

It's maddening. You end up stuck in this never-ending feeling of falling head-first into his arms.

“Where do you think the laws stand on showing you, though?” He asks, inching a little closer.

You hold your breath, little more than anticipatory static flooding your brain. 

“I think they’re okay with it.”

You mirror, slowly, hooked in the gaze that has adrenaline dripping down the length of your spine like honey, and you can’t bring yourself to look away until you can practically taste him. He closes the space between you in half speed, but gently, like you’re both made of tissue, he brings his thumb and forefinger to your chin and touches his lips to yours. His nose presses against your cheek. 

It’s comfortable. It’s warm. It’s easy, it’s exhilarating, it’s perfect. You feel like your heart just might burst clean out of your chest—

But… you can’t.  

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, tugging yourself away and clamping your hands over your mouth. “Shit — I’m-… I’m sorry.”

Out of nowhere, you’re fighting to catch a breath, head spinning in circles, and no longer in the good way. Have those beers finally come back to bite you in the ass? Or, deeper down, do you know your sudden intoxication isn’t alcohol related at all? Vernon shoots back from you like you’ve gone up in flames and he might catch, too — his eyes search your face as you scramble to get to your feet, and he looks… scared. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. You don’t respond right away, already looking around the apartment for where you left your shoes, already trying to locate your bag too. (As you try to swim towards the surface, you forget that it wasn’t you who still had hold of it when you came through the door and placed it on the loveseat back in the living room.) “Hey… is everything-…?”

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. You’re not. “I just-… I remembered-… I have to go.” 

You catch sight of your shoes, hidden behind the ones Vernon kicked off just after you, and you hurry across the apartment to get to them. 

No bag. Where’s your bag? Where did you leave it? But… ah, your keys are in one back pocket and your phone is in the other and maybe it’s not the end of the world if you never see that lipstick again—

“It’s really late,” Vernon says as you bend down to re-tie one of your laces, hovering just a few steps behind you. “Are you gonna be okay to get home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rush. “I’ll get a cab.”

“Well, at least let me wait with you until it—”

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, you snap, only now looking up at him again. He tenses, but his eyes stay soft. It’s not in the same way you’ve seen them all night, though. Not in a nice way. Not glittering and full of intrigue. No. He’s hurt. And like a wounded animal, he takes several stiff, unsure steps back away from you, swallowing hard and looking anywhere, everywhere else. 

“I’m fine,” you say again, trying to sound a little quieter, a little calmer.  Even if that is miles away from the truth. 

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced and wringing his hands in front of his stomach. “If-… I’m sorry if that was-… I didn’t mean to make you-…”

You shake your head, standing back up to your full height, but you don’t close the gap between you. You don’t reach out to him, even though you want to. You just have to blindly hope he can read your mind somehow — there’s no way to explain it quickly enough without leaving you both in a mess, and right now... 

“Hey,” you say, forcing him to look at you once more. “It’s not-… it isn’t you. I just have to go, okay?”

He doesn’t seem overly reassured by this, but he nods anyway. “Can-… you text me when you get home?” He asks. Then, hurried: “Just so I know you’re back safe. That’s all.” 

You swallow hard. 

“Yeah,” you say on an outward breath, cringing at how exasperated it sounds. You don’t mean it to — you’re really not mad at him. “I will. I’ll message you.”

Biting the inside of his bottom lip, Vernon takes another step back. He doesn’t say anything else, just shoves his hands as far into the pockets of his jeans as he can and watches you. 

“I’ll message you,” you repeat, opening the door, speaking more to yourself than to him. “I promise.” 

Then, you’re stumbling out into his hallway. Hurrying down the too-narrow staircase. Leaning your back against the brickwork outside, a light drizzle of rain splashing all over your bare arms. The stone prickles through your t-shirt as you slide down, as you feebly try to suck thick, damp air into your lungs, as your head starts to ache, as a dull throb starts to reside behind your eyes. 

It takes ten minutes of staring into the empty road in front of you before you feel steady enough to attempt to wrestle your phone out of your pocket. No matter how many buttons you press, no matter how many times you tap it, the screen refuses to come to life and you only now manage to recall the ‘low battery’ notification that came through several hours ago. Briefly, it crosses your mind to go back upstairs and ask if you can request a ride on Vernon’s phone. You know he’d say yes. Hell, he’d probably throw a blanket over your shivering shoulders and fix you another cup of coffee while you waited, too. But you can’t. The look on his face as you slid out his front door is burned into your memory like a brand and there surely couldn’t be anything worse than having to go back in there and face him like this.

Five more minutes pass before you find the energy to stand, to stretch out your bunched up muscles, and start on the walk home. Another thirty until you’re trudging, sodden and blurry eyed and heavy-hearted, through your apartment door. Three and a half after that before you finally manage to text Vernon to say your phone died, but you’re back, you’re safe. That you’re sorry. 

Barely ten seconds tick by before it pops up that he reads your message. (Followed by ninety seconds of staring down at the bubble that says he’s typing, waiting for a reply that ultimately doesn’t come.)

And four hours later, you’re still wide awake, lying under your covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling. You think you ought to be giddy, squirming, hiding your smile in your pillow — that’s how first kisses are supposed to make you feel. Isn’t it? Alas, you’re flooded instead with visions of the last time a first kiss felt like it made this much sense; in place of all the endorphins you’re sure should be ricocheting off every inner surface of your brain, all you know is heartache and dread. 

So you stare, and you stare, and you keep on staring; even when your eyes start to burn, you stare a little more. 

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. parts 2 and 3 are very nearly finished, as well, so stay tuned.<3

[iveantive]

prompt: Yunjin thinks she hears a ghost (its not)

or

bbangsaz is going through some turmoil so Minji lets Yunjin hit, and Kazuha is there too

TW: g!p, anal, anal fingering, spit as lube, handjobs, locker room sex, masturbation in the shower, voyeurism, crying, degradation

If there was one place where the le sserafim girls could be found, it would be the gym. It was really no secret that the success they’ve been able to achieve throughout their career thus far could be partially attributed to their fit physiques. 

This is precisely why it was no surprise that the two strongest, or as some others would say, the best bodies out of the group, were at the hybe gym at 2 a.m. They had just finished up a late-night dance practice, and instead of heading back to the dorms with the rest of their group, the pair had opted to get a late-night lifting session in. It was normal for the pair to be seen together up at night at putting in those last few reps. I mean, hell, it was their part of their jobs to be doing this. They used to hate having to work out after their regular daily schedules that were already jammed full of various performances and dance practices. As time went on, though, it became essential for them to build their friendship. It was just something about the late-night exhaustion, pushing themselves to their limit together, that made their friendship grow stronger just as much as they were physically. 

Yunjin had been finishing up her last few reps when she looked a few feet over to Kazuha, still in the middle of hers. She let out a satisfied grunt as she finished her last rep, setting her weights down with a thud. She got up and made her way over to the younger girl. 

“Ya, Zuha, I’m gonna head to the locker room for a shower.” Yunjin slapped Kazuha in the back, halting her current set of bicep curls. 

“Dude, what the hell? You made me lose count. Now I have to restart,” she huffed. Yunjin let out a hushed laugh in response. 

“Aw, poor Zuzu can’t count,” Yunjin mocked, patting Kazuha on the head in the process. Kazuha rolled her eyes. She was tired and didn’t care to banter with Yunjin right now. She just wanted to finish her workout and go home. 

“Whatever, I’ll meet you in there when I’m done.” Kazuha whipped her head, making Yunjin retract her hand. 

“Great! See you, Zuha!” Yunjin gave the younger girl one last slap on her back for good measure before running off towards the locker room. Of course, not before she heard Kazuha drop her weights in a frustrated groan. 

Yunjin walked into the locker room, humming a melody to a song she couldn’t for the life of her get out of her head. She made her way to the locker she had stored her belongings in, opening it up and ruffling her stuff around, making some room. She took the towel she brought with her out before she began to strip off her clothes and toss them into the locker.

She started to make her way over to the showers before hearing something that made her stop humming and stood frozen in her spot. It was a sound she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but whatever was making that sound was growing louder and louder. 

Maybe the ghost stories that she had been told when she was a trainee weren’t a hoax, after all, she pondered. Yunjin's body started to shake in anxiety. What kind of ghosts haunt locker rooms, she thought to herself, as for some reason, despite the pit in her stomach growing, she walked closer to the strange sounds. Until she realized it, the sounds she had been hearing were, in fact, not coming from a ghost at all. 

It was the sound of moaning. 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Matter of fact, she tucked a few strands of hair behind her ears (as if that was what was hindering her hearing) to see if her ears were deceiving her. But there it was again, another low moan followed by a string of breathy whimpers. 

She facepalmed herself. How the fuck did she not notice the fact that somebody else was in there. The shower was literally on, for fucks sake. She groaned to herself now, hearing how loud the crashing of water could be heard sounding throughout the locker room. 

However, she had to admit she was curious. Who the hell would be jerking off at nearly 3 a.m. in the hybe locker room, out of all places? 

She contemplated for a few moments before making up her mind on her next plan of action. Hanging her towel on a nearby hook, she drew open the curtain that had been dividing her and the perpetrator, Being faced with someone who seemingly hadn’t heard her come in judging by the fact the person hadn’t turned around. But, from where Yunjin was standing, she could tell they were a girl (thank god) and that the said girl was only a bit shorter than herself. 

And as Yunjin's gaze became fixated on the girl's body, her eyes couldn’t help but falter lower. The unidentified girl was stroking her cock, and a thick one at that. Under the water of the shower were her back muscles tensing with every pump of her hand. 

“F-fuck, Hanni,” Yunjin heard the girl let out a choked moan. Upon hearing that slip, Yunjin knew exactly who it was. 

It was Minji. 

Of course, it was. Yunjin once again mentally punched herself. She and Kazuha had just come into the gym as Minji was finishing up. And she had thought the younger girl had left a while ago, but clearly, she hadn’t. If Yunjin had to guess, Minji had to have been in here trying to get herself off for the past forty-five or so minutes. Based on the current groans of frustration she was letting out, she hadn’t been very successful. 

It was relatively known amongst their inner circle of female idols that Minji had the hots for Hanni for well as long as she could remember. Having trained with the New Jeans members herself, even if her training period with them wasn’t long, Yunjin always made note of the way Minji would look at Hanni with puppy eyes. And it seemed that sentiment hadn’t gone away even a bit over the past few years. Judging by the state of the young girl, it had only gotten worse. 

Having had her fun gawking at the poor girl who, somehow too deep into her own head, hadn’t noticed her presence. Yunjin decided she wanted to have a bit more fun. So, she took a couple of steps closer to Minji and loudly cleared her throat. 

Minji's eyes immediately shot open, taking in who was in front of her, recognizing exactly who it was, only making her panic even more. Losing her footing, she started to slip on the puddles of water around her. Till she felt the person in question's hand on her shoulder, keeping her a bit more stable. Minji kept her gaze firmly on the ground. She didn’t have the guts to look at Yunjin. 

“S-sorry” Was all Minji was able to get out. 

Yunjin laughed. 

“What do you have to apologize for? We all have those urges sometimes.” She rubbed Minji's shoulder, Yunjin's gaze still boring into her. 

“Especially with your busy schedule, I can’t blame you for being all worked up” Yunjin looked Minji up and down, seeing that her cock was still very much hard. Making her smirk. 

“But, I have to say Minji. Jerking off in the locker room? Didn’t know you were that kind of girl.” Yunjin leaned in closer to her ear. 

“Y-yeah, th-the dorm. U-uh n-not muc-” The younger girl muttered.

“Privacy.” Yunjin finished Minji's sentence for her. 

Minji nodded. 

“Well, you have all the privacy in the world now,” Yunjin whispered in her ear. 

“How about you let me help you? Just for today.” She dragged her hand down from the younger girl's shoulder, down her toned abs, till her fingers were resting on them. 

“I-I don’t know, I’m with Hanni.” 

Yunjin laughed again.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve had my fair share of her, too. But she doesn’t have to know about this.” She dragged her hand lower, wrapping her hand around Minji's hard length. 

“This is okay, right, Minji?” Yunjin’s tone was soft and low, her words tickling Minji’s ear as she spoke.

“Y-yeah,” Minji gasped. 

That was all the permission Yunjin needed to start pumping her length in fast strokes. She knew the younger girl had been close to cumming. Her cock throbbing, her tip an angry red as it leaked precum all over her hand. 

Her own cock had decided to awaken throughout this time. She could feel it twitching between her legs. Pressing her body closer to Minji, she rested her chin on her shoulder, watching her own hand wrapped around the younger, tugging at her length. 

Minji's face was contorted in pleasure, biting her lip with her eyebrows furrowed. Yunjin pressed her body closer. Her cock pressed into the back of the younger, she knew Minji could feel it, but she didn��t do anything about it. Not that she really could for now, anyway. 

Yunjin drew her hand from the base to the tip of Minjis cock, pressing her finger into the slit of her cock, rubbing the sensitive tip in slow circles. Eliciting in, the younger let out a loud moan. 

“You’re so cute like this, Minji.” Yunjin purred into her ear. 

Yunjin continued to rub her finger into the slit, her circles around the tip becoming faster and faster, making the younger girl whine even louder. Minji had started bucking into her fist. The older girl tightened her grip around her in response. The sound of wet skin slapping could be heard throughout the locker room. The combination of the shower water crashing onto them, with Yunjin’s hard pumping, was working in her favor. 

She continued her movements till she heard Minji let out a final strangled cry followed by her cock bursting with ropes of cums, shooting onto the tile below them.

They stayed like that for a few moments, except Yunjin now had a firm grip on the younger girl's torso. She could feel how, after she had just came, her body had gone practically limp. 

And that's when Yunjin felt another pair of eyes on her. Looking to the side towards the curtain, there was Kazuha, just as naked as she and Minji were.

Those showers really were loud as hell; no wonder Minji didn’t hear her come in the first time hmmm. Or maybe Yunjin was too caught up in the whimpering falling from the younger girl's mouth to notice. 

“Fucking finally, thought she’d never finish, god damn” Kazuha took a few steps closer to the pair. Her voice caught the attention of Minji, who had managed to recover from those post-nut jelly limbs. 

“Kazuha, you know Minji, right?” Yunjin spoke, the tone of her voice showing no remnant of the sultry tone she had before. 

“Yeah, of course. Nice to formally meet you, I guess.” Kazuha held out her hand, only to see her arms entangled with Yunjin. 

“Do I even wanna know why you guys are like that?” She questioned. Retracting her hand at the sight of the two. 

“Oh, you know, walked in on her jerking off, decided to help her. Yeah, that's pretty much it.” Yunjin clicked her tongue. 

Minji watched the two exchange words in silent awe. How were they just casually talking about this, like it was a normal occurrence for them? Well, she didn’t know the two that well, so maybe it was for them, she thought. I mean, there was no doubt that they were both hot as fuck. Who wouldn’t want to- cutting her thoughts off, she suddenly felt a prodding in her back. She wiggled against the intrusion. She furrowed her eyebrows for a couple of moments before realizing that, yeah, she did still have her back still pressed up against Yunjins dick.

“Having fun down there, I know I am.” Yunjin raised an eyebrow toward the younger. 

“Oh, sorry, I was just, I- I- I don’t know,” Minji stuttered, all of sudden feeling quite intimated by the two older girls. 

“You know Minji, you’re kinda the reason I got this problem now anyways. Don’t you think you should repay me for helping you?” the sinister venom was back in Yunjin’s tone. 

“O-oh, okay. I-I’ve never really, I mean- I have. B-but not with another dick, I mean,” Minji stuttered.

“Oh, don’t worry, baby, I’ll make it easy for you.” Minji's cheeks grew red at the nickname. 

“O-okay”.

“Zuha, come help me.” Yunjin motioned for Kazuha to come closer. 

“Fine, fine.” She heard Kazuha sigh before stepping into the shower with them. Making sure to close the curtain behind her (like that would obstruct any of the noise they would be making). 

All of a sudden, Minji felt herself getting bent over. She held her hands out in instinct, thinking she was going to fall. Before realizing it, Yunjin now had a tight grip around her waist, and Kazuha had caught her hands. Being face to face, with her toned abs and her cock just inches from her face. 

“Oh, sorry, I can hold you higher or something if you’re not cool with ya know. Dick in your face.”

“I-its fine, you got a nice one.” Minji nodded.

“Thanks, dude, you too,” Kazuha smiled at the younger girl.

“Are you guys done flirting yet?” Yunjin teased.

After a couple of moments, Minji felt Yunjin spread her cheeks, followed by the trickling of something warm and wet dripping down her ass crack. It took Minji a few moments before she realized that the warmth that she was feeling was spit from Yunjin. She doesn’t know if she should be disgusted at herself for liking this or turned on by it. Hell, this was probably the most interaction she’s had with Yunjin in years, and it just had to be when she was seeing her at her most vulnerable. 

Yunjin maneuvered one of her fingers over the pucked hole, letting more spit draw in her mouth before letting it drop onto the untouched hole. She used her index finger to ghost the outer ring of the hole. She heard MInji letting out little whimpers as she did so. 

“Minji, I need you to relax, okay? You can do that for me, right?” Yunjin cooed. 

“Y-Yeah,” Minji said between deep breaths. Kazuha settled MInjis arms around her waist. 

“You can hold onto me however tight you want. It's okay.” Kazuha used her fingers to comb through the younger girl's damp hair, trying to soothe her in any way she could. Yunjin continued to draw more spit into her mouth, letting it drop down Minjis ass, rubbing the spit around Minjis hole.

Minji tightened her grip on Kazuha, her blunt nails digging into Kazuha's abdomen. Making Kazuha look to Yunjin, shaking her head as if it were a sign to say, not yet, she's not ready.

Yunjin didn’t want to hurt the poor girl. Of course, she didn’t. She wanted to make sure that the younger girl was enjoying this just as much as she and, well, I guess, Kazuha now, too. And if the shaky moans she was letting out were anything to go by, she had to be enjoying it somewhat. Yunjin continued on with her slow movements until she felt Minji's body relax and lean into her touch.

“I’m gonna start now, okay, Minji?” Yunjin cooed. 

Minji nodded, with a little whimper to go along with it. 

“If you want to stop at any point, just say stop, or if you can't pinch Kazuha,” Yunjin smirked, saying the last part. 

“Wait, we didn-” Kazuha got cut off by Yunjins sharp gaze at her, pretty much telling her to shut the fuck up and don’t ruin the moment.

“Try to relax, Minji. It’ll feel good once you get used to it.” Kazuha decided to continue giving the younger girl comforting pets on the head. 

Minji tightened her grip on Kazuha. Preparing herself, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Feeling the foreign sensation of Yunjin's finger pressing into her unbreached hole. She had immediately begun to tense up. She hadn’t felt a sensation quite like this before, and while she was enjoying it. She knew how overwhelming and intense the incoming movements were going to be. Saying that, she tried to remember what her unnies had told her to “relax,” so she did to the best of her abilities at the moment anyway. She took a few deep breaths, her eyes closed, focusing only on herself. 

No matter how hard she was trying to keep herself together, she began to feel the pressing of Yunjin's finger slowly inserting itself into her. The pressure of the older girl's fingertips started to make itself known. She had to be breaking skin with how hard her nails were digging into Kazuha's skin. It wasn’t as painful as she initially thought it was going to be, which she had to be thankful for. But it was still enough for her to have her eyes closed tightly, biting her lip. 

