#these are so disorganized I’m so sorry

[soullessjack]

𖦹

𖦹

𖦹

waiter waiter more snake motif jack web weaves!!

(pt 1/?)

-

[peachdues]

forcing myself to take a break from writing compass for a couple of days because I’ve found myself writing the same general concept in four different fucking ways but I stupidly kept all of it in the main draft so now that entire draft is fucked

[r-aindr0p]

You're doing amazing and wonderfully

Hope things are going alright for ya

Also this happened yesterday apparently

Drew a dragon for ya (they don't have any braincells but that's okay cause they're nice and they're trying lol) I tried to emulate the iconic eyes you draw cause i love that but i am not very good (didn't capture the same adorable essence but that's okay)

Aahghdhfb I’m a bit late but

Loving the creechur very much ✨

[pixlokita]

I get the feeling that if "into the ballpit" Mike ever catches Gregory or Evan with matches, the disappointed lecture about why playing with matches is bad isn't going to be because "fire is dangerous" so much as it will be because "the fire produced by mere matches isn't hot enough to destroy all the evidence and/or tethers that may or may not be tying a lingering soul to a hypothetical, animatronic prison."

He teaches them how to be arsonists but safely because they’re children after all ฅ(≚ᄌ≚)

[peaches2217]

More assorted Mario Bros headcanons, this time focusing on their upbringing!

✨ Their parents were first-generation immigrants from different parts of Italy. They met in Brooklyn as teenagers and the rest, as they say, is history.

✨ Their father passed away when they were two or three years old, so they don’t have many memories of him. Most of what they know about him comes from the stories their mother told them. She never had a bad word to say about even his worst qualities. Those stories and the way she told them are a big part of the reason Mario grew up to be a hopeless romantic.

✨ Being the elder brother by a whole three minutes, Mario took it upon himself growing up to fill the shoes his father left behind so he could take care of his mother and Luigi. He aspired to become that perfect man Mama Mario spoke of with bright and misty eyes: kind, gracious, full of humor, strong, soft-hearted, steadfast in his values and beliefs, slow to anger, quick to forgive.

✨ Finding a workable balance between all of those values took a while. Mario’s a deeply emotional guy, always has been, and while he has a fairly easy time forgiving transgressions against himself, transgressions against his loved ones are another story entirely. He was the sort of kid who’d take Yo Mama jokes personally (“Our mom is a wonderful woman!” he would snarl while Luigi did his best to physically drag Mario away from the altercation). To say nothing of how he’d react to someone slighting Luigi…

✨ Luigi is autistic and Mario has ADHD. Their neurodivergences are part of the reason they’ve always been so deeply on the same wavelength, that combined with classic twin tropes.

✨ Luigi was outed as bisexual in the seventh grade, when the little journal he kept at the time fell out of his bag and into the wrong hands. His biggest fear was, of all things, how Mario would react — he already felt like a freak to the rest of the world, becoming a freak to his brother and closest friend would have been unbearable. He was both horrified and relieved to find Mario in the courtyard after school, amassing a crowd as he beat the living shit out of the guy who outed Luigi in the first place, because he knew then that nothing had changed between them (and that Mario would be grounded for the next month. “Beyond worth it,” Mario assured him).

✨ Luigi also developed an affinity for wearing feminine clothes around that time; he’d always been curious but finally got the nerve to try it with his brother’s encouragement. Mario would bring him to boutiques and the mall and suchlike and then buy anything Luigi bought in his own size, that way if anyone had the audacity to stare, he could make a spectacle of himself so those eyes stared at HIM instead of Luigi.

✨ Their mother fell ill their senior year of high school and passed when they were in trade school. Neither remembers much from the year she died. They both threw themselves into their training and didn’t look back.

✨ Both bros started drinking coffee as young teenagers, Mario to emulate his father and Luigi to emulate Mario. They enjoy it as adults, though Mario far more than Luigi; Luigi prefers tea. Mario hated tea until he learned it was Peach’s drink of choice, at which point he sought Luigi’s help in developing a taste (or at least tolerance) for it. That help mostly consisted of Luigi making like five different types of tea each night and cheering Mario on as he downed them like vodka shots.

[radmystique]

Twitter “activists” are something else, man.

[localobsta]

Meet Nathaniel the Gardevoir! An honorary toymaker if you will, and he will make sure to work his dang hardest to keep his dream job afloat! Needless to say, he tends to be a bit of a procrastinator and also has this tendency to be a bit arrogant to say the least. ^^’

Fhfjffjfjfjcjdmddmcm there is just something about drawing coats that really is relaxing to me I don’t know why 😭

[jackinalex]

Why do you think Alex has been the only one doing the small radio acoustic shows in the last year? (unless Jack inserts himself 😂) It feels so weird to watch him there alone and not having anyone to interact with. I miss the small acoustic shows with just the 4 or 3 of them they always used to do. I miss Zack’s harmonies and Jack’s silliness in them. There’s a new video from 101x on yt btw.

I truly do not know. I wasn’t even aware he was still doing those very often. It made sense during the pandemic, but not really now. Then again, I’m very often out of the loop and I’ve been so busy the last couple weeks. I love Zack’s harmonies and Jack’s silliness, too, though. Those things are part of what makes the band the band, you know?

[4e7her]

[grabs you by the throat]

I have travelled across platforms and websites to reach this page, and all I must say is...

hi :]

OAHSKAHAJHAJA HI <):-) (wizard)

my content is very all over the place… tumblr has mostly twst, quotev has fics for. twst, obey me, mystic messenger, and stardew. and then ao3 has twst, stardew, and fnaf.

everything his everywhere. and that’s not even mentioning the like seven fics i have in the drafts with only a chapter or a half done

[buysomecheese]

The ship dynamic where like ugh ok so A and B were either childhood friends or young lovers and it’s Always Them even if there are other people for them it ends up being ‘A-and-B’ (i.e. Cory-and-Topanga, Wolf-and-Snake, The Bishop (Sarah Black and John Hart), Wendy-and-Tolkien) and they’ve been through their Shit and they’re established and they work so well together but then C comes along

And sometimes C has always been there, loving both of them but not being able to do anything about it because it’s ‘A-and-B and C’ and will never be ‘A-and-B-and-C’. Hell, sometimes A or B even had a thing with C in the past that didn’t work out for whatever reason so it’s over and done and C is just watching wistful from afar (Shawn, Stan)

Other times C is someone entirely new, who shakes up A-and-B’s whole world so much that they have no chance but to notice. They’re really good at the same job, or the banter is just such a new pace but one part of A-and-B just.. really appreciates it. C, however much they like both A-and-B, knows it’s never gonna include them so is very cautious about Everything relating to them (Diane, Nolan Booth)

But either way, A-and-B have a conversation- it’s more difficult for one of them than it is the other (Cory (because it’s always been there but he hasn’t been able to identify so it’s like difficult all around for him y’know he goes through the 5 stages of grief simultaneously), Snake, John Hart (similar to Cory except he’s upset about it), Tolkien) and they approach C and they are Beyond confused. They don’t believe it, this has got to be a prank or something. A-and-B are making fun of them- except C knows they would never do that, not like this. C will just have to leave, as to not disturb the peace A-and-B have created…

But A-and-B want it to be A-and-B-and-C

Of course, one part of A-and-B has more difficulty adjusting than the other (Topanga, Snake, John Hart, Tolkien)- they and C fight, they’re petty, it takes a lot of reassurance but they want this to work for their hinge (idk what else to call them I’m talking about like the Cory and Wolf characters) so them and C get to know each other one-on-one, they figure their shit out. It’s still more turbulent than just A-and-B was, but with time it becomes easier etc. etc.

