#we’re all reading this together for the very first time LMFAO

[forwhump]

a/n; y’ever wanted gore that also makes you deeply sad ??? >:)

word count: 5k 😬 (it’s a WHOPPER I’m so sorry)

tw/cw: gore, graphic depictions of violence, mutilation, decapitation, execution, major character death (reoccurring), threats of sexual violence, implied rape, noncon, misgendering, transphobia, mentions of medical torture

living weapon whumpee, captivity, escape attempt

In the wants he keeps close to his chest, Silas gets a happy ending.

He gets it with Wren. They get to get out of here.

Silas doesn’t know what that means, not really. He doesn’t know anything outside of this place. He doesn’t know what a life outside of here would be, what it would mean for something like him. He knows with everything in him that he wants to do it anyway, whatever it is, as long as he gets to do it with Wren. His Wren.

The heart that Silas wears on his sleeve beats Wren’s name in time. There’s a spot in his chest where Wren festers, the spot where his heart used to be. There isn’t anything in the world Silas knows or the one he doesn’t that he wouldn’t do for him, for his Wren. He doesn’t know what a life with Wren outside of this place would be but he knows he wants it. He can’t even begin to fathom what’s waiting up there for him but he wants to brave it with Wren.

He’ll never get to.

He knows that now. He’s always known, really, but being the biggest, being the strongest, being a fuckin’ freak killing machine comes with a sort of arrogance that Silas never really realized was arrogance. He always figured, at some point, he’d win. There was never really a doubt in his mind. Silas is the biggest, the strongest. Silas is a fuckin’ freak killing machine. The widowmaker. All the soldiers, the guards, the recruits, the scientists, the surgeons — they’re all afraid of him, they’re all so afraid of him that some of them can’t hide it, not with all the trained rigidity in the world. There would come a time, Silas knew — he didn’t think, but he knew — when their fear would mount and it would make them stupid and all that would be left, to send home to any of their grieving families to bury, would be a couple of broken bits of teeth and maybe a broken fingernail, if Silas were feeling especially generous. They’d get to be free.

He knows now it was just a delusion. It was stupid, and it was stupid of him to ever think he was deserving of any sort of happy ending. He just isn’t hardwired for it. Silas is gonna die just as he lived — miserable and hundreds of feet below ground.

They’re all scared of Silas, and for varying reasons, they all hate him, too. He’s difficult and he’s a disappointment. He’s not smart enough, he’s not obedient enough. He’s too violent, too unpredictable. Not good at following orders. Belligerent. Lacks any sort of respect for authority. Difficult to control.

But Silas isn’t just any captive. He isn’t any soldier. Silas was biomechanically engineered. A lot of money, time, manpower, the world's best surgeons and smartest scientists and steadiest hands had gone into Silas’ insurrection; too much for them to let him go to waste. They won’t let Silas leave for the same reason they won’t let him die, not without reanimating him.

They can’t. They need him. They spent too much money to let him go.

He’d be lying if he said he took that lying down. Silas never lets himself want, and the only time he ever slipped up, the only thing he ever let himself want was Wren, and to live the life Wren wants with him. He dug his nails in so deep that losing it had torn out every one of his fingernails. But maybe that was his own fault. Maybe he should’ve known better than to ever let himself want.

That ache had worsened, split open into the leaking yellow pus of a wound that festered, infected, spread him through with rot. The rot had spread quickly, infected him inside and out with a raw, bloodthirsty sort of resolve. Silas is never getting out. Silas doesn’t get a happy ending. Silas is going to die down here, no matter how much or how privately he might yearn otherwise.

That doesn’t mean Wren has to.

It’s a solid resolve in his chest, not one that weighs him down but one that makes him stronger, that thickens his skin. There’s no reason Wren has to die down here, not while Silas is still breathing. If Silas is gonna die down here, if he has no choice, than his death, at the very least, is gonna mean something. If Silas has to die, he’s gonna die happy.

Quietly, he says, “where is he?”

Still, his voice echoes down the long concrete corridor. He speaks quietly but not kindly. He grins, but there’s blood on his teeth. It isn’t his own.

There isn’t anything Silas wouldn’t do for Wren and there isn’t a life he wouldn’t end for him. He can only imagine the nightmare figure he must cut; does he look like somebody that’s going to die today?

His hair is matted with blood and splattered chunks of flesh, sticking to his face, the sides of his throat, his bare shoulders, his chest. His joggers were grey, hospital grey, the same dull grey as everything else, but they’re so soaked through with blood they’ve turned a wet, shimmering sort of black. His socks are the same, blood warming the bottoms of his feet and leaving lethal footprints in his wake. There’s blood on his hands, so much of it it looks like he’s dipped them. There’s blood under his fingernails, chunks of flesh between his teeth.

Dagger looks up at him, sprawled across the concrete, just barely propped up against the wall. Silas had made quick work of incapacitating him, splitting open his achilles tendons with a knife he had stolen from his buddy, Venom’s, belt. First, Silas had used that knife to split Venom’s Adam’s apple down the middle, then to separate his head from his throat. The tendons, arteries, threads of sinew had split around the blade like snapping elastics. His spinal cord was easy enough to sever, a flick of Silas’ wrist, and he turns Venom’s decapitated head over in his hands again, facing him towards Dagger as he repeats, a little lower, a little bit worse, “where is he? Tell your buddy if you don’t wanna tell me,��� and when Dagger chokes out a wet, strained sound, pained and scared, weak and non militant, Silas grins widely. “You scared, Dagger?”

He chokes out another sound he’d probably be too proud to make if he weren’t dying. His feet are hanging off of his ankles at weird angles. Silas may have cut him too deep. His lead lolls, probably heavy, against the wall. “How do you think this is gonna end for you, Park?”

“M’not worried about me,” Silas answers. “Where is he?”

He tips his head back a little further to look at Silas, so much bigger than him, even crouched in a pool of blood on the pavement. “Her fucking dog,” he says bitterly, and chokes out a sound that’s probably supposed to be a laugh. “She’s with Point, Park. Where do you think she is?”

Silas lifts his chin, pretend grateful, as he says, “hold this, man,” and hoists Venom’s head into his hands.

Instinctive, woozy with blood loss, Dagger takes it, and in the split second it takes him to realize, just as he drops what’s left of Venom into his lap, just as he starts to make this sound of dawning horror, Silas takes him by the face, digging his fingers hard into his eye sockets.

Dagger starts to scream and his eyeballs burst around Silas’ fingertips. The hot fluid that leaks from the sockets clears tracks in the blood on Silas’ hands. The soldier doesn’t scream, he makes this high, whining sort of sound, and Silas pulls his head almost ninety degrees from the wall to crack it back against the surface with so much force that Silas breaks completely through his skull and splits open his knuckles against the concrete.

He already knew where Wren was. A long time ago, it might have been a little harder to find him in the labyrinth of the district, a maze literally created, in some points, to confuse and disorient and discourage escape. Wren could’ve been anywhere, could’ve been with anyone, but that was a long time ago. A lot of time had passed since then and a lot of things had changed. Now, as he has been for a long time, if Wren isn’t with Silas, and he isn’t in medical, he’s with Point. He’s just at the end of the hall.

The barracks is an odd space in the district, honestly, and Silas doesn’t care for it, especially because of all the horrible things that have happened to Wren in here but additionally because it’s so jarring on the eye. Almost everything Silas knows is grey — the walls, the floors, his sheets, his clothes. His uniform, for training and for field tests, is black, the same black as all the rest of the soldiers, but it’s such a small dose that he can handle it. The soldier’s uniforms, their weapons, the masks, they’re all black — the surgeons, too, their masks and aprons, but the sight of them has always strained Silas’ eyes, anyway, black or otherwise. The barracks are wholly and entirely black, top to bottom, sheets and bed posts and the shackles they use, and it hurts to look at and Silas hates to see it.

It’s empty. Unfortunately, it’s empty. It hadn’t been, not before everybody had come running and Silas had started using the corridor outside as a slaughterhouse. Point hadn’t been among them, unfortunately. There’s still time — somebody will notice the carnage eventually, and if not then, Point will notice Wren is missing, and he’ll raise the alarm. He’ll come running. If Silas gets anything, he wants to get to kill Point before he goes. How can that be too much to ask?

He finds Wren exactly where he expected him, in Point’s stupid private bedroom, a little black room off a short black corridor in the very back black corner, almost hidden behind a row of bunks. Wren’s shackled to the black bedpost with a black restraint. He looks really surreal on the black sheets, white hair and pale skin and the stupid, frilly layers of white material Point had made him wear. He isn’t unconscious, but he’s sleeping, snoring softly, and Silas doesn’t really have time but he stalls for as long as he can, letting him get as much sleep as possible. He doesn’t have a totally cohesive plan, but he imagines the next few minutes are gonna be incredibly hectic, and then Wren’s got a lot of running to do. He’s gonna need at least a little sleep.

As carefully as he’s capable of, Silas tears the leather at Wren’s ankle and tries not to look too hard at how bruised it is underneath. He won’t forget it, though. He lifts Wren into his arms as delicately as if he’s lifting glass, cradling him to his chest, still trying not to wake him as he carries him from the barracks, down the corridor, past the carnage.

Silas really isn’t good at very much, and he wouldn’t be comfortable saying he is, but he has a small handful of talents, and there are a few things he’s better at than anybody else. Silas is a weapon, a freak, a monster, etc., but he was trained as a soldier, too. He couldn’t give Wren the directions, but he remembers the layout well enough. He can get him where he needs to go.

He makes it farther than he would’ve expected before War stops him. It isn’t a good sign, and Silas exhales softly, placing Wren down gently, close against the wall. He turns the knife over in his hand again as he turns back to face War head on, cracking his neck.

“Where do you think you’re going?” War asks calmly, lifting his gun. He doesn’t work general security detail, he’s too important, so Silas doesn’t see him too often. If he’s weaving the labyrinth on Silas’ tail, it means he was sent after him. It means they’ve noticed he’s missing. And if they haven’t sounded the alarms, it’s because they don’t want him to know yet.

Silas is running out of time.

“I have to make this quick,” he says, “so this won’t hurt for long. It’s gonna hurt a lot, though.”

“Just gotta be quicker than me, big guy,” War says, and he pulls the trigger.

Silas is fast, almost fast enough. Nothing lethal, not immediately, but he takes a bullet in the shoulder, the bicep, and then one of his ribs. He tears a hole in War’s throat with his knife, opens the soft flesh chin to sternum. War gurgles, his gun flails, he loses aim, and Silas reaches through the wet, opened cavity of his throat to pull his spinal cord out through it. War drops into a disfigured, bloody knot on the concrete.

Shoving him out of the way with the side of his foot, Silas spits on him before he turns. Wren’s sitting back against the wall, watching him, and as inappropriate as it is, Silas can’t help himself and he smiles at him, crooked. It’s disappointing, of course, in a way that Silas knows will fester, will get infected the more Silas starts to miss him, but it’s hard, right now, not to feel good about it. Sucks that he’s gonna die, but he dies all the time, what’s one more? Sucks he doesn’t get to go with Wren, but Wren gets to go, and that’s what matters, isn’t it? Sucks that Silas is gonna spend the rest of his life, however long or short it may be, missing him, but how fortunate that Silas, who never got anything else good in his life, got to have Wren, at least for a little while. He’s never deserved Wren, not ever, but he got him, anyway, and the rest of his life, however long or short, will pale in comparison, but it’s so fuckin’ unbelievable he got to have it at all. He’ll die happy this time.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Silas says.

Wren smiles blearily, angling his head. “I missed you.”

Silas feels a small beat of guilt he chooses to ignore. “I missed you, too.”

“What are you doing?” Wren asks, taking the hand Silas holds out to him, clinging to it still once he’s on his feet

“I need you to come with me,” Silas explains. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“I can walk,” Wren says, but he doesn’t, angling his head again as he looks Silas up and down. He motions him closer, and Silas leans down, letting Wren try to wipe blood off his face with one of his white sleeves. “What are you doing, Silas?”

“We don’t really have time for this,” Silas says softly, but he doesn’t stop him. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

Silas hesitates. He shouldn’t have — it gives him away more than anything he could’ve said or any lie he could’ve come up with off the top of his head. He doesn’t know a lot of things, but he’s learned a few things about Wren in the time he’s loved him and Wren is so unbelievably stubborn, especially for such a soft, human person, that sometimes Silas doesn’t know what to do with him. And he digs his heels in weird places, about weird things, he fights Silas about Silas’ general disregard for his life so ferociously that sometimes it’s actually a little intimidating. Silas had been expecting a fight. He was just hoping they’d be a little closer to freedom.

Wren’s hand is a firm touch against his cheek. “What are you doing?” He repeats softly.

“I’m gonna get you out,” he says.

Wren thumbs slowly over his cheek as he sighs, “Silas.”

“Not like last time,” Silas tells him softly. “I fucked up last time. I know. Let me make it right.”

“You don’t have to make it right,” Wren says softly, pushing Silas’ hair behind his ears on both sides, touching his face so gently it sort of aches. “I’m not angry with you. You tried —”

“Not hard enough,” he says simply. “I didn’t do good enough. I didn’t get you out.”

“You tried,” Wren repeats. “You —“

“Let me try again,” he says, leaning his cheek a little harder into Wren’s palm. “I fucked up last time when I tried to leave with you. I’ll do it right this time.”

Wren’s hands leave Silas’ face so quickly Silas doesn’t have time to stop him. “You wouldn’t come with me?”

Silas shakes his head slowly. “I can’t.”

“What?” Wren says, and Silas can see it, that stubborn thing starting to harden in his face. Wren is the only person Silas has ever met that’s never been afraid to stand up to him. Silas is gonna miss that about him. “You want me to leave without you?”

“No,” Silas admits, “I don’t want you to go. But I can’t get you out if I go with you.”

“No,” Wren repeats. “I’m not going anywhere without you. Silas, they’d fuckin’ kill you.” That much would’ve been obvious, Silas would’ve thought, and he can’t help if his eyebrows raise as he heaves his shoulders. The hardness seeps quickly out of Wren’s expression, replaced by something so blank it gives Silas a weird spike of discomfort. Just as quickly, Wren flushes with a sort of fury Silas doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before. “No. What the fuck are you talking about?” He spits. “You’re not gonna fuckin’ die for me, Silas.”

“Wren —”

“No,” he snaps. “I’m not even entertaining this.”

“I can do this, Wren,” Silas says. “I can get you out.”

“I’m telling you no,” Wren scolds sternly. “Absolutely fuckin’ — no. Are you — no. I’ve never thought you were stupid, Silas, but this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Silas can’t help that his mouth pulls up on one side, crooked. “I’m gonna die again anyway,” he says softly. “Let me die for you this time.”

“No,” Wren says. “I’m not leaving here without you. I’m not leaving you here.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Silas says, exhaling a sound that he thinks might be the closest he’s ever come to laughter. “This is all I know, Wren.”

“That’s why I worry about you,” he snaps.

“It’s more important that you get out, Wren,” he says. “Not just to me. You have a whole life you can get back to. People that miss you. I don’t know anything that’s not here. I don’t miss anybody. Nobody misses Silas.”

“I will,” Wren snaps. He looks like something Silas can’t quite explain — something impossible. He looks up at Silas, heartbroken, and it breaks Silas’ heart in turn.

He doesn’t want to hurt Wren. He’s never wanted to hurt Wren. But this — he needs to do this. Even if it hurts.

He reaches out to him and Wren bats him away with more strength than Silas was expecting. “I’m not fuckin’ leaving you here,” he seethes.

Silas shakes his head slowly. “Wren —“

“No.”

“Wren,” he repeats. “They won’t let me go.”

“Then we’re not fucking going! What are you talking about?”

“I can get you out,” Silas says. “I can do this. Please,” he tries. “Please, let me do this for you. Let me die happy.”

“I’m not going to let you die at all!”

He lifts his shoulders. “You can’t stop me.” Wren looks like he’s probably considering it — the very best way to incapacitate Silas. In truth, it would be easy for him. If he asked Silas for the knife, Silas would hand it to him. If he asked Silas to bare his throat, Silas would bare it. “Wren,” he says softly. “Do you really want to stay?”

“Stop it, Silas, I’m not —“

“Stop being angry with me,” Silas says, “and be honest. If you had a choice. Leave or stay. Would you really choose to stay?”

Wren scowls. “Silas —“

“Wren,” Silas says. “Come on. You’re miserable.”

He almost looks offended. “Don’t —“

“Don’t,” Silas interrupts. “I’m serious. Nobody should have to live like you do. I don’t want you to. Who cares about me?”

“I care about you!”

“Okay,” Silas says, “but — come on.”

“Stop,” Wren snaps. “Stop this stupid, self sacrificing bullshit. I’m not leaving you here. You’re not dying for me.”

Silas sighs softly through his nose. “Wren,” he tells him softly. “You can’t stop me.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Wren says.

In truth, if he asked Silas to bare his throat, Silas would, and in truth, any other time, if Wren asked him to incapacitate himself, Silas would do it. For Wren, he would do it. But this isn’t any other time.

Any other time, Silas tries not to be too big around Wren. he tries not to be too strong. Wren is so fragile, still too human, and Silas is careful with Wren like nothing else. But this isn’t any other time.

“Don’t be mad,” Silas murmurs, and he lifts Wren off his feet and over his shoulder with one arm, with his good arm.

Wren does the whole thing; fights, thrashes, screams, threatens, presses his face against Silas’ back and pleads. Silas keeps a hand at his back as he carries him, thumbing across the stupid, crusted material of his stupid dress. Silas is really going to miss him, and selfishly, there’s a part of him that wants to let Wren have this one, that wants to keep him down here where Silas is; Silas has never really cared where he is, as long as Wren is there with him. He’s gonna miss him. He’s never gonna quite be the same without him.

They almost make it, too.

They get so fuckin’ close.

It’s a staircase that leads up, to a locked door that Silas breaks down, to a long corridor with another door at the end. The second to last door they need to pass through.

Vineyard stands in front of it, mask pulled down so his white, obnoxious teeth catch the light. His shotgun is held across his chest, nearly at ease, but his finger is stiff on the trigger.

“I’ll give it to ya,” he says. “You don’t know when to fuckin’ quit, Yeller.”

Wren tenses over his shoulder and Silas can’t help that his fingers flex in the stupid material of his dress. He isn’t worried — not yet. He’d wanted to kill Point but he’ll settle for this one. Point likes him best, so there’s gotta be something especially fucked up about him.

Slowly, he places Wren back on his feet, angling him behind him as much as he can without taking a hand off him. He flips the knife over again in the other. “You gonna get out of my way?” He asks.

Vineyard pumps his gun. “Take a step away from the girl,” he warns, “or she’s about to get real messy.”

Wren inhales sharply. He presses himself close at Silas’ back, clinging to his arm.

For the first time, something less than hopeful starts to worm its way up the back of Silas’ throat. It isn’t doubt, not yet, but if it grows anymore it will be. Vineyard is too far away, too close to the door and too far from Silas — Silas is big, fast, but not big or fast enough that he would be able to even get close enough to unravel Vineyard’s small intestine through his groin before Vineyard blows his head into such small pieces it would be doubtful there would even be enough of him left to put back together. And if it guaranteed Wren’s safety, of course, he would do it in a heartbeat. But if Silas dies here, now, permanently, Wren would probably never be safe again. And he definitely wouldn’t be safe in the aftermath, not here alone with Vineyard, not in such a short skirt.

For a fraction of a second, Silas thinks the clamour that bursts behind him could almost be a gunshot, but before he can even think to tense what’s left of the ruined door is blown out of the way by the calvary of armed guard that swarm into the room to flank Silas on all sides. To corner him.

Fuck.

Masks are pulled high and guns are lifted but it’s the laughter behind him, unnatural, that finally make his shoulders finally tense. Wren goes so still behind him it’s like he’s been turned to stone. Silas, instead, moves the quickest he’s ever moved, keeping Wren behind him as he pivots, angling himself between him and Point.

Point, who says, “this was a cute attempt, big guy. Really. Look at you! You almost made it.” Silas snarls, and Point’s grin stretches wider, more grotesque. He takes a step closer.

“Silas,” Wren breathes.

Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Silas wasn’t fast enough. Wren was supposed to be two doorways further away by the time the brigade caught up to Silas. Silas was gonna kill as many of them as he could, buy Wren as much time as he could, slow them down as much as he could before they finally put him down. Wren wasn’t supposed to still be here. Wren was supposed to be safe.

“Back the fuck up,” Silas warns.

Point grins even wider, hands behind his back as he saunters forwards, closer to Silas, almost leisurely. Silas’ lip pulls back from his teeth, but just when Point is almost in reaching distance, execution distance, Wren’s warmth leaves his back and he screams.

It happens too quickly. Wren is wrenched away from him and Silas turns, an instinct more than anything else, drawn to him, and as Vineyard wrenches Wren into his arms, off his feet, and Wren screams, Silas takes an instinctive step towards him and Point takes three in the same time. He drives his knife through the back of Silas’ knee with an almost inhuman strength, he pushes his knife into the back of Silas’ knee with so much force the blade comes out the other side. Time starts to slow, not to normal speed but even slower than that, when Point turns the knife, cracks Silas’ knee cap, and pulls a fistful of arteries and a wet chunk of meat out with the end of the blade.

Silas can feel that pain in every nerve ending in both his legs, biological and prosthetic. It knocks the wind out of him, and he doesn’t lose his balance, but he sways, and when he sways Point kicks his boot into the opened flesh into the back of his knee and completely separates Silas’ kneecap from the rest of his body. His leg gives out, and he drops onto his knees with a sound like splatter. He can feel the knife leave his hand but he doesn’t see where it lands. He doesn’t let himself scream, but he can’t help the winded, groaning sort of sound that’s knocked out of him. He doesn’t let himself scream, but Wren screams for him.

Vineyard’s gun is strapped to his back again, Wren at his chest. Wren, who wasn’t supposed to be here for this. Wren, who’s gonna suffer for Silas’ efforts.

Point stands in front of him. He takes his time unholstering a handgun for the sake of shoving the barrel down Silas’ throat, chipping one of his canines in the process. “You’ve been a very, very bad dog,” he says.

Silas scowls around the gun. He grabs Point by the throat.

He isn’t gentle. He means to kill him, to crush his windpipe, but Silas is losing a lot of blood very quickly, and he’d already been shot more than once. He grabs Point by the throat so hard that his face changes colour about four times in the span of the second it takes Silas to get his hands on him, before three soldiers, armed and dangerous, take Silas by the arm, between him and Point, and wrench it out of its socket with a crack so loud it echoes down the corridor. When they drop his arm again, it falls limp to his side, attached still to his body only by the skin of his shoulder, the bones completely severed.

This time, Silas roars. He can’t help it.

Point tips his head back towards the ceiling as he cackles. There’s already a bruise around his throat in the shape of Silas’ hand. “How did you think this was gonna go?” He teases. “Really? What do you think we do to dogs once they've started to bite?”

Silas meets his eye. He raises his eyebrows.

Point’s smile vanishes and he forces the gun a little further down the back of Silas’ throat. “You’ll get off lucky,” he tells him. “You’re just gonna be put down. The girl, on the other hand,” he says, and when Silas growls, low in his chest, Point grins again, right back to manic. “She’s gonna be punished greatly for your little performance today. It’s gonna be really miserable for her.” Wren makes a broken sound, a sob, and Point grins a little wider, stretched unnaturally over his face. “And something tells me you’re gonna be gone for a good, long time this time,” he says. “Might have worn a hole in her cervix by the time you see her again.”

Silas is bleeding so much it’s pooling around Vineyard’s feet already. The room starts to tilt as he lifts his head, and still, Silas flexes his fingers to try and get the feeling back and lifts his good arm, the arm still riddled with bullets. He grabs Point by the throat again.

The very last thing he sees before he dies isn’t Point, because he isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Wren, a surreal streak of silvery light amid the grey, amid the black. He’s flushed with struggle and with crying, tears pouring down his face, shimmering in the fluorescent light. Hazy with blood loss, he looks the most surreal Silas has ever seen him.

“I’m so sorry,” he tries to say.

Then Point pulls the trigger, and he empties his gun into Silas’ face.

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : calling hamzah your “friend”

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary : headcannons/blurb based on the tiktok trend of calling your partner “friend”

mickey speaks : since ppl really liked my first lil blurb imma just play out all my tt fantasies with our fake bf :D also pls send me any hamzah reqs my brain is very empty lmfao!!!!

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

you prop your phone up against the vase of flowers on your dining room table, capturing both you and hamzah in frame.

“guysss!! look my friend brought me takeout hibachi for dinner tonight!” you squeal and lift the styrofoam box to show off your meal.

hamzah doesn’t catch it the first time, he’s honestly tweaking because he stopped to get you both dinner right after the gym.

he feels starved but maintains composure and a smile for your tiktok bit

“i just got the basic fried rice, veggies, and chicken. i think my friend got the same, hamzah what’d you get?”

his eyebrows pinch in confusion for a second, “uh yeah, i got the same as you.”

“okay first bites! i’ll have my friend go first” you can’t help but smile when you grab the phone and start to record hamzah, but he’s paused holding his fork in the air.

“why do you keep saying that?” he softly asks through a laugh.

“what?”

“callin’ me your friend?”

“are we not friends...?" "i mean yeah sure but like not just that?" "you're confusing me, just take your bite please we’re gonna run out of time on this”

he nods his head compliantly and exaggerates a hum of “mmm!” after his bite before taking your phone to film yours.

“okay friend, your turn!” he loudly mocks with a wide grin.

you try not to laugh while taking a bite yourself

“it's actually so good, i needed this right now.”

you now record the both of you, “okay my friend and i are gonna finish this and then we’ll be back with more bestie activities!”

as soon as you say 'friend' again hamzah leaves the frame to chuckle through the amount of food in his mouth.

“right, best friend?” you urge some more

he swallows and pettily glances from side to side, “where's the best friend at???”

“okay he’s trippin’ but we’ll be back”

you're both in your bathroom now, hamzah reads over the packaging of two sheet face masks while you pull your hair away from your face with a fuzzy cat-eared headband.

"'kay, now we're gonna do these face masks together, because hamzah’s such a good friend!” you hold and rub his arm.

he puffs his lips and closes his eyes in defeat while shaking his head, “stop,” he looks down at you, noticing your headband, “that’s cute,” he flicks one of the cat ears on your headband.

“you look like one of those get ready with me girls; you'd be like,” he mockingly pretends to push his hair back, “‘get ready with me to lie on the internet!’”

you laugh with him and add to the joke as well, "get ready with me to kill my boy-friend! my friend!" your eyes widen and you try hide the embarrassment.

hamzah quite literally points and laughs, "look at you! even you know you're a damn lie! girl, get outta here!"

cuts to a clip where it’s just hamzah talking to your phone as he shifts the mask around on his face, “i don’t even know if i’m doin’ this right, bruh.” he looks into the camera, “oh hell nah, i look crazy!”

