#v. on the high seas [one piece]

[ruinouss]

Her eyes lit up for a moment as he agreed to hire her for the time being. Excellent, she had a way to get off the island before the storms kept them stranded and then she could figure out where to go or what to do next. Faye rose to her feet, ready to gather what few belongings she had, and smiled at his conditions.

"Aww, come on. Those are ways I flirt," she teased but then nodded in agreement. If she had to play by his rules then she'd do so. It'd be difficult to keep her mouth from shooting some smart-ass remark but it'd provide good practice and all she really needed to do was get past the whirlpools. The unsavory glances of his crew went ignored as she easily slipped past them to walk alongside their captain.

"Name's Faye."

That was all he really needed to know. With as cocky as he presented himself as she wondered if he'd even remember it or use it.

"Aye, aye captain," she replied, wondering if that could be taken wrong. Probably, but it was better than some of the alternative things that could have been said. "When do we set out? I'm ready to leave whenever you are. I just need to head to the inn and grab my bag."

@fellapart

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: dress for the occasion

everyone is always mentioning to dress like your venus sign. recently, i have seen a lot of tiktoks where people are like dress like your crush/boyfriend's venus sign to look like his dream girl. and i was like what about dressing for the occasion? which brought me here! grab your venus persona and take a look at the houses.

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5h - prom, dances, dates, and clubs

5h cancer (4°, 16°, 28°) and/or 5h moon: elegance is key. you might be drawn to long, flowy gowns with shimmery fabric. something light but glowy! often the fabric is dark (black or midnight blue) or slivery/white. a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder cut tends to look beautiful on these people. often you are drawn to semi-sheer fabric as it adds some mystique to your appearance.

5h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 5h venus: light pastels or ivory are likely to grab your attention but a plain white or black dress is likely to give you that elegant/timeless look that you want most in pictures to remember your day (otherwise, you might take pictures in a colored dress and turn on a black and white filter). you want the wow factor! so a-line, a ball gown, or fit-flare dresses might be your go to look. a floor length dress is likely a must for you. silk, satin, chiffon, and/or organza are likely on the tags of these dresses even if you don't know what these materials are by the naked eye. dresses with a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder sleeves are likely to make you feel elegant. you may like very simple accessories - plain earrings, a dainty bracelet, small pendant necklace, classic heels, etc. a v-neckline, bateau, or strapless design is likely to fit your elegance same could be said about a low back dress.

5h aquarius (11°, 23°) and/or 5h uranus: you are likely to be drawn to the blue family (sky, sea, ocean, water, turquoise, etc.). iridescence/holographic/shimmery material might draw your attention in a store. you often go for something very atypical in the store (might be from seasons ago - its likely the last of its kind). something a-line, flowy, and/or high-to-low might be of interest to you - the cuts of a dress bring interest to your favorite parts of yourself (example, maybe its a two piece dress). something high neck or off the shoulder is likely of interest to you as well. a loose braid and/or waves might be all you need to finish out your look.

7h - wedding attire

7h aries (1°, 13°, 25°) and/or 7h mars: as a bride you should be wearing pure white. nudes or off-whites aren't likely to hold your attention anyway. grab the pure stark white. it is likely that reds are going to be an accent of this wedding - roses, nail, polish, bridesmaid dresses, etc. but if you aren't in the wedding party, go for the red whether its a fiery red or a deep burgundy, its the way to go! no matter if you are the bride, the guest, or a member of the wedding party - you should opt for a fit flare dress or mermaid silhouette. or be really dramatic and go for a deep slit, a plunge neckline, or something backless! the devil is in the details too so things like careful beading, sequins, or embroidery should be something critical to your look (if not the fit and/or the drama). alternatively, minimalism/modernism might be something you enjoy for your look.

7h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) and/or 7h mercury: as a bride, you might lean towards ivory or whites with an undertone of some color (like a blush). you don't tend to go for the traditional white color, in my experience. if you are a guest or in the wedding party it is likely you will find yourself in soft pastel colors! movement is of the utmost importance to you so opt for a-line or flowy gown. you might also enjoy wearing things that are asymmetrical - the hemline might be high to low or you might like the one shoulder strap design. these people also like details in their dresses whether it is lace, embroidery, beading, ruffles, tiered skirts, or glitter - the options are endless. chiffon, tulle, or organza might be the fabrics for you because they are light and breathable.

6h - everyday clothes and workwear

6h pisces (12°, 24°) and/or 6h neptune: soft fabrics like cotton, silk, or jersey in gentle, soothing colors such as ocean blues, seafoam greens, lavender, and soft pinks. loose, flowing clothes like maxi skirts, wrap dresses, or wide-legged pants that move gracefully. style would likely be bohemian and free-spirited, incorporating layers, delicate patterns, or subtle prints (florals, paisley, etc.). clothes would be cozy and easy to wear—think oversized sweaters, soft cardigans, and flowy blouses. might like jewelry that is delicate, handmade, seashells, pearls, and/or celestial themed.

6h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 6h venus: these people have a natural sense of style and an appreciation for their appearance. outfits would likely be classic, well-tailored pieces in soft, neutral tones like blush pink, dove gray, cream, and pastel blues. the fabrics would be light and luxurious - like silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, or satin skirts. well-fitted blazers, A-line skirts, and or high-waisted trousers make them look polished and graceful. they effortlessly blend comfort with sophistication. everything else is minimal yet thoughtfully chosen - delicate gold or silver jewelry, a stylish handbag, etc.

9h - graduation and religious events

9h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or 9h venus: elegance, luxury, and comfort ("it has pockets too!"). a sleek, well-structured dress in an earthy tones like emerald green, soft brown, or blush pink. the fabric might be luxurious, like silk, satin, or velvet. a silhouette would likely be timeless and flattering - a wrap dress or an A-line dress that cinches at the waist, emphasizing femininity and grace is well suited for this placement. delicate embroidery or subtle jewelry accents. understated but beautiful accessories, like a simple gold necklace or pearl earrings.

9h leo (5°, 17°, 29°) and/or 9h sun: bold, glamorous, and attention grabbing. vibrant colors like gold, fiery red, or royal purple. the fabric might be something that shimmers or catches the light, such as sequined, satin, or metallic materials. a silhouette could be daring and statement-making, like a fitted flair dress, a high-low hemline, or an off-the-shoulder design. ruffles, a thigh-high slit, or an open back, ensures all eyes are on them. accessories would be bold—think large, sparkling earrings, a dramatic statement necklace, etc. yes, realize what my sub-header is for this section.

9h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter: it's never just one graduation or church event and thus never just one dress/opportunity. the dresses would likely have a regal, flowing quality to it. jewel tones like deep sapphire, royal blue, or amethyst. flowy, A-line, and/or empire waisted dresses that gives a sense of movement. fabric might be lightweight and ethereal, like chiffon, tulle, or silk. intricate embroidery, beading, etc. accessories would be tasteful but luxurious, like a delicate gold bracelet or a jeweled hairpiece.

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[1800titz]

The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin. 

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places. 

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter. 

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals. 

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents. 

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes. 

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.” 

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder. 

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band. 

“Can I grab you another?” 

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip. 

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth. 

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?” 

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice. 

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures. 

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc. 

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation. 

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth. 

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again. 

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split. 

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation. 

It’s a different story behind the door. 

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges. 

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?” 

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again. 

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together. 

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.” 

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.” 

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.” 

“—Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway. 

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet. 

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters. 

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing. 

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to. 

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana. 

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.” 

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph. 

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough. 

Eventually. 

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat. 

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock. 

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.” 

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing. 

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head. 

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini. 

[shotmrmiller]

this is for you, @ttsbaby01

here's the piece that inspired this

1.5k words because who knew i needed to write something like this today. i kinda edited it, just a quick skim, though.

simon x f!reader,

tw: explicit smut, p in v, the usual, MDNI

Simon teaches Johnny some new tricks

The moment Simon saw you wince when Johnny pushed himself inside of you, that was all he needed to see. Incredible. For someone that brilliant, Johnny is obtuse when it comes to sex.

Maybe he's blinded by lust, who knows, but Simon almost grimaces at the pace he starts off with, and when he sees you flatten your feet on the bed to meet Johnny's thrusts, Johnny simply pins you down with his weight, forcing you still.

Poor you. All you wanted was to come, and Johnny couldn't even tell, too focused on pistoning his hips into you to meet his own end.

How greedy.

And when Johnny does come, Simon chuckles when he sees your face. It’s mildly disappointed but unsurprised— like you’re used to it.

He watches Johnny kiss you before he pulls out and immediately gets up to shower. That's his cue— the sorry excuse of a show is over. Simon's about to shut his laptop when he sees your hand slowly travel down to your aching pussy and circle your neglected clit with your fingers. Oh?

When he hears your pleasured moan again, he sits up on his chair, pupils expanding as he takes you in. Now this is what he wants to see.

Every delicious whimper and mewl that slithers out of your throat makes his cock twitch in his trousers. He can't help himself. Simon takes himself out and starts to pump according to the rhythm you've set.

Oh, you take it slow, sensual, for a bit, and then pick up the pace. Your moans start to get a little louder as you circle faster and press much smaller fingers into your abused cunt. He knows that his one finger could stuff you better than two of yours.

He knows that he could pull those sweet sounds out of you with his tongue flicking your clit, his stubble scraping your inner thighs raw, his fingers curling inside to find the rough patch of skin on your slick walls.

His eyes are shut as he squeezes himself, precum dribbling onto his knuckles, and when he hears you climax— airy, high-pitched moans that's a bloody symphony to his ears— he also comes. Simon spills all over his hand and stomach, seed sticking to his happy trail, and he couldn't give a fuck less. You're the best thing he's heard in a very long time, and he's debating replacing the classical music he usually listens to at work with your voice.

Simon languidly opens his eyes to look at you on his screen, and the fucked-out, blissful look on your face is something that'll be engrained in his head forever.

He watches Johnny step out of the bathroom with a towel around his trim waist and lowers himself onto the bed to kiss you.

Simon shakes his head, and with his clean hand shuts the laptop. It seems he's gotta teach Johnny how to treat his girl right.

--

"How was it, LT?" Johnny gloats.

Sighing, Simon pulls him into his office and takes out his personal laptop. "You tell me, Sergeant."

Johnny looks gutted when the video gets to Simon's favorite part.

"Yer jokin'." He sounds miserable, and Simon would feel bad if Johnny hadn't been a braggart about how he fucked you in the beginning.

"'Fraid not' Johnny. I gotta admit, I didn't take ya to be tha' selfish."

Johnny opens his mouth to defend himself when Simon silences him with a swipe of his gloved hand. "I can help ya, though. Let me teach ya how t'please her so tha' this embarrassment doesn't happen again, yeah?"

Johnny's eyes, colour a mix of sea and sky, shine brightly as he looks up at Simon. "Are ye serious?"

"Wouldn't offer if I wasn't."

Simon clenches his jaw painfully tight when Johnny agrees.

Only once Simon stands alone in his office does he let his emotions show. The sound of his fist hitting the desk fills the room, first with one resounding thump, then with another, leaving his knuckles throbbing. He's going to bloody ruin you.

Maybe Johnny will be willing to share you after all of this is said and done.

--

Johnny came to him later that day, letting him know that you had also agreed, but no mask at home. You won't sleep with someone whose face you can't see.

Simon almost took his mask off in exhilaration on the spot.

--

Simon has your legs propped on the edge of the bed as he lapped at your sopping cunt.

"Johnny, ya gotta focus here," he pointed his tongue and circled it around your swollen clit, making your back arch, and Johnny has to tighten his hold on you. He sat behind you, your back to his chest, his arms around you as he looked over your sweaty shoulder to watch Simon eat like a man starved.

"And gently curl your fingers inside, you're looking for..." he paused, the tendons in the middle of his wrist fluttering as he prodded until you were squealing, dripping slick down his hand. "That. You're looking for her sweet spot," he instructed.

Simon keeps rubbing your walls, and every movement has the obscene squelching of your drenched cunt getting noisier. "She's about t'come, I can feel her startin' to squeeze my fingers. Look at her, Johnny. That's the face ya wanna see," and then he turns his attention to you. "Come f'me, pet, let me hear ya."

He encircles your clit with his lips and sucks, and you shatter in Johnny's arms— head thrown back onto his shoulder, trembling violently, loudly dry sobbing at the toe-curling ecstasy that's searing through your veins, stealing the very oxygen in your lungs. Simon doesn't stop thrusting his fingers, prolonging your pleasure, taking every bit of it for himself. It's the only time he'll be selfish.

Your head is clouded with arousal, numb from pleasure, and you can vaguely feel yourself being laid flat on the bed, limp legs hooked over shoulders, feet resting on a strong back— muscles rippling with each movement.

There's a buzzing sound in your ears, and you can see Johnny's lips moving, talking to you, and then he's stepping away. You lazily turn your head to the side, and watch Johnny kneel by the side of the bed, gaze intense as he looks towards where Simon is. Then there's something hot, heavy, and thick pressing into your entrance, splitting you open, sensitive walls stinging at the stretch, and it goes deep, and even deeper still— it seems never-ending until there's a pinch in your lower stomach.

"Atta girl, love." Simon grips your jaw with one hand, and commands, "Eyes on Johnny, sweetheart. Let him see ya and let me hear ya."

And starts to pump his hips. The depths that he's in are devastating, it feels like he's rearranging your insides, which is strange because Johnny's got a monster in his pants as well, but this.

This is different.

You're so sensitive from your prior orgasm that it feels so much more intense, and you can't even try to hold back the keens that are being wrenched from you. Your vision is blurry with tears from overstimulation, but you keep your gaze on Johnny, and he looks painfully aroused. His cheeks are bright pink, his mouth slightly open as he pants, eyes molten as he looks at your cunt swallowing up someone else's cock.

God, he's so pretty.

You're brought out of your musings when Simon places a pillow underneath you, lifting your hips and changing the angle.

The way Simon fills you to the brim with his cock, pushing you to, if not past, your limit is just plain disrespectful.

And then he grabs your legs by the ankles, your thighs touching your chest, folding you in half like a napkin to start thrusting shallowly— the tip of his head gently jabbing into your g-spot.

Your head goes blank, vision white, and your mouth opens into a silent scream, or maybe not so silent, who knows who cares.

Simon thrusts 4 times before that coil in your stomach snaps like a pencil. Your cunt clamps down on him like a vice, unwilling to let him move, but he only grunts and starts to slam his hips into your soft arse— spine rattling from the strength of him. He unrelentingly fucks you through your climax, hips never losing their rhythm.

He's bottoming out now, and you swear you can feel him in your throat, and he starts to pound into your used cunt. When you hiss from how tender you feel, Johnny cups your cheek and leans in to give you a soul-stealing kiss. It's sloppy, you can hear the slick sounds your mouths make, and when you moan into him, Simon's thrusts turn sloppy, choppy. Then he pulls out with a loud snarl to spurt thick, viscous cum directly over your puffy slit, coating your mons with it too— only to push himself back inside, head dripping with his seed, and slowly thrusts until he's overstimulated.

Simon gently lowers your legs back onto the bed, and you groan at the ache when you feel your blood rushing back to them.

"Fuck me," you mumble tiredly, and Johnny chuckles in response.

"Simon already did tha', bonnie." Johnny presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead and looks at Simon.

"I now ken what ye mean, LT. This was a different beast altogether."

You huff out a laugh because beast indeed.

Jesus.

[rafesbabygirlx]

Happy Halloween 🎃

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Rafe x Maybank Reader

Summary: time jump from the original story. Vivienne is now 4 fully understanding the importance of Trick or Treating now. You and Rafe bring her around the neighborhood and couldn’t be more proud to watch her go around and get candy.

A/N: Drabble based on my series A Lot of Time has Passed.

Warnings: allusions to sex (nothing graphic, Rafe is just a flirt) pure fluff between reader and Rafe, JJ the funnest uncle there ever was.

Vivienne bounces on her bed as you lay out her costume. Ever since Sarah and Kie introduced her to The Wizard of Oz, she’s been enchanted by witches, insisting on being one for Halloween. Unfortunately, she’s allergic to most costume paints, even the high-end ones you tried. So she’s no Wicked Witch of the West tonight, but she is the cutest pumpkin witch you’ve ever seen.

The last time she was this obsessed with something, it was sea turtles when she was just one, and everything around her became ocean-themed. Now that witches are her new passion, all the decor and toys have shifted, and Rafe has been more than happy to make that happen.

After dressing her up, you hand over her broom. Before you can fully take in how adorable she looks, she’s already “flying” out of her room, calling for Rafe. “Daddy! Look! Where are you? Look, Daddy!”

With her on a mission, you take a quick moment to head to your room and change. You slip into a simple black corset dress with sheer lace sleeves and a thigh-high slit, topping it off with a tall black witch hat. Flat black boots complete the look for a night of walking.

Downstairs, you hear Rafe and Vivienne playing. “Are you trying to wear her out already? She hasn’t even gotten a single piece of candy yet,” you tease, smiling as you spot them on the floor, with Vivienne practicing her magic spells on him.

Rafe looks up without taking his eyes off you. “V, can you believe how beautiful Mommy looks?” She looks over, beaming. “Mommy’s very ‘butiful!’” Rafe stands, walking over to get a closer look at you, his hand brushing along your neck as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“And where’s your costume?” you ask, grinning. He grabs a matching witch hat from the couch and settles it on his head. True to his style, he’s gone with a simple black button-down and slacks, letting the hat be the finishing touch. Despite the simplicity, he looks perfect.

“V, ready to get so much candy?” you say, turning to her. She jumps onto the bench near the door, holding her broom in one hand and her candy bucket in the other. “YESSSSS!” Rafe laughs, scooping her up as you head outside.

Vivienne walks between the two of you, her tiny hands in yours as she eagerly asks to be picked up and “flown” like a witch. You’re almost to the street when JJ sneaks up from behind, letting out an exaggerated evil laugh as he tickles your sides. You jump, letting out a shriek. “JJ, what the fuck?!”

“Happy Halloween, sis, and Happy Halloween to the prettiest witch in all the land,” he says, grinning as he bows before Vivienne in his butler costume. “Uncle J! You listened!” she shouts, running to him. He picks her up, spinning her around until she’s giggling.

At the first house, Rafe kneels beside Vivienne. “You remember what to say?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“Yes, Daddy, I know!”

“Smart girl. Now go get us the best candy to share.” She bolts toward the door, pulling JJ along, waiting behind a few kids in line. With her in safe hands, you and Rafe hang back, enjoying a quiet moment.

He leans into you, his arms around your waist, his hand brushing gentle circles across your ass. “You might be the sexiest witch I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, “and you’re keeping this on way past trick-or-treating.”

“Rafe, every kid from Figure Eight is around us, control yourself,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing, laughter spilling out as you bury your face in his neck, sneaking a few kisses.

Vivienne runs back, her face lit up, proudly showing you her haul—three full-size candy bars and a small stuffed black cat. It’s like they knew exactly what she’d love. They must’ve know a witches best friend is a black cat.

For the next hour, you explore the neighborhood, Vivienne’s candy bucket growing heavier until Rafe finally calls it. “Alright, how about we head back? You did so well, but Daddy’s arm is starting to hurt from carrying this bucket!”

Vivienne looks up, her big blue eyes meeting his. “But I’m not ready!” she pouts.

Rafe kneels, a habit that always melts your heart, making it clear how much he respects and loves her. It’s a subtle but perfect gesture. “How about one more house on the way home? Then we’ll sit on the floor, and you can show me everything you got. And you can smack Uncle J’s hand every time he tries to steal some.”

She lights up, giggling at the thought. Anytime Rafe mentions them spending time together, her face beams.

“And if Mommy’s up for it,” he adds, “maybe she can make some popcorn, and we can watch The Wizard of Oz with half a candy bar before bed.” He leans close, whispering, “And you can even sleep in your witch costume, so you can dream about flying on your broomstick.” She gasps at the suggestion.

“Yes! Let’s go now!” she squeals, leaping into his arms. He grins at you, your eyes a little misty from the beautiful sight of your two people, he reaches over to take your hand as he holds her close.

After stopping at one last house, you all make your way home. Inside, Rafe makes a move to take off his witch hat, but Vivienne quickly protests. “No, Daddy! The hat stays on all night!”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, putting it back on as you head to the kitchen. You pop some popcorn and set up a small tray with water and bowls, adding some festive cobwebs and plastic spiders for the Halloween spirit.

Back in the living room, you find JJ and Rafe sorting through candy with Vivienne. Over the years, they’ve learned to tolerate each other for your sake, something that makes you deeply grateful. You set the tray on the coffee table and pull up The Wizard of Oz—it’s practically impossible to miss, being first in the watch history for the past 4 months.

As they pack up the candy, JJ attempts to sneak a Kit Kat into his pocket. Vivienne catches him instantly. “Hey, Uncle J!”

He throws his hands up, pleading dramatically. “Please, your greatness, may your loyal—and very fun—servant uncle have a candy bar to take home? Pretty please?”

“She’s three, JJ,” Rafe says, laughing.

“She’s also serious about her business.” JJ grins. Vivienne considers, then nods. “Sure, Uncle JJ. But I want you to take me to see Aunt Kie tomorrow.”

JJ shakes her hand with mock formality. “Deal, kiddo.” Settling into the fluffy lounge couch to your right.

V snuggles between you and Rafe, popcorn in hand, while you turn off the lamps and start the movie. Rafe’s arm wraps around you, and you both spend the movie stealing glances at each other, the connection between you still feeling as special as it did at the beginning. “I love you,” Rafe mouths to you across the couch.

“I love you more,” you mouth back, smiling.

The two of you are still locked in each other’s gaze when you’re snapped back into reality when you hear JJ snoring. You don’t think either of you watched a second of the movie.

JJ’s curled up in the chair, and Vivienne is fast asleep, sprawled out between you. Rafe gently lifts her, carrying her over to the chair with JJ, who instinctively pulls her close in his sleep.

“You’re not bringing her to her room?” you whisper, surprised.

“Nah, JJ’s got her. I’m taking you upstairs to see what magical spells you can work on me.” You squeal, covering your mouth as Rafe swoops you over his shoulder.

He carries you to your room, closing the door behind him. It’s the perfect ending to Halloween night.

[thisismeracing]

Honeymoon stunts | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: not proofread; mentions of a wedding and public sex; graphic description of sex; p in v; breeding kink; +18 (minors DNI); ― Summary: Charles and Yn just got married, and although they know too much about one another, there's always something new to discover together, such as Charles' new breeding kink. ― A/n: Every piece I write here it’s a new experience, so your feedback, comments, and asks are more than welcome. *mwah* 🤍

⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!

Based on this request.

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⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

Charles loved the sea. He loved what it represented, its mysteries, and how it could be used for many interpretations of life. For example, he loved to think that life sometimes worked just like the sea: it had its highs and lows, sometimes the waves would reach the furthest part of the beach, and sometimes it would retract and crash almost around itself. He, like the sea, has had many setbacks the past few years, but, just like the sea, Charles too had his high tides. The most recent one being just the other day: his marriage.

Charles married Yn, and he considered this his high tide. The water reached the driest pieces of land in his heart. 

He have never been so happy the way he was with Yn by his side. 

And as if on cue, she appeared in front of him obstructing a bit of the sunlight reaching his face. Charles pinched his sunglasses at the point of his nose, leaving just enough space for Yn to see his eyes. 

“Hi, husband,” she grinned.

“Hey, wife.”

“I missed you in bed,” she confessed before straddling his lap, her hands firmly planted on his strong shoulders.

Charles mumbled a quick apology busying his lips with her ebony skin. He trailed kisses from her neck to her jawline and the corner of her lips, and then from her cheeks to her shoulders where he lowered the straps of her nightgown. Yn smiled and with a dashing attitude, she pushed the small piece of fabric enough to free one of her breasts. 

“Chérie,” Charles lets out a pained whisper as if trying to hold himself back.

“It’s a private beach.” Yn reminded.

“We’re going into the kinky public sex?” he teased lightening the mood and Yn threw her head back in laughter. The Monegasque watched how that position exposed so much for him. Just for him.

And what could Charles do if not take it?

One of his hands tightened on Yn’s waist, while his open palm found a home in the middle of her back bringing her body closer to his mouth. He kissed and licked over the places he knew he had left small lovebites the night prior. Yn whimpered and rocked her hips against his bulge, she was wearing nothing but the nightgown and Charles moaned when he felt her wetness against his trunks. He dipped one of his hands between their bodies, his skilled fingers were fast to find her sensitive bud and rub it teasingly. She bucked her hips harder and Charles groaned. 

It was her turn to kiss her way from his neck to his face. She took her time biting, sucking, and gently kissing his now-tanned skin. And she did it all while lazily rocking on top of him, which only drove Charles crazy. Yn, however, didn’t kiss his lips and he was about to protest when she got up, took off her nightgown threw it at his face, and covered her breasts with one of her arms. 

“Yn…” Charles warned and she giggled. The wind and the waves mixed themselves with her happy noises and Charles swore he found paradise again. 

“You want it?” she teased spinning her body for him. “Come get it!” she giggled again and took off to their cabin. Charles gripped her piece of clothing and laughed before sprinting right after her. He got to her just when she reached the door and it wasn’t long before they stumbled into the bed. Yn sitting on top of him again.

Charles gripped her neck and brought her face down to his, smashing his lips to hers in a messy and needy kiss that Yn reciprocated with the same amount of passion. She rocked against him again, and this time her fingers were the ones between their bodies, she pushed his trunks down freeing his hard cook. Their lips were still attached to the others when Yn started pumping his shaft, her thumbs finding his head every once in a while, and her mouth swallowing all the dirty noises coming out of her husband. 

“Fuck, mon amour, just- oh fuck,” Charles started but lost track of his words when Yn tightened her hand on his base. 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t tease me,” he whimpered and she smiles victorious. It was a wonderful feeling to have Charles under her begging and whimpering to have her. It felt powerful. He needed her just as much as she needed him. 

Yn kissed his collarbone one last time and got into a seating position grinding his dick against her lips, gathering just enough slick to help him slip inside her. Which Charles did in a single movement. It earned a loud moan from both of them. 

“Oh, fuck- you feel so good, chérie,” he breathed.

“Charls,” Yn moaned starting a sequence of rotational movements. She rocked and ground on top of him and Charles raked his short nails on her back and thighs. She repeated her movements and they felt the ecstasy that angle caused. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” Yn almost screamed when Charles lifted his hips to find her moves. Her body shook with want. He felt bigger when she rode, and she could feel his pulsing dick so much better that way. It was fantastic. 

Charles gripped her breasts and took one nipple between his teeth teasing and playing with it while their bodies kept rutting against each other. Yn raked her fingers throw his brunette strands, gripping his face and directing his lips to her.

Her stomach tingled whilst Charles devoured her until her body started to tremble, “I’m coming,” Yn choked and Charles smirked lifting his lips again. His thrusts got sloppier and Yn knew from that fact that he wasn’t far behind her.

When the wave of pleasure washed over her, she let her body fall on top of his, her body dissolving into pleasure, but her hips still grinding waiting for Charles' turn. He grunts and moans and he’s about to pull out when Yn perches her body harder forcing them to stay in that position.

“Come inside me,” she pleads and lets out a string of curses in French. 

“You want me to let you have my seed?” Charles asks and Yn can only nod, her sensitive clit brushing against his pubic bone. “Huh? You want me to put a baby in you, mon amour?”

 Her eyes roll back and she cries feelings another orgasm approach, “Please, Charles!” 

“Tell me, chérie. Tell me you want me to stuff you full of my cum,” his voice is low, but his tone is set and straight, almost like an order and Yn obeys.

“Please, I want to- I want you to empty yourself inside me. I’ll have all your babies, love.” 

Charles bites her shoulders and sensually groaned on her ear when his orgasm finally came. It brought her second one along and they rode it together, gripping the other for dear life, moaning profanities, and love confessions. 

When the dizzy feeling of the orgasm started to fade, Yn sat up, a small smirk on her face, Charles was still buried inside her, she could feel their wetness mixing together between her legs, and the Monegasque could only smile blissfully at her. “So… a breeding kink, Charls?” 

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⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

⁕ I just got back from a shadowban so Tumblr is still a bit slow on delivering my stuff, that being said, it would be nice if you guys could not only like, but reblog this piece. Thank youuu!

Feel free to leave me a message or ask <3

[milksuu]

Hey hey heyyyy!!! It's me, the one that keeps stalking your page! 💙🧚‍♀️

I wanna say that OML I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! AAAAHHH! And I'm so so so happy to see that

anyways, this is a request for how the heartsteel boys would react to a lover with big bazoinkers who usually wears baggy clothes suddenly wearing something tight fitted??? Heheehehehe.

Also, how would the react if you were hit on by someone else due to their lover having big personalities?? (You don't have to do this one if you're uncomfortable ofc!!)

Also, keep up what you're doing, feeding my unhealthy obsession with these fictional (but very attractive) men. I hope you have an amazing day/night!!!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

❥ prompt: So, you got the big boinkers. The huge bagonzos. The gigantic bonobos. Whatever guys called boobs these days. You're super self-conscious about them, ever since you hit puberty. You've tried to hide them. But with the upcoming red-carpet event for the music awards, you can't wear baggy clothes next to your Heartsteel boyfirend. You had to look your best. Or as some would say, your breast. ❥ content/warnings: mild suggestive themes, possessive boyfriend energy, over protective boyfriend energy ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel (aphelios, ezreal, kayne) / f!reader

APHELIOS

Aphelio's thought you always looked cute and comfortable in your hoodies. In casual form, it was his aesthetic as well. Until the time came for a special event.

Aphelio's hadn't imagined exactly what you would wear. But surely, it might be a long-sleeve and turtleneck to match your conservative style. He understood how you felt about your particular assets. He would never suggest you to wear anything that didn't make you feel secure.

He was absolutely wrong. So, so, so wrong. (Wait. Did he actually like being wrong?) He got the long-sleeves part right. But the black mini-dress you sported hugged all the curves you possessed. With just a bit of thigh fat squeezed at the hem. If Aphelio's could ever speak again, he'd beg to be immediately silenced between those thighs. And at the top, there was a glorious boob-window that any e-girl would go absolutely rabid to have.

He had to look away a few times. Thankful to have a mask covering most of his flustered features. Maintaining a semblance of composure, he led you by the hand, speaking to you through squeezes between your hands.

Down the red-carpet, with flashing lights, the two of you posed. One camera man took a picture a little too angled for his liking. Your hand trembled in his. Blushing and holding your breath. Embarrassed tears pricked the corner of your eyes. Afraid of the possible lewdness that would be plastered in magazines. You didn't want to even imagine the headliners. And what would they say about Aphelio's? That he was dating some sort of 'all-boobs-no brains' bimbo? You wanted nothing like that for him.

