#I love books that change upon multiple readings

[getinthehandbasket]

I'm FINALLY on my 1st reread of Nona. (That is, my second read.) I have read GTN and HTN three times each, by this point.

I have read the short stories/novellas.

THINGS ARE MAKING SO MUCH MORE SENSE HOLY SHIT.

It's like. The first time I read it I felt like I was high the entire time - and I suppose that's right because we're looking at the world through Nona's eyes and she doesn't know SHIT except her own innocent and context-less perceptions. Except sometimes she's far more perceptive than anyone, including Nona, realizes.

I'm realizing that the kids' names aren't probably literally "Born in the Morning" in English or whatever their common language is now. That "Hot Sauce" is probably actually called some 10,000-years-in-the-future version of "Sriracha" or "Cholula". "Honesty" could be "Verity" or "Pono".

That Nona sees the heart of things and reports them faithfully to us but we don't have enough context, because Nona doesn't.

[emptyjunior]

It looks like with the movies taking off, everyone is on the Dune train now!! Which is very exciting, I’m glad a bunch of new people are discovering this media and reading the books, but can I recommend you the David Lynch, Dune (1984) movie.

First of all, if you are invested in the lore of the books and the deeper messaging of the story, you’re going to need to turn that part of your brain Off. If you love kick ass shit and are willing to be slightly tipsy while you watch and have a great goddamn afternoon, this is the flick for you.

Now first fun fact I’m going to share with you. David Lynch (twin peaks, eraserhead director, celebrated surrealist) turned down the opportunity to direct Return of the Jedi for this film. A film that was devastatingly slow to make, changed hands multiple times, had a pricy VFX budget of $40 million and then made barely $31 million, David Lynch turned down Star Wars to work on it. And he did this when he had never read the novel, and did not even like or engage with sci fi media. THAT’S how you know we’re really in for something.

Now this film has some big names in it! We’ve got a young Kyle MacLachlan who is rocking some Devastating outfits:

We’ve got Sir Patrick Stewert as our Gurney and Sting, lead singer of the police, playing the 15 year old Feyd Rautha! If you wanted to see a grown man, sprayed orange, basically naked playing a free wheeling maniac you are in for a treat! And another fun fact, David Lynch also did not know who these actors were, he made a mistake and thought Patrick Stewert was someone else and when Sting said he was in the police he assumed he was in an organization of lawmen.

Now these characters are familiar to you, but let me get into the unfamiliar. Lynch made some directorial executive decisions throughout this film, for I suppose the ease of the viewer? I mean an adaptation is supposed to adapt so he went let me change some stuff up👏👏👏.

Those who paid attention to Jessica’s backstory may know about the Weirding Way. This is a martial arts style created by the Bene Gesserit, and practiced by Paul. It is more than just a fighting style but also an important philosophical concept, like Aikido or how Kung Fu has foundations in Buddhism.

You may also be familiar with the quote “My name is a killing word.” This inner monologue of Paul’s refers to how his title Muad’dub will be used to spur a holy war. A simple name is what people will die and bleed for, it will be what they scream as they cut down enemies.

Dark! Intense! That’s Dune, anyways in the novel it’s easy to take your time exploring these concepts. Introducing the audience to the religious ramifications of a simple name and fighting practice and how these things can have rippling repercussions upon a society like the Freman.

Now David Lynch didn’t have time for that! He had the belief (that may be right🤷‍♂️!) That watching a bunch of people kick each other on top of a sand dune would be Lame😭😭

So he made the choice for his film that “My name is a killing word” was to be taken Absolutely Literally and invented a device where if the freman said the name Muad-dib, shit would explode.

If they said Paul’s name, they could Explode Stuff. Let it sink in how rad that is. Hell yeah man, hell yeah. Imagine me interpreting religious text that way, imagine if I made a bible movie and the moral I took from a parable is that when Jesus asked for food and everyone donated fish, I concluded that Jesus was a mutant who had fish powers and could immediately conjure fish with magic and gave him fish death rays that shot out of his hands.

So that’s what you can expect from this interpretation, the weirding way now means everyone has Lasers its rad as hell.

Some other incredible choices made! This is a spoiler, but in the novels and the new films you can see the Freman collecting every scrap of water they can. Dr Liet-Kynes, the planetologist, reveals to us it’s because they have a long, multiple generation spanding plan to fix the planet. By introducing this water back they hope to reset the ecosystem over centuries of work. The reason they have been unable to do this is because a green planet would obviously not have worms and sand who produce spice, the most coveted drug in the empire, so imperial and harkonnen forces have been stopping this from ever happening. They want to be free from oppression so that they can start to work on slowly fixing their world, a project that plays out in Paul’s adult life and has its own dramas and complexities.

In Dune 1984??? The moment, the Moment Paul lays out his cousin and throws the final punch, it begins to rain in Arrakis. As if they were all under a magical curse and were just waiting for a teenager to come fight another teenager and then the water will come back. It’s so good, it’s so funny.

Also Pugs! House Atreides official Pugs! Paul has pugs in his lap!!

This is honestly an adaptation choice that I really really like! Paul is the result of centuries of selective breeding, this practice is an artform to the Bene Gesserit and a skill that they monitor closely. It produces bizarre and sometimes terrifying results and is the reason for Paul’s existence.

I think having an animal that was also created through selective breeding, was engineered from a wolf into an animal that can hardly breathe is an incredible metaphor! A smart and identifiable symbol for the audience, I think it’s a slam dunk and the new movies should have done it to.

Anyways can not recommend this film enough.

-The body suits the bad guys wear are made out of real body bags, that actually had been used.

-David Lynch to this day hates it.

-The original cut was four hours.

-The cast and crew were sick the Entire shoot with something they called Montezuma's Revenge, which was probably just food poisoning, side effects from the constant smog because they shot the whole thing on backup generators, illness from the cockroach infestation and terrible morale.

-Frank Herbert saw it multiple times and said he absolutely loved it.

-When they ride the worms, sick rock jams play.

If you love electric guitar, lasers, worms and will forgive me for not including all the trigger warnings cause Yes this film will gross you out, then go watch this movie.

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: alien intelligences

Intelligent spiders, octupi, plants, bacteria, and even entire oceans, intelligence without sentience, extra terrestrials and strange intelligences evolved right here on Earth - alien minds can take many forms. Allow me to share with you some books featuring the most alien and fascinating ones.

Previous book rec posts:

Really cool fantasy worldbuilding, really cool sci-fi worldbuilding, dark sapphic romances, mermaid books, vampire books, many worlds: portal fantasies, many worlds: alternate timelines, robots and artificial intelligences, post- and transhumanism

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

The Doors of Eden by Adrian Tchaikovsky*

The Doors of Eden is something of an experiment in speculative biology, featuring versions of Earth in which various different species were the one to rise to sentience, from dinosaurs to neanderthals. Now, something is threatening the existence of all timelines, dragging multiple different people and species into the struggle, among those a pair of cryptid hunting girlfriends and a transgender scientist.

Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky*

Millenia and generation spanning scifi. After the collapse of an empire, a planet once part of a project to uplift other species to sentience is left to develop on its own, resulting not in the intelligent monkeys once intended but in sentient giant spiders. Millenia later, what remains of humanity arrives looking for a new home, only to be met by the artificial remains of the ancient woman who once led the uplift project - and she is not willing to let them on her planet.

Semiosis (Semiosis duology) by Sue Burke

A generational story following a group of humans trying to survive on a new planet, where a strange and unkowable intelligence is finding ways to use them to its whims. As the humans come across an abandoned city wrapped in the roots of a strange plant, they slowly come to the realization that mutual communication is the only path to peace and survival.

The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu

While I felt the characters could’ve been better developed, this is undeniably a well-written novel featuring an alien race and culture developed on a planet vastly different from ours. Firmly in the realm of hard scifi, this is a realistic, fascinating and slightly terrifying look at how first contact may look.

Brain Plague (The Elysium Cycle) by Joan Sloncewski*

Chrys, a struggling artist, agrees to become a carrier for a sentient strain of microbes. With their help, Chrys breathes new life into her career. But every microbe society is different - some function as friends and brain enhancers to their carrier, while others become a literal brain plague, a living addiction taking over the life of their carrier. And like every society, the microbe community is in constant flux - inluding the one inside Chrys's head.

Rosewater (The Wormwood trilogy) by Tade Thompson

In Nigeria lies Rosewater, a city bordering on a strange, alien biodome. Its motives are unknown, but it’s having an undeniable effect on the surrounding life. Kaaro, former criminal and current psychic agent for the government, is one of the people changed by it. When other psychics like him begin getting killed, Kaaro must take it upon himself to find out the truth about the biodome and its intentions.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on.

Blindsight by Peter Watts*

Vampires and aliens and questions of the nature of consciousnesses, oh my. A ship is sent to investigate the sudden appearance of an alien vessel at the edge of the solar system, but the crew, a group of various level of transhumanism, isn’t prepared for the horrors awaiting them. No, seriously, this book will fuck you up, highly recommend if you’re okay with a lot of techno babble and existential horror.

Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson*

Utterly unique in world-building, story, and prose, Midnight Robber follows young Tan-Tan and her father, inhabitants of the Carribean-colonized planet of Toussaint. When her father commits a terrible crime, he’s exiled to a parallel version of the same planet, home to strange aliens and other human exiles. Tan-Tan, not wanting to lose her father, follows with him. Trapped on this new planet, he becomes her worst nightmare. Enter this book with caution, as it contains graphic child sexual abuse.

Fragment (Fragment duology) by Warren Fahy*

The reality TV show Sealife is having a rough time - as it turns out, a ship full of scientist doesn’t make for the kind of drama they hoped for. Hoping for some excitement, they reach Hender's Island, a fragment of a lost continent that may contain an interesting new ecosystem. But as they step foot on the island, they quickly come to realize the ecosystem isn’t just new, it’s highly dangerous and very hungry. Among all this life is one single species that may be more dangerous than any other, but which may also be the salvation of the scientists on the island. A bit wonky, but genuinely one of the most fun books I have read, I love it so much.

Axiom's End (Noumena trilogy) by Lindsay Ellis

It’s 2007, and a leak has just confirmed that the US has reached alien contact. Cora wants nothing to do with it, but as her absent father is the whistleblower who dropped the news the media won’t leave her alone. Even worse, she soon finds herself meeting and being pursued by the alien presence itself as it tries to remain in hiding - and discovering that there is a much larger threat on the horizon.

The Road to Roswell by Connie Willis*

Francie has just traveled to Roswell to attend her college friend's wedding to a UFO conspirasist. Not a believer herself, Francie is shocked when she finds herself abducted by an alien. Her abductor is not much what popular media would have you believe, looking more like a tumbleweed than a grey alien, and is clearly on some kind of mission it isn’t willing to put on hold for the sake of Francie attending to her duties as a bridesmaid. As more people get roped along - among those a conman, an old lady, a ufo conspirasist, and a retiree with an RV - Francie finds herself getting closer to the alien and wanting to help it succeed.

Bonus rec: if you like this book, you may also enjoy the movie Paul, which has a similarly humorous tone and similar plot.

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir*

Ryland Grace just woke up up from a coma, unable to remember anything. He finds himself alone on a space ship, and as his memories slowly trickle back, he realizes he's been sent on a mission: to find a solution to the impending doom of the earth. Still struggling with holes in his memories, Ryland tries to fulfill his mission, but as he gets closer to his goal, he discovers someone else got there first. And they aren't anything close to human. Funny, heartfelt, and heavy on the science.

Survival by Julie E. Czerneda

Mac, a biologist studying salmon on Earth, has little interest in life beyond her own planet. Despite this, she’s sought out by Brymn, an alien archaeologist hoping her expertise as a biologist can help him solve the secret behind the Chasm, a region of space completely devoid of life. Trying as she might not to get incolved, Mac has little choice as she and her colleagues come under attack by the mysterious Ro, the species Brymn's people suspect to be the cause of the Chasm.

Translation State by Ann Leckie*

An exploration of the alien as filtered through the human. At what point does the human become something else? When does something else become human? Is it a question of biology or culture, nature or nurture? Can we choose it? Can it be forced upon us? Set in the Imperial Radch universe, Translation State follows three different characters embroiled in the question of what makes a human. The alien Presger can only communicate with humans using their translators - people they’ve created that are not quite human and not quite alien. But as news of a translator fugitive arises, conflict brews regarding what right they have to choose their own identity and home.

Exo (Exo duology) by Fonda Lee*

Young adult. Earth has long since been under the control of an alien presence. Donovan Reyes is an exo, a human enhanced with alien technology, working to keep the colony and its people safe. The biggest enemy is Sapience, a terrorist organisation opposing alien rule by any means necessary. When a mission goes awry, Donovan finds himself abducted by Sapiance, something that risks a war. While it took until the second book for me to be fully sold on this series, it features a genuinely nuanced take on oppression and resistance rarely seen in YA genre.

Needle by Hal Clement

1950s classic. A small island in the pacific ocean and a fourteen-year-old boy have just become the center of an interstellar chase between an alien Hunter and the criminal he's pursuing. Robert is a regular boy, but he has a very special passenger: an alien symbiont hiding inside his body. The alien became stranded on Earth as he pursued a criminal of his own species, and now they are both trapped on the same island, playing a game of cat and mouse as Robert and the Hunter struggle to find their prey before it finds them.

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (Wayfarers series) by Becky Chambers

Rosemary Harper just got a job on the motley crew of the Wayfarer, a spaceship that works with tunneling new wormholes through space. With a past she wants to leave behind, Rosemary is happy to travel the far reaches of the universe with the chaotic crew, but when they land the job of a life time, things suddenly get a lot more dangerous. A bit of a tumblr classic in its day, this is a cozy space opera with an episodic feel and vividly realized characters and cultures.

Under the Skin by Michel Faber

A dark allegory of alienation and dehumanization, Under the Skin follows Isserley, a woman traveling along the roads of England and picking up hitchhikers. Little does her passengers know, she’s an alien hiding her true self, and they are her prey and a delicacy for her species.

Solaris by Stanislaw Lem

1960s Polish classic. Arriving on a station orbiting the planet Solaris, Kris Kelvin is meant to study the strange, possibly sentient ocean that covers its entire surface. But the effects of the ocean are far reaching - Kelvin finds the crew of the station secretive and unstable, and is shocked to wake one day to the embodiement of a long dead lover. Was it created by the brain-like ocean, and if so, why?

West of Eden (West of Eden trilogy) by Harry Harrison

65 million years ago, the meteor that killed the dinosaurs never arrived. Without it, the dinosaurs lived and thrived, allowing a the complex society of the matriarchal Yilanè to arise. Meanwhile, in the new world, humans still evolve, and when an impending ice age forces the Yilanè across the ocean in search for a new home, the two are destined to clash. A bleak story of the cycle of violence and hate leading to war, West of Eden is a marvel of world-building.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool

Triptych by J.M. Frey

Kalp is a widower and alien refugee newly arrived on Earth; Gwen is a language expert secretly recruited by the United Nations to help integrate a ship of alien refugees; Basil is an engineer who loves them both. Together they must defend their relationship against a violently intolerant world.

The Sparrow (The Sparrow duology) by Mary Doria Russell

When proof of alien life is found, the United Nations are too slow in their plans for a first contact mission. Instead, the Society of Jesus overtake them and send their own ship, but the crew could never have been prepared for what they will find.

Lagoon by Nnedi Okorafor

Something massive and alien crashes into the ocean off the coast of Nigeria. Three people, a marine biologist, a rapper, and a soldier, find themselves encountering this presence, and have to race to save humanity before it's too late.

Honorary mentions AKA these didn't really work for me but maybe you guys will like them: Salvaged by Madeleine Roux, Exodus by Nicky Drayden, The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbull, Embassytown by China Miéville

[minihotdog]

Caught Red handed // Part 2

Summary: Soap Catches His Roommate Reading an Erotic Novel AGAIN

Part 1

Pairing: John "Soap" Mactavish x Fem!Reader

a/n: I've been sick as a dog and I'm not the happiest about how this one turned out so I'll write a soap fic with a little more punishment in the future when I don't feel like my insides are melting

c/w: P in V, biting, aftercare

word count: 2k

***

Johnny made it clear that he didn’t want to catch you reading dirty books again, but you’re only human. Your newly discovered love for the genre made it impossible to stay away. 

You picked up a new one at the bookstore, this time with a more discrete cover. The summary described a romance between a woman and her soldier husband. It was a love that stands the test of time and struggle as he changes from the horrors he’s seen. Upon getting home and settling down to read it, you quickly discovered that wasn’t the case. The book was downright rancid, a crime almost. You’d gotten comfortable in your PJs and fuzzy socks excited to dive into the story only to receive a figurative slap to the face.

He was so desperate to breed her. His rough and violent thrusts almost put her head through the wall.

“Be my good little wife and take my load.”

“When I come back you better be holding my kid in your arms waiting for me to put another one in you.”

Your hand was over your mouth as your eyes scanned every sentence multiple times to ensure you didn’t pull them from your imagination.

You couldn’t help but imagine Johnny as the character. The author went into detail about the male character sitting and watching his high school sweetheart, turned wife, undress for him. How his thick thighs took up the entirety of the chair and his cock rested to the side atop the dense muscle, all you could see was Johnny with his evil little smirk and shaggy hair he’d grown out on leave.

The jangling of keys on the other side of the front door rips you from your fantasies. You jolt upwards and run towards your bedroom to stash the book in your nightstand. You’d been sleeping with Johnny in his bed so there wasn’t a possibility of him accidentally stumbling on it.

You waltz out of your room coming face to face with Johnny. You jump, clutching your chest with a squeak.

“Johnny! You scared the shit out of me!”

He looks at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Wha’ are ye up tae?”