AUGH it’s just so much I could talk about each individual ship So Much (especially Shawn-and-Cory-and-Topanga I’m currently watching BMW and they mean SO MUCH to me) so I think I will because this is my blog y’all get to see my opinions!!! This is just like my main/favorite hc of how it happens I Loveee playing around with timelines for angst or smut hehe

Shawn-and-Cory-and-Topanga

So ok I’ve like Not watched past s2 yet but idc I love them. I think that Topanga figured it out- watched Cory’s reactions to Shawn’s “babe” one too many times, noticed Shawn finding Cory in a room first every single time, woke up more often then she thought was normal with the taste of Shawn’s lips on hers (referencing that one ep where they kissed for some reason? Idk haven’t watched it yet but ik it happens I’ve read fanfic), felt Shawn’s hand brush against her free hand all the time in the halls. She decides enough is enough, sits Cory down- she’s smart, she’s not mad, is he in love with Shawn? Yes Topanga, of course he’s in love with Shawn, you can’t be friends with someone for this long without being in love with them. No Cory, not like that- does he love Shawn the way he loves Topanga.

And oh, the look of slow realization on Cory’s face says so many things.

He’s relaxed (this is just a fact of life for him), he’s confused (what does she mean ‘the same way’, of course he loves them the same), he’s upset (she’s not mad but he is- how could he not have realized for so long? If she doesn’t mind now then how long could he have had his wildest dreams? How long with them did he miss out on?), he’s scared (what could this mean for all of them?), he’s anxious (this is weird, what could his Shawn possible think about this?).

Topanga holds his face, calms her Cory down a bit- me too, she says, for much less time I’m sure, but me too. We can work this out, she insists, we’ll talk to him and explore our options.

And of course, when they finally sit Shawn down with them, he doesn’t- can’t- believe it. This is some sick joke, why would they want him of all people? They could literally have anyone they wanted at any time, why him and why now? But no, they just keep saying it. I love you. We love you. It’s always been you, Shawn, I just couldn’t see it- be glad Topanga only waited this long to tell me and not longer. If you don’t believe my words, Shawn, believe my dreams- do you want me to recount them right now? They’re a bit explicit for a first conversation, but I could start with- and on and on and on.

Now both of them calming him down, they come to a consensus: Shawn can think it over for as long as he needs, Cory-and-Topanga will act with him exactly as they always have until he says otherwise. Topanga is already guessing at his answer, but Cory has barely ever been more nervous in his life.

Of course, it works out for the better- Shawn comes back, he needs them in his life as much as they need him. That’s all they know and they’ll work out the intricacies later. Topanga and Shawn, who already have a sort of ‘war’ over Cory, find themselves falling into that back-and-forth sometimes still, but then one of the three starts looking sad and apprehensive and they Converse instead and make it nice (of a tad tense) for the rest of the evening, allowing them to bounce back right in the morning. Shawn has some old habits he really needs to work to kick (isolation mainly), but every time he’s feeling that way the other two know when to hold on with their whole strength and when to welcome him back with open arms.

Snake-and-Wolf-and-Diane

Ok so fully I think Snake (hc: Niraj) is a gay man but like he loves Wolf (canon: Moe) so much and they both fuck around outside of each other so it’s chill that Moe hangs out with Diane now, so often. Until Snake does find himself getting jealous, feeling pushed aside; he’s planning his escape, how he’s gonna deal with not only leaving Wolf without a word, but also the only family he’s had in years. And what really sucks is that Diane is wonderful, she’s so great for Wolf- she’s not some old jaded person, she’s Wolf’s age, full of life and love, Snake’s exact opposite. So he assumes that it’s time for him to leave, again.

He packs his bag, gets halfway to the next town before the whole gang is blowing up his phone. He can’t drive so they (Moe-and-Diane; Niraj has already accepted that his place has been taken) catch up with him fast enough. Diane’s driving; Moe is shaking so much he can barely hold his Niraj, tears streaming down his face.

“You can’t do that to us, Snake! I- we thought you were dead!”

“… just though I should get out of the way before you have to tell me to go, is all.”

It’s a whole thing, they’re both yelling at each other. Diane doesn’t know where she fits into this, so she just drives them home when they’re done yelling. She’s a bit scared, but she does love them both and she knows how much Moe needs Snake.

A lot of talking, a lot of compromise, a lot of reassurance from Moe. Diane offers to step out multiple times but they keep her there, because as much as it’s about Niraj-and-Moe it’s also about Diane. Etc. etc. this ship especially is a slow go, takes a long time to become functional again, but it is so worth it once they get there. (Snake is a big believer of ‘a hole’s a hole’ and also Diane is big on pegging so it does work out sexually even if outside of that they’re just really good friends who share a boyfriend but tbh it just like clockwork with how good everything is ugh I love this movie tremendously. Also Diana and Webs definitely flirt more than ‘friends joking’ and the whole lot of them are a bit polyamorous/anarchist in their relationships)

John Hart-and-Sarah Black-and-Nolan Booth

They like Have a canon ‘hey let’s try this throuple thing out’ scene it’s where Nolan is on their boat and is like ‘you guys fuck so loud you weren’t the only ones crying’ and Sarah is like ‘you’re eating raw pork rn’ and they’re all so silly and then John and Sarah have their ‘do you trust me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you love me?’ ‘Always.’ ‘Then that’s all we need’ scene and that’s literally Sarah going ‘her babe you literally want to have sex with him so bad just give the romance part a try. I think you guys would be so cute together and also I think he’s really sweet and cute and I kinda want to kiss him as well let’s try this out please.’ And John begrudgingly agrees and the procession of events is so funny after that (to viewers)

John doesn’t think he’s attracted to men so he’s Incredibly confused about all of this. Nolan is confused as to why he feels like this couple- the hottest couple to exist, by the way, his words and you can quote him on it- seems to be.. coming onto him? Sarah is having so much fun scheming about this she is loving this.

Nolan and Sarah bond over Taylor Swift music. John slowly gains respect for Nolan during different heists they pull, and Nolan becomes less scared of John with every small compliment (or rather, lack of a critique). It actually does cause some rifts between John and Sarah but they’ve overcome everything before, them liking some guy isn’t gonna stop them now. So when Sarah finally kisses John and then kisses Nolan, followed immediately by John kissing Nolan, poor Booth feels just a bit lost. John passed him his glass of wine and they talk it out. Takes a while, and it doesn’t definitely get physical for them on the first night, but hey! That’s that and that works for them

And then they commit heists and Sarah has hate sex with Inspector Daz at least once and they live forever after this movie is so. I’m so excited for the sequels you actually have no idea

Tolkien-and-Wendy-and-Stan

So obviously Wendy and Stan had been Wendy-and-Stan- forever ago. Back in elementary school. It’s been Tolkien-and-Wendy since like 8th grade, going strong to senior year. Stan wouldn’t lie and say he’s not jealous, but he would also never admit that he was- Tolkien was his neighbor and actually they do get along really well, and he knows that Kyle and Wendy and Tolkien are close friends individually and he’s been able to be at the very least acquaintances with Wendy recently so he really does not want to ruin that. So he’s just chilling, pining a bit, even if he’s not exactly sure as to who for.

Wendy-and-Tolkien do have a very healthy sex life for two high schoolers, and are very comfortable with one another- when Wendy asks Tolkien (really casually, over lunch) “if you were to sleep with a guy, who would it be?” and he answers “Stan” almost on instinct, Wendy knows exactly how she can work with this. Purely planning for just a sort of sexual arrangement, she gets a bit closer to Stan to assess his mental health and availability and then the three of them have a Long conversation. Tolkien ends up driving them all into Denver to get tested for STDs and they’re all clean (surprisingly on Stan’s part, until they realize just how much he’s actually just been wanting the two of them), they have the sex, and then Stan.. stays the night.