Aphelio's sensed all of your emotions and didn't hesitate his next move. He dragged a discreet foot against the carpet, folding it in a manner that caused the paparazzo to trip. When the shady-cameraman fell, his camera smashed to pieces against the ground. The man dramatically fell to his knees, holding his head and weeping in buckets.

You gasped. Aphelio's merely rolled his eyes dismissively, tugging you way. He knitted his brows, and squeezed your hand tightly. You knew exactly what he did. You smiled, condensing your chest against his arm.

Feeling his face heat up again, he looked away. After acting so cool, and looking so cool, there's no way he'd let you see him blush like a high-school boy.

EZREAL

Ezreal never minded you wearing baggy clothes. He thought it was fun—for him! He loved diving underneath your oversized hoodie, and poke his head out the other side. Like you two were some odd circus attraction. That, or pretend he was a sailor drowning in a sea of boobies. He liked wearing the stylish hat.

He wasn't exactly sure what you would wear to the event, but he wished it was something he could fit inside later. He was joking. That was a total joke. So long as you were comfortable in it, he didn't mind.

When he saw you step out of the limo, his jaw completely dropped. He felt like one of those cool male-lead movie stars. Taking off his glasses in iconic slow-mo fashion, mouthing the words "Oh, Baby."

He spared zero time to lead you by the arm. Ready for from some press worthy photos he knew you two were going to absolutely rock.

Making it to the concessions room, where the liquor and horderves were plenty, it was prime time for music stars to socialize.

One young rapper approached, way too drunk off his drink, slurred with a smirk at your general direction. Commenting on whether or not Ezreal paid for you to have boob job in order to please him.

The giddy-boyish-sunshine smile turned utterly dark. The laugh he forced was ear grating. It chilled you to the bone. There was a flash of yellow. And briefly, you felt your arm empty of his presence. Then the scene unfolded. The man's drink completely spilled all over him. Another flash. He was pushed, stumbling to the ground.

Ezreal merely snickered into his suit sleeve when bouncers in the room dragged the drunk man away by the collar. Deeming him too drunk and unfit for the show, and subsequently tossed out.

Ezreal tugged you off to a far, secluded corner. He took you into his arms, squeezing tightly. Apologizing into your ear. You smiled softly, and rubbed his the back. Reassuring him you weren't hurt by the comment. And gave him a grateful kiss into his hair for sticking up for you.

KAYN

Kayn 'Big ol' Tiddle Bitties'. If he could change his middle name to that, he would. It'd be his other rap persona, in ode to your breasts. Rhaast approved. And sure, you may be insecure about them, but Kayn fucking hell wasn't. He swore, one day, he would scream in praise at the rooftops. (Thankfully that hasn't happened...yet.)

He prayed to every demon, anti-christ, Eldritch God on this forsaken plane of existence for you to bless his presence with those huge knockers. And holy shit, did you ever at the event.

From the outfit alone, if he leashed himself for you, and placed a crop in your hand, he'd be on all fours. This wouldn't be a classy event anymore. It'd be an all-out fetish party.

Sadly. Reality kept it to a red-carpeted event. Where he had to act professional. Lead you accordingly, and restrain himself on every level possible. It took all his effort to not just call an Uber and take you in nearest love-hotel.

After mingling before the show, it was time for the awards. You took your seat next to each other. As the event played on, with various performances, you felt something being thrown into your cleavage. You looked down, spotting popcorn. Turning a cheek, you saw a group of young men laughing. Making comments about your breasts, and high-fiving one another when they 'made the shot'.

Kayn noticed. And boy, was he about to lose his shit during a performance speech. You placed a hand against his chest, whispering for him not to make a scene, and not allow the clowns to hurt his reputation. Fine—he wouldn't commit a crime. But he would show them who they were fucking with.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling any lewd noises. Kayn planted his face in your cleavage, biting and licking your chest. He took up all the popcorn, and spat it out the guys like buttered bullets. They jumped with looks of disgust, cursing under their breaths about how damn crazy he was. With a final growl, they scurried away.

Kayn cackled, and you had to shush him when Yone leaned back in his chair and gave a look.

an: holy shiii tysvm for this req. @ccraccz! you're a genius. pls keep stalking my page *smooches you* sadly i have to break this up into two parts, since I wasn't expecting to make it so long??? lmfao??? pls stay tuned for part 2

[ruinouss]

His suspicion didn't go unnoticed but she had no plans of harming him and in truth, couldn't blame him. For all he knew, the ship belonged to pirates that just didn't reveal their Jolly Roger, and judging by his attire he had to be a marine of some sort. She wasn't a fan of the Marines but considering she wasn't a pirate she didn't fear him coming after her for whatever reason.

"Perfect," she clamped her hands together and started rubbing them together as if a plan was coming together perfectly. And in a way, it was.

"Oh...this isn't my ship," she looked at him as her left hand moved to pull a dagger from its sheath on her thigh. "I was just catchin' a ride but I don't really agree with the way this crew goes after pointless fights." She explained and began sawing away on the ropes that bound him. "They're bound to get themselves killed and I don't plan to die because they decide to challenge some notorious pirate crew or pick a fight with marines."

Watching the female speak to him to see if he might be useful to her caused a small smile to spread across his lips. He was trying to be polite as he was figuring out who these folks were, as his uniform was in shambles.

Clearly, he looked like a marine, but his jacket that marked his status was missing so he just had the basic uniform on. His eyes narrowed though at her questioning of him as he was trying to get a vibe from her.

The male nodded his head at her remarks as he was trying to figure out if she was an outlaw herself or not since she was trying to escape. "Yes, I can sail and handle myself in a fight. Why do you want to flee from your ship?"

[crappymixtape]

among the stars • part two

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ summer ended and everyone went back to school or to indianapolis for ‘real’ jobs – steve’s friends practically begged him to come to the city with them at the end of the summer, couch surf in their apartment until he finds work, but he decides to stay until one rainy night in october something happens – someone happens – and it changes the course of his life forever • 18+ | ( 1.6k, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, extraterrestrials, steve x reader )

L O S T 🎶 my tears are becoming a sea, M83

“Give us your coordinates!”

“I–I can’t read them! The nav got destroyed by the asteroid impact–”

“Can you warp back?”

“No, it–I can’t do anything, there are high levels of damage to the hull, what if I crash–”

“Focus! Is your landing gear functional?”

“Y-yes, no reported damage.”

“Then identify an area with enough clearance to put down and we’ll send out a search party.”

“But, what if you can’t find me? The satellite–”

“All you need to do is land, pilot!”

“Visibility extremely low, landing gear stuck on activation, left thruster not functional–I’m going to crash! Mayday–”

“Mayday!”

Your eyes shot open, heart hammering against your ribcage as you gasped for breath, hands balling up in the fabric pooled around you and bracing for impact, but when the world finally came into focus the interior of your ship was gone. Replaced instead by a strange looking room. Who’s, you didn’t know, but it was nothing close to home.

Odd looking trinkets sat upon a small table next to you and tons of flat, static photos of the same group of people covered the walls. There was a rudimentary desk and chair with a large, severely outdated monitor of some kind sitting atop it with a wooden chest of drawers just to its right. The bed you were in was highly uncomfortable and had no sign of climate adjustment or cleaning settings.

Looking down you saw you were still in your flight suit, the health monitors all steadily pulsing green and reporting stable vitals, though a small series of beeps alerted you that your heart rate was high. Bright light shone in from the window at your left and your eyes narrowed in sensitivity, where were your flight goggles?

“What’s wrong? What happened??”

The door flew open and your hand immediately went to the holster on your thigh, but it was empty, your phaser gone. Checking the other leg you realized your flash pods were missing too. Defenseless.

“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

Your eyes darted back up to the intruder, his expression concerned, and for a split second you considered him, fight or flight? And better judgement told you to fight. Sliding off the opposite side of the bed, you slipped a hand down into the pocket on your calf and produced a small dagger, holding it between you and the stranger.

“Whoa–okay, okay,” he put his hands up in a very submissive nature and you lowered the dagger slightly. “I’m Steve, remember? Last night, right?” he pointed a finger toward the window. “There was a huge storm and you crashed. I’m sorry I had to move you, I couldn’t leave you out there.”

A slow realization washed over you and you risked a glance out the window: your ship, charred and in pieces, in a crater in the dirt, still smoldering and smoking in the early light.

It wasn’t salvageable.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Steve asked and your throat squeezed.

Is there anyone I can call for you?

No.

This wasn’t home.

You didn’t know anyone.

A completely foreign planet.

Swallowing thickly you turned back to him and held the dagger up with renewed vigor.

“No, no one,” you snapped, “Where am I? Who are you?” You emphasized your questions with the small weapon in your hand and Steve took a step back toward the door.

“It’s okay! You’re in Hawkins, I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”

“What is Hawkins? Who is your leader? Where’s the nearest Star Base?”

Steve’s mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’, his brows pinching together as he shook his head slowly. “There’s no Star Base here…is that like a–a Trekkie reference or something? We could ask Dustin I guess…”

“Dustin?”

“Nothing–uhm–our leader is President Bush, but are you from Canada? Can’t really hear an accent.”

President Bush? Canada? Your head was spinning. No Star Base, that he knew of, and his clothing was hardly protective. It was becoming more and more obvious that perhaps maybe he wasn’t the best person to be asking these things.

Determining he wasn’t a threat, you sheathed your dagger and moved around the bed toward the door, Steve jumping out your way to let you into the hallway.

“Wait–you’re leaving? We should really get your shoulder looked at, it was pretty bad last night.”

“My shoulder is fine.”

“There was a lot of blood, I cleaned you up the best I could, but I think you might need stitches.”

“I can do that myself,” you said, thinking of the med kit on your ship before realizing it must be ashes now.

“Yourself? Listen–I know you don’t think I’m helpful or–or whatever, but if you can just tell me where you’re from, maybe I can at least get you to a phone.”

Steve had jogged after you into what looked to be a food preparation area. There was a mountain of dishes in the sink and a large empty cardboard box with grease stains on the table. Turning to look at him, you stifled a gasp at how much closer he was. Not on the other side of the room or paces behind you in the hallway, but just a couple steps away.

In this light you could see all of his little details. Tiny freckles across his cheeks, not dissimilar to yours, and dark moles dotting down his jawline and neck. His eyes were striking, a rich, warm, honeyed color, nothing like anyone at home, and he was so much taller up close. Your eyes caught on a rather nasty looking cut across his cheek and your fingers twitched, wanting to touch. To help. To heal.

No, you can’t trust him.

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you…” he said, his voice low and soft, a sound that made your brain go hazy.

“I–” you started, hesitant, “I left Oso 36…on Stardate 41153.7. My nav broke, but the last reading said four light-years away from my home base.”

Steve’s expression went blank, merely blinking his eyes at you, the long sweep of his lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “What’s an Oso 36? Light-years? Are you part of some…acting troupe? Or a promo for that movie with the little bears? Star Wars?”

“Acting?” you scoffed, shaking your head at your stupidity. He didn’t know anything. Pushing past him toward the door, you tapped at the comm link on your wrist – broken. “Take me to this Bush man, I need to ask him to find me passage home."

“What–I can’t just take you to see the president,” Steve said, right behind you again.

Wheeling around, anger swelled within you, frustration lighting you up and turning your hair a bright, burning red as it spun up to float around your head in long, reaching strands. “Then take me to someone who can!” you shouted, chest heaving with the exertion.

“Jesus!” Steve stumbled backward into the wall, tripping and falling back onto his elbows. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he stuttered, fear flickering in his hazel eyes and the red in your hair faded back to muddled blues and greens, floating back down to settle at your shoulders.

“I–” you started, taking a step back from him, unsettled at the way he’d look at you like you were a monster, “I have to go.”

“Wait!”

You heard Steve call after you as you ran down the stairs and into the field behind the building, but as soon as you reached the tree line, panic began to spider through your veins. A cold, striking reality that you were so, so far away from home without any way to escape on an absolutely bleak planet you knew nothing about.

“Please–if you just–” Steve huffed as he jogged up behind you, “Christ–you’re fast.”

Frozen in place you watched as tiny plumes of smoke lifted from what was left of your ship, your chair in the cockpit a glowing pile of embers.

“If you just let me, I want to help,” Steve said again, out of breath. “At least let me try?” he asked.

Tears welled up against your lashes, spilling over and down your shimmering lilac cheeks. What if you could never leave?

“Please,” Steve asked softly, as his fingers gently brushed against yours, “I want to help.”

Looking over your shoulder at him, you didn’t hide your devastation, your hair deepening into a dark, bruising indigo.

“You can’t,” you said simply and he gave you the smallest of smiles in return, his thumb brushing over the bumps of your knuckles.

“I’m used to people underestimating me. The worst that can happen is I fail, but I’d say those odds are worth a try.”

Swiping at the tears on your cheeks you studied him for a long moment. This Steve Harrington. A stubbornly optimistic, self-depreciating, amber-eyed stranger who’d managed to start melting your skepticism with the unlikeliest of weapons: a smile.

“I still don’t trust you, Steve Harrington,” you muttered and it pulled a laugh from him.

“I don’t blame you,” he said, smile stretching into a lopsided grin. “But thanks for giving me a chance.”

Biting back the smile threatening to tug up at the corners of your lips you looked back off at the horizon. "Is that your sun?" you asked as it rose higher and higher into the sky.

"My sun? Uh–yeah. Yeah, that's the sun."

"We have three back home."

"Wha–three?" he half-scoffed, half-gaped.

"I'm not from this planet, Steve Harrington," you said softly, turning to look at him, his smile lost to utter confusion, "I'm lost. Help me find my way home."

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A ??? PART SERIES – MORE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[littleroaes]

To any lovers left alive ( 恋人たち ‘The Lovers’ ), l.jy

inspired by weathering with you ( 2019 )

a failed love goddess saves herself by fleeing to earth and an ordinary hopeless romantic boy ( with his self claimed younger brother ), together they start a fail-proof service that can make the love of your life fall for you too. as he teaches her human relationships, they eventually come to adore each other too. though, as the universe's not in their favor, only left is to hope.

PAIRING lee juyeon x fem!reader, high schooler!eric

GENRE FLUFF, pretty angsty, slight fantasy, little smut ( MDI 18+ ), greek mythology!au ( eros & psyche ), hanahaki disease!au ( no one dies &lt;;3 ), teaching love!au, forbidden rules aren’t in their favor love , little crime!au, amnesia!au, they run a love service, it rains a lot, human!juyeon, eros!reader, strangers to friends to ( nearly ) lovers, mutual pining ( but juyeon does it harder ), cute flirty needy juyeon, hopeless romantic and lovesick!juyeon, y/n likes to tease juyeon, adopted little brother!eric, high schooler!eric, makoto shinkai type of love like your name ( 2015 ), weathering with you ( 2019 )

WARNINGS call reader angel once, say fuck about 5 times, knife used as a metaphor of anger ( once ), juyeon finds and fires a gun, petty crime, ANGST — > bittersweet ending, fictional disease ( not conventionally used! ), amnesia, descriptions of coughing and breathlessness, mentions of violence ( physical ), SMUT — > kissing, making out, oral ( f receiving ), palming, dry humping, soft begging, p in v, unprotected ( don’t try at home ), juyeon’s touched starved af, both are kind of switch, very fluffy smut

WORD COUNT 33.6 k

PLAYLIST

a/n : this is one of my favorite pieces ive written so I hope you like it! don’t try to translate the japanese on the banner😭, it’s literally just bs to make the banner look like the movie posters😭 I don’t usually write smut, but I thought it added to the story. but don’t worry! it’s very soft and not hardcore at all ( very fluffy ). it’s a bit angstier than my other works, not by much, it’s predominantly fluff. it’s very melancholic!

like and reblog are highly encouraged!

"A RECENT SPIKE IN NEW USERS FOR DATING APPS HAS CAUSED DEVELOPERS TO BE ASTOUNDED.

At the same time, hashtags like love is dead are trending number one on social media platforms like Twitter. Young people all over the internet are sharing their recent heartbreak, leaving us to question the mega romance struggle of the youth generation.”

When the glass door to the inner room falls close behind her, the voice from the TV in the left upper corner becomes merely a vague presence in the night. It ceases between the synthetic material of her raincoat in the harsh weather as she stands on the deck, a meter from the center. A wind from far away collides with the fragment of her face beneath the hood. How the rain, cold, impacts her skin before they descend down the curvature. 

But between the loose strands in nonexistent patterns before her eyes, shines the city in total divine. Each lightsource, limited in a single square, stacked on top of the other, reflects in the water as they approach port. 

The boat collides with the stone lining surrounding the city port. It echoes over the raging sea and Y/n forces her hands deeper down the fabric of her pockets. While the people in neon green vests let the metal reach over to land, the dock, she for a single second stood alone on, is slowly filling over with people from indoors. 

The vague heat across the passengers clothes as they pass her by. She stands still to let them cross the arch above water without reflection. Y/n walks out the metal bridge with the last five passengers. When her body reaches fast land, she hears resonant voices from the workers behind, together with the metal being thrown up against the dock. 

At the very edge of the city, she looks up towards the highest lights, where the towering buildings fade into the rain clouds. To then look down, where the crowd of passengers enters between litten up corners. The backpack on her shoulders feels immensely light as she looks at the nearest street where signs emit neon blue and starlight yellow. 

But as the celestial behind the clouded sphere continues to move when she stands underneath it, Y/n forces the straps higher and walks between the entrance of neon delight. 

The storm from the first day she laid her eyes on the city, still lingers over the high buildings. Though, the heavy rain that plummets against the architectural dimensions, can’t reach her in between all these walls. In a hostel room, cramped between six–five enclosures, until the very outer edge of the building meets weather, she sits cramped up against the computer desk. 

Teared tour guides of the metropolitan city, stacked on top of each other, and the white screen in complete view of her vision, showcases link after link of potential jobs. Every blue sentence turns purple as she passes down the page. But each leads to a paragraph with a solid brick wall. From the first word down to the next five, Y/n doesn’t have to read more to realize she isn’t qualified. 

At last, at the tail end of the first page, she finds an application for a job at a hostess bar. Three clicks among the main streets on google maps, she finds the neon sign in an alley. Half of its radiance, covered by alternate indorses. The street view won’t let her in to see the entrance, compressed between shadows. 

Y/n falls back into the chair. The rectangular screen ventures from sight field as her mind receives the blue illuminated walls and brown wood of the desk. One can barely see the floor in this precarious space, therefore, she leans further back, embraces her legs and watches the ceiling. The walls impend on her figure, but somehow she feels guarded. Between all layers, she stays hidden from the eyes of the storm or silhouettes remote from street lights. 

The complete silence of this space, bane in a second, being her stomach. A kind of sound that only comes by hunger, and a sort that pains at the very inside of the body. Y/n looks down from the walls, lets one arm off her legs and gently wraps it around her stomach. 

Her eyes wander the table. Between the small titles of books, keyboard and paper scribbles, lies three bills in vertical order. A single shadow beneath the gaping parts where paper bends, causes of the light from the screen. Y/n stares at it as if it will change. But the only thing in motion is the light from the computer, when she hasn’t moved the cursor and the white fades to a darker shade. 

Her shift will be tomorrow night, and the money beside the computer will be needed for the morning, in the badly lit register, where a man sits behind a scratched plastic veil. The same sound from before lingers between the room and Y/n gently stands up. The chair creaks as she pushes it under the table and turns against the artificial light, to get the plastic raincoat, dripping of water from the weather thundering outside. 

“I apologize, I’m-” 

“Out! You’re fired!” 

The last words leaving her mouth echoes over the blue-red litten street. As his face is only a centimeters from the back door, she takes the handle and forces it close. The sharp edge of the black metal tears the space in between them. His eyelids fall shut, chin down towards his chest as his right foot trips over the elevation in asphalt. In the limited back door space, where he stands secluded from rain, are two plastic bins. His feet touch the ground where water has endured along concrete and created a static puddle. The opposite loses grip and his shoulder lands on the brown bin, at the edge of the cubicle.

How in an instant, the fall of rain against concrete existed only auditorily, but to now soak his white shirt. The brown bin, together with his own silhouette, falls down the asphalt, creating waves in the thin build up of water. All its insides are dispersed across the alley, beside his knee, to the cigarette ashtray down the other wall. 

He lets hands coat himself in midnight rain as he forces to stand. Assemble the pieces in neon light as he desperately wonders where to take himself next. Wherever his thoughts seem to take him, his mind always runs back to his brother. 

When the bin stands upright, at the place it first belonged, he sees a brown paper bag below it. Sealed in tape across the opening. To reach down and see dark spots form, where his fingers touch the paper. His eyes curiously brightened by the red neon sign above. The paper bag, tightly shut, seamlessly goes into his pocket. Even as he comes out the back alley of restaurants and out the high end street where people without faces covered in raincoats brush against him, he thinks about the slight weight change in his right pocket. 

-

At the glass door into a fast food chain where a doorstep separates the water and white clear floor, he steps in. When it locks to the frame, the weather becomes simply a vague background shatter against the windows. Instead, static rhythms come from the TV in the higher corner. 

He finally takes a seat. Black tray decorated in a thin piece of paper with his order placed on top. The grease of the burger seeps through the wrapping. As he sits on the extended piece of table up against the window, he sees fragments of a color spectrum in the dark as people pass him by. He takes off his marine blue raincoat, water courses through the folds and down the hem, before it assembles and falls to the floor. To let it continue pour beneath the chair as he places it on the back rest. He sits down again, sees his reflection in the window. Though supposed to be a transparent barrier to another scene, in the dark, even windows become mirrors. He sees a vague outline of his metal plate on his uniform. “Juyeon”, outlined in two languages fully black. Before opening his meal, he unclips the brooch and lays it beside the tray. 

While half way through his burger, the paper bag in the right pocket off his raincoat crosses his mind. Still with the burger in one of his hands, the other reaches to the end of his raincoat, where the hem line dances upon the floor. It whispers of paper and he has it only a centimeter or two below the table. Juyeon’s chin leans forward and the strands of his fringe fall with it. 

He turns it upside down and inspect the crinkled sides. Finally lets his food down the tray to use both hands to gently loosen the tape from the fibers. The fold at the very top of the brown bag opens and Juyeon cautiously reaches his finger in between. 

He can’t completely ascertain why he took it. Maybe because there’s no firm reasoning to argue, since it was only pure curiosity. One doesn’t throw a sealed package in the bin, he thinks. 

Strands of his fringe seem to fall faster when his eyes reach for the black complexion hiding beneath the paper. The skin of his fingers feels cold hard material, and when his hand returns, revealing half of the object in matt black, his eyes go from curious to wide of racing heart. 

He only sees the object for a second, but nonetheless, Juyeon brings it to his stomach and leans over the table. The bag is in full shadow beneath his body and eyes coated in a thin layer of horrid adrenaline, watching the surrounding tables. When the weighting pressure against his chest has started to loosen and the avid line of light in his eyes has run out, Juyeon leans up a little. Let the radiance from the spotlight ceiling find its way in and make sense of the object again. 

As he sat and wished it was a dream, beneath him, in his own lap, lies a gun. Sharp lines of its corners contrast violently against the color palette of the restaurant. Juyeon takes his hand down towards it, feels the weight. Sounds of dark pitch when tapping his nail against it. There is no frame in his mind whether the object in his lap is a real gun. Closest being a toy gun from the local kids shop in younger days. It could not be real, he thinks, as it turns to the other hand. 

Either way, when Juyeon once again looks up, the scenery is as serene as the first time. At the highest corner above the toilets is a screen. TV that, instead of music distracts from the overbearing silence of a strange place, plays the news. The woman in the suit talks about the spike in dating apps. With the first mention of romance, Juyeon looks away. Cage the voice, to simply return to background noise, without a purpose of being understood. 

For the last time his eyes recoil to the gun. Juyeon takes up the paper bag again, folding it gently around the gun before reaching to his jean pocket. If it’s real, he needs to keep it hidden and preferably leave it inside another dark alley along the city streets. And if it is just simply plastic, it bears no consequences. 

Where paint starts to fade, cloth seen behind the window and electric cables rather than leaves. Y/n stands on her toes to inspect the details of glass into private lives. An apartment complex compressed between five others, stairs where the rain varies in flow, down each step to the closest drain and three windows in lack of light. 

In contrast to the constant pedestrian crossings further away, places like these may hold people with forgetful minds about their doors, or just the framework itself that is supposed to protect them, won’t. 

At the third floor of the complex in gray shade, is a dark window with broken lining placed a meter from the stairway. Y/n has gone into the alleyways where lush plants of the forever rain covers any spots where street lamps would shine between the high buildings. It's cramped, shoulders brush between edges of green plantation and feet nearly trip over pots. There are metal fences in blue pigment that creak every time she opens or closes them. But at last, she stands at the end of the stairs, beside a plant, suffocated in water. 

To reach out the window with red hands as an effect of cold, onto the ice metal lining. It hurts in those fingers but nonetheless, Y/n continues to pull on loose pieces and hit the frame. As another wind rises, a star dies and one room in the neighborhood darkens. The square design loosens from the complex and creaks amidst the rain shatter. 

It’s simple to take one step onto the sill and force one’s body up the elevation, to then fall to the opposite floor. Though, as Y/n then stands up to observe the secret world of someone else’s, she feels just a little guilty as eyes return to the floor. How her shoes holding rain frees it, and causes thin puddles to collect beneath. Y/n turn her head, two beds beside her, and way in, a kitchen. She walks up to the counter where a few plates are stacked and the window above the sink opens for light over the otherwise shadowed details.

Immediately, there’s a neatly organized box of ramen packages close to the sink. Placed in color order, Y/n’s hand, just a little hesitant to actually reach out and ruin it. Three red’s that she gently puts in her raincoat, because it was most of that color. Now her eyes adverts from the counter up to the shelves. Hidden furthest where the sharp lines and walls cut off any highlights, she sees a plastic bag. Y/n stands on her toes to force her hand in, it echoes of plastic throughout the apartment. When reading the label, it’s melon bread. 

A sudden sound goes through the walls, a click from the hallway behind her. Y/n looks over her shoulder to see a streak of yellow light, painting the floor before it disappears when the door closes once again. Fabrics and keys, chaotic in that part of the complexion and Y/n stares at the wall before the new presence. All thoughts that race through her mind, become none when they all collide into each other. A fragment of an idea does make itself out of the blur. But there is no use in hiding beneath the sink or running towards the window, because when her eyes drift for an escape, the person reveals himself and stares eye to eye with her. 

As if body, absent like two curtains drifting apart, her soul left before him. She hasn’t realized the anonymity in the real world until the eyes of someone else, truly authenticate her existence. How much of humanity is just to fill up old space and pass each other in it. 

As neither of them say anything, a second silhouette appears from the hall. 

“What’s wrong-” He, a distance in height from the former and in navy school uniform with a backpack, halts his words when closing in on the taller, and then follows the line of stare to her figure. The taller’s eyes turn sharp in casted light from outside. He takes a step back to the one in school uniform, so his body hides from her sight, aside from the glimpse of hair and eyes above the shoulder. 

“Who are you?” 

Y/n lift her hands up to head length, the plastic of red vibrant packages crinkles with it, “I’m not here to hurt anyone.” She purses her lips in, tears her eyes away from theirs as she watches the city framed in the window. To let her hands down again, Y/n stacks the three red packages on top of each other and the bread neatly beside. 

“I’ll leave.” Her shoes stain the floor and cold air forge divides them as she passes down the hallway. The one protected by a taller shoulder, watches her take the door handle and turns when he feels the presence of the one before him alter. 

“You didn’t take anything else?” The taller one asks while looking at her. The line of his shoulders aren’t as tense, the shine in his eyes from the awake city at night, reflects like a single star rather than the red light at the tops of soaring buildings. Y/n holds her hand still on the metal, shakes her head. Soon after, he frees his back from the shorter, continuing up the counter. Eyes of the one in uniform follows him and lingers in the direction plastic can be heard. Then, in a slightly faster haste than daily walk, he comes up to her with the three ramen and bread. 

Her eyes remain in wonder over his two hands with mere distance to her own. And as another second passes, she sees a fruit bar of sorts on top of the ramen. Y/n takes her eyes off the food in an uncertain manner, towards the window. The student who still glances in her direction, stays at that line of floor. 

The plastic sounds again as he motions it towards her. His fringe follows that action, “You needed the food.” He says gently and this time, fully extends his arms to let the vibrant material fold gently against her stomach. 

Y/n finally lets her hands around it, rain on her coat, now spreading across the synthetic. The shoes on her, find themselves in an awkward position and vision wanders between two points. Therefore, the boy gently nods and purses his lips in. 

Her hand finally weighs down on the handle and a light, much stronger than the moon, opens from that point. It casts itself over him and the one further into the apartment. She for the first time realizes the complexity in human features as the highlights contrast with its shadows.

“Thank you…I’m sorry.” Y/n says quietly before closing the door. 

There’s an empty seat to his right at the back of the bus. Sunshine behind the cloud layers has passed, and during evening, the rain remains, and shatters against the windows with an ever changing view. Juyeon watches each droplet race across the glass before it implodes against the edge. The sequence as if taken out of a memory, he stares for a bit longer. 

A monotone voice lingers along the bus as it comes to a stop. The rain enhances when the doors separate. A woman in the middle of the bus walks out and at the front steps a boy in. By only a faint glimpse of his profile, even in between the masses of crowds, Juyeon would make out the features and smile as he does now. Eric waves goodbye to two girls standing beneath the door before turning his head, locking eyes with Juyeon at the very back. 

Eric takes the right seat next to the older. Let the backpack off his shoulders and lie it in his lap. Juyeon observes each action and synthetic fold of the material til the door closes and the cityscape moves forward. The younger one suddenly looks up at Juyeon who still smiles, so much that his eyes start to crease. 

“Player.” Juyeon pats his shoulder against Eric’s. Meanwhile the one in sudden accusation takes up the umbrella, where it has compiled a small puddle. It spills rain on their pants as he waves it towards Juyeon, and he lets out a laugh and covers his face behind his hands. Before Eric has gotten the entire backseat rain covered, Juyeon takes his wrists and forces it down. 

“I’m not.” Eric switches to a more comfortable position, “You’re just hopeless.” 

Juyeon scoffs, “I’m not.” 

Eric does the same, leaning his body over Juyeon’s, and hand, reaching for his pocket. Eric is back in his own seat before Juyeon’s expression converts. While Juyeon furrows his eyebrows and asks him what he’s doing, Eric has his lockscreen on perfect display, HD in all dimensions, perfectly framed in the rectangular screen. The younger one turns the phone up against his nose. 

