#✦ ⫽ study ... no one wants a half-remembered tragedy.

[ambitiouslyher]

nina has a very sensitive sense of smell. or, at least, more heightened and sensitive than most. it's a weakness that she's learned to deal with , but could come at a disadvantage in certain situations. very strong scents can give her headaches and make her nauseous.

this can also come as an advantage since she keenly remembers fragrances that people often use ( like perfume, detergent, soaps, etc. ) and could use that to identify others or know when they've been around.

[capslocked]

SERENDIPITY

male reader x kwon eunbi

18k words

Before the attraction ferments, Eunbi says, kiss me properly and pull me apart. or, Where all your little tragedies begin.

-

If you want to start getting technical, you’re Minju's plus one to the gala, and that’s already a lot, a lot, a lot to unpack.

She’d gotten whipped into a bad mood that evening before you even had your shoes on, all on account of your apparent inability to distinguish cobalt from azure, and now should anyone have the wherewithal to examine the fabric of her dress, your tie, maybe with a forensic kit, they’d discover the two are not actually matching. If there was any part of you at all inclined toward keeping up appearances, you probably wouldn’t be content with a career in radio broadcast. But here you are, surrounded by actors, actresses, idols, and everyone who thinks the cut of their jaw is just a little better than everyone else’s - the kind of people who feel entitled to time in front of a camera.

Networking, is how Minju ends up pitching it to you, and now it makes the whole thing seem a lot like work and it’s actually kind of exhausting.

It’s not even an open bar either, as she had originally advertised.

You pay - get this - you pay twenty-three dollars for a vodka tonic and it comes with so much ice you’re not totally unconvinced you could build an igloo. So when everything starts to go to shit, nearing the end of drink number one, you’re not even slurring your words. Tipsy, perhaps; just slightly. To the point you can feel it in your fingers. But nothing like a good excuse.

It’s about then that Eunbi navigates her way around the bar - unnerving, enough to make the sweat grow cold.

On account of her being fucking gorgeous, you end up watching her closely: notice first that she’s carrying a pair of heels in her hand, completely barefoot, and you have no idea what that’s about, but you end up more fixated on the fact that she slides herself into the barstool on your left - which comes across as something of an omen, given that the rest are completely unoccupied. It’s only thirty, forty minutes into the event and people are still plenty busy with that thing where they fake smiles at each other until they feel like they fit in, showing, with bare minimal effort, that they too can mingle with entertainment’s elite.

Now, you don’t actually recognize her, not right away that is. The last you’d seen her, she had her hair cut right above her shoulders and its shade was a serious degree blonder than the current iteration - now curtaining her face as she studies the drink menu and flips it over several times in her dainty hands.

After a long minute, she looks up, interrupts the bartender from polishing a piece of glassware, and orders an old fashioned, substitute brandy, leave out the orange peel, with sugar on the rim. If it’s not the usual amendments that give her away, it’s the saccharine-sweet flavor of her voice, lilting in a manner that’s instantly unmistakable.

Eunbi, you’re guessing aloud, a little apprehensive, and immediately you retreat behind the liquor in your glass. She turns to you, slowly, knuckles masking the subtle quirk in her lips at first, before letting her chin rest on the heel of her palm to reveal a flash of her signature hundred-kilowatt smile.

“Oh,” she says, and she’s blinking with clear amusement that you remember her name - as if you could ever forget it, as if these run-ins were somehow infrequent; you’d only both been plotting orbits around the same star that was Minju for the past couple years. Her head tilts, lips parting to ask, “your date ditch you already?”

She’s half-right.

“You break a heel?” you ask her, nodding toward the pair of black t-strap heels she’d tossed onto the bar counter with a defeated sigh.

“Maybe.” Eunbi drags a dark lock of hair back behind her ear. It falls almost immediately back in front of her face and it ends up staying there until the bartender places her drink in front of her. “But my question first.”

For the record, there’s nothing here particularly novel worth dwelling on. It’s always some provocation or another with Eunbi, you remember now, as she holds you with a stare, eyes wide and brilliant; she sails through life all with the confidence of someone very aware of how pretty she is - knows precisely what she can get away with, right down to the letter of the law. The dress hugging tight to her isthmus of a waist is evidence of exactly that - tighter each time you look - so if you’re waiting for her to get it wrong, don’t hold your breath.

“Minju’s having a moment,” you tell her, “it’s not like she doesn’t know where to find me.”

“Hm.” She pauses to take a careful sip of her drink, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she places the glass onto a square napkin. Folds her hands in her lap and asks, “can you explain something to me?”

“If I say no, are you going to ask anyway?”

Eunbi nods to herself, dry laugh telling you it was as rhetorical as you thought. “Seriously, how is it you two are always fighting?”

We’re not always fighting, you want to say, before Eunbi makes a face. She has this uncanny effect on you - raising an eyebrow and tilting her chin as though she were disappointed; the sharp edge to her smile, half challenge, half something far less kind. It could rip truth from the most reluctantly tight-lipped of privacies. “We’re working on it,” you tell her.

“Oh?” she asks, leaning in. 

“God, you don’t have to say it like that.” The ice clinks in your glass as you toss it back, finding it lamentably empty. “You make me feel like I have to repeat myself a thousand times - we are,” you add, “we’re working on it.”

“There’s something that keeps you together, clearly,” Eunbi says, pressing her finger to her lips before fixing you with dark eyes and an easy, charming grin. 

She has you figured out, to some extent: knows how you’ll slip up for a girl with a pretty smile, prettier eyes, all the sorts of errors you’ll start to allow when you start cataloging the curves of her body, inventorying how they taper impossibly at her waist, flaring again at her hips, her fucking chest, the way they all look under the tight fit of that damn dress-

“The make-up sex really that good, huh?”

You almost, almost choke on the ice cube you’d been sucking to keep yourself entertained.

“Optimistic to think there is any,” you admit, regretting it right away - like think about it: there’s absolutely nothing good that could possibly come of that. “That’s just how it goes.”

Eunbi looks downright triumphant. More than usual. “Oh, sweetie.”

She waves over the bartender and asks him for another whatever it was you were drinking, because she’d hate to see you go dry, and as he’s turning around she shouts over his shoulder, go ahead and make it two, actually. You don’t realize it, but you’re beginning to study her, paying really close attention to all these little details - the sparkle of the bracelet on her slender arm, how it falls a few inches off the corner of her wrist as she gets her hand back in front of her face, raking her nails through all that thick, glossy hair, black as night - you don’t know what the feeling is that rears its head as you watch her, but it’s not completely unwelcome.

“What?” she asks as her eyes flick up to yours to catch you looking at her, closely, not that you’re gawking, but she lets you off the hook like you are - just gestures to the pitiful looking heel on the counter and shrugs. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

To be honest, it’s not that you lack basic foresight. In fact it’s shockingly easy to predict where this is going. Because here’s a quick behind the scenes tour on how these interactions usually play out: you’ve got your excuses, your trepidations, justifiably - the reality that you’re kind of already in a pretty high profile relationship key among them. And like clockwork, Eunbi readily finds you game for some flustering. Eunbi, who lays it on thick, comments seeped in innuendo and suggestion, whose glances linger perhaps a little long to be a fascinating coincidence. Eunbi, innocence and arrogance entwined, in the filthiest of minds. Eunbi, always with her fingers twirling her hair and wearing something just modest enough that makes it feel like it’s your fault for noticing that her figure is impeccable. You’ve not actually gathered much from your brief conversations other than that she likes to flirt with you, likes it even more when you’ve got your foot in your mouth, and instead of putting you out of your misery, keeps you suspended there, egging you on - this all beyond the fact that you’ve only really managed to learn the many different ways you want to undress Kwon Eunbi.

You want her pressed up against the wall of your apartment, among other places, one of those pleated skirts crumpling to a pile around her knees as she keens for you, and your hand busy sliding up between her thighs.

You want to listen to her sighs as you unfasten each of the white buttons on one of those collared shirts that stretches and aches to keep her chest concealed, how she’d hum in delight as you trail kisses down each new inch of soft pale skin that all would unveil. 

You want her in your lap when you fiddle with the latch of her bra until her tits spill out of its lacy fabric (it’s always lacy in your head), and she’s got you gasping for air, smothered, asphyxiated, dying, ascending, it’s all so, so great in theory.

It’s just that - some way or another - Eunbi looks at you like she knows all of that. You’ve been skirting around the issue for months.

“Tell me,” she starts, and suddenly, without warning, she has you under the microscope, reeling you further into the conversation, pulling at loose threads - where is Minju right now, are you still living together, does she help with chores, can you trust her, does she trust you - she grabs a handful of pretzels and watches you intently as you try and remain unruffled, diplomatic - are you generally happy with how things are going, when was the last time you had sex - you’re blindsided by that last one, or something, but that’s out there now, in the open.

“Uh.” Eunbi purses her lips. “You’re kidding.”

You just shrug.

“How long has it been now between you two? Like officially."

“I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

“Alright.” Eunbi clicks her tongue. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“My fourth year of university, her first,” you explain. Though never before have you felt as crooked about admitting that as you do at this moment. Others had often appreciated something about the impudence of it, but you’re doubting Eunbi’s going to be one of those people.

“Young,” Eunbi states, matter-of-factly. The look on her face says she’s thinking.

“Not that young.”

“You’re twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-five.”

“You’re-” Eunbi’s eyebrow’s knit together like she’s trying to remember something. “Wait, really?”

“Does that bother you?”

“Why would that bother me?”

You’re realizing that she’d gotten closer to you, only now pulling her stool along the floor to catch up with her, and she’d started whispering into the waning space between you as though there was anyone else in the bar you’d need to shield the contents of this conversation from. “It just seems like not a lot of time to get to know yourself. If I were you, I’d be relieved.”

You can’t fucking stop looking at her mouth, glossed pink lips, cupid’s bow and all that between her dimples; your voice comes out oddly thick. “You’re not me.”

“No,” Eunbi says, shaking her head, “I'm not. Here you are, in some miserable relationship to score good karma - I’m having way more fun.”

“Easy,” you warn her, and it comes across just antagonistic enough to let Eunbi know she’s pushing the right buttons, digging in the right place; god only knows what she’ll find.

“Really.” Her fingers start skimming the bottom of your tie, like it’s nothing at all. Like she doesn’t know what might happen if she starts touching you. “Let me guess,” she continues, “A real break-up is too  inconvenient or something right now, Minju doesn’t want the bad press, not when her career is still this fragile, because let’s face it-”

“It’s complicated.”

Eunbi smirks, not bothering to hold it back this time. The way she sees it, your usual excuses are losing their efficacy, quickly: you might not be single, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking about how good she looks in that tiny fucking excuse of a dress, how you’re hoping she might need to run off to the restroom later so you can see how her ass fills out the back of it, how it might look even better on the floor next to your bed - that you’re only a breath away, looking for pretext, perhaps just a little encouragement -

She rests her elbow on the counter, leans a cheek onto her fist, and angles herself against the bar so that the intoxicatingly low dip of her neckline is staring you right in the face, soft cleavage out on full fucking display. It’s not subtle. You never thought too hard about why Minju never invited Eunbi over. You’ll never need to.

“But - but I mean, I guess that’s the gist of it,” you feel inclined to add, stumbling a bit, figuring that if you steal away into the safety of your one true talent - talking - you might just resist the very present urge to reach forward and press your lips to hers. 

“You’re an accessory,” says Eunbi, unbothered, and her eyes take a lazy sweep from your face down to your waist. It’s a leer. “Though,” she murmurs, “can’t really say I can blame the girl.”

“First off, rude.” You’ve got a finger pointed to the ceiling when you say it. “Secondly-”

“Too nice for your own good, you know that?” Eunbi takes a sip from her glass, and after fixing a dark, stubborn strand of hair back behind her ear, she finds herself again in that anxious distance inches away from your nose. “Why don’t you have some fun with it?”

“Fun with what?”

“Just because you figure you’re going to go crawling back to her doesn’t mean you can’t take advantage of your-” she stops, eyes fixing to your lips before continuing, “situation.”

“Can I mention something to you?” You swallow once, twice. Now you’re both looking at each other’s mouths, breathing the same air. “You have a pretty fucked up perspective on interpersonal relationships.”

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” she asks, completely ignoring the assessment. Her fingernails skate along the counter until she’s pinching at the cuff of your sleeve, and her hair falls back in front of her face again, though this time she looks into your eyes like she’s waiting for you to move it out of the way.

“What are we doing right now?” you ask, agitation just beginning to rear its head. “What are you asking me?”

“I’m bored, and you’re the only other person here.”

“There’s, like, a million people here.”

“I mean right here,” she says, nodding to the broken heel on the counter and gesturing between your chests. “Besides, I like you.”

You really could surge up and kiss her, you realize. Her lips are so close, right there in front of you, and there’s not any sort of question of whether she’d let you. The part that scares you is you haven’t a fucking clue what you’d say when the moment comes to finally pull your mouth off hers, and that’s not something you’re usually trying to sort out. Nor are you really in a blathering mood, and now you’re imagining it: Eunbi’s expression all smug and haughty, something that could inspire a good blather - uh, did you just kiss me?

“Forgive me, but I feel like I need to point out,” Eunbi adds, mildly entertained, “most guys wouldn’t be asking this many questions.”

“I’m not most guys.”

“Uh, I am fully aware,” Eunbi says, running a fingertip along the length of her collarbone, slowly, and her voice dips out if its usual airy register into something less musical, more serious: “Do you even have a clue what I’d do for a guy like you?”

“Eunbi,” you say, harshly, not that it matters; she’s going to tell you.

“For starters,” she says, and her hand is around your tie, tugging like you won’t tell her to stop, like she knows she’s gorgeous in all the most disarming ways. “I’d take good care of him, like I don’t think I could keep my hands off him. I’d be blowing him all the time - until my jaw hurt, then i’d just tell him to pick a hole and fuck a big, hot load of cum into it - hell, I’d probably let him do anything to me.”

“Tactful.”

“I’m not the one having a hard time reading between the lines.”

“That’s not - I’m not-”

“Into me?” Eunbi laughs, leaning forward, your last vestiges of personal space vanishing like a passing thought, and now she’s touching you - a hand on your thigh, higher, higher. “You want to fuck me so bad.”

The fucked up thing, beyond Eunbi being absolutely right, is that you’d rather die than try and lie through your teeth, than succumb in such austere fashion. This thing, this desire, this want, you understand it so intimately you could probably name it like you were christening it in a church. You grab a hold of her wrist, before her precocious fingers can discover how obviously right she is under the seam of your pants, and the suddenness of the challenge wipes the mirth from her face - pulls a small little sound out of her chest, leaves her eyes wide and uncharacteristically docile.

“Are you sure?” you ask, collected and calm, after you’ve both realized how small her wrist fits in your hand. “Is this really the game you want to play?” 

Eunbi’s head tips onto this angle, expression perfectly cavalier. “Oh,” she says, uncorking an impious grin, “why don’t you and I go figure that out.”

-

It’s hard to focus. You’ve got it all wrong, or whatever, practically right from the jump. Your first mistake was veering toward the restrooms tucked behind the bar, where Eunbi pulled at the corner of your sleeve to shoot you a skeptical look - are you fucking nuts, there’s single occupant washrooms upstairs - her explanation was sound, probably, she lost you quickly at: “would prefer no one hear me cum all over your cock.”

The second transgression is the kiss itself, a fucking honest mess. 

Eunbi’s perched on the sink, precariously, and as much as you’d rather be smoothing your hands up her curves, you’ve got one preoccupied at her hips, steadying her, the other pulling at your own clothes, slinging your jacket to the floor. It’s this sort of callow tangle of limbs, exchange of spit, imprecise groping - fuck, it actually hurts when your teeth bump together, or when Eunbi pulls a little too hard at your bottom lip - over and over, and your mouths keep missing each other, straying off to cheeks and chins. 

You expected there to be a touch more polish to her, for her to be the kind of girl above hooking up barefoot in a public restroom, maybe even preserve any of that infamous intrigue. But those open-mouthed kisses she has leaving marks on your jaw, making welts on your neck do little to help you shrug off the impropriety here, hanging like a sorry cloud. Because you’re barreling toward something desperate and clumsy and hot and needy - so utterly raunchy in all the right ways.

“C’mere,” Eunbi says, smile stretching soft and devastatingly sweet, hardly fussing when you slip your hand beneath her jaw - it takes a moment, a touch of experimentation, until you’re together working toward a common goal. She twists the end of your tie over her wrist once, twice, anchors herself against you, and her legs open wider, a heel hooking around your thigh. The embers in her half-lidded eyes tell a story, tell you you to firm up your grip, clutch her, get rough with her, toss her around - she can take it, she can take more. 

Her chin gets set on the angle opposite yours as she starts to pull you in close, the heat in her breath coming closer, and she furrows a perfectly sculpted brow the moment she realizes it’s not reciprocal - that you’re not leaning into her, not pressing your tongue past her lips and grabbing her hair by the fistful - she squints, glowering. It’s actually not a bad look on her.

“Tell me something,” you say, skating your fingertips up her leg until they’re so close to the apex of her thigh you can feel her heat, radiating. “What were you expecting?”

“I try to never expect anything,” Eunbi tells you, and starts once more for your lips, only vexed again when you stiffen up, maintain the distance between you - stop her short at the limit of tantalizingly close.

“Eunbi,” you say, wry with dry laughter and peeking over her shoulder to the reflection in the mirror - backless; you can see the ridge of her spine from her ass all the way up to her neck when you slide her hair to the side. “This is not a dress you wear out with colleagues and friends. This is a take me home and have your wicked way with me kind of dress.”

Eunbi swallows; that’s how you know you caught her. “If the insinuation here is that I’m a slut, I’m not having any of it.”

“Why? Is that supposed to be some sort of secret?”

Her expression falls onto something rather unamused, a glib reply waiting for release at the tip of her tongue, until finally she says, “do you get off on being withholding or some other bull-”

The word vanishes in a sharp inhale the moment you press your hand up between her legs. 

“Oh god.” Eunbi’s entire body shudders, nerves bundled and tight and ready to fire at the slightest excitation. Honestly, you’re not even doing anything; you’re pushing fabric into her cunt, and fuck, Eunbi’s already this trigger-happy. The demanding, quick-tempered vixen with something to prove, and she’s already melting over the slightest touch. 

Hell, just listen in on those little stuttering breaths falling off her lips when you begin to circle your fingers, slowly, when you reach down further to where she’s so hot, so wet-

You press down and she hiccups.

“Ah, I think I get it now,” you start, watching Eunbi’s lip wobble as the heel of your palm spreads flatter and flatter over her clit, pressure indiscriminate and nowhere close to absolving. “You want me to believe that somehow, you’re a total romantic.”

Eunbi’s mouth slacks slightly as she sighs. “Aren’t we all entitled to a little fantasy?”

“Has the part where I fuck you senseless in a public restroom always worked into that?” you ask, digging deeper, drenching her underwear in her own slick. “Or is that a new development?”

“You’re really testing the limits of your charm here.”

“I dunno. I think the fact that you’re dripping down your thighs means I’m doing all right,” you say, holding onto a smirk that you’re half-sure she’s contemplating slapping off your face.

“What do you want?” she asks, shimmying her hips against you, voice softening into delicate capitulation. “Want me to tell you that I’ve been dreaming about it? Want to know that I think about you when I’m alone - when I’ve got my fingers inside me and I’m sobbing into a pillow - that I’m picturing you fucking railing Minju - picturing how your hands would feel at my waist, on my tits, around my neck - imagining just how good you’d fuck me?”

You nearly snort in amusement. “Oh, want a lot more than that.” 

“Then hurry up,” she says - before the attraction ferments. And she sighs musingly when you press your fingers past elastic, find a touch where she needs you, the unmistakable shiver of real contact. “Kiss me properly and pull me apart.”

You tilt Eunbi’s chin up and place your mouth on hers. Kissing her once, twice, until she realizes it’s not even close to enough, drawing in to kiss you back that much harder, all unknowing and candid - like she never once cared for subtlety in her methods of seduction.

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers had already danced over her entrance, rubbed and touched and felt and begun to push. And god, she’s so incredibly wet - not that the push isn’t slow, so unhurried you can feel Eunbi wanting to cry out in frustration as you get deeper, feel her squeeze onto you, just a knuckle inside her, then a second. She barely manages to hush out a complaint into your lips when you drag them back, returning the perfect roughness in your fingers to her clit and applying all this agonizingly-too-gentle pressure. Do anything, she said - said she’d let you; could’ve said, fuck me, ruin me; should’ve told you, no idea what I really want other than for you fuck my brains out, so please take off your clothes and help me figure it out -

It’s actually kind of adorable, that she has to break her lips away from yours to ask for more.

But only a loud, smacking kiss and the length of a heavy exhale later, Eunbi’s tongue slides into your mouth, slipping gently against yours, and flicks up at your teeth as you press the curl of your index finger back inside her. She cries gently, this pitchy little feminine sound, just when you fuck her open with another. You could take all the time you want, you reckon, just pretend Eunbi’s not already all wound up and needy - pussy soaked and hot and begging beneath loose fabric - pretend she isn’t wrapping her slender fingers around your wrist to hold you firm, keep your fingertips present and reliable: something she can buck her hips into, something she can fuck until she’s gasping for you to stop.

“Fuck.” Her moan hums right into your mouth, thin, stretching out on a broken breath as the pad of your thumb skates over her clit, again, again, lighter, barely a touch this time, gentle and tender, and, well, conflicting - because look, everything about this is such a fucking awful idea - you’re going to walk out into a sea of judgement with kiss-swollen lips, hair disheveled and bothered like you’d trekked through a windstorm, with Eunbi hanging on your waist, knees wobbling and perfectly complicit to the crime. 

You’ve given the thought barely a moment’s attention when Eunbi’s grip on your wrist goes white-knuckle tight, like she can taste the apprehension on your lips. She tugs on your tie, hard - don’t stop, come, closer - like she’d literally die if you stop fucking her with your fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” you say in the spaces between these stinging, deep kisses into her cheek, her jaw, letting her body slump forward when you let go of her waist and start sliding your hand up her flat stomach, scrunching and furling the material of her dress up around her hips. She totters a moment, feet barely reaching the floor how you have her balanced on the lip of the sink, but you can’t help it: you need to get a hand up, higher, over her ribs, onto her chest -

Eunbi gasps the moment your fingers sink in, loudly, and you’re not even going to try and give her an explanation - fucking christ, her tits are incredible.

“How messy,” you tell her, enjoying how it makes her cheeks start to burn red, and with just that, you’re sure, with fingers becoming fast and frenzied. It’s audible, the slick on your hand, working through the thick of her heat, the tension in her clench. “So fucking messy, I bet you’re close baby, so close - close to cumming on my fingers.”

She purses her lips, chin tucked into where her collarbones meet, and closes her eyes. You think she’s readying some riposte, some quip to needle, something she’d lid her eyes and smirk first to tell you with poison laced in her voice, seethed in sarcasm, in spite. 

“I mean, Eunbi, look at you,” you drawl huskily, an effort to lure the words out of her, “and I haven’t even gotten my mouth on you yet.”

Her whole body sighs, a concerted effort; she’s panting, sinking her teeth into her lip, and it happens so suddenly, near all at once - those elegant lines in her face starting to twist, betraying that usual sculpted visage of perfection - at the end of a squalling stretch for air, she starts to beg. 

“Please,” she mewls, escaping her lips pliant and meek.