On accident, of course, but he wakes up earlier and better rested than he has since maybe early elementary school, so he makes them all breakfast. He knows how Wendy used to eat and he knows what Tolkien does like so he makes a little spread in the Testaburger kitchen and when the other two wake up they are beyond surprised- not unpleasantly so.

This becomes somewhat of a regular thing- every few weeks, they’ll invite Stan over, and he’ll just end up staying over. He sort of fits into them perfectly, and ends up not just staying over night but in their minds as well. Clearly he’s a lot more grown-up than he was in 4th grade, and they all get along as friends, and Tolkien-and-Wendy decide it’s time for another Long conversation, inviting Stan in as an always fixture to their relationship. Immediately he jumps on board with that idea, and Tolkien-and-Wendy become Tolkien-and-Wendy-and-Stan

The conflict comes mainly from Wendy’s side here- she’s not embarrassed of Stan, she swears, she’s just embarrassed to tell her friends that she’s seeing him again. Tolkien’s a bit worried about telling people the polyamorous part, and Stan is overall a bit offended because he told Kenny and Kyle and Eric the first time Tolkien and Wendy invited him over. This issue mainly resolves itself with time and comfort and then they’re chilling and it’s good. Until Wendy asks Stan the same question she had asked Tolkien…

I had a lot more feelings about this one but uh I cared about South Park for like a month or so and then my brain decided we were tired of it so I have nothing else to offer I just think they’re all a lot more chill and communicative in high school idk

[emmyrosee]

Every morning was a pleasant routine.

Rintaro would get up, press a sweet, light kiss to your head before heading out for a run- then, he’d come back just in time for you and Kaiya to be up and making breakfast for him while he showers.

Then, he’d change, have a small bite for breakfast, watch one episode of whatever show was on with his baby while he brushed her hair, then kiss her goodbye and allow you to drown him in your own share of goodbye kisses before he heads off to work.

But today, he just. Skipped it. Instead of getting up for a run, he whines and buries himself in the pillows for a bit more sleep. Instead of showering, he throws on clean enough clothes and deodorant while you’re struggling to prepare a semi-sufficient breakfast for your husband as he scrambles to get all his practice gear ready. He packs Akito's lunch and sends him off to school with a ruffle of his hair, while a toothbrush is jammed down his throat.

Kaiya watches, confused, as you smear apple jam over a piece of toast and pour him a cup of coffee, knowing he’d have to take it in the car in any chance to make it in on time. The child merely makes her way into the living room to wait for her father to come watch Bluey as he did every morning.

“Got your phone? Water? Protein bar? Lunch- Rin do not forget your lunch again- change of socks?” All of your asking gets a hurried, quickly glanced “yes” or “got it” from Rin. He stuffs the toast into his mouth and plants a half-successful kiss to your cheek in order to head out. “Love you girls!”

“Love you too!” You call back, watching him make his way out of the house, struggling slightly with the disorganized bag.

“Mommy?” Kaiya whimpers, her cheeks stained with strawberry juice. “Where daddy going?”

You crouch down to your little girls height, wondering if she just forgot that he left everyday, or whatever the case may be, “well… he’s going to work, baby, he’ll be back soon!”

“Daddy’s gone?”

“Yeah baby… we can get lunch with him later if you would like to-“

“No!” She cries, her wide, green eyes filling with tears. Your heart sinks, you really don’t know what the problem is, and that sadness only grows when Kaiya, in all her four year old energy can muster, runs to the large living room window that looks out to the driveway, her tiny fists banging on the glass. “Daddyyyyy!” She wails, her cries becoming more frantic.

“Kaiya, it’s okay! Daddy will be home later-“

“Daddyyyyyy!”

Instinctively, you bring your hands up to try and cover up your ears from the scream of your baby, shocked at the volume and distress of her shrieks.

Suddenly, she runs from the window to the front door, and your heart absolutely jumps in your throat, fearing she’s going to try and book it about the front door to follow her dad.

When you make a move to chase her, you let out a relieved breath to see her clutched in the arms of her Rintaro, her tiny face buried in his neck and his, in her hair. Little sniffles and whimpers slip from her tiny face, interwoven with small little “I’m sorry, princess,” falling from Rin’s lips.

“She had a meltdown when you left, Rin,” you explain, leaning against the wall in exhaustion from the already hectic morning. Your hands scrub your face to relieve the fatigue, but you freeze and almost smack yourself when Kaiya finally peeps up.

“I-it’s ‘cause you didn’t say goodbye t'me,” she whimpers, and Rintaro squeezes her impossibly closer, his eyes screwing shut to fight his own shame. Neither of you even processed that, it was so crazy that a simple ‘love you!’ was sufficient enough to quell your need for his affection, but both of you clearly forgot about your daughter’s needs.

“I know, Angel, I’m so sorry,” he says softly, placing a sweet kiss on her temple. “Daddy was too busy this morning huh? Needs to make sure he takes care of his favorite girls?” His eyes flick to you before he opens one of his arms for you to come into for a hug.

His embrace is tempting, but you sigh softly, “Rin, you’ll be late-“

“‘M already late,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “But I’m almost halfway tempted to call in sick and spend the day here, so I’d get in this hug if I were you.”

In truth, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t about to take him up on that offer, spend the day with the two loves of your life with a nice hot breakfast, maybe a couple of Disney movies and a walk in the park, but it wouldn’t be right; not when Rin already works so hard to be able to provide you with that life while he’s busy playing or even out of the country.

Regardless, you slip to your knees and crawl into Rin’s other side, your hand wrapping around his broad shoulders so your fingers can tangle in his soft hair, which he happily leans into.

He plants a kiss to your head before nuzzling his nose against Kaiya’s own dark hair, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, baby. I’ll be better next time."

“You better,” she whimpers. You and Rin look at each other and chuckle, none of you daring to leave the hug.

If anything, you squeeze tighter, not ready to let the world interrupt yet.

—-

tagging u 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 @reverie-starlight @tsukiran @wolffmaiden @thoreeo @aliensknowmyillusions @tutuwusworld @lavishcherie @sassycheesecake @cheolattes @rrairey 🩷

[cruesuffix]

i don’t want to steal your thunder (on the proper acc this time at least lol) but i couldn’t help but think the angsty version of this is spring day by bts. i mean

like at some point the anger fades away and everyone’s left with this melancholic sort of regretful feeling, and this song definitely represents that.

We've had enough by Melina KB is so modern day crüe drama angry Mick Mars I can't even.

Either that or my brain is absolute soup idk

[robo-writing]

Kinktober Day Ten: Old Man! Logan - Clothed Sex

| Kinktober Masterlist |

You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex—can’t remember the last time you felt his breath on your skin, touched his beautifully scarred body. You can feel it sometimes, the tension that lingers between the both of you when you leave in the morning. A kiss goodbye that lasts a bit too long to be just a kiss—more like a question shared between two lovers.

Do you want to stay home? 

And yet the answer is always the same; the sound of his keys between his fingers taunting you. 

I want to, but I can’t.

You’re tired from working at your job, he’s tired from working at his. It’s an unfortunate cycle, but it’s become commonplace, so routine that neither of you bats an eye. Still, you’re both human—you have needs, it’s just that those needs are playing second fiddle to a paycheck. 