Kazuha saw this. She had been in this exact situation before (okay, maybe not exactly), having something in her ass for the first time. She could see how tightly Minjis eyes were closed with her heavy breathing through her nose, gnawing at her bottom lip. She felt a bit bad for being part of the reason the younger girl was in this situation. She knew how convincing Yunjin could be, she was just hoping that Minji would begin to enjoy this new experience as much as she did the first time. 

For now, though, all Kazuha could do was help the younger girl. Make her feel like she could trust her. So, ever so carefully (not that Minji would have noticed with how absorbed in her own thoughts she was at the moment) moved Minji's arms so they were wrapped around her waist. Minji’s nails digging into her sides were really starting to sting. She used one of her free hands and began brushing her fingers through her hair and continued petting her head, trying to comfort her. She had to admit Minji did look cute like this. The faint red in her cheeks as Yunjin was breaking her open. It made an all too familiar rush of blood flow to her cock. 

“So tight, Minji. You’re doing so good,” she heard Yunjin say in a hushed tone. 

Yunjin was using her free hand to lightly drag her fingertips over her skin. Minji thinks it's helping her a bit more sane, focusing on the blunt nails of Yunjin, drawing unknown figures into her soft flesh, as opposed to the dull pain in her ass that was starting to subside as she got used to the foreign invasion. 

After a few moments of letting Minji adjust to just one finger for a bit, she started to just barely move her finger inside the younger girl. Eliciting in loud gasp followed by a moan coming from the girl below her. Must be doing something right, Yunjin thought, smirking to herself. 

“I’m gonna start moving my finger more, okay, Minji?” Yunjin cooed. Getting nothing but a barely noticeable nod from where she was. Yunjin moved her finger in and out of the younger girl's hole, feeling it become a bit easier with every dip of her finger. 

Yunjin looked over at Kazuha, who was staring down at Minji. Her eyes were full of concern. She could only assume because of whatever facial expression Minji had right now. Kazuha had her hand cupping Minji's chin with her four fingers while her thumb was caressing her cheek. 

Kazuha must have felt Yunjin's eyes on her because she looked up, catching the older girl's gaze on her. 

“One more?” Yunjin said. Seeing Kazuhas eyes dart back down to Minji, then looking back to her and just giving a simple nod. Yunjin could trust Kazuha. The younger girl would never take advantage of someone when they were like this. As she and Kazuha had become closer in more ways than one, they realized they had made a pretty good team when it came to sexual escapades. She was always one to push the boundaries of the person they were with (Chaewon) to get what she wanted, but Kazuha was always there to reel her back in. In making sure the other person was okay and still feeling good.

Yunjin drew some more spit into her mouth, letting it drop onto Minji’s ass down to her fingers coating her digits in the makeshift lube. She began to try to inch the second finger into the younger girl. She could hear the whining coming from Minji at this point, her noises only increasing in volume as she stretched her further with the second finger. 

“You’re almost there, Minji, a little more.” She heard Kazuha's voice trying to comfort Minji the best she could. 

“It’s starting to feel good, right? Just think about how good it’ll feel once I'm inside.” Yunjin's voice was low. 

“That’s how you’re comforting her, really?” Kazuha said in disbelief. If that was Yunjin's idea of trying to soothe Minji’s nerves, she was starting to be glad she was here.

“Well, I don’t see her complaining” Yunjin shrugged, her fingers still buried in Minji’s ass.

“How would you know? You can’t even see her face right now.” Kazuha scoffed.

The sudden increase in talking snapped Minji out of whatever trance she was in. She opened her eyes and looked up at Kazuha, who was in the middle of saying something to Yunjin. Sensing the new gaze on her, Kazuha stopped talking and was faced with Minji, who was looking up at her with confusion on her face. The silence on Kazuha's part made Yunjin stop talking for once, too, as they both looked in Minji’s direction.

“Why’d you stop?” 

Amidst whatever argument the Kazuha and Yunjin were having had made Yunjin stop the movement of her finger that was still very much in Minjis ass.

Those words fell from Minji's mouth, catching them both off guard, in stunned silence for a few moments before Yunjin spoke again. 

“Sorry, uh, we got caught up in something. You’re doing okay, though, right? I can keep going?” Yunjin asked softly.

“Y-yeah, i-it feels good.” Minji looked down in embarrassment, feeling her cheeks grow redder. Unbeknownst to her, Yunjin had a sly grin on her face as she caught Kazuha's gaze as a way of telling her I told you so. Kazuha, in response, rolled her eyes.

That's all Yunjin needed to hear to continue inserting the last bit of her second finger. She started pumping them slowly in and out of Minji. Scissoring her finger against the walls of her ass as she stretched the tight hole. The younger girl's moans started sounding needier and needier with every movement of her fingers.

“Can’t wait to feel you around me, Minji. I know you can take it all,” Yunjin growled. Removing her finger from the girl below her.

Minji whimpered. 

Yunjin took hold of her cock, still hard, leaking precum from the red tip. She swiped the blunt tip over Minji’s asshole, eliciting a loud gasp from the younger girl. The warm precum dripping from Yunjin's tip into her asshole caught her off guard. 

The older girl started teasing the head of her cock over Minji’s sensitive hole. Minji could feel the tip of Yunjins cock pressing into her. As Yunjin slowly started to insert her thick length, Minji could feel her legs shaking, it was so much thicker than the two fingers she previously had inside her. The pressure was overwhelming in both good and bad ways. On the one hand, it was a new sensation of being filled that she never quite knew she would ever experience, never mind like it. And on the other hand, Minji felt like Yunjin was trying to break her. Based on the older girl's length, when it was pressing into her back moments ago, she knew it was going to hurt. Tears were brewing in her eyes, and she tried to quickly blink them away. 

Minji's mouth was hung open, her eyebrows furrowed together, letting out a guttural groan with every slight movement of Yunjin. She felt one of Kazuha's hands back on her face, wiping away stray tears that had escaped her eyes while her other hand was combing through her hair.

Yunjin was merely a few inches in, and she could feel Minji's walls clenching around her, making it harder to feed more into her waiting hole. She dipped her hips in and out shallowly, letting Minji get used to her length for a bit before she slowly inserted more and more of her thick cock inside of her. 

After a few more rounds of the slow but very much-needed process, Yunjin had finally hilted in Minji. The younger girl was so tight around her. Yunjin spent a few more moments holding Minji steady, feeling her shaking legs below her as she let her get used to her cock. Minji's breath started to return to what could be considered normal.

“I’m gonna start moving, okay?” Yunjin cooed. Just barely able to see the slight nod from Minji’s head. 

Yunjin dragged her hips out before pumping back in. Hearing Minji let out the loudest moan yet, Yunjin knew she had hit just the right spot. She started repeating the slow, brutal pace of pulling her cock out to the tip before slamming it back into the younger girl below her, no doubt hitting her deep. Minji’s moans dripped with need after every thrust. 

Kazuha, amongst all of this, had started to feel a bit neglected. Sure, she was very much intertwined with the younger girl, and she had a pretty good view of seeing Yunjin ram her cock into Minji. Her own cock, though, was throbbing and was in great need of being touched. She had tried her best to ignore it this entire time, opting to focus on Minji's well being than herself. But, seeing as Minji was doing much better than before, she decided she could have her own bit of fun. 

So, she spit a bit in her hand, then reached her free hand to her cock that was resting just below Minjis lips and started stroking it. Jerking her shaft from the base to the tip, the dripping precum made her movements easier. Getting off on the sounds of Minji’s moans and the sound of Yunjins skin meeting Minji’s ass with each thrust.

The older girl had started to pick up the pace, really only chasing after her own orgasm. She could see how Minji’s length had grown hard again but had opted to ignore it as Minji had already come once, and she had still yet to. 

“Fuck, Minji, feel so fucking good,” Yunjin gritted through her teeth between every thrust of her hips. Hearing Minji let out a loud moan in response. 

“You like that, being praised?”

Minji lets out another moan.

“You have nothing to be praised, though. Found you jerking off all by yourself.” Yunjins ridiculed her. 

Minji could feel the tears in her eyes start to prickle up again. 

“Thought you were with Hanni? Where is she? With another play toy?” Yunjin scoffed. 

She's not, Minji tried to convince herself. She was just out hanging out with Yujin. She definitely didn’t accidentally stumble upon their text messages while Hanni was showering and stormed off to the gym to take her mind off it. Even after the workout, she couldn’t stop thinking about Hanni, which had led her to jerk off in the shower, with that being the catalyst to how she got into whatever this was in the first place. 

“N-No!” Minji just barely got out. Her tears poured over. 

Kazuha had stopped mid-stroking her cock despite the aching feeling in her length telling her to keep going, hearing the little sobs that had started to escape from Minjis mouth. The poor girl had tears running down her cheeks and had practically started hyperventilating with the way she had started crying. Looking over to Yunjin, she saw that she hadn’t stopped or heard Minji quite obviously with the way she was still going at it. 

“Hey, you okay?” Kazuha cupped Minji's face, angling her chin so she was forced to look up at her. 

Snapping Minji out of whatever headspace she was in, she looked up at Kazuha and shook her head with a slight nod without even processing what the older girl had said.

“No,” Kazuha wasn’t having any of it.  

“I wanna hear say it. Are you okay?” Kazuha's voice was low, her tone stern. 

“I-i’m okay, i-it’s just a-a lot,” Minji got out between little whimpers.

Not totally believing what Minji said but knowing this was probably the best answer she was going to get from the younger girl at the moment, she just nodded, releasing the younger girl's chin. 

Yunjin, who somehow was blissfully unaware of everything that was happening, was getting closer and closer to the edge. Her efforts started to double, her thrusts somehow becoming even faster and rougher than before. Minji’s ass was hypnotizing with the way her ass would jiggle every time her thighs met Minji’s ass with every hard thrust of her hips. 

“Hanni likes it just like this. That slut could never get enough,” Yunjin gritted through her teeth. The cries Minji was letting out just egging her on, wanting to hear more of the sounds fall from her lips.

“She was always so much fun to play with, but sometimes you get tired of old toys.” 

Mini's heart wrenched. Was that all she was to Hanni? Did she get tired of her already? Why was she thinking about this? While she was getting her ass fucked into oblivion. A particularly hard thrust from Yunjin made her focus back on what was happening. 

Yunjin planted her hands on Minji’s ass, digging her nails into the soft flesh, making Minji let out a yelp. She used her strength to move Minji's ass in time with her thrusts, speeding them up, hearing Minjis whimpers becoming higher pitch. 

“F-fuck Minji, you’re taking me so well,” Yunjin groaned. And for the first time in the past few minutes, Yunjin had looked over to Kazuha, her cock hard resting in her hand, not moving. Her gaze fixated on Minji.

“I bet she looks so pretty, Zuha. Wish I could see her face. Cum on it for me” Yunjin hoped that would do the trick to get Kazuha out of whatever hypnosis she was under. 

And it had, in fact, done the trick with the way she saw Kazuha start to stroke her cock. Quickly speeding up to the pace at which Yunjin was still fucking deep into Minji. Deciding to have some mercy on the younger girl as well, Yunjin released the soft flesh of Minji’s ass from one of her hands and reached between her legs, wrapping her fingers around her cock. Hearing Minji let out a string of lewd moans, followed by her hips involuntarily bucking into her fist. 

They all managed to meet Yunjin's brutal fast pace, and there was no doubt Minji's whines could be heard outside of the locker room. They were just lucky it was nearing 4 a.m. The pace kept itself steady for a few more moments till Kazuha came with a low grunt erupting ropes of cum from her cock, some dripping onto the tile floor below them and onto Minjis face. Yunjin and Minji had come quickly following suit Yunjin had slumped over Minjis back, groaning into her ears as she buried her load deep into Minjis ass. The overwhelming feeling of being full pushed Minji into cumming for the second time that day onto the tile floor.  

The first one to recover from the post-nut-induced fuzzy headspace was Kazuha. Feeling the hard grip that Minji had around her waist had gotten much softer. The younger girl just barely had her arms wrapped around her while her head was leaning against her lower stomach. Kazuha could feel the steady breaths that were tickling against her skin. 

“Minji, I’m gonna move you a little bit, okay,” Kazuha said softly, tapping her fingertips against the younger head. Earning just the slightest nod from her. 

Kazuha took a step closer to Minji, maneuvering her so she was able to stand up. Or, more so, be propped up by Kazuha as she slinked her arms underneath Minji's armpits so that she was finally able to see the younger girl face to face. And only then had she realized what the fuck she had done.

“O-oh s-shit Minji, I’m sorry,” Kazuha got out. Minji’s face had gotten more than just a few stray drops of cum on her face. The poor girl had what was essentially her entire face dripping in Kazuhas seed. It must’ve been some sort of miracle that Kazuha had hit just about every square inch of Minji’s face other than her eyes. 

The out-of-character cursing from Kazuha had snapped Yunjin out of her post-orgasm haze. Yunjin looked over at Kazuha, seeing the panic that flooded her eyes. 

“What’d you do?” Yunjin had to hide the smirk that was threatening to break through. Yunjin knew that whatever Kazuha could have done to Minji wouldn’t ever be on the same level as what depravity she got up to on a semi-regular basis. 

Saying those words must’ve gotten Minji’s attention because she had turned her head, letting Yunjin see what Kazuha was so panicked over. 

“Damn, nice work, Zuha” Yunjins eyes widened, the tone of her voice full of disbelief.

“I think it’s a good look on you, Minji,” Yunjin said, rubbing little circles on the skin of her back. Not failing to see the little smile that had formed on Minji’s face as she turned back to face Kazuha. 

“Shut up” Kazuha spat. She wasn’t like Yunjin. She didn’t like this sort of thing. But, then, why did she think that Minji had looked kinda cute covered in her cum? Kazuha shook her head. Nope, this is to be thought about later, she decided to herself. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” Kazuha said softly, combing her fingers through Minji's tangled hair. Now that she thinks of it, how hard was she holding onto Minji's head while she was jerking off? Kazuha shook her head again. Nope, Kazuha, this is for thinking about laying in bed later, not now.

“Can you take your dick out of her ass now?” Kazuha shot a glare at Yunjin. 

“Ugh, do I have to? She's so warm,” Yunjin pouted. 

“Yeah, you do, dumbass, it’s probably well past 4 am by now. We have to get back to the dorms”.

“Okay, okay.” Yunjin nodded her head in agreement. Kazuha was right, anyway. It probably was late as fuck. So, albeit slowly, Yunjin dragged her hips away from Minji, hearing the little whimpers falling from her mouth as she did so. 

Heh, cute. 

As her length had made its way out of Minji’s hole, Yunjin looked down, watching her load flow out of the younger girl's asshole.

“I know what you’re doing. Are you done being weird now?” Yunjin heard Kazuha say.

“Like, I know you haven't done the same thing to Chaewon. Come on, let’s hurry up and clean her off,” Yunjin rebutted. 

Both were in agreement on their next move. Yunijn, who was the closest to the faucet, turned the shower on, letting the water heat up. Before angling the shower head towards them, all of them let out a collective sigh of relief at the warm water falling onto their skin. Kazuha, in particular, watched intently as the load she had busted on Minji's face got washed away by the water falling down on them. 

The shower was a blur to Minji, only really able to comprehend the hands of Yunjin on her body rubbing soap into her skin and the fingertips of Kazuha massaging shampoo and conditioner onto her scalp.

She started to come closer to her senses again at the feeling of one of the cold locker room benches against her skin and the warmth of a towel being draped over her body. She looked over to Yunjin and Kazuha, who were in the middle of their own shower. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about over the loud crashing of water coming from the shower. It was strange to her, though, how they were able to act so normally after all of this. 

Feeling a cold gust suddenly brush against her skin, giving her goosebumps, she snapped out of her thoughts and held the towel closer to her. She sat and waited for what was only a few more minutes till the faucet had turned off, and the pair of girls had gotten their own towels and were drying themselves off. 

Kazuha had walked over to her, holding out her hand.

“Do you need help walking? I know Yunjin can be kinda rough, especially for your first time,” Kazuha said softly.

Minji had settled her feet onto the ground and made an attempt to stand on her own, only to feel her legs starting to shake, partnered with the evident ache in her rear end making itself known. She looked at Kazuha and nodded. 

Kazuha smiled at taking Minji's hand into her own, letting Minji lean on her as they made their way over to the lockers. Yunjin had already gotten herself dressed and had set Minji’s clothes on a bench for her. They both helped Minji put her clothes back on. The poor girl was still feeling a bit wobbly and numb in her body. Kazuha was the last to slip her clothes back on before she gathered each of their bags.

“I don’t know if you saw, but Zuha and I played rock paper scissors, and the loser had to carry you back home, and well, I lost,” Yunjin shrugged, squatting on the floor in front of Minji, waiting for her to get on. 

“Well, don’t say it like that, stupid ass. You just got done rearranging her guts. The least you could do as thank you is carry her back home,” Kazuha butted in, walking past Yunjin and hitting her in the back of the head as she walked out of the locker room. 

“Yeah, what she said,” Yunjin said, still squatting on the ground, waiting expectantly. 

“Th-thanks, I think,” Minji said before she hopped on Yunjin's back, her legs wrapped around the older girl as she held onto her shoulders. Yunjin just hummed in acknowledgment as she got up. 

Thankfully, the Le Sserafim dorm and New Jeans dorms were both within a block of the hybe building, making the walk to the New Jeans dorm first an easy one. Well, as easy as it can be with Yunjin carrying Minji on her back and all. 

The walk there was chilly; to their credit, it was the end of October in the middle of the night, so of course, it was going to be a bit cold. Minji, during her rush out of the dorm that seemed like a lifetime ago, had forgotten to bring a sweatshirt with her, and she had quickly come to regret that decision. With the way, the sharp gusts of wind were feeling like pins and needles into her bare skin. 

Kazuha must have seen the goosebumps coating her arms and her tight grip on Yunjin's much warmer body because she had stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, taken off her own sweatshirt, and put it on Minji. Despite the protest she got from the younger girl, saying that now she was going to be cold. Kazuha didn’t care, even if she was probably going to wake up with a sore throat in the morning. She practically forced Minji to keep it on. 

Their stroll to the New Jeans dorm trucked on with Kazuha and Yunjin talking about something random, asking for Minji’s input whenever they saw fit. However, they both saw that the younger girl wasn’t up for much talking at the moment. They marked it up to the fact that she was shy. I mean, what would you say if you had just gotten fucked the shit out of by your two seniors you have barely interacted with at 3 am in your company's locker room. 

By the time they arrived at the New Jeans dorm, it was nearly 5 a.m. Yunjin had set Minji down in front of her building. Minji, by this time, was able to walk relatively normally by herself, a bit slower than usual, but it was good enough.

“Umm, thank you, guys, for tonight. It was good, I liked it,” Minji said awkwardly, her cheeks heating up a bit at the end. 

“Yeah, it was fun. We should definitely do it again if you’re up to it,” Yunjin said, catching Minji off guard. She had thought that this was just going to be a one-time thing. She had to admit, though, it was fun, and the pair made it the utmost enjoyable for her. 

“Text me if you need advice on how to take care of those marks down there. I know how mean Yunjin is,” Kazuha said as she hugged Minji goodbye. 

“Saying that like you didn’t cum all over her face” Yunjin rolled her eyes as she got hit in the back of the head by Kazuha. Before focusing back on the task at hand, she wrapped her arms around Minji, getting her goodbye hug.

Minji waved the two girls goodbye, watching them make their way down the street towards their own dorm before she walked to the elevator, pressed the button to her floor, and leaned her head against the wall. She was exhausted. It had been one hell of a day, to say the least. 