“What?! Nothing, just getting a heart attack from you.”

He fakes a quick step towards you and your arms instinctively shoot to the walls blocking him. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and giving your lips a peck. He rests his forehead on yours.

“Yer hidin’ somethin’ an’ I’m gonnae find out wha’ it is.” He squints at you before turning into the kitchen.  

Damn it! Why did I do that?!!

You try to keep an eye on Johnny to make sure he won’t go snooping, but the moment he wraps his arms around you the book is completely forgotten. The two of you cuddle on the couch to watch reruns of old shows together. He runs his hand up and down your side kissing down your shoulder. He settles on your waist and his thumb caresses the little bit of exposed skin. He nibbles on your neck and slips his hand under your tank top taking a handful of your breast.

“You’re worse than a dog in a rut!” You slap his hand away.

“Cannae help masel’ when I’m wi’ ye, bonnie.” He whines, nuzzling his nose into your neck. His hips grind into you and he lets out a groan.  

“Johnny, I haven’t showered today.” Your complaining falls on deaf ears as his arms wrap tighter around you. “Let me goooo!”

“Fine, if it makes ye stop fussin’.” He huffs as you sit up. He crosses his arms making a high-pitched ‘hmphf’. 

“I’ll be back, hun.” You lean down to give him a quick kiss.

Johnny waits for the shower to turn on before springing into action. He tosses the blanket to the side and tip-toes down the hallway determined to figure out what you’d been hiding earlier. He enters your room and begins looking around. He opens your closet, makes a mess of your desk drawers until he stumbles over to your nightstand. He pulls the drawer open and discovers the dark-covered book you tossed in there. The cover looked innocent enough, a soldier walking hand in hand with a woman in a pink sun dress. He flips the book over to read the summary. His eyes scan the text and he lets out a quiet ‘awww’ before opening it to a random page in the middle. 

“Jesus Christ, bonnie, wha’ are ye readin’ now?” His eyes go wide for a moment and he sucks his teeth.

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel before walking into his bedroom. You pick through his dresser for your clothes. He insisted you move some of your clothes to his room but they quickly got buried under his. You pick out your favorite striped pj shorts and an old shirt of his that you cut into a crop top. You walk out of his room heading back to the couch only to be stopped in your tracks when you notice the door of your room wide open and the light on. 

FUCK!

You quiet your footsteps and slowly peek into the room. You see him sitting on your bed, drawer open, and a very familiar object in his hands. You decide that the best thing you can do is hide but as you shift your weight onto your back foot the floor creaks.

“Bonnie!” He calls out. The stern tone in his voice makes you jump. “Come ower here.” You silently freak the fuck out before poking your head through the door.

“Yes, honey?”

The look on his face pulls you into the door frame.

“Wha’ did I tell ye no tae be readin’ the kin o’ books?”

Shit. He’s mad.

His accent gets rougher and you know for a fact that he’s not happy with this discovery.

You’re quick to defend yourself.

“I swear I didn’t know!” You blurt out. “The summary was so cute I didn’t think it was gonna be like that.”

He looks down, closing the book before looking back at you.

“Ye jus’ bought it? Didn’t ye open it up afore haund?”

His eyebrows furrow. His intense gaze burrows into you waiting for an answer. You chew on your bottom lip. He was always able to get the truth out of you. He knew you couldn’t stand being at the receiving end of his glare. You begin fumbling your fingers.

“I may have read a chapter at the store.” He throws his head back with a groan upon hearing the confession. “BUT, it wasn’t like the rest of the book, I swear!”

His jaw clenches for a second and he shakes his head.

“Oh bonnie, wha’ am I gonnae dae wi’ ye?” He mutters as he stands, shaking the book at you before tossing it onto the bed. He calmly walks towards you. He towers over you and one of his hands tangles itself in your hair pulling just enough to make you look straight up at him. 

“Yer a pure bad lassie. Cannae even heed simple orders.” 

He suddenly takes you by the arm and walks you into his room.

“Nasty wee thing,” He growls, forcing you onto the bed. “Can’t follow directions. Hidin’ things from me.” He sucks his teeth as his hands rush to yank your shirt off. He gives you no time to reorient yourself before he pushes you onto your back.

He climbs onto the bed and straddles you gripping your wrists in one hand. He grabs your chin forcing you to look up at him.

“Needy fuckin’ whore, aren’t ye?”

“Johnny, I’m sorry.” You whine trying to break out of his grip.

He scoffs, “We’ll see about tha’.”

He yanks his sweats off. You watch him closely hoping that he’ll change his mind about this punishment. His size becomes more apparent with the anger radiating off of him. 

“Baby, I promise I won’t do it anymore.” He ignores your pleas. Your eyes trail down and you see he’s rock-hard. He lays his weight on you biting at your neck. His bare cock presses against you over your shorts. His free hand goes to your breast, pinching your nipple and rolling it in his fingers. You half-mindedly grind against him.

“Oh no, Lassie. Yer not getting what you want just yet.”

He kisses down your chest capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue plays with the sensitive nub. He slides his arm under your thigh, bringing one leg to his waist. His fingers run over your clothed cunt and he groans.

“Yer soaked. My wee slut is so wet fur me.” His voice rasps. His mouth moves to your other breast. Your nails dig into your palms when his teeth graze the nub.

“Baby, please,” You cry out, needing to feel him inside you. The ache was becoming too much to bear and he was so close. His scent only helped to cloud your brain and the heat radiating off of him was setting you ablaze.

“So impatient.” He taunts as he pulls away to work your shorts down your legs to reveal the wet patch on your panties that had become transparent. He chokes out a moan at the sight,

“So fuckin’ wet.”

He slips his fingers underneath the fabric at your hips and in a swift motion pulls them until they rip. You gasp, eyes shooting down at him. He’d never acted this way in bed, he’d usually undress you with a thousand kisses, making sure his lips touched every bit of exposed skin until he reached where you wanted him most, he’d slow down for a moment and place a kiss on your clit before devouring you whole and leaving you with soul-crushing orgasm before the big finale. This time he restrains himself leaving your hips bucking for his touch. In this moment, you missed your sweet and caring Johnny.

“I know wha’ ye want, bonnie.” He looks up at you with his little evil smirk. “I’m not gonna treat ye like my princess when yer not actin’ like one.”

Before you can protest his fingers begin playing at your entrance. He slides two of his thick digits into you. Your breath hitches feeling the calloused skin inside you. He pumps his fingers, curling them into that special spot.

“So tight.” He breaths out, occasionally flicking your clit with his thumb. You want him inside you so bad your head is spinning. He lowers his head dropping his tongue to your clit, he couldn’t help himself, his head belonged in between your legs and he couldn’t fight that.

He continues moving his fingers in and out of you, grazing your g-spot each time. His tongue circles your clit and you throw your head back into the pillows. Your pants fill the room, your wrists aching.

“Johnnyyyyy.” Your back arches as he speeds up. His eyes almost roll back listening to your whines.

He feels you tighten against his fingers, waiting for the right moment. 

“Hmmmm.” You tighten around him once more and he pulls away from you, denying you of your release. Your head shoots up and he’s sucking the wetness off his fingers. He chuckles at the frustrated look on your face.

“That’s not fair!”

“Oh, but it is, only good girls get tae cum.”

He leans over you on his elbow grabbing a handful of your hair. He pulls your head back, the pain forcing a whine from your lips. “No woman of mine will be readin’ filth about another man.” His lips graze the side of your face. “I’m the only man ye should fantasizin’ about. I’m the only one who’s cock ye should be thinkin’ of.”

“You are! You’re the only man I think about!”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

He slides himself into you and your body tenses up at the intrusion. He coos at you as you try to adjust to his length. He forces your head to the side and his lips are on yours. He deepens the kiss attempting to capture your tongue with his. He uses the kiss as a distraction to slide the rest of himself into you. He buries himself to the hilt and you gasp into the kiss. He moans softly, breaking away from your lips and resting his head in the crook of your neck. The feeling of being inside you was almost too much for him to bear. So warm and wet, the nerves on his cock fire off when the tip finds your soft cervix.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” He pants into your skin. “This pussy is pure sin.”

He gathers himself before he begins moving. He slides in and out of you and your lips part slightly, eyes clamped shut. He releases shaky breaths, the tightness making his head spin.

“O’ fuck!” He thrusts slowly, pulling away slightly to enjoy the view of him disappearing inside you. His free hand grabs your waist to keep you from sliding away from him as his pace picks up. Your mind goes blank, the stretch of his cock is intoxicating. His thrusts jolt you upwards forcing whines from you. 

“Johnny, please let me touch you.”

“Promise me no more of those fuckin’ books,” He breaths into your necks.

“I promise, I promise, I promise!” You chant. Your voice comes out pathetic and desperate. He releases your wrists, his arms sliding under your body to wrap around you. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging into his skin. He pounds into you relentlessly, your eyesight blurs, and your back struggles to arch against his weight. 

His name falls from you in a chant mixed with small gasps. The bed creaks loudly as his hips slam into the underside of your soft thighs. Your legs wrap around his waist, hands grasping at him for dear life. He moans into your neck, his rasps hitting your skin along with his ragged breaths.

“Oh god, Johnny!” Your mouth hangs open. The feeling of him filling you up so perfectly leaves you almost in a trance-like state, unable to think or form a single thought. 

“Ye take me so well, bonnie, don’t ye?”

He tightens his hold on you, the tight squeeze around his cock has him almost drooling. Your warm velvet walls test him every time, he uses every bit of strength he has to not finish too soon when he buries himself inside you. His tip kissing your cervix shoots pleasure through the both of you. He swears little invisible hearts circle his head every time you whimper out his name.

He digs his teeth into your neck, marking you. “Mine. All mine.” He groans into the now red flesh. He frees one of his arms from under you and begins massaging your clit begging to feel you clamp down around him. 

“Bonnie, ye feel tae good. Cum on my cock, ye been a good girl.” You moan in response. “Gonnae fill ye up nice and deep. Ye want tha’?”

You nod frantically. Your pussy flutters warning him of your impending orgasm. He continues his pace as he whispers pure filth into your ear. Telling you how much he loves your pussy, how you belong to him and only him. You try to warn him but it hits hard and fast, before you know it you’re a mess beneath him. Nails dragging down his skin leaving red lines, your pussy spasming around him pulling over the edge.

He ruts into you shooting thick streams onto your walls. You feel him twitching inside you as he thrusts his cum deeper into you. “Take it all, bonnie.”

He continues thrusting, dragging out your orgasm. Your pussy clamps down on him milking him for all he’s worth leaving you twitching from the overstimulation.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He slows his movements letting out a deep breath before locking eyes with you. A goofy smile appears on his lips causing you to giggle. He mummers a “C’mere,” before kissing you sweetly. He slides out of you slowly as he caresses your thigh.

“Let’s get ye cleaned up,” He plants a kiss on your forehead before wrapping his arms around you once more and lifting you onto his lap. He slides the both of you off the bed and carries you into the bathroom putting you down gently on the counter. He turns the shower on and while the two of you wait for the water to heat up he peppers your face with kisses. 

He carries you into the shower letting you steady yourself on your feet before pulling you to his chest. The warm water runs over his shoulders flowing down your back. His lips brush the top of your head.

“I love you, bonnie.” He whispers.

[sillymercury]

Make You See My Crazy

AzrielxReader

<3

Warnings: some slightly sexual themes

Word count: 7.9k

It’s split into parts only bc I can’t stop yapping

Summary: Upon joining the inner circle you expected excitement, movement, enterprise. Instead you were faced with mundane, every day was nearly the same and repetitive motion was killing you. It’s hard sneaking around the person you love but it’s inevitable when they’re the one holding you back.

Part 2 to I’m not the Crazy One, She Is

<3

I thought working with the inner circle would be action packed; missions, fighting, or infiltrating other courts. I imagined myself having serious debriefs with Rhysand and far off adventures with Mor or Azriel. But for the first year and some change it’s just been training. Every. Day.

I guess it was to be expected, I had to be thoroughly prepared; even if what I was being prepared for was the impossible.

Some of the scenarios Azriel would throw at me were absolutely off the wall; like being shrunken down and hidden under a walnut casing, being drugged with hallucinogenic cookies that make the enemy seem like friends, being eaten by a shark? It was deluded. I asked him if any of those things ever happened to him, his answer; “Unimportant. It could happen to you.”

I thought I was flying through training with flying colors, and so did Rhysand and Cassian and Nesta and Gwyn and Feyre and Emerie and Morrigan and Amren and pretty much everyone other than Azriel. He always found something to correct or have a question with no right answer. At first it was funny, but then I mastered the sword, dagger, staff, bow and arrow, and my personal favorite nunchucks. Now it’s just condescending.

The time I wasn’t preparing for the impossible I was working on strengthening my powers with Amren and Nesta. I’ve had control of my abilities for the better part of two centuries but using them for combat was different. I had mostly used them to get what I want, adopting strangers on the streets powers to make my night more interesting. Now I was using people’s own powers against them. My abilities expanded beyond what I ever thought, what I had ever attempted. I can connect with at least 3 people, stealing power from multiple sources. I can also connect over a distance but that’s only for people that I know, if I can envision them in my minds eye and envision their powers I can connect from virtually anywhere.

Ive never felt more powerful, more formidable, more like a force to be reckoned with than since I’ve begun working with the inner circle. But for some reason, a reason that edged my last nerve Azriel didn’t see it.

“I can take on anyone in this godsdamned court and hold my own, but it’s always ‘you’re not ready’ ‘you need more training’ ‘what if something terribly unlikely happens?’” I groaned at I threw myself back onto Nesta and Cassian’s shared bed. The female was perched at the top, legs tucked underneath herself, watching me with a sly expression.

“It’s because he likes you,” Nesta teased, a knowing smile making its way onto her face.

I flipped myself over and bit my bottom lip, failing at controlling my smile. “I know,” I said dreamily, I could feel my face heat as I thought of the shadowsinger. “But that’s another thing, he likes me, I know he does. But he’s also distant, not physically but emotionally. He’s holding back from me and I don’t know why. Like go king! Give me nothing!”

Nesta laughed as she slid onto her stomach as well, face close to mine, “That’s just how these Illyrians are. They only want love if it’s torture.”

I rolled my eyes at her words, “What did you read that in a book or something?”

“Or something,” she smirked and I chuckled at response shaking my head. “I can’t help you with your love sick yet sickeningly distant Az but in terms of putting you in the field; talk to Rhys. Tell him that you feel more than ready to have a mission of your own.”

I groaned, sneaking around Az didn’t feel right. I wanted him to see me, see what I’m capable of and want me by his side. “Okay,” I said while I picked at my nails. I peaked at the female and she gave me a pointed look, “Okay!” This time I spoke with more conviction. Standing up I stamped my foot with my hands on my hips “I am going to talk to him,” I turned my head to glance out the window, night had taken over the sky, “tomorrow morning.”

It was Nestas turn to groan, her face fell into the bed as she shook her head, “Your just as bad as Azriel.”

“Come on. It’s late, he’s probably in bed. Plus last time I went to him this late…” I shuddered. Nesta just laughed, obviously recalling the story of me winnowing into Rhys’ office and seeing my high lord and high lady in a… compromising position. “Alright,” I stretched, “I’m going home, don’t wait for me at training. I’ll see Rhys bright and early!”

Her face held mock conviction as she nodded once. I just laughed and leaned over to press a loving kiss to the females head, “Bye!!!!” I sang as I channeled Rhys from afar and winnowed myself home.

I was offered a room at the House of Wind and I stayed there most nights but I still kept my cottage. With the egregious checks Rhys wrote me every month I could afford my own little castle but this was home. A new fae had moved in next door, a very nice one, and the corner was cozier than ever before. Also with Az away, the house of wind felt… colder; I needed the warmth of my space.

I went through my night routine; stripping the leathers I had grown accustomed to wearing, cleaning my hair and skin, and climbing into bed with a shirt that Azriel definitely knew was missing. As I laid I contemplated what I would say to Rhys, he has said he thought I was ready but he still backed up Azriel. I shook my head, deciding I couldn’t wait until morning.

Rhys, I whispered into his mind. Channeling his power I was able to slip past his barriers, something he was truly disturbed to find out I could do. Rhys, I tried again a little louder when he didn’t answer.

Stop using my power against me, he spoke, frustration clear. I hate when you do that.

I giggled into his mind, finding out that mental barriers don’t work against me was a pleasant surprise for me and a source of grief for Rhys. Powers are connected to emotions so the more passionate I made someone the more control I could take over their magic. I need to talk to you.

It can’t wait? I’m… busy. I knew exactly what he meant and shivered as war flash backs played in my brain.

Ewwww, I ragged. I suppose it can. I turned in my bed, making myself comfy.

The silence didn’t last long, Never mind, Nyx just woke. What do you need Y/n?

I paused, a hundred persuasive and graceful ways to ask came to the forefront but I chose succinctness. I want to go on a mission.

He paused, from inside his mind I could hear the wheels turning but out of respect for his privacy I cast my glance away. Waiting until Az is out of town, are you trying to get me in trouble?

No! I just… I’m ready. There was nothing else to say, I’m ready. I know it, Rhys knows it, everyone in this circle knows it; it’s time for me to prove it.

I heard him click his tongue, thinking of how to deny me nicely. I filled his head with my disappointment, my hurt from being consistently passed over. A sigh was heard, and I felt his conviction break.

Okay, I have an idea. See me in the morning.

I didn’t let my excitement slip into his mind but I’m sure he heard it in my voice, Okay, okay! Perfect. I’ll see you!

I disconnected from him and rolled over, giggling into my pillow and kicking lightly under my blanket. I wondered what Rhys had planned, I tried not to let my imagination get me too excited but as I fell into rest depictions of other courts circled my mind.