There’s only so many nights where you can sneak off into the bathroom to relieve yourself, hoping that he doesn’t wake up—It’s why you’re surprised when you hear the sound of his car pulling into the driveway. 

The door opens, and he immediately makes himself comfortable by your side, pressing into your back. There’s no fanfare to be had, no foreplay, no words needed. You’re tired, he’s tired—it’s a win-win scenario. 

His beard scratches at your neck, a feeling that reminds your body of what it’s been missing this whole time. When you lean into him he sighs, a sound somewhere between relief and satisfaction. His touch paints a story across your torso, one that tells you just how much he’s always wanted to answer yes.

“Come here baby,” he rasps. “Get on top of me, that’s it—“

He lifts you with ease, your legs straddling his larger one as you grind against it, disorganized thrusts that probably wouldn’t do much for you if you weren’t already worked up. He watches you mesmerized, awe-struck at the beauty he’s denied himself of for so long.

Impatience leaks from your very core, greedy hands searching for the object of your desire, groping the obvious bulge in his work pants, your breath fanning across his cheek. 

“Pull it out, please—“

His agreement is wordless, arm around your back as the other busies itself with his throbbing cock. The clink of a belt buckle, a button popping open, the metal teeth of a zipper separating and the shuffle of your panties down your legs. It’s a four step plan that leaves the both of you satisfied, tight walls fluttering around his length. He moves you with ease, head falling forward to rest in your chest.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he groans, hands pawing at your shirt. It’s a sentiment you know well enough. It’s only when he starts moving do you realize how much you needed this—needed him. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex but it’s coming back to you slowly, bit by bit; desperation leaking through every move you make. Hands anchored on his shoulders, hips grinding against him as he holds you tight, just as desperate from the way his hips follow yours. It’s like standing near the shore unaware that it’s high tide, unaware of your impending orgasm until it’s forced from you, whimpering into the side of his neck as you shake.

“You came already?” His rough voice hisses in pleasure, lips at your temple. “Must’ve been real pent up huh?”

You can only nod, fingers clinging to the dark jacket that hangs a bit crooked off his shoulders. Suddenly your lips are captured in his, full of hunger as his tongue explores past your teeth, the taste of smoke overtaking your senses. “I’m sorry for neglecting you, should’ve been fuckin’ you properly,” he moans, thumb brushing against your sensitive clit. He laughs into your mouth when you jump, delighted in the way your pussy grips him. “Lemme make it up to you.”

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 5

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 3.0k

c/w - language

a/n - yall have been all up in my asks today, so i pumped this chapter out. gotta give the people what they want fr. sorry it’s a lil short, this chapter was kind of a filler tbh! also, did anyone catch the irl past references in the first scene? ;) as always, hope yall enjoy!! (also, this is unedited. like usual lol)

Azzi is woken bright and early the next morning by none other than her best friend, who seems awfully cheerful considering the night they just had.

“Wow, P,” Azzi grumbles once she’s sitting up in bed, watching Paige buzz around the room through bleary eyes. “It’s early for you.”

“Didn’t really sleep,” Paige says, slipping out of her pajamas so she’s only in boxers and a sports bra. (Azzi knows she should probably look away, but she doesn’t.) “We gotta run to the store, get up.”

“Okay,” Azzi yawns, blinking slowly while Paige slips into a pair of basketball shorts and a crop top that Azzi’s pretty sure belongs to her. “Be up in a sec.” But Paige disappears into the bathroom and Azzi can’t help but lay back down, snuggling under the warm sheets—if she’s being honest, she didn’t get much sleep last night, either. But where the lack of sleep is making Paige hyper, it’s making Azzi want nothing more than drift back off for just a few more minutes.

She’s barely fallen back asleep when something large and solid lands on top of her, and she buries her head into the pillow, groaning. “Ow, Paige, get off.”

“Get your ass outta bed,” Paige responds, but she is laying across the entire length of Azzi’s body like a warm, nice-smelling weighted blanket, and it only lulls Azzi back to sleep. She thinks about the irony of it, that their roles have switched this morning—usually Azzi is the one who has to drag Paige out of bed.

She’s only half-asleep but she swears she’s started snoring when Paige rolls of her and jabs her in the ribs. “Azzi!”

“No, Paige, please,” Azzi mumbles, throwing an arm over her face. “I’m tired.”

“Well I’m not going to the store by myself,” Paige says stubbornly, tugging on Azzi’s hand. “Come onnn.”

“We’ll go later,” Azzi tries to reason, but Paige won’t have that, pulling on her arm even harder.

“We gotta go now, Lauren’s gonna be here in a couple hours.”

Oh. Right. Paige’s siblings get back from their respective activities this morning, and of course Paige would never reunite with them empty-handed.

“Okay, okay,” Azzi concedes, finally sitting up once again, stretching out her arms. Paige, satisfied that Azzi is up now, gets back out of bed heads back to the bathroom.

“Get ready fast, I wanna give ourselves plenty of time,” she calls, and Azzi watches her as she washes her face in the sink, rubbing her face aggressively like she always does.

Yawning, Azzi finally gets out of bed, wincing when she finds her neatly packed suitcase next to Paige’s already disorganized one, her clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor. “Paige, we need to unpack today.”

Paige pokes her head out of the bathroom and looks down at the mess that is her suitcase, then shrugs. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Azzi says, kneeling down to move her suitcase away from Paige’s before she starts carefully rifling through the outfits she packed. “I dunno what to wear.”

“It’s warm out today,” Paige says, disappearing back into the bathroom. “You pack those lil jean shorts? With the flowers on them?”

“Yeah,” Azzi replies, instantly looking for those. “But my ass hangs out in them.”

There’s silence in the bathroom and Azzi thinks maybe Paige didn’t hear her, but a moment later she’s saying, “Yeah, wear those with your purple tank.”

It may raise her eyebrows, but it also makes her smirk, and Azzi does exactly as Paige says.

Thirty minutes later, the two of them—after successfully sneaking out of the house without running into Paige’s parents—are at the store, tossing anything they think her siblings will like into the basket. A new video game and snacks for Ryan, and some brand-name makeup and flowers for Lauren. (They also get energy drinks, even though Azzi doesn’t think Paige needs it.)

By the time they get back home, they should still have an hour until Lauren gets home—but as soon as they walk through the front door a young, strawberry-blonde girl is barreling into Paige’s arms, squealing.

Paige grunts dramatically, and then hands off the grocery bags to Azzi so she can wrap her arms around her little sister. “Whoa, what you doing home?” she asks, bending down to kiss her hair. “We were supposed to get here before you.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Lauren replies, muffled from where she’s buried in Paige’s chest. “So I came home early but you weren’t even here, and Mom and Dad said they didn’t know where you went to.”

“Sorry, Laur,” Paige responds, rubbing her sister’s back before pulling away. “We were out getting some stuff.”

Lauren waggles her eyebrows. “Gifts?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Paige smiles when Lauren giggles excitedly, and it’s only then that they address Azzi, who is standing somewhat awkwardly, trying to let the two sisters have their moment.

Lauren’s smile falters only a little when she sees Azzi. To her credit, she still sounds cheerful when she says, “Hi, Azzi, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, good to see you too,” Azzi responds, smiling as openly as she can. She’s only met Paige’s siblings a few times—not counting Drew, obviously—and so it’s a little uncomfortable when Lauren goes in for a hug. But this is a twelve-year-old girl, and Azzi is a grown adult, and she welcomes her with open arms, hugging her as well as possible with her groceries still in her arms. Paige takes them back from her after only a second of her struggling.

“You’ve gotten taller,” Azzi comments, because that’s something that you say to kids, right?