“it feels so weird…” he taps at the slick, cold mask some more before coming close to the camera again, “guys im having a fucking identity crisis. why’s my girlfriend gaslighting me right now?"

“like, i didn’t even know that girls knew how to do that…comment down below right now and give me tips on how to understand women.”

“okay i found one, look how cute!” you’re back and holding another fuzzy headband with a bow in the middle.

hamzah laughs, “i love you, but im not wearing that.”

in the next clip of course he’s wearing it, “aw don't we look so cute?”

finally cuts to a clip of you later that night throwing yourself next to him in bed and flipping the camera to record him as he plays candy crush, curled under the comforter. “hi babbyyyyy! i was joking about the friend thing i know you’re my boyfriend.”

“i know you know i’m your boyfriend,” he distractedly mumbles, laying on his side while continuing to move his thumb around his phone screen.

you flip the camera once more as you wrap an arm around him and squish your face on top of his hooded head. he looks into the camera and smirks to himself when he sees your sweet face.

he sticks his tongue out obnoxiously, yells “goodnight vlog!!!” and covers your phone's camera with his hand forcing a loud cackle out of you.

[sailorrhansol]

hi! long time reader, first time submit-er :) could i request a dilf!wonwoo fic where you’re trying to get your kids out the door to trick or treat with a friend or a family member because you and wonwoo have a halloween party and you get self conscious that you don’t look hot enough in your costume but wonwoo disagrees? very fluffy, maybe even smutty if that works for you hehe

❀ Pairing: Dad!Wonwoo x Mom!reader 

❀ Summary: For the first Halloween in years, you and Wonwoo are able to enjoy it together without the kids. When you feel a little nervous about your costume, Wonwoo is determined to show you that you’ve always been the sweetest thing. 

❀ Word Count: 2,278

❀ Genre: Slice of Life, Married Couple/Parents

❀ Type: Smut, Fluff

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Light mentions of anxiety regarding letting kids go trick-or-treating without them, slight body insecurity and light mentions of a skirt not fitting comfortably, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, spitting, hair pulling, stupid and corny during sex. 

❀ A/N: Hey so anyway I’m not even that big of a fan of dilf-teen or parent-fic but here we are and I am ACTUALLY VERY INTERESTED IN DAD WONWOO NOW. SO THIS IS NOW YOUR FAULT THAT I’M THINKING ABOUT IT. Also the visual of Jihoon with a kid on his shoulders sent me into an early grave. 

❀ A/N 2: PLEASE THE BANNER IS NERDY BUT THEY’RE DRESSED AS COWBOYS OK LMFAO

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliween

“Soonyoung, her crown!” You warn, watching as your friend smacks the plastic crown off Haen’s head. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy digging her greedy little hands in the pocket of his tiger onesie where she knows she’ll find candy. “Are you sure you can do this?” 

Soonyoung scoffs. His outrage is lessened by the ridiculous tiger onesie he’s in, the suit zipped to the neck and the hood pulled up over his head. He’s got Iseul in his arms, cradling her in her dragon costume as she pulls on his hood while Haen reveals a Jolly Rancher. 

“Maybe we-”

Wonwoo’s hand on your lower back cuts you off as he steps through the door frame. He pitches his voice low and gentle as he crouches down, eye level with your eldest child. “Hey, no candy until after. We agreed, remember?” 

Pouting, she shoves the candy back inside Soonyoung’s pocket. Behind him, Jihoon and Jeonghan snort. “Yes, daddy. Sorry, I excited.” 

Mouth pressed firmly to hide your smile, you feel the overwhelming sense of love for her as she puts her hands behind her back, waiting patiently for Soonyoung to escort her down the steps and sidewalk to go trick-or-treating. 

“We’ll be fine,” Soonyoung assures, pouting as he takes Haen’s hand and spins around. Your other friends hold out the empty buckets made to be filled with candy. “We promised we had them, and we do!”

Wonwoo stands, hand sliding up your back as he does. “You remember where the key is?” 

“Yes, daddy,” Soonyoung calls over his shoulder. He passes Iseul to Jeonghan, who holds her far less precariously. “We’ll let you know when we’re back. Go out on the town or whatever it is parents with no kids do.” 

Children and parents line the streets. You watch your little group of friends with your two kids meander down the sidewalk, Jihoon immediately lifting Haeun to put her on his shoulders. Nerves eat away at you as they finally vanish from your line of vision, lost to the other swarms of trick-or-treaters and bobbing halloween lights hanging from trees. 

“Maybe we should-”

“Nope,” Wonwoo says gently, pulling you toward him. “They’ll do fine. Jihoon is with them, what could go wrong?”

Blowing out a sigh you nod, taking a moment to just drink him in. As much as he hates dressing up on Halloween, he’s done it again this year for you, dressed in the exact cowboy costume that you had put together for him. It’s less a costume than it is precariously picked clothes - the tan, suede button up and brown leather pants had already been in his closet, along with the belt and bolo tie. You’d just purchased the hat and the boots to complete the look.

And it is a look.

Wonwoo has always had the annoying ability to look good in whatever he wears. It doesn’t matter if he’s sitting on the couch in a shirt with juice stains from Iseul spilling her apple juice all over him or if he’s in a pressed suit at a company holiday party - he looks good in everything. 

Heading back inside, you catch yourself in the mirror near the entrance, tugging at your skirt a little. It’s a little higher and tighter than you remember, and the button digs into your stomach a bit more than you like. Chewing your lip, you quickly turn from the mirror, busying yourself in the kitchen looking for your car keys and purse.

Wonwoo follows you silently, leaning against the door frame as he watches you. His eyes are heavy on you, your stomach fluttering as you drop a credit card onto the floor. Cursing, you bend down to get it, feeling the skirt hug you tightly and restrict your movement for a second. 

“I’ve got it,” he says quietly, pushing off the wall.

“No, no,” you manage to peel it off the tile. “This damn skirt is so much tighter than it used to be. God.” Standing up again, you shove your card into the wallet, not meeting his eyes as he drifts toward you. “Maybe I should change.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just… I don’t know.”

“I think it looks fucking fantastic.” You roll your eyes, looking at him with a deadpan stare. His mouth twitches a little as he drops his gaze to the jean skirt in question. “You look fucking hot.” 

“We’re married. You have to say that.”

“Weird. I don’t remember that being in our vows.” 

“It definitely was.” You fiddle with the zipper on your wallet, nibbling on your bottom lip. “I think it was right after in sickness. It said and always tell your wife she’s hot.” 

His laugh is throaty and he reaches for you. You let him, his hands soft as he pulls you toward him by the waist. He smells like spicy cologne and something that is distinctly Wonwoo. Instead of looking up to meet his gaze, you focus on the pocket of his shirt, lifting your hands to fidget with it and press it flat.

“Baby,” he murmurs. You still don’t look up at him, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I really like the skirt, but you can wear whatever you want.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm. It makes your legs look good. Not to mention…” One hand drifts from your hip to your ass, squeezing generously. Your breath catches and your eyes flick up to meet his. They’re dark, a playful edge to his gaze that you’re intimately familiar with. “You look good in everything to me.” 

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” he imitates. Wonwoo’s fingers skim the edge of the skirt, brushing across your thighs. You shiver, clinging to him a little as your eyes flutter shut at the contact. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest as he says, “Want me to help you out of it?” 

The two of you have been together for nine years, married for six. You know every part of your best friend turned boyfriend turned husband. There is no corner of his heart he has left unturned to you, no thought that you cannot complete, no words he can speak that you don’t already know.

So when he asks if you want him to help you out of it you know what he’s asking you. He isn’t saying he’ll help you out and to pick out a new skirt. He isn’t asking you to change it. He doesn’t even want you to put the skirt back on, if his hungry gaze and the low pitch of his voice tells you anything. 

“I thought you wanted to go to the halloween party.”

His laugh comes out in a huff. “I’d like to get you out of that skirt more.” 

Wonwoo’s fingers curl around the edge of your skirt, a question. “Please.” 

Wonwoo has never denied you anything, and he doesn’t now. He spins you against the counter so that your hips are pressed to it, your back to his chest. He sinks his hands down your front, fingers deftly undoing the button. His hot breath is on your neck, his lips barely skimming your skin in an almost-kiss. 

Button popped, Wonwoo pulls the material open. Instead of rolling it down at the waist, his hand snakes into your skirt, pressing against your underwear as his mouth connects with your throat. You let out a breathy noise, melting in his arms as he presses his fingers to your clit over the silk of your underwear. 

“Oh,” you breath, going slack against him. He doesn’t mind, pinning you between him and the counter as he circles his fingers teasingly. He keeps his mouth busy, pressing wet kisses up your throat and toward your jaw. “Thought you wanted me out of it.” 

“I will,” he promises, nipping your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, giving him more access. The lower pit of your stomach burns with desire, sparking at his lazy touch. “Just wanted to touch first.”

“Slow ain’t your thing, cowboy?” 

“Nah, I’ve got a pretty thing that wants to take a ride.” 

Your laugh is cut off by a hiss, your head falling forward, as Wonwoo glides a finger down to press at your entrance. You feel your muscles clench, your stomach lurching as he teases you. A hand shoots to his wrist and you dig your fingers in, nails biting. 

“Be nice,” you warn sternly. 

“Mmm. You’re using your mommy voice.” 

“I wouldn’t have to if daddy was being nice.”

“Daddy says he’ll make up for it.” 

Daddy does. He always does. Wonwoo loves to tease you and make you beg for it, but he doesn’t now, fingers pulling your underwear to the side so he can stroke your pussy in full. He moans at the wetness he finds, hooking his chin over your shoulder to watch as he works his hand between your legs. 

Wonwoo’s fingers are deft and skillful, applying just the right pressure and stimulation to work you up. Your breath becomes stilted, feeling the ripples of pleasure as he gets you where he wants you. Pinned between him and the counter, you can’t move. Can’t squirm. Can’t buck your hands to meet his strokes when he sinks a finger into your cunt. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, pressing a messy kiss to your shoulder. “Like fucking silk.”

Heat creeps up your neck. You feel breathless under his attention, the heel of his palm pressing into your clit as Wonwoo leisurely fucks you with his finger, dragging it out only to slide up to your clit, circling gently. 

Your fingers dig into him as Wonwoo strings you along, enjoying the way your sounds turn airy and weak. He plays you perfectly, working you up until you feel your thighs twitching, eyes shut as you let him steer you toward your peak.

Wonwoo pulls his hand from your skirt, making you eyes fly open, mouth hanging open. Turning to yell at him over your shoulder, your words are lost as he drops to his knees, fingers yanking your skirt as he goes.

Cool air hits your legs as he taps your ankle, asking you to step out of the skirt. You do and he rewards you with a gentle kiss on the back of your thigh, his hands skimming up your legs. You feel the coolness wear his wet fingers leave a slick trail on your skin. 

Leaning forward, he plans another gentle kiss on the curve of your ass, making you laugh. He hums pleasantly, hands warm and explorative. He presses the small of your back gently, making you lean onto the counter, ass out. 

Delicately, he peels your underwear from your hips, tossing them somewhere else. His hands return to your legs, pressing gently to pry your thighs apart. He groans at your messy cunt, no doubt proud of his work. 

The marble countertop is freezing cold, ground you as you rest your cheek on it. You feel your chest heavy, holding your breath for a moment when Wonwoo leans forward and dips his tongue between your folds tentatively. 

“Soonyoung should take the kids more often,” Wonwoo notes, breath hitting you between the legs. You make a strangled sound, distracted by the way his fingers squeeze your thighs, digging into the meat of them. His tongue dips back in, dragging upward again. “Want to do this more.” 

“You - fuck - did this last night.” 

“Not with you bent over the counter and this pretty ass in my face.” His hand smacks your ass lightly, making you squeal. He laughs deep in his throat, a little bit of a groan as he mutters, “Exactly.” 

Wonwoo stops talking, mouth busy as he fastens his lips to your heat, sucking gently. He drives you insane, losing yourself in the way his tongue circles gently around your bundle of nerves. He alternates between tongue and lips, a shattering combination of heaven and hell as he works you toward an orgasm. 

His mouth isn’t the reason you fell in love with him, but as you start breaking apart, you think it might be a solid entry on the list of reasons. You reach back with one hand, knocking the hat off his head to tangle your fingers in his hair. He grunts, appreciative as he gives a particularly greedy suck, making your toes curl. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking away for a second. His fingers peel you open and you moan when you feel him spit against your hole, clenching around nothing. “Who needs candy when I have the sweetest thing right here?”

“Wonwoo.” 

“You even melt in my mouth.”

“Wonwoo.”

He chuckles. “Yeah baby, I know.”

He always knows. He attaches his mouth back to you, slick and messy and loud as he works you to your orgasm. Your nails dig against his scalp - he doesn’t care. He lets you tug him further in, happy to press his face as close to your heat as possible. 

You press back into him, muscle clenching. You burst like a bubble, completely coming undone under his mouth as you come against him, face pressed to the counter. He pushes you through it, not letting you escape him when you try and wiggle away, tongue hot and hungry until you’re begging him to let up. 

Wonwoo pulls away, breathing heavily. His hands skate up and down your legs and suddenly you’re grateful your weight is all on the countertop, thighs totally useless. 

“God damn,” you pants, eyes shut.

“Yeah,” he agrees and stands. You feel him crowd you in, touch seeking your hips. “Catch your breath, partner. You still got a ride to go on.” 

-

TAG LIST:

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[tokuvivor]

For this past Saturday’s final Halloween Movie Night of the month (this one focusing on the holiday itself, as well as Day of the Dead), once again, you’ll be getting highlights from both me and @violetganache42! So, here you have ‘em:

"Trick or Treat":

The triplets in their iconic Halloween costumes!

The rip having so much fucking camera movement and low volume

The Trick or Treat song!

@puffyducks: "she hurt his fragile masculinity"

The triplets watching Witch Hazel mess with Donald like: "Oh, boy! Violence!"

This fucking panel lmao

"The Town Where Everyone Was Nice!" (Rewatch):

"Have you ever been to Bahia?"

Panchito and José appearance!

Saludos Amigos easter egg!

The whole scene about Donald accidentally dropping Dewey's egg 😂

Scrooge still being a hater lol

Huey: "Uncle Donald, you're very successful. You raised three boys and are rich in love. Isn't that the true measure of success?"

Scrooge and Donald: "No!"

Violet: "How is that not successful?!"

Violet sharing GIFs of various moments from the episode like last time:

Autism diet (Donald's just like us FR!) (i.e. macaroni and cheese)

@alex31624: "Webby has fallen"

Violet: "in Lego City"

Puffy and Violet making FNAF jokes, from the Bite of '87 to Bonnie on the burro tour sign

Dewey's words of wisdom (screenshot from when we first watched this episode together last November):

Puffy wanting to throw Dewey and Louie into the sun a la Storkules

Violet upon seeing Scrooge's reaction to Donald taking his wallet:

@fantasticenthusiasttale: “Webby please we literally know only 3 phrases of english stop asking”

Alex: “is amazing that a brasilian plant knows english at all”

@writebackatya: “I just realized that both episodes have a moment where Donald is being wrestled by someone and he starts tapping out”

Huey and Webby not sucking in this episode

Alex: “who hires a mariachi for a kids party”

Puffy: “they took the gay </3”

Briefly discussing Webby’s party in The Last Adventure!

The Trickening! (Rewatch)

Huey as Gizmoduck!

Louie sucking in both episodes we watched

Duck Twins!

Why do people hate this episode?

“WE’RE GONNA ROB A CANDY STORE?!”

Puffy: “not poor bluebert 😭”

“why didn't they send Webby first she's the one that can fight lmfao”

“what the hell is dewey gonna do if he finds a monster”

Poltergeist reference

“Donald, you’re the victim.”

Launchpad’s ridiculous Halloween backstory

Uno reference

The kid that looked like Timmy Jenkins😠

Donald, Della, and Launchpad being an amazing dynamic

Launchpad and Scrooge’s fight!

Chris P. Bacon being one of the names on the headstones

Dreamy: “‘Last halloween’ meanwhile scrooge is out there 150 y/o still doing it”

Creepy twins!

The Shining references

Launchpad reading the candy wrapper

Beakley as Darkwing!

“I love Hallowoon!”

The poll at the end for whose costume was the best

Puffy: “no it's foreshadowing that huey is gonna DIE”

¡Felíz Cumpleaños!

Panchito and José are back!

The evil piñatas

Puffy bringing up The Book of Life

Will: “I’ve only played the game and had the cereal”

Fin

The charm of Paul Rudish shorts that take place in other cultures

Puffy: “me at 4 years old watching José rattle off Portuguese in The Three Caballeros (I have no idea what he's saying but I am enthralled)”

Will: “damn you looked just like JFK when you were a kid”

Coco

Why do people make Dos jokes about Uno? (It’s Italian (Due), not Spanish)

The opening narration being visualized through papel picado

Puffy:

Ernesto de la Cruz

Puffy: “1942 HE DIED 2 YEARS BEFORE THE CABALLEROS NOOOO”

The mariachi player that Miguel is shining the shoes of being supportive of his dream

@teleportzz: “never name a street”

“Papá is home?”

Dante being the best boy throughout the movie

Miguel’s de la Cruz shrine

Puffy: “my room looks like this but with donald duck plushes”

Miguel getting grossed out by the romantic scenes

Mech: “aromantic moment”

Abuelita smashing Miguel’s guitar‼️

Don’t mess with the dead!

Will: “Cut him some slack he’s just a little kid”

“Thinking by the heart not the brain”

Puffy: “No he should be responsible for all of his actions ever we've established this for fictional characters”

“especially traumatized little boys”

“Your photo’s on your dentist’s ofrenda.”

The guy in question:

The long line for customs

Héctor as Frida Kahlo

Mamá Imelda! (And her frustrations with the computer)

Alex: “the dead use windows”

Dreamy: “Then he finds out he cant have a blessing because hes adopted”

Puffy: “found family is still family”

Pepita!

@spamtoon: “cog this movie's environments are so beautiful” (very, very true)

Dreamy: “Hot take: Ernesto de la cruz is Mariah Carey for dia de los muertos”

The mango scene

Chorizo bullying

Chicharrón’s final death (very sad, but also, this exchange):

Héctor: “And her…knuckles, they drag on the floor.”

Chicharrón: “Those aren’t the words.”

Héctor: “There are children present.”

Miguel and Héctor shouting like Panchito

UN POCO LOCO!

Mamá Imelda singing for the first time in the movie

Puffy: “gonna be awkward when he dies and then he's stuck with all his family forever”

Puffy getting Latinified

Miguel’s dog🤝de la Cruz’s horse

Dante

Miguel and de la Cruz meet

Puffy: “YAYYYY movie over!!”

Dreamy: “Frida kahlo number 2 is his drag name”

Héctor revealing de la Cruz’s true nature (plus the fact that he killed Héctor and put it in a movie, like wtf)

Puffy: “he just has like. a big scary pit outside his mansion”

Spam: “like all billionaires cmon mark installed his last week. real big vanity point (joke)”

The origins of Remember Me

Puffy: “I like the convenience of the whole plot twist working because nobody ever bothered to say each other's names”

Dante the spirit guide!

Sneaking into the Sunrise Spectacular (shades of A Goofy Movie, anyone?)

Me: “If I had a nickel for every time I 2 I was mentioned in the server this week…” (the first time being me showing the recent Dancing with the Stars team dance to the song)

“I don’t know, I’m still mad at you!”

Mamá Imelda singing reprise!

Me: “I’ve never seen this episode of DWTS”

Puffy: “imagine seeing this shit live”

Alex: “you mean dead”

The crowd booing de la Cruz (Puffy: “WHO HAD THE TOMATO 😭”)

de la Cruz getting crushed by the bell again

Puffy: “well now he's gonna be on true crime podcasts so”

Me pointing out that Miguel left his sweatshirt behind

The scene where Mamá Coco remembers Héctor when Miguel sings Remember Me to her (and everyone loses their shit, despite saying they’re not (cont’d.))

One year later…Mamá Coco has died in the interim

Alex: “well, she was old as hell”

Miguel bringing it home with Proud Corazón

Dante and Pepita being friends in the human realm

Watching through the credits because yes

Me: “Hermosa. Una película muy hermosa”

Dreamy: “Another one for the latin-america Alex WOOHOOOOOO”

Me: “Hey, you gotta use 4 semesters’ worth of Spanish some time”

But yes, it was a fantastic movie.

[clemkruckinnie]

HI! just finished reading your nami fics, and dude I literally live them sm😭😭❤

please give us more nami fics ! we need them 😪

maybe nami x f r

where it's just domestic fluff really (the tangerine one was so cute we need more like that😭)

maybe cuddles (facing each other) and hugs! r being shorter than her tho if u add any description bc that's so cute

BUT THIS IS ONLY A SEGUESTION PLS JUST WRITE FOR NAMI😭😭😭

thank you can't wait to read any other nami fics🤭

angel of the morning- nami x reader

(slight allusions to smut again LMFAO)

nami’s never considered herself much of a religous person. if she believed in heaven, she’d have to believe in god, and everything else that comes with it.

but if she did believe in all that, she’d swear she was in heaven right now. your sleeping form in front of her, early rays of sunlight peeking in, shining on your face. that’s what eventually wakes you up, (e/c) eyes focusing in on the bright blue ones watching you.

“mornin’, baby.” nami greets you, brushing a piece of hair away from your face. you smile, putting your hand over hers, holding it to your face and leaning into her touch.

“good morning.” you greet her sleepily. “how long have you been up?”

nami shrugs, genuinely not knowing. watching you tended to blur hours and minutes together for her, all the time in the world not feeling like enough to take in your beauty. “everyone else is still asleep. it’s just us.”

“we better rest up before luffy wakes up.” you tell her. “not a moment of peace with that one.”

nami laughs softly, nodding. “turn around.”you oblige, nami scooting in behind you, putting an arm around your waist to pull you close. “better?”’

you nod, blissful and content. “better.”

nami smiles, tangling her legs with yours as she closes her eyes again. just before she’s about to drift back off, a door slams open down the hall from her.

“good morning, crew!” luffy’s voice booms, the two of you groaning sleepily as he makes his way down the hall, still talking about something or another.

“nami, y/n! wake up! sanji’s making breakfast—sanji! don’t fall back asleep, cmon!”

“i wonder what it’s like having that much energy.” you marvel, sitting up in bed. you run a hand through your messy hair, trying to keep it from falling back in your face.

“here,” nami offers you her bandana from her bedside table.

“can you tie it for me?” nami obliges, taking a moment to admire her handiwork when she’s done.

“prettiest pirate on the sea.” nami marvels, heat rising to your cheeks.

“you’re tied with me.” you counter. nami leans in, pressing a sweet, loving kiss to your lips. just as you’re about to lean back in, there are three more raps at your door.

“okay guys! he’s up for real this time! sanji, come on, i’m—we’re hungry!”

the two of you walk hand in hand to the kitchen, sleepy as ever, but content. there are two cups of tea already set out, sanji being used to you two waking up first. nami leans her head into your shoulder as you sip yours, you resting your head on top of hers.

“could you two at least wait till noon before making the rest of us feel single?” sanji teases you, laying out the ingredients for breakfast.

“never.” nami deadpans. “you’ll see, you get a girlfriend like this, you won’t want to be apart from her either.”

“oh, the rest of us know just how much you don’t want to be apart from her.” zoro chimes in, taking his own mug and sitting across from you two. “didn’t i just talk to you two about how thin these walls are?”

“what’s wrong with the walls?” luffy asks, not catching on to zoro’s implication.

“nothing-“

“oh, PLEASE tell him.” sanji laughs, nami scowling before she whips her head back around to zoro. “don’t you DARE-“

“well, luffy, when two people love each other very much-“

“zoro-“

“if i have to suffer through it-“

you watch the two of them bicker, their voices increasing in annoyance while luffy’s face grows in confusion, and amidst all the chaos, you laugh.

mornings on the going merry with your friends and girlfriend couldn’t get better.

[lovebvni]

hii!! it’s yemi again!!

it’s been a while and i was wondering if there is any message i need to hear regarding shifting again since so much time has passed!! i’m currently persisting (or learning how to be consistent with persisting!) but my life has gone downhill since the last time we talked and it makes me wonder how my journey’s been affected!!

idk what to add for you to tap into my energy BUT i really like to be as sweet and kind to people as I can and present myself as very energetic and erratic, and I’m a bit neurotic (LMAO) with a lot of creativity, but just as much anxiety. i’m a double major with theater and international language studies because I like them both and I want to find a way to put them together to do great things, despite the uncertainty of my future!! I’m usually thinking a lot, so I don’t have a lot of hobbies because of how bard I commit and what my anxiety likes to stick to. I hope that information helps!!

HI YEMI! it’s nice to hear from u again!!!

u we’re one of the first readings i ever did on here and it’s sooo amazing to hear that hr doing well (AND THAT U CAME BAXK FOR ANOTHER READING? HELLO?!)

so, i’m getting just shifting tips plus a shifting update for u!

LMFAO I GOT WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY??

so i’m gonna do a cartomancy instead.

two cards per question.

shifting my tips — 2 of cups and king of swords i’m getting talk to other shifters. on amino or discord. 2 of swords and 8 of swords keeps coming up too (8 of swords is actually bottom of the deck!)

so maybe spend time cutting off the people who are toxic. i’m sensing this may be a romantic relationship.

leave the people who are no longer serving you.

find new friends, people who are actually here for u and want to work for u.

** after doing shifting progress i wanted to do another shufflemancy for more tips!!

ok ok, spirit is saying you really wed to get out of this energy in order to do anything. they’re saying “bitch and moan” but i’m seeing more of a pity party. youre holding onto this for too long. you need to focus on what you really want. you want happiness, joy and love. then why not chance after it? times can be hard, but that doesn’t mean give it up.

loki also visited me and he showed 7 of pentacles. he’s also saying if you don’t focus, you’re not going to be able to reap the fruits of your labor.

shifting progress — 10 of swords and knight of swords

you’re coming out a bad period (as you told me) although it is slow coming. you are going to bleeding for a while, and it’s going to be hard.

this hardship is going to overcome with a pickup. maybe a mini shift, a message from a person, a new focus, whatever it is, it’s getting better “starting now”

thayw all i got for u yemiii!!! i love u sm! i hope to hear from u again soon telling me u shifted!

love and blessings! send a review <3

[lesser-mook]

Deadpool & Pander-ine (and Logan) “less is more” *spoilers obviously*

I watched it twice in the same day and it is fun, same ol’ Ryan hammyness but it ain’t all that.

The movie is just No way home part 2, because we all know what that movie did right?

And how many people are talking about it now?

