#the!!! FEELINGS!!! and the turmoil mc felt through the whole story

[auraleeknow]

ok so i didnt realize the tags have a limit nor did i realize i wrote thirty fucking tags and i still wasnt done. so. tags cont 🥰🥰🥰

and like, idk it sounds like the wedding was all out, so like YEA. THAT'S A BIG THING TO JUST CANCEL. so ofc she had reservations about calling it off the closer they got, but im so glad she left him. cause like in the missing ring scene, it felt like she was more scared of *jung* and how he'd retaliate for the ring being lost more than the ring itself. like baby, forever isn't supposed to feel like a scary life sentence, and im so glad she realized it while spending time with min again. and idk! part of me does still think that maybe min should have taken time to go to his parents. that maybe just a little bit of time, just a little, for both of them to clear their heads and sort out their feelings. mc just kept digging and digging and digging this hole deeper and deeper and while yes, she did eventually dig herself out, she's still exhausted and covered in the debris of it all. and I know minho would hold her, clean the dirt off her himself while she rests in his arms, safe and loved and protected, it's so unfair to minho that he continuously has to be the one to bear the weight and the pain her emotional immaturity causes. like his frustration at the end where he was like *so u waited until the day before ur wedding to say something 🤨* I WAS LIKE RIGHT?????? like idk i just feel like he has every right to be wary of how mc actually feels about him, about them, about everything they'd been doing for the last two months, when she couldn't even be honest with herself for years.

i really do think this story feels *the most* human out of all your fics ive read so far. there is just so much realistic flaw within the mc and the people around her, and its not just magically changed or fixed or disregarded by the end. its there until the last moment, but minho looks at her and still wants her, mess and all. god.

also jung get fucked u stinky little man. he sounds like hes got the emotional maturity of a 10 year old with holographic pokemon cards or something like wtf. LIKE IDK IF I READ THAT PART WRONG BUT WHEN HIS BUDDY WAS MAKING THOSE COMMENTS DURING GOLF???? AND TOUCHED MC WITH THE CLUB????? mc is better than me bc i would have SWUNG. and jung didnt say shit!!!!! he was laughing!!! hes so fucking gross mc baby what did u ever see in this stinky little clown man

anyways this was a banger and once again im asking for ur hand in marriage bc wtf star ur so good at this AND IM SO SORRY ABT THE LONG TAGS AND THE RANT DOWN HERE I JUST HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABT THIS FIC

Begged & Borrowed

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 30.2k

Warnings: infidelity, drinking, smoking, use of pet names, unprotected sex, breast/nipple play, dry humping, clitoral stimulation

Synopsis: A turn of events causes you and your longtime best friend Minho to confront your true feelings for each other- except you’re already getting married to somebody else.

[this work was based off a request from “🌷” anon - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

For as long as Minho has remembered, he’s been in a constant state of grieving. But no one’s passed, nor is there any reason to believe something should happen. Nonetheless, the feeling remains, a cruel reminder of the phenomenon when it hits him suddenly, eating away at his thoughts and boring into his flesh.

Like a seed planted deep in his body, one that suddenly sprouted, and won’t stop growing, and growing. And in his mind, this grieving takes its form in viridian hues of ivy, thin stringy stems that wrap around his bones and constrict him to a life lived within the cage of his own body. Rubbery leaves of green with venules that mirror his own veins and seem to mock him as they replace what’s left of him. And Minho can do nothing except coexist with this heavy sense of grieving, let the ivy strangle him in its unsuspecting embrace and rob him of his last breaths. He’s still in there, trapped somewhere, breathing in labored breaths and stiff at the limbs. But he can’t breathe, and he fears one day this grieving is going to kill him.

*

Minho exhales deeply, balancing a small cardboard box which houses a white cylindrical cake in his hands, his eyes darting nervously over the crowd inside. There seem to be 20, maybe 30 people, already acquainted with the space, chatting amongst themselves with glasses of champagne in hand. He’s tried your cell phone twice, to no avail- of course he knows you’re probably making your rounds, chatting with guests and double checking the hors d’oeuvres are to your liking. But he tries one more time just in case, bringing the phone up to his ear and letting it ring once, twice, three times- voicemail.

There’s no way around this but to go inside and socialize for the next hour, Minho’s personal idea of hell on earth. He grips the box a little firmer with one hand, using the other to slip his cell phone back into his pocket and make sure he can access it easily, just in case he needs to look busy. And with one more deep sigh, he begins the journey inside, mentally preparing to pretend as though he cares about any of this.

The venue interior is spacious, and admittedly a breathtaking view at this proximity, much to Minho’s stubborn dismay. Round white tables line the wooden floors, wrapped in velvety cream tablecloths and glowing in the dim lightning of tea candles. Similar cream-colored lanterns line the ceilings in neat rows, parallel to the strings of bohemian bulb lights that serve more as decoration than to actually brighten the place. And by the marble wall fountain at the back of the open space, there’s you, all dressed up and chatting enthusiastically with a group of women. Minho pauses for a moment, not yet proceeding, as he takes in the sight of your elegant appearance. Your figure is hugged delicately by a slim-fitting dress, a pair of strappy heels complementing the loose curls and simple makeup you sport. And he sighs again, feeling as though this is all going to be in vain the second he approaches you.

Yet he doesn’t even have to- you spot him from across the room first, whispering something in another woman’s ear before making your way toward him, an enchanted smile on your face and such purpose in your step as you near him. Minho’s heart quickens in his chest the way it always does when he’s around you, though his demeanor seems to relax fully once you’re in front of him, your arms extending for a hug as he shoots you a saccharine smile and pulls you into his embrace.

“You made it!” You exclaim enthusiastically, your arms wrapping around the broad shoulders he flaunts under his white collared button-up. He smells familiar, a comforting mix between fabric softener and his musky cologne, and it brings you right back to your days spent alongside him in college, catching late-night movies together and hitting up all your favorite fast food joints.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Minho replies sweetly. He chuckles a little as he speaks, lost in the striking glow of your eyes at this proximity, your long eyelashes fluttering as you smile in response and nod.

“Thank god you’re here,” you voice, glancing around the room inconspicuously. “I think Jung’s friends have had one too many shots. And I asked for pink flowers on the centerpieces- do these look pink to you?”

You gesture to the bouquets of very magenta floral arrangements, shaking your head as Minho laughs in response.

“Hey, remember this is just to celebrate everything being finalized. You can get nit-picky when the wedding rolls around- for now, let’s just enjoy the magenta flowers.”

You smile up at him, always endeared at the way Minho finds the good in everything. He has a special way of taking your fears or reservations and making them seem so insignificant in contrast to the world around you. And he’s been that way for as long as you can remember, quick to fix things and stay by your side through the hardships whenever they crept up on you.

Like the time your car got impounded and he walked nearly two hours with you to get it back because neither of you could afford a taxi. Or the time your holiday office party was all but sleep-inducing, and he didn’t hesitate to drop what he was doing to take you out for burgers, instead.

And of course, being by your side throughout this very burdening wedding process. Minho’s the first person who got the news of the engagement when it happened, nearly shattering the dish he washed during a session of old cartoon reruns and fast food while you were out at dinner with Jung. And it was the last thing he’d expected, too, remembering how the week prior was spent lending a kindly ear to you as you ranted about Jung’s stubbornness and his poor temperament.

“Married?” He’d spoken into the phone, like the proposition of getting an engagement ring implied literally anything else.

And when you saw him again an entire week later, the marquis diamond hugged by delicate prongs and a sterling silver band around your fourth finger confirmed the words, as if your excitement over the phone hadn’t done so already. At first Minho was angry, declining invitations to hang out and forcing himself to stay asleep so as not to feel the sheer pain and regret that came with the news. What does she even see in him? He’d asked himself a dozen times a minute, mapping out the factors you complained about to him and weighing them against the likelihood that you’d actually follow through with this wedding.

He’s messy. He doesn’t like spending money on fancy dinners, so sometimes we’ll only do sides. My parents think he’s a little arrogant and when he’s with his friends, it’s like I don’t exist.

All signs point to negative. There’s no way you’d actually follow through with marrying Jung- at least not if it’s up to you. Maybe you had stars in your eyes, couldn’t say no to the sparkly ring and had thought back to the first date when he first got down on one knee. That has to be why you said yes.

The prospect of marrying him contractually is a headache when Minho thinks about it- and that’s not even inclusive of the idea that comes with spending the rest of your life cooped up in a house with him, with children and in-laws. It would mean years of him talking back to you, undermining you and rubbing his superiority complex in your face. Minho isn’t sure he could stick around for a lifetime of that.

At least he wasn’t sure before- and now, with just two months out till the wedding, Minho is panicking. It feels like some race against time to knock an ounce of sense into you, but the stars in your eyes are still there when he catches you glancing at your ring, or moved by Jung’s actions that scream the bare minimum.

“Did you see the champagne glasses? They’re iridescent! Jung got them just for tonight.”

Maybe that’s what you see in him. His noble trait of picking iridescent champagne glasses over clear ones.

“Cool,” Minho responds, giving you a small nod.

“What’s in the box?” You ask, gesturing to the small white box in Minho’s hands still.

“Oh, just a little something,” Minho replies a little softly, watching as you slowly lift the thin cardboard lid and peer inside. And the smile that grows on your face makes everything worth it again.

“From our favorite bakery? Minho! That place is so expensive, you shouldn’t have!”

“It’s a special evening,” Minho replies with a smile, watching as you admire the intricate icing display for a moment. White fondant ribbons and candy pearls line the frosted surface which enreathes decadent layers of chocolate- all your favorites. As Minho begins to close the box, he’s rudely interrupted by a finger prodding itself into the dessert, swiping across the frosting and moving the carefully placed cake toppers into complete disarray.

“Is this chocolate?” A voice asks from behind Minho, coming forward to sprawl an arm over your shoulders and lick the frosting off his finger. “Damn, that’s good!”

And Minho can practically feel every ounce of hope in his body dissipate as he watches you giggle enthusiastically.

“Hi, Jung,” Minho says flatly, observing your destroyed cake briefly before shutting the box again.

“What’s up, man? Thanks for the cake. Hey, wedding’s in two months- I hope you have your tux ready!”

Minho responds with a thin-lipped smile, not saying anything as Jung laughs loud enough to fill the awkward silence amongst the three of you.

“What do you say we go cut some real cake?” Jung asks, turning to face you as his grip around your shoulders tightens.

You smile back at him, turning to Minho and cocking your head toward the table by the wall fountain.

“You wanna join? We got a variety of pastries, too. There’s those little cream puffs you like, and macarons from the French bakery.”

Minho extends his arms, passing the box of cake to you and giving you both a small bow.

“I actually just stopped by to gift you the cake. I have a work thing really early tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?” You question, a small pout on your face as Jung scans the room around you, desperate to ditch the two of you, but also stubborn about maintaining his dominance in front of Minho.

“We’ll catch up soon,” Minho replies, trying his best to convey a smile that will make it seem like nothing’s bothersome.

“Okay, okay,” you respond, separating from Jung’s hold on you and pulling Minho in for another hug.

“Thanks for the cake, anyway. I’m still glad you stopped by.”

“Of course,” Minho says, averting his gaze from Jung. “And congrats on finally getting all the wedding plans finalized. That’s a really big deal.”

“She’ll be hitched in two months!” Jung chimes in loudly from behind you. “And then we’ll be on an island celebrating married life!”

Minho just nods at him, shooting him the same thin-lipped smile and bowing to both of you.

“Catch you later,” he says, finally pivoting to exit the way he entered. And he can still hear Jung’s obnoxious laughter from halfway across the room.

*

Fridays were always your designated days with Minho. In college, they meant movie nights and greasy takeout food. Post-graduation, they involved bars and gossiping about your entry level positions and your bosses. And after Jung came into the picture, they quickly became every other Friday, which soon turned to Sunday brunch on a monthly basis, which then transitioned to catching up over the phone or in brief passing. Jung made sure you were always busy doing something with him, his arm slung possessively around your shoulders and speaking far too loudly about your relationship for the whole world to hear.

Minho began to ditch the Friday group dates when Jung started inquiring about his own relationship status, getting drunk off one-too-many jägermeisters and slurring questions and demands about when he’d finally bring a girl to the function. And Minho never had the heart to tell you why he stopped showing- he simply conjured intricate excuses for every instance you invited him out.

I have a headache. I have an early day tomorrow. The cats are lonely these days.

Of course, perhaps Jung could see right through him into the green leaves of ivy that enwreathed his bones and swallowed him whole with this grieving. Grieving for you, grieving for himself, grieving for this life he knew was bound to come to a close the minute Jung made his move. Which Jung did, practically setting the relationship in stone so that Minho would now be subject to a lifetime of his offensive slurred speeches and unsettling presence. And although the grieving grew heavier after the engagement, it’s always been there, perhaps even longer than Jung’s even been in the picture.

“Jung said no male strippers at the bachelorette party, which is a bummer if you ask me. But we are having an open bar, so I’ll be too drunk to care about naked men anyway.”

Minho chuckles softly, bringing the straw in his iced coffee up to his lips and taking a sip from the corner of his mouth.

“But he’s having strippers at his bachelor party, isn’t he?”

You shrug casually, brushing off the question as you take a sip of your coffee, too.

“I don’t really care, either way. I mean we’ll be getting married regardless, so he can look at whoever he wants. I just need him to show up in a tux on the day of, and stand at the end of the aisle crying when I come to meet him.”

Minho doesn’t reply, a string of questions circling his mind, which he chooses not to ask in order to maintain the peaceful silence that now falls over you both. It’s one of the only days this month you two have been able to get some time alone, although it did require Minho taking off work early and you lying to Jung about your whereabouts. You find yourselves at the coffee shop you’ve been meeting at since your college days, an iced americano in Minho’s grasp and a latte in yours.

As Minho takes in his surroundings, everything feels vastly different than it used to- the distance between you two feels much greater, like there are miles separating the beverages you consume at this proximity to each other. The baristas don’t shoot you curious looks like they used to when they were certain you two were an item. And the shiny ring on your finger makes an appearance every sip you take, glistening under the beams of sun that dance through the windows and fall over your enthusiastic figure.

“What are you up to this weekend?” You ask finally, meeting his shy gaze as he taps his fingers on the wooden surface of the table.

Minho shrugs, toying with the lobe of his ear as he thinks of a random commitment to voice back to you.

“Oh, you know,” he stutters. “Moving stuff.”

And he’s completely unsure, himself, of what the words imply as they escape his lips.

“Moving stuff? To where? Where are you moving?”

“I’m not moving,” he emphasizes. “Just… moving stuff. Things. I want to rearrange some picture frames. And maybe reorganize my bookshelf.”

You sigh in response, a small smile tugging at your lips as Minho does his best to maintain the bogus narrative.

“Minho, you never leave the house anymore. Why don’t you go out with Jung or something? He’s doing a golf thing with some of-”

“No, thank you,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not a golfer.”

And you sigh again, cocking your head at him.

“Okay, mister ‘moving stuff.’ Will you at least call me when you’re done moving your stuff and your things?”

“I’ll call you,” Minho reaffirms.

“I mean it. I’m gonna call you when I get home from the party and you better not be asleep on the couch again.”

“I promise to answer,” he echoes.

You smile at him again, and Minho mirrors the action with a small smile of his own, his skewed teeth exposing from behind his plump lips as he grins sheepishly.

“Moving stuff,” you repeat, mocking his excuse.

“Moving stuff and things,” he emphasizes, chuckling lightly across from you.

*

Bachelorette parties are supposed to be one of two things: freeing, and cathartic. Luckily for you, yours checks both boxes, the two-day retreat to a luxury hotel in the city providing ample time to relax, and the shots you down at the open bar in your venue fulfilling the cathartic part of it. Your girlfriends shower you in presents, ranging from expensive dining sets and clothes, to humorous sex toys for you and Jung to try on your honeymoon. Even the bartenders join in on your two nights of dancing, parading your event with handmade signs and getting everyone in the bar to sing to you. And for the first time since the stress-inducing year of planning has begun, you feel excited, ready for your new life as a bride alongside Jung.

Husband and wife have a nice ring to it, you think to yourself, as you kick off your shoes and lie back on the thick white duvet of the hotel bed. And though you’re still a little tipsy, you keep your promise, selecting Minho’s contact in your phone and giving him a ring. The phone rings once, twice and then three times, before you conclude he’s definitely fallen asleep on the couch again, probably while moving around his stuff and his things. But you’re proven wrong on the fourth ring, a gentle click echoing in your ears as you hear him press the phone to his ear and speak in a tired voice.

“Hello?”

“You’re asleep on the couch, aren’t you?”

“…no,” he responds, after a short pause.

“You’re so predictable,” you chuckle back at him, shaking your head as you sigh into the phone.

“How was the bachelorette party?” He inquires, sitting up on the couch he definitely wasn’t asleep on, to speak a little clearer into the receiver.

“It was amazing,” you reply with a dreamy sigh. “We did karaoke, and danced and even the bartenders were wishing me good luck. It was like something from college.”

“I’m glad,” Minho responds, nervously picking at the hem of his ratty old t-shirt.

“I’m a little drunk,” you say with a gentle laugh. “But I couldn’t help but wish you were there. The girls are great, of course, but I feel like bars were our thing.”

Minho blinks nervously a few times, pondering your words and keeping his gaze locked on the array of neatly-placed picture frames on the wall across him.

“Yeah,” he settles on replying, his breath hitching in the back of his throat.

“Do you miss me?” You query, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. And Minho can’t comprehend what’s got you acting like this, flirting with him in the phone line while Jung isn’t around.

“I do,” he responds after a brief pause.

“I’m serious, Minho. As your best friend, I’d hope that you miss me sometimes.”

There it is- the clarification is enough for him to exhale the deep breath he’s been holding in all this time.

“Yeah,” he says again. “I miss you, as a friend. And I’m glad the night was enjoyable.”

“You hate bars,” you say to him. “But you used to let me drag you out to them. I miss you.”

And he nods on the other end, repressing the real emotions that eat away at him like, you might see them over the phone if he feels too deeply.

“I miss you, too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say sarcastically. “Goodnight. Thanks for answering.”

“Sure thing,” Minho replies before ending the call. And the room is eerily quiet now that he’s awake, the clock on the living room wall ticking with the passing seconds, as the ivy in his chest constricts a little tighter now.

*

Jung’s bachelor party is nothing short of insufferable. It’s loud, it’s rowdy, and it’s neither relaxing nor cathartic. Unless you define the two as getting lap dances in a smoke-filled limousine driving down the freeway a million miles a minute.

Minho sits quietly on one side, refusing every advance from the female strippers as they flaunt their beautifully-sculpted breasts in his face and dance to the loud rap music. He pretends to use his phone, having no service in this part of town, and yet still resorting to switching frantically between the compass feature and the weather app. And then he tips each stripper a generous amount, apologizing to them profusely as he gets off at the first stop and orders a cab. Where exactly the limousine is taking them, he doesn’t even care to know. Jung questions no part of it, not even having wanted to invite Minho in the first place. And while Minho waits for his taxi, he calls you, frantically wishing he could remind you Jung’s possibly the worst person you could have chosen to marry.

“Hi Minho,” you speak into the phone, shuffling about on your end as you tend to some household work. “I thought you didn’t get reception wherever you were going?”

“I found a way,” he responds, lying through his teeth.

You narrow your eyes, pausing your work to listen in to the phone call a little more closely.

“Minho, did you… leave?” You question, taking note of the way there’s not a sound in the background of the call- not Jung’s booming laughter, nor any music of any kind.

“No,” he says quickly, and you let out a deep sigh.

“Now you’re lying,” you remark.

“I’m not-”

“You’re talking in short responses, and I can’t see you but I know you’re doing that blinking thing. Why would you leave?”

Unfortunately for Minho, you know him like the back of your hand, always quick to clock when he’s lying to you through his nervous habits. The same habits you’ve studied since your days together in college, and ones he’s never been able to stop doing no matter how hard he tries. Minho lets out a deep sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look, it’s just not my scene, okay? I’m still going to the wedding, it’s not like ditching a bachelor party is going to ruin your marriage.”

You shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“What am I going to do with you? Why are you so opposed to just bonding with him?”

“I’m not!” Minho exclaims. “He wanted to go swimming. I can’t swim.”

Another lie.

“Look,” you begin. Would you just come over if you’re not going? We can talk about it here.”

Minho nods eagerly, the idea of spending time by your side sounding much more appealing than a weekend with Jung.

“I’m just waiting on a taxi,” he says. “I’ll be there soon.”

And when he hangs up, you stare briefly at the contact phone of you two, running your fingertips over the dimly lit screen. It’s an older photo, of you guys in college out at a bar, Minho smiling enthusiastically and giving you a piggy-back ride. And although it’s still Minho, it doesn’t feel anything like the version of him you know now.

*

“I don’t want this to set the precedent for the rest of our relationship.”

“Don’t want what to set a precedent?” Minho questions back.

“This! You running away from Jung every chance you get so that we’re only able to bond when he’s not around! You’re my best friend, Min. Why can’t you guys just make it work so that I don’t have to divide my time between the two of you like this?”

“You had no problem learning to divide it when we were in college,” Minho says frustratedly. “Now that you’re engaged it’s like I’m engaged to him, too. I don’t like the guy, okay? Whatever we make of that as friends isn’t in my hands, but it also doesn’t mean I’m gonna jump at the chance to go golfing with him every weekend.”

You’re quiet for a moment, his frustrated speech circling your mind as he remains sprawled out on your couch. He’s right, to some degree- you know very well that the two of them never got along well. And try as you might, they’re just incompatible in every way possible. Jung’s loud, he’s stubborn, he’ll never say no to a social outing and he’ll only make an effort to get along with someone for a finite amount of time before he’s disregarding their existence, much like he does Minho’s. And Minho is quiet, soft-spoken, only social when it comes to you and takes his stance on a person just minutes after meeting them. They’ve already reached the stubborn conclusion that they despise each other, and at this point in your life, there’s little you can do to change it.

“I just want to know things are okay between us,” you remark.

“Things are okay between us.”

“We haven’t had a proper hangout in months, Minho. I get married in a few weeks and then I’m afraid we just won’t see each other.”

Minho seems to understand the seriousness in your tone, sitting up from the couch to finally meet your gaze. You look disheartened, an expression Minho is used to seeing when you try to set him up with a date or when he can’t make it out to an event. But this time it seems like it has more weight to it, the way you sag your shoulders as you slouch over one of the barstools in the kitchen, completely terrified at the prospect of losing your best friend.

“I’ll tell you what,” Minho breaks the silence. “How about we plan something, just us? It’ll be like old times, and we don’t have to worry about Jung or your friends or anyone. Just for a weekend.”

You meet his gaze, too, promptly glancing at the ceiling as you think over his proposal.

“I don’t know, Jung probably wouldn’t like it-”

“This is exactly what I mean!” Minho interjects. “Everything you do is based on what Jung likes or doesn’t like. We used to go out together all the time- if you only want to hang out when he’s around then yeah, things might be a little different from here on out.”

And the words pierce through you like a dagger, yet again filling your mind with all the regrets that will come with shutting him out for the purposes of pleasing Jung. Minho is right- he’s been your best friend for years. Jung might be your future spouse, but that doesn’t mean your relationship with him has to be any more important than the lifelong commitment you’ve made to your best friend, too.

“Where would we go?” You ask reluctantly.

Minho shrugs casually, lying back down on the couch with his hands behind his head.

“Anything,” he responds. “Your pick.”

And you think over his offer again, mentally mapping out your schedule at work and what you guys might be able to do on a quick weekend together.

“Camping,” you say suddenly, straightening your posture.

“You hate camping,” Minho retorts, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, but you love camping. I’m just doing this to spend time with you, Min. I already spent my weekend in the city. Let’s do something you like and we can have an old friend trip like we used to.”

Minho can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips, endeared by the way you always let him drag you to his favorite places just like you used to drag him. And he knows you’re a city girl through and through- you’ve always been very vocally opposed to accompanying him on his camping excursions. But maybe going together, you’ll have some change of heart if it means you won’t have to listen to Jung share all of his unwarranted opinions.

“Let’s do it,” Minho says confidently. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I’m only doing this for you,” you reply with a smile. “I still maintain that I’m going to hate it.”

*

A yoga retreat.

Jung is made to believe you’re at a yoga retreat, three hours out from your shared apartment, with a close girlfriend you haven’t seen in months.

And maybe it’s because he genuinely believes you, or he simply doesn’t care, but he doesn’t press you for any information about the event, sending you off with a chaste kiss and turning his attention back to the sports he watches on television. He doesn’t even inquire about why you fail to bring your yoga mat, leaving it folded neatly in the closet of your bedroom alongside all your workout clothes.

You do pack warm clothes, blankets and even a matching set of flashlights for when it gets pitch dark like you know the mountains do at night. And as you make your way to Minho’s house with your backpack slung over your shoulders, you’re actually a little excited, the idea of getting some fresh air sounding like a well-deserved treat after the week you’ve had in the city.

“Well aren’t you all ready to go camping,” you say to Minho in an amused tone, admiring the outfit he’s put together for the occasion. He sports a simple white t-shirt and a loose-fitting pair of jeans, coupled with a black cap he wears backwards over his brown hair. He looks a lot simpler than usual- in fact, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Minho in a cap before today.

“You look nice,” you voice to Minho, as he loads his duffel bag in the trunk of the car.

“Me?” He questions, furrowing his brows in genuine confusion. “I’m just dressed for comfort.”

“Yes, you. That cap looks good on you. God forbid I compliment my best friend.”

He chuckles lightly, helping you load your backpack into his car and closing the trunk when he’s finished.

“Ready?” Minho asks, turning to you with a small smile.

“Ready,” you echo, climbing into the passenger seat beside him.

The drive to the campsite is just over an hour long, taking Minho’s vehicle through narrow paths of dirt roads surrounded by trees. The treacherous drive doesn’t seem to faze him at all, as he keeps just one hand on the wheel, while the other rests casually on the car console. You can tell he’s done this drive a number of times before, judging by the way he needs no form of navigation and doesn’t stop to read the directional signs at any point.

“Do we need to pitch a tent when we get there?” You ask, and Minho laughs in response.

“That’s how I can tell you’ve never come here before.”

“What?” You reply with a chuckle of your own. “It’s a totally valid question.”

“Yeah, maybe if we were on Survivor. There’s tents all over the campsite. And picnic tables, and bathrooms and I think there’s a gift shop somewhere.”

You nod at his response, a little more intrigued now that you know it’s not going to be as hands-on as you thought. And when he pulls into the parking lot, he’s right- there are cabins that span the perimeter of the parking lot, presumably bathrooms and information centers about the place.

Minho puts the car into park as he helps you gather your bags, and then you both enter the cabin closest to you, being greeted by an older woman who sits at an information booth.

“Welcome!” She exclaims in a cheerful tone. “Are you folks staying overnight?”

“Yes,” Minho answers, hoisting his duffel bag further up his shoulder. “We’ll be here for two nights.”

“Wonderful!” she replies, gathering a thin stack of pamphlets. She uncaps a red pen, circling a little graphic that indicates a tent, and then slides it over to Minho along the counter.

“You two will occupy this location here- it’s just a few minutes up the hill there. The bathroom is attached to the unit, and there are a few clean towels in the drawers there.”

She slides him two more pamphlets, gesturing to their titles and keeping her gaze on the infographics.

“There’s a guide on plants to avoid, and some wildlife you might run into. Any questions?”

Minho shakes his head, stuffing the pamphlet into his pocket and giving her a small nod.

“No, thank you,” he says, looking over at you.

And the woman shoots you a smile now, gesturing to your hand.

“That is a beautiful ring,” she states, clasping a hand over her heart emotionally.

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile. “I’m getting married.”

She laughs lightly, shooting Minho a thumbs up.

“Enjoy it while you can!”

You’re quick to shake your head at her, taking a step away from Minho.

“Oh god, no, he’s not my fiancé. He’s just a friend.”

And Minho takes a step away, too, giving her a nod.

“We’re just longtime friends,” he echoes your words.

“My apologies,” the woman is quick to say. “Enjoy your stay regardless.”

*

“It never ends,” you say to Minho as you exit. “I can’t believe people still think we’re a couple when we go out.”

“It’s just a common equation,” Minho responds. “Two people. Engagement ring. Camping trip.”

“I know,” you emphasize. “It’s just so weird being so close to my own marriage and still having to tell people we’re not a couple.”

Minho swallows nervously, not entertaining the discussion any further as he takes your aversion to the idea of it as answer enough.

“It’s just up here,” Minho says, gesturing to the narrow dirt path that leads up to your tent.

The tent is a long, rectangular space, the beige tarp even accompanied by clear vinyl windows that zip up for added privacy. The inside houses a small birch wood table pushed against the side, two white folding chairs, and a single bed, just larger than a twin-sized one.

“One bed?” You say as you scan the room, dropping your bags and looking nervously back at Minho.

“All the units have one bed,” he explains casually. “I’ll take the floor.”

“You’re not taking the floor, Minho. It’s freezing.”

“I’ve done it before,” he says, unzipping his bag and pulling out a smaller pouch. “I’ll be fine.”

“But it’s so awkward to have you on the floor while I get a whole bed to myself.”

He disregards your concerns, tossing the pouch to you, which you catch in two hands and examine.

“Bait,” he says with a small smile.

“Bait?” You echo. “You mean like…”

“Fishing,” he says confidently. “We’re catching our dinner tonight.”

*

It’s a fair assumption to say you hadn’t taken Minho’s liking to camping very seriously. Sure, you knew he was partial to the great outdoors and to catching his own dinners. Of course he knows how to pitch a tent and gut a fish. But seeing him do it in action, string a spinnerbait onto his fishing rod and cast his line, watching meticulously as the bobber pulls underwater and he checks if he’s caught a bass yet, you’re admittedly pretty impressed. He looks completely in his element like this, uttering remarks about his “monofilament fishing line” that you don’t understand in the slightest, but you listen to regardless. For a brief moment, you can’t help but feel bad, seeing how much this interests him, when all you’ve ever done in the span of your friendship is drag him to clubs and get takeout together. Maybe you should’ve taken this whole thing more seriously. Maybe you should have accompanied Minho on one of his offers for a fishing trip when you still had the chance to do it without being under Jung’s watchful eye.

“We may need a smaller hook,” Minho says, as he adjusts his rod and stares out at the lake. The atmosphere is lazy and restful, the gentle lull of the lake’s deep blue water sloshing against the rocks that line the shore and swaying with the breeze. There’s a distant buzz of cicadas at this hour, and the swallows circle the vast green trees overhead that rustle in syncopation with the water. You and Minho remain seated on the flat rocks that line the shore, a cooler of ice and a small pouch of bait between the two of you.

Minho’s gaze remains set on the lake, attentively watching the bobber and praying for a bass to latch onto it so that he can instruct you on the de-gutting and cleaning process. But there seems to be no sign of fish anywhere, the only movement being the little ripples that vibrate with the sporadic activity of water bugs.

“When was the first time you went fishing?” You ask Minho suddenly, catching his gaze as he turns to you.

“First time?” He echoes. “I don’t know, maybe age seven? My dad taught me.”

You nod in response, picturing a little Minho alongside his dad, learning the ropes of monofilament fishing lines and all that jazz. You can’t help but smile at the thought of it, knowing Minho was probably so quiet, yet full of curiosity, the same way he is now.

“I wish I would’ve come,” you say finally, letting out a small sigh as you speak. “I wish I came with you on one of these trips.”

Minho shakes his head and waves you off. “Solo camping is one of my favorite things in the world. I didn’t need it to be ruined by all your city girl antics.”

“Hey!” You exclaim with a small laugh, hitting him lightly, and Minho hits you back.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, admiring the way the sunlight glares overhead and sets the water aglow with glints of light that make it almost hard to look at. Minho takes notice of the more casual look you sport, too, void of any makeup and your hair tied back loosely. Similarly, the little imperfections that mark his skin remind you of the Minho you met in college, back when you were both riddled with zits and drank cans of soda for breakfast. And now across from you, acne scars and a handsome face he’s grown into so well, you can’t help but feel your heart swell at the fact that he’s still here, this many years later, regardless of the roadblocks your relationship has taken you through. It’s a miraculous thing to have someone stick by your side knowing you’re getting wed to a person he despises. And you refuse to part ways with him, too, despite the amount of outings he declines in the name of nothing important. What a fascinating prospect, to be reminded that your most unconditional form of love comes in the form of a best friend more than even your fiancé on most days.

You open your mouth to say something, being promptly interrupted by the reel of the fishing line being pulled back, the rhythmic buzzing of the handle startling you both as it’s pulled in circular motions to indicate a catch.

“Oh my god, what do we do?” You exclaim to Minho, a sense of urgency present in your voice as you await his instruction.

“I’ll teach you,” Minho says, as he rises from his spot and gestures to the fishing rod. “Grab the handle, like- yeah, just like that.”

And you do as you’re told, approaching the rod to steady the handle in your grasp. He guides you through the careful motions, steadying your hands a comfortable distance away from the reel seat, pulling back the handle with slow, yet purposeful movements and raising the fishing line away from the gentle current of the water.

“There’s a lot of resistance,” you comment, as you pull even harder.

“Really?” Minho remarks, his hands on his hips as he looks out upon the water. “I wonder if it’s going to be a big one. Keep pulling.”

And you do, heaving the rod desperately away from the water to pull in your catch. There’s heavy resistance at first, and then a generous amount of give to the force, as the line finally glides across the water and begins to pull up toward you.

“Get ready,” Minho says excitedly. “It’s probably going to be a little skittish, just hold tightly and don’t let go.”

As he watches you pull, he takes note of the way the line struggles to move past a barrier in the water, sending ripples down the shore as you continue to pull, to no avail.

“I need help,” you voice frantically. “Minho, take the rod-”

“Just relax,” Minho echoes, coming around behind you and placing two hands over yours. He stands close behind you as he helps steady the rod, gripping tightly and helping you reel it in.

The two of you watch with bated breath as the line finally begins to move again, erratic ripples of water vibrating in the otherwise still lake as you reel in the catch.