It seems to be a good thing to say because Lauren pulls back and beams up at her. “Mom says I’m almost as tall as Paige was at my age.” She looks back at Paige with a proud smile.

Paige grins back, ruffling her hair. “That mean you gonna start playin’ ball?”

“No way,” Lauren replies, playfully vehement. “Ryan keeps saying he wants to try, though.”

“I’ll convince him, for real,” Paige insists, and they all start moving to the kitchen so they can set the grocery bags down.

“Can I see my gift now?” Lauren asks, sliding into a bar stool.

Paige wags a finger at her. “Nuh-uh. We gotta wait for brother.”

Lauren groans dramatically, then giggles at herself and looks curiously at Azzi. “So, is Josh not here, then?”

Beside her, Paige freezes. Azzi glances cautiously at her, and she collects herself quickly, sharing a comforting look with Azzi. “Um,” she says, rounding the island to sit next to Lauren, “did Mom not tell you?”

Lauren wrinkles her eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

That’s enough of an answer, and Paige runs a hand over her face, clearly nervous to have to go through this all over again. It makes Azzi angry, for the millionth time, at her parents—of course they wouldn’t tell her younger siblings. Of course they’d make Paige do it.

“Well, uh,” Paige starts, “yeah, no, Josh isn’t coming. He and I, we actually broke up.”

“Oh.” Lauren frowns. “Sorry. Are you sad about it?”

“No, um, it’s okay. I realized I didn’t like him that much.”

“Why not?” Lauren asks.

“Well, because,” Paige looks to Azzi for help, and all Azzi can do is nod at her. “It’s because he’s a boy.”

Lauren’s frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she looks down at her lap, then makes eye contact with her little sister, “I mean I don’t really like boys, Laur.”

Lauren stares at her sister, and then she glances at Azzi before looking at the countertop, eyebrows furrowed just like Paige’s do when she’s thinking. “So,” she begins slowly, looking back up to Paige, “you like girls? Like, you like like them?”

“Yeah,” Paige says, and she and Azzi share a look, unsure of where this is going. Azzi hasn’t even noticed until now that she’s holding her breath.

“And you wanna date them?” Lauren clarifies.

“Well, I actually am dating one already,” Paige says, and before she can finish her sentence Lauren looks back at Azzi and she can swear she sees the moment it clicks in her brain.

“So Azzi is your girlfriend?” she says.

Paige hesitates, then says, “Yeah, she is.”

Azzi was expecting a lot of reactions, but Lauren’s bright, proud smile wasn’t one of them. “I guessed!” she hops off her barstool to round the island and give Azzi yet another hug. “So that means I have a new sister!”

Sort of incredulously, Azzi laughs, rubbing the younger girl’s shoulder. Paige blinks once before saying, “That’s not how that works.”

“She’s my in-law now,” Lauren replies with a duh tone, like Paige is slow, and it makes Azzi laugh again.

“No, she’s not your in-law until we get—“ Paige cuts herself off, biting her lip and Azzi stops laughing. Because they’re going to ‘break up’ almost as soon as this trip is over and they can’t get Lauren’s hopes up too much about things like marriage.

Lauren doesn’t seem to notice. She shakes her head firmly. “She’s my sister. I don’t care what you say.” Smiling slyly up at Azzi, she says, “So, cooler older sister,”—Paige gasps, offended—“will you please convince your girlfriend to let me open my gifts now.”

Azzi falters, but then she’s looking over at Paige, who is staring at her little sister with something like awe, and she decides that for now, they should just enjoy the innocent, loving acceptance of 12-year-old girls.

——————————————

By the time Ryan gets home Paige’s parents have joined them in the kitchen, and even though it’s tense with them around, Lauren’s chatter lifts the tension significantly. When the front door opens, Ryan barrels into Paige in a similar fashion as his little sister did, and the three siblings reunite happily, all of them a bundle of teasing of arguing and catching up.

When Ryan catches sight of Azzi, nobody has time to be nervous or hold their breaths because Lauren wraps an arm around her waist and says, “Azzi is here because she’s Paigey’s girlfriend. Say hi.”

Ryan opens his mouth, then closes it, then glances at his parents—who are stubbornly avoiding anybody’s gaze—before looking at his older sister with a questionable expression. Paige nods, and so he turns back to Azzi and says, in classic teenage-boy fashion, “Hey.”

Azzi takes much satisfaction in the way his parents fumble over themselves, apparently shocked that their children are capable of so much more love and acceptance than they are.

After the kids open their gifts, they drag Paige and Azzi upstairs to give them the ‘grand tour’ of their rooms. “Mine has changed,” Lauren says once they arrive at the room across the hallway from Paige’s. “We painted it sage green because the pink was too babyish for me.”

Paige and Azzi nod in agreement.

“And I don’t have my unicorn blanket anymore,” Lauren continues, jumping onto her bed to showcase this fact.

Paige places a hand over her heart. “You got rid of blankie? You love that thing.”

Azzi smiles, knowing that exact feeling—being a big sister and watching your siblings grow up without your permission.

But then Lauren heads to her closet and rummages around inside before pulling out a tattered, pink baby blanket with unicorns sewn into the fabric. “Don’t tell Ryan, but I couldn’t actually get rid of it.”

Paige sighs in relief.

Ryan’s room is dark, lit only by red LED lights, and his bed is unmade. He’s got a PS5 set up in one corner of his room and a desk that looks widely unused in the other. There’s dirty clothes everywhere.

“It’s kinda messy,” he says, carelessly tossing a few clothes off his bed to sit in it, powering up his TV.

“You take after me,” Paige says proudly, and Azzi nudges her in the arm, rolling her eyes. Paige grins at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and Ryan glances away from his TV at them.

“So, you guys are really dating?” he asks.

At the question, the both of them share a nervous glance—does he suspect something? But when Paige says, “Yeah, why?” he replies with a simple, “I figured.”

“Whatchu mean?” Paige asks.

He shrugs nonchalantly, looking back at his TV. “I could tell. Whenever we came to visit you were always texting Azzi or calling Azzi or talking about Azzi. It was all, Azzi this, Azzi that, my name’s Paige and I’m soooo in love with my little Azzi-Wazzi—“

“Yo, okay, bye!” Paige says loudly, going to shove Azzi out of the room, but she keeps her feet planted, amused and so, so curious.

“No, seriously, it was annoying.” Ryan sighs. “I remember the one time we came up and Azzi was staying with you and y’all kept playing footsies under the dinner table. It was gross.”

“We did not!” Paige exclaims as Azzi laughs loudly.

“Did too. And that night you dragged Azzi to your room and I heard you moaning really loud allll night.”

Azzi is cracking up now, and Paige puts her hands on her hips, having given up on trying to drag her away. “Okay, now you’re just making shit up. That’s inappropriate.”

Ryan shrugs again, a slight smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that actually happened, though.”

Paige puts her face in her hands. Azzi looks over at her, grinning widely, and knows it’s her duty to give her shit for this later.

——————————————

During the aforementioned later, while the two of them are getting ready for bed side-by-side in the bathroom, Azzi’s barely even opened her mouth before Paige says, “Don’t.”

The two of them didn’t get a second alone for the rest of the day, because Paige has a little sister and it’s kind of her job to follow them around everywhere and ask annoying questions. Or at least, annoying to Paige. Azzi was more than happy to let Lauren talk her ear off—she’s never had a little sister before.

And besides, she’s used to it considering who her best friend is.