-

Azriel landed in the training ring with a swift silence. His leathers were glistening in the sun, clean and shiny. He picked up the habit of cleaning them before returning right around the time you started spending nights in the House of Wind. The thought of you seeing him covered in blood unsettled him, he knew deep down you wouldn’t truly care but he wanted to protect you nonetheless.

His bright eyes scanned the ring; priestesses, Valkyrie’s, and a very loud Cassian controlled the space. No you.

She’s not here, his shadows informed him. Upon further prompting his shadows informed him that you weren’t at home, or with Rhys. His eyebrows knitted with confusion as he continued to glance around. It wouldn’t be the first time you skipped training, he pictured the time he caught you tucked into a high-end dress store when you were meant to be in the ring.

He was prepared to take to the skies, ready to find where you were hiding before his brother cut him off, “Az, honey! Not even a hello?” Cass was walking toward him with a natural ease and he couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

“Hello brother,” was all he offered. His voice was void of emotion but his heart was full, coming home to family was always enjoyable. Especially after spending time in the dark tunnels of the Hewn City, seeing someone with a smile on their face was appreciated.

Cass wrapped strong arms around Az’s shoulders, holding him tight. Azriel just returned the favor with two quick taps on his back under his wings.

“I need to go find Y-“ he didn’t make it through his sentence before Cassian cut him off.

“You need to come see these priestesses,” with an arm around Az’s shoulder he led him further into the ring. “We’ve got six more priestesses picking up swords, we have a little battalion on our hands.”

Az lightly smiled and nodded, letting his brother lead him. He figured you could have the day off, you deserve it. You had been doing amazing, you were a quick learner; swift, light on your feet, and knew how to finish strong. Your fighting coupled with your power, you would be daunting in the felid; when you were ready… when he was ready to let you be ready.

Az knew you would hold your on, connecting to his power you would be the assets he always needed but he wanted to protect you, keep you safe from that part of his life as long as he could.

The better part of the morning and early afternoon were spent with the priestesses. Helping them with their swordsmanship, correcting techniques and giving confidence where it was needed. Cass and Az felt something like pride as the watched the females taking back the power that was stolen from them. With training behind them the boys gathered around the island in the extravagant kitchen, chatting with Emerie, Gwyn, and Nesta about the progress being made. You stayed in the back of Azriel’s mind, not being at training and not showing up as the day pushed on. He tried to keep cool about it, you were sensible and strong and he didn’t need to keep you on a leash, but with training 3 hours behind him his hands started to itch at the lack of your presence. His attentive shadows kept him updated, you still weren’t at your house or any of Rhys’.

“So where’s Y/n?” He asked, trying to remain casual as he leaned forward, bracing his arms on the stone island. Lunch had came and went without a word from you. Gwyn’s eyes widened for a fraction of a a second but Emerie quickly pulled her into conversation pertaining to their upcoming book club. Weird.

Nesta just pursed her lips and shrugged coolly, a light shake of her head accompanying the motion. Cassian on the other hand was staring into the tea he that had suddenly became very interesting. That was weirder. If Cass didn’t know he would’ve came up with some witty remark like, ‘she probably found a hot male with emotional maturity’ or ‘she has your account information, probably running you into the ground.’

He stalked a little closer to his brother, Cass just dipped his head further towards his cup. Az bit his cheek, thanking the mother for his brothers inability to keep a secret or produce a good lie.

Az wrapped a wing around his brothers form and dipped down too, “If you put your nose any further into that cup, you’ll drown.”

“Huh? Oh!” Cass laughed as he stood up straighter. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, trying to gain some semblance of confidence. Nesta gave him a look and he turned away quickly, unfortunately for him he turned directly toward Az. The only thing he could do was offer a nervous smile.

Az returned the favor with a saccharine grin, got him. “Where is she Cass?”

“Who?” He asked dumbly. He clenched his fist to keep from slapping his face, he was under the fire of his brothers gaze and he was choking. Az just raised his eyebrows and gave him a pointed look. “Oh, Y/n. Pfft I don’t-“ he tried to do what Nesta did, pout his lips and shrug coolly. He didn’t look cool. “I don’t know. Where is she Nesta?” His voice suddenly carried a faux confusion as he turned to his mate, attempting to take attention off of himself.

Nesta glared, “I. Don’t. Know,” she bit out through gritted teeth. Cass gulped, knowing no matter how this ended he was screwed. He just nodded, humming at her before turning to Az, offering up another lame shrug.

Az looked between the two for a second before glancing over at the other two fae. Their conversation had stopped to take in the scene, at the instant of Azriel’s eyes they quickly turned away and began speaking again.

Az just nodded, the picture of calm. Cassian gulped yet again, he knew he was the weakest link and that Azriel would press him specifically for information. Cassian’s fears were confirmed when the sick smile returned to Az’s face and a firm hand was placed on his shoulder. “Cassian,” Az’s voice was low, slow, “Where is she?” The calmness and gentleness of his words sent a shiver down Cassian’s spine.

“I don’t know, truly,” he was folding. Nesta shook her head before placing it in the arms that were folded across the counter. “She was begging and she wouldn’t let up. Said she was super determined and no wasn’t a viable answer so Rhys caved, sent her on a mission this morning.”

“Good gods,” slipped from Nestas lips. Hand braced on her shaking forehead as she looked into the distance, questioning the mother.

“What?” Az’s grip turned to iron and his brother cringed at the force. He looked between the four in the kitchen, everyone knew. Everyone knew and wanted to keep it from him, if he wasn’t losing his mind he might feel bad.

Nothing else was said, there was nothing left to say, Azriel’s pace was rushed as he pushed through the balcony doors and into the sky.

“Azriel,” Rhys breathed. If the frustration wasn’t clear in his voice, it showed in the way his hands slid down his face.

“Rhys,” he pressed, “I know I just- she just needs more time.” Rhys shook his head at his brothers words, disagreeing. He knew if it were up to Az you would never leave the safety of Velaris. “How would you feel if it was Feyre?” Az’s pushing earned him a growl.

“If you remember, it was Feyre. I had to let her fight far before she was ready. Even so, Y/n is leagues ahead of Feyre.” Az shook his head now, desperately trying to find the words to convince his brother. “If we keep her stagnant any longer the poor female will become destitute.” Azwas quickly becoming hysterical, you meant so much to him and putting you in the line of fire… Hot angry tears pooled on his bottom lash despite his best efforts to keep them at bay, continuing to shake his head as he began clenching his fist. He was fighting so desperately to take control of this situation but Rhys was hard headed and determined to try out his new toy.

“It’s not going to be easy, it will never be easy dealing with the possibility of your mate getting hurt. But if you’re just going to coddle her then what’s the point of bringing her into this circle? She is smart, and strong, let her prove it.”

Az let out a chopped breath. It was his turn to bring his hands to his face, shamefully hiding the tears Rhys was already aware of. He didn’t speak for a moment, pondering. When he brought her in he had to admit he didn’t think of this. He saw it as an excuse to have her close, bring her into the family and keep her around. But after getting close to her, learning her, loving her, he didn’t care anymore. He wanted to keep her hidden from the dark world he had come to know so well. He wished she was offered a different position even though her powers were an amazing defensive and offensive asset; he never wanted to use it.

He shook his head one more time, “I just need more time.” His pleading voice broke and Rhys softened at the sound. All he’s ever wanted for his brother was to feel that earth shattering love like the one he felt for Feyre. How could he tell him those fears were invalid? That they don’t have basis? They’re wrong? He couldn’t and when Az let out one more shaky, “Please, brother,” he couldn’t say no.

Azriel landed in front of the river house with a thud, no shadowy elegance and no preternatural silence. His heightened emotions pushed all of that out of the way to make room for his task; find Rhys, kill Rhys.

He stomped through the house, making his presence and his anger known. He didn’t bother to knock on Rhys’ office door, just blowing it wide open. His high lord sat in his large leather chair while his high lady was perched on the edge of the desk, engaged in loving conversation.

The slamming doors caught their attention as Azriel stopped short of Rhys’ desk, growling his name.

“I figured you’d show up here soon enough, do you have your mission report?” Rhys was calm as he leaned back in his chair, observing Azriel and his pristine leathers and contorted face. Az wanted to stick his eyes and shake Rhys until his head fell off.

“You know that’s not why I’m here,” his voice was low as he struggled to form a sentence and not a fist.

“Oh?” Rhys feigned innocence and Azriel’s grip slipped, fists taking place at his side. “Why are you here then brother?”

A low scoff made its way out, Azriel had to look away to collect the parts of him he could. He didn’t want to play this stupid back and forth game, he wanted to find you. Blowing up on Rhys wouldn’t do anything good for him so he bit out his next words, “My mate. Where is she?”

“Ah, yes.” Rhys just nodded as he continued to look Azriel up and down, sizing how far he could push him. Feyre on the side held a confused face as she tried to decipher the situation. Azriel’s mate? How would Rhys know where she is? A low growl reverberated through Az and his brother just clicked his tongue in response. “She’s fine Az, please-“

Azriel cut him off, walking closer to brace his hands on the desk, “I told you she wasn’t ready. She needed more time to-“

It was Azriel’s turn to get cut off as he held up a hand, “No. You said you weren’t ready. You said you needed time. I gave you time, that times up.”

Az growled again, hands gripping the desk with so much force the wood under his hands groaned. His eyes were wild and his face displayed so much fury Feyre thought he might jump over it and tear into Rhys. “Az…” she said tentatively.

“Did you know?” He looked at her accusingly, not being able to hold his rage back from her. Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her heart, her hair slid over her shoulder as she shook it back and forth.

“Know what Az? You found your mate? That’s amazing, I-“ Feyre tried to lighten the mood, choosing to focus on the good parts of the conversation.

Az rolled his eyes away from her and back to his brother. “Yes, I did find her.” His eyes held his brothers in challenge, Rhys didn’t back down but Az would either. “It’s a shame though, Rhys seems adamant on getting her killed.” He leaned in slightly, baring his teeth on the last word.

The thought of you out there, alone, in a potentially dangerous situation made his brain fog. His whole body twitched; desperate to tear apart the entirety of Pyrthian until he found you. Deep down he knew his feelings were irrational, Rhys wouldn’t send you somewhere dangerous for your first mission, solo to boot. He knew that you were fierce in your fighting technique. He knew that the reservoir of powers you could access made you one of, if not the most, powerful fae in Pyrthian. He knew you didn’t need him to protect or guard you and that you wanted this. Knowing all of those things doesn’t make it any easier though.

“She’s not- Az please,” Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut, trying to will away the headache his brother was giving him. “Feyre, baby, give us a moment.”

She just nodded, eyes still examining Az as if she’d find her answer written on his face. She leaned into the kiss Rhys placed on her forehead before moseying out of the office. Rhys pushed himself away from the desk and to the large couch in his office. He grabbed two glasses and the decanter off the liquor cart before sitting down. Az watched silently as he poured two neat glasses of whiskey and sipped one while offering the other.

When Az didn’t move he sat the other glass down and stared at it before saying, “She’s in no danger brother. But you might want to have a drink before I tell you where she is.”

Az’s hands returned to fists and he just stared, zeroed in on Rhys like a deadly predator. Rhys rolled his eyes and gestured to the spot on the couch next time, insinuating he wouldn’t speak until Az at least sat down. Begrudgingly he followed his brothers instructions though sitting down didn’t display any comfort as he was still rigid.

Rhys just watched his brother, looking at him as if the right way to inform him of his mate’s whereabouts would be written on his skin somewhere. The stare only unnerved Az, his skin started to prickle at the attention he was receiving and his vague patience was slipping.

He took a deep breath before grabbing the drink, downing it in one go. It didn’t help his nerves but he let out a sigh anyway before turning back, “Where is she?” His voice was calmer now, the anger was replaced with desperation, exhaustion.

Rhys let out a sigh too, leaning back he stared for a moment longer. “She’s in the day court, where she will remain for the next month and a half.” Az’s eyes widened and with furrowed eyebrows he insisted Rhys go on, “After that she will spend a month and a half in dawn, then winter, summer, and possibly autumn. I’ve spoken with Eris but I’m not entirely sure if we’ll be able to slip her in past Beron.”

Az shook his head, trying to grasp the information being given to him. “Wait you sent her through the courts? For the next 8 months? Why?”

“More training,” he leveled a look at Az whose face still displayed confusion. “Apparently what we’re doing here isn’t enough, so she will train with our closest allies. Learn all new powers along the way and techniques even we don’t have. By the time she comes back, even you will think she’s ready.”

Azriel shot up, hands coming to slide down his face has he passed around the low table. You were gone? For potentially 7.5 months? This was wrong, so so wrong. You should be here, by his side where he can see to it that you get the training you need. The thought of someone else, potentially another male, training you… his skin felt hot to the touch.

“Rhys! I don’t- what do you mean?” He stopped pacing in front of his brother, he wanted to scream, tear him a new one but he felt too manic to focus on that now. “So she’s just gone? For months?! I don’t- how could you do this!”

Rhys poured Az another glass as he spoke, “What was I supposed to do Az? You were safe guarding her to the point it was damn near suffocating. She just wanted to do something, to feel like her time was productive-“

“It was productive!” Az cut in, “She was with me! I was training her! Sending her away like that- what if someone finds about her powers? Do you know what other courts would do to get their hands on her?!”

“Yes Az,” Rhys spoke in a tried tone, being able to tell this conversation wasn’t going to cool down anytime soon. “She knows, she’s safe guarding her powers. She won’t use them in training, just learning other courts techniques and studying their powers to bring back here and implement.”

Az scoffed and shook his head, resuming his pacing. He wasn’t convinced, there was worry and anger, and longing taking up all the space for rationality. “She just wanted to get out there, you know she’s never left Velaris?”

Az’s eyes flew to Rhys’ at the question. “Of course I know,” he bit out. He knew everything about you, everything you were willing to offer him. Late nights spent in your room- at a respectful distance- gave way to room for life stories. You indulged in your early life, family, friends, love history, hobbies, likes and dislikes. He kept it all stored away in meticulous detail, committing everything you’ve ever said to him in perfect memory. You vulnerability inspired him, encouraged him to do the same and bare his soul to you. He told you everything, except for one, or maybe two things. He was safe guarding the bond, not wanting it to influence your decision. He wanted you to choose him because you wanted to choose him, not because you thought you had too.

Rhys hummed, nodding. “Well, she wasn’t going to stop until I gave her something. She’s safe and she’s happy and she’ll be back in no time.”

Azriel rolled his eyes at his brothers hypocrisy, he would be beside himself if Feyre left for that long. He moved toward the door with determination, he was going to find you. He needed to tell you that he was sorry, you didn’t have to run or sneak behind his back. He would tell you what he knew was true and promise not to hold you back anymore. “No you won’t,” Rhys cleaved through his thoughts. “One visitation permit was issued from the courts, Im sure they wouldn’t appreciate my spy sleuthing around. Not to mention how she’d feel about it.”

Az growled at that, cutting his brother a loathsome glare before slamming the doors once again behind him. Rhys just sighed, leaning back and polishing off the drink Az didn’t finish.

-

No time, that was bullshit. The months passed like years and Azriel swears he could’ve lived multiple lives in the time you were gone. He wasn’t himself, out of step, out of sync. It was kinda crazy, he lived so long without you and after just a few hours of knowing you were gone he reverted to a shell of himself.

Some days he barely tried to train, moving through the sessions like a phantom. Other days he laid his hurt bare, taking it out on Cassian until his brother had to tell him ‘no more.’

Work wasn’t able to distract him, he had been on one mission since your departure. Rhys refused to let him go, claiming he was too frazzled to focused. Despite knowing its truth Az tried to disagree, he ended up losing train of thought half way through the conversation, proving Rhys’ point.

You had sent letters, 3 came at least twice a month. One to Rhys, giving updates on where she was and how training was going. One to Nesta, the two had grown close in her time training with the inner circle. One to Azriel, it was similar to Rhys’, she was giving life updates and telling him wonderful stories. Azriel wanted to answer, truly, but the longer he thought the more he realized he had nothing to say. You were having so much fun, meeting wonderful people, exploring new powers, and seeing Pyrthian like you always wanted. He was ashamed by the fact that if it was up to him, you wouldn’t have gone. He sat down to write how sorry he was, how excited for you he was, how he wished he could see it all with you but his letters only made it as far as the fire. He was convinced you were angry with him, that’s why you left while he was gone. He read and reread every letter so much they were a crumpled mess in his hands, some terrible part of him convinced him they were pity letters. His fears were “confirmed” when his letters stopped halfway through the third month.

He was a bit surprised when around the middle of the fourth month he felt talons tapping on his mental shield, far more polite that Rhys has ever been. He opened his shield just enough to let you in, not far enough for anything other than communication.

Hi Azriel, your voice rang through him like a church bell. He shivered at the pleasant invasion, unwittingly letting the rest of his walls down from you. His subconscious wanted you everywhere, invading every part of him, committing all of him to memory.

Hello, Y/n. He hated how timid his voice sounded. But he couldn’t help it, talking to you made him nervous, especially after ghosting your letters.

He heard you sigh into his mind and he couldn’t help himself but duplicate the sound. Hearing your voice, feeling your essence, provided much needed relief.

I’ve missed you, he spoke in his mind. The words came out as a soft whisper, tentative and unsure.

Yea? I could tell by the way you ignored all my letters. He cringed at your words, your tone was joking but he didn’t miss the thinly veiled frustration. He was silent; not sure how to respond or if he even could. His remorse flooded his head and you surely caught on, based on the way you quickly spoke again. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have-

No, he cut you off. You’re right, I should’ve responded. I just wasn’t- I didn’t know what to say. I was- I still am ashamed.

It was your turn to be silent. If he stilled his mind he swears he could feel you nodding. Your questioning voice came through, You think I shouldn’t have gone?