And fuck if that’s anything like the bite you’ve come to expect, the serrated edge of the girl who was amusing herself just moments ago with how you rattled and ruffled from behind a glass of liquor - Eunbi, all cunning and guile - jesus, it’s not even close:

“Oh, god, do it, do it, use my pussy however you want, fuck, want it so bad-” Her hair is falling into her face. Skin getting hot and dewy with sweat. She told you earlier that she’d kill you if you ripped her dress, said you had the look of a dress ripper about you - and now she’s looking at you like she might kill you if you don’t. “-anything, I’ll do anything, gods, please just let me cum.”

“Baby,” you murmur against her neck, a pet name you’re slipping into a little too easily. The possession, the way you say mine, you promise it’s all instinct. “Who could’ve ever guessed you’d be this needy?”

The pale column of skin beneath her jaw reveals more of itself to you the faster you drag your fingers through her cunt. She’s recovering from a curl of your digits against that spot that might just be able to get her screaming, and then it’s your thumb: each circle around her swollen clit reducing her to little more than ragged breathing and that causeway of a word, pleading, please, please, please.

You’d spent more time fantasizing about this than you care to admit, though when you tug the neckline of her dress down, free her breast from beneath the tight fabric, roll your thumb over her nipple, and pinch, it’s clear this is nothing like you imagined. It’s so much fucking more: her face winding into a look of equal parts pain, pleasure, eyes scrunching, lips hanging open - she can’t even say anything when you pull harder on the dress, pull her other tit up to your mouth and start to suck, hard - a heavy moan, whining; she doesn’t tell you to stop.

“Do it,” she demands, gulping for her next breath. “I’m so close.”

You haven’t written it off yet, but you also haven’t the slightest idea how she’ll come back from this one, flirting with the boundary at desperate and pathetic, responding to your touch, your fingers, your mouth like you’d spent a lifetime studying what makes her tick. This might be the only time between you that you’ve ever stumbled this close to anything like an upperhand, you recognize, and you’re not going to pass up an opportunity like it, milking it for all it’s worth:

“You ever have someone do this to you, Eunbi?” you ask her when your lips break all that cruel suction around her nipple - it’s red, swollen, aching, and it’s a great start. The throb between her legs isn’t growing any less urgent either, pulsing vigorously onto your fingertips and leaking all over your hand, her thighs, it’s so fucking sloppy and hot and that perfectly submissive expression on her face just looks so, so good on her. (You’re really leaning into it.) “Fuck you with one of your dresses bunched up over your hips? Take you into a bathroom and get you moaning and panting until you admit you’re a total slut? Fuck, I could do this until you can’t remember your own name, pull your underwear back up your legs all soaking and messy-”

“No,” Eunbi says, exasperated, and she chokes on her voice when your thumb digs harder into the puffy lips of her cunt, pushes this exact pressure on her tender clit. You don’t think her eyes could get any clearer, needier, until she starts shaking her head, saying, “you - you’d be the first.”

She practically blue-screens after that, words getting lost somewhere in the pangs of her own agitated pleasure. And like putty, sinking backward into the counter, you spread her legs open wider. Press a kiss into her forehead, skin all hot and sweaty. She almost loses it right then and there when you start reminding her she’s gorgeous, how good her name sounds on your lips, so pretty when she cums like this and then- 

Oh.

There she goes. 

“Fuck, you’re - god, fuck, I’m - fuck.” Eunbi hisses out your name, panting for air, and her brittle words fall straight to the floor, smash against the tile, and shatter into a million pieces. Cumming, she adds, two or three times for good measure, and you hold her firm, hold her still. Keep her from sliding off the sink so you might even kiss her hard. Feel her come undone.

Maybe it’s the praise; more likely the tempo of your thumb tapping against her swollen bud, again, again. The only thing you know is that the sound of it alone - over the squelch of your fingers fucking her through it, slow and tender like you have all the time in the world - see, that’s a masterpiece in and of itself. 

Eunbi’s chest rolls and twitches as you draw your fingers out of her pussy, soaked, clenching at nothing, and drag them up along her waist so she can feel just how much damage you’ve caused, that for all her sloppiness, it’s because of you.

“Here,” you say to her, with two sticky fingers at her jaw, “I know you want to taste yourself.”

Beyond the visual in front of you, you’re kind of stuck on how impetuous, impulsive, how utterly lewd it all is - opening her mouth and fitting your fingertips between her teeth. You scissor your fingers, let her lick her own slick off your you, and when you press her tongue down behind her teeth she starts to suck. It’s delightful, you think, she’s so gorgeous and somehow, flushed and fucked and sweaty, she looks perfect. Never been so stunning.

“Such a good girl,” you tell her, almost maliciously.

And it’s instant - Eunbi sinking further into the counter, her shoulders slumped to the cold mirror, knuckles knocking the bowl of the sink. There’s a hum coming up from her throat when you say it again, getting stuck on your fingers until she spits them out and looks at you with wide, tear-filled eyes, all glassy and brilliant, like you know the answers to all the riddles of the universe. Okay, so maybe it really is the praise, you realize, a weakness, a loose thread, you might never be able to stop yourself from pulling at it. You’d never want to.

“Been so patient, haven’t you? Your pussy is fucking creaming for me Eunbi, so fucking messy, you poor thing.” You’re lifting her panties to the side, assuring her in half sentences and leaving the rest to the sound of your zipper coming undone. “Gonna fuck you now, get my cock in this pretty little pussy of yours, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you baby, just be still and hold on for me-”

“God.” Eunbi startles at the touch of your cock running over her slick, and she starts blinking back into reality, legs bracketing around your hips. Do it - she’s gathering an angry fistful of shirt, pulling at your tie, clamoring for you, all desperation, no composure, as if your mistakes were made for her - do it, do it, and she breathes your name against your mouth, lips trembling, “please.”

Days, weeks, months maybe, the conclusion’s long foregone, inevitable: your cock sinks straight into her cunt.

Jesus. Fuck. Where to start? Eunbi’s eyebrows twist, lips part - with just a wicked, sharp breath of air, she immediately comes undone. So, that might be as good a place as any.

You know by the way she melts, the way her body is coiling tighter around you, clinging to you like you might be able to hold it all together - like you’re not fucking her open, pressing deeper inside her, hotter around you with every passing inch.  

“I cannot believe,” Eunbi starts, voice shredded, and the rest of it is so incoherent, so blathering and baleful, that you’re altogether unsure if it’s in protest of you ruining her cunt, or if you’re not ruining it enough. Even though she’s so unbelievably wet, she’s every bit as tight, and you end up prompting this unattractive groan from her throat when you motion your hips forward, just a fraction, before pulling back again. “Oh my-”

You’re trying not to laugh but it’s slipping out quietly, and Eunbi just glares at you, the vibrations from your diaphragm going straight between her legs, where she’s still throbbing and unduly sensitive. A few disheveled strands of her hair end up in your mouth as she fidgets about in your grip. A few more as you ease in further - until your balls are flush against her ass and Eunbi has both ankles hooked around your thighs. Beyond the sweltering heat of Eunbi’s cunt, you’ve got thoughts, photographically vivid, racing through your head: you lifting her small body up, getting your hands under her thighs and pounding her without remorse - turning her over and bending her over her sink, watching her tits bounce in the mirror, face wracked as she cums like that, and you’ll get there - just that right now, seating yourself in her pussy and nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck is more than plenty to hone in on.

“Fuck, your cock, it’s-” Eunbi sputters, and it takes a beat to even realize you’re completely inside her, right to the hilt.

And you aren’t making any more sense of how she trembles than of the fusillade of curses tossed in your general direction. Her legs remain locked behind you, holding you motionless - making it difficult to not laugh at her inanity on display, squirming graceless beneath you.

Incredible, is the conclusion you both come to as her cheeks flood again with color, and you start circling your hips into her, moving as much as the confines of her legs - the inelegant entrapment - might allow.

It’s almost cruel: Eunbi gasps when you end up brushing against her tender clit, and you pause, thinking- 

(Like this, half naked, dress bundled around her waist, you can take whatever you want. Every now and again you look up and see your reflection, see yourself towering over Eunbi’s lithe frame - oh, the options - they’re nearly endless.)

-she simply growls at you when you inch her hips forward from where they’re perched and do it again.

“I can’t fuck you unless you let go,” you tell her, ducking down and finding her breast with your mouth. 

“If I let go,” Eunbi starts, and her voice is jagged with strain, breath steadying, “are you actually going to fuck me, or are you just going to keep teasing?”

“Oh, Eunbi, believe me.” You’re kissing up her chest, her collarbones, pressing your lips sweetly to the hollow of her throat. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming, promise.”

Eunbi holds her gaze to yours, tips up her chin, and says, half daring, “I’m holding you to that,” and as her bind loosens, she tugs your face towards hers by the bottom of your tie. Hard - it’s hardly even a murmur as she leans in, pressing your brow to hers - harder. A rhythm emerges in your hips against hers, though it only complicates the demands: more, please, need it, don’t stop.

But the drag of it is amazing, your cock gliding through the wet heat of her cunt - squeezed tight onto you and fitting you like a glove. So tight, as if she’d been made for you, incomparably coiled around you, and it’s even more perfect as you start to truly fuck into her. Fast and deep and assuring you’d stay true to your word, that you’d get her fucking screaming with it. Each time you pull back and slam into her again, hard enough that she shifts half an inch toward the mirror, you’re listening to that wounded noise, keening out of her chest, punctuated by the way she shudders, bracing against you.

“God,” you rasp through gritted teeth, stealing a delighted moan as she spreads her legs wider for you, stealing several more. “This pussy, fuck, is incredible, Eunbi” - she’s so wet and turned on that you just fucking rail her, that she lets you, that she loves it, to the point where you’re reminding yourself to breathe - “what a good little cocksleeve you are, you’re so fucking wet.”

“Better?” Eunbi is struggling to stay upright, jaw slacked and slumping against the mirror like a puppet cut from its strings. “Better than her, right?”

“Hm,” you say, and the hesitation alone is enough for the corner of her mouth to pull up into a tiny smile. Something she knows she can hook into, something she can work with. “We’ll just have to see.”

There are tears visible at the end , and her words are quickly becoming slurred and mixed up as your fingers turn threats into reality, bruises at her waist, her thighs, her tits, her neck - you’re marking her like she’s yours, like it isn’t dangerous, like it doesn’t spell trouble for both of you. So when she musters the strength to perk up, look you straight on while you pound her cunt recklessly, and meekly say, “be honest,” it’s far too impossible to deny her anything.

“The best, Eunbi,” you start. She doesn’t know where the lip service starts, where it ends, but just hearing you mutter out her name is enough to get her swooning.

It’s not that you don’t understand the irony, that Minju is downstairs somewhere telling a hundred people she doesn’t know where you are, looking pretty and put together, and you’re saving your honesty for this girl, breaking her further to pieces with each thrust her into tight, sweaty body, each stroke into her sloppy, aching hole. You do understand it, and when Eunbi starts whining, sobbing, moaning, you just can’t be bothered to care. “So perfect on my cock, baby, now be good for me - show me how perfect this pretty little cunt is, want you to cum again for me, want to see what a mess you can be, Eunbi.”

You end up with a hand underneath her, the other in the lose waves of hair behind her head, fingers splaying out against the base of her skull, and - fuck, the new angle you settle into when you pull her tiny body up onto your cock, not to mention the depth - it’s wanton, lustful, it’s thoughtless: you’re fucking her so hard and fast that all she can do is throw is her arms around your shoulders and weave curses into her ragged breathing, thinning, threadbare, “oh fuck, oh, jesus, fuck yes, there, your fucking cock, just like that, fucking christ.”

She barely even has one foot on the ground, toes dangling onto the tile, you realize after you finish chastising her dirty mouth. Completely at your beck and call.

Not that it was ever going to make a difference. You fuck her harder, until she’s shaking with it, until she’s crying out, embarrassment long forgotten. She’s so fucked, breathy moans turning to screams, to whimpers, seams cracking into fissures - you’re not hurting her, but fuck if that isn’t the boundary you’re daring to cross. You bottom out in her pussy, over and over; you’re destroying it, ruining it, and she’s clinging to you like wet clothes, like it might soothe her, like her life depends on it.

Eunbi moans when you draw your hips back and nearly leave the perfect heat of her cunt. And when you bury yourself back into her, she writhes.

You look up from the shadowy spot where your cock is disappearing between her legs, and her eyes are flaring again, teeth sinking into her lip as you seek out her chest and start playing with her tits. There, she wants to say, eyelids hooded and voice purring, that’s more like it. But your thumb flicks at her nipple, pert and pointy, coaxing out a quieter reaction - quiet beneath the haggard recoil her body makes in order to sheathe your cock, the gentle tremor at the end of each thrust, stomach muscles contracting under your hand. It’s too much. She only closes her mouth. Lets it fall open again. Sighs.

“You’re going to cum again, aren’t you?” you ask, breath landing hot against her face, agitating the flush in her cheekbones. “You’re going to cum all over this cock.” It’s in those eyes; she’s so incredibly close, but Eunbi holds fast to what shred of dignity hasn’t since vanished out of sight, throat working hard to swallow, and she shakes her head, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

In fact, she’s murmuring nonsensically at you, and for a moment you see a hand on her neck, thumbprint searing into her throat, but the image fades as she moans again, hips jumping, palm slapping the sink. It’s the want, the need, for everything you have to give her, want for you inside her, maybe forever more - and want and want for anything that might release her pleasured agony. It’s fucking filthy.

So bend, you tell her, don’t break.

(You’ve never fucked anyone like this either, you think, not Minju, not anyone - fingers skating up the ridge of her back, face buried in the hair falling over her shoulder, taking careful note of how you’re taking Eunbi apart. 

How you might ever put her back together.)

“Shit,” she cries out sharply, spine arched and straining against you as - fucking finally - her orgasm rips through her. You’re watching carefully as you fuck into her quivering pussy, listening mostly, once the pressure starts to build behind your eyes. There’s your name torn from her lips (oh god), and how she starts to tremble (oh god), trying to draw you (oh god) deeper inside her while she (oh my fucking god) lets it flood through her.  

It’s a lot to take in. Near impossible to focus on any one thing. For fuck’s sake, even the smell of it is divine, of perfume and sex and vanilla and sin.

You’re grabbing Eunbi’s waist again, so hard she yelps, lips parting, struggling for breath every time you fuck her tight little pussy onto you, but she can’t quite say anything. Not yet. Your cock is still too hard, throbbing madly inside her, and she’s near the point of simply collapsing. 

You touch her mouth, tip it gently closed. And the docile way she looks up at you is a reminder that you had readied a quip, something about the mess between her legs, that she’s flustering and incoherent and sobbing and how it’s so unlike her. But it’s gone now. Lost to the lust and need crackling in your own brain, you figure. You’d been daydreaming a mile a minute about fucking Eunbi on a good day, and now you’re seeing her here, like this.

It takes the velvety drag through her cunt, once, twice, you’re pounding her so fast, not even trying to hold on, shortening your breath, biting your cheek, counting out the strokes - three, four, five -“Come on,” Eunbi manages in the spaces between her soft, bitten back moans, “do it, wanna feel that big cock fuck a creampie deep inside me, wanna feel your hot cum leak out of me.”

You really could. Because she feels fucking unbelievable, and now you’re imagining it: getting reckless and stupid and filling her perfect little pussy with all your cum; risk it, get her pregnant, you tell yourself, fuck it deep enough inside her to make it a certainty - the mental image alone is enough to send you over the edge. You’re sure of that. It has before.

“Eunbi,” you stammer, “this pussy feels… I’m gonna-”

“I know,” she murmurs, “I know.” Her eyes are glassy, mouth cocked back, half-smiling. “Do whatever you want.” Five foot nothing of immaculate pulchritude and irresistible peril, she looks pristine on the end of your cock, tits in your hands, brow sweating, mouth opening, telling you to cum, to do it, want you to cum, just fucking use her.

“Fuck,” you spit, slipping your cock out of her at the last moment - fucking into your fist - cumming. Messily. Explosively. Eunbi still choking for air in fits and starts, your other hand still wringing her waist.

Though it can’t be more than a few seconds, the difference between you releasing that load inside her and the way it instead winds up everywhere else: in her panties, against the swollen lips of her pussy, the crease of her thigh - how some leaks and spills down her leg, onto the floor beneath the sink. There’s a dress ruiner in you after all. “God,” you add, fighting exhaustion, and Eunbi simply crumples against you, kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before - a long, smooth slide of her lips that leaves you both gasping in its wake.

“So.” Eunbi’s hand is between her legs, assessing the damages, accounting the cum all over her and soaking through the fabric of her underwear. She just raises an eyebrow at you, charming, challenging. “You came all over me.”

“What, you really think I’d cum in you?”

Her eyes squint, and her nose scrunches. It’s winsome, in a way. 

Sure, she’s kind of a disaster - the once-carefully-styled waves of her hair are in tatters, makeup running in every direction, tits hanging out of her bra and spilling over the top of her dress, still barefoot and completely unfazed by it. Dismantled is a good look for her, even if she doesn’t appreciate it: reaching into her purse, this emergency kit of wipes, a mascara brush, lipstick. Raring to do a little triage.

“Yeah,” you insist, “you’re out of your mind.”

The droll laugh she gives you when you finally let her go is not antagonistic either, but as with a lot of those things Eunbi does, the click of her tongue, the haughty expressions, the mannerisms, they were all becoming less threatening and more fetching - possibly more now that you’ve seen the face she makes when she cums.

“I think it’s just force of habit.” Having slid from the sink and onto the floor, Eunbi pitches up on her feet to kiss you again, and you don’t try to fight it any more than if she had beaten you in some sporting game and extended her hand to shake yours. When she pulls her lips off you, she adds, “which, you know, serendipitous and all that.”

“Thanks for the ten-dollar-word.”

“Lucky,” she reiterates.

“I know what it means.”

“If I had to guess… Minju doesn’t let you, does she?” And it becomes immediately apparent to you what Eunbi’s playing at. She’s got her teeth sinking into the long game, anticipating that you'll cross your arms, tell her never again: that thing at the gala, the kissing - we can't.

“Can you stop.”

“Does she?”

“Um,” you say, considering carefully for a moment which half-truths you want to tell, which ones you already have. “No, she does.”

Eunbi shifts her body a little, toward you, but not quite close enough to touch you - she’s bending slightly at the waist to scoop her tits back into her bra, her dress. The corner of her lip quirks further, and she asks, completely unrepentant, “does she let you cum in her ass?”

Your throat clicks, swallowing - you can’t even imagine it well enough to begin to know how to lie about it; bashful, everything obvious and on display - so, yeah, you are kind of fucked.

-

“Your shirt isn’t buttoned right by the way.”

“Here,” you say, still stuffing fabric back into your pants, “stand in front of me in case someone we know happens to come around.”

Eunbi crowds you to the wall, almost too aggressively, and she watches a staff member of the venue walk by carrying a platter full of shrimp tails and used napkins. “You’ve got cum on your pants too.”

“One crisis at a time, okay.”

“What are you going to tell Minju?”

“Nothing.”

“I mean… what is your approach, like when we get over there and-” Eunbi takes a step forward, fitting so perfectly beneath your chin, looking up like she’d discovered something worth marveling at. “Oh my god.” She laughs out loud. “How did I get a hickey under there?”

With just one finger returning to her waist, far gentler than the last time it’d been there, you push her back ever so slightly. “I’m just going to be myself.”

“Hm, bad idea.”

“Oh, alright then.”

Eunbi clutches a hand over her chest like she’d been wounded. “I just mean you’re kind of a nervous wreck.”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell her, now properly buttoned, and sliding out from her small-yet-surprisingly-overbearing presence. “And I told you, I bruise easy.”    

“Yeah, no kidding.”

-

History, is the word you’re looking for. Minju and Eunbi have history.

It always starts the same way:

A kiss to one cheek, the other, and the two are immediately falling back on placid smiles and the kind of laughter that seems at a glance to be genuine and real. Almost theatrical, the performance. 

Though Eunbi’s always had that chip on her shoulder - says she knows what it’s like to be young and pretty and famous - and when they’re together Minju always manages to draw from this near-infinite supply of bashful and modest. Actually, that’s more or less her whole thing. 

The mistake you figure, if anyone were to ask you, which no one has one yet - the mistake is in thinking you’re the only one that knows Minju can’t stand Eunbi. Even though she does a great job of hiding it, you might be singular in regards to who gets to hear Minju go off in the privacy of your apartment - arrogant, vain, conceited bitch - but you’re not alone here. No, no.

Because Eunbi - who is perfectly aware just how much disdain Minju has for her - catches your stare. And instead of being content with how you’ve found the ideal spot to stand off to the side to avoid this whole minefield of a situation, she waves you over. Way too enthusiastically.

That has always set her apart. She would invite mischief, if she thought that it would set the scene.

-

It’s not more than a week before your paths cross again. Perhaps you’re tangling with fate. Perhaps it’s out of your control. Perhaps, you consider carefully, that’s more convenient. You see her first: waiting for a cab at the taxi stand outside the broadcast studio, cardigan sliding down around her shoulders, verily bedraggled in the wind.

The ends of her hair are in the corners of her mouth, and those long shadows cast from the evening sun dance across her face to paint those features baroque, build an image serene and stately - statuesque.

(She’s stunning as ever.)

That Eunbi is even here of all places is a coincidence, but her dimples deepen when her eyes meet yours, like she’s finally found something she was long looking for. “How serendipitous,” she says to you again, smiling.

“Right.” You grimace back, self-effacing. “Lucky.”

“You know,” she says after a moment, “our apartments really aren’t that-”

“Far,” you say, seeing the conclusion that she’s leaping at, and the next to make things become extremely complicated is Eunbi, which is so her that it makes your fists clench in your jacket pockets without realizing it.

“It’d be cheaper, I’m just saying, if we split a cab.”

“What if I told you,” you say, after a long while, “I get reimbursed for the commute either way.”

“Do you?”

“No,” you end up saying, bluntly.

“So, purely a hypothetical,” she suggests, leaning into your personal space, and your eyes drop immediately, past her bare shoulders, past the neckline of a matching top, pointedly to her knees beneath a pair of denim shorts. Her whole outfit is simple, but with a figure like hers, clearly intended to provoke a reaction, one that you’re not going to give her. You’re above that. 

“Yeah.” You tilt your head. “Sure.”

Her finger’s tapping at her chin, and it’s sort of cute the way she does it, making the gesture seem about half as patronizing as it should be. “Then just for good company’s sake?

“You-” It comes out uneven enough to get you chuckling to yourself, kind of nervously. Her eyes light up as you swallow back on your drying mouth - a beacon, lighthouse in a storm, safe harbor, siren’s call and all. Your gut is trying to tell you, danger, and then suggests you dive in headfirst. “You might be giving yourself too much credit.”

“Just entertain the thought for me.”

“Like a hypothetical, you mean.”

She laughs, and it has her eyes crinkling at the corners. Likable, you think immediately. Beautiful, right after that, and coincidence, as it were, ends there - just as abruptly.

You’ve made many selfish decisions in your life, but climbing into the back of that cab might be the most out of all of them - Eunbi just smiles when you arrive next to her. You never stood a chance against that, probably. It’s the Orpheus thing. The monkey’s paw thing. It’s not possible to lean out of a moving vehicle enroute toward collision, stop the wheels from spinning when they’re already spun, and unmake the wish. 

The blur of passing street lights streak across Eunbi’s face and present it to you in broken images, cycling like phases of the moon, until finally, an overpass sees everything go dark, and you feel her small body slide across the backseat, the heat in her chest as she presses into you.  

Her lips are featherlight upon yours, gentle and trepid. For the first time, she seems unsure, as if she didn’t think this would happen. Then once more, with a taste of desperation and sinking into the dark corner of the leather seat, she kisses you like she knows you, pulling tight onto the collar of your shirt like she knows you’ll kiss her back - like she knows that all you’ve been doing, at the end of the day, is delaying the inevitable.