Same shit, different studio. Now its Fox. (Though No Way Home is still decent, recommended. Best MCU Spider-man movie because: Consequences. Not because cameos, but Peter had to grow up & finally become Spider-man)

Otherwise, Fanservice: The Movie

Just better Fanservice than Japan’s bullshit.

The plot of this Deadpool 3 is garbage only because it boiled down to (destroying timelines) which literally means nothing now and the villain was weak because her motivations make no sense.

They’re sent to the void, to go to the base then to escape, to roadtrip, to go right back to the same fucking base, then to some town, and that’s it.

Logan somehow gets through to baldy to let them go buuuut now she wants to make the void the only frontier left, multiversal genocide. Ooookay then, cause that’s now a thing.

We don’t even get to see what happened to her in the past. We’re told.

The best thing about it is Wolverine. And Deadpool is a lot more serious at times in this movie.

The film is actually pretty critical of Deadpool through Wolverine and it works but the film itself was just a hack pander piece.

Using Logans corpse like that in the beginning was beyond disrespectful and mind-numbing. And no, being self-aware of the problem doesn’t vindicate the problem.

Dancing and shit, while weaponizing bones, just what the actual fuck is the MCU anymore.

That “call out your own writing flaws, thus that makes continuing the flaws A-Ok”shit didn’t work for Horikoshi and it ain’t working for you, DP3.

Now when you watch the Logan film again, just know- THATS what happens to his remains years later.

MCU comes and literally beats a dead horse.

My biggest complaint, criticism:

X-23 was underused.

This character is the Cassandra Cain of Marvel Comics (possible inspiration of Cain 90s to 2003)

She should’ve had more of a bigger role helping Wolverine heal emotionally like Logan was present for her in their journey in the previous movie- a poetic role reversal, but she’s helping to heal his Callous exterior.

The dynamic between her Wade, & Logan would’ve been great.

Not some rushed campfire scene where he spills his guts to a kid he doesn’t even know.

It’s a good good scene, one of the better ones cause DP isn’t in it- but it reads like it was payoff to build up and development we never got to see between these two.

When she walked in the room, and they saw each other: You could feel it, Hugh & Dafne have a very subtle acting chemistry, and its better when you remember: Oh shit, this is a different Wolverine but Hugh worked with this same kid way back when, didn’t he? Yep. Same people, believe it or not.

So you naturally want everyone else in the room to fuck off and just hear these two talk.

Now if Laura was there a little earlier, in more of the film and they had more time together not only would everyone want to see that, but it’d make his change of heart on his part make more goddamn sense.

Because now he has an actual dynamic with this young lady, who in some respects is his kid.

Maybe even set up her getting her own suit, admiring his.

Just wasted potential, all the effort went into “REMEMBER THEM!?”

Nostalgia-Bombs over storytelling. Sloppy

Got Lady Deadpool in the mix, yaaay (said someone), but why are the DP’s dropping so easy and not healing while moving or fighting like they’re mercenaries with healing factors too, they’re not zombies.

I get thematic timing, but if Lady DP was one of the first to drop, why wasn’t she getting up first or faster? Lmfao.

Why doesn’t any of them have the teleport belt? Why doesn’t Wade have the belt yet!?

My favorite scene though is Wade & Logan going apeshit in the van, and thus Logans strength is soooooo much better represented in this movie than any of the others. And there have been plenty of good highlights in the Logan movie (X-24 is prime Logan so the feats are by proxy his own):

The way he manhandles Wade, tackles the van so hard the airbag deploys, he even slings the man through a solid wall- THAT’S Wolverine. Brute fucking strength.

That kind of strength behind unbreakable claws + the healing is why he’s a problem. Imagine that striking strength, it’s like a Car made of razor blades sideswiping you at 60 mph with every throw, and that’s lowballing.

Think about it, he’s got like 200–500 pounds + of metal on him, you know how strong he’s gotta be to carry that 24/7, even while swimming?

There’s a reason why he can give Hulk a little bit of a fight, Big Guy Hulk anyway “Dumb Hulk”. Green Scar? Not a contest. But Logan can hang with the best of them for a reason.

It got the little things right more than the bigger shit. They really lost me with that timeline destruction plot, please please please stop with the universe shit only If it boils down to “mwahaha me evil”

Did WE really forget why Thanos worked in the first place? less is more more.

Logan was a small scale film, very humble, with personal small scale stakes. 

That’s why it works, thats why its tense, that’s why it’s emotional: because there’s no multiverse, no timeline, no reality bullshit. Just personal stakes.

DP&W is more fun than Logan, but Logan is going to age better than Deadpool & Wolverine. As it’s aged very well even now.

It aged better than Endgame.

We’re really overlooking the importance of a stake being “personal” to a character.

Why do you think Phase 3 even worked in the first place? Because Phase 1–2 had personal stakes, small scale storytelling first (small enough, Thor was punching kind of high with it’s 3rd act but hey, it’s Thor).

Now, people seem to enjoy this, good. 

Nice to hear laughs than dead silence from collective regret that money was paid to see trash. Same with No Way Home.

I think we’ve had enough of preachy movies making people miserable: but at the same time we gotta trace back the formula to better storytelling, less predictable member-berry heavy gimmick plots- cause this just might become a branched genre of hammy exploitative movies, if all it takes is jangling keys.

Small scale stories are now underrated.

DUNE PART TWO crushes this easily in terms of writing, pacing, story, but this is one of the better films of 2024 tho. It’s a gimmick driven, fun ride, prioritizing the audience liking what they see and not making the audience like what the narrative wants them to see.

Wasted potential on many fronts, Laura should’ve been in so much more of this, hell she could’ve been the compass to guide them through the wastes to accomplish things with purpose instead of them aimlessly wandering from place to place. A more mature, realized Laura, give us some sit-rep on what happened to the other kids, remember those other kids? I still remember the eldest boy, Rictor; He was cool. I hink he was Avalanche’s kid.

All in all, the film is a one-trick pony, but it’s a fun ride.

[gaybd1]

chris watches twilight for the first time

omg this blueish filter is wild is this like a Pacific Northwest thing

that girl is not tan enough to be from arizona

also I’m getting big gay energy from her so idk how this movie is gonna be like. plausible.

if the dad wasn’t a cop I’d definitely smash

do u guys remember though when they used to cast ACTUAL teenagers for teen roles? refreshing

wow this guy in the cowboy hat has MAJOR swag

oh nooo Taylor Lautner I grew up with him and he sucked (real)

idk why ppl always shat on kstew being like inexpressive in this??? seems fine??

all these vampire siblings date each other?? lolololol

so far this seems like a fun little teen drama idk. it’s so blue though

Edwards stare is so intense I KNOW rpat had a great time with this lolol

Lolllll imagine seeing someone try to switch classes to avoid u but u don’t even know them??

the daughter-distant father awkwardness is v nice, v realistic

ugh this dad is so hot

Does Edward have RED eyes girl that sounds like a red flag get away

Ok this soundtrack sucks

Wait so his eyes change? Why?

wow he stopped a bread van for her w his muscles how romanticccc

also how small is this school like how does everyone know her?

vampire doctor creeps me out

lol his name is carlisle what a square

taking bets at how soon he tells her he’s a vampire it’s probably pretty soon I’m gonna say like around the one hour mark

girl is she having sex dreams about him

God Edward really is so creepy eh

Lautner’s Michigan accent is sooo bad in this omggg I can’t

are these new vampires?? the whole eating people thing really disrupts the tone of the story

So gay of bella not to care about the dress shopping. And also just skipping prom lol

Edward just following her everywhere RUN GIRL

“I should make sure Bella gets something to eat” most awkward and obvious way to ask for a date

So she’s def a vegetarian and he def doesn’t eat people food

We’re like 40 minutes in and he’s already telling her lol

Anyway why can’t he read her mind is this like a soulmate thing

This is soooo fanfictiony lmao

So she finds out he can read minds and just lets it go lol

Edward is such a dumbass though she figured him out so easy lolllll

And now she’s having vampire sex dreams lmaoooo this movie is great

Oh here it comes the “I know what you are” “say it” lol I only know this scene bc it’s from a meme or something

lmao this speed animation

is he about to sparkle

BAHAHAHAHAHA THIS IS SO UNSERIOUS

god they’re both crazy girl why are you so into him and Edward why are you so obsessed w her

ok yeah some of these lines suck

First of all these kids are missing class and for what

Second of all I cannot IMAGINE being a teenage straight girl seeing this for the first time when it comes out and basing my ENTIRE personality on this shitty ass self-insert fanfic ass plot

Girl how the hell can you be in love with him already

That’s so high school, they’re only walking together and people somehow know they’re together?

oh wow so the doctor turns these kids to stop them from dying that’s neat

I used to live only off tofu and I was very satisfied thank u very much

Wow he’s special about reading minds that’s convenient

He’s such a kid w her that’s not what I was expecting but I like it

They’re making Italian food for her bc her name is Bella lmfao

WOW anger issues much

He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t stop going to school, he doesn’t eat, terrible existence

Was that the author in the diner

HOLY FUCK HE SNEAKS INTO HER HOUSE AND WATCHES HER SLEEP RED ALERT

DONT KISS THE GUY WHO WANTS TO EAT YOU NOOOOO

there are so many problems here lol

Dad just messing w his gun at the kitchen table, so cop coded

So American coded actually lol

Wait Edward is gonna meet him w the gun there lmao

Vampire baseball lolllll

This is just one big incest nerd family

They could have tried a little harder w the cgi for such a big budget?? This looks like the CW. Feels like it too actually

FRENCH bad guy vampires??

These stakes seem suddenly way too high??

Don’t break the hot dads heart nooooo

This really does feel like the CW though

Yeah no Rosalie is right why does that family care about Bella so much like she’s a high school girlfriend not a wife lmao

I think I’m dumb but I don’t entirely understand what’s happening here like did Bella go back to Arizona?? Why did she have to go so far to get away from this guy

FUCK is he gonna run all the way to Arizona now lol

I just don’t know how things got so suddenly so dramatic like can’t this James guy just let it go why is he going to so much effort this just all seems so silly

Wow Black Swan

yeah again idk why everyone was hating on kstew’s performance in this, it’s good

How did Edward get there so fast is there like some portal between Arizona and Washington isn’t that like a 1-2 day drive?

This is a fancy ass ballet studio btw

Yeah this fight scene sucks

So Mufasa coded “Remember who you are”

What is happening to Bella now she doesn’t turn until the last book right? (I’ve never read it idk)

Why did that guy have venom?????

Wow finally creepy Edward gets what he wanted and can drink her up…… he ain’t gonna stop

Oh I get it he stops w the power of love. Okay. Whatever.

This SONG sucks

“You lost a lot of blood” yeah THANKS Edward

Oh god the old ass cellphones. Throwback.

Not sure why she’d need oxygen w the injuries she had tbh am I missing something or is it for drama

“You’re in here bc of me” damn straight

Go to Jacksonville Bella (I know she won’t)

Don’t be a baby about it Bella????

Oh fuck is she going to prom? THATS not gonna create School Drama at all…

“Alice lent me the dress” yeah you’re too gay to own any

I know it’s bc of my issues w lautner as a person but I hate Jacob and I ALSO hate that lautner claims to have “distant” indigenous heritage bc that is another thing that he didn’t have when we were kids so why is he playing this guy

“Should we dance?” “You’re serious?” Bro you came to prom together wtf did u think u we’re gonna do

All the music in this movie sucks ass

I don’t usually advocate for this with vampire stuff but I’d have less of a problem with the creepiness of this relationship if he DID turn her

If MY bf was a vampire I wouldn’t want to be human either wtf

Okay yeah I mean that movie was whatever. Glad I understand the pop culture references now I guess

Oh no oh wait oh god I gotta watch the rest of these movies now don’t I…. Please tell me they get better

[kithtaehyung]

Ryen, I have read 3tan window and the first thought was ‘wow’.

Unlike my fellow readers, I am not usually a lover of all things chaos (though I don’t blame them) but this was a hearty exception. So much to unpack and you did the majority of it all in one room. Honestly that’s what impresses me most, you manage to make something so real and detailed out of something so confined and simple.

The two of them together just make so much sense. The switch in… attitude? in the middle of the sex scene felt like a metaphor to me but I don’t know it that was your intention.

As much as I said I related to Yoongi in all the previous chapters (can’t wait to see what you think of that review), which I do a painful (it’s healing) amount, I actually found myself relating to your main character more this time.

I also don’t really do holidays for various reasons. But seeing main character go through these emotions felt so normalizing. We shouldn’t treat people like crap simply because we’re in moods but sometimes it just takes that one person to snap us back to reality. People have histories that stick and his sincerity when responding to her’s was so deep.

Seriously, the emotional parts of this story are making my brain so soft. It makes me feel weirdly confident. I don’t know what else to say, you know? I’m usually terrible at emotions but 3tan makes me want to talk more for some reason.

I really appreciate you for writing these things out because this is the most human story (I really feel it could be a novel). I’m giving you and all your readers a very brief group hug (consent permitting, of course) because I really do enjoy it here.

Thank you - 🎷

oh my gosh, sax!! :')) this is damn amazing. wow. (ironically, the same reaction you had to window lol)

i'm glad you were okay with all the chaos that unfolded in this part! and you're right, this was pretty much a bottle episode until the ending scenes since all the "outside" ones before that were flashbacks. you know.. i didn't even realize that until reading this commentary the first time. you're so observant that you noticed something i didn't lmfao you're amazing.

the switch in attitude was certainly intentional! they both went from holding on to their frustration and using that, to finally coming to the deeper intimacy after yoongi knew reader understood what he was trying to say the whole time. and i shall get to your review - which i am excited about! - but this one is super cool to see you relating to reader. bc these things are universal, whether you see yourself in yoongi, or reader, or even both.

normalize not being okay with the holidays and accepting that there are people that don't do them!! especially if they have bad situations surrounding them. but also, yes, we need to be aware that our emotions can get the best of us and burn people we don't really intend to. it's all about gaining that awareness and learning from it.

i'm glad it's making you confident. my hope for this story is for it to show people that we just need to communicate more. both sides. bc relationships are built on words most of the time, and the quicker we hash things out or say what we want or don't want, the more productive it becomes.

a novel? oh, wow.. that's huge praise. thank you (and i'll take the group hug)<3 i enjoy having you here, as well, and this review made me smile multiple times. thank you so much for all the commentary and onto all the rest of this ride!

[st4rbwrry]

ugh i just got finished reading your fic sketch and boy (or girl in this matter) was it good. there are no words to describe how good it was oh my lordt. your fic is the first one i’ve ever read on this app & you have exceeded my expectations (this is coming from someone who has read wattpad fics while growing up, embarrassing ik lol) i have never read anything like it. to start it off, ive never read a fic where one of the main characters has ocd or anything related in that nature so it instantly had me curious as to where this fic was going. i like that we go to know both eren’s & the fl thoughts a little bit throughout the fic, it added a little pizazz (at least to me). like everything in this story flowed perfectly. them meeting at the museum/gallery & becoming interested in each other, them exchanging information so they could kick it later on, the fl not being happy in her relationship, eren & the female lead thinking of each other, & the fl actually coming over. the way you described eren’s place i could imagine it & mind you it’s literally so hard for me to imagine settings in stories when author’s describe the scene but you did it so perfectly i could literally imagine myself floating in 3rd person & seeing every lol. whew & don’t get me started on the build up to the smut- lawd. the cake part where eren was getting some & literally puts it in her mouth! i didn’t know if i wanted to be the fl or eren like- gawd i never wanted to be a character so bad in my life. & then when it finally started to go down i was blushing so hard because it was so hot. ugh i wish i wasn’t such a pussy so i could show you the ss of the parts that i was literally getting 💢⭕️💢⭕️ but i’ll just say it lol. ik exactly what position you were talking about when you said he but his arm around her collarbone & his whole weight was on her 👀 (even tho i’m literally a virgin but we’re just gonna skip over that lmfao). & when he pressed on that spot & was talking to her while doing it, the butterflies i got mann. WHEN HE TOLD HER TO SINK ON IT LAWD. IT WAS SO FUCKING HOT like the switch from eren being the dom to sub my heart almost couldn’t take it. i’m literally a sucker for sub men & the dialogue during that part WHEW. & even the little time skips around afterwards when they were chilling trying to make pancakes/waffles then it lead to the female lead getting ate out, the bathtub scene, & finally them in the bed together as the fl fell asleep while eren was reading warmed my heart fr fr. BUT THE ENDING?!?! the way i didn’t see that coming from a mile away like whaaaaat?! the worst (not like worst worst but in like worst that got me sad fr but best) one night stand i’ve ever read. the very end i was confused on. what did you mean that he was finally free & that the fl wouldn’t find him if she looked? free as in left the earth? 😭 or free as in he dipped & is just never coming back?

moral of this all is, the way of words you have & your attention to describing detail is so fucking good omg! i hope you take writing seriously because the gift that you have ma’am?! 👩🏽‍⚖️💥💥you have a real gift/talent & i can’t wait to read the rest of your fics because this one was straight up heat istg. ugh i wish i didn’t say this anonymously but i’m literally nervous interacting with people so i do it anonymously but still! supporting you from behind the mask ✊🏽 have a lovely day <3

JAJSJSJDD AHHHHH OMGGGG THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING REVIEW FOR SKETCH EVERRRRRRR. thank you from the bottom of my heart, truly. that’s one of my favorite fics i’ve written and, known fact, took me like two months to finish lol. i wanted it to be PERFECT. i’m really really really glad you took your time to read it, analyze, and enjoy it as well as sending me this review. this means EVERYTHINGGGGGGGG to me. i put my foot in that fic so im very grateful. I LOVE YOU VERY MUCHHHHHHHHHHHH. and i completely understand about being on anon and not feeling to comfortable sharing screenshots. your comments were enough fr. thank you. <3

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Yuki’s LN was actually a sob story omg THE DOG WAS SO CUTEEE omg I hope he adopts a dog someday in the future bro did NOT think that scuffle through but omg just shows how selfless he is…

LMAOO FR!! I mean if I really had to rank then yeah I TECHNICALLY have a fav but if you really asked me to choose between faves I probably wouldn’t be able to still even though some are technically ranked “higher” than others

No because Rin giving old vibes /hj in a different way than Aiku LMAOO wait I would pay to see Barou captain that’d be really funny “YOU DONKEYS GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!!!!!!”

Oh yeah I’ve not dipped my toes in AoT at all so that makes sense LOL

LMAOOOO OMG DO IT (imagine a double date but in the end y/n talks more to his sister and yuki than to him LMFAO)

No definitely as I went back and did the formal translation he was 6 and the sister should’ve been 9 by their description of her being 3 years older so?? Not even double digits (BRUH THE REO ONE IS DIABOLICAL??? WDYM A GROWN ASS ADULT WAS CONFESSING TO BASICALLY A LIKE 7 YEAR OLD HSHDSHSHSH)

GRAND AGE OF SIX AT 5K WORDS ok so if we do the math…. 2k at 4, 5k at 6, 3k word difference per 2 years, 1.5k words per year. Assuming this ends up at 20 year old Karasu that means we still have 14 years to go. 14 x 1.5k is 21k. Therefore, the new ballpark is now 21k /j (if this math is wrong um…no it isn’t!!! /j) im assuming we wouldn’t be seeing every single year in between so this is probably a bit overboard anyways LOL

No wait I love seeing childhood moments because they’re honestly so important for shaping who someone turns out to be?? OOHUU IM LOVING IT “I only see you as a child” angst progression

Nagi does NOT see the sun bro needs some vitamin d for his pasty ass…/j but FR I’m devouring these Karasu crumbs also I’ve noticed Otoya’s hair has been slightly more silver leaning! I’m pretty certain it’s still supposed to be relatively white, but typically in digital art using like pure white usually isn’t as great because it leaves less possibilities in terms of lighting and coloring so that might be why..? The version of him in the game also isn’t like pure white white so I’m wondering if that’s the case (also mixed with the sort of darker kinda color tone of s2) so I don’t think it’d be wrong to refer to it to white still! The (little) merch floating around of him also has his hair basically white so. No because not even a SLIVER of his hairline like yeah I know it’s my man’s chin but would it kill you to show his face?? No fr I was wondering why Otoya too….like I know that Karasu is more popular than him…and also Hiori too?? I’m hoping that just means we’re getting a cracked trailer with a full screen of Karasu’s face next time

The more I read the more I was like did they just craft the perfect man??? I loved the scene with the dog so much it was too cute like wdym his first practice buddy was a dog??? That was a rollercoaster and honestly probably one of my favorite LNs…I really like how they show the progression of his characters and actually kinda dig into his painful moments?? I think I need to reread everyone’s atp omg

-Karasu anon

I JUST FINISHED READING THE CHAPTERS YOU SENT IN OMG I’M BAWLING 😭 he’s so sweet fr…omg i hope he gets to retire and be happy one day with a dog and a family he truly deserves it

exactly like i have my top five but it’s always changing HAHAH there’s a couple mainstays but i’m so easily convinced to start liking new characters especially in shows like bllk which have such big casts that it’s inevitable you’ll be able to have a bunch of favs

aiku gives like uncle old vibes rin gives like cousin old vibes LMAOO that makes no sense but like aiku is just your weird uncle whereas rin is the cool cranky older cousin that you admire but all of the adult relatives hate because he has an attitude

aot is…something 😭 idk i was very very into it for a while and i really do appreciate and love the majority of it but i’m not a huge fan of how the ending was handled (not for the typical reasons people complain abt it i just think that some characters were let off too easily for what they did) and the fan base is INSANE. like peak no media literacy/critical thinking twelve year olds saying the craziest shit because they don’t realize that the actions of certain characters are meant to be condemned and not supported!! so i’ve drifted away from it now for the most part…a lot of the writing skills i have now i developed through trial and error with my aot fics though so i’ll always be grateful for that but i look back at it more as a fond memory/w nostalgia than anything

OKAYYY yayoyuki is now canon 🫡 (i named karasu’s sister yayoi hehe idk it just flowed well w tabito?? like yayoi and tabito sound like sibling names the same way seiko and eita do in my mind) actually lowkey i feel like that could kinda help the plot…the reader being like “wait why is your bf younger than you he’s literally your brother’s friend” and yayoi is like “bro it’s barely two years it’s not that deep” which makes reader be like “hmm…”

THE REO ONE IS INSANE. MY MAN IS A VICTIM AND NOBODY GAF?? ig it was supposed to show that people tend to value him for his money to the point that his teacher tried to get w him ostensibly because he’s a corporate heir…like narratively it makes sense but that should NOT have just been an egoist bible tidbit that was never expanded on?? iirc it’s not even mentioned in his light novel but that is so traumatic omg poor boy 😭

he’s still six and we’re at 6k words now if you want to adjust your estimate KDJISJ i am so scared of this fic i can just tell it’s going to be so long…we’re going to see karasu go from 4 to abt 20 and reader from 6 to abt 22 BYE why did i ever think i could fit all of that into “6-9k words” i’m not even going to bother w reestimating atp just going to go w the flow and see what happens…should i withhold the wc updates so you can be surprised when i finally post or do you want to be prepared going into it 🤔

pretty much all of the story is their “childhood” though ofc it progresses and they get older and older…icl i have no idea how to write kids so there’s going to have to be some suspension of disbelief going on 😭 YESS the angst and pining (from karasu naturally) are so real!! i think it makes sense on both ends because on the one hand yeah two years isn’t a huge deal esp once you’re older but on the other it’s like…karasu this girl has seen you throw tantrums because your sister wouldn’t play w you why WOULD she find you attractive 😩

ENOUGH LMAOOO no but that’s def the reason because he’s paler than every other character and for sure it’s because he doesn’t touch grass 😓 i think it’s definitely more silver compared to like nagi’s hair but still very light/almost white!! maybe more of a cool/gray toned white versus nagi’s which leans towards cream/straight up show white most of the time!! and yeah ik in animation pure black and pure white tend to fall flat which is why a lot of black haired characters end up having greenish hair when animated!!

YKW I WOULD’VE BEEN HAPPY W THE ICONIC SMIRK AHHH like it would’ve made him seem a little villainous if we only saw the lower half of his face and it’s just him smirking but those in the know realize it’s just the karasu signature 😔🙏🏻 sassy smirk + fuck ass hair WE NEEDED ONE OF THE TWO and wait omg i forgot abt hiori (and nanase) maybe they’re trying to keep the more relevant characters secret and just using characters anime-onlies would recognize in the trailer (so like igaguri’s irrelevant ass) still doesn’t explain why otoya and kurona made it instead of the bambi osaka boys but uh maybe they were just easier to animate?? or maybe they went w otoya because he’s very distinctive (aka doesn’t have dark hair and blue eyes) so he stood out more than karasu might (i bet some people would’ve been like “why did zantetsu take off his glasses” or smth abt karasu lowkey)

NO LITERALLY yukimiya invented being the ideal guy nobody in bllk can compare…actually let’s just go ahead and say nobody in shounen can compare 😫 he was truly meant to be a shoujo male lead more than any other bllk character 😭 i agree i think the ln did such a good job at showing his progress and why he is the way he is!! his backstory is also super realistic too 💔 like the whole medical trauma thing…i hope he and chigiri don’t get the boot from the main cast because of their health issues i love both of them sm 😓 i rlly liked this ln too!! especially compared to hiori’s and nagi’s which are the two i’ve reread the most for fic purposes the tone felt a bit more serious and mature (considering half of hiori’s is him stalking karasu and 99% of nagi’s is him slacking off in school this makes sense) i’m excited to see how barou’s is!! and also aryu’s lol maybe i’ll be more into him after reading his backstory or smth

[bisluthq]

Gotta be honest, I do find the whole "mattress" thing in BTR, and the insinuations in Last Kiss that they LITERALLY slept together quite humorous considering who inspired them.

I'm not stupid. I'm aware that "Mr. Purity Ring" was never all that pure, but that wasn't known at the time. Before the days of ex-child stars saying he asked them for nudes, and Sophie Turner calling him out for where exactly he was putting his fingers, he was just that teenage boy on the Disney channel who's decision to wear that ring shaped his entire public perception.

This very well may not be the case, but based on how she spoke about him post Joever (1.0), I like to imagine that part of her goal with Better Than Revenge was to put it out there that JoBro wasn't as pure as he portrayed, but then by the time the song actually came out, he wasn't on Disney channel, the ring was nowhere to be found, and he was sticking a lot more than his fingers inside of his girlfriends.

I know they'd kind of made up by that point (there's pictures of them being cordial at a grammys party in Jan that year), but it's still a fun crack-theory.