I thought that. But I’ve read your letters, the ones to me and the ones Rhys gave me access too. Your progress is… you couldn’t have achieved what you are now if I kept you hidden.

You were silent, Azriel could feel the contemplation. After a couple beats you spoke again. I’m sorry.

Don’t apologize, ever.

You waited before speaking again, But I am sorry. It felt wrong leaving the way I did, like I was sneaking behind your back. I didn’t even get to tell you goodbye.

Azriel chuckled lightly out loud. It’s a good thing though, I probably wouldn’t have let you go.

Oh yeah? You laugh. What would you have done? Restrain me? Your voice held a playful edge that excited something in Azriel. The lower end of his stomach began to twist and he had to control himself with you still in his mind.

It was his shadows that spoke next, let her see. Their encouragement drew back the curtain of self control and he opened his mind deeper for you. He let you into the fantasies of restraining you with his shadows. Covering your vision with wisps of darkness, blurring your senses to ensure touch was heightened.

He showed you how he would be slow, take his time with you. How he would push your body to absolute extremities, take you to your peak over and over before cradling your exhausted body. You were silent as you witnessed his eagerness, his willingness to give you all the pleasure your body could handle. He heard you let loose a breath, If I knew that’s what you’d do to me I would’ve left a lot sooner.

A dry chuckle left Az’s lips, Then perhaps your punishment should be to withhold such treatment. His smirk was evident in his voice, and you gasped out a laugh at the mention of what had become an inside joke.

You’re a tease! You shrieked down the mental bond and Azriel laughed freely.

Az stayed connected with you late into the night, speaking of pretty much anything under the sun, or in this case the moon. He talked until your voice slowed down and became soft hums of acknowledgment. Eventually your presence in his mind was peaceful, calm; the proof of your sleep

-

3 weeks.

10 days.

4 hours.

15 minutes.

The time that had dragged its feet through sand was now moving at a lively pace. It was by no means quick, you had still taken your time coming back. But with daily mental communication, daily mental flirtation, having only minutes between the two of you Azriel felt his skin buzz. His wings moved on their own, display his anticipation for the world.

Az had woken up early… earlier than usual. The sun was teasing the horizon, threatening to spill its light across the mostly sleeping city. Azriel couldn’t help the coy smile as he greeted the morning happily. Little tasks had kept his body busy as his brain counted down the minutes of your arrival. Shower, train, shower again, morning flight, cleaning, bureaucratic busy work, trip to the shops, following Cassian around for a couple hours. Azriel couldn’t sit down, if he did his leg would bounce and he would be up again in seconds.

But here he was, smoothing the already smooth leathers as he waited “casually” in the greeting room of the river house. He had cleaned up your room in the HoW when you left but he took to dusting it, changing your sheets, and adding fresh and fragrant flowers to liven up the space.

5 minutes, his shadows whispered as they danced around his ears. They reflected their masters eagerness, also unable to sit still and be patient.

You hadn’t connected with him today, most likely too busy getting your affairs in order. Azriel didn’t mind though, it added to his anticipation. For the first time in what could be ever he felt like a kid, bouncing around the room with an insatiable excitement brewing below.

Azriel rubbed his rough hands together and made eye contact with his shoes, a heavy breath left his lips and suddenly it felt stagnant. Everything stopped.

Seconds turned to hours as his head turned upwards. For a moment everything stoped, the world was lost to Azriel as he finally saw you. The sounds of the room became slow and muffled and the only sound was a soft song. A light airy melody, a beautiful blend of bells and chimes. A sweet sound made only by your presence.

The air finally left his mouth and the world returned to normal, time picked up and everything was moving again. The shadows that carried you in dissipated and the ground shook with the bellows of his family.

Cassian was first to reach you, spinning you around like a doll. He barely has time to put you down before Nesta latched on and mumbled something only you could hear. Feyre greeted you with a smile and open arms, Rhys extended a hand that you took firmly. Elaine and Amren gave welcome to your presence and suddenly it was Arziel’s turn. Even his shadows beat him to you, circling every inch- noting every tiny change within you, all the things that didn’t show though your voice in his mind every night. The lines created from muscle, the natural lightness added to your hair that only comes from saltwater and direct sunlight, the clear and unmistakable scent of raw power. Every little thing was reported back to him, the way each minuscule movement of yours was silent, the advanced lightness of each step that brought you closer, the disciplined posture you now carried. Then there was the perceptive glint in your eye, one that seemed to bore into his skin, one that traced every cell and tendon in his biology; tracking his synapses and learning his bones. One that tore apart his soul and memorized it.

“Azriel,” Your greeting was clean and simple; and it almost brought him to his knees. He steadied himself with a breath and clenched the fists that wanted to reach for you. Not yet. Not here.

“Welcome home Y/n,” all the courage that made a warrior was used as he held your eyes. You were still you, still the same female he devoted each waking thought to. But you now held an edge, a deadly aura that put even him off. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve learned.”

You smiled, all of your venom hidden behind perfect, pearly structures. “I can’t wait to show you.”

Your long awaited return was celebrated with dinner, drinks, and the promise of putting your skills to the test at first light. You celebrated and mingled, held your drink dutifully but didn’t take a single sip. Your months of watching your own back and the crippling paranoia that you would be made kept you from inebriation. Not to mention you wanted to be at your best when you displayed yourself. You casually turned in early, leaving the festivities to the ones who actually indulged. You took to setting your room up in a way only self preservation would justify. Weapons were hidden all around your space, a habit from being in enemy territory with no back up. You had to be ready for anything at any time, being caught off guard would be the difference between life and death. Once you felt confident in your new arrangements you climbed into bed, channeling Azriel’s shadows to watch you in your sleep.

-

I awoke before the sun, prepping myself in fighting leathers and a clean hairstyle. My go bag was packed and placed at the foot of the bed where it could be grabbed on the way out. It was full of all the weapons I had grown accustomed to using. Most of it was basic, knives, sabers, and folding spears. There were also more elaborate weapons unique to the courts I spent time in; light directors, specific for centralizing the power of light from the day court. Loch detonators, a device that turns powered water into intense explosives. The collection was impressive but most of it would prove to be useless today, I planned on taking the boys in hand-to-hand combat.

I pushed open the window of my room before climbing out. Scaling the monstrous house, I jumped and grabbed all the edges that would lead me to the roof. The roof was hipped into a long line, on that I ascend and landed at the apex. One foot balanced on the line while the other crossed over my bent knee. My hands stretched out on either side, keeping my center of gravity directly over the line.

The cold dusk air heightened every sense as I let loose. Thoughts escaped as my perfectly poised body found peace, my steady breath the only tether to the earth. With my mind clear and body at ease I was able to connect with every part of myself, honing every part of me for battle. After an hour of meditation I stood up and began to move. To any onlooker it would look like I’m dancing on the roof not partaking in an ancient practice of energetic redirection. I came across the art of Tai Chi in my time spent in the summer court, a friend I had made took me to her village on the southern edge and though it is a closed practice one of the elders agreed to teach the basics. I had also managed to find some scrolls on the subject in Helion’s vast library and continued my training. Now it was part of my daily exercise; balance my mind, body, and energy.

Nearly two hours and passed before I left the roof, opting to winnow in and grab my bag before making my way to the training ring. Cassian and Az were there, preparing for the day with calisthenics.

“Good morning angel,” Cassian greeted with the trademark smile that comes before saying something stupid. “Done dancing on the roof?”

I looked to your feet as a smile creeped onto my face, “Yea, ready to dance with you now.”

“Ohh, we’ll see about that,” Cassian’s face was smug but I kept smiling nonetheless. It made sense, he had no reason not to be. He’s perfectly unaware of what I’ve learned and what I’ve taught myself. Azriel on the other had looked calculating, like he was trying to note all the ways I’ve changed. His gaze was piercing, like he could figure out all I’ve learned just by looking at me. He knows all of my experiences, everywhere I was at any given time but my training was not something we had discussed in detail.

“What about you Azriel?” I tilted your head as I looked him up and down. Blatant and greedy, not even trying to hide my hunger. He had opted to train shirtless this morning, something whispered that it was a subtly attempt to distract me. “You ready to dance with me?”

Azriel smirked, stalking closer as he continued to tape his knuckles. “Hmph,” he matched my actions, eyes taking over the way your lean body contorted under my leathers. “I was born ready for you.”

I felt my body rise a hundred degrees and his words and gaze, I wanted to jump on him the same way I did in our shared visions. But I kept my composure, he was trying to rile me up. “I sure hope you mean that.” one finger made its way to his arm, tracing the tattoos there until it met the glove on his hand. I grabbed his hand and brought it to your lips, kissing his knuckles in a light teasing fashion. His nostrils flared as I looked up at him through l lashes. “Because Id want nothing more than a go at you.”

He opened his mouth but was cut off by his brother, “Good morning! I hope you’re all ready because I know I am.” Rhys strolled over with Feyre, Amren, and Mor in tow. He rubbed his hands together in a gesture that showed excitement before shoving them in his pockets.

“I hope you’re ready for a show,” Cass spoke as he stretched one last time, “Y/n plans to dance.” I just smiled in response, Rhys raised a brow and his eyes shone. He was the one receiving daily briefings. I had connected with him and let him see some of my work through my eyes. Some. The rest I kept safeguarded, waiting until this moment to show them off. Since I were essentially stealing the powers I was exposed to I didn’t have anyone to train me in their use, normally that would put me at a disadvantage but Rhys changed my outlook on that. Since I hadn’t been taught how to use them I was never put in a box, never limited to what everyone else thought was possible. I could experiment with the powers I encountered, come up with my own ways to use them, and create different techniques than those normally seen. The magic belonged to others but when I used them, the powers were wholly mine.

“Okay Y/n, who do you want to dance with first? Cassian or Azriel?” Rhys asked, the knowingly look on his face was obvious. He knew what I would say, and I wasn’t in the mood to disappoint.

“Aww, I can’t have both?” I pouted lightly, turning from Rhys to the other parts of the trio, “I’ve always wanted to take on brothers.” The tease in my voice lit a double meaning behind the words. Cass snorted and Az just ducked his head and shook it side to side, even so I could still see the small smile on his lips.

“Well what are we waiting for?” Cass said clasping his hands, “I’m in the wish granting business sweetheart.” I just nodded simply as I pursed my lips, looking them up and down once more before grabbing my bag and heading to the far end of the ring. As I was wrapping my own knuckles Nesta came over with a water bottle meant for me.

“Thanks honey,” I smiled as I took the water. “Promise you won’t hate me if I bang your mate up a bit?”

Nesta laughed, “Hate you? Baby I’ll thank you. That male needs humbled.” We both chuckled at that statement as I finished with my hands. “What weapon are you going to use?” Nesta asked as I shuffled around my bag. I hummed before pulling out a small fan and sheath to keep it in. The fan looked like any other handheld fan except instead of fabric it was made of metal that weren’t fixed, meaning they could move if struck. “This,” I smiled, strapping the fan to the outside of my thigh.

“Just that?” Nesta questioned, I nodded in response. Honestly it was a lie, I had no plans to use the fan, at least not as a weapon. I pulled it for show, it would be decoy used to distract and throw off the boys. The fan wasn’t wholly useless though, I picked up different ways to turn it into a weapon when wielded skillfully. It would be too cocky to walk in there with absolutely nothing and as much as I wanted to, I knew Cass wouldn’t recover from the ego hit he would take if I acted like I knew I could beat him with my bare hands; even if that was the plan. She tilted her head before humming as well, “What exactly did you learn out there?”

I just smiled, “I can show you better than I can tell you.” I winking before turning away from her, facing the ring to show that I was ready. I heard a whoop sound come from my friend as she made her way over to join the rest of the peanut gallery.

Cassian had chosen twin broad swords, something that would look comical in the hands of a human looked normal with the giant fae. Az had nothing in his hands but there were multiple daggers lining his pants, still no shirt. I would make sure he regretted that.

“Alright,” Rhys said bringing attention to himself “no need for idle chatter or pointless speeches, begin!”

And with that I stepped completely into the ring, focus trained on the warriors in front of me as the rest of the world disappeared. I couldn’t stop the dangerous smirk that snuck onto my lips, “Let’s dance.”

A/n: don’t hate me!!! I’m so sorry it took me so long to update. I was waking up at 12 then working from 3-11 and crashing when I got home. I work on a crisis unit so that shit is madddd draining, emotionally and physically. I felt like I had nothing left to put into my writing :/ but I finally switched to 3rd shift and for nearly my entire shift I don’t have to do anything but be there so I can write at work and I have more of my day open to relax and recharge. I’m sorry I had to split this into 3 parts but this just got so long and if I would’ve kept writing it would’ve straight up been a book. But I promise part 3 will not take as long to come out. Maybe not this weekend but soon! Anyways if you made it this far I LOVE YOU, thank you so much for giving me and my stories your time :)

Masterlist

[the-joy-of-knowledge]

A Guide to Mastery: Finding Your Life's Work

Mastery is what we hope to attain. We hope to get a point where we become master of our fields, experts of our work, and mentors to younger people. But the big question we ask ourselves is "what should I do?" "what can I do?" "what is my purpose in life?" and that is a very big question that we might spend our entire lives trying to figure out.

It is difficult now, especially when we hear people talk about their careers, we see updates on people's career changes on LinkedIn and everyone is vying for a job in big tech, big law, consulting, Wall Street and you feel left out, not good enough, in fact discouraged.

However, you can find fulfillment by taking this self-discovery one step at a time, at a pace that best suits your skills, and still rise to the top.

Here is how to find your Life's work:

Look back to your childhood

Often to figure out what you want to do or who you want to become you have to look back to your past, your childhood. What made you tick? What classes were most fun for you? Who did you enjoy watching or spending time with growing up? The answers can give you a peek into the kind of life you want. Growing up I enjoyed reading biographies of people. I was obsessed with how they became successful and how they set themselves apart - now my writing mirrors that.

2. Find your niche

The uncertainty or discomfort you feel could be caused by not fitting into one field. You feel like you can do a lot more than there is out there. This is a great feeling. if you feel this way do not be discouraged. It is your life's journey to figure out the intersection of your interest. It is a sign that you should try out multiple things. Your career may become an amalgamation of your interest, ideas, disciplines, and fields. Here are some intersections that I found in people I admire:

Design + Technology - Steve Jobs- Apple Co-founder, Brian Chesky - Airbnb Co-founder

Food + Technology - Apoorva Mehta; co-founder Instacart

Culture + Commerce - Most architects, designers fit this category

Science + Art - Trip Hawkins; founder of Electronic Arts

Community + technology - Whitney Wolfe Herd; Founder of Bumble

Food + business: Kaspar Basse; founder of Joe & The Juice

Sportsmanship + design - Phil Knight; co-founder of Nike

Environmentalism + Sportsmanship - Yvon Chouinard; founder of Patagonia

These people are at the top of their fields. You can start by having a double major, or minoring in a totally different field (Art + Finance, Biology + Sports management etc)

3. Resist the pressure of the majority

There is always a group of people on the other side of your interest and skills - parents, friends, professors, peers who want something different from what you aspire to. You love art but they remind you that the pay is meagre, you want be a lawyer but they tell you, you are not good enough for law. You see, the salary you get paid for doing something you love should not stop you from getting started. You will eventually become so good that the value you provide will eventually command a huge compensation but for now bend down and learn.

4. Find a mentor

Once you get a glimpse of what you feel like you want to do. Find a mentor, your mentor could be distant or imminent. A distant mentor could be a renowned expert, a person you stumble upon through a book, an interview etc. Their story inspires you and you somehow you feel seen, you goals aren't so impossible anymore. The imminent mentors are the people you meet through school, work and whose work has some skills you need to learn for your Life's work. Your relationship with them or experience with them is the closest to reality of your Life's Work. Learn as much as you can in this process.

Welcome to my A Guide to Mastery series inspired by the book Mastery.

[brehaaorgana]

2024 is not looking good for reylo writers (or just marketed for reylos?? I don't know if the second one is also a fandom reylo) trying to publish their romantasy like:

On the one hand, Cait Corrain (who is white) got their entire book torpedoed because they used sock puppet accounts on Goodreads to 1 star review bomb a ton of almost entirely poc authors with books also releasing in 2024.

On the OTHER hand, one of the YA books that Cait reviewbombed, To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by debut author Molly X. Chang (who is 1st gen Chinese American), is now getting serious advanced reader copy reviews with 1/5 stars for being an "enemies to lovers" romance that actually involves the main character falling in love with a genocidal colonizing prince who has her kidnapped, bound, and blackmailed. People are mentioning a shock collar??? MULTIPLE people in good reads reviews mentioned parallels to the atrocities of Unit 731 enacted by Japanese forces during WWII being committed by the supposed male lead in this romance?????!!!!

And NOW she's attempting to doxx reviewers??

This shit is W I L D

[cobaltperun]

Genius (12 - Finale) - I'm Alive

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part

Word count: 1.7k

-When you call on me, when I hear you breathe, I get wings to fly, I feel that I'm alive-

I am a shadow. Born and raised in the light, though dark remains my natural habitat. I am a shadow that was given freedom, released from the one who cast me. My greatest achievement? Using that newfound freedom and giving myself a shape beyond a dark figure without a face, without a voice, or identity.

I thought of my home as mundane, mediocre, I wished to leave it behind, searching for something more meaningful. I believed I had accomplished nothing, instead wasting my youth on normal, on boring. Valedictorian, though I am, I found that to be boring, average, not worthy of being called a great, let alone the greatest achievement of my life.

I sought affirmation, I sought recognition of my talents, a love so strong it would transcend conventions, and I found none of that. Instead, I found betrayal. I sought excitement, and instead found stability, support, and someone who built me up, improving me and letting me improve her and us in return.