-

Eunbi’s apartment, actually, is rather modest. More different, and less however you expected.

The walls are painted alabaster, not white, which is only a color you recognize because Minju had waffled between that and eggshell for weeks before tasking you to paint three of the four walls of your living room - only later to realize she wanted something darker as you were priming the fourth. There’s a small powder room by the door, a tiny closet overflowing with jackets and coats and all sorts of outfits you’ve probably stripped off Eunbi in your head a thousand times over - and what the space lacks in size, more than makes up for in the massive set of south facing windows, benefit of an open layout, daylight warm and diffuse.

Well, at least that’s how you imagine it. The sun set while you weren’t paying attention, your thoughts, hands, lips, all preoccupied in the back of the cab, so you’re left with only the recessed lighting, dimmed down to dreamlike allure.

Not that you've ever been one with an eye for detail. No, Minju will happily corroborate the fact. Your talents start at your wit, end at your charm. But it’s just where you’re at - head tipped over the back of the sofa - you’ve got your eyes anywhere besides where Eunbi’s kneeling in front of you, head bobbing up and down between your thighs. 

In spite of your plans to fold her over any surface sturdy and horizontal, you ended up like this, jeans not even half way down around your thighs. On instinct, you’re threading your fingers through her silky hair, though you can feel the glare she shoots up as you tighten your grip and start to pull. It’s not that Eunbi takes issue with you fucking her face inherently. It’s nothing like that at all.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” you murmur softly, voice wrecked. “You take my cock so well. Your smart little mouth was made for this, wasn’t it?”

Between messy kisses in the cab, the lobby, the elevator, while fumbling for her keys, she’d detailed to you all the things she wanted you to do to her, how she wanted you to fuck her, how she was going to make you cum. See, her mouth is gorgeous, even more vulgar, and she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip: you’d understand exactly what that mouth could do. 

Because there’s the angle you’re now both familiar with, that you can fuck her apart, get her flushed, faltering and fucked into perfect submission until you steal your own release - that you’ve been running the memory back all damn week - but she figures you ought to know that she can make you cum without you ever needing to lift a finger. And given how sure she is running her tongue all over you, sucking your cock, mouth hot, unashamedly sloppy, fingers curled around your shaft in strokes of genius-

Fuck, she probably will.

Not that you’re one for understatement, mouth falling open as you sigh backward into the upholstery - feels amazing, you’re explaining to her when you’re not chewing your lip, so good at that, a little more, your mouth baby, fuck, it’s incredible. Like she doesn’t already know. 

Eunbi just slides her lips down your shaft so perfectly in response. All that wet suction near fatal. But it’s not what gets you to swear audibly, a low rumble from your chest that says she’s on the right track. It’s the look on her face: pouty pink lips cushioning your cockhead, parted around your shaft, sinking further now, back at the top again, spit drooling from the corners of her mouth. Her eyebrows are upturned, and when she hollows her cheeks some - lifts her eyelids and fixes that gaze on you - her irises are gleaming in juxtaposition, this doe-eyed girl blinking up at you, innocently, like she’s not taking your cock further into her mouth, fucking you until she chokes. 

Those eyes half-lidded, unknowing, and staring straight into you- 

She’ll make you cum, they read, blinking, deep in her throat. Her lashes flutter. She coughs. You’ll cum more.

Though for your part, it’s not like you’re aren’t handing yourself over to the sensation either, indulging in everything Eunbi’s mouth has to offer, what more you’re sure still to take. It’s hot and wet and her tongue is even better licking around the tip of your cock than it was pressed flat underneath it - you’re settling into it, just starting to rock your hips up to meet the softness at the back of her throat, and she nods her head down twice more, bathing more of you in her spit each time, sputtering. You’re not the easiest to take, but she’s almost casually contented, or something more smug, the uppish look of a girl who's never backed away from a challenge - who will happily go for more - and without fuss, she takes your entire length between her lips. 

“Oh, fuck me-” you mutter, going speechless the moment she starts to suck.

And with her nose to your belly, Eunbi is straining, fighting for breath. It’s not an accident that she’s making a total fucking mess, drool and precum dripping down your shaft. She’d take more of you, wet on her chin, on her fingers, she’d pull you further into her little mouth, like she’d have it no other way. Still, her tongue licks nonchalantly past the seal of her lips, laps at your balls, and you think you’re going to lose it when she realizes it’ll get you to shiver, how you won’t ask for more, but she can just keep doing it again, again.

You bury your face in your hands as you suck in your next breath. You’re leaking cum actually, only a little, and Eunbi just keeps blowing you like you aren’t.

Fantasies will never work again, not after this, because for all the times you’ve imagined Eunbi’s lips around you, you’ve never come up with anything remotely close. It’s not even clear if this talent of hers is natural, god-given, or if behind each of her coy expressions and holier-than-thou moments of proud eminence she’s secretly an insatiable cockslut, but man, the girl is really good at sucking cock.  

Maybe the tricky part about this, if you even want to begin to get into it (you do not) - allowing yourself a small taste of intimacy has sparked this want for so much more. Even when things were good, Minju wasn’t getting her mouth on you like this. You can’t put your finger on it, the last time you’ve had anything as satisfying as the press of Eunbi’s lips around you, this mess of dark slippery hair bobbing up and down in your lap lazily and unbothered, mouth making all these wet noises like she’s yours and nothing more - like she never will be - and fuck, it’s irresistable. Her tongue curls around you again, and she makes her jaw go slack until more spit drools down the length of your cock, lathering in her fingers and twisting around your shaft - it scratches at itches you didn’t even know you had; nascent itches, silent ones, itches cloaked as something else.

Your breath stutters, stumbling into an embarrassing little moan after Eunbi pops her mouth off your cock, and a fleeting trick of a grin rushes across her face. She picks up on where you’re at instantly: “Aren’t you, like, kinda quiet?”

“There’s a lot going through my head right now,” you tell her, and that’s something she knows she can play along with, reveling in how you swallow at nothing when she hooks her hand behind her back and frees her bra from her shoulders. Her tits settling perfectly into place. “Just to be clear,” you sigh, “I’m going to cum in your mouth if you keep doing it like that.”

She tugs your jeans all the way down to your ankles. Arches an eyebrow. “And?”

“It’s called being decent, just something I'm working on.”

“Oh,” Eunbi says, returning her grip around your cock. Her hands are tiny, stacked one on top of the other, and she pumps them slowly, knowing that the abundance of spit and precum in her fingers makes it feel amazing. Every little flick of her wrists every bit as unbearable. “Now you care about decency; the guy who’s cheating on his-”

“Watch it,” you say, rough, “I could go without the reminder.”

Eunbi’s grin flickers a little wider. “Still the guilty conscious, huh?”

You think on it, a moment too long probably, because on one hand, she’s right. On the other - “I’m not going to say it’s guiltless.”

“Okay simple,” Eunbi shrugs, and pulls herself away from you, suggesting, “just touch yourself.” 

That’s one way to go about it. You wonder if this is the logic her brain operates on daily. It’d explain a lot.

“That’s like getting away with it on a technicality.”

“It’s an orgasm,” Eunbi tuts, “you’re not robbing a bank.” There’s a brief silence while she brings her palm up over her eyes, peeking through her fingers. “Here, see, I’m not even looking.” 

“I’m going to go ahead and just point out that you’re suggesting I jerk off in your living room.”

Eunbi’s hands drop to her sides, before tracking up her ribs and holding her breasts together into a cleavage that is way too inviting for anyone’s sake. You’re enchanted. Beguiled, maybe.

“Or.” Her gaze tapers in on something. God only knows what exactly your tell is; the quirk in your brow, the slightly-more-than-usual-avoidant gaze, something about your lips, the way you’re biting them - that’s where she seems to have honed in. And she’s smoking you out, completely. “I could probably just fuck you with my tits.”

That’s true. She could. And when that developed thought eventually coheres, you sigh profoundly.

She tips her head, interpreting the silence, and the small, wanting groan you make as she starts smashing her breasts closer together between her hands is definitely audible. Here, she’s telling you, with your cock, I know you want to. Even her lips are slanted into a subtle, knowing shape, steeped in all her femme-fatality, before finding the other smile she wears that pretends like it doesn’t know what she’s doing to you. “Is that what you want? You want your cock between my tits?”

“How exactly are those two things interchangeable?” you start, which isn’t anything even in the neighborhood of a no, so Eunbi simply leans forward, raising her chest between your thighs and teasing the sensitive part of your cock with just a brush of her nipple. Grazing down you, it’s hardly any contact at all, but the way you twitch suggests to her you’ll probably never recover from this. 

“Well.” Eunbi’s expression is lit aflame with revelation. “I’m just working in the space, thinking about things someone else could never do for you - things I could do for you.” 

For one thing - of which there are many - it’s a hell of a departure from the Eunbi who was sobbing against the bathroom mirror begging you to cum inside her. You can hear it. Her voice has the quality of a type of: victory. 

(Like she’s just come up with the most brilliant idea in the world. Which - maybe.)

“It’s perfectly normal you know,” she adds, almost as an aside, while trapping your cock between her breasts. “Literally everyone asks me to do this.”

You’re disarmed more than you realized, only able to nod along. Eunbi laces her fingers together, straightens herself, and right after passing her tongue under her top teeth to shoot you a smile, starts moving up and down against you. The way it feels, filthy hot and suffocatingly amazing, fuck, you’re letting out a sound that’s the bastardchild of a laugh and a whimper. You’re stunned. And the way it looks - your cockhead escaping her tits, disappearing again - is almost, almost the best part. 

“You’re, like, so hard right now,” she says, deservedly confident, and sliding her tits up around your cock again, she tilts her chin, trying to goad it out of you. “Should I let you cum all over these tits? Like, you’re already throbbing, honey.”

Let you cum, she says. If you weren’t struggling to cope with everything - every pass of soft skin smothered around your shaft sending you further to wit’s end and threatening to abandon you there - you’d recognize the writing on the wall: you’re in the palms of her hands, figuratively, literally. You’re in trouble.

“Oh, is that it?” she asks again. “Should I?”

“Fuck.” Without even thinking, you’re spreading your knees wider, inching toward the edge of the sofa, aching to get deeper between her cleavage. “Fine, yes, fuck-”

“Unh-uh,” says Eunbi flippantly. 

See, she’s enjoying this - eyes hot and radiant with authority - she’s enjoying this more than you. Her fingers relax, letting her tits fall around down onto your thighs. The pressure she was letting you enjoy, wrapping around your cock and making you speechless, starts to dwindle to something less brain-numbing. It’s unexpected: the lipstick around her mouth is smeared slightly, mascara under her smoky eyes still in disarray from how you’d had your cock in her throat, and now she’s the one taunting you.

“No, I’m serious,” she adds, “I want to hear you say it.”

Her brow furls immediately when you open your mouth, like she’s already very aware of what you’re going to say, and equally unimpressed.

“Say you want me to make you cum with my tits.”

“Eunbi.” Your voice comes out dry, damaged. “Please.”

“Hm?”

This wasn’t quite how you had pictured it when you’d seen Eunbi leaving the studio, looking like an angel, smiling like the devil; when she batted her lashes at you outside the taxi stand; when she clung to you and kissed you in the backseat of the cab; when that escalated the moment you walked through her foyer; when she dropped to her knees and started at your belt, your zipper, all without missing a beat. This is different. This is you, being desperate. 

“Please, with your tits Eunbi, fuck me with your tits.” 

Jesus. Now you know how that sounds. And the words are clear enough given the circumstances, but she’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for more. Waiting for you to concede. Waiting like you have no choice - “please, Eunbi, please make me cum, fuck, I need it so bad.”

“Oh.” Eunbi gathers herself again around your cock. Tighter. Triumphant. She laughs dryly and says, aloof, “good boy.”

-

(Here’s how it goes:

Eunbi has your cock vanished into her cleavage, again, and every soft slide of her breasts coaxes a reaction out of you - some quiet, others louder - coaxes more precum from where your cock is aching, leaking. She adjusts her fingers, moves her palms in further, makes her movements more precise, faster, tighter- 

It’s probably not a good sign of mental hygiene that you’re wilting so fast, that you’ve given her so much power so quickly, but the way she has her tits around you is fucking staggering.

“Aw, don’t worry, I’ll make you cum so fucking hard.” Eunbi moves her tits up your shaft. Lets them fall again. “Just relax for me.”

Her dark hair is falling slightly out of place over her ears as she looks down and presses her out tongue out, licking gently at where you’re appearing over and over from her soft breasts. Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing, you think, even though there’s not an ounce of culpability in her face. You’re so unused to seeing Eunbi appear so guileless that you nearly don’t recognize her. 

But once you feel the smooth skin of her chest become so wet and slippery with her spit, your precum  - once she’s settled into a reliable motion to fuck you with - her eyes lift their focus from what’s just beneath her chin. Get themselves fixed right on you. 

“It feels so good doesn’t it?” The smirk that finds her mouth is lethal. “C’mon. I know you want to cum.”

You can only nod, breath panting.

“Cum on these perfect tits, baby. Cum for me.” Her brow is cocked, voice lilting straight into seduction. “Cum-”

Eunbi’s name sticks to the roof of your mouth as you shoot a rope of cum past her collarbone. You send more all over her chest, hot and sticky and shimmering in pale white, and as soon as she slowly slides her chest up again, you drain your balls into the warm wrap of her tits. A truly satisfying mess. 

You stare for a moment, wondering, if she’ll open her mouth and swallow you again - all given the way she’s looking at your cock, hungry. But she simply tilts her chin and lets your cum splash onto her neck.

She has her hands pumping you lazily against her clavicle, cooing while she gently fuck out the final, tired vestiges of your orgasm with little flicks of her wrist: “oh, there, look at all that, and it’s all for me.”

Once your knees stop shaking and your breath starts to level - once Eunbi releases you from her warm, wet cleavage - she draws a shiver out of you with her tongue, run up the length of your sensitive cock, and she’s left kneeling there, covered in your cum, with her palms upturned like she’s waiting for someone to give her a towel. It’s you, and it’s her, and there’s something about the image of your cum splattered all over her chest, shining and slippery between her perfect tits. You get your hands on her waist immediately, pulling her up into your lap, her slick, sticky chest sliding against yours, and you devour her mouth greedily, licking hungrily past her lips.

“You are something else,” you say finally, now sunk back into the couch to fully take Eunbi in. “All sorts of party tricks.”

Eunbi preens, utterly satisfied with herself, and she reaches down behind her to your cock, aching in pained pleasure, aching for more. You flirt with the heat that radiates from behind her underwear, grinding against where she’s become hot and wet and needy. She laughs, and the sound turns to a pretty little sigh after she pulls aside her panties and seats herself onto your cock. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” she says, and she starts to move.)

-

It’s never supposed to become a habit. It’s never supposed to be anything at all.

At first? Once a month, and it’s unprompted; then it’s biweekly, then it’s once a week, then it ends up biweekly again in the opposite direction; there are these little text messages back and forth that you’re learning to decipher - hey, they usually start, you up? or you wanna help me move some furniture? or this is crazy, but i cooked way too much ramen? or been horny all day, so like, come over and fuck me? 

Some of them, you puzzle out, are easier to decipher than others. And falling comfortably into that category are the nudes she sends you in the middle of a fucking workday: 

Eunbi’s standing with the backside of her unfathomable figure facing the bathroom mirror, denim cut offs slipping down past her thighs-

(Fuck. Shit. You drop your phone and it lands face down in a way that makes you scared to check for damages. Luckily, it is unscathed. Mostly.)

-denim cut offs slipped down past the cheeks of her ass. Her torso is twisted in profile, a white linen shirt draped up over her shoulders for ceremonial purposes, gaping open at the front in an effort to cover nothing at all. Underneath that is a plaid swimsuit top for god knows what reason - a pair of large silver hoop earrings, perfectly done eyelashes, and hair far too styled to be gearing up for a swim - then it’s her thumb, hooked under the string that looks to barely be holding the tiny thing together. The picture is taken at nearly the precise moment: she’s pulling up on the bikini top, to the point that her tits look ready to fall out and let gravity return them whence they came. 

How she managed it, you’ll never know, but it’s got fantasies come to life immediately. Eunbi whimpering and coming apart, Eunbi stretched out in that bikini top, Eunbi stretched out without it - you nearly drop the phone again.

The text that follows is shameless, complete with a winking emoji and extra letters in all the right places: maybe tell minju you’ll be home late for dinner.

All of this, and suddenly you’re feeling less oblivious about it. You and Minju are at that point. These are your death throes, a swan song, performative; you’re that kind of couple.

-

You realize there’s this thing that Minju always says. 

You’ll often catch her in passing, between your hectic schedules or in her spot between the cushions of the sofa curled up in a blanket and reading another romance novel. She’ll ask you how your day was, or what it’s going to be, and you’ll tell her what you always tell her.

“Nothing,” she responds as you press a dutiful kiss to her forehead, “I’m just thinking.”

-

But what else is there to say?

There’s Eunbi’s apartment, the usual scene of the crime. There’s the backseat of your car, sometimes the front seat of hers. There’s no lack for nooks and crannies in the production studio. You fuck Eunbi. Eunbi fucks you. All of it rabid and increasingly frequent and most of the time it gets seriously freudian.

“Inside me,” Eunbi gasps, twice. Her chest is flushed, stained again with your cum, sticky strands of it bridging between her tits as they wobble and shake beneath you. It’s all routine, and none of it anything you could ever tire of. The way you’re fucking her, every deliberate thrust something you can hang on to forever - buried inside her hot, tight velvety cunt - it should be aspirational. And you’ve got her here so frequently, so selfishly, so perfectly. With her knees folded up to her shoulders as you ride the motions of the bed springs. 

Maybe it’s curiosity at play, to see how far either of you will go. You’re crushing her in more ways than one. It’s hot and filthy and she’s loving every moment of it. You’re pounding her sopping cunt into a swollen, cummed-in mess - more and more as you fuck her further into the matress. “Do it, baby,” she cries, unashamed, “want you to fill this pretty little cunt again, need you to fuck me, use me, need you to breed me - use this pussy however you want, it’s yours, so cum in me over and over until i’m just your little cumdump and nothing more-”

God, you want to give her everything she wants, all of the time. Your hips ride into her again, deep and making her features skip past all the usual coy expressions. And god, she is so fucking tight - maybe you will.

“Just like that, don’t stop.” Eunbi is panting, nails digging into your shoulder blades, and she holds your face to the crook of her shoulder. Her voice comes out in airy gasps, shaking and quivering as you rock her entire body beneath you. You pound away at her pussy, and you fuck her, and you rail her so reckless she starts to cry out, until she’s begging, pleading for you to fill her pretty little cunt.

Even though you should at least hesitate, you don’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Hips grinding against hers, cunt clenched and dripping onto your cock, you do.

You need her.

-

But what else is there to say? It’s not that you don’t do your fair share of thinking either. Though none of it productive, admittedly. You’ve got all these images, photographically vivid, of Eunbi running through your head. The things you’ve done to her, the things you want to do to her, the things you will do to her. 

It starts to get in the way of your work.

“I’m sorry,” you say, caught daydreaming one day. “Could you repeat that for me?”

Sitting across the table from you is Jo Yuri, a mutual friend. She knows everyone, and she’s on your radio show, talking about relationships. “What I’m saying is this: I’m not sure what it is about men that make them think women are so unsolvable, like we’re constantly changing the rules.”

“They’re not simple,” you offer in contention.

Yuri turns her head onto her hand, adjusting her headphones, and leans into the mic. “They’re not complex either.”

But, they are complex, you think to yourself as Yuri continues on her with her point. They’re complex in the way they want you to touch them, the way they want you to hold them, to kiss them; some of them complex in the way they want you to choke them, slap them, get your mouth on them and make them cum over and over-

“If it’s less subtle than a brick to the face,” Yuri says, gauging your lack of a reaction, “it’s probably for your own good. That’s what I think.”

-

Neither of you cry when Minju breaks up with you on a Friday. You know, like officially. Neither of you shout or throw things or do anything that you could put in a tell-all book in your later years.

So that’s that, is the last thing she says to you.

Whatever the opposite of cathartic is - that’s the vibe.

Her publicist finally sends a letter to Dispatch. Apparently the time is right. Or she’s stopped caring. You don’t know. The article that ultimately arrives doesn’t drag you through the mud, but you don’t come out looking all that great either. And as it turns out, surprisingly, the most tragic part about being dumped on a Friday, aside from the fact that every fool that is doom scrolling twitter knows about it, is it’s impossible to get new furniture delivered until the following Monday.

“Jesus,” Eunbi says, sliding past you and into your near empty apartment. “This place is super depressing.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, tepid. “There’s been photographers watching the door to the lobby for hours.”

“I was just passing by. Saw the lights were on.”

“Yeah, well, I mean I’m here.”

“I see that.” Eunbi smiles simply. “Was all the furniture hers?”

“We replaced a lot of stuff as time went on. Didn’t match her decor.” You lean against the door frame. “Or so I’m told.”

Eunbi does a spin in your living room, finger to her chin. “Looks like she left you a coffee table.” 

“The movers said it didn’t fit in the truck.”

“Ah.” Eunbi crosses her arms, and the quiet smile on her face grows just an inch. “Serendipitous, ain’t it?”

-

“Hey,” Eunbi says, from the passenger seat of your car. “Would you say… are you feeling anger?”

“No.”

She taps away at her phone in a few more moments of silence. The turn signal’s click click click punctuating each one, semi-dramatically.

“Hey,” she says again, turning toward you.

“What?”

“How about this, are you feeling depression.”

You pause before you answer. “No.”

Her mouth finds a subtle twist, almost like she’s pouting. “Are you feeling, I dunno, bargaining?”

“I’m not in grief, Eunbi, if that’s what you’re working toward.”

She sinks into her seat, disappointed somehow.

“Oh, that’s the first step by the way: denial.” Eunbi unclicks her seatbelt, and leans over the console as you pull up in front of a hotel. “This article says that soon the emotions you’ve been hiding will begin to rise. You’ll be confronted with a lot of-”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” she asks, blinking deceptively in an almost comically innocent way.

“Psychoanalyzing.” You shut the car door a little too dramatically to be of any help hammering home your point. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Eunbi murmurs, just low enough for you to catch, “you’re living out of a hotel. And denial is not just a river in Egypt.”

“Why don’t we analyze how you’ve got a real talent for getting under my skin.”

“Oh.” She laughs, eyes bright, cheery. “So we are angry.”

“You might want to be more careful.” You’re wandering into familiar territory here. This thing, the needling, the goading, is it on purpose? Your intuition suggests yes, perhaps. A wealth of experience tells you absolutely.

“Is that so?” she asks, interested and daring and dangerously pretty in the shadows of the parking lot.

“Who knows, maybe I end up getting a little rough with you.”

“Oh darling,” she says, and part of you isn’t too keen on her getting so intimate with you. There’s another part of you that is. “I’m hoping you get a lot rough with me.”

-

The way Eunbi perches inelegantly at the edge of the bed says a lot. Her legs are wide open and she’s grasping backward at a set of pristine hotel sheets, cumming over and over on your fingers, maybe a little too easily. She’s even giving you those eyes, watery and irresistable. Of course you’re past all that, well familiar with the act, how deceitful it is of her to act so innocent.

So you bring your mouth onto her pussy and make her do it again. Telling yourself it’s what she deserves.