It does make me wonder though, what exactly was Camilla Belle offering to that child of God in the mattress department to "lure" him from goody, goody Taylor Swift who has never had a sexual urge a day in her life?

yeah lol I mean they DID NOT have PIV (nor did Joe and Camilla - his first PIV was Ashley and we know this only because he’s told us) but they obviously weren’t just holding hands lmfao. You don’t have to have PIV to be very intimate with one another. Source: my sex life lol. Last night we actually had a bit of PIV to spice things up lmfao but it’s legit something we do like as a spicy activity not like as part of our nightly thing (and we do have sex pretty much every single night, unless we’re sick or one of us is away or I mean if we get home VERY late and drunk). Nothing wrong with liking PIV but it’s not the be all and end all.

re Camilla I don’t think it was about the sex stuff lol that’s also why Taylor changed the lyric. She was just 19 and slut shaming another girl because the boy she liked wasn’t into her anymore. I never did that but I’ve been on the receiving end of some at around that age because the rumor went round that I’m down for freaky shit (I mean I am but I hadn’t done any at that point!!!) and that’s why a guy was like choosing me over this other girl and like I wasn’t even looking to date anyone then because I was seeing bookstore girl and fucking randos so actually now I read that back I do recognize why I was being slut shamed lol.

[igbylicious]

Isak i literally SQUEAKED when i saw this post asdkjsdakjdsajk („ಡωಡ„) ♡

‘RIGHT out of the gate with the objectification???? okay :’) fine and normal about that.’ nothing like a lil sprinkling of casual objectification to kick things off! :3

‘i re-read this part a few times immediately, it’s so soft T_T <3 he’s already being so good!! the lack of cockiness is really getting to me. im gonna explobe im not kidding’ hehe i went ALL IN with the neediness, we’re building up to smth! >:3 but askdjasdjk i’m so happy you are on-board for it; i was a lil worried that ppl might be disappointed that Woo wasn’t way more bratty at reader!

‘screaming into my fist. if im being honest.’ if there’s one thing for which you can count on me, it’s that Wooyoung’s moles will be appreciated ♡( ◡‿◡. )

‘:’)) god. he’s so needy (affectionate) it’s so fucking cute. and this sentence is very…… gosh idek what to say, i’m brain empty rn, but i like it a lot. it feels very heartfelt.’ ahhhhhhhh!!! (°◡°♡) lowkey i was pretty proud of that line ;; idk i just really wanted to get across that Woo is very vulnerable right now but like, in a feelsy way ♡ (ps it was during a handcuffs / blindfold combo that Wooyoung first yellowed San uwu)

‘Reader keeps calling Woo babygirl hfnhj it’s the best <33 it’s the truth™’ in honour of Woo taking the crown in that tumblr babygirl poll~!

‘I said that^ just to get to the point that I’m enjoying the mentions of San and how intense and serious he is. And hornie :3’ lol i’m really glad asdkjaskdjdas, i didn’t want him to be forgotten just bc he’s in more of a voyeur role! (≧◡≦) ♡ (so, so horny lol)

‘Live San reaction’ AKSJDKJASDKJADSKJASD PERFECT PIC CHOICE 11/10 NO NOTES LOL i love that all you gotta do is write ‘San gives Wooyoung a flat look’ and all of atiny, we all just know (ᵔ◡ᵔ)

‘braver than any US Marine /gen’ the real reason why it’s so significant that San relinquished his control to reader isn’t bc he is willing to ‘share’ and trusts her with Wooyoung’s safety; it’s bc San trusts her to properly punish Woo lol (hj)

‘omg. the part where San calls Woo “your toy” instead of his own toy? The cinnamon tography…’ Wooyoung putting the sub in sub-text ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

‘Awh! He’s pathetic :)’ asdkjadjkda is2g i’m constantly giggling reading your commentaries (≧◡≦) ♡

‘Reader talking about how she’s gonna make Wooyoung eat her out while watching the recording:’ LOL ACCURATE, THESE PICS I— A:ALSKDSLK

‘I’m CHOOSING to believe you thought of me at least a little bit when you added this in here. EITHER WAY FUKCNFJJFhj are you telling me he could cum from having his tits cropped? he’s actually perfect fr.’ combined with the blindfold and bondage? absolutely ( •̀ .̫ •́ )✧ (i cannot confirm but also shan’t deny that maaaaaybeeeeeee here and there i thought abt whether the biggest sub Wooyoung appreciator i know would approve :3 )

‘Watch this be way off lmfao <3’ adskjjkadajdsk!!! one) i love that you gave this moment so much thought ;; ♡ two) NOT way off! it’s not the whole story, but damn you literally made my mouth fall open when i read this!!! the distancing thing esp, yeah uh, yeah that will be brought up again 👀

‘at this, my brain went “she should make him cum again. as a puNISHMEN”’ ASDJKASDKJ YOU ARE SO CORRECT ISAK, READER REALLY DROPPED THE BALL THERE, DANG

‘Bahahaaaa roasted!!’ sometimes San wonders what he’s done in a past life to deserve Wooyoung & reader (affectionate). but sometimes, he wonders what the hell he has done to deserve Wooyoung & reader (derogatory). lol

‘Oh he “likes” that, does he? Sounds like he absolutely loves it, maybe even feels a little emotional about it. Or maybe he just inhaled some dust, who knows.’ Wooyoung? getting a lil feelsy while he films his boyfriend and their close-friend-who-has-become-pretty-hecken-important-to-them be together?? nah, probably just dust ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

‘But Woo sees this opportunity for what it is; a gift and a sign of trust, and it makes me so happy that he’s behaving the way he is.’ ahhhh!!! this is again a relief bc this was another moment where i worried ppl might be disappointed Woo wasn’t brattier lol — and i could see Woo menace San more if they’d planned this out as a scene beforehand, like deliberately trying to make San edge himself and stuff~ but here it just felt right for Wooyoung to be appreciative of San’s offer and not like, punish him for doing a nice thing for Woo :’) seriously i’m really thankful for how generous you are with your thoughts abt these kinda things, it’s super fun and rewarding to read!!!

‘hjnghjfnh the way he just totally ignored her pleas u_u gremlin’ this man’s focused on the job!! he’s got a sextape to film he ain’t got no time for reader’s begging!!! xD

‘my brain. is scrampled eg’ San knows he's hot shit, sometimes i gotta let him flaunt it a lil bit! uwu

ASKDJASDKJ THIS GOT SO LONG HELP BUT AHHHHH UNSTOPPABLE NEED TO GET MY THOUGHTS ABT YOUR THOUGHTS BACK OUT TO YOU ASKJDKASJJKDSAJKDSKAJJKDAKJADS for real i can’t tell you enough how much i appreciate them!!!!!! Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt8

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, friends with benefits

ch. summary: You get to play with Wooyoung.

wc: 10k

ch. warnings: smut with subtext, everyone’s a switch but dom reader / San & sub Wooyoung for the first half, voyeurism / exhibitionism, sex tapes, BDSM, blindfold & bondage / shibari (@ Wooyoung), finger sucking, blow / hand job, sex toys; cock ring & riding crop (@ Wooyoung) & buttplug (@ reader), dirty talk, pain kink, impact play, dacryphilia, objectification, degradation kink, praise kink, Wooyoung is referred to as; ‘good boy’, ‘babygirl’, ‘(fuck)toy’ & ‘(pain)slut’, reader fantasises abt having a cock and Wooyoung sucking her off, copious amount of spit, scunnilingus, vaginal / anal fingering (@ reader), DP with a toy, creampie, condomless sex with IUD, masturbation, mention of San tiddies, safe word checks; ‘green’ & ‘yellow’ are used, aftercare, pet names for reader (‘baby’ and ‘good girl’)

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

a/n²: subtext aside, this chapter is pure smut lol — but the next one will get more into relationship development! (ᵔ◡ᵔ) there’s a pretty direct nod back to smth in the previous chapter so i hope it’s not been too long between updates, but i think it will still work either way! ♡

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

“There, your throne is all ready, princess,” San grins at you, spreading his hands in a flourish to present Wooyoung, showcased on the bed for your pleasure.

And a pleasure it is; Wooyoung sits up against the headboard with both hands secured to a bedpost, vivid red rope laid across his wrists with a simple column tie. Less simple is the mermaid tie that San used to trap Wooyoung’s legs together from knees to ankles, loops upon loops of crimson twisted around his limbs; just as effective at immobilising Wooyoung as it is aesthetically pleasing to the eyes.

(You’d had an unexpectedly relaxing time while San did his ropework, a hush in the bedroom as you quietly chatted and joked together; San kept his focus on perfecting the looping patterns, but there was always a smile on his face whenever you and Wooyoung broke out in a sudden giggle of anticipation. His practised fingers had proved their skill, tying Wooyoung up with swift precision — but you almost wished it had taken longer, enjoying the odd intimacy of your small pre-scene bubble.)

“‘Throne’?” Wooyoung snorts at San’s invitation, right as you laugh a surprised, “‘Princess’?” It’s not exactly in San’s usual arsenal of nicknames of you.

San shrugs, his bright grin undiminished. “We can try something else! Um… Your saddle is ready, cowgirl?” he says, giving you a wink. “Here is your altar, goddess?”

“I can’t tell if these are getting better or worse!”

“I can,” Wooyoung says, trying to be deadpan but his voice comes out strained. He shifts against the ropes, restless from all the attention you are not paying to him. “C’mon, can we get on with it?”

They’re the words of a brat — but there is a telling neediness in his eyes as he looks at you, utterly incapacitated. You bite your lip at the tightness in his face; and the rapidly growing wetness between your legs is just as telling of need.

You throw a leg across Wooyoung’s thighs to straddle him, careful not to touch the semi he’s been sporting ever since San first lined a rope just above his knees. “What’s the rush, Woo?” you coo at him, running a teasing finger up his chest. “You’re not going anywhere, we got all the time in the world.”

Wooyoung pouts at your light touch, but he visibly relaxes with you on top of him. “No rush,” he grins, and there is a bit more strength to the cockiness in his voice. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about me.”

Your fingers slowly walk up his throat, where you both see and feel him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing underneath your fingertips.

“Aw, feeling neglected?” you grin, pressing your thumb down against the mole on his bottom lip.

Wooyoung’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, catching your thumb as he does so. “A little,” he says, breathy already. “Thought you wanted to play with me tonight, not joke around with San.”

He moans sharply when your hand suddenly dives into his dark hair to yank his head back, exposing his neck to your teeth. Your bite is not enough to leave a mark, but plenty to leave a warning.

“I only play with nice toys,” you whisper sweetly, your lips ghosting against his ear. Your fingers relax to gently weave through Wooyoung’s hair, brushing the longish strands out of his face. “Are you gonna be nice to me?”

“Shit,” Wooyoung groans at the saccharine purr in your voice, “you’re really excited about this, aren’t you?” There is a pleased gleam of approval in his eyes.

Wooyoung is absolutely right; you are thrilled. He is all but helpless beneath you, tied up and antsy for your touch. How could you not be excited?

You have flirted with dominance in the past, but this is the first time you are in such complete control. Even San has taken a backseat; watching you and Wooyoung from the very chair that you had first watched them. His head is cocked to the side, piercing interest etched into his face — but he is only an observer to you and Wooyoung… for now.

“Yeah, I’m excited,” you grin at Wooyoung, giddy anticipation bubbling up and threatening to spill over the brim, and it takes an active effort to not break character. “But you did not answer my question.”

You grab for one of the items laying next to you, and lift your hand up to dangle a strip of ivory silk in front of his face.

“So. Are you a good little toy? Will you behave today?”

Just the sight of the blindfold causes Wooyoung’s breath to shallow, then his eyes dart back to you. Something burns in those dark eyes; something that can’t decide whether it is needy want or blatant defiance — but Wooyoung’s mouth has decided loud and clear. “Will you make me?”

“Hm,” you tut disappointedly, putting down the blindfold, “maybe I’ll go and joke around with San after all. If you’re going to be like that.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widen with alarm when your weight shifts off of him, his hands jerking against the restraints. “Ahh, no no, don’t—” he starts as you move away. “Stay, stay.”

(San chuckles quietly at the sudden change of heart, appreciative of how you’d used him as a tool to keep Wooyoung in line.)

You settle back on top of Wooyoung, marvelling at how the tension instantly falls away from him. Being completely tied up always makes him needier, but you are still taken aback by his need for you, for your touch. Like he can’t bear to part with you for even a second. A light current of electricity crackles through your veins, causing small sparks from the ever increasing awareness of how much power you hold over him right now.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you ask Wooyoung, your sweetened smile that drips with disdain. “You’re a well-behaved toy after all.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says breathily as he tilts his head back, exposing his neck to you freely this time around. “I’ll be the best fucking toy you ever played with.”

You bite down a moan at how pliantly he offers himself up to you. You accept his offer and press a hungry, open-mouthed kiss on the pretty column of his neck, right on a protruding vein. Your tongue catches against his heartbeat, every pulse throbbing with hot desire.

“Want me to use you?” you rasp, lightly grazing your teeth across his skin.

He whines at the excitement laced in your voice. “Whatever way you want,” he says tightly. “Just— Just don’t want you to go.”

Your eyes meet, and for a split-second you falter at the intensity of his gaze; like he is talking about so much more than just right here, right now. Your heart softens at his need, reaching a hand to gently cup his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise him, and your thighs clench at how he melts under your touch. “Now, let’s have some fun, hm?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung sighs, beaming at you with a crooked smile. No cockiness, only anticipation.

Obediently, he bends his head just enough to let you put the blindfold in place. You tie the piece of silk around him, covering his eyes, and he inhales with a light shudder as sight is deprived from his senses. You make sure the knot is not too tight, and check if Wooyoung can still rest comfortably against the headboard.

Once it’s all done, you sit back to admire Wooyoung to take in the toe-curling view of him, completely and utterly at your disposal.

The blindfold’s ivory contrasts beautifully against Wooyoung’s tanned skin, almost giving him a soft glow; and the mole on his cheek peeks out from just underneath the fabric. His lean chest rises and falls with bated breaths, the red ropes keeping him firmly in place while he can do nothing but wait for you to make your move.

You lean into him with a languid sigh, one hand resting on his chest, the other playing with a lock of his hair. Your lips are a mere inch away from his; and Wooyoung has no idea of just how close you are.

The sheer depths of control you have over him now is dizzyingly overwhelming — and it’s a control that Wooyoung matches with equal depths of trust, willingly giving himself over to you. You can’t help a quiet moan at his subservience, steady pulses of arousal causing your cunt to leak onto Wooyoung’s thighs.

Wetness smears across his skin, and Wooyoung lets out a sharp groan when he realises what it is. “F-fuck,” he gasps, his hands bunching into fists before they relax again. “Baby…”

Wooyoung trails off with his lips slightly parted, his plump cupid’s bow begging for your attention. He whines when your nose brushes against his, and he arches forward in clear anticipation of a kiss — but two fingers firmly press against his bottom lip instead.

He lets out a surprised moan but does not hesitate for even a moment, slurping them down greedily. Your breath catches as his tongue swirls against your fingers, saliva rapidly gathering in his mouth and coating your kin.

Soon, a small trickle spills past his lips, messy and enticing. You eagerly lick up the trail, relishing Wooyoung’s shudder. “That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you praise him, and start a rhythm of slowly thrusting your fingers. “So hungry for something to stuff that mouth full. Do you suck San’s cock like this too?”

(San shifts at the mention of his name, readjusting the crotch of his jeans.)

“Hmah,” Wooyoung garbles, more spit dribbling down his chin as he starts to move his head best he can, hollowing his cheeks and curving his tongue around you. He forces your fingers deeper, deeper inside his throat, until he constricts around you with a choked moan. You bite down a whine, wiggling your hips against his lap to relieve some of the pressure building in your untouched cunt.

“God, look at you. So eager to get that tight throat fucked you’ll take anything,” you groan. Your own mouth is just as hungry as Wooyoung’s, pressing heated kisses along his jawline. “You’d suck my cock so well, wouldn’t you? Should get a strap just so I can see you choke while I fuck that pretty mouth.”

A loud, muffled whimper escapes Wooyoung, vibrating around your fingers. You can’t help but wonder what it’d be like, to have every inch of you throbbing in the wet heat of his mouth, completely engulfed with pleasure while Wooyoung’s throat spasms around you as he milks you dry for all you’re worth.

The fantasy shoots down your cunt like lightning, and you tear your fingers away in sudden impatience. You stick your tongue down Wooyoung’s throat instead, meeting him in a sloppy tangle. He makes a surprised noise, but quickly sucks on your tongue with the same fervour he’d given your fingers.

A heady daze settles over you as you tug at Wooyoung’s hair to angle him just how you like, groaning into his mouth with growing desperation. He squirms underneath you, stifled moans drawn from his lips, but you want more, more.

“H-hey, no no don’t—” Wooyoung mewls, straining against the ropes when your mouth and hands pull away from him.

“Shh, I’m right here, babygirl,” you soothe him, and press your palm solidly against his chest, just so he can feel you. “’M not going anywhere, not when you’re laid out so prettily for me. Fuck, wish you could see yourself, served up on a platter, so fucking sexy.”

You keep up your steady stream of praise, careful to keep a point of physical contact with Wooyoung as you move down the bed, your hand running down his torso, down to his hips, his thigh, along every inch of feverish skin.

San had been insistent on that; always stay connected to Wooyoung when he is both tied up and blindfolded, either verbally or through touch. Give him something to anchor himself to, give him a piece of yourself so he does not get lost.

At the right moment, it gets Wooyoung off to be ignored a little, to either make him get bratty or work for the attention. This is not the right moment.

And even with his arms tied, you can feel how Wooyoung clings onto you; his body arching into your hand, moaning quietly at your words. He shudders when your breath falls on his hipbone, just shy of his half-hard cock.

“Hm, gonna suck me off?” he asks impatiently, shifting in an attempt to find your mouth, chasing the warm air of your exhales.

You pinch lightly at his thigh, causing Wooyoung to grunt at the unexpected sting. “Not if you’re gonna be pushy about it,” you tut. “Besides, there is something else to take care of first.”

You reach for a small item that lies in wait on the bed, along with some lube. Wooyoung makes a noise when your hand leaves his waist, but you adjust your body to push a little firmer against his legs, the loops of his mermaid tie pressing into your skin.

“Still here, Wooyoungie,” you assure him. “Just getting a little toy for my toy, so I can get the most out of him.”

“W-what is it?” he asks, his arms tensing against the restraints.

You know his mind must be racing right now; you and San had readied an assortment of playthings on purpose, just so Wooyoung can only guess at which you’ll use. The ball gag, the leather riding crop? The buttplug, the small bullet vibrator? More than one? All of them?

A tempting thought, but for now… It is the innocent-looking, silicone cock ring that you take between thumb and forefinger, carefully dabbing it with a few thick drops of lube.

“You’re about to find out, babygirl,” you purr at Wooyoung, and put a steadying hand on his hip.

He tenses in anticipation, and jerks against your fingers when the ring slides down his cock to rest at the base. You lean in to lightly flick your tongue at his reddened tip, your feathery touch enough to make Wooyoung moan again. It’s more awkward to position yourself with his legs tied, no space for you to nestle between his thighs, but still you manage to comfortably drape yourself over him and sink your mouth down on his cock.

It’s not frenzied, not like how Wooyoung sucked on your fingers before. Instead you work his length with steady passes, amusement sparking in your cunt when his hips try to cant upward, whiny gasps of your name escaping his lips as you take your time with him. You can feel Wooyoung harden on your tongue, his blood surging down and trapped by the silicone ring as he plumps up into a snug fit. You hum contently at the salty taste of precum, your nose brushing against his pelvis.

You meet San’s eyes right then, with Wooyoung’s cock nudging the back of your throat, and a jolt sears through you at the moment of contact.

He is leaned forward with an elbow on his knees, fingertips playing at his bottom lip. His other hand is pressed against his crotch, squeezing himself as he watches with dark, piercing eyes how you take care of his boyfriend. Something primal lurks in those eyes, hungry and protective all at once, but San nods at you in silent approval.

A sharp heat stirs in your core, knowing exactly what this means to San.

San has told you how responsible he feels for Wooyoung during a scene. You know how seriously he takes this — and now he has entrusted that responsibility to you.

You pull away from Wooyoung’s cock with a wet noise. A thin string of spit connects from the flushed tip to your lips, stretching until it snaps, and his shaky whimper sings through your heated blood. He is trembling, every sensation inflicted on him intensified by the blindfold, the bondage, the cock ring; to the point that he’s almost overwhelmed just by the brief attention of your mouth.

“You okay, Woo?” you ask, running a gentle hand over his thigh. “It fits right, not painful?”

Wooyoung bites down a whine, drawing a few sharp breaths through his nose so he can speak up. “D-doesn’t hurt, no.”

There is a shine of sweat gathering on his skin already, his cock looking thicker than usual, and you spot light muscle tremors in his stomach. “Colour?” you ask, just to be sure. You won’t let San’s trust in you be misplaced; or for Wooyoung to be anything but completely safe in your hands.

“Green, yeah,” he nods, oh so eager despite looking like he is on the brink already. “So green. Fuck, want you to touch me…”

His voice is pure blissful anguish, jaw falling slack with a loud moan when you settle back in his lap and satisfy his plea. “Doing so well for me, Wooyoungie,” you hum, fingers wrapped around his oversensitive cock, the pad of your thumb teasing at his leaking slit. “San is so generous, letting me play with you as much as I like.”

San’s attention flickers from Wooyoung’s wretched features up to you. His eyes are like black embers, the force of his gaze burning into you like a furnace. His face is drawn, furrowed lines etched between his brows as his lips slowly curve into a sharp, crooked grin, just a hint of teeth — and from the look of him, San would like nothing more than to sink those teeth into you and Wooyoung both.

“Nothing generous about it,” he says, a low growl lurking in the very edge of his voice. “I’m the one who gets to watch you break my fucktoy down into a sniffling, whiny mess.”

“He is real pretty like this, isn’t he?” you coo, running a hand up Wooyoung’s tensed stomach. His abdominal muscles twitch, a choked sob escaping him as he listens in on your and San’s conversation. “And he’ll be so much prettier after I’ve ruined him. Would be a shame if he never saw himself like that. Don’t you think he deserves to be the one on camera for once, Sannie?”

Immediately, Wooyoung’s volume control slips further out of his grasp, high-pitched and unintelligible whines catching on his breath. He strains against the bindings, the veins on his forearms more prominent than ever as his fingers grip at the rope tying him to the bedposts.

San’s eyes darken as he recognises his cue. Gracefully he unfurls himself from the chair, grabbing a small camcorder from the nightstand as he heads over. Wooyoung’s camcorder, a brand new purchase.

Wooyoung bites his lip when he feels the mattress dip under San’s added weight. “Make sure San gets my good side, alright?” he rasps at you. “He can’t take a picture worth a damn, don’t trust him to handle a camera either.”

You snort a laugh, mostly at the way San’s shoulders drop as he levels Wooyoung with a flat look that goes completely unseen by his blindfolded boyfriend.

“You’re getting sassy now?” you say, playfully tapping Wooyoung’s nose. “Bold, my beautiful cheeky boy, real bold.”

Wooyoung just grins, fearless, tongue running across his teeth. “Hey, I’m off-limits to San today. I can sass him all I want, right?”

It takes some effort on his part, but San does refrain from intervening. His tongue prods at the inside of his cheek as he raises an eyebrow at you in question, and you give a little nod to assure him it’s taken care of.

With that, San takes a slow breath and releases; entrusting you to handle it. He shucks off his t-shirt and slides in behind you, resting a large hand on your hip while his firm, muscular chest presses up against your back. His heat radiates into your skin as he tucks his chin on your shoulder, casually holding up the camcorder to capture Wooyoung on film.

“You can sass San all you like,” you hum at Wooyoung, reaching for one of the other props lying next to you, “but I think you’re forgetting about something.”

“Hm?”

“Me.”

Wooyoung’s breath catches when a soft patch of leather draws across his chest. His head tilts as he tries to identify the object, and he stills when he comes to his conclusion. “…Crop?”

“Bingo.” You give the riding crop a light twist of your wrist, snapping against Wooyoung’s skin without real force of impact. He still whines, completely on edge.

“Shit,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “It’s gonna be like that?”

“Afraid so,” you say with a pained, exaggerated sigh, slowly running the crop’s flap up Wooyoung’s chest until it presses against the side of his neck. “It’ll be like that until you apologise to San. Now, smile for the camera, won’t you?”

A bead of sweat runs down Wooyoung’s forehead, soaked up by the ivory blindfold. He swallows thickly at the sudden pressure on his neck, but it doesn’t deter him. “Apologise? What for? Sannie really can’t— hmnh!”

The crop strikes against the same place on Wooyoung’s chest as earlier, slightly harder. He jerks forward with a choked shudder, a budding redness marking the spot. The corner of his mouth twitches — as does his cock, flushed and glossy with precum and spit.

Wooyoung whimpers when your free hand cups his face, but he quickly sinks into the gentle touch. You run your thumb along his cheekbone, brushing against the blindfold. “So good to me,” you chuckle, amused at the way he tries to nuzzle into your hand. “You can’t extend that favour to San?”

He only huffs and presses a messy kiss against your palm, then another. Blatantly needy for you, blatantly ignoring your question; and you decide he has had plenty of warning.

“Mmh!”

The next swat of the crop draws a sharp, high-pitched keen from Wooyoung. His chest heaves, panting heavily as the sting fades away and leaves a new reddened blemish in its wake.

“Fuck,” you breathe at the sight of him; quiet awe in your voice, your heartbeat pulsing hard between your thighs.

A translucent wet gleam gathers on his stomach where the tip of his cock rests, leaking steadily. Wooyoung’s body had stiffened with tension on the moment of impact, but now he slowly goes slack again, mouth hanging open as he draws hard breaths. He groans when your thumb slips past his lips to press on his tongue, drool threatening to spill over.

“Are you getting this, Sannie?” you ask, using the crop to draw slow circles around Wooyoung’s newly marked skin.

San hums in confirmation, keeping the camera steady. “Such a pretty mark you left on him. Think he’d be even prettier with more.”

Wooyoung moans around your thumb, squirming against the patch of leather in anticipation.

“Tch,” San scoffs. “Look at that, how much he wants it. Your little toy is too much of a painslut to ever apologise.”

Your toy. A small yet significant change from how San spoke before; his relinquishment of Wooyoung over to you now fully complete. You swallow down a sudden lump, taken aback by how deeply a simple degrading phrase has hit you.

Wooyoung lets out a high whine at San’s words, twisting against his bindings and your weight in his lap. The sound snaps your focus right back to him, all else forgotten at the sight of his desperate state. His teeth graze against your thumb as he shudders, saliva slowly trickling down his chin.

You withdraw your thumb to lightly pinch at his cheek. “Is that true, Woo? Are you my little painslut?” you purr at him, landing another light smack with the crop — and the resulting cry is an unmistakable affirmative. “So you like it that much… Well, we’ll see how long you last.”

“Please…” he moans weakly, aimless, not begging for any one specific thing except for your attention.