“Here it comes!” Minho exclaims, as he continues to reel over your hands with his, his veins protruding with every slight motion as his slender fingers work around yours.

And then the fishing line is promptly pulled out of the water, swinging in front of your view and slowing its swaying motions as you take a gander.

It’s a large, juicy, vibrant hunk of moss.

No fish in sight, no catch of the day, unless for a bottom feeder. Minho says nothing for a moment, placing his hands on his hips again as he takes in the sight of the forest green mass. And then you break the silence with laughter, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh at the ridiculous view.

“What’s so funny?” Minho inquires with a breathy chuckle, transitioning into his own fit of giggles.

“It’s fucking moss,” you exclaim, gesturing to the fishing rod and laughing again. “We’ve been here for hours and we haven’t caught anything besides a fucking byrophyte.”

Minho laughs, too, setting the rod down to clutch his own stomach.

“It’s not funny,” he says between laughter. “We don’t have dinner tonight.”

“Yeah we do,” you say breathlessly. “We have moss.”

And the two of you almost collapse on the gravel, holding your stomachs as you laugh endlessly at the ridiculousness of the situation. The fishing rod remains propped up against the rocks, the slab of moss dangling and dripping murky water back onto the gravel.

When your laughter dies down, Minho sprawls out onto one of the big rocks, the palms of his feet flat against the warm stone as he meets your gaze again. You occupy the spot beside him, your knees bent too, keeping your gaze locked on his as you smile.

“I missed this,” you say after a moment of silence. “I missed hanging out with you.”

Minho responds in a breathy chuckle, running his hands through his hair and rolling his eyes in a joking manner.

“You should’ve come camping with me ages ago,” he says. “We could’ve been eating moss for dinner instead of fast food.”

You chuckle too, and the sunlight beams over your listless bodies sprawled out on the rocks, glints of light hitting Minho’s golden-brown hair and his sparkling eyes. He looks so angelic in this atmosphere, so at peace with the nature around him and in tune with his emotions. For the first time in a long while, there’s nothing present between you and Minho that hinders the relationship you have to each other. He’s just as important to you in this moment as you are to him. And not even the knowledge that you’ve lied to your fiancé to be here with him can come between that.

*

Lucky for you, Minho always comes prepared. Of course he’s dealt with the situation of catching nothing while fishing and needing a plan to fall back on for dinner. So it’s no surprise to you that his backpack contains cups of instant ramen and bags of chips.

“Shrimp or chicken?” Minho asks, as water boils on his portable kettle.

“Surprise me,” you shoot back, getting comfortable in one of the two camping chairs across the bed. You feel a wave of tiredness wash over your body instantly, but you also feel fulfilled, having bonded with Minho more in the last few hours than any of your double dates with Jung and one of Minho’s picks from a dating app.

Minho shuts off the kettle, tearing open packets of vegetables and mixing them with your noodles as he pours hot water in both cups.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Minho remarks, handing you a cup and sliding a pair of chopsticks across the table to you.

“Today was fun,” you say to him, as you blow on a generous serving of noodles and guide them into your mouth with the wooden chopsticks.

“You’re not half bad at fishing,” Minho states. “I think it’s just emptier this season. But your technique’s good.”

“Really?” You query. “I feel like you did most of the work.”

Minho shakes his head, slurping a portion of his noodles before speaking.

“Maybe if you ditched your lame golf nights with Jung and came camping with me more, you could get some practice.”

“Ha ha,” you muse sarcastically. “His golf nights aren’t lame, they’re actually pretty fun. You’d know if you came out to one.”

“Please,” Minho retorts, gathering more noodles with his chopsticks. “Artificial grass and polo shirts aren’t really my thing. Of course they’d be Jung’s, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means even his favorite sport is as fake as he is.”

“Minho!”

“What?” He says in a breathy chuckle. “You asked what I meant.”

You shake your head, stirring broth around in your cup with your chopsticks. You normally don't entertain Minho when he insults Jung like this, knowing he’s just going to get mad and list everything he despises about him. But tonight, being so far away from Jung, it somehow feels permissible. It’s not like Jung is going to materialize out of thin air and find out about his little remarks. You don’t get cell reception out here, and it’s possibly one of your last few intimate moments with Minho to just let loose and joke with him. So you don't say anything, allowing him free reign as he cracks jokes about Jung at his expense. And you don’t feel bad about it, either, knowing Jung wouldn’t hesitate to do the same back at Minho.

The tent falls quiet for a moment as both of you finish your meals, the only noises present between the two of you being slurping the remainder of your noodles and setting the cups aside. Minho runs his hands through his hair and spreads his legs out in front of him as he slouches back in his camper chair.

“I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married,” he says with a breathy chuckle. “That’s still so weird to me.”

“Imagine how I feel,” you emphasize. “The word ‘wife’ still kinda grosses me out.”

“Well you have about a month to get used to it,” Minho replies. And then he gets quiet, averting his gaze from yours as he blinks. “Or a whole lifetime, I guess.”

You stay quiet, too, pulling up your legs to cross them in your chair and nodding reluctantly.

“Yeah. ‘lifetime’ kinda sounds like a scary word, too.”

Minho purses his lips, and then he turns to meet your gaze again, a solemn smile on his face.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he voices. “It can also imply a lifetime of happiness. And of love. Permanence isn’t a bad thing.”

You smile at him, comforted by the optimism he brings to the atmosphere, despite his dislike for Jung, and especially the prospect of you getting married to him. He doesn’t change- he’s still the Minho you know very well, the one who takes your problems and makes them seem so small, so unimportant, until you can’t, in good conscience, worry about them anymore.

“You’re right,” you say back at him. “I’ll remember that when I say my vows.”

You think over his words momentarily, and then you meet his gaze with a knowing smile.

“Do you remember when we had to write an essay about where we’d want to travel if we won the lottery? In our literary analysis course?”

Minho’s eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks for a moment, and then he nods.

“Yeah. You wrote about Europe or something.”

“I did,” you recall. “And you wrote about that one historical town. What was it called again?”

“Shirakawa,” Minho responds. “Small mountain village in Japan where it snows a ton and there are little farmhouses everywhere.”

You chuckle lightly, remembering the countless images Minho had shown you when he was producing his paper on the subject. You can still picture the little brown houses and the vibrant green hills in the summertime. And the winter photos looked like something out of a Christmas movie, fresh snow blanketing the village and painting the town with bright hues of white.

You think over his essay for a moment, remembering just how many times you’d peer edited each other’s papers, and Minho wound up getting the best grade in the class for how poetically he spoke of Shirakawa. He talked about it for several months after the assignment, too, always voicing his desire to visit one day and see all the farmhouses for himself.

“I wish we still had time to go,” you say finally. “I always pictured we’d go one day.”

Minho purses his lips in a thin line, your statement echoing in his ears and the words stinging. It’s moments like these he’s especially regretful you’re getting married to Jung- all the stupid, likely intangible plans you made together and promised you’d fulfill sometime down the line. And now with Jung’s obnoxious presence indicating that of permanence, Minho knows there’s zero possibility you’ll be able to fulfill any of the plans you made together.

“You have a whole honeymoon planned on a tropical island,” Minho says somberly. “That’s far better than little old Shirakawa.”

You say nothing in reply, nodding at his words and thinking back to the plans you and Jung have already booked for your honeymoon.

Honeymoon. Even that word sounds foreign.

“Maybe we’ll plan for when I get back,” you tell Minho. “Little camping excursion in the farmhouses. We can get shitfaced and pet all the little goats.”

He laughs lightly, giving you a smile.

“Sure,” Minho affirms. “We can do that.”

And then his gaze darts to his backpack which sits on the floor, his eyes widening as he sits up.

“Speaking of shitfaced,” Minho says. “I think I brought boxed wine.”

“Boxed wine?” You repeat with a chuckle. “Jesus, we really might as well be back in college.”

He rises from the camper chair to make his way over to his backpack, unzipping the larger pouch and pulling out two small black cartons of wine, giving them a small shake before scanning the room as though he’s looking for something else.

“What?” You query, waiting for him to say something.

Minho says nothing, standing up again and taking long strides to where his fishing rod is, grasping it in one hand and fiddling with the hook.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as Minho’s expression turns serious again. His slender fingers toy with the small hook, the two cartons of wine balanced in his other hand.

You watch as he unfolds one tab on the box of wine, and then brings down the fishing hook to pierce it through the thin cardboard and string it through securely. When he’s finished, he gives it a little tug, and then raises the box of wine as he lifts the fishing rod once more, reeling the handle in the counter direction to move it out toward you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask again, chuckling softly as you watch Minho struggle to balance the carton of wine.

He reels the carton out further, and then slows as he drops it into your lap, moving the rod around in erratic motions and pretending to stabilize the line.

“Get it!” Minho exclaims. “It’s getting away, you have to get it!”

You play along, grasping the carton of wine in your two hands and pretending to steady its slippery grip as it flaps around helplessly.

“It’s slippery!” You exclaim back, holding it up with two hands and angling it toward Minho.

Minho gasps, and then sets his rod down to applaud you generously.

“Congratulations,” he says in a proud voice. “Your first catch. You caught your own dinner.”

And the dark night around you seems to be set aglow as laughter fills the entirety of the tent.

*

Two hours later, it’s half past midnight, empty cartons of wine on the table between you as you talk through your starkly different lives.

Minho shares tales of work you’d missed out on, dating app horror stories and recounts days from college when you’d go to nightclubs together and use fake IDs. You listen attentively for the first time in a long time, no sense of urgency present, nor the desire to set him up with somebody else. It’s you who wants to be here alongside him, rekindling your friendship and reliving your glory days. And Minho feels the same way, a gentle buzz swirling his mind from the cherry merlot and your sweet laugh in response to his tales.

“They so thought we were lying when we turned 21,” you say through laughter. “In hindsight, it’s pretty lucky we didn’t get thrown in jail for a night.”

“Yeah, only because you flirted with the bouncer,” Minho says. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t throw you in jail after offering you a drink.”

You laugh lightly, remembering the bizarre encounter, and then you slouch back in your chair as you shut your eyes.

“We should get to sleep,” you say to Minho. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he responds. “I’ll get my sleeping bag on the floor.”

“Don’t be such a fucking drag,” you protest.

“What?”

“Just sleep on the bed with me. It’s big enough and there’s less of a chance that you’ll wake up with a broken back. I’m not listening to you complain about your fucked-up joints on tomorrow’s drive home.”

Minho laughs lightly, and then he gestures to the bed.

“If you snore, I’m throwing you to the bears,” he says plainly.

“Yeah, well you kick me, I’m dumping you in the lake.”

*

Minho brushes his teeth over the small steel sink in the corner of the room, swapping out to fix the bed sheets while you brush your teeth, too. When you’re finished, you meet him at the foot of the bed, pulling your corner of the blanket down and climbing in beside him. The ceiling of the tent is barely visible in this level of darkness, just an indistinguishable outline of fabric visible as you cross your hands over your chest and exhale deeply. Minho does the same, and though he’s right beside you, he feels miles away, his exhale sounding distant as he focuses on the ceiling of the tent, too.

“It’s really dark,” you comment.

“Yeah,” he says back. “That’s the outdoors for you.”

He thinks for a brief moment, and then he breaks the silence that washes over the two of you.

“Are you excited for the honeymoon?” He asks quietly.

There’s no answer for several moments, the only sound coming from the gentle sway of the trees just beyond your tent.

And you are excited, but you’re more nervous, uncertain and disappointed knowing that everything will be so different upon your return. It’s like exchanging an old life for a new one- one that could be far worse, for all you know.

“I’m nervous,” you say candidly.

“Why?”

“Because marriage is a big deal. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m even doing the right thing.”

It’s Minho’s turn to remain quiet now, his hands folded over his chest as he ponders your words.

“Are you happy?”

There’s no response from you. Not now, not after a minute and not even after several minutes have passed. And you are happy, but you’re still much of the same- nervous, uncertain and disappointed that this new life implies change.

“Jung hates me,” Minho says suddenly.

“He doesn’t hate you-”

“He hates me,” Minho reaffirms a little louder. “The way he looks at me, or interrupts us whenever we’re talking. I’m sorry that I’m so distant from you when he’s around. The guy hates me.”

You stay quiet, knowing he’s right, but not wanting to fuel the fire that burns between the two of them.

“He probably thought we had something going on,” Minho says. “He’d kill me if he knew I was in the same bed with you.”

You scoff lightly, dismissing Minho’s claims with a wave of your hand.

“Please,” you emphasize. “He hasn’t even touched me in a month.”

And you regret the words the second they leave your lips, bringing two hands up to cover your mouth as Minho props himself up to look at you.

“What? Why?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, I genuinely want to know,” Minho reiterates, keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You’re getting married and you haven’t had sex with your fiancé in a month? Who does that?”

“He told me it was a punishment,” you say in exasperation. “We had a fight, and he told me he wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t admit to being wrong.”

“What?” Minho says, turning audibly irate. “Are you serious? What kind of cruel and unusual punishment is that?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? Let’s just not talk about it-”

“There go your excuses,” Minho says. “Your future husband won’t touch you, and you’re still defending him. Jesus Christ, it’s worse than I thought it was.”

“Would you stop?” You say to him, sitting up as he slings his elbows around his knees and shakes his head.

“Stop what? Stop being concerned for my best friend who’s clearly suffering at the hands of her own fiancé? Not gonna happen.”

“I’m not suffering,” you relay to him.

“Sure,” Minho says sarcastically. “So you never wanted to have sex in the whole month he’s kept this punishment going.”

You say nothing, swallowing nervously as you keep your gaze locked on Minho’s. He’s at a painfully close proximity to you right now, one strand of hair falling loosely in his face as his eyebrows furrow together in anger. His plain black t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders as he sits up, his basketball shorts riding up to expose a generous amount of his toned thighs. And his lips remain parted, waiting for you to say something, which you don’t. You simply stare at him blankly, your eyes darting over his gaze, down to his lips and then back up to his eyes.

Minho’s expression turns serious, too, unable to look away from your conflicted expression as you watch him.

“Not… really…” you manage to say in short words.

“Maybe not…” you continue, leaning into him a little as his arms loosen around his knees.

He somehow looks so tantalizing right now, in a way you’ve never seen him before. Sure, you’re aware Minho is good looking, and he always has been. And maybe your fleeting crush back when you first met him was short-lived, quickly moving on to date somebody else you met at a party. Maybe you were a little jealous the time his former girlfriend remarked how good he was in bed, or that she got to touch him when he wore that suit you loved so much at graduation. Maybe you even touched yourself once or twice to the thought of him, conjuring some stupid fantasy in your mind for the sole purpose of getting off to it. But nothing was ever going to come to fruition, not when he’s been your friend for years, you have Jung and you’re about to get married.

…At least not with any intention besides being fucked by him the way Jung has neglected of you for a month now.

“Maybe not until now,” you finally breathe out, your heart beating erratically in your chest as you await an answer from him.

Minho’s gaze flickers down to your lips, and then back to your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as he makes sense of your words.

“Are you drunk right now?” He asks simply.

“No,” you’re quick to respond, shaking your head to affirm the answer.

“Good,”’Minho says. “Me neither.”

And the two of you meet in the middle, his lips crashing against yours roughly as you kiss him for the first time, hands flying to tug at his t-shirt as he brings to hands around the small of your back.

He tastes like wine, transferring the robust flavor of cherry merlot back onto your lips as you kiss him, his plump lips working perfectly against yours as you pull him closer. You want so badly to position yourself differently, to adjust your body’s awkward spot on the bed so that you can be a bit closer to him, so that you can cup his face and pepper it in breathless kisses. But you fear that the minute you pull away, Minho’s going to somehow realize that it’s you he’s kissing, his best friend of so many years, one who’s already engaged.

It’s Minho who pulls away briefly first, getting a little closer to you, while you scoot further back and lie flat on your spot on the bed.

“This is just to prove a point,” Minho says breathlessly, as he hovers over you now and steadies himself over your body with one strong arm. “It’s not cheating,” he emphasizes, and you nod eagerly at the words, suddenly aware that it’s not even the cheating aspect you were worried about. It was solely the possibility of ruining your friendship with Minho, who’s always been so vocal about his distaste for disloyalty.

“It’s just to prove a point,” you repeat, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him back down to kiss you. “Nobody has to know.”

Minho grins against your lips, pressing repeated, chaste kisses to your already swollen lips and trailing down to paint a line of kisses down the column of your neck. Your heart beats in ways you’ve never felt before, a rapid arrhythmia brought on by the sheer terror of being found out, by the knowledge that this is the one person who could single handedly ruin your engagement to Jung. And yet you couldn’t care less in this moment, as his teeth take your flesh between them and suck bruises down your neck, a generous purple color painting the goosebumps that rise upon your skin.

Are either of you in any place to return with hickeys painting your skin like you spend the weekend at a frat house? Not in the slightest. And yet you can’t help but feel this is what you missed in college all that time, the same actions Minho repeated with the few girlfriends he ran through. Fucking them sweetly in his dorm bed, roping scarves around their necks when he’d send them off and his ears turning a bright shade of red when you’d point them out in your 7am college lectures.

Was there ever a hint of jealousy present between the two of you? Maybe, you think to yourself, as a string of spit connects Minho’s lips to your bruises, peppering them in light kisses. You could never help but wonder what it was like, what those girls had experienced each time they disappeared from his dorm in the early hours of the morning. And Minho, being the gentleman he was, was never one to kiss and tell. The sex was intimate, private, the details living and dying with him only, even if the relationship went awry or fizzled out suddenly.

“We probably shouldn’t go any further,” Minho interrupts, pulling away from you to maintain eye contact. His eyes are hooded with lust, his lips pink and swollen from kissing you so passionately. And his eyebrows arch up in a state of concern, mostly worried you’re going to protest him taking it any further than this. But it’s all you’ve occupied your mind with now, wanting so badly to know what little tricks Minho wears up his sleeve, if he’s just as intrigued with the idea as you are, if he even wants to have sex with you.

“It’s not like we’re dating or anything,” you say to Minho, desperately searching for the words to indicate how badly you want this. “It’s just… some drunken hookup. It’s probably nothing Jung didn’t do at his party last week.”

“But we’re not-” Minho begins, promptly silencing himself. He begins to tell you that he’s not drunk, and you aren’t either- but he’s already caught on to your little plan.

“Yeah,” Minho then says. “I’m a little tipsy.”

“Me too,” you say with a soft chuckle. “Too much wine.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning into kiss you again. “And I get really horny when I’m drunk.”

“Me too,” you say between kisses. “It’s not like we can just leave each other hanging. Unless you want me to rub one out beside you, and that would be more awkward.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Might as well… help each other out, right?”

“Right,” you affirm, pulling down your panties as Minho separates to pull off his shirt.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, already having witnessed him in this level of undress at every pool party and when you’d come over to his dorm unannounced. But it feels different at this proximity, his tanned skin hovering over yours and brushing against your flesh with every eager kiss.

Minho begins to ask you if he can touch you, but you’re faster than he is, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to your aching clit, letting him circle two fingers around your bundle of nerves as he pulls back to look you in the eyes.

“Jesus,” Minho remarks. “You are wet when you’re drunk.”

And your breath hitches in the back of your throat as he rubs you gently, a smirk growing on his face as you let out little whimpers. It’s been so long since somebody’s touched you like this, Jung hardly even giving attention to the foreplay on most days. His nimble fingers rub at a steady pace, his eyes boring into yours as he makes you writhe in pleasure beneath him. Minho’s eyes are sparkling at this proximity, his big brown pupils exuding curiosity and tenderness as he gauges your every reaction to his touches.

“Minho,” you breathe out desperately, arching into his touch to chase the friction.

“What?” He asks sweetly, his expression shifting into that of concern as he waits for you to speak. But he knows what you’re going to ask, also aware of the tent pitched in his boxers as he works you.

“Don’t make me ask,” you say with a sheepish chuckle.

He chuckles softly, too, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling his hand away.

“Let me get a condom,” Minho says in a serious tone. And you’d completely forgotten about protection, not even having used a condom in ages, since your only partner for several years has been Jung.

With the painful ache between your legs, you wish so badly you could ask him to fuck you raw and help ease the weeks of waiting you’ve had to do just to feel some sense of relief. And a part of you can’t help but think back to your days of college, when Minho would always ensure he kept a new one between the crisp bills in his wallet. Ones that were put to use with other women, Minho always so careful not to make any stupid mistakes or take risks the way you and Jung often did.

But you can’t let him fuck you raw, being in the middle of nowhere, no access to pills and admittedly not the most punctual at remembering to take your birth control. The last thing you can do right now is show up to your own wedding with Jung- pregnant with Minho’s child.

Minho’s cock is fully erect as he fishes around his backpack for a condom, pulling out his wallet and sorting through the bills for one. You briefly wonder what would happen if he didn’t have one- you’d likely ask him to fuck you anyway, and to finish on your face or your tits. But it’d be such a waste not to let him finish inside of you, not when you’re both this aroused and desperate for some sense of relief

You silently pray he won’t think too hard about any of this. Don’t think about who I am to you. Don’t think about how this will complicate things, and don’t think about the fact that I’m engaged to another man. Just fuck me, and we’ll deal with whatever consequences arise tomorrow.

“Got it,” Minho voices, and you feel yourself exhale the breath you’ve been holding this whole time.

Minho approaches you again, pinching it between his two fingers, tearing open the silver packet with his skewed front teeth and pulling out the white rubber. You watch with bated breath as he rests a knee on the bed beside you, steadying himself with one hand and rolling the condom onto his length with one hand.

It’s the first time you’ve properly taken note of the appearance of his cock, and he’s bigger than you’d imagined. His thick, veiny girth is tinted a bright shade of red in anticipation, his head leaking a bead of precum as the rubber grazes his tip and coats every inch of his flesh. You’re a little disappointed at the sight being obscured by the protection, but you take a sharp breath, anyway, wanting nothing more than to just feel it inside of you.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Minho asks, as he hovers over you again and props himself up with two hands. “If you think we’re making some mistake-”

“We’re not,” you say quickly. “It’s not a mistake. I promise you I’m not drunk or out of my mind or anything. I’m just really fucking horny.”

Minho chuckles lightly, and then he leans into graze his lips over yours just barely, delivering a painfully light kiss as he positions himself in front of you.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another light kiss to your lips. “I promise I won’t get mad or anything.”

You nod eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck, and then you both maintain eye contact with his hands as he carefully guides the tip of his length inside of you. You feel like you could cum at the sensation of his tip alone, your walls contracting around him desperately as he shuts his eyes in pleasure.

“Jesus,” Minho breathes. “You’re tight.”

“It’s been a month since he fucked me,” you admit shyly. “I haven’t even touched myself.”

And Minho takes it as a signal to snake a hand down between your bodies, latching the pads of his fingers to your clit once more and rubbing in gentle circles.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Minho says plainly. “What a fucking joke.”

You weave your fingers in his golden brown tresses pulling him in for another kiss as he begins to thrust in and out of you with gentle movements so as not to hurt you. And it feels heavenly, like nothing you’ve ever felt with Jung before. There’s so much fear circling your mind, but it simply elevates the arousal you feel at the same time, your mind and body contracting in syncopation to echo the same sentiment that maybe you have indeed, been jealous of some of the other girls he’s fucked. Maybe your jealousy forced you to shut out the idea of anybody being pleasured like this by your best friend. You silently pray it never felt half this good for any of them, that he simply couldn’t get hard for them or maybe he’d neglected the same parts that drive you crazy in this moment. Because the thought of his cock inside of anybody except for you drives you mad, it feels so unnatural to think about when he’s fucking you so sweetly in the privacy of your tent, here in the middle of nowhere. Virtually impossible to feel an ounce of guilt when the nearest human is likely miles away, made even harder considering the only man who’d even care is much, much farther.

And Minho hopes you can’t feel that he’s been trying to stave off his own orgasm for the better part of 20 minutes now. His cock twitching with every thrust, his eyes shutting tightly to give attention to the sensation of your cunt clenching desperately around his thick girth. He can’t remember how he’d imagined it all those years, but he knows this feels much, much better than any fantasized version of you that ran rampant in his thoughts. One he had to stop himself from staring at a little too long when you’d opt to wear short skirts and tight little shirts to the clubs you’d frequent. A version of you he swore would one day come around to the realization that Jung isn’t meant for you, that he doesn’t fulfill you emotionally, or intellectually or even physically. Even a version of you that found exhilaration in fucking Minho behind Jung’s back, because having any version of you belong to Minho in one form or another would always take precedence over your inevitable absence following the wedding.

“Talk to me,” Minho says, as his thrusts slow a little. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” you’re quick to respond. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Minho captures your lips in a drooly kiss, gasping into your parted lips as he thrusts in again and holds it there for a moment.

“Is it still okay?” He asks, like he hasn’t already been fucking you for several minutes now.

“It’s more than okay,” you respond, folding your leg at the knee beside him so that he’s hitting an entirely new angle.

“Jesus Christ,” Minho breathes, squeezing his eyes as his cock grazes your cunt even deeper.

Your breaths are labored now, involuntary gasps escaping your mouth with every thrust inside of you. His cock is completely buried to the hilt inside of you, the condom completely coated in your juices and working out of you with complete ease as he fucks you.

And he fucks you like he’s yours, like he’s the one getting married to you, perhaps subconsciously to prove a point to both you and Jung. He could never fuck you like this. I’m willing to bet he never has. He could never want you the way I do so passionately and unrelenting.

“Minho,” you call to him, arching into his touch as he moves a strand of hair out of your face.

“What is it?”

“This is okay, right?,” you state, though your tone takes the form of a plea, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “It feels so good, I don’t want to ruin things-”

“It won’t ruin things,” Minho emphasizes. “We’re drunk, remember?” he says with a light chuckle.

His face is promptly buried in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along the flesh and whispering promises against you that exist only in the intimate space of your shared tent.

“I’m just helping you out while we’re here,” Minho repeats. “And then you have a wedding to run off to.”

You smile up at him, fingers massaging his scalp lightly as he stays still inside of you, his cock pulsating lightly inside of the rubber as you take him.

“I would’ve asked for help a lot sooner if I knew it’d be this good,” you say with a saccharine smile, allowing your fingers to loop in his hair and tug lightly.

Minho chuckles down at you, his smile instilling an almost immediate sense of comfort once more as he begins to move again, his cock grazing your cervix with every slight movement as he lets out little gasps over you.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” you breathe through labored pants. Your tone sounds surprised, almost, at the prospect of your best friend coaxing an orgasm out of you.

And maybe you are, never having thought that this camping trip would end up with him inside of you, making love to you the way you picture the events of your honeymoon to unfold. Your best friend since college, and the most vocally displeased person at the reality of your engagement to Jung.

And the moment Minho’s been fantasizing since he first confronted his own feelings for you, a time completely unbeknownst to him now. Maybe it was the time you let him stay in your dorm bed when he wasn’t feeling good, or the time you baked him his favorite cake for his birthday most people seemed to have forgotten about. But the pinpointed time doesn’t matter right now- he’s here, your entire being is his for the night, and love or not, he’ll take any form of you he can grasp so desperately at.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, too,” Minho says back, his hands digging into your waist as he moves a little faster.

For several moments, nothing else is said between the two of you, only the echoing sounds of skin and drool and his toned body working itself in and out of you teeming around the dinky little tent like an erotic film on low volume. The sounds are muffled, both of you doing your best to remain hushed in your words and your breathy exchanges to each other, almost as if it’ll all be too real if you voice it any louder than this.

But all of this is very real, the actions serving as a sealed promise between the two of you to maintain this remarkable relationship you’ve developed with him. One in which you traverse the complexities of dating a man who’s never quite fulfilled you the way Minho caught on to very early on. And in turn, Minho uses the opportunity to fulfill you in every way he’s able to, whether it means being there at 3am to lend a kindly ear, concocting your favorite dishes after waking up hungover as a result of drinking to mask Jung’s shortcomings. And even to fuck away the stress Jung instills inside of you. To meet you halfway with his version of intimacy, one Jung has withheld from you for so long, and to remind you that although the marriage implies permanence, things could still be so, so different.

“Cum for me,” Minho says to you, leaning in to keep his lips pressed to yours. “Just let go of everything. Don’t think about him right now.”

And somehow it’s those words that assist you in reaching your finish, the subtle command to eject Jung from all your thoughts and replace him with Minho and Minho and more Minho.

It’s Minho easing the pain, Minho kissing you so tenderly, Minho thrusting his hardened cock in and out of your soaking cunt as you whimper helplessly beneath him.

And it’s Minho who finishes first, squeezing his eyes tightly as he feels his tip releases strings of cum into the constriction of the rubber condom, the finish feeling as though it’s the heaviest he’s had in months.

And the gentle pulse against your flesh coaxes out your own release, contracting around his wet girth and dribbling cum along the length of the condom as he fucks you through your fervent moans.

“God, you’re amazing,” Minho voices, as he pulls you in for a much gentler kiss. He holds his lips there momentarily, grazing them softly over yours, every part of him wanting to stay right here inside of you.

But as his cock begins to soften against him once more, he pulls out without another word, stripping off the condom while you watch him.

Strands of sweaty hair hang loosely in front of his face, framing his flushed appearance as his nimble fingers work to tie the condom off. He looks so attainable, so forgiving as he moves, and every part of you wants nothing more than to pull him close again and keep him tangled in your needy embrace.

“Minho?” You ask, as you sit up on the palms of your hands to meet his gaze.

“Hm?” He hums in response, discarding the condom and running two hands through his disheveled hair.

“Would you stay like this?”

He chuckles softly, occupying his spot again and pulling the blankets up to his chest.

“I’m not taking the floor anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, would you stay... close to me?” You ask shyly, your eyes flickering over his figure as he lies beside you.

He sits up to meet your gaze, reaching a hand out to you, his palm facing upward as he shoots you a sweet smile.

“I can stay close to you,” Minho reaffirms, pulling you close to his chest as he lies flat again, your head resting on his broad chest.

His chest rises and falls with every breath, his eyes shutting gently as he revels in the sensation of you seeking comfort beside him like this. And he can’t help but press a series of soft kisses to your temple, smiling when he hears a soft giggle escape your lips.

When the tent falls quiet once more, your listless bodies welcome the sleepiness that washes over you, euphonious melodies of crickets engaging in the sounds of nightfall outside. And Minho’s hand rubs gentle back and forth motions along the small of your back, reassuring for one last time that you have nothing to feel guilty about.

*

It’s like a moth to a flame, the way you’re drawn to Minho in the morning, despite the promise of it being just one night with him.

You’re hypnotized by the way he pulls on his sweatpants, chuckling as he nearly trips over himself in the confined space of the tent. His veiny hands working nimbly to chop vegetables and crush herbs as he prepares you one of his signature omelets. The silence that falls over you both while you eat, two fascinated gazes stuck on each other knowing very well you’d let him do it all over again if you weren’t so pressed for time. And when he’s helping you hoist your heavy backpack over his shoulders, the pressing urge to kiss him is present again, as though you seek a reminder that what occurred was indeed real and not some lucid dream conjured up within the darkened campsite.

An urge which you act upon, leaning into press your lips to his as he turns to ask if you’re all packed. And one which is reciprocated with a smile from him, grinning against your lips as he takes his time cupping a hand to your cheek and grazing his fingertips along your skin tenderly. With no real purpose, no sexual implication, no rush. Simply a kiss to conclude the trip, which may very well have been everything you needed as it precedes the wedding.

And with shared smiles between the two of you, Minho leads as you make your way back through the informational center. The same woman is sat at the desk, except she says nothing as you pass her by, a scowl on her face at the sight of you. You watch as she bows politely to other guests, inquires about their stay and offers them hard candies from the glass jar in front of her. Except she says nothing to you, almost appearing to shake her head as you pass her by.

“She was nicer yesterday,” you voice to Minho, your concerned gaze scanning his expression for a reaction. But he doesn’t give one, shrugging lightly as he holds the door for you on the way out.

“She’s probably having a bad day,” he says back. “Don’t worry about it.”

And it’s not until he takes your hand in his again that you realize it- this woman who you’d so confidently corrected on the fact that Minho is not in fact your fiancé, has witnessed you kissing him and holding his hand on your way out. Like a scarlet letter you wear upon your chest, except it’s you who put it there. Confirmation that you’re disloyal- a cheater, simply put. You want to defend your actions, but realistically, to whom? Not to Minho, who actively facilitated it. Not to Jung, who would kill you both if he knew.

And not even to the elderly woman, who you can’t explain it to, because it’s different. It’s not cheating, not when it’s Minho. He’s not some drunken hookup from a dive bar, or someone who’s relentlessly pursued you despite your protests. He’s your best friend, one who did you a favor in the absence of your fiancé’s desire to satisfy you. It’s different, you want to say to her. It’s not cheating with Minho- he’s different.

But you settle on the uncomfortable silence that remains when you climb into the passenger seat of Minho’s car, watching the trees melt into a blur of green hues as he backs out of the parking lot. And his hand meets yours over the center console, intertwining your fingers to put your mind at ease like he can somehow read your mind.

Perhaps he can, being the person who’s known every one of your thoughts so intimately since your time in college. And he also reads into your dismissal of the event when you finally let out a gentle sigh, lacing your fingers with his and allowing him to press a kiss to the back of your hand.

*

The arrival home is a non ceremonious one, Minho dropping you off a block before your shared apartment with Jung to avoid the interrogation he knows he’ll get.

He assists in gathering your bags, consolidating your items to ensure you can comfortably carry them up the block. And for a minute, the two of you say nothing as he sends you on your way, a kind of sparkle present in his eyes as he stares at you. He looks different today, a saccharine smile on his face and a much calmer demeanor overall. Every bone in your body wants to jump him and pepper him in kisses, to thank him for relieving the pent up sexual frustration in you and affirming that your fears surrounding this wedding are valid, but they don’t imply that you won’t enjoy married life, either. They’re just… feelings, ones you often find trouble confronting in the presence of Jung, and ones that you realize you’ve probably never confronted at all, if not around Minho.