Juyeon would scold him, but his lips fall shut as the smile from dreams enters his sight once again. The picture is from a day in which the weather was warmer and the sun stood in complete limelight, cloud curtains out of view. A month has gone by, but somehow it feels as if glimpsing into a past life as he makes eye contact with the captured past. 

Juyeon takes the phone back, holds it in two hands. Eric sits quietly to observe Juyeon, and quickly sighs when the older doesn’t turn off the screen. Juyeon looks up, visible pout on his lips and fallen eyes, he consciously holds the phone while Eric falls back in his seat. 

“You still have her as your lockscreen?” 

He doesn’t answer. 

Eric sighs again, “Hopeless.” He widens his eyes, “Hopeless!”

Juyeon too leans back, letting the younger’s words drown him like the downpour. The screen close to his face again. Somehow, the longer he stares at it, he feels as if she will stand there again before him, like the spring they first met. But each night he longingly waits, but rain season never ends. 

-

At the last stop, where there’s only vague lights and dark roads. They walk under their own umbrellas. The shatter over the bus seems to haunt them wherever they go. From where cars and buses flashes beside each scenery, building walls close in on them. Each meter reaches beyond the next alley, how it feels as if the edge of the umbrella will make marks in the walls. 

It is quiet between them, Juyeon looks at Eric and observes the delicate details over his face. He smiles where the umbrella covers it. Some days, on the same street, Eric’s voice can echo past the last wall and reach further out to the sides where the signs extend. And other days, his imaginative world stays where it was born. Juyeon guesses it must have been a tiring day. 

An abrupt sound from a left alley draws a crack in the ambiance evening. Eyes of the two turn towards that vague litten path. Their sneakers cease to form circular patterns in puddles as their vision tries to reach in between the signs. At last, they finally see the figure of a girl moving backwards, away from someone on the other side as her hands extend against the wall. A shout echoes again and a man comes from the opposite side, charges against her and she pulls herself even higher up the wall. 

The two of them stand like nature in mid winter, frozen and left to watch the world. Eric’s eyes become wider when the man pulls off her raincoat hood, tauntingly gestures his hand to her face and takes a grip on her hair. The frown on Juyeon’s face reads. Though, none of them steps another foot into the alley. 

“Juy-” Eric whispers but his voice disappears when Juyeon walks forward. Each step on the stones becomes slower as he falls in line with the center. 

There’s a second presence underneath nightlife entrance. He catches sight of Juyeon first, shine of fine metal as he sharpens his eyes. Juyeon’s dispute in cautious surveillance as the man and girl shift towards him. As they lock eyes, Juyeon recognizes her features. It’s of manmade light, though, familiar as ever. 

“What do you want?” The one with turned back asks. 

Juyeon deliberately closes his hands around the umbrella, “Please, let go of her.”

The man scoffs, “It’s none of your business, Boy.” 

“I’m telling you to take a step away from her.” 

“As I said,” The man takes his hands off the wall, reiterating those words as he comes closer.

“It’s none of your business!”

The man forces his heavy arms on Juyeon’s shoulders. Lean his weight onto his palm until Juyeon falls backwards. His left foot comes behind the other, and his hand nearly loses the umbrella. Before he comes upon the asphalt, a hand on his collar obliges the rain to violently graze his face. 

At the same time, the girl walks off the wall. Contempt she takes her hand out to grip the man’s blazer. Though, before her fingers touch the black fabric, the second man comes behind her. The weight of his arm comes over her shoulders, coercing her knees to fall.

Juyeon, through the cruel grip in high angle, sees her struggle. He verges on violence, taking the loose end of his blazer and pulls him closer. But when the man loses balance, both his hands come over his shoulder. Weighed down on opposite sides, causing Juyeon to groan. Over him, he constraints Juyeon, forcing ground to pierce his back.

How the cold rain seeps through the clothing, soaks his skin until red and itches. As he tries to force his legs up, the man pushes his weight onto him harder, hands against his throat. Barely breathing, it’s enough to convert rain to stars, being buried six feet under. Each tear from the sky falls in his eyes and Juyeon irregularly closes them so as to make eye contact with the one above. 

“What will you do about it, Boy?” He taunts. 

Shirt scratches against the ground once more, a raindrop falls onto a middle point of his eyes. Juyeon trails his right hand onto the asphalt. Each sharp edge of the black stone seizes his skin and draws white patterns. He reaches for his pocket, desperately lifts on his body to make room for just a centimeter as water leaks into his clothing. Before his thighs weighs down his own, Juyeon gets the gun out. Takes his opposite from the ground, has the two of them on the trigger. With fully extended arms, he directs it towards his face, the hole as a third eye beneath him. 

He scoffs from above, “Like you will kill me either way?” 

Raincoats folding against each other to the left, as the other man holds Y/n down. His strong complexion covers Eric down the alley and Juyeon secures his eyes on the man. Pressure sores from the grinding teeth as his point finger shakes over the extinguisher. The rain falls down the matt material of the gun and down his skin. He curses the damn gun for being plastic as the man’s aggravation fuels constraint. A last taunt leaves his lips, rage when sunken to hell, crosses his chest as if by a knife, Juyeon pulls the trigger. 

Juyeon closes his eyes the moment the trigger transcend the boundary, and an ear piercing sound shocks between the high walls. Loss of vision, it feels as if the entire platform adheres to that wave. Once he opens his eyes, the shockwave has consumed all provoke. To trail the dust, it ascended and broke a street lamp, devastating the lucent. 

He distances himself, wide eyed, etched in terror, Juyeon lies still, seeing his pretense have grown ugly from the sudden shatter as the man takes two steps back. Juyeon finally sits up, rests his hand against the asphalt while still in condemnation. He tears it in a second to turn left. The girl holds the same posture as the two others, he realizes there’s no hands on her shoulders. Juyeon forces himself up, grabs her arm and collides shoulders with the man. He sees Eric standing at the same position as he left him and breathes til it hurts.  

“Run!” Juyeon shouts. 

-

He sees those windows he walks by everyday, and Eric accelerates his feet to fall in line with Juyeon. The younger takes him by the upper arm jacket and forces him to stop. 

“Where the fuck you get the gun?” Eric spits. 

Juyeon tears his arm away and looks at the streetlights in row. No stranger is present under the yellow light, so Juyeon looks back towards Eric and forces the gun lower in his pocket. 

“I found it in a paper bag, I didn’t know it was real.” He sighs, “I’ll get rid of it tomorrow, okay?”

Eric doesn’t argue further, instead takes a step back from the circle of light surrounding them. Eric stands with his back against him, head advancing in parallel to the ground as his wet shoes touch the dead grass in between the wall and asphalt. 

“Why did you do that?” 

Juyeon turns around, a thin layer of startle lies over the pupil and his chest still falls heavily from lack of air. He blinks a few times as the girl’s shoulders fall with her chin. Only a finite part of her features is visible in streetlight and the two boys wait for her in silence as she turns in her place and watches the obscure details of the wall. 

“I needed that job.” She says finally and looks up. The rain at her scalp runs down each strand until it forms a droplet at the edge. Until it lands on the skin beneath her eye.

Juyeon watches her cold written figure in fabricated light with mouth slightly agape, as if wanting to say something but no words are to use. The older feels a sudden push against his upper arm. To slip one dimension out of trance, he looks down where the wall becomes background and Eric waits impatiently. Eric’s left side leans continually towards her direction in haste, as his eyes widens. Juyeon stares at the action for a second, until returning, with the same expression as before but with a burden from the shorter. 

“I’m sorry…” Juyeon starts. She too face him, chin still a centimeter down and pupils drained of rain, or maybe worry. 

“...I thought you were in danger.” He focuses on the point where the worn down wall meets the asphalt and green complexion grows amidst. How his cold hand runs up to his neck where even his hair hasn’t been saved from downpour. There’s a sort of diversion in the way he looks down, seeming to stare at a point far away. As if it were a clear night sky with four constellations, he speaks again. 

“I shouldn't have assumed, I’m sorry.” 

Eric gives no part in sound, but still, nods his head gently. The girl at the other side of the faint circle, illuminated by the lamp, presses a faint smile. 

“You’re forgiven.” 

Juyeon looks up fully and as if another star convulsed, their expression shifts and her features are now in full view. How the moon in her veil has finally revealed the hidden side and the girl smiles fully. She shakes her head to make room for the skin concealed in strands. A filter in blue green light, enchanted by city night, conceal the space they stand in and she feels two leaves opening up its sides to reveal itself. 

“I’m Y/n.” she takes out her hand, cold as the other two’s. 

“I’m Juyeon.” He shakes her hand, “This is Eric.” And motions it to the younger. 

“Hello.” Eric says with a pressed smile. 

Y/n tilts her head, a visible change in angle as she looks at Juyeon then Eric. 

“Are you brothers or?” 

“Yes.” Eric says. Juyeon laughs awkwardly. 

“Not biologically, Eric’s my adopted brother and my mother passed away recently.” 

“Oh, sorry for your mother.” 

Juyeon shakes his head gently, “She had been sick for sometime, we take care of each other well, right Eric?” He touches his shoulder with his elbow which causes Eric to look up. 

“Mm!” He nods. 

Eric is eventually the one to ask Y/n to come in with them as the rain starts once again. Her raincoat is as wet as theirs and during the interval of their conversation, even puddles form beneath their coats. Y/n is the last one left in the bathroom. She stands with her hair above the tub, draining remaining water from her hair. Juyeon edges on the doorframe to the bathroom, looks at her with vast eyes before walking to his bed. He lends her a muted green set of clothing that he can’t remember from where. 

“You’re not from here, are you?” 

Y/n shakes her head in the bedroom. 

“I took the boat here.” 

“Where do you come from?” Juyeon asks, seated at the edge of the bed. His hands gathered at the front of his lap. Y/n looks down her own, takes the hem between two fingers before speaking. 

Her tone is gentle, birds sing in the arch of her, “I don’t think you’ll believe me.” 

"Why?" You can tell us.” He tilts his head. 

She wonder over the ceiling. Underneath this roof, it feels as if none can hurt her, “I’m not human.” 

Juyeon’s quiet, smiles cautiously to mirror her, “I-” 

His first thought is to reach out his hand and tell her she’s obviously wrong, but, there’s a certain rudeness in telling a mere stranger they have an incorrect idea about themselves. 

Y/n laughs, “Do you believe in gods, Juyeon and Eric?” She looks at the two beds. 

“No.” Eric answers immediately. 

“Then, I have to break it to you.” She looks at Eric, “I am the love Goddess.” 

“Yeah, and I’m a Unicorn.” Eric laughs. 

“Eric?!” Juyeon panics, in which Y/n laughs again. 

“Don’t worry about it, you don’t have to believe it.” 

Surrounded in conversations for a bit longer as her coat drips of rain still. The two of them come in on work, when Juyeon asks her. Y/n scratches her head as she tells him it was her only chance at a job. That nearly everything is gone after the city journey. Juyeon bites his lip and shifts weight in the bed as that hidden guilt echoes within.

“Can’t you start a service?” His sudden voice lingers over the hard floor. Y/n has her head in his direction, with eyes casted by the little lamp beside the mattress. Juyeon takes his hand on the edge of the bed and Eric watches from the opposite side how he settles onto his knees, further than a meter distance, but close enough for her to feel the wooden floor trail his motions in the contrasting sereness of Earth

“I mean,” Juyeon takes one hand on the floor and leans onto it.

“Say, you promise to people to put in their name and someone they like, that they’ll fall in love, in exchange you get money?” 

To deflect from the thin bridge created between them, Y/n returns to the hemline. Where the washed out fabric turns sparse, and because of the warm light from, the outline of her legs filters through the fabrication. The spot beside him becomes desolate as he takes his hand back to his own warmth, to rest with the other in the curve of his lap. 

“Maybe…” She answers without looking. 

Juyeon shifts his legs, he falls into a criss-cross position, “I mean, magic is profitable, people seem to like it.” He looks behind himself to point at Eric on the other bed, but stutters as his silhouette has fallen between the blue patterns, only his feet visible at the edge. 

“I-I see high school students with magic stones all the time.” 

Y/n smiles again. To bring her legs up from the floor and embrace them with her arms as she leans into the gap created by colliding knees. 

“It is one of the first rules as a god to not interfere with human life for personal gain.” She pauses, “I probably shouldn’t.” 

It turns silent once again, or, silence aside from the snoring coming from the bed in the corner. Then of course, a city is never fully asleep. He scratches his nape and diverts his vision to the dishwasher in the kitchen, “I’m sorry, I just feel really bad for the job thing.” His back falls towards the floor gently, but despite delicate, he hits it. As it lingers amid the inner four walls and trails to her end, she smiles and laughs. 

“It’s okay,” Y/n nods, “I’ll think about it.” 

“Is it true?” One of the girls, in high ponytail, wrapped in red silk band asks. 

Y/n nods, pushes the pink box one step closer over the table. She takes up the black marker, holds it out to them. With an encouraging motion of her hand and the calm line of her lips. Before the girl at the center touches hands with Cupid, Eric comes forward.

“You can get a free trial.” 

The peaceful features on her face, reminiscent of a spring morning, disappears like it has  run one season back. Her head shifts towards him in a second, eyes wide and begs him as to why he just uttered those words. Eric sees them, but looks away, just as calmly as he said that sentence. 

“Try for free and if it works, tell the others around the school.” He holds out his hand, “Deal?” 

The girl in center alternates intent with the two beside her. The gaze bridging between them must have sent some obsolete signals, Y/n think, cause after, she who has the pen reaches out her hand. Y/n, desperate, tells herself not to tremble when the girl takes a pink note. How the synthetic tip scratches against the dry paper surface, and after a few seconds, the girl lets the note fall into the liminal space seeping light into the box. 

Y/n watches in silence as they disappear out the door and follow their back silhouette as far as the windows down the hall let her. Y/n looks at him once again. Eric lifts his eyebrows as her eyes are intensely edged and while her left cheek seems to pout out a bit further than the right. 

“It’s business.” He says, “After you actually make them fall in love, the whole school will come rushing in here.” 

Y/n tilts her head back. Impatience bound through her veins when she feels as if the sun hasn’t risen another centimeter. Her arms across her chest as she thinks about dirty hostels and forbidden rules.  

Eric sighs and one of the backpack straps falls down his shoulder, “Trust me, rumors spread fast in here.” 

She nods, accepting the fact that the human beside her knows more than she does. 

- 

Only one more student came by that morning. They had allegedly built curiosity when a pink flier at the bottom of the stairs, written in bold letters with about four thousand hearts, crinkled when they opened the main entrance. Y/n was rather skeptical of the poster Eric gifted her. The A4 was the cleanest shade of white she had ever laid her eyes on, either way, when he asked why, she didn’t want to admit it was the rough edges of his lettering. Also, that her own wasn’t worth a duck feather pen in fine ink either. 

Eric said he needed to go to his next class. Y/n had taken a seat down one of the chairs beside a desk. She shifted her head where the sun struck his face, the warm filter over his complexion, reminded her of gold. He told her to lay low, even go to the cafe two buildings away if teachers control the flier pointing at room 233   . 

When she watched his silhouette fade from yellow tones and into shadows of the cold litten building. His back draped in navy fabric disappears behind the same wall as all four other people. As only the ventilation lingers between the dust and even the clock over the door stands frozen in time at 14:17, Y/n sighs and turns her head to the window. Staring worriedly at a point beyond the sky only she can see.

-

How the end of each shoe shatters against the floor as students pass by the windows of each classroom down the corridor. As the teacher neither sits on her own desk or stands before the chalkboard, all fabrics, bags and voices come in clusters, lined up against each corner and wall. 

A voice from the right side of the classroom, beside the window, draws his vision to them. At that corner of the room stands a group of four other boys. Eric waves before walking between the desks down the spot underneath the sunlight. 

“You’re late.” One indicates. 

“I’m always.” Eric laughs and lets the backpack fall off his shoulder. 

“But I saw you on the way here, you were with some girl?” The other in the group starts making noises and hitting his shoulder. Eric instead rolls his eyes. 

“She needed help, she’s my brother’s age either way.” 

The book in his bag comes up in height with Eric’s head, before he swings it against the one beside him. It lands on his chest and the other boys laugh loudly. Though, fades in a second when inpatient footsteps run down the hall and crash though the classroom frame. The entirety of the classroom has turned their heads to the one at the center of the chalkboard. It’s the football captain of the team. His hair stands shiverled, the one collar of his blazer is folded inside. At the same time, while all eyes are on him, he scans the panorama and stops when he sees the group furthest down to the left. 

His eyes light up in a way only described in fairytales. The curve of his lips and the breath of relief that go through them as he runs up to the group. The people surrounding that desk make room for him as he comes closer. On one of the chairs sits the girl who put her name in the pink box. Eric can only see the boy’s back but clearly each and every change in her facial features. It feels as if she hasn’t closed her eyes since he came before the desk. They sparkle reflection of his own and he finally speaks. 

“I walked past a flower shop yesterday, and I saw this, it reminded me of you so I ran and bought it.” He takes up a silk wrapped bouquet that takes up the entirety of his backpack. A gasp goes through the room, and the girl too, lacks air in her lungs as she hesitantly takes the flowers. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. 

“I love you, Lynn.” 

Whispers of excitement fill the four walls and dares to break through the window. Faintly beside him, Eric makes out that the four behind him start whispering too and laughs.He thinks of the paper down the stairwell and Y/n on the floor above. How he has maybe found God, placed in his mundane daily life. 

-

In the tear of afternoon Eric lets his bag levitate over the floor as he waits for the teacher to set the ending breath of her sentence. And the moment she does, Eric takes full step across the sharp edges of each desk and nearly falls over one. Out in the hallway, Eric runs, his figure covers the orange shade seeping through each window as he comes up the stairs, making the poster almost lose touch with frail plastic tape. 

At the second floor, he searches each frame that lets him glimpse through the transparency and into the room behind walls. And at the very end, where he left her before the class, her back stands against the bygone rectangle in sun bleached composition. Y/n turns from the school scenery and looks back at him. It could be the novel perspective he has gained that makes him biased, but he wonders if she knew his presence up the stairs before even this dimension let her hear it. 

Her features are peacefully drawn against her skin, not a single rule of tension as she questions his presence with vast eyes. 

“How did you do it?” Eric walks up closer to her. Y/n smiles and leans further against the window to watch the vague silhouettes and their shadow drawn across the concrete. 

“I told you, I’m not human.” She looks at him.

As voices from the entangled hallways underneath their feet reach their ears, Eric wonders if a change in perception will happen, if he lets the minute visor move one step further. Even Y/n’s expression alters. The younger one leans in a bit closer, his pupils seem to search for a fragment of something else, to make sense of her place in home he thought he knew. Y/n herself tense and with immense eyes, takes up her hands. 

Like a child taking its first step to explore the vast Earth, Eric reaches his finger out to touch her nose, then her cheek. Later the eyelid, force to close and open it which eventually makes Y/n take a step back and blink about three times in span of one. Y/n laughs slightly as Eric still observes her essence without blinking. 

A sharp sound, contrasting to the muted creaks of desks and old walls veiled in delicate old linen. Behind her back, an arrow that balances between the points of two fingers. She looks towards his face, not a single filter thrown over a feature of his astonished expression. Sun reflects onto it as it weighs in her hand, and she closes the space in between them as the arrow comes underneath his chin.

“So you believe me now?” Y/n asks, still smiling. 

How his eyes, comparable with the sun as they delights in curiosity. His fingers reach for the arrow, but hesitantly closes in on his chest before he looks up towards her again. Y/n nods gently and takes her hand closer and his fingers finally feel the thin line of the arrow. He takes it gently in two hands. Doesn’t quite force his fingers around it, as if a touch, merely a frequent stronger would tear it. 

“Yeah!” He breathes out, “Yeah, I do!” 

Y/n opens her mouth to speak once again, but a knock against the frame from the opposite side takes their attention away. Where the sunshine cast itself the clearest, stands another girl and a friend slightly behind. The girl’s hand on the lining, she looks behind her shoulder before back at Y/n. 

“I saw your poster, I heard you can make people fall in love.” The girl takes her shoulder bag to her font and reaches for the pocket. Between folding of materials and crinkles of keys, the girl extends her arm with a bill. 

“We want to try.” 

As the limited day hours come on its last ones in winter, Eric and Y/n look at each other. The younger enthusiastically nods when her eyebrows fall into a state of trouble. Hesitantly, Y/n nods towards him and takes the place behind the desk and slides two pink notes across the surface. 

“Of course!” 

Winter reeks off the flooring and spreads up her skin. She holds her legs tighter against her body as each bill and silver coin touches the cold floor. With the last gray metal circle in place, she extends her back and scans the paper in thousand folds. Y/n bites her lip with her face down towards her lap, and her back still as a first impression when someone comes through the door. 

Thin plastic bindings whisper in the hall. Juyeon takes off his shoes at the door frame, chin directed against Y/n’s back underneath the counter. His fingers don’t find the laces and he takes his eyes off for a second. Eric lies in bed, with his phone and Juyeon sighs quietly before letting the plastic bag up on the square table. 

“Eric, you need to do your homework.” Juyeon tilts his head to get even a vague coloration. 

“I’ll do it soon.” Eric answers. 

To fold down the white synthetic filter, Juyeon looks down at Y/n again. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks. 

Y/n looks up with vast eyes that fall in usual size once again. She presses a smile between her lips and trails the line between the wood. 

“I’m a little worried.” She says, though she quickly breathes again as his hands come off the bag. 

“It’s not a lot though, the hostel is just getting more expensive. The money isn’t quite enough yet.” Y/n turns back to the three bills and two coins. 

“You can stay here.” Eric’s voice comes from the other end. The two of them look at him, now fully extended over the covers. The sheets drape over his shoulders and legs while the blue light from the screen illuminates his face. She returns in direction and sees Juyeon looking at her with the identical vast eyes as her own. Y/n looks away, she realizes Eric’s complexion isn’t as daunting. 

“Can’t she?”

“It’s okay I don’t-” Y/n answers, but Juyeon intervenes.

“No, you can stay.” 

Y/n turns to him fully without words, stares at him as he looks away and scratches his neck. It’s still quiet when he remembers the plastic bag left on the table and starts to empty it. 

“Are you sure?” Y/n hesitates. At first thought, she doesn’t want to intrude on the line she already feels like bordering. Contrary, she thinks going around the streets would be ruthless. Juyeon nods and she looks over towards Eric. 

“You too?” 

“Of course, Juyeon’s starting to get on my nerves either way.” He sighs and falls back onto the pillow. The tone itself was nearly bounding on a desire to become three in the house rather than specifically having her settle in. 

“Hey?” Juyeon’s hands tangle themselves in the thin synthetic while he tries to get them out. His head leans dramatically to one side while Eric has let the pillows impose around him again.

“I understand that.” Y/n crosses her legs and leans back on her arms, “Don’t worry, Eric, I’ll keep you entertained.” 

Juyeon holds a sort of offended expression as she laughs and Eric comes up the fabrics again. 

“You’re a high schooler, you just hangout with friends either way.” Juyeon sulks. 

“Doesn’t matter, Y/n’s cooler than you.” 

“How?” He walks over to Eric’s bed, letting his arms hang low as he stands above the younger and his fringe fall upon. 

“She’s literally a god, and you don’t even have a girlfriend.” He moves his hand. 

Eric sees from beneath his figure how it forms a gap between Juyeon’s lip, but quickly disappears. As the older has learnt there is no pride left in fighting with the teenager, Juyeon shifts in direction and with the help of his socks, slide defeated against the floor, back to the plastic bag. 

-

All three of them folded out two lonesome blankets scattered in the apartment. It lay on the carpet in the center of the two bed’s. Y/n sat down on the blankets to touch the pillow, but Juyeon insisted on her sleeping in his bed. It took some persuasion, but he smiles so sincerely and talks tenderly that no God could replicate. She accepted and sat on the bed edge. Eric gave her a worn down pajama set from years ago. 

Juyeon’s eyes follow her figure, walking away as he stands with his hands awkwardly to the sides. 

“The shirt is buttoned wrong.” Her vision from the bedroom, back to the kitchen. He stands still, takes one hand to his neck, scratches it gently before letting it fall down to his own shirt. His fingers draw outlines of details of her own and she looks down to see the overlap in fabric, each button forcing the other side higher. 

“Oh.” Y/n frees the first button from the fabric, but it stays in between her fingertips as there is no place to secure it. Juyeon takes a cautious step forward. Where his feet land it makes no creaks and the fall off a button is the loudest thing in the room. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Y/n instantly comes to the floor and takes up the missing piece from Eric’s shirt. She looks up to him apologetically with the plastic piece hidden in her palm as she reaches her arm towards him. 

“It’s okay.” He takes the button, then walks over to the kitchen counter. Y/n watches how he opens one of the pantries and takes out a transparent pouch with orange highlights. 

“I’ll help you.” He smiles, identical as the sunset shine in winter. It casts cold over skin where there’s no button to cohere fabric. Y/n nods and they walk to his bed, sit by the edge. Y/n’s closest to the pillow end and watches how he opens the zipper to take up a thin needle and a roll of white thread. Juyeon sees her attentive eyes on his hands between the motions. The white thread comes through the metal end and he cuts it off with scissors. Juyeon holds his hands in between them, hesitantly reaching for the open fabric. He locks eyes with her again. 

“Is it okay that I?” With no more than a timid hand motion, he asks. But Y/n understands. She smiles and straightens her posture, separating the front and hair with her hands. Juyeon smiles awkwardly with his lips pressed against each other and the opposite ends curl upwards. He takes the folded edge of the fabric delicately between two fingers and leans closer to her chest. When the sharp end filters the backside, his hand brushes against her skin. Juyeon holds his eyes on that spot on the shirt, but really, her warm breath drapes his head in summer mist. 

After the button falls in a vertical line with the others, Juyeon lies the needle down. He looks at the two sides of the shirt, shriveled and folded in different heights. Y/n herself, once again looks down her front and follows the line, how the fabric separates from the other side. Halfway through, she buttons again, but Juyeon sees instantly how she’s one level too high. 

“I…” His body still in the same place, to attentively listen to the folds in the sheets as to remind himself not to come closer. Juyeon takes his hands onto the end fabric. He coerces together to seal the shadows casted by moonlight onto her skin, their hands brush against each other. The distance between them is incredibly insignificant, in a way that lets her scent intertwine with his own and he hides his face by looking at the hemline. 

His head right underneath her chin, his hair smells delicate, of morning in blooming spring. The top of his head reflects the moon and his faint breath damp on her skin. 

“And it’s done-” 

A sound in greater volume than anything else in the apartment erupts from the other side. Y/n stands up as Eric comes out from the bathroom, his silhouette darker from the warm light coming behind him. Juyeon’s hand diverts back to his own sides. His head slightly tilted up to continue to watch her face and make out the expression above. 

Eric walks through the frame, it creaks slightly as he falls down the covers. Y/n looks again where Juyeon observes her with eyes, reminiscent of the cityscape playing outside. It shines across and paints the brown pupil in a cold color. She smiles slightly and takes another step. 

“Thank you.” She says gently. 

-

When shoes scratch against the hallmat and two voices he has recorded in a secluded part of his brain intertwines, Juyeon leans forward on toes to let a glimpse of their figures reach from the thin wall. He takes a step before the dividing part of the rooms and stares in silence over the rain consumed. Their hair lies slick against their heads and the thin surface of a droplet holds itself like tears underneath their eyes. Soon gathers a darker blemish by the hemline. 

Juyeon immediately runs up to them and feels the water spread from the floor up to his socks. To let his hands immerse in cold rain across the coat arms as he forces them to the bathroom. Though, Y/n insists to wait until Eric’s done as the four walls impend onto them as they stand all three before the bathtub with the sink piercing against their backs. 

Eric sees his reflection in the bathroom mirror, starts violently shake his hair to let off the residing water running down his head. The two others shouts, arms covering their faces to ensure any warmth left on their skins in the bathroom. Y/n let her vision through the passage created by the coat arms when Eric’s laugh parallel between the high ceiling. She feels his arms collide onto her own as he points at Juyeon. The water divided into pairs runs down his forehead, to after his lips. Fringe has fallen flat onto his eyes as the water weighs heavy and all collects at the neck of his shirt as a dark stain. Y/n too, starts to smile before falling into laughter together with Eric. Juyeon stands as if anchored to the bathroom mat pressing his lips in. 

As some minutes in the room pass, they stand three in row with the last person out the hall. Y/n on the floor at the borderline where the bathroom goes to hall, she sits crisscrossed while Eric stands on knees behind her. The coarse fabric of the towel onto her head as Eric treats it like laundry. And at the top of the three stories stands Juyeon, still drenched, more than the others maybe, drying off the excess in Eric’s hair. 

All has dried and the used towels together with the raincoats decorate the bathtub wall. Eric walks to the kitchen as Juyeon tells him there’s soup and Y/n even out the flooded ends of the clothing. Turn around to face the mirror and walk out the door, she stands with her feet in touch with Juyeon’s and the separation between their faces, so trivial that one might condense in another's arm. 

At once, when her essence affects his own, he takes a step back and lifts his arms. There is no distance left and in an instant the cold sink hits his back and Juyeon lets out an ache. Y/n laughs silently and Juyeon turns from the floor up to her face that reeks of lucent perfection. 

“You look like a wet cat.” She laughs gently before reaching down the tub wall. Beside her calf rests an additional towel which she takes and casts over Juyeon’s head. 

Like the fringe of his, it ends just above his eyes and the pupils, infinite golden, look through the opening onto her. Juyeon slightly bends his head down and takes his shoulder closer to his own essence. He tries to hold his eyes open, onto her face that is so close for the first time in his life, but as she follows the wet trails, he closes his eyelids and convulses when she touches his skin down the neck. His head falls back and he whines slightly in which Y/n laughs. 

“Stop being sensitive, Juyeon.” She teases and her arms come above his shoulder and around his head to reach the hair furthest down. Her upper body closes in on his and where the cold water has fallen and fabrics cling onto his skin, he feels warmth. 

“Sorry…” Juyeon says weakly. The spotlights in the ceiling highlight the fragments of rose red around his cheeks. Her existence is so close to his own that he thinks they might merge. Somehow, he curiously opens his eyes to see her still damp hair, reminiscent of early spring. But has to close his eyes over and over. 