Just as the elevator doors were about to close, she saw a hand stop it in its tracks. 

“Sorry!” she heard a familiar voice ring out.

She knew that voice all too well. 

It was Hanni.

The exhaustion from the day seemingly vanished as her eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sight of Hanni. Her hair was tangled, and she was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that definitely didn’t belong to her with how they were drowning her in fabric.

“Where were you?” Minji said coldly.

“I could say the same to you,” Hanni scoffed, eyeing her up and down. 

[hazbin-critique-place]

THINGS I HATE ABOUT THE THE APOLOGY TOUR (part 1)

Blitzo just randomly walks in. AND DON'T GET ME WRONG, I LOVE HIM, HE'S LITERALLY THE CLOSES THING TO MY COPING MECHANISMS IRL AND PEOPLE HAVE DESCRIBED ME THE SAME WAY AS HIM, I'M NOT SHITTING ON HIM, but rather the storytelling... Like... What??? Like, make it make sense.

So he just randomly comes and goes, as he wishes??? And we saw he didn't have any problems with stealing (maybe just felt bad a bit but come on he kills ppl for living and we see how sadistic he can be he's NOT gonna have problem with that) why doesn't just steal from Stolas' house and sell that shit????? Like - he could fucking quit his job or find a better one!!!

And then he wouldn't need the grimoire, and... Boom.

Then, why is he even there??? Like - did he use his brains at all?? Like - bruv, you got rhe crystal already, so if you wanna act like you don't give a shit... Just don't come pleading to him (bird dick guy) and basically annoy the shit out of him for next 10 minutes even if you're right. Trust me, that's not how you feign nonshalance. I would know.

Stolas being sassy at him, then??? Like - if you have the guts to be sassy, why don't even have the whole conversation wuth him and sit and talk the relationship out with each other already??? Are you THAT stubborn?! That's not normal.

Also, if you really don't want him there, Stolas, just teleport him out. Or yourself. Just - fucking make it make sense. You HAVE the powers, and I KNOW that in Good Omens Crowley and Az would in this situation probably forget that, Neil even speaks about it in some interview or idk, but... Come on. HE'S SMART. STOLAS LITERALLY READS. (I know this is stereotyping but there IS a reason for the stereotype - literally a majority of people who'd read in their free time (and c'mon, even I, an ao3 monster, wouldn't read after such a fight like Sto and Blitz had - my anxiety would be making scenarios and pacing through the garden already -) ARE smart.) Don't make him look all educated and priviledged and informated and shit just to act like this mean asshole, like - does he ENJOY annoying Blitzo back??? (Also, pls shut, you twitter users who "dOn'T dEaDnAmE hiM!!!1!" all over reasonable posts when you lack better arguments. It literally IS his legal name, and if he had such a problem with it, he could change it easily... Take Anthony to Angel Dust, after all. Or just nicknames could work.) Bcs I at this point honestly think he does.

Also, you dumb, dumb, hypocritical bird, why would you show him a fucking invite when you could just repeatedly tell him to at least 'go away' or just act objectively reasonable????

And if you're trying to be so polite bro, just magic him a cup of tea, or something, to match the yours. It would nicely fit to the scene and aesthetic, also it would make you seem more nice and classy... At least I could like you.

Also, are you ignoring Blitzo or fuck¥ng talking to him???

Because at the same time, you want to have an alone time, but you still throw baits to elarge the conversation at him.

He's all sassy and makes comments and aaahhh - so you're like satisfied with the situation now or what???

I mean, poor Blitzo -

Like-

If you hate him, just tell it to him already. Poor boy.

Oh god, we aren't even 3 minutes in and I have already writen a goddamn novel.

Also, I know it's supposed to be funny, but the whole party idea is honestly just dumb. Like... I would be so bored and not even excited to even go to a place designated to constantly talk about a person I hate? Lol

Like I love a good gossip but not as a theme for a goddamn concert-having function!

Also, you know that happy people live longer, right? This is kinda unhealthy - I mean, that's just basic, no? Like don't support and feed your hatred towards an individual just to feel better about yourself, or at least don't force it.

Bcs I get the guy who broke down crying at that one shot after he tried to hit the blitzi plush so much. And the other dude was hyping him up. I'd be so much confused, like him. Like - he's going through some hard stiff, like some facking serious character development right now, just let him be!

About Martha... Ehhh, I love her new design and character, but it just seems boring and soul sucking now that every character, after they're denonised, they just happened to be the same, most generic, and shitty snappy, constantly angry and always frustrated (and frustrating) characters ever. Like - does hell really that much brainwash people??? I mean, it would be interesting, but honestly I don't think that Vivzie did this intentionally at all.

Also, why would you even sleep with your nemesys... 😭 I'm a number one enemies to lovers fan and I don't ship it if they don't bite rach other but this, especially so unexplored and just randomly thrown in, does NOT make and sense.

It was funny though lol. I want more of these just to see how much Viv's one-dimensional view of her own fucking characters transforming to hell changes.

Part 2 soon.

[heartsfromia]

be my date — h. joshua

pairing: non-idol! joshua x f! reader

word count: 3,961

genre: fluff, minor angst

warnings: reader has social anxiety

author's note: reader is 18 ! dont call the cops on poor joshy, they have a two year difference too in this ;__; THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS BTW 🤍🤍🤍

It was that wretched time of the year, the time where you dreaded throughout your entire high school journey. As the winter air clears, flowers begin to bloom and April showers pass by, finals were ending soon and in a month, you’ll be receiving your diploma as a mark to the end of one chapter in your life.

However, it meant one thing, and this thing you hoped would pass by without your attendance.

Yes, it is Prom season. Capitalized for emphasis.

Dress shopping, various incidents of “promposals” taking place within the two weeks between finals and the date of the dance, you dreaded this time of your high school journey because of one thing: the dance.

You understood the appeal of prom. It was the one time when a lot of peers felt was a special closing before they enter adulthood, and college. It was the perfect occasion for everyone to go all out without worrying of whether they’re overdressed for the party, it was an event where couples could take this time to take a further step into their relationship, using the slow dancing portion of the party as a commemorative dance to a hopefully long-term relationship. Everyone would be there as a last hurrah with their high school friends, the same people that watched you glow up through your teens, and eventually bloom and flower on that one single night. It was special.

Unfortunately, you didn’t care. You got the appeal of prom, doesn’t mean you had to like it.

To you, prom is a nightmare. Your school isn’t exactly small, so imagining your entire year being in one, closed off space (albeit, the gym is spacious) sounded like a disaster. A clump of sweaty bodies, dancing to the DJ’s mix of school-friendly songs with lackluster beats—overcrowded, smelly, and just completely unappealing. Don’t get started on the huge possibility that someone would spike the fruit punch when the teacher chaperones weren’t looking.

Sweaty, drunk, overcrowded, you shiver at the thought.

Alas, your distaste and overall reluctance to join prom would be futile because you’re an introvert that, unfortunately, was adopted by a renown extrovert and party-goer.

“Have you bought your ticket to prom?” Yunjin asked, moving to sit on the empty seat beside you. You both had just finished the last exam of the day, and while everyone were packing to leave, you were waiting for Yunjin who was in the class next to you.

“I’m not going,” you uttered, grabbing your bag. “I thought I told you I don’t plan on going, dude”

She looked at you bewildered, eyes wide and mouth agape. “You can’t not go, Y/N. It’s prom.”

You glanced to the side, raising a brow. “So?”

She gasped dramatically, and you rolled your eyes. You anticipated Yunjin pestering you about prom. Ever since your senior year started, prom was the only thing she ever talked about. She raved about the dress she had been eyeing at one the most popular dress boutiques in town, you’d spot her by her desk, scrolling through Pinterest photos for makeup looks to go with her dress, and she even ranted about how her boyfriend had asked her to prom before finals began, just so she’d be at a peace of mind to study.

“Why don’t you want to go, Y/N?”

“I just don’t… like them,” you answered a bit unconvincing and it was evident with the way she rose her eyebrow at you. “I’m not a party person, Yunjin.”

“You don’t have to party, you can sit by the table and people watch,” she offered, causing you to snort. “Hey, people watching at prom is fun, and when I’m tired of dancing, I can join you and we can predict who will end up as what in the future after leaving high school.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you began, pressing your lips together and shrugging, “I seriously just want to stay home, dude.”

“But it’s our last night together,” she pouted, her big eyes pleading. “It’s our only prom, Y/N.”

“It’s just prom, and it’s not like it’ll be the last time we see each other,” you reminded, “we’re still going to the same campus.”

“Come on, Y/N,” she whined, following behind you as the two of you made your ways to your car, planning to head over to Yunjin’s for a girl’s night. “Be honest with me, because I just don’t believe that that’s your reason.”

Yeah, because the real reason is because I have terrible social anxiety and an overcrowded prom doesn’t seem the most ideal situation to be in.

You wanted to tell her, hell, she’s your best friend, but you knew deep inside that the reason wouldn’t be enough to keep Yunjin from dragging you to the prom. It’s not that she wouldn’t understand, it’s just that she’ll find a way to accommodate to you to ensure you won’t have a panic attack, and by doing so, she’ll be more focused on you, rather than having fun and you knew Yunjin only went to parties because she wants to have fun, not babysit her friend.

So, you uttered the first thing in your head. “I don’t have a date. It seems pathetic to go to prom without a date.”

“Seriously? No one has asked you out?” You only shrugged. Unbeknownst to her, there were a few, but none extravagant—mainly through letters or asking you casually, but you declined, you seriously did not consider going to the end-of-school-year event. Her brows furrowed, the conversation seeming to end there as she scrolled through her phone, replying to messages from her boyfriend as you drove to her house.

“Is someone else home?” you asked as you pulled into her driveway, a car you didn’t recognize it being either of her parents parked in front of the house. Yunjin looked just as confused, shaking her head as the two of you climbed out and headed in. A new pair of shoes were at the front of the door, and from the looks of it, you assumed it to be owned by a guy. “Visitors?”

“Maybe,” she responded, kicking off her shoes and you sighed, arranging your shoes neatly. “Eomma, I’m home!”

“Yunjin, how were your exams?” Mrs. Huh appeared by the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her hands dry. “Y/N, hello to you, too. Did you guys do well?”

“We’ll know when the grades come out,” you responded with a warm smile.

“We didn’t recognize the car in front, is someone here?” Yunjin asked, and her mother’s eyes widened, nodding.

“Ah yes, I almost forgot.” She smacked her forehead gently. “Your cousin is staying here for two weeks, your cousin Joshua.”

“Joshua’s here?” Yunjin exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Yes, he’s upstairs, but he’s tired from the flight here, so you can say hi when he comes down.” Yunjin nodded in understanding, turning to face you, a metaphoric light bulb brightly lit atop her head as she grins at you.

“You’re going to prom with my cousin.”

What?! “What?” It came out less shocked than you anticipated; your tone dead, but as you stare back at her with uncertainty, it was clear you were taken aback, as if you didn’t hear her correctly.

“You’re going to prom with Joshua.”

You glanced around the room, no one but the two of you present in her living room. “Is the Joshua in the room with us?”

“He will be,” she gleamed, sparing a glance at the stairway that led upstairs. “He’s awesome, Y/N, a true gentleman and he can be your date to prom.”

It was your turn to stare at her in bewilderment. “You are talking as if he’s already agreed, Yunjin.”

“He will, trust me,” she began, heading towards the stairs and you following. “He’s a part of the pandemic generation of students, so he never got a prom, and our school is his alma mater.”

“And how does that matter?”

“Because, I know a few other people asking our seniors to prom, some going with their older sibling because they want to have an experience they missed out during their time,” Yunjin explained, plopping down on her bed. “Joshua’s also told me how much he wished he went to his prom.”

“And how are you sure he’ll agree to this?” As if on cue, the sound of the door adjacent to Yunjin’s creaked open and she grinned mischievously at you.

“Joshua!”

“Yeah!” Your heart dropped at the deeper voice on the other side of the door, Yunjin is seriously not backing out this plan of hers.

“Can you come into my room for a sec?” A beat passed and the door to her room swung open, a head peeking through. Light brown, floppy hair was the first thing you noticed from Joshua. Your eyes moved down to his doe-like eyes to his uniquely pursed lips as he looks to his cousin before acknowledging your existence, his pouted lips stretched into a warm smile. “Come in, please.”

Waving a nonchalant hand to you as he entered, he turned to Yunjin, raising his brows. “What’s up?”

“This is my best friend, Y/N,” she began, putting an arm around you. “And she doesn’t have a date to prom.”

“Oh… that’s sucks,” he responded, sounding a bit unsure which caused you to chuckle lightly and Yunjin to smack her forehead.

“You never got to go to your prom, right?” Joshua nodded, Yunjin’s plan finally clicking. “And a bunch of your friends are going to mine, right?”

“Yeah, a couple of them—I think Jeonghan is going with his little sister, and Seungcheol also has a cousin that goes to your school,” he explained. “Don’t you have a date already?”

“Yes, but this is not about me, it’s about—“ she held onto both your shoulders from behind, leaning into you, “—her.”

“I don’t mind taking you to prom, Y/N.” You could only muster a smile. It’s not about taking me to prom, Joshua, it’s about me not wanting to go, with a date or not.

“We’ll be preparing for prom starting tomorrow, you’re free to be our chaffeur for the week,” Yunjin jokingly offered, to which Joshua threw his head back in laughter, his laugh echoing through your head. The way he smiled, his entire demeanor—admittedly, you didn’t mind having him as a date to prom, he’s attractive and the way he so easily clicks with your best friend, it’s clear his intentions are pure, nothing to fear. You wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t have a nagging feeling at the back of your head, a feeling that comes in a tightly packed gift bag with your social anxiety.

When Joshua left the room, you turned to your best friend, staring deep into her eyes as you deadpanned, “I regret sitting beside you when we were freshmen.”

This ensued a fit of laughter from your friend as she pulls you into a hug.

The following week was busy, Joshua had obliged to Yunjin’s request of being your chaffeur for the week as he drove you all around town to clothing boutiques, makeup stores, and cafes as both Yunjin and you occupied yourselves with prom preparations.

You used the excessive time spent together to get to know Joshua a little bit more than just his name, the fact that he’s a sophomore in university, and that he was two years older than you.

Your conversations never lasted too long because of your duties as Yunjin’s prom advisor, and you had to focus on making sure you advise the best clothing to adorn your best friend on one of her most awaited nights—second to her wedding, of course.

There was an opening for a conversation to occur between you and Joshua when Yunjin and her boyfriend were busy getting their measurements in for a few altercations on their outfits, both Joshua and you seated in the front, watching as the seamstress wraps a measuring tape around your friends.

“You’re going to same campus as Yunjin, right?” Joshua strikes up conversation, expecting that the two of you will be for a while as your friends get their measurements in.

“Yeah, both of us are taking business administration,” you told him, and he nodded. “What are you taking?”

“Economics,” he answers, his lips pressed in a straight line—a habit you found that he does every so often when he’s unsure of how to continue the conversation.

“I’m really sorry, by the way, I don’t think I got the chance to apologize,” you began, your face contorted in guilt as you looked at him. “I didn’t plan on going to prom, but Yunjin’s very… convincing.”

His laughter shook his body slightly, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, she can be that way.” Both your eyes focused on the girl of the conversation, laughing as she jokingly smacks her boyfriend’s chest. “But I seriously don’t mind, since a couple of my other friends are going as well, I thought it would be fun to, you know, make up for lost times.”

“Yeah… it must’ve sucked to have a lot of traditions be taken away because of the pandemic,” you uttered absentmindedly, “but that means we were in school together around the same time, no?”

“Yeah, but because of the pandemic we never got to meet,” he explains, “but Yunjin has told me a lot about you.”

“That’s nice to hear, I’m sorry I can’t say the same for you.”

“She probably referred to me more often as her ‘cousin’ to you, since after high school I lived near college and rarely came here.” You nod in understanding.

“I just feel bad because you probably planned on spending your semester break doing something else, but you’re here… babysitting us,” you apologized once again, an endearing smile breaking out on Joshua’s face—a smile that caused heat to spread to your cheeks, and your stomach to turn.

“I really don’t mind, I’m enjoying myself here,” he answers honestly, the sincerity clear in his tone and you couldn’t help to mirror his smile, finally feeling at peace with this whole fiasco that Yunjin had brought onto you.

Maybe having Joshua as your date would make prom more enjoyable then.

Joshua did make your prom more enjoyable, that is, until you arrived at the venue.

Apparently word that a lot of former students were joining through their own insiders had spread throughout the school, the representative from each year reaching out to the school and eventually, a bigger venue was rented out for the prom.

If you heard correctly, there were at least three different batches, including yours, joining prom this year, and the venue would accomodate the estimated 350 students. The venue they had chosen was a hotel ballroom, that specified in big events like international conferences, and weddings, but either way to you, the place was big, meaning that there will be a lot more people than you had anticipated.

You thought that having yourself get ready with Yunjin, songs blasting from her bluetooth speaker as the two of you did each other’s hair and makeup would be enough time to calm yourself down. It did help ease the anxiety that was slowly crawling up your throat, but only temporarily.

At some point before arriving, the dress felt light and wavy as it encompassed your body, and the makeup felt almost nonexistent, bringing out your features in the most natural way, while emphasizing the depth of your beauty. But, as you arrived at the hotel venue, all of it changed immediately the second your heart dropped to the base of your stomach.

All of a sudden, the dress felt too tight, clinging to you in the most uncomfortable way possible, sweat began forming at the palm of your hands and the pits of your arm, and the makeup felt too much, overcrowding your face and accentuating the flaws beneath. All of a sudden the room felt too small, and the people too many.

“Hey, are you okay, Y/N?” You didn’t know who was talking to you, but you felt their hand clasp onto your elbow gently upon seeing your paling face.

“I… I can’t…” Breathe, I can’t breathe, you wanted to scream, but the air felt thin as your heart raced against your chest. It felt as if everyone’s eyes were on you at that very second, their stares filled with judgement, looking you up and down as if you were some clown for showing up to this event. You knew if you stayed there another second, you’d either faint, cry, throw up or all of the above.

“Bathroom,” you forced out as you turned on your heels and maneuvered your way through the crowd and towards the ladies’ rest room, where more girls were found, staring at you in shock before you disappeared into one of the stalls.

I can’t cry. I can’t cry. I’ll ruin Yunjin’s $40 mascara if I cry. But it was futile, and tears began streaming down your face as you tried your best to inhale and exhale at a normal rate.

“God, you’re so stupid,” you cursed yourself through gritted teeth. You were sure Yunjin would be too worried to have fun, but Joshua, who wanted to make up for lost times with his old friends, can’t have fun, too because you’re having a panic attack.

“Y/N?” You sit up straight at the familiar, deep voice. “Y/N, I saw you run in here. It’s Joshua.”

You wanted to call out for him, reassure you’re fine but the bile in your throat kept your words from leaving your lips.

“I’m coming in.” Your eyes practically bulged out of your head when hearing his statement before you quickly stepped out of your stall to make sure no other girl was in there, before Joshua entered. Luckily enough, it was completely empty and Joshua stood there, staring at you, worry written all over his face when he sees you.

“Y/N, oh my gosh,” he approached you, not thinking as he holds your face in his hand, his thumb swiping at the black-tinted tears staining your cheeks.

The weight of the night returned and your breath was caught in your throat. Joshua’s eyes widened, pulling you into his arms, pressing your face into his shoulder in hopes it’ll calm you down.