You smile slowly, fully intent on giving him just that. You shift forward ever so slightly, Wooyoung’s cock only barely brushing up against your cunt. Wooyoung’s breath hitches at the unexpected feel of your glistening folds, giving a tentative twitch of his hips. He manages to just graze against your clit, but it’s enough for a moan to bubble up from your lips — a soft moan, that Wooyoung still hears loud and clear.

Even that tiny sign of your pleasure is enough to make Wooyoung whine again, and he clumsily tries to hump into you, hungry for more of your sounds. His movements are too restricted for any proper stimulation, but that does not stop him from the attempt.

You don’t stop him either; too amused by the awkward jerk of his hips, too enraptured by the way he groans your name in a stutter, mingled with raspy swears as he tries and fails to please you and himself. Instead you whisper encouragements at him, sweet yet cruel as you giggle at his ineffective rut. You run your free hand over his sweat-slicked chest, lightly thumbing at his sensitive nipples, just to tease him closer to that edge he can’t get to.

But you let him keep trying, revelling in every frustrated moan, every meager spark of pleasure… until you are convinced he is too lost in his chase to still remember the crop.

Without his sight, Wooyoung has nothing to warn him when you lift the crop up again; only the softest whistle through the air as the leather flap swats down on him out of nowhere. He cries out at the sting, a lone tear trickling down from underneath his blindfold as he convulses against your body and his rope bindings.

San groans softly from behind you at the sight, warm lips briefly pressing against your neck as his hand squeezes your waist. His fingers are clenched around the camcorder, still dutifully recording.

“Greedy boy,” you grin at Wooyoung. “Thinks he’s gonna get off easy without apologising to San, hm?”

This time Wooyoung is better prepared when the leather bites at his skin, but he still groans tightly at the fresh mark, closer to his nipple than the last.

You press your free hand on his hip to hold him down. “Keep still now,” you whisper in his ear. “Wouldn’t want to mess up my aim, right?”

Wooyoung shudders at the sudden closeness. He turns his head, neck craning as though to find you in a kiss; and you fail to resist indulging him, gifting him a soft press of your lips, a slight brush of your tongue.

You pull back far too quickly to his liking, and Wooyoung fusses at the loss — but then you flick the crop again and pain blends into the neediness of his voice, debauched and beautiful.

His voice rises in pitch when you slowly roll your hips into him, it all the more difficult for him to obey your command to stay in place. But Wooyoung tries, he tries so hard, trembling every time you find a target on his chest. He chews his bottom lip raw with stuttered breaths, more tears spilling past his blindfold at every hit; but Wooyoung knows exactly what he needs to say to make you stop, so you keep going.

Sitting in his lap, pressed up close to him, you can’t quite swing the crop in full force — but that is no problem, not when Wooyoung already tethers on the edge of being overwhelmed. Even like this, there is enough strength behind the impacts to sear through him like he is struck by thunder, unending whimpers escaping past his bite-swollen lips.

Between impacts, you tease Wooyoung with gentle strokes to signal where the leather flap will land next; except when it’s a misdirection, and you pull back for a second just to aim elsewhere. His dick twitches against your cunt, precum oozing generously from the tip with every hit, every twist of your hips. You try to angle yourself so the cock ring catches against your clit, the different sensation adding another layer of pleasure to your slow, rocking pace.

San hisses out a low growl every time you push back into him; he has deliberately kept to the background as a fiery yet unobtrusive witness, but the obvious bulge in his jeans betrays how worked up he is.

“Fuck, I’m gonna have so much fun watching the recording later,” you purr at Wooyoung, trailing the crop back up to his neck for a moment of respite. He knows you won’t hit him there, but he still fidgets at the pressure, his breath coming in hard pants. His skin is flushed with sweat and red marks and feverish need. “Gonna get myself off over and over again, seeing you break down into such a wreck. Do you hear yourself, Woo? What a whiny boy you are for me, crying so prettily.”

Another sob breaks through, his arms shaking. His breath hitches when the crop starts to traverse back downward, knowing his respite is coming to an end.

“Or you could eat me out while I watch it,” you muse, circling the crop around his nipple, still sore from an earlier hit. “Stick that clever tongue down my cunt while you listen to yourself falling apart. I’d get two of you at once, god, just imagine how wet I’d be, dripping all over your face. Cum twice as hard too, right on your tongue. Would you like that, hm?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Yeah?” you giggle back at him, so cloyingly sweet it reverses back into mockery. “Well, we can do all of that… all thanks to San.”

San nips at your neck, his hand on your waist squeezing restlessly — but meanwhile, your idly talk has distracted Wooyoung just long enough that the low whistle of the crop swinging down catches him off guard completely once again, his entire body snapping taut at the impact.

“So…” You gently swat at him one more time, the touch almost soothing in comparison, “what do you say, Wooyoungie?”

Wooyoung lets out a feeble sniffle, his cheeks glistening wetly. He mumbles a weak “sorry”.

Carefully, you bring your hand up to cup his jaw, brushing away his tears. “What’s that?”

“S-sorry, San,” Wooyoung says again, his voice a little clearer this time. “Thank y-you for filming me.”

Right away, the riding crop falls forgotten onto the bed, and your now empty hand reaches to touch Wooyoung’s face; so he also knows the crop is gone.

“Fuck, you did so well,” you murmur, pressing a shallow kiss on his lips. “Such a good boy for me.”

You pepper his face with more soft kisses, as gentle as you can; Wooyoung looks close to overwhelmed, and his cock is still nestled between your folds, hard and aching. If not for the cock ring, he likely would’ve had his release long ago. You run soothing fingers through his hair, almost displacing the blindfold. “Wanna cum, my sweet boy?”

“Mhyeah,” he whines shakily, and you smile into another tender kiss.

But when your hands shift away from his face, down his neck and to his shoulders, Wooyoung shakes his head and whines a little louder.

“No, w-wait,” he hiccups, and immediately your fingers are back in his hair, one hand kneading the nape of his neck.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m here. What do you need, Wooyoung?”

He swallows, his breaths coming easier now that you are soothing him. “Can the blindfold come off?”

“Of course, of course it can,” you say quietly, giving him a little peck on the nose.

You reach for the knot and soon the ivory cloth falls away; Wooyoung’s eyes are bleary and unfocused at first — but they brighten at the sight of you. “There you are,” he croaks, and his wide, relieved smile clenches around your heart.

“Yeah, here I am,” you assure him, a little shaken by the force of his expression. Your own lips curl up in response to his dopey grin. “Can you give me a colour?”

“Green, now I can see you, b-but I can’t…” he mewls, squirming futilely, pushing his hips into yours. “Please, I gotta cum…”

“Fuck,” you groan, running a hand down his flushed chest, brushing against the plethora of red marks. “Don’t worry, my sweet babygirl, I’ll take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good.”

Briefly, your hand swipes through your wet cunt to gather arousal on your fingers, then they firmly wrap around his cock. He is hot and throbbing to the touch, and you don’t make him wait any longer, quickly setting a steady pace.

He keens as he tries to jerk into your hand, eyes squeezing shut and fresh tears brimming on his lashes. San curses from behind you, leaning back so he can catch as much on camera as possible; the slide of your hand, Wooyoung’s wrecked face, and every tremor of his body in-between.

Wooyoung’s mouth falls slack, a tremble in his jaw; his throat is too narrow for the overwhelming pleasure and relief that tries to escape his lungs, moans growing pitchier and more choked as both your hands now work his cock, twisting around the flushed head with every pass.

It does not take long, not now that Wooyoung finally has the stimulation he’s so desperately needed all this time; and when he cums, it is in thick, long spurts that catch on his stomach. You keep up your strokes for a while longer, coaxing more of him to spill out and dribble over your fingers until Wooyoung’s cries die down and he whimpers out a shaky “yellow”, his body perfectly spent.

You slow down right away, monitoring his expression as he softens in your hands. “Need to take the ring off now, okay?” you murmur at him, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be gentle, just hang on a little bit, alright? It’s just a moment.”

Wooyoung sniffs tearily but he nods in acknowledgement, and in the background you can hear the click of San closing the camcorder’s viewfinder. You dab a bit of extra lube on the silicone ring, your heart clenching again as Wooyoung bites down a whimper; but then you carefully remove the toy from his overly sensitive cock, and he sags in blissed-out relief.

A comforting warmth ebbs into the bedroom as you help Wooyoung drink some water and San frees his wrists. San moves on to Wooyoung’s legs afterwards, while you take a moment to rub his shoulders, then start to wipe him down.

“So good… made me feel so good,” Wooyoung mumbles sluggishly, lavishing you with the same adoring praise he always gives to San.

A touched giggle bubbles up inside your chest at his affectionate babbling, and you grin while gently patting the sweat off his forehead. “I didn’t take it too far? You were really out of it when I took the blindfold off.”

He shakes his head at you, sighing in relaxation when San frees his legs, starting on massaging his ankles to work his way up. “Nah, not too far. I just… just really needed to see you. Wanted to make sure you were still there.”

You can’t quite pin it down, but something about that answer doesn’t sit entirely right with you. In the moment, you didn’t feel like you had distanced yourself too much from him, using talk and touch to stay in contact, but now you second-guess yourself. However, Wooyoung is tiredly giddy in his fatigued post-orgasmic haze, using his newly freed hands to steal touches against your waist and thighs.

“Wanna make you cum too,” he says, an impatient whine lilting into his voice.

You bite down a fond laugh, concerns forgotten. “Wooyoung, you’re exhausted,” you point out, cleaning crusty streaks of cum off his stomach. “Rest up now, alright? You did so well, please take it easy for me. I’m more than satisfied, I promise.”

It’s the honest truth; even if you didn’t cum, the experience was beyond your expectations. You’re certain you won’t even need the video to recall every moment in vivid detail, and it will fuel many a self-care session in the future.

But Wooyoung is not satisfied, grumbly as he tries to cling to you, even if his every move is sluggish and heavy with tiredness.

“Woo…” you sigh in affectionate exasperation, trying to get him to settle back down. Sure, some days Wooyoung bounces back remarkably fast, but this is clearly not one of those days; he is worn out.

San watches it all with an amused grin, like he is completely unsurprised by Wooyoung’s antics. “Hey Woo,” he says after a moment, when he’s decided you have ‘suffered’ enough, “how about we agree on a compromise?”

Wooyoung’s eyes snap to San, then they wander downward with a longing glance at the still-present bulge in San’s jeans, like he’d rather handle that one personally too. “‘M listening…”

“How about you tell me what you’d like to do, and I’ll do it for you? Make her cum just the way you want,” San says, quirking up an eyebrow. He turns to you with a questioning glance, silently checking in.

A hungry curiosity instantly stirs between your thighs, heat sparking; for San to act on Wooyoung’s instructions? You’ve explored plenty of different dynamics in the bedroom, but never this particular one. It’s a significant contrast to the scene from before, but the more you think about it… An interest is definitely stirring in your body.

Wooyoung’s first instinct is to push back — but his stubborn expression turns thoughtful as the full implications of San’s suggestion sink in. “…Can I film you then?” he asks, licking his lips.

Again, San turns to you in silent question. By means of answering, you pick up the camcorder and make a show of inspecting it, brushing off some imaginary dust, then you hand the camera over to Wooyoung. “Go for it,” you tell him with a teasing grin, “go and show San the difference between a novice and a pro.”

“Hey—”

San pouts at you, but Wooyoung is getting eager now, fully onboard with this turn of events. “What about those?” he asks, gesturing at the unused sex toys lying on the side.

You and San both look them over, and after a moment of honest consideration you veto the ball gag and push it off to the side. “Not that one,” you say; you’re already a little tired from the scene with Wooyoung, nowhere near as exhausted as he is, but enough that you don’t need things to get that intense.

“That’s fine,” Wooyoung says, shaking his head. “Not what I was thinking of anyway. Wanna hear you properly.”

“What are you thinking of?” San asks, his hand idly running up your thigh. “What do you want me to do for you?”

A sharp glint flashes in Wooyoung’s eyes. “First, I wanna eat her out.”

You swallow down an immediate moan. “Wow, now there’s a shocker,” you try to joke, but yelp when San pinches your side, biting his lip at you.

“What, like you aren’t as hungry to grind on that nose as he is to drown himself in that sweet cunt?” San says, quirking his eyebrows. “Don’t pretend you don’t love what a slut for pussy our Wooyoungie is.”

“What can I say?” Wooyoung says with a shameless and crooked smile as he fiddles with the camera. “I know what I like.” His tired eyes twinkle at you, his voice lined with an excited rasp.

The atmosphere rapidly turns into an odd mix of intimate and almost a bit sleazy. Wooyoung directs you and San like it’s his own private little porn set; still lethargic but there is a slight bounce to his energy now, enraptured by the prospect of instructing San to have his way with you, and catching all of it on camera.

It does not take much for you to shift out of your earlier dominant mindset, content to let Wooyoung order you into the position he wants. He also makes himself comfortable, sitting cross-legged against the headboard. He only barely tolerates his boyfriend putting a robe around his shoulders to keep warm, impatiently pushing a pillow into San’s hands and ushering him to get on his knees.

(He does not close the robe, giving you perfect view of the slowly fading red marks scattered across his chest, and a few faint abrasions on his legs from the ropes.)

Wooyoung shakes his head with a “not yet” when San reaches for the button of his jeans; he wants to get that on camera. San pouts at his boyfriend, like he’s contemplating whether he regrets giving Wooyoung so much control over him — but Wooyoung grins and promises he intends for San to get his dick plenty wet tonight.

You clench at that promise, an impatient twitch fluttering in your cunt. You’re simply waiting now; lying on your back across the bed with one leg dangling off the side, the other propped up. Wooyoung is close enough that you can touch him if you reach out; and so you do, running a teasing hand over his ankle in the hopes of speeding this along.

“Anything else, Director-nim?” San asks, only half-joking.

Wooyoung shakes his head. “Nah, just do what you do,” he says, but then he pauses in thought. “Just… make her loud. Make her beg for it.”

“Fuck,” you whine, fully sinking into a submissive state. You can’t help but squirm at the way he does not even bother to give you further instructions; all he wants are your body’s natural responses, to witness how San dutifully breaks you down into a ruined mess.

Wooyoung’s hands are a little shaky as he flips open the camcorder’s viewfinder, pointing the lens straight at you. His grin is downright lecherous, eager to see his vision brought to life.

You shudder at the camera’s attention; earlier, San only caught your voice and glimpses of your appearance, but Wooyoung has you blatantly on display, the main subject of his perverted little movie project. San kneels down in front of you, a mischievous curve at his lips as he rubs a large, warm hand up and down your side, kneading at the soft meat of your waist. His dark eyes pierce into yours, airy puffs of breath falling on your drenched cunt.

You moan and try to arch up to meet him, but San pushes you back down with a firm hand. He looks to Wooyoung with silent intensity, obedience burning in his eyes.

Slowly, Wooyoung pans the camera across the length of your body, down to San who sits in wait. “Yeah, I like that,” Wooyoung murmurs, something catching in his throat. “Go on, get a taste for me, will you?”

San’s cool breaths are replaced with wet heat as he delves in with a quiet groan, using two fingers to part your folds to his obliging lips. His mouth suctions around your clit, his tongue flicking out almost testingly.

Gentle pressure coils inside you, your fingers scraping at the sheets as San picks up a slow but insistent rhythm that has you rocking into his mouth.

“No, no, let her,” Wooyoung rasps when San pins your hips again to hold you still. “Let her take what she needs.” A silent “for now” goes unspoken. “Fuck, I want to bury my face in that eager pussy, look at that fucking slick.”

San makes a pliant noise, immediately burrowing deeper as he presses harder into your cunt. He hooks your knee over his shoulders, making a point of squeezing at your ass as he pulls you impossibly closer against his mouth, all in accordance to Wooyoung’s wishes.

The energy between them is hard to pin down; maybe it’s Wooyoung’s lingering exhaustion, but it’s not like he aggressively bosses San around. San is the willing conduit of Wooyoung’s desires, responsive to even the faintest suggestion, and Wooyoung respects that willingness by not lording his power over San to get his way — it’s not like he has to, anyway.

Because once San gives his singular focus to something, he gives it everything. You can just barely see the faint, pretty flush that creeps over his face as he eats you out with noisy slurps, catching your arousal with broad, urgent swipes of his tongue. Soon enough he has you writhing against him with strangled whines, fucking his face with rapidly escalating desperation, your hands flinging down to tangle in his dark hair.

Wooyoung makes a noise of protest, quickly prying away your hand on the side that blocks his camera’s view — but instead of letting go, his fingers wrap tightly around yours, pressing your entwined hands against the bed.

“Careful, Sannie,” Wooyoung groans, his eyes constantly darting between the viewfinder and the real thing, unfolding right in front of him. “Not too quick. Savour everything she gives us, won’t you?”

San does just so, his fingers digging into your waist and ass to forcibly slow your rut down. A low growl slips past his lips, shiny with your essence, while he drinks deep with a rich hunger that holds its own in comparison to Wooyoung’s. Obscene squelches drift through the bedroom along with your pitiful whimpers, both caught by Wooyoung’s camera for prosperity.

Your mind starts to get hazy, coated in the intensity of San’s fingers digging so hard into your ass that you anticipate bruises, his mouth back at sucking on your clit to coax more slick from your trembling body.

This is a somewhat rare occasion; San does not actually give you head all that often. It’s not that San has no taste for it, it just happens to turn out that way when Wooyoung loves having his face used by you, you love using him, and San loves to facilitate that usage.

However, now San fully throws himself in this opportunity, groaning indulgently against your throbbing cunt as you drench his face with your tangy arousal. His vigorous attentiveness to your pleasure more than compensates for a lack of practice. Obediently he carries out Wooyoung’s instructions; not too quick, careful to extract as much out of your body as he can without allowing you to come undone on his tongue — but after your scene with Wooyoung, you have no energy left for dignity.

“P-please, Wooyoungie, wanna cum,” you whine, tugging at his hand as you turn your head to face him. A fresh jolt sears through your abdomen when you see the camcorder is pointed right at you again, documenting every second of your descend into mindless desperation, frame by frame. You only whine louder, convulsing against San’s hold as pleas tumble past your lips in a shameless appeal to Wooyoung’s mercy.

Wooyoung squeezes your hand, grin widening in delight at the footage you are providing him. “Good girl,” he hums, “making such pretty faces for the camera. Can’t wait to show you… You gonna watch this video too when I eat you out for real? Make a double feature out of it, starring you and me and our hard-working Sannie here.”

San groans at the praise, the vibrations rippling through your oversensitive cunt.

“Y-yeah, fuck please, please, let me cum…” you sob, your nails digging into Wooyoung’s hand. “So close, ‘m so close—”

Wooyoung huffs a quiet laugh. “What, you wanna cum while San hasn’t even had his cock touched yet?” he jeers. “Does that sound right to you, baby?”

With every mention of his name, San gets sloppier, his breaths shuddering as he laps at you with messy passes of his tongue. You sob when his teeth graze against your clit, and you pull roughly at his hair in a futile attempt to get San on top of you and immediately rectify the problem of him not having his cock touched. He grunts at the force of your grip, eyes rolling to the back of his head; but without an instruction from Wooyoung to move, San refuses to budge.

“Ahh, don’t worry baby, I’m just teasing,” Wooyoung giggles at your despair. “Can’t wait to see you fall to pieces for me. Look at you, you’re tearing up already… Gonna be such a mess when you cum, aren’t you? Just… one thing first. San?”

Wooyoung pans the camera over just as San pulls back, his face glossy from nose to chin, cheeks flushed. He is panting hard, with mussed-up hair and shaky eyes.

“You still good to go, Sannie?” Wooyoung asks, gentle concern woven into the question. “We’re almost there, alright?”

With decadent swipes of his tongue, San licks your juices off his lips, a renewed clarity kindling to life in his eyes at the sound of Wooyoung’s voice. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “What do you need? Tell me.” San grounds out the words like he is the one handing out commands now, and Wooyoung is quick to obey.

You whine when Wooyoung lets go of your hand to grab at the ignored toys — but you quiet down when you see what Wooyoung has picked. San’s grin is all teeth when he realises where Wooyoung plans to go with this.

“You really want to see her ruined today, hm?” San hums approvingly as he inspects the buttplug that Wooyoung just handed to him, along with the lube. “What do you say, baby? Gonna let me stuff both of your pretty holes for Wooyoungie?”

Not trusting your voice, you make a weak noise and tilt up your hips, angling your ass to San for better access. The gesture is met by a pleased groan from Wooyoung, and a blazing look from San as he hones in on your tight hole, perfectly on display for him.

You wiggle in anticipation as he squeezes at your asscheek and spreads you a little wider — so it is a surprise when San takes your hand to lube up your fingers first. “Be a good girl and get that pussy ready for me while I take care of the rest, alright?” he says, thoroughly coating your fingers with a slow, squelching slide.

“Y-yes San,” you say, the words barely making it past your throat.

San kisses the tip of your fingers and then guides your hand down, where you easily slip inside your soaked cunt with a lewd noise. You groan at the satisfying stretch, and soon enough a combination of lube, arousal and remnants of San’s saliva dribbles down to where San rubs his own slicked up finger around the sensitive rim of your other hole.

“Breaths, deep breaths,” San soothes you when he pushes inside, and you gasp out a shuddered moan at the pressure but manage to stay relaxed; the training you’ve been doing with San and Wooyoung is paying off. Still, San takes his time, slowly thrusting in and out a few times before he adds another, his mouth plying your inner thigh with gentle attention. You whine when you feel his fingers move against your own, hips moving on pure instinct to seek out more.

It’s not long before San decides you’re ready; the plug is not quite as thick as his cock, but still you pant at how it fills you up next to the three fingers in your cunt. You moan impatiently, antsy to have those fingers replaced by something far more satisfying. San chuckles fondly at your eagerness, his slick hand affectionately patting your ass as he stands up to his full height. Your breath hitches how his imposing frame towers over you, his hand squeezing at his crotch. Even through San’s rigid jeans, the outline of his hard cock is obscenely obvious.

“Slowly, take it off slowly,” Wooyoung groans hoarsely. “Let me get a good shot of that, fuck.”

Despite the strain he must feel, San gives Wooyoung and the camera a cocky grin, never one to pass up on an opportunity to put on a little performance.

He undoes the top button of his jeans, then tugs down the zipper one-handedly, simultaneously sliding his lubed hand up over his chest. The lube leaves a glistening trail right between the swell of San’s tits, all the way up to his neck where his fingers rest on his throat, thumb hooked underneath his chin. With heavy-lidded eyes, he tilts his head back just slightly, swollen lips parted.

Like that, San tugs his underwear and jeans down enough for his cock to spring free and slap wetly against his stomach, an angry flush at the leaking tip. Satisfaction flashes in his eyes when you let out a hungry moan, while Wooyoung bites down a heated swear.

Now that Wooyoung has the footage he wants, San unceremoniously shucks his clothing off the rest of the way. Despite knowing what will come next, your breath still catches when San clambers onto the bed, his heat bearing down on you as he crouches over your wired body.

You scramble back with him to lay fully on the bed, your movements made clumsy by urgency. It doesn’t help how San is already onto you, mouthing at your neck, grabbing at your plush thighs as his cock presses against your stomach. He groans unabashedly against your throat, nipping at the delicate skin.

Sparks surge through your veins as his cock slides through your slicked folds, and you can’t fucking wait to have him inside you, feeling oddly full and empty all at once with just the plug and no fingers, no cock, no nothing in your aching cunt. An injustice, as far as you are concerned.

Thankfully, Wooyoung agrees.

“Go on,” he presses, fighting to keep his hands steady. “You can’t wait right? Can’t wait to finally sink your cock inside that wet, willing heat. Always takes you so well, doesn’t she? Clamping around your thick cock like she never wants to be empty ever again.”

You whimper, arching up into San as Wooyoung rattles on — and San is as obliging as he has been all night, grunting tightly as he parts your lower lips and buries himself with one smooth thrust, pelvis meeting pelvis as he bottoms out with a loud grunt.

“Fuck, fuck, San—” you pant, scrambling to grab onto him. There is no pain, but still an overwhelming pressure of fullness that pushes out all else from your mind, nothing but a glowing thread of pleasure that coils tightly and stretches taut all at once.

Wooyoung gnaws at his lip. “That’s it. Slow,” he demands again, now filming one-handed while he reaches down to leisurely palm at his own hardening cock. “Fuck her slow, like you mean it.”

“I always mean it,” San growls against your neck, his hips jerking roughly forward. But he regains himself, easing into a heady rhythm that has your toes curling into the sheets as you move to meet him. His lips brush against yours, not truly a kiss, only a simple intermingling of breath as he gasps and moans with every sensual roll of his hips. Strong muscles ripple underneath your hands; as much with exertion as with restraint, his nails digging into your waist as he forcibly holds himself back from using his full, immense strength to pound you into the mattress.

Wooyoung’s breath picks up as he watches and slowly jerks himself off, matching pace. “Kiss him,” he moans. “Doing so well for us, don’t you think, baby? Fuck, won’t you kiss him for me, please.”

Eager to show yourself just as obedient as San, you dig your fingers into his hair and pull him in, slotting his mouth over yours proper. San whines as your tongue delves past his lips, flicking against the roof of his mouth before tangling with his, a wet messy glide as saliva builds up and a thin trail spills past your lips, down your chin. Wooyoung captures the sight on camera with a groan, his hand moving quicker.

“Fuck, g-go,” he says, his voice pitchy with need, “f-faster now. Wanna see you cum, both of you, wanna see…” Wooyoung trails off pitifully, hiccuping a small moan as the camera shakes in his hand.

San does not need to be told twice.

You cry out as he pistons into you aggressively, the kiss breaking when teeth nearly collide. Every ruthless slam of his hips reminds your body it’s stuffed from two ends, never completely empty with the plug still snugly fitted in your ass. San drives into you over and over again and the thread of pleasure pulls ever tauter, knots tightening, pressure mounting.

Your head spins from San’s single-minded chase for your mutual breaking point; but you have just enough presence of mind to purposefully turn your face towards the camera, giving Wooyoung perfect view of the tears gathering on your lashes, face contorted with blissful distress. He hisses a sharp breath, dick twitches against his palm.

San takes advantage to bury his face into the exposed crook of your neck where he harshly sucks into the skin, teeth catching with every thrust. Neither of you can last for long; you are too worked up from San prepping and eating you out, San is too worked up from obediently waiting all this time. The bed jostles underneath you as he bucks into your stretched cunt, throbbing walls parting pliantly for him.

It’s San who cums first, moans rising in pitch as his hips stutter — but he gives himself no time to breathe, reaching into thumb at your clit to mercilessly take you with him, and he whimpers loudly when you clamp around him. Your jaw falls slack, the thread unravelling faster than you can grasp, and you fall apart with San still fucking into you, your convulsing body wrenching every last drop of cum from him, draining him empty.