The fears are valid, and they’re not fleeting in the slightest. But they are lessened with the reminder that Minho’s beside you every step of the way- regardless of how it manifests in your relationship. And the silence remains, as Minho shoots you a small wave, his eyes flickering briefly over the distant outline of your apartment.

“Hey,” you call out to Jung, who’s lazily sprawled out over the sofa, his feet laid flat upon the coffee table.

“How was the trip?” He asks enthusiastically, not taking his eyes off the sports channel that echoes loudly in front of him.

“Oh, you know,” you reply casually. “Just yoga. Always good to see old friends, though.”

“I’ll bet,” Jung replies, chuckling sarcastically as he speaks. “Seems like the only person you’re around these days is Minho.”

And then he reaches for the remote, lazily flipping through channels as you set your bag down.

“He’s my oldest friend,” you say casually, hoping he won’t notice the audible shakiness in your tone. It feels like he can hear how loud your thoughts are, the fears circling your mind, an expression on your face painted with incrimination. You think of your heart racing while Minho kissed you, the way his cock felt inside of you, your clit pulsating gently at the mere memory of it.

“Yeah, well, change is good,” Jung finishes. As you turn the corner, to meet him in front of the couch, you take note of his lap- a small, white cardboard box propped upon his sweatpants, the top ripped to keep it open and his hands working and out of it in rushed motions.

It’s the cake, you quickly realizing, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the frosting in complete disarray, almost half the dessert either smeared around the sides or piled on the fork he brings up to his lips.

“Listen,” Jung says, between a mouthful of food. “I have a golf thing this week and I want you to come see a couple buddies of mine.”

“This week?” You echo, your mind pondering all the potential excuses you can use against him. But nothing comes to mind, as Jung sets the box of cake aside and stands up from the couch.

“Yeah,” he says casually. “My buddy from college is gonna be in town, and he wants to get together before the wedding.”

You want so badly to protest his offer, knowing very well that Jung’s friends are nothing short of insufferable. They very seldom like you, openly voicing their concerns with your flaws, and they’re protective of him, as though Jung is the one who’s sacrificing more by being wed to you.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, a small smile on your lips to offset the anger that could very well erupt in response to your statement.

But Jung just brings two hands up to your shoulder, rubbing the sides as he turns his attention back to the television.

“Not really. Hey, the game’s on again but make sure to clear your calendar on Thursday for me. And let’s bring that wine we got recently.”

“The white one?” You question, sagging your shoulders a little at his lack of hesitation to offer your favorite wine as a housewarming gift to his friends.

“Yeah, that one,” he says plainly, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and slinging his body back over the couch.

“By the way,” Jung voices, motioning for you to move out of the view of the tv screen. “Where’s the cake from? Shit’s good.”

Your gaze lands on the box again, completely torn apart, the icing letters indistinguishable and the fondant ribbons in disarray on the cardboard. You can’t help but think of Minho and his careful attention to detail- the way he picked all your favorite colors, the flavors he knows you love, all from your favorite bakery you very seldom even visit because of the steep price points.

“Babe?” Jung calls again, spooning a layer of frosting into his mouth. “I asked where the cake was from.”

And you shrug casually as you pivot on your heel to exit the room.

“Minho picked it,” you say as you stride away from his still-slouched figure. “I wouldn’t know.”

*

“You have to freeze your cake and eat a piece of it every wedding anniversary,” Jung’s friend Kwang explains, as he brings a cigar to his lips and inhales generously. “That’s what we did, and we still have enough red velvet to last fucking years in there.”

“I love it,” Jung replies in a chuckle, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nudging you harshly. “Course, I’m not sure this one could stop herself from eating the rest of our cake for a whole year. She’s got a bigger sweet tooth than I do.”

You distance yourself from Jung a little, fiddling with your golf club as the men share echoing laughter between puffs of smoke.

The golf course Jung frequents is massive, spanning several hectares of land, which means you’re often stuck here for a long while during his golf sessions. His friends are the same detestable group of men he’s usually out with, all old friends from college you’ve since been forced to get acquainted with. And together they talk each others’ ears off about sports, food, making subtle digs at their own wives or partners, and of course, golf. The blinding shade of green hills contrasts harshly against a pale blue sky and depicts an almost cartoon scenery, and you can feel the headache in your temples worsening with every loud chuckle that escapes Jung’s lips.

He hasn’t asked once about your yoga retreat- which may be a blessing of sorts when you recall the events that unfolded. But you know it’s got nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t give a shit.

He probably doesn’t even remember you were gone, nor does he care to fill you in on the details that unfolded while you were away. And it wouldn’t matter, because you know it would be exactly some version of this- his obnoxious friends, golf, sports on tv and bragging about his proximity to a married life with you. Strangely enough, you’re normally able to stomach these conversations when you’re forced to go out with Jung. But somehow today, every word he utters aggravates you, and you’re desperate to find some excuse to make it home again.

Except you also know very well that it’s something else eating away at your mind this afternoon.

“Y/n?” Kwang questions, and you snap your head to look at him, realizing you’ve tuned out most of his talking points up until now.

“Yes?”

“It’s your turn,” he says, gesturing to your golf club. Jung watches you and chuckles, almost embarrassed with you, as he mirrors Kwang’s gesture.

“Go on,” Jung says condescendingly. “Remember how I taught you last time.”

And with the golf club in your timid grasp, you approach the tee, positioning your club out in front of you and doing your best to mimic the way Jung taught you. Or rather the way he yelled at you to memorize, always taking his sports endeavors far too seriously.

The club head rests gently against the golf ball, pulling back momentarily as your hands shift and tighten around the grip again. And Kwang exhales another puff of smoke, a light chuckle escaping his lips as his eyes bore into your standing figure.

“Her form’s gotten a little better,” he remarks to Jung.

“Yeah, because of me,” Jung says back.

“And good thing, too,” Kwang voices. “If she’d gotten better without your help it’d mean someone else was helping her.”

He laughs as he finishes speaking, transitioning to a coughing fit as you turn to meet Jung’s gaze. But Jung doesn’t look back at you, he simply pats Kwang’s back and exchanges laughter of his own.

“That’s true!” Jung echoes through a fit of laughter, like it’s the best joke he’s heard all century.

“Could you imagine if she pulled up here better than you?” Kwang says, flicking stray ashes off his cigar. “Some other man doing your part for you?”

Jung chuckles again, pulling a box of cigars from the pocket inside of his blazer and thumbing at a fresh one. You watch as he flips open a small bronze Zippo lighter, a small metal clink emitting from behind his cupped hand, as he brings the cigar head to the little yellow flame and holds it there momentarily.

“Fuckin’ A,” Jung remarks with the cigar hanging between his lips.

When it’s lit successfully, he pockets the lighter again, taking a generous puff and blowing smoke just past the direction of Kwang’s still-laughing figure.

“They say that’s how you know your wife’s disloyal,” he remarks. “Her sports form never worsens.”

You stand awkwardly, your fingers grazing the rubber of the golf club grip as you say nothing. Their laughter continues to swirl the atmosphere around you, the sound of the birds and the buzzing cicadas drowning out amidst their cackles. The sun beams entirely too bright down over you, the artificial grass seeming to turn an even more obnoxious shade of green as you wait for them to finish.

“Better hope this one’s not disloyal,” Kwang says amidst his jokes, nudging your upper thigh with the tip of his own golf club. “That’s a lot of planning down the drain.”

And somehow the words trigger the familiar arrhythmic beat in your chest, flashbacks of Minho crossing your mind instantaneously. It’s like they know, the way their jokes seem to run on forever, their wicked cackling taunting you with every passing second. They speak of your form and your position, and you can’t help but picture the way Minho had you sprawled over the bed for you, his toned body looming over yours as he fucked you like he was consummating a marriage.

Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead as the sun glares over you, and the feeling is reminiscent of your sweaty bodies tangled together in the confined space of the tent. Was it you who came first? Was it Minho? The details are a little blurry right now as you try to steady your breathing, every single fear coming to life as you use your golf club to keep upright.

Disloyal. Another man. Cheater.

Their words replay in your mind and produce offspring of new ones, alluding to implications of broken trust and shattered plans. Hypothetical talks of one whole year of planning down the drain, another man with his hands all over you fulfilling Jung’s role in his absence and improving your form.

They know. They know you cheated, this is Jung’s way of humiliating you in front of his closest friend before he publicly calls off the marriage. He’s going to confront you about it any second now. He’s going to drag Minho’s name through the mud, and possibly also his corpse when he’s done with him-

“Y/n?” A voice interrupts, and your head snaps in the direction of their still gazes. The atmosphere is quiet now, birds chirping overhead once more, cicadas buzzing rhythmically in the distance again.

“Huh?”

“You want to forfeit your turn?” Jung asks with a chuckle. “We’ve been waiting for you to start for ten minutes now.”

Your gaze falls down to your hands, gripped tightly around the rubber of the club still, the ball remaining immobile on the little red tee.

“Uh, sure,” you reply, handing the golf club to Jung as he shakes his head.

You watch with an embarrassed expression as Jung grasps the club skillfully, pulling back and twisting his heel as he produces a robust hit, the ball lifting off its tee and soaring into the distance over the green hill.

“She can’t be disloyal,” Jung says with a chuckle, as he prods you with his golf club for the nth time today. “She can’t even complete one round successfully. Any other man would’ve taught her that’s not how you golf.”

*

At the one week mark since you’ve seen Minho, he’s aware something is wrong. You haven’t picked up his calls, haven’t responded to a single one of his texts, and you feign tiredness or some made up illness when he offers to stop by at hours he knows Jung isn’t home. But you don’t entertain any of it, fearing still that Jung knows, and that this is going to be the end of your marriage.

A fleeting physical endeavor caused by your fiancé’s stubbornness, and yet it’s effectively going to be the end of what was supposed to be your entire future. Seeing Minho will only reignite every fear present inside of you, causing it to coax the truth out of you and confront your fears in the presence of Jung.

The fear of what a lifetime of marriage implies. Are you meant to feel like teenagers in love for the entirety of it? Do the fights last a lifetime? Are you supposed to find a middle ground, or will there always be a need for somebody like Minho to provide some clarity and help you rekindle things to the best of your abilities?

What if in a week, you hate the cake flavor you’ve picked? What if you find yourselves so comfortable it doesn’t feel like love anymore? What if you spend a lifetime picturing it’s Minho fucking you instead of Jung, just to get off at night?

What happens to the marriage then? Does the love fizzle out until it’s a comfortable state of tolerance, one in which you’re sacrificing happiness for stability? Or does it simply exist somewhere else- or with somebody else? What’s implied by a lifetime of this?

Minho’s always been a worrier at heart, though, and he won’t let up until he’s certain your relationship to him isn’t at risk of dissipating, too. So at 11pm on a Friday, when he knows Jung is out with the same group of friends, he makes his move to confront you.

The living room is completely quiet at this hour, a soft ticking noise from the clock overhead as you flip past a page in your book. A romance novel, one littered with smut and cheesy dialogue, true to the lonely housewife you’re already conditioning yourself to be. And as your gaze falls over the first sentence of a new chapter, a knocking at the front door interrupts you.

It’s not Jung- it can’t be at this hour, his return home always signaled by his loud stumbling through the doorway, the jingling of his keys and drunken steps over the shoes he so conveniently forgets to put on the shoe rack.

You wrap your arms around the knit holes of your sweater, approaching the door hesitantly. It’s likely one of Jung’s friends, late to the party, or even one of your own girlfriends, here for a late night gossip session. But when you unlatch the door and pull it open, your heart drops at the sight of Minho, his hands shoved in his pockets and his figure standing slouched as his head looks up to meet your gaze.

“Hi,” says Minho, giving you a thin-lipped smile.

You give him a small nod, unsure of what to reply.

He looks handsome tonight, in a dark denim jacket and a pair of jeans. His golden-brown tresses fall loosely around his chiseled face, and his eyes look a little tired, like he hasn’t gotten much sleep.

“Minho,” you say plainly, fidgeting with a loose hem on the inside of your sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

Minho shrugs, peering into the doorway behind you, and then his eyes lock on yours again.

“I never taught you how to gut a fish,” Minho replies.

“I was just- what?”

“A fish,” Minho repeats. “I never taught you how to gut one.”

“Yeah, because we didn’t catch any,” you reply, a short chuckle escaping your lips.

“I know,” Minho says. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over and gut one.”

“Now?” You reply, glancing at the darkened street behind him. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, and Jung isn’t home until early morning. There’s a salmon defrosting on my counter as we speak, assuming the cats haven’t gotten to it. And I was wondering if you wanted to gut it.”

And he’s doing that thing again, where he takes the problem at hand and makes it so much more miniscule than it actually is. This state between disloyalty and tension you feel toward Jung, and the conflicting feelings you have toward Minho and the trip’s subsequent events. But he doesn’t address any of that- instead, he takes issue with you never having gotten to gut a fish. And that’s a relief, when you think about the other option of verbally confronting the emotions you keep at bay.

“Is it messy?” You ask with a little smile.

“It’s messy,” Minho replies.

“What if I’m bad at it?”

“Then you’re bad at it. But I’ll help you. Mess and all.”

You turn around to peer back into the hallway, at the book lying open and flat on the couch, the second hand on the clock moving painfully slow and the dim lamp illuminating the room around you. There’s not much of anything to stick around for, not when Jung’s still going to be out for hours on end. And not when a part of you is dying to confront the situation with Minho in the privacy of his place.

“You can’t laugh if I’m bad,” you say to Minho as you turn back to face him, slipping on your shoes in the process

“I won’t laugh,” he retorts. “No promises, of course.”

*

Two hours later, the kitchen is littered with napkins, plates, gloves, filet knives and scales. Minho walks you through how to remove the roe and the milt, discarding them for you as you prep your filet knife. He verbally instructs you how to descale the fish, and when you make minimal progress, he guides your hand up and down the length of the salmon with his, giving a little nod as the scales fall off with ease and uncover the smooth finish beneath.

He’s understanding when your reluctant hands fail to cut through to the back bone, chuckling lightly as he helps you cut that, too. And when you successfully pluck the remainder of the pin bones with tweezers, he nods proudly, giving you a thumbs up as you dispose of the fish parts and slide the plate of pink slabs to him across the counter.

“You did really well,” Minho says comfortingly. “You’re very attentive to detail. I don’t think there’s a single pin bone still on there.”

“It’s a little gross,” you say, shaking off your hands and chuckling lightly.

“But the end result will be worth it,” he replies. “Somebody plucked the pin bones off every filet you’ve eaten.”

You hit his arm lightly, as he laughs, coating the slabs in seasoning as you pull your gloves off.

“Minho,” you voice nervously, as he keeps his attention on the plate of fish in front of him.

“Hm?”

“Should we… talk about what happened?”

He sprinkles dried parsley atop the filet, not looking at you as you hold your breath for an answer.

“We can talk about it,” Minho replies simply. “Or we can choose not to. It was just a favor I ran you.”

You nod in response, watching as he swaps out parsley for onion powder and sprinkles lightly.

“Can we talk about it?” You say finally, twiddling your thumbs together.

Minho sets down the glass jar, turning to face you and pulling off his gloves, too.

“Sure,” he says, leaning back against the counter and giving you his undivided attention. Your heartbeat quickens momentarily at the sight of him focusing solely on you, and you struggle to find the words to say. But Minho is faster, taking reins of the conversation and breaking the deafening silence between you two.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Minho finally says, a kind of sadness evident in his tone.

“I was scared,” you reply. “I felt like Jung knew. It could ruin all of our wedding plans.”

“There’s no way he can find out,” Minho says. “I haven’t said a word to anyone. Unless you felt inclined to say something-”

“God, no,” you reply quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say anything.”

“Good,” Minho then says. “Then it was just a mistake in the heat of the moment. There’s nothing to worry about.”

And somehow the words sting a little, this conclusion that the affair was a mistake. Was it a mistake? You’re not sure- though you are sure of the complete sense of ease it instilled in you, and the fact that it hasn’t left your mind in a whole week.

“Are we okay?” You ask him, a nervous expression painting your face as you wait for an answer.

And Minho nods confidently, pulling on a fresh set of gloves as he reaches for the salt and pepper shakers.

“We’re fine,” Minho reassures. “If you think anything is getting in the way of a decade of you being stuck with me, then you’re mistaken.”

You laugh lightly, pulling on another pair of gloves too and joining Minho in front of the plate of fish.

“You want to pan fry this?” Minho asks, changing the subject. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Your eyes scan the well-seasoned strips of salmon, and then Minho’s comforting figure beside you, as he slides you a pair of tongs.

“Yeah,” you say to him. “Let’s finish this thing.”

Minho’s right- the end result is worth it. The fish is tender, well-seasoned, paired beautifully with his favorite bottle of white wine over an old comedy movie.

And everything feels like it’s back to normal once more as you sit beside him, your plates completely void of food as you finish your glasses of wine and sit back comfortably.

As the end credits roll, Minho lowers the volume, but he doesn’t shut off the television yet, taking another sip from his glass as your gazes fix on the names disappearing on screen.

Your eyes scan Minho’s mostly-vacant walls, at the things and the stuff he’s moved around. And he has, a couple new photographs displayed neatly on the wall in gold frames.

Most of them are black and white photographs you recognize to be cityscapes. And among the collage, placed right in the middle, the only photo with an ounce of color catches your eye.

“Shirakawa,” you say to Minho, cocking your head at the photograph.

It’s a wide shot of the town, bright green grass contrasting the traditional brown farmhouses that span the entirety of the landscape.

“Mhm,” Minho affirms, giving a little nod as he looks over the photograph, too.

You remain like that for a moment, reveling in the view, and then you finally break the comfortable silence once more.

“Could you tell me about it?” You ask him sweetly. “Just anything.”

Minho thinks back to the facts of Shirakawa he stores in the corner of his mind for a moment, sorting through facts and tales he’s held onto since college. Little stories he’s always wished to pass along again one day.

“Those are called Gasshō-Zukuri houses,” Minho says. “Which directly translates to hands in prayer.”

You cock your head in the other direction, nodding at his words, and seeing exactly what he speaks of. The houses do resemble two hands in prayer, the triangular thatched roofs almost reminiscent of a church’s.

“The roofs were designed to prevent heavy snowfall,” he continues. “Which the town is notorious for receiving. But apparently it’s like a little winter land when you’re there.”

His voice trails off a little at the last syllable, getting quiet again as he folds his hands in his lap.

“Which is pretty cool,” Minho finishes, pulling back from divulging too much information about the town he could go on about forever.

And he doesn’t know you’d gladly listen to him talk about it forever, being continuously fascinated with his appreciation for the centuries-old town across the world from you two. You nod in response to his words, imagining the winters those tucked away in that little town must experience- blankets of snow and freezing temperatures, and yet so warm inside those historical homes loved by people all around the world.

“We’ll go one day,” you say to Minho finally, turning to meet his gaze.

He turns to look at you, too, a somber expression on his face as he listens to you speak.

“We’ll go to Shirakawa one day. I promise it.”

Minho swallows nervously, well aware of how close you are to him on the couch now. Your face at such a close distance to him, your limbs resting right beside each other as his eyes flicker over your parted lips.

Minho engages in the nervous habits he always does, blinking nervously a few times and toying with the lobe of his ear. But he doesn’t act on anything, not wanting to push the boundaries you’ve practically just set in place. The same boundaries that concluded it was a mistake in the heat of the moment. So then why do you feel so inclined to kiss him all over again, let your body tangle with his and ease your stress as he assists in confronting all your fears preceding the wedding? Why does the idea of a lifelong commitment feel so much less intimidating when you’re in the presence of Minho? And what are you doing having these thoughts about your best friend when you’re getting married to somebody else in a month?

Thoughts that fail to induce an answer from you- instead interrupted and subsequently silenced by your lips on Minho’s again, kissing him with such desperation the way you did before.

And though desperate, it's still tender, his eyes shutting instinctively as his hands cup your cheeks and pull you closer. And you’ve nowhere to go but his lap, straddling his waist with your legs as you refuse to break away from the kiss, your kisses turning hungrier by the second as his hands find your waist.

This implication to fuck you is far greater this time, a pressing urge between the two of you to mirror the night’s actions and confirm it really did happen. That he did fuck you that night in your tent, and that you both came with each other and for each other, your bodies releasing the pent-up frustration you’re now certain has existed for years.

“Is this okay?” Minho begins to ask, his hands grazing your sides, and your kisses trail down his neck to provide a clear answer to his concern.

“Please,” you plead, nibbling a light bruise into his flesh. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty-”

“I don’t,” you say, moving to meet his lips again. “It feels so right with you. Please, could we do it again?”

Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as you palm him over the fabric of his jeans, his erection already visible for you.

“I want to,” Minho gasps. “But you’re getting married. I don’t want you to make another mistake-”

“It was never a mistake,” you say breathlessly. “Not the first time, not now. It feels so different with you. Do you feel it too?”

You pull away momentarily, hands cupped around the back of his neck as you wait for his answer. And Minho shoots a nervous smile in response; sheepishly toying with his hair as he struggles to voice his feelings.

“I… do,” Minho begins. “But I want you to-”

“Don’t worry about me,” you say, leaning in to resume pressing kisses along his neck. “Just fuck me like he doesn’t exist,” you finish, your lips working against his once more and guiding his hands down to your waist.

Although you were the one worried of getting found out, you can’t keep your distance from him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you all over again. Coaxing your own arousal out of you, encouraging you to forget all about him the way you’ve been trying to do in the absence of Minho. But with him here in front of you, you know the only way to shut Jung out of your mind is to fill it with thoughts of Minho, and Minho and more Minho.

“I… can do that…” Minho says with another nervous chuckle, as you unzip his jeans and palm him through his boxers.

“Call me something other than my name,” you say to him, pressing a series of chaste kisses to his lips. “Say it like I’m yours.”

And Minho reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pulling away again to look into your eyes.

“Baby?” He questions nervously, eliciting a smile from you.

“Yeah. Like that.”

“Yeah, baby?” He says again, reciprocating confidently now as you stroke him over his boxers. “You want me to make you forget about him?”

“Please,” you beg again. “You’re so much better than him.”

And amidst the ego boost, Minho can feel his cock swell, painfully hard in your firm grasp now as you stroke him.

“Wait,” Minho says, wincing slightly as you slow your movements. “I don’t want to cum yet.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me,” you smirk down at him, looping your fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tugging slightly. And Minho sits up straighter, smirking back, as he moves to press you down against the couch and hover over you.

“You want me to fuck you?” Minho asks, using one hand to tug his jeans down to his thighs. “God, you haven’t stopped thinking about it, haven’t you?”

“Not once,” you admit, wrapping two arms around his neck and pulling him down toward you. “I would’ve asked you to fuck me years ago if I knew what I was missing out on.”

The two of you share giggles as his jeans are discarded on the floor, followed by his t-shirt, and then your pants and your t-shirt, leaving him in just his boxers, and you in your bra and panties.

Minho lowers himself against your clothed core, rubbing ever so gently against you to provide some relief to his aching shaft as he works his kisses against your drooly lips. And he smiles in between every slight movement, completely satisfied at the fact that it’s him rubbing against you like this and taking care of you instead of Jung. For the second time this month.

The idea that Jung is completely clueless to this game you play behind his back, that he still comes home thinking you belong to anyone except Minho. Both in mind and body, your entire being is intertwined with Minho in every way possible.

And you both know it, judging by the way you grab at each other like a pair of horny teenagers on a first date, trying everything in your ability to hold onto the feeling. Also by the way he’s so patient and forgiving with his movements, stil careful not to move too fast in case you decide you want to stop. And an unspoken promise between the two of you, that no matter what happens, the friendship will remain, that it simply can’t slip through your fingers after a decade of promises to each other.

“Let’s go to Shirakawa,” you say to Minho in a whisper, finally tugging his boxers down and freeing his erection against abdomen.

“You want to?” Minho asks, tugging your panties down, too.

“Yes, I want to,” you reply. “We’ve talked about it for so long. Tell me what we’ll do there.”

“Well we’ll definitely go fishing,” Minho begins, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he discards your panties on the floor beside you. “And I’ll help gut all the salmon with you.”

“Mhm,” you voice in a dreamy tone, massaging his hair with the tips of your fingers.

“And then we can see all the animals there,” he continues, positioning himself over you and lifting your leg a little to get a better angle. His hand massages gentle circles in your inner thigh, careful not to enter without ensuring you’re comfortable first.

“And when it snows,” Minho says. “We’ll be trapped inside. But we can occupy the little attic space, where the walls slant inwards. And I promise to make love to you until it stops snowing.”

“When does it stop snowing?” You ask, as Minho pumps his cock gently over you and positions himself in front of your entrance. He chuckles lightly as he leans in to kiss you, your entrance quickly swallowing his tip and caressing his girth with your arousal as he leans in to push himself even further.

“It doesn’t,” Minho replies finally, thrusting himself into you and letting his hands find the small of your back to steady himself. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, quickly drunk on the feeling all over again. The mesmerizing sensation of his body hovering over you, of his cock inside of you, exactly the way you remembered it from the other night.

And it’s not right, but it feels so right to have him those close to you again, your best friend closing the gap of uncertainty between you and shutting you up with the confirmation that your souls have always belonged to each other this way.

“Fuck, Minho,” you breathe out, beads of sweat dripping down your temples as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and holds it there, pulsating harshly against your cervix.

“Will you go faster?” You ask him, running your fingertips down his back in encouragement.

“Are you sure?” he says between labored breaths, still careful not to hurt you.

“Please,” you practically beg. “I’m so eager for you, please just do something about it, baby.”

Minho’s eyebrows raise a little at the utterance of a pet name. He’s never heard it from you- not in all your years of friendship. He’s hardly secured a nickname from you in all that time. And yet here you are now, taking him so fully obediently, throwing words like baby at him and begging him to fuck you so that you won’t have to think about Jung.

“Baby?” Minho says curiously, capturing your lips in a kiss.

“Baby,” you reply, rutting your hips up against his as he begins to move a little faster. “Baby, and honey, and fiancé.”

Minho chuckles a little at the last word, cocking his head as he digests your response.

“Fiancé?”

“Yeah,” you say back between little moans that escape your lips. “If we were in Shirakawa I think we’d be engaged. And you could fuck me whenever you wanted to.”

Minho feels his cock twitch at your words, his mind running rampant with the fantasy of being engaged to you. The implication of a lifetime of this, fucking you sweetly in the comfort of a shared home and coaxing all your stress out of you. And furthermore, a lifetime of you- of being dragged to all your favorite bars, takeout meals and cheap comedy movies, camping when the leaves turn orange and gutting salmon alongside you.

A lifetime of security, stability. One of sheer, unwavering happiness.

“What a dream that would be,” Minho voices, moving a little faster at your words now.

“You think?”

“I know,” he affirms, his hands finding the mounds of your breasts and cupping them gently to unclasp your bra.

“What a fucking dream it would be to have you like this every night.”

Your bra is promptly discarded alongside you on the couch, the cool air grazing your erect nipples as he brings his mouth down to latch around one in gentle sucking motions. You can feel yourself clench around his cock, taking in the sight of his drooly lips wrapped around your chest and working you in eager motions. It’s still the same Minho you recognize from years ago- still the dorky, yet handsome figure of permanence always present somewhere in your life. And it feels even less unnatural than the last time you slept with him, simply instilling another wave of eased stress and tranquility deep inside of you. It’s like this is supposed to be the relationship between the two of you now- you live your life catering to the stubborn, unmoving personality of Jung’s. Minho tends to his monotonous life away from you. And when you reunite once more, relishing in tales of your separate lives from each other and laughing over glasses of chenin blanc, he concludes the night with a slow, intimate session of love-making, one to seal the promise between your souls that regardless of where the future takes you, this is still permanent.

Neither the college girls Minho’s fucked so well, nor the shitty men you promise yourself to could come between that. And it’s a comfortable truth you both come to terms with as he gives himself to you so lovingly and wholly.

“Are you close?” Minho asks, moving to your lips once more and indulging you in a slow, sensual kiss.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, wrapping your arms around his neck a little stabler and bringing your gaze down to his cock, where he disappears inside of you with complete ease.

“Where do- fuck- where do you want me to finish?” Minho asks, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. “I don’t want to pose any risks to you right now.”

And he’s right, both of you knowing very well that just because you’ve addressed your mutual attraction to each other, doesn’t mean you can run around with Minho’s arousal catching in your walls like you just aren’t engaged.

You still have a wedding to tend to, another person to return home to and a promise in the eventual holy sanctity of marriage that Jung is your only lover. But right now that no official certificate holds you to that, you can’t find it inside you to care, wanting nothing more than to be filled by Minho, and Minho and more Minho, and yet knowing it’s simply not a possibility.

“Wherever you want,” you finally breathe out, placing the option in the hands of Minho. Your breasts, your mouth. Inside of you. You don’t care- all you care is that he’s here, and he’s upholding his end of sealing the permanence between you two.

Minho gives a few particularly harsh thrusts, and then he brings a hand to the base of his cock, pulling out carefully and wincing as he staves off his orgasm. Your hands remain wrapped around the back of his neck, your gaze fixed on his as he works himself in quick strokes and leans in to kiss you.

“Can we go to Shirakawa?” You ask him again tenderly, as he continues to pump himself over your lying figure.

“Of course we can,” Minho responds with a sweet smile, his breaths labored as he nears his finish. “We can go wherever you want.”

“As long as you’re there,” you say to him, smiling up at him as he leans forward to kiss you again.

“As long as it’s the two of us,” Minho clarifies. “We can go anywhere.”

His eyes shut once more, his long eyelashes grazing his eyelids as his lips part open, and then he lets out a whimpered moan as he finally reaches his finish, coating your stomach in the milky white release of his orgasm. He kisses you when he finishes, smiling against your lips as he brings a hand down between you and rubs your clit in gentle, circular motions.

Your moans turn whimpered, too, as you reach your finish, clenching around what you wish was his cock and letting go for him.

And the credits on the television reach their end, transitioning to the hushed echo of a commercial playing. But neither of you are in any rush to leave or clean up just yet, allowing your listless bodies to intertwine lazily on the sofa as your giggles fill the quiet space between you and reverberate off the walls with such mutual fondness.

*

Mondays are heavy with work. Tuesdays, Jung works late. Wednesdays and Thursdays are dedicated time for his friends from college, and every day after that is a toss-up, but they’re often days you spend with Jung, watching movies in your apartment, going on little dates or in uncomfortable silence alongside him as he spills details of his work and his friends.

And he believes this to be your schedule, because he’s clueless otherwise.

Mondays are really for late-night phone calls with Minho, where you run off to the patio for a few minutes of privacy while Jung catches up on sports broadcasts. Tuesdays, Minho cooks you intricate meals at his apartment, alongside old comedy movies and concluded always by his gentle love-making to you. Wednesdays and Thursdays feel like college again, Minho finally agreeing to accompany you to all your favorite bars again and paying for your drinks as he watches you dance for him, his hands all over you as the two of you exchange needy kisses for everybody to watch.

And though the lights by the bar are far too dim for anybody to recognize you’re out with somebody beside your fiancé, a part of you doesn’t care.

Bastard. Facilitator of cheating. Homewrecker.

Sometimes you and Minho joke about the names they’d call him if they found out. Every derogatory term under the sun, like they haven’t already thought it of him for being quieter than Jung’s douchebag friends. And yet they also fail to see he’s more kind, more attentive and more loving than any of them could ever bring to the table in the presence of their own wives.

You also know they won’t find out- not when you’re virtually invisible to Jung and his friends when he’s not showing you off like some trophy to be won. When corporate holiday parties arise, or the need for an even number of golf participants makes itself known, Jung’s there without hesitation, grasping your hand between his clammy fingers and recounting days of when you’d met.

And yet none of his stories involve the present you. They fail to include your successes at work, or the books you’ve taken a liking to recently, or even the valiant efforts you’ve put into decorating your shared space with him, despite his complete lack of assistance. His stories of you exclude the liking you’ve taken to “yoga retreats” recently. And they definitely don’t know you can gut a fish like your life depends on it.

“This wine is better than the last one,” you say to Minho, as he pours himself a glass and slips a crystal stopper into the spout.

“It cost me less than the loaf of bread,” Minho replies with a breathy chuckle. “I don’t think we’ll ever stop favoring cheap convenience store wine.”

You swirl the cherry red color around in your glass, admiring the way the liquid forms a little whirlpool and settles once again, the strong scent wafting upward in the process.

“Notes of cherry, wood, french vanilla and… pocket money,” you say to Minho wafting the scent up even further with a wave of your hand.

He laughs at your words, taking a sip from his own glass and smacking his lips together once.

“Undertones of fruit and nuttiness. And maybe penny pinching, like in our college days,” Minho replies, the two of you chuckling as you set your glasses down.

You look out at the view from his balcony window, the darkened sky providing little to see at this hour, but still outlining the silhouettes of the trees and the bushels that line his apartment terrace.

“The time passed us by so fast,” Minho says in a somber tone, not turning to face you. You keep your gaze on the trees outside, thinking over your shared actions over the past few weeks. It’s been nothing short of thrilling going behind Jung’s back the way you do, but you’re also aware that with every meetup, you’re a day closer to tying the knot with Jung, preparing for a lifetime of permanence alongside the same person you’ve never felt so unsure about before now.

You turn to face him finally, a sad smile on your face as he waits for your answer.

“I wish we did something about this earlier,” you respond finally, taking note of the glow in his eyes as you speak. He looks marvelous at this proximity to you, so attainable and so enchanting all at the same time.

“Did something about what?”

“This,” you emphasize. “Us.”

Minho blinks nervously a few times, and then he cocks his head slightly as he waits for you to continue, too scared to affirm your words with thoughts of his own first.

“All this time I was trying to validate the fears inside of me surrounding this wedding,” you explain to him. “And then there was you, the same person who makes them nearly nonexistent. I wish we did something about it earlier so that maybe the fear was just lessened to begin with.”

Minho nods nervously, as he understands very well now that you’re on completely separate pages.

Minho, who wishes he could shake some sense into you and confess that this isn’t just some physical endeavor soul-searching the way it is for you- that he’s so madly in love with you, and that he chases the reminder of your permanence because the ivy that constricts his veins will surely kill him in your absence.