Three days outside the window have been in constant motion and the three of them are still in that apartment. Though, for each day Y/n has walked with Eric to school, more students turn attention in the early morning as she walks up the stairs to the second floor. As the pink notes come down to the table surface faster and faster, she has this sensation in her stomach. It grows during silence and when Eric’s at class. It turns into vague whispers and overpowers the ventilation in the right upper corner. It has her out the window and searching for the sun, but at the same time, there’s something so fascinating in watching how the students hold onto their friends as they disappear down the stairs. 

How lovely it is to come in so close contact with love, she thinks. Each sight has her desperately wishing for another and when she hits the arrows bow in two hearts, she runs to the other side to stand at the window front and watch how the world stops for only a second as they make eye contact for the first time. 

Though, as Eric told her. Whispers between the hallways and notes passed between seats. A single motion that sets the butterfly wings in action, spreads winds around the school and she thinks there is only a lone push before someone other than a student comes up the stairs and sees her. 

Y/n sits on the carpet in their apartment during friday afternoon. The warm lamp spreads its familiar light. She counts her bills and coins, and surely has started to build a small tower that goes beyond two centimeters over the flooring. Her palms lean to each side and impend above the paper and silver.  She coerces it all to a pile where the bended edges are in opposite directions. As all the flat slides lie together in her hand and she takes the paper bag, she feels a weight on her own shoulder. A warmth only created by another existence in this season. 

Y/n takes her sight up, onto the only enhanced in the lingering exhaustion of another turn around the world’s axis. At first impression of the scene beside her, she can only see his legs, like delicate lace in the orange light, but as chin touches his silk hair and the scent touches her face. Y/n sees the facial features from upon, the bridge of his nose in between the hair strands. 

Juyeon suddenly perk up. To meet eyes from different directions and see the faint shine in the inner corner from opposite perspectives. Y/n doesn’t speak, but her eyes search his own deeply and when nothing in them seems to gift her question, they follow the shadowed lines down his face to his lips. 

“I feel cold, Y/n.” The weight of his head becomes heavier. 

“I’m not that warm either.” She says gently, still with her hands on the pile. 

Whispers of the apartment and breathing from the alive city, details around them become louder. He finally sighs.

“I don’t know what to do…” His voice mirrors the weak body across her side. Juyeon’s eyes follow the dim corners where lamps can’t reach. Behind the table, against the paper thin wall to divide the bedroom, there is no outline of floor patterns or discolorations. The world sort of fades into that corner. Like the rest of the universe on a certain crossing, falls out of our sight.

Onto his empty chest where he thought nothing could ever reach again, a light pressure of palms to fingers, graze by the shirt before the whole palm encapsulates his sole heart. Juyeon slowly lets his eyes off the horizon at the end of the room and leans his head where her shoulder and neck ends. He watches how she scours his chest from above and feels her hand blur into the chest. 

“Heartbreak.” She hums softly and lets her hand cease over his heart. 

Juyeon still looks up, “You can feel it?” 

Y/n nods and turns to his eyes. The paper between her left hand, she lets them down onto the floor and pushes the rest of them to the side. Her free hand takes his head delicately and his weight off her shoulder. Juyeon complies with her tenderness until his head settle between her lap. His heart, moon touched, and slowly her fingers come in between his hair and in gentle motions brushes. 

To carefully not let his entire body weight on her physical bindings. Though, with that thought he still closes his eyes and feels the hemline of her midnight shirt brush against his cheek. The lids over his eyes open once again and he, in a careful state of trance, watches the slight knit between her eyebrows. His eyes, immense and illuminated, picks apart the features and tilts his head slightly, making the shirt come up her thigh. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks suddenly. Y/n locks eyes with him. Strands fall like rosen vines beside his head. 

Y/n turns back to his chest and stares in wonder over that spot underneath her hand. 

“It’s still very painful…it’s recent?” 

Juyeon lets the night echo along for a moment longer. Her hand in touch with the temperate fabric of his shirt, reaching for the deepest part of his own existence. It stays to be the most audible thing in the room. But somehow, there’s imminent, much greater weight bound between the ceiling and floor. He takes his eyes off her hand and falls back into the crater which her legs create. 

“It was a month ago.” He speaks in a same volume as the detailed city spreading from all directions and encompasses them. 

“She broke up with me, we had a lot of arguments. But we finally stood outside this apartment, and she told me that I don’t make her happy anymore.” Juyeon breathes in, “That there's no love left to give, its run dried.” His head falls to its side and her calf brushes against his cheek. 

How even the pictures from June, where the stone plates hidden in shadow wished to feel like winter as they ran past the piercing sunlight between the green leaves, aches his heart. All the Earth layers pass through him until he ends up at the very last. 

“Your heart hurts a lot, Juyeon.” She watches with knitted eyebrows, the invincible piercing feeling beneath her hand, spreads across her palm. She turns her eyes to him. The tension binding her features disappears slowly, cause; of his delicate expression, painted in care. Another passage of silence.

She whispers and tilts her head, “But you’ll be fine.” 

“I will?” He says with a low voice and immense eyes. 

Y/n closes her eyelids and opens them up again to take apart the faint layer of shine before the pupil. To lean in closer as to see the reflection grow clearer in the curvature.

“I can’t see why?” She tilts her head again before falling back into place, “But in the near future, your heart will heal.” 

He’s quiet for a second, “Are you sure?” 

Y/n nods and suddenly smiles. How the cold sensation of his sick heart falls into fragments when her fingers run through his strands. 

“I’m the love Goddess afterall.” 

The past days, the sun has done a heavy weather rotation around Earth in a perfect instant. Though, somewhere between night and day, the three of them realize it's time to evolve their business. Each dust accumulated over years in waiting has permanently varnished her clothes. The constant sequence of students that runs up the stairwell makes whispers in the hallways, rumors about the ‘woman in the abandoned classroom’ makes it out on student social media.

 Any moment, a post on one of the internet cafes will rise to the top, Eric told her one evening. Y/n uncomfortably took the sheets higher up her shoulders then, but he told her one could fear the inevitable curiosity towards her, or profit off it. His idea was to force the service out of the dusty school and that all three stand on a meeting point beside the city river. Eric sat beside her in the bed and threw off the covers to stand up. She watched how he took the loose pieces of his nightshirt and elongated them like what she assumed was wings. 

“And we’ll have costumes like real sellers do.” He said. 

“Will that really work?” She asked him with a skeptical expression, in which Eric jumped back into the bed. 

“Promise, back in first year of high school, we needed to sell cookies. My friend had a cookie monster costume on for two weeks straight while we told people to buy outside the mall.” 

Y/n’s quiet. 

“We sold the most of any in our class.” 

That night, Y/n didn’t really tell Eric that as long as the moon shines on Earth, there will be a constant light upon her, trailing her steps along the asphalt. That she has during this time, become a traitor of the heaven’s and time.

But because that night passed too, the three of them stand in the metropolitan mall. A city where everyone lives or wishes to. In the vertical path down to the opposite end of the white structure, they are. Glass windows with electric doors down every path and five floors that hound above them. Despite an seemingly endless amount of space, the marble floor is nearly invincible when shoes run like tidal waves above it. 

Y/n stands in trance with her head up to watch the banners come down on them from the highest floor. The golden light doesn’t cast itself like sunset as the artificial studio light leaves no corner hidden. But by a certain tilt of one's head, the heart of the light bulb, a shimmer closer to a star during night, reaches the pupil. 

“I know a good store.” Eric says and takes one step forward, “It’s not expensive there either-” 

Though Juyeon forces him to reverse as he reaches out his hand. Juyeon turns to see Y/n beside him, gaping at the high ceiling and he gently intertwines his other hand with hers. 

“You have your phone on, Eric?”

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“My ringtone gives me panic attacks, should we go or not?” 

“I-” 

“We don’t have all day!” Eric takes the lead by stepping into the crowd. Juyeon comes quickly after and naturally forces Y/n to stop staring at mall decorations. Two different entrances later and a desire to desperately rip off every last layer of clothing, the three of them stand in the store cluster which Eric pointed at. The youngest insists deeply on a store with massive red signs across the windows, indicating an illegally low price, meanwhile Juyeon argues back that it’s smarter to get actual costumes from the party-hell-store next door. 

Democracy isn’t on Eric’s side since Y/n stands with wide eyes, still with Juyeon’s hand in hers. Clearly she didn’t have much of an opinion as her answer when Eric tried to get her on his side was what the hell is a costume supposed to be? As Eric’s store windows had white tees and colored jeans, Juyeon pointed at a mannequin in hot dog costume. 

“They just have stupid stuff there.” Eric complains as they walk into the party store.

“You don’t have to choose the hot dog costume.” Juyeon answers. 

They reiterate the plan and pass the paper plates and party hats down the clothing aisle. Immediately, Juyeon walks to the corner and Y/n watches as Eric stops before her. 

“I want to be a devil.” Eric takes up the rectangular plastic bag. Y/n leans over and sees the model in an awkwardly cut suit, pants with way too tight seams that ends above the ankles, and, the cherry on top, a dejecting pair of plastic vibrant red devil horns.

“No one goes to the devil for love advice.” Y/n complains and continues down the aisle. At the furthest end of the costume section, Juyeon stands between the plastic bags. He holds two different ones, the right one he lifts up so that the spotlight in the ceiling shines atrociously on it. 

For every step she expects to see the awareness in his face as he looks to her side. But instead, he stands with a slight pout while still holding the plastic bag in front of his face. Y/n smiles as she’s a little less than a meter away. To lean on her toes to reach over, catch a glimpse of the front model. 

“Is this how I’m supposed to look?” Y/n tilts her head as she looks at the woman on the front wrapping of the fabrics. Synthetic wings falling off the back with an even cheaper shine over the arrow and bow. The little white dress is dull, though short as the hem ends mid thigh. 

“No, you’re prettier." His answer comes close at the end of her own sentence. His eyes aren’t on hers when he says it, he too looks at the model picture of the packaging. Y/n turns to look at him when his face is still in usual saturation and pout visible.

“Really?” Y/n tilts her head and can’t help but break into a smile. Juyeon looks up and views intertwine. That rose blush stains his skin once again and he scratches the back of his hair profusely. He takes a step back, laying his hands on her shoulders from behind. To turn her head to still watch him, he disappears from her sight and instead, feels a warm weight on her back. The waves of his voice perceive that spot beneath her hair when he speaks. 

“Go and try it on.” His voice is in faint volume as he starts pushing her shoulders gently. 

Y/n laughs, “Okay.” 

At the left direction he prod her, reside three high rectangles in row. Y/n opens the one closest to her and walks in. After she forces the curtain to divide, she hears Juyeon’s voice outside, ensued by a familiar whine. Y/n smiles for herself when the metal rings at the edge hit against the railing as Juyeon tries to force Eric in. 

At last, the velvet closes, and soon, the adjacent walls uncover. Juyeon stands a meter away, watches how Y/n lifts the fabric over her head and the hem takes some of her hair with it. Her feet stay serene, looking down her front while her fingers compress the chemical fibers. 

“I think it’s too big.” She looks up at him. Arms fall to its sides together with the flat line dress. Juyeon’s lips form to speak, but precisely, it intersects with Eric who extracts the curtain and walks out. The shirt reaches down his wrists and radiates an agonizing white shade, the pants, in same shade, drape over his legs. Lastly, the tiny wings and plastic bow in his hand. The halo in his hair sits tilted, folded at the center, beaming in the store light over his displeasure. 

Juyeon and Y/n are silent at the closing seconds of his entrance. But the visor alternate another minute and the two burst out laughing at the same time. Their silhouettes bend to the floor and cover their laughter with right hands. And if the knit between Eric’s eyebrows couldn’t get tighter, even his lips press harder. 

“But you look really cute, Eric.” Y/n coos and walks to him. The side of her palm perceives the veil over his shoulder. He looks down towards her, causes the halo to shake and Y/n laughs again. 

“I’m serious!” She takes the other hand, where she too has a bow, on his opposite shoulder. Eric lets the thin line on his lips loosen a little as Y/n assures him. Though he hears a giggle a meter away, shift to see Juyeon’s phone in their direction. 

“Hey!” The younger runs over to Juyeon who lifts the phone to the ceiling. The little plastic halo above his head flutters as he stands on tip toes while reaching for the screen. 

“No, it’s so good!” Juyeon still laughs and takes the phone behind his back. Eric is left with that same complexion of oddenment on his features as the two laughs. 

“I think it looks good.” Juyeon says after. He points at the ill fitting dress on Y/n but acknowledges Eric got the right size. He says they should go to Eric’s store and get a better white dress. 

“Aren’t you gonna dress up?” Eric throws at Juyeon. 

“You should too.” Y/n complains and points at him with the bow, “We look like idiots, you need to look like one too.” 

Juyeon glance the room and takes a step back, “But I didn't find any in my size.” He affirms with high arms.

“Bullshit, just be an ancient myth man.” Eric, deadpans. 

“There’s no myth man costume.” Juyeon says confused. 

“Then we make one.” 

-

“Isn’t this one lovely?” 

Juyeon looks up and sees Y/n between two racks of aisles. In her hands, a white baby blue dress that she puts against her front as if wearing it. The lace excess attached to the skirt and half length sleeves imitate her own twirls. 

The coloration with his hands falls to the sides as she looks up towards him. Her eyes fixated on him after her question. Juyeon opens his mouth, but takes a breath and his free hands come up the back of his neck. Scratching lightly as he looks towards another aisle with transparent bags. Groups of young girls run past them and he shakes his head, therefore, the fringe comes before his eyes, making his pupils hide in between shadows of his strands. 

“It’s really pretty.” He says shyly and smiles, takes a step closer and forces his chin up a bit higher, “You’re really pretty in it.” 

Y/n takes her palm towards the stomach of the dress and looks down, “You’re honest?” She laughs. 

The hand quickly falls off his skin and top the side of his thigh. The pink coloration saturated into his cheeks are still in full view, but his lips turn pressed and downward. Just as his eyes grow wider and he eagerly nods his head. The strands of his hair follow those precisions and he continues to speak while it falls further. 

“You are.” He repeats in a clear tone which makes her laugh again. 

“Okay, then, I believe you.” 

-

Once the afternoon stood on its last hours, all three had found their costumes. Y/n in a white dress that accumulates at the writs where it tights into a ribbon before the remaining fabric folds out like a flower. It sat under the paper poster for the early spring collection. Juyeon got a shirt in a similar edition. The details on both sort of seamlessly intertwine. When taking a quick look in the passing window stores, the two seem to share sensibility. And then of course, Eric as a baby cupid. 

Juyeon’s hair was in need of a change since the shirt alone couldn’t disclose the intentions behind. He suggested a lovely braid to form around his head, though, neither of the three knew how to braid. Because of that, they sat forty five additional minutes at the mall beside different baby strollers. Juyeon had searched up a braid tutorial, held it before his face, Beside him sat Y/n on her knees and constantly switched from looking at his hair and screen. The result was of partial essence from the original, and with a yellow bouquet they bought before walking, Juyeon looks rather like a flower boy at a wedding than fantastical character. 

At the center of a meeting platform before the river, they stand in line. The yellow flowers together with the synthetic wings on their backs are taken by the wind. Youth in close knitted groups and couples walking hand in hand pass by the metal railing and the bridge connecting to the opposite side. All three have a box of their own and with a breath or two, they separate from the mit and walk over the frozen concrete paving in late afternoon. 

As the unknown always has people afraid, not many notes land in the bottom of their boxes. But as the sun comes down the sky and closes in on the rooftops, people their age become intrigued by the enchantment and put their name together with a bill. As such, pictures of plastic wings spread around corners of the internet with rumors about the magic. 

- 

As the person before her walks to the left, Y/n waves gently as their figure becomes another someone in the crowd. With no close frame in sight, the sun that edges on the horizon, spreads its pink coloration above her vision. Her hand holds the box as a wind comes from the right direction of the city and intertwines itself into her hair. The white fabric of the sheer skirt touches against her skin and the plastic wings lean towards the bridge. And as if the wind became gifted, to affect the significance, a clear pathway towards the edge of the river opens up. 

How both the start and end of a bridge captures in a total frame. The dividing sides of the city in opposite parts of her rectangular vision. Y/n takes a breath and lets the setting sun in final clear sky complete the hues on her face.

When her eyes arrange the disposition and total focus settles onto a silhouette. Y/n’s grip around the box falters and the incoming wind might take the rest of her essence with it this time. The cheap chiffon fabrics wrapped around his body shines of white, just as his close orbit. Though the pigment, only parts of his features stand in highlight as the rest in shadow from the rosy hue above. 

Y/n moves her head suddenly, forcing the loose strands before her eyes to fall towards the side profile. Slowly she takes a step down the clear path, follows the lines in between frozen cracks to where he leans over the railing. Juyeon has his eyes set on a vague point on the horizon. When she, too, stands beside him, she follows the imaginative line of his pupil and fails to make out the disoriented city lines. 

Y/n turns to him, “I haven’t asked you yet.” 

Juyeon turns to her with vast eyes. 

“If you want to write a name.” She holds the pink cardboard box out for him. Her hand shortens distance, but there is still a void to be completed. He stands silent. Let each passing conversation fill that space up until it becomes vague from another direction. The motions in the river, it comes up against the stone they stand on before changing tide. Juyeon looks at Y/n and smiles like he always does as he shakes his head gently. 

She tilts her head. Curiously wander to the pupil of his eye and search for entrance into his mind, but there’s nothing to open. With his aching heart underneath his throat, Y/n expected a certain answer from him, an answer most humans would give. She smiles as wonder entrances her mind when thinking about his own. 

“Okay.” Y/n answers in her usual tone. Take the box back to her own side and like Juyeon, let a part of her weight lean against the metal railing. 

A couple walks them by, hand in hand towards the other bridge in far sight. Juyeon follows them until the color of their shirts fades in between the others. His eyes fall back on Y/n’s frame. Her profile towards the reflection in the water and he contemplates in silence before asking. 

“What happens to all the names people write down?”

Y/n faces him as the question spreads into all directions over the river surface, and when it maybe reaches the opposite end, Y/n stops to tilt her head. 

“They fall in love…or what do you mean?” She knits her eyebrows. 

Juyeon shakes his head and smiles. Watch the scenery behind him where the buildings soar above the open platform and lovers walk hand in hand. Eric sits on a bench, further away, with a stranger probably his own age by the parallel complexion. 

“Do they just fall in love forever or…” to attentively consider details of expressions and body language, his own skin brushes against the cold railing.

“No, they don’t” Y/n shakes her head. 

“Most will probably fall out of love in a week or so…” The curves of her lips have become amicable, he remarks, when Y/n looks at him.

“Maybe one or two couples go on for some months.” 

Juyeon tilts his head, arm over the railing and the weight of his body advances onto it. The flicker between the colors of his eyes reaches for another one, just like it. But at the edge of finding it, she turns her chin down where waves return from the stone, and another wind pulls fabrication before their sight. 

“Why?” He asks curiously. 

Y/n purses her lips in. Her essence stands on physical space but the fragments of thoughts, collecting her being, solely wanders somewhere else. 

“I don’t know why.” The tone is disheartening, “I wish I knew too.” 

“You don’t?” he says surprised, “You’re the love God.” 

“Yeah,” She smiles, “but I’m not good at being one.” 

“Is that’s why you’re here?” He asks gently after silence. 

Y/n’s quiet and completely still for a moment before nodding without giving him a glance. 

“People are getting heartbroken all the time and aren’t finding love, and I can’t figure out why.” She pauses, “Mother’s angry at me.” Y/n lets her chin fall onto the railing and she leans over the cold metal and watches the sun go behind the horizon. 

“I don’t want to live like that, especially since I can’t even do the only thing I was created for.” 

Another silent passage in time, she speaks again. 

“And your breakup last month was probably also because of me.” She looks at him with a smile but eyes of starshine, on the edge of its own death, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“It is.” 

“There’s eight billion people, that’s a lot to put on one person.” 

She looks at him, still leaning on the railing.

“I mean, one being.” He corrects. 

Y/n smiles again in which he too does. 

“You know, for humans you’re never perfect at first try.” He looks out over the river, “For all the professionals, more than talent, they train over and over again.” She looks at him and he stutters while scratching his neck. 

“What I’m trying to say is,” He squints, “Practice makes perfect, you’ve never experienced human life until now, of course it’s confusing.” He pauses and takes a step closer. The view of him comes higher up.

“If you want, I can help you.” Another wind passes, while the same rose color against the sky transmits over to his cheeks.

“Teach you what human love is like,” When she still isn’t speaking he takes a irregular breath, “I’ve had two girlfriends before, a lot of dates, I’m very experienced so you don’t have to-” 

“Okay, I want you to teach me.” Y/n laughs. He closes his mouth once he realizes the diffuse pace of wording. Though, smiles as her clothes strive free with the next breeze. Juyeon’s relieved as Y/n has visibly fallen interested in a shape at the other end. Only in need of his voice to affirm the color, not his red stained warm cheeks.

To a change of a digit by the “Sunday '' written on the phone. Y/n opens her eyes to see morning filtrate through the curtains. Her hands come behind her posture to force herself off the layers of cloth. At Eric’s bed at the other end of the same corner, he lies spread out in total absence. His face is buried within the pillow and his right leg has fallen off the bed and touches the floor. 

Without any sort of considerable intentions, Y/n looks down beside the bed. The thin mattress is still out with an imprint among the creases of the sheet. Despite being devoid of any life, a trail of essence aviates above it. The disarray of plates stacking comes from the open kitchen. Y/n looks towards the window and sees Juyeon roaming through the shelves. 

She herself lets the covers come off her body and accumulate beneath the pillows. With each one of her steps, a creak course through the flooring. With the ceasing distance in intervention, Juyeon feels the faint change on the spot he stands on when her presence comes closer. He looks away from the shelf and sees Y/n, her right hand is up before her eye and he smiles like he always does to her. 

“Good morning, Y/n.” 

“Good morning,” She answers in a quiet tone. 

“Did you sleep well, Angel?” He asks while he lets his head fall down to the counter as he groups in spoons and chopsticks. Y/n blinks a few times and stares at his side profile as he opens the cabinet beneath. 

“Angel?” She tilts her head and Juyeon looks back at her. 

“Yeah, Angel?”“I always used Love, but I think you fit Angel better.” 

“Oh, okay.” She tilts her head still and squints her eyes at his frame. He seems to detail that there’s something still left to be said, so he looks back at her again. 

“Am I supposed to call you something too or?”

She asks him with genuine perplexity and he remembers again, that she’s not human. He smiles. How magical, he thinks, that someone that bears on enchantment and bliss to change his state of life in seconds, stands before him. Juyeon has never really believed in gods, even now he isn’t particularly drawn to religion, but Y/n in her otherworldly enchantment but relatable demeanor seems to come beyond any sort of devotion. 

“Only if you want. It’s called pet names, it's common between couples.” 

Her eyes widen, “People see each other as pets? Like those dogs they’re out walking?” Y/n gestures with her hand onto the floor. The new information is rather unsettling, how much of the human love she didn’t understand, she thinks. 

Juyeon laughs and comes closer to her, “No.” He takes his hands onto her shoulders while her eyes are still appalled. 

“Or some couple out there probably. "But not most.” 

“Why pet names?” 

He thinks, “I don’t know, it’s cute? Pets are cute, so you’re cute.” 

“Okay.” Y/n seem to only half accept his explanation. 

“Can I still just call you Juyeon?” She asks. 

“You can,” He pouts, “Though, no one has ever given me a pet name.” 

She smiles, “No one?” 

“I always ask them to give me one, but they don’t.” He sulks. 

“I like your name, it’s pretty. I think it fits you.” 

The picture before her, as she’s still in his hands. The sprout from which his hair blossoms, faces her, but in the ending sequence of her sentence, his face comes up in height with hers. The sulk, seized by the floor. He smiles again in which she tilts her head. 

“You’re really simple, Juyeon.” She laughs and takes a step back. By the nature of the motion, his hands fall off her shoulders. Juyeon stands in vertical posture once again and concentrates on the ends of his lips, so as to not pout again. 

“I’m not.” He says quietly. Before he turns his head back to the counter, though, Y/n catches the remote sulk formed underneath his nose. 

Sometimes through the hits against the counter surface and pans, they hear Eric turn sideways and wrap his body in another round of fabrics. She looks from the cutting board to the beds and Juyeon notices. He tells her that there is no use in low volume, that the entire building could start shaking and his consciousness would not move an inch closer to its physical state. 

As he stands beside her and goes between the stove and cutting board to show her how to cut the vegetables. The broth in the pot simmers, damp heat comes up in his face and spreads onto the metal spoon as he brings it down. Juyeon tastes the broth first before taking it down a second time. He holds his free hand underneath the spoon and turns to Y/n’s. Her hair has fallen before that side of her face. Only when those strands come to the back of her ear, she looks away from the white plastic and towards Juyeon. 

Being conditioned to fall back, Y/n leans away from his close hands. Sees a single steam grow like rosen stems during spring, Juyeon comes closer to the spoon and blows on it. Y/n’s eyes are small when they intertwine with his own. 

“Try it.” He says in his sweet voice. 

“Can’t I just…” The free hand on her other side hesitantly reaches for the spoon. 

“I’ll feed you.” 

Her face turns to the left as if to gesture him a no, but when he looks at her with those pearl glance eyes. Y/n sighs and leans forward. His hand comes under her chin and he helps her by tilting the spoon a little. Y/n’s own hand comes up to Juyeon’s who holds it before she returns to her own place. 

“It’s good.” 

-

Eric left the cramped apartment soon after eating. The sun’s out the entirety of the weekend and his friends had sent messages all night to meet on Sunday. Y/n went to bed again after eating, lying on the outer side and with the sheets at the very end of the bed. She stares up at the ceiling, watches hidden shadows in patterns. Though, steps on the floor cross onto the carpet and soon after, she feels the weight on the mattress shift. Y/n turns to look at the change, and when her cheek falls into the pillow, Juyeon’s eyes are there to meet. 

Y/n sits up and takes one of her legs off the height, but Juyeon takes her arm. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I thought you wanted to lie here?” 

“No, I wanted to be here because you were.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s comfortable.” He smiles, “Couples do it all the time.” 

“Are you serious, or are you just using that as an excuse because I let you teach me about human romance?” She squints his eyes at him, in which Juyeon forces his head from the mattress and reaches his hand out for her upper arm. He shakes his head while laughing quietly, reiterating that he speaks truth. Y/n can’t keep the stale expression when he smiles so deeply and the pillow pushes his hair closer to his face. Eventually she lets his arm pull her down fully again. 

“Do people just lie like this?” Her hands rests over her stomach where the ruffles of the shirt accumulate. A tilt of her head in a direction closer to his existence, but nowhere in full sight does she get a glimpse of even a hair strand, just the ceiling in sunlight from the curtains. 

“Sometimes.” Juyeon answers. He turns his head fully and so does Y/n. Their chin rests on the light blue stripes, folded where the weight are. 

“Sometimes it’s very comforting doing nothing with the one you love.” 

“Why?” 

Juyeon takes his hands in between the pillow and his chin, “Love needs no words.” His voice is gentle, passing her ears like the faint brush of the new washed sheets against her upper calf. A vague nod comes from her side as they still look at each other.

Juyeon suddenly breathes a little stronger, “But other times we do this.” 

Y/n doesn’t get to high her eyebrows or part her lips. The hands underneath his chin forces his weight off the pillow and Y/n feels him lean towards her side. He sits up fully and in the same duration from her eyelid closing and opening, Juyeon has taken his hands down her arms and neck, fervently tickling her. 

The expression of confusion painted by her features turns to a desperate smile as she tries to escape his attack. To kick her leg onto the sheets beneath her and shout Juyeon’s name as his laugh becomes louder for every centimeter the fabric falls down the bed. To not let her escape, Juyeon unconsciously sets his knee on the other side of her body. Her figure stays in between his own frame as she falls deeper down the pillow. 

“Juyeon, stop, I’m serious!” Y/n laughs in panic. 

Eventually his hands come to rest beside her upper arms and the laughter turns to heavy breathing. Juyeon faces from above, still smiling, as Y/n lies with the side of her face against the pillow. That until she stares at him, while fully hidden between his own complexion. Each of her breaths comes to him like the green leaves during spring. Just as the incident, the rose color of flowers in small sprouts bloom on the side of his face. Y/n looks down from his eyes, just one centimeter in distance to see the saturation. She smiles again. 

“You’re always so red, Juyeon.” 

Juyeon takes his head further against his chest to hide it, but there is no use. She laughs lightly as his hair falls before his eyes and he is forced to shake his head when he comes back up. They look in silence at each other's features. Mere sunlight comes in between the thin curtains and cats itself over the shadows. Dust from the sheets cease between the space and Juyeon leans in a bit closer. The shine in her pupil comes all the higher in her coloration as his lips are above hers. 

“I’m sorry.” He speaks gently. 

Y/n laughs again and shakes her head. Seconds cruelly pass them where they lay enchanted in white-blue sheets. The sounds of folding fabric beside her ears, without visual frame she imagines a butterfly at the breaking of dusk, to spread its wings before full sun. But truly, it’s purely, without decorations, Juyeon’s hands beside her body that flutter at the closing distance between them. 

He who always leaves a space in between, Juyeon lets his head fall closer to hers. The pace is incredibly cruel, but so sympathetical, as he stops where they can see each other’s flaws and their breath dampens the other's lips. Time stands so pianfully still when he waits for Y/n to say or do anything. He looks into her eyes, searches for something, but she tries to use the parted distance between her lips but nothing comes out. 

There’s a sort of apprehension somewhere between all of her physical essence. But it dies with every second. In the dilemma playing faintly before her eyes, in the background she sees Juyeon’s eyes come further away from hers. The sensation of guilt and fear were on the verge of death, and fall flat line in an instant. As to desperately not make him disappear, Y/n takes her hands up from her sides. Juyeon gasps quietly when gently holding his face. 

And at last, when she takes him back to her, Juyeon lets his weight on his hands shift to his right knee as their lips collide. Y/n falls a centimeter further into the stripes of the pillow case. It creases at the edges. The pattern changes in structure when Juyeon brings his knee up a bit further. In a boundless room devoid of sounds, the kiss lingers between the four walls. 

As Juyeon gently takes his tongue out for hers, Y/n trace the lines of his features up to his hair. Their mouths are just a little open when she intertwines her hand through his strands. The tips of his fingers scratch against the surface. Through the slight space in between their lips, Juyeon whines. It trails through her clothing and hearten her hand to force the strands tighter around her skin to hear him again. 

And as they encourage the other to fall in closer, the room that had been detached from space and time comes back. The door echoes through the apartment and folds of clothing come after. Before any footsteps close into the kitchen, Y/n’s hands fall back to the mattress and Juyeon throws himself off his arms and lands on his previous place. When Eric comes into the kitchen and lets his eyes span over the details he sees everyday, he stops at their bed. Arms completely down their sides and face up against the ceiling. Eric knits his eyebrows. 