San winds down to a sluggish rut, and your cunt tiredly flutters around the lazy drag of his cock, only slowly letting you come down from your high. You moan weakly, using the last of your strength to move with San, to make sure he comes down slowly right along with you. Hot breaths falls against your neck, his mouth lingering on your skin with tender almost-kisses.

Wooyoung cusses under his breath, and you watch through watery eyes how he angles the camcorder back on himself. He shakily films the slide of his own hand as he cums on his stomach with a throttled moan, almost spilling onto the lens. Wooyoung takes a long moment to catch his breath and let the view linger, then turns the camera off with a tired, satisfied nod.

By now you have fully landed back down on the ground, your body slumping into the bed when San pulls out. Translucent streaks of cum leak out, down your ass and onto the sheets. You’re only vaguely aware of San massaging your thighs, warning you that he’s taking the plug out. You nod numbly, incapable of doing much more right now, and a quiet whine escapes your lips when San eases the toy from your body. The emptiness is almost more uncomfortable than the initial stretch; but it passes quickly, especially when San rubs soothing fingers around the sensitive rim.

Wooyoung puts the camera away and as soon as it’s safely on the nightstand, San pulls at his arm to yank him into a big cuddle pile, wanting the closeness to last for just a moment longer.

The bedroom goes quiet in the exchange of soft touches and murmured praise, limbs so deeply entangled that you’re not sure you can ever extract yourself from their hold. You burrow a little closer into San’s pillowy chest, hug Wooyoung as he clings onto you with an iron grip, and stay in their arms for as long as they’ll let you.

[lyonfreddie]

prolonged wailing and gnashing of teeth under the cut!!!

let me just preface this by saying that i never get super personal on here anymore but i really just need to vent!!!!

i love my job mostly because i love my coworkers. i work in development/fundraising at a pretty big museum and our team of 5 is all a bunch of young professional women with Good Taste and Witty Banter. like we are all successionpilled. i would hate my job so much if i didn’t work with these people. last week, my favorite coworker announced she was moving to another city and got a job there to be with her long-distance fiancé (he got a tenure track job and obviously... cannot move lmao), and i was SO SAD because she is SO COOL and SO POISED and i want to be just like her, but i took comfort in the fact that we would still have 4/5 of our lovely team still together.

and then my boss pulls me aside first thing this morning and tells me SHE’S LEAVING TO LMFAO

like. i’m literally going to go insane. after march 16, our team of 5 will be a team of 3, and we won’t have either a leadership giving manager OR a membership manager. i print member cards and assemble renewal/new member packets once a week each week as my Big Project but before my boss leaves she’s going to teach me how to do pretty much everything she does that she hasn’t taught me yet. which is really, really nice of her, and also kind of a vote of confidence—i seriously doubt she would take another job if she wasn’t absolutely sure she was leaving her membership program in capable hands. 

my boss is the best boss i’ve ever had. she’s so organized and she knows everything about our museum’s institutional history because she was working there before it was even built. she has always given me clear instructions and honest feedback and she’s just so, so funny. she’s great. we’re practically the same person and have the same interests. and i still have so much left to learn from her. it almost feels unfair that she’s leaving, but i’m an actual adult now and i know this is the correct career move for her. she’s not even going that far. she’s going to work at another museum that is like 800 feet away from us.

but i’m still SO fucking sad. i’ve been crying on and off all day, including at work, where i had to hold it all in. the major gifts officer saw me at the printer and was like ‘you must be feeling sad, huh’ and all i could say was ‘yeah’ and she patted me on the back and i almost lost it in the middle of the office. like... GOD

it’s so embarrassing. i pride myself on being very cool and calm and collected, and the rest of my team always tells me it’s nice how i’m so calm all the time, especially when we’re running events. but i literally walked home today and then sat on the floor of my apartment and bawled for 5 straight minutes until i was out of breath. lol. i am going to be a wreck for every single bit of their farewells and it is not going to be pretty. i’m so sad. i’m so scared. what the fuck.

i’ve also just like... been On Edge for the past week or so in a way that hasn’t really manifested since grad school. my first semester of grad school was when i developed really bad anxiety that only manifested as physical symptoms—nausea, diarrhea, constipation, loss of appetite, insomnia, weird painful muscle cramps, etc. to the point where i literally thought i was on the verge of death! i’ve been reading a book about the salem witch trials and couldn’t help but notice that the “fits” described by the “afflicted” were weirdly similar to how my anxiety jumped out, save for, like, hallucinations. it’s a good book and i want to finish it but just thinking about the similarities almost gave me a panic attack one night... which is crazy. and then i woke up this morning and found out my stupid hemorrhoid is flaring up again. which, in retrospect, just seems like an omen. lmao.

if there is any silver lining to this at all, it’s that there is a possibility i may be promoted to membership manager. i’m currently at the coordinator level, but when my boss broke the news to me, she said that we’d be working with our external membership consultant (who i’ve met! she’s great.) to help keep renewal notices and regular mailings going out. presumable until i’m up to speed. i’ve been at this museum for over a year, and full-time for 7 months. they might wait a few months, until i get closer to a year as a FT employee. or they might just hire a new boss for me. i’m ok staying at the coordinator level for a little while longer; it’s nice not having to worry a TON about budgets and financial goals. but i could probably do it if pressed. and getting a big ass salary bump would be nice.

if you made it all the way to the end, thank you for being cringe with me 🤝 the reason this is here and not in my journal is because there was clearly too much to put into my journal without having my hand cramp up. i’ll be ok. i’ll get through this. but it’s gonna fucking suck 😭

[miekasa]

any dad!levi hcs for father’s day today🥺🤲🏽

Absolutely!! I’ll do this I guess using the kids I have for him in my parent au? If you’ve read that, you know about Holden, but there are two more so prepare to meet them :’) happy father’s day to Levi <33

To begin with, you guys would plan to have your kids (to the best of your abilities; you were intentionally trying to have kids at a time when you both knew you were ready for them. 

Although accidents to do happen, and Levi would welcome an unplanned child all the same; that being said, if you’re both want a family, you would have discussed it beforehand (which is to a degree, is a lot about mental preparation for himself). 

In his perfect world, he’d have two daughters. They’d be equal parts him and you, and they’d be quiet and curious and lovely and life would be good. He’d spend his days with you and his two tiny daughters, raising his little family and doing all he could for his favorite girls. 

So, naturally, he does get two daughters, but also a son in between; and the latter two kids are far from easy in their own unique ways lmfao 

You might have already met Holden, and she’s the oldest in my dad Levi au, and the most like him. Levi’s dark hair, his grey eyes, his overall unimpressed visage, his knack for cleanliness and organization—down to the way she holds her sippy cups, she’s damn near Levi’s doppleganger. 

Holden is somewhere between 3.5-4 years old before you have your second kid, and in that time is when Levi confirms he thinks he was cut out to be a certified Girl Dad. 

Both Levi and Holden take quality father-daughter time very seriously. It’s impossible to change plans once they’re set: “Daddy, you promised we would go to the famer’s market on Sunday. You pinky promised.” And Levi wouldn’t dare break a pinky promise, so he makes time for it. 

Levi doesn’t play favorites with his kids, but there is something special about Holden as his first born. He’s constantly in awe of just how much she resembles him. Four years into raising her and it’s still hard to wrap his head around. 

Much to his chagrin, Hange and Eren are Holden’s favorite adults. Maybe Levi understands the admiration for Hange, but Eren... come on, Holden, you’re breaking his heart at that point. 

It’s almost out of character for your daughter to be so openly affectionate about someone outside of your immediate family, but she really loves having Eren as a babysitter; and you know she’s playing favorites, because she remains neutral on Armin, even though he and Eren always babysit as a duo. 

She doesn’t have a favorite grandparent, but Kenny spoils her the most. Levi tells him he shouldn’t, but when has Kenny ever listened to Levi. The man isn’t a fan of kids, but he thinks yours and Levi’s are pretty cool, and Holden is about the coolest 4 year old he could ever meet. 

When she was learning to walk, Levi’s favorite thing was holding her little hand and guiding her around. Even now, when she can stand perfectly fine on her own two feet, Levi loves it when she reaches for his hand; Holden is a pretty independent kid, even at 4 years old, so Levi never takes affection from her for granted. 

They’re best friends and Holden goes everywhere with him. Their favorite father-daughter activity is going to the grocery store, and Levi lets Holden point to and assess her favorite fruits and veggies while she sits happily in the shopping cart. 

Sometimes there are other parents struggling with a kid throwing a temper tantrum. Levi simply clicks his teeth, while Holden shakes her little head. “That’s pretty embarassing, daddy,” she says, looking at the poor parent with an unamused glare that rivals Levi’s. He nods and pushes the cart past the scene, “Tell me about it, kid.” 

Your second kid is a boy, and he looks more like you than Levi, but manages to have Levi’s signature hair color and pout when things aren’t going his way.

He comes as a shock to both you and Levi, because after your ultrasound, you were told you were having another girl. Turns out, they’d accidentally mixed up your files, and you were having a boy instead, which you do not find out until your mid-term check up a few months later. Cue Levi buffering like an old computer. 

Kiaan is welcomed all the same, even tho Levi is still in disbelief; he was mentally preparing to have another daughter on his hands. He puts more pressure on himself with his son; not that he wasn’t trying his best to be a parent to Holden, but any insecurities he might have about being a good come out when your son is born, because Levi has no “man of the house” example to follow from. 

You reassure him that your son will turn out to be just fine, and raising him the way you raised Holden, and would have raised another daughter is perfectly acceptable. Of course Levi rises to the occasion after the initial shock; he’s determined to be the dad to his son that he never had. 

Where Holden is more reserved, Kiaan likes to talk and babble about anything whenever and wherever he can, to whoever is around. It’s not uncommon for you or Levi to find your son completely entertained by telling a story out loud to himself while playing with his toys.

Loves to rope Levi into making his toys interact and have “conversations” with each other, and Kiaan genuinely thinks his dad is hilarious, even if he doesn’t completely understand what he’s saying. It always makes Levi smile to hear Kiaan try and copy the bass and tone of his voice when he’s mocking him. 

Kiaan loves messing with his dad, and Levi’s all talk, so of course he lets him. He’ll be on a Zoom meeting for work, and Kiaan will be sat in his lap, running little toy cars across the desk in front of him, or tugging on Levi’s hair, and Levi just lets him. It makes quite the cute sight, and Hange has definitely taken a few screen recordings. 

That being said, your son is more of a mama’s boy than anything. Kiaan loves messing with Levi, but if you’re in the room, there’s a 95% chance he’ll be on your lap or at your side shadowing whatever you’re doing. 

Kiaan is a universal copycat tho, so whatever you, Levi, or Holden say or do, he tries for himself. This makes him especially susceptible to repeating Levi’s foul language and bad habits than Holden. (“Kiaan, you can’t sleep on the chair, it’s not good for your back.” “But daddy sleeps on the chairs sometimes!” “...Alright kid, you got me there.”) 

He’s a very loving kid with his words, too, always thanking people and proclaiming his love, so he doesn’t exactly have a “favorite” adult or babysitter, but he does get particularly excited when Erwin or Farlan come around. He feels especially tall when Erwin lets him sit on his shoulders, and Farlan always entertains his story-telling. 

He’s a sucker for his grandma though, and gives Kuchel a million kisses whenever she comes around. Does not let go over her for the entire time she’s over at your house, and will sit on her lap throughout dinner. 

The most affectionate child, so where Holden only likes holding hands, Kiaan loves cuddling with you and Levi, and likes to be held whenever possible. Levi spoils him a little too much, and more often than not, if you’re walking outside for more than two hours, Kiaan will end up on Levi’s shoulders or in your arms. 

Your last kid is another girl, and, yeah she’s just a baby no older than a few months, but Levi can’t help but think she’s especially tiny, and he can’t help but to look at her and hold her whenever possible. Your baby girl also leaves Levi a little dumbstruck because she manages to look like a combination of you and his mother. 

As she grows, it becomes apparent that you’ve got another daddy’s girl on your hands. Doesn’t matter if you’re literally breast feeding her, Aria will throw a tantrum if she’s separated from Levi for more than an hour. 

The good news is, her sleep cycle is as irregular as Levi’s, so he’s got someone to keep him company when everyone else has gone to bed for the evening. Unfortunately, this also means Aria naps a lot during the day, which leaves Levi a little bored since Holden is old enough to be in school full-time, and Kiaan is gone for at least a portion of the day. 

So, he would never tell you, but sometimes he wakes Aria up from her naps just a little bit early to spend more time with her (and cure his boredom). Having an infant trying to grab at his hair with her ravioli sized baby fists while he tries to cook lunch certainly makes the task more difficult, but it also adds welcomed color to his day.

You and Levi have to hold Aria constantly when she’s awake or else she’ll cry (although, if you leave her in the arms of her siblings, she does settle down, too); that, or she’ll find her tiny baby hands somewhere they shouldn’t be. Like dipped in a jar of strawberry jam. Or peanut butter. Or both. 

Levi talks to his kids like he would any other adult, so it’s not uncommon to find him brewing tea with a baby strapped to his chest, narrating the steps to good tea-making out loud to her for her to hear. He swears she can understand him, and he attributes Holden and Kiaan’s growing vocabularies, and the early ages at which they started speaking to this. 

Aria will be in her little chest strap thing while Levi’s cooking dinner, and he’ll look down at her like, “Alright, we’re gonna julienne your carrots today. Yesterday we cubed them, but you’ve got grabby hands, so this will give you more room to work with.”

Kiaan loves holding Aria and honestly just being around her, and you and Levi think it’s adorable how he loves to play with her, and how he knows to be gentle with her. He shares a room with her, and loves sharing his bedtime story times, so you or Levi will read them to sleep together. 

Holden isn’t crazy about babies, but she’s a good older sister, and Aria seems to be obsessed with her. She crawls and scoots towards her if given the opportunity, and Holden will always look to you or Levi before attempting to hold or lift her up, as if asking permission. She’ll pat Aria’s head to get her to stop crying, or let her play with her hands. 

Levi thinks one of the best parts about being a dad is seeing the different dynamics and relationships between your kids. Holden isn’t most physically or verbally affectionate, but she’s still compassionate, and Kiaan looks up to her; and Kiaan is the perfect middle ground, knowing when it’s appropriate to bother (affectionate) Holden, and when to give her space, and curiously hovers around his baby sister, too. 

[celestianstars]

O!!!! This chapter had me feeling so many things! 🥺💗 it’s so real and raw and beautiful as is all your writing but oh man this chapter hit especially different! @wyn-n-tonic and it was such a great read!

Ali and Joel’s dynamic is getting so interconnected it’s so cool to see, just the way they are around each other, their banter, how being in each other’s space is so natural for them and ahh I was melting at them having a lazy rainy day with Sarah, watching movies and napping together…it’s so wholesome and it felt exactly like one of those “core moments” you think about later on, a really good happy memory!

THIS LINE!

“Tommy’s voice cam through the phone one day, saying he must be talking to his girlfriend since he was kicking his feet up and to working his hair.”

LMFAO Tommy is such a little shit I love it! Now I’m imagining Joel doing that too and it’s the best!

Really love how you weaved in Alison’s mental struggles and her going to therapy, that was so important to me in such a specific way, to see her seeking out the help and wading through it, how difficult it is, the frustration and sadness and confusion and hurt…yeah! Reading this series has felt a little like you’ve climbed inside my brain and pull things out and mention things that resonate and are so very real and I appreciate that and what it takes to write that into a story! So thank you for such beautiful, honest writing!

Even though my personal experience with therapy wasn’t for an ED, I felt every word and especially this line during Ali’s first session

“I have never ducking cried like that in front of another person”

No cause why is that so true, I remember absolutely sobbing to the therapist I saw like not even five minutes into our session. The questions, the way your brain starts realizing oh we’re putting pressure on these points that hurt or the questions and conversation is getting close to touching those tender spots and it’s just…a lot. Such a fantastic job of writing Ali’s session with Dr. Bronner and their progression throughout May, truly!! And another like that absolutely did me in:

“Just a scared little girl raising a scared little girl.”

Whew that hit! Me too Ali, I feel you especially what she ended up figuring out about her being a people pleaser and liking to have the answers, the straightforward map of what to do but also not knowing how to actually set boundaries and rules outside of work, what a revelation to make and I love how she came to that conclusion, she’s understanding herself more and it’s so good to see her work through it!

And hand in hand with that is her being afraid to involve Joel in that, in the parts of herself that aren’t “pretty” per say and it was so beautiful seeing them talk about it, like really talk and even when things got a little tense, they kept on working through it, I love how Joel treats her I really do, he’s such a good man, he’s so patient and understanding and he cares about his Alison so goddamn much and it shows in everything and I feel so happy to get to read about it!

AND OKAY THAT ENDING!!!! Whew so first off Jenny…once again fuck offfff miss girl you are not it! I’m very glad we ended up missing the wedding even though Sarah got hurt, I was hoping Ali would be like you know what I don’t need to be around these people and their gossip and refusal to let me be! She deserves better!

But ahh I was so scared for a second! So so special seeing Ali drop everything to rush to Sarah, to make sure she’s okay, how close they are, the fact that Sarah was asking her Ali….bye 🥺❤️❤️❤️ and their conversation about things between Ali and Joel…those little anxieties coming from Sarah, not wanting to scare Ali away like the last woman before, and her reassurance that it’s not a thought in her mind, that she’s happy with Joel, most herself with Joel and Sarah understanding that, her saying “my dad really loves you”…I could cry! How beautiful! Such a good bonding moment between them!

I say it every time but I really love this series and what you’ve built here, thank you for writing it and giving us so much! Can’t wait to catch up on the rest! 🥰🥰🥰

Days of You & Me: May

Word Count: 14.5k+ Warnings: Mental health issues. Body image issues/ED. Food mention. Alcohol consumption. Shitty friends. Our girl goes to therapy. Broken bones. Medical talk. Shitty dad jokes. Anything left off was not intentional. Author's Note: Thank you to @tauralmie and @darnitdraco as well as @marvelousmermaid for being my continuous shoulders to lean on throughout writing this series.

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May 2, 2003:

“What is… this one?” Joel's finger is trailing all over my body, the ghost of his touch moving quickly along the surface of my skin.

Turning my head to the best of my ability, I try to pinpoint exactly where he’s landed, somewhere just along where my back ends and my ass begins. “That would be a chickenpox scar,” I tell him. “Again.” 

It’s near three in the morning and, really, he should be asleep. But the forecast is calling for heavy rains tomorrow so he’s already written off any kind of work. Of course, that could change at the drop of a hat—I told him so. His acknowledgement of that possibility was simply saying he’d do things that didn’t involve power tools. 

But then it started pissing down like the end times while I was still in the shower taking the hospital off and he held tight to his belief that he’d be staying home with me come the morning.

Said you can’t pour concrete on a waterlogged ground.

Then he begged me not to put a shirt on as I dropped the towel, just crawl in bed next to him.

Totally innocent, he promised—and it was.

Until it wasn’t.

Now he’s sat up with tired eyes exploring my body beneath the soft lamplight; asking about all the scars he’s only ever touched but never knew the meaning of.

So far he’s found three chickenpox scars.

“You fucking rule breaker, baby,” he says as he traces the outline of the depressed shape permanently held by my skin. “A whole ass healthcare professional going after the one thing you’re not supposed to scratch.”

“I wasn’t a goddamn healthcare professional in the seventies, Joel, I was a child.”

“Ooh, you’re fucking cranky, PG,” he breathes out. “You gotta stop having these split shifts on top of doubles, you’re so mean to me. It’s very surprising behavior from you.”

“What's surprising is that you don’t know the United States stopped requiring the smallpox vaccine in ’72,” I tell him, still amused by his shock that I don’t have a scar on my arm that matches the one on his.

Shrugging to the best of his ability, he tells me, “I was a child.”

The forecast held true, it looked like half the Gulf of Mexico was being dumped on the entirety of Austin right now.

Joel explained that even without the rain, the lightning would be enough to cancel the work. So, either way, he would’ve been here with me and poking me in the ribs until I woke up.

Which would be fine, if he didn’t keep me up until just around four hours ago looking over every inch of my body like he’d never seen it before. Because all the times we’ve spent together naked in his bed or mine has been in dim light with tired eyes and shaking hands because we’d both been holding onto nerves about the other. 

After last week, though, I don’t think I’ll ever shake for him again—at least not with nerves.

He categorized every inch of me, delicately traced the edges of the scars he found and asked for the stories behind them. My ankle; bike accident. My knee; soccer accident. My back, upper arm and lower belly; chickenpox. The faint white lines on my upper thighs; my attempt at hurting myself because the girls at school said it would help.

His brown eyes fell into something sad and even if he tried to school his face against it, he really couldn’t shake it.

Then it was my freckles.

Then it was the small stretch marks that grew as I did against the disease in my head.

After that, he sat on his knees directly in front of me—looking down at me—and took me in only to describe it all to me. Naked against the dark sheets of his bed; exhausted but blissed out and begging for him to come sleep.

He wasn’t next to me when I woke up but he is now, coffee in hand and asking if I want bacon.

“Sarah get to school okay?”

He laughs. “No, she’s passed out, I let her play hooky too.”

“How did that play over?” You ask him. “You know how serious she is about school, baby, she probably had a test today.”

“Eh, she’ll make it up,” he says. “Give me something stupid to use as an excuse, if I say she got another cold, the school might send Texas CPS.”

I ask if he uses that excuse a lot and he blushes up to his ears.

“Okay so, the school isn’t gonna send Texas CPS for a weakened immune system and frequent colds but—“

“It's so hot when you go into nurse mode.” 

Apologies follow as I follow him down the stairs, eyes cast down to focus on my foot placement and he begs me to continue.

“But, if the school does send Texas CPS, all they’re gonna do is check to make sure you have food and running water, baby, they’re fucking useless.” 

His hands go up to his heart as he reaches the bottom step and his head falls back like he’s been struck, body turning towards me with dopey eyes. “It's hotter when you call authority bullshit, Alison.” 

“Anyway, tell them the rain hitting the pollen made her allergies act up and she had trouble sleeping so you didn’t think school would be a good idea. That’s it, they don’t need to know she watched shitty action movies with her dad and his girlfriend all day.” 

A shiver runs down his spine at that word, crooked smile splitting his face as he runs a hand through his unbrushed hair. It’s a word that usually comes out of his mouth but, when I say it—or anybody else does—he gets this giddy look like he’s been given lottery tickets with all winning numbers. 

Tommy’s voice came through the phone one day, saying he must be talking to his girlfriend since he was kicking his feet up and twirling his hair and I haven’t been able to unsee it since.

After breakfast, through lunch, we did watch action movies. As many as he felt he could fit into the day with the windows open and the sound of the rain coming in over the grunts and groans of bloodied men saving the world.

Until the sound was only rain and hushed voices, an entire day wasted away with junk food and the television—Sarah and I intermittently taking naps tucked up against Joel’s body.

There’s only a blanket wrapped around me now, legs stretched out across the couch and a pillow beneath my head instead of his arm.

Part of me feels bad that I’m hardly at the apartment anymore. Joel’s even started calling it our sex getaway; the place where we can be obvious and loud and naked all throughout. I only really stay there when he’s staying there with me, which is increasing in frequency.

I asked him if I was taking him away from time with Sarah, told him that he should be prioritizing her. He told me he was. Said that all anybody could tell him was that it takes a village to raise a baby and he was utilizing his. He had Tommy, he had neighbors, he had Sarah’s friends whose parents he trusted. 

Still, even if we want to be near each other, I want him to be available for her. Even if Tommy is her emergency contact, it just makes more sense to me that we’re here instead of there.

Plus, I like the life in his walls; the laughter. I like the pictures of his family and how he and Sarah have grown throughout the years.

The house itself feels safe, too. I can sleep even when he’s not beside me, I’m not getting up and pacing to tire myself back out or otherwise waiting to get ready for work.

There’s also the issue of work—or the lack of it.

Not exactly the lack but, maybe, just so different that it feels like it. I have been pulling doubles and triples. I still haven’t told Joel that it’s because I’m trying to see if there’s another floor in the hospital I could fit into. So far, I haven’t really felt like I belong in any of them. No real chaos to take up all the mental real estate I’m trying to fill That’s the lack of work—the lack of chaos. All these hours and everything is still empty enough for overthinking.

Going to find their voices, my ears lead my feet into his office where Joel’s sat at the computer and turned to Sarah, who’s tucked into one of the arm chairs.

“There's my chainsaw.” His voice raises from a whisper as he sits back in his chair, thick arms crossing his broad chest. “I was so close to coming to wake you up but Sarah told me not to until the pizza gets here.”

“Pizza?”

“I bullied him,” Sarah says, following up with the fact that it’s not from the place that made her sick. Then she bounces up and says something about a shower, wanting to be able to eat and continue watching movies uninterrupted until the early morning hours.

He takes her spot in the chair as she leaves, holding out his arms as her footsteps disappear up the stairs. 

“So,” he starts, arms folding around me as I tuck myself into him. “I was thinking that tomorrow we could go out and figure out a suit for me for this wedding.”

Right.

The wedding.

The wedding full of people who hate a man they don’t even know.

“Why don’t we hold off on that, Joel?” I ask him. “Let's just stay in tomorrow until they inevitably, you know, call me into work for something.”

His eyebrows knit up. “Everything good, PG?” 

Twisting a curl around my finger, I focus on the movement as he prompts me again. I didn’t tell him about the brunch, I didn’t want to. It has to be enough I’ve started opening up about the shit in the hospital, he can separate himself from it to a degree. At least, that’s what he promised me.

There’s no separating himself from this, though. This is about him and I want to protect him from it. He works so hard, he’s so good.

He’s so good to me, even when I feel like I don’t deserve it. He doesn’t need to know that people think the opposite based on nothing, it’s not fair—that all these girls could do was make false allegations because of the height of my neckline.

“Hey.” He pulls me back to him. “Where the fuck is your head, sweetheart?”

Shrugging, I tell him it’s back at my apartment reliving that moment on the couch over and over again.

“Can you fucking wait”—he looks around me to the door of the office—“to make me hard until we’re in bed?”

I’d sat in his lap on occasion before that night but, now, I might as well be permanently attached to him with the way he constantly pulls me down on him. He drops his head into the crook of my neck and pulls me closer, breathes deep.

His hands are squeezing into me, kneading into the meat of my thighs; the curve of my hip. All while he kisses into my neck and face like he hasn’t seen me in years. 

Then the doorbell rings and the water shuts off and he lets out a broken whine like he’s being ripped from the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. I think of how relaxed he looks when he’s with me as he walks from the room; how he actually sits and takes in silent breaths; how I can tell from his facial expressions that he’s actively fighting to shut his brain off.