A gentle hand stroked your back, as he cooed, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay, Y/N. Just breathe.” Once you had calmed down enough, you pulled away and a tender smile adorning his lips as he wiped your cheeks. “Do you want to step out for some fresh air?” Wordlessly, you nodded and he clasped your hand, pulling you out the rest room, and out the hotel.

The hotel had a small convenient store near the lobby, and the two of you ventured in that direction, Joshua allowing you to sit on the available chairs as he bought you water and a snack, since you hadn’t had the chance to feast on the food provided inside.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately apologized when he sat beside you, placing a bottle of water and a melon bread in front of you. “You’re supposed to be in there having fun with your friends, but I’m ruining it.”

“It’s not your fault you had a panic attack, Y/N,” he reassured, placing his hand on top of your head in an endearing gesture.

Stunned, you stuttered, “H-how did you know?”

“I know a panic attack when I see one, and from how pale you were, it was clear you were going through it,” he explained, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay? What triggered it?”

“Prom,” you answered, scoffing slightly at how ridiculous you must’ve looked earlier.

“Is that why you didn’t plan on going?” You nodded. “Then why did you pushed yourself?” His tone wasn’t accusing, he sounded genuinely curious to why you would purposefully put yourself in a situation that you’re uncomfortable with.

“Like I said a few days ago, Yunjin can be very convincing,” you sighed, tearing open the bread’s casing.

“Still, though, you didn’t tell her?”

“I didn’t want to make her feel like she had to watch over me,” you answered truthfully, chewing on the insides of your cheek. “I thought—if I told her—then she’d go out of her way to make sure I was okay, and couldn’t focus on having fun, like…” You glanced up at him, “like you right now. I’m sorry… again.”

“I really don’t mind, Y/N, I feel a part of being your date is to make sure you’re okay,” he reassures, reaching over to open the bottle for you. You mutter a ‘thank you’ taking a big gulp, the cool water refreshing against the heat from your crying session in the bathroom.

“She was worried about you earlier, Y/N,” he informed, his brows pulled together slightly, “when you feel comfortable, it’s alright to tell her about your anxiety.”

“I don’t want her to feel terrible for putting me in that situation, though, at the end of the day, I still went along with it.”

“Knowing Yunjin, yes, I agree she might feel guilty,” he begins, nodding in agreement, “but we’re still not responsible over how people because, I mean, what they’re feeling is their thing to deal with. What we shouldn’t do is allow ourselves to be put in situations that make us uncomfortable just because you don’t want someone else to feel bad.”

“It feels like I’m listening to myself whenever Yunjin gets herself into trouble,” you muttered, hoping it would ease the tension you felt.

“I’m just saying, Y/N, it’s alright to tell Yunjin about this, I’m sure she’ll be understanding next time.”

You only smiled, nodding before taking another bite of the bread. A beat of silence, and you swallowed your bite to talk again. “If it means anything, I had fun despite what happened.”

He chuckled lightly. “I did, too, Y/N.” Another beat of silence. “Although I can’t say so for right now, I’m a bit… disappointed.”

“Disappointed how?”

“I had a lot of fun with you the past week with your prom preparations,” he began, followed with a sigh, “it just sucks that we never got to do one significant thing for prom.”

Your brows furrowed. “Which is?”

“The promposal.” Your lips formed an ‘o’ as you nodded. “We just suddenly became each other’s dates.”

“That is true.”

“What if I proposed something else to you, though?”

Your eyes widened with shock, leaning a bit back to create distance between the two of you. “No offence, but I just finished high school, Joshua. If this is marriage—”

“No, no, no, what?” He quickly denied, his cheeks reddening as a nervous laugh escaped his lips. “I’m barely through college, and I’m surviving off of ramen, I don’t think either of us are ready for that.”

The two of you laughed at that. You then asked, “Then what do you mean?”

“I was thinking of a less… life-time commitment requiring proposal, Y/N.”

“That is…?”

“I have tickets to the festival downtown,” he starts, eyes bright with anticipation, awaiting your answer. “Would you like to be my date again?”

Your cheeks flushed upon hearing his question, a smile adorning your features as you began to fee giddy. Joshua chuckled along with you, rubbing the side of his neck, “I’m sorry it’s nothing grand.”

“No, it’s not that, I… I’d love to be your date to the festival, Joshua,” you accepted, and his grin only widened. You then added, “But does that mean it’ll be our last date, though?”

His eyes gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, shaking his head, uttering, “Not unless you say otherwise, Y/N."

[heesdreamer]

SILENCED (4)

MASTERLIST

GENRE ➩ enhypen zombie apocalypse au!

SUMMARY ➩ navigating life 1 year post end of the world was already difficult as you avoided rotting corpses with hefty appetites and groups with various bad intentions. things get harder when you run into a group of survivors, 7 boys who make it impossible to run away.

WC ➩ 6k

WARNINGS ➩ death gore blood um zombies and everything the apocalypse brings…

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Hello, me again lol Sorry it’s been so long since the last update on this I’ve had other stuff I was prioritizing but thank you to the people following and enjoying this story! The updates are a lot smaller than my usual works and that bugs me a bit but I have a lot planned and it won’t be such a long gap between each chapter from now on lol. Reminder to check out the playlist for hints and general vibe! NOT PROOFREAD but u knew that

“What are you even talking about dude, I beat you five to one easy. It wasn’t even close.” Jake’s voice was laughing out as he rested back on the couch, swinging an arm forward in emphasis towards his friend.

“No you don’t get it, if we had a rematch I’d whoop you.” Jay was quick to respond, a gloomy look on his face from losing so terribly and the younger boys broke into a fit of giggles at his attitude.

The day had been quiet, picking up each other from school one by one and heading back to Jake’s place. His mom had been out of town for the month on a business trip and it’d become their official club house for the time being, messier than it should’ve been with blankets covering any surface that could serve as a temporary bed.

Heeseung was pushing through the front door with a strange expression on his face, glancing behind in the hallway before locking the deadbolt and peaking out of the peephole. Sweat was coating his face and the other boys stopped laughing as they looked at him.

“It’s that bad out there now?” Jungwon was asking in a soft voice and Heeseung jumped a bit before glancing at him and giving him a solid nod.

News stations had been buzzing for weeks but nobody paid too close of attention outside of the people with particularly raging anxiety. Reports of cannibalisms, first in America and then the neighboring countries.

The boys hadn’t thought much of it, some crazy new drug that would never make it this far or mass hysteria. Then it was announced that it was a disease, something that couldn’t be helped and borders could not stop and things started to get a bit more wary. Some stores were shutting down, families leaving to their summer houses out in the country and yesterday Jay had been cut from work early.

“I don’t know, I don’t think we can wait anymore.” Heeseung was muttering and Jake sat up on the couch, raising an eyebrow in bewilderment.

“You mean like leave? Where would we even go?” He was asking and his question made them all fall silent, knowing he was right and they didn’t have a safe haven to disappear to like others did. They all had families but they weren’t extremely close now that they were older, spending most of their time together and only coming home to get scolded for poor grades.

Heeseung was shaking his head and turning towards them fully to scan the room, freezing up slightly when his head count came up one short. “Where’s Riki?”

“He.. had that exam I think. Must’ve had to stay late.” Sunoo was saying it slowly to try and explain but a feeling of dread settled over everybody at the realization he was out there alone, not yet realizing how quickly things were falling apart.

“Is it really that bad Heeseung?” Jay was asking in confusion, just yesterday they all were walking around casually outside of the few religious nut jobs screaming about the end of days.

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a long time, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to relay what he had saw or if he just wanted to let them think things were okay for a few minutes longer. He knew he had witnessed stuff that wasn’t going to be fixed anytime soon, stuff that would change how they lived from now on and he wasn’t sure he was ready to fully embrace that.

He was clearing his throat to speak but the words fell short and he made his way over to the kitchen counter instead, taking Jungwon’s moms keys and glancing at him for permission.

The younger boy looked confused but he gave him a small nod, eyes widening a touch when the oldest hesitated before going back into the kitchen and returning with the largest cooking knife available.

“Woah, you can’t go out there with that. You’ll get arrested dude.” Sunghoon was rushing out, suddenly paying attention and alert now as he sat up off the couch and raised his hands towards Heeseung.

“I don’t think there’s anybody left to arrest me.” He was spitting out but he wasn’t angry at his friends, just stricken with fear and anxiety at the thought of returning back outside but he couldn’t stand the idea of Riki being out there alone.

“Well I’ll come with you.” Jay was announcing and standing up, wiping off the chip crumbs from his sweater. Heeseung almost denied him and demanded he stayed here and kept the doors locked but he figured he might not be able to make it alone and Jay was definitely the most capable of the two of them, strong and sturdy despite his carefree personality.

“The rest of you need to stay put. I don’t care what you hear, or how long it takes for us to come back, you can’t open that door.” He was warning the group and they all paused in fearful hesitance before slowly nodding, the idea of not searching for their friends after a period of time leaving them unsettled.

The two eldest were making their way out of the apartment building, stopping at the entry door to push a vending machine in front of it. Jay looked confused when Heeseung asked him to do it but he followed suit anyways, not wanting to deny the orders considering the fear in his friends face.

Jungwon’s moms van was large and loud, rattling when you pressed too hard on the gas pedal and squealing every time it forced its large frame to a stop. They didn’t drive it often, outside of trips to the beach and going through drive thru’s, and Heeseung was grateful that the roads were uncharacteristically empty as he amateurly made his way through the city streets.

It was complete silent as they pulled up to their youngest friends school, both holding their breath as they leaned forward to see out of the driver side window and try to catch sight of any sign of life.

Heeseung’s heart was throbbing and he felt sick, almost too scared to go and find the boy in case he saw something he wasn’t able to ever forget, something he wouldn’t be able to move past. Jay’s hand was reaching forward to take his arm and he glanced at the other boy, seeing him give him a firm nod with a look of determination. Heeseung gave him a weary smile in return but it was the boost of strength he needed to open the door.

There was debris around the area from the days of mild chaos leading up to this and Jay bent down to grab a particularly long piece of metal, steadying it in front of him like a baseball bat as they got closer to the school doors.

They were unlocked and they quickly realized something was wrong judging by the papers scattered along the hallway, backpack’s abandoned in classrooms like they had to evacuate fast and Heeseung could smell something foul that caused his nose to turn up in disgust.

“Riki.” It was a yelled whisper echoing through the halls, carrying the noise all the way down the silent building until it was reaching the end and bouncing back towards them.

“Hyung? Is that you?” A scared voice was coming from the end of the hallway, shaky and muffled like he was hidden behind something and the two older boys let out a sigh of relief at the confirmation that he was at least okay enough to respond.

They were swift in their approach towards the room the voice had come from, forgetting to be cautious because of their relief and rush to get out of there but they quickly froze when a figure was coming out of one of the classrooms in the middle of the hallway.

Heeseung automatically recognized the signs of the creatures he had seen earlier, staring at the man who was staggering into the hall and turning towards them with his nose in the air. His eyes were yellow and vacant and he had dark liquid around his mouth, still moving his jaw like he was finishing a large meal. The man groaned loudly in their direction, bordering on a screech and the boys could do nothing but stare.

“What the fuck?” Jay was rushing out in an anxious tone, glancing over to his friend who was remaining still and watching it carefully. “Dude what’s wrong with him, what the fuck?”

“He’s got it.” Heeseung was stating matter of factly and Jay paled at the realization, shaking his head in disbelief and faltering backwards a few steps.

Heeseung was approaching the creature slowly and they both jumped when it reared its head and roared in agitation, sloppily approaching them and not faltering even when it almost slipped and crashed into the floor. They watched it approached speedily and when it got near they both circled around it’s back, confusing it momentarily but not long enough before it was attacking again.

The creature pinned Heeseung back against the wall, his hands flailing in front of him as he tried his hardest to shove it away with cries and groans of fear. It’s strength was double what a normal man’s would be and he was seconds from giving up when it was slumping to the ground.

Heeseung dropped off the wall and scrambled over to Jay who was panting with the piece of scrap metal in front of him, dripping thick syrupy blood now that he had smashed it into the figure.

They both watched in horror, attempting to catch their breath, as it begun to rise off the floor again. Shakily standing back to its full height and snarling again at them, seemingly angrier now.

“Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me.” Heeseung was panting out as he stared up at its cracked skull, half of its face sliding downwards and a bloodied mess from the force of Jay’s swing mixed with days of decay.

Both boys watched it as it started to approach again and then Jay was letting out a loud scream, taking a few steps forward and swinging the metal back down on its shoulder. They both froze in anticipation and then fear when the creature didn’t react to the hit at all.

“Oh what the fu-“ He was cut off as the creature swung at him and he dove out of the way with a grunt. “How do you kill this thing?”

“Why the fuck would I know?” Heeseung was screaming back in bewilderment, glancing around in confusion to try and find a way out of the situation but coming up with nothing as he turned back to keep his attention on the man who kept getting more and more unhinged the louder they avoided him and his gaping mouth.

The creature wasn’t getting winded whilst the boys were barely managing to swing their arms anymore, using this to its advantage and catching Jay off guard. Heeseung watched in horror as it pinned his friend to the hallway floor, listening to his screams of terror and gasp of air from under its heavy frame.

He didn’t think twice before he was rushing forward, and throwing the entirety of his weight into its body. He let out a guttural scream and pulled his arm back as far as it could go before driving the knife forward into its softened skull. Jay was, thankfully, getting the memo and rolling out of the way before the creature slammed onto the floor, now fully lifeless.

Both boys collapsed to the floor in fits of gasps and pants. Nobody spoke for a few minutes from shock and then Jay’s tired voice was ringing out. “Dude… you just totally saved my life.”

It was silent again for a few seconds before Heeseung was letting out a soft chuckle, launching the other into a fit of delirious laughter until they were both cracking up with the body in between them.

“Holy shit.” Both boys were pausing at the sound of Riki’s voice, a lot closer now as he pushed his way out of the classroom and was watching them from the end of the hallway. “You guys totally killed Mr. Kim.”

“And then what?” Your voice was completely enthralled as you spoke, leaning forward towards the campfire so your elbows were on your knees and you thought you saw Jake’s lips curl up from the corner of your eye.

“Well… we went back to get the others. We tried to get to family but..” Jay was trailing off but you nodded in understanding and he gave you a grateful look before sighing and continuing with his story. “Heeseung found a map in the pocket of a dead guy on the highway out of the city and he had circled the general area that you found us in, so we assumed it was safe.”

“And it was.” Jake was adding and it was some of his first words of the night, having remained mostly silent and to himself throughout your trip.

It had been two days since you left and you knew everybody was feeling unsettled by the fact you were heading back home now to the unknown. It was a mostly uneventful journey, not stopping much or sleeping more than a few hours with a shared determination to get there and back as soon as humanly possible.

You felt like the universe had cut you a break when you arrived to the veterinary hospital Jungwon had seen on the map, only encountering a handful of walkers and finding some medicine that should do the trick fairly quickly. But you knew the universe wasn’t kind nor was she fond of handing out breaks so your stomach clenched with the idea of what could be waiting for you back at the camp.

Sunghoon could’ve died from blood loss and infection and passed along the traumatizing act of putting him down before he turned, or he could’ve turned in the night and taken out a few of his brothers before anybody was awake enough to put a stop to it.

You knew the two boys with you were thinking similar things so you’d ask for a story to try and keep their minds off of it, listening to Jay carefully as he recounted the first time they’d killed a walker and how happy Riki was that it was his mean teacher that often stuck him in detention.

“Heeseung was our leader before he was ever our leader.” Jay was remarking as he finished his story, scooting down more into the dirt so his back was fully pressed against the rotted log he was resting on.

Jake hummed in agreement and you didn’t say anything, thinking about the statement and the conversation you’d had with the eldest boy about the weight of his responsibilities. You felt a longing for him suddenly, missing him and the others more than you thought you would and you could tell the two with you were thinking the same thing now that it was falling silent again.

You didn’t say anything as you were standing up to stomp out the fire, knowing it was already a risk to strike it up in the first place but especially to sleep with it roaring.

The three of you followed the same routine as the past two nights, stringing up cans in a circle around where you were sleeping so if anything, dead or alive, bumped into it you’d have some form of warning before it was coming down directly on top of you. You laid your head down in the pile of leaves and tried to ignore the sticks sitting uncomfortably under your shoulder blades, falling asleep to the sounds of the forest and the two boys breathing.

——

You’d been walking for a few hours before seeing anything familiar but your body was alert to the fact you were getting closer to the camp again, this time with a backpack full of supplies and a prayer in the back of your mind that things would be okay.

It didn’t take long for you to realize something was off about your surroundings, the woods unusually silent and resting like all the animals and trees were holding their breath. You raised your hand and folded it, a silent signal for the boys to stop walking and fall into a crouched position behind you.

Your eyes were hurriedly scanning over the forest floor and your heart sank when you noticed multiple pairs of tracks and footprints that wouldn’t have been from your group, having no reason to venture this far out. You waved Jake and Jay closer and they quickly shifted forward in their crouched position.

“Is it a hoard?” Jake was whispering to you when you pointed out the shoe prints in the mud, glancing at you with a worried expression. Jay’s eyes were dark with concern and his face was hard, glancing in the direction of the others and frowning.

“I don’t think so.” You were shaking your head and sighing softly as you trailed your finger around the indented mud to explain to them. “The steps are too direct and pointed, if it was walkers they’d be messy and all over the place.”

“So it’s people then.” Jay was saying matter of factly and you all feel into a heavy silence, knowing you had no choice but to continue on the path back home, regardless if there was anybody left waiting for you or not.

You didn’t bother wasting anytime, falling into fast and silent footsteps and you maneuvered your way through the woods, guns drawn and knives out of your holster in case any of the people were still around and surveilling the surrounding woods.

Jay caught sight of something long before you did and you were grateful for his hand that shot out to stop you from rushing right into the view of the man you could now see, pacing back and forth in the center of the little houses and keeping an eye out for anything out of place.

You lip curled up in a sneer but you weren’t exactly sure what to do. If it was up to you, you’d simply take him out from a distance but you didn’t know how many were inside with the boys and if any more were not here, not wanting to risk the safety of the others or the three of you by acting on impulse. Jake seemed to be thinking something similar considering he was tapping your shoulder to get your attention, indicating down to your knives after you looked at him.

You understood what he was implying but you stared at him for a few seconds to make sure he was certain, realizing you hadn’t yet discussed the groups morals when it came to the living.

His eyes were hard as he gave you a solid nod and he mouthed for Jay to have your back as you moved in silent towards the patrol. The man didn’t have time to react before you were behind him, listening to the sound of Jay whistle and bring his attention forward before you were wrapping your hand around his forehead and tilting his head back so his neck was fully exposed to you.

He let out a gurgled shout as you slid your knife across his throat, grunting softly under his weight as you tried to lower him to the ground as silently as possible.

You looked up at Jay after he was on the ground, watching him carefully as he gave you a small nod of acceptance and you sighed softly before returning it to him and waiting for Jake to come out of the woods and meet you. The three of you ducked against one of the houses, your backs pressed against the wood as you listened to try and get a guess of how many people were inside.

“I say we just kill him already.” It was a woman’s voice and she was speaking in a nasty rasp like she was a heavy smoker, your heart pounding at the sentence she spoke. “He’s half dead already, I’ll be pissed if he turns on us and takes a chunk out of my arm.”

You glanced at Jake after she was done speaking and he was already looking at you, both of you relieved to hear that she was talking about Sunghoon still being alive, immediately followed by the dread of what she was implying they should do.