“Are you trying to teach Y/n magic tricks?” Eric asks. 

Juyeon lifts his head from the pillow to look at him. 

“Don’t even try, she’s literally immortal.” Eric goes to the sink and takes a cup. 

“I didn’t even-” Juyeon defends. 

“I’m not immortal?” Y/n cuts Juyeon off by lifting up her head in the same manner to look at Eric. He’s already on his second glass of water. 

“You know what I mean, mythical creature and the unfunniest person alive.” Eric smiles. 

“I think I’m funny.” Juyeon defends and turns his head to look at Y/n. 

“I’m funny?” 

Y/n laughs a little as he looks at her with vast eyes, “When you try not to; yes.” 

He pouts and turns the other way, in which Y/n laughs fully. To turn her own silhouette and let her free hand reach out for his shoulder. 

- 

Y/n takes her legs off the mattress. It creaks when she stands fully on the carpet and it faintly lingers when she walks out the kitchen and further down the hallway. Juyeon, who lies beside her, compels to feet and without any obligatory commands, starts walking after. Y/n looks behind her once to see him trail the invincible steps along her. She takes the bathroom handle and looks at him again. He stands close to the opposite wall, right eye wearied. And the scene, in static vision for another passage, until Y/n tilts her head and asks him;

“Are you coming with me in or?” 

Even with a question fully spoken in between the takes, Juyeon looks at her with the expression he always has. But like February into March in reversion, his eyes widen and he takes a step back. Juyeon says something Y/n can’t decide if it were comprehensible words. When in no trance, he disappears from the hall, out the kitchen and back onto the bed. She knits her eyebrows while staring at the serene flooring before she closes the bathroom door. 

Eric sits in his bed with his phone, but tears his eyes off the screen when Juyeon comes back after only a minute. The older pays no intention of looking to the side and Eric sees him shaking his head before falling onto the mattress. The short video clip on his phone rewinds again as he smiles for himself. 

“I never knew you would be such an attention seeker when your girlfriend left.” Eric looks towards Juyeon. He has his arms crossed over his chest while in his own corner of the world. 

“I’m not.” Juyeon protests. 

Eric snorts which makes Juyeon look at him, “Yeah, and I’m Jacob Elordi.” 

The younger scrolls to the next short clip before talking again, “Come on, you can’t even be two meters away from her. I see how your arm twitches of starvation from her just being in the bathroom.” 

Juyeon takes his hands from his chest, letting them spread out before the background, “They’re not at all.” 

He takes the phone in his other hand, rises so that the sheets fall off his upper body. Eric lifts the pillow higher before he falls down to feathers again and watches the blue light radiate off his screen. 

“Either way, I support your future marriage with Y/n, I could even be the flower boy.” 

“We’re-I-” He stutters and looks at Eric who snickers at the screen, “I just think she’s nice.” 

Eric refrains from throwing more comments across the room. Instead continues to mindlessly consume the massive subtitles on screen. Soon after when the bathroom door opens, the audio from Eric’s phone has rewinded across twenty times and Juyeon walks up to his edge. Eric lies with eyes closed and lips slightly apart while his hand with the device hangs off the bed. Juyeon pushes the turn off button and it becomes quiet in the apartment. 

As Y/n walks across the kitchen area, Juyeon straightens his posture. A sudden burn comes between his throat as he looks down. The fingers of his right hand touch the spot that grows with itch. The sensation makes him want to further reach his hand through the skin and scratch what bothers. He coughs when Y/n comes to the line crossing the kitchen and bedroom. 

“You’re okay, Juyeon?” 

Juyeon turns from the corner where Eric lies and sees Y/n with her head tilted. He coughs again before facing her fully. 

“Yeah, I must catched a cold or something.” He reassures. 

That afternoon, evening boundary, pink encloses orange in softly curved patterns. How the sunset at the very peak of its livelihood, soon will bleach from the celestial and leave nothing but those stars holding hands in constellations to remind us that it was there. And as it shines over the edge of the river, hangs lowly over the open square, Y/n walks over to Eric sitting alone on one of the seats at the center of the open space. A passing wind intertwines like ribbons through their hair, braid them in irregular patterns before letting go. Eric feels the essence of another identity under the collapsing sun enter his field. 

He looks beside his left shoulder and sees Y/n smiling, though, it might just be the sunset, but there’s a whimsical bearing to her expression in plastic wings. 

“I realized you haven’t written a name.” He turns focus from her eyes down to the pink box as she holds it close to him. 

“You don’t have anyone you like?” She asks. 

Eric’s quiet for a second, but ultimately shakes his head. Her silhouette stands in contrast to the setting sun. Each shine streak runs into the river and reflects like a horizontal mirror. The outline of her shoulders divides the flicker, causing him to squint. Y/n herself let the box fall onto her thighs. When another wind comes, a short lived reflection on his hair passes by. Cupid tilts her head and observes his features. A visible lack of emotion and eyes on a dead tree. Another group of people walk down the river and Y/n smiles again. 

“Seems like it.” She says. 

Eric suddenly asks, “Can you write down someone else’s name? Two people you want to be together?”

She looks at the box then back at him, “Usually no, but I’ve already interfered in enough lives.” Y/n takes up the pen and pink paper, “Try.” 

Eric takes the pastel note and presses the synthetic end on his palm. When he gifts it to her, he sees her smile grow wider as she reads it. Eric’s lips too, like a wildflower during the incoming flourish season, grow as she laughs a little. On the piece of paper stands two names, Y/n and Lee Juyeon. She let it descend down the thin opening of the box. While still looking down at the space created by cardboard, she speaks. 

“That won’t work, though.” Y/n speaks gently. 

Eric tilts his head suddenly, keeping his hands at the edge of the bench. 

“Why?” 

“I’m not human, right?” She still smiles, but Eric’s has withered. 

“I don’t understand, gods and humans can’t be together?” 

Y/n shakes her head, “No” She shifts in her place, “It’s just, the rules don't work as they normally do, it might end up bad.” 

“Like what?” 

“Just bad, not fun…it’s not important.” Y/n takes her hand before her face, standing up and locks eyes. 

“Juyeon will be fine.” 

For days closest to present, that itch at the very bottom of his throat has become stronger. Each night he touches the spot where it hurts the most, and his fingers trails higher for every night. The other day Juyeon surrendered and went to the pharmacy. He took coughing medicine, but at last he stands before the hand sink, throwing lilac flower petals. The first time, he stood perplexed and backed away until his calf hit the tub. 

At the same time, he thinks about what Eric said to him, that day of the kiss. While the hours pass them by he always finds himself having music on or cleaning dishes, searching for job applications. Cause, when neither of them are with him, and there is little to no sound to surround him, those scenes play before him. 

It was night and he turned to the other side of the floor. He searched coughing flower petals. In immediate blue links, informative paragraphs describe the cases of physical effects of a yearning heart. The pictures showed strangers with flowers in shades scattered over white sinks. His heart picked up pace before he shut off his phone and forced his eyes closed. He has the love goddess beside him to lead him, but it only aches to think that he stands alone at the edge of the bridge, longing for the other end when it doesn’t reciprocate. At midnight, he’s forced to accept his heart's admiration for Y/n. He refuses to let the knife remove the love out of his body, instead, begs in moonlight for fate to spare them. 

- 

There’s a gentle touch over his head. It reverses before it comes back. A sharp point between his hair strands and further down where his neck starts. As his eyes are still closed and mind in a different dimension, he doesn’t register how he slowly starts to lean towards the touch every time it disappears. Eventually, the moonlight cast at the other wall becomes apparent and he sees Eric’s silhouette beneath it. It shines of city lights in the furthest window above the kitchen. 

Behind him, he hears soft creases of fabric lines. It comes from the material in his own bed, but his arms are at the front side. There’s a faint opening between his eyelids and he feels the touch linger down his cheek until it trails to his chin. It tickles when it gently outlines his nose. Once Juyeon opens his eyes fully, he tries to look up. On that side of him, a startled motion comes between the soft folds and the warmth on his face stills. 

All shadows leisurely adjust and he makes out the room. But in that space, left of his mattress and frame of carpet sits Y/n. He recognizes her features in turned axis shimmer and traces her upper arm down to her hand on his face. She still caresses his cheek when they look at each other. When Juyeon takes his hands to either side and forces himself up, the fabric sounds violent as a shadow covers the cast on the wall. He watches how she quickly makes her way out the kitchen. 

He can’t describe why, when his mind is half asleep and his body cold of the thin fabrics. Though, he does fully take off from the mattress and follows her. He sees her figure disappear through the bathroom door and when she stands to see her reflection in the mirror, Juyeon leans his hand on the edge of the door. Y/n looks at him when he walks in. There’s a meter in between them, and she tries to keep the same distance as he closes the door gently and walks forward. 

At some point, her back hits the cold wall and Juyeon, with some space still separating them, reaches for her left hand off her side. Y/n’s quiet when he brings it to the blossom of his head. He leans down so that she subtly makes out the shadows beneath his fringe. Juyeon gently ushers her hand to mirror those motions from a minute ago. Where the whole cityscape stands in silence, the clearest thing spoken through the barrier is the sigh of relief Juyeon does when her hand reaches his neck. 

He lets his knee rest where the divide forms between her own. How his soft breaths affect her own person. Cause eventually Juyeon separates his hand from hers as she on her own starts to touch his hair. For each caress along the silk, her palm continues deeper onto his neck. At last, her fingers reach where the collar of his shirt starts. To be touched even faintly in a place unaffected for so long, he whines. His head that faces the floor lands underneath her chin. The cheap shampoo reaches her nose and his breath dampens the spot above her collar. 

The ends of his hair scratches against her skin and, by consequence, her other hand comes to the center where his shoulder and neck meet. 

With the door closed, there’s no light source from any of the quiet corners. But for each breath they both take, he becomes all clearer. His face is buried underneath her while his body leans as close. The contrast of the painfully cold wall and the heat spreading from his essence. It’s so deeply attractive in her eyes, how he folds when she reaches her fingers a step further down his shirt. The quiet whimpers get muted in her neck. She desperately wants to hear it again, the hand from his shoulder and outlines his neck up to his chin where she lets her thumb caress the skin before coming back down to the shoulder. 

“Y/n, fuck.” He moans cruelly onto her skin. It creates some free room between her hand and his shoulder when he falls down to his knees. The warmth that has accumulated above her chest, turns instant cold when there is no barrier before the grading temperature. 

Her eyes naturally follow his own which are locked on the edge of her sleeping wear. Where the muted pattern convulse into each other and a harsh line before her own skin. Juyeon timidly takes his fingers onto that edge. All warmth in his body rushes to the inner parts, there is nothing but cold on his fingertips when they for a moment touch beneath her stomach. Juyeon looks up, the color in his eyes comes through the fringe and his hand flexes when holding onto her sleeping wear. 

“I want to-can I?” He stutters profusely while looking into her eyes. It’s not enough light for the pigment on his upper face to reflect back into Y/n’s own vision. He looks away and faces the wall of the bathtub. 

Y/n’s own chest has started to pick up pace while a limited gap between her lips forms to afford it. The lid on her eyes closes and opens profusely as he refuses to state the expression on his face. The inpatient motions with the urge to not look at her, she desperately wants him to say it when her mind runs to try to comprehend it. 

“Sorry, Juyeon, I really don’t understand.” 

Her hand still in laces with his own essence starts to gently advance across the back of his head again. He sighs when she reaches a sensitive spot down his neck and brings his head back. It affects her mind deeply so that her own physical state falls on the wall behind her and shifts her right leg. 

“Please, I want to make you feel good.” He holds his head high to maintain the contact. The fabric of her shorts comes tighter around her waist when he pulls it again. 

“I want to lick your…” He whispers to her, in a volume equal to the sounds coming from her hands in his hair. Y/n nearly reaches down to mute his words, but the desire to shift her leg again blinds those thoughts and she nods. 

“I want you too, Juyeon.” 

Her words seem to have freed the chain off him and gently lets the two layers of fabric touch her thighs down to her calves. Juyeon takes his own hand up her waist and the other around her left leg. To carefully, as if made out of velvet he forces her up onto his shoulder. Y/n tears her eyes away from him and falls head against the cold hard wall when goes in between her thighs. The soft changes in direction from his tongue and the careful advances as he watches her reactions from below. 

The hand on his hair becomes tighter when the sensation goes inside her two walls for even a second. There’s constant shame as she lets him completely mend the soar spots with a part of his existence. She can’t tell if Juyeon feels it too, but to never let her eyes be open for more than a second, because when her head falls onto the wall and her eyes stare up the ceiling. An invisible but cruel rain falls onto her from above, a circle of faces from her youth watches how one of their own crumbles before a human. 

“Juyeon.” 

She strokes his head once again and Juyeon closes his own eyes. Y/n has been forcing her lips shut of fear to hear her own sounds echo in between the walls. But at last, when he grips onto her calf a bit stronger and the end of his hair brushes up against her thighs, a cry of pure bliss comes between her lips while her hips move forward. Juyeon continues with his lips to let the sensation gently fade. 

Y/n breathes heavily while still leaning onto the wall. Juyeon comes up from the floor and lies one hand on her shoulder. With eyes closed, reminiscent of weekend morning when her own self is far from the body, lovely gathered in his worn down sheets. How Juyeon solely comes closer to make the pixels of her features clearer and discover the secret appearance, one who is only this close can make out. 

Y/n finally opens her eyes and there is barely a distance between them. Juyeon has let go of the space and has his entire front against her own. There’s a firmer impression in contrast to the rest of his body. It pushes onto her lower stomach in timid motions. Her arms embrace herself as she smiles and laughs suddenly. 

Juyeon lets out an embarrassed laugh and forces his head under her chin again. A faint ‘no’ escapes, barely audible, which causes her own eyes to look over the line in which his hair grows. And she forces him from her chest just a little. His sight is still in lock with the floor and Y/n laughs again. 

“I’ll do it now.” 

As she takes his hand, directs to the bathtub and pushes him gently down the cold material. Whatever’s left of the world becomes merely a singular. When the last lights of the cityscape passes through the visual horizon at the end of the universe, Y/n lets herself on top of him fully and takes her hands onto his face while staring in deep adoration with no sense of responsibility. 

Truly she feels her heart pick up a pace she never thought was possible when creating friction onto them both with easy advances of her hips, and the back of his head falls against the edge. With no other light visible, a single star burns off in the upper left corner when he opens his right eye to look at her. 

Juyeon feels the fabric enclose him painfully underneath her and he moans desperately. To force himself up from the edge, he holds his hands on the sides of the tub and comes precisely under her own lips. Y/n continues to fall back in motion while Juyeon tilts his head up to take her lips. Tension tears off like two desperate sides of a rubber band and Juyeon takes his hands on her hips. To take his knee up higher to force her chest closer to his own. 

Behind the door, there's nowhere to go, he wishes for them to continue being in this place, this emotion. 

Juyeon trails hands up to her waist. To get on his knees and gently make her come in contact with the white tub. Her hair spreads out the sides of the curvature and his mouth comes agape when he watches her eyes, in what he hopes is at least brief adoration. 

Once again he puts his hips into her own. Timidly pushes against her through all the layers of fabric and breathes out. Y/n lifts her own leg up to make room for the climbing friction between them. Juyeon sighs and lets his head fall down, in which Y/n takes her hands through his hair and moans. 

She can see his expression, and he looks as divine as he sounds. She soothes the side of his head and tilts her head before whispering. 

“Juyeon?” 

He moans again and pushes his hips harder into hers. 

“My name sounds lovely when you say it.” He pauses to breathe again, “Please say my name again?” 

Y/n swallows and the pupil of her eye comes in between him, the friction soon the wall behind them. So quietly but still enough so he can hear how she calls his name again. 

“Juyeon…” 

A pleasure hits him through his spine and he moans again while holding onto nothing with his other arm. The constant humping makes her not glide down the bathtub and when he carelessly starts pushing his hips against her, at a pace faster than before. Y/n takes her hand from her side and forces it into the small space between them. He throws his head back when the layers of fabric come tightly against him. In nearly instant, Juyeon fucks his hips into the cloth in her palm. 

Y/n doesn’t take her eyes off as she’s determined to see him fall down and rests on her chest. 

“Y/n…” 

She answers in melody. 

“I need to see you come, all undone for me.” 

As the shorts and underwear lie serene on the carpet beside them, her head falls to the edge. Her hand comes to his face and he takes the hem of his pants off as he misses her. Though it aches with impatience, Juyeon’s eyes shimmer in hands, cupped by Y/n. Every motion he does in pleasure, as if handcrafted. It sores from watching him wither above. Y/n nods again, whispers to please see him wilt in cause of her. 

He fills her completely when they come as close as possible. The first thrusts are painfully slow as he edges on relief but desperately wants to feel her warmth. Y/n urges him to fasten the pace as she falls down the wall. He holds his eyes on Y/n like she will save him as he thrusts harder. 

“Please, Y/n, you look so beautiful.” His legs twitch, “I need to see you…” 

His words falter as she cries out for a second time. He slows down in pace, staying amidst the warmth as the high washes over her. On precise edge, Y/n takes her hand onto the material and forces herself off him. Though the pleasure still affects her, she reaches her hand out where it hurts the most. She strokes him just merely. Juyeon’s eyes are closed and he cries from pleasure and wet stains her skin. The sight of him desperately saying her name and convulse in pure bliss might live on for an eternity. He continues with slow motions in her hand, moving the stains up the rest of her hand before the wave falters. 

Juyeon gently descends his head beside hers. The right arm out of the pushing under his weight and he lies it underneath her head. The two of them close their eyes while listening to their breath echo throughout the bathroom. 

Though, as the world comes back into place and Y/n opens her eyes to see the ceiling, she thinks about the windows outside. It goes chills through her essence when she looks at a the ventilator. Juyeon’s breathe are soft on the side of her face and she still console his hair. She desperately wants to lie beside him for as long as time lets them. Turn her face to see his blissful features look back at her own. 

But for every second, reality moves closer. How her escape from above might put him once again in pain. The scene from when Eric put their names on his note comes back to her in a form of a distant but cold wave. 

Fate doesn’t have them, she thinks before sitting up. The change in atmosphere comes suddenly to Juyeon who lifts his upper body when she climbs out the tub, takes on her cloth and goes to the door. 

“Where are you going?” She obscene herself before turning. He sits like she left him and the withered shine in his eyes that yearns for her burns the side of her heart. Y/n puts her other hand on the handle and looks down without a clear expression. 

“I’m really tired.” Her voice is low, putting a further distance. 

“Oh, okay.” Juyeon looks down.

Of course he’s so perfect, she thinks and opens the door wider. To set her feet out before she returns and see his sunken posture, watching the patterns at the bottom of the tub. Y/n bites her lips. 

“Don’t sleep in the bathtub tonight.” She says and Juyeon looks up, giving her a smile reminiscent of the one he always gives her. 

“Don’t worry about me.” 

Y/n nods and takes a step out again and shuts the door, not fully closed.

“Thank you.” She says, before at last leaving. 

When the divide amid the handle and frame becomes non-existent and each step of her bare feet recites from the floor back to her, she sees the rising moon in the corner of the window, fade from view as dark clouds pass by. There’s no liquid moonlight cast on the kitchen counter, and the metal in the sink emits no starfall reflection. 

She takes the hand that holds the only visual significance of the scene in the bathroom, and her other hand on the tap. The white stains run off her hand and weave together with the water. She watches the colors of morning gloom after rain, before it all eventually disappears down the drain. Y/n closes the tap, when her hand is left on the metal and she watches the lone drops of water that's left. It feels as if a part of her essence might have gone down with it, leaving her left at the edge of the world. 

Y/n hasn’t stayed in one place since she came down from Olympus for more than a few days. The date of the calendar has passed three days longer than planned, but why does she find this city so astonishingly more beautiful than any other place? She closes her eyes and maybe the ache in her heart will flow down the metal pipes like how she saw. But at last, her hand falls off the tap. 

Maybe hope will win, she thinks. The only thing left to believe in, the only thing that will save the three of them. If she goes to sleep in this state of heart, she hopes for their good life that Juyeon sits in the bathtub yearning for the woman he did a few days ago. She hopes no stems grow through his skin and to, as the love goddess and not Y/n, not see him fall to the floor as the power she rules consumes him from within. 

-

“You’re awake?”

To turn to the opening between two walls and see the table in the middle of it. The sun is already up. Juyeon takes his hand from his back to above his eyes, in the cause of  blinding gray light. 

“Yeah, I-” Juyeon sits up and starts walking out the kitchen. Eric and Y/n sit on either side and he stands beside them and looks down the plates. 

“You cooked?" Did you burn anything?” He asks Eric in which he shakes his head and points at Y/n while his mouth is full. 

“No, Y/n did.” 

As she sits on the opposite end from where he’s looking, Juyeon shifts his vision. The golden brown of the bread leaves trails of grease on the tips of her fingers and when she too looks up at him, scenes from last night pass through his peripheral vision like they tell you at the edge of death. Juyeon looks away before any visual traces will be sighted on his face. And as he scratches his neck, Y/n comes up from the chair and goes to the counter. When he feels the faint touch of her free hand on his back, Juyeon looks over his shoulder and sees the plate in her hand. 

“I did one for you too.” Her hand leans the plate out for him and Juyeon hesitantly takes it, “I tried to remember what you have on it, hopefully I got it right.” Y/n smiles and gets down to her seat once again. 

The vast eyes of his observes her eating before turning down to look at his own plate. How each of the green and red vegetable layers follows the same patterns as he usually does. 

Though, in truth, as he takes a bit of the sandwich, a sort of warmth trails down the sore spot. In one way he just thinks the sleepiness is coming off, but in between all the superficial, in the hidden part of his heart, he wants to fall to his knees and shout that Y/n hasn’t abandoned him. That there is hope left for them. 

“Eric?” Juyeon has hands on his knees. Eyes turn away from the speckles of color running across the concrete. And when they land on the younger sitting beside him, Eric has his towel in his hands, throws it above his shoulder. 

Eric hums and looks at Juyeon. 

He plays football in a building further away when school’s over. Sometimes memories return from that unchanged landscape. The sun wore bleachers and the synthetic grass field that spares its color no matter season. At some point, Juyeon didn’t need to follow him and wait on the bleachers. 

Juyeon came here as the clock reached noon. He took one stop earlier off the bus and walked to the entrance of the building in light blue paint. And Eric sat like he always has done, on the same place four rows above the grass. 

“What’s a good gift to a girl?.” He asks finally. The inner corner of Eric’s eyebrows closes in together as he doesn’t say anything. Simply stares at the one, a row under before his lips curl at its sides and Juyeon throws his face in his palms. 

“Ohhhhh!” 

Eric’s shoulder veiled in damp shirt material comes closer to his own before the younger takes the towel. He turns it in the air so that cold wind comes down on Juyeon. The one with a towel over his head starts swinging it closer and Juyeon doesn’t get to protest before the damp fabric runs across his face. 

“When did you become like this?!” Eric’s eyes, immense as his back falls into a curve to reach down where Juyeon hides. 

“Why am I proud?" Eric asks himself as he puts an arm around the older and lets his head high to once again see the bleachers in the lower end become steeper and the artificially green grass spread from one end to the other. 

“You didn’t answer.” Juyeon scratches the back of his hair, still with his own features a little nearer empty space down the bleachers. 

“What should I give her…a girl?” Juyeon corrects himself. At the end line where the side of the field ends and two planes of the bleachers start, he sees Eric’s feet come into frame and turns towards that direction. The shoelaces have blemishes of black hues and the neon color itself has run with rain water down the drains. Four depressing shades of fabrics in the same motion of how he kicks his feet back and forth, reminiscent of the end leaves of a dying plant. 

“I know it’s Y/n so we can start from there.” Eric answers and leans forward, “So what should you give Y/n?” 

Juyeon sighs again and lets his face in between his hands while falling forward. 

“I don’t know, that’s why I came here.” 

Eric continues to look down on his shoelaces, “I mean, you know her well, you can’t figure out at least one thing?” 

Juyeon shakes his head. 

“No wonder she broke up with you.” He says to himself and the older takes his face up from his hands and stares at him with deadpan. 

“Okay, too soon.” Eric takes up his hands above his head. 

“I don’t know, chocolate, that’s classic. A movie ticket to a romance movie? She’s the god of love – or new clothing, she doesn’t have much clothes.” Eric starts to look up at the high ceiling but jumps one step away on the bleachers as Juyeon stands up and gasps. 

“I know, I– thank you, see you!” 

Eric holds his arm closer to his own body, all while Juyeon jumps down the four rows and disappears along the white edge of the green field. The heavy metal door at the side of the building echoes throughout the empty walls. 

His eyes linger on the cold metal doors. There’s butterflies in his stomach, and not for himself, but for his brother. The slight change in atmosphere in their limited apartment, and the expressions of Juyeon’s face seemed to have cleared with the sky. Truly, Eric thinks, Y/n being a goddess or not, she cast a spell on their life and made him look at the sunset in an angle never perceived before. If she could stay with them, with Juyeon, a little longer, he might actually believe he gets to see flowers bloom in spring. 

Though, ever since he wrote their names on the note and she told him it’s not possible. He looks at his brother, when he melts to his knees and reaches out to touch her. The severe words she uttered that evening. In her otherworldly complexion, there’s a shadow she desperately tried to hide from him that day. Eric knows more than anyone, even more than Juyeon himself, that their  love is inevitable. But a part of him hopes still, that the thing she fears so deeply, is merely a projection, and that if he doesn’t tell Juyeon, the three of them might get what is closest to “forever”. 

As Y/n came to them in the last weeks of December, she noticed the decorations of warm light scattered across every avenue. Eric told her on the bus once that they celebrate the passage of a new turn around the sun. That whole ride until the final glass cubicle, she told questions in which Eric eagerly answered. Juyeon and Eric, promised Y/n to take her to the center city when the sky’s shimmer. 

They’ve walked all three down the street alleys. There’s a light from every restaurant and in the few open balconies and windows, music blasts through the street. She’d never seen so many shoes on the same platform. How it causes ripples in puddles, forces the mall entrance doors to stand open eternally and the constant, city conversations integrate. 

None of them took much down to the festival, Juyeon told her to dress up but there’s not much in her limited closet that would pass as festive attire. While she herself went with the shirt she always wears, it itched in Juyeon’s fingers to give her paper blue bag beside the bed. When down the street she pointed towards it, asked him why he’s carrying a bag. Juyeon took the excuse of wanting an extra scarf and umbrellas with him if it starts raining. 

To chase warmth while running through the open streets. And when the entrance door to the mall directs like curtains, people have gathered for the final scene of the night., Juyeon touches them both lightly. 

“I’ll get us something to eat, we haven’t eaten since lunch.” Juyeon points at a nearby van down one of the streets. It reeks of steam from the window while the person in front fervently switches conversations with the new person next in line. The two nod and Juyeon looks at Y/n while turning half away. 

“Look after Eric, okay!?” 

In the midst of all the burning colors, Y/n takes her eyes off the sky to see the reflection of each spark in people’s eyes. As passionate red fills the sky and scatters a wither of faint glow, Y/n think truly, that she has never felt as alive as now. The upper quarter of the crowd starts to move, she looks in that direction where a concise distance opens up between two jackets. 

That divide of the mass has loosened and the wall of the closest building works as a background to the people passing by that glimpse. Another firework goes off, echoes over the crowded platform. Eric looks up when her hand on his own becomes tighter and the direction of her head is not the sky but the front wall of the mall. He too leans forward to see between the arms of the ones before them, but as he opens his mouth to ask her what’s wrong, Y/n takes an even stronger grasp around his hand. Her own skin forces white spots to appear onto Eric’s and he nearly falls in a man’s chest as she turns. 

“What?!-” Eric shouts as people pull their shoulders closer to their warmth when they run past them. Y/n doesn’t look back, but exchanges attention from the barely patterns of the platforms and Eric’s hand secured in her own. 

“Run Eric!” Y/n tries to overpower the next color that fires off above them.

To escape the borderline of tight bound space and now free view over the imminent skyscrapers and alleys from the center. Y/n’s chest falls desperately, an impending sensation that hurts at the mit of her heart and seeps through the back. As each breath might cut her throat inside and a dye of red stronger than the one above, she takes another step and starts running. 

“What are we running from?!” Eric asks again, but Y/n doesn’t answer. The younger sometimes, when he looks at her face, sees a glimpse of her features when her hair comes behind the side profile. Vast eyes that none of the massive street lights can catch the attention of, and once or twice closes her eyes like it hurts. The strange fright running after them has him desperately coil his fingers with hers, run towards wherever she takes him. As the city flashes them by like a sped up film, they pass a familiar face without even noticing. He calls their names but only Eric looks back. 

“Y/n! It’s Juyeon!” Eric shouts and looks at her. 

“I need to go Eric, I need to go!” She breathlessly answers him. The signs start to fade, only streetlight patterns with distance lines the alley, the rest hidden. Fireworks from the curved celestial become all fainter and she can clearly hear his voice now. 

 “Y/n! Y/n stop!” Her name bears through the street. There’s a few restaurants with closed doors and warm lighting down the high walls. The people inside might see the silhouettes disappearing in an instant before the outer window. 

Juyeon shouts again and runs. The paper bag hits his thigh. Cause of petals in his throat, each shout becomes weaker and soon no air seems to pass them. The lungs inside his chest reach for air but like a cement divide, it seems impossible. Juyeon coughs as he still runs, and hears Eric shouting her name too. At the end of the road where three others meet, Juyeon gets his hands on her shoulder and forces her back towards him. They stop in an instant, and his other hand comes to her shoulder. 

“Y/n!” All three breathe heavily as they stand in a crossing. When the sky burns of color, it might even melt. 

“What happened?” He takes another breath and Y/n takes a step back, but Juyeon forces her feet to return to that place. Her head looks the other direction  so her side profile comes into full view, but his hands go to carry her face. 

“Y/n?” 

“I need to go.” She swallows. Eric takes a step from the two of them, watches how tears edges off her eyes. 

“I need to go, Juyeon.” Her own hand comes to his upper arms as she tries to push him away, but his own only comes closer, embracing her shoulder and back. The white fabric folds against his arms. To never let his sight of hers. 

“Why? Why do you need to go?” He asks gently. 

“It’s my mother, I saw my mother.” Y/n breathe and try to look behind Juyeon’s back before returning, “I’ve stayed for too long, I shouldn't have used my powers.” 