And thus, he takes what he can get- you, at your most vulnerable moments, unloved and uncherished by Jung, just seeking a kindly ear and maybe a warm body to remind you that there is some semblance of comfort to be felt in the interim.

And yet you, who only partakes in this fleeting act of physical yearning because you’re scared of commitment to Jung, who maybe doesn’t fulfill you every way you wish he would all the time. So you go behind his back, and you chase the fulfillment yourself, and you act upon the fears and the anxieties that have always circled your mind in the presence of Minho.

Maybe he likes you, maybe he’s jealous, maybe he wants to fuck you.

Statements you’ve heard throughout the entirety of your friendship, ones you couldn’t help but ponder, too, as Minho would grow painfully quiet with Jung in the room. But ones you always brushed off, telling yourself that the two just don’t click. And yet the arousal present with the fear makes for some of the most pleasurable moments together in the privacy of Minho’s home, albeit for Minho, on time begged and borrowed from you. The affair with Minho is not indicative of permanence in any form, and yet it exists to confront your very fear of permanence.

Selfish? Surely. Contradictory? In every sense of the word. The concerns raised to you by Minho himself in any way? Never.

So it remains, this tragic cycle of sleeping with your best friend behind your fiancé’s back, blind to the fact that he’s irrevocably in love with you, in a comfortable state of mind knowing that at least you’ll have felt this state of peace for even just a finite amount of time before you give yourself away to the marriage completely.

And yet it’s a beautiful thing in essence, this shared love between the two of you. A trust instilled so deeply on both sides to give yourselves away to each other every night and close a chapter of what once was, regardless of the differences in how it’s perceived.

The incandescent glow Minho’s tender embraces bring forth in you, no matter the fact that he’s simply grieving a very real, living love that still exists between the two of you. Green leaves of ivy that constrict his throat and force words back down them again, so that he may never admit that he’s jealous, and it’s you, it’s always been you. The same suffocating feeling he ponders late at night, asking himself why he’s been so magnificently cursed to only love you under these circumstances, and never in ones that promise him your permanence in return.

But when you're across from him, a glass of cheap wine in hand and your gentle laughter accompanying his, he can’t help but embrace the grand feeling- tarnished, but still grand.

“Maybe it worked out the way it was supposed to,” Minho settles on saying. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be more than this little period of time.”

And there’s a pang of pain in his chest as he utters the words, but he’s met with your small nod in response, visibly comforted by the prospect of his implications.

“Hey,” you say after a moment of silence, sitting up straight and swirling your glass of wine around in your hand again. “There’s a dinner thing Jung’s hosting with some people from the guest list. Don’t say you didn’t get the invite.”

Minho exhales with an audible groan, slouching back in his chair and running his hands through his hair.

“I don’t even like his cooking,” Minho admits frustratedly. “He’s just going to make me feel like an idiot the whole night.”

“But I want you there,” you say to him in a pleading tone. “You’re my best friend. I can’t do this stuff without you.”

“I know you can’t,” Minho replies. “And I don’t want you to have to. But it’s going to be awkward, and painful.”

“I won’t let him cross any boundaries,” you reason with him. “I’ll diffuse anything that comes up. I just want you there, even if it means you’re going to sit there and say nothing. Even that would make me happier than seeing your empty chair all night.”

Minho groans again, swirling his own glass of wine around in his hands and averting your gaze. He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he speaks again, in a reluctant voice.

“He would kill me if he found out, you know. We would never see each other again.”

You feel your heart sink at his words, even the thought of it beyond unnerving to you.

“Why do you say that suddenly?”

“Just… thinking,” Minho finishes.

“Well he has no way of knowing,” you console him. “And I promise to keep things civil.”

Minho thinks for a moment, wanting to press you for more answers about what this even is, about why you’re choosing to let him waste his time like this and what possessed him to agree to attend your pre-wedding dinner as the other man.

But he says nothing, letting a generous sip of alcohol serve as the answer to the requests you press him for- yes, of course he’ll be there, albeit with his long list of fears and reservations. But he’ll do anything, twice even, at your behest.

*

The ebony wood dining table looks particularly elegant when it’s set up for guests. You line the seats with ceramic white platters, shiny silverware and iridescent glasses, paying special attention to even minute details, such as the direction of the prongs for each fork you place on white nylon napkins. Mixed peonies and birchwood make up the long centerpiece, and tall white taper candles are lit in the bronze candleabras.

And the mood is largely set by the guests, who laugh loudly around the table with glasses of expensive beverages in their hands. They speak of their jobs, and their spouses and pop culture references you can’t be bothered to pay attention to. Your eyes scan the emptiness in their eyes, most of them living lives you can tell they’ve simply settled for. And you wonder, briefly, if they’ve ever experienced the unwavering happiness you do in the presence of Minho. Do they ever crack open a bottle of convenience store wine? Do they still let loose at clubs every now and then? Could they gut a fish if they caught one?

You respond to their stories with little nods and fake chuckles, and your head snaps in every direction past your guests to the front door.

Minho’s fashionably late tonight, or at least you hope he is, still holding on to the promise that he’s going to be here. And Minho’s many things- but he’s not dishonest. He’ll show if he says he will, albeit for a few minutes each time when it involves Jung. But he’ll still show, dropping by with a timid smile and greeting the audience before sending you off with a lousy excuse again and leaving his spot vacant for the remainder of the evening. But tonight is different- tonight he’s here as the other man. And you can’t decipher whether that indicates a change in his subsequent actions, that perhaps he won’t show after all, and you’ll be left to your own devices with Jung and his obnoxious friends.

“… And one of our clients is an intern this quarter,” Jung says loudly, as he rants about his work in typical fashion. “Which means I’m going to be carrying most of our partnership.”

The guests laugh and raise their glasses, and you can’t help but wonder how on earth the comment warrants even an ounce of laughter. As Kwang’s wife begins to voice a response, the doorbell rings once, and your head snaps in the direction of the echoing bell.

“I’ll get it,” you say quickly, rising from your seat and smoothing down your skirt. “Excuse me.”

The guests glance briefly in your direction, and then turn their attention back to Jung, who begins to voice another chronicle of his inadequate colleagues. As you march down the hallway, your heart quickens in your chest, admittedly a little nervous to confront Minho after the recent events. You wonder if he’s going to be more awkward, or maybe even shut down entirely around the group. Maybe he’s just here to drop off another cake and send you off with a wave. Endless possibilities you’ve never had to consider when you weren’t actively sleeping with him. You unlatch the front door, taking a deep breath, and then pull it open, your gaze falling instantly onto the standing figure.

And it’s a wave of comfort when he smiles at you, his eyes forming little crescents as he grins and exposes his endearing set of skewed teeth, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he does. He’s much more dressed up tonight, in a black collared button down and a black tie, his light brown tresses framing his chiseled jawline so well. And seeing him is more exciting than any other guest you’ve seen tonight, a present urge to pepper him in kisses and remain right here alone, with him.

“Hey,” Minho says in a shy voice.

“Hi,” you respond, trying to stifle the giddy expression on your face from the guests around you who might be looking. “I saved you a seat,” you continue. “Come on.”

Minho enters reluctantly, glancing around the room and giving a small nod to the guests as you direct him to the vacant seat beside you. And somehow, he looks a little more confident, his posture much straighter and a knowing smile on his face as he occupies the seat beside you.

“Hi,” he says to the guests as they meet his gaze, and he even gives a small nod to Jung, who shoots him a subtle scowl.

“Jung,” Minho voices, gesturing to the table. “Pleased to be here.”

Jung just nods at Minho, and then goes back to telling a story of his business accounts.

But your attention is everywhere except for Jung’s story, hardly even able to take your gaze off Minho’s. His eyes sparkle under the hanging pendant lamp, his lips pulling into a little smirk as you watch him with such fascination. There’s something so enticing about the prospect that nobody here knows he’s fucked you, several times since the last time they saw him, and he’ll likely do it tonight when Jung thinks you’re out with a group of girlfriends. They don’t know the world you two have effectively built together, romantic nights of cooking intricate dinners together over glasses of cheap wine. And they don’t know the history you two share, years of walking through your fears and uncertainty alongside one another and bettering yourselves in the process. He’s your other half in so many ways, and you’re not sure it’s something anybody except the two of you could even begin to comprehend.

You watch as Minho picks up a bottle of wine from the table, rotating it in his grasp and examining the contents. It’s one of Jung’s favorites, an expensive bottle of zinfandel he picks up from a special market a few hours out of the city. And it all tastes the same to you anyway, pairing just fine with steak or fish or even fast food at 3am. In fact, it’s subpar in comparison to Minho’s favorites, which taste like safe intimacy, laughing at comedy reruns and love-making under the warmth of his blankets.

“Anyways,” Jung voices loudly, finally garnering your attention from beside him. “We’ve never been more ready for this honeymoon. I need tropical weather and some margaritas.”

“Amen to that,” Kwang chimes in, raising his glass for the nth time tonight.

I hate warm weather, you want to say. I wish it was Shirakawa, under the safety of the prayer hands thatched roofs and blankets of snow.

“If we don’t come back, just know we opted to stay,” Jung then says. “I’ll stay golfing on the beach and you guys can tough out the rest of winter here.”

Cue the obnoxious laughter, fake smiles, raised glasses.

“You’ll have the whole trip to help on her form,” Kwang says loudly, gesturing over to you with the wine bottle in hand.

“We went golfing the other day, and let’s just say there’s ample time for improvement.”

Roaring laughter, unsightly grins and clinking glasses.

And Minho glances over at you, who keeps a smile on your face at the stupid remark.

It’s exactly this that keeps him from acting upon the urge- you look content. You don’t argue, you don’t maintain a blank expression. Instead you smile, and you agree with his friends and your eyes look like they’re still on the same page of devoting entirely yourself to this less-than-desirable relationship you flaunt. Minho knows he’s just a stepping stone in this chapter, and that he’s going to come out of this hurt. But he also knows that despite your fears, you’re content, and he’s not going to insert himself between the love that you deserve, though it may take a while to materialize fully.

You glance over at Minho with a nervous smile, silently hoping he’ll say something. Just ask me to run away with you, you want to say. Tell me to run, and I’ll meet you there. Wherever.

But you know he won’t dare, too set on the idea that this is still what you want. So he’ll remain like this, in the unfamiliar atmosphere of a dining table you share with another man, and he’ll let himself face what becomes of it in due time.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks quietly, leaning in to fill your glass with more expensive wine.

“Peachy,” you say with a smile. And one he returns, shooting you another gentle smile and nodding at your confirmation.

The two of you listen as Jung segues into another story about his business client, and Minho’s leather heel finds your ankle under the table, grazing it softly as you stifle a smile.

There’s no sexual implication rooted in his actions, maybe not not even romantic implication, as his heel moves up and down the back of your bare calf. It’s just a reminder to say this will always be of permanence.

*

Minho’s hands work up and down the sides of your waist as he kisses you, smiling against your lips as you slot yourself between his legs and grasp the back of his neck.

He kisses Jung’s expensive wine back into your mouth, the flavor complementing the mouthwatering look he sports this evening, and you have to remind yourself several times to slow down.

“This looks so good on you,” you say with a smile, fidgeting with his tie and loosening it from around his neck.

“It’s the same one I always wear,” Minho says with a chuckle. “I can’t be bothered to buy a new one.”

“Don’t buy a new one. I want this one. I want it to be this one every time.”

Minho laughs lightly, a form of verbal agreement, and then he pulls you a little closer to him, rubbing little circles in the small of your back as you stay close in his embrace. He’s sprawled out on his couch, strands of hair hanging delicately in his face as he steadies you in his hold over him, his pink lips visibly swollen from having kissed you for the better part of an hour now.

“Tell me something about Shirakawa,” you ask him innocently, unfastening the first few buttons of his collared dress shirt.

”Anything?” Minho responds, bringing an arm up to rest casually behind his head.

“Anything. Something dreamy.”

“Hm,” Minho hums in response. “There are rice fields, and lily ponds and green orchards,” he says finally. “We can walk through all of them without a care in the world, and we can get drunk off little glasses of sake.”

“And the whole town can be ours,” you chime in, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his toned chest.

“The whole town,” Minho echoes. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

“As long as you’re there,” you tell him, trailing your kisses lower and undoing the line of buttons as you near his navel

“Anything you want,” Minho exhales in a dreamy tone. “Say it and it’s yours.”

His eyes shut instinctively as the last of his buttons are undone, exposing his chest to you and promptly covered in eager kisses as you trail down to his hardening cock in his pants.

And his arms rest lazily behind his head, feeling completely taken care of, so needy always for your delicate touch. Your nimble fingers work to graze in slow back and forth motions over his flesh, and then you hoist yourself up a little higher to straddle your hips over his crotch.

“Thank you for showing up tonight,” you say to him in a sweet voice. “It means everything to me.”

“Anything you want,” Minho says for the second time tonight. “Say the word and I’m there.”

“You’re my best friend,” you voice to Minho. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

And the utterance of a friend doesn’t even sting for him anymore. It’s fact- you belong to each other, time and time again, as friends, and lovers in the evening, and everything else in between. He doesn’t fight it, because he’s grateful for any role he can play amidst the grand role you play in his.

“Are you hard?” You ask a little quietly, a knowing smile on your face as you rock your hips gently over his.

“A little,” Minho replies, though he’s in no rush to have you take care of it. It’s enough exactly like this, your bodies intertwined together and infatuated with each other in the secrecy of his home.

“You want me to take care of you?” You then ask, one hand trailing up to wrap lightly around his throat.

And as your slender fingers graze the column of his neck, it’s clear to you at this angle. Sticking out like a sore thumb, so glaringly wrong and indecent from this proximity.

Your left ring finger, completely bare, your engagement ring nowhere to be seen.

At first you’re sure you’re hallucinating, pulling your hand back quickly to examine the thin tan where your finger meets your knuckle, one that’s usually covered by the gleaming jewelry. But as you rotate your finger around under the dim lighting, you confirm it’s not in fact some illusion- your engagement ring is gone.

Minho sits up a little, craning his neck a little to examine your worried expression.

“Y/n?” He questions, taking note of the way your eyes remain fixed to your hand. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s not here,” you say simply.

“What? What’s not here?”

“My ring,” you say a little more panicked, climbing off him and glancing around the coffee table.

“Where’s my ring?” You question, moving aside stacks of books and magazines atop the glass table. Minho sits up, glancing around too, searching desperately for the little piece of silver jewelry.

“Let’s stay calm,” Minho says as he stands up. “It has to be around here. When was the last time you saw it?”

“I can’t remember,” you say in a panicked tone, now scrambling to the kitchen and searching the marble counters.

“Okay,” Minho says calmly. “Was it- do you ever take it off to wash it?”

“I never take it off,” you reply. “I never take it off, why the fuck isn’t it on my finger?”

“Let’s stay calm,” Minho repeats. “It has to be in here-”

“Calm?” You finally retort, turning to face him with tears pricking your eyes. “You want me to stay calm? Jung’s going to kill me, do you know how fucking expensive that thing was?”

“Of course,” Minho says, buttoning up his shirt as he continues to search. “Which is why we’re going to find it.”

And you don’t reply for several moments, still frantically scanning the kitchen counters for any sign of your ring. But it’s a moot point, every napkin you unball containing nothing, nothing in the trash cans Minho searches through, even the dishwasher thoroughly searched, to no avail.

And you can’t help but to cry, tears falling nonstop from the corners of your eyes as you rush about the kitchen and think of every worst-case scenario. This is it. Confronting Jung about it means he’s going to know what’s been going on, chew you out about the cost of the ring and your carelessness toward it. And then call off the wedding, and every single one of your friends will know you’re a cheater and a liar.

“It’s not fucking here,” you cry out to Minho, halting your movements to bury your face in the palms of your hands, letting yourself emit muffled sobs into the sleeves of your sweater.

“It has to be,” Minho says, glancing once more around the room, and then approaching you to pull you in for a hug.

“Don’t,” you order, pushing him away from you, and Minho furrows his brows together. “Just don’t fucking touch me right now.”

Minho gives a breathy chuckle, thinking at first you might be joking, and then his expression softens as he realizes you’re being completely serious.

“What- seriously? That’s it?” Minho questions.

“What?” You say with a choked sob. “I can’t find my fucking engagement ring. The one I was given to get married, in case you forgot. Sorry I’m not in the mood.”

Minho scoffs lightly, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. And then he meets your gaze once more, a solemn expression on his face.

“What are we doing?”

“What?” You query in response.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Minho repeats. “What the fuck are you doing here if you’re getting married?”

You shrug frustratedly, wiping tears with the back of your hand and saying nothing in response.

“No, answer me,” Minho commands, his voice raising a little. “What are we doing, going behind his back like this? You come here almost every night spewing your bullshit about Shirakawa and suddenly it’s my fault that you can’t find your fucking engagement ring? I mean, who even cares?”

“Who cares?” You retort. “I do. I’m getting married-”

“Exactly,” he interrupts. “So then what the fuck are we doing? Go get married, for fuck’s sake. Will you just leave, for good then?”

“You want me to walk out of your life just because I’m getting married?”

“I want you to leave because I’m in love with you,” Minho says finally, and a deafening silence washes over you two.

For a moment, all that’s heard are your echoing sniffles and Minho’s heavy breathing, as he struggles to find the words to continue.

“You really don’t see it in the way I look at you? You really haven’t realized I’m only okay being the other man because I’ll take any fucking version of you I can get at this point?”

Your gaze fixes on his, taking note of the way tears prick at the corners of his eyes, too.

“I’ve been in love with you for all these years,” Minho says, his voice coming out in a choked sob. “And what a waste, all these talks of Shirakawa when I’ve known all along it was always going to be him in the end.”

His words circle your mind with a sense of urgency, as you struggle to respond.

You have known it, maybe even reciprocating by this point, but knowing that you can’t, not when you’re getting married in mere weeks. You’re happy, and you’re safe here with Minho. But in terms of love, this isn’t permanent. It’s a fleeting thing, one that has to end like this as you approach the next chapter of the rest of your life.

And yet it hurts, like a knife pierced deep into an existing wound, like thick vines of ivy that caress your veins and pull tightly with every thought of it being Minho all this time, all these years.

“I love you,” Minho says almost sheepishly, throwing his hands at his sides in defeat. “I’ve always loved you. I love you in loud bars and over cheap bottles of wine. And I’m jealous- god, I’m jealous,” Minho admits in a choked sob. “And it’s killing me. I can’t do anything about it except watch you plan a life with somebody I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing was me instead.”

Your lips part to say something, but you can’t, simply wiping the tears that fall onto the sleeve of your sweater.

“I love you in the hands of another man and I’ll still love you if you choose him. But I can’t do it at this proximity to you anymore.”

“Minho, please-”

“There’s nothing else,” Minho says, gasping back his tears. “This is it for us.”

You watch as he exhales deeply, wiping his tears and gesturing back to the kitchen.

“Did you check the soap dish?” Minho then says in a quiet voice.

“What?”

“The soap dish,” he clarifies somberly. “For your ring.”

And Minho watches as your gaze falls to the stainless steel soap dish across the room, a bristle pad sponge occupying the rectangular dish, alongside the familiar glint of your silver engagement ring.

One you removed to ensure you didn’t lose it among the plate of pin bones from the cod you helped Minho prepare. And one you hadn’t even realized has been missing from your finger for several hours now.

Your gaze falls back to Minho’s before you retrieve the ring, and his eyes are swollen and mournful. There’s not a glint of hope present between you two- not in friendship, and certainly not in love.

And neither of you say another word as you pivot on your heel to collect the symbol of yours and Jung’s ode to permanence.

*

The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress is much itchier than you remembered it to be. It’s a simple white piece, long and cascading behind the heels you’ve chosen, a generous v-cut enhancing the curve of your breasts as you adjust the hem in the mirror.

“Is it more comfortable than your wedding dress?” One of the bridesmaids questions with a smile.

You shoot her a somber smile, nodding at her and fidgeting with the long sleeve of your dress.

“Yeah. It is.”

“It should be,” she responds kindly. “Remember, try not to step on the bottom or we’ll have to get it cleaned off before the real thing.”

You nod at her, checking your reflection once more in the full-length mirror across from you. You love the woman you embody- she looks elegant, and sure of herself and well on the path to a lifetime of stability and happiness.

And yet the girl inside of you can’t feel further from the perception.

You want nothing more than to climb out of the tight-fitting dress and leave all of this, damn this rehearsal dinner to hell and call off the wedding. But this is it- the final stretch. Guests at every corner assume their positions and practice where they’ll stand and how they’ll move about so elegantly as you say your vows.

Jung seems so sure of himself, adjusting the cuffs of his suit and shooting you a wink from across the room as you stare blankly. And you can’t reciprocate, still far too preoccupied with the events of last week to care about any of this. Minho sending you off, the ultimatum to choose between your fiancé and the best friend you’re in love with.

Of course you couldn’t choose Minho, whose role in most of this has been to help lessen your fears and prepare you for a lifetime of giving yourself to Jung. And yet somewhere along the way, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was even true, completely smitten with every part of him, too. The fact remains that you’re in love with him, and yet you’ve both been so magnificently cursed to keep it at a comfortable distance and pray that in some version of this story, it’s you guys in the end.

Your family saunters about the venue in their fancy dressed and suits, and your guests chat amongst themselves and sample the foods that have been laid out for them. And your mind circles with images of Minho, and Minho and more Minho. And what he would look like, instead of Jung, waiting at the end of the aisle for you with a toothy grin and tears in his eyes. The cheap wine you’d choose to cater, just a handful of guests the way you know he’d want it. And an innocent, undemanding love shared between the two of you, sealing your promise to each other with a tender kiss and his breathy laugh.

Yet the fantasy is fleeting, it’s rooted in the delusion of a cheater, in every sense of the word, and it would effectively ruin your life had it come to fruition.

“Which way do we go from here?” Jung questions loudly, and your head snaps up in his direction.

“From here you’ll go to the right, just past the foyer there,” a coordinator responds. “Make sure to smile when you’re walking down an aisle at any given point.”

Stupid. The whole thing feels stupid.

“Did you get that?” Jung questions, and you nod meekly.

“Sure.”

“Let’s take five,” a coordinator says, clasping her hands together.

Jung resumes a conversation with the groomsmen beside him, and your eyes fall to the vacant seat across the table, where Minho’s meant to be sitting. A small white folded card rests delicately on a white platter, his name scribbled in loopy cursive to reserve his spot.

Lee Minho.

And you read his name over a dozen times, replaying every last word of your conversation in your head and wondering what he’d do if he were here. Probably criticize the wine, or make faces at Jung’s phony speeches. And love you from afar, but with his entire heart, regardless.

“What do you think so far?” Jung leans in to whisper.

“Yeah,” you reply, nearly evading the question altogether.

Your eyes scan the room at the carefully placed decorations- rows of lantern lights, white tablecloths and organized dishes for the guests, tapered candles are lit at every table. And in the center, bushels of magenta flower arrangements in cylindrical glass vases.

Magenta.

Your eyes do a double take, carefully examining the color as you furrow your brows. Magenta. Neon, obnoxious shades of magenta at every table. Nothing within the realm of the baby pink you requested. Harsh on the eyes and contrasting repulsively against the rest of the decor.

“The flowers are magenta,” you say to Jung quietly.

“Hm?”

“The flowers,” you repeat. “Are magenta.”

“Yeah,” Jung says, audibly a little confused. “They’re nice, right?”

“I said pink,” you respond. “Baby pink. These aren’t pink.”

Jung furrows his brows together, and then he cocks his head at the floral displays set upon each table.

“You’re right,” he then replies. He snaps his fingers at a staff member, and then he gestures to the floral displays.

“These aren’t pink,” he says harshly. “She requested pink and not magenta. Could we get these swapped out, please?”

A coordinator jots something down in a small notepad, and then gives him an understanding nod.

“That’s what we’re paying you guys for, right?” Jung asks sarcastically. “Come on, don’t let us settle for magenta flowers.”

And when he turns back to you, his chuckles get quieter as he observes the displeased expression on your face.

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” You ask him quietly.

“What?”

“Why are you ordering them around like that? They’re just flowers.”

“What? But you just said-”

“You never make things feel like less of a big deal,” you say quietly, a little scoff escaping your lips as you speak.

“What are you talking about?”

“You just take something and run with it. You don’t make things feel like less of a problem than they are. You’re supposed to comfort me, or find the good in magenta flowers. Not yell at the service workers.”

Jung laughs nervously, taking your words for a joke at first, and other guests begin to stare across the table as they watch you rise from your seat.

“And why is the wine so fucking expensive?”

“Please, sit down,” Jung says nervously, waving the guests off as they shoot him concerned looks.

“No, I don’t want to.”

And as you search for the words to say, your heart beating erratically, you realize it’s exactly this that you’ve stopped yourself from doing all this time. Fighting back. Using your voice the way Jung so comfortably weaponizes his against you. Letting your emotions spill out from the years they’ve been bottled up inside of you, and finally coming to terms with the fact that this isn’t the life you want at all.

It’s Minho you love, it’s always been Minho and it’s always going to be Minho.

“I don’t want this,” you say to Jung, as you smooth down your dress and stand up.

“Please, sit,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” you say in a shaky voice. “You don’t fulfill me, you haven’t touched me in weeks, I don’t think you even know that I asked for baby pink flowers, because you’re too busy showing off to all the shitty people you call friends. I don’t think we have ever been friends.”

All of the guests keep their gazes on you, taken aback by your words, but you don’t care, continuing your rant while they watch in horror.

“I hate expensive wine,” you say to Jung. “I want to go on a honeymoon somewhere it snows. I want to watch comedy movies, and go camping and be so madly in love it hardly feels like it some days, because we’re also such good friends when we’re not completely infatuated with each other.”

Jung doesn’t say anything, glancing nervously around the table as the coordinators maintain their silence, too. Your chest rises and falls with gasped breaths as you try to hold back from crying in front of them. And then you shrug, before finishing your speech.

“At the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf,” you say in a shaky voice. “And there’s the man who guts a fish alongside me, mess and all.”

Jung frowns at your words, visible confusion painting his features.

“What?”

“I have to go,” you say to him, sparing him any sort of explanation.

The hem of your dress is balled into the palms of your hands and pulled up to give yourself room to walk, as you kick off your heels and begin to exit the venue. And before you do leave, you pivot around one last time, letting your gaze meet Jung’s visibly irate expression.

“Here,” you announce, pulling the silver band off your ring finger and setting it down on the tablecloth.

“If you’re going to make a big deal out of anything, at least let it be this.”

*

The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress isn’t made to run in. It’s much too long, the fabric bunches up at the sides and its bright white color begs to be kept indoors only. And yet you run- and you don’t stop, not even for a second, until the reception building is completely out of your sight, disappearing beyond the trees and the tall grasses that surround it.

Your bare feet scrape the squelching mud that surrounds the grassland after the recent rains, and overhead, the piercing blue sky and a harsh sun beams down over you in encouragement. And you normally hate blue skies and green grasses like this, always equating them to Jung’s stupid golf courses and the corporate events he’s dragged you to for years.

But today it serves as a sort of blessing, like the world is brighter, lighting your path and guiding you to the beacon that is Minho, and all his unconditional, unwavering love for you. Maybe it took you years to finally acquaint yourself with your emotions like this, and maybe you hadn’t even realized what true love was until Minho. And there’s the possibility, of course, that you’re also too late, and that Minho has already settled on the tragic fact that Jung would always remain a part of you.

And that’s true- he will maintain a role of permanence in your life. He was your first serious boyfriend throughout college, your first fiancé and your first true love before you understood it in a less superficial form. And yet he will also permanently remain the man whose life you walked out on, because he helped you realize he’s nothing near what actually fulfills you.

Once the paved roads are in view again, you waste no time waving down a taxi and uttering Minho’s address to the driver with such urgency. Your dress is caked in mud up to the ankles, and your hair is in complete disarray as you glance out the window at the rows of cars, all belonging to guests here for your dinner rehearsal. And you chuckle briefly, at the thought of them emptying the lot and walking out of your life forever.

Contrastly, Minho’s apartment is in complete disarray, too, as he hoists the last of his immediate belongings into a leather bound suitcase and latches it shut.

What a waste, he thinks to himself. What a waste to have spent so much time comfortably in love with the idea of a finite soulmate, and at such close proximity, too. You’re probably off at your rehearsal dinner, sampling finger foods and laughing at all of Jung’s surface-level conversation.

And he’ll never know you the way Minho knows you. He will never comprehend your fears, your reservations, all your little quirks and the things that make you tick. He’ll never fully understand the prospect of being so bound to somebody in both friendship and love that it’s almost indistinguishable what you are to each other. Perhaps that’s where you went wrong, too- because Minho knows it, that his role in your life has always been to love you, near, far and at every point in between. And yet you deem it just a fleeting thing, one implying an end.

There is no discernible point between the end of my friendship and my love for you, Minho wishes he could tell you. Just like the promise of my friendship to you, it’s a blossoming thing, this beautiful phenomenon. And we can run with it, or we can let it die like this- but it will always remain of permanence.

The chestnut suitcase is hoisted into the trunk of his car, also littered with boxes and duffel bags of his belongings. It’s a vulnerable feeling, to pack up and move on like this. Not forever- just for the duration of which you’ll be uttering your vows to Jung. He can’t bear to be in the same city as any of it, he refuses to let himself love at the proximity of you dolled up in a wedding dress, in the sacred environment of a church surrounded by your family. How could a higher power accept the felicitations of the same man who’s been fucking you behind the groom’s back? Within the four walls of which transforms hate to love, and sin to virtue?

What a waste, Minho concludes again. What a waste to have loved this deeply, and to pacify your fears only for another man to reap the benefits. Try as Jung might, he’ll never know you the way Minho does. And the vast trench that separates you from Jung, one which paints a clear divide of friendship and his superficial love for you- that will remain permanent, too.

As Minho starts up the engine, the last of his belongings all packed and ready to go, he glances around the neighborhood with a somber expression. The sun glares down on the empty concrete roads, birds circling the sky like there’s any reason to celebrate. Maybe they’re ravens, and maybe they circle in a mourning ritual. The only event fitting for an afternoon like this one, as Minho prepares to leave for his parents’ house- like the coward he knows he is.

His apartment grows smaller with every passing inch he drives down the concrete road, and a trembling hand reaches up to adjust his rear view mirror, letting out a deep exhale as he prepares to leave all this behind.

And as the faint outline of his apartment grows smaller, a white figure behind him grows bigger.

It starts as a fleeting blur, maybe a shadow, or perhaps the glint of the sunlight in his mirror. But as he quickens the push of his foot to the gas pedal, it grows faster, too, catching up to the drag of his car along the concrete and approaching him with such purpose.

An apparition of sorts, he thinks momentarily.

I’m fucking seeing things. I’ve officially lost it.

But as the frantic call of his name floats through the air and into the crack of his car window, his eyes widen, the lag of his brain finally reaching a halt as he slams on his brakes and throws open the door.

And in rushed motions, he’s climbing out to face you, doubled over as you catch your breath and hold a hand up in surrender.

“Stop!” You shout, waving your hands and motioning for him to cease his movements.

And Minho’s eyes don’t get any smaller, maintaining their shocked expression as he waits for you to speak.

Your white dress, tainted brown up to your knees in mud and grass. Even your face is muddy, streaks of it painting the otherwise stunning face of makeup you flaunt. And you speak in pleading gasps as you finally break the silence between the two of you.

“It’s you,” you say to Minho sheepishly.

“What are you-”

“It’s you, it’s always been you,” you breathe out. “I was so stupid, and I left as soon as I could comfortably come to terms with it. It’s you I love, Minho. Not Jung and not the idealized version of that life I created in my head. I can’t do any of this without you, and I can’t live the rest of my life without having said something. I love you- now, and in ten years time and I want to spend the rest of my life gutting fish alongside you- mess and all.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment- in fact, he wears a poker face as he watches you continue to catch your breath. And then he scoffs lightly as he shakes his head.

“You waited until the day of your wedding to say something?” Minho retorts frustratedly.

“Rehearsal dinner,” you correct him. “This is just a dinner dress.

“Regardless,” Minho says. “I mean, what are we doing? There’s another man waiting for you, and we’re here doing something we should’ve done years ago if it was meant to be in the slightest.”

You feel your heart drop at his words, confirming the theory you’d feared the most. Too late.

“Please,” you beg, and Minho shakes his head.

“We’re terrible people,” he then states, his voice trembling in the process. “Cheaters, and liars. And this is far too rooted in dishonesty and selfishness to be love.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you watch Minho scan your expression. And perhaps he’s right- but it can’t be anything except for love, not when it feels this right with him.

“Where are you going?” You ask Minho quietly, moving a strand of muddied hair out from your eyes.

“My parents’ place,” he replies.

And you give him a small nod, pivoting on your heel to walk out of his life, forever.

Except it’s the realization of this that causes you to turn back around-

There is no forever in the absence of Minho- not when he plays a role of permanence.

He will forever be the man you fell in love with, the man you’ve been in love with for years, one you risked your life to come find and one who’s defined the limitations of what it means to be a best friend and simultaneously a lover.

That will remain with you always, and near, far and everywhere in between, the love will exist the way it always has.

“Loving me was the most selfish thing you ever did,” you call out to Minho, and he turns back around to meet your gaze.

“And yet you did it anyway,” you continue. “You made love to me and you drank my fiancé’s wine and we’re in love so selfishly at this proximity to each other. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in love, and that I’m not going back to Jung. And leaving here- depriving yourself of the love you’ve wanted for so long, that’s also a selfish move. You can go as far as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that the love is still here between us.”

Minho’s lips part to say something, but he doesn’t, instead blinking nervously as he waits for you to finish.

“And at the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf, and there’s the man who teaches me how to gut a fish, mess and all,” you finally finish.

Minho stays silent, pondering your words, and scanning your expression.

And truth be told, he wants to take you in his arms and run, hearing the words he’s longed to hear all his life. But he stops himself, instead emitting a breathy chuckle from his lips and shaking his head.