And we traveled the world. Leaving our lives behind and with little more than a backpack of bare necessities, we traveled. At first, inspired by 'Around the World in Eighty Days' we visited our first destinations, traveling as tourists, and then we changed our minds.

We stopped traveling from place to place, we stayed, we lived there, experiencing the culture, the differences from what we were used to, and the journey around the world became a journey through 10 countries, one month for each one.

That is my greatest achievement, opening my mind to the world, to different values and cultures, learning and embracing the parts that resonated with me the most, and understanding the others. And I wrote about it, pages upon pages flowed through me and onto the screen or paper, and from that a tale was born. 10 stories about life, about will, about what it means to be human and free, each through the eyes of multiple people I met, combined into one.

My greatest achievement is finding my purpose.

You finished reading Cairo’s Yale essay on her greatest achievement and looked up, smiling widely at your girlfriend as she impatiently awaited your response.

“So?” she asked, and you hummed, leaning back on the sofa in the simple hotel room, you glanced outside, seeing the beautiful beach as the Sun began rising. You two deserved a bit of a vacation after the past year, because, well, it wasn’t that you just traveled and lived, you worked in those countries, so, you were taking a bit of a break now that Cairo would apply for Yale. “Y/N?” she warned you playfully as she moved from the sofa next to you to straddling your lap.

You grinned, your hands dropping to her thighs as she leaned in and kissed you. “You want to make out or do you want me to tell you about your essay?” you laughed when she pulled back for a bit.

“Can’t see why we can’t multitask,” she whispered in your ear and bit your earlobe gently.

“I can try,” you kissed her neck several times, making sure not to leave marks, since she needed to go and have a talk about her book with the publisher that was interested in it. “I think you are brilliant,” you told her, and groaned as Cairo, of course, didn’t have to worry about marks on your neck and her nails left tiny red lines along it while she kissed just beneath your ear. “Fuck, Cairo! You know I’m an awful critic when,” you pulled her collar aside and latched onto the skin of her shoulder since that was fair game. “we’re making out!” you complained earning a laugh from the girl on your lap.

“You are an awful, lovestruck, critic in general,” she teased, a low moan slipped past her lips as she pushed her body against you and hugged you tightly.

“Mhm,” you agreed, you absolutely agreed, but she was just as bad. “Remember when I recorded playing an out of tune guitar? You know, when it sounded like a sin against music?” you reminded her and smirked when she blushed. “You said, and I quote ‘It’s perfect’ just because I was making you feel really good,” you dragged your bottom lip up her neck before kissing her. Her mouth opened immediately, and you felt her tongue inside your mouth. “In all seriousness, I think you won. You did it, you overcame it all,” you said, no longer making out with her, instead you were just leaning your forehead down on her shoulder while she hugged you. “You were stronger than everything that happened in that school,” you ran your fingers through her hair, soothing her when she tightened her hold on you. “You’ll get in, I have no doubt in my mind, that’s how good your essay is,” you assured her, completely confident in that being the outcome.

~X~ Five years later ~X~

A smell of wild roses engulfed her senses as she brushed her hair, humming a tune of your band’s new song.

“You are, against all odds, somehow still tone deaf,” came Winnie’s biting remark from the bathroom and Cairo felt her eye twitching at her best friend’s constant teasing. “How can your Biker Girl even handle the sounds you make?” Winnie came out of the bathroom and leaned on the wall.

Cairo had a bit of a lecherous grin on her face and Winnie immediately put her hand up.

“Nope, no way, none of that, I do not need that image tonight,” she stopped Cairo before she could even say that you did, in fact handle the aforementioned sounds in a certain way. But Cairo figured she could show some mercy to Winnie, seeing as the two of them were getting ready for a fairly big concert of your band, the biggest one so far, in fact.

“She sure made it,” Cairo smiled, remembering how you managed to scramble together a band and slowly but surely gain popularity and make it work in the end. A lot has happened since the two of you came back from your one-year break. Cairo just published her third book, Winnie had several art exhibitions and was gaining quite a reputation in graphic design, and you not only had your own band but also worked as a songwriter.

While she went to college you focused on your career, and she was immensely proud of you.

“Okay, get that lovestruck look off your face, your face will get frozen like that,” Winnie laughed and shoved Cairo jokingly, only for Cairo to shove her back until they fell back onto the bed, laughing like they did all those years ago when they were teenagers.

“Come on, I don’t want to be late,” Cairo sat up, a grin still on her face as she went to finish getting ready.

~X~

The bright stage lights, clear night skies above you, the screaming crowd in front of you, and in the midst of it all you saw Cairo standing near the stage, and you heard her louder than anyone else as you sang. The drums and guitars overpowered the crowd as people sang along with you and you had to force yourself to look away from her.

The band was still a bit young, so you were mixing in some covers to get to that three-hour mark and right now, to close things off, you were singing ‘Shapeshifters’ by Hands Like Houses, a fairly fitting song for you and Cairo if you could say so yourself.

“We will be unbreakable! Let's take it all as a reminder we'll never need, every place we dance, in a way, we never leave! We're toe to toe, side to side, beneath the stars, we will be unbreakable!” you sang hyping the crowd up as you played the guitar in your arms. And then you calmed it all down and looked at Cairo once more, and knowing what part of the song was coming up she stopped cheering and just smiled at you, her eyes filled with love. “From up this close, I can't see a thing, aside from you in front of me. I can't recall a night this clear, a better light to lead us here, no brighter diamond in the sky than those embedded in your eyes!”

You finished the song and thanked the crowd, one more concert finished successfully and with the crowd more than pleased with your performance. You just took a moment to take it all in, see how far you’ve come, you and Cairo, and Winnie as well, but Cairo especially. She truly overcame it all, coming out stronger than ever before, and you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with her, watching her blossom again and again, with each new book, each new achievement, each new thing that brought her happiness.

“Go get your girl,” Rick, your drummer laughed, and you just rolled your eyes, but you weren’t about to complain, Winnie would go back to the hotel with them, you and Cairo on the other hand…

You jumped off the stage and Cairo ran up to you and jumped into your arms, and you spun her around, grinning at the clothes she chose to wear. “Wanna ditch this place?” the two of you already planned this, which was why your precious motorcycle was parked next to your band’s van.

“Mhm,” she kissed you while you still held her, and soon enough the sound of the motorcycle engine roaring as you drove down the highway, taking a break from the big city became the only sound the two of you heard. The scenery around you changed, and you felt Cairo tightening her hold on you. Before she began writing her next book, before you made plans for a tour with the band, before work once again took up your free time, you would just take time and have fun together.

Away from everything else, just the two of you, the way it was long before you even fell in love with one another.

A/N: Short, but I really didn't want to drag things out, I thought there'd be more to write, but this just feels complete as it is. If I knew, I would have just combined chapters 11 and 12. Anyway, there goes another story, unlike with Lost I don’t intend to write side stories so, unless someone requests it, I am saying goodbye to Cairo. It was more fun than I expected and thank you all for reading! Oh, and, there's going to be a poll, yes, I am being evil again. Sorry 🤣🤣

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part

Taglist: @deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy @lifeforsimp13

@puta1 @minnyyminny

[hoseoksluna]

CRANBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and... hyeonwol)

genre: heavy smut, angst

word count: 18.4k

summary: the final breaking of the curse hurts, but pain brings fruit.

pinterest board: cranberries / taglist: join

warnings: physical violence, fight, daddy issues, alcohol consumption, smoking, thigh humping, female masturbation, use of a vibrator, squirting, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), raw sex, conception, fears of infertility, finger sucking

note: THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE BERRIES SERIES WHAT. i can't breathe, i can't speak. i wrote the moment i woke up and it's now 4pm. ran out of cigs. :( i was so emotional as i was in this world with them and i love them. so much. i'm so excited for you to read this. i had iffy feelings about this series in the beginning, but that has changed. i love every chapter, every detail, every moment. and i think i did a good job. so, enjoy this. i poured my entire heart into this. my issues, personal experiences, everything. it means a lot to me. i love you, guys. i'm happy to give this to you after two long weeks! HAPPY READING.

side note: please, do check out the pinterest board. i'll add pics of every place oc and hobi have been. <3 SPAM MY INBOX. I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

The sleep lines are paused shooting stars across his back. The dips and definition pools of refreshment for those dimmed lights and when you cross over the threshold with Hobi right behind you, with his finger hooked over the waistband of your ivory mini skirt, your own fingers gain feeling. Much to your dismay, they remember the sharpness of those lines, the stickiness of his sweat as his body boiled during any weather he slept through. 

He must have been on the brink of awakening, for you didn’t wait long before he answered the door. His gray curtains are pulled in and Jungkook walks over them, invites in the light of the early afternoon. In your peripheral vision, you recognize that the easel, which holds the painting in all its glory, is right there on your left side, and you strain your eyes to remain fixed on his bare back, even as wrong as that is. Hobi’s word of advice regarding thinking twice before you look at the artwork are pink blossoms that begin to grow in your ribs, spreading down to your stomach—because whether you like it or not, the place you find yourself to be in used to be one of absolute safety. 

It used to be your home, once upon a time. 

Cold, cold home that only ever reached tepidity at best. It’s all you ever knew—as the home you grew up in with your parents invariably had the same temperature. The same energy, too, charged with silence, ignorance and very little care that seldom carried love. 

Which brings a certain thought to the front of your head, just as Jungkook is bathed in light, arms extended as if he bore wings. 

He never loved you. 

Because if he did, then his home and the memories that are rushing in would feel the way Hobi feels. 

And like Hobi carried the false beauty in his heart, in his life—in the form of the poetry book—you carried the false perception of safety. If Hobi wasn’t here, if the stability of his antique stature wasn’t a wall doused in rain-kissed humidity that you now feel your body gravitating towards, and even if his finger wasn’t hooked behind your skirt, you wouldn’t feel safe. 

But on the other hand, softness coats Jungkook. Strange, strange softness that you haven’t seen in ages. Since the first days of your relationship, the first dates, the first kisses and touches, for everything you did with Jungkook was different each time, never the same until his life story shared with his childhood best friend ended on bad terms and the guy moved across the sea. It’s what triggered his mental issues that in the long run ended your story with him. 

As it seems, Jungkook has been trying to write a sequel that was never meant to exist. 

He bends over his coffee table and it is only now that you notice the clutter of crumpled tissues that he now picks up. Bile scratches your throat as needles prick it because it dawns on you fairly quickly what those issues served him for. A blanket is strewn over the backrest of his leather couch and a singular, flat pillow is propped against the armrest. He slept on it during the night; had a perfect view of the painting right across from him. And if your mind serves you well, he sent that picture in the middle of the night, in which he deliberately showed you that creating the message sexually thrilled him. 

It’s not hard to pinpoint that he fist-fucked himself while looking at the painting. And by the number of tissues that he hides in his palms and throws away in the bin in the kitchen, it’s evident his gratification process took a long, long time. 

You anticipate the bile pouring out of your throat again, but… it never comes. Oddly, it’s second-hand embarrassment that you sense swirling in the cranberry lumps of your bloodstream, its fumes drooping your pink blossoms, your veins thick and ghastly on your wrists. And while you should feel disgusted, for some reason you don’t. 

The discovery added magnitude to the star of his softness, weightiness and substance. It made it more real, bigger. It envelops him, confusing your mind because the only way it allows you to remember him is through the pain he caused you, using the expression of his fury. He broke your heart. Degraded you. Handled you harshly. Threw away your vape. Made you lose the respect you had for him, the worship you carried in the back of your heart. This can’t be the same person, kissed by a good night’s sleep. 

You don’t recognize him and you feel so out of place, standing in the middle of an obscure, amorphous dream that you’re trying to remember. A bizarre, uncanny feeling. You wish to run—as it lessens your form into that milky blue aura of smallness, but not in the way you like. Your body pleads to stand behind Hobi and clutch the back of his shirt in your fists while he steps in and makes order. But the energy around is too light, too gentle for a fight. 

Which is why you’re not sure if it’s a good idea that Hobi should unfurl his plan here. 

Hobi looks down at you as Jungkook answers his phone in the kitchen. You didn’t hear a thing due to the way you were lost in your thoughts and your confusion deepens as you regard the crooked furrow of his brow and the pinpricks of his pupils. Hobi wraps his arm low on your waist, tugging you flush to his side, kissing the plane of your head, lingering there for a second more as he inhales the natural scent of your hair. One you didn’t wash today, for he kept you busy. You fear he can smell your puke on you from earlier, despite the fact you almost sprayed the entirety of your vanilla perfume on yourself that you carry in your purse before you and him left together. You grow insecure, lessening furthermore. 

“Do I stink?” you ask, hushedly, gazing up at him with intention, willing him to answer you truthfully. Hobi smiles down at you, tenderly, pleased with the hint of familiarity and normalcy in the middle of the battlefield. Inhaling your scent and touching you diminished the intensity of the bloodthirst in his eyes and you’re glad for it. You hope that he perceives the elephant in the room and doesn’t strike first, but knowing how smart he is, you trust that he will, if he hasn’t already. 

Hobi doesn’t answer you. His smile falls as briskly as it appeared and his head swivels in the direction of the kitchen, features tight and startling. Your heart ceases its beat for a second before it speeds up, thumping painfully against your ribcage. What did Jungkook say over the phone? You weren’t paying attention. 

He lets go of you and stomps over to the kitchen. His back faces you, bringing your consciousness into present time, shudders with long staccatos of breaths. He’s fuming. Concern crawls up your back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“So, that’s what you do? You traumatize my girlfriend while you have someone else on the side?” Hobi says, brusquely, placing his fists on his hips. “Does she know you paint degrading pictures of your ex in your spare time?” 

A beat of silence. Your breath hitches in your throat.

Your blood freezes over and you don’t know how your legs take you over to Hobi, weak and tingling as they are. You can’t feel anything. Can’t feel your fingers as they hook over his back pocket, your inner child’s deepest wish infiltrating through reality. 

Jungkook worries his bottom lip, his phone still held over his ear, and he exhales, shortly through his nose, dropping his gaze. “I’ll call you back.” 

He throws the phone over the kitchen island, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he so often does, staring Hobi down. 

There’s no doubt she heard it. Hobi said it loud enough. 

Good. 

Good of Hobi to take the ruination by its legs and launch it back at its creator. You change your mind by the shift of the energy, having foolishly forgotten the girl personification of the storm that you saw by Jungkook’s side in the museum. She has no idea how preoccupied he’s been with you, chasing you down ever since he laid his eyes on you after nearly a month. And you pity her. She doesn’t deserve this kind of unfair treatment, no matter the hostility she showed you and the fraction of the same emotion you felt towards her in return. 

Jungkook had it coming, that’s what you’re sure of now—sowing the seeds of his downfall in your orchard. What he didn’t know was that by staying around, hurting not just you, but another vulnerable person at the same time, he would also reap its poisonous growth. You hope his hands are red and burning, pulling out the weeds and poison ivy. 

He leans against the kitchen counter, the muscle of his pierced brow quivering with the onrush of anger. You find it so pathetic that you almost dryly snicker, backed by the continuous, fatherly act of Hobi standing up for you—your antique wall, the architecture of the old, Mediterranean times. 

Strong and unwilling to break under pressure. 

“My personal life is none of your business—”

“And mine is?” Hobi interrupts him, leaning forward due to the influence of his own anger and the sight is horrifying. If you were in Jungkook’s place, you’d be trembling like a sissy. Hobi laughs, scornfully, doing it for you and your heart rejoices. “You stalked my wife, touched her, painted that shitty—”

Wife.

“I didn’t stalk her,” Jungkook says, awfully calmly, as if he were bored, despite the tremor of his pierced brow that divulges the true face of his feelings. “Wife?” He laughs, humorlessly, and you bunch your fists, letting go of your private, personal link to Hobi. Even though you swore you wouldn’t raise them again when facing him, it’s all you want to do now for the way he mocked something so meaningful to you. Raise them and use them until they bruise. 

The concern that hung over your back fades into a discomposure that slices over your skin with a blunt knife. Over and over, maddened by the incessant rampage to cause you pain, incited by his mockery. Won’t let up until blood pours out.  

“Don’t talk over me, I wasn’t finished,” Hobi scolds and your second-hand embarrassment for the opponent doubles, abating your discomposure just like that. 

The knife is lifted in the air, paused. 

Jungkook’s jaw begins to tremble, disliking the easiness to Hobi’s overpowering tendencies, the way his stern words force him to become that aforementioned sissy that you’d be in his place. You think it suits him right. 

“You shamed my—” Hobi points to his heart, like Jungkook did last night when he bared his feelings for you and your throat dries, unbelief peculiarly setting your discomposure free at the rightful turning of tables. “Wife for moving on with her life, for becoming the person she needed to become without you controlling her. Sent her a picture of your dick while you were at it, belittling her, using sex to lure her back to you as if she wasn’t smart, as if she wasn’t mine. You did all that and you think you’re gonna come out of this unscathed? Let your girlfriend see what you’ve done. What, you were going to hide that painting under your bed like a little bitch?” 

It’s Hobi who laughs now, the sound full of that same mockery Jungkook used to inflict pain. You wrap a hand around his arm, coming over to stand side by side with him, sliding your hand down to his, needing it and not being afraid of it. Not to his palm, but over the back of his hand, slipping your fingers through his. And together you clench that singular fist, stronger. 

You thought all your life that you were stupid. Your own Father bashed you for it every chance he had; you, yourself, hated your being for it with all your might. Thought it was the root of the curse over your life, made strong by your bad decisions, bad actions, bad footfalls. Learning that Hobi doesn’t regard you as such cuts that majority of your life away from you. He binds up your wounds, cleaning them. And the fact he put two and two together apropos the meaning of the painting, the reason behind the punishment, using your recitation of the bizarre poem is a kiss to make the boo-boo better. 