In fact, when the barrage of oh god’s and moaning and panting finally subsides, she ends up laughing, bubbly cute, in exactly the way you’ve grown fond of. It’s almost strange, you think, to be so used to the sound. But when Eunbi finally uncovers her face from her hands, her expression is pointedly not amused, all need and lust and want - she’s not playing around - simply the way your name comes off her tongue could make you melt. “How do you want me?” she asks, “you can’t just leave me like this.”

Fuck, how don’t you want her? It might have been careless, giving someone like you creative liberty - you’re imaging everything. You want her on her knees, you want her ass in your hands, you want her riding you, beneath you; there’s a million and one things you’re thinking about her tits alone. Then there’s the other liberty. That you’re not checking over your shoulder, worrying, anxious, that kernel of shame hidden away somewhere inside you no longer growing as you get your cock inside her. You’ll make her scream your name, beg you to cum. She’s yours, and you’ll remind her who she belongs to. You’ll take all the time you need. 

“Stand up,” you end up telling her, and after one of those liquid thoughts finally coalesces into something more rigid, “over by the window.”

“Yes sir,” Eunbi says, huffing a smug laugh. Though whatever faux confidence she thought she discovered vanishes without a trace considering her knees are already wobbling, barely able to support her. Some part of her must be able to sense it: you’re worked up, feeling something. She likes you that way. Likes what it makes you do to her. The fact is, to be truly content - being held down and pounded into, filled so full and fucked apart - it’ll take just a press of her thumb on the scale. 

See, Eunbi knows you’ve been holding back. Knows you’ve been flirting with the boundaries she’s dared you to cross. With a little encouragement, she knows you will. 

You saw this coming. And to be frank, you’re going to ruin her.  

“Take your shirt off,” you say, slipping seamlessly into instruction, “socks, underwear, strip.”

It is breathtaking, the way Eunbi ultimately turns her figure around against the pane, hands running up the glass and stretching above her head, ass poked out and shimmying her hips. She’s right there, waiting for you to grab hold of her, to press kisses into her shoulders, her spine, to pump your cock into her, to cum in her deeper and deeper-

And with much less to say, she finds that shimmy again, the round of her ass proffering. Her patience waning.

“You fucking better,” she says, and her elbow’s bent, finger’s pulling at her ass cheek. Look, this pussy, it’s yours, no one else’s and you made it so, so wet. You almost can’t believe that she’s even real - all curves and sharp angles in the right places, a face like that - you should be at her feet, worshiping her, and you will, in a way: you’ll grip her wrists tightly into your fist and sink your fingers into her waist until you’ve got her bruising and breaking. And that’s just a scratch at the surface.

Eunbi’s pupils are blown, mouthing into her shoulder, “I need you to fuck me.”

The tension in the room hardly stretches more than a few moments, you’ve got your cock out, you’re slipping into Eunbi’s soaked cunt, pushing deep, thrusting deeper, bottoming out - “you perfect fucking slut, Eunbi, so needy aren’t you? Begging me to breed you over and over-” You’ve spent the last god knows how many many months hiding away and stealing at something you weren’t supposed to have. Spent even longer pining for something you’ve never had at all. Your hips snap again, harsh contact against her ass, skin milky white and soft, unblemished and delicate - and when you settle into this harsh tempo, railing Eunbi up against the window, you figure you’ll address all that. 

See, you’ve got no ticking clock in front of you. Consider how time starts to slip when you’re inside her, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, you’ll take as much you can: time to bring her her home, keep your cock in her for a day, two days, three days, keep cumming in all her holes-

“Fuck,” Eunbi sputters, arching her back further, tension building in her spine, in her cunt. The reflection in the window shows her bottom lip start to tremble, and she opens her mouth, repeating it, like it’s all she can remember how to say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

You slap her ass, hard. Handprint vibrantly pink and staring back at you. You kiss her shoulders, you pound her little cunt into consummate submission. I want other people to know, Eunbi’s entirely incapable of telling you right now, drool cornering in her lips. Want everyone to know how good you fuck me, how you own me, how I’m your personal cumdump and forever will be.

You mark her up, like she is yours, hand at her neck, in her hair - you start to pull.

“Yes?” How you’re holding her, how you’re fucking her - it’s physically imposing. You’re towering over the woman, face bent upward and reaching further as the grip you’ve stolen of her silky hair only ever tightens. You can kiss her forehead, but you don’t. You tease her instead. “Aw, you’ve got a look on your face like you have something you want to tell me, Eunbi.”

All too simple, your thumb lands on the pucker of her asshole. And she cums, just like that.

It’s unholy. The overstimulation has tears welling in her eyes, gorgeous, wide, glassy and brilliant. She’s not meant to take this kind of treatment. Reverence, adoration, that’s her usual faire. And she can hardly believe when you bring your hand down her ass again - can hardly believe that you’re fucking her within and inch of her life and wrecking her like you are.

Each thrust sends her voice higher and the lines of her body rippling faster, bending further. Its beauty in resonance, profundity in motion: the soft skin of her ass shaking against your hips, tits swinging against the window. Your hand snakes across her flat stomach, feels her panting for breath, traces her ribs and up towards her chest. Those little whines make it out to be something selfish. Mewling gasps for air make it seem like you aren’t giving her exactly what she asked for. As if you’d ever give her anything less. 

Fuck. She’s a hot, moaning mess of a woman. She doesn’t even roll her hips back onto you or fuck herself on your cock; she doesn’t need to. You’re destroying that little pussy, and once you start palming the heavy shape of her breast, you’re letting your fingers sink into all that profundity. 

“Please,” finally slips out of her, though she’s unable to add anything in that thin, wilting voice. There’s plea in it, the sound steeped in protest, in penury, in poverty; you’re fucking her and you’re fucking her apart - cock buried deep in her cunt - you never expected to have to piece her together this early.

“Tell me,” you demand, callous, right at her ear, “please what? Please pound this perfect little pussy of yours until I cum? Please fill you with a hot load of cum because what, you deserve it? Is that you want, Eunbi?”

“Please, cum-” Her words vanish like a hot breath against the glass. She’s blathering, eyes falling half-lidded in this amazingly sexy way that almost feels intentional. “Want to feel you cum. Fill me up with cum, please, please, please-”

“Oh, Eunbi,” you drawl, right into the crook of her neck. It makes her shiver. She’s not a princess, curses woven into her breath, but she’s selfish like one. “I’m not going to cum in this perfect little pussy-”

It all happens so fast: you drag your cock out of her cunt, and if you weren’t pressing your fingers into her waist, holding her tighter, you think she might collapse. Maybe you were closer than you realized, moments from draining your balls in her pussy, because when you lay cushioned between the cheeks of her ass, your cock just starts to spill - hot cum weeping from the tip and making a mess of her soft, creamy skin, over the puffy lips of her pussy, across the tight little rim of her asshole.

“Good girls get bred, Eunbi,” you say, voice drying, sensitive, and so far from where you started. “You told me to be rough with you baby. I’m thinking I might cum in this perfect fucking ass. Should I?”

Eunbi’s face is flush against the glass, hands reaching back in response, spreading herself for you. Some part of her knows what you want, and she knows how bad she wants it too. “Please,” she begs, swallowing down on these hoarse uneven breaths, hiccupping between them - “need it.”

You can feel your tip tease her rim, where she’s still impossibly closed and waiting. The cum leaking from your cock is wet and slick and slippery, and with a fist curled around your shaft, realigned, angled down, you slip in.

There aren’t even words for it, how it all comes together. How she comes apart.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, recognizing Eunbi’s weight shift around you. “I’m going to fucking own this little asshole, Eunbi.”

Eunbi’s responsive mmm runs ragged. Face in profile against the window, tits smashed against the glass, you watch her eyes screw shut and her eyebrows draw together - you think for a moment, as you so often do, that you’re hurting her, blazing past safewords and pressing your cock too deep, too fast into her tight ass. “Go,” she tells you, and without even flinching, gets her fingers underneath where you’re splitting her in two, gets them wet with the slick of her cunt and in between your balls, gently. “Want you, please, this big cock.”

Your eyes water, and you start to thrust.

“Baby,” you whisper into the lobe of her ear. For once it’s all slow, sloppy and soft. It’s sin at your waist, fucking her open slowly, pumping into her ass again and again until it’s all so slick she can take you further. But you’ve got your fingers in her hair, preening loose strands back behind her hair. She’s so pretty all the time, and with her face twisted in unbearable pleasure, she’s outright gorgeous. “So good for me, Eunbi, such a good little cumslut aren’t you?”

Eunbi’s voice crackles into broken whimpers, like her lungs are waterlogged and flooded. She steals a hand away between her thighs, and starts ghosting her fingers over her clit. Anything more than that and she’d probably go up in smoke. (If it’s anything like you, cock pulsing with blood and hot as flame, you are about to lose it.)

“Fuck,” she says, grinding out the consonants in your name like she’s crushing them under a boot, “I can’t believe how good you feel, I can’t, I can’t-”

You knew, had always known, that you had - however subconsciously - enticed fate by letting yourself get to this point. Maybe it’s a perfect slowburn, this history, dotting commas and periods in your memoirs, and here you are, pounding at Eunbi’s asshole so fast that she’s stuttering.

“I can’t, fuck - thank you - fuck - feel you throbbing in my fucking ass - love being your cocksleeve,” she hisses, and her body has practically all but given up, knees buckled out, arm dangling at her side, tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s just that she never expected it either, that you’d be pleasing her by fucking her like a toy, so unrepentant she’s sobbing messy, all sloppy and pleading, more, please, harder, faster.

“You like this cock tearing your ass open, Eunbi?” you ask, pushing the hand she has hidden at her cunt out of the way, “you like being such a perfect slut for my cock, don’t you? You weren’t kidding, you’d let me do anything to you.”

“Please, don’t, you’re gonna make me - again,” she squeals, lip wobbling, mouth hung open. You push her hard against the glass, until she straightens out, and your finger is gliding through the slick of her cunt, knuckles knocking the window and honing in on her swollen clit - you’ll make her scream. “Oh god, fuck, oh god, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Serendipity is about chance meetings, convenient covers. Life has a way of dropping the world in your lap without you having to do anything. It’s Eunbi’s picture-perfect face, wrecked and twisting as she cums all over your thighs, rolling her hips and fucking her ass onto you - it’s that when she cums with her puckered entrance stuffed full of cock, she squirts everywhere. Lucky, is the watchword you’re sitting on, and of all places, of all people, you’ve been dealt the perfect hand, deck stacked in your favor.

There’s wet splattered all over the window. Stains streaking in the carpet. Dark spots that’ll never fade.  

“Keep fucking me,” Eunbi says, head of jet black hair titled back onto your shoulders, hips twisting slow as she grinds down against your waist, moving enough to make your cock throb and pulse. “Keep fucking me, please, until you fill my ass up all the way. I’m yours.”

Yours, yours, yours, she stammers on, failed and wrecked on your cock. Malleable and pliant. Ruined. 

“This tight little ass of yours, Eunbi,” you mutter, drawing sharp breath after sharp breath, “is fucking unbelievable.”

It’s yours.

Her body twists, torso turns into you, and you get your mouth on hers, moaning and mewling on the same hot, damp air.

“Good girl,” you whisper against her lips, and with a final kiss to her temple, you fuck into her hard - hands snuck up to hold her breasts and keep her still, hips snapping fast, faster, faster-

When you finally explode up into Eunbi’s ass, she makes a noise fucked and faltering even further than you. It’s desperate and debauched and only staunched by the fingers you slip past her lips. She bites down, but you’re too far pitched into the reality of pumping cum past Eunbi’s tight entrance that you can’t be bothered to care.

“Fuck, Eunbi.” Your voice is sneaking through gritted teeth. She’s tiny against you, body slender and hot and milking your cock. A flash of muscle, a quiver, a pucker, and she’s got you reeling. You think about getting your hand around her throat - fucking her again - but the look her face is so pristine and contented. You have her like putty in your hands, like you could bend her, mold her, break her, and when you instead bring her face to yours in this lazy, clumsy kiss, lips sliding and her tongue licking into your mouth, you know you’d never need to.

See, she’s so dismantled, completely stuffed with cock, and still, with it leaking everywhere you can feel it run hot and sticky, it’s perfect. 

The hotel room isn’t big, and until this exact moment, had been so filled with sex that the the sounds of it echoing back and forth make this sudden quiet into a silence puzzlingly calm. Her features relax, into something a little more befitting her reputation. She’s sweaty and wet and you did your part, you fucked her and fucked her up, you realize, she’ll return you the favor later. 

You hold your breath, watching the beauty mark on her cheek raise and lower with every panted-out breath, mesmerized-

And with just the slightest shift, Eunbi’s mouth closes into this tiny, satisfied smile.

“You came inside my ass,” she says out loud. She tries not to laugh, and then she does anyway when you slide your cock out of her. “You just came - in my ass. Look.”

It’s almost unfathomable, that you just fucked her until she was sobbing, pushed your cock into her ass and had her uncoil like she did, the window, the carpet. Like a fucking disaster. It’s almost unfathomable that she’s got her hands spreading her cheeks open toward you and presenting the mess you’d made like it was something to be proud of, and after all that the mood of the moment shifts a little more intimate, a little more sentimental.

“You’re trouble,” you tell her, tilting her chin up under your fingers.

“Right back at you,” she says, and she pitches onto her feet until you kiss her again.

-

(It happens.

Time passes. You work on a new show. You move into a smaller apartment. It reeks of passed time. Maybe it’s the humidity of early sobriety, hanging and palpable. You can hear ticking in clockless rooms here.

It’s been years since Minju dropped the bombshell on the media. You recovered, mostly. Years too since you’ve seen Eunbi.

Sometimes the people you wanted as part of your story are only meant to be a chapter. You could probably stitch that into a frame and sell it to the kind of crowd who’d buy words in a frame.

You don’t.

Instead, you end up a little older, not in any meaningful way. You’re not wiser or any shit like that. Just older.)

-

You interrupt the producer of your current gig, a pretty middling radio show in a pretty mundane time slot. “What do you mean by new cohost? Like I’ll be working with another human being?”

He nods.

“Like every week?”

Nods again.

“Does he have a name?”

“She,” he corrects, writing judiciously at the clipboard permanently in his hands. Scowl on his face, pencil in his ear, clipboard in his hands, that’s how you know he’s in charge. It’s a whole look. He untucks a blank envelope from the disarray of papers in his hands, saying, “she dropped this off for you too.”

You turn it in your hands twice, until you see the cursive penned into the top right corner. Memories, stinging trifling things rush back to you, all at once: you see her face, her eyes are closed, she’s smiling, she’s a thought you’d tucked away for good, and now you’re wading through it like you hadn’t. 

Serendipitous.

[difeisheng]

碎鏡

My Qiaofang fic 《原諒我可好》 was originally the ending to a slightly longer draft, before I edited/cut it down and it became its own oneshot. However, I still like what didn't make it in, and Qiao Wanmian's perspective was a joy to write. So here is everything that happened before, as an extra (but can be read on its own).

Qiao Wanmian learns, days after the fact (again), that a man is dead, disappeared from the world (again), and as she feels the last ten years of her life warp, rush past, reset (back to the start, back to the end) the world fractures into sharp glass.

Qiao-guniang, are you all right? makes its way around the shards, the sound cut too harsh in its gentleness. Menzhu, do you want us to keep looking for him?

Qiao-nvxia, I'm sure he's still alive.

Qiao-guniang, he came back last time. He wouldn't leave you.

(For the second time, no one says.)

Days turn into weeks, turn into a month, strung together by a symphony of demand, of advice, of people who remember a heartbroken maiden mourning her destined, and no one beyond that.

Menzhu—

Qiao-nvxia—

Qiao-guniang—

Qiao Wanmian—

"Enough," she says, and for not the first time, she understands why Li Xiangyi wanted to run.

And so finally, Qiao Wanmian does too.

~*~

Here is the measure of Qiao Wanmian's life:

She is almost thirty, and two betrotheds have come and gone. She has spent half her lifetime dedicated to a sect, defining its name and its honour, but pride though it is, her name does not exist outside of it. Qiao Wanmian of Sigumen, as she hears it echoed in the streets.

And more than that, because the names of heroes will not, cannot die? Qiao Wanmian, Li Xiangyi's beloved.

What is it like, she wonders, watching a trio of girls walk through a market in a small town, sword wrapped in cloth for anonymity, to be someone who loves with the freedom of leaving it behind? What is it like, to exist and nothing more, as someone other than a widow who was never a wife?

What is it like for the world to look at oneself and see a person, not a story, perfect in her sculpted tragedy?

And somehow, somehow she finds the answer after two months of wandering. Or rather he finds Qiao Wanmian, seated at an inn toward the south, blue silk and silver stepping out of a storm and through the door for too-wide eyes to find her own.

"Qiao-guniang," Fang Duobing breathes. When Qiao Wanmian looks at him, all of twenty years old and too young to lose a first love, she knows that before him stands a shattered world too.

"Join me?" she says to that, and signals for another jar of wine.

~*~

Fang Duobing is an interesting one, Qiao Wanmian thinks, several hours later, studying him by the relief of candlelight. His hair sweeps over his shoulder, dark river with a few strands fallen loose, as he slumps forward to brace his arms on the table. He's staring downward as he props his chin up by one hand, the other fidgeting with his sleeve. "How long do you think it'll take to find him?"

Maudlin, he is. He hasn't had the years to build up a tolerance for wine, although Qiao Wanmian cannot say she's been sober this evening. The warmth to her face is from more than the inn torches.

How did Li Lianhua talk to this boy, when he was in this state? What was lie, what was truth, and for how long? Did it feel like this, where Qiao Wanmian knows the answer to Fang Duobing's words, but cannot let it escape her tongue?

"I don't know," she settles for instead, a soft lie to cushion the truth. "It might take a month. It might take years."

"It won't be years," Fang Duobing murmurs. The strings of beads in his hair rustle as he tilts his head to look at her. "We both already waited ten. I'll find him sooner than that."

Xiangyi, Qiao Wanmian thinks, thinks of the last ten years gone by without lighting lanterns for the dead. You always chose the ones who could never give up, didn't you?

"Good luck," she says softly, nearly a whisper, and takes a slow swallow of wine. The jar is nearly empty.

Silence unspools, punctuated by the flicker of the lights. Fang Duobing unstops the next jar of wine and brings it to his lips, neck a graceful curve in the lean of his head back, accented by the line of his jaw. He's grown into his features, for all the room he still has left to mature. If the jianghu hadn't called his name, he would have made a handsome aristocrat in the imperial court.

Is that what else Li Lianhua saw in Fang Duobing, for him to take on a companion after ten years of solitude? Qiao Wanmian wonders briefly, in the split moment before Fang Duobing glances at her again, then somewhere in the distance, darting away too quickly to count as an idle movement. "Something to say, Fang-gongzi?"

Fang Duobing closes his eyes, in a moment's thought. When he opens them, it is to lean closer, close enough that Qiao Wanmian can feel the shape of his breath. Perhaps this dearth of respectable distance, if anyone cares, can be excused by a wine-fuelled lapse in judgment. She chooses to let it be so.

"How did you survive this the last time?" Fang Duobing asks, less question and more plea. Qiao Wanmian can see now that it's been on his mind all evening, desperation forcing his tongue.

His eyes are dark now. He looks lost.

And before she can respond, "I'm asking because you were also someone who knew him."

Oh.

Qiao Wanmian doesn't deserve to have the word zhiji alongside her name. Not when it comes to Li Xiangyi. But she knows what Fang Duobing is searching for, and so she holds it out, that lifeline of kindred recognition.

Thousands mourned the loss of a legend. They both mourned the death of a man.

When her hand moves toward Fang Duobing, half by some instinct, half by impulse, he leans into the touch, letting himself be tugged up by his chin to face her.

"I don't have a good answer for you," she says, and there's no lie for this that will fare any less painful than the truth. "You'll get through one day hoping he'll be there waiting at the end, and he won't be, but you'll go to sleep so that maybe he'll find you in the next. He won't. But if it means you see tomorrow, then you have to keep hoping, until someday, you've found something new to wake up for."

It all comes out in a rush, and it surprises Qiao Wanmian by the honesty of it, so much so that her last words are too quiet by contrast. "That's how people like us keep living."

Fang Duobing's eyes are too bright. She brushes one gemstone of a fallen tear away with her thumb.

"You did this alone?" he says, and Qiao Wanmian recognizes the tremble to those words.

A wandering swordsman with a blade can fight any demon that throws itself at him. Fear, though, has ten thousand different ways to find you.

"You won't have to."

A promise, she realizes a moment too late, but she's already made it. These words were for him alone. Something else takes over Fang Duobing's expression: relief, like the first blossom of spring after a bleak winter.

He's too young for this to be his life.

And of Qiao Wanmian? What does Fang Duobing think? She waits, drawing away from him, the comfort of another's warmth gone.

His words are too soft in his mouth, gaze too earnest. "I know you haven't said anything about yourself all night, but you don't have to either, you know."

It feels like an arrow let fly.

Qiao Wanmian is left helpless by its wound, staring in the half-dark at a boy too sweet for her, willing to break her fall while he doesn't know how to land himself, and, and—

Something inside her breaks.

~*~

When she reaches for him, anything of him, drowned in the shadows by the doors to his room— waist, collar, mouth— he lets her.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

“I feel like I know Soda from the way you talk about him”  -Cherry Valance

Me: I should work on one of the half dozen fic prompts sitting in my asks

My Brain: Ok but what if INSTEAD of that you fixated on a throwaway line of dialogue and write a Sodapop character study through the eyes of Cherry Valance

Me: Ok bet

**************************

“I feel like I know Soda from the way you talk about him”  -Cherry Valance, The Outsiders

The bell over the door jingles merrily as she steps through the door, though it’s the only thing that could be considered merry in the DX gas station today. Inside the air is suffocating. A dark haired greaser covered in oil gives her a cold once over, jaw tightening, but doesn’t say anything, just goes back to sweeping as she pretends to browse the candy bars. 

She shouldn’t be here. She knows she shouldn’t, and it’s not like she isn’t busy enough what with talking to Randy and trying to help Mrs. Sheldon plan the funeral.

The funeral. Bob’s funeral. Sweet, funny, stupid, reckless Bob. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend who’d been stabbed, who’d bled out in a park on the east side. Her boyfriend who’d scared a sweet kid into doing it. Her boyfriend who’d beat said kid within an inch of his life three months ago, around the same time he’d been coming by after school to help her take care of her mom. 

God this is so fucked up. She owes Bob’s memory more loyalty than this. She owes those kids something too.

She turns to go, pausing when she catches sight of the boy behind the counter. She’d seen him around school for a while, and he’d pumped her gas a few times, but until Friday night she hadn’t really known much about him. His hair is more blond than red, eyes brown instead of green, and his face has a few sharper angles, but other than that he looks a whole lot like his little brother. Even if Ponyboy hadn’t described him perfectly, after meeting him she could have guessed they were related. 

She swallows heavily, cowardly once again, and feigns interest in the chips this time. The dark haired guy keeps alternating between glaring at her and casting worried glances at where Sodapop Curtis sits slumped behind the counter. She kind of gets why. Handsome as Sodapop is, he looks terrible- eyes red rimmed and gaze vacant as he stares down at the counter with such a forlorn expression Cherry’s heart breaks just looking at it. He looks like a scene is straight out of a sad movie, the kind where the hero is doomed from the start, no matter what they say or do. The kind where they lose everything over and over and end up alone. The kind Cherry used to like before she learned that real tragedy wasn’t as beautiful as it looked on TV. The kind Bob never watched with her anyway, always talking her into watching a comedy or an action film instead.