“Well what do you propose?” He finally asks, cocking his head as he awaits your reply.

And his response is a weight off your shoulders, as you sigh deeply and shrug in his direction.

“I propose we let ourselves be selfish,” you say to him. “And we spend the rest of our lives seeking forgiveness together.”

Minho chuckles, taking careful note of the way your eyes sparkle as you approach him. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you so relaxed before, and certainly not so sure of yourself. You look like the woman he’s loved both near and far, exuding confidence and passion and unwavering comfort in your demeanor. His best friend and his lover, he thinks encouragingly, as he cups his hands around your cheeks and pulls you in for a tender kiss, one that confirms your proposal and implies all of this permanence.

The roads are still empty in the dull afternoon of the hour, Minho maneuvering the car with one hand as you sit beside him in the passenger seat, your hands intertwined over the center console as the harsh blue sky and bright hues of green grass melt into blurs of color beside you. And he speaks only of Shirakawa as he drives, promising you beautiful snowfalls and chilly walks along the lily ponds upon your arrival.

You can picture everything as the tales escape his lips, full of life as you imagine the brown farmhouses and green hills, where you and Minho promise to love selfishly under the prayer hand thatched roofs, the very place your forgiveness will coincide alongside the permanence.

And as he brings the back of your hand to his lips for a chaste kiss, he can feel the green vines of ivy loosen around his soul, but this time you feel it too, viridian leaves finally putting distance between your venules and their harsh grasp. And perhaps it wasn’t grieving all along, but love for you- love which you’re full of, too.

And the vines tangle themselves beautifully between your seated figures, blossoming flowers and color and placing life back into you both.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Minho can finally breathe.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

after reading light and new world last night im literally here after rereading new world because whatever emotional turmoil it put me through at the end wasnt enough clearly i had to experience it again. u are actually a master of this craft bc writing such intricate stories w such beautiful symbolism omg im obsessed, i did already mention im usually a silent reader but here i am breaking my silence a second time because i need to gush about ur stories immediately. when mc asks hongjoong ab if he really did love her n they do their whole maybe i did maybe i did too blabla felt so final but also so ambiguous at the same time i absolutely loved it so much!! the way i was honestly expecting hongjoong to backstab mc after his coronation and still felt surprised he actually did it as if both of them arent the most red flag terrible immoral people ever😭 like yes it did hurt reading he was ready to execute mc even if she was already going behind his back from the beginning?? mingi and woojins part during the execution scene left such an impact on me they way mingi signals ab the bluebirds u have done it again!!! taken my breath away!!! and also please dont be alarmed when i go leave an aggressively lengthy message on another one of ur stories apologies in advance for the word vomit‼️💟

lmaoo not you rereading new world to feel that emotional turmoil again 😭 like why put yourself through the pain AHAHAHA I'M NOT COMPLAINING THO THANK YOU SO MUCH 😭😭❤️ i can't believe you're spoling me and praising my fics so much like i'm actually gonna sob. i hope i can write even better stories, but for now, thank you for appreciating the details, the symbolism and everything! if this is the kind of feedback i get, i don't ever want you to be a silent reader again AHAHAHA (np tho but we writers really appreciate this feedback so so much. it encourages us to write more, write better, and it stays with us forever so thank you for sending this ❤️❤️)

omg yes. writing the ending for new world was such a challenge (tragedy always is) but at the same time, it came very naturally. like that's the ending they deserved, and it was a beautiful one imo, especially with the hint that they loved each other despite everything, that the blue birds won, etc etc. it was predictable if you think about it, yet the way it played out it perhaps what made it so special and what made the readers (and you) appreciate it and i'm glad that i was able to do a good job!

once again, thank you so much for this lovely feedback! this means so much <33 have a lovely weekend!

[baebeyza]

War for Cybertron Rant: The ending was unsatisfying to me because Optimus isn't the main character

Okay, people who know me and follow me for a some time know that I really enjoyed the whole of War for Cybetron, every season and most characters.

It has flaws; Not enough episodes to flesh out the world or characters, no real backstory, stuff like that, but I was able to enjoy it just fine anyway.

I loved Siege, Earthrise was epic and Kingdom met my expactations.

But there is ONE thing I just cannot enjoy about the way it ended, and it has to do with Megatron.

You may also know, I love Megatron. He's my fave Transformer and I do love him in WFC as well. I loved the route they took with him here and thought it worked really well, despite the no backstory.

My problem with him isn't the character himself, but how the narrative treated him and Prime, so lemme just say:

Optimus is NOT the main character of WFC - Megatron is!

But the show does treat it like Prime is the MC and Megatron the villain, because why wouldn't they?

However, I'd argue that the way the show is written and these characters are represented, that Megatron is the real MC.

His emotional state is shown far more and better and more explicitely than we ever see Primes. I am not saying that we don't get a fair amount of what Optimus goes through, but we see far more from Megatron:

1. Megatron's emotional state is far more expressively seen

2. Megatron goes through more turmoil via his dynamic with Ultra Magnus

3. We see him being far more conflicted about his actions than Prime. Prime's and the Autobot's actions in Siege don't go with a lot of emotion, while we see Megatron's very emotional reactions to them

4. When the Allspark gets sucked in by the space bridge, we see it through Megatron's eyes

5. Earthrise is all about Megatron having to do very hard decisions that eat at him. The sad look he gave section 12 before giving the order to shut it off for example

6. Megatron in general has more intense character dynamics, in Siege with Magnus, in Earthrise with Elita. In Earthrise, Prime's only intense dynamic is with Megatron

7. We get to see Megatron's hatred as the driving force to any of his actions taking over his desire to take the Allspark back and save Cybertron. It's a development we see him go through.

8. Both of them, Megs and OP, deal with guilt, but we see Megatron having nightmares about it. Megatron's illusions from the Allspark are about his guilt, while Optimus just sees Alpha Trion (which doesn't lead to anything)

9. We see Megatron dealing with his future self and rejecting it and changing his mind and perspective. Optimus has almost nothing to do with Nemesis

10. Even though both Megatron and Prime have similar stories about having done bad things and mistakes because of their own desire to win, Megatron is the one to really get confronted about it and develop because of it

Again, I am not saying that Prime's story isn't good or valid - But it did not get the care and detail as Megatron's story did.

Watching the show, I sympathised with Megatron's emotions far more than with Prime's. And that is not because I am a Megatron fan - If a Megatron aint worth shit, I won't love just cause - but because we were shown more of Megatron's emotions.

Thus, he feels more like the main character than Prime!

And here we get to the ending:

Optimus got a closure to his story with Elita's death and than with her spark speaking to him.

Megatron got nothing!

We dealt and were shown his conflicted emotions and story far more explicitely throughout the show than we did Prime's, and yet he got no closure at the end while Prime did!

It's like the writers focused on Megatron on accident and remembered right at the end that Prime was supposed to be the focus as the actual main character.

I am not saying that Prime's ending was bad or anything, it was great - But Megatron deserved one as well, even more than Prime!

Megatron should have had a scene of him reacting to Cybertron's destruction and the death of everyone.

Megatron should have had closure with the sparks of the people he cared for, especially Ultra Magnus.

His ending should have been realising that it is his fault that Cybertron got destroyed, rejecting Galvatron's self-serving goal, and doing what he always thought he was doing - saving Cybertron.

He did reject Galvatron and save Cybertron, but rejecting Galvatron was more about him not wanting to take orders from anyone and deciding his own faith, and less with his original goal.

On the golden disk, he even said how much he regretted not making peace with Optimus sooner; That thought should have been present in his actions at the end! The end when he didn't take Prime's offered hand and was like "We live in peace...for now." Didn't fit.

In the end, he simply wasn't allowed to get any closure to his story. No closure to the emotional journey he went through. He had no moment of carthasis, the end felt like watching a Rube Goldberg machine go for 3 hours just to malfunction right at the end.

It was simply unsatisfying.

[meenah-chan]

Stargazing

A Belphegor x GN! MC fanfiction

847 words

Genre: Angst

Warnings: none, I guess hahaha

"It's fine. You don't have to worry about it anymore..."

"I may have learned this in a hard way... but people do come and go..."

It is just a usual night. Nothing occured in particular throughout the day. Not in their class in RAD, nor in their regular student council meeting, neither in the afternoon tea in the Demon Lord's Castle and late dinner in the House of Lamentation. Nothing at all.

MC is just bored. They lay on their bed, eyes plastered on some manga gone lackluster after reaching halfway.

Closing the book at hand, they placed it on the desk beside the bed and decide to reach for their D.D.D.

It was inside the drawer. So do is their old phone, which is the one they pulled out. Though unused for a bit long time, MC still charge it from time to time to maintain its life.

"...Hmm..." It is unused. And they have nothing to do right now, so why not browse through it? So they scan through it, clicking on the social media they usually use out of habit.

Skimming through their wall filled with something MC have no idea what trend it is.

"Ahhh, How about..." MC thought of their close friend for 6 years back in human world. A bit of misunderstanding cause a turmoil between them, but it was settled not long after.

As soon as their friend's wall registered to the screen, a highlighted post flashed on their orbs.

'Dark', 'all bite', 'dead', 'dread'... It was a spiteful poem filled with grudge. And at the end of the poem is the date it was posted— on MC's birthday.

"..."

"It's fine. You don't have to worry about it anymore..." Their friend's word replayed om their mind.

"... It's nothing, I'm just paranoid—" And then, a ring resonated inside the drawer.

"You're free right? I got my hands on a star projector from the human world. Would you like to do some stargazing with me? I'm in the attic right now." It is Belphegor, sending them a message.

"On my way 😊" MC replied.

They saw Belphegor, waiting in front of his room. "That's fast." He chuckles.

"Well, I love stargazing." They smiled before following the demon inside.

"Waah... The one you got is amazing..." MC awes in delight as soon as Belphegor turn on the projector.

"They are beautiful, right? It also seems to be pretty accurate."

"Hmm, I feel like... I'm looking at the real stars."

"Ah, do you see that two stars over there? The ones that are right next to each other?" Belphegor moves closer to MC as he points the glowing dots across them. "Those appeared in the sky over the Devildom after the Great War ended."

"They're twin stars...mine and Beel's. I'm really glad they can also be seen in the human world." A satisfied arch forms over his lips as he saw their eyes twinkle as if its the stars.

"Pollux and Castor, that's their names in our world. If they are your stars, then I'm also glad I could see it in the human world."

"You're rather well-informed." Belphegor smiles wider, "...Yep." but it soon fades with the momentary disappearance of their radiance.

"I'm sorry, i ruined the good atmosphere."

"It's alright. You can tell me if there is something that's bothering you." Belphegor tucked the stray strands of hair behind their ears as he gave them a reassuring smile.

"... The one who made me interested with stars and constellations is a friend for a long time... well, he used to my friend."

"What do you mean?"

"We had a quarrel. Apparently, he had a grudge towards me for a long time that he won't even tell. I thought we settled it already. That he accepted my apology... "

"I thought the space and time he asked was enough to mend his wounds...but I guess I was wrong." Tears spilled from their eyes, "I wasn't prepared. I didn't know 6 years could end in just a night. That the laughs and bickers under the stars is meaningless." MC ends their story as their sobs become prominent.

"It's not meaningless..." He caress their cheeks and wipe a tear away with his thumb. "The fond memories that gave you happiness, and it made the sweetest you right now. It will never be meaningless."

"I may have learned this in a hard way... but people do come and go. They leave but the memories and learnings they left with you will always be there." He cupped their cheeks with both palms and held them like they are the most precious thing he ever had.

"And this time, I'll be here to learn stars and constellations with you," He placed a kiss on their puffy eyes tenderly, causing their tears cease. "Do you want to make fond memories with me?"

Overwhelmed, all they can do is nod eagerly, squeezing the hands placed on their cheeks.

He pulled them on his lap. With their back on his chest, enveloping them with a warm and affectionate embrace.

"Thank you, Belphegor." MC never knew the stars that surrounds them, could ever shine much brighter than they have ever seen in their whole life.

A last minute Belphie dedication fanfic for the celebration of the release of his character song!! 🎉🎊✨

I actually wrote it as a comfort fanfic because, you know... or maybe you don't, hahaha.

I feel a bit too much down when Belphie sent a message of stargazing, so I felt a bit better. And then the idea was born. 'Le slaps it on a post to commemorate and thank Belphie babey 😆😆💖💖

[judediangelo75]

Hair Raising Situations

Hello everyone!

So this one is gonna be a bit different. 

1) I’m featuring my best friend in this one, because the whole “Judith Harris” development started between us two (She has her own MC of course and a Bill fan, Billiam being on her ship names).

2) It’s not connected to anything I’ve previously written, just a funny little story.

3) It’s not just TalbottxJudith. Shocker I know. Judith isn’t dating anyone but it would go in the order of who she interested in (from most to least). So it could be looked at as multiple ships and you’ll see her attitude to each person she interacts with. 

4) Judith’s hair is straightened here, but when... what happened happens, it would be the same hair cut as Orion’s.

5) We did give Skye a twin brother, his name is Hermes. Get it lol?

Anyways, I hope you like this silly little story. Enjoy!

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

(Brooke Brown) (Age: 16)

I was currently hiding out in the Courtyard in my Animagus form. Why, you may ask?

Because my best friend/sister is out to kill me.

Let's rewind, shall we?

-A little while earlier-

"I can't wait to prank someone with this Fanged Frisbee. Thanks for buying it for me, Brooke," Tonks cheered gleefully as we walked on the Training Grounds. I smiled at the pink haired Hufflepuff.

"Of course. You plan on scaring Filch and Miss Norris with it like last time," I asked. Tonks frowned.

"As much as I love to prank those two, I think I need a change of victims..." The girl trailed off as someone caught her eye. I looked up to find Judith practicing her broom surfing. I glanced back at Tonks and saw the impish smile spread on her face. 

Oh no...

"Tonks, I know that look. Don't even think about," I quickly reprimanded the infamous prankster.

"Oh don't be such a spoil sport, Brooke. Her reaction is going to absolutely priceless," Tonks waved off, preparing to throw the Fanged Frisbee.

"Tonks, no-" I watched in horror as the prank item whirled at my best friend.

"JUDITH, LOOK OUT!" Luckily that caught her attention as she was able to evade the frisbee. But she didn't get a chance to rest as the Fanged Frisbee came whistling back round, giving chase. 

Judith looked semi-scared as she did her best to shake off the frisbee as she flew around on her broom. 

Tonks and I readied our wands to put a stop to the fanged prank item before our friend could get seriously hurt, expect we were have a hard time actually hitting the frisbee.

Tonks and I could only watch as the Fanged Frisbee closed in on her from behind.

"Judith, dive," I shouted. Judith didn't waste a second as she dove down. Judith was able to evade the fanged terror... somewhat.

The sound of fanged teeth cutting through hair felt impossibly loud. I couldn't help but to gape in horror as my best friend's hip-length hair was cut semi-choppily and fell to the ground. Tonks managed to cast Immobulous on the Fanged Frisbee but Judith didn't seem to notice. She stared at the ground where her hair fell while raising a shaking hand to her head.

Uh oh. 

I immediately transformed into my red-tailed hawk and flew off. Not before hearing the scream that damn near shook the entire castle.

"BROOKE, TONKS! YOU'RE SO DEAD!"

---

So now I've resorted to hiding until, hopefully, Judith cooled off. 

I've been watching the doors that lead to the Courtyard just in case she comes here looking to rip my tail feathers off...

I was so caught up in my inner turmoil, I nearly fell out of the tree I was in when a giant Golden Eagle landed right next to me. Talbott and I transformed back into our human forms for a moment.

"What did you do this time," Talbott asked bluntly. I gave my fellow Ravenclaw an innocent look.

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything," I said, doing my best to hide my nervous laughter. Talbott raised a sharp brow at me.

"And I'm sure Judith was yelling that she was gonna kill you and Tonks for kicks," he said. I shuddered in fear. Talbott sighed.

"Brooke-" I clapped my hand over his mouth, looking around in fear.

"SHHH! She'll be listening for my name for all I know," I hissed at the eagle Animagus. He stared at me, completely unamused.

"Whatever you did can't be-"

"BROOKE KELLY BROWN! YOU BETTER BE READY FOR AN ASS WHOOPING YOU’LL NEVER FORGET!" I let out a shriek, transforming back in my bird form and hiding behind a startled Talbott. 

Judith stormed out in the Courtyard, a fire dancing in her pale gold eyes.

Oh Talbott if you love me as a friend, please for all that good and holy, do not tell her where I am...

-----

(Talbott Winger)

After meeting the "Cursed Children of Hogwarts", I knew my life will never be normal.

I was just thankful for meeting Judith first. Even though she and Brooke were just as persistent on being my friend, she was the much calmer one. Brooke tended to be more mischievous and can easily talk my ear off if I let her.

When I heard Judith's cry of pure fury earlier, all the way from the Library mind you, I knew Brooke and Tonks must've been up to no good. Judith isn't the type to explode or get mad easily, so whatever they did must've been a prank.

When the normally calm Hufflepuff stormed into the Courtyard with a glare sharp enough to kill a man, I instantly had an idea what they did. And couldn't help but blush at the difference.

Judith has been growing her hair out over the years. Her thick long curly mane would reach her mid-back in its natural state. But when it was straighten, it would reach her shapely hips. 

I secretly thought she looked beautiful with long hair, silently wishing to play with her long locks. But now, said mane was now cut short. It was a bit choppy, but not in a bad way. She looked cute with short hair...

Her gold eyes scanned the Courtyard for her fearful best friend who was now taking refuge in my hood. Her eyes landed on me and her angry expression melted into something akin to shy embarrassment. She walked up to me slowly.

"H-hey Tal-Talbott," she quietly greeted me. I rose a brow. 

The fact that she can switch from rage to shyness nearly gave me whiplash.

"Hello Judith," I replied. The girl crossed her arms staring at her feet. I couldn't help but find her adorable right now. 

She was wearing her semi-casual class outfit. A black sweater over her white button-down collar and yellow and black tie, a black skirt that reached her knees, dark gray long socks, and her shiny ballet flats. With her short hair, it made seem so much sweeter...

I jumped down, feeling Brooke squirm before quickly settling in my hood. I took a few steps forward until I was standing in front of the cute Hufflepuff.

"Have you seen Brooke around," she quietly asked. 

I felt a nervous twitch on my back. 

Deciding to cover for my fellow Ravenclaw, I shook my head. Silence ensued between the two of us, as Judith still has yet to meet my gaze.

"New haircut," I inquired in an attempt to break the silence. The girl flinched.

"Not by choice. It looks bad, I know," she grumbled. As much as I love her with long hair, I love seeing her like this as well. It brought out her face more, and she looks cuter with the fact it wasn't completely even.

"Who said anything about it looking bad. I think you look rather cute with it," I whispered, twirling a strand between my fingers. Judith looked at me surprised, a hint of color appearing on her face.

"I- um... uh..." I felt a small smile grow on my face.

"Thank you," she squeaked, coming out more like a question rather than a statement. 

Too cute. 

I dropped my hand, silently chuckling.

"D-do me a favor and tell Brooke that we have Quidditch practice l-later, please," she stumbled over her words. I gave her a small smile.

"Sure, anything for you, little bird," I said softly. The girl's blush grew worse as she tucked a couple of loose strands behind her ear.

"Th-Thanks, Talbott. I'll see you later," she mumbled before quickly leaving the Courtyard. A few moments later, Brooke came out of hiding and transformed back into her human form. She pulled me into a tight hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" I felt her squeeze me tighter with each thank you and quickly patted her back, wheezing that she'll break me in half if she hugged me any tighter. 

The Ravenclaw girl released me, giving me a sheepish smile.

"Oh, how I wish I could have you around all the time, Talbott. You managed to disarm her without even trying," she sighed in relief. I rolled my eyes at that. Not that I was looking to in the first place, but I did manage to calm the angry Hufflepuff down quite a bit.

"I don't feel like being your human shield every time you get her mad, Brooke. Remember, you have Quidditch practice with her soon so eventually, you'll be on your own," I pointed out. Brooke paled at that and whimpered. I would love to see how she wriggles her way out of that one...

———

(Orion Amari)

McNully, the Parkin twins, and I awaited our two teammates so we can start practice. Though I sense there might be some minor conflict that could cause a shift of imbalance during today's practice.

If Judith's yell from earlier was an indication...

Judith and I connect very well. 

She may have the strength that Skype prefers and the tactic that appeals to McNully but I noticed she gravitated more on my lessons on balance above everything else. She didn't bat an eye at my methods, whether it be for us to talk as equals by balancing on our broomsticks or even when I taught her how to Inspired Broom Surfing. 

She seems to enjoy not only the challenge but the peace it seems to bring her.

I don't know much about the Curse Vaults but I know it brings her much stress. Helping her clear her mind is definitely something I would gladly do for her whenever she wants.

"OY! Where the hell is Harris and Brown?! They should've been here by now," Skye grumbled, tapping her foot impatiently. Her twin, Hermes, smirked.

"What's the matter, Sky? Eager to get your pasty ass handed to you so soon? Especially after being the Hospital Wing for so long?" The Hufflepuff snarled at her Ravenclaw brother.

"Put a sock in it, will ya?! Now that I'm recovered, I'm gonna mop the floor with you," Skye hissed. McNully simply shook his head at the Parkin Chasers.

"I give it a 98.9% chance this has to do with Judith's death threat earlier," he told me.

"And what could you think to be the reason," I asked the Quidditch commentator. He shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Beats me."

"S-sorry we-we're late, everyone..." came a slightly timid apology. We all turned to find the Ravenclaw Chaser and Hufflepuff Beater in their respected practice uniforms. Brooke, who voiced this apology, was looking away and Judith silently glared daggers at her best friend. 

I blinked in surprise as I took in my Beater.

Judith's hair has been cut drastically short, very similar to my own in fact. I'd always found the Hufflepuff to be alluring with her long, thick mane. Especially when the wind would blow, toying with her locks as she meditated with me or when we simply practicing flying on our brooms together.

Her short hair didn't dampen her beauty but simply changed it in a different light. Her facial features were brought out more due to the cut. Her big gold eyes, her soft cheeks, her slightly sharp jawline...

"Tch, nice haircut Harris," Hermes snorted. The girl shifted her glare over to him, making him slightly flinched.

"We don't have time for a bloody makeover, Judith, we had a Quidditch title to defend," Skye chided.

"Oh, can it both of you! It's not like I asked for a bad hair day," Judith snapped, sending a side-eye to a timid Brooke.

"May I asked what happened exactly," McNully asked politely. Judith sighed, refusing to say anything. Brooke tried not to twitch under her hard stare.

"Let's just say a Fanged Frisbee gone wrong," Brooke vaguely summarized. I let out a hum of understanding as I studied the Hufflepuff Beater. A few strands landed in front of her face. Before Judith could do anything, I carefully brushed her hair behind her ear, allowing my fingertips to lightly caress her cheek. 

The girl blinked at me in surprise, a blush coloring her face.

"I see nothing wrong with it. I think short hair suits you," I said with a smile. The girl couldn't find any words to say after I complimented her.

"S-so, le-let's get to practicing, ye-yeah," the Hufflepuff Beater offered. I silently chuckled at her attempt to change the subject but appeased her nonetheless.

It didn't escape my attention however when Brooke shot me a grateful look.

———

"Oh boy, definitely need a Wiggenweld Potion," Brooke winced as practice concluded. 

Judith showed no mercy, hitting Bludgers with deadly accuracy. She managed to nail Hermes and Brooke quite a number of times, much to Skye's delight, but I can still sense some level of unbalance coming from her.

"Judith, may I speak with you. Alone," I called out to her. Murphy and Skye shrugged, Brooke looked relieved (more or less running out of the stadium, despite her injuries) and Hermes smirked making kissing noises in our direction. Judith looked very peeved, as well as a bit flustered, at that and looked ready to jump the male but I held her back with a steady hand on her shoulder.

"Come now, it wouldn't be long. I promise," I whispered gently to her. Her face did a funny little spasm as her blush grew worse, but she relented. When the others cleared out, I turned Judith so she could face me. The girl stubbornly looked at my chest. I let out a sigh and tilted her chin up so she could look at me.

"Something troubles you. What's wrong," I softly asked.

"It's stupid. One of the few days I actually could relax, I get chased by a rogue Fanged Frisbee thanks to Tonks and Brooke and now I have a haircut that makes me look more like a boy. I'm already insecure about myself as is, this just put me in a foul mood," the girl admitted. 

My gaze softened at the Hufflepuff witch. 

Tentatively, I cupped her cheek, brushing my thumb under her eye.

"Long or short, your hair doesn't define your beauty, Judith. I'm not speaking to you out of concern a captain has for his teammate, but simply as a wizard expressing himself to a witch. I truly mean when I say you're an alluring girl," I whispered to her. I leaned in pressed a small kiss on her hairline. I heard her let out a shaky breath. Pulling away, her eyes were closed and the blush darkened.

Her gold eyes fluttered open to meet my dark brown ones. She gave me a shy smile.

"Th-Thank you, Orion," she said quietly. I hummed softly and stepped back to give her some space. She asked if she could leave now and I gave her a smile and nodded, saying I'll see her around. She gifted me with one last small smile before walking out of the stadium. I heard the grass being crunched under a set of wheels.

"You seriously could've made the poor girl faint you know," I heard McNully say. I turned to him with a guileless smile.

"You know that I have no shame expressing how I feel. I feel a connection towards the girl, simple as that," I said. The commentator rolled his eyes and chuckled.

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

(Andre Egwu)

I was in the Ravenclaw Common Room studying one of Murphy's playbooks. I really want to be a better Seeker so I can actually play on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. I want to make my grandmother proud... and Judith as well.

The witch never had to reach out to help me, especially since she's on the Hufflepuff team. But she helped introduced me to Murphy so I can learn and strategy wizard himself. I was actually surprised how friendly those two were with each other, which means they've been working closely for quite a while. I remember the kind smile she sent my way when she promised that this is will help me become a better Seeker.

She had such a beautiful smile. Among a lot of features.

Her smooth chocolate skin.

Her delicately sculpted face.

Her athletically fit (and slightly curvy) body.

Her bright gold eyes.

Her long dark hair.

I sighed dreamily.

"Whatcha sighing about, Andre?" A very familiar voice spoke. I jumped to find Judith standing close to the couch I resided on. I blinked in surprise.

Judith blew a strand of her now short hair from her face as she looked at me curiously. Suddenly her battle cry from earlier today makes so much more sense...

Along with Brooke's frantic running in and out (with a bunch of snacks and candy in hand) of the Common Room, yelling if anyone needed her she'll be in the Gryffindor Common Room...

I can understand Judith's anger, but...

It's not as bad as she thinks it is...

"Andre?" I snapped back to reality as the Hufflepuff rose a brow at me. I blushed.

"Sorry, sorry... I was caught up in studying these playbooks," I partially lied through the skin of my teeth. I felt my entire face grow hot. She let out a soft hum.

"Alright," she finally said. I let out a soft sigh of relief. I stood to take a closer look at the girl.

"Cute haircut, whose your stylist," I commented, ruffling her hair playfully. The girl stared at me, surprise overtaking her features.

"I was half expecting you to find this bad," she said, running through her fingers through the choppy cut to fix it. I shook my head.

"You looked good with how your hair was before, but you look very cute with this cut," I said honestly. The Hufflepuff Prefect chuckled and hugged me around the waist. I blushed and wrapped my arms around her. The sweet smell of her shampoo wafted up my nose. Mmm... cocoa butter and coconuts...

I felt a dopey grin spread on my face.

Dear Gods if this is a dream, don't wake me up...

Unfortunately, the girl pulled away.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said. The warmth of her hug and the sweet smell still left me in a slight delirious euphoria. So I didn't hesitate to answer.

"Sure, anything..."

"Do you by any chance know where Brooke is?"

"She went to the Gryffindor Common Room," I said, unknowingly ratting Brooke out to her possibly vengeful best friend. Said best friend gave me a giant smile and another hug.

"Thank you, Andre," she said, and was there a slight purr in her voice? She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving me alone once again.

Sighs... so worth it...

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

(Brooke Brown)

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Once I get my hands on Egwu, I'm gonna clobber him!

...Assuming I survive my best friend's wrath...

I glanced at Bill, who was basically yeeted across the room to keep Judith from entering the room. He ended up hitting an armchair, which toppled backward. I forgot how strong my best friend was...

I silently whimpered at the sight of Judith smirking down at me.

"L-l-let's not do-do anything drastic n-now...! I-I'm sure we can t-talk about this, haha haha haha pleasedon'thurtme," I said as I shrunk into the couch. Judith remained quiet for a moment before chuckling. I shut my eyes.

Oh no...

Goodbye world, it was nice knowing you...

"Relax, will ya? I'm not gonna hurt you..." I cracked open one eye.

"Really," I asked quietly.

"Well not really..." Not helping!

"You can say that the short hair kinda grew on me, so I'm gonna spare you from anything drastic," she said.

"Wha-But-How-" The short Hufflepuff gave me a small smile with a slight blush on her face.

"You can say I received some votes of confidence today," she said softly, brushing a few strands behind her ear. I thought back. Talbott. Orion. Andre.

I smirked and snickered.

Apparently, that was the wrong move as Judith's eyes sharpened into a glare. I 'eeped' as she leaned in close to my face.

"Even so, I'm not spending x amount of years just to regrow my hair. You gonna find a way to help me grow it back or else. Got it," she whispered. I nodded frantically. She gave me a lazy smirk.

"Good. See ya at dinner, bestie," she said, pulling away and walking out of the room. Once she was gone, I went over to check to make sure that Bill was okay while mentally wondering how can I convince Penny to brew me some kind of hair potion...

[utterlyinevitable]

Hurricane (Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.1k Warning: Small bit of cussing Summary: A hurricane is falling over Boston. Edenbrook has been evacuated and some very different doctor’s end up seeking shelter together.  

A/N: This series was inspired by an anon prompt request for “protection”. I hope I did it justice! This is a multi part story.  ALSO I love Gatsby and Fitzgerald and so self-indulgent in this chapter 🤣

________________________________________

Once Becca and Ethan brought order back to Naveen’s kitchen, she bounded back into the dining room with a bottle of pinot noir in each hand for them all to share much to everyone’s elation. Ethan hung back during the first bottle, opting to gather blankets and towels for the guests. 

The group of gossips played card games and continued letting the conversation flow as freely as Naveen’s hand. Running out of hospitable things to keep him occupied, Ethan poured himself a generous glass and observed the people around him. With much convincing from the group he eventually gave in to the pressure and joined the game of ‘Bullshit’. When that got boring they moved rooms in the name of tranquil comfort. 

They all sat in the living room watching Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby as the storm raged on outside. Naveen was quick to make sure everyone had copious amounts of wine and cheese before retiring to bed. Without the scrutiny of his father figure Ethan felt he could be a little more carefree. 

Under the cover of darkness Ethan let himself drape his arm behind Becca against the back of the love-seat, making sure to keep his touch a distance away, the soft cushions dipped under the weight of his muscle. She felt the warmth of his presence along the base of her neck. The short invisible hairs stood up at the electricity emitting off him, igniting her senses in the best possible way. Becca smiled to herself, moving a bit closer to him so their sides were completely touching. She leaned into him just enough that the fabric of their clothes were pressed flat against the other.  

Her eyes darted around the dark cabin. Elijah had moved from his wheelchair and to the edge of the three-seater sofa. Sienna sat next to him in the middle and was now lounging out over Naveen’s deserted seat with a throw pillow cuddled deep in her small embrace. 

The coast was clear. Everyone was too engrossed in the film to pay any mind to the diagnosticians on their left. 

Boldly, Becca rested her head gingerly on the curve of Ethan’s shoulder. Her friends were none the wiser. 

Pushing their luck a bit further Ethan slid his arm closer to her shoulder blades. She reciprocated their game by placing a hand carefully on his muscular thigh. 

Ethan’s enchanting blue eyes did their own quick survey of the scene to make sure Sienna and Elijah were still oblivious. When he was certain her friends were too caught up on the imagery, Ethan cupped his free hand over hers. The corner of Becca’s lips noticeably perked as she laced their fingers together. 

“I love this story,” she whispered into his ear. 

“Why? It’s a tragedy. There is not one likable character in the whole plot,” he whispered back.  

“That’s what makes it so compelling. They’re flawed and real.” 

Before Ethan could rebuke, her favorite line was about to be said. 

“Gatsby? What Gatsby?” she mimicked looking over to Ethan. 

Her eyes held the same adoration reflecting from Daisy Buchanan’s character. It was hopeless and all-consuming, fiery and full of… something Ethan couldn’t place. All he knew was when that line fell delicately off her tongue he couldn’t help but parallel the feeling of him and Becca being the only two people in the universe. Ethan had that smile - that one smile reserved only for her. That one smile full of eternal reassurance and pride, making it as if his whole world revolved around her in that soulful moment. A glimpse into who Ethan was and not who Dr. Ramsey needed to be.  

Becca was mere inches away. One movement and it would all be over. Her eyes flickered down to his lips and back to the large television screen, ever so enchanted by the modern classic playing out before them. Ethan was thankful for her lack of focus. He let out the breath he was holding in he held onto her hand just a bit tighter. 

As the evening passed on Ethan let himself fall a bit more into comfort. 

For a brief moment he thought maybe, just maybe, everything could be this simple. They could be together and the people in their lives could all know, and no one would care. No careers could be in turmoil by the mere mention of their romantic relationship. 

No politics. Just love. 

Unfortunately, that’s not how the world works. 

Ethan was far too well-versed in cynicism to let himself fall any further than this moment. Holding hands in the darkness was all they could ever have with others around. He let the moment last, trusting her word that her friends wouldn’t destroy their ephemeral happiness. 

No, that was destined for them. 

Once the credit scene began to roll Sienna was the first to disturb the peace. 

“Come on I think it’s time for bed,” she sat up and tapped a dozing Elijah on the shoulder. 