I keep trying to do the same.

May 7, 2003:

“So,” the brunette woman on the chair across from me pulls her glasses down and looks at her notepad, pen poised at the ready. “Can you state your full name for me?” 

“Uh-um, Alison Summer Murphy.”

“Perfect,” she says, scratching at her blank paper.

I’ve picked the skin of my nails absolutely fucking raw already but sitting here makes me want to go back for more. 

“And does your husband know that you’re here, Alison?”

“I don’t have a husband,” I answer. I think my flat tone lets her know that I’m already close to walking back out and it’s not even been five minutes.

Well, five minutes with her. I spent thirty minutes in the waiting room answering the same goddamn questions.

“I'm sorry, I filled out the intake paper, why do I need to answer these questions again?”

“I'm just trying to get to know you, Alison,” she responds. “Intake paperwork can only tell me so much. I’m asking you these questions because I want to hear how you answer them, not just read. So… no husband. A partner?”

“I have a boyfriend and, uh, no.” This was a mistake. “He doesn’t know I’m here; I don’t want him to.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Is there a reason for that?”

“I just don’t want him to worry about me, he already does so much.” 

“Worries about you how?” She asks. “Is he the reason you’re here?” 

I know the question is meant to be objective but it doesn’t feel like that. Not after the time spent with my friends.

Shaking my head, I tell her no. 

No, Joel doesn’t know I’m here. 

No, Joel is not the reason that I’m here.

I mean, in a way, I guess he is. I don’t say that, though.

And I don’t want him to know that, I don’t want her to know that.

She asks me how sexually active we are; very.

She asks me how often we see each other; every day now.

She asks me if we’ve had any large fights; only when I don’t take care of myself.

Or when I’ve held information that hurts me back from him.

She asks if there’s any information I’ve held back from him recently, if he knows now or if it’s still just with me.

“My friends,” I tell her. “One of them is getting married and she’s made all of these judgments of Joel off of one meeting just based on the way he looks o-or some shit—I don't know.”

“What happened?” 

“At lunch the other day, she pretty much had everybody else convinced and repeating how bad he is for me, alluding to physical and emotional abuse that doesn’t exist.”

"Do you know what made them think that?”

I’m going to hear the scratch of that goddamn pen in my sleep tonight.

“I wore a high neckline,” I shrug. “Or, ya know… high according to them. I didn’t really want my tits out in front of Jenny’s mom, it was a bridal party lunch but… they jumped to conclusions that I was trying to cover up a mark.” 

“Were you?” She asks.

“Yes.” I’m surprised by how casually it comes out. “But only because we had a lot of sex the day before and I’ve been bruising like a goddamn banana lately.”

“And do you think there’s a reason for that?”

“The sex or the banana?”

Considering, she finally asks, “how about both?”

I shouldn’t have come here—I should go.

“The sex is because we’re a newer couple and he hasn't gotten bored of me yet, the banana is because I haven’t really been eating. I haven’t really been doing much of anything that I used to do.” 

She nods, almost like a lightbulb has gone off in her head.

“Your paperwork said you have a history of not eating, that you beat the thoughts in your head once before. Do you have any ideas of what it is that’s agitating that sickness again?”

“Like a flare up?” I ask her.

She nods.

“Dr. Bonner—“

“Julia,” she interrupts me. “Please, this is just a conversation. Our first few sessions will be, actually. While I get to know you. You’ve been in therapy before?” 

Shaking my head, I tell her no. “Not unless you count the revolving door of college interns from my own campus in eating disorder treatment—no.” 

“So, let’s start at the beginning,” she suggests. “You started dating a man—when?”

“January.”

“And what was life like before that?” She asks. “Did you have any flares ups between original treatment and now? When was original treatment?” 

“Seven or eight years ago,” I tell her. “Maybe nine, I don’t remember. No hiccups, nothing like this a-and I can’t let it get to a place where I have to go back into treatment.”

“How did you maintain it between then and now?”

“I-I—“ I’m leaned forward, curled in on myself with my hands clasped between my legs, focusing on the desk behind her stacked with psych books and knickknacks—the DSM-IV held down by a coffee cup like one thousand pages needs a paper weight. “I don’t remember much of what’s been going on.”

“Elaborate on that.”

If I fucking could, I wouldn’t fucking be here.

If my brain had nails, it would be scratching at my skull to leave.

“I don’t know, I was too busy to think about fucking it all up.” 

I have never fucked cried like that in front of another person.

That’s not true, I’ve cried like that in front of Jenny.

My mother.

All Joel’s ever seen are the remnants of tears or the silent ones easily pushed away. He’s never seen me like this but this person has.

A hundred and fifty dollars just to be told it was the upset in my routine, the lack of exhaustion as I allow myself and my body to take time and feel safe, that’s plummeted my weight. I’d already figured that out and it’s not even what I wanted—what I went there for.

Maybe it fucking was, I don’t know. 

She said it was the lack of predictability that has upset how I’ve held onto the success of my initial treatment for so long. That my predictability was to go go go and I used the little time I had off to shop and cook and pack food just to then go to sleep and get ready for more. 

I can’t go home to Joel like this, with this on my mind. 

Even the fucking dress I bought one size lower needed taking in.

When I get him on the phone later, close to ten, his voice is heavy with exhaustion. Another double.

I told him I had the same.

I only had last night in the emergency room, came back to my apartment instead of going to Joel’s so I could shower, do laundry. Maybe get some sleep before I got my head shrinked with no real answers.

“You're not here, I feel weird,” Joel says. “I wonder if any other couple has gone from zero to a hundred this fast.”

“I don’t think we’re at a hundred yet, baby, but I also told you I don’t know if there are any rules to this.”

“How was work today? I wanted to come by between jobs but I just didn’t have time, I’m sorry.” 

“Joel, I didn’t work a double,” I tell him. I could lie but I don’t want to. I hold onto so much already, I don’t want a lie added on top of that pile. “I just told you that, I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” He sits up, I know he does based on how the pillows sound behind him. “What’d you do instead.” 

I can see the gears turning in his head and I wish I was there. I should’ve gone there. I shouldn’t be in this apartment having this conversation only to hang up and know he’s sleeping alone with the fact that I lied to him running on a loop in his dreams. 

Deep breath. “I had a therapy appointment.” I don’t know why I’m terrified of telling him. He said he went with his ex; goes with Sarah sometimes. I think I was just hoping it would have all the answers for me today.

“Oh, and how did that…”

“It was fucking awful, I felt like I was being grilled. I went for one thing and she made it about something else entirely.” 

Pillows shuffle on the other end and he lets out a small sound as he lays back. “What'd you go for?”

“I don’t fucking know.” In the hours since I left, I’ve rubbed the delicate skin of my eyelids raw but I can’t stop making it worse. “To help me with this bullshit I don’t want to bring home to you and Sarah, I think. I don’t want either of you to see me in my bad spots.” 

“There's nothing bad about you, it’s just low and that’s okay. Sarah’s seen me low, too, sweetheart, that’s not what I’m worried about her seeing.” 

Oh.

“What is?” 

A hard breath and he swallows so audibly I know exactly how his throat has moved; how it would feel beneath my touch and my lips. “Can we talk about this when we’re together, Alison?” 

“If you were gonna say you’re worried about her seeing my clothes hang off of me like a skeleton, the therapist was way ahead of you, Joel. She said the lack of predictability in my schedule has screwed everything up.”

“Baby, I want to talk about this when we’re together,” he breathes out. “Just… fuck it—yeah, that’s exactly what I’m worried about her seeing. Are you happy?”

“Do you want me to be?” I ask him, pacing a hole into the carpet of my room. “Do you want me to be happy that I’m doing this shit subconsciously in front of my boyfriend’s impressionable teenage daughter? I don’t know what the fuck I’m even doing, Joel,” I tell him. “I have lived on autopilot for almost a decade, baby, and I knew what I was supposed to do and when I was supposed to do it and now, I know what I’m supposed to do but I don’t know how to do it—I can’t figure out how to regulate it back. I can’t figure out how to regulate my moods or my sleep. I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” he whispers. “Alison, honey, take a breath for me.” He waits a beat while I do, his own breathing coming heavily through the receiver. “I'm not mad at you.”

“I went because I wanted to handle shit without making it your shit, too, Joel.” I crawl in bed—my side—and feel that tug of sadness in the pit of my stomach and the back of my head again. We’re fighting and he’s not here. We’ll go to sleep in separate beds having fought. We’ll wake up tomorrow without each other with the memory of this being in our minds. I don’t know if there are any rules to this shit, I’d probably operate a lot better if there were. I’d know what to do; how to act. “I’m sorry, Joel,” I tell him again. “Part of me feels like I should've just kept the lie going until tomorrow.”

“And then where would we be?” He asks. “You went there because you said you want to feel better, baby, you don’t want to put your shit on my shit. Newsflash, Alison, your shit is all mixed up with my shit. You sleep in my bed more than your own, you care about my family as if they’re your own.”

He tells me he loves me, that he is anything but mad at me and he understands why I would keep this from him. But I need to stop telling him not to worry about me because he's going to and that’s just what I signed up for.

“Maybe you should’ve made that a little clearer in the contract,” I suggest through tears. Again, only the silent kind that can be easily brushed away.

Joel laughs, genuinely for the first time tonight. “I’ll have my lawyer add that in when it comes time for renewal,” he breathes out. “But I need you to stop apologizing to me, I’m not mad at you.”

“But—“

“Yeah, I’m sorry I raised my voice.” He didn’t. “But my daughter loves you and she looks up to you, Alison, and I know that is a lot of pressure to put on you but you really did know what you signed up for there.” I did. 

Drea said it was a different kind of responsibility. A different kind of heartbreak.

“Look,” he continues, asking for my attention on him as if I can meet those soft brown eyes in real time. “Please don’t ever feel like you have to lie to me or hold things back from me, the point of a relationship is to lean on one another—”

“I'm doing a whole lot of leaning.”

“So? A time will come when I will, too,” he says. “Hell, you met me when I didn’t have a nose, remember? I very vividly recall you carefully reattaching it and, you can fucking laugh at me all you want to but, that is exactly the moment I fell in love with you. Because you were kind and careful and funny and you called my brother on his shit and looked like a half electrocuted angel while you did—so I decided to take a chance. Now look at us.” 

I am lost in all the things that he’s saying to me, my exhaustion catching up on the timbre of his voice. We are on opposite sides of the telephone and it’s only been a few months, but I can’t sleep alone anymore. Not really.

Except… yes, I can. 

Just not here.

No matter how many doors and floors separate me from the outside, I sleep alone in a space that wakes me up to walk in circles all throughout the night. Because even if I’m safe, I don’t feel safe. That’s never been the case, no matter how true it is.

Because this place may be mine but I don’t know how to make it mine, I’ve never known. My college dorm room was bland because I grew up in a room decorated with posters of The Beatles and David Cassidy and Sonny & Cher. Just a scared little girl raising a scared little girl. 

There are elements of my personality here; my books and my puzzles and a small movie collection. Small decorations call various surfaces home and there is color in every room. But it feels cold, it feels unintentional and unloved—out of place. Lately, I’ve found myself picking up more things from here and finding that they very easily fit there with him—as do I.

Safely. 

Peacefully.

Beside him or alone in bed; sharing the space of the kitchen together and those silent moments where I feel like I can just be.

May 8, 2003: 

The door’s open.

Rather, it’s opening. 

But by the time I’m up and grabbing for the bat beneath the bed, Joel’s pushing through the bedroom door and muttering about something being wet.

“Joel?”

That goofy grin I love so much carves into his cheeks as his eyes go wide at the bat. “Why do you have that?”

“Well, I was gonna beat your ass to fucking death with it,” I tell him. “I thought you were here to murder me.”

“Murderers have keys, baby?”

I drop it, let it bounce off the carpet and roll back under my bed. “Do you even know how many people, especially women, are murdered by people they know? Who have access to their homes?”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. “I really didn’t mean to.” 

With every word, he’s closed the distance towards me—to his side of the bed—pulling at his belt and working to discard his jeans with every step forward. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I should be at work,” he confirms. “Would be, actually, if it wasn’t pouring down rain again.” He sits down in the blankets and looks at me on the opposite side of the bed, lays back against the pillows and then pats his bare chest. “I was really hoping I’d get here early enough so you could wake up in my arms.” 

Sitting, I ask him where Sarah is.

“She's at school,” he says. “Woke up, saw the weather, told me she loved me but she was not missing another day because it meant she’d have to take exams and she’d rather start summer break early than hang out with me. It’s fine.” He nods his head, tone more full of defeat than acceptance. “I'm fine about it,” he insists.

He pats his chest again and tells me to tuck in, asks me how I feel now that I’ve slept. Asks me if I’ve even managed to sleep as his thick arms cage me into him. 

At first, I didn’t even really understand that I was losing weight, I thought he was just getting bigger.

And he has.

The constant doubles he’s pulling as the city is heating up and preparing to dry out has him filling out parts of his clothes that weren’t even really lacking before. Shirts tighter around his broad chest; sleeves cutting into his biceps; jeans hugging tighter around his thighs and his ass.

Filling out the seat of his jeans has caused the denim to pull tighter in other areas, too, that seem to beg for constant readjustment.

But while he got bigger, I actually did stop looking like me. Dark rims around my eyes and sallow skin—the hollow of my throat depressing down to a deep well.

He tells me on every date that people must be wondering what a gorgeous girl like me is doing with a loser like him. Now, I think the opposite statement about us. What’s a beautiful boy like Joel Miller doing with a hollowed out girl like me?

Neither statement is true, I know this. He loves me even though I haven’t said it back to him. Even though I don’t seem to be that person he met at the beginning of the year. At least, I don’t feel like that girl now. 

I feel awake, even as he’s smoothing his hand across the crown of my head and telling me all about the dream he had that’s lulling me to sleep. 

“Did you really come over here just to nap with me?” I ask him. 

His hand is up my shirt—his shirt—rubbing up and down my side slowly. Just weeks ago, I loved this but now, knowing the differences both our bodies have been through in just a few weeks, I can feel the part of me that wants to shove him away; to shut down.

“No,” he whispers into my temple. “I came over here because you said you couldn’t figure out how to regulate this back, so I’m here to help.” 

Every part of me wants to curl into him—does curl into him.

“You should come by the hospital soon,” I tell him, kissing into the meat of his bicep. “Drea would lose her shit over how big these got.” 

“Are you objectifying me?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes, I am.” 

Our shared laughter turns into his mouth on mine, his broad body moving me easily down into the pillows. My leg is halfway hitched around his hip but that doesn’t stop his hand from sliding down and attempting to pull it farther, pressing down on me as he pulls me up to him.

“Did you… get more condoms?”

I tell him I haven’t had a chance. "Did you not bring any?”

Eyes squeezed shut, he says that he didn’t; says he thought I’d picked some up. “But it makes sense you didn’t, you’ve been staying at the house—they’re all there.” 

“Yeah.” When he goes to move off of me, I pull him back. “So… no condoms means you can’t just sit here and make out with me instead?”

Biting the swell of his bottom lip, he takes me in under the soft light of a cloudy day pouring through the windows. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” he tells me. “We can grab some today at the store.”

But before we can get to the store, he makes me shower with him, drink coffee with him; watches me as I eat the breakfast he brought as he sits with a pen and notepad across from me asking questions not unlike Dr. Bonner.

He’s noted things I’ve talked about cooking in the past.

“How are you so good at this?” I ask as he writes in instant oatmeal to the list.

“I am a single father, Alison,” he tells me. “For the longest time, Sarah wouldn’t eat lunch unless I brought it to her. More doable in the winter but do you know what a pain in the ass that was to schedule around a fucking build?”

“Maybe that’s what it is,” I suggest. “Maybe I got so used to you bringing me lunch that not I can’t eat if you’re not there.”

“Okay, smartass.” He shakes his head and looks back down at the list. “Now we just need to figure out your schedule for work, your schedule for when you’ll be sleeping at my house, and how to make sure you’re packing enough for your fucking doubles and triples—PROTEIN BARS!” He shouts suddenly. “Sarah ate so many protein bars because I could convince her they were from the candy aisle.” 

“Oh my god,” I cock my head to the side and look at him. “You're parenting me.” 

He doesn’t even deny it, just looks up like he’s assessing my reaction and back down again to his paper. Adds eggs to the list, frozen sausage. Anything that can go into the microwave and be ready in a few minutes but is still relatively good for me. “Honestly, though, if you decided that you needed to live off a steady diet of Hot Pockets and gatorade right now, I would support you… even though your farts would most definitely shake the walls.” 

He asks for my work schedule and then looks down at my planner as he asks what days I’ll be with him and when I want him with me.

Always doesn’t seem like the best answer, too clingy for a girl who hasn’t even told him she’s in love with him yet.

He looks over my work schedule, again, fully taking it in, and his nose wrinkles. “Baby, this is insanity.” 

“I know.”

“Why do you do this to yourself?” He asks like realization is finally dawning on him the intensity of the hours I pull. Because the sneaking into bed or sneaking out of it in the early morning hours wasn’t enough to tell him. “Do what you feel like you need to do, but this”—his index finger points directly down into the paper—“this is what worries me, sweetheart, you’re pushing yourself way too hard and I don’t understand what for. I mean—“ He looks down again, turns the pages and takes in the information. “Most of these shifts aren’t even in the emergency room, why are you—“

“I'm trying to find a place for myself elsewhere,” I tell him. “I’m thinking of leaving the department and it’s easier to transfer into another one within the hospital than it is to look for another job—at least for right now.” 

“You're leaving your job?”

“No, Joel, I am not leaving my job, I’m moving it.” I want him to see the difference, I want those two lines of concentration and confusion between his eyebrows to fade back out. “I can’t cover shifts in other departments to see if I’d like it more while leaving my own understaffed,” I continue. “It’s not like long hours are something I’m not used to.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Don't, Joel.”

“I feel like you’re doing this for me,” he says. Which is what I was afraid of—why I didn’t tell him when it started.

“I'm not doing this for you, baby,” I tell him, crossing the small space between us to fit myself on his lap. “I am doing this for me, okay?”

“It's just—“

“Stop.” Head in both my hands, I swipe my thumbs in mirrored movement across the swell of his cheeks. “I work in the emergency room because I don’t like having time to think but I don’t really know who I am without that chaos, I don’t even know if I’m the girl you say you love so I am doing this for me so I can figure that out.” 

Pushing out farther from the table, he wraps his arms around me with one thick hand sliding up the expanse of my thigh and the other curling into my ribcage. “I’m in love with a very intelligent, very funny, very beautiful woman—no, look at me, Alison.” He follows me as I try to look away, doing his best to keep himself in my line of sight. “You’re gonna be that girl no matter where you work or what you do, okay? I just wish you didn’t have to spread yourself so thin, but you’re going to get it under control and I will be here to help you however I can.” 

May 14, 2003:

My identity has always been wrapped up in what I can do to exhaust myself. Because nothing ever really felt like mine—felt like a place I wanted to be—I turned to routine and did my best. 

Dr. Bonner asks if my best really was the survival mode I put myself into.

“No, not survival mode,” I tell her. “It never felt like that to me, it was more like having the rules at work and having the rules from the treatment were going hand in hand and I made them work together.” 

“And no relationships before this one? No sudden and unexpected life circumstances?”

Shaking my head, I tell her no for the unexpected. “There were a few guys I dated and one I was serious with—Bradley—none of them really liked how much I worked but it was really that they didn’t like that I wouldn’t take time for them.” 

“Of your own accord?”

“Yeah,” I confirm. “If the schedules lined up, sure, but I wasn’t willingly taking time I didn’t have to take just to make somebody else happy.”

She scratches something out on her notepad and then leans forward. “What makes it different now?” She asks. “What about this relationship you’re currently in is it that has caused you to upset that routine so willingly?”

“He makes me happy,” I answer.

He makes me happy and doesn’t demand anything of me other than to be. He doesn’t want me in a full face of make up; he doesn’t want me fussing over a date or a zit; he doesn’t want me to hold things back from him. Because he wants to know all the messy details of my life and he gives all his own messy details over to me.

“Your routine was a little upset when you started dating, though,” she goes on. “You told me about your friends, how they treated you and how they treated him through you. Anything else?”

Two shakes of my head and then I remember. “My grandfather died.” 

“My condolences.”

“Please don't, I hated him.” 

She asks me why I hated him and I tell her all the things I told Joel that night from the hotel room; the things he told his friends, the things they said back to me.

“There was a lot of talk about my weight from extended family members,” I say. I haven’t picked my nails raw today but I’m so close to doing so. “Some of it was sexual, too. I ended up switching my flight and came home early, I don’t think it really affected me though.”

“So…” She leans back in her chair, flips the page in her book. “I’m establishing a timeline, you went into treatment between your undergrad and grad school and then got your own apartment when you came out.”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“So, predictability in who would be in your space and when, similar to treatment. When you graduated and passed all your exams and certifications, you started at the hospital.”

“Yes.”

“Twelve hour shifts, schedules made a month in advance, predictability, not in how the day would go but, what was expected of you. Like treatment. Even when you take an extra shift, you do that having already prepared out your month and how your meals would look. So it’s not throwing a wrench in your routine at all in those moments, it's just”—hand in the air, she turns her wrist as if she’s begging for the words to come—“you’re stepping in to fill a gap with a thing you’re good at, because you do what is expected of you. Like treatment.” 

Shaking my head, I tell her I don’t understand and listen as she explains her thinking.

Explains that, in an effort to protect myself and the hard work I put in—in both my education and my body image—I took steps to ensure I could not slip up in either. I got my own space because something I’d always lacked was autonomy in my environment. She said I thrived in my hectic job because, like the common areas of a residential treatment facility, it may be unexpected and unpredictable and vary day by day but I could take that on because I had my own space to retreat to and I transferred what was expected of me there into real life too.

“So how has that…” A deep breath. “How does that… I don’t know what question I should be asking right now.”

“Sometimes not having the answers is okay and I think that you struggle with being okay with that,” the older woman says. “I appreciate that you want them, and that you obviously came here for that purpose, but I’m not the one who can provide them for you, Alison.” 

I want to fucking scream.

Again, I feel like I wasted money by being there.

Yes, I went to her for answers and, again, I've left with nothing.

I feel as though I’ve learned nothing because that’s exactly how I feel about this. All we did was talk in circles just to be told that I like to feel useful. 

“But I already knew that,” I tell Joel. “I don’t understand what this has to do with what I went there for.”

“Baby,” he lifts his head off the pillow, curls mussed in every direction. “You said you didn’t know what you went there for, she’s just trying to get at that.” 

He’s watching me from the bed, tucked naked into the sheets and listening as I summarize the day. Which feels like it’s been long but, really, it hasn’t been. I napped between the time of leaving work and going to see Dr. Bonner. After, I met with Jenny to run over some plans for the bachelorette party; the rehearsal dinner; the wedding itself.

“No, I know what I said, Joel, I just… I want to know how to fix this shit, baby.”

“But that's what she said, isn’t it?” He asks. “Alison, she said you want the answers but she can’t give them to you and I agree.”

Looking up at his reflection in the mirror, I ask him what he means.

He sits up further, resting his arms on his knees as he brings them close to his chest beneath the covers. “How mad at me would you be if I didn’t answer you?”

There is a frustrated whine building in my chest but his laughter might as well throw water on it as he holds his arms out and begs me to finally come to bed.

When I fold myself against him, he trails the back of his knuckle along the length of my nose and smiles. “I know it’s really only been a week but you look a lot better, baby,” he whispers. “Your color’s coming back.”

“Can you just tell me what you meant?” I ask him. “Because if I needed to have all the answers, then I really would’ve insisted on you telling me what you were going to say when we argued last month, but I need this one.”

Eyebrows furrowed, he purses his lips as he searches my face—my eyes. “So you are still holding onto that?” 

I very much am.

“No, it was just an example.” 

He calls bullshit in the space between his lips and mine before the kiss he presses into me and then again whispered into my ear. “I think you like knowing what to do because you feel it determines where you stand with people,” he says. “I think maybe you were doing okay with that, I think that you were accommodating us really well.” Propping his head up on his hand as he pushes himself lower into the blankets, he takes a deep breath. “I think having to go home is what sent you spiraling,” he says on the exhale. “And I think that instead of picking up on it like I should have, encouraging you to set your balance right again, I brought a kid into your life.”

“Stop,” I tell him. “It wasn’t your responsibility to set my spiral right.”

“Yeah, but then after that, you started seeing your friend Jenny again and she is not nice to you, baby. Don’t you think it’s weird that her wedding is this month and you only just got asked to be a bridesmaid in March?”

“What are you saying?” 

Joel takes a deep breath. “It’s all connected, Alison.” He’s got one hand up my shirt again, its permanent home when we’re laying with one another. I go to sleep with at least one large hand cupping a breast so often that I can feel the weight even when I sleep alone. “Nobody’s saying you can’t handle big things but the number of big things that have been offsetting you the last few months is a lot.” 

May 17, 2003: 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Joel turns, both coffee cups in his hands, and he stares at me through the open French doors that lead into his office with his eyebrow raised.

“Is everything okay?”

He’d just said again we should go out and look for a new suit for him, something nice enough to wear to the wedding but can be dressed down if he wants to take me somewhere fancy.

I’ve been chewing on the experience of that brunch since it happened, barely spoken to any of them but the bride herself. Blamed it on work and, to an extent, that was true.

Work helped, too, because I couldn’t sit and think too hard on it all.

But he told me that the way to protect him was to tell him things, not keep them from him. I keep putting off shopping to buy him a suit but I haven’t told him why. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea that you go to the wedding with me”—I hold my hand up to stop him before he can speak—“baby, I’ve been thinking a lot about this and you’re right, Jenny isn’t very nice to me and neither are the rest of our friends really and they’re not very nice to you.”

Joel’s face twists up and I can already hear the question forming in his head before it reaches his lips.

“Jenny told everybody I didn’t go to that other lunch because of you,” I go on. “Then at that stupid brunch a couple of weeks ago, I talked about pulling shifts in other departments to see if I could like it more and, before I could finish, Jenny turned it into some bullshit about how you were forcing me to leave my job.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“They were insinuating you were abusing me, Joel.” Leaning forward, I reach for him in the hopes he’ll give me his hand. Instead, he pulls me up and into his lap in the chair opposite.

“I'm sorry,” he says into my temple, one hand cradling the crown of my head as the other curves across my hip. “You're right, that isn’t very nice of them.”

I tell him that they didn’t let me get a single full sentence out the entire time. “They just sat there continuing to tell me that I deserve better but, really, I think they’re just upset that I have something good.”

“I think I should still go, baby,” he says. “We could prove them wrong.”

Framing his face with my hands, I tell him no. “You are my good man and I don’t need to prove that to anybody because it’s what I know. I also know these girls, they’re going to twist however we interact and their husbands are macho, banker fucking douchebags.”