You weep, silently. Your love for Hobi trickles out of your tear ducts, doesn’t touch your makeup, doesn’t steal the attention of the two males away from each other. It dips into your ribcage through your chest, sprucing them until they can breathe again and fill your lungs with sweetened, poetic air, with a will to live on, reminding you that you have a future ahead of you that is beautiful and bereft of the curse and all you’ve ever known. 

And you wash that breath, purposefully, over the bare skin of Hobi’s warmth. Remind him, too, as you press your lips over it. He squeezes yours and his united fist, hearing you. 

Lifting your gaze, Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest, devoid of those sleep lines. His biceps bulge, but it does nothing to you. Hobi’s fixing of your dignity, heart and life has taken care of that, all via that sonnet of his that he spat in Jungkook’s face, one that contorts in envy upon seeing your intertwined hand with Hobi’s. He nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes wetting, but the following words he says sting as if his face never wore those softened emotions. And the discomposure returns in the form of a colossal spider on your back. A slimy, heavy, breathing spider. 

You cringe, tensing your muscles, nuzzling your body deeper into Hobi’s arm. It only menaces your vivaciousness, but the fluff on your body stands on end, nonetheless. 

“She came here to look at the painting. I don’t know what you’re doing here,” he mutters, crossing his leg. Double protection. He’s stuck in a peril—feels vulnerable and threatened, just like Hobi said. “She likes being spanked, being punished. That’s why she’s here.” 

It takes two seconds for Hobi to release your hand and slap him like the little bitch he is. A fatherly discipline, that hard swoop of the back of his hand, a new line indenting his carmine face, one belonging to the ring on Hobi’s middle finger. Absolutely humiliating, that act you are a witness to—but you don’t feel a slither of pity for him. The joy from your heart springs to your eyes and you feel yourself blinking unorthodoxly—more briskly, serenely, femininely. 

The spider jumps off your back, afraid of Hobi. You sigh in relief, willing strength into your knees as they signify their giving out on you, boneless as they are. 

And Jungkook is afraid, too, once he recuperates from the hit, straightening, but not facing the king. His mouth rounds as if he were on the verge of crying, and maybe he is. He focuses on stalling the natural flow of his emotions, his pride forbidding him from being weak, even as he’s getting hit like a teenage boy. 

But Hobi makes him look at him. He grabs his face, repeating the motion of last night; squeezing his cheeks until his knuckles turn white, although this time Jungkook doesn’t moan in pain. He scrambles the last of that pride of his, threading it into the stiflement of his reaction. 

“Are you that dumb that you forgot about what I told you that would happen if I heard those words come out of your mouth again?” he seethes in his face. Jungkook sucks in quick breaths, a caged animal, furious. “You degraded her again. You’re asking for it at this point.” He slaps him again, harder this time, still with the back of his hand. Doesn’t give him time to shake it off. Grabs him in the same way. “I’ll let you know that those words you read in that little message? That probably made your dick hard? Those were my words, boy. I came here to break that painting, but I changed my mind. I want your girlfriend to see the work of your hands.” 

Hobi told him the true story while he omitted the detail he could’ve used to inflict further pain on him. He could’ve said that he told you to write that message after he was done fucking your trauma out of you. He could’ve rubbed that in his face and you wouldn’t mind. 

But he didn’t. 

He respects you. Protects your dignity. Doesn’t need to flaunt his private life with you; isn’t insecure to do something like that. And along with joy, he installs something within you that you lacked all your life. 

A respect, a high regard and an expensive love for yourself. 

You stand straighter, all of a sudden. 

Jungkook looks at you. A rawness of pain daubs his even softer eyes, but you recognize that it’s all pretense, a manipulation technique that you see right through. You lift your chin higher, interlocking your hands behind your back. A powerful, feminine stance. His eyes descend to your pride in the middle of your breasts, drench as he mumbles something your way that you can’t comprehend due to the way Hobi squeezes his cheeks harder, that moan of pain slipping through, at last. 

You smile, sensing the end of this chapter. You can see the door to it, wide open, Hobi standing by it, gripping the doorknob. And he shuts it with his following words. 

“Don’t even look at her. It’s over. The little game you’re playing? You lost,” Hobi says and lets him go. Jungkook grumbles, baring his teeth, his hand shaking as he lifts it to his jaw as if to rub away the pain, but he changes his mind at the last minute. Doesn’t want to show his weakness. His hand falls, flaccidly, to the side. Throws Hobi’s way a dirty look that makes you laugh. 

“It’s over,” you intone along, lips stretched in a glinting grin, the crown of your victory. You’re the queen to your king. Jungkook gazes at you with a puppy’s sadness, for a mere second before Hobi pushes his head away from your direction with a poke of his fingers. His inhales are sharp and thunderous and you think he’d be a perfect match to his companion, that is if he were a good guy, deserving of her. 

“Did you even see the painting?” he hushes out, head still turned towards the windows, and the redness on his face inflames in vibrancy, darkening. Why he thinks he needs to keep fighting, in spite of the way Hobi overthrew him, is beyond you. His head slowly swivels back to face you and tears cloud his eyes. It inspires no pity in you, no curiosity to look behind you at the painting. “I made the background an imitation of Monet’s waterlilies. The green ones, the ones you’ve always liked. Does that mean nothing to you? Can’t you see that I still care—” 

“No,” you interrupt him and you bask in it, inhale the power. Your pink blossoms grow in abundance, becoming a collection of beauty and strength that will live on forever, never to wither. “I didn’t look at the painting and I refuse to because I don’t care.” 

You open your mouth to continue, but he outruns you. 

“So, you lied to me? Why are you here, then?” 

The wheels seem to whirr in his brain, at last. 

“My husband and I came here to make one thing clear,” you explain and you flick your eyes to Hobi just in time to catch him smiling at you, fondly, his loving pride bursting through his own pools. “It’s over. You’re not gonna bother me anymore; you’re not gonna text me, call me. In fact—” You pull out your phone out of your front pocket and unlock it, tapping on Jungkook’s contact and blocking him, deleting the number right away. “You can’t anymore.” You smile, satisfied with your decision. “I live a happy life without you and it’s going to stay that way.”

Jungkook’s posture slouches and he wrinkles his brows, mouth agape, downturned. “Husband? What the fuck is this?” 

You only lift your hand in the air, for Hobi to take, dismissing him once and for all. “Let’s go.” 

You take a step back as Hobi rushes to you in a comical, endearing way, a huge smile engraving crinkles by his glimmering, pearlescent eyes. He takes your hand and when you look at Jungkook one last time to say goodbye to him, he whimpers like a wounded animal. 

Your heart constricts, not touched by pity, but by discomfort. It’s time to leave; you don’t want to be here anymore.  

Hobi leads you towards the door and you follow him, but Jungkook’s final words halt your footsteps. Hobi’s too. 

“I can be like him and better when he drops you. Don’t forget that.” 

You frown at him, your mouth pressed in a tight line. “There’s no when to me and you. I never want to see you again. Goodbye, Jungkook.” 

He mewls, the final kick to his bruised body and you leave. 

You leave his life for good. 

The air of the afternoon’s breath is floral. You thought the clouds would’ve smothered the last remains of the summer, but it is still, most strangely, in full bloom. You feel hot in Hobi’s linen shirt and the sun is scorching hot, balmy and paradisiacal on your bare thighs, though you wish you hadn’t worn your Nike’s. Your toes are asking for some sand, for the pecks of sea waves and the entanglement of seaweed around them like tropical adornment of toe rings. 

You met the girl, the personification of storm, behind the door to his apartment. She was about to rack her knuckles on the wood like you did, but Hobi opened the door for her. Her breath hitched in her throat, hard and heavy like the wind during that storm she resembles so much, and you felt bad for her. So much that you told her to leave him, unabashedly and plainly, and didn’t stick around to hear her response. 

But you did hear muffled sounds of vocal violence and you prayed, for the first time in your life, to someone in the sky, who has always been a witness to your curse and never did a thing about it, to guide her to break that painting in two. 

Not for your healing, not at all. But for the curse to be unleashed on him, turned to him and fixed on him.

You’re not ashamed to carry such evil in your heart. You know, full well, that it will dull overtime. Your mother would’ve rebuked you, told you to forgive your enemies and wish them well, but bricking up your heart for him to feel safe is something she would never understand. Because if she did, she wouldn’t share the same home with your Father. And if she did, you would’ve never ended up with a guy like Jungkook that was the raw epitome of him. 

It’s a good thing she’ll never learn of your secret. She never met Jungkook but she looks at his face every day, and you’re not so sure if the idea of introducing Hobi to her is pleasant. You sense the time you find yourself to be in is meant to be a solitary one, spent in a bubble with your husband, and there’s nothing you want more. 

You and Hobi, alone. 

For a little while before a little creature comes along. 

The mountain peak is awaiting—you feel it profoundly in your bones. 

Hobi opens the door to his car for you, places a hand on the edge of his vehicle so you don’t hurt your head as you sit down—like he did on your first date. But he doesn’t close the door and walk over to the driver’s seat. No, he straddles you. Pushes your seat back a little in order for you to have a perfect and comfortable view of him. You sputter out your giggles, felicitously confused by his actions, and when he props his hands by your head, his smile quivering in effort to not laugh along with you, your giggles rise in volume. 

And then his gaze deepens on you, lessening the pitch. Seriousness shrouds the energy, your little giggles ringing, faintly, and you press your thighs together between his legs. 

“I’m not fucking you here,” you whisper, the sound full of humor, your eyes feignedly widened, but Hobi is deep in thought, his imaginary wings furling and unfurling in the spaciousness of his car. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, steeped in that earnest, warm and lightweight solemnity. It feels like home. That question, too. 

You relax, your expression of joy fading into a comfortable silence and you take a moment to focus on what you’re feeling right now. 

A graze of the pink blossoms on the inside of your ribs. Relief, a wave sloshing over them. Freedom, the sunlight that heats up that body of water. Joy—a full rainbow of joy after a century-long rainfall. 

And you tell him. 

“I feel free. Happy. I feel happy, Hobi.” 

He smiles, fondly, that blush rolling over his cheeks like it always does. And you love him, irrevocably. You love him, you love him, you love him. 

He did this, your God. It’s the creation of his clean hands. 

And as he kisses the tip of your nose, you thank him with the same earnestness he brought in. 

And you mean it. You would’ve died, had he not found you. You would’ve died, had you not taken him to that museum. You think about what your life would’ve looked like if you never suggested that place, but your mind stumbles upon a dead end. You can’t—there’s nothingness up ahead. 

It was meant to happen this way. Along with the pain, the tears, the scars. If it never ached this much, it wouldn’t matter; it wouldn’t have the gravity, the substance, the meaning. It would’ve been plain and it wouldn’t change your life so devastatingly, so beautifully. 

You wouldn’t have wings and neither would he. 

You kiss him right back on that slender nose of his and much to your surprise, he gives his voice over to your heart. 

“I love you,” he confesses, the pearls in his eyes wetting, and he cradles your face. Your heart stops and then beats differently—in a way you never heard it sing before. “Is it too soon to say that?” 

Another surprise comes. A tear trickles down your cheek, a happy, elated, small rivulet that cleanses the last, difficult events that just ended. Down your cheek that stretches and aches, blissfully, as you smile up at him. 

“Is it too soon to say that I love you, too?” 

The song melts into another poetic stanza and Hobi kisses you. But he smiles as well, so the kiss is full of clashing of teeth and sudden hunger to express the fulfillment of that love. You and him try and try again until your lips mold into his and the hard kiss, filled with passion, respect and devotion, splits the curse in two. 

Now the residue, the smithereens only need to be fucked out of you.  

Hobi will do a good job, no doubt. 

“Let’s celebrate.” 

Hobi was eyeing a bottle of soju in a market nearby his house, but settled eventually for a bottle of spirits that he’s now popping open and drinking right from the lip of the tall, glass container. He’s sat on the ground of your bedroom, back propped against your bed, the bottle between his outstretched legs as he watches you strip out of the combination of yours and his clothes. A blackberry vape might be in your hand, the fume curling around the curds of cranberries that your blood still consists of, but a pack of cigarettes lies crooked on your bedding.

You told Hobi you needed something stronger after that happened. And he brushed a wisp of your hair away from your face and said he’d willingly have a cigarette with you as he still felt adrenaline coursing through his smooth bloodstream. Bought a pack of gold Davidoff’s for you, the ones you shared with him that you used to smoke until…

You haven’t voiced your panic, though. Not in the market, not in the car, not right now as you’re standing in front of your closet, searching for a lounging outfit to wear, similarly like Hobi did back at his house a few hours ago. Jungkook forbade you from smoking. Hated the sight of it. Hated it even more when you switched to vapes. And as you recollect his anger whenever he saw you with it, you can’t believe you let him do it. Can’t believe you stopped smoking just to please him. 

And you can’t believe Hobi bought you a pack. With his own money, by his own will. To please you. 

You should be feeling happy right now, but the panic… it stands behind you, the silhouette of Jungkook’s form, waiting for you to take that cigarette between your fingers and place it between your lips, daring you, taunting you, waiting for the right moment to strike, to rebuke, to untether its anger. It’s what keeps you planted on your feet, whisking your eyes up and down along the corner of your closet, where your comfortable clothes are neatly folded. 

You’re afraid to turn around. Afraid to see Jungkook there—

“Come here.” 

Hobi’s voice. Not Jungkook’s. 

“I need to get dressed,” you say, softly, staring down a pink wisp of your sleep shorts. 

You hear the sloshing of alcohol in the bottle. Hobi must be taking another sip. 

“You don’t, really.” 

You laugh through your nose. 

“I don’t want to get pregnant here.” 

Hobi lets out the same sound, making a smile curl on your mouth. “Come here, pup.” 

It’s the gentleness sunk within his intonation that is a force of the same nature that turns your body around. Hobi is staring at you as if he were looking up at an angel—those pearlescent eyes of his bright and swimming, but not prematurely under the influence of the alcohol. They’re swimming with love. 

You used to be an angel. Now you’re you. 

And Jungkook isn’t standing there; Jungkook is gone. 

You walk over to him with ease, the panic dispersing and flying out your wide open window, your rosy curtains guiding it out. You sit on his outstretched thighs and as your bum plops down, you take off his green beanie. Run your fingers through his hair, fluffing them. Cradle his face to your naked bosom as you inhale him, tracing patterns on his scalp. 

Hobi begins to purr and you melt, becoming a liquid form of you, making his hands shine in the ever undying stark sunlight as he wraps his arms around your torso, tightly. 

You’re not going anywhere, the act says. 

This is what deserves to be painted, you muse. 

Listening to him emit that sound, your heart notices the absence of Luna and it craves her, awfully missing her. And the more you receive it through your ears and it settles within the chambers of your softened muscle, you realize that you’re holding her in the form of a human. 

He’s so much like her. You recollect the way he tilted his head into your touch, join it to the memory of how she did it when you petted her head for the first time. And you test him—withdraw to pat his cheek and he does it. Leans into your touch, lingering there as you cup him. 

He’s a God and a kitty. And you love him. 

Hobi reaches for the bottle of vodka. Takes a sip as he locks his gaze with yours. Your hand slackens at the sight, dropping to the crook between his neck and his firm shoulder, and you can’t hold it. Like your limb, your eyes descend to the way his mouth is wrapped around the rim of the bottle, to the bottle of his throat as he swallows and doesn’t make a face. Lift back up to catch a glint bouncing off his wet lips and abruptly, you want a taste of that heady sting of your own. 

He can read you, and fairly well—because he drinks again, but this time he doesn’t swallow. No, he pushes your head to his in one swift, brazen motion. Parts your lips by tugging your chin down with only his thumb while he cups your cheek and, sitting up so he can once again take advantage of the size difference, he pours the pungent liquid beyond the arc of your mouth. Remains there, a breath away. It seems as though he wants to feel you swallow, wants to inhale that sharp scent of the alcohol; wants to sense in his bones that principle of him giving it to you in a profound, private way. 

And you swallow it, fixing your attention on the burn coursing down your throat, softened by his saliva. This—this was your first drink, a safe occurrence, watched over by your Father. The ones you had before in your past life didn’t have a sliver of the magnitude that you feel suffusing your lungs. This is your first life with him. 

“That was so hot.” 

You agree with him, liquid heat pooling low in your core, and you need that cigarette. And his dick impaling you as you take that deep, heavy drag that you haven’t inhaled in months. 

And most peculiarly, there’s no panic, nor fear, as you snatch that pack of cigarettes from your bedding behind his head and look for the little flap that will help you open it. Hobi lifts his hand from your cheek, though, and steals it from you—finding the flap with ease and opening it as if he spent the last decade faithfully smoking. 

Your panties are ruined, just like that. 

Drenched when he pops the butt of the cigarette between his wet lips, rummaging in his pocket for the pink lighter that he got you along with the pack. 

Soaking when he lights it up for you, blows the first smoke into your mouth, pecks you softly, and places the butt between your lips. 

But he doesn’t place his hand back on your face—he keeps his thumb and forefinger on the body of the cigarette, the burning tip facing him, holding it for you as you take a drag. The thick smoke billows around his palm, milky blue in the golden light, and as soon as its heaviness caresses your lungs and you exhale it into the air, he returns the cigarette back to its original place. Puffs it one more time before he lets you have it, coughing a little, blowing the fume onto your bare breasts, lips opened halfway in a tiny circle. The warmth tickles and your body naturally curls forward in reaction, your arms pushing your breasts together. Hobi makes a sound that is a godly synthesis of a coo and a moan, uttered from his weakening grin, eyes gliding over your squished breasts. 

Eyes that never darken when regarding your nakedness; eyes that remain full of that celestial, sea-kissed light. 