Sienna dared to glance over at the love-seat - doing a double take to make sure it was really, truly happening before her very eyes. There in the warm glow cascading off the television was Becca curled up against Dr. Ramsey. Ethan was cradling her against him with his right arm securely at her waist as his left held up a book. He began reading the closest literature he could find towards the end of the film when he was sure Becca was asleep and wouldn’t castrate him. Neither diagnostician made an attempt to move. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Elijah agreed, lazily moving back into his chair while Sienna made sure to put the pillow back where she found it. “Night Becca, Dr. Ramsey,” he called as Sienna wheeled him to their room for the next few days.  

“Goodnight, Dr. Greene. Trinh,” Ethan acknowledged without breaking focus on his book. 

Once the friends were safely in their room with a click of the door Ethan began to migrate, casting the book aside and reaching for the remote on Becca’s armrest to shut the television off. 

“No,” she whined as his small motions rock her gently to disturb her slumber. 

With a smirk Ethan scoffed, “You’re basically asleep.”

Becca grumbled back as she threw her arms over her eyes, “I don’t care.” 

Ethan took the challenge and swiftly rose to his feet. Becca’s cheek immediately met the crater in the cushion as she flopped down without her supporter. 

“Hey!” her objection was partially muffled by the old paisley printed cushion.  

Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle at his resident. Her legs were still awkwardly folded under herself and he’d imagine they’d at least be tingly with pins and needles by now, she still had her jeans on and her top exposed the pale skin of her midriff, and her brown locks were wildly strewn about. With a bemused shake of his head he brought the remainder of the dishes into the kitchen. 

When he came back Becca hadn’t moved an inch, her body still lolled to the side where he was previously sat. 

In four long strides Ethan was back in front of her. Becca heard his shallow footsteps yet was too comfortable to acknowledge his presence. Suddenly the couch flew out of under her and Becca was in free fall. Before she could open her eyes taut muscle and bone made contact with her rib-cage. 

Ethan had slung her over his shoulder. 

“Ethan!” she hissed. Normally Becca would appreciate the delicious view of this new position however the generous amount of wine mixed with the blood rushing to her head was not working in her favor.  

“Shush, you’ll wake everyone up.” Becca’s bottom jiggled from Ethan’s playful smack. 

She argued back, “You woke me up!”  

“It was that or have a stiff neck tomorrow,” Ethan began to rationalize as he took each step carefully so as to not to lose his balance. “And I’m not dealing with your complaints.”

Naveen’s master bedroom was large with glorious vaulted ceilings and exposed wooden beams. It was much too big for one person. Keeping with the cabin theme, the bed was wooden with four tall posts, the outer wall was lined with windows looking out over the river, and the adjoining bathroom led right into a modest yet bare walk-in closet. 

Ethan placed Becca down on the soft springform mattress conscientiously. She reveled in the waft of cinnamon and cedar of the quilt and deep red cotton sheets. Becca appreciated how Naveen also had an affinity for pillows - four medium firm and two down were waiting patiently for her noggin. Becca was too enticed by sleep to rummage for pajamas in her bag. Instead she began to unbutton her jeans haphazardly from her horizontal position. 

Ethan watched as she fumbled continuously, not quite grasping the button enough to pop it through the hole. After the fourth try he swatted her hands away, taking the reins. Ethan expertly flicked the button, dragged the zipper down and freed Becca’s legs from the thick day-ridden material. She sighed as the cool air met her clean-shaven skin. Her toes then hooked and flicked off her socks while she sat up and pulled her shirt off.  

 Sitting cross-legged on top of the duvet in just her nude bra and purple lace panties she asked, “Staying or going?” 

Her jeans were now folded on top of the wardrobe where Ethan stood with a cocked eyebrow, “What do you think?”

BOOM! 

A close clack of thunder rattled the wood causing them both to jump. 

CLACK! 

TSS

“Fuck!” she screamed in exasperation as quietly as she could. “Do you think a tree fell?” 

“Rookie, are you scared?” 

“No. I’ve been through loads of hurricanes,” she asserted, moving up the bed to crawl safely under the covers. “There's just a lot of wood around here. One wrong bolt and we’re all up in flames.” 

Ethan perched himself at the edge of the bed next to her nearly nude form. “I highly doubt that will happen.” 

“But it could happen.” 

“Theoretically.”

The covers sat around Becca’s waist. Her supple curves of her exposed breasts called to him. Ethan began to reach for her but the rational doctor did all he could to stop himself from caressing the addictive skin. Instead his hand rested on her inner thigh, just the thin duvet separating their warmth. Her hair was a frizzy halo around her rounded face and her lips stained deep indigo from all the red wine. And yet she was still - always, so beautiful. 

She watched as his eyes trail over her and his chest rose and fell a tad quicker.   

“You should stay. I know you want to.” 

“You know I can’t.” 

“You know they already think we’re dating anyway.” 

Ethan was taken aback at the brazen accusation but not enough to remove his hold on her, “We are doing what?” Instinctively his calloused fingers tightened their grip slightly. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” she all but rolled her eyes at his idiocy. After a beat, her brown eyes fixated on his expert hand, she added, “Ethan… are you single?” 

Her small voice was full of shaken vulnerability. She yanked the covers up higher, releasing his hold on her, and curled herself further into them, shielding herself from his answer. Or lack thereof, there were too many seconds hanging in the space between them.  

He reached out to tuck a few strands behind her ear. The wait was killing her. 

“No… I’m not.” 

Those words. Becca felt like the air had been stolen from her lungs. How long had she been waiting to hear them? How long has she been hoping Ethan Ramsey would commit to only her with a promise of forever? She couldn’t recall anything other than him at this moment moving in closer to her. Their noses brushed every so slightly, his affirming and hopeful words lingering warm against her flushed cheeks. 

“Stay,” she breathed. 

The way she was imploring him could crumble the Great Wall of China. Every ounce of Ethan’s resolve came crumbling down as he finally admitted his feelings to the universe. He thought she knew by now how he was irrevocably hers without words needing to be shared. Dr. Ethan Ramsey would continue living a solitary life until he could freely be able to love Dr. Rebecca Lao and without fear of completely destroying her bright future. 

Ethan wanted so badly to dive into the covers with her and never come back up - her sweet embrace was all the sustenance he needed to survive. But the little voice in the back of his head told him not to cut the line just yet.  

“Only until you fall asleep,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t want Naveen thinking we were being indecent in his bed. He’d never let me hear the end of it.” 

________________________________________

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[cafedanslanuit]

✦ • ° *.  — Ｓａｅｒａｎ＇ｓ　Ａｆｔｅｒ　Ｅｎｄｉｎｇ —  . * ° • ✦

chapter guide  |  chat with me

summary: Saeran has finally found MC and is ectasic to finally be able to enjoy the good ending his tumultous life has reached. But with Saeyoung still missing and Mint Eye around, his happiness may have to wait a little more. Was love really capable to win against his inner demons or will he have to learn to fight for himself?

chapter warnings: [check chapter guide for story warnings] mentions and/or descriptions of mental illnesses, mentions of past torture.

c h a p t e r   t w o   —   did you ever let your lover see the stranger in yourself?

Aereum looked up when she heard the door knocking. It was her secretary's way of telling her the next appointment was ready for her. Her eyes darted back at the notes she had written down after her first meeting with her new patients and his girlfriend. She had heard about cults before and had read all she could in that time about cult survivors to be as ready as she could to help him out to the best of her abilities. Even though she knew it wasn’t enough. Every survivor had their own story and she had to try her best to guide Saeran to find his own peace. She hoped he would be willing to walk that path with her.

She closed up her notebook and walked to the door, straightening her back before welcoming Saeran in. He looked up at her and after a small nod, entered her office, sitting down on a small sofa. Aereum closed the door behind her and took her place on the armchair in front of the sofa and took a deep breath.

“Thank you for coming here, Saeran. I know it’s hard to start therapy, but I’m happy you are taking the first step,” she said. Saeran nodded, still an uneasy look on his face. It was okay, Aereum was used to it. “So, how was moving day? The last time we talked you and your girlfriend mentioned you were moving into a new house. Do you like it?”

“She moved out,” he muttered. Areum blinked, confused.

“Min-jung moved out?”

Saeran smiled bitterly after hearing her full name. He figured the therapist had her information due to MC calling to set up the first appointment.

“Yeah. Well-- out of our bedroom. She said I need to be alone during… this,” he gestured, looking around the room, “and that she wants to give me some space and then we’ll get back together. She said she didn’t want to bother me, which isn’t the case, but…,” he shrugged.

“I see. What do you think about her decision?”

“I think she’s wrong,” Saeran replied, his eyebrows furrowing. “I… I need her. I don’t see why I can’t continue coming here while also being together with her.”

“Did you tell her how you felt?”

“Yes? Told her it wasn’t necessary. She insisted and I just… it’s not like I had an option,” he muttered, looking down at his hands.

“What do you think would happen if you had refused her request?”

“I don’t know? I just didn’t want to do anything that would make her angry with me. I don’t want to lose her and if she wants something, I’m going to try and give it to her.”

“How does Min-jung act when she’s upset or angry?”

Saeran furrowed his eyebrows and,

“I just think she knows more than I do. I don’t… I’m really lost. I don’t know how most things work and I just-- I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want her to be angry with me, ever. And I love her,” he said, letting out a shaky breath. “So if she wants something…” he shrugged.

Aereum paused for a moment and nodded softly.

“What is love for you, Saeran?”

He shot his head up. “Huh?”

“What do you think love is? Don’t think about Min-jung for a second. In general terms, what do you think love is?”

Saeran’s eyes looked around the room, his face tensed up in concentration. Aereum waited for him patently, and she could almost listen to the turmoil happening inside his head.

“When you love someone, you never leave,” Saeran muttered after a while. “And she stayed… through it all. Through the whole cult ordeal, when I had to face my brother after so many years… she stayed through it all. She takes my hand and guides me outside whenever I get overwhelmed. She never wavers, she’s… a secure port, I guess,” he made a pause. “Is that bad?”

Aereum shook her head. “There isn’t a universal definition of love, so no one is really wrong. But I do have one question, Saeran. What would it take for someone to walk away from their partner?”

“Why do you ask me that?”

“We all must have our boundaries, Saeran. And it’s important you recognize yours. You’re not supposed to figure them out today, but it would be a good idea to give them a thought,” Aereum said. Saeran blinked twice, confused but gave her a tiny nod. “I’m glad you feel Min-jung is a safe space for you. And, if she never leaves, don’t you think that will happen this time as well?” she asked, with a soft smile. “Even if she’s staying in the other bedroom, she is still by your side. I know you need her right now and it’s really understandable. Anyone would feel sad to be apart from someone they love.”

“Yeah,” Saeran mumbled.

“She was the one to set our first appointment, right?” Aereum asked. He nodded. “Why do you think she wanted you to start therapy?”

“Because of everything that happened. With… the cult,” he said in a low voice, his eyes fixed on his hands.

“Do you want to talk about what happened in the cult?”

Aereum gave Saeran some space to think it through, but after noticing his furrowed eyebrows and the intense way he kept rubbing his hands with each other, she knew he wasn’t ready yet.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now,” Aereum assured him. “But I would like to know how you have been feeling since you left.”

“I… I’m really tired, all the time,” Saeran shrugged. “I can fall asleep but it feels like I wake up one second later, even if it’s been six hours of more. That or I have dreams.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“Of… what happened back there, or… my mother. And that’s not-- She’s dead. I don’t want to talk about her,” he quickly said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“It’s okay, Saeran. We don’t have to,” she said. Aereum straightened her back and took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. How about we see each other two times a week? And next week, my colleague is going to have short sessions with you as well,” Saeran looked at her, his lips turning into a tense line. “I know it’s hard opening up to someone. I’m glad we could talk today. But my colleague is only going to prescribe you some medication, mainly to help you out with your sleeping problems and to cope with everything else. He will only ask you about your physical or mental symptoms, so it’s not like you have to open up again about topics you aren’t comfortable with. Would that be okay with you?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Saeran nodded. “Yes.”

“Great,” she smiled. “I’ll be seeing you on Thursday then.”

Saeran nodded and stood up. After a small bow, he disappeared through the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Before any of them escaped her mind, Aereum took her journal and started scribbling down her notes from her first session with Saeran.

It was going to be a long journey. And a part of her wished Min-jung really stayed for it all.

----------

It was weird to see Saeyoung with a leg cast. But the fact MC was sitting down on the sofa with his very enthusiastic brother’s injured leg on her lap while doodling cats on his cast, somehow made up for it. Saeyoung was always so strong that it never crossed Saeran’s mind he could break as well. But if he had learnt anything from his last hospital visits, it was that he certainly could.

Not only his leg had been broken in three different places, but the Prime Minister’s thugs had also shattered his cheekbone, broken his left arm and fractured his skull. Saeyoung had been bleeding internally when they finally found him, and to that day Saeran still remembered Jumin’s usually stoic face turning into horror when he learnt about his friend’s injuries. After weeks of frantic search for Saeyoung, he had been located and Jumin had communicated with the Prime Minister with a proposition: no information about his illegal antics would be released if he let Saeyoung go. He would make sure Saeyoung’s hospital records didn’t mention how he got that injury and that both him and Saeran would avoid the press at all costs. After half an hour of intense arguing and pressure from the CEO in line, the Prime Minister had finally obliged. Not even two minutes later, an ambulance arrived to take Saeyoung to one of C&R’s private clinics.

If MC hadn’t been by his side the first time he saw Saeyoung, he didn’t know how he would have reacted. He only stood awkwardly next to the hospital bed, seeing his brother cry in desperation as he couldn’t get up and hug him due to his injuries. MC had tried calming Saeyoung down, to prevent him from hyperventilating, but it wasn’t until Saeran grabbed him by the wrist of his healthy arm that Saeyoung finally stopped and started crying silently, mumbling countless apologies to Saeran.

They had spent the next few days listening to Saeyoung explaining everything that happened, with some more information that MC provided about what V had told her. It all made sense-- a little too much if anyone asked him. Saeran’s life had taken an one-hundred and eighty degree turn in the past few months, so it was difficult to learn that both V and Saeyoung had no idea where he was, and that they only learnt the truth once he got to meet MC. She held Saeran’s hand as he listened to Saeyoung explain, rubbing it in soothing motions. Every time they said their goodbyes to leave for the day, MC bought two cups of tea from the vending machine and walked with Saeran to the hospital garden. They would sit in silence and observe the artificial lake, finding comfort in watching the small fish swim by. Once Saeran squeezed MC’s hand, they would leave the hospital and go back to the apartment Jumin had temporarily set from them both.

Both Saeyoung and MC looked up and greeted him warmly when he got home after his therapist session. MC stopped scribbling on Saeyoung’s cast and smiled brightly at him.

“Hi, glad you’re back! I’ve been drawing small cats,” she chuckled, showing him the small drawings.

“One of them even looks like Elly!” Saeyoung chimed in with a laugh.

“I did some grocery shopping while you went away and bought your favourite ice cream? Do you want some?” MC offered.

“No,” Saeran answered, walking past them to the kitchen. Her smile faded a little, Saeyoung catching up to it quickly. He put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head softly, trying to dismiss the reaction of his brother. MC knew he wasn’t probably in the best mood after his first session, so she had hoped buying something he liked would cheer him up, at least a little.

But as she saw Saeran emerge from the kitchen and then walk to his bedroom without taking a second look at her, she knew it wouldn’t be the case.

taglist: @nad-zeta @unknownparadise​ @darkfaerry @sunshinejihyun​ [tag list is still open, message me to add you!]

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[marmolady]

Livita: Part One

Remember this fic? I went to do a few edits on my old fic, ‘Livita’, and the whole thing ended up stretching to double the length of the original! It’s now been split into thirds, chronicling Taylor and Estela’s journey to motherhood. 

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending. Freed from Vaanu, Taylor has been building a life with her soulmate… but their family remains not quite complete. Read PART TWO.

Warnings: Coarse language.

Word Count: 4262

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @sceptilemasterr​ @saivilo​ @greengroove​ @edgydepressedchoicesthot

La Huerta, June 2021

 Estela and Taylor had found their home. La Huerta had been their shelter, as it had been for Diego, and for Aleister and Grace, in a time when the wider world had been in turmoil. Some years ago, during the twelve Catalysts’ year of isolation at the end of the world, a small village had been built in the shadow of the great tree of Elyys’tel, and it was here that remained home for the small group. On La Huerta, Taylor and Estela had found their place in this world, together-- and it was there that they planned for their family’s next steps.

Taylor had invited Diego and Varyyn to join herself and Estela in the hot pools at the base of La Huerta’s snow-covered mountainous region. There were few places she knew more tranquil, more calming. She’d need that. What she and Estela were proposing was… monumental. There would be no resting until they bit the bullet and put it out there so… they would just have to take that leap.

That they’d grow their family together had always been a given, at least once it became certain that Taylor could remain with her loved ones on earth. They’d found their peace, and each had their home was in the arms of the other. The next step was the baby. Estela would carry the child; passing on a little piece of the mother who’d been so cruelly taken from her. Of course, it meant that the other grandparent would carry on through the bloodline as well… but having wrestled with it, Estela concluded that honouring Olivia Montoya was more important to her than eliminating Rourke. It was deemed the safer option; whatever Taylor was, she was not entirely human, and her reproductive capabilities and genetic contribution would be rather more of a gamble. If it came to it, they could try that path-- certainly Taylor liked the idea of being related to another person by blood-- but the simple truth was that Estela’s urge for that physical bond was far stronger.

Diego, they hoped, would be the donor-- and someday a doting tio. In Taylor’s eyes, he was ‘her side of the family’, a part of her being that she loved beyond measure. The thought of creating a person out of Diego and Estela, was just about the most beautiful thing Taylor could imagine. In every way, her family. She’d tried to remain detached and unemotional about the idea; there was no assuming that Diego would feel comfortable in being the donor in the first place-- family was a complicated thing for him, at she respected the hell out of that. But god, it was hard not to let her hopes rise.

The outing had been intended to be relaxed, but even as she soaked in the hot springs, Taylor couldn’t help but seek reassurance to soothe her near-constant attacks of nerves-- just a glance and Estela would give her a look, stoic and sure, and it was enough to get her through another few minutes of what was supposed to be easy; just hanging out with her best friend. Diego, of course, quickly became concerned. No fool, he could see something bubbling beneath the surface, clear as day.

“All right. Spill. Something’s driving you crazy right now.”

Taylor flushed-- though she was red enough from the steaming water that it made little difference to her complexion. “I’m fine. We just… want to talk to you about something. I figured if we just sat you down, all serious, you’d jump straight to ‘dear god, who’s died?’”

“Or… ‘dear god, is Estela an alien too?’”

Both girls laughed.

“I’m sure people have wondered that,” Estela said dryly.

Taylor took Diego’s hands, which helped to steady her own from shaking. Jesus, she just loved him so much. If this wasn’t what he wanted… of course, she’d respect that, but she was certain a little part of her heart would break.

“Tay, you’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. Get right into it, or you’ll just make yourself more nervous. “Well, you know that Estela and I have been thinking about having a baby together; we’ve been talking about it a lot, and we’re ready. We’re ready to grow our family… make it a little bigger. And… I really, really hoped… I…we wondered if you might like to be the donor for our baby.”

For a few moments, Diego was stunned into silence; his eyes widened as he swallowed what he’d just been told.

“You… want me to…?”

“You should both talk about it,” Estela said. “We know it’s pretty huge. I dunno… maybe you’d be like the baby’s extra special tio. Whatever you wanted the relationship to be.”

Diego hadn’t heard a whole lot of what he’d just been told. He was already falling weeping into Taylor’s arms. There was no question; no question at all. His mind flashed with an imagined future, of something closer to parenthood than he’d dare let his heart long for.

Taylor held him, blinking back tears-- a pointless endeavour. “I love you so much. It’s hard to imagine doing this without you being a big part of it. Whatever you choose, you’re gonna be our baby’s tio. But it would mean the world to me if….”

“This is the greatest honour,” Varyyn said softly, his own eyes misty.

Estela offered him a warm smile. “It means a lot to us both. Obviously, you’ll need to talk this all through-- we’re not expecting an answer right away. This is… a lot.”

“What sort of, uh, time-frame are we looking at?” Diego asked as he sat back next to Varyyn, who wiped away his tears.

“Soon,” Estela said resolutely. She glanced to Taylor, feeling the emotion just radiating off her. This meant the world to Taylor, as Diego did. “We’re both ready for this, it’s just-- if you want to do this-- how soon you’re comfortable. We know this might not happen quickly, so the sooner we can get things started…”

“...The sooner you can get through the rollercoaster of ‘trying’?”

“Yes.”

For a little while, Diego was quiet… stunned, he needed a few moments for his thoughts to catch up with his emotions. Having children was something he and Varyyn had discussed at great length, and the conclusion they’d always begrudgingly come to was that for the foreseeable future, their lives simply couldn’t accommodate that-- not in a way that would be fair to a child. Diego knew that he belonged on La Huerta, but that wasn’t the whole of his life; where his two worlds collided was a mess. There was still that lingering dream, but he knew better than to hang too tight to it. But… in Taylor in Estela’s child, he could have something beautiful; different but beautiful. Wasn’t that just the way his story was meant to be by now?

“Do you have, like, a plan worked out? I guess it’s pretty tough to travel for procedures right now….”

Taylor grinned. “Don’t I always have a plan?”

“Ha. You know I’d never doubt you.”

“Yeah, we want to stay on La Huerta if we can. Otherwise, we’d be able to get permits to go in and out of San Trobida. There’d be quarantine to deal with-- with the way things are in the States, they’re especially cautious about Americans-- but it wouldn’t be an insurmountable hurdle.”

“Have you worked out who you want to actually carry the baby?”

“Estela’s going to be the birth mother,” Taylor said, giving her wife a small smile and reaching to squeeze her fingers. It had been a tough one. She knew there was part of Estela that felt guilt over the decision they’d reached, but it was a decision they had come to together and Taylor would not let there be any doubt where she stood on the matter. “We talked about it a lot. A lot. Figuring out which oven we want to put the bun in was a huge decision, and there was so much to consider. You know how amazing it would be for me to have a blood tie with someone. I’ve longed for that. And I’ve mostly worked through it; I mean, I’m made up of my family-- of you especially. It’s who I am; it might not be about DNA, but it doesn’t mean it’s not as powerful. It’s… part of the reason why I wanted to ask you. In every way that matters to me, you represent my family.”

Again, Diego found himself choked up.

“And for Estela, it was a little different.”

Estela flushed a little, and averted Diego’s eye contact. This was so intensely personal. “If I could pass on a small piece of my mother… I don’t have anything more precious to give my baby. She would have wanted to give my baby everything. This will have to be enough.” She gathered herself, looking back to offer Diego an awkward smile as he gave her a knowing nod. “I was uneasy about what else I would be passing on, but it’s a connection to Aleister and Grace, and maybe cousins someday.”

“We did consider partner IVF,” Taylor said. “That’s where we take the embryo from one mother and implant it in the uterus of the other, but it felt like… a lot. I don’t have a big attachment to the idea of pregnancy-- definitely not as much as ‘Stel does-- and it sounded like a whole lot of intervention. Nothing about my life has been straight-forward, you know? So I got really invested in the idea of doing this as naturally as possible. Just us, at home, building our family together. I know it’s asking a lot as a same-sex couple, but I’d much rather this didn’t have to become something clinical-- not unless it turns out we can’t get pregnant a simpler way.”

Diego swallowed past the hard lump in his throat. He would represent Taylor’s family. He would be a father figure, an honour bestowed by someone who actually saw him and loved him for it all. And he was going to love his best friend’s baby with every fibre of his being.

Concerned, Taylor rushed to reassure. “Just-- take your time, okay? I know this is huge--”

“No,” Varyyn said firmly, and he gave Diego a subtle nod. He knew his husband; he knew that look on his face, that sweet certainty. He’d seen that smile after he’d asked of Diego a very important question one Niala’rei several years ago.

Diego took Taylor’s hand in one of his, and Estela’s in the other… and breathed deep. “Of course-- of course, I’ll do it. More than anything in the world, I want to do this for you.”

The air filled with joyous squeals and the splash of water as the group erupted into embraces and a few more tears. Sandwiched between the two people she loved more than anything else in all the world, Taylor knew that together, they could make this happen.

  __________________________

 August 2022

 Taylor’s heart sank as she looked at the result. Negative. Again.

Estela sighed and looked away. Again, no baby. Even knowing she could have done nothing more, it felt as though she’d let Taylor down when it really mattered. She’d promised her a family. And for herself…. Everything she’d ever wanted… her deepest desire… it was so close, only for them to be repeatedly smacked down by some invisible barrier.

“We’ll try again,” said Taylor quietly, trying to and failing to sound like someone who hadn’t just been crushed. “This is gonna happen for us, okay?”

Despairing, Estela threw her head back, fighting, fighting against the tears that so wanted to come. For several long minutes she wrestled with herself, with the torrent of emotion, before turning back to her wife. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Maybe… maybe we should try with you… it’s not as if I’m not made up of a load of shit that we shouldn’t really want to pass on to an innocent child. I’ve been selfish.”

“First of all; no. Not only are you not remotely a selfish person, you are freaking perfect… to me, you are perfect. Nothing you could give our baby could be anything but that. I love you. And I know how much you want this. I want it to be you. I want us to keep trying.”

Walking away, Estela could feel guilt clawing at her stomach. Of course she wanted to be the one to carry the baby, but if things kept up like this, there wouldn’t be a baby to carry. She sighed again, heavier, and curled up on the couch, knees against her chest. “Taylor, it’s been over a year…”

“We could see another doctor? But I trust what they said; everything’s working fine, it’s just not necessarily gonna happen overnight. I honestly think we’ve just been unlucky so far. And… and maybe it’s taken us a while to get our turkey-baster technique down.” Taylor sat down beside her wife and began massaging her back, feeling tension in every muscle. So much stress. “I know we wanted to do this at home, but we could consider intra-uterine, or even IVF. How about we give it one more month, and then start seriously looking at other options?”

For a long while, Estela said nothing, staring into space as she tried to process the aching disappointment. When she zoned back into reality, Taylor was still there, kneading her back. Another month… that was reasonable.

Taylor eased down the back of Estela’s shirt and pressed kisses between her shoulders. “I know how much you’re hurting right now… I’m feeling it too. Someday soon, we’ll hardly remember this; we’ll be too busy wading through diapers and trying to get a wink of sleep. But for now, I think it’s a comfort food under a blanket situation. We’ll just snuggle up in a love cocoon until whenever it is that we’re ready to put on brave faces.”

They cuddled beneath a blanket on the couch, grateful to have nothing pressing to do nor any people to see.  So much thought, so many long nights of discussion had gotten them to the point of trying, but all the rationale, the planning… all of it mattered little if it just didn’t happen for them. In the end, how it happened wasn’t important; they just needed their family.

The disappointment was not getting any easier, month after month, even as it became expected. They now knew better than to get their hopes up too high. Once again, Taylor would go back to Diego to ask for his help… another round of ‘I’m sorry’s and hugs of consolation, while Estela would back into herself, becoming quiet and reclusive until the pain of the blow dulled. The days, then weeks, would pass, and the couple’s optimism would return as it always did. Together they’d literally undone an apocalypse; so long as they had one another’s hands to hold, they’d soldier through anything.

Estela let herself be held, the touch of her lover offering the only comfort strong enough to keep her from going under. It had been so long now. Doubts, once trifling, became magnified until they were near suffocating. She had gazed upon her reflection in their full-length mirror, taking the time to contemplate while Taylor’s voice floated up from downstairs as she’d filled Diego in with another crushing update. What Estela had seen there was not a nurturer, but a fighter. Her physique, though not perfectly toned as it had once been, was still not exactly cuddly. And the scars… god, there were so many. Wounds from knives, a sword… a freaking dinosaur… her body was just a painting of violence. And that was just the damage that could be seen; far more, far deeper were the scars to her heart and soul. What harm could someone like that do to an innocent baby? Perhaps nature was simply preventing a great cruelty….

“Hey?” Taylor whispered. A quiet grunt was all the reply she received, but Estela looked up, meeting her eyes. “Everything that you are is what’s going to make you a wonderful mom. One of the things… one of the things I’ve been most excited for is just, like… our baby’s gonna say something, do something, and I’ll be like ‘whoa, that’s an Estela thing’. There’s no one else I could even imagine doing this with.”

With a small sob, Estela held Taylor tighter.

“It’s the pain talking, okay? This isn’t anything rational. And I honestly believe this is who you’re meant to be. The first time you held Reggie, I was on the verge of crying because of how right it just was. You held him like you’d never let him fall. Everything you’ve been through has only made you love even harder. And it’s gonna happen; I swear it’s gonna happen… you are going to be such a good mom.”

Estela gently caressed Taylor’s lips with her own, tasting the salt of tears. For her, she’d be strong; it was what she’d always done. It was impossible to be broken for long whilst held in Taylor’s heart and embrace. She could cut through the doubts, just enough to take another step forward.

“Next time…” she said softly.

Taylor nodded and returned the kiss. God, I love you…

“…Next time….”

  __________________________

September 2022

 Pausing her frenzied scribbling of notes, Taylor pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. From her position cross-legged on the couch in their La Huerta home, she heard the creak of the front door.

“You’re home late,” she said, still poring over her notes. “Reggie holding you hostage again?”

Estela draped her arms over Taylor’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, something like that.”

Taylor couldn’t help but laugh. “I think a part of you is kinda flattered that you can’t give the kid to someone else without him dissolving into banshee screams…”

“He knows his tia.” Pausing for a moment, Estela waged a silent debate in her head before making up her mind for sure. “Taylor, I want to take the test…”

Taylor looked up. Spending so much time with their nephew had only heightened Estela’s want for a baby. The both of them adored Reginald; most days they saw him, cuddled him, loved him, effortlessly coming into their roles as aunts. But the presence of Aleister and Grace’s bright-eyed baby boy served to highlight exactly what they were missing. “I know. But if you wait a couple more days, it’ll be more accurate. This whole thing is tough enough without worrying about false negatives.”

Estela sat down opposite Taylor, reaching out for her hands. “I’ve just got a feeling, you know? I feel different.” She took her wife’s hand, and tucked it into her bra. “That’s swollen, right?”

“Possibly? But it’s early, sweetheart. I don’t want you getting carried away with something that might not exist.” Of course, it was easy to see signs when it was wanted so much. Between hanging around Reggie all day, and an upcoming journey back to San Trobida in a few days, the yearning was running wild. It was only natural that Estela wanted to greet her tio with the news that she was expecting, but Taylor feared another disappointment. She stroked Estela’s breast, while her other hand lovingly cupped her face. “You know that even if you are pregnant, it probably won’t show up yet?”

“I know that. I’ll do it again in a few days… I just don’t think I can rest without trying.”

“Okay… but don’t get your hopes up. Do you want me with you?”

Estela shook her head. “It’s all right. Like you said, it’s probably too early to work. I’m just trying to settle the voice in my head.” As she moved to leave, Taylor hugged her tight.

“Love you…”

“Love you.”

Taylor looked back to her notes. Their return to San Trobida would be momentous for her; starting up a much-needed youth counselling service in the area surrounding Estela’s home. It was what she’d studied for, and it was with nervous excitement that she jotted down ideas and sketched out plans. With the grants and scholarships that the Aleister and Estela’s inherited company had to offer, there was the feeling that they might be able to make a real difference in giving the children of the civil war hope for the future. The central inspiration to their work was, of course, Estela’s mother. Each award given out to a student was gifted in her name; it provided a small comfort that Dr. Olivia Montoya’s legacy was one of a promise for a better tomorrow. Taylor found herself distracted. They had fulfillment in one another, in the work they were doing… but the picture remained incomplete. The quiet having lingered for too long, Taylor got to her feet, putting her notes aside.

“Estela? Is everything all right?”

No response. Becoming worried, Taylor started towards the bathroom, expecting that she’d need to break out the emergency cheering-up ice cream, as had been a monthly occurrence since they’d started trying for a baby. She knew she’d been right. It had been foolish to cause such distress when another test would need to be taken a few days later anyway.

She tentatively pushed the door. “’Stel? I’m here…”

Estela was sat trembling on the tiled floor, her eyes wide and wet with tears, seemingly unable to look away from the test stick she held in her hand. Several others lay at her feet.

“…Taylor… I’m…” In her daze, she couldn’t even get the words out.

Tears sprung to Taylor’s eyes and her hand to her mouth. Surely… surely it couldn’t be what she thought it was? But then, that smile… that smile… it said it all.

“Wh-what are you… what are you saying?”

“We’re… we’re having a baby…”

Without knowing how she got there, Taylor was on the floor, Estela’s arms around her as they cried, and laughed, and kissed.

We’re having a baby.

[dear-yandere]

Vanya Reviews — Dead Wishes (Steam, Itch.io)

In this chaotic world, you must adapt - either to forgive or survive. A thriller-romance indie visual novel/dating simulator.

STORY

Stricken with long-term depression over the death of your parents, you are on the verge of eviction and bankruptcy. Without any prospects for the future, you're desperate, so much so that you might even...... join the mafia and uncover a heated love affair gone terribly wrong.... become a criminal allied with a team of murderers.... suck it up and make an honest person of yourself.... serve as the caretaker for two dysfunctional sisters.... end up destitute on the streets.... or join the church and repent your sin. But mostly, you're either going to find love and happiness or die a terrible death.Dead Wishes features various subplots that are woven between character routes. In order to experience all of what the game has to offer, the player must read through every route and piece the stories together.

FEATURES

12 character routes: 6 men and 6 women

250,000+ words of in-game text

Partial character voicing

They/them player pronouns

350+ Choices and 35+ Endings

36 CGS

Developers can be found at @violetstudiogames​.

MINI REVIEW

I’d like to thank @ddarker-dreams​ for encouraging me to finally play the game! It’s everything I want in a dark otome and more. Anyone that enjoyed the dark aspects of BTD 1+2 and TDDUP will love this, though I’ll warn that not all routes are dark and not every character is necessarily yandere. Be sure to check out the strategy guide made by the developers; it explains route order and gives pretty in-depth analysis of each character and their line of thinking.