“Touch him and you’ll have bigger problems than him turning.” Heeseung’s voice was speaking now and it was dropped to an octave you’d never heard it in before, cold and serious and he threatened her in a deadly tone.

You heard an annoyed scoff from a male voice before it was followed by the sound of low groans of pain that you made out to be Sunghoon’s, wincing slightly at the hurt in his cries.

“Do something then.” The males voice was speaking in a teasing manner and you heard Sunghoon groan again, likely being hit or kicked by somebody inside to prove a point towards the other boys helplessness. “Oh.. you can’t, that’s right. I forgot.”

There was more sounds after that but you couldn’t fully tell what they were, feeling sick and helpless where you were sitting until Jay was snapping his fingers and getting both of your attention back on him.

He was making signals with his hand and you swiftly understood that he was implying he wanted to rush inside and take them out before they had a chance to react or take any hostages, using the element of surprise to your advantage. Jake seemed more hesitant in the idea although you figured it was only the two of them inside the small house, seeing the car they had arrived it and doubting it could fit more than four people.

Your eyes wandered over to the body on the ground and you steadied your footing in the dirt before nodding softly to Jay and patting Jake on the back.

It went extremely fast, your mind on complete autopilot and devoid of any extreme emotion to help you get through the terrible act without hesitating or missing your shot. Jake was kicking the door open roughly and then stepping back to allow you and Jay to rush forward, relief rushing through you at the confirmation it was only two people and then followed by horror considering how easily you were able to sink your knife into the skull of the woman.

She’d barely had a second to process your arrival, eyes widening in fear and letting out a painful gasp of shock before her face was lifeless and she was crumbling to the floor.

You felt slightly sick that it had been so easy for you to kill two people in the span of minutes but you glanced up at the scared boys huddled around the house and you realized that you didn’t regret it, that you’d do it 100 times again if it was necessary.

Heeseung was tied to the radiator next to Sunghoon, clarifying the reason he hadn’t even able to stop their assault on the boy and you glanced at him to see him far paler and more lifeless than he had been when you’d seen him. He was still alive however and you were rushing to grab the supplies from your bag when you noticed the horror on the boys faces, eyes over your shoulder.

You froze up but before you could turn to see what they were seeing, a shot was ringing out close to your ear and you were completely disoriented for a few seconds.

It took awhile to process what had happened, turning your body in a panic to see a fourth man laying in the doorway of the house. His knife was still rattling against the floor from where he’d dropped it and you saw the exit wound coming out from the backside of his head. You spun back around and your heart crumbled when you saw who it was that had killed the man, saving your life by taking another’s.

Riki was holding the gun in shaky hands, barely able to keep it steady and his eyes were wide in shock and horror, keeping it pointed in your direction despite the threat being gone now.

“Riki.” You were saying softly, still frozen but raising your hands in surrender and taking a small step towards him. You didn’t necessarily think he would hurt you but he clearly wasn’t thinking straight and his fingers were still dangerously tight around the trigger. “Riki, it’s okay. You got him, he’s dead.”

His eyes shot to yours at the words and his face softened slightly, letting you approach and take the gun from his rigid hands.

He was dropping his shoulders in relief once the metal was out of his hands, shocking you by pulling you in for a tight hug that knocked the air out of your lungs. You returned it after a few seconds, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly with your eyes shut. You could hear the others moving around, untying Heeseung and greeting the others.

After Riki let you go and went to sit down in the corner and calm down, you quickly administered the medication into Sunghoon’s veins and sighed softly at the heavy breath he took at the feeling of it entering his system. You pushed his damp hair off his sweaty forehead and smiled softly at him even though he couldn’t see it, happy he had managed to fight for this long.

You were standing up again and immediately bumping into another frame, pausing until you realized it was Heeseung.

His hands were coming up to cup your face and you smiled at him in relief despite the cuts on his face and the noticeable black eye that you imagined had come from the struggle with the looters that had led to him being the only one tied up. “You gave them hell didn’t you.”

He laughed softly at your words and nodded his head, eyes gentle as he looked down at you and you felt your heart clench uncomfortably at both his expression and how much you had missed him.

You thought this about them all as the night continued on, telling them how your run had gone and listening to them laugh and tell funny stories that you didn’t fully understand but you still felt a lightness in your heart just from how excited they sounded about remembering the smallest details of things that had happened to them together in the old world.

Riki was still a but subdued after what had happened, not speaking much and staying in the corner as you all ate dinner and took sips from the liquor bottle the three of you had found on the trip. He seemed a bit out of it and your heart felt heavy after Jungwon had leaned in to whisper and explain to you that he had never killed somebody before.

You felt guilty that he had done something like that to save you, your own mistake for not assuming there was another person still outside or checking the tracks more carefully because you were too worried about them and too focus on getting inside as soon as possible. Your care was making you stupid and making you weak, leaving the youngest to lose a piece of himself to fix your mistake.

It was this that made up your mind for you, solidifying that you couldn’t stay here with them any longer or else things like this would keep happening. You’d have to continue to risk yourself for them and vice versa, you couldn’t take watching them hurt themselves in the name of saving you or each other and you knew now that they were always going to put the others and you over themselves individually.

You kept reminding yourself this as you silently packed your bag, waiting for the others to fall asleep and leave you on watch duty before you were preparing to slip out.

You’d stay in the woods outside the camp for the night and make sure nothing hurt them during your watch cycle and then you were going to disappear into the dark cover of the trees once the next person on the rotation woke up and found you missing. You left them all of the medication and food, taking nothing but your change of clothes and your knives.

The crickets were extra loud as you made your way outside, having carefully stepped over the sleeping boys and left a note with detailed instructions on which medications to give to Sunghoon and when. You included a small goodbye sentence just so they knew you hadn’t been taken and didn’t get hurt trying to find you, although you had a feeling they’d try anyways.

You were barely off the porch, your foot hitting the dirt softly and feeling the cold chill of the night when a voice behind you was causing you to jump and spin around.

“So that’s it then?” You whipped around with wide eyes but your face crumbled when you realized who it was, seeing Heeseung come out of the shadows with a hurt expression and hooded eyes. “You’re not even going to say goodbye?”

You froze as you looked at him, words falling short as your mouth open and closed in silence. He scoffed as he looked at you, turning his head away as his eyes teared up slightly but he shook his head in anger before taking a few steps in your direction with a raised accusatory finger.

“You’re just going to leave after all this?” He was spitting out at you and the tone of his voice, the disgust lacing his words, made your heart drop into your stomach with a crushing weight.

“I have to.” You replied back with desperation, your face curling up in anguish and you tried to get him to understand even slightly what your reasoning was. “Sunghoon almost died Heeseung, and Riki he… these things will keep happening.”

“He didn’t die.” He was almost yelling now and you flinched back at the volume of his voice, having half a mind to shush him softly and watching the way his face curled up in anger at the sound slipping through your lips. “He didn’t die Y/N, and you were the one who made sure of that. You care about us, I know you do.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that, not wanting to correct him especially when he wasn’t wrong.

You did care about them and it was making your skin crawl every time you found yourself smiling affectionately at one of their offhanded jokes or paying extra attention to their wounds and bruises. Even more so with the boy in front of you with the gentle way he touched you to make sure you weren’t injured, when his face was lit up by campfires or his determination to lead a group of boys through a world he himself didn’t understand.

“I can’t watch it happen.” Your voice was breaking and your shoulders sagged in upset, exhaustion wracking through you both emotionally and physically. “And it always happens, Hee.”

“It won’t happen this time.” He was taking more steps towards you and his hands were shakily coming up to hold your face, staring down at you with his own sense of determination to try and help you see his side of things. “Why didn’t you say bye to me?”

He was asking but you knew he already knew your answer and you tried to pull out of his touch to avoid answering, stopping when his thumb was gently rubbing your cheek and shaking his head to try and stop you.

“Because you wouldn’t be able to leave.” He was answering for you, filling in the blank and giving you a soft sad smile that made you break into a sob, your first time allowing yourself to cry for as long as you could remember. “Right? Tell me I’m right.”

You didn’t say anything but you didn’t need to, feeling him pull you in tightly against his chest as you fully let yourself feel the wave of your emotions, restricting them for so long in the name of survival and fighting to make it through the day.

Heeseung was keeping you in his embrace even when your legs were giving out and you were sinking to the floor in his arms, your hands hitting the dirt and feeling it mold between your fingers. You hooked your head over his shoulder and shut your eyes tight when your gaze fell on the body of the man you’d killed so easily earlier.

You let him hold you like that until your sobs were slowing down and the blood was drying in the grass.

You stayed like that far longer than you’d realized, sitting still and frozen until your cries slowed down and his blood had fully dried in the grass.

[pennysperfectpolls]

Adoption poll preliminary match 12

Kakashi Hatake (Naruto)

Qiqi (genshin impact)

Venus (solarballs)

Bernadetta von Varley (Fire Emblem)

Only two will move on

Propaganda under the cut

Kakashi Hatake (Naruto) Propaganda

He joined the lower ranks of the Ninja-Military at like five and then Dudes Father killed himself, he does not have a mother, when he was like six because he was bullied to death by the entire village for refusing to heed a rule that would have made him sacrifice a teammate of his.

After that he lived alone in the house where his Father killed himself and got like an obsession with not breaking the rules and they just let the kid keep running around in the Ninja-Military and a teammate of his "killed" right after he went "maybe sacrificing people for missions isn't good" pushing him out of the way of a bunch of rocks and then he got his dead teammates Red Ninja Eye transplated into his skull.

His other teammate killed herself by impaling herself in his hand in order to protect the village because she had a creature implanted into her that was supposed to come out and destroy everything, kinda like a living bomb.

I think this all happened before he was approximately thirteen.

And you know, there's only one more thing you can do now, as his teacher who's the highest governmental authority in the village and also dies by the way decided. Put him into the super secret (everyone knows about them) assassin murder furry corps. Where he spent like a decade before being spontaniously kicked out to go from professional government Killer to Teacher of possibly the most fucked group of children known to men, two third of which are tied to people from his past.

He's like twenty-seven and just another Orphan in Orphan Town. There is no one in your way, custody is ripe for the taking.

I'll be honest, I haven't seen Naruto, but I do know a good part of the Lore through other means. The guy reminds me of a rescue dog.

Qiqi (genshin impact) Propaganda

My girl tragically died trapped in a cave due to a demon battle, dying with sad thoughts so sad it gave her a Cryo vision. The Adepti felt bad so they revived her, but she came back as a murderous zombie so they had to seal her in amber for a long time. When she finally came out, she was peaceful but has a terrible memory and must follow commands now. In order to break her out of a command that makes her “stuck”, she has to be hugged and told that she’s loved… and when her main guardian tries it, it doesn’t work. And poor Qiqi has become the poster girl of “losing the 50/50” within the fandom, there’s even a whole lamenting song about “I pulled a Qiqi”. Well maybe I *want* a C6 Qiqi and am frustrated I keep pulling Keqing and Tighnari!

Venus (solarballs) Propaganda

Cute lil grumpy planet that has a gruff voice n hates being called by his namez meaning!!

Bernadetta von Varley (Fire Emblem) Propaganda

My Beautiful Bernie Bear! She needs to be swaddled in the comfiest blankets and gifted all the stuffed animals and insectivorous plants in the world. Her dad was super abusive beating her friends and tying her to chairs and her mom hired someone to kidnap her to send her to the officers academy. There she’s basically a child soldier but at least she’s away from her parents and gets a real found family.

She has so much anxiety and is constantly paranoid of everything so she spends most of the game locked in her room. She only comes out on specific occasions and in the one route where she feels comfortable.

She’s often the first person I talk to each in game month and she’s such a joy. She’s so creative and kind and ah! I want to adopt her so bad!

Also one of the ways people use her in game is to keep her at as low health as possible and that’s so mean and I need to protect her.

[mylo-space]

Welcome to Your Future

Chapter 6: Everything Changes, Everything Stays >> Chapter 7

-

Macaque wasn’t sure what had caused MK to run off, but he did know that trying to chase after the kid wouldn’t do them any favors. The real issue was convincing Wukong that their student probably just needed some space. “Maybe I can astral project, real quick,” Wukong insisted. “Just to check on him! What kinda mentor would I be if I didn’t make sure he’s okay?”

“That’s not giving him space,” Macaque said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “MK is a good kid, a smart kid. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.” He leaned against one of the pillars that stood outside the temple. “He was probably overwhelmed by the argument. The training session was already a lot for him.”

“What?” Wukong stopped pacing the training area to look at Macaque in surprise. “But the- I mean, I thought the training session was going pretty okay.” He crossed his arms. “And we weren’t arguing, we were just-”

“We were arguing a little bit,” Macaque interjected. “And the training session was fine, I think the problem was me.” MK’s blatant anxiety hadn’t gone unnoticed by Macaque, the kid’s poor heart raced a couple beats faster every time Macaque so much as spoke, never mind said anything in regards to training. “And since I don’t know enough about me in the present, I’m not gonna go prying into why I bother him so much.”

Wukong ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t bother MK, I think he’s just freaked out by the amnesia thing.”

A dry laugh escaped Macaque, “What do you mean, 'I don’t bother him?' Dude, the kid is terrified of me.”

“What, you?”   Wukong exclaimed, though his bewilderment was clearly forced. His gaze darted away, and he coughed out a laugh. “No, no, he’s not- I mean, he wouldn’t-”

“Wukong,” Macaque interjected. “Relax, I’m not taking offense to it. I mean, we already established that we both made mistakes, remember? I assume a few of those mistakes have to do with MK.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I should probably do something about that when I get my memories back.”

For a moment, it looked as though Wukong wanted to say something, maybe argue the matter a little more, but he settled on a sigh. “Okay, yeah,” he admitted, “you and MK have had a few rough patches.” He grasped his forearm, an old nervous habit. “It’s one of those things we’re working on in the present.”

“One of many, I’m guessing,” Macaque pushed himself off the pillar and reached out to put a hand on Wukong’s shoulder. “Maybe we try this again when my memories are back, and I understand my situation with MK a little better.” Wukong made an unsure sound. “Look, I promise, even if I’m still angry with you in the present, I’d be willing to put it aside to try doing this co-mentoring thing again.”

Wukong hummed, a humorless laugh, “Don’t be so sure.”

“I can’t be that angry with you,” Macaque protested. But when Wukong didn’t respond, the shadow pulled back a little. “Oh… really?” Uneasiness squirmed in the pit of his stomach. He’d understood that maybe he and Wukong were having a spat of some kind, but nothing that couldn’t be set aside for their student’s sake. “Well, I’m- I’m sorry for whatever I did to make MK scared of me, and… I guess I’m also sorry for whatever I did to make you mad?”

“Why is that phrased like a question?” Wukong asked, though a small smile told him that it wasn’t meant to be accusatory.

Macaque returned the smile, and leaned his full weight onto Wukong’s back. “I don’t know if I remember enough to speak for myself,” he replied. “My present self, I mean.” His nose scrunched. “I don’t think that’s ever gonna stop being confusing.” Wukong made a small noise of  agreement. “Anyway, I assume I’m at least a little sorry.” He hooked his chin over Wukong’s shoulder, looping his arms around the king comfortingly. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The king shook his head, “But you’re not.” He lifted a hand, a vague gesture to the mountain. “You’re not here, and that’s kinda part of the problem.”

Humming, the shadow conceded. “Okay, maybe I’m not here, but I’m a master of portals now, remember?” He gave Wukong a reassuring squeeze. “I could be anywhere in the world, but I have a dojo set up just a short cloud-jump from Flower Fruit Mountain. Maybe that means something.”

“Huh…” Wukong tipped his head back, “I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“That’s because thinking is my job,” Macaque teased. He could feel Wukong’s shoulders jolt with a low chuckle. “We’ll give MK some space for now, okay? And then you and the kid can bug me about training when I get my memories back, even if I’m still angry. Promise.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment. “You know, I think present you might have, uh… a complex about promises? Like, you might not keep that promise, just to spite me.”

Frowning, Macaque muttered, “Okay, I’m starting to see what the kid meant about me being mean.” He shifted to hold Wukong with one arm, extending his free hand. “What if I pinkie swear?”

“Pinkie swear?” Wukong repeated incredulously. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” Macaque closed his fist, holding out his smallest finger insistently. “Pinkie swear.”

The king turned, attempting to dislodge Macaque from his back, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Macaque followed the turn easily, clinging like a proper shadow. “Would you-” Wukong spun around, “Get off me!”

Macaque slipped his arms up and around Wukong’s shoulders, draping himself over the king. “Think I’m good right here, actually.” He buried his face into the back of Wukong’s neck, smiling to himself as the king’s shoulders scrunched defensively. Still ticklish, then. Good to know some things never changed. “Comfy.”

Wukong leaned forward, punching a startled laugh out of Macaque as his feet were pulled off the ground. “Comfy, now?” the king taunted, jostling Macaque with a few lumbering steps. “I don’t remember you being this clingy, Mac.”

It was true that Macaque wasn’t the most affectionate monkey on the mountain. Usually, it was Wukong that coaxed the physical affection out of him, be it with hugs or ruffled hair or full body tackles that ended with them both sprawled on the grass in a tangled mess of limbs. But it seemed as though the sage needed a distraction, and Macaque was willing and able to provide. “I don’t see you complaining,” he teased. “Or trying very hard to get me off.”

“And why would I,” Wukong asked, looping his arms over Macaque’s legs, holding the shadow securely in place, “when I’ve got you right where I want you?” Which was about all the warning Macaque got as a cloud zipped by them. Before Macaque could protest, Wukong hopped on the condensed vapor and tore through the air.

Arms tightening around Wukong’s shoulders, Macaque made a rather undignified sound somewhere between a screech and a laugh. “When did clouds get so fast?” he hollered over the wind. Rather than answer, Wukong urged the cloud faster, circling the mountain range at record speeds. Macaque’s laughter was lost as Wukong raced the wind, and he pressed his face into auburn fur to hide the giddiness that swelled his chest and warmed his too-cold limbs.

He’d take the warmth where he could get it, since he’d apparently be too stubborn to admit he wanted it once his memories returned. Distantly, he wondered what could have happened to make him such a cold, standoffish creature, but he supposed that he’d figure it out eventually, whether he wanted to know or not. Best not to dwell on it, he decided.

The cloud slowed a bit, and Macaque cracked an eye open. With the view less blurred, he could see the damage to the mountain. There was no smoke or ash, but it was still ten times the carnage the fire had caused. Though, if this Azure that Wukong was so fond of really had the Jade Emperor’s power, he supposed that things could have ended up a lot worse.

Macaque rested a cheek on Wukong’s back, watching the broken stones and bent trees pass below them. “Where are we going?” he asked finally.

“The beach,” Wukong replied. “You remember our tree?”

“Is it still there?” Macaque’s gaze flitted across the mountain’s edge until he spotted it, an old gnarled tree that, somehow, hadn’t changed a bit in all the hundreds of years that had passed. “How is it-”

“Dunno,” Wukong said, bringing the cloud down to the sand. “Small miracle, I guess. The one thing on the mountain that hasn’t changed.”

The sand shifted beneath their feet as they stepped off the cloud. “I remember coming here all the time,” Macaque said wistfully, “waiting for you to sneak away from Master Subhodi.” He huffed out a laugh. “Remember it like it was yesterday.”

Wukong hummed, “Yeah,” a soft, fond smile dimpled his cheek, “so do I.”