It’s been three days. Three days since Bob died, which means Sodapop Curtis’ little brother has been missing just as long. She remembers the pure adoration in Ponyboy’s voice when he talked about him, remembers the way he didn’t have a single bad word to say, how she could almost feel how much Soda loved him just from the way he talked, and her stomach clenches. If Sodapop Curtis loves Ponyboy half as much as Ponyboy clearly loves him, this must be killing him. 

Bob’s life is gone, snuffed out, ruined, but maybe he’d ruined a lot of lives too. The proof is right in front of her.

A well of shame that is rapidly becoming familiar swells in her chest. It was wrong of her to come here, wrong of her to want to talk to him. Even if he doesn’t know who she is, it is wrong for her to bear witness to his pain when it was her boyfriend and her friends who started this whole mess. Bob had died for it, yes, but how many others are going to have to suffer for his mistakes? How many innocents are going to be collateral damage?

Even Johnny Cade. Even the boy who’d killed him, had only done it because he had to. Even he didn’t deserve to suffer.

She should leave. She’s been standing here too long already, and the dark haired guy is becoming impatient, his glare more pronounced. Sodapop Curtis isn’t in the right state to notice her staring, but it’s clear his buddy has and doesn’t seem to appreciate it.

Of course. This whole mess started with a soc girl like her talking to a greaser, and after Bob’s death tensions are running high. No wonder this boy is looking at her like a threat. She’s already messed with the Curtis’ brothers lives enough. Of course, this guy doesn’t know that, but the pure hatred in his dark gaze makes her feel as though he does.

She picks up a stick of bubblegum. 

Glancing up through her lashes she watches as Sodapop raises a hand to chew absently on his left thumbnail. 

Her mind flashes back to the movie house, an auburn haired kid sitting beside her, deep into the movie, biting his left thumbnail, seemingly unaware he was doing it.

It’s this memory, the memory of Ponyboy biting his thumb mirrored exactly in his older brother that finally makes her decision for her. 

She grabs a few candy bars at random and a bag of chips for good measure, and makes her way over to the cash.

Sodapop Curtis doesn’t notice her presence until she’s directly in front of him, and even then only once she’s dropped her items on the counter. Gold brown eyes blink up at her suddenly, and she tries not to gasp.

The force of his full attention is not what shocks her- although a face like that is hard to not be stunned by. No, instead it's the absolute tortured look in his eyes that forces her to pause.

Desperation is something you hear about but don’t understand until you really see it in its wild, crazed, bruising true form, Cherry is realizing now. She’s never seen someone so physically present who so obviously isn’t here.

That is, until his gaze sharpens, recognition breaking through the haze of despair.

“You’re that socs girlfriend,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s also not an accusation, but it’s something close, “the one who died. I saw you. In the paper.”

“Yes.” She agrees softly. The dark haired guy has stopped pretending to sweep and is watching his friend with a wary gaze, like he could snap at any moment. He certainly looks like he could, hands nearly crushing the candy bars as he starts to ring her up. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” suddenly he seems dangerous, a far cry from the tortured boy from a minute ago, miles from the happy go lucky big brother Ponyboy had described at the drive in. She’d told Ponyboy she felt like she knew Soda from the way he described him, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. She doesn’t know the boy in front of her, whose jaw is clenched so tight his teeth creak, and whose eyes show such a deep well of hate she can feel herself drowning in it, “none of your kind should be, but especially not you. Your boyfriend is the reason my kid brother is missing.”

She can’t help but flinch.

He is none of the things Ponyboy told her about him, is not happy go lucky or grinning, doesn’t look like a guy who is gentle with horses, and teases people lovingly, or someone who helped hold his family together and looks out for his buddies. He isn’t who he is supposed to be, and he’s right- it’s Bob’s fault. It’s Bob’s fault Ponyboy is missing, Bob’s fault half of Soda’s already fractured family has been ripped away from him, Bob’s fault he doesn’t know where his fourteen year old brother is trying to fend for himself.

And yet… Bob’s sins are not her own. She won’t pretend she had no role in this whole mess, but Bob’s choices are not her own. She has her own issues to atone for, but it is not her job to answer for Bob’s.

She squares her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Sodapop stiffens immediately, but she ploughs on, “truly I am, and if the police ask me I will tell them it was self defense because I know,” her voice catches, but she forces back the tears. She loves Bob, she does, but he could be cruel and she owes it to those kids to tell the truth, “I know Bob started it, but I didn’t do this and I won’t be treated like I did.”

His dark eyes flash, and for a or a second she thinks he might actually hit her-  then his shoulders slump, all the fight draining out of him to be replaced once again with anguish.

“I-” he can’t seem to bring himself to apologize. Cherry can’t really blame him, “ok.”

He finishes ringing up her items, and she pays, taking the bag of candy she doesn’t want or need and trying to think of a reason to stall. She considers asking about Ponyboy, considers telling Soda about meeting him at the drive in, wonders if he did know anything if he’d actually tell her and concludes that he wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. The girlfriend of the guy his brother skipped town after seeing murdered is probably the last person he’d trust with any news. 

Even still. She can’t bring herself to leave without saying anything. 

“I really hope you find your brother,” she settles on, hoping he can read her sincerity, “Ponyboy is a really special kid.”

The bell rings again as the door closes behind her, but the melancholy mood follows her to her car.

She was wrong on Friday. She doesn’t know anything about Ponyboy’s brother, no matter how well he described him.

Then again, she thinks as she drives away, catching sight of the golden haired boy once again staring vacantly at the counter through the window, maybe the boy she just met wasn’t Ponyboy’s brother Sodapop. Maybe he’s the Sodapop who isn’t.

She thinks of the boy made of sunshine Ponyboy described compared to the tortured prince of darkness she just met, and shudders.

What a terrible thought.

[dragonfly0808]

Icy’s Family History

One of the things that I planned but wound up not having the time for in s3 was including a bit more history about Icy’s family.

Icy’s family has a long history with dark magic and incredibly horrific rituals, all starting with the Ancestral Witches, those rituals being passed down over generations.

The thing with the specific brand of dark magic that Icy’s family used was that, since it involved a lot of sacrifices, blood magic and needing to take life from others, it had a tendency to drive members of the family mad, which is why every generation has at least 2 members who try to stop the others.

My idea for Icy’s immediate family is as follows:

They live in a small planet (which was the birth planet of the Ancestral Witches and the first they wrecked) that still fears witches, half-isolated from everyone.

There were 4 members of Icy’s family we were gonna explore slightly, those being her mom, dad, uncle and cousin.

Her dad used dark magic after his wife (Icy’s mom) started getting sick and he was desperate to heal her, however, the magic caused them both to lose their minds and Icy’s mom wound up killing him and dying due to illness soon after.

Then there was Icy’s cousin, who truly dived into dark magic, studying it diligently but never actually using until she went to Cloud Tower. Being furious at everyone from her birth planet for the treatment of her family, she decides to try and communicate with the Ancestral Witches, who convince her to summon them.

The cousin summons the Ancestral Witches with the help of her coven and causes the fall of Domino.

Finally, there’s Icy’s uncle, who takes Icy in after the death of her parents and, after his daughter dies after the fall of Domino, tries to keep Icy from following that path, trying to make her understand the dangers of that magic.

So Icy’s family history is filled to the brim with tragedy and dark magic and I thought it would be an interesting way of explaining why she knows so much about magic and why she’s so ambitious when it comes to the Dragon Flame. It’s not just because she wants power, but also because it’s part of her family history and because she wants to finish what her cousin started. Icy was four when her cousin awakened the Ancestral Witches and died, she remembers her slightly and wants to in a way avenge her and every member of her family that has succumbed to a horrible fate that, she doesn’t realized, half of those are direct results of them choosing to use dangerous magic.

[likes-words-and-shrimp]

~2023 Symphonia Fic Recs~

Wanted to start off the new year (a little late, haha) with some fic recs for Tales of Symphonia! This is going to be focused on fics that were specifically published/updated in 2023, so some of these stories will vary in length as well as in rating, and you'll most likely see some repeating authors. A small disclaimer: I like to read stories that are in-line with my general preferences and likes (such as fave ships and characters) so I'm admitting some bias in these recs, but I also believe these fics are very much worth reading and want to share them! Much of this is also from the top of my head, so apologies in advance if I miss some additional fics!

Each will be a link to the story and author, rating and word count, and with a very brief summary of the fic. These are in no particular order.

With that, let's go! All fics are under the cut! (And just past New Year's Lloyd):

-

And A Sense of Guilt I Can't Deny by AdeptArcanist (G, 1.7k) - Frank was never the sort of man to consider himself extraordinary. He was just another boy who grew up under Iselia’s auspices, taking the peaceful days for granted. He never expected that he would be the father of the next Chosen. A character study revolving around Frank Brunel, his upbringing under the Church, and his connection with Colette. A beautiful fic that gives more of a voice to one of Symphonia's overlooked minor characters.

Passed between these hands of ours by Umbry2000 (G, 3.2k) - The passing of joy from one person to the next, like stones pressed from hand to hand. Lloyd and Colette meet with a young member of the Chosen lineage and teaches her how to skip stones, interspersed with wonderfully written flashbacks to them as children. Takes place post-canon.

Wings of the Dawn by FrostGlaive (T, 56.9k) - Yggdrasill is determined to have his Angelus Project completed. In a frantic bid to save his son, Kratos tries a temporary measure. But plans never go as intended. A canon-divergence fic where Lloyd is captured in Welgaia by Yggdrasill, his key crest then removed from his Exsphere by Kratos. A very interesting take where Lloyd is unwillingly put on the enemy side and has revelations differently from canon.

Rewind by ignitible (T, 20.9k) - "A person’s memories is tied to their time. -- There will be nothing for them to remember." A post-canon fic that mixes in an adventure/mystery plot with the age regression trope in such an engaging way. Begins with most of the party searching for missing persons in the Shadow Temple before they get separated-and discovering who gets hit with the trope is half the fun in reading to find out! Currently an ongoing fic.

Forever and Always by kimberriez (G, 6.6k) - Lloyd was raised by a blacksmith, he knows all sorts of things about metal, about craftsmanship. What he can't quite figure out is why Kratos has a wedding ring, and what about it looks familiar. A dad reveal, set right after Colette is kidnapped in Ozette. A canon-divergence fic that plays with the timeframe of when Lloyd realizes who Kratos is, and gives some really touching interaction between the two as a result. Part of a series of different dad reveals.

stargazing by almost_home (G, 2.3k) - Lloyd invites Genis for a sleepover. Pre-game. A small and sweet fic about Lloyd and Genis as children, spending time together at Lloyd's home. Overall a really adorable portrayal of their friendship.

Like Starlight by MannaTea (T, 5.4k) - Aithra Brunel is sixteen when she accepts the oracle and her new title: Sylvarant’s Chosen of Regeneration. A really beautiful and tearful story centering around one of the past Chosens of Sylvarant, particularly detailing about her journey and the tragedy that ultimately befalls her.

A Good Luck Charm by sistaofpeace1 (G, 1.3k) - A simple trinket turns out to be far more meaningful. A cute feel-good Kratos/Anna fic with Anna helping Kratos fight off some bandits, as well as Kratos not knowing what a mistletoe is. Hilarity ensues, leading to some nice fluff.

just down the dirt road by Baron_Ali (G, 1.1k) - Memories and nostalgia shrouding his childhood home give Lloyd pause; Colette sets her dork back on track. This story takes place one year after Lloyd and Colette's Exsphere journey, and delves deep into the difficulty of the quest and how it's beginning to weigh down on Lloyd and his confidence in tackling it while Colette reassures him. An incredibly sweet and warm fic that has a lot of lovely imagery in its storytelling.

The place of our dreams (let's go there) by holy_kami (T, 6.3k) - He probably thought he did a good job of hiding his pain from them, but Colette was all too familiar with feeling alienated because she was so starkly different from everyone else. In fact, she and Zelos were more alike than anyone else she knew. A Zelos and Colette fic that takes place before and after Zelos' betrayal. Incredibly great introspection between both of their roles as Chosen and how it brings them both an understanding of each other.

complications you could do without by almost_home (G, 3.7k) - Raine is injured in the Temple of Ice, and Zelos has a rough time with it. A really fascinating fic about Zelos experiencing past trauma when Raine gets injured. This story does a great job portraying his dynamics with the entire group overall, along with a touching scene between him and Raine for a bit of closure.

Heart Beats by Umbry2000 (G, 1.7k) - She counts the steady beats of his heart, and promises to always protect him. The style of this fic winds around Colette and Lloyd's physical interactions, and written in such a genuine way that leads to a bittersweet ending. A great mixture of fluff and angst.

Vita by MannaTea (E, 4.1k) - Half-elves can now attend formal schools as well as teach in them. They can join the church, attend the theater, walk into any medical facility and receive treatment, and practice medicine. But they cannot marry humans. A Regal/Raine fic where Regal's own unique healing magic is put to good use while he and Raine meet secretly. Takes place in the backdrop of a vote where it would be decided if half-elves and humans can get married, making for a suspenseful and emotional story.

The Great Interdimensional Curry Quest by VSSAKJ (G, 1.1k) - Filled with a burning yearning for the universe’s spiciest delicacy, Symphonia's Spice-Loving Gnomelette leaves the Temple of Earth behind, setting off on a journey through time and space (and other Tales of games) to treat his taste buds to even hotter and heartier meals. This story technically spans over other Tales of games, but is focused on the silly gnomelette from Symphonia that demands something spicy from the party. Just a really fun fic where this NPC travels across different worlds and dimensions for the spiciest food in existence!

A Cowgirl Comes-a-Ridin' by Night Sky (E, 7.3k) - They called them Lloyd the Kid and Colette the Angel. A notorious couple wanted by the authorities in all of western Sylvarant. Slipperier than a snake in slime oil and luckier than a mimic chest in a seemingly looted ghost town, these two had the highest bounty on their heads in the west: One million gald reward for each. Dead or alive. As the title implies, a really hilarious but also sexy fic set in a Western AU, taking place while Lloyd and Colette are out on the run and settle for the night. Both are adorable goofballs just having a good time with the writing style making this such a fun ride to go on. Also, Sheena is the sheriff tracking them down!

Break Open the Sky by MannaTea (M, 102.5k) - What kind of “Hero” of Regeneration would she be to leave an infant to fend for itself? Someone had to have left it here for a reason. The question was, of course, why? But as she lifted the little thing carefully into her arms, the motion reminding her of nights so far in the past, now, the why seemed almost tragically clear: this baby was of mixed blood. A Raine-centric fic (with eventual Regal/Raine) where she must take care of an abandoned half-elf baby that was left to her. An incredibly well-written fic that deals with Raine's issues of abandonment and past trauma, combined with a good deal of worldbuilding for Symphonia and examining the still-thriving deep-seated prejudices for half-elves.

Pretty Ribbon by CamTheYaoiFan (G, 492) - Presea grapples with the intricacies of female friendship, and wonders why she fumbles even more around Colette. But Colette is patient and kind, and Presea finds herself feeling especially drawn to her. A very cute little fic about Presea navigating her feelings for Colette and what she means to her. Perfect for a short and sweet read. Includes fluff and also some fanart in the story.

Snow Angel by amuk (T, 1.1k) - Colette was clumsy. Sheena had known this for a while now. Every place they’d ever visited had a Colette-shaped imprint. Yet, for some reason, she thought that teaching her how to skate was a good idea. A really light-hearted Sheena/Colette fic where the two go ice skating together. Clumsiness happens, but for a really great and romantic effect. Expect sweet fluff.

sings the tune without the words by MannaTea (T, 23.3k) - 4,000 years after the events of Tales of Symphonia, our heroes have been reborn. This tale belongs to Lloyd and Colette. A Lloyd/Colette multichapter fic that takes place in a modern AU, but with the twist that it's also a reincarnation AU! Follows along Lloyd and Colette's lives from childhood to old age, with some familiar faces along the way, with both uplifting and tragic moments in-between.

A Held Note by fowl68 (G, 11.5k) - Dirk poured tea for their ghost. She never sat with him, but she would drift closer, drawn in by his voice and conversation. She talked, sometimes, endless questions about her baby and where was her baby? She never absorbed the fact that her baby was sleeping in the bed just upstairs. A story that examines the 'what-if' scenario of Anna and Martel being wandering ghosts during the events of Symphonia, interacting with the cast during different points in their lives, from childhood to adulthood. A really introspective look at how their deaths affect Symphonia's story overall.

Mirage by Umbry2000 (G, 2.7k) - The role given to Colette Brunel had been that of the Chosen. It was a role only she could play. And she played it to perfection. An introspective-fic about Colette with an incredibly well-written look into the pressures of her role, and how it affects her even after the events of Symphonia. Has some brief Lloyd/Colette as his presence helps her break from the shell she's built around herself.

Rather Be Happy by Phylarologist (T, 4.6k) - Lloyd and Colette take a break from their Exsphere-gathering journey to have the worst date imaginable. Just as the summary explains! But with the added angst that eventually occurs near the end and the very reasoning for why Lloyd and Colette are on a bad date. A wholesome fic with that dash of hurt/comfort.

Missing the Ground by sapphose (G, 1.9k) - The group's journey to the Temple of Earth is interrupted by a long detour to the Toize Valley Mines. Can Zelos and Regal face what awaits them on the southeast continent? This fic is part of an ongoing role-reversal AU series with Zelos as the Chosen of the declining world. The story is a brief look into his journey, where Zelos is already losing some of his humanity, as well as dives into his dynamic with the party. A really intriguing portrayal of Symphonia's worldbuilding if the situations were reversed.

Strangely Sacred by fowl68 (G, 19.6k) - The power of the Summon Spirits takes a toll if you're not careful. Sheena can't always afford to be. How the party learns to support each other. Each chapter of this fic examines Sheena's bond with a Summon Spirit and their power--but is also a really wonderful exploration of Sheena's dynamic with each party member, using the Summon Spirits as the connection. Very well-written one-on-one character interaction.

Formative by sykilik101 (G, 6.3k) I am who I am because of you. And, maybe, you are who you are because of me. A story that examines Lloyd and Colette's relationship at different points during their childhood years together. Beautifully captures the nuances of their friendship and blossoming feelings for one another, all while learning about what the Chosen role entails and how Lloyd gradually goes against it for Colette's sake.

Oblivion - We are all monsters here by KujaTribal (M, 25.5k) - Kratos had Lloyd during the ancient war and Lloyd sacrificed himself in order to protect Martel. Several thousand years later, Kratos rules over both Tethe'alla and Sylvarant and Zelos is set on the journey to regenerate the world. An AU where Zelos as the Chosen is sent on a journey, but with a twist! The entire story is extremely canon-divergent, where a lot of characters are shifted into entirely new roles. (For example, Forcystus and Magnius are Zelos' best friends and have major roles, and Zelos is a half-elf!) Very fun to read just to see how familiar characters are set-up in this new imagining of Symphonia's world. Currently an ongoing fic.

To Those Left Behind by LiaLox (T, 5.6k) - A collection of short stories on what it means to feel time flow differently, on what it means to love, to leave, and to be left behind. This collection has two chapters so far, but they both examine some unique themes and characters in the Symphonia universe. First chapter is told from Phaidra's perspective and her realizing Kratos' identity from her deceased sister's letters, while the second chapter focuses on Emil from Dawn of the New World and his future with Marta.

Innocent Little Secrets by KujaTribal (G, 1.1k) - Raine shares a tiny little secret. A very adorable Zelos/Raine fic that takes place during canon. Both Zelos and Raine show a little of their vulnerabilities to each other that leads to some really great fluff. Another great short and sweet read.

The Unexpected Dog (Protozoan) Father by shibabunny (T, 2.9k) - A few months after Kratos and Anna settle in Luin, the couple, along with Lloyd and Colette, who are now engaged and in town visiting the older couple, discover a pile of puppies surrounding Noishe. And some seem to have an uncanny resemblance to the loyal protozoan. This is a really adorable fic taking place in an Anna-lives AU about Noishe having puppies. What makes this fic really engaging is how much Kratos doesn't want to give away the puppies, showing a very soft side of him! A super cute read.

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And that's a lot of recs! If you'd like to check out any of the above fics, definitely give them a read and leave a kudos/comment. I haven't read every fic that was made in the past year either, so you can always check AO3 for more fics!

...And if you've read this far! I'll throw in an extra bonus of some of my own fics that I wrote in 2023 and particularly like for anyone's interest.

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Being an angel is pretty inconvenient, huh? (T, 36.1k) - Lloyd had never been too fond of his wings. But they were still useful, and convenient when they needed to be. It only made sense to use what he had. Until his wings changed one night, and became permanent, with real feathers attached to bone. And they were heavy. A Lloyd/Colette fic spanning seven chapters, focusing on Lloyd's mana wings and their transformation into permanent ones. Deals with some brief body horror, party dynamics, themes of change and acceptance, and an eventual happy ending.

To Sow the Seeds of Love and Adoration (T, 8k) - Tabatha knew that a doll that failed in her purpose must be discarded. She was flawed, with a voice that continued to halt and assess every syllable, with a body that refused to house the soul of the woman she was made in the image of. Focuses on Tabatha both before and during the events of Symphonia, along with a look in to her and Altessa's close relationship. Was an art/fic collab with @frayed-symphony which is included in the story!

Resemblance (G, 2.7k) - During a rainy day in Asgard, Kratos takes up cooking for the party. Colette notices quite a few things. Just as the summary says; Kratos cooks for the party, (specifically seafood stew!) Meanwhile, Colette makes a few connections between him and Lloyd throughout. Lloyd also gets caught in the rain.

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Thanks again for reading and hoping for a great 2024!

[kovacs-of-courage]

Nesting Fears

I made this fic based off my dear friend @yys002's art! Check out her blog(the art below is hers)

He was walking in a dream, fading memories echoing around his lucid consciousness. 

There were voices around every corner, whispers of his loved ones, honeycomb promises behind unending walls. He was trapped in the manor, wandering up and down its lonely halls.

Dick tried to enjoy the experience, a sleep beyond nightmares was rare for him, if he remembered it at all. Life had thrown him too many dangers to rest softly, though he’d come to terms with that reality long ago. He was too proud of his life; what with the people he’d helped, the lives he’d saved, the friends met.

He missed his parents more than the world, but if they were forever doomed to die—-there was nowhere else Dick would rather be. Being Robin honored their memory in a way that doing circus tours for the rest of his life never could, to turn his tragedy into a force for good--Dick knew they’d approve.

So why did he feel so uncertain? Why was he so afraid?

Dick put his hand on the shadowed wall, his fingers flat against the ancient timber. A sigh of passive exasperation left his incorporeal form, the strain of his worries weighing harder on the young vigilante than any physical hardship. The manor had contorted a direction through his memories, winding corridors of past glories and future anxieties.

It’d taken him through miles of it, or so Dick assumed. Dreams tended to play fast and loose with reality, the forest infinitely more important than the trees. Dick just wished he’d wake up already, but it seemed that wasn’t what his subconscious had in mind.

The room shifted around him, a blurring mass of colors and whirring sounds that passed as soon as it arrived. Dick didn’t feel alerted by this special change like he would in the real world, staying in a plain state of confused discomfort.

He recognized the room he’d landed in immediately, foreboding sinking into his chest like poisonous worry. Cautious in his step, he approached the lone statue-head in the center of the rectangular room--more fit to be a windowed coffin than a place for the living.

The marble carved features of Thomas Wayne stared back at him, set on a similarly expensive pillar-- confirming Dick’s worst suspicions.

This was Bruce’s study.

There was history to the room, an importance that lent it a weight closer to crime alley than simply a place where the Wayne family liked to read. Bruce had told Dick close to everything there was to know about his mission, about Batman, including where he’d originally gotten the inspiration for it.