Lunch was spent outside on the porch, soaking in the sun, and it was good because Paige’s parents opted to eat inside. But dinner was awkward, all of them sitting around the table, eating the roast beef Dean had made. Lauren still didn’t seem to pick up on the tension, but Ryan, being a little older, did—apparent in the way he looked curiously between the four adults at the table. He never asked about it, though, and when Paige held Azzi’s hand over the table her parents didn’t say a thing (though Dean looked a bit like he wanted to smack their hands apart) so that’s gotta be a good thing.

Now that they’re finally alone, Azzi is not going to miss out on her opportunity to tease the hell out of her best friend.

“So, you’ve always been a little obsessed with me, huh?” she grins, ignoring Paige’s warning.

Paige rolls her eyes, but Azzi swears her cheeks turn a little pink. “He was making that up.”

“Weird, because I believed him,” Azzi replies, watching as Paige starts brushing her teeth. “Seems like a trustworthy kid.”

“He’sh a fifteen-year-old boy, you can’t trusht none of those,” Paige says around the toothbrush in her mouth.

“Maybe it’s you I can’t trust.”

Paige spits and then gives her an offended look. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Would you?” Azzi teases, and for some reason, it seems to actually make Paige nervous.

She turns away, wiping her mouth on a towel. “‘Course I wouldn’t.”

“Not even if you had a big, fat crush on me?” Azzi says, wish is super unfair because Azzi is the one lying about her big, fat crush, but it feels pretty good to project.

“Bro,” Paige groans, walking into their room, kicking off her basketball shorts on the way.

But Azzi isn’t going to let up. “He seemed pretty serious.”

“He said he heard us moaning,” Paige says, looking around on the floor for a pair of pajamas. (They did not, in fact, unpack today.)

“Okay, he might’ve lied about that,” Azzi admits. She watches, amused, as Paige mumbles to herself while pulling on a pair of PJ pants before she pulls her shirt over her head. “What’re you getting all nervous for?”

“You’re teaming up with my brother,” Paige replies, flopping onto her side of the bed.

“You apparently talk about me 24/7,” Azzi counters.

“Talked,” Paige immediately corrects, and when she sees the triumphant grin on Azzi’s face, she backtracks. “I mean, I didn’t! Obviously I didn’t, that’d be weird.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi says, “super weird.”

“And I’on even think about you like that, you’re my best friend.”

“I know.”

��And you’re not even my type, for real.”

“Uh-huh.” A week ago, maybe even yesterday, that sentence would’ve been a dagger straight through Azzi’s heart, a harsh reminder of her unreciprocated feelings. But Paige says it like she’s trying to convince herself, and she’s clearly all flustered, her cheeks very evidently pink now, and Azzi wonders—

Slowly, she makes eye contact with Paige, unbuttons her little jean shorts, and shimmies out of them.

Paige averts her gaze, reaching onto the bedside table to take a drink of water.

Interesting. Taking it a little further, Azzi turns away from Paige and pulls her shirt off, letting Paige know two things at once: one, she is wearing a thong, and two, she has not had a bra on all day.

Behind her, a coughing fit starts and she can hear Paige thumping at her chest while her water goes down the wrong pipe.

She grins to herself, sauntering into the bathroom. “Imma take a shower. Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.” And without a glance behind her, she closes the door.

Pressing her ear to it, she can hear Paige mumbling to herself. She can’t make out exactly what she’s saying, but she does make out a few strings of curse words.

Well. What an interesting development this is.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

[ylangelegy]

haven't we met? ♾️ minghao x reader.

“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.” # day one of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology, light angst. this is inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's film kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. word count: 9,000+

It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows. 

But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green. 

Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige. 

Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale. 

A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming. 

Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails. 

I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend. 

Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby. 

Except—

He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this? 

The door to the room swings open. 

A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?” 

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother. 

He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.” 

“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel. 

What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this. 

As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part. 

He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.

Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.

“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”

Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes. 

He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.

“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent. 

His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead. 

He lets out a small sound of protest. 

“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”    

Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.

“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.” 

His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—” 

“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.” 

The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?” 

It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles. 

He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look. 

“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?” 

Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.

He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before. 

Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair. 

It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that. 

Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.

He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone. 

He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table. 

It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call. 

BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least. 

When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. “WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—” 

Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone. 

Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?” 

“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”

At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning. 

He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream. 

Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.

He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream. 

On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm. 

When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule— 

Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday. 

Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours. 

He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts. 

🍒: myungho  🍒: are you feeling better?  🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok. 

Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up. 

🍒: are you sure???  🍒: you had us worried 🐸: Did I really sleep that long?  🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept 🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ

Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyoung, then went home. 

The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts. 

🍒: seriously 🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something 🍒: but you say you’re ok now? 

Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while. 

Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?” 

Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?” 

“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”

Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.

“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.” 

“I can come over.” 

“No, no. I think I just need some rest.” 

Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.” 

“Text Mingyu,” Minghao repeats absentmindedly. “Yeah, got it.” 

The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log. 

Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him. 

Something was definitely not right. 

Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.

🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time  🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf)  🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!

If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed. 

He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan. 

He had no memory of any of that. 

But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man’ in his ear. 

For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed. 

He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” 

At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name. 

The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream— 

Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore. 

He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea. 

None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter. 

I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am. 

I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.) 

For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry. 

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know. 

I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense. 

The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom. 

Your name. 

His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening. 

Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can. 

After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter. 

It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his. 

None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left. 

And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation. 

For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead? 

There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence. 

In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter. 

Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao. 

I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him. 

My family is in a different country. 

As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you. 

I met your mother. She’s nice. 

I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all. 

I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want. 

And you’re right. This is crazy. 

If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter. 

Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.

The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue. 

There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows. 

Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half. 

This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident. 

The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words. 

First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me. 

That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him. 

Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case. 

Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording. 

Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed. 

Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance. 

He skims over the rest of your letter. 

I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself. 

Wish me luck. 

A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream. 

Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.

He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues. 

For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.

The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door. 

Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace. 

Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there. 

“Take care,” he says. 

He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation. 

Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression. 

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet. 

A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do? 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.” 

Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.  

His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing. 

Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen. 

Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough? 

The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones. 

Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?

He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss. 

Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee. 

He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax. 

Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter. 

I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written. 

He might as well do the same. 

Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”

Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills. 

Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you. 

He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets. 

Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything. 

As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library. 

When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often? 

It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks. 

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all. 

And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor. 

The librarian gives him a vicious side eye. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees. 

His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over. 

While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for. 

He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters. 

月老. Yue Lao. 

Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.  

The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible. 

How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure? 

His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. 

And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest. 

I hope I find love. 

It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how. 

Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please. 

“Are you going to check that out or what?” 

Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—” 

The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”

It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly. 

He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly. 

“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.  

“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile. 

The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station. 

Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice. 

Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth. 

Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time. 

The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way. 

“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?” 

It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert. 

The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless. 

Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase? 

He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation. 

Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu. 

For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by. 

Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.

Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid. 

It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo. 

I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG? 

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him. 

Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie. 

I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city. 

I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste. 

The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.   

I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then. 

As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.

He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified. 

Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong. 

While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils. 

He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.

Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in. 

The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store. 

Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him? 

Would he even want you to? 

Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand. 

A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.

But it’s also— not. 

Something is off. 

Something he can’t quite place.

It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”

Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”

A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack. 

When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time. 

“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.” 

There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it. 

Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds? 

No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind. 

An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to. 

He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday. 

As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?” 

The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”

This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.” 

“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?” 

“Them?” 

The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?—

No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew. 

The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.  

“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?” 

Nine years.

Nine years. 

Nine years. 

Since what? Since you? 

A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday. 

When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor. 

The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes. 

If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before. 

The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently. 

Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—” 

He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?” 

Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it. 

He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.” 

Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.” 

“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.” 

“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks. 

Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.

After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?” 

The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned. 

The librarian isn’t the same one. 

This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015. 

It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the newspaper clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence. 

Minghao feels like he’s drowning in news, but it’s still not what he’s looking for. 

He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too— 

He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though. 

Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut. 

Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.  

Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death. 

Except— 

It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow. 

In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do. 

When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance. 

He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon. 

A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm. 

He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window. 

Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.” 

Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate. 

In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.” 

A beat. Your mother looks unfazed. 

“You’re always so dramatic.” 

The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now. 

It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen. 

Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.” 

Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?” 

“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.” 

“We’re safe here—” 

“We’re not—”

It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.

“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

And how is Minghao supposed to answer that? 

I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out. 

When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly. 

Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—

“Please.” 

Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling through the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain. 

Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious. 

But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger. 

Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment. 

The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”

He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—” 

Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped. 

These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.

He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life. 

“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.

There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging. 

That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”

That’s only half the battle, though. 

Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder. 

“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles. 

It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.

By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door. 

They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care. 

He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge. 

The entire apartment complex is bewildered. 

But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen. 

The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building. 

He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music. 

This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then— 

Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once. 

Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.

Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh. 

Because he made sure that no one was left in the building. 

Because he’s alive. 

You’re alive. 

Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him. 

He drifts off and dreams. 

Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one. 

It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes— 

It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.

His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.

“It’s you.”

He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone. 

When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft. 

“It’s me,” he confirms. 

You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms. 

The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?” 

A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right. 

“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.” 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back. 

He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up. 

“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Why—?” 

“— Did this happen in the first place?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve wondered the same thing.” 

The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea. 

Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please. 

“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.” 

“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again. 

He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.” 

Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?” 

He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—” 

It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though. 

Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too. 

The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky. 

Every day, back when I was a kid. 

“I prayed for this,” he repeats.

And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right. 

He had prayed for you. 

The chime of bells. 

The beige ceiling. 

Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.

He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too. 

There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms. 

Minghao never wakes up as you again. 

The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought. 

Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.

He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him. 

Still—

Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing. 

It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there. 

Nothing.

He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.

It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him. 

“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”  

Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music. 

Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings. 

Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy. 

Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok. 

Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls. 

Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—

He backs up a bit. 

“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?” 

The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock. 

What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind. 

A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.

“Got my date-plum persimmon, ajumma?” 

It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—

Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar? 

As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.

You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.

There’s a ringing in his ears. 

“Excuse me,” he manages.

You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition. 

The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words. 

He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market. 

“Haven’t we met?” he breathes. 

For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you. 

All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.

Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet. 

“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums. 

It feels a lot like an answered prayer. 

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober - Day 13 - Fuck Or Die

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : Since I am a messy, disorganized and irresponsible writer… here is the episode for Kinktober Day 13. The prompt is « Fuck or Die ». I had lots of fun writing it. 🙊 I hope you guys enjoy it just as much 💕

CW : Use of viagra and aphrodisiacs - Mentions of infidelity - Marshall Mathers being kind of an asshole 👀

PSA : fooling with Viagra and aphrodisiacs is a bad idea. Also, I’m not a doctor so… there’s nothing medically accurate here, you know ?

« Yo, have you seen Paul ? » Marshall asked as he entered your office. He seemed in a hurry and, frankly, he didn’t look well. He always arborer an unreadable expression but now, he looked a little bothered, which was quite unusual. « He left about an hour ago » you informed him. As soon as the words left your lips, you could see the panic take over his expression. « What’s wrong ? » you asked with concern. « Nothing » he replied too quickly for it not to be suspicious.

You stared at him and he avoided your gaze. Embarrassment. You raised an eyebrow and decided to give him another opportunity. « What did you do ? » you asked calmly. « Wha- Why do you think I did something ? » he barked. You let out a chuckle and crossed your arms as you leaned back in your chair. « Not only have I been your assistant for the last ten years, I’ve also had the displeasure of being your girlfriend for two of them. Which means I know you too well. » you playfully commented. « Thank God you have someone else to annoy now » he replied curtly. You scoffed and stared at the picture of your fiancé on your phone wallpaper. Thank God, Greg was everything that Marshall wasn’t.

« Seriously, tell me. I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t help you with. » you pressed as you turned back to him. « It’s personal. » he said. « Good thing I’m your personal assistant, then, dumbass » you chuckled. « Now is not the time, Y/N » he warned. « It’s Kayla, isn’t it ? Marshall, I don’t mind. You can tell me about your… whatever she is. » you said as you gestured vaguely. « I need Paul » he insisted as his expression grew more uneasy. You sighed and tried to call his manager but it went straight to voicemail. Not surprising knowing how busy the man always was. You looked at Marshall apologetically. He was visibly frustrated. « Fuck » he muttered. He almost looked in pain, which was concerning. You got up and placed a caring hand on his shoulder. « You don’t look well » you remarked. He seemed to wince at the contact and took a step back. « I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you » you immediately apologized, thinking you’d hurt him. « Do you need a doctor ? » you asked carefully.

He looked at you with a look full of shame and regret. « I hope not » he mumbled. « Marsh, what’s wrong ? » you questioned for what seemed like the thousandth time. « Promise not to laugh ? » he asked. « Of course. You know me. » you said reassuringly. He immediately raised his eyebrow. « Yeah I know you. That’s why I’m asking you to promise » he said sternly. « I promise. Now tell me what you did. » you sighed. « I think I took too much viagra » he almost whispered.

You had just promised not to laugh but you couldn’t help but let out a squeal. There was something special about your boss turned ex looking really stupid and ridiculous. The two of you had ended on amicable terms but the shameful look on his face definitely gave you the revenge you never knew you needed. « Fuck you, Y/N » he groaned and you immediately apologized. « I’m sorry, I’m sorry… it’s just… you took viagra ?! ». He sighed and nodded. Having spent two years with him, you could point out a lot of flaws in this man but lack of libido was not one of them. Well, maybe his latest sidepiece wasn’t up to the challenge. « I had an incident the other day and Kayla… well, she suggested- you know. And, uh, I was supposed to see her tonight but… she bailed and now I can’t get rid of the damn thing » he explained. You hummed empathetically. He seemed annoyed and distressed and, knowing his pride, you knew he wasn’t having a good time confessing all of that to you. « How long has it been ? » you asked. « Three months. Why ? » he asked. « Your blood flow is really going down there, huh ? I meant how long has it been since you… you know. Since you took the pill. » you corrected with an amused look. « Two hours » he sighed. « Is it painful ? » you asked. « It’s… really uncomfortable. I asked the Google and they say I should take a cold shower but I can’t drive home like this » he continued. You let out a chuckle at the mention of « the Google ». If the technophobe boomer you called your boss had actually gone on the internet, you knew he must be really distressed. « Have you tried solving the problem manually ? » you asked carefully. He looked at you with an aggravated look, clearly losing patience. « Of course I’ve tried ! It doesn’t work ! » he snapped. You crossed your arms defensively. You were trying to be nice and you didn’t need him lashing out at you. As soon as he saw the frown on your face, he calmed down a little. « I’m sorry… I just… i don’t know what to do » he mumbled. You nodded with understanding and placed your hand on his arm, trying to be supportive. « Please don’t » he almost whined. « Well I just touched your arm, dude » you said with your eyebrows furrowed. « I know but I also took that other pill. Like it’s made of plants or something and my senses are all heightened and- I swear to God, if you touch me again I’ll bend you over your desk. ». You looked at him with wide eyes, almost shocked by his bluntness. You held out your hand, pointing at your engagement ring. « This ship has sailed, man » you recalled. « Look, maybe we should call a doctor- hey ! My eyes are up there, Marshall ! » you scolded.