And reality settled in again, as Wukong’s gaze grew distant, as though he could see the past playing out before them. “But it wasn’t yesterday, was it?”

“No,” Wukong admitted. “At least, not the way you remember it.” The king led him to the tree, kicking sand around as he went. “We were here after the fight with Azure, though. MK’s noodle shop friends cooked lunch, the kids swam in the water, and even the Demon Bull Family showed up to fish and play some volleyball.”

“Family?” Macaque asked curiously, taking a seat by the twisted roots of their tree.

“Mm-hm,” Wukong grunted as he sat down next to Macaque, “Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan had a kid, Redson. Fiery little spirit, that one.”

Leaning against the solid trunk, Macaque tilted his head up and closed his eyes, letting sunbeams warm his face. “Beach day after saving the world, huh? Sounds nice.” He settled further into the tree. “What were we doing during all of this?”

“I was eating a popsicle and basking in a lawn chair,” Wukong replied. “You showed up late and brought an umbrella to block my sun.”

A small puff of laughter escaped Macaque’s nose. “Fashionably late, though, right?”

“Had a dapper pink shirt and everything,” Wukong confirmed. “But, uh… I guess it’s not actually fair to say that you were late, fashionably or otherwise.” Macaque could hear the sage fiddling with his sleeve anxiously. “You weren’t- I didn’t really even invite you, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” Macaque swallowed down an emotion he couldn’t identify. Something like grief, maybe, or a very muted anger. Either way, it burned.

His disheartened response didn't go unnoticed, and Wukong  continued with, “But I picked this spot hoping that you’d show up, anyway. Even if I didn’t ask you to come.”

Macaque opened his eyes enough to glance over at Wukong, struggling to decipher the pained expression on the king’s face. “Seems like a counterproductive way of asking for my company.”

“We can’t make anything easy.” Wukong picked at his claws, “And it’s just- this is one of those things I just can’t say, you know? Which is something I’m working on. I know that I’ve got a problem with talking about things, but-” he took a slow breath. “I was so happy that you showed up, Mac. I didn’t say it, because I didn’t know how, but I think I probably should have.”

Turning his gaze skyward, Macaque asked, “What did you say instead?” and hoped that his voice didn’t betray the storm cloud of emotions that came with Wukong’s admission. Part of him wanted to feel relieved that Wukong still cared enough to want his company, even if they were angry with each other, but a larger part of him ached, knowing that they’d somehow reached a point that Wukong couldn’t just ask for it.

The king gave a half-hearted shrug. “You thanked me for an invite I didn’t give you and I thanked you for showing up uninvited. We were being sarcastic, but I guess I also meant it.” He shook his head. “Anyway, you were worried about what comes next, ‘calm before the storm’ and all that, so I told you that whatever happened, we’d handle it.”

“Hm,” Macaque watched a cloud idly cross the pale blue sky. “Well, are we going to handle it?”

Wukong nodded emphatically, “Yeah, of course.”

Letting out a slow breath, Macaque said, “Alright, then.” Even if it was just a begrudging alliance, Macaque was relieved that he was still at the sage’s side, regardless of any disagreements they had in the present. Hardships were always easier with the sun beaming down at him. ”As long as we are handling it, that’s good enough for me.”

“Good enough?” Wukong asked, pulling Macaque’s gaze from the sky to see the sage’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean that’s good enough for you?”

“I mean, I think I probably get it,” Macaque explained, picking at the tail ends of his bandana. “I think if I have a dojo in a super annoying, really loud city that’s right next door just because I don’t wanna ask to live on Flower Fruit Mountain again, then I probably get why you’d have a party in a place we both know about that’s definitely in earshot instead of trying to invite me.”

“That-” Wukong made a small, distressed sound. “But we don’t know if you want to live on Flower Fruit Mountain again,” he said. “You left. You left hundreds of years ago, and we’re barely on talking terms. Which is better than it was, but-”

Macaque reached up and placed a hand over Wukong’s mouth. “The amnesia isn’t doing us any favors at the moment, but I’m still me,” he said firmly. “I might not know what happened to us, but I do know that the only thing I want is to live on Flower Fruit Mountain with you, eating fruit, tending to your subjects, basking in the sun.” He offered half a smile, “Maybe get into a little mischief, just so you don’t get bored of me.”

Even with half his face covered by Macaque’s hand, the shadow could see Wukong’s face contort with emotion. He reached up and grasped Macaque’s hand, gently pulling it away. “Has anyone ever told you that you have entirely too much faith in me?”

Since Macaque didn’t interact with a lot of people outside of the residents of Flower Fruit Mountain, he was inclined to say ‘no’, there wasn’t anyone who had told him that. But the longer he thought about it, the louder an oddly familiar voice echoed the sentiment. The memory was foggy, but the voice was sharp and taunting, and it ridiculed him for his cowardice, his willingness to follow Wukong anywhere.

“I think somebody did, actually,” Macaque said slowly. “Can’t remember who, but the phrase sounds familiar.” His brow furrowed. “Familiar and annoying.”

“Probably Peng, then,” Wukong said. “A friend of Azure’s,” he explained once he saw Macaque’s blank expression. “We had a Brotherhood, of sorts. You, me, Azure, Demon Bull King, Yellow-Tusk, and Peng.” His gaze turned thoughtful, eyes narrowing in irritation. “And Peng wasn’t all that nice to you, when I think about it. Always tried getting under your skin about the dumbest stuff.”

Macaque shrugged. “Then their opinion doesn’t matter, does it? I’ll put my faith in whoever I want.”

“It’s not Peng’s opinion I’m concerned about,” Wukong countered, ”it’s yours. Believe me, nobody wants our reconciliation more than I do, but I’m not going to let us both get our hopes up about whether or not you want to come back to Flower Fruit Mountain. You’re not angry for no reason, Macaque.”

“And… what? Being angry means I won’t want to live on the mountain?” Macaque pulled his arm from Wukong’s grasp, taking the king’s hand in both of his own. “You’re not angry with me for no reason, either. Sounds like we both just needed some space.”

“For five hundred years?”

“Well, apparently, I’m not all that nice in the present,” Macaque pointed out. “Your kid is scared of me, his friends don’t like me, and you can barely talk to me.” Wukong’s gaze flicked away. “I’d want space from me, too, if I’ve become that much of an asshole.”

The hand in Macaque’s tried to pull away, “It’s more complicated than that.” Macaque scowled, curling his fingers around Wukong’s pale hand, refusing to let the king retreat. “Mac, I’m serious.”

“Yeah? And were you serious earlier, when you said that the grass grows back?” Macaque demanded. “That the damage isn’t permanent? What happened to all that?”

Wukong stilled, lips parted in surprise. His eyes darted over Macaque for a moment before turning away. “Alright.” His free hand slowly reached up to pluck a stray hair, summoning a small mirror into existence with a small puff of air. He held out the mirror, a deceptively neutral expression smoothing the lines of his face. “You still wanna know what’s under the glamor?”

Macaque hesitated, “Wait, now?” He let go of Wukong’s hand to take the mirror. “I know I said I wanted to know what it looked like, but this- it can wait a little longer.”

“No,” Wukong said, the syllable cracking a bit, “you’ve waited long enough.”

“But I thought- you haven’t seen it either, right?” Macaque asked, tentatively reaching out and taking the small mirror. “And you’re sure you want to be here for this?” Wukong nodded mutely. “Okay, then… no time like the present, I guess.” He grasped the mirror with both hands and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before calling the magic around his head to dissipate.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened his eyes, but he had at least been expecting both eyes. A single amber iris stared back at him, and in his right socket sat a white–and blind, Macaque noticed distantly–eye that stared at nothing. His brow was split in two, carved out by a pale, red scar that ran over his eye, forehead to cheekbone, jagged and pronged, a crooked X embedded into his face.

From his left came a quiet, “Mac?” Macaque turned to Wukong, who flinched at the sight of him. “Oh,” he breathed. “I didn’t- that’s not what I thought it’d be.”

“What did you think it’d be?” Macaque traced the unglamored scar with a timid finger, breath hitching at the raised skin. “Why would I hide this from you?”

Wukong didn’t answer right away, his hand hovering between them, clearly aching to reach out, but then he pulled back. “Because it was me,” he whispered.

Shaking his head, Macaque’s frazzled mind tried to piece together what Wukong said. “What… what was you?”

“This,” Wukong gestured to the right side of Macaque’s face, and the shadow was surprised to find himself flinching away. The sage, on the other hand, didn’t look as surprised, only heartbroken, and he drew his hand to his chest. “I did this, Macaque. I did it, and I never-”

“Why?” Macaque asked. “What- why did you do this?” The mirror slipped, and he fumbled a bit so that he didn’t drop it, trembling hands betraying his sudden wave of anxiety. He gripped the mirror so hard the glass cracked, a small lightning strike across the surface that further distorted his image. “What did I do? I-”

“No!” Wukong interrupted, finally reaching out to Macaque and taking the hand closest to him, dismissing the broken mirror before either of them were cut by the shards. “No,” he said again, quieter, more insistent, “you didn’t- look, we both fucked up, okay? We fucked up so unbelievably bad, but I never should have done this to you. I didn’t even-” His expression collapsed. “I didn’t even look back. I didn’t even check, I just- I assumed you’d be fine.”

Macaque could hardly keep up with the thousand thoughts and voices that raced through his head. Some part of him felt vindicated, Wukong had been acting suspicious, but a more forgiving part of him knew that Wukong wouldn’t have hurt him for no reason. Maybe they were fighting, maybe they’d taken it just a bit too far, maybe the king had only walked away because he couldn’t bear to see what he’d done to his warrior, and maybe Macaque had been too angry to see that Wukong hadn’t meant it.

Excuses, some ugly, twisted feeling hissed, you’ll never stop making excuses for him.

“Okay,” Macaque managed, struggling to shove aside every poisonous, wicked thought from his mind. Even if he was angry in the present, even if there was some kind of misunderstanding, he knew Wukong wouldn’t have hurt him on purpose. Not like this. He refused to believe it. “It’s… it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay,” Wukong argued. “Macaque, you don’t have to act like this is all fine.” He shifted, moving like he was going to get up. “If you need some space to process all this, then-”

His hand darted out before he could stop it, grasping Wukong’s sleeve, like that ever made him stay before, “Don’t,” he choked out, and he wished he could elaborate more, if only he could focus on anything other than the ghostly voices of lost memories and the sound of blood rushing in his ears. “Don’t leave me again, just-”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, “Okay,” Wukong said quietly, wrapping both arms around Macaque and tugging him closer, “I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.” Careful fingers carded through Macaque’s hair, pressing his ear to Wukong’s heartbeat, and idle claws traced some nonsense pattern into his back. “We’ll stay right here.”

Macaque wrenched his eyes shut, every fried nerve in his body finding comfort in the familiar thudding in his ear. “Okay,” he regained his composure somewhat, and he had the good sense to be embarrassed about his outburst. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ll save our apologies for when your memories come back,” Wukong told him. “We’ve both got way too much to apologize for to try doing this now.” The hand in his hair trailed down to his ear. “Could you, um… your ears?” Wukong had barely finished the sentence, Macaque already dismissing the glamor that hid his namesakes. The king inhaled sharply, tracing the lotus petal outline of his left set of three ears. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Macaque asked, his voice still wavering slightly, though he was calmed significantly by the thrum in Wukong’s chest.

Wukong hummed. “For a lot of things, I guess.” Macaque reached up and grasped the back of Wukong’s shirt, anchoring himself to the king. “We already agreed not to say sorry, so I’m saying the other thing that I should have said.”

“Because you won’t be able to say it when I get my memories back?” Macaque guessed.

“Because you won’t let me,” Wukong corrected. “You’re gonna think I’m being an asshole. At the very least, you’ll assume I’m not being genuine. Might try to punch me about it.”

Which wasn’t the most reassuring thing to hear, but Macaque was learning that most things in the present weren’t. “Am I allowed to apologize in advance for when I punch you?”

A low disapproving noise vibrated deep in Wukong’s chest, “I guess so, but that’s seriously the last thing you’re apologizing for right now.”

“Deal.” Macaque sighed, the tension finally easing out of his body, leaning his full weight into Wukong. The sage didn’t appear to mind, merely readjusting so that Macaque could rest comfortably between his legs, head still resting against his heartbeat. “You gotta stop doing that,” Macaque complained, flexing his shoulder blades in an attempt to stop Wukong’s comforting motions, “I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Go ahead, I’m not stopping you,” Wukong said, his claws continuing to trace soft lines into Macaque’s back. “You didn’t get a good night’s sleep, anyway.” Macaque grunted, wriggling in place a bit to try and deter Wukong, to no avail. “C’mon, you know you wanna.”

Macaque let his eyes slip closed. “Fine,” he relented, exhaustion already tugging at his consciousness, “just don’t let me sleep too long.”

“Just for a little bit,” Wukong agreed. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Somehow, that was all Macaque needed. His mind drifted, the sun-warmed sand and Wukong’s gentle comfort dissolving every thought until there was nothing to keep him awake. It was nice to feel warm again, unable to shake the cold he’d woken up in the dojo with, and it was the most relaxed he’d been in… maybe centuries.  

And when Macaque opened his eyes, he was standing in a forest. He was also walking, he realized faintly, stepping over a fallen log and towards a clearing. His fist opened and closed anxiously at his side, his other hand tightening around a bowl of water. The palm of his hand was calloused and unyielding as nervous claws dug into the flesh, and his gait was unnatural to him.

An illusion, Macaque settled into the memory tentatively, strolling through the forest in a body that wasn’t his, hoping that this dream didn’t end so disastrously as his last. He took a breath, forcing the tension out of his shoulders as he reached the treeline, and he smiled, baring his teeth and pushing past the foliage to approach a figure knelt beside a white horse.

“Master!” Macaque called cheerfully. “I knew I’d find you guys somewhere around here.” The master in question was a monk who regarded Macaque with little more than a glance. “Is that pig still looking for food?” He looked around the clearing, which was startling empty apart from a sleeping horse and stoic monk. “Must be, if Sandy had to chase after him.” He sat beside the monk and offered the bowl of water in his hand. “I heard you say you were thirsty earlier, so… I brought this for you.”

Rather than take the water, the monk–he had a name, Macaque was sure, but it was escaping him–huffed out a small, exasperated sigh, “I don’t want the water, Monkey.”

The smile at Macaque’s lips tugged in an odd way, an angry way, before he tried again, “C’mon, Master. I promise I’ll behave. Quiet as a mouse, honest, I just wanted to bring you some water.” And despite his annoyance with this mortal monk, Macaque found himself telling the truth. He just wanted to give this mysterious monk some water.

He had a goal, certainly, he wouldn’t be walking around in a body that wasn’t his if he didn’t, but hurting this monk wasn’t part of his plan. Even watching the memory, knowing very little of what was going on, Macaque understood that this monk, however irritating he was, didn’t necessarily have to be hurt for the plan to work. Whatever plan that was.

“You always claim that you’ll behave,” the monk replied shortly, “and I have yet to see you make good on that promise to me.” He waved a hand, a clear dismissal. “Go to Guanyin with your pleas, if you must. I will not bring you any further on this Journey.” His gaze flicked to the bowl of water in Macaque’s hand. “And I would rather die of thirst than take water from you.”

Which was just the north side of stupid, in Macaque’s opinion, though he supposed he could respect the resolve. “Don’t be ridiculous, Master,” he tried. “Who would take on the pilgrimage to India if you died of thirst? I doubt Pigsy and Sandy would be willing to do it without you.” He held out the bowl of water. “And Guanyin would simply tell me what we both already know.”

At that, the monk’s brow raised, “Oh?” He said dryly, “And what is it that we both know?”

“You can’t make this journey without me,” Macaque replied easily. “There’s a reason I’m on this pilgrimage, and it’s not so you can banish me from the group. Who’s going to rescue you the next time a demon decides to make you their dinner, hm?”

“It’s none of your concern whether I’m rescued or not,” the monk said coolly, “since it’s no longer your responsibility.”

Frustration ebbed away at Macaque’s patience. The monk had banished Wukong from the journey plenty of times, and had always taken him back. Surely, he couldn’t be this stubborn about a mishap and a bowl of water. “You know, I don’t understand why you always make this difficult.”

“Me?” the monk asked in surprise, and Macaque almost laughed at the sudden expressiveness. So much for the stoic monk, “I’m making things difficult?”

“This journey could have been done and over with ages ago,” Macaque said. “How many demons have we fallen victim to because you refused to believe me when I said that the ‘wounded mortal’ was an illusion?” The monk scowled, a small victory. “I fight the demons, I find you food, I fly to Guanyin for help, I bring you water,” Macaque gestured to the bowl still resting in his hand, “and you’re too difficult to even accept a kind gesture.”

The monk turned away, brows furrowed in barely concealed anger. “A wholly unnecessary gesture,” he said. “I had not asked you to bring me water, Monkey.”

Macaque rolled his eyes. “Well, who needs a gift horse to bite them when they have you, huh?” He glanced to the horse, still resting peacefully in its patch of sunshine. “No offense.”

“I believe it’d be best if you left now, before my fellow pilgrims return,” came the sharp reply. “I care not where you go, Monkey, but I will not allow you to stay here and scorn me for not accepting a gift that I did not request.”

“Oh, but you can scorn Wukong for whatever you please, huh?” Macaque spat, anger finally bleeding into his voice. “He’s one prayer away from having his head split in two at any given moment, and you expect him to be a perfect circus monkey about it?” He snarled angrily, Wukong’s agonized screams echoing in all six ears. “What more does he have to do before-”

“He?” the monk interjected suddenly. Macaque blinked, trying to piece together the sudden shock on the mortal’s face. His brown eyes flitted over Macaque, realization dawning on both of them as the shadow’s poor choice of words revealed, “You’re not Wukong.”

“Ah,” Macaque said quietly, setting aside the bowl of water he’d brought for the stubborn monk, “and I was doing so good there for a minute.” He stood and brushed off his hanfu, only mildly irritated at the setback. His plan didn’t necessarily require the other pilgrims to work. There was always Plan B. “Had you fooled there for a while, though, didn’t I?”

To the monk’s credit, and to Macaque’s surprise, he appeared to be taking the news rather well. He could almost hear the thousand thoughts racing through the mortal’s head, eyes darting over Macaque frantically, muted panic stuttering his heartbeat. Still, relatively calmly, he asked, “Who are you?”

Macaque chuckled, “Not important.” He crossed his arms, abandoning his attempts to mimic the king’s mannerisms. “What’s important is that you don’t get in my way, so I’ll just go ahead and take these,” he gestured to their supplies, two bundles wrapped in blue felt, “and hope that it keeps you from getting too far.” Turning on his heel, Macaque walked to the luggage settled next to the horse.

“Stop!” a voice cried out before he could haul the supplies anywhere, a sharp, staccato sound that sounded torn from the monk’s throat. Like it was taking all his courage to stand up to Macaque, and it probably was. “You cannot-”

“Aw, but I can,” Macaque disagreed, turning to the monk, who had stood to face him properly, though that hardly made him less vulnerable. “What won’t happen is you stopping me.” He tilted his head. “And I wouldn’t try, either. I’ve seen you fall off your horse for demons a whole lot less scary than me.”

“Less frightening, perhaps,” the monk said, “but with far more malicious intent than you, it seems.” Macaque’s eyes narrowed, not expecting a rebuttal, much less an accurate one. As much as Macaque wanted to trick, and maybe intimidate, the monk, he didn’t mean the mortal any harm. “Most demons would have tried eating me by now. Or at least attempted a kidnapping.”