Do they have the ocean in heaven? He must know, for he’d been formed by it. 

And you want to be stuffed full in it. 

Hobi must like the sight he sees because he takes a finger and drives it down the right side of your body. From your clavicle, down to your breast, your stiffened nipple that he stops at, pinching it, heightening the pressure until you squeak, the pool bursting in your core. At that sound, he continues on his path down your stomach and you let him feel the contraction of your muscles there as your body reacts to his touch. He ends his venture at the waistband of your panties and he tugs it towards himself, peeking inside. 

“Someone’s wet,” he comments and you cough, embarrassingly, caught off guard, as you take a drag of your cigarette, not expecting him to say that. Hobi smirks and the growing moistness on that fabric becomes uncomfortable. He rubs your back, helping your lungs to quiet down, the waistband snapping back making you jump—and incredibly horny. 

He steals the lung burner and you love it, your obsession with it construed by his apparent need to smoke in this heavily sexually-charged situation. You wonder if he’s holding himself back from breeding you right here and there. 

He could, if you wanted him to do it here—all things are settled, after all. But you don’t. You don’t want to reach the peak in your bedroom, where Jungkook has been so many times. 

You want it to happen at a place, where his footfalls never ventured. 

“Someone’s wet from watching their man smoke,” you flirt, looking at him through your lashes, hips instinctually drawing closer to his crotch and beginning their dance. Back and forth, the rhythm of the sea. 

“Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you,” he threatens, flicking his eyes to the rising peak of the cigarette ash and he bores them into yours with a challenge. “Be a good pup and get me an ashtray, please.” 

Please? 

Yes, Daddy. 

Ashtray? No. 

That would mean going to the kitchen and flipping it upside down in search of it. You stand up to your feet, your wetness flowing down your inner thighs with the movement, and you fetch the empty glass from your bedside table, lonesome and dust-scattered. You can’t really remember the last time you put it there. 

Sitting back down, you straddle his thigh as you hold the glass for him to flick the ash there. And once he does, you start to move back to your original position, but he stops you. 

“Stay here,” he says, enveloping an arm around your waist. “Ride it. Make a mess for me.” 

You don’t hesitate to do so, your body begs you for a release, weakened yet enlivened by his command. But the question of why he doesn’t want to fuck you bothers you and you decide to voice it out, willfully. Unafraid, safe, comfortable. 

You roll your hips forward on his thigh, which he flexes for you. The curves of his toned muscles hit the right spot and you throw your head back, using his throat for support, mewling little sounds that make him bite his lip, abandon his cigarette, let it fall into the cup that he forces away from your grip and sets it down. The smoke still billows out, twirling around your form, magnificently. 

“Why don’t you wanna fuck me?” 

Hobi sucks in a breath, leaning his head back against the mattress, hands following the movement of your hips. Drunk not on the alcohol, but on you. 

“Because I’ve been nonstop fucking you and I don’t want your little pussy to be sore,” he says, truthfully, adding vigor to your dance with his words, even if he doesn’t realize it. “Which is why I want you to use me like this when you need me.” He breathes, raggedly, and you’re dazed. “And because—” He fists the front of your panties, squeezing the fabric between your folds, stimulating your clit with the pressure. “The next time I fuck you, we’re making a baby.” You cry out, your pleasure heightened, and, meeting your thrust, he slides the knuckles of his fingers down to your clit, letting you ride them, letting himself feel the swollenness, softness and wetness of your flesh. He moans along with you—the feeling divine. “You said you didn’t want it here. Tell me where.” 

You can’t. Your orgasm quickens as do your grinding motions and you can’t see, you can’t speak, you squeeze your eyes shut—

“No, pup.” He stretches the fabric towards himself, essentially moving his hand away, and pushing your stomach back, your hips rolled forward, pussy throbbing and dripping in the air. You pant, gripping his hair at the crown of his head, eyes flung open, yet lidded. Terribly, terribly lidded. Sultry, dreamy, mesmeric. Despite the fact he ripped your orgasm away. “You don’t come unless you tell me where.” 

He holds you in place, immobilizing you. You try to grind on him again, but to no avail. You expect him to click his tongue at your brattiness, but he doesn’t. 

He does something else entirely. 

“Take your time. I know. That was really intense.”

It’s a stark contrast to the restraint he has you in—your slowly sobering brain makes a note of that, only to dip back into the stupefying pool of your arousal. 

And you whine, electrified by the pleasure that comes from all directions, that pushes forcibly against your neediness, heightening it. 

You can’t take your time. You can’t tell him right now. You need to come. 

“I can’t, Hobi.” Your breath shudders. “I can’t—”

“Breathe,” he rasps and you can see the way your neediness affects him, his chest heaving with almost identical staccatos, as though he was zapped with the delight he gets from it. His pupils are so dilated as his eyes melt into yours, a black pearl, but still enveloped by light. Cheeks flushed, mouth wet. The scent of patchouli, cigarettes and vodka, the remote corner of heaven. 

You try to breathe, fluidly, as you take it in and Hobi helps you. Breathes with you, steadies the cadence of your recuperation. Doesn’t stop until he’s assured that your lungs are calm. And as a reward, he lets your panties slap back against your pussy, coaxing a moan out of you. 

Doesn’t remove his hand from your hip, though. 

A quid pro quo. 

All right. 

“I don’t want to get pregnant here. Not in Seoul, not in Korea,” you start, your lungs in a perfect rhythm. Hobi’s eyes enlarge as he listens, fingers spreading over your bum, just holding you there, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. The gesture soothes you, blesses you with tenderness that helps you continue with your words. “I want you to take me overseas, where I’ve never been.” 

He hums, nodding, thinking for a mere moment, his eyes distracted on your belly button. And when he lifts them, he smiles. “Any particular place in mind?” 

The country slips off your tongue, naturally, on its own, and you think that’s the one. Your heart spoke it, so it must be the place. You haven’t given much thought prior to it, just knew you didn’t want to conceive a child on this soil that remembers nothing but your pain and anguish. You held this within the chambers of your heart before you met Hobi—and way before you met Jungkook. And you figure that in the process it acknowledged itself with Hobi, studied his face, learned the ins and outs of his heart in such a short time, it riddled out the place, where the curse is meant to be broken in. 

Once and for all. 

“Turkey.” 

You’ve seen the videos. Seen the dramas. The pictures. It met you and kept meeting you throughout your life, but you never gave much meaning to it. And now you perceive why. 

You reckon that’s how life works. And it feels nice—to get to know life, to get to know its mercifulness. 

“That’s a beautiful place, pup,” he whispers, taking his hands off of your body and cradling your face, pulling you closer and kissing you, lingering there for two, three, four seconds more. Your heart jumps, delighted to be validated, and you feel like weeping happily. 

“You’ve been there before?” you ask, the wetness of your eyes gracing it with a glint that very seldom finds your usually saddened pools. 

This is it. 

This is it. 

“I’ve had business meetings with Turkish companies that do their job well. Good people, good atmosphere.” Hobi smiles, reminiscing on something private and his cheeks warm. 

You wish, intimately, that he would tell you everything. 

“Will you tell me about them when we get there?” 

Hobi nods, pecking your chin. “Yes, and then I’ll fill you up.” 

You grin as he lingers there beneath you, eyes so bright and big, becoming crinkly at the corners once he reciprocates the grin. He kisses the front column of your next, tasting the layer of sweat that has enveloped it during your oh so evident neediness and you dip your head in your pool of arousal all over again—as soon as he withdraws and slaps your thigh, signaling you to hump his thigh. 

You can’t wait to get knocked up. Hope time passes quickly, transforms into a substance that lifts you up and carries you all the way to Turkey, mercifully, kindly. 

It’s this notion that you focus on as your hips begin to roll forwards and backwards on his thigh, but this time, as Hobi watches you with intention, he pulls your drenched panties to your side, his hand coming over to your bum and doing the same thing there, so the fabric doesn’t get in the way. 

You kiss him for it, hungrily, licking over his tongue, and he moans into your mouth, the sound traveling down your body until it roots in your clit, where it spreads and drums a hymn for your feminine titillation. 

And the feeling is divine—the sparks of pleasure that shoot up your core while your bare pussy rubs against the fabric of his pants, darkening it ever so quickly with your wetness. The feeling that he enjoys it, even more so when he voices it out. 

“This is what it does to me,” he murmurs so terribly close to your puffed lips, grasping your hand and leading it to the place between his outstretched legs that he speaks of. He presses it against his painfully hard imprint and your fingers automatically wrap around it as much as they can, as if they recognize it’s their own toy. “To see you get turned on like this. To watch you use me because of it. I’m crazy for you—”

His phone rings in his pocket and your heart stops—as do your motions. 

And you fear, rottenly, that it’s Jungkook who’s calling him. That he somehow found his number and is back at it again, clutching the curse like a sword in his hand. Ready to ruin, ready to devastate. 

The feeling paralyzes you enough that it dries up your pool of arousal and you can’t blink, you can’t breathe, you can’t move. Your mouth parts, but no breaths come out. 

At the sliver of freedom and joy—

“Jung Hoseok speaking,” Hobi answers the phone, the device slender and way bigger than his monumental hand, gazing into your eyes. Unblinking, too. 

He listens to the other side spilling information in and once you catch his mouth flattening, those dimples gouging something unpleasant onto the smooth surface above his top lip and the brightness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly, the cranberries of your blood crumble, uncomfortably, beneath the skin of your forearms. 

You pull your hand away from his crotch, slipping out of his grasp. He stops you before you get up on your feet, holding your strayed hand as he listens some more. 

It can’t be Jungkook. 

Hobi wouldn’t listen to a word he said and that phone would’ve long been flung across the room, if it were him. 

You sigh a breath of relief, your body relaxing and slouching. You run a hand through your hair, gripping it at the back of your head to will some feeling into your muscles—as there’s nothing to fear. 

It’s over. 

It’s fucking over. 

No ruination. No devastation. No impending curse about to absorb your life. 

Nothing. 

“I understand what you’re saying and I appreciate your work and thought, but allow me to remind you that it’s Sunday and I don’t work on Sundays, neither do my employees—”

Oh, the big bad boss. 

The person on the other side interrupts him and Hobi scrunches his brows, mouth parting at the disrespect. Then, a smirk crawls over his mouth and he rolls his eyes, directing that smile towards you as the brightness in his eyes blossoms back. Playfully, he rolls his eyes again now that he knows he’s got your attention—and silently, he mimics the words the other person is saying, mocking them. 

You laugh, softly, your relief expanding in you and shifting you back into your comfort zone. Hobi’s eyes widen and, using his intertwined hand with yours, he presses his index finger to his lips to signal to you to be quiet. 

And he shouldn’t have done that. 

He refreshes your pool. 

And he seems to be aware of it by the way his countenance grows serious. It does something to you—the way he’s listening, working essentially, while being attentive to your feelings and state of mind. It’s attractive, the splitting of his attention. And you don’t have to rock your hips first—he encourages you to do it by curtly nodding his head at your hips, untwining from your hand and guiding your pelvis to dance again. 

Not for him. 

For you. 

And the pleasure is much bigger this time around. 

You can’t stifle your noises. 

“That sounds absolutely great,” he says, quickly, in order to camouflage the volume of your delight as you hump his thigh faster, more vigorously, your breasts bouncing and slapping against each other. Hobi watches them with a deep furrow of his brows and his bottom lip caged between his teeth. Tortured, absolutely tortured. 

It only urges you on—and you find yourself in a vapor of horniness. 

“Yes, Da—”

He clamps your mouth shut with his hand, your moan caught in his palm. That act alone drives you prematurely to the peak of your orgasm and you know, you know, that if your clit rubs against his toned, clothed thigh just once, you’ll be coming all over him. 

But Hobi manhandles you, pushes you down, gently, onto the floor. 

You’d think he was angry with you, hadn’t he smiled at you—and your vapor thickens, your hormones fucking with your brain. Hovering above you, he grips your throat, merely holds you there without any pressure, and he kisses the tip of your nose. 

He fucking kisses the tip of your nose. 

Your pool leaks onto the floor. 

“Be quiet,” he mouths and does it again, more prominently, to make sure you understand what he’s voicelessly saying to you. “Yes, I have about five employees in that department who would be willing to work on that. Very diligent and dedicated. One of the best people I’ve ever had under me.” 

He cringes, realizing the wrong string of words he used in that silence, and you burst out into laughter—one he has to silence by clamping your mouth shut again, looking away to focus on a fixed point somewhere in your bedroom while smiling himself. 

And you get his attention right back at you when you lick his palm. You expected him to be repulsed by it, but his eyes enlarge and his mouth falls agape as strange feelings wash over him. Then, he ruts against nothing and plunges two of his fingers, index and middle, into your mouth. 

Your slick is warm as it trickles down your flesh and onto the floor; your body hot all over from the situation, the secrecy, his dominance and his fingers alone. His eyes deepen when they slide over your full mouth and you can see, even through your thick vapor, the way he’s swallowing down his growls. He strokes your tongue, barely, softly, plunging them further until he hits the spot that makes you gag. It sobers him quite rapidly, the sound. Swearing—still voicelessly—he starts to pull out his fingers, but you wrap your hands around his wrist, keeping him there as you suck on those long, slender digits, focusing on not making a sound. 

His eyes lid, heavily, at your diligence. 

“Three months, you said?” He tugs his fingers out, that anger evident, but not towards you—towards the other person. And he lets it out by ripping your panties away from your body in a blink of an eye. “Can we make that two?” He caresses the silky skin of your mound with his knuckles, without venturing downwards, and you shudder, needing him there. “Rub your clit,” he mouths and you gasp, even though you don’t know why. You’re so overwhelmed by the respect he emanates, horny and sensitive that any word he’d throw your way would make you react this way. You feel like a schoolgirl; small, submissive, breedable. And you want to please him, make him proud, do as he says. But you don’t share the same hastiness as him—because before you can get to the end of your thought process, he takes your hand and places it on your pussy. 

He must be getting the same thrill out of it. 

You rub your clit, obeying him, and watching him watch the work of your fingers as you twirl them on that swollen, little flesh—it’s nothing you ever experienced before. Your pleasure quickens, as hasty as Hobi to get you to your peak, and you have to lift your fingers in order to not come quick, your lungs heaving, your mouth letting out short breaths that make him absolutely feral. 

“Oh, pup,” he mouths, the wrinkles on his forehead divulging the depth of his torment and pleasure from the sight. “Good job. So good. Yes.” He nods, encouraging you—and you almost come right then and there, but you lift your fingers just in time. Fists clenched, you throw your head back, frustrated but pleasured just the same. And you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. 

He runs his hand down the middle of your body, stopping at your thigh, wrapping your leg around his torso. 

“If you can’t make that work in two months, then we have nothing to talk about,” he bites, panting, but he hides it well, his voice untouched by it. Firmness and respect coats it, strengthens it, gives a new instrument to the hymn of your clit. “I have things to do and places to be outside of Korea and I can’t afford to be held back by three months. I’m sure I can find business partners who’d be able to make everything work in just one—”

Seething, he leans over, grabbing your vibrator. He turns up the intensity, the sound growing louder and louder and you shriek, soundlessly. 

You’re going to explode if he uses that on your tortured clit—

“Apologizes for the noise.” Hobi spits on your clit, the long string of his saliva plopping onto your flesh, making you quiver and moan, quietly. “There’s construction work outside. I guess you’re not the only one working on a Sunday.” 

The bitterness, the snide comment—you feel like screaming, in the most delicious, exhilarating way. And you do, when Hobi places the vibrator down on your needy clit. 

He moves it, rapidly, from side to side while he’s still talking on the phone, but his words are a blur that you fail to understand, your whole being fixed and concentrated on the adrenaline blended with fireworks of intense pleasure that create an orchestra of passion. His imaginary wings unfurl and beat in the air, opulent and dusky black. His eyes never falter their hypnosis as they bore into yours, coaxing your orgasm out of you, while his mouth keeps silently telling you to be quiet, praising you to motivate you. 

And you do explode. 

In his face when he explains something you can’t comprehend. 

And you come again when he takes a deep breath, stopping short in the middle of his sentence, shocked, zestful, wet and ecstatic. You sprinkle his chin and his neck, ruin, most beautifully, his polo shirt and devastate, even more so, his pants. 

And he’s grinning, so awfully pleased. 

Lifts the vibrator. Doesn’t turn it off. 

“I’m sorry. I’m getting an important call from a family member, who comes first on days such as these. Please, don’t hesitate to contact my secretary and make an appointment with me. We will discuss further on the matter. Have a nice day.” 

And he’s smart. 

Ending the call, he turns off the vibrator and tosses both things sideways. Props both arms beside each of your shoulders. And the flush that was stifled during the entirety of the work phone call now peeks through the surface, the petals of roses licking across his skin. Your own flush promenades hand in hand with him in this close proximity, your golden aura, gained from your exquisite orgasm, bathing you in holiness. 

And you still can’t speak, tongue-tied. 

He sweeps away your flyaways matted to your glistening forehead, brushing his knuckles down your face. And when he reaches your jaw, he cups your chin and kisses you, tenderly. Gives you a hundred more. Little, hungry, yet pure kisses. 

“What did we just do?” He laughs, softly, in disbelief, shaking his head. You laugh along with him, your still lingering and heightened vapor causing you to nearly levitate underneath him. 

He kisses you again, deeper this time, more slowly. Your nectar gets smeared on your cheek from his with each voracious movement of his mouth, his head. And it’s an element that makes this become real for you. That helps you fathom that you just experienced an adventurous event that wasn’t a part of the curse—that was good, through and through. 

And it’s yours. 

No one else’s. 