He looked, half-apologetic. However, you knew him too well for your liking and you could see the wheels turning. « don’t even think about it » you warned. « Come on, we’re friends, right ? You can help me out » he pleaded. « You’re not seriously asking me to do something about this. Not when we’ve been broken up for three years. » you said in disbelief. « I’m engaged, Marshall ! I’m getting married to another man ! » you reminded him. « You smell so fucking good. And oh god, you look stunning » he said breathily. « You’re losing your mind » you scoffed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and lost his balance for a second. You immediately grabbed his forearm and had him sit on the small sofa in your office. He was sweating bullets and looked hazy. « Fuck, there’s this thing in my chest » he groaned. You placed a hand on his heart. The beating seemed steady. You could see him wince at the proximity and he closed his eyes, inhaling your scent. Before you could pull away, he placed a hand on your hip and brought you closer. « Marshall » you scolded. « Sorry » he whispered - though you didn’t believe for a second that he was sorry. « Can I do something ? I mean, anything that doesn’t involve cheating ? » you asked. He looked at you and stayed silent for a second. « Do you think you could stay here while I…? » he asked. You stared at him, flabbergasted, unable to say anything. He couldn’t be serious. « I just need you near. I won’t touch you. » he promised. « I just can’t stand it. It’s hell. » he pleaded. Maybe it was the proximity and the fact that you still shared chemistry. Maybe it was the ovulation. Maybe you were just stupid for thinking you could actually help him in a friendly way. But you found yourself nodding. « No touching » you repeated. He nodded and undid his jeans. It wasn’t visible before, but now that his cock was springing free, you understood what was so uncomfortable. That thing was massive. Of course, you knew his size. But it was something else. It seemed girthier, more veiny. « Oh good God » you whispered. He started stroking his length, letting out a groan. « Come closer » he instructed. You inched a little closer to him and he inhaled your scent. He kept on pumping himself, staring at your cleavage. You could see the relief in his expression. « Are you ok ? » you asked awkwardly. « I’m- getting there. » he nodded. « Could you open your blouse a little ? ».

You stared at him, scolding him with your eyes. This man was going to be the death of you. But at the same time, you didn’t really say no. You undid a few buttons of your blouse, enough to let your lacy bustier peak through. « Like this ? » you asked. « A little more ? » he suggested innocently. He knew he was pushing his luck. And you knew that he knew. Still, you did. Maybe it would be over sooner. He took a good look at your boobs and bit his lip. « You’re hot. Do you know that ? » he asked. « As a matter of fact, I do » you said with a chuckle. « Now get to it. We don’t have all night. » you instructed. He kept on stroking himself, still staring at your breasts. He had always had a thing for tits and beautiful lingerie so you didn’t doubt that he was enjoying it at least a little, no matter how uncomfortable he must be. You tried to look elsewhere and think about something else, to distract yourself from the fact that your ex was literally touching himself to you. He kept at it for a little while and let out a grunt. You open your eyes, thinking he had gotten it over with but you could see the frustration on his face. « They’re gonna have to cut it off » he complained. « I’m so close but- » he whined. « You can do it » you said reassuringly. And before you could even fully comprehend the consequences of what you were doing, you were freeing one of your boobs, revealing a pierced nipple. « Does that help ? » you asked innocently. He stared at you, almost shocked. « Holy fuck. Is that new ? » he asked as he referred to the piercing. You nodded, forgetting that you had it done a while after breaking up with him. « That’s… fucking hot. » he commented. « Yeah ? You like it ? » you asked teasingly. He nodded, not taking his eyes away from the small piece of metal as he pumped himself a little more energetically. By the looks of it, it was sort of working for him. You were staring at him innocently, though you were beginning to find the whole thing oddly titillating. You liked seeing the desire in his eyes. it didn’t help that you’d been feeling a little neglected by your fiancé, lately. And even if you knew Marshall’s desire was merely the consequence of chemicals, it still felt satisfying. The lust in his eyes was giving you the attention you’d been craving for a few weeks now. Enough for your inner demon to get all horny. You stared at him, biting your lip and gently pinched your nipple, playing with the piercing. « Fuck » he whispered. « Better ? » you asked breathily as he nodded. « Now, do you think you could come ? » you continued teasingly. He swallowed dryly and nodded. « How about you tell me what you want ? » you suggested. « Huh ? » he whimpered. « Talk to me. No touching. Just talking. » you encouraged him. He stared at you, a mixture of shock and amazement in his gaze. « That’s what friends do, right ? » you whispered. « Yeah » he replied breathily. « I-I could use your hands. » he said hesitatingly. « Oh yeah ? You’d like me to give you a hand ? » you teased as he nodded. « Or you could get on your knees » he hummed as he kept going. « You always loved me on my knees, didn’t you ? » you asked playfully. « Fuck yeah » he moaned. You hummed appreciatively and got up. He looked at you in confusion but before he could say anything, you were kneeling between his legs, sensually staring at him. « like that ? » you asked as he nodded frantically. You could feel that he was on the edge. You freed your other boob from the cup of your bustier and gently pinched your nipple. « Oh shit » he moaned. You nodded in encouragement. « You know… I still remember your taste. » you said innocently. His eyes met yours as you playfully licked your lips. You could see his pupils dilating, his lips parting, before he let out a throaty moan as he came, lifting his tee-shirt just in time.

He didn’t move for about a minute after that, panting and catching his breath. His face was relaxed, though. You silently got up and adjusted your clothes, as if nothing had just happened. You turned your back to him, closing your eyes as you tried to convince yourself that everything was ok, and that it wasn’t actually cheating. After all, he hadn’t touched you, right ? Right ? You were taken out of your zone by Marshall’s voice. « Do you, uh, have a tissue ? » he asked. You mumbled something and tossed a box of tissues at him so that he’d clean himself. After he was done, he adjusted himself and placed a hand on your shoulder. « I… thanks. » he said awkwardly. You nodded, still refusing to look at him. « That stays between us, right ? » you asked nervously. « Of course » he hummed. You nodded and stared at him as you but your lower lip. The usual stoic demeanor was back. As if nothing gad happened. Or maybe he wasn’t that phased by it. Maybe he had no qualms about touching himself to his ex. After all, he wasn’t especially known for his scruples. Before none of you could utter any more words, you heard a knock and the door opened. Greg. « what are you doing here ? » you asked as your eyes opened wide. « I finished earlier so I thought I’d pick you up » he said with a warm smile. « Is it a bad time ? Are you guys busy ? » he asked as he stared at Marshall. « No ! I was just telling Y/N what a good job she’s done. » he said calmly. « She’s the best, right ? » Greg beamed. « She really is », your ex replied with a shit-eating grin that made you want to kill him. « By the way, man, we got your RSVP but you didn’t specify if you were bringing a date », your fiancé said. « Oh. My bad. Yeah, I’ll be coming on my own. », Marshall hummed. « Oh that’s too bad. I thought Y/N mentioned you were dating ».

You felt as if you were about to faint. Greg was obviously clueless, just trying his best to be friendly, while Marshall was staring at him with an all-knowing smile. « Not anymore, I’m afraid. » he simply replied. « That’s too bad. Hey, maybe you’ll meet someone at the wedding. I’ll make sure you’re seated by some attractive single » Greg offered. Your ex gave him a grin and shook his hand. « Thanks, man. You know, I’m really looking forward to it. I look at you guys and I tell myself… I really want what you have » he hummed before giving you his signature asshole smirk.