Humming, still debating whether he should be annoyed or impressed with the monk’s backtalk, Macaque replied, “Lucky for you, I’m not most demons, and I couldn’t care less about you or the other pilgrims. This is between me and Wukong.” He flashed the mortal a grin. “Good thing you don’t care what he’s up to, right? Makes my job easier.”

The monk swallowed, his stoic expression twitching a bit as his heart raced faster. Macaque raised an eyebrow, once again leaning towards being impressed with the mortal’s resilience. Clearly, the monk was scared of him, and yet, “What reason could you possibly have for doing this?” he asked cautiously, “Wukong hasn’t-”

“Now he’s ‘Wukong’, huh?” Macaque deflected, “What happened to ‘Monkey’? Did you get tired of demeaning the celestial being who’s kept you safe for the last nine years?”

Weirdly, annoyingly enough, the monk didn’t seem phased by the question. “Why do you want to disrupt the pilgrimage?” he pressed.

Macaque heaved a sigh, “Oh, what do you care? I’ll still carry out your precious pilgrimage to India.” He waved a hand flippantly. “I was just gonna take Wukong’s place and travel with you, but since you’re being difficult,” the monk set his jaw at that, hissing a bit through his clenched teeth, “I guess I’ll just go get the scriptures myself. And then you won’t ever have to deal with Wukong again! Seems like a win-win all around, if you really think about it.”

Confusion flitted across the monk’s expression. “Is it… is it the glory you seek? Fame? Why would you-”

“Glory?” Macaque laughed incredulously. “I see no glory in escorting an oblivious monk to India. And as for fame, I only want the attention of one person, and it’s certainly not any of you mortals.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen war on a celestial level, fought more battles than you’ve lived years, and I’m barely a footnote in history. Glory and fame mean nothing to me.”

“Then-” and then the monk’s breath hitched, eyes widening slightly. “It’s Wukong,” he whispered. Macaque stiffened, tail lashing angrily. “Glory and fame mean nothing to you, but Wukong does. You care for him.” The monk wasn’t entirely wrong, Macaque did care about Wukong, but his current motives were driven less by care and more by anger.

Macaque smiled, though it felt more like baring his teeth, “Sure, I care. We’ll go with that.” He summoned a staff to his hand, a spiked cudgel that had the monk flinching away. “I really am sorry about this, by the way. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not gonna hit you with the spikey end.”

The sentiment probably didn’t make the monk feel any better, and neither did the swift blow to his head, but Macaque was far past the point of caring. He caught the unconscious man on one arm, the cudgel vanishing from his hand as he slowly lowered the monk to the ground. A kindness that hardly mattered, all things considered, but it wouldn’t do the mortal any good to hit his head twice.

“No wonder he likes you all so much,” he muttered. “None of you can ever make anything easy.” He straightened, glancing down to the bowl of water he’d brought for the monk, watching as the ripples smoothed until he could see his reflection in the water’s surface.

Familiar gold eyes stared back at him, and a circlet glittered tauntingly where it sat on his head. Macaque’s face twisted angrily just catching a glimpse of it, the watery picture of Wukong contorting into a furious snarl. He hadn’t been thrilled about recreating the disciplinary device, but if he wanted the illusion to be seamless, he needed to commit.

And if there was one thing Macaque was good at, it was committing to any and all stupid ideas involving Wukong.

With the monk out of the way, Macaque grabbed the bundles of supplies and looked around. The pig and the sand demon were still aimlessly wandering the woods, as far as Macaque knew, but listening out for any other demons seemed like the least he could do before leaving the sleeping monk be. Everything he’d done would be pointless if Buddha’s precious monk got eaten by some lesser demon seeking an easy route to immortality. He’d seen firsthand what happened to the people who picked fights with the Buddha, and he didn’t feel like being trapped under a mountain.

A faint sigh made his ear flick, a change in heartbeat alerting him to the horse waking from his slumber. For a moment, Macaque panicked, before realizing that the mishap could just as easily work for him rather than against him. The horse startled slightly at the sight of Macaque–at the sight of Wukong –and its green eyes flicked to the unconscious monk.

Flames engulfed the horse, blinding Macaque with green light as a dragon appeared before him. It was funny, Macaque thought, that the dragon-horse almost looked betrayed seeing Wukong standing over their injured master. Betrayed, and maybe disappointed, but not necessarily surprised. Macaque could sympathize.

The dragon coiled, poised to strike, but Macaque simply took a step back. “Sorry, bud,” he said, summoning a tree’s shadow to make a portal. “I’d stick around for a chat, but I think we both know it’s not my strong suit.” The chatting, certainly, but the sticking around?

Macaque couldn’t get Wukong to stick around with centuries of friendship. What right did the pilgrims have, after less than a decade of tormenting him with the Celestial Realm’s leash?

He took a step behind the tree just as the dragon lunged, the portal dragging him out of sight, shadows pulling him into the darkness with a racing heart and a sure smile. Macaque closed his eyes against the comforting stillness, letting out a breath he’d been holding since he’d first approached the monk. The hard part was over. He had the supplies, he just had to get to India.

Admittedly, he could have been a little more careful about his time management. The memory turned liquid as Macaque opened his eyes again, back on the Flower Fruit Mountain with a book in hand. He hadn’t expected the pilgrims’ belongings to be of any interest, but the small journal he found had proven to be rather entertaining. It mostly consisted of half-baked retellings of their adventures, but Macaque was enjoying himself, nonetheless. And Wukong’s subjects were happy to hear any news about their king, accurate or not.

Footsteps on the mountain pulled Macaque from his reading. The sand demon from Wukong’s pilgrimage–Sha Wujing, was it? did Macaque really care?--making his way up a beaten path to Water Curtain Cave. Macaque huffed, “Showtime, guys.” Truthfully, he hadn’t planned on revealing this particular bit of his plan to anyone, but the pilgrims had caught up a little faster than he’d anticipated. He’d expected to have at least a couple of days to regroup before leaving for India, but hindsight was twenty-twenty.

Macaque portaled out of the cave before Sandy could find it, appearing just behind the blue creature with an amused smile. And because Macaque was nice, he purposefully snapped a twig so that Sandy could hear him coming. He chuckled as the demon whirled around, leveling his spade at Macaque warily.

“Hey, bud!” Macaque greeted with Wukong’s voice. “How’s it going?”

“I am here to retrieve what you’ve stolen,” Sandy stated firmly. “Ao Lie told us everything.”

“Oh, he did, huh?” Macaque grinned, realizing that his plan had worked. The monk must have still been unconscious when Sandy and Pigsy made it back to camp, leaving the dragon to relay what had happened with the very limited information he possessed. “Interesting.” He scratched behind his ear absently. “Did he tell you that I tried offering the monk a bowl of water? Or that I asked to rejoin the pilgrimage, only to be shunned and turned away?”

The demon hesitated, his gaze darting over Macaque carefully. “That is… it was unfair of our master to turn you away so harshly.” It was a practiced choice of words, clearly trying to appeal to Wukong’s ego, and it might have worked, if it were the real king standing in his place, but Macaque wouldn’t bend so easily to a few flowery words. “I understand if you no longer wish to travel with us, and I will not ask you to return with me, or make amends. But even if you no longer wish to journey with us, please, allow me to return with our supplies, so that we may continue our journey west.”

“Hm,” Macaque pretended to consider the request, “the monk seemed pretty certain that you could all make the journey without my help. Not sure why I should have to give you back all the supplies that I gathered, if your master is so confident in your abilities.”

Sandy’s eyes narrowed. “You are hindering the pilgrimage, Wukong. I believe it would be an unwise decision for you to go against Heaven’s wishes in this way.” He lifted his staff, tilting the fanned edge to the sky rather than at Macaque. “I don’t want to fight you, brother. I just want our supplies.”

“Hm,” Macaque tsked, already bored of going around in circles, though he could admire Sandy’s resolve, “no, I don’t think so.”

“The scriptures require a pilgrimage!” Sandy protested. “Even if you make the journey alone, none of us get redemption if we don’t make it to the Buddha with a priest.”

Macaque sighed, “Oh, ye of little faith, brother.” He lifted a hand, signaling Wukong’s four generals to come out of hiding. They were all disguised, one for each member of the pilgrimage. The monk, the pig, the dragon-horse, and, of course, the sand demon himself. “There will be a pilgrimage. I’ve even got my very own monk.”

For a moment, Sandy looked taken aback, “You would replace us?” His face contorted his anger, leveling his spade. “Did we mean nothing to you?”

There were a few different witty retorts that Macaque could think of, most of which involved taunting both Wukong and the pilgrims. What else did Wukong do, if not not replace people? Especially ones so insignificant–a mere decade Wukong had spent with the fools.

But all taunts died on his tongue as the demon lunged with his weapon, launching himself at his clone. “No!” Macaque surged forward, putting himself between the demon and the mock pilgrimage. He stopped the spade with a single hand, though it trembled a bit under Sandy’s strength. The demon was astonishingly strong, but only enough to surprise Macaque, not enough to overpower him.

The shadow wrenched the spade downward, out of the demon’s grasp, and shoved the blunt end into Sandy’s stomach before he could recover. The blow sent the pilgrim sprawling back, scrambling to right himself with the wind knocked from his lungs. Macaque had to be careful of his anger, truly hurting the pilgrims was hardly necessary, they were barely a threat, but any harm coming to the monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain was something he’d never forgive himself for.

His magic flickered from his sudden rush of panic, the disguises on the Wukong’s generals slipping enough that Sandy could who he’d almost hurt. In the demon’s defense, he looked surprised at the flickering magic, and almost ashamed of having attacked an innocent creature. It did little to quell the shadow's anger, however, snarling and putting the disguises back in place. “Leave,” he hissed, tossing the sand demon the weapon, “and tell the pathetic monk you call master to stay out of my way.”

Sandy reached blindly for his spade, his gaze trained on Macaque as though he expected another attack. Macaque watched as he slowly stood, backing away until he disappeared into the treeline, and then he ran, tearing through the woods as soon as he was out of Macaque’s line of sight. The first smart decision the demon had made since stepping foot on the mountain.

“He’ll thank me for this someday,” Macaque told himself quietly. Then he turned to the four generals he’d appointed to join him. “Let’s gather up some supplies for our journey,” he said. He could have simply portaled, of course, but, “If we’re doing this pilgrimage, we’re doing it right.”

The goal was to complete the journey so Wukong didn’t have to, hardships and all. The king had been banished from the pilgrimage, anyway, and tormented with the cursed circlet of gold that adorned his head. Really, Macaque was doing everyone involved a favor. Wukong might not get his enlightenment, but since when did he need it? Since when did he care?

Now, if Macaque ended up getting enlightenment out of the deal, well, that was just an added bonus. Maybe bragging rights. Just a little something to rub in Wukong’s face. They’d laugh about it, once it was all over and done with.

A smile, too sharp to be kind, tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And the moon eclipses the sun.” He turned his gaze skyward. “Your move, Monkey King.”

It was still the sun that Macaque could see when his eyes snapped open again. It was later than he thought it’d be, well past noon, although Macaque supposed he couldn’t be too surprised, it wasn’t like he’d gotten much rest the night before. Lying on his back, head tilted towards the sky, Macaque took a deep breath of salt water air to try and regain some semblance of control. 

Wave after wave of memory crashed into him. A Brotherhood, a war, a prison, the fight- he’d fought the celestial armies, and his argument with Wukong under the Five Elements Mountain cut deeper than any blade. There was not a limb on Macaque’s body free of scars, but centuries of being ignored, dismissed, and then blamed when Wukong’s half-baked plan went awry was all just as damaging.

And, yet, when the Brotherhood wanted to chase after Wukong for joining the pilgrimage, Macaque had tried to talk them out of it. And when Wukong was being tormented by a circlet, it was Macaque that devised a plan to free him. Whether or not that plan worked remained to be seen, but judging from the way Wukong spoke of their current relationship, he could guess that the king hadn't been fond of the plan, successful or not.

The king in question was breathing steadily, his heart slowed its rest. Macaque rose carefully so as not to wake the sleeping sage, and slowly backed away, putting some distance between himself and Wukong. He moved quietly, shuffling across the sand and leaning against the tree.

He was tempted to wake Wukong up to get some answers, grab him by the shoulders and demand why. Why couldn’t Wukong have listened to him, just once? Why try to dethrone the Jade Emperor, why try to kill the Jade Emperor and take his place?

Wukong couldn’t have been the Jade Emperor from Flower Fruit Mountain. Would he have preferred being ruler of the Celestial Realm? Was he really so willing to leave it all behind? Had he even thought about it, or had he been following Azure’s advice blindly? Did Macaque’s opinion truly mean so little, that he’d hurl himself headfirst into a soldier’s doomed mission?

Azure, now that Macaque could remember him, wasn’t a bad person, just a dangerous one. So steadfast in his ideals that he wouldn’t let anything stop him, not even pragmatism. Macaque had no trouble believing that Azure might seize an opportunity to achieve a goal, whether it destroyed the universe or not, and he could admire the goal, the ambition, but not the method, and he’d made that clear to Wukong more times than he could count.

But Wukong never made anything easy. Macaque angrily palmed his ears, slipping a glamor into place. It wasn’t as though they ever did him any good, anyway. No amount of foresight or foresound could have pried him from Wukong’s side, no matter how bad the consequences were. Wherever the king went, the warrior followed, and so the shadow went to war with the rest of the Brotherhood, regardless of how bad of a decision it was. 

The one time Macaque did make a decision of his own, it’d made Wukong so angry that he claimed to never want to see Macaque again. Granted, the decision he made was a calculated one, maybe even a cold one, but Macaque would stand by it, regardless of how angry it made Wukong. They had been surrounded by the celestial armies, Azure at his side, Peng already injured, and Wukong knelt in defeat before the Jade Emperor. Macaque wanted, more than anything, to grab Wukong and run, but what of the Brotherhood, who weren’t nearly as immortal as the sage? Did he leave them to the armies?

And if he portaled Wukong closer, to have him join their defensive circle, the armies would have struck with overwhelming force before he could make a second. The rebellion was tired and Macaque only had time to make one portal. He’d been so certain, as he opened a portal back to Flower Fruit Mountain, dropping himself and the rest of the Brotherhood through white clouds and polished floors, that Wukong would make his capture just as difficult as he made everything else. The king had been subdued once, and he’d escaped a furnace with all his immortality intact.

Surely, even if Wukong couldn’t defeat the Jade Emperor, he could escape. And if he couldn’t escape, he’d survive. For any of the others, it’d have been a death sentence, and he assumed that Wukong would have understood, even if he didn’t like it. Maybe it’d force him to see reason about waging war with the Celestial Realm.

Macaque hadn’t anticipated Buddha stepping in, and he certainly hadn’t been expecting a prison deep within a mountain. He tried to give Wukong his company, if he could give nothing else, and even brought peaches to help ease the discomfort. Wukong was angry, and he had the right to be, but nothing Macaque ever did was enough to satiate the fiery rage, and it ate the king inside out, with no one to take it out on but the only person who came to visit him.

He’d been understanding, at first, slumped against a stone column and content to take whatever poison Wukong might spit at him with little protest. Eventually, Macaque reached a breaking point, and maybe that wasn’t very fair to Wukong, who couldn’t walk away from the argument like Macaque could and couldn’t chase after him, either. But the sage had said that he didn’t want to see Macaque again, and so the shadow, perhaps a bit spitefully, gave the king exactly what he’d asked for.

After all, what else was Macaque good for, if not following Wukong’s orders?

The memory of the Five Elements Mountain made Macaque wince, running a hand over his face as he recalled how angrily the Brotherhood had reacted to the news of Wukong’s escape. He was a spiteful creature, but a loyal one–pathetically so, as Peng so loved to remind him–and he refused to be part of the Brotherhood’s schemes.

In the end, that hadn’t made Wukong any less angry with him, blatantly refusing to come home. So, if Wukong was spiteful enough to journey west with a rag-tag group of demons, led by a monk who tormented him, then Macaque was spiteful enough to do anything he could to stop Wukong from destroying himself. Even if that meant really pissing him off.

Everything that had happened, and all Macaque wanted was Wukong back on the mountain. And if Macaque making a reckless decision to give them both a better life made Wukong angry, then he hoped the king’s rage burned even a fraction as much as Macaque’s had.

Although, tracing the scar on his face with a tentative hand, Macaque had the thought that maybe he’d let that fire burn just a bit out of control.

Macaque’s steadily rising anger was swiftly doused with a familiar voice. It was distant, but Macaque could pinpoint it with little trouble, and MK’s voice rang clearly from the dojo. “Macaque!” he shouted, as though it made any difference how loud he was. “Macaque, I- c’mon, man, I know you can hear me! Flower Fruit Mountain isn’t that far away.” Macaque huffed out a laugh. “Macaque? Macaque!”

The shadow’s gaze slid back to the sleeping king for a moment, considering his options. Wukong had promised to be there when Macaque woke up, and he had been. Macaque had just sat waiting for the sage to rise, stewing on his newest memories, but he supposed that it’d be good to clear his head. He wasn’t sure what MK wanted, but he hoped that he could return before Wukong stirred again. Angry and confused as he was, it wouldn’t be all that nice of him to not reciprocate the kind gesture.

“Macaque!”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Macaque murmured, bending the shadow of their gnarled, miraculous little tree, and opened a portal to his dojo. “I was getting tired of waiting, anyway.”

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Wait, something occurs to me, Esti takes a while to warm to Dorian, but he was Ena's bestie? Please elaborate on this, I am very curious.

Yep!

First, Esti again. Part of the problem for her is how insecure she is, especially pre-Skyhold. She can't stop second-guessing herself, which includes her judgment on people. She has her Traumatic Time-Travel experience with Dorian, which sees her put some trust in him - she has to trust him, he's all she's got - but once that is over and they're back in Haven, I think she's upset with how much she let him see her lose her composure, and then they have a conversation about slavery that goes ass-up, and she kind of goes oh, it was stupid of me to think we could be friends - and she very much tries to puff herself up to look bigger. And I think Dorian would see that (and her, in a sense) as ridiculous.

After the battle of Haven, after Esti manages to survive that, to manage on her own, to chase off Corypheus and make it out, by the time they've settled into Skyhold - like, she's not comfortable with this Inquisitor thing, but she's past her initial fear responses and is trying very hard to pull herself together instead of letting that fear and anxiety keep getting the best of her. Part of that includes working on her relationships with the inner circle - trying to get to know Vivienne and Bull despite being intimidated by them, trying to get to know Sera better despite the nothing they have in common, trying to have a functional working relationship with Dorian... And then Mother Giselle comes to Esti and asks her to lie to Dorian, and Esti's like "I'm not fucking doing that", and that whole thing means that Esti has to spend some time with Dorian and work her way back to stable ground with him. And having to see Dorian vulnerable when they meet his father and he tells her what happened does actually help Esti feel more comfortable with him, knowing that there's more to him than what he outwardly shows, and knowing that she's seeing him at what might be his worst, the way he saw that of her in Redcliffe. They do become friends, and I think are quite close by Trespasser.

All that and I haven't even gotten to Ena yet.