And he makes it even better when he shares the details of his phone call with you. Lifting you up and carrying you into the shower, he tells you of the way the “motherfucker” tried to keep him from breeding you for three months. Was cocky enough to promise him he won’t find a better business partner to work on a project that Hobi’s been passionate about for weeks—a way to get older children better education in schools in terms of things that aren’t normally taught: surviving skills, basic medical skills, cooking skills and life skills regarding various of things that they will need during and after high school. His organization also offers a form of preschool and elementary babysitting, therapy, library, game activities, singing, dancing, language learning—anything to keep those kids busy and away from their phones. It’s a place of rest, a place of safety and comfort and Hobi works hard to maintain that. 

The guy offered his premises and means of educational materials, even though Hobi makes do just fine—but it wouldn’t be available for at least three months. He explained that he needed them for the semester, wanted to elevate his ways, which is why he sent out a word. 

He told you all this while washing you clean in the steamy, hot shower. And it wasn’t until a week later that you found out the guy truly wasn’t able to make it happen sooner, but upon talking with him in person, Hobi was so satisfied with him and his work ethic, that he was willing to risk it. What he didn’t tell him over the phone was that he specializes in a group of orphaned children, homeless, and those who live in children’s homes. And Hobi’s mind was blown, his heart moved and softened, enough to shake his hand and start working on this renewed, expanded project. He put the kids that weren’t his first—and you fell in love with him deeper than you ever had before. 

And it wasn’t until spring came about and the first heat waves of the sun caressed your skin that he booked the flight, paid for a luxurious hotel resort in Antalya, paid for your mani, pedi, your Shein order and shopping sprees in malls, where he found you the simple dress he was apparently going to marry you in, and held your hand the entire way there. It took half a year to fulfill his longing and his biggest dream—and half a year to break your curse. You spent it visiting him in the office to bring him snacks, eye patches and face masks, distracted him with quick fucks, strip-teases, blow jobs underneath the table while he kept his suit on, smeared makeup and lipstick on his face and collar whenever you were in the mood to make out with him. 

It took such a long time, but you didn’t mind at all—because at night, you and him would pretend. Hobi didn’t want you to get on birth control; cared enough for your well-being by not wanting to confuse your body for a few months. Settled for the play of pretending—for condoms and nutting inside, going through the motion that there’s no latex preventing his longing from erupting. And during the day, you got to know him on a more meaningful, profound level. 

He loves to dance. Has danced with you in the living room on multiple occasions. Slow dancing, bachata, lambada. He wasn’t shy; enjoyed every minute of it and you watched him shine like the heart-shaped sunlight he is. You found the core of him, like a seed within a cherry, when you had your arms locked behind the nape of his neck and he led your hips into the rhythm of the sensual song. 

He loves children because he was loved right as a child himself. Wants to pass that on. Wants the kids to know that love exists, no matter what they’ve done. You broke down when he shared that with you and wished a place, like his organization provides, existed in your forlorn girlhood. 

Maybe you wouldn’t have been so broken. So prone to bad decisions, imbecility. So liable to the poisonous kisses of curses, to their tempting touches and their manipulative sounds of sweet nothing. 

Hobi had given you a promise ring right after he told you that there was to be a long waiting period for the baby. And when the time came and spring opened their buds of flowers, Hobi proposed to you. A grandiose diamond ring on your finger; plane tickets and more wons that you ever held in your hand, safely tucked in a white envelope. That’s how he announced it to you. And he didn’t get on his knee on the beach, where you glued your heart together. 

Not in Seoul, not on the island of Jeju. 

He proved his devotion to you and his irrevocable love for you amidst the surrounding mountains in Juwangsan national park by the Yongchu waterfall, five hours away from Seoul. Scraped his leisure pants because for a while you were paralyzed before you burst into tears and started running around, your first reaction of shock dispersing and turning into a holy euphoria you never experienced before. He laughed as did many people who were witness to the engagement, his hands that still held the ring box shaking as the audience clapped and cried along with you. Your white, linen dress billowed in the warm, spring-breathed wind, but you didn’t care much for it—because when you gained feeling in your muscles and your hunger to kiss him overpowered you, you stole and drew all of his patchouli-filled breath. 

You made it yours as he became yours, too, eternally. 

And when you gave him your yes, the mountains glorified yours and his love, exalted your unified souls, worshiped your hearts that beat for one another. Sang the praises of your unborn child.

You inhaled it, with gratitude and great importance, and it swirled within you even as you continued on your hike. Even as you visited the Daejeonsa Temple, where you spent the most time, dwelling in that thankfulness. You took in the beauty of the greenery, fresh air and mountains differently, more thoroughly and tremendously because you sensed they were there for you. Flaunted their earnest opulence and fervency for your happiness, for they knew you were looking back. 

Life gained feeling, too.

And Hobi wouldn’t stop fondling your ring while he held your hand. 

It’s what he does now as he presses the hotel room card against the device by the doorknob, a half month later. And it’s not lightness that is intertwined in his shoulders, but immense heaviness. Your flight was delayed by two hours and you waited another two hours for your luggage. Hobi didn't have to say a thing—it was written all over his countenance and figure, the weight of his perturbation. From his solemn look, tense features, lack of speech to his slouched shoulders, slightly shaking hands and deep breaths. 

You don’t want to poke the beast, but you do want to pet it—make it feel better. Because despite the misfortunes, you don’t consider them setbacks or ruination. You are here, with him, engaged and about to get filled with his baby. No troubles can take that away from you and they can try as hard as they want. 

You are about to carry his berry baby, conceived from the orchard he built in you, in the middle of Antalya, Turkey. 

Nothing could be better than this. 

Thinking about it, it paints a smile on your face. Hobi plants your suitcases on your king-sized bed, paying very little attention to the swan, made out of towels, sitting prettily in the middle of it, surrounded by rose petals, the ones that live beneath his skin so joyously and most comfortably. Feeling pity for him, because you know why he feels the way he does, you take his arms and slink through them, hugging his torso from behind, nuzzling your face in his oversized shirt-clad back that he wore for the first time in your presence. 

Hobi? Oversized clothes? Strangely, it works, even though you’re so used to his suits, his well-fitted classic clothes that accentuate his buff figure. 

He sighs, running his hands down your sides like he always does. You kiss his spine, without fear as you chose to wear zero makeup for the flight, but then he clasps your hands in his—right there in the center of his chest—and you swoon, tender and in love, appreciating the gesture, even though he’s done it many times before. 

It’ll never get old. 

“I can’t breathe in this room,” he murmurs, sighing a little louder this time around, and you furrow your brows, a wisp of worry curling in your gut. 

You’re about to let go and open the balcony doors to let some fresh air in, but Hobi acts faster. He swivels halfway, takes one step back with you, and turns on the air conditioning. Waits a little bit, stares at a fixed point on the ceiling—only to discover that it’s not working. 

Hobi punches the wall, startling you. 

“Hobi?” you call out his name, the wisp fading into a strong wind that moves your organs to and fro. 

He pinches his forehead, seething, and your instinct is to put a stop to it. You take his hands, notice they’re trembling, and the wind is knocked out of you. 

Trembling hands… What are they portraying? Anger? Anxiety? 

You sit him down on the bed, coming to stand in between his legs, and you cradle his face. Even the muscles in it quiver. Feebly, but they’re there. Pity constricts your heart. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, searching for his eyes, and when he meets you halfway, there’s unbelief that paints a murky landscape across his darkened pools. The brightness is dimmed. Your heart laments it. 

“Everything is going to shit. I wanted this to be perfect for you, but the air conditioning isn’t working. We waited for hours at the airport—”

You kiss his forehead, silencing him, and you linger there, even as you reassure him. “I’m so happy to be here with you that I couldn’t even give two shits about that.” 

The unbelief deepens and you figure he expected you to be as disappointed and as cranky as him. He doesn’t understand that the time you’d been graced with, the absence of your ex and the opportunity to be in a place your heart had quietly dreamed of conquers any obstacles that have tried to get in your way. 

You can’t be shaken. 

Not anymore. 

“We’re not at the airport anymore, we’re here. You can make a call to the reception and they will send a guy to fix it. It’s already perfect because I’m about to hear your English, first of all. And second of all, you’re gonna—” Your tone lowers to a whisper, “—breed me. Do unspeakable things to me here. Are we gonna fuck in the ocean? Oh, my god. I want that so bad. We can go to the beach at sunset with very few people around and you can nut in me. We’ll have a sea baby.”

This time, his sigh is dusted with relief and he slides your thighs over his, making you sit on his lap. The brightness in his eyes begins to flicker, shining through the murkiness, making its way back, and you’re happy to see it—relieved just the same. Though, you note something else, something new appearing in those pools. 

The moon. Night-caressed pearls. The waves of the turbulent, passionate sea at midnight as they wash out that terrible landscape. 

The same moon he carved into your thigh on your first date. The same moon that you hope will be lining your skin once he smothers you in his longing. 

“I’m so grateful to have you. I’m so grateful to have you as my wife. No one compares to you,” Hobi says, the moonlit pearls in his eyes wet as he’s overcome with emotion. He rests his head on your bosom, hugging you tight. “I love you, pup.” 

You bury your face in his silkily soft hair, reveling in the fresh undercut he got for this baby-making vacation. He purrs, happily, like a kitten, when you gently scrape your long acrylics upon that gritty surface. 

“I love you, too.” 

It’s time for dinner by the time you both come out of the shower, sharing one humongous towel. You push him down onto the bed and massage his back, helping him unwind on a deeper level—until his body is light and soaring, his eyes drowsy and lidded. Arm shading the lower half of his face, he studies the way you make love to your body by lathering it in shea butter lotion, then dressing it in a skin-tight, pale green, sleeveless dress with a slit in the back, its hem almost reaching your ankles. You put on some Aretha Franklin and open your clear makeup bag, reciprocating the eye contact in the mirror in front of the bed as you squirt foundation on your flushed cheeks. 

You didn’t realize he was watching you. 

“No panties, no bra?” he asks, his tongue dry as he licks his lips, still naked, glistening in the sundown from your lotion. Your eyes wander to his lower regions and find him hard. 

You smile, tapping in your foundation with your beauty blender. 

“I made the mistake of accidentally ordering extra small instead of small, so it’s tight on my body,” you explain your lack of underwear, your mouth ends quivering as he just keeps looking at you with bottomless devotion. “So I don’t want any panty lines or straps.” 

“I think that’s no mistake,” he says, his hand gripping his shaft for a moment before it relaxes, concealing his weakness for you. “I’m gonna rip it off of you with ease once your belly’s full. And I’m gonna make it fuller.” 

You bite your lip, blending your concealer, feral. “Careful, or no dinner for you.” 

Hobi chuckles, his body twitching, and you sink your teeth deeper into the pillow of your bottom lip. “Why?” 

Cream bronzer—you suck in your cheeks, making him suck in a breath. “If you keep talking, we’re skipping dinner and I’ll force you to make good on that promise.” 

He scoffs, the sound full of humor. “There’s no forcing when it comes to you.” 

You put on cream blush for nothing as your own natural blush resurfaces under that layer of makeup. “Your game will never not get to me, Hobi.” 

He hums in response, a tinge of embarrassment coloring that sound, and you coo, finishing your make-up with a thin eyeliner, mascara, brows and a brown lipstick. You brush out your hair, letting it cascade down your back. Put on some gold hoop earrings. Spray on your perfume. Crawl over Hobi’s lap to show yourself to him. 

“What do you think?” 

He fails to cup himself now that he’s turned on his back, with how long he is, and you pry his hand away, kissing his palm, marking it with that brown shade. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes out and your smile aches. “I’m gonna fight anyone who looks at you tonight.” 

You laugh, softly, leaning over to plant that same mark in the middle of his chest—just like he marked you all those months ago. “No need to fight for me. Are you gonna get dressed?” 

His shyness comes through, his flush reaching his neck and collarbones, and you salivate. 

“I’m hard,” he says, nearly pathetically, and you coo, endeared by him. Grasp him with your left hand, purposefully, and his eyes flick to your ring, moaning. “Oh, pup.” 

“What are we gonna do with you? I just put on my lipstick,” you whine, pouting feignedly, and Hobi whimpers, enveloping your hand with his fist, leading you to fuck him in a fast rhythm, the left over lotion on your palm making it slick and easy. 

“Just lick my tip and stroke me like that,” he croaks out and you feel your folds soak with your nectar. You were fine with him marinating your makeup, but this is better. “You don’t have to suck it. Just lick it with that tongue of yours, pup.” 

You swear, moaning, darting out your tongue and kitten licking the ridge of his head like he asked, twisting your wrist as much as he lets you in the deathly grasp he has over your hand. 

“That’s it, baby. You know how to do it. You’re my smart girl. My smart wife,” he praises, throwing his head back as he takes the pleasure you give him, going as far as hollowing out your cheeks on that sensitive part of him, despite the fact he told you that you didn’t have to. He groans, deeply, lifting his shoulders from the bed and gripping your hair, his hand trembling all over again. “Fuck, you make it so hard for me not to fuck your mouth.” 

You moan around him and he pulls you away from his cock and smashes his mouth against yours, kissing you so devastatingly ravagedly that you can’t breathe and you grow slack in his hold, sinking onto your knees on the floor. 

He holds your face as he lets you go, your foundation and lipstick smeared all over his chin, lips and cupid’s bow. You gasp at the sight, gulping. 

“I’m sorry, pup. You’re gonna have to redo your makeup. I couldn’t help it. You’re just so good,” he apologizes and you can see it on his face, how serious he is about it. “You deserve to be kissed like that. Hm, you’re such a good pup for me.”

You mewl, missing his lips already, and you quicken your pace around him. He lets you, matching you, and his sounds rise in volume. 

“I’m gonna come so quick for you, just because you look so good like this.” 

You hiccup, squeezing him. “Like what?” 

He hums, licking his lips, tasting your girlishness, and he grins, lopsidedly. “So pretty on your knees for your husband with your makeup ruined, knowing he did it because you sucked him so well.” 

The third person. You die—you die a beautiful death. 

“Oh, fuck, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, baby. I know. So good. Like always with you.” 

And you come back to life. 

You moan, giving him your all through your motions, sucking him, licking him, going even as far as taking his balls into your mouth, spreading your noises all over them, divulging how much you love that part of him. And he warns you before he comes. Doesn’t want to ruin your dress. And you watch as he spurts his cum all over his stomach while you milk it out of him—bedazzled, in love, fucked out and absolutely mesmerized.

And you rub his cum into his skin in the way you’ve noticed he likes to do on yours. Dig a grave for all the negative things he had to go through because of you and for you. You didn’t do that all those months ago, focused as you were on forgetting. But now that you’re healed from it and so is he, you dig that grave deep. Throw in his rightful anger, your ex, the painting. Sweep the soil back over it. And never look at it again. 

He thanks you for taking care of him. Tells you that it was all because of how beautiful you are. Cleans the little you left behind of his own nectar while you fix your makeup. Dresses himself in black pants and a shirt that makes you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts. 

A black and white shirt with a pattern of condoms. 

“What?” he asks, but laughs along with you. “We’re saying goodbye to condoms once and for all, pup.” 

You blush, terribly. He leaves the top buttons undone, letting all eyes see the way you marked him with your brown lipstick. 

And he gets stared down at dinner. Cares very little, as smitten as he is with you—can’t lay his eyes off you as you walk, even as you eat and drink your Turkish tea, as you sway your body to the live, foreign music while your cigarette smoke dances along with you. Can’t stop touching you either—has to have his hand on you under all circumstances. On your forearm, the back of your hand, your knee or your thigh under the table. 

Your belly, after all that food. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” he says after a long moment of balmy silence. The spring wind, drifting from the palm trees, chilly ever so faintly, brushes your hair away from your face, caressing so coolly your freshly washed body, and you’re obsessed with the feeling. With his reminder that he’s gonna marry you. With him. With the fact you’re here with him.

There’s no other place you’d rather be. 

“I know,” you intone, shyly, grinning, so terribly happy that its sparks detonate on your face, your thumb mindlessly playing with your ring. “I feel at home here.” 

He seems to be touched by that. But you didn’t understand the gravity of his words. 

Not until later. 

Two strong cocktails in, the night falls. The musicians gather their instruments to leave, but Hobi, with a mind of his own, pulls you up to your feet to dance with you to the song of that balmy, restful silence. And the ardent dance, filled with twirls and sways, catches the eye of one of the musicians. An elderly man, with ebony hair, mustache and tender wetness in his eyes, picks up his decades-loved violin from its case and starts playing a song unheard by the night. A song made, intimately and privately, from his own gentle, but kindled heart for you and Hobi. The fervid song, tied with the fire of a passion shared between a husband and wife, moves you to tears and once the man sees them, he weeps along with you. 

With your face pressed against Hobi’s, he barely leads you in the dance as you still ever so slightly to listen to that expression of love and marriage, paying your full attention to it. And if there ever were any forgotten crumbs of cranberries in your blood, the man’s mastery and Hobi’s touch smooth it out, completely. Order it, wordlessly, to swim out of your tear ducts. 

The man ends the song and you and Hobi clap for him, bowing in all respect and sincerity. He sends you a heartfelt kiss and a thumbs up Hobi’s way, pointing at his shirt and you wave him goodbye, laughing. 

No need for words. 

All was said. 

And Hobi senses it, a changed man. Because when you walk up to your hotel room and he sets you down on the bed—he doesn’t rip your dress away from you like he promised he would. No, he takes his time, revealing your skin little by little, kissing and licking every inch that opens for him. He’s that embodied passion and he unravels himself on your body, sucking on your perked nipple as he holds the rim of your dress beneath your breasts. Sighing, humming. Circling the tip of his tongue around that sensitive trigger. Your moans echo around the spaciousness of the room and he answers each and every one of them with his own. 

“Do you want it now? On your first night here?” he asks, pools whisked to yours, grazing your nub with