Chest to chest, he runs his hand down my back and back up before twisting his fingers in my hair, silence—uncomfortable—between us.

“I made you sad.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he shrugs. “Just hate that, that happened and I don’t really like that people could think that of me.” 

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

Shaking his head, he tells me it’s okay. “Like I said, I’m used to girls like Jenny treating me like shit, Alison, but I’m a little upset I don’t get to dress up with my girlfriend and”—he rocks his head from side to side like he’s looking for the words—“it makes me sad that you’ll have to go to this thing I know is going to be a lot for you and you’re going to have to do it alone.”

“I'm used to it.”

“Maybe so,” he continues, callused fingers now trailing across my cheek and down my jaw. “But with everything we’ve been talking about—“

“I'll be fine,” I insist.

“Okay.”

I know he doesn’t want to but he drops it, pulls me closer in the early morning light spilling into the room and kisses me instead. There’s frustration pouring out of him, wrapping up in that sadness. I hate that I told him. I hate that I had to. 

Besides, I found out the other day that Jenny only asked me to be in her wedding because somebody else dropped out and I was the right height and weight to match the other members of her party. She’d sent out the invitations months ago, just didn’t have my address—sure did find my phone number when she needed it.

I don’t tell Joel that part; I didn’t. Honestly, I really didn’t feel like I could. I’m nursing enough of that hurt on my own, I don’t want him feeling anymore of that on my behalf. 

May 21, 2003: 

“I thought about what you said.” 

This is my third session and I keep wondering if it’ll get easier.

If the round and round conversations will make sense.

“What part?” She asks.

“The part about how I crave answers,” I tell her. “I was with Joel the other day and we were talking about how I kind of got knocked off my axis recently, does that make sense?”

“A little,” she says. “I’d like to understand further.”

“H-he said that he thinks I was fine at accommodating a change into my life when we had just started dating but then I had to go home and we talked about how that spiraled me further.”

She nods, “and how do you feel that connects with your need for answers?”

“I was thinking that, like”—I start picking at my nails again—“I’ve had rules surrounding everything my whole life, you know?”

“Yes,” she nods again, scratching into her paper.

“The answers have always been there,” I go on. “They’ve been given to me and, when I had my own space, I just took what I already knew from before and applied it to there. I’ve never really put my own boundaries in place and then things just kept happening and happening.”

Putting her pen down and looking up at me, she says, “I think you’ve got it.”

May 25, 2003: 

“Hey, baby, can we talk?”

For the last half hour, we’ve been crammed into the bathtub of his tiny primary bedroom en suite. Originally, it was just me in here, taking his suggestion to soak my legs after our hike this morning.

I hadn’t even realized that the clock had ticked over into midnight the second time I ran new water; I didn’t really care. But then he came into the room and leaned against the door jamb asking me when I’d turned into a mermaid and joking about how I was running up his bill.

The only complaint heard when I asked him to get in here with me was when I refused to scoot forward so he could be behind me.

Everything was soft groans as he sunk into the water and laid back on me; as I washed his body and his hair.

Now, though… now I don’t like his tone.

“Everything okay?”

One large palm covers my hand where it’s resting on his chest and he turns his lips into my bicep. “Everything’s fine, PG, put your overthinking cap away, please.” 

More slow breaths; more slow kisses into the skin of my arm.

A deep breath. “I was talking with Tommy about the wedding and—I don’t fucking know, sweetheart, how upset I still am that I won’t be there with you. You know? I’d kind of had my heart set on being your trophy boy,” he laughs out.

“Joel, I’m—“

“Nope, don’t do that,” he tells me. “I understand why, you don’t have to be sorry and I love you so much for thinking through all the layers of involving me. That don’t mean I don’t have feelings about it, you know?”

“Yeah, baby,” I affirm. 

I can feel his insecurities cropping up, his fears; the ones I thought we’d started chipping away at. 

Break my heart but do it quick, he’d begged. He waited for the other shoe to drop and I’d chucked it without warning.

Our chests rise and fall in time, the water moving gently all around us.

“Please don’t feel bad, I don’t want you to,” he goes on. “But I was talking with Tommy about it and he suggested we go camping over the weekend, just me and him out in the middle of the woods being fucking stinky as you like to call us.” 

“Okay.”

“I just”—water sloshes over the edge of the tub as he sits up and turns towards me—“I’ll have my phone, of course, but I just don’t think I would feel very nice sitting here while you’re there knowing what I know about what they’ve said and how they treat you. Does that make sense?”

When I tell him that it does, he kisses me and gets out of the tub, says he’ll meet me in bed. But he’s not there when I follow behind a few minutes later. Instead, I can hear him down the stairs tuning the guitar, picking at the strings until it’s just right.

He plays occasionally, even brings it up here or to the apartment and serenades me. One time, he told me he wrote me a song but then he ended up making one up on the spot about the grumpy face I apparently make in my sleep.

Usually, when I hear the guitar, I go off in search of it and him. Sometimes, he tells me he’s glad he didn’t get to go off and be a singer, because he met me and that’s better than having the songs he wrote listened to. Which, of course, I called bullshit on. Still, he said he liked having an audience of one and the way my face lit up when I realized he’d learned Wild Horses.

Tonight, though, I decide to let him be.

May 30, 2003: 

Babysitting drunk girls was a college activity I thought I’d never have to repeat but here the fuck we are.

I have been up for fucking days in preparation for running around this weekend—to make somebody else’s big day amazing—and now I am holding back the hair of a grown ass woman who cannot hold three shots and a margarita.

Between the doubles and triples in preparation for time off for this and Joel’s doubles and preparations for camping, I’ve not seen him this week. Not really. We slept beside each other last night, but I came in very late from the rehearsal dinner only to wake up to a note saying he’d gone to work and was going camping from there.

“I think I got vomit on your shoes, Madison,” a girl I studied with every Wednesday night slurs at me. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you should buy new ones.”

“Yeah,” I say, tone flat as I look down. “I'll get right on that.”

The wedding is tomorrow afternoon and I’ve suggested a few times that we cut the party short on the alcohol and switch to water and electrolytes but, as usual, I’ve been ignored.

At one point, I was able to step away and out into the fresh air away from all the sweaty bodies and overlapping noise. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath against the bullshit until then, when I’d opened my phone to see two voicemails waiting; both from Joel to tell me that he loves me and he’s sorry if I think he’s mad at me. When I tried to call back, though, just to have a conversation in real time and not through voicemails, his phone doesn’t even ring.

Already, I know I’ll be the babysitter in the bridal suite tomorrow morning, making sure everybody’s hydrated and fed just enough that they don’t end up puking on the altar.

This week, Dr. Bonner—Julia—and I started talking about boundaries. I’m a people pleaser, I need to feel useful and have all the answers. I also know what is expected of me in various aspects, I know what I need to do; but where nursing and treatment are concerned, I have it all written out for me. When it comes to real life and navigating social situations, I don’t have that playbook folded up in my back pocket waiting to guide me. So, essentially, I don’t know how to set things up outside of strict regimen.

When I told Drea all this, she rolled her eyes and said she’d been telling me that for years; that I’d just been winging it on a steady diet of exhaustion and caffeine. She said she expected backpay of whatever I gave to this doctor.

I told both her and the therapist what I found out about Jenny’s wedding, that I’m just a stand in for who she really asked; that I wasn’t even originally invited; that she and everybody else made up wild rumors about Joel and my relationship with him right in front of my face; that I’d told him I didn’t want him coming to the wedding with me.

What I hate most is how bad it hurt him, this attempt at protecting him. Keep it in and he hurts, tell him and he hurts. The therapist said some bullshit about these just being growing pains, maybe she’s right. Drea suggested that maybe he’s upset because he wants to be told so that he can help and telling him I didn’t want him at the wedding meant that he couldn’t do that. I’m not sure which option made me feel better and which one made me feel worse but they both combined to drop a weight straight to the bottom of my stomach.

It doesn’t help that I’ve only heard the voice of his past self in my messages all week.

But, still, I’m here, surrounded by bad electronic music and literal fucking teenagers on ecstasy. 

I never really got the point of clubs. Bars are fine but clubs are… a lot. A lot and so young. I can’t help but see Sarah in every babyfaced girl with too much make up and low rise jeans they can’t even sit in. Not really speaking to her father this week means that I haven’t really spoken to her. She’s probably at McKenzie’s this weekend but, still, I wish I’d been able to see her; celebrate the end of school with her. 

“Madison! Madison!” Fingers snap in front of my face and I realize that they’ve been attempting to get my attention for a few minutes now. “Do a shot with us!”

“My name is Alison!” I yell over the music. “And I really don’t want to drink, thank you!” 

“Um, I’m the bride,” Jenny says, “and I’m commanding you to take a shot!”

Shaking my head, I reiterate that I don’t want to drink, trying to ignore the saltwater sting in my eyes.

“Oh, is your boyfriend not letting you do that, too?” She asks, pouting out her lips.

“I think our friend Madison—“

“Alison,” I repeat.

“—might still have the stick up her ass she had in college.” 

Jenny puts a shot in front of me, tells me if I don’t drink it that she’s going to make me. Because she’s the bride and the bride gets what she wants.

Instead, I excuse myself to the bathroom and head through the front door. My mind’s not really made up on what I’ll do once I’m out there—just stand and take in the fresh air or call down a cab to take me back home. Either way, I need to walk away.

Maybe that shit would’ve worked in 1991, and I do a lot of things that keep me stretched thin, but drinking on an empty stomach with people I don’t trust is not in my agenda for the twilight hours of my twenties.

May 31, 2003:

After five minutes had passed in the hot, stale, late May Austin air outside of the club, I had to go back or go home. 

I chose to go home.

There were several angry and drunken voicemails waiting for me when I woke up. Followed by a few new ones by the time I finished breakfast and switched the laundry over.

The wedding starts at three but one of the messages chastised me for not being at the hotel at seven like it’s some kind of shift start. I texted that the earliest I could make it was eleven; the make up artists weren’t even coming until then. 

Whatever the response, I feel like the atmosphere would’ve been the same again, especially after how Jenny reacted when I chose not to stay in the hotel with the group. I told her that I couldn’t afford it but, really, I knew that bringing up the fact that I already split my time between two places was just going to start some fucking discussion about my life that I’d end up being cut out of.

But now I’m sitting in the parking at close to ten and I feel like I’m the topic of discussion anyway. Which is self-centered and it’s not fair but, with the way they speak about me to my face, I can’t help but to spiral.

Either way, I don’t want it. 

The more I think about how Joel has reacted, the camping trip he went on to get away from this weekend, the worse I feel about being here at all. 

Truth be told, this is no different than how it usually is and I can handle it. It’s never made me feel like this when it was just me, but knowing how I’ve made Joel feel because of this.

Even with coffee in hand, it’s worse than I thought it would be because it starts with why I didn’t offer to bring coffee to everybody else. Apparently, I have a phone and it works just fine but I know by now that’s not how Jenny feels about hers. 

It’s a day and it’s… it’s a day. Everything is long and loud and drunk. After going off to the bathroom, I come back to find that my mimosa I insisted on being just orange juice was mixed with champagne anyway.

Maybe it would be better if I could hear Joel’s voice but everything goes straight to voicemail.

By the time I get my make up done, I’ve already zipped up the god awful fucking dress I had to buy which, really, isn’t all that bad. Still, I’ve got pangs of shame built up in my belly over just how easily it sits and the smell of whatever’s on the make up artist’s breath isn’t exactly helping. 

Again, not really a word in edgewise. I know by now that I’m just here for the pictures; the optical illusion of prosperity; the visual representation of being a good person. The more people surrounding you equals the more people who love you equals the more you can show how giving and available you are. 

When I check my purse, there are several missed calls. At first I think it’s Joel but it ends up just being the hospital. I delete the voicemails without listening; I blacked out the days specifically, I almost never do that so, if they need an extra set of hands, I can’t be it.

It rings again as I start to put it away. 

Hospital.

Rejecting the call, I toss it into my purse to go in search of what I opened it for—a lipstick that doesn’t make me look like a vampire’s midnight snack.

A vibration; another voicemail.

When I open it up to delete it, another call comes through—Drea.

The clock reads 2:38, we have to go down soon but I can’t leave this one.

“Hello?”

My name is echoing through each ear, one open to the room behind me and one pressed to the receiver.

Drea’s saying something else but I can’t hear her over the calls to join in on the pre-wedding shots the girls are about to take. 

Waving them off, I walk into the bathroom and ask her to repeat herself as I lock the door behind me.

“—calling you for half an hour.” With the celebrations of Jenny’s impending loss of virginity—please—muffled by the closed door, her voice finally comes through.

Opening the lipstick with my phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, I tell her that I blacked these days out as I take in my half dead, un-blushed reflection. I can’t remember if the other girls looked like this or if it’s just me.

“I know you did, Sonny, but look—you need to come to the hospital.”

Trying to run my fingers through the hairspray the stylist said would tame my flyaways, I tell her again that I blacked the days out. “I know it must be bad already if they’ve got you working on a Saturday but I can’t, we’re about to walk—“ 

“Alison, they called me because I’m your emergency contact

Maybe the make up was a prediction from the artist because any color I did have drains from me. “What’s wrong?” 

Already, I feel like I’m going in a million different directions as the sounds outside the door mute down to nothing. Replaced by some high pitched sound I can only imagine is the frequency at which my heart is vibrating in my chest. 

“Is it Joel?” I ask her. Is this why his phone’s been going straight to voicemail?

“It's Sarah,” she says.

Drea goes on to say that she’s okay but somebody starts banging at the door. There’s something about not being able to get ahold of Joel; Tommy. 

 “Uh—yeah.” There’s no trying to separate the hairspray with my fingers anymore as they push right through. The nerves of it all—of this phone call—have me ignoring the pain I pull from my scalp. I’m just thankful Jenny opted to not put anybody’s hair through the torture of a bad senior prom photo moment. “Are you there? Wh-who’s there with her? Is she okay?”

“She’s okay,” Drea responds.

Her calm would make me feel better if I didn’t know how trained she was in giving news like this; how skilled; how comforting she can be.

The banging gets louder and my name is being shouted on the other side of the door. Right, we have to walk down soon—we have to walk down now.

“Just… I’ll be right there.” 

I open the door to a fist almost in my face, one of the other girls poised to bang on the door again. 

“I—“

“Save it, we have to go.”

Telling her I can’t, I head towards my purse; the small bag of my clothes beside it.

One of them is jumping up and down by the door, repeating, “come on, come on, come on,” like that is going to make anybody be ready any faster. 

Everybody is all over the place, last minute make up details as more hairspray particles fly through the air than oxygen. That same girl from the door—Cameron? Kaitlin?—is following me through to the hallway asking where I’m going and telling me that I don’t need my bag downstairs.

“My boyfriend’s daughter had an accident at her friend’s,” I tell her. She’s not one of the girls I went to school with; I think she’s Jenny’s cousin—the maid of honor. That role wasn’t really clear as Jenny had whoever was available follow her around like a kicked dog but it’s definitely her, her dress is different from everybody else’s; different color; different details. “Her dad’s on a camping trip so I have to be there.” 

“Oh my god, are you leaving?” Jenny’s voice.

I turn on an apology, try to explain the situation again but all she gives me is a disgusted look, says she paid for the dress and everything but I remind her she didn’t. I remind her that it was actually my money that went towards this dress but I’d be happy to send her the credit card bill if she’d like to remedy that. Whatever look she wore before, it gets worse and more twisted as she pulls back like I’ve slapped her.

"This isn't like you,” she says and I can see the true color of her skin as the surface of her foundation cracks like a too dry desert. She calls me selfish as I cross the threshold into the elevator but all I can do is shrug. It feels good, it feels like me. This is the me that met Joel and Tommy. This is the me that exists at work and it makes sense how easily I’ve found all my words to assert myself and not give in. Because that is always what I put forth for the patients under my care. 

I was okay biting my tongue and bearing it when it was me, I told myself Jenny needed me more than I needed peace—that I’d made a commitment as I’d repeated so often. But I made a commitment to Joel, too, even if it’s not really been named or verbalized. Jenny may have needed me more than I needed peace but Sarah needs me more than anybody else could right now.

As I press for the lobby and the elevator doors slide closed, I hear one or two expletives I’m shocked would come out of the mouth of such a good, virginal, Christian woman and the threat that we will never be friends again.

Truth be told, that doesn’t sound like much of a threat at all.

It all goes to voicemail.

The calls to Joel.

The calls to Tommy.

Knowing it’s unintentional doesn’t help because I don’t even know where he went. He told me he’d have his cellphone and he would never allow himself to not be reached for Sarah’s sake and, still, none of this is putting my mind at ease. He could be at a campground.

He could be in the middle of the woods.

He could be fucking dead and eaten by coyotes in the middle of rural Texas but I don’t know that, nobody knows that, because we can’t reach him.

Swiping my badge for the staff entrance, I catch the first nurse I see and ask if she knows what room Sarah’s in with a description: fourteen year old Black girl, tall and slender, hazel eyes, curly black hair—I wish I knew what she was wearing, probably that shirt she got at that concert.

“Sorry, Murphy,” she shakes her head. “I haven’t seen any kids admitted back.” 

Before I can thank her, the head nurse for the weekends—Tammy—interrupts. She’s an older woman, maybe in her sixties, with completely white hair and kind grey eyes. “Alison”—she beckons to me despite the fact that she’s closing the distance—“you look like you’ve seen a ghost so I’m going to need you to take a big breath for me.” 

She tells me Sarah’s up in pediatrics. Says she came in about an hour ago with her friend and her friend’s mom, an accident at the skating rink and my memory is jogged. She had a seventies themed birthday party this weekend, wanted to dress up like a flower child with blue eyeshadow.

“We gave her some pain meds but we had a combative patient situation so I thought it would be better if she were up in pediatrics waiting to be seen. She grabs my arm as I turn towards the elevator and asks me to take a breath again. “You look like you’re having a fucking panic attack, Murph, but that little girl is scared and you were the only person she was asking for.”

This elevator is more comfortable than the hotel one; something about the combination of old linoleum flooring and layers of quaternary ammonia is grounding in this moment. Part of me wishes I’d changed but I couldn’t at the hotel and I really didn’t want to bother dropping into a changing room in case somebody caught me and tried to get me to work.

I can hear Sarah’s giggling before I even reach the nurse’s station on this floor just as the girl at the desk—Kara—is looking up and telling me I look nice. 

“Miller?” 

“Second on the right, Murph.” 

There is no relief. Not the kind I thought I would feel when I finally see her anyway. Even though she’s smiling with two deeply pocketed dimples that run up to crinkle the butterfly wing that sprouts from each eye, she is clearly in pain and her arm is very clearly broken.

“Alison!”

“Hi, sweetie.” I want to hug her but I don’t want to mess anything up, it doesn’t even look like the doctor or a nurse has been in yet. The older woman she’s with—McKenzie’s mom, Susan—tells me as much. 

“Blood pressure? Type of pain management?” I’m so embarrassed that this is how I look, like some wedding set Barbie from the Dollar Store, the first time I’m meeting her.

She shakes her head, “they did all that downstairs and then sent us up here, that wasn’t too long ago but we’ve only been here for about an hour.”

“When did the accident happen? What time?”

She looks at her watch. “About noon, maybe a few minutes after. Tried to call Joel and Tommy to see where to take her but couldn’t get through, I knew they wouldn’t be able to come get her but I would’ve met them wherever they wanted me to take her.” She pulls out a notebook and a pen. “Sarah told us to try you but didn’t have your number, said she knew what hospital you worked at though and that they would get you but I’d like to have it, too, in case of emergencies.”

I give her both the cell and the hospital switchboard so she won’t have to sit on hold if she has to call here, then apologize for how I look. “It's really nice to meet you,” I tell her. “Sarah talks about you and McKenzie all the time.”

“Well, the same can be said for you but I’m sorry we pulled you away from your event.”

Waving her off, I thank her. “This is more important to me, I’m glad you came here and I’m glad they didn’t make you wait three hours like they did with Joel.” 

“Your name seems to carry a lot of weight downstairs and one of the girls recognized Joel’s name as well so it probably got us the VIP treatment.”

All I can say again is thank you. I don’t know what else there is to say right now, I’m too focused on Sarah’s giggles and the way she’s lighting up with McKenzie.

“I know you’re a nurse,” Susan starts, voice low as she leans closer to me. “But take it from a mom of four that stuff like this just happens but these babies are made out of rubber, they bounce back.” 

We sit there a little longer and I examine the med chart; just like Joel’s its bare bones chicken scratch with a normal BP and basic information. 

Susan asks if it’s okay that she leaves Sarah with me, she needs to get home to her other kids and I tell her that’s fine. “I’ve got keys to the house, I can come by today or tomorrow to pick up her stuff?”

Shaking her head, she tells me no, that she’ll drop it by later. “My son has a soccer game over near your house, it’ll just be easier and y’all can rest.”

When she leaves, Sarah asks if I’m angry at her.

“For what, sweetie?” 

“Pulling you away from your friends?”

I tell her I couldn’t be mad at her for that. “It makes me really happy that you came to me when you couldn’t get ahold of your dad and that you remembered what hospital I work at. I’ll write my number down for you in your emergency book.”

“Oooooor,” her eyes light up, smile growing wider. “You could convince dad to finally get me a cellphone of my own, you know…for safety.” 

“Oh, of course,” I agree. “Safety.”

She’s talking again but now I’m focused on her eyes, the way she’s sitting. There’s a silk flower in her hair, one we got from the craft store last week to complete her costume, but it’s stuck at an awkward position.

“Hey, Sarah, did you hit your head when you fell?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. I landed pretty much directly on my arm, why?”

“I’m just making sure we cover everything we need to while we’re here.” In my purse is my stethoscope and penlight and I explain to her what I’m looking for as I ask more about the fall.

Pupils dilating appropriately, she follows my fingers with her eyes. Part of me wants to demand a CT scan but I also don’t want to put her through that; if she says she didn’t hit her head then I believe her. 

She says her arm broke her fall but I still ask if it’s okay if I listen to her lungs.

“What would my lungs tell you?”

“Your breathing can help determine whether or not ribs could be fractured”—I really would demand CT then—“Do they feel tender at all?” 

She shakes her head but lets me check anyway.

“When is the doctor going to get here?” She asks. “I'm getting hungry.” 

“I have no idea but I’m about to take you back for x-rays myself because I am right there with you.”

It takes another hour or so to be finished as the doctor finally comes in and talks everything over with me. I changed while they took x-rays—clean break—and then watch as Sarah puts on a brave face while they set and cast the arm. All they gave her was children’s Tylenol in the emergency department; I told her she could squeeze my hand until it breaks and cuss if she needs to. 

When I’ve got her tucked into the car, I ask if she knows what pain medications she has at the house—she doesn’t—and what she wants to eat—Taco Bell. 

At the pharmacy, she’s asking me questions as I go through the options on the shelf and what they do.

“So, this one”—I hold the red bottle up—“blocks your brain from hearing your nerves tell you you’re in pain and this one”—the blue bottle—“does the same thing but it also helps reduce swelling so that you get more blood flow around the area to help you heal.” 

“How many Matrix jokes do you think dad’s going to make?”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about it until you said that so thank you,” I say. “And he’s going to make a lot.”

I tried to call him again, still no answer. Left a voicemail to accompany my others with an update. Out of the hospital; getting Taco Bell; please be careful coming home. 

After her shower, she asks for help with getting the cling wrap off of her arm and asks if I can help her take her make up off.

“You look happier since you changed at the hospital,” she says.

This is the closest we’ve been to each other and the most time we’ve ever spent together just us. “Thank you,” I tell her, rubbing gently at one of the butterfly wings. They’re temporary tattoos, we found them at Claire’s. “But I wouldn’t say I’m happy, it just helped to be more comfortable.”

“So…” She looks up at me with a bitten lip. “You are mad?” 

Shaking my head, I insist again that I’m not. “I was scared,” I say. “You needed me to not be so I put on the clothes that felt more like me and I was able to push it away.” 

“But you’re in daddy’s shirt,” she says. “It smells like him, too. How does that make you feel more like yourself?”

Unsure if this is a sinking feeling or the floating kind, I ask her what her dad has told her about us. I want to answer her honestly but I want to do so within the context he has felt comfortable sharing with her already. But part of it is to protect myself, too. Because if I tell her it’s because I love him—even if I haven’t told him—it might just rip me apart if she says he’s told her things just aren’t that serious. And she doesn’t need somebody ripped apart right now, she needs an adult. 

She catches on to all of that, though—the fear and the anxiety I’m holding in anticipation of her answer. Joel doesn’t say much, apparently. Which I figured because, for all the nervous, late night confessions of his feelings to me, this is big and he likes to think before steps are taken. But she goes on to say that what he does say is so obviously barely scratching the surface of what he wants to share.

“I think he maybe doesn't want you to feel like he’s forcing you to like me,” I suggest. “Or insisting upon it. He wants you to make your own decision about me.”

She nods and asks again how wearing his clothes made me feel more like me when I was scared earlier.

“It's not that wearing it made me feel more like me,” I explain. “It’s more like I’m the most me when I’m with him and wearing his shirt made feel like he was with me even if he wasn’t. Does that make sense?”

Quiet stretches between us and I can see the gears turning in her head until she finally nods. “I feel like I’m the most me when I’m with him, too,” she says. “Sometimes, when I have a lot happening at school, I carry around a picture of us. It got to the point where I was carrying it around so much that I finally just hung it in my locker.”

Nodding, I tell her that makes sense, too. I tell her, as well, that she can talk to me about what’s going on if she ever wants to; but I can tell that she doesn’t so I let it go and go back to helping her remove the make up.

“That dress was really pretty,” she says after a few beats of silence. “I know you said it was uncomfortable but you looked really nice in it.”

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s not so much that it was uncomfortable, I just felt uncomfortable in it. I’m not really a fancy dress kind of girl but it was really pretty—I like the color.” 

“That's actually my favorite color,” she says.

“Well then, I will save it for you and, for your next school dance, I will alter it to fit you.”

“Really?” She perks up, half a wing left on her eye. “Do you think you’ll be here for that?” 

She goes on before I can answer, taking advantage of the silence and confusion before it can really settle in. She tells me about the last girlfriend and how she was just gone one day. “I accidentally called her mom,” she says, features fading back into sadness. “I was really young but I think that freaked her out.”

“Oh.” 

“My dad really loves you so I just—I don’t know, I hope calling you today didn’t freak you out, too.” 

Again, I reassure her that it didn’t; that I’m happy she called me because it means she feels safe with me and I want to be a person she feels safe with. But I see where her fears are, how they so closely align with Joel’s.

“Those friends I was with, by the way,” I say as I take the last of the make up off, “they’re not very nice to me but, even if they were, I still would’ve chosen you over a wedding.”