Finally all the water that has accumulated under her eyelashes overflows and a single drop runs down the curve of her cheek. As the tears itself saturate the space beneath her eyes and drown the lashes, all thoughts that would continue to pile up on her mind, reach the high ceiling. Where the last piece of stress bends at the top and eventually the whole tower falls. Tension releases in a second and Y/n feel her body become heavy. 

“I need to go.” She says again in a voice barely above a whisper. To face the rain covered asphalt, the strands of her hair fall before her face. Juyeon holds his arms still in that place they are in. But eventually, he let them fall to her upper arms. When her body is fully in his embrace, Juyeon pulls her closer so her head lands on his shoulder and body against his own. 

“I’ll help you get away.” Juyeon says gently. Though the fragments scratching his throat tightens at the sentence, he takes another breath through the flourished broken part. Let the sharp edges of vines pierce the insides. 

“And Eric will too.” He adds, looks towards the younger. Y/n shifts, then, a meter away stands Eric in a tense position, though, it slowly loosens as she looks at him. The yellow sign behind him, shines from his head like a halo and he gives her that boyish smile like he always does. At that, she gifts one back. 

“But you have to sleep.” She looks back at Juyeon, “We’ll help you out of here in the morning, but you can’t leave tonight.” 

She’s quiet. 

“I promise, your mom won’t find you.” He says sincerely as he looks at her in the eyes. Y/n can’t say anything, instead nods. 

- 

Y/n didn’t sleep. Even when she lied in bed with vision parallel to the turned off lamps above, Juyeon with great delicacy took the spot beside her. She refused to visually trace his face, still when his arm came under her neck and voice fluttered against her ears as he drew her closer. Forced light to divide from her eyes, maybe nothingness would mend the sore. Though, for every change on the minute digit and next firework. Naivety only pushes it bitterly, to grow in the hidden parts of her essence. 

Even at 5 in the morning, when their side of Earth still longs the sun, Juyeon’s hand is placed over her like before. Though, feather-like when he sleeps. His other arm is placed across her chest and at the end of his hand, he holds her upper arm. She turns from the ceiling, down to the side where his face is closest. Only in intimate moments have he been this near, but for the first time she can admire his natural red blemishes and the patterns on lips without Juyeon withdrawing. 

Time may stop for merely a second when she sees him like this, but there's trouble deep within her heart. It consumes butterflies left in her stomach and she reaches out closer to him, kisses him at the ending scene. It’s gentle and fast, contrasting to the cruelly slow ones they shared before. Y/n loosens his arm and climbs out the bed. When she packs all the belongings that can count on two hands, she sits on the floor and looks over towards Eric. The view is incredibly familiar as his arms depend on the bed edge and feet free from the fabrics. 

Y/n smiles before the pocket in the bag closes and she walks towards that side of the room. Her head is on its tilt when she tries to look at his face from the right angle. His mouth is slightly agape when he breathes and carefully Y/n takes her hand to brush his fringe. The covers are halfway over his stomach and Y/n bring it over his chest. As the edge of the stripes ends before his neck, Y/n takes a step back. To look at the room in its grandest form, she feels like bursting into tears. 

At last, she walks out the kitchen floor like an ending scene and comes out the hallway, just like the credit scene. When she reaches down for her shoes, a piercing knock on the door comes through the walls. Y/n stumbles backwards and catches her weight with her arm. She stands completely still while looking up the impending door. Another knock echoes throughout the apartment and this time, Y/n straightens up from the floor and takes the handle. Let the backpack fall to the side. 

When the door opens and the bright light from the stairs burns the dim apartment, her eyes squint. Though, a tall figure in dark clothes creates a shadow. She follows the lines of his clothing and sees his face. An older man with barely no hair, same with his smile. 

“Is this Lee Juyeon’s apartment?” He asks in a monotone voice. 

Y/n’s quiet for a second before nodding, “Yeah, he lives here.” 

“Is he here?” 

Y/n falls quiet again. To stare at his face without words, she looks down and sees the mark on the uniform chest. The reflexes on the navy shade and all the layers underneath. Y/n swallows before looking up again. 

“No he’s not.” Y/n says without doubt. The man looks behind her, into the kitchen area for a second. 

“Where is he then?” 

She answers quickly as adrenaline starts rising, “He visited a friend last night after the fireworks, a friend from school.” 

“Do you know where this friend lives?” He asks and Y/n bites her lip. 

“Not completely, he took the bus.” 

“Do you remember the number?” 

“Maybe eight.” She lies. 

The man takes up his phone and types something quick. She still holds the door when he puts it back down in his pocket. 

“Are you aware of the investigation regarding Lee Juyeon?” 

Y/n furrows her eyebrows. 

“No.” 

“He may be in possession of illegal firearms and has used them.” He pauses, “We are also in search of Eric Sohn?””Social services have been called to take him in since he's a minor with a guardian under crime investigation.” 

Y/n stands with her mouth agape. In desperate need to answer him as he looks at her, but words refuse to come out. 

“I understand it’s confusing,” he takes up a notepad and a pen, “But we’re gonna have to ask for your name since you seem to be close with Lee Juyeon and Eric Sohn.” 

Y/n does write her name, incredibly unstable for the age she appears. She looks up at him when she has just written her name, he doesn’t say anything but reads between the glances that a second name in after space should be there too. Y/n quickly adds a surname and gives the note and pen back to the officer. 

“Thank you.” He says, “Is Eric Sohn with Lee juyeon?”

“Yeah.” Y/n nods, “They took the bus together last night.” 

After a few more questions, the officer does finally leave her at the door. She doesn’t close it until his silhouette disappears fully down the stairs. When it finally does and she has stood there long enough for the automatic lights in the ceiling to shut, she does pull the handle close and lean her forehead towards the frame. Y/n closes the lids against the bottom as if it’ll erase the world from her. But when she opens them, the world is still cruelly real and she turns to the kitchen. 

Y/n shakes Eric first, let the covers she adjusted fall down his stomach once again. He lets out a confused sound with eyes still closed. Y/n continues to bother him while speaking. 

“Eric, you need to wake up.” 

Eventually she walks over to Juyeon, grabs arm and shakes his upper body. She repeats his name in usual volume and slowly his eyes come open and his head turns to her. 

“Y/n?” 

“The police were here.” She shakes him still, “You’re under criminal investigation, Juyeon. They’ll take Eric…you’re a criminal, Juyeon.” 

Y/n herself seem to have not fully comprehended the words the officer spoke outside. And as she voices what he told her, it dawns on her chest and her breath becomes heavy. She looks at him weakly when he sits up. The tiredness that lingers after slumber has disappeared and he looks at her with vast eyes and she repeats it to him. 

“Social services will take Eric, you’re under investigation for illegal firearm use.”

Juyeon stares at her for a second before taking the phone off the desk. She takes a step back once the blue light illuminates his face. He clicks into the news sights and at first article at the very start of the site, a video recording from the alley when he fired off the gun. He hits the lamp above them and it ends shortly after the man stands up. He reads the title of the article, “Young man wanted after shooting”. 

She sees the video rewind on his phone as his face turns to Eric on the other side who shifts position. Despite the weight coming down on them in one moment, none of them even stands up or walks out. From today's news, their tomorrow plays out in front of their visions. Like a gloomy movie Juyeon watches how they take Eric, ship him off to somewhere, long outside this city while he himself is stuck in between the same four walls for months on end. 

Y/n herself knows she must take herself out of the city. Sky’s been watching, nothing’s here will save her. But she can’t take her feet to the hallway, bend her arms down to her bag and leave them behind.

“I’m so sorry, Juyeon.” She doesn’t know why she apologizes. After all, it’s not her in a layered uniform who will come between the closed door at dawn and separate the two. But the way his eyes lingers on Eric’s silhouette while the grip on the phone tightens. 

Juyeon suddenly looks up towards Y/n, he stands up and takes her shoulder, “Don’t apologize, Y/n.” 

He walks away to the kitchen, opens the shelves and takes out red packages. Snacks in vibrant colors and then down to the refrigerator where he grabs the plastic bottle of juice. She stays in one place, unable to relocate her essence when the world progresses at a fast pace. Juyeon places the food on the table before he goes to the hallway to take out a backpack. Y/n takes her first step closer to follow his silhouette where she once stood to leave. 

“What are you doing?” She asks when he comes back to the table and lies the cheap plastic in the backpack. 

“We’ll have to move too.” 

She’s quiet for a second, stands with hands against her sides when he goes to the shelfs. 

“Where?” She looks at him. 

“I don’t know, probably where you’re going.” 

His answer causes a wind to force the side edge of the mirror to reflect back onto herself. Her double vision becomes unclear when the thing she focuses on is rather a gloom layer at the far end of the world. Probably Y/n will disappear in the masses of people down the main road complexions before even that fades as she comes all the further from the center metropolitan. When buildings start to lose color and texts graze the sides of parks, she’ll take the bus and let the vehicle take her as far as it can. Where she’ll stand in the vast world when the sun falls down the horizon once again, is like always, a mystery. 

“I’m not leaving Eric.” Juyeon comes back to the table before turning to her. 

“And not you either.”  

-

Before the sun breaks up on the horizon, they were out of the apartment. The sky’s collapsing above them as it rains, reminiscent of melancholy in hearts. Y/n walks beside Juyeon in between high end stores and dares to look up the gray coloration in thick layers. It all reminds her of the first day she saw this city for the first time.

They come to a meeting point where the city's buses pass in rush hour. The weather has worsened, wind from the shoreline comes through the building divides and forces the rain to stand on diagonal. They force their heads down and in need of perception, they peek through the strands. With all the other lights and reflections, they see neon green stripes of guards around the platform. The central station has just a few white stripes on the asphalt before them. 

To let one of the glass structures hold the rain above, Eric and Y/n take their hoods off and let the water that has accumulated run down their backs. Y/n looks to the left to see a woman in the inner corner of the booth. She shifts her feet as it reeks and scatters of cigarettes. 

“You didn’t have another jacket?” Eric looks at Juyeon who hesitantly takes his hand up the edge of his hood. 

“It’s the only one that is waterproof.” 

Eric sighs, “If they come up to us, it’s your fault.” He points at the officers the other booth away. 

“I’m sure those two, specifically, don't look for us.”  Juyeon emphasis. 

Y/n lean over to hold her finger before her lips. They look at her with immense eyes and eyebrows knitted together. In response, she tilts her head in constant pattern, back towards the woman behind, she’s on her own phone, but both Juyeon and Eric get the hint. Eric turns to the open rectangle staring out into the rain that has started to take on forms of snow. 

As another bus pass them and it’s only seven minutes until theirs come, the officers has come out the booth and started patrolling this line. Their uniforms in neon details shines clearly through the snow. And as they come closer, each of them become stale in their soaked clothing, feeling each water drop plummet against the ground. 

“Just be natural.” Juyeon says in low volume while hitting them gently with his elbow. 

The two officers come before the transparency. The three of them hold their heads in other directions, only daring a look in between time through side eyeing. The two have stopped talking, topics seem to have run dry and they come closer to the death of afternoon. The officer closest to them passes his eyes over the glass. Juyeon holds his breath tightly and looks up at the screen in orange outlines showing another minute. At last, none of them cease dividing puddles as they continue down the platform. 

The three of them fall with their backs onto the glass. Y/n turns to see the silhouette linger. But as she prepares to look away, Y/n tears her eyes off immediately, as they glimpse through the thick rain and stained glass. When a half minute has gone by, she dares to seek that side again, the two officers are static on that spot. 

Y/n budge Juyeon with her elbow, but he only faces the back side of her head. He follows where he thinks her sight lines and sees the two officers turn to look at their booth. The two of them look away and Juyeon brings Eric closer to his side. 

Eventually the two officers walked back to them, letting the glass divide two sides. The woman beside them looks towards the opening to see the police seek inside, but she quickly turns back to her screen. 

“Waiting for the bus?” The one to the right asks. 

“Yeah.” Juyeon nods.

“Did it work paying for tickets? We’ve been getting complaints all day that the machine is struggling.” 

“Yeah, we used the app.” He answers quickly. 

There’s silence. 

The police breathe in, “We’ve gotten a report of suspicion against you three.”“There’s a case of a young man potentially on the run, he has a younger brother of sorts and a female friend.” He pauses, “It’s a serious errand, I would want to ask for your names.” 

Eric looks up at Juyeon, then down into the ground, Y/n herself side eyes him too. 

“Kim Joonwoo.” Juyeon says after a passage of silence. 

They look down at Eric. 

“Max Sohn.” 

Y/n too lies. 

The two officers look skeptical at the three of them. Then their eyes lock with each other and one of them tilts their head further out the rain before disappearing. 

“We want you guys to wait for a minute, we’ll just have to check in.” 

The other stands in the rain with their back against them. His hand comes out the pocket as he holds a phone to his ear. 

Juyeon bites his lip. The one standing against the booth frame has taken out his phone and stares at the screen. Juyeon looks towards Y/n and budges her arm with his own. Y/n dares to look at him and they lock eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but points his head towards teh space where the last officer stood. She knits her eyebrows at first, leans harder against the glass pane when he eagerly opens his eyes and points with his head in that direction. Finally he looks over the two officers and sees none of them at concentration, he takes his lips closer to her hair. 

“When I take your hand, we’ll run, okay?” Juyeon falls back. The little space created heats of whispers in cold rain. Y/n nods as Juyeon turns to Eric and whispers the same words. 

Her heart races behind the synthetic fibers of the coat. Out in the rain, the officer guides his hand away and let the phone come before his face. At that moment, before he hangs up on the caller, a cold grip on her own soaked fingers runs through her. She already had her heel on the glass divide and push from it in a second. Eric accidentally falls against the other police when he runs out their back silhouettes dim out the rain, directed towards the street up the city. 

One officer shouts at them which takes the attention of the other and in a span of less than seven seconds all five are aiming at that street. Juyeon holds their hand desperately in his own as the asphalt end seem to decline in streetlights, in compassion to the escape.

- 

“I’m hungry.” Eric sits on the edge of the bed. How the perfect surface of the silk white sheets forms lines in which he sits. There’s only one bed, or two thinner, long sides against each other. Y/n lets her bag onto the floor two meters after the hotel door. There is no scent in the room, if she concentrates and lifts her chin higher, maybe there’s a hint of chlorine. 

“We all ate before going.” Juyeon throws himself onto the other side. 

“Yeah, but I’m still growing.” Eric complains and falls in parallel to Juyeon. 

“You don’t.” Juyeon smiles while looking at the ceiling before his head falls to the side in which the both of them share. Eric too lets his eyes wither from the spotlight shine and turn to the subject in which he falls onto. 

“Ha, really funny.” Eric deadpans, takes the pillow that’s half a meter from his head. When he holds the pillow in the air, gravity takes it down to the mattress in which Eric aims towards Juyeon. The older one takes his own elbow as a protective hold before his eyes. Sounds of laughter erupt from that side of the room as Eric goes onto knees to hit Juyeon fervently. 

Y/n stands in parallel to the mirror before the bathroom. For the first time she smiles in what feels like years. The sheet edges loosens from the mattress when Juyeon only vaguely tries to protect his body from the hits. Even then, his elbow comes back down to its side. Only closes his eyelids when the pillow comes close and the smile, only Eric gifts to see, never falters. 

A surreal wind goes through the walls, fills the hotel room. It struck her again, in her heart. Human time slows down and despite having a window right before her, that world disappears at the edge of the observable horizon. As the pillow in Eric’s hand falter and comes to lie in his lap, Y/n goes to Juyeon’s bag, opens the zipper and takes out a plastic packaging of a white cream bread. To come up to the bed herself and cross her legs at the end of Juyeon’s feet and diagonally towards Eric, she gives him the bread. 

“Oh, thank you, Y/n.” Eric takes it and opens the sealed edge. 

“You’re seriously giving him?” Juyeon takes only his head up from the mattress which forces his voice to come out strained. 

“Yeah?” Y/n smiles and looks at him. 

“He should only get a reward if he has done something good.” Juyeon falls back. 

“He has.” She insists. 

“Like what?” 

“Shut you up.” 

Eric laughs and hits the surface of the bed with his free hand. Y/n too smiles at her own comment and the two of them bring their hands to a high five. While the laughs lingers in between the divide of the bed Juyeon shifts onto his stomach and falls flat with his head against the fabric.

When they arrived with the bus at the outer corner of the city, it was already dark. They ran until street signs were rare and seeked for their conservation behind a karaoke bar down the crowded street. At the backside of the building with all bins of alcohol cans and empty plastic bags, they sat between the black synthetics. It rained still, they balanced on their feet even when they had sat there for 20 minutes. At last, Juyeon spoke for the first time since the shout to run behind the corner. After, they took the bus on a lonely waiting platform with no screen on the bus times, just a worn down time table underneath the name. 

No one else beside them and a man, two seats before, sat on the bus. And even the man walked off two stops before them as they sat on those demishined seats for as long as the ride let them. When the last stop got called through the speakers, they walked off back into the rain and the sun had fallen. Only those usual lights on row down the street were there to guide. At last when their feet were sore from escaping and minds had become numb from all the oversaturation they came to a hotel in gloom. 

They couldn’t tell if it was because of the dark or the hotel building simply hadn’t been renovated since it first came to fruition on this street. Either way, three of the eight letters before the entrance didn’t work. 

After barely an hour after closing the door to their small room in which Juyeon used his extra money for, they took on other clothes and went to lie in bed. Eric’s closest to the window, Y/n in the divide where the two beds leave a limited gap and Juyeon thereafter. She feels slightly stale when in between the two of them, but it loosens off quickly when Eric starts talking about stories from when he was younger and what he and his friends did the month ago. The two older listens as his words become incomprehensible in sleep.

Suddenly it's just the two of them again. Y/n’s quiet when Juyeon starts coughing a little, he takes his arm up to his mouth and she turns their shared side to see him caress the underside of his throat. When they were running from the officers and jumped behind the back alley, Juyeon too reached deeply for air and desperately seemed to mute his coughs while waiting. She blinks a few times while still staring at him, before speaking. 

“You’re okay, Juyeon?” Only a mere part of all the worries and guilt in her heart.

“Yeah.” He coughs once more before guiding his arm underneath his head, “Just a little sick I think.” He smiles and scratches his hair, “The rain was really cold.” 

His voice only reaches the span of the closest two pillows when he takes his hands underneath his chin and turns to the side, “I think I need a hug.” 

Y/n squints her eyes and looks at his smile before whispering, “Really? "Right now?” 

Juyeon’s request when in a strange bed while his face circulates rounds on the internet, it feels rather inappropriate in her book. Though, she laughs as the fringe falls diagonally over his vast eyes. There’s a point in pearl essence when he looks at her in which she has no choice but to reach for his face. The same echoing words in the back of her mind as the night they spent together in each other's arms comes back. It taunts her to divide space in between them. But even when not only this Earth, but the universe, chases them, she still finds her soul melting of tenderness when he looks at her. 

“You are a bit cold.” She smiles and caresses his head. 

Juyeon hums and closes his eyes, shifts his head on the pillow before bringing himself closer. His head comes underneath her chin as her arms closer around him and his breath comes against her chest. 

For every touch of her hand against his essence, and each time her warmth pulsates out of her veins and spreads across his own, he can feel the ways in his throat become choked. Ribbons with sharp edges tightens around his heart. He closes his eyes painfully, forces his head closer to her chest, as if to merge with her, the pain will cease. All the world’s seems to desperately stand in his way, he thinks in this rain drowned night. He can’t look forward to the morning. When any road can take him there, he closes his eyes and wishes to remember this moment, her arms, her presence, even in death. The green plantations in between the frozen cracks might grow from this weather, and so do the lilac petals in his heart. 

- 

There’s a sharp edge of yellow light. It cuts through the dark room in a single divide and traces up the floor to her face where it climbs up the wall. Y/n opens her eyes just so that a liminal shade of the outer world can be conceived. The light comes from the open bathroom door diagonally from her. As hands spread across the pillow behind her to let the weight off the mattress, Y/n hears violent dry coughing coming from the gap. 

She looks to the left where the side of the window stands, Eric still sleeps. Juyeon’s pillow has creases left of him and the sheet is folded from where he left. Another severe cough occurs from that room and Y/n folds the fabric once more as the warmth accumulated underneath, lowers in degrees while free. Gently while rubbing her eyes with her left hand, Y/n takes the other on the frame while adjusting her eyes to the light. 

“Juyeon?” 

He depends on the sink with his hands. Upper body leaned forward over the crater while his back replicates the harsh sounds coming from his throat. Y/n tilts her head to see his face, but neither standard vision or mirror angle contravene her fear. The cough brutally tears on the insides of his throat, it too causes delusive discomfort in her own body. 

His back straightens suddenly and Juyeon turns his head over. She stays in continued silence as he looks at her with eyes of liquid layers and redness underneath. He takes his arm up to his mouth to cough again before he takes a step closer and directs his body to come in between the bounded space of frame and body. 

“I’m okay.” He says hastily without making eye contact. 

Y/n follows the sight of his back silhouette returning into the hotel room. She lets go of the door frame, takes a single step to the sink. A dead garden with only traces left, deep lilac petals. It decorates the sink by erratic trails from the mit where water comes down. The air in her own chest twined amidst two ways. In contrast to the exhausted motions from the bathroom, she forces the door up even wider until it hits the other wall. Juyeon with arms against the mirror at the bed end, and she rushes towards him. 

“Juyeon!” With her hands on his shoulders, she pulls him closer to turn him in a direction to let his front face hers. But he stubbornly leans heavier against the mirror and only his left shoulder comes two centimeters closer before returning back. 

“Juyeon!” Her voice is loud in a room compressed beside ten others at the end of the city. She refuses to close her eyes when he coughs again and eventually, they plummet to the ground when he can’t bear the flowers rotting his body. Juyeon's face hides before the carpet. 

Y/n sinks to her knees, takes one hand under his chin and the other at the back of his head. To force his face up from the floor and see lilac vibrancy in gloom consume his features. A single petal falls from the end of his lips down to her thigh. Now when it traces her essence, she feels so cruel for being optimistic. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” The hand on his hair comes to his cheek where she touches the red coloration with her thumb. Let the gentle pressure create white patterns before it returns to that color. 

“I- '' Juyeon coughs again and Y/n takes her other arm on his shoulder when he comes down to her lap. His hair scattered across her legs and the ceiling above him withers in view. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Y/n repeats in which he looks remorsefully up at her from her embrace. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” 

Tears threaten at the borderline under her eyes. Y/n shakes her head and reaches for the backpack behind her. This entire life, she wished to still be holy, but she realizes she might never be, when one grip the arrow. She holds it in her right hand, above his fragile heart. Juyeon’s eyes widen as the sharp knife aims at his vulnerable. He takes her wrist from below and speaks through the petals. 

“What are you doing?” He coughs. 

“I need to save you, Juyeon!” Y/n holds against him with her own strength. 

Her voice becomes softer, “It won’t hurt, Juyeon, I would never hurt you.” The single tear comes off her eye and falls onto his cheek. He pity her so deeply. But he wishes to be destroyed, eradicated by fate, if only he follows her for an eternity. 

“I-I don’t want to.” His voice is sore when he speaks and she shakes her head. 

“You’re gonna die, Juyeon.” She weighs down the arrow even harder, “I can’t let you die.” 

Shift of fabrics comes from the bed above them. Juyeon closes his eyes. Even in no visual presence he feels her raging strength extraordinarily work against him. A single glimpse into the future and his heart aches, maybe even more than the tearing in his throat. He doesn’t know where the second arrow will land after she strikes him, but he might as well be buried six feet under if it’s because of her. 

“I love you, Y/n.” He breathes heavily while his eyes lie underneath their lids. Y/n takes his shoulder with her other hand, shakes him fervently, 

“Juyeon!” 

“I just want to hear you…” He whispers and Y/n forces her eyes close when the tears run down her skin. The grip on the arrow becomes weak from both directions as she leans her face on his chest. Y/n shakes her head because fate betrayed her, gruesome and vengefully again. 

There’s faintly rain shatter. The dark gray clouds can be seen from this angle but one can only insinuate the existence of a cityscape at the end of the frame. Each of the droplets running down against the glass becomes further precise. He traces the outline of one of them, like his youth, following its tail to the very end where it shatters into pieces. 

“He’s awake!” 

A voice that echoes in the strange room, it shares the same stardust as his. He turns from the window and the yellow shine from spotlight sources blinds him. Juyeon squints his eyes as his head comes flat against the hard pillow and a silhouette covers the light in the ceiling. 

“Juyeon?” His voice is delicate, softer than in his memories. He knits his eyebrows and answers the one above him. 

“Yeah?” 

It’s only a word, pronounced sore and lost, but either way, it creates a smile on the boy above. As if too fragile to touch, he reaches his hand down to his shoulder and shakes him gently. 

“It’s Eric!” He smiles still. 

Juyeon still squints his eyes, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Juyeon?” 

The door from the other end of the room opens. There’s a wall before, in which two hands hold it while someone peaks through. A doctor comes before her, stands a meter behind Eric while the girl who spoke his name closes in. 

Another second passes before he speaks her name. His hand comes down to his chest and he rises from the bed just a little. The girl walks from the spot at the very end of his feet to the opposite side of Eric. She holds both her hands before her front and leans down to him. He feels cold off her body as if been in the rain he just chased. She holds his shoulders while her head rests beside his. Juyeon closes his eyes and embraces her too. 

“I was so worried.” She speaks quietly, so that each breath reaches his ear. 

“I’m okay, don’t worry anymore.” He answers whilst hugging her tighter. 

-

On the day Juyeon woke up at the hospital, she had ran to the bus platform in harsh rain after she got the hurried call from Eric that he was in sleep. Y/n only gave him a few hours to accept how she had altered fate, stand beside them in the yellow room whilst the past became forgotten. Juyeon, after waking up, went to the police station, he was on probation for a month, because of illegal firearm use but they did acknowledge self defense and past of no criminal records. Eric lived with Juyeon’s girlfriend at that time. 

When visiting him while on probation nearly everyday after school, Eric told him the weeks leading up to the blackout. All while his brother returned to true state, Eric felt inexpressibly alone after walking home. How he lives in the ruins where no one goes. 

Since that day, at the hotel where he nearly saw Juyeon die, Eric apologizes a lot for not being present. He wants to tell them that he lives in dreams, and put himself there because her name will never be forgotten. Instead he’s forced to tell the people that there was no Y/n, no love service, no magic, just an accident as Juyeon had gotten a gun curiously, used it to defend himself when a stranger was attacked in an alley. The rest of the story after new years stays, but without Y/n. He doesn’t know how she did it, but even the name of the friend the police got that morning after new years is not hers, but a friend of Juyeon’s. 

Now when it’s the end of spring and the edge of summer, he lives with Juyeon again. They meet up with his girlfriend often after Juyeon’s work. In two days, he’ll pass the school entrance for the last time, and think back, on a summer day in the near future. But as he lies in bed at night, he can’t help mourn the loss of that endless winter. Y/n told him that those moments will wither, not feel as intensely as they once did. But he’s still there. 

Eric comes home the next day after being out with his friends after school. Juyeon should be home, he thinks, as he’s nowhere to be seen when in the hallway. To see the sofa in the living room but sounds of struggle comes from a half open door opposite the balcony. There’s no sounds from Eric when walks with only his socks into his bedroom. Eric tilts head to see Juyeon’s back in his closet. 

“Why are you in my room?” Eric asks and Juyeon looks up from the floor. 

“Your closet door is a bit loose.” He pushes the black slide, “It’s soon done.” Juyeon smiles. 

Eric nods but doesn’t take away his vision from that corner as a black box sits beside Juyeon. The lid’s off the edge by a centimeter. Eric comes in and lays the bag at the frame before weighing down on the bed edge. Juyeon has laid down the working material and looks at the black box. Eric straightens his posture when he takes it in his hands. 

“I’m just curious, I didn’t mean to be nosy, but why do you have this dress?” Juyeon takes off the lid and angles the rectangular frame to showcase its inside. The dress in light blue color, detailed with white lace, is delicately folded so that the square neckline lies in center of the box. Eric bites his lip, hands on his thighs and touches them up and down the cotton fabric. There’s silence for a moment and Juyeon observes the younger’s expression when no words come out. 

“Eric?” He let the box down to his lap. 

“It’s yours.” He says and finally looks at him. 

Juyeon tilts his head.

“Mine?” 

Eric nods, “You bought it as a gift, you were supposed to give it to her on New Years.” 

Juyeon asks if he means his girlfriend and Eric shakes his head, looks down again. The fingers of his right hand start scratching against the left. A thin layer of skin loosens from the nail binding. He bites his lip again and thinks of all the lone mind echoes. 

Eric hasn’t seen Y/n since the day at the hospital. When Juyeon and his girlfriend started talking down in the room, Eric silently escaped and walked around the different floors with stairs in between. There was a door on the highest floor to an outside platform. Eric stood there, feeling a great sense of compassion for the Earth-like-tears. When it felt like everything might have been a dream, Y/n called his name. 

To come into her embrace and affirm she’s real. Though, Y/n told him before leaving that her existence is now not a valid part of Juyeon’s world. That there’s just the two. That she promises he’ll not be left at the threshold of two worlds, that this moment in each other's arms isn’t the last. But winter will soon end, and he must accept how the flowers will forget about snow once it is replaced. 

Eric breathes, “It’s Y/n.” He finally admits, still looking down. 

Juyeon knit his eyebrows, “Y/n?” 

Eric nods and a faint smile comes on his lips, “The one you saved, with the gun was Y/n. She lived with us at the end of December and you told me you loved her. You wanted to ask her out at New Years but you never got the time, because then the police searched for you.” 

Juyeon listens quietly, opens his mouth but none come to flourish. Instead he shakes his head. 

“I wasn’t told that.” He says hurt. 

“She told me not to tell you.” 

“But the police, the doctors…” He names the people who have affirmed fiction. 

Eric starts swinging his feet and smiles again, “It sounds stupid, but Y/n’s not a human.” 

Juyeon raises one eyebrow. 

“She’s a goddess, you fell in love with the love goddess, and she, in you.” 

-

Juyeon didn’t believe Eric. The younger stubbornly chased after him when Juyeon simply told him, “That’s ridiculous”. To run around every corner of the apartment, even into Juyeon’s room where Eric lied down beside him and reiterated. When Juyeon still persisted, Eric sighed and went up from the bed and out of Juyeon’s room. Went to his own, before coming back with his phone.

“Look, here she is.” 

Juyeon turns to Eric’s screen and sees a selfie, presumably he himself has taken of Eric, himself and a girl at the very end. Juyeon’s own phone falls to his stomach and he leans closer to see the picture. 

“When’s this?” He asks. 

“This winter, in our old apartment.” 