Overall rating: 7/10 (I honestly wish more of the routes were dark, but a certain route kind of... ahem, made up for that tenfold)

Estimated playtime: 10 hours including the backstories (unlocked after you finish all routes) and afterstories.

Personal takes on the characters: Slight spoilers below! ♡ to ♡♡♡♡♡ represent my enjoyment of each route and character.

Non yandere routes:

Clement ♡♡♡♡♡ Y’all, this guy’s route is fluff city. He loves his dog and little sister so much, and he’s honestly just an ideal guy and family man. His route made me laugh so many times since he’s such an awkward and cute flirt. I suggest saving him for some much needed therapy after Mateo’s route. If I had to make him yandere, I can see him as a protective and possessive.

Eira ♡♡ Eira isn’t my type of woman, so I didn’t enjoy her route as much as I would’ve liked. But, she is a woman of color like myself and I really appreciate seeing that come into play in her route. Still, it felt like she was fuel to further the story rather than another love interest. I could easily see her as a lucid and protective yandere.

Nanako ♡ I hate women like Nanako -- childish, indignant, and immature. She has the same problem as Eira: being fodder for the story. I rushed through her route, so I don’t have much to say, but there’s a strongly hinted relationship between her and Eira and I live for it. Although she’s a tsundere, I could easily write her as a protective and possessive (though I don’t particularly want to).

Sergio ♡♡♡♡♡ This boy isn’t yandere in the slightest, but I could easily make him yandere considering his circumstances (mafia don)  -- but... that would defeat the point of his entire route. He is a broken boy that wants to be loved, that wants to heal. Although he never hurts MC and would likely never hurt them, I can see him being protective and very reluctant.

Festus ♡♡♡♡♡ Another one I’m biased to since he’s my ideal guy. Flirty, sometimes obnoxious, and uses his trickster persona to hide his hurt, suffering, and intellect. He pulls through when he can, and his aspirations in life are wonderful because he wants to help everyone he possible can; but god did my heart feel for him in his backstory. Such a devout man...he’d easily make for a submissive and obsessive yandere.

Lucien ♡♡♡♡ The character I was most excited to play -- and he failed, until I read his backstory (so I gave him an extra heart...). His route raises more questions than it answers, and it’s only through playing interconnected routes (namely Sergio and Ophelia) that those questions are answered. I think he could be something great, especially as a yandere, but he feels like such a static character through his own route. After reading his backstory, I’m certain this was the developer’s intention, but I can’t help but feel unsatisfied with his route, even his good end. He is a man that could drop his lover at any moment, nor does he seem to feel or understand love; although his route isn’t yandere, I could write him as a reluctant, possessive, and manipulative yandere. He’s... not an easy one to categorize.

Yandere routes: in order of least to most

Allegra ♡♡♡♡♡ Yo, girl hot indeed. I’m not fond of her name, but Allegra is a nicely fleshed out character, to my genuine surprise. I didn’t have much hope for the female characterization in this game, but playing Allegra as my first really struck a chord. She’s not my ideal girl by any means, even under the slight yandere tendencies, but I can appreciate her character and desire to be a better person. A protective and reluctant yandere.

Ophelia  ♡♡♡♡♡ I love this girl and her girlfriend. She comes across as a tsundere, but she’s far more sinister than that underneath her cute looks and princess personality. In her backstory, it’s actually hinted that she may be royalty, so that explains that, but be ready for lots of verbal abuse coupled by some touching scenes. An obsessive yandere with sadistic tendencies.

Vincent ♡♡♡♡ A true delusional yandere, though he does show symptoms of other ‘types’ -- as all yanderes should. He’s one of my favorites because of his unique way of thinking, and his backstory is so terribly sad because it hints at the sometimes oppressive way Indian households are run. I feel for him deeply, and he was the first character I encountered (+ I got his good end pretty easily) so I’m not sure what that means for me. Oops?

Kazue ♡♡♡ A manipulative and deeply delusional yandere suffering from Lupus and what I can only gather as dependent personality disorder. Like Mateo, you could say that her delusion is a direct result of a certain other character, but I think Kazue is prone to delusional despite that considering her dependency and sorrow. Just let her be a good and loving housewife, no matter how wrong something seems...just be careful, though. Her delusionals are scarily real.

Mateo ♡♡♡♡ Heavy trigger warnings, not for the faint of heart at all. The most unhinged yandere I’ve ever seen, and despite it all, he’s such a sad character. His route slashes any sympathy you might initially feel for him, but his character as a whole is interesting. -1 heart because he threatens noncon on the kids to make MC compliant. This boy is devoid of morals unless it has to do with the environment, and you’ll learn why in his backstory. MC will go through a lot of inescapable mental turmoil and abuse throughout this route. I’d label him a sadistic and delusional.

Special character (unlocked after completing all other routes):

Anise ♡♡♡

Not so much a route as a philosophy lesson, but I enjoyed Anise’s interlapping role in the story. She provides some much needed backstory to the characters, world, and to life in general. I liked her mostly because of her ending lines, something along the lines of: live life to such a full point that your wishes become dead. A good message, even if it’s from a morally-void character. I’d categorize her as a yandere if she could feel love.

[peechbea]

No one asked but I'm gonna give my Opinions on the Fire Emblem games I've played uwu

Sacred Stones

Eirika and Ephraim are babey

Seth is the Perfect Man and no one can tell me otherwise

Colm...loml.....

I've only beaten it once, but the gameplay was solid and the game gave me genuine challenge. The story was good and characters were memorable.

Overall, 7/10

Awakening

Chrom's a himbo

Gaius is also a himbo

Together they make Ultra Himbo (and a cute couple)

Validar kinda hot though 🥵

Overall, gameplay was okay! I like the pair up mechanic, but after a while one can easily manipulate it to where it feels overpowered.

Casual mode is perfect for casual players. Believe it or not, some people don't spend hours upon hours on Fire Emblem. Yes, casual players are still true fans. Moving on.

As much as I love Robin, they can easily be overpowered. After multiple playthroughs, they end up incredibly strong every time.

Chrom can do the same, actually

Speaking of difficulty, you cannot have Baby Level (aka Normal) and Normal difficulty (aka Hard), and then shoot the difficulty up to Lunatic mode aka impossible. As someone who has spent years playing this game, I still haven't made it past chapter three of Lunatic mode.

Overall? Average gameplay, great character designs even if some personalities were bland, and good story. Plus it was my first FE game so, 9/10

Shadows of Valentia

Ngl, kinda disappointed that there's no customizable MC. Obviously, it's a remake from an older game so, understandable. Still, it would have been nice to give Alm or Celica a little accessory and have it show up on their portrait or even in battle.

I never played the original so I can't compare the two, but I genuinely enjoyed the game regardless of how faithful it was to Gaiden

Saber has me like 🥵👀

Fantastic storyline and characters I loved and still love

Lacks the pair up mechanic, which made me think more and plan more strategically

Supports felt kind of short and lackluster, but I assume that's due to the original characters from Gaiden not getting enough personality to begin with. I still enjoyed what little there was.

Was the first FE game I played that had exploration you could control! Nothing feels better than walking into a dungeon and smashing barrels with a sword uwu

While I love the game, I won't be able to experience it the first time again. The story is the same every time through, which most FE games are, but it almost feels necessary to promote some units to specific classes or else you can't progress. Because of that, it sits at 7.5/10

Three Houses

Brings back the exploration, but on a wider scale!!

Took the idea that a FE game could have branching paths and made it really good!

For the first time (for me anyway), the main characters have obvious internal struggles and even mental illnesses. Though these could have been handled a liiiiittle bit better, it's certainly a step in the right direction.

Lysithea is best girl don't argue with me you're wrong

I've yet to finish any path, but I know what happens in each one and no matter which route I look at, I am amazed!

Though most seem upset at Dimitri's death in the Golden Deer route, I found it oddly appropriate. A forgotten prince driven insane by the need for revenge meeting his end by chasing the cause of most his inner turmoil just seemed. Fitting.

Great game with wonderful graphics and characters. I can definitely see me replaying this multiple times

Absolutely 9/10 (and only falls a point short because I can't customize Byleth, but they're in almost every cutscene so that would have been difficult to animate in anyway)

Fates

What....were they aiming for.

This whole game feels rushed and lazy and just. Boring.

My favorite character is Asugi and that's only because he looks like Gaius and that's enough to remind me that there's much better things out there than Fates

Plot holes galore

Birthright is too easy, Revelations is on par with Awakening's Normal difficulty, and Conquest wasn't hard as much as it was unfair

Take chapter 21 of Conquest for example. You know, the Eternal Stairway? Fuck that.

I would avoid that route entirely if it wasn't for the unsatisfying experiences that are Birhright and Revelations

Phoenix mode???? Wh,,,,WHY. Casual mode is fine, but on Phoenix there was no challenge, no threat, no strategy involved. What good is a strategy game without strategy??

Hearing"BEtRayAl" every three seconds was exhausting. Jfc.

I like that Niles was the first bisexual character, but why did he have to be dark skinned and a sleazy creep. Kinda makes it seem that all lgbtq poc are like that. Not a good thing to show the younger, easily influenced audience.

Soleil is a mess but we all knew that already.

While I enjoyed the music in the game, it's hard to find it pleasing when it was the ONLY good thing about the game.

Honestly, 4/10 and I feel bad rating it that high

Literally the only thing putting it at a solid four is the Awakening trio. If they weren't there, I'd give it a fat 0.

[yeetmeintothe-abyss]

Midnight Tension Part I

Summary: I promised a story of Elias and his inner turmoil and angst. So here it is. This is a reiteration and continuation of the scene where Elias follows Yukiya out of their shared room at midnight and catches MC and Yukiya having a midnight walk.

Warnings: Angst. So much angst. Part II will be lemony.

“You two, what are you doing?” A voice came loudly from the shadows of the girls dormitory and the girl thought her heart would leap through her throat and out onto the dew-covered grass. Yukiya froze beside her, his eye squinting into the darkness.

“Wh-who’s there?” She squeaked in a trembling voice. Was it a professor? Were they in trouble. Oh, she couldn’t afford to get into any trouble and face getting kicked out of the academy before she had the chance to get accepted!

A lamp lit suddenly within the darkness and the person holding it was revealed.

“Elias!” She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Partly out of relief that it wasn’t a professor here to escort her to the headmaster’s office and partly out of surprise. He looked furious, eyes narrowed to slits of flashing violet. Why would he be here? And why was his face creased in anger? “Why are you here?” She asked, glancing at Yukiya who had remained still and completely silent.

“That’s my line,” Elias spat, eyes flickering between her and Yukiya. “What were you doing up ’til now?” Yukiya didn’t stir nor did he seem as if he felt bothered enough to answer the question. The girl paused for a moment, eyes on Yukiya as she began to stutter,

“I-it’s not what you think.” Elias’s eyes flashed with something that the girl couldn’t quite make out through the nighttime blackness surrounding them. He glared at her hotly.

“How so? I thought it was strange Yukiya would leave his room. So I followed him, but I lost him on the way, so I waited here. And now he’s come back with you? Explain! Or is it something that you can’t?” His voice was pitched with rage, a hoarse quality coating it in a harsh blanket. Almost as if he was trying to swallow back another emotion he didn’t want her and Yukiya to hear. His grip on the lamp handle was white-knuckled and shaking, scattering the light about wildly in jerks and stabs.

Despite the pain in her chest, the heart break that had been rendering her nearly useless as of late, the first stirrings of anger began to boil in her. Why did it matter to him why she was out with Yukiya? Why was it any of his business? He had been avoiding her, cancelled their daily training after class and practically ran from her when she had asked him what was troubling him and now he was in front of her dorm demanding what she was doing with her friend? As if he hadn’t been shunning her this whole time after she had given him so much effort for him to just accept her as the Buddy she was to him, whether he liked it or not. As if she hadn’t already endured enough insults and mean remarks flung at her smiling face. And she never once snapped at him for any of it.

The anger that started as a spark had now grown to a crescendo of fury and she found that she didn’t give a damn if she made him angrier, she wasn’t going to be his doormat anymore.

“What were you doing with Yukiya?” Elias repeated once more through gritted teeth, eyes like glowing gems glinting dangerously at her.

I’m not doing this anymore, the girl spat in her head and opened her mouth to tell him off,

“What do you-” But Yukiya cut her off before she barely even started,

“I can’t say that.” She was stunned into sputtering,

“Yukiya?” Her eyes landed on the boy next to her and he just gazed back at her calmly. She felt the tension practically rolling off of Elias and she peeked at him from her peripheral vision to see a dark look shutter down over his face.

Oh, boy. Saying it like that will create a misunderstanding. Elias already assumes we snuck off to spend some alone time but now he’ll take Yukiya’s words as a confession. Does Yukiya not want Elias to know about the song? She swallowed with some difficulty, stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“As the housemaster, I will have to report your suspicious activities to the prefect,” his voice was cold, unyielding. She felt as though she had broken through an icy pond and had crashed into the unrelenting waters below, the whirling water drowning her in panic.

“W-Wait! There’s no need to get that angry! We just took a walk!” Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears, sounded as though she were weaving lies. She winced at her fumbling excuse but flinched back when Elias snarled,

“Be quiet you!” Her temper was back and relentless, flaring hotly into her chest to engulf her. How dare he?

“No, I won’t!” She flung her arms out at her side in exasperation. “Why are you so mad? It’s weird, Elias!” The anger was beginning to make her prickly, nerves feeling frayed from his whiplash emotions and it had worn her down to a twitching mass of frustration.

“It’s just that as the housemaster of the boy’s dorm, I cannot overlook such acts that are against the rules.” The girl nearly snorted at his retort. As much of a goodie-goodie that he was, she didn’t buy that explanation at all. Liar, she jeered in her mind.

“A-Against the rules? It’s nothing that bad, is it?”

“It’s forbidden to go out at night!” His yell was muted and full of equally repressed rage. She wanted to yell back at him so badly, but she wasn’t sure what that would accomplish at this point. Yukiya still hadn’t spoken a word since his refusal to say why they had been out together. It vexed her that he just stood there and mutely took Elias’s blows.

“I’m sorry,” she started a little softer now. “It’s true that violating the rules isn’t good, but really, I couldn’t sleep. So I just went out for a walk.” Partial truth, at least.

“So what? That doesn’t change the fact that you broke the rules, does it?” The girl ground her teeth together. He’s such a fucking asshole.

“How mean! You don’t need to say it like that! Why are you so angry today, Elias?” Elias nearly rolled his eyes and a petty part of her snapped into place, blocking out the rational side of her nearly completely. A rarely used and dusty puzzle piece falling into an empty space. “Is it because you hate me?” That shut him up briefly. He gaped silently, mouth opening and closing with no words coming to him. “That must be it,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You dislike me. That’s why you act so mean.”

“That’s not it…” he muttered, eyes drifting to the ground. Frustration made her lash out,

“Then what is?” Her voice cracked against his form and he snapped his head up to sneer at her,

“I get irritated when I look at you.” The breath left her body in a whoosh of air and she found herself sinking into a quicksand pit of hurt and despair. Despite her best efforts, tears made their traitorous way to her eyes and she sniffled quietly, sinking her teeth into the inside of her cheek in an attempt to chase the tears back.

“Elias, you went too far,” Yukiya said with a quiet sternness that had the girl feeling both fondness for him sticking up for her but also another wave of sadness that had the dam against her tears beginning to give.

“It’s none of your business, Yukiya,” Elias spit in response.

“Yes it is. I broke the rules, too.” Yukiya’s voice was steady beside her and she wished desperately that she would disappear into the ground. A hole would swallow her up and transport her back home where there were no cruel people jabbing at her with razor blade-like words.

“Ah, yes. You’re right!” Elias crowed with delight, as if forgetting that Yukiya was more than merely a bystander.

“Elias, calm down,” Yukiya said, glancing briefly at the girl beside him who stood rigid and was staring pointedly at the ground.

“I am calm!” He declared, glaring at the other boy who only looked at him in silence. Moments of no one speaking passed before he finally said, “Fine! I won’t report you. Do whatever you want!” He spun on his heel and began to storm off towards the boy’s dormitory and something within the girl broke. She teetered in place for a split second, at war with the hurt and rage clashing inside her before starting after Elias, not heeding Yukiya’s calls at her retreating back. She following the bouncing lamplight just ahead of her and jogged slightly to catch up and said loudly,

“Hey!” Elias jerked around, surprise etching his features in shadows. She stomped right up to him, the howling anger clanging against her ribs painfully giving her something akin to liquid courage. “What is your problem?” She planted herself in his path, hands on her hips and brimming to the crown with a cocktail of emotions just a nudge away from going off. He wavered uncertainly, seeming to hesitate as to whether he should shoulder past her or engage her.

“Elias, I’m trying to talk to you.” She swore that steam should be rolling off of her and coating the academy’s grounds in a dense fog. She felt so heated, limbs quaking. She wasn’t an argumentative person but she refused to let Elias just bulldoze over her and walk off in a tantrum.

“Well I don’t want to speak to you,” he sneered, his hands fists at his sides and eyes burning down at her. She scoffed loudly.

“Well I don’t care. I’m your Buddy and you don’t get to just ignore me and push me away one minute and then the next yell at me as if I’m a child breaking the rules!”

“You are breaking the rules!” He nearly roared, stepping closer to her and towering over her in roiling turmoil. She craned her head to look up at him and hissed through clenched teeth,

“That’s besides the point! My point is, instead of you telling me what’s going on with you, you shove me to the side and give me the cold shoulder. Then you act like a territorial jerk and shout at me for walking at night with another boy! As if it’s any of your damn business what I do with Yukiya!” A muscle jumped in his cheek as his jaw clamped shut with an audible snap and he surged forward until he was treading on her toes, nose to nose with her and breathing the same air as her. She could smell sweet chocolate on his breath. Surprised, she tried to backpedal to gain some space between them but he caught her elbow in a tight grip and latched his gaze onto her wide eyes.

“It is my business.” His voice was tight and his hot breath blew over her face, eyes narrow and dark in the faint moonlight. She realized faintly that he had dropped the lamp and it lay on it’s side on the grass, forgotten. Her heart was in a fist-fight with her ribcage, punching painfully against it’s protective barrier and she tried her hardest to breathe shallowly so he wouldn’t notice.

“No, it isn’t.” Her jaw was still clenched and she was quivering all over with pent-up outrage.

“So you getting caught and getting into trouble affects me in no way as your Buddy, is that it?” His mouth was curled in a grimace, teeth white and shining dully at her. She paused, swearing loudly in her head.

“You aren’t reacting as someone who is only worried about the backlash of my possible punishment. You’re reacting as though it personally offends you that I’m spending time with Yukiya.” A choked noise sounded in the back of his throat and he inched impossibly closer, slitted eyes bright with pain.

“What were you doing with him?” He repeated his same question from earlier, avoiding her remark entirely which only egged her on.

“None of your business,” she breathed, voice low and taunting. Another strangled sound reverberated through him and he growled,

“Then I can only assume that I was mistaken and you have feelings for Yukiya, not Luca.” Absolute frustration nearly forced the girl into screaming in his face, sick of the game he was playing.

“And if I do? Yukiya is a good guy. He’s kind. Steady. He isn’t cruel and doesn’t make me second-guess how he feels about me,” she threw those words into his face with a vengeance that knew no bounds. There was no turning back now. Her nails dug into her palms with bright bursts of pain, breaking the skin and creating deep welts. She was vibrating all over with a charged aggression and ready to unleash on this infuriating boy. All the times he slung insults into her face like dirt flashed behind her eyes and it made her set her chin with grim determination.

Her words were met with a heated silence. His face had crumpled before becoming angular with a ferocity that looked more animal than human, eyes glowing manically. His voice broke the quiet like a knife parting a sheet of paper,

“I was wrong about you. You are just like all of the other girls.” A cry of indignation burned her throat and she swore that she could slap his pretty face and not feel an ounce of guilt. Could probably slap him a second time and still not feel relief from this all-consuming rage racking her frame.

“If me tiring of someone who mistreats me and insults me every time he opens his mouth and finally standing my ground and saying, ‘enough is enough’ makes me like all of the other girls, then I gladly accept that title.” Elias made a wounded sound, sounding halfway between a snarl and a cry of pain. His teeth gnashed and he seethed in her face, violet eyes swallowing her whole in their fury.

“Why can’t you just say how you feel instead of going to all of these lengths to upset me and argue with me?” She demanded suddenly on a whim, the pain she had been feeling beginning to echo dully underneath her skin. Elias froze, the angry mask slipping briefly to reveal a face churning with a storm of emotions. It was as if she had actually hit him and he just stared down at her, unmoving. She couldn’t feel his breath on her anymore. The air was as still as his form and crackling with electricity. She opened her mouth to speak again when he became a blur in front of her and his mouth was crashing down onto hers with a force that sucker-punched her words back down her throat.

White hot and vicious, his kiss was unforgiving and spilling over with built-up wrath and unrequited emotions. It blinded her to the night cloaking them in it’s shadow. Sent her into a tailspin of confusion and like-minded frustration, tumbling her head-over-heels into a blackness filled with bright spots flickering at the edges of her vision. His lips were pressed so tightly against hers that his teeth clashed with hers, an untamed assault upon every single one of her senses. His tongue had already laid claim to her mouth, taking without asking and keening in victory at the territory gained. She tasted blood, who’s she wasn’t sure, only that it was slinking erotically between their warring tongues and painting their mouths in a unique lipstick. No, not a lipstick, she thought dimly. Warpaint. Their lips were coated in warpaint, evidence of their battle.

His hands were on her face, in her loose hair, gripping and tugging and tangling around his knuckles. Nails scraping her scalp with a tingling pain. His chest was heaving against hers and she began to feel lightheaded, a fuzziness trickling into her limbs. When was the last time she took a breath? Her nose was pressed so tightly against his cheek that she couldn’t get a breath in. Where were her hands? She couldn’t be sure, senses so oversensitive and yet dull at the same time. Nerves screaming. Roaring in her ears nearly deafening her. His tongue snagged on her incisor and fresh blood spilled into the cavity of her mouth and he growled savagely, his hand becoming a vice around her neck.

It was turbulent. Devastating. A cyclone of Elias and every emotion he felt towards her, every word he never said being written on the inside of her cheeks with his tongue, being stamped on her wounded lips with his unforgiving teeth and she swallowed it all down eagerly. Gone was the tentative boy. Here arose a man with a storm at his back. Her ears popped and a boneless feeling overcame her and she slumped in his arms. He was ripped from her all-too-soon and his gasping breath fanned her heated face. The girl cracked open her eyes and was met with an Elias she didn’t recognize.

He was cupping her face with one hand, arm holding her tightly about her lower back with the other. His eyes were brilliant stones glittering in his flushed face, held up by honed cheekbones that looked carved out of pure marble under the moonlight. His lips were bruised and swollen, blood smeared at the corners of his mouth and on his chin. He looked undomesticated and wild.

Beautiful. Too bright and yet so very dark at the same time. Shadows colliding with pinpoint stars. She thought she heard his voice rumble something but she couldn’t make anything out over the ringing in her ears. She felt so limp, knees not even attempting to hold her up. She knew she was probably staring at him and that she should probably say something, perhaps that she wanted him to kiss her again but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate with her brains demands.

He shifted in front of her, putting some space between them and as the ringing began to fade she heard his voice clear and yet so broken,

“I’m falling so in love with you.” It was as if she had been electrocuted. Her body spasmed with shock, nerves so strung out from his kisses that the surprise of his utterance nearly knocked her on her ass.

“W-what?” She sputtered ungracefully, stumbling slightly as his grip slid from her body. She was aware of how she must look, like an addict that just got her fix and was now tripping over her own feet as she ascended to cloud-nine.

When she got a glimpse of his face it was as if raw hurt had curtained off the ferocity of before and he stared at her with dwindling hope, teeth sinking deeply into his already bloodied lip. He shook his head, his flush deepening and reaching his hairline.

“Nothing,” a harsh hiss against her skin and before she could reach for him, tell him that she was overjoyed, that she loved him, he was storming away from her and up to the boy’s dormitory. The forgotten lamp slowly flickered out and the girl’s knees finally buckled and she collapsed into the cold, damp grass. Horror wrapping her in it’s suffocating blanket as she realized what she’d done.

***

To be continued…

[johobi]

rises from the depths like a sea monster...when i opened the tumblr app i damn near couldnt believe what i saw...i swear my heart skipped a beat and my stomach flopped. i was legitimately nervous to read it because i knew it was gonna be wild AND LET ME SAY IT WAS 100000% WORTH SKIPPING TWO TRAINS FOR BC I!!!! LOVED!!!! THIS!!!!! CHAPTER!!!!! i was honestly expecting my heart to be ripped from my chest but thankfully its still taped together LOL. im rooting for tae but even i was like WAIT (1)

ajsdlaj LOOOL I bet it was a shock to see  that I’d actually uploaded a WYLEI chapter. It’s like some Twilight Zone shit by this point ljeawlekj. DID U REALLY SKIP TWO TRAINS MY FRIEND? OOH I FEEL GUILTY BUT IM ALSO INCREDIBLY FLATTERED HAHDAHWJKFgh yes it was a little more mild on the angst front, huh?? I think next chapter has even less angst than 12 actually. So your heart can remain unshattered for a little while longer ;)

I WANNA HEAR WHAT JUNGKOOK HAS TO SAY GDI TAEHYUNG BE QUIET FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS but at the same time im glad he was angry for her bc jungkook was the guy tae was willing to step back for so oc can be happy and then jungkook betrayed her and hurt her so badly (again we dont know the whole story so tae and oc are working with what was shown) that tae was ready to GO. it was well intentioned but at the same time even for oc i could tell it was too much for her to deal with in one sitting and (2)

YES!!! yesssss!! Tae left her in Jungkook’s hands thinking he might be the one for her as he was making her so happy. I think that’s going forgotten in some people’s minds :((. I know it was frustrating that he kept cutting in, but 1) Jungkook was saying unbelievable, repetetive stuff, and 2) he’d hurt his best friend/love emotionally, made her sick by chasing her into the rain, and is aware of her mental health struggles too. I think it’s understandable he was that angry (though the punch was all Tae haha.. I don’t agree with that part). 

jungkook is just!!!! so hard to not love!!!! damn this golden boy!!!!! when he was putting two and two together i was like…ouch…i felt bad. thats gotta suck. i get the feeling hes gonna pull out the Ultimate Reasoning when he and oc finally get to talk and itll be like oh noooo why didnt oc just hear him out but a lot of things changed in the span of 48 hours. and again jungkook Lied about this from the get go. does he even have a real way out of this imposed marriage?what kind of future (3)

he is obscenely hard not to love. he is a precious, precious, silly bunny-toothed lad that is so smitten but also so incredibly trapped by circumstance that i’m sure, if we managed a glimpse inside his head, there’d be a fucking dumpster fire going on LOL. Ahh thank u for bringing up his realisation, I don’t think anyone has commented on that part particularly yet. Yeah he was more upset than anything, and not even at her… at himself. His jealousy he took out on Taehyung, who punched him first, so. It took hold a little. But when MC pushed him away he kinda snapped out of it and knew he’d done all this himself. TT I did feel for him then, despite his questionable actions…

would oc have if shes jungkooks true love/“real wife” while he has a public wife or some shit. from the way this has been building up idek if jungkook had thought of a way out yet and was pursuing this love with oc while it lasted. it hurts to think about lol. and ofc i could be wrong!! this is just my theory lol i love the turmoil we all are going through! 😂 and i just wanna say thank you so much for this story!!! this story loves every character and it makes me want ocs happiness most! (4)

OOOF. You’re so close to some things here *eyes emoji*. I won’t comment on that bit further but gosh, you’re closer than other people have gotten so far. Don’t thank me hun, it is my pleasure to write for you, this kind of feedback is more than I ever could have hoped for and you’ve utterly spoiled me. Thank you so much babe

[snowbellewells]

A Fic-aversary and an Apology

Okay, folks, I really hate to do this (and have tried really hard not to up until now) but I am going to have to skip a week on my CSSNS MC “Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)”.  I’ve been really busy with my job, plus lots of crammed weekends running here and there where I didn’t have time to grade or write.  Then, I started feeling like where I was going in chapter ten and on from there needed to deviate from my initial plan, and it just wasn’t going to happen in two days’ time.  I’ve been a couple days late the last two weeks and then it’s even less time to get the next one written, and so on.  So, I really apologize and don’t mean to keep you waiting too long, but it will be next Friday before I have chapter ten for you. What I do have instead is a fic I wrote about a year and a half ago, before I was terribly good at posting on Tumblr that I’m bringing back for a bit of an anniversary. It’s near and dear to my heart, and I would love for more folks to see it.  

Most importantly: It has gorgeous cover art now, which I am just in love with, made for me by @hollyethecurious !!  She really made it more beautiful and eye-catching.  

Anyway, to tide you over until next week (and I hope to also FINALLY update my CSRomCom au again this weekend as well) enjoy “Looking for a Heart (that’s not Walking Away)”!!!

(Liam x Belle multichapter fic, canon divergent from about 5x15/5x16)

(This one was a completely new and different fic attempt for me.  Not only does it go AU from about the middle of 5b, but it changes a lot of what happened with Liam in 5x15, and while some of 5x16 and 5x17 happened, some of it didn’t.  Beyond all that, it’s putting a large focus on characters I haven’t written much before, and one that we really haven’t seen a lot of to characterize in the same way that I can work with say Emma and Killian.  Still, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and finally found that I had to give this a try.  It doesn’t explain how everything happened right away, but events will be filled in as the story progresses.  I feel like this is a bit of a mix between canon divergence and AU.  Slow burn friendship/relationship for Belle and Liam; sideline CS and others.  I definitely don’t own them, just having fun imagining.  I’d love to hear what you think!!)

*I will also attempt to add ff.net links to the rest of the chapters at the end...

“Looking for a Heart that’s Not Walking Away”

chapter one: like ships in the night

          In the wee, cold hours of the morning, anyone walking Storybrooke’s town square would have seen only peaceful, vacant storefronts and the dim stillness of a little hamlet still fast asleep; or they would until they reached the library and found one solitary light burning stubbornly in the back of the building.  Most residents and visitors knew the building and the sweet, brunette librarian who kept the place with pride, but even without the whole story, they also knew she had not been the same since her return from the Underworld with the rest of the heroes.  The light burning in the middle of the night, and the large, dark circles under the clearly sleepless woman’s eyes when one saw her in Granny’s Diner the next morning picking listlessly at her pancakes and syrup, were only outward signs of her inner turmoil and pain.  

          This particular night turned earliest bit of morning, Belle Gold sat at the circulation desk, a cup of lavender tea, which she had hoped would soothe her and induce sleep, long gone cold at her elbow, and a large, gilt-edged book open before her.  In her insomnolent state, she had returned to this once-favorite story for help, but instead she found herself wishing to violently rip the pages from its spine, more troubled than ever as she huddled on the high stool pulled up to the counter to perch on as she read and wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself against the now-familiar questions swirling in her mind: ‘What did I ever see in this story?’ ‘How stupid could I have been?’ ‘What ever made me think I could influence anyone or be a hero?’ ‘Every attempt I’ve ever made went wrong and only made things worse…’

          Shivering against the drafts of a still-chilly April night and the cold certainty that she was nothing but a fraud; so naively convinced of her pretty ideals but completely ineffectual at doing anything with them when the moment of truth had come, Belle knew rest and peace were far from coming.  A tear ran silently down her pale cheek as she thought of all that had happened – the tangled, progressively darker events which made up her own story – and she sucked in a ragged breath, trying to keep it from turning into the wrenching full-bodied sob she felt rising within her.  Though she had fought so valiantly hard, it would seem her tale could not possibly end in happily ever after now.  All her efforts at love and bravery – at goodness – had turned to dust in her hands, crumbling like the shriveled brown flower Hades had used to taunt her after Gaston’s fall into the River of Lost Souls.  

          The only thing keeping her from falling apart completely, she thought ruefully as one small, graceful hand lowered to rest protectively on her slightly protruding belly was the tiny being she had wished for so long.  This baby should have been a lovely, innocent symbol of her and Rumple’s love, a living hope and second chance – for her husband, and for herself – and now Rumple would never even know his second born child.  Though Belle was not sure what she had left to give this unborn babe, her hope and belief nearly dried up and vanished forever, its growth inside her was what kept her from lying down on the floor of her precious library and never rising again.  All of her gumption, her resolve, her joy, were gone, deserting her as completely as they had ever filled her before, and the fact that her child would need her was all to which she could truly cling.

          Eventually, just as the dark night turned early morning and lightened to grey, and the faintest traces of sunrise began to streak the sky, Belle’s head lowered, the side of her face coming to rest on the printed page of the book she had so loved once upon a time, her impossible, idealized version of a hero pressed to the soft, pale skin of her cheek as she slumped over the counter in a restless sleep…

          As she dreams, she is once more in the Underworld, brought by the man she has tried so hard to win back from the Beast within – the pressing roar in his ear of magic and power – the man who, despite it all, she has never ceased loving, to the very throne of the Lord of the Dead. Rumple’s hand clenches her forearm so tightly it hurts, and she realizes with stark clarity that even the Dark One is no match for a deity.  Rumple is sorely afraid, though he doesn’t let his outward appearance show it.

          From there, the moments progress like an inexorable nightmare.  So soon after her inadvertent actions against Gaston, things already seem hazy and unreal; she can barely comprehend the showdown forming between her husband and Hades. Fire and light shoot back and forth, crashing against one another in the middle and neither attack striking its intended target.

          Winded, panting, nearly falling to his knees with exhaustion, Rumple finally raises a hand in surrender, as she runs to support him and help him back up, seeing the drained former spinner without his precious might and the upper hand.  Putting a bracing hand beneath his elbow, she steadies Rumple as he stands once more and intends to do so as he moves forward, until he turns to her, bringing them to a halt.

          Meeting Belle’s eyes in that moment, Rumplestiltskin’s gaze shows pain and infinite regret; only somewhere beneath those emotions is the love lingering for her, love that she had always wanted to believe would triumph over the Dark One’s lies.  “I am so sorry, Belle.  For so many things…” he whispers brokenly, the back of his hand stroking her cheek as lightly as the mere brush of air in a breath, as if hesitant to hurt her more than he has already. “I have put you through more pain than any love should have to bear…only to have it all come to this in the end.”