Dick looked back to the head of Thomas Wayne, the stone where his pupils should be staring daggers into his being. Righteous judgment radiated off it like smoke from an SOS flare, a wordless indignation towards Dick being in his presence.

“I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t even know why I’m here,” Dick said, disregarding the insanity of choosing to talk to a lifeless statue. He chose to not look it in the eyes, opening the curtains to observe the rolling greens of the Wayne estate.

Dick tried to enjoy the view, his mind’s admittedly imperfect recollection of his childhood home, as the imaginary sun slowly rose on the distant horizon. He closed his eyes, grasping at some sense of peace in the half nightmare around him.

“You know exactly why you’re here, boy.”

Gone as soon as it came, the silence overtaking the room shattered, the rumbling baritone of a voice unknown acting like a sledgehammer thrown across softened glass. It’d caught Dick off guard at first; as deep and guttural as trigon, the avalanche-like vibrations of each enunciated word a death sentence in its own right.

He looked to his left; at the only thing he could imagine as the source of the noise. 

The Statue spoke again, it’s stoic expression unmoving, it’s lips motionless: 

“Bruce should have never let you join his crusade, a child has no place in war.”

Dick gritted his teeth, aggravation flaring like hot fire within him, figment of his imagination or not--hearing the same tired spiel of Bruce’s boneheaded arguments made him want to scream.

“Oh put a sock in it, rock pile,” Dick said, looking the statue dead-on, “If you can’t even come up with your own points, then there’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind.”

A laugh roared through the air, it’s intensity like an earthquake to a withered coffin; shaking the room so violently as to carve gaps in the floorboards and throw books from their shelves.

Dick struggled to stay afoot, his trained grace doing little in the fantasy of the dream. 

“And yet you argue with me still!” The Statue laughed, “I’m not here to convince you of anything, little bird--only to remind you of a truth you so pathetically avoid.”

The condescending tone clicked all the wrong buttons for Dick, draining his vast well of patience to an exceedingly shrinking pool of agitation. He wanted to be as far away from the manor as possible. He’d prefer the worst patrols in Gotham, the deadliest missions with the titans, at least then he’d be doing something productive.

Not this.

“And what truth is that, oh hallowed prophet?” Dick leered, sarcasm etching his sentence’s end, “Go on, what cold truth do I need repeated? What wise wisdom of the batman have I forgotten? Is the eighteen-year-old apprentice still too young to be taken seriously?

The Statue remained impassive at the surface, betraying the hostility it so flagrantly spoke with, “Quite the opposite in fact. You are an apprentice in name alone, what use does Bruce have for a student he cannot teach, nor listens to his orders?”

It pained Dick to admit, but the statue, whatever part of his mind it represented, was right. Bruce and him didn’t need one another anymore, and that was a knife to his heart that kept on twisting. He was quiet for a tense few seconds, his fists balled and breathing slow.

“Batman and Robin are partners, we’re a team...he knows that,” Dick muttered, his hot anger turned to frigid vulnerability.

He waited for a response, the risen moon beaming through the glass, shining bright his open fear.

“Nothing lasts forever, even the brightest stars fade,” The Statue said, “Bruce knows this more than anyone, as should you.”

Dick tilted his head, disbelief plastered across his face, “We don’t just lay down and accept it! Bruce calling us quits isn’t gonna stop me from helping people. I’m not a kid anymore, I can make my own decisions.”

“I find that hard to believe, boy wonder, when you spend so much of your time tracing his footsteps,” The Statue said, holding it’s views like a scalpel to Dick’s life, “Robin is no more his own hero then when you were eight years old, or leading a team of second-rate sidekicks that pales in comparison to what your mentor helped create.”

The insult at the Titans salted the already bleeding wound, Dick’s emotions bubbled to a chaotic boiling point--no one hit his friends without going through him first.

“Keep the Titans out of this, or I’ll kick you off that pillar myself! We’ve earned our place, time and time again,” Dick said, his volume nearing a yell.

The statue didn’t waver, if it was bothered by Dick’s threat--it hid that fact well.

“Your defensiveness merely emphasizes my point,” The Statue explained. 

Dick’s squinted his eyes, his stance tense and rigid. 

The Statue continued to elaborate, dispassionate as always, “What is the tale of a squire without their knight? What is a son who never surpasses the father? You must grow beyond these trappings of youth, not retreat within them.” 

“Robin is my creation though,” Dick stressed, motioning his palms to his chest, “It’s the last thing I have of my parents, of my history...Who am I without it?”

The question elicited a hum of laughter from the statue, baritone and rebounding, though without malice, for once. Dick’s cheeks flushed red, embarrassment at his open vulnerability like salt on a bleeding wound.

“Am I to hear that the Flying Grayson is afraid to take a leap of faith? Is it not defiance of fear that creates the heroics you so revel in?”

Dick sheepishly rubbed his arm, “Well when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“The path you walk, you’ve known it’s course for far longer than your visit here,” The statue said, “The confusion you face in regards to the future is temporary, if you still have the bravery to persist.”

“Then what is this conversation supposed to be?” Dick asked. “My subconscious motivating me to keep going?”

The Statue said plainly it’s clarification, “Close, but no cigar. That moment will come in a short while; any moment now, actually.”

Dick shook his head, puzzled and uneased, “And what that’s supposed to be?”

“A taste of skies yet flown. You’ll see.”

Before Dick had the chance of questioning the statue’s cryptic answer, an invisible force had thrown him on his back; the shrill cry of a beast sounding life or death danger in his pained eardrums.

He struggled to regain his composure, his heart-rate jumping to his throat as he watched spider webbing cracks infect the floorboards; the noise of the unknown beast quickly reducing the room to literal splinters.

The dream was quickly becoming a nightmare, that much was plain to see. Dick swallowed the lump in his throat, the primal fear heightened by the reality around him coursing shivers from head to toe. He pushed past it, the courage of all his years dancing away from death’s grip reminding him of his true strength.

Dick pulled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth in concentration. Real or not; He’d never turn tail from danger, nor the future. The view from the window pane had brightened to an immeasurable degree, a near blinding wall of sunlight swallowing the space that the manor’s land had formerly occupied.

Another cry broke the air, just as earsplitting and hope-stopping as the last, but this time Dick could see the source...and it was flying right at him.

The creature was monstrous, an ever changing avian patchwork of leather-stitched sinew and brown and gray feathers. The details to its appearances were like a mirage, changing at the slightest glance, blending into a variety of patterns in the seconds of it’s current flight path.

Dick watched the bird in amazement, aware of the danger it presented and finding himself unable to move; completely mesmerized and terrified in equal measure. It molted it’s feathers to new patterns in ways that made Dick want to jump out the window and join it.

It roared again, it’s callous beak now a rallying cry for a cause that Dick felt deep in his heart. He blinked and it’s coat had darkened from the humble colors of the robin; the kiss of a midnight river drenching it’s dozen foot wide wingspan, adorning sleek slings of golden pride on it’s chest. 

There was beauty in the change, the transformations from one mode to another. For every reinvention there was horror lost, a terror thrown aside. Dick couldn’t help but admire that, envy it’s adaptation to something more.

Dick blinked again, the large talons of the bird mere inches away from the fragile glass. 

It’d changed once more, molting it’s dreamlike austerity to streamlined nobility. Darkness drenched it’s form, the touch of the space holding stars; yet it did not consume it. There was light in it’s eyes, grandness in it’s purpose, freedom in it’s flight--Dick looked into the brilliant sapphire streaking it’s breast and found hope, not despair.

He found a symbol he could believe in, a soul that longed to soar as much as his own.

Dick had found something more valuable than anything in the skies and wonders above.

As the glass shattered, and the bird’s mighty talons embraced him--Dick understood what it was.

And he was never letting go.

[nellyofthevalley]

truths, ch.1

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst I guess

summary: this fic is mostly an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who turns his fears into a self-fulfilling prophecy because he never learned how to love. it may or may not turn into a tragedy

“As I told you—you broke my cold, dead heart. Of course it was cruel,” Astarion says, melodramatic, hamming it up for her. He wants her to feel guilty for it; he wants her to stop being so tiring and play right into his hand. Make it easy for him.“I don’t believe you,” Tav says. “Everything you say sounds like a pretty lie, and you all but told me that’s what it is. Pretty lies. I’m not interested.”

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Camping in the Underdark is unsettling, to say the least. The party hears noises in the distance, reminiscent of the howl of wolves or the songs of birds on the surface, but here, the sounds are warped and unrecognizable, and when they travel, they never meet the creatures that match the sound. Their party travels lighter with fewer bodies, having stricter lookout shifts with more on nighttime patrol. Tonight is Lae’zel and Shadowheart on shift, and Tav can imagine that’s going well. After all, it was only a few days ago they’d been at each others throats. 

At least they are speaking to one another—Astarion hasn’t talked to her for days. Not since she turned him down at the tieflings’ celebration at camp, back by the grove. It would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s so obvious and awkward; he is clearly avoiding her, and she doesn’t know how to handle it. Avoid him? Act normal? What is normal anymore, anyway? 

She hadn’t meant to let him down so callously; how smug and fake he sounded finally got on her nerves. She didn’t expect him to seem so wounded by it. He was so good at putting on a fake face and fake words, so why was he surprised that she’d rejected him? What did he expect?

‘I’ve gotten on my back ten thousand times or more and forgotten half of them,’ he’d said after. ‘But you... you I’ll remember.’

The words linger in her mind like a parasite, fighting for space with her tadpole. It bothers her that she can’t let this go. Were they just more pretty words he spouted to get her in bed again, or something else? For a moment, it almost seemed like his facade had cracked when he said it. For all she knows, that could've been a performance as well. 

This evening, Tav finds herself in Halsin’s company while she works at her braids, discussing the road ahead. It won’t be long before they’re met with the shadow-cursed lands, and out of them all, Halsin knows the most. He recounts his studies on the curse and tadpole, eager to head off to their next destination despite the danger. Halsin clearly feels a certain responsibility to the cursed lands, though he’s also struggling with leaving the grove behind. 

“They’ll be fine without you—they’re tough,” Tav offers, doing her best to provide some kind of comfort. “You’ll be missed, I’m sure. I’m glad you’re with us, we’re lucky to have you.”

“I remain optimistic that Francesca will strive in my old position. Still, it is difficult to leave my home behind,” he says. “I’m afraid the city will be an even harder adjustment for me. The busy streets and crowds are a far cry from the comforts of nature.”

“There, there, Halsin,” Gale chimes in, joining the group by the campfire. “You might be pleasantly surprised. I admit, the city park has nothing on your lovely grove, but, well. You share the pursuit of knowledge, I assume? Baldur’s Gate is home to many wonderful things—the best of which being an extraordinary bookstore known as Sorcerous Sundries.”

Gale likes to hear Gale talk, so Tav backs off and lets him engage with Halsin in her stead. Her attention turns toward the campfire on this particularly cold night, stretching her arms and hands out in front of her, taking in the warmth it provides. Her own tent is dull and cold, so she can find sleep only once the boys have talked all they can talk and finally leave, allowing her the silence needed to rest.

Tav glances over at Astarion’s tent, and unsurprisingly, he’s nowhere to be found. Likely off hunting, she thinks. Ever since the party and their strange little silent treatment pact started, he’s been getting his fill elsewhere. She used to provide for him—to help him be ‘stronger, fight better,’ as he’d argued. Now, things were too tense to invite him back. 

She finds herself wondering if he’s chasing animals or people. It’s none of her business who he feeds from, but she can’t deny the slight twinge of jealousy eating at her, at the thought of him having his needs met from another ‘thinking’ creature. 

‘Truth be told, you were my first,’ he’d said. Tav felt shame as her cheeks flushed. His first. Something about that sounded so… personal.

Her attention snaps back to the present, settling into the bed roll by the fire, watching the flames frolic. As her eyes start to drift away, the need for sleep washing over her, the sounds of the wilderness become duller, drowned out. She didn’t realize how tired she was, how exhausting this day had been. Her muscles relax, sight fades, and thoughts morph into concepts as she drifts away to the warm comfort of sleep. 

Tav wakes in a sweat. Her skin feels like it’s melting, like she’s being boiled alive; her hands rush to her face, and when she touches herself, the skin oozes off her bones, flowing down her fingers and arms. She tries to scream, and nothing comes out, her mouth a gooey mess dripping onto the ground beneath her.

She tries to stand and flee, but her ankles are already turning into liquid fire. Her body lowers, slowly liquifying into the ground below. She’s helpless, a lost cause; an existence destined to fade away and be lost forever. A voice—her voice—tells her so, tells her ‘give up’.

Tav wakes again, this time with an audible scream. She instinctively jumps out of bed, rising to her knees; hands rush to touch her face again, relief and surprise coursing through her body as she realizes she’s still there. All of her, in one piece; not melting away as her dreams try to convince her. 

She sits upright and tears flow from her eyes, frustrated—these dreams keep happening to her, and she doesn’t understand it. The campfire is all except gone, hardly any flame or heat remains. 

“Tav!” Shadowheart calls to her, running and kneeling beside her. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine, I think,” she gets out, looking over her fingers and feet again, as if she has to remind herself they’re still there, still real. “Just… having nightmares.”

“Chk. If a dream bothers you that much, I question your sanity,” Lae’zel comments in her typical, apathetic tone, approaching the duo. “Soon you may develop a fever, grow tentacles, become ghaik at last—the moment you do, I’ll be ready to strike.”

Tav rolls her eyes, prodding at the campfire, hoping to reignite the tiny flame. Despite her dream, the air is cold, and her bedroll isn’t enough. Shadowheart and Lae’zel head off in separate directions to resume their patrol, and Tav catches Shadowheart glancing back at her on their way out. She seems genuinely concerned for Tav, and it’s nice to know someone does. The others are either sleeping peacefully in their tents or pretending to. Tav wishes it’s the former, hating to make a scene. 

The campfire crackles again, a little flame rising from the wood. It’s a much needed comfort, though not enough to relax and find sleep again. Tav lays on her bedroll, looking up at nothing besides a dark abyss and the faint glow of mushrooms growing far above. 

“Well, didn’t you cause quite the scare?” says a familiar voice—Astarion.

Tav jumps in surprise, leaning up onto her elbows to see him walking over from his tent. The last person she expected to see tonight. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she replies, a bit more haughty than intended. 

Knowing sleep will escape her for some time, she concedes and rises from the bedroll to sit on the log bench by the fire. It’s a silent invitation, how she leaves room for Astarion to join, and he accepts. The atmosphere is quiet, save for a few indescribable sounds in the distance, the very same type they’d learned to accept in the Underdark. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Tav says, willing to make the first move. 

“Darling, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me,” he answers, and it prompts Tav to realize he might be right; maybe it was all in her head and she played a one-sided game. “Tell me about your dreams.”

“What? Why?”

“Can’t I simply wonder what troubles you at night? Our ‘fearless leader’, who shows no weaknesses—yet you wake with a scream, and you weep because of it,” he says, revealing he’s been listening to it all. “Call me worried if it makes you feel better about it.”

“Are you worried about me?” Tav asks, staring daggers at him, challenging him to take off his mask. 

“Possibly,” Astarion answers with a dramatic shrug. “Or maybe I’m curious and you owe me. I told you plenty of my past, of my nightmares, and then you kept your secrets and so cruelly denied me your company. I think you can spare me a sentence or two, dear.”

She can’t tell how much of this is an act and how much isn’t. He’s putting on his usual theatrics, his dramatic tone and way of storytelling, but it’s hard to see beyond it this time. She’s certain he wants to know; she’s not certain if it’s because he’s worried. Or if he is serious about perceiving her rejection as cruel. 

“There’s not much to tell,” Tav offers, now looking away, down to her fingers and the soil beneath her feet. “Tonight, I dreamt my skin was melting off—that’s it. Sometimes, I dream that I’m drowning. Stupid, right? It’s different from other dreams I’ve had. Feels more… real. I feel the pain as my skin turns into lava, I feel my lungs fill with water. Harder to acclimate to reality when I wake.”

She pauses to let him comment, and he says nothing. He’s not even looking at her anymore. He’s staring at the ground too, like they’re looking at the same thing. There’s nothing there besides the dirt and weeds. 

“Did you really think I was cruel?”

“As I told you—you broke my cold, dead heart. Of course it was cruel,” Astarion says, melodramatic, hamming it up for her. He wants her to feel guilty for it; he wants her to stop being so tiring and play right into his hand. Make it easy for him. 

“I don’t believe you,” Tav says. “Everything you say sounds like a pretty lie, and you all but told me that’s what it is. Pretty lies. I’m not interested.”

“It’s not all pretty lies,” he rebukes, almost sounding like he’s taking offense to her skepticism. It’s frustration that he has to work so much harder with her.  “Some of them are ugly, others are pretty truths.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, what truths have you told?”

“That I miss petty vanity,” Astarion answers, keeping it simple; refusing to give more, what she wants him to give. “How it’s hard not to have fun with you.” That one is merely a consolation prize. 

“Is that all?” Tav asks, wondering if ‘fun’ he means that he enjoys himself with her, or if it’s how he so evidently enjoys messing with her. Toying with her emotions.

“For tonight, yes. That’s all you get. You can continue guessing at the rest.”

Astarion meets her gaze now, giving her those sad, red eyes. It might be an act, it might not be—he doesn’t even know himself. It reminds her of the look he wore when she turned him down, and she questions whether that was an act as she’d initially thought. He finds himself entranced by how the orange light from the flames bounce off her pale lavender skin.

He leans into her, watching to see if she recoils or pushes him away. Instead, she keeps staring at him, wide-eyed, and he senses her heart pace a little faster. She smells faintly like blueberries. He can’t resist moving in closer, nose nearly touching her neck and taking in her scent, thinking of how he’ll never get to taste them again; he’ll have to settle for the aroma.

Tav is convinced he’s going to bite her, and she knows she should stop him, but she doesn’t. She braces, waiting for it, and it doesn’t come. Astarion pulls away, and before he can decide where to go from here, she’s taking the initiative and pressing her lips to his. 

His hand instinctively raises to cup her face, deepening the kiss, pushing his mouth to hers like he wants to bruise her. It’s not him, he thinks; it’s something else, something he can’t control.  His tongue seeks entry and she doesn’t deny it, parting her lips with a little sound that he swears makes his stopped heart start again, for only a second. 

When he turns to unbutton her night shirt, movements methodical and practiced, she stops him and pulls away. 

“You don’t want this?” he asks. 

“I do,” she says, that defeated look in her eyes that he can’t tolerate. “Not like this.”

It unnerves him that he knows exactly what she means. How she saw right through him, how she could so easily read his hand movements, experienced and suave; understood another way. How he can’t even bring himself to deny it. She really isn’t like his other conquests. She is special.

She is difficult. 

Astarion moves to leave, to go think about this, or at least think about how to avoid thinking about it, but she grabs his wrist to stop him. He looks back at her, astonished by her audacity, her ability to bother him so.

‘Stay?’ her face asks, and he doesn’t know how to say no or yes. He just sits right back where he was, mind swimming; though not a single one of the swimmers composes a coherent, tangible thought. 

“Darling, you’re freezing,” he observes, picking up on the goose flesh spreading across her arms, and shakes so small, Tav hasn’t even noticed them. The campfire burns away; somehow it’s still not enough to warm her.

“I suppose I am,” she says. “I’d better get used to it. I find it difficult to believe that our journey will be getting much more comfortable anytime soon.”

Astarion sheds his coat, placing it around her shoulders, wondering what he’s fucking doing the entire time.

“It’s always cold for me,” he offers, like he has to justify himself, “and you wear it better.”

[lady-harrowhark]

Locked Tomb Characters as Taylor Swift Songs

hey there tlt demons, it’s me... your local taylor swift girl. credentials include over 15 years of swiftie experience and a well documented primal urge to infodump about both the locked tomb AND taylor swift. more under the cut because this thing is a beast. let’s get into it.

(update: Spotify link added in the comments)

Gideon: The Story of Us. Listen. Gideon is a Speak Now girlie. I will die on this hill. Everything is so cinematic - the fireworks, the kissing in the rain, it’s just like her comic books! She will absolutely be singing this album in the shower. And if you have anything to say about it? Sucks to have shitty taste, my dude, sounds like you hate fun. 

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room And we're not speaking and I'm dying to know Is it killing you like it's killing me yeah I don't know what to say since the twist of fate When it all broke down and the story of us Looks a lot like a tragedy now... next chapter

Harrow: Hoax. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “How dare you assign her a song not from Reputation?” And aesthetically, I hear you. She probably wants you to think that, actually. But while Harrow can identify with Reputation’s themes of the juxtaposition of public persona and private identity, she viscerally rejects the sweetness and vulnerability of Rep era tracks like Call It What You Want and New Year’s Day. But Folklore... Folklore is for abject despair. Hoax is Harrow crying into the mattress, remembering what she’s done. Hoax is “I still love you.”

My only one, my smoking gun, my eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife, my sleepless night, my win-less fight This has frozen my ground Stood on the cliffside, screaming, "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in

Ianthe: Better Than Revenge. We’re not supposed to like this one. In theory, the description of “Diss track about ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend, written by an 18 year old” doesn’t really hold any appeal for me. But when you listen to it, you can’t help but love it in all its nasty glory. Sometimes women are mean, and I need a song to scream to about it. (Ianthe thinks she’s doing Dress with Harrow. She’s not.)

I never saw it coming, wouldn’t have suspected it I underestimated just who I was dealing with She had to know the pain was beating on me like a drum She underestimated just who she was stealing from

Coronabeth: Mirrorball. Corona is an expert at reflecting back what people want to see. She studies military history for Judith, learns all about shuttles for a boy who wouldn’t look twice at her, she pulls off the long con of convincing the empire she’s a necromancer. She’s a mirrorball.

I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try I'm still on that trapeze, I'm still trying everything To keep you looking at me Because I'm a mirrorball, I’m a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself tonight

Palamedes: Champagne Problems. Oof. You must have known this one was coming, right? Unlike most of the songs on this list, Palamedes is the subject of this song rather than the narrator. You know who the narrator is.

Your mom's ring in your pocket, my picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it: champagne problems ... One for the money, two for the show I never was ready, so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

Camilla: I’m Only Me When I’m With You. A personal favorite of mine that doesn’t get nearly the love it deserves. If this isn’t her and Palamedes, I don’t know what to tell you. And after the events of NtN... um...

And I know everything about you, I don't wanna live without you I'm only up when you're not down Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground It's like no matter what I do Well, you drive me crazy half the time The other half I'm only trying To let you know that what I feel is true And I'm only me when I'm with you

Nona: A Place in This World. Nona Palona. Kiddie. Junior. No-No. Cutie Pie. Lil Bits. Was there ever any other choice for her? This song is the perfect blend of slice-of-life and the inherent isolation of Figuring Out What Your Deal Is. Some people’s deal is being the soul of a murdered planet in someone else’s body, you know? It happens.

Got the radio on, my old blue jeans And I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve Feeling lucky today, got the sunshine Could you tell me what more do I need? And tomorrow's just a mystery, oh yeah, but that's okay ... Oh, I’m just a girl, trying to find a place in this world

Pyrrha: Right Where You Left Me. Look, I’m sorry about this one. But if you really expected me to pick anything else for the woman who’s spent the past ten thousand years watching every person she’s ever loved leave her behind in one way or another? That’s on you.