Eric scrolls to the next photo which is taken at the store, when they tried out angel outfits. The photo is clearly centered on Eric in his small wings, but Y/n can be seen to the right laughing in her own costume. 

“This one’s good.” Eric laughs and scrolls to the next photo in which Y/n holds the pink box on the platform with Juyeon beside her. He throws an awkward peace sign up with half his hair in his face. 

“I don’t remember this.” Juyeon tilts with a half smile and takes the phone from Eric’s hand. The younger one comes down fully on the shared pillow as they go through the pictures from that winter. 

“She’s the one you wanted to give the dress to.” Eric says eventually. 

“Have you met her since?” Juyeon asks at the last picture of them at new year’s. 

Eric shakes his head, “No,” He sighs, “She told me that her mother had found her and that she was only allowed a quick visit to meet me.” 

Juyeon nods. As if looking at another life when reversing the pictures. But her face, always in the captured stills from the past, insists a dime of all his sensibilities to tell him he cares. Even as the day passes, her face lives like cathedral windows before him. 

-

The moon, lifeless, in shine hanging above the sleeping Earth. It’s been dark for a couple of hours. The sun stays above the city line a second longer for each day that passes. 

When no one’s there to verify one's existence, the glass door to the balcony opens. No heavy wind passes through the city streets during this weather, but nonetheless she closes the door back to its frame before taking silent steps against the floor. The shoe material at the tip of her toes makes a pitched sound. Those steps come closer to the left door of two at one wall. 

To bring her hand out to the handle without any weight. She lets the shine melt into her own essence before gently forcing it down. Between that space is his room, she stands there for a second to finally see it in all three dimensions. At last, when her eyes trail down the wall details and reach him beneath the soft fabrics. His mere existence is extremely poetic. 

He reminds her of the present fragile complexity. How human he makes her feel, she thinks. She brings her hand up to her chest, above the spot of her clothing where underneath all the layers, one can sense the quick pulses. Eventually, she takes a step over the borderline, his features in pale moonlight become all clearer. When he’s so close to her, she hesitantly takes out her hand. 

His delicate skin is underneath her fingertips, slowly she pulls them back to her own side. Instead, sits down on the left space beside his hip. The bed sheets crinkles when her weight changes the patterns of the creases. She tilts her head. As if there’s a field drawing them towards each other, she leans over his chest and her face comes as close as it can. 

At this mere distance, each of his breath lingers. She had been dying to hear his voice and see his face, but truly her heart aches in bliss when his scent touches her face. It forces her to open closed off memories, may be sun bleached and dust, but it warms her human heart, as a part of him she had forgotten, returns to her. Her hand comes to the side of his pillow as she leans forward. He shifts his head and the beautiful hair scatters in new patterns. That peaceful sensation lasts, until the motions of his head spreads to his eyes and they slowly open. 

She immediately backs away, the hand returns to her lap and the sudden motion causes an effect on the rest of the bed. There’s a new emotion in her heart as he forces himself off the mattress and rubs his eye. She is still there, at the edge of his bed, when he looks at her with tired eyes. She wishes for him to fall right back onto the pillow, but he doesn’t, instead he continues to stare at her while the exhaustion from sleep disappears. 

She finally stands up from the bed. He looks up at her and trails after when she rushes out of the room. Juyeon is left with his hands on the mattress, blinking a few times, agape his lips. 

The person on the bed was a visit from a past life. He nearly wonders if the pictures on Eric’s phone he's been thinking about, might have started haunting him. But there’s a pattern left on the spot where she sat, a real world consequence of her existence. 

Juyeon takes the sheets off his body and walks up to the door. The silhouette stands at the outer edge. The glass is against the other wall and her lower body is covered by patterns of metal as she stands with her back against the free fall. A night wind from the moon comes through the open door and touches his warm body. It filtrates the thin fabric of his sleepwear and he takes another step forward. As her right feet disappear beneath the balcony floor, Juyeon speaks. 

“Wait!” 

The moonlight shines behind her when she turns her eyes from beneath. 

He opens mouth and walks closer, “You’re Y/n, right?” 

Juyeon takes his right leg higher to pass the doorstep elevation before the cold hard floor of the balcony. She’s leaning with both her hands on the railing which causes her to come in greater height than Juyeon. With still a meter between them, Juyeon looks up to her and asks again. 

“You’re Y/n?” 

The scene is rather overwhelming for her. Only in imagination has she continued seeing those moon made eyes and voice that causes spring to reach the very isolated, cold corners of her heart. None of the human vocabularies she has learned feels acceptable to answer him with, none withstand the level of adoration her heart feels. So at last, to open up to conversation with him one more time, Y/n nods her head. 

As she blinks, the nods become faster, “Yeah, it’s me.” 

For the first time, after a season, she sees him smile again, “Hi, Y/n.”

She breathes out and smiles too, “Hi, Juyeon.” Though, she tilts her head and observes the highlights caused from the moon on his face. 

“How do you know my name?”

A wind passes them, “Eric told me.” He breathes, “He told me you were a goddess, that you saved my life that day when the police came.” 

Y/n looks down for a second, still smiling, “Eric couldn’t keep it in, right?” 

“He’s pretty indiscreet. Though I guess you already know that?” 

Y/n nods.

There’s a passage of silence while a car drives down the street below them. Juyeon hasn’t taken his eyes off her for even a second, trying to place where in his heart she occupied space and if, when they stand together again, the doors will open again for her. 

“Where were you?” He asks which makes Y/n look at him again, “All of spring?” 

“With my mother.” She nods slowly, “I’m receiving my punishment…” Y/n looks down before smiling. Yet, she looks as if forced to improvise, he thinks“...I’m allowed to visit Earth more often though, I have an apartment here now.” She pauses, “So I’m at least free from that place.” 

Juyeon tilts his head, “Punishment?” 

“I escaped Olympus, I interfered a lot with human relationships…” She nods with ocean-heavy-eyes, “My mother was pretty angry.” 

Juyeon listens attentively when Y/n trails her eyes away and picks at her fingers. 

“You don’t remember, but I did fall in love with you back then. Changed your fate from the disease which I shouldn't have.” She looks down, the smile has slowly vanished with the wind, “So I am forever destined to love you unrequited.” She says as if turning home. 

The last sentence falling from her lips, causes a permanent block in whatever way was left in his heart. Like winter comes back in a second, deep frost structures his cathedral heart. 

“Unrequited?” He repeats. 

Y/n nods, “I will never be able to love anyone else. And you, will never love me.” 

Juyeon blinks, “Don’t you have powers?”

Y/n smiles again, laughs a little as she takes an arrow from behind her back. For the first time since he saw her eyes, something else falls in center. The sharp edge shines off the left side from the silver light. He realizes as he looks at it, that it is the same edge that must have struck him. 

“I’ll die if I use it and the same on you.” Y/n takes the sharp end against his arm. Juyeon brings it closer to his chest as the edge makes a white mark on his skin before it springs back in color. Y/n lowers her head and the arrow disappears behind her back, as mysteriously as it came. 

Juyeon looks at his arm. There’s nothing equivalent in words to describe the slow paced swan song that runs through his veins. But somehow he sees the dejection at the tips of her lips and it shares like grief in his heart. He doesn’t know why, but at last he speaks those words that die to come out in the silence. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Y/n tilts her head, laughs softly before speaking, “Why are you apologizing?” 

“I don’t know.” Juyeon scratches the back of his head, “I wish I didn’t have to leave you to love alone.” 

Y/n shakes her head, “Even if you didn’t forget me and everything else, my love would have outlived you by a hundred years.” She pauses and looks at him, like described out of a mythology, “Our love was never destined to be forever.” 

Despite standing before each other once again, there’s an undeniable distance. Y/n ‘s heart that desperately longs for Juyeon’s, but there is no lost place. There’s no use in trying. The universe has created an eternal absence, pulling them miles apart even when they’re here, at the same time in the same place. How tragically, he thinks. 

“But…I wasn’t punished?” Juyeon knits his eyebrows. 

“I mean, kind of.” Y/n says gently, “Though, not in the way I am.” 

“But I don’t understand, what was my punishment?” 

“Guilt.”

Juyeon tilts his head, “Guilt?” 

She smiles weakly, “Cause you’re a good person, Juyeon.” And it slowly fades, “Only good people die with guilt.” 

He looks down onto the cold floor of the balcony. There’s tragedy in marrow, cruelly hurts  when she thinks of the eternity waiting for her. How the adoration for him will simply not mature. How her heart will search for him, far and wide, even when he’s no longer here. 

Y/n swallows, “Anyways,” She shakes her head to let a strand fall beside her face. Her voice tears Juyeon’s eyes up from the floor, “You told me before I saved you…” She pauses to let another wind pass them by. 

“...that you loved me. But I never said it back.” 

Y/n looks down from the railing, locks eyes again. She reaches deep within, to find maybe even a fragment of him that will remember those words. 

“So I want to tell you that I love you too, Juyeon. Not because I’m punished to, but because you loved in a way no one else has done.” She breathes out, “I didn’t quite understand love back then, I couldn’t understand humans,” She smiles weakly, “even when I wanted to save you and you said no, I couldn’t grip my head around why you didn’t want to be saved.” He looks at the goddess with vast eyes when the moonlight is at its brightest behind her. 

“But now, when I’m forever punished loving you, I still think that I wouldn’t want it any other way.” She says, “I want to love sincerely even when you don’t love me.” 

The lips of his mouth form a faint gape. The reflection of the moon in the left center pupil fades and returns like it's pulsing. He waits for a spark, a falling star or even a firework, but the night stands as still as it always does. Though, with the sincere words she gives him, he wishes there’s a part in his heart that receives it, that can fully comprehend the words she so gently tells him. 

Another car passes by and Y/n looks down the detailed street in lights. Her hand comes up before making a sound on the metal railing. 

“Well, I think that was all.” The smile she gives him comes as if perfectly out of the photo on Eric’s phone, “Thank you, Juyeon. I’ll protect you and Eric from the bad things, you've been through enough.” She once again takes a foot down the balcony.

“Wait-” 

Y/n looks up as he pushes the glass door open again and disappears into the room. Still halfway down, Y/n tries to perceive his shadow behind the frame. Only struggles of doors and paper can be heard from her distance, but at last, Juyeon comes out again. He holds a black paper box with his two hands. 

“I don’t remember, but Eric told me I wanted to give this to you on New Year’s, but I never got the chance to.” 

Y/n comes up again, reaches her hands out but hesitantly takes them back a centimeter. Juyeon smiles delicately and pushes the box closer to her. To open the lid, he sees her  expression fade into brilliance. As if sunrise has come above the horizon, he tilts his head and smiles too. The distance destined between them refuses to let him fully comprehend the gift, but truthfully when she lifts it up, a pure bliss rushes through him. 

“You brought it?” Y/n holds the top part of the dress as those burnt memories return.

“Apparently,” He smiles. 

As she pulls the fabric a bit higher, a piece of paper reveals itself underneath. Y/n takes her other hand and folds open the letter. 

Happy New Year’s, Y/n! 

You looked really pretty in that dress so I wanted to give it to you. If I ask you out now, I hope you will wear it. 

Love, Juyeon

She reads it over and over until it means visually nothing and ocean edges on her eyes. The choir of lovers that sing in her lone marrow, how each word tears at her strings deeply, “Thank you, Juyeon, thank you.” They shine as she looks back up. 

She puts the letter into the box again and closes the lid. 

“I’ll treasure it forever, I promise. “ 

He smiles because she now knows it wasn’t always unrequited. That the mourn and loss wasn’t all for nothing. Though, still in melancholy cause he can’t help her like she saved him. Amidst everything in silence, Juyeon’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, I nearly forgot. Eric’s graduation is tomorrow,""do you want to come?” 

“Are you sure?” Y/n hesitates. 

“Of course.” He smiles, “I think he missed you.” 

At those words, she finally nods, embraces the box a bit closer, “Then, I’ll come!” 

“Great, meet me on this street at ten tomorrow morning, okay?” 

Y/n nods and takes a step down. 

“I think you should use the stairs.” Juyeon leans over the railing. 

“Oh, right.” 

“Eric!” 

He turns when his name, pronounced deja vu inducing extreme, trails the high ceiling. The friends in circle stops talking and almost instantly, he recognizes her silhouette, that can overthrow the world, in the crowd. 

“Y/n!” The paper in his hands withers off when he meets her halfway there. She closes her eyes when he’s under her arms again. The black suit he has on scratches against her arms. Y/n tells him he’s the most handsome she has ever seen him. She ruffles his head when they let go. Eric would have sulked but couldn't when he had missed her so deeply. 

Juyeon came up too and soon after his girlfriend walked through the entrance. Y/n, though, struck her heart that night after Juyeon, didn’t have a chance to see her. As she stood real before her, she smiled fondly and introduced herself. Her tender heart, molten because of the lovers. Though as the two turn to walk down the entrance, and their traces leave Eric Y/n, her cursed soul starts to mourn. 

She thinks; if I told you my world stopped when I saw you. You wouldn’t have believed me. You should have known by then that the heaven’s lies in my palms and when you said my name, angels heard it echo. 

They say nothing truly disappears, that it just changes. Then, she hopes that if she shouts his name into the black void, it’ll come back to him as an echo. That if she believes in love, help people over the street, pet cats and water her plants, that all that love will reach him someday, in some form. 

She hopes, if she lives on, worshiped in history, that if her name gets spoken in the far future, his will too. When we believe there’s nothing left to be made holy, she sincerely begs to tell this tale, to any lovers, that’s left alive. 

© littleroaes, written and all

a/n : that self conscious part of me thinks no one will make it down here, but if you did, thank you!

tagging : @from-izzy

[nekrosdolly]

haunting you - a. wesker x reader

you're a stripper and he's a scientist who's never felt the touch of another.

a/n; first wesker piece i've written in a whiiiile so i'm sorry if this is a little clunky!!

content warnings; set in 1998 before the mansion incident, jill moonlights as a bartender, virgin!wesker, stripper!reader (no set stripper name), wesker is in his late thirties (38), reader is 21, loss of virginity, brief dry-humping, sex (p in v), dirty talk, technically bottom/sub wesker, top/dom reader, this might be ooc (im rusty), light petplay (you call him a puppy and he almost creams), whiny wesker, slight condescension from the reader, not proofread as always lol

terms of endearment; darling, sweetheart, dear, puppy (wesker)

wc; 2.460k

You stare at your reflection in the vanity mirror, one of many workers tonight who are less than strapped for cash not unlike yourself. Since you were legal, you’d made the choice, albeit degrading, to start stripping. That was three years ago. Now twenty-one, you’re less naive and smarter with your money, but still lacking financially. Not to mention, you’d been at this club for three years, why change that? No real job would take you if you told them what you’d been doing as a makeshift career anyway.

And so you stare. Your makeup is kept simple but alluring enough for most anyone to be drawn to you, but your outfit is the real showstopper. Strappy and black, you’re nearly naked, but you’re used to that by now. The usual pre-performance jitters have struck you once again, leaving you with cold feet and nerves that aren’t much warmer. Even in the back rooms, you can hear the bass-heavy music and high whistles of men vying for more of whomever’s attention. It’s enough to draw you from your shell and with a few deep breaths, you force yourself away from the vanity. The path to the stage is short, much to your chagrin, and the lights are hotter than hell when you step out to the shiny stage. While you get no cheering, you get your own special welcome of drunken customers whistling lowly and the occasional whoop. 

You know from experience that, while intoxicated, watching someone work the pole is hypnotic at the least. Your audience can hardly take their eyes off of you, rolling your body against the chromatic steel pole. It’s still warm from the previous dancer. Your anthem for tonight is seductive and slow, as most dancers’ songs are, and your face is the peak of seduction even as the inebriated crowd douses you with cash of all varieties.

After the dance, you’re slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. Nobody ever said dancing was easy, even the exotic kind. You walk to the bar, swaying your hips with every step. Despite the money you’d earned from your on-stage performance, you’re hounding for more. You refuse to leave with less than your month’s rent tonight. So you saunter to the bar, your sultry gaze scanning the sea of people carefully.

“A drink?” Jill, the bartender asks as you lean against the bar. She’s always liked you, so she slips you a free drink now and then.

“Please,” you nod softly and she smiles, ready to make your usual as a platinum-blonde man approaches you. He offers you no smile, just a somewhat menacing stare. You’d be scared if there wasn’t something so virginal about him. Otherwise handsome, with pale skin and blue eyes behind slightly dorky prescription glasses. Not to mention, he’s dressed in a suit.

“Lovely show,” he says with a somewhat nasally voice. Like clockwork, you smile and sip the cocktail Jill slides over to you. His lips twitch slightly at the corners- a smile by his terms in return.

“Thank you, honey.”

“Of course, dear.” He takes a seat on the stool beside you, flagging Jill over for a cocktail of his own. He seems confident, though you’re not sure if it’s because he’s got money or because he’s talking to someone attractive. Your gaze remains steady on his face, although his trails much lower on you before flicking up to meet your eyes. Weird, you could’ve sworn they were blue just a moment ago…

“Do tell, darling,” he ghosts a pale, elegant hand over your shoulder, “how much would a few hours of privacy with you cost me?” 

Just looking at him, he seems like he has money. He reeks of crisp bills that can hardly fit in his overflowing wallet. Part of you wonders just how much you can get out of him. Your performance left you with roughly $360- not quite enough. Should you play your cards right, he could be your last customer for the night.

“Three hundred per hour.” You say with that same smile. He doesn’t flinch at the number like most men might. Then again, you get the feeling that he’s not like most men. He seems respectful, too- maybe you were wrong and he’s a regular, or maybe he doesn’t want to get kicked out. He nods and you finish your drink quickly. He does the same.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the back of the club where there’s less light and doors that lead to private rooms. If he were allowed to touch you, he’d offer you his arm.

-

You can always tell the experience level of men when they’re alone with you, away from friends whom they might try to fool with a hyper-masculine persona. This man- whose name you still don’t know- is similar to that. He grows a bit more fidgety, maybe out of impatience, and when he sits down on the plush velvet booth surrounding the stage, he struggles to stay still. He clears his throat quietly and looks away from you as you straddle him.

“So tell me,” you purr, cupping his jaw and guiding him to look at you in all your seductive glory. The way your hair is styled compliments your makeup, the curve of your pliant flesh between the straps of your skimpy bikini bottom that’s adorned with black gems, and your top decorated with those same gems. His cheeks heat up at the smooth sound of your voice, red tinging his alabaster cheeks. Nervous eyes trail up your body to meet your own, your heavy gaze inflicting arousal upon him. The heavy feeling pools in his gut, his cock twitching to life in his boxers.

“What’re you looking for? A lap dance? Something a little more?” It’s a little late to be asking that but you get the feeling he doesn’t mind. Even though you’re just hovering, you can feel a hint of the bulge in his pants.

He swallows thickly.

“What would a little more get me?” He asks quietly, his hands unsteadily hovering around your waist. Seeing such soft skin begging to be touched makes his mouth water. Little do you know- you might, given how anxious he seems to be- he’s had very few chances to touch someone as gorgeous as you. He’d taken none of those chances and to this day, remains a virgin. He’s not used to being so close to someone like you.

“Sex, sweetheart.” You rub his cheek with your thumb, resisting the urge to tease him into oblivion. Technically, soliciting sex is against club rules, but what your boss doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “Would that cost extra?” “Yeah, it would. You buying?”

“H-How much?”

“An extra three hundred.”

He rushes to grab his wallet from his pocket and dig out the three hundred. You smile as you take it from his trembling hand and tuck it into the waistband of your panties.

“Thank you…”

“Albert.”

“Thank you, Albert,” you settle your full weight onto his lap, really feeling the extent of his boner under your clothed cunt. He groans quietly, biting his bottom lip as he stares wantonly at you. A soft giggle escapes your throat, “just a few rules though.”

He gulps and nods, trying his hardest to pay attention in favor of rutting against your warm, inviting cunt like a dog in heat. You let go of his face.

“One; you cannot leave bruises- no hickeys, scratches, bitemarks, etcetera. Two; no kissing, I need my makeup to be perfect. Three; I’m in control and if you have a problem, speak now or forever hold your peace.” You give him a moment to voice any protests, but he’s quiet as a mouse.

“Fourth and finally, if you cum inside of me, you’re paying me an extra hundred per load. Do you consent to all these rules?”

“I do.”

“Good man,” you feel his cock throb at the praise. Albert sucks in a sharp breath as you slowly roll your hips, a shaky exhale following when you guide his hands to your waist. His hesitance feeds your confidence like fuel to a fire. He tips his head back, each movement against his clothed cock forcing a pathetic whine from the back of his throat. He bites his bottom lip hard and true to a virgin’s ways, his climax is approaching quickly. Sure, he’s masturbated before, but this is much different. You’re so pretty and wet, your dripping arousal soaking through the gusset of your panties. Watching him slowly come undone, the menacing facade melting into the mess he’s trying so hard not to be is satisfying. You’re relatively unphased, even as his cock bumps your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. He’s getting too close to cumming.

“I-I’m going to- Wait, please,” he grips your hips tight, making you still, “I need to be inside of you.” You nod softly and scoot back a little, allowing him to unzip his fly and shove his pre-cum stained boxers down so his cock stands free. Pale fading to pink at the tip, weeping with sticky, salty fluid- he’s long, about three fingers thick, and clean-shaven. He looks down at your hand as you grab his length, cooing quietly at him with faux sympathy and stroking him once, twice.

“Please,” his hands ball into fists with the effort of his restraint. Needy, half-lidded blues meet yours again, “please fuck me.” 

���Sure, sweetheart.” You chuckle softly and push your panties to the side, careful of the cash hooked on your waistband, and shuffle closer. He nearly cums the moment you lower yourself onto his achy length, his mouth dropping open. You wince slightly at the stretch- it’s on you for forgoing prep, but how can you deny him when he’s so pliant in your hands? His hands shoot our to grab your waist firmly, struggling to maintain what little composure he has left. Panting, his cheeks are bright red, and he can’t stop looking at you. 

He allows you a moment to adjust- though it’s mostly for himself to will himself to avoid cumming on the spot. You’re wet and warm, gummy walls surrounding his length perfectly. It’s even better when you start moving, rolling your hips smoothly. Hands on his shoulders, you keep yourself steady as you ride him. Soft moans fall from your lips, his cock brushing against your spongy g-spot deep within your velvetine walls. He’s all but whimpering, his perfectly aligned teeth digging hard into his pale pink lower lip so hard he might bleed.

He does once you lean forward and move faster, your face just inches from his. If you hadn’t set the rule of no kissing, he’d be pressing his lips to yours to hide his pathetic noises. 

“You know,” you murmur, locking his eyes to yours again, “you look kind of like a puppy.” His cock kicks inside of you at that, a stray moan slipping from his lips. He shouldn’t like that, really. He’s a scientist- a virologist to be more specific-, a professional, uptight man, and yet he’s acting so subserviently. It would be bothersome if he wasn’t balls deep inside of you and nearing his climax quickly. 

Panting, he struggles to restrain himself. He can’t help himself as he leans forward and wraps you in his (oddly) strong arms, burying his face into your neck to stave off his orgasm for just a little longer. The obscene squelch of your slick makes his head spin, each roll of your hips making him grunt or groan louder and louder until-

“C-Cumming- cumming-” he rasps, his pulsing length spilling hot, sticky seed deep within your gummy walls. The moan he lets out is downright shameful, his grip on you tightening exponentially.

You gasp quietly at how much he cums and how deep it is, nearly reaching your cervix. You pause for his sake, allowing him to relax against your soft body as he recovers from his high. In attempt to soothe him a little more, you rub his upper back. He grumbles and pushes himself against the back of the booth, huffing. His once-perfect hair has become a bit mussed, likely loosened due to the light sheen of sweat. He can’t seem to look at you as he slips another hundred into the waistband of your panties alongside the three other bills.

“Do you want to-” He gestures to you, still straddling him with his soft dick inside of you. Like a nice man, he wants you to finish, but you know you shouldn’t. It would likely increase the chances of you getting pregnant and you simply can’t have that, birth control implant be damned.

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head softly and get off of him, fixing your underwear as you turn away to give him privacy. He tucks himself in his boxers and zips his pants up before fishing for his now-thinner wallet, though it’s not completely empty yet. If you didn’t know better (and you don’t, he’s a stranger after all,) you’d think he gets off on this kind of thing- his wallet being drained.

Albert hands you three more hundreds and mumbles a quiet “thank you” for your services. It hasn’t even been an hour, but it’s not like he cares. Who wouldn’t want to give their money to someone as pretty as you?

He’s satisfied by the looks of things, his face less red now that he’s calmer and more composed. You take the money happily, watching him walk to the door with a smile on your lips.

“What’s your name, dear?” He looks at you over his shoulder.

“Come back soon and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Albert leaves with that, his dignity shattered and his pride dismantled. 

Weeks later and you’re at home sitting on your couch, watching the news late at night after one of your shifts. You’re barely paying attention, looking through missed calls on your motorola cd930 when you hear a familiar name come up on the missing persons list. The news anchor is reading off a list of names from the most recent tragedy- a mansion exploding in Arklay County, where supposedly some members of the local S.T.A.R.S team got trapped and barely made it out alive (so you’ve heard.)

“Albert Wesker, Joseph Frost, Richard Aiken, Edward Dewey…” The tired man drones on, listing off the rest of the names as pictures start to pop up. Only one face sticks out to you.

“No way,” you sit up straight and lean closer to your television, your eyes focused on Albert’s picture. Save for the sunglasses, that’s him. You’re shocked and honestly a little disheartened. 

In your dreams, you see him again.

[ruinouss]

Starter for @fellapart

Glasses clinked, sloshing contents over their edges as the newest patrons of the tavern cheered and sang old shanties with the workers. A thin cloud of smoke hung on the ceiling as more cigars, pipes, and cigarettes were lit, only clearing a bit when the front door swung open and allowed for some of it to escape. The island wasn't particularly large, only housing a single village but was protected from the maelstroms that surrounded the area.

Only a skilled navigator could guide ships through the treacherous water safely and back onto the Grand Line. It was why the Buggy pirates had been currently marooned on the island. With the navigator sick, they couldn't hope to sail onward without getting sucked into a massive whirlpool.

"I reckon y'all will be in town for a while then," she looked at the first three cards that had been flipped on the table: a king of diamonds, seven of spades, and queen of diamonds. Lifting her own cards off the table she peeked at the corners to see they had not changed from a seven of hearts and king of hearts. What were the chances she could get another king or seven in the two remaining flips? One of the other players had already folded and it was just her, the pirate captain, and one of his other crewmates.

Faye took a sip of her whiskey, slamming the glass down a bit harder than she meant before raising the bet. If she could get another seven or king then she could win with a full house. But if one of them had two queens in their hand and one of the next cards was a queen they'd beat her with four of a kind. She looked between the two remaining players, searching for tells.

"Ya ain't gonna be able t' sail around those pools without'm and if he's got the tide fever then he ain't gonna be able t' do much for at least another week or two."

[nerdraging4point0]

Underdog//Motionless one shot

The work below consists of fictionalized ideas and stories. It is an alternate universe story with only names and likenesses used in creation of a character. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction. Please review the content warning before proceeding.

CW: 18+ MNDI, Coach/athlete au, coach athlete sexual relationship [all parties regardless of being fiction are of legal age of consent. This does not mean that the behavior is ethical or acceptable in reality-does it happen, yes. Is that something I am going to go into? No. I am not an attorney. Per ChampionWomen Sexual contacts or “romantic” relationships between an athlete and a person who has a position of power over the athlete are prohibited. Person of power includes but is not limited to coaches, administrators, judges, referees, employers, staff, medical personnel, and even volunteers or older athletes and teammates.] the following one shot includes unprotected sex, P/V sex, fingering.

A.N: @mysticdoodlez and @ladyveronikawrites I present to you and owe you for this fucking piece of art.

Exhibition

Coach Cerulli stood off to the side in the coach's box, not saying a word, his legs shoulder-width apart as he swayed back and forth on his feet. He wears his disgustingly dark ensemble of worn high-top Converse and straight-leg jeans. Already obnoxiously tall, the dress style made him look even more intimidating. Glancing over him once, you notice an apparent sweat triangle starting at the collar of the black cotton tee he wore under his polyester team jersey. An electric green sea turtle was stitched on the right side of his chest, and Cerulli was stitched on the back. Trying to focus on your drill partner, Rachel, you steal quick glances after each ball toss. Under the black bill of his ball cap, Coach Cerulli's jaw clenched as he chewed the pale green gum between his teeth. 

Rachel rolled the neon yellow ball across the rust-colored dirt toward you; spreading your legs apart, bending at the waist, glove in hand, you dip to the ground, catching the ball on its roll, securing it with your other hand, you take a step, and toss the ball to her again. 

As a team, you'd been at this for an hour now; the humidity from the earlier rain made beads of sweat start at the back of your neck and under your cap. The gray storm clouds rolled over the Florida coast, looking angry; another storm was approaching.

Balmy tropical air and classic South Florida smell were something you'd missed when you were on break. Some of the girls decided to pack up and hit the slopes of Colorado for a week; you were more than eager to go. It had been a celebratory and bittersweet season last year, and you were all due for a nice getaway. Coach Adams announced last season that she'd be retiring sooner than expected. Her youngest had just graduated High School, and she struggled to adjust.

Enter Coach Cerulli. 

He was overbearing and a perfectionist; he drilled and worked the team till he felt you were perfect. It worked, or maybe it was because you wanted to impress Coach Adams for her final season. Leaving the season last year, you were nearly undefeated. And it was no surprise now that he demanded the same perfection. 

"You're looking soft, ladies. Let's pick it up. I wanna see some sweat, some determination, act like you fucking want it." He crossed his arms, kicking up some of the dirt from the field before he dropped down, squatting on one knee as he stretched the other to its entire length. 

Several players on the team turned to look at the coach; it was no secret most of the team found him hot. He was older. Way older. But that added to the heat of the idea. You were aware of Coach Cerulli's attractiveness, his dark hair and eyes; the only part of his skin not covered in tattoos was his achingly beautiful face. Once you'd gotten close enough to see his three little scars on his bottom lip, it only added to the mystery of what had been his past. Fantasy is what it was; it was all fantasy. There was no room for error when your college life was riding on a full sports scholarship. 

The team continued to drill, the breeze from the water bringing a salty taste to the air. Soon, the sun started to get lost behind the gray cover, thinking it might rain you guys out; the team slowed on drills, looking to coach and back at the sky. Coach stands up to his full height, his powerful form casting a shadow over the field. Deep and commanding, his voice brought the team's eyes and attention to him. 