          Pulling his gaze away from her face, Belle sees her husband’s eyes slide back to meet the god’s controlled, implacable stare and subtly shifts forward to stand in front of her, partially shielding her from Hades’ view.  Her heart is swept up in pride for him at this moment of real, selfless bravery, even as it then breaks when his next words sink in. “Very well, Hades,” Rumplestiltskin hisses, sounding as reptilian and menacing as Killian has always insisted, his sharp eyes flashing even as he concedes.  “You know that I cannot best you, but with the powers of the Dark One and its immortality, you cannot end me either.  Let Belle and our child go, and I will serve you by finding you a replacement soul, one that will prove much more satisfactory than a mere infant.”

          The silent air crackles around them, and Belle opens her mouth to cry out, “Rumple, no!” and pull him back, both terrified at what the Lord of the Underworld might do, and horrified anew that Rumple could once more offer up another person’s soul as if it were his to barter, even as she had thought for once he was making a heroic sacrifice.  But she feels his fingers curl around her even more firmly, and a tingle runs up her whole arm, holding her in place, words bottled in her throat no matter how she tries to force them out, until she realizes that Rumple is using his magic to hold her back and keep her silent.  Emotions rise in a confusing swirl, and Belle is not sure if she is moved by his desperate bid to protect her or impotently furious at his overriding her free will.

          Hades tilts his head to the side, coming closer as he studies his nemesis calculatingly.  “Let me see,” he mused, wearing a face that gives the sense of bored unconcern, even Belle with no magic or powers beyond human intuition knows the god is toying with his prey – if pressed, she has seen much the same look on Rumple’s face too many times as the Dark One.  “An intriguing proposition,” he drawls out the words slowly, as if tasting the flavor of some delicacy on his tongue, “…but do I believe you?”

          “You would do well to take me seriously,” Rumple vows, iron in his voice and threat on his tongue.  “I may not win, but you will be battling me until the judgment day, neither of us able either to triumph or to pass on.”  He steps forward as well, standing taller with a hint of the malice that shows at the heights of his power, limp nearly unnoticeable as he meets Hades and reaches out his hand.  “You want to take this deal, trust me,” Rumplestiltskin asserts, nearly baring his teeth as he does so.  “I will be your right hand, Hades – if you spare my wife and my unborn child, never to trouble them again.”

          Hades tilts his head, studying the Dark One with amused curiosity as if he is some new species the deity has never seen before. “I’d be a fool to trust you for even a moment,” he replies coolly, “and I know you will only serve me as long as it takes you to find an escape.  Yet…” he takes a moment to muse as if there is no trouble or threat at all, Belle resenting all the while that he can balance all their lives in his hands while appearing not to have a care in the world.  Finally, he gives a quick, decisive nod, his pondering resolved. “If I’ve already gotten what I need from you by then, why shouldn’t I be free of your tiresome, disloyal presence?”

          Belle is sure there is some horrible drawback, some hideous fine print somewhere which has been missed – added to the fact that Rumple is bartering someone else’s soul for their safety – and she hates being forced to stand idly by, no one paying her any mind.  Her husband moves to shake the god’s hand, and she begs silently, regardless of whether either of them can hear, “No, Rumple, please don’t do this!  There must be a better way!”

          Without deviating from his original intent, Rumplestiltskin leans even more toward the Lord of the Dead, not allowing himself so much as a glance at her, solely focusing on Hades, alert for any move or threat from his dangerous adversary.  Their hands meet in between, as if to shake on the arrangement, and a burst of magical power so ground shaking shoots out sparks, tossing both Hades and Rumple apart. It topples Belle to the ground, momentarily blinded by the white hot flash and breathless from the impact, her awareness shattered.  For a time, she knows no more, and when she comes back to herself, she is lying on the moving floor of the library elevator they had taken down to Hades’ inner sanctum, and the door is sliding open to reveal the Underworld’s version of her beloved haunt.  As the lift reaches the top and halts, Belle sees that she is also utterly alone…

          A few scratching sounds and a thump against the outer door of the Storybrooke Library, followed by the sound of something metal picking at the lock, the doorknob rattling, and an accented male voice calling her name hopefully, before the tell-tale sound of the lock clicking free, awakens her just a couple of hours later, still early morning, but light now.  She hears the sound of more than one pair of booted feet striding toward her as she blinks dazedly and surfaces from the flashback-dream and her tormented rest. Shooting upright quickly, hoping they haven’t seen her pathetically asleep where she fell, Belle nearly loses her balance and topples off the stool she’d been perched on.  Wincing at the pain in her lower back from sleeping in such an awkward position, Belle tiredly rubs her eyes and tries to focus on her early visitors.

          Only a second later, she registers Killian Jones’ voice jovially greeting her as he walks toward her across the open entryway and also hears the low, warm chuckle behind him from Liam, his revived older brother.  She had been introduced to him as they were all working together to leave the Underworld, but she has not had much occasion to be around him since, and so she is surprised by his seemingly easy good humor, and the sparkle in his eyes that much resembles the one she’s often seen in Killian as they’ve researched some Big Bad threatening the town or discussed favorite books over lunch.

          Startled, she lets hesitant brown eyes come to meet his friendly, open gaze and gives what she hopes is a welcoming smile as she teases Killian in hopes of keeping his usual perceptiveness from picking up on her disheveled, unhappy state.  “What brings the Jones brothers to my library at the crack of dawn?”

          Killian flashes her a devious wink, before nodding his head to her briefly in a playfully slight bow, “Ah, but wouldn’t you like to know, Lass?” he teases.  His voice is bright and jovial, and there is a happy twinkle in his ocean-blue gaze that has been absent in many instances where she has seen him appear dazed or haunted since his return to life and the world above.  She simply has to return the mischievous grin – happy for this former enemy who has become a true friend, proud of him (though it may not be her place) that he has found the strength Rumple never quite mustered to change for the better, make right the wrongs within his power to mend, and became the man he was always meant to be.

          Tilting her head to study both of the men before her with friendly curiosity, she begins checking in the small stack of books Killian has carried in with him to return.  Liam meets her eyes but doesn’t speak, his smile warm and friendly, but his general bearing more restrained than his younger brother’s.  They certainly resemble each other – well-formed, strong features, straight noses and piercing eyes – but Liam is a bit taller, slightly broader of shoulder, and with fairer hair beginning to grow out enough to show curls that Killian’s straight, dark, shaggy locks don’t possess.

          Deciding to get to know the intriguing man before her a bit better, Belle chooses to ignore Killian’s baiting and glances at his older brother from beneath lowered lashes.  “And what about you?” she asks softly, “Do you enjoy reading as much as Killian does?” For some reason she has to fight a tremor in her voice as the words leave her mouth, and a thrill of nervous awareness racing up her spine as Liam Jones’ lips angle up into a fuller smile.

          “Aye, Mrs. Gold, I do indeed,” he replies, with a succinct, definite nod of his head as he steps closer, right up to the counter of the circulation desk between them, while Killian wanders away into the stacks to look for new volumes.  “We share our love of the written word, ever since I first taught him to read when we were boys, though Killian has always tended more toward daring adventure tales, epic fantasy and the like.  I’m a bit of a history buff myself – love learning how kingdoms rise and fall and how leaders are formed.  There is much to garner from such real events that have come before.”

          Belle bobs her head in an excited nod, warming to the topic as she leans over the counter, absorbed by his words in spite of herself and forgetting the pain and confusion of the dream vision to a more pleasant topic.  “I know exactly what you mean!  There are so many good records, biographies, accounts of battles, journeys, and expeditions – it’s amazing to learn what that must have been like, to imagine traveling alongside such great adventurers when such momentous enterprises were being undertaken.”  She pauses to draw in a breath, having begun to speak quickly in her excitement. Amusement shines in the look Liam Jones levels at her across the desk, but understanding and a sort of relief that intrigues her glows from his expression to warm her as well.

          Belle makes an impulsive decision in that moment, wanting to share something she still loves and finds joy in with someone else who has weathered and survived much and clearly loves it too.  Moving to stand quickly, with the intent to take Killian’s brother to their nonfiction section and show him some of her favorite tomes, Belle forgets for a moment how much her subtly widening stomach throws her off balance and pitches forward as she slips off the stool, then cries out softly as overcorrecting to catch herself pulls at her back painfully.

          Liam is around the counter and at her side in an instant, one hand on her arm to steady her, the other coming to rest at her waist.  “Steady on, Lass.  Easy there,” he murmurs with soothing concern.

          Killian darts back out from where he’d ventured, good arm full of novels and brows pinched together with worry.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?” he asks.

          Belle shakes her head, offering Liam a grateful smile, even as she blushes in embarrassment and also feels warmth flood her at his contact with her body.  She tries to calm both of them – conscientious, old-fashioned, chivalrous gentleman through and through ��� and step away.  “N-nothing.  I’m fine. Just lost my balance is all. …Th-thank you though, Captain Jones,” she adds sincerely to Liam.  Unthinkingly, she raises her hand to her neck which feels cramped and stiff as well, wincing slightly before she even realizes.

          Killian, observant as ever and an especially intuitive friend when it comes to her, notices her moving gingerly and guesses at her sleeplessness, speaking gently as he touches his metal appendage to her shoulder and impels her to look back up at him simultaneously.  “Still not resting, Love?” he asks, already seeming assured of the answer.  “You’ve been sitting at that counter all night, haven’t you?”

          Sheepishly, the tiny brunette dips her chin to her chest in the slightest of nods, feeling even smaller under the concerned scrutiny of these two tall, strong former naval officers.  It isn’t worth denying the fact; Killian already knows the truth. She had confided in him long ago, even before their trip to Camelot, her sleeplessness from a broken heart.  He is certainly astute enough to realize that the organ is now only more broken.

          What startles her however, is his proper older brother’s reaction.  In interactions, Liam has always been friendly but reserved; now, he ushers her forward, an arm coming around her waist to guide her toward the reading lounge she has set up by the windows and into an overstuffed, comfortable chair. “Milady Belle, sit, please. You’re with child.  You must take care of yourself.”

          She doesn’t fight him, letting him lead her to the seat and settling into it with an actual sigh of relief.  And he surprises her again by kneeling before her and grasping her delicate hand in his much larger one, enveloping it completely. There is an open, earnest look on his face that both soothes and puzzles her as he gazes up into her face and asks her if there is aught else they can do or fetch for her.

          Liam himself doesn’t understand what has come over him as he looks up into the weary, hurting face of this lovely but lonely young woman.  All he is certain of – and he knows he will speak to Killian about why she isn’t sleeping, what she has been through – is the concern for her he feels.  He wants to find out why she is so sad, and to find a way to make it better.  His resolve is firm, even if not fully understood, and he senses the beginning of a new mission, a new adventure.

Link to Chapter Two: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/2/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Three:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/3/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Four: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/4/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Five: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/5/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Six: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/6/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Seven: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/7/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Eight: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/8/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Nine: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/9/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Chapter Ten (Epilogue): https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12138837/10/Looking-for-a-Heart-that-s-not-Walking-Away

Tagging a few who may enjoy (sorry if not, or if you’ve already read it, but thought even previous readers might want to see its new art! ;) : @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @effulgentcolors @aloha-4-ever @winterbythesea @hollyethecurious @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @ohmakemeahercules @shireness-says @resident-of-storybrooke @spartanguard @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @vvbooklady1256 @xemmaloveskillianx 

[blazerina]

What Am I Doing Here? (VoS MC x Flynn)

What Am I Doing Here?

Summary: Veil of Secrets MC Annie Walsh, is lost in thought about the events of the past few days.  She opens up a little to Flynn and cannot deny the attraction she feels for him that’s continuing to build.

Author’s Note: I have been really intrigued by VoS so far and have enjoyed thinking about a story line and an MC who chooses Flynn as her love interest.  I don’t have a lot of experience writing for “bad boys” – but there’s something so intriguing (and also endearing) about Flynn’s character. I’m excited to explore his relationship with my MC Annie & to see where this goes. This story takes place after finding Tanner’s body but before this last week’s chapter when MC talks more to Scarlett.  Anyway -- as always, thanks for reading!! xoxo

Word Count: 1709

--

Annie shivered as the breeze picked up along the shore.  She stared out into the ocean, watching the waves crash in and out…in and out…listening to the consistent rhythm. She was standing on the end of an empty dock. There was a smattering of boats along the waterfront, some with lights on, others completely dark.  She had no idea what time it was but it seemed awfully dark outside; almost ominous. So much had happened in a few short days; Kate’s impromptu bachelorette party, her disappearance, the altercation with the Sterling family and now the death of Tanner…Annie closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She held her shoes in one hand and held her other arm across her chest.  She could smell the saltwater and suddenly had the urge to go swimming. She smiled wistfully, realizing that she imagined that’d be the type of thing she was doing in Birchport; swimming, relaxing, celebrating…not investigating her college best friend’s disappearance, finding a dead body, and slinking around behind the back of town’s the police chief.

She turned over her shoulder to walk back up the ramp but stopped inches away from running into Flynn. Immediately, her hand flew to her chest.  He scared her. His instant presence, when she wasn’t expecting him to be there, made her jump.

“You okay?” He asked.

A hint of concern fluttered across his face. For Annie, inhaling his scent and hearing his voice made her chest tighten and her breath catch in her throat – for more than one reason. Annie was insanely attracted to Flynn; she found it hard to believe there were many people who wouldn’t be. He was naturally charming and handsome. She knew that even in the few short moments she’d spent with him, he’d already allowed her to see a side of him he didn’t easily reveal to just anybody.  It was never her objective on this quick weekend-trip to find love, but something about him made her wonder what it would be like to be in a relationship with him.

Bad boys were NEVER her type and she surprised herself by starting to fall for him like she did.  One part of her tried to convince herself that she was caught up in the turmoil of the last few days and not making rational decisions. Another part of her found herself drawn to Flynn; to taking risks, to envying him and his attitude.  Who cares that he had already spent time in jail? Sure, her dad would comment on his tattoos and her whole family would be shocked to see her bring someone like him home, but what does that matter? This is her life, not theirs!

She forced the thoughts inside her mind to shut down.  She was getting ahead of herself and taking things way too far in her mind.  Calming herself, and clearing her throat, she looked up at Flynn and nodded.  A few tendrils of her blonde hair whipped across her face as she made eye contact with him.  She gently pulled them away from her eyes as he stepped closer to her.  She returned her gaze to the water and made a mental note of how calming all this was.  The constant thump of the water against the shore, along with Flynn standing beside her, brought her a sense of peace. Underlying that peace was a small wave of anxiety too, but it subsided the longer they stood there in silence.

“What am I doing here, Flynn?” Annie whispered out into the night, not turning to look at him.

“Looks like you’re staring out into the ocean; maybe daydreaming about skinny dipping?” He bantered, playfully, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No.” Annie turned to face him, her eyes blazing with intensity. She repeated, “What am I, doing here?”

She paused dramatically for affect.

“I was never meant to be investigating Kate’s disappearance. I was only supposed to be in Birchport two nights – and now…well…look at us…”

Annie’s eyes had softened, pleading with Flynn for an explanation.  The past few days had been so much more difficult than she ever anticipated.  Realizing how much she had missed out on with her college best friend, feeling guilty for losing touch, feeling hopeful that they could reconnect once again and be a part of each other’s lives – only to have all of that stripped away in an instant? Not to mention the less-than-warm welcome she had received from the Sterlings, when all she wanted to do was help! Annie’s resolve was faltering and she wasn’t sure she was ready for this. Maybe she didn’t have what it takes to stay in this town and fight for Kate.

Flynn sighed and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair, a few chill-bumps forming on his arms while the wind continued to pick up speed.  

“I used to ask myself that question a lot.  I never felt like Birchport was where I belonged.  I didn’t have many friends growing up, and the people I considered friends, left me behind when everything went south.” Flynn explained.

“The first thing I wanted to do when I got out of jail was leave this place.”

His eyes followed a small boat pulling into the wharf. The crew began unloading some kind of haul; Annie thought it was salmon or another kind of fish.  The smell wafted her way and turned her stomach just a bit, but she pushed through and continued listening to and studying Flynn.  

His forehead creased as he continued watching the crew work. He swallowed hard and returned his focus to the shore.

“Walk with me?”

“Sure.” Annie was already barefoot and followed him to the coastline.

Flynn seemed content to stay on the dry sand, but Annie wanted to wade in the water as it came in and out from the sea.

“You afraid to get wet?” She raised an eyebrow as she walked towards the water and looked at him over her shoulder.

Flynn rolled his eyes. “You’re so basic.” He mimicked her. “I wanna walk in the water and let the waves wash over my feet.” He sing-song-ed.

Reluctantly, he slipped off his sneakers, rolled up his jeans, and followed Annie.  “Before you ask – I draw the line at building sand castles.”

Annie smiled and immediately looked down, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks.  Flynn playfully nudged her with his shoulder and laughed to himself.

“It’s actually kind of nice being with someone who’s not from around here.  You give me a fresh perspective.”

“I do?” Annie asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah.  Like before, when I would ask myself what I was doing here…I didn’t have an answer.”

The two began walking slowly, the water continuing its pattern, some times lapping with more force than others. Annie was unsure what to do with her hands; she wanted to hold onto his…but her better judgement won out and she tried to act natural.

“…but now I do.” Flynn continued, watching his feet dip into the soft sand, next to Annie’s.  

“What I’m doing here…now…is trying to find Kate.  I’m trying to help her.  I have a purpose; a reason for existing in this moment.  I missed out on so much of life with my sister, you know? Being dumb. Making stupid decisions. Believing in the wrong people. This is my chance to make it up to Kate, somehow.  By trying to find her. By figuring out the truth.”

Annie exhaled as they kept walking. She didn’t know what to say or how to respond.  Everything he said made so much sense to her because she essentially felt the same. This was one possible way to make up for lost time and prove to Kate how much she missed her or what a mistake she made by letting their friendship diminish.

“I’m no good at being emotional…” he trailed off, suddenly stopping and looking down at Annie, who was comfortably close to him at the moment.  

She looked up at him with her dark green eyes and hung on his every word.  She wanted him to keep talking; keep sharing about himself.  She didn’t want the night or the walk to end. Annie desperately wanted him to know that she understood him, she knew exactly how he felt…but for some reason the words would not come.

“I do want you to know one thing though, Annie.”

He was almost whispering now. His rough, gravelly voice piercing through over the sound of the crashing waves and the rumbling wind.

“I’m here for you. I know it probably doesn’t mean anything…but there it is.”

After a few heartbeats passed in the silence, Annie finally responded.  

“It means a lot, actually.” From under her long, dark eyelashes she hoped he could read the emotion she was trying to convey.

Flynn nodded solemnly; an understanding had clearly passed between them.

“I better get you back to the B&B. It’s late.  Who knows what these idiots will do to us tomorrow.” He sighed, scratching his chin and looking up into the sky.

“It looks like a storm might be headed this way too.”

Annie quietly followed him back to the place along the shoreline where she left her shoes.

“Thank you.” She said to him as they swiped at their feet trying to get rid of the sand before putting their shoes back on.  

“Anytime.” Flynn said, giving her a quick wink giving her a hand to help her stand up.

A few minutes later, Flynn said goodnight and dropped Annie off, but she knew sleep would be difficult to come by this evening. Her brain was on overdrive as she tried to filter through the millions of thoughts flooding her mind.  She wanted to find Kate and figure out what the hell was happening in this shady little seaport town.  But she also wanted to know more about Flynn.

She wasn’t sure what the future would hold for her here in Birchport. She still didn’t have an answer to the question of what exactly she was doing here, but she knew that if any part of her future (whether it be just a few more days or longer than that) included Flynn O’Malley, she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

[reluctantrfamember]

how do you think it would go if V and Jumin fell for the same girl (err, MC?)?

that depends on several factors, but since it’s improbable that v would have the opportunity to fall for the mc in the main stories, let’s say this is post-v’s route

v got his eyes fixed and then left for a period of two years. he tried to keep in touch with the others, obviously, but v wasn’t the most active member at the best of times and rn he’s focusing on his journey of self discovery, so his calls and chatroom visits were pretty few and far in between. the rfa by and large understood that this was something v needed to do for himself, but it was still pretty hard for everyone to have their friend and figurehead vanish so soon after the wake of trauma rika inflicted on them all– especially in jumin and mc’s case, given how close they were to v.

so really, it’s no wonder that they eventually got close to each other as well.

back when all of the mint eye stuff was still ongoing, jumin made v a promise. he promised he would protect mc even if v wasn’t there for her, and that was a promise he took very seriously. jumin provided her with new, secure lodgings (some members of mint eye were still unaccounted for by the police and may target the rfa for their involvement in taking down the cult), paid for any health services she needed after everything she’s been through, and regularly kept in touch to make sure she’s doing well.

only… she wasn’t doing well.

in fact, she was doing pretty badly.

see, given all the pain everyone else was going through, mc felt compelled to act as a positive influence. she brightened the chatroom whenever she was in it and motivated everyone to keep their spirits up… all the while neglecting her own feelings over the whole ordeal. i mean, she was lured into a cult under false pretences, held hostage there for a week, was almost drugged, etc. so that’s obviously gonna be a bit of a mental toll on anyone. she just… didn’t expect the one person she went through all of this with would suddenly disappear.

hence, quite unexpectedly during one of jumin’s regularly scheduled phone calls, mc suddenly bursted into tears.

“do you think he’ll come back?”

jumin flinched when she asked him that, because honestly, at this point, six months later… he wasn’t sure. jumin didn’t believe in making false assurances, but he promised v that he would protect her. that included protecting her emotionally, didn’t it? but still, he couldn’t lie.

“i don’t know,” he admitted, “but i miss him, too.”

they talked about it for a while, just over the phone, but eventually mc asked whether she could just… swing by for a visit. he agreed. hence, from then on, those regularly scheduled phone calls became regularly scheduled visits. they’d talk about v, how he was like as a kid, how they wished he’d come back, the guilt jumin felt over not noticing the turmoil v was going through, but they did and discussed more pleasant things as well. it was a touch formal at first, given the sort of man jumin is, but there was something about mc that made him feel relaxed. was it because she was such a good listener, or because she was kind? patient? keenly observant? laughed at his jokes…?

is this what v saw, too?

jumin wasn’t sure when he started to fall for mc, exactly, because for the longest time he tried to ignore it. he enjoyed her visits, their talks, the things they did together– but he found himself holding back, refusing to acknowledge the feelings he was developing. because he knew on some level, if he ever was honest about those feelings, they’d only bring trouble. they were just friends, brought together by their mutual loneliness. she didn’t want him. they were just friends. she was just waiting for v. he couldn’t have her.

but eventually they stopped talking about v. or, less frequently. jumin no longer thought of mc’s visits as obligation he had to undertake due to his promise, but looked forward to them because he enjoyed her company. he invited her over and out outside of his schedule, and one night she even stayed over…

no, no, wait– it was nothing like that. she just fell asleep on his sofa while they were watching a movie, and he didn’t want to wake her. it was already fairly late anyway, and it’d be dangerous to let her go home alone at night. besides, he promised to protect her, didn’t he? that’s all this was.

so jumin scooped her up, carried her to his bed, and tucked her in. he couldn’t let his guest sleep on the couch after all, could he? however, just as he was abt to leave… mc stirred from slumber, snagging his shirt sleeve before he could go.

“jumin?” she asked, sleepily.

“…yes?” he replied.

“thank you,” she said, propping herself upwards, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“for what?” he asked, sitting on the bed, leaning forward involuntarily.

“being here,” she replied, and then pulled him into a hug.

he was surprised, to say the least, but more by himself than her. he was surprised that he didn’t tense up, despite his beating heart. he was surprised that he didn’t pull away, but relaxed into her embrace. he was surprised that he… liked it so much. he was surprised that he let his guard down, and wanted more.

“do you think he’ll come back?”

those words repeated in his mind, now a year and a half later. it’d been three months since he last heard from v, and during those months the rfa decided to put together a comeback party, given the disaster that was the last one. jumin, meanwhile… was debating whether he should come forward about his feelings. he couldn’t deny them anymore, no matter how hard he tried, and… what if he really never did come back?

by the end of his deliberations, jumin had concluded that he would tell her. he would tell her at the party, as soon as he could.

but then…

“i was waiting for this moment”

“v…?!”

…and suddenly jumin’s wishing he’d kept on ignoring those feelings. they only bring trouble.

how tf does this scenario end? who knows tbh. it depends on the disposition of the mc, really. who’d you pick? the man who returned for you, ready to love you the way he loves himself, or the man who stayed, expecting nothing in return?

[tayegi]

This second chapter made me feel so much of everything, and I admire the OC for being so mature and put her anger aside. I feel sort of ashamed that it's not something I'd do hehe(seems like I need to grow more) I've never felt this way before but somehow your amazing writing makes me feel everything the OC feels! So thank your very much for sparing time to write all of this amazing stuff, even tho you're really busy. Really, thank you. I love you. ♥

Anonymous said:New rules isn't even about the boys for me anymore it's about this lowkey toxic friendship even if they've been friends for years that's the problem. OC couldn't talk to Mijoo about how she really felt not saying she should've told Mijoo to stay away from Jimin but let her know that it really hurt her feelings and Mijoo clearly didn't have a problem putting a boy over friendship. Even if it started with something small like this it could be the downfall to their friendship.

Anonymous said:I just wouldn't be able to trust Mijoo and that kinda ruins the whole friendship right then and there. It's I would think if she was so quick to ruin something for me for her over a guy what else will she do to put herself before me. I know friendships are important most of the time and the reader and Jimin were never together but I just wouldn't be able to associate with her. This is only what the reader is finding out now what else could Mijoo be hiding and I know it might not be that deep pt1

mirajoey said:Fml. I just hate how sweet demure pretty girls who are actual snake. And people keep misunderstanding 'ice queen but true' type of girls. Why do women need to be attractive (pretty) but superficial af to please men? My ex-crush is in relationship with my bestfriend tho😂 she and my other girl keep mocking me for being the only single ass in the group. Idk if they are intentional or not. I'm about to say fuck off bitch whenever they do that. But i'm a softie for friends. So yeah, am i weak?

Anonymous said:i feel like all this hate towards mijoo and the desire to hurt her is exactly how the oc initially reacted, and everyone who had sent in asks about physically hurting her is an instantaneous reaction, but will not actually do so. its kind of like being so angry during an argument with someone that you say things you dont mean. don't take it at heart. im one of the anons who sent in something about hurting her, and i would not in any way physically harm a person. much less a best friend.

Anonymous said:NR 2, Great writing as always. But I wouldnt have been as forgiving, maybe after a day or 2 we could talk things through with her after that. I get why some friendships crumble because of that. Its not because of the guy but because of the betrayal. It would hurt so much more from a friend you trust and have been open with all this. It just means they didnt choose to trust you with the truth and she didnt even admit it after all this time.

Anonymous said:wow that Mijoo... I have two thoughts: 1. "I hate snakeu" and 2. Haven't she heard the phrase, fries before guys? btw I would cut all connections with a "friend" like that. But you are wonderful Lu and never fail to amaze us♡ Thank you for sharing such quality contents so often~ Have a nice day!

Anonymous said:oH MY GOD! New rules 2 had me screeching. Bruh you make me so sad but i love it. Im in emotional turmoil for OC. Im. I just dont know man. Her friends are such asses.

Anonymous said:Ahh new rules hit me so hard, i actually cried! I relate so much to the oc and my own best friend of over 10 years pulled that shit on me and I was so, so hurt that I didn't even cared about the guy anymore but her betrayal really hit me....ahhh anyway that's such a emotional ride!!!! I love your writing 💕

Anonymous said:new rules makes me really sad of how friendships are always regarded as smth less than relationships. and the worst part is people around me would literally question me abt why im so against relationships when im not? i just feel like relationships and friendships are different but equally important.. it's so upsetting to know that friends that you treasure dont treasure you in the same way just because u r not their partner.

Anonymous said:Forgive me if I'm reading way too much into this, but I think the reason Mijo's betrayal brought so many strong emotions in a lot of readers is because most women "dread" something like that happening.. No one wants the "girls hate other girls/pick guys over friendships" stereotype to be true because it IS an awful stereotype, so when it happens (cause some people are awful and some of those people are girls) it's really heartbreaking.. 1/?

Anonymous said:the act alone is terrible but add to it that this proved the stereotype for some people and it can really sting!!I think that's the reason why "Mean Girls" is so popular! It satirizes that feeling and makes it funny/tolerable! The OC is acting in a mature way but given that she's a feminist it can also be that she doesn't want to prove that stereotype and wants to act above it! 2/?

Anonymous said:It's very understandable BUT no one would expect boys/men to be friends after something like that because it WAS hurtful and selfish and awful and Mijoo shouldn't get a pass just because she's a girl and OC wants to prove a point! Remove jimin from the equation and add a job promotion with Mijoo being sneaky and getting it instead of OC for reasons SHE instigated and it should be clear why OC needs to be angry! 3/4

Anonymous said:They should at least argue about it with a line in the sand drawn if it happens again! *not saying you should do that of course, the story is a stroy and should have this kind of layers/complex feelings, I'm talking in a real life scenario I guess* sorry to dump all this on you but it brought so many feelings and I had to write them down!! What do you think? A stretch? 4/4

Anonymous said:There would have been at minimum a month of radio silence from me if I were OC and one of my girl friends pulled a stunt like M.

Anonymous said:To be honest, I feel like maybe how the MC handled Mijoo maybe wasn't the mature thing to do? I guess in the past I always felt like being mature was keeping friends no matter what they pulled, but lately I feel like cutting off toxic friends actually is sometimes the best way to handle things? Like not causing a scene, or anything. It's just that I've come to value trust and respect in my relationships, and after part two I feel like I personally cannot trust or respect her. Just some thoughts!

Anonymous said:how is the OC so patient and... nice ?!!1!1!1 if i were her i’d be a salty ass bitch at mijoo like heck you just stole my crush away from me just because YOU like him. kdndksjsoana i feel aNgEr

Anonymous said:i hope karma fucks mijoo in the ass. i hate everything and i hope jungkook gets his ass whooped too so he can actually act like a human being for once. thanks for writing new rules

Anonymous said:As much as the OC is remarkable for her self sacrifice I feel Jimin had the right to know what happened and Mijoo really needs to know that what she did was not okay. Sure OC didn’t do the wrong thing by throwing a tantrum and ruining Mijoo’s life but I just felt like honest communication is necessary. This brings me to the point that I like how you write realistic stories because in life decisions aren’t so black and white.

Anonymous said:Yes I totally get you Lu. And in all honesty, I wouldn't have forgiven her. I wouldn't have caused that much or big of a scene, but I would have definitely ended my 'friendship' right then and there. It irritated me though that OC even went up to her and touched her asdsfhk. I would have went to sleep. I once had a friend who did the same shit twice. She dated the boys I liked, knowing about my feelings for each of them and then acted innocent. It felt like reading about me. - Reasoning Anon

Anonymous said:And the worst part is that I felt exactly the same way OC did. I just can't be mean to people. No matter how much I despise them. No matter how much they hurt or angered me. Because then I feel so evil, so I let it happen. Then I leash out on other people who never did (Jungkook). I just let them hurt me. And then I feel guilty about having mean thoughts about them. And when OC thought and felt like the asshole, the monster ... man. I already hate this story, go away 😩 - Reasoning Anon

Anonymous said:the oc in new rules is like waaay too kind to her "best friend", why would a "best friend" sabotage a girl's chance to get with a guy who genuinely likes her i still don't understand. it doesn't matter if the "best friend" likes the guy, i am betting the oc is some martyr to be that sacrificial. i would drop my "best friend" if she tried that on me

Anonymous said:LIVID. I'm so angry that Mijoo never gave OC Jimin's confession note, then had the nerve to involve OC as she was stressing over him. I'm frustrated that OC puts Mijoo on a pedestal just bc she's pretty, & seems to see Mijoo as more deserving of happiness than herself. Mijoo is a snake & deserves to be exposed bc she did both Jimin and OC dirty by not giving her his note. She deprived them both of what they wanted, & any relationship she now has w Jimin is tainted by what she did to him a yr ago

Anonymous said:I can only hope that Jimin wakes up and realizes what a snake Mijoo is. With a girl like her, I doubt their relationship can work out (or at least that's what I hope).

Anonymous said:mijoo gotta go

Anonymous said:I'm in love with new rules omg if I found out my best friend hid something like that from me I would be livid I don't know how she kept her cool. Can't wait for the next part! 💖💖💖

Anonymous said:Omg her friend is a snake and she's too forgiving 🤧😫😩 I just want to grab OC's shoulders and shake some sense into her, she's allowed to be angry at her friend, she's deserves to be happy too. I'm excited to see how the rest of this story is gonna develop, I really love all your writing. You have such a way with words that makes me feel like I watching a movie rather than just reading a story. 👌❤️👌

bangtanboys-hoe said:This may be the bitch in me talking but I would've made her feel like shit. I would move out, block her number, and tell Jimin everything. I would've made her life a living hell hole. But this is just a story and I'm too nice of a person to do that.

Anonymous said:okay first how's your day, how you're doing. And second MIJOO IS SUCH A BITCH NO FUCK FHAT. WHAT HAPPENED TO LOYALTY, OC GAVE UP HER LIVE AND MIJOO DECIDED TO TAKE IT DOE SELF. FUCK JIMIN (I love you jimin) BUT BOTH OF THEM FUCK UP THEIR FRIENDSHIP. I couldn't even enjoy the smut I'm so mad. Plus GOOD JOB ON THE NEW CHAPTER! It's really good! Hope you have a good day :)

Anonymous said:Fuck mijoo AHHSGAHHDH WHY WHY WHY

omg im very overwhelmed by the incredible response to ch 2 of new rules and i feel so bad but i srsly cant answer all of your messages. But the intense reactions this fic inspired is so shocking yet understandable. I just hope you all aren’t too upset and that you can have an open mind for the next chapter ^^