Friends break up, friends get married Strangers get born, strangers get buried Trends change, rumors fly through new skies But I'm right where you left me Matches burn after the other Pages turn and stick to each other Wages earned and lessons learned But I'm right where you left me ... You left me no choice but to stay here forever

Alecto: My Tears Ricochet. This song never fails to give me the chills when I listen to it in the car. Taylor’s ghost story metaphor for being taken advantage of by her record label until she was forced to leave maps on eerily well to John’s betrayal. I’ve been trying to be succinct in my lyrical excerpts, but fuck it, Alecto can have two stanzas, as a treat.

We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same Cursing my name, wishing I stayed You turned into your worst fears

John: Dear John. Honestly, any number of characters could be the narrator here, but I’m primarily thinking of Alecto. Mercy was right about putting an age limit on the Lyctor trials: “don’t you think nineteen’s too young?” John is also getting two stanzas to better exemplify the extent of my rage here. Fingers crossed for Alecto shining like fireworks over his sad empty town in AtN!

Well maybe it's me and my blind optimism to blame Maybe it's you and your sick need to give love then take it away And you'll add my name to your long list of traitors who don't understand And I'll look back and regret how I ignored when they said "Run as fast as you can"

You are an expert at sorry, and keeping the lines blurry Never impressed by me acing your tests All the girls that you've run dry have tired, lifeless eyes 'Cause you burned them out But I took your matches before fire could catch me, so don't look now I'm shining like fireworks over your sad, empty town

Kiriona: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve. Right up front, I will acknowledge that this is a much different context than Taylor wrote this song about. However, the imagery is so spot on for Kiriona’s rage. Taylor was right to save this one for the 3 AM version of Midnights, not because it doesn’t deserve to be on the standard album, but because it would have completely overshadowed every other track with the rawness of her anger and regret. I feel physically ill every time I hear the line “Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.” And Kiriona’s no stranger to giving someone your whole life and realizing they didn’t even want it. 

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time

Mercymorn: Anti-Hero. I feel this one so strongly that I have actually already made a separate post comparing the lyrics to specific Mercy quotes (and I kind of want to do the same for Kiriona… hmmm). Unlovable Mercymorn, critical Mercymorn... it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At tea time, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Augustine: The Archer. You know, I almost gave him Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince just for the drama and scheming, but I think The Archer captures the genteel façade overlaying his true feelings. It brings to mind the conversation during Dios Apate (minor) where he says he wants to believe that he could’ve stopped Alfred if he’d had just a bit more time. Ouch. 

All the king's horses, all the king's men Couldn't put me together again 'Cause all of my enemies started out friends Help me hold onto you

G1deon: I Knew You Were Trouble. We know it, we love it, we laughed ‘til we cried over the version with goat noises edited in. He knew he was playing with fire, and look how things ended up.

I knew you were trouble when you walked in So shame on me now Flew me to places I'd never been Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground

Wake: Cowboy Like Me. A country ballad? For Wake? It’s more likely than you think. Cowboy Like Me is the story of two swindlers who didn’t mean to actually catch feelings... sound familiar?

Now you hang from my lips Like the Gardens of Babylon With your boots beneath my bed Forever is the sweetest con I've had some tricks up my sleeve Takes one to know one You're a cowboy like me And I’m never gonna love again

Pash: philosophical exemption

Judith: Enchanted. I knowwww, it seems a little frilly and glittery for Judith, but hear me out. How starstruck she was over Marta, how working with her for the first time did absolutely nothing to change that. Thinking of no one else until she’s able to suggest her for her cavalier, secretly reading, ahem, “materials” and dreaming about making things different between them... Yeah, Judith was definitely enchanted to meet her.

This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you

Cytherea: Look What You Made Me Do. The old Cytherea can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Cause she’s dead! I love this for Cyth, not just for surface level content, which certainly fits, but for the context of the song. When LWYMMD was first released, the public consensus was that it was a response to the whole Kim/Kanye situation. In the years since, though, it’s become public that behind the scenes, Taylor was struggling to regain control of her work from her record label. With that context, much of the lyrics and music video reflect that conflict, rather than the one everyone assumed. In the same way, Cytherea’s motivation and actions look much different through the lens of what we learn throughout the next two books.

But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!

Dulcie: Bigger Than The Whole Sky. This one hurts. In a series full of tragedy, the fact that this delightful menace never got to meet Palamedes and Camilla in person is enough to break my heart. Our sweet little malign fairy, who has never done anything wrong in her life. 

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye You were bigger than the whole sky You were more than just a short time And I've got a lot to pine about I've got a lot to live without I'm never gonna meet What could've been, would've been What should've been you

Abigail: September. Not a Taylor Swift original, but her folksy cover of the classic is so soft and cozy. Comforting, in that Abigail way. If she and Magnus danced to this one, I can’t blame him for keeping a scrap of her dance card.

Our hearts were ringin' In the key that our souls were singin' As we danced in the night, remember How the stars stole the night away

Magnus: Starlight. More songs for saving dance cards! I can imagine him both sweetly dancing with Abigail AND being a huge dork and embarrassing Isaac and Jeannemary to this one. (Noooooo Magnus, don’t dance to Taylor Swift!)

And I said, "Oh my, what a marvelous tune" It was the best night, never would forget how we moved The whole place was dressed to the nines And we were dancing, dancing Like we're made of starlight, starlight

Isaac and Jeannemary: Long Live. Because that’s what they should’ve been able to do, ugh. I sort of meant this as a joke but when I went to copy the lyrics over I started getting all teary-eyed, so, you know. It’s fine.

Will you take a moment? Promise me this That you'll stand by me forever But if, God forbid, fate should step in And force us into a goodbye If you have children some day When they point to the pictures Please tell 'em my name Tell 'em how the crowds went wild Tell 'em how I hope they shine Long live the walls we crashed through I had the time of my life with you

Cassiopeia: Vigilante Shit. I love the image of Cassy as a contract lawyer vigilante, but I also love the implications in this song that she was working behind his back with his wife Alecto. Gotta make sure she gets the Benz in the divorce, and if the FBI get involved? Well, that’s out of her hands at that point [sips coffee].

She needed cold hard proof so I gave her some She had the envelope, where you think she got it from? Now she gets the house, gets the kids, gets the pride Picture me thick as thieves with your ex-wife

Anastasia: Haunted. The church bells! The drama! So very Ninth. With Haunted, we get both her devastation at “misapprehending” the ascension process and her growing horror at the ways she’s begun to realize they’ve all been manipulated.

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this I thought I had you figured out Something's gone terribly wrong You're all I wanted Come on, come on, don't leave me like this I thought I had you figured out Can't breathe whenever you're gone Can't turn back now, I'm haunted

[corn-fanfiction]

Barker (Valery Legasov x Reader) pt 1

You know what? Fuck you *throws yearning and unspoken feelings at you along with graphite from an exposed reactor core*

There's something really weird abt writing a (albiet fictionalized) real historical figure bc I find the actor hot buuuuuut who cares we ball anyway. Fic under cut.

It began with you, Boris, and Valery sitting anxiously in Boris' suite. The three of you sat at perfect opposites around the two phones on the center table, watching, waiting. At first, Boris tried to lighten the mood with some quips as he was known to do, and Legasov would humor them with small smiles, but you had eyes only for the phones. You were practically chewing through cigarettes; you never smoked before you came to Pripyat. You personally thought that it was unbecoming of a scientist, and found it ironic to inhale one dangerous chemical whilst studying another. But then, you were all likely in for a worse fate than lung cancer.

After hours, Boris stalked downstairs to the bar to soothe his soul with vodka, leaving you and the professor. You bounced your leg, wiped your eyes, smoked, took your glasses off only to put them back on, and flipped through packets of notes and findings. All the while, Valery watched you try to distract yourself with a half-broken heart. Everything about Chernobyl was tragic, and it was nearly impossible to pit one tragedy against the other. Valery would never forget the look on Boris' face when he told him about their new life expectancy. It was so childlike in its unfiltered shock that it caused him physical pain. But you- you hardly flinched. Khomyuk had commented once that you were hardheaded and that's why no one could prevent you from following her into the fray, so it made sense to her that you would accept your fate. But you were younger than them, being an assistant studying under Khomyuk at the Institute. Older than some of the men working the reactor that fateful night, but still too young for what little life you'd have left.

But then, at what age is the tragedy of it all cut?

Hours after those hours later, after Boris had returned and retired to bed, Valery still waited by the phones, smoking, almost standing guard. He looked an absolute wreck and couldn't remember the last time he'd looked in a mirror. And you looked about the same. You'd fallen asleep on the other couch, and it must have been a good sleep because you didn't move once. Your hair and clothes were messed from the ultimate position you took to stay comfortable. Valery had thought at many different intervals to wake you but could not bring himself to do so.

There was something about you that fascinated him. Perhaps it was the academic in him, but you were an enigma in many ways. Deeply likeable and charming whilst keeping your true self guarded impenetrably. No one knew anything about your life except Khomyuk, and she barely knew anything worth telling. It wasn't until he saw you completely vulnerable on the couch that Valery considered himself to see you in earnest. A brave soul, like them, too young for it all, like everyone else, rushing in headfirst even though no one asked you to; only you and Khomyuk had that in common. Maybe that's why you seemed so different. Even Khomyuk was serving out of a sense of scientific duty. Maybe you were too; either way, it bothered Valery.

He took a final drag off his dying cigarette and stubbed it out, then looked at the clock on the wall above you. Three thirty-six in the morning. He removed his glasses and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. You all weren't going to hear from Khomyuk tonight. He'd known it hours ago, but he didn't want to leave until you did. But since he was the only one awake anymore, he decided to call it off.

Valery stood and went to where you lay on the couch. He laid a gentle hand on your shoulder to wake you, and in an instant you sat up. Even half awake, you tried to be active and alert. When you found your glasses on the coffee table you put them on and looked up at Valery.

"Khomyuk?" Was all you asked. He shook his head.

"We're not going to hear anything tonight, Comrade. I suggest you get some sleep before the committee meeting tomorrow."

You groaned and lay your head back down.

"I was sleeping."

Valery crosses to shrug on his suit jacket.

"I meant in a bed."

Except you didn't want to go back to your room because you hated being alone. Maybe that's one of the reasons you chased Khomyuk to this desolate place. You wanted to help, of course, but what was worse was sitting at the Institute without her. Unbearable. You sat up again and stretched.

"It's too quiet here."

You stand and put on your own coat. You wipe your face of any wayward drool as Valery opens the suite door for you and you both exit.

"The entire city is deserted," he said as if you didn't know. It was his nature to respond with the truth of things even if it was obvious. It saved him from the awkward dance of clever turn of phrase and hidden meanings.

"I can't sleep in quiet."

You, Boris, Valery, and Khomyuk all stayed on the same floor of the hotel, albiet at random rooms since the hotel was relatively full when you'd come to stay, and even now that Pripyat was empty as he'd said, no one bothered changing rooms.

"I don't think I could go back to sleep anyway," you continued and Valery eyed you with interest. This was the most you'd ever spoken unprompted.

"We have to be at the Kremlin at ten."

"I just need some fresh air."

Valery stopped you both in the hallway. Even at this very late hour, he was paranoid about prying eyes and keen ears.

"I'm not sure it's the best of ideas to go stalking around outside right now."

"Just around the fountain."

"By yourself? And if you encounter agents?"

"I'll invite them to walk with me."

"Be serious."

"I am." And you were. Your face hardened at his buried accusation that you were being flippant. "I can't just lie down and stare at the ceiling. At least I can exert some of the anxiety. I appreciate your concern, but I don't believe I'll be arrested for taking the night air."

But even that was a lie because you knew, as you all knew, that any of you were a hair's breadth away from intense scrutiny under the watchful eye of the KGB. While yes, you doubted arrest, to be accosted was not out of the question.

"Then do you mind if I accompany you?" He asked. He was tired, he wanted to go to sleep, but more than that he did not want you to go out there alone. It suited level headed people to be paranoid in times like these, and he'd happily double or triple that paranoia if it kept his friends safe.

You nodded mutely and changed directions for the stairs. Once outside, you lit another cigarette and offered it to Valery, who accepted. Some of the stray dogs trotted beside the two of you. They were some of the saddest parts of it all, after the unspeakable human suffering. Alone, abandoned, left to fend for themselves. Even then, months later, it was becoming painfully apparent that they were starving, dirty and mangey. Still, you offered them some comfort where you could, such as during this walk, when you bent down occasionally to scratch them behind their ears.

It was a cloudy and starless night but the streetlamps remained as they always had, offering an illuminated glow every few meters. At some point, you glanced over at Valery. You'd made notice early on how he carried himself. He always looked at the ground, always took a submissive tone in conversation, except when it came to Boris. With Boris, he challenged. You weren't sure why, but you still hardly knew them despite the long hours and close quarters.

He looked especially tired, more than usual. You hadn't considered that he took as much a toll from Khomyuk's silence as you did. There had formed a strange sort of comradery between the four of you, teetering on friendship but never truly stepping over that line. At least not around one another.

But you were as impressed with Valery as you were Boris and Khomyuk. He was called to this as Boris was, but he also faced it head on as you all did. A quiet, diminutive man, one who naturally avoided conflict, he still managed to fight for the things he knew he needed to, even if he was powerless to do so.

And when you weren't looking, Valery was glancing at you, thinking all the things he'd thought when you were asleep, only now he was considering why you didn't want to go to sleep. Surely passing the time would end in finding Khomyuk sooner, wouldn't it?

"How are you feeling? About tomorrow?" He asked after a long period of silence. You ran a hand through your hair and Valery watched.

"Useless. I hate waiting outside in that hallway."

You were referring to the Kremlin and how you weren't allowed at committee meetings. It had been a struggle enough to get Khomyuk in that room that nobody much bothered with you. You understood, you didn't take personal offense, but you still hated being in that hallway.

"I doubt it will take long. Not that I know much going in."

"What is he like?"

Valery quirks up an eyebrow at you question. "Who?"

"The Secretary General. I've heard him speak on television and the radio, but what is he like in the room?"

Again, Valery took in the surrounding area.

"I'm not sure-"

"You're right. Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

You shook the idea from you head and pet another stray as it came up beside you.

"Can I ask you a question, Comrade?" Valery asked rather suddenly, his hoarse voice catching in the cold air. You let your silence speak an affirmative. "What brought you here? Besides knowing Khomyuk. None of the public even knew about the accident until recently and none of them know the true severity. Khomyuk knew almost immediately and that's why she came. Why did you follow?"

You slowed and Valery matched your pace. You took a drag from the half forgotten cigarette. For a brief moment, you acknowledge that your lips and his have shared purchase on the thin paper and you suddenly blush. Thankfully, for the cold, it was unnoticeable.

"I've always been like these dogs. Ever since I was little. I find someone and I follow them around. Even if someone is mean and kicks, I'll still follow until I find someone nicer. Khomyuk was nicer. I felt I had to come with her. She has another assistant and he's more than capable of keeping the department going." You take another smoke. "I didn't want to be there without her."

He watched you as you gave your confession. You compared yourself to a dog and he was having a difficult time moving past that. It brought to mind Laika from decades before. He thought suddenly about a different time and reality altogether where he was in a position to give you a nickname, and he thought Laika would be suitable. He quickly shook that thought away.

"Noble," he said finally, though he didn't fully believe it. You laughed.

"Hardly. Stupid, truly. I'll run into anything if it means..." You stopped yourself because, for the first time, you were about to divulge a part of yourself to one of your colleagues here. Not even Khomyuk knew of your deepest insecurities. "Dogs run after their owners."

Valery wanted so badly to force the dog metaphor away with reassurances, but he didn't, because he didn't know how. He wanted to place a comforting hand on you but he didn't know how you would react. He wanted to say and do a great many things, but he couldn't, so he settled for continuing the walk with you in darkness.

[ambitiouslyher]

while nina may not initiate physical touch or have it high up there as a love language at all, she sure loves her cuddles.

she actually prefers being big spoon though or facing each other ❤️‍🩹

she always sleeps with a good space away and then in the middle of the night, ends up snuggled against you.

[humblequestvinyl]

BACKGROUND MUSIC

BACKGROUND MUSIC, AARON HOTCHNER X FEM!READER

APART OF THE HUMBLE QUEST SERIES

SUMMARY: two agents, one department, both wondering if they’ll leave behind some type of legacy, or if they’ll just be two faces on a plaque in the hallways after they leave,

inspired by background music by maren morris

warning: angst, swearing, & usual talk of a cm case

lowercase is intentional!! wordcount: 0.7k

a/n i linked the performance to background music: in rare form, because it reminded me sm of my maren show and brings me so much joy!! i also finally get to write hotch so im so excited!! ps. i hope i did this song justice. i really hope i did. also gif by @hqtchner !!

WATCHING AS THE FLASHING LIGHTS AROUND THEM LIT UP THE OUTSIDE OF THE BRICK BUILDING,

agent y/n hotchner, and aaron hotchner watched as derek had put the suspect into custody, presumably sending him on his way towards the local towns police station.

it took them three days, 22 hours and nine minutes to catch the unsub who had gone on a killing spree, and for the first day and a half, he had the bau stumped, basically leading them on a wild goose chase until he had slipped up.

the h/c girl watched as the rest of her team filed into the vans, and she was soon to follow, with a look of disappointment, and longing filling her face. with hotchner quickly noticing, taking note to ask about it when the two got back.

it took six hours, and a few different vehicles to get back to the hotchner’s apartments, and as soon as they did, the two were in bed, doing their best to fall asleep, but both were unsuccessful.

after awhile, aaron spoke up, splitting the silence between the two, “what’s keeping you up?”

“do you ever think about the legacy we’ll leave behind once we leave the bureau?”y/n asked softly, before turning to face her husband, “seriously aaron, do you ever think about how in ten years we might not even be there, and we might just be some names on a goddamn plaque.”

“we’ve got time, but we’ve also gotta realize that we’re human. especially with our job, one of us could be taken at any moment.”she went on, and she studied her husbands face, waiting for a response, “seriously, how many cases do we have left in us?”

“i do think about that a lot.”aaron admitted, brushing a stray piece of hair out of y/n’s face, “i think about how we could just be some name in a history book, with nobody knowing about who we actually are.”

“i don't want that.”y/n whispered, propping her chin on her hand, “i want to be remembered, like i get not all of us can leave a souvenir like rossi, but i don’t want to be another agent in the history books, only being known for reading lips and transcribing what people are saying.”

“its really hard to see that we’re going to be the lucky ones in this situation.”

it was silent between the two for awhile, with aaron trying to decide what to say, and y/n waiting for his response. he knew that she was right, not everyone could leave something behind like rossi did with his books, but also knew that the two of them wouldn’t just be some names on a plaque hanging in the hallways.

“we will leave a legacy behind.”aaron finally spoke up, his eyes matching e/c ones, “and a damn good one too.”

“we won't just be known as two agents who went out and solved cases. hell, even if we are, its the legacy we leave behind outside of the bureau with the victims families and the amount of lives we change.”he explained, with y/n grasping onto what he was saying, “you might not see it, but the rest of the team does. the way you interact with the families, and help them through the tragedies they have gone through.”

“and even if we don’t, ill love you til all that we are,”aaron started, before a small smile spread across y/n’s face.

“is background music.”she finished for him, knowing it was one of their favorite songs, one they deemed as ‘their song’ due to the meaning of it. 

“until we’re background music.”

[moondal514]

10 Fandoms, 10 Characters, 10 People

Thanks for the tag @jaywalkers <3. I love your list of characters, you’ve got great taste : )

Rules: name 10 of your favourite characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people to do the same

1) Andrew Minyard from All For the Game

My blorbo of all time probably. No character has given me brainrot and writing inspiration the way he does and likely no character ever will. This post sums up his appeal perfectly

2) Lan Wangji from Mo Dao Zu Shi

My newest blorbo from my most recently joined fandom. What can I say, I’m a sucker for incredibly queer competent stoic prob neurodivergent men that are absolutely insane about one person. When I watch the MDZS donghua, I literally have to pause every time he comes on the screen just so I can stare at him a bit, so you could say I’m a bit obsessed

3) Kim Theerapanyakul from KinnPorsche

He’s this weird little guy that is simultaneously the most competent character in the show and the biggest cringe-fail loser. He looks so suave and cool on the surface with his whole Taylor Swift by day mafia prince detective by night thing but then you realize he’s actually a complete nerd with a whole ass literal murder conspiracy board hidden behind a giant selfie portrait of himself and I love him so much (also he’s played by Jeff Satur, who makes my aesthetic attraction senses go haywire, but that’s neither here nor there)

4) Kyuzo from Samurai 7

My 1st fictional crush and prob my earliest blorbo. My type in favorite fictional male character (hypercompetent stoic character that doesn’t talk much with bonus points for iconic hair) can 100% be attributed to him. His story was the earliest villain redemption arc I can remember encountering in media (this was the 1st anime I ever watched so I was like 4 or 5 when I 1st saw this guy) and so for me I always think of him when I see people talking about iconic redemption arcs (sorry Zuko)

5) Midorima Shintarou from Kuroko no Basket

At the peak of my high school sports anime phase, this guy was my favorite. He’s tall, he’s green, he’s an anime glasses character™️, he’s tsundere, he’s prissy, he’s weird af, he’s got one of the most bonkers basketball skills ever, and he’s even an astrology girlie. What’s not to love

6) Merlin from BBC Merlin

BBC Merlin is the fandom that sucked me in at a time where I thought I was growing out of fandom and fanfic (spoiler alert: I very much was not) and it’s responsible for completely changing my relationship with fandom into something much more intense than it was previously. And it’s all thanks to this funky skinny wizard man who for whatever reason captivated me enough that I read hundreds of thousands of fan-created words about him for nearly a year and a half

7) Jasnah Kholin from The Stormlight Archive

She’s one of the rare canonically asexual female characters, and she’s even from a major fantasy book series too! I fixated on this character long before I knew I was ace (though perhaps that should’ve been a clue lol), mostly because I just thought she was so cool and I found her whole “why would I want a relationship when I’m busy with all this shit to study” attitude so relatable

8) Katara from Avatar: The Last Airbender

I wanted to be her so badly when I was a kid y’all have no idea. She just made such an impression on me because she’s so cool and so strong but also unapologetically and obviously feminine and that really struck a chord with young me and is prob the reason why I didn’t really have a “not like the other girls” phase cuz she was revolutionary for little me’s idea of how a “girl” can be. To this day she is the character that to me has the coolest powers ever

9) Cassandra of Troy from Greek Mythology

It’s prob weird to include her but I was a real greek mythology girlie (in that I was into it before Percy Jackson came out) and Cassandra has always my favorite. The tragedy of her story has always been very appealing to me and upsettingly relatable in a lot of ways

10) Kym Ladell from Purple Hyacinth

Ms. Kym one of those characters that’s ostensibly the comedic relief except nope she’s hiding oceans of pain under her smile. She’s got trauma and a tragic backstory that she hides from the rest of the main characters in one of the strongest “this is fine” performances you’ve ever seen

Tagging: @stabbyfoxandrew @alcego @paradoxolotl @halfpintpeach @justadreamfox @wulfrann @quensty @ittyybittybaker @seasy33 @nanatsuyu

[courtana]

I finished the MWIII campaign and here are my thoughts 💭

Obviously, MAJOR SPOILERS below. Remember to filter #mwiii spoilers if you want to avoid them from me.

The Structure & Ending

I finished the campaign in one sitting, which I usually never do with games. So, my initial complaint that it felt short might be because I literally rushed my playthrough of it. But if others felt the same, l'd love to know!

The ending felt incomplete. I feel like it's basic/traditional writing knowledge that you don't end the story on the climax unless it's like a major cliffhanger. This was not a cliffhanger. We ended it after Soap being killed in cold blood by Makarov, and we see the rest of the 141 mourning and spreading his ashes. The only way I could be nice about this, is if we just describe the story not as a triumphant story of military victory and defeating evil but as a tragedy. A story that ends in failure (a la Ghosts [2013]). But the rational part of my brain says, no, this was just the writers cutting the story in half so that they can bank on a Modern Warfare 4 in the future—and use MP seasons and co-op/raids to tell the rest of the story.