Ena is a lot more secure and confident in herself, even in this incredibly bizarre and unstable situation she's found herself in. Though, when she's uncomfortable, depending on the situation Esti either shrinks or puffs herself up; Ena goes flat and transforms herself into the most featureless, inoffensive version of herself. The Inquisition is on rough footing with the Chantry and indeed the whole world, and Ena is walking a tightrope within that. She determines the best way to survive this is to not piss anyone off - she denies being the Herald of Andraste, because she doesn't believe it, and also because she has the hope (in vain) that the Chantry will be a little less of a threat to her and the Inquisition if they're not riled up about that heresy. Of course, nothing Ena says in that regard really makes a difference. But through the early game, she defers to the Inquisition's experts, argues politely with the likes of Mother Giselle and Chancellor Roderick if she must argue at all, and tries to be nothing more than the hand that closes the rifts, in the hope that she'll get out of this soon and this "Herald" nonsense will stop.

Varric and Solas get to see a little more of her actual self, beneath that plain facade she's throwing up, because they're at the edges of this "Inquisition" thing. They're not the ones with power. Varric's a dude who got dragged here and doesn't seem a whole lot more comfortable with the likes of Cassandra and Leliana than Ena is; Solas might have a poor opinion of the Dalish and not consider Ena one of "his people", but he's an elf and an apostate, and Ena is still going to consider him as one of her people no matter what.

But that said, they're just two people of many, and Ena is well on her way to smothering most of herself by the time she meets Dorian. And he's easy to banter with - Ena has a wit and a sense of humor that she's been swallowing - and that makes her feel a little more like a person than she does much of the time, nowadays. And then they have their Traumatic Time-Travel experience that bonds them together, and when Dorian says afterwards that he'd like to stick with the Inquisition, Ena is genuinely happy to hear that, because she felt they clicked pretty well and she is not going to turn aside someone she felt comfortable with in this whole mess. She's only got a few of those.

They still have a conversation about slavery that goes ass-up, of course, but Ena, being more confident in herself, her judgment, and her ability to handle problems than Esti is, tells him he's stupid, and then she thinks to herself, still, what the fuck's he gonna do? If he was malicious, I never would have made it back alive in Redcliffe. If I ever find out he's done - what's he gonna do? Say some stupid shit to the servants? I'll smack him if he does. That conversation sticks in her mind, of course, but there are so many things that so many people have said to her that stick in her mind. She is willing to accept that Dorian means well, which she is not willing to accept of everyone. (She's so fucking sick of the Chantry hemming and hawing.)

The other thing is that Ena, past her muscles, her protective streak, and her big sword, is a nerd. She wants to know everything she can about everything, and she's especially interested in magic, history, and creatures. That's another part she's start to smother out of herself even before the Conclave; she was taught a lot about magic from an early age with the expectation that she would be a mage and grow up to follow her mother to become Keeper. But she is not a mage, she will never be Keeper, and much as she loved learning about magic, there was no point to continue teaching her. So she buried that part of herself, focused on being a good hunter and warrior for the clan, and used her little free time to continue absorbing all she could learn about Dalish history. That at least would be relevant to her.

Then she ends up in the Inquisition, with a strange magic mark on her hand, a hole in the sky, and tears in the Veil, and she has a reason to know more about magic again. There are mages around who have not been taught in the traditions of Clan Lavellan. They have different areas of expertise than her Keeper, they know things about magic that would never have been relevant to the clan, and Ena pounces on this opportunity. I think Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian would all have things to criticize about the way she was taught, but they could all agree that she keeps up very well for someone who is not a mage and was generally taught about magic with a specific focus on practicality. (The Arcane Knowledge perk was one of the first ones I picked up.)

And Dorian is the guy who helped Alexius figure out theoretical time travel that the Breach allowed to be put into practice, Dorian was able to open a portal to send them back through time, and that is all so far afield from anything Ena ever considered was possible - anything that any Keeper of Clan Lavellan would ever consider possible, because that kind of crazy academic theoretical is not what they are concerned with - that she spends a lot of time picking his brain about how that worked. She isn't able to grasp a lot of it, but she really tries to. And he would be more than happy to let her tell him how smart he is in exchange for some time spent trying to explain things to her.

And then when he needs a break, he shoos her off and she goes to ask Solas about the Fade.

So, between "sense of humor that she likes" and "also a nerd even if he thinks he's very cool", Ena spends a lot of time with Dorian, enough for them to become close very quickly, and for Mother Giselle to very quickly become concerned.

[beesmygod]

The AI art stuff has put people in such a weird space. Like people are going all doomsday cult over what looks to me like another tech-bro art bubble thats gonna burst, and they're often doing it in a way that like places the onous on art as a business as though if ai art gets magically good in 2 years and you can't draw book covers you should stop doing art- like that would be bad but is that *all* art does for lots of you, just give you money? And it treats your average person interested in art like they're irrepairably stupid in a way that can't be fixed. Like I had to unfollow someone for being like "you have *18 MONTHS* to find a niche or get out of art! Nothing we do can stop it! The corps are going to let us DIE! And there is NO ACTION we can take to prevent ud from STARVING! Your average idiot won't be able to tell the difference in 18 months!" etc etc and like dude take a walk. Like you should be prepared and not too proud to work a day job, but like take a walk here. I don't think bored ape 59 ai generating a book cover with too many fingers on a persons hand is gonna take your job.

Idk man am I missing something, because like ai art is obviously bad as is being sold and pushed, but I think people are getting really economic-anxietied over this in a way that is gonna get actively taken advantage of or lead to everyone losing their morals in pursuit of "competing" with ai art (likely before it crashes and they get revealed to be a greedy idiot, but either way as pushing art as like offering no meaning if it can't be sold in the same way ai guys do).

i agree with a lot of this but i recognize that i part of the reasonable fear is that corporations will use this tech in lieu of hiring artists and push through garbage that people will eat up regardless of its obvious poor quality. but this viewpoint is way too cynical for me. in a world where the same corporations hire and fire people based on how much they get yelled at by a sliver of the population online, its impossible for me to imagine an audience that doesnt push back on this by simply withholding money or seeking entertainment elsewhere. you have to have at least some faith in the people who you consider your audience.

there are obvious insane problems. i think the most vile behavior are the generators that replicate a living artist's style without the artist's permission (or, usually, knowledge). mostly because it's such an obviously sleazy and underhanded attempt to undermine the arts further by targeting specific, presumably outspoken artists. but they're the same dumb suckers who were shilling nfts before: they want to be cool so bad, but without putting in any of the effort or time to become so. they want to be able to just buy or press a button to be considered a genius in a field or to be respected for a skill they covet that feels unattainable. it's basically a collective of narcissus-types staring at their own reflections around the office watering hole.

[josieblueart]

Day 2-Flesh

Fun fact! The poor dude that gets Nothing There’d is named after a character from Sinclair’s literary source, Demian!

~🫁~

Come to the old L-Corp branch in Calw for our meeting. Don’t be late~

~The One who Grips

That was the letter that was delivered to Alfon’s door this morning. No explanation, no meeting time, nothing. Had he even scheduled an appointment or something?

Nevertheless, he couldn’t bear to think of what would happen if he was late.

It took some time to figure out how to get into the facility, but even once he got in, he had no idea where she was. The more he wandered, the more uncomfortable he became. Various torture devices, presumably used on heretics, were scattered around the area. Strangely, the smell of blood was more overwhelming than metal or oil.

Finally, he came across a doorway. Instinctively, he knew that this was where she wanted to meet him. A shadow in the corner of his eye swiftly moved, though he was unsure if he had actually seen something.

He was about to knock when a sound caught his attention, making him hesitate. It sounded like a low growl, as if a wild animal had snuck into the facility.

Finally, Alfon knocked on the door, to which it was quickly opened.

“Alfon!~ I’m glad you made it!”

She seemed so cheery, not what he was expecting from The One who Grips. “I’m honored to be called upon, O One who Grips.” He said, trying to hide his slight anxiety. In response, she laughed. “Oh please, just call me Kromer. Now come in here.”

As he followed the woman, he couldn’t help but wish he was back at his room drunk off his ass, with how unsettling the facility was. “I’ve been testing the EGO equipment left over from this old place.” She paused for a moment, turning to him. “You do know what I mean by EGO, right?”

His mind scrambled for a quick response that didn’t seem stupid. “Yes! Of course! Ever since L-Corp fell, its technology was made public by The Head.” She smiled at him, before continuing.

“Good, that will make things go by quicker.”

He watched Kromer approach a nearby chest, digging in it for a while. Finally, she procured a set of armor, resembling the standard inquisitor outfit. The only difference was that the right arm piece was colored red. “I’ve been able to infuse the original EGO with the inquisitor uniforms, just so it fits in better.”

He didn’t get time to question her priorities before it was shoved into his hands. “Put it on.” She ordered. Alfon was quick to obey, hurriedly equipping the armor. After it was fully equipped, a strange feeling of comfort washed upon them.

Then, without warning, the comfort was replaced with a horrible tightness. As he fell to his knees, Kromer started to speak to him once more. “You feel it, don’t you? There’s a reason why I chose you.”

Something was slowly attaching itself to his skin, making his skin crawl. Just as he wished for it to go away, however, it retracted. “Even if it’s a diluted version of the original, there are still requirements that you must meet, so that you won’t be taken over.”

The more he continued to resist, the harder it became to stay in a steady mind. All the while, she continued to speak. “Nagel und Hammer values the flesh more than anything, and this EGO…” She laughed, a sound that grated his ears. “Oh…it’s wonderful, and now, you’ll get to experience its gift.”

She crouched down, a horrible smile painted across her face. His mind continued to become clouded. As he looked down at his arm, his blood ran cold.

It was covered in a red mess, covering every last inch. Spikes had protruded from the skin, and holes started to open, either revealing an eye or a mouth. The growth had already started to spread beyond his shoulder, and onto his face.

It was nearly impossible to think straight. Kromer continued to speak about humans and the body and whatever, it had become white noise at this point. One sentence had pierced through the static in his mind.

“Just give in already.”

For a moment, he stopped his resistance. He was nothing but a tool for her crusade, why should he be resisting? Everyone else did so, it was only natural, right? All his time, he devoted himself to following her orders, after all, it was the closest thing he had to home. But for something like this? It was insane!

Alfon, in his conflicted mind, had let down his guard, and in turn, his body was taken over.

By the end, he was simply a beast of flesh. His right arm transformed into a blade covered in spikes, eyes, and mouths. The right half of his face was covered in the growth as well, the eye becoming useless. Kromer laughed at the sight. “That’s better. Now come along, I have a place for you to rest.”

Without hesitation, the humanoid followed. He was nothing of his prior self, yet everything of what an inquisitor should be in Kromer’s eyes. The purest example of what she wished for.

[biganimal92]

update for the 4 of you reading this that care (this isn't meant to be pessimistic I just mean that very few of my friends follow me on here lol)

I feel like my art has been stagnating for a long time and it's mostly because I limit myself to fandoms and the attention I get for my fanart messes with the way I value my self-worth so a few months back I decided I wanted to start doing a lot more with my art to gain more personal fulfillment and to give myself a direction i actually wanted to take it in so that i felt like i was making progress and going somewhere with it. I was making plans to create a proper portfolio of things that weren't star wars yaoi or the dudes from fall out boy fucking, and I was planning on launching a YouTube channel where I posted speedpaints and stuff and I actually made some decent progress

I drew something I was really proud of and I knew the content in it would be pretty popular despite still technically being fanart, and I had a time-lapse recorded for it and everything, I was even halfway through the script. I also had a number of original drawings I'd done that I never posted anywhere and I felt like by this time I should have been able to properly launch this stuff and start taking appropriate steps to have my art reach a wider audience.

butttttt then my laptop died suddenly and randomly (i was literally using it just fine, i lifted it up from my lap and it shut off and wouldnt turn back on) and it's been in the repair shop for a week and they still don't know what's wrong with it. they think it's a motherboard issue and if it ends up being at least $600 to repair it I'm just getting a new laptop. I think they can transfer the data on the hard drive to an external that I have and if so that'd be wonderful because that laptop contains all the work I've been doing these last few months for this thing I wanna do with my art.

thankfully since then my roommate is letting me have one of his backup gaming pcs (he works in tech so he has plenty) and I've been able to get set up there in case I need to start my progress over, but the issue is that it's a Linux and clip studio literally doesn't work with Linux because the desktop version of the program apparently relies on either edge being installed if it's windows, or safari being installed if it's Mac. so I can't sign in or download the full version, I'm stuck with the super limited trial version, and because of this I've been trying to get comfortable with Krita. which thankfully can record time-lapses.

my mental health has only been improving since moving to Seattle despite some pretty low lows so thankfully, even though this is uh a pretty big deal all things considered, I'm handling it really well. I had one horrible encounter with a psychiatrist when trying to get treatment for my anxiety and adhd, but since my insurance here sucks since I'm poor and nothing has worked for my other issues I've been fortunate to be able to see doctors about, I've officially become a crystal mommy and I've resorted to ~alternative medicines~ and as a result I've had a considerable amount of improvement in a very short amount of time with the things I've struggled with getting help with from a professional psychiatrist. so yeah, I'm only getting better

biggest issue that still impacts me is that my attempts at befriending people irl have not borne much fruit, granted I haven't been trying super hard but with a huge covid spike coming up soon, said weak attempts are going to have to be put on hold for the time being. especially since the main thing I was literally going to do as soon as Christmas was over was join this drawing group that meets up every other Sunday, but now I don't have my laptop so it'll just have to wait regardless of what the state of things are looking like otherwise

uhhh what else. oh yeah I got into Chinese yaoi and Indian cinema and I got out of my head enough to start playing genshin impact again so basically I'm a huge faggot ama

OH SHIT I forgot to mention I got another horrible job and I'm kind of trapped into keeping it for at least a year unless something catastrophic happens because it's giving me really important experience in the field I'm trying to go into, but when I say it sucks I mean it's probably the most disorganized place I've ever worked at that wasn't a locally owned franchise. I work at an open-access low income healthcare organization that's all over Seattle so when I say it's terrible and disorganized I think you get the picture

anyway I don't know how often I'll be on here but I'm bored and lonely and scrolling through tumblr seems like a better use of my time than spending an entire shift looking at r/shittyfoodporn

[palmtreepalmtree]

Another week, another opportunity to watch...

The Worst Movie on Netflix Right Now™

This is another special request, this time from my friend Jaycy, who has now established that she is entirely trustworthy in recommending VERY BAD MOVIES, because this week I'm reviewing a new Christmas classic called Christmas on Mistletoe Farm.

As you can see by the one-sheet, this is not one of my usual movie types as it's really more of a family movie. But it's also completely in my wheelhouse by being ABSOLUTELY BATSHIT INSANE. I mean just look at that poster! Are these real children? Are they poorly photoshopped mannequins? WHO KNOWS?!

This movie is about a young London widower named Matt who inherits a country farm from his estranged father and decides to temporarily move his young children there while he works on a make-or-break pitch to keep his job.

If that sounds coherent, that's entirely a testament to me and my writing, because this movie is as coherent as your drunk co-worker trying to relay a story to you at the unadvisedly open bar company holiday party. Only less fun.

Real talk, this movie should come with a fucking WARNING because it is so anxiety inducing, I had to turn it off midway and continue watching the next day. This poor single father is just trying to keep his job and his life together for his kids AGAINST ALL ODDS.

This movie is real high on intensity while being very low on details. My dude has to make a VERY SERIOUS business pitch, but for what? I have no fucking clue. He has five children (I counted them on the poster) and I recall their names being repeated several times, but they're largely treated as a collective so we'll just go ahead and refer to them as THE CHAOS OF CHILDREN (the collective noun for a group of children is 'a chaos' right?)

This is that type of Christmas movie where a BAHUMBUG person just needs to listen to their children and be more open to the spirit of Christmas to become a better person, but you know what? That's bullshit in this movie.

The CHAOS OF CHILDREN put their father through absolute hell throughout this movie. Single dad Matt is just trying to keep a roof over his kids' heads by holding onto his job and/or selling this inherited farm, but his CHAOS OF CHILDREN are there to thwart his every move.

I get that this is a kids movie, but usually when there's a sweet holiday message, the message at least makes sense. By the end of this movie we're expected to believe that learning crafts and crochet at school is just as valuable as learning math and reading! And that a father trying to do his job is somehow failing his children! And that an entire village of strangers understands what a widower father needs to do for his children better than he does! And that his CHAOS OF CHILDREN know when it's time for him to remarry better than he does!

And this joyous spectacle of ANXIETY and FAILURE culminates in a simply deranged American-style "hoedown" in the British country village that I do not even have words for.

Look, this movie is for children. I hope your own CHAOS OF CHILDREN enjoy it, but I do not recommend it unless you want them to start thinking they should be making all of your important financial decisions for you because that is the message of this movie.

Can I recommend a fine vintage Muppet Christmas Carol instead?

[haunted-linguini]

Hi I want to request a match up if it's not to difficult?

I'm a 5'1 ft girl with lower bust black hair, slightly tanned skin and asian. I have wavy, thick, uncontrollable and alot of volume hair. I love sweets but will often avoid cakes, picky eater and will enjoy the more simple meals than the more complicated and fancy ones. My love languages is Acts of Services(Giving), Words of Affirmation(giving and receiving) and Physical touch(giving>> and receiving>). I love the night time, sketching and drawing, nature, reading, writing, playing games, laying down, I am fascinated by anatomy and would often study it to draw f*cked up sh*t(g*re) in my sketchbook. I would describe myself as a shy person at first, not engaging in conversation at first but it would take a while for me to be comfortable but I am quite chaotic once gotten to know. I enjoy my safe space(bedroom) and treasure privacy the most. I am anxious often and would overthink about the smallest thing, but also get distracted quite easily but will end up always remembering the thought that caused me anxiety. I have poor memory and forget easily:(( I have bad habits. I like to cling and do anything for attention whenever I feel left out or unappreciated from time to time. I have a stuffed animal I still sleep with, I cannot go to bed without it. I love horror but get scared easily. I take attention to alot of things, and will add many meaning to everything I do(Deel meaning towards the nickname I give, emotional significance to the slightest action I make) and I have a bad sleep schedule and often sleep at near 4-5 am. Also I have Teratophilia... I guess that's all! Sorry for the long description btw.

this one was hard for me to match because this fits two people perfectly, but the monster fucker thing (no offense because SAME) rlly sealed this for me. enjoy qt! <3

i match you with: Eyeless Jack!

eyeless first found an interest in you when he saw you making a detailed sketch of someone torn apart by a clawed creature

and it being anatomically accurate??

made him kind of suspicious because you did notttt look like the type to engage in such things

was def into it tho

very observant - the type to leave little things he'd think you'd like without saying it was him

new, expensive pencils? that was him. a book he overheard you saying you wanted? also him. new game? all him!

with the help of BEN cOugh

would 100% be the type to ask you out by surprising you with an actual human heart in a box w a note that says "you stole my:"

he's corny like that

does NOT understand the sweets thing; he is very much a savory/salty kind of person

DOES, however, understand being picky

bro is on some hannibal lecter shit

eyeless enjoys being the "protector" in some aspect of his life rather than the threat - so he lowkey has like 'damsel in distress' syndrome but FOR you

all around a pretty awkward dude, so he totally gets the 'awkward' phase of talking to you

"so what do you like to do for fun?"

"........murder (???????)"

he is also highly attentive to detail and can read you like a book

*you changing the posture of your shoulders*

"what happened at work?"

makes sure to NEVER make you feel not included, especially in group settings

very much the type to get asked a question and be like "yeah blah blah blah, but my SIGNIFICANT OTHER-"

shows you he adores you through damn near constant affection + the leaving of corny cute notes (that may or may not be in someone else's blood)

....understands the monster fucker urges

does notttt blame you ;)