"I've high expectations for my team; this isn't just any season. I have my sights set on the championship title, and we won't settle for anything less." Clapping his hands, you can hear the friction of him rubbing the skin together, his tattooed fingers lacing and curling over each other in a frenzy. A low rumble of thunder sounded from the sky; Coach Cerulli pursed his lips and looked at the foreboding weather.

 "One scrimmage, and we'll call it a night."

The team scrambled to their gear as he called out names and positions. You adjusted your cap, pulling loose strands of hair around your ears and reaching for your glove when the coach's voice called out your name.

"y/l/n. You're batting." There was no nonsense in his voice, and when you turned to protest, he smacked his gum between his teeth, heading to stand behind home plate. 

You never bat, at least not first; the pressure is too much. You were a fielder on the team with the best reflexes and speed. Others were better at this than you. Grabbing the bat, you lower your cap and head to the base. Coach is droning on about how he demands perfection from all players.

"We won't be putting people in places of their strength. I want you uncomfortable; it's the only way you grow." He turns to look at you and nods his head. Stepping up to the plate, you take your spot, raising your bat, eyes locked on Sammi, who is pitching. She gives you a look of pity, and you know she'll take it easy on you, at least. 

"Bat up." Coach growls. 

"It is up," you snap back. 

"If 'up' means hanging off your shoulder. It needs to be up higher. Fix your grip." 

You tighten your hands on the bat's base, nails nearly touching your palms as your hands turn white.

"Too tight, you're not strangling it." 

You huff out the air in your lungs, rolling your eyes. Just let me hit the ball, goddamnit. 

Sammi pitches the ball. It's a simple pitch, and you swing, barely ticking the ball; it doesn't even get air, hardly leaving the home base as it rolls back to her. Just great, I look like a peewee player in front of the coach. 

"Jenson, if you're gonna pitch. Pitch." he snaps. 

You watch as her face turns apologetic; great, no easy out this time.

"Fix your stance." a smack of his gum between his teeth follows his command. You can hear the wet smacking sounds, throwing you off concentration. He continues to throw useless advice your way each time you miss the ball. 

"You're off center."

Your patience is running thin, and you can see the players on the field becoming bored from the lack of action, just standing in the field and talking back and forth. 

"Ladies, look alive!" Coach booms, and they jump into their stance. 

Sammi nods at you, winding up to pitch; you lose all of the coach's advice, squaring up how you want. The swing is powerful, but the ball still whooshes by your bat and hits the fence behind the coach. 

You let the air out of your lungs, turning around to see Coach Cerulli looking right at you, arms crossed over his torso. You can see his brown eyes sparkling under his ball cap. 

"Nice hit," he says sarcastically. 

Tossing the bat, you walk off the field, tears stinging the back of your eyes and starting to burn your throat. You've had enough for one night. 

You can hear him bark orders to the team as the practice continues without you. Walking from the field, you walked around campus once, then twice; on your second lap, you realized you were halfway to your dorm and didn't have any of your gear. Your hands drag down your face in frustration, pushing your cap off your head. Your hair is sticky as you put the cap between your teeth and readjust the ponytail. Throwing the cap back on your head, you turn on your heel and head back to the field. 

Making your way back, you pass several teammates; keeping your cap down, you avoid their eye contact, but the sudden silence as you pass and the sad voices that follow behind your back don't go unnoticed.

Rachel caught sight of you, jogging up to meet you halfway walking backward as you continued your walk of shame to the field. 

"What's up? You walked off?" She has such sadness in her voice. She knows that you are sometimes too hard on yourself. You only have a little social life between studies and sports; your trip out of state lets you loosen up and gives you a good one-night stand. But it made you realize how much you hated having unsatisfactory sex with some drunk frat boy. 

"Rough time, that's all," you confess.

"I know you hate batting. I'm sorry." you only shrug your shoulders in response.

Coach Cerulli is tossing bags of extra bats and gloves next to the storage shed; the way he lifts the gear bag, throwing it over his shoulder, you catch his shirt ride up just a bit to reveal his tattooed torso.

"Need me to wait?" Rachel asks, offering a soft touch on your shoulder. 

"No. I got this." She jogs back to the campus as you enter the field. Turning at the dugout, not meeting the coach's eyes as he looks your way.

You are gathering your gear in your bag, trying not to make eye contact with the coach. The thunder is rumbling overhead again, closer than before; you can smell the rain coming. A heavy set of footsteps, and suddenly, he's clearing his throat behind you, your shoulders dropping in defeat.

"Sorry, coach." You keep your voice low and sincere. Feeling the pain in your throat again. Don't cry. Don't cry. 

"What's up with you out there?" The way he sounds less demanding, and the friendly tone in his words makes a lump form in your throat.

"I just get choked up."

"Why, you're here on a scholarship. Adams said you were the most dedicated player."

"And I am." You don't bother turning around. Tossing your glove and a few extra things into your bag.

"Didn't look like it today."

"People aren't perfect; not everyone can play every position you know." You turn around to face him; he's leaning against the dugout rail, ankles crossed, hands resting on the dark blue rail. 

"So, what is it that holds you back?"

"I just…. It's the crowd, the ump, and the pressure. The crowd is watching me, the team is watching me, and you're watching me." He adjusts his cap, turning his head to spit his gum out in the grass. 

"Grab your bat."

"What?" He kicks off the rail, stopping till he is only a foot in front of you. 

"You heard me. Grab your bat."

You scrambled for the bat as he walked back onto the field. You follow close behind, with no other teammates around the field that looks like it goes on for miles. Taking up your space next to home, you get ready to bat. 

You are barely set before he criticizes you. 

"Okay, first, your grip is too much." He stepped forward, putting his hands over yours, pulling your fingers loose from the neck, his large hands encasing your own as he helped re-grip the bat properly.

"Loosen up, spread your hands out a bit. There," the last word comes out as a soft whisper.

His brown eyes softened as he looked into your face, calloused hands brushing your skin; they were surprisingly well taken care of, the tattoos accenting every knuckle. The sweet smell of wintergreen off his breath, the fragrance winding up your insides. 

"Your feet," he circled around till he was standing behind you, twisting your body around till you could see him again; he tsked, circling the air with his finger for you to return to where you were.

 "You're always on your toes,” he complained.

His words were almost lost to the electricity in your brain; he squatted down behind you, one arm sliding between your legs to wrap around your thigh, a hand bracing on your knee, as his other massaged down my calf to have your heel flatten on the ground. 

"Now, for your hips." Coach's words sound scratchy; you can hear him swallow hard behind you. His hands ghost over your hips, carefully not to actually touch you. "You must bend at the waist and practically fold yourself in half."

"Arch my back?" you offer. He clears his throat the way it sounded like he was uncomfortable.

"Yeah, sounds about right." 

You adjust your hips arching your back, with your feet firmly planted against the ground, your cleats into the dirt, pushing your ass back. You feel yourself brush against his body, and he hisses.

"Easy there, tiger." 

"S-s-sorry." you stammer as you try to step back. His hands grab your hips and place you back in your stance. His body is so close you can feel the heat building on your skin; suddenly, you aren't distracted by nerves but by something else. 

"We aren't done; just watch it," he whispers. "You want to keep yourself firm in this spot until you're ready to swing."

A drop of warm water hits your arm, then another, and another. The rain starts to pour down in a gentle storm. 

"Shit." Coach releases your hips as you both jog back to the dugout. Safe under the awning, you lose footing on the last step, stumbling into the coach. He catches you, arms around your waist, as he stumbles back.

"Sorry," your voice barely audible over the rain tapping on the metal awning; you place your hands on his chest, feeling the stiff muscles underneath. Trying to push off to create distance between the two of you. Coach Cerulli's hands don't move as he looks down at you, those dark eyes glistening under the shadow of his cap. This close to him, your senses are overwhelmed with the smell of him-palo santo and amber, a rich blend like a robust coffee in one of those expensive coffee shops. 

His hands slid up your back, gently caressing over the upper part of your arms, stopping at your wrists and taking them in a grip before pulling your hands off his chest.

"Let's work on your hips some more. It looks like we've got the time." The way he says the words suggests he doesn’t mean anything about batting anymore. 

He spun you around so seamlessly, releasing your wrists to take your hips in the vice grip of his tattooed fingers. Pulling your body toward him, you could feel yourself make contact with his chest; he was so tall, the feeling of what was unmistakably his own arousal resting at your lower back. 

Flames licked into your lower belly as his hands tightened, then loosened on your hips. He started to move you, sliding your hips from left to right in slow motions. "Keep your feet planted on the floor." The harsh whisper in your ear made every part of your skin tremble with anticipation. 

You tried to steady your breathing as he moved you in slow motion against his body. Was this all a dream? Were you asleep in physics and about to be highly embarrassed when you woke up?

Your hands rested on his, trying to prove to yourself that all that was happening was real. Leaning back into his chest, he groaned as he pulled you in closer. 

"This is so wrong." your voice trembles as you speak.

"Very," he growled, kissing the soft flesh of your neck. "Tell me to stop, and I will." 

Fuck, please don't.

It wasn't a good idea to continue, but the feeling, the expert way his hands held you without touching anything intimate, made you melt. 

Leaning your head back into his chest, your face turned to him, desperate for his kiss. Sensing your desperation, Coach took the bill of his hat between two fingers, spinning the cap on his head so it faced backward. Closing in on your face, his full lips consuming your own, two fingers brushing your cheek, tapping twice, asking you to open. 

The second your jaw relaxed into the kiss, his tongue was assaulting your own. He tasted so good, that gum he'd been chewing and something nutty at the end filling your taste buds. 

You let your arm snake behind his head, cupping the back of his neck to bring him closer. One of his hands takes your breast and squeezes the flesh through your clothes, your nipples sensitive to the touch even through all the layers. His other hand slides over the front of your shorts, pushing between your thighs; your hips start to grind into his hand, desperate for friction, earning a sound of approval from the coach.

Pulling apart from each other, lips wet, red, and swollen, you were panting to catch all the air you'd lost in the kiss. 

"Brace yourself, tiger," he warned. 

Pushing hard against you, he shoved you forward till you folded over against the railing, his body pressed tightly against yours. Forcing your hands to grip the rail.

"Remember your grip." he teased, releasing his hold. His hands slid slowly down your sides, thumbs hooking into the band of your shorts to tug them and your panties down to your ankles. You gasped being exposed like this, the adrenaline of being caught coursing through your blood, the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

He kicked your feet apart, having your legs spread till you could feel the resistance of your shorts tight around your ankles. He took your hips in his hands, bringing your ass against him again, "Remember your stance." the words going straight to your center as he nipped at your ear. 

His hands disappeared, and you let out a whine from losing his touch. He shuffled behind you, dipping his head in the crook of your neck to place soft kisses on your pulse point. His hand slid up the inside of your thigh, and feeling the muscles quiver under his fingers, you paused to consider what you were doing, your mind telling you that this was wrong. You'd get caught, and you'd be a disappointment to your parents. The thoughts of calling it off stopped when two fingers slid inside your warmth. His fingers scissored open and closed, swirling around before opening and closing again, stretching your walls with expert skills.

"So tight." He continued to whisper dark and dirty words as his fingers buried into you to the knuckle. The rough pressure pushes you forward and off your heels. Feeling your release boiling just under the surface, you start to grind down on his fingers as they thrust up into you, whimpering for more. You have started to lean over the rail, seeing the field's dirt and glancing down more to see both your feet and his. His pants at his ankles like yours, and the thought that his cock was out and ready for you, made you moan. 

He wraps his hand around your hair, still pulled into a ponytail under your cap; rolling the strands around his hand, tugging you back so his chest is pressed tight to your back, fingers still buried deep inside you.

"Say the word, and I'll stop."

Past the point of no return, you moan, rolling your hips into his hands, still chasing your release. He presses his face into your cheek, nose running through the hairline above your ear as he inhales your scent; it's feral, it's animalistic, it's so fucking hot. His lips press into your ear, and you feel his hot breath against her skin. "You gonna come for me, tiger?"

You barely managed to nod your head before he curled his fingers, pressing on that soft spot inside you, making your walls clench around his fingers. He lets out a strangled sound of approval and surprise, taking the slick of your orgasm to rub on his erection. His left hand cupped your ass before delivering a harsh slap to the skin, making you rock up onto your toes. 

He slides his length between your thighs, coating the head in everything left of your orgasm. Muscles in his chest are tight with anticipation and what you hope is desire. "Listen carefully, tiger," his voice breathless as he pants in your ear. "This is the only time I want you on your toes for me. Got it."

"Yes, coach." you gasp as his length slides into your warm center. He pumps slowly as you stretch around him, the hiss from your lips echoing across the field through the rain. "F-f-fuck." you moan. 

Bottoming out with hard thrusts, Coach's hands rested on the railing on top of yours, his fingers lacing between yours as he held you and the rail in a vice grip. Your bodies molded into each other so well you felt the hem of his jersey wrap around your thighs; god, if only you could take it home with you as a trophy for this. 

"I should stop," he was panting, his voice strained. "I'm gonna get fired." 

"Please," you begged, turning your head to see his beautiful flushed face, mouth agape, tufts of his black hair sticking out from under his cap. "I won't say anything, just please don't stop." 

"Fuck." he groaned, continuing to thrust into you, the force pushing you practically over the rail still on your toes, the muscles in your calves straining. Your thighs shook, the rain coming to an end as another tight coil wrapped itself in your belly, ready to snap.

"One more, give me one more, tiger," he growled, nipping at your earlobe. The scream as you clenched around him echoed off the field, causing him to clasp a hand over your mouth. "That's it. Scream for me." 

Your noises were muffled by his hand on your mouth, and the hot breath as he panted on your cheek brought another orgasm on the wave of the first. One final snap of his hips and warm ropes filled your body, and all the tension of his muscles was released in one minute. 

The magic of whatever you two did was gone when he pulled his softened cock from you, reaching down to pull up your shorts and letting you get them back on the rest of the way; you barely turned around, seeing him taking a little bounce to get back into his jeans. 

"Head out, tiger. I'll see you at tomorrow's practice." 

You nod briefly, grab your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and bat in the other hand. Just as you are about to leave the field, you turn around to see Coach sitting on the bench in the dugout, hands running through his sweaty black hair. 

"Coach?" you let the rasp fall off your tongue, and he turns to look your way. "Extra practice tomorrow night?" giving a wink to let him know what you mean. He doesn't skip a beat, a smile tugging at his lips. 

"It'll be a late practice. You game?"

"Anything for you, coach." you leave the comment in the air as you walk back to your dorm. 

Crashing into your dorm with shaky legs, you throw down your gear. 

"Whoa." Rachel commented, "You look brutal!"

"Thanks," you meekly respond, flopping onto the bed before curling up under the blanket. 

"What did he do to you?"

"Who?" you mumbled, feeling your eyelids start to get heavy.

"Coach. You look like he had you do suicides for leaving the field?"

"Nothing gets past you, Rach." you smiled as your body drifted to sleep. 

Several months later, and one game win thanks to you and a home run hit, Coach Cerulli announced his retirement. Disappointed but not surprised you accepted the new coach with open arms. She was sweet and spicy, a good coach, making your focus back on the game. The rumors were Coach moved states, you’d had his number but the digits disconnected a few weeks after his departure. 

Just as well, you thought.

 It was almost winter break, and a final due in Psychology had kept you up most nights, your body riddled with tension from the stress. 10 p.m., and you hadn't even bothered to try and sleep yet, your phone buzzed with a new text. Opening it up, it was a number you didn't recognize, but the message was clear. 

How you been, tiger?

[ourloveforgear]

an overview of paul's guitars

before we look into pauls gear, i want to make sure we all are aware that im talking about the guitars he used WITH interpol. ill add some notes on his other instruments at the end of this post.

[paul with his and daniels guitars]

LES PAUL CUSTOM

"I've owned my Les Paul Custom since high school... its all I pretty much use today."

from what i can tell, paul has two les pauls, and he uses them interchangeably. first, though, id like to do a quick spec overview. his guitars have an ebony finish, and seeing as this guitar was most likely acquired in the 90s, gibson 490r and 498t pickups. in almost every picture i see of his les pauls, it seems he or a guitar tech have switched out the stock gold bridge with a black one. im not a gibson expert, so im not sure of the exact model, but it looks to be a tune-o-matic style bridge. he also has removed the covers on the pickups of his guitar. another quick note, in photos from around 2004 to 2005, there is a square shaped hole cut clean through his piece of velcro on his les paul. this was done to hold his ebow during take you on a cruise. thats all the specs/mods to show, ill put some pictures highlighting the points ive gone over.

[a close up of one of pauls les pauls, 2015. note the bridge, and absence of pickup covers]

[what i thought was a hole turned out to be a piece of velcro]

[hole has been blocked/filled! may 21, 2005]

[early picture of paul, with his pickup covers still on. very modest]

JAGUAR

"The Jaguar actually came about specifically within Interpol because I had written a part in which I wanted whammy, and I don't like Les Pauls with Bigsbys."

from what i can deduce, i think this guitar is a fender american vintage jaguar from 2005-06, in black. paul hasnt done too many mods to this instrument, though their are a few changes, most importantly, the pickup swap. he changed the stock jaguar pickups to seymour duncan hot rails sometime after recording our love to admire. while this definitely changed the sound a bit, this was after OLTA, so i wont bother finding dates, as the songs the jaguar was likely used on wouldve been the stock single coils. next up, the pickguard. the american vintage jags in black came with a tortoise shell pickguard, but pauls has a black one. what gives? well, seeing as carlos' jazz bass came with a white guard, but that was switched to black, its not outlandish to believe that this was done by paul or his tech, to give the jag a darker look. paul also put tape on the guitars lower horns control switches, most likely to stop his hand from accidently hitting the switches, and changing his sound mid song.

[paul with his jaguar, before he swapped the pickups.]

[another pic before the pickup swap. note the tape on the control panel.]

[a later pic, where we can see he added MORE tape to the guitar, and after he swapped the pickups to hot rails.}

INTERMISSION

if you ask me, pauls les paul custom and jaguar are the two guitars youd definitively need to get his sound, and also the two guitars HE uses to get his sound. but what other guitars has paul used with interpol? lets see.

LES PAUL DELUXE

used during the TOTBL era, this guitar is sort of a mystery. for one, he didnt seem to favor it for certain songs, using his les paul custom and deluxe interchangeably for many songs, even playing full shows with his deluxe. secondly, from what ive seen, this instrument was NOT used after the TOTBL era. its probable that this instrument was either used on a few songs from TOTBL, and brought along on tour as a backup that paul just happened to really like and play alot, or it was rented for shows over seas. either way, its an interesting case.

[the mysterious gold top deluxe. wonder what song hes playing here?]

FLYING V

paul has stated that he thinks the flying v is the coolest looking guitar out there. to each their own, i guess. that doesnt matter, what matters is that he played this instrument in the barricade music video. he used this guitar at the end of the OLTA era, during the self titled era, and has rarely been seen with it after that. most likely has the same pickups as his les paul custom, but dont quote me on that.

[as long as he likes it.]

CONCLUSION

there is one more guitar i didnt bring up, so ill do it here now, and its his dave murray strat. he hasnt used it live with interpol, though it is seen in behind the scenes footage of el pintor. anyways, leave a comment if youd like me to cook up a list of what guitars i think were used on each song! i hope you enjoyed reading this, next up i think ill go over his amps and other equipment. till next time.

[Paul Banks.]

[stray-kaz]

Masterlist

Fandom works! So much here...

All reader inserts are female.

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

T.L.C.

Girl Dad

Reds and Whites

Not Even a Candle

Reparations - 18+

Prologue   One   Two   Three   Four

Snow & Ice - 18+

One   Two   Three   Four   Five   Six   Seven   Eight   Nine   Ten   Eleven   Twelve   Thirteen

Frank Castle

Kiss Cam

A Touch of Crazy

Brothers In Arms

Frank Castle x Family headcanons

Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Time and Time and Time Again - 18+

A Baby Shower for Frankie

Two Pink Lines

Two to Tango - 18+

Baby Talk

Paper Ring

Blooded

The Opposite of Soft - 18+

Gone Off Half Cocked - 18+

Butterflies On Fire

A Stitch in Time

Look Where You’re Going

I Do

Matt Murdock

On Blind Faith - 18+

ONE   TWO   THREE   FOUR   FIVE   SIX   SEVEN   EIGHT   NINE   TEN

Headcanons

Steve Rogers

I Love You, But... - 18+

Shadow and Bone

Jesper Fahey

A Better Distraction - 18+ - Completed

One   Two   Three   Four   Five   Six   Seven   Eight   Nine   Ten   Eleven Twelve

Kiss & Tell

A Good Shot

Ruse

Little Lantsov

An Unexpected Prince - sequel to Little Lantsov

Tender

Trigger

Swap With Me - 18+

He’s A Criminal and He’s Mine

Safe Inside, Out of the Rain

Laundry Day

The Law of Loss

You’re The Reason I Hate Champagne

There Goes My Life - An Assortment

One Two Three Four Five Six

Mal Oretsev

Twice Wounded - sorta 18+

Nikolai Lantsov

Patched - 18+

All Patched Up - 18+ - sequel to Patched

Monkey in the Air

Daddy and The Fox

To Be His Queen - 18+

Kaz Brekker

Stray - request prompt

A Murder of Crows - Miniseries

Part One Part Two

Memento Mori - request prompt

Green - request prompt

Love is a Battlefield

Set, Charge, Boom

The Magpie Verses - Completed

Take Off The Mask , Caught , The Crow and The Magpie , Unmasked

Aleksander Morozova

Trouble Just Walked In - sorta 18+

Matthias Helvar

Scrubbed Clean

Tolya Yul-Bataar

Awoken

Top Gun: Maverick

Bob Floyd

A Soft Landing - 18+

Red Flag Week

Baby. On. Board.

Jake Seresin

Out of Bounds I, II, III, IV, V, VI - 18+

Bradley Bradshaw

Jukebox Jive

Lockwood and Co.

George Karim

Death and Doughnuts

A Personal Experiment - 18+

Stuck in the Middle With You - 18+ - requested

Oh Dear Baby - fic idea from @the-biscuit-agreement​

Oh How Time Flies - sequel to Oh Dear Baby​

Ghosts I Get, People Are Crazy

Anthony Lockwood

Between a Tree and a Lockwood - sorta 18+

Honey, I’m Home - 18+

Delirium

His Mistake

The Invitation

Walt de Ville

The Flower and The Serpent - 18+

one    two   three   four   five   six   seven   eight   nine   ten

Little Women (2019)

Laurie

Sugar & Spice - 18+

one

two

Zombies (Disney)

Zed Necrodopolis

Awkward Question

Betwixt

Midnight Resolution - 18+

Leo Grande

Three Day Hire - 18+

One   Two   Three   Four   Five   Six   Seven

A Very Grande Christmas

Austin!Elvis

Sky High

The School for Good and Evil

Rafal Mistral

The Sky Is Falling

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

Under The Blood Moon - 18+

The Heirloom and The Heir

Evil, Be Mine

You Shall Be Loved

Rhian Mistral

The Storian’s Favour

Back from the Brink

Bubbles

To Sleep and Not To Wake

Ben Hardy Characters

Billy / Four

Hold Me Close, Don’t Let Go - 18+

The Witcher

Istredd

Chasing Fire - 18+

One Piece Live Action

Roronoa Zoro

Buoyant

A Book and A Nap

Starless - 18+

First Kiss, Last Kiss

Keeping Watch - 18+

Double The Bounty - 18+ - Part One  Part Two

Sanji

Tall Blond Pacifier

Sand and Stars

Wind and Rain - 18+

Monkey D. Luffy

First Blushes

Usopp

In The Moment

OPLA Men

Dance With Me

Christmas Drabbles 2023

Scent of Pine - Shanks

Neatly Tied With A Bow - Mihawk

Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice - Sanji

The Perfect Excuse - Zoro

Fullmetal Alchemist

Edward Elric

Happy Birthday To You

Rest and Recuperation - 18+

Tale of the Nine Tailed

Lee Yeon

Need - 18+

Sweet Home

Cha Hyun-su

Sunshine Part One - 17+

Let Me Do It

A Shop For Killers

Jeong Jin-man

Breathing

Time - 18+

Misc.

Ready or Not - 18+

Original Writing

Top Drawer

Quiet Peace

The Hat - 18+

Pirate Intro

Sweetness

Bandaged

To The Sea, My Love, To The Sea

The Uncanny Counter

So Mun

Oops!

Love & Pragmatism

To Spar or Not to Spar

Wong Yeok

Illicit - 18+

[kastlequill]

i/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus bisferiens

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 1.3k synopsis: the first time you save gaz tags: whumptober, gunshot wounds, blood and injury, wound tending, hurt/comfort, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here next →

I.

Tuesdays were unremarkable. They couldn’t compare to the infamous Mondays or halfway-mark Wednesdays, to anticipatory Thursdays or the thank-God-it’s Fridays, least of all to the relaxing Saturdays and Church-going Sundays.

The new orders you received last Tuesday, however, were anything but plain. There was nothing ordinary about getting shipped out to a classified location to provide aid to the soldiers injured during their classified missions to eliminate classified targets.

You knew next to nothing about your current assignment. High command had informed you that you’d be working as the lead on-site medic, tending to the wounded and assisting in their recovery to the best of your abilities. That was all your superiors had felt the need to tell you.

The base of operation was fairly sizable, well stocked, and even had a couple other medical personnel around to help too, so you couldn’t really complain. You’d primarily be dealing with soldiers who were designated as special operators, and, in your experience, those types made absolute dogshit patients. Only a single week had passed, yet you could already tell that some of the lot were more injury-prone than others.

A specific British SAS sergeant came to mind.

Your first time meeting him had been relatively benign; he’d entered the mess hall as you exited. Although speedily heading in different directions, he had nonetheless offered a casual salute, and you had returned his gesture with a nod of your own. Simple, polite. No fuss.

The exact opposite of how he arrived to you today, the second Tuesday of the month.

Two towering men flanked him on either side as they shouldered their half-conscious comrade into your medbay. With them came chaos. Thick English accents yelling for a medic, combat boots storming toward you, dragging in a trail of blood. They brought war to your feet and Death to your door.

Rushing over to them, you quickly scanned the sergeant’s body for damage. Preliminary assessments yielded speculative results at best: a tourniquet around his thigh told of prior heavy bleeding, and the sway of his head meant he wasn’t fully capable of supporting its weight. But nothing was certain. 

“What am I dealing with here? Concussion, gunshot wound, broken bones—?”

“—got caught in the blast radius,” interrupted a gruff voice belonging to the masked lieutenant. “Knocked ‘im back a few meters. No major visible injuries, ‘cept a bullet to the leg.” 

You swore. “Is it still inside?” 

Exit wounds typically offered a better prognosis; the energy driving forth a gunshot needed somewhere to go, and, preferably, that somewhere was far from surrounding organs or internal systems. If the piece of metal remained lodged inside of him, then you would have to remove it.

He answered with a single definitive nod. Unsurprising; of course nothing in war ever turned out for the better.

“Put him on my table. Carefully.” 

The two soldiers hauled their brother-in-arms up onto the examination table that had seen more action within a week than most ever did. Trauma to the head required immediate attention; the brain was a delicate organ, and if the explosion had badly jostled it against the walls of his skull, there could be severe damage.

Unwilling to waste a second longer, you gently parted the now-supine man’s eyelids with your fingertips to get a look at his pupils. In the midst of an unfocused sea of brown, one pupil was more dilated than the other—concussed, then. At the intensity of the blue overhead light, he reflexively squinted and shut his eyes once more.

That wouldn’t do. “Sergeant, I need you to open those eyes again, okay? Think you can track this flashlight for me?”

Being as sensitive to brightness as he was currently, it took some effort for him to pry his eyes open. They valiantly fought the urge to close whilst following the stick-end of your black flashlight from left to right, right to left. There was some unsteady shakiness to their movement, but they still appeared properly calibrated.

“You’re doing great,” you encouraged, holding his gaze as you pocketed the light. The next course of action was to check his processing of visual information. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He blinked slowly, an inquisitive frown contorting his features. Several confusion-riddled seconds elapsed until the man decided to simply feel what he could not see. Grasping your hand in his own, he grazed your knuckles with a calloused thumb, explored the lengths of your raised fingers, puzzled out how they were configured into the shape of a peace sign. Recognition sparked in his eyes.

“Two.”

An endeared smile graced your lips. The only predictable constant in this profession was its unpredictability. None of your previous patients had done that before.

“Try again.” You lightly pulled your hand free and watched his own fall back to rest on his chest, physically unable to sustain the lifted position. Unfurling your ring finger to join your index and middle, three total fingers hovered in front of his face, just out of reach. “How many do you see now?”

Without using his sense of touch to determine the correct number, all the sergeant could do was sigh and reply honestly. “Six.”

“Y’can’t be serious, Gaz. The limit’s five,” his mohawked companion corrected, a hint of incredulity and amusement slipping into his tone.

“Quit taking the piss, we’ve got ten of ‘em.” The words were slurred, but intelligible. As he spoke, his brows began to furrow, the man suddenly unsure of himself. He looked at the captain, whose belated entrance managed to diffuse some of the anxiety present in the room. “Right, sir?”

The room erupted with noise as the three other soldiers simultaneously began to talk over each other. You were able to catch the occasional bloody hell and heard yes, Gaz, that’s right and even chuckled a bit at no need to worry, you still ‘ave all ten of the little bastards.

Military folk had a specific way of coping with the consequences of war, and you didn’t think you would ever quite understand it from your side of the line. But if it worked, then it worked. What mattered was the patient’s ability to persist in spite of the world; the exact methods used to do so weren’t up for scrutiny, not by you or anyone else.

Donning a clean pair of surgical gloves, you exchanged glances with the technician and nurse on duty. “Get him a CT scan. Let’s make sure his brain’s in one piece, then we can deal with the bullet. I’ll prep the OR.”

When you made to leave, a tug on your wrist stopped you in your tracks. A quick turn of your head revealed the image of his loose yet insistent grip around you once again, unwilling to let go of what had seemingly become his sole anchorage to the land of the living.

“Don’t worry,” you said softly, squeezing his hand in yours. This—comforting the wounded—was as much a part of the healing process as medicine itself. Even the toughest of soldiers reverted to a childlike state of vulnerability after too close a brush with death. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

The tension in his features relaxed as did his hold on you, and he lowered himself to lay flat on the table’s surface before being wheeled away by the technician. As you watched his form disappear beyond the threshold of a plastic curtain, you were struck with a near-overwhelming sense of foreboding.

Though you hoped this Gaz wouldn’t soon return with an irremediable injury, optimism had never been your strong suit.

tbc.