Still, I'm glad we're actually moving along with the Makarov story and what was actually the story for MW2. The reboot timeline is so slow and slow delayed because of adding Farah's backstory and Los Vaqueros. We're finally getting to the good stuff from Modern Warfare, that classic story that everyone loves. So, that's a plus.

Los Vaqueros & El Sin Nombre's Absence

My major complaint about MWII (2022) was that for a game that bases itself on a lot of real-life geopolitical conflicts, the inclusion of Valeria's storyline as a female narco boss in relation to Hassan, an Iranian villain, didn't really make sense (and this is from me, someone who has multiple degrees studying Latin America). So I'm glad Valeria and her cronies did not re-appear in this campaign. They just do not fit.

I liked Los Vaqueros in MWII, but I think the writers were right not to include them either—at least for this installment—just because they would've had to juggle too many things at once. Already, we have to juggle a lot with Farah's forces and Shadows being our allies. Having to deal with additional characters would've made the game lose its pointed focus. I wouldn't be surprised though if for "modern Warfare 4" both groups make a comeback.

It's just funny how much fans and Activision were hyping up Valeria so much, including in MWIII's live-action trailer, just for her to not make even one appearance.

Open-Combat Missions

Not gonna lie these missions stressed me the fuck out. I could NOT stay in stealth no matter what. But I think that's somwhat good, since a lot of grouchy fans who follow COD complain that every campaign is essentially the same—just move up, aim, and shoot—with just a slightly different plotline about either some Russian or some Arab villain. And I think we can commend COD now for try to shake up the campaign a little, even if I'm not a fan of Warzone (lol) and OCMs are essentially Warzone-ified campaign missions.

But mixing traditional campaign missions with these Open Combat Missions felt like a bad idea. I get that they're trying to gradually gauge our reaction to them by slowly introducing it. But it also felt disorienting switching between just following directions in one mission to in another having total liberty to do whatever by scavenging for guns or certain field-upgrades.

Either make them mainly all OCMs or all traditional.

Makarov as a Villain & Soap's Death

Yuli's work as an actor is totally praise-worthy! It's hard to step into the shoes of Makarov after the notoriety the OG Makarov gained in the original games. I think he isn't as cartoonish and weak as some of the other COD villains have been so far in the reboot—a complaint I once again have of how the narco villains were written in MWII. He actually generates fear and intimidation and we can see his power and resources—unlike villains like Hassan and whoever the generic Russian general was in MW2019. They were not memorable at all. If MW4 gets developed, it'll be great to see Yuli work with that character more.

Now, Soap. I AM HEARTBROKEN as well as PISSED. I'm pissed because we got to see Soap in the OG games grow & develop so much. Hence why so many veteran COD fans love Soap, perhaps more so than Ghost even though the latter has gotten more popular recently. We saw him going from just entering under Price's wing to becoming a Captain; and that growth of him as a character made his death so much more painful. It warranted Price yelling out in horror and shock when he realized Soap was dead before his eyes in the OG MW3. Even the background music to his OG death has become so iconic too.

We only got introduced to reboot!Soap last year with the release of MWII. We did not get to see him in the campaign in MW2019. He's still a very new character and the writers did NOT develop him properly enough in my opinion to warrant a tragic death/killing scene. I think that's part of why his death here hurts so much for me. Because it was also a killing of his potential as a character. And it sucks that Neil won't get to work with this character more in a MW4 storyline unless they do more memory/flashback scenes.

Hell, Farah gets more development and more screentime than Soap and the rest of the 141 task force aside from Price. I understand she's a main character now, but it sucks that first in MW2019 we sidelined Price as a character (in my opinion) for Farah's storyline. Now, Farah is taking up a lot more of the agency and space in the story once again at the expense of other characters taking less charge. This is honestly just me having a hard time accepting this new dynamic with Urzikstan with the rest of TF141 that the writers have been trying to cement with the rebooted series.

-

In sum, it does feel like some of the grouchy COD fans who were saying off before release that this was going to be a glorified DLC were right in hindsight. It's clear they put a lot of work into the geography, the missions/game-play, and I genuinely enjoyed playing it. And of course, the VAs put a lot of work into their craft. But plotwise it does feel like they gave us only a partial campaign with a very abrupt ending... but I also liked it anyway and had fun. And that’s what matters :-)))

[quietwings-fics]

A Dark and Stormy Night

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's Ship: Gen (Henry & Michael, Charlie & Henry) Additional Tags: Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Henry Emily-centric, Sad Ending, Sad, Heavy Angst, Parent Henry Emily, Minor William Afton | Dave Miller/Henry Emily, Regret, Tragedy, Storms Wordcount: 3069 Summary:

Henry Emily tries to protect his children. Or, did you know that the Midnight Motorist and Security Puppet minigames take place on the same night?

There was a knock on the door to Henry’s office, almost swallowed up by a clap of thunder from the storm outside. Henry sat up, feeling a grimace settle into its familiar home on his face. The man behind the knock, Richard, didn’t wait for Henry’s reply before he opened the door. He studied Henry with a frown. Richard was older than most of the other employees, the one who’d stuck with the franchise the longest, through closures and reopenings and rebrandings and rumors. He was one of the few people in the world left Henry would consider a friend, though they rarely met outside of work and Henry couldn’t even remember the name of Richard’s wife.

“He came back again, didn’t he?” Henry asked.

“About twenty minutes ago,” Richard answered. “I told him to leave.” Richard shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. “He put up less of a fight than last time.” Henry forced out a long breath. Richard was waiting, like he always did, for some kind of explanation. Henry said nothing, and so Richard continued. “William’s not who I came to talk to you about.” Henry clasped his hands tightly over his desk and held back his wince.

“What do you mean?” Panic rose in his throat, and he looked off to the wall beside his desk. An array of lights littered the wall, all glowing brightly. Superficially, they were a sign of how important the day-to-day operations were to Henry, each light reflecting a fully-functioning animatronic. His eyes rarely lingered over any of them other than the green one in the corner. He felt himself relax at the sight of its steady light. When he looked back at Richard, the man’s frown had deepened, lines deeply creasing his forehead.

“The kid snuck in again,” he answered. Henry clenched his fist and squeezed his eyes shut. “You sure he doesn’t have a key or something? I don’t know how he keeps getting in.” Richard continued. Henry shook his head.

“I wouldn’t give him a key, Richard. If he ever lost it...” Henry’s voice faltered. He ran a hand through his graying hair. “He’s ingenuitive, that’s all. He...” gets it from his father, he did not finish. “Where is he?”

“I left him in the main showroom. I don’t think he knows he’s been caught yet.” Richard said. “You want me to-”

“No,” Henry said, like he’d said so many times before. “I’ll deal with him.” He pushed himself away from his desk, leaving his paperwork with a half-scrawled signature. With one last look at the green light on the wall, he left his office.

The showtunes echoing through the restaurant made his head hurt. He’d have to commission a few new songs soon before the repetition drove him and the rest of his employees insane. The thought of spending a few nights reprogramming the animatronic show routines only made his headache worse, but it wasn’t like there was anyone else who could do the job anymore. He slid his glasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose before glancing around the main room. On the dance floor below the stage, he caught sight of Charlotte giggling and surrounded by other children, and that managed to bring a slight smile to his face. He looked around again and saw the boy he was looking for at last. He made his way over to him.

“Michael,” he greeted. The teenager jumped, head jerking up towards him before he relaxed when all he saw was Henry standing there. Henry searched for something to ask, but the questions all felt brittle on his tongue. There was no wonder how Richard had spotted Michael so quickly. He stood out in a crowd of rambunctious children and tired adults, the lone teenager still hanging around Fredbear Jr’s Pizza. With his brown hair and blue eyes, he was the spitting image of his father at that age. The memory of that younger William was fuzzy, half-forgotten, and the realization made Henry feel his years around his neck like a noose. “Michael, what are you doing here?” He finally asked. Michael crossed his arms.

“Because you won’t let Dad come here anymore,” he finally answered. Thunder boomed again outside the restaurant, the sky heaving another flood on top of them. The lights above them dimmed slightly and came back. Henry rubbed his mouth and sighed.

“Come back to my office with me. We’ll talk.” Michael nodded, relief clear on his face as he realized he wasn’t being thrown out. Henry never turned him out, not once, but Michael still felt the need to break in, to hide in the evening crowd as best he could. As they walked, Henry glanced over his shoulder again, catching a glimpse of his daughter darting off towards the prize corner, the huge gift box sitting inert, secure in the safety of the child it was built to protect. Her green armband was visible from across the room. Henry had been debating changing the color, though the original function would remain the same. She stood out too much, marked as the owner’s daughter. She’d told him the other children got jealous.

A worry for another day, he told himself. For now, he led Michael back to his office, where the music and the laughter were drowned out by the thicker walls. Henry would never get any work done otherwise. He felt the brief urge to hug Michael once the door was shut behind them. It’d been a few months since he’d last seen him. Children grew too much, too fast, but more than anything, Henry was grateful Michael had been given the time to grow at all. He settled for one quick pat on the shoulder before sitting at his desk. Michael shifted awkwardly until Henry gestured to a couch against the wall opposite the lights. It was small and uncomfortable, but Michael wasn’t an employee up for quarterly review and Henry would feel strange making him sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

After all, Michael was-

Henry tried and failed to attach a word to the boy that didn’t feel either cold or presumptuous.

There was a time, years ago, when Michael had been family.

At least he could say that with certainty.

“Do you want anything? Water?” Henry asked. Michael shook his head. Henry picked up the pen on his desk and clicked it. He tried to read any of the paperwork he’d been doing earlier, but the words didn’t translate into meaning. He clicked the pen again. “Have you seen your father today?” The questions made Michael try to shrink in on himself. It didn’t work as well now as it had when he was twelve, when all he did after... the accident was make himself as small as possible.

“No,” he said. There was a pause before he continued, “I heard him. He was yelling at Mom. I was in my room, and I locked the door.” Henry’s brow furrowed.

“Then how did you-”

“I broke my window.” Michael was staring at his shoes.

“Are you hurt?” Henry asked, alarmed. Michael’s eyes darted up momentarily. He shook his head again. “Michael, if... If you’re scared that your father might... Do something to you, or to your mother, you know you can come to me for help.” Michael nodded again, not looking up. “I’d do anything to protect you, you know that, right?” He had to restrain himself from saying you kids. Michael was the only child of William’s left, and hadn’t Henry failed once already? If he’d just looked over those blueprints closer, if he’d known what that damned robot was programmed to do...

He’d felt like an intruder in the world of William’s grief. He’d let the man throw himself into his work, into his creations, without thinking that his intent with making them might have changed. And how could he have known? Even if he had read all of William’s almost illegible scrawlings about a life after death, about just needing to test it, swearing that Evan was still here, would he really have presumed anything other than that the man had lost his mind the same day he’d lost his second son? If he’d looked at the designs, poured over them for hours and hours, would he ever have believed that his partner could actually build such a thing?

Henry had turned a blind eye, and now there was only one child left to hide in his office from William’s rage.

Outside his window, the thunder growled with contempt.

“I’m not going back home, Uncle Henry,” Michael said.

“What?”

“I’m running away. I came to say goodbye.”

“Michael, you can’t-” Henry stopped himself. There was so much fear in Michael’s eyes when he spoke, and he could almost hear the boy at twelve, at thirteen, fifteen, showing up at his doorstep or in one of their restaurants and begging Henry not to tell his father where he was, to just let him spend one night. “How old are you?” Henry asked instead. Michael screwed up his face and lied.

“Seventeen.”

“Sixteen,” Henry corrected, softly. “Your birthday is next month.” Michael curled in on himself again.

“I won’t go back,” he said. Please don’t make me go back, Henry heard.

Henry leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the wall of lights. The green light flickered momentarily but shone again seconds later. The storm, he reasoned, only the storm affecting the power, but the jolt from watching it darken for even a moment was all the push he needed. He unlocked a drawer on his desk. Michael’s eyes grew wide as Henry pulled out stack after stack of bills. Six hundred in total in his desk’s emergency fund, tucked in among old photos. He handed all of it over to Michael. Michael looked like he was in shock. Henry could see the tears begin to well up in his eyes, only for Michael to quickly scrub at his face and pretend they’d never been there to begin with.

“You should lay down. Get some rest.” Michael clearly hadn’t been getting any at home, or so the dark circles under his eyes told Henry. “When we close up the restaurant for the day, I’ll drive you to the bus station, and you can catch the last bus out to wherever you want to go.” Henry hesitated. “Where do you want to go?”

“Away,” Michael answered. Henry hadn’t really expected anything else.

“Okay,” he said, sitting back down at his desk and trying to look at his paperwork. He had a terrible feeling swelling up in the pit of his stomach as he watched Michael try to find some sort of comfy position to lay down on the couch. He wished he had a blanket or something to offer. Instead, he looked at his paperwork without reading it. After a few minutes, he gave up again and reopened the drawer he hadn’t locked back up. There was no more money left, but the photos were still all stuffed in there. He hadn’t looked at them in years, it felt like.

The first was of the establishing of the new Fredbear’s Family Diner. The sun was bright in the sky, shining down on four people. Henry held up the ceremonial ribbon tied in front of the door, and William was poised to cut it a moment after the camera snapped. A few feet away, their wives looked on. Ava was still pregnant with Charlotte in that picture. In a few months, he’d finally hold his baby girl, but Charlotte would grow up without a mother. Henry could hardly remember that time after Ava died, only that William and Marie had been there, named godparents without hesitation. They’d half-raised Charlotte when he couldn’t.

The next picture, of him and William only, with the first prototype of the springlock suits. William’s hand was bandaged from a malfunction. He’d still had the scar, last Henry had seen him. Henry knew that scar well. He’d watched William’s hands at work for so many long nights on their animatronics. Nights on end where neither of them returned home, Marie with her own three children to watch at home, Charlotte with a nanny, and they’d work like the rest of the world didn’t exist. And things happened between two people when they spent time like that together, things they didn’t talk about in the daylight when it was bright enough to see their wedding rings. So, yes, Henry knew that scar well, from the sight of it or the texture of it under a kiss.

The next picture he withdrew with under another rumble of thunder, the storm seeking attention he couldn’t give at the moment. He traced the folded lines of this picture of four children: Charlotte, four, Evan, seven, Elizabeth, nine, Michael, eleven. This one he used to carry with him in his wallet. He remembered taking it out to show people his daughter, and they’d always look surprised at the sight of four children all squeezed into one booth before he clarified that only one was his, even if he’d planned most of their birthday parties and taught Evan to tie his shoes and driven Elizabeth to her dance recital one night when William and Marie were taking care of a sick Michael. Charlotte, he’d point out, here, this one is mine. He could have used a different picture, one with only her in it. He never did.

He went to pull out another picture when the storm let out a terrible roar that made the whole building shake. Michael, who’d been dozing off as Henry reminisced, jumped to his feet. The power went dead, and Henry shot up from his desk as well, shoving the last picture in his pocket. It was only a dozen seconds, a dozen two long, and his heart raced as he fumbled in his desk for a flashlight in case the power didn’t come back. When it did, weakly flickering back to full strength, he leaned heavily on the wooden desk and breathed.

He looked over to the wall of lights. All bright.

All bright except the only one he needed to see.

Come back, he demanded, the power is on, come back!

There was no green light.

“Michael, stay here,” he said. The boy looked concerned.

“Why-”

“Stay here!” Henry snapped, louder than he meant to. Michael flinched and nodded.

Henry all but ran out of his office. He found Richard first, pulled him aside and said in a hurried whisper, “Have you seen Charlotte?” Richard frowned.

“She was-” He glanced over at the prize corner. Henry felt his heart drop into his stomach. The giant gift box was open. “What the hell? Where’s the puppet thing?” Richard asked, confused.

“Marionette,” Henry corrected distantly. “It’s a marionette.” He didn’t feel like he was in control of his body as he rushed over to the prize corner. There was an exit door there, marked as a fire escape only. He shoved it open and was pelted with rain. It didn’t stop him from going outside. He could barely see through the torrential downpour. The door behind him didn’t slam shut immediately, Richard following him outside. “Charlie!” Henry screamed. It only took Richard hearing the tone of his voice for the other man to finally pick up on what exactly had Henry so freaked out.

They both shouted for her, but the rain and the thunder was drowning them both out. Henry pushed forward through the rain around the building. He called for his daughter again. “Charlie!” Henry called for his child. No one answered him. A car drove past him, and in his fear, he couldn’t tell if he recognized it or not. He stumbled into the alley behind the restaurant, calling out again, nearly bumping into one of the many trash cans. There was something lying in the alley, barely visible in the rain and darkness, but part of him could only feel relief as he realized it was too big to be his daughter. He went to check it anyway, in case it was someone else hurt, but what he touched instead of clothing or a person’s skin was familiar fabric and cold metal.

He tore his hand back. The marionette lay broken and useless. He was close enough now to see why, what it had curled itself around. He knelt on the ground.

Richard’s voice came from behind him, horrified.

“Get help!” Henry heard himself scream.

He shoved the mangled heap of the marionette away. He held his daughter.

“Call someone! Get help!” He screamed again. He didn’t know if Richard was still there.

The rain made it so hard to hear. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

Henry looked up and saw William standing behind him.

“Charlie?” said William, in a young voice that sounded nothing like William’s. “Uncle Henry, what-”

“I told you not to come here!” Henry shouted over the thunder. “Why did you do this?!” William took a step back. His face contorted, and Henry’s vision was too blurry to tell if it was horror or a wicked smile. Part of him still protested that William wouldn’t, couldn’t.

But notes in his frantic handwriting seared through Henry’s mind. Just one child, he’d written, to test it, I only need one. Charlotte wasn’t moving.

William was gone. Henry was soaked with rain, but it didn’t wash the rest of the stains on his clothing away. He could hear footsteps behind him.

“There’s an ambulance on its way.” Richard said. “Where’s the kid going?”

“The kid?” He was holding his daughter. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t breathing.

“Michael.” Richard said. “I saw him run off.”

Henry choked. “Oh, God. Michael.” He looked back wildly and could see nothing past a dozen feet. “Michael!” He called for his child. No one answered him. Beside him, a fallen photograph, so heavily damaged by the rain now that he could barely make out the contents, just the vague outline of Charlotte on her third birthday, laughing and being held aloft by her godfather. The sky tore itself open again, and in the corner of Henry’s eye, lightning above lit up the tear-stained mask of the marionette, its eyes dragged free of its sockets, one arm outstretched towards him.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[esotl]

Performance - Chapter 11 (Part 20)

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring

Characters: Hokuto, Wataru

Translation Directory

It's known as a tragedy, and yet, I can't agree with that assessment.

Location: Inside a Train

Wataru: In actuality... I've never once come across one, a person who declares "I want to be like Hibiki Wataru!"

Which is to say, I am indeed still half-baked.

Hokuto: That's because you're out of the norm... No-one can even dream of being like you.

The more I come to know you, the more I feel that distance, too.

Wataru: Eh~ even though I'm close enough for you to touch? Please do your best, Hokuto-kun!

When I first saw you, I was a bit inspired.

"Aah, he's imitating my hairstyle," I thought... "Perhaps he wants to become like me."

Remembering the previous conversation, I held an interest in you...

Your mother must have predicted that, and tied your hair in a braid.

That's why I said she's discerning.

Her preparation is flawless, she knows all about a performer's weak points. Because if you're faced with someone imitating you, there's no way you could be unhappy.

Though, with just a few minutes of talking to you, I could tell you had no interest in me at all...

You only think of yourself, don't you?

Hokuto: Should I not? I don't have time to think about other things right now, and aren't I the one who thinks of myself the most?

There's no-one who thinks of me, of Hidaka Hokuto, so... I'm the one who has to consider me, to produce me.

Wataru: Right. That's the natural and correct answer, people don't really think about others often.

Though I personally don't have much interest in myself~ that seems to be rather unusual.

I'm always thinking about the characters in works of art, and the people surrounding them.

"Hibiki Wataru" is the means by which, the point of contact for interacting with those kinds of lovely things.

Hokuto: You're pretty distorted, aren't you... Are all "geniuses" like that?

Wataru: What do you think? Geniuses, no, all people are slightly different from each other.

You can't analyse all of humanity on an individual level using inflexible interpretations or common consensus.

That's why. You, who is captivated by such things, is rather laughable.

Hokuto: Hmph... I feel like I'm being made fun of by a clown.

Wataru: What a fitting phrase! Ahaha, chatting like this is fun...☆

Hokuto: Isn't this is strangely conceptual for a "chat"?

Wataru: Perhaps it is, by common consensus' standards! You're still restraining yourself, is your braid a chain or something, Hokuto-kun?

Be more flexible!

Relatedly... I just so happen to have tickets for a play being held at a theatre near the next stop!

Would you care to join me?

It's a rather intriguing stage, quite avant-garde... perhaps your sense of values will change upon seeing it!

Hokuto: I refuse. School is starting soon, I shouldn't skip.

Wataru: Isn't it fine every now and then? Let's be bad boys together~♪

Even if you do as your parents say like a good boy, it's not like you'll be rewarded for it, will you?

Hokuto: Don't interpret me like a character from a story.

Wataru: Apologies, it's an unconscious habit! This is troubling though, I didn't imagine you'd refuse.

Even after I went through all the trouble of moving you onto a different train without waking you?

Hokuto: So you're the reason I'm going to be late for school? I thought it was strange for me to sleep past my stop.

Wataru: Apologies, I just love tricks like that!

When faced with unexpected developments, humans always reveal some sort of interesting reaction without fail!

Getting mad, losing their cool, being bewildered, speaking unfavorably of me...

They confront me without hiding their true face behind a mask, or at least, they don't ignore me.

Hokuto: Did your parents not care about you as a kid?

Well, whatever. I already studied the contents of today's lessons last night, so it won't be a huge problem if I don't attend.

Even if I'm not there, I doubt anyone would notice.

I'll accompany you, President. But only for today - it'll be a problem if I'm constantly getting kidnapped to places I don't know.

Wataru: "Kidnapped" makes it sound scandalous... But I'm glad, let's have fun watching a play together.

Both acting and viewing are lonely when done by yourself. Let's snack on popcorn and excitedly discuss our thoughts with each other.

Japan has strict theatre manners, but plays have been that sort of event since time immemorial. Like in Shakespeare's time.

Hokuto: Don't speak like you were there for it, President.

Wataru: I've been doing my research you know, Shakespeare's a classic after all.

As is the play we're going to see today, "Romeo and Juliet"♪

It's known as a tragedy, and yet, I can't agree with that assessment.

Hokuto: ? Isn't it a standard tragedy?

Wataru: If you think about it using the common rules of this fleeting world, yes. But they were surely united after death, no?

One committed suicide, the other committed murder, so they certainly both fell into hell together.

However, "wherever you are is Heaven"... is what's conveyed in the play.

Because they went so far as to repeat such a sentiment over and over, time after time, the ending is not a tragedy.

Death is not the end, nor is it hopelessness. It is proof that they were finally together.

It's a connection, a blessing. That is how I interpreted the story's meaning.

If it's not true, then... Ah, God, Shakespeare, for what purpose did you document the suffering of this man and woman?

To sneer at these pitiful two, or else, to feel self-satisfied in your pity for them?

No - "Romeo and Juliet" is a congratulatory address for the two being united for eternity!

[Chapter 10 • Directory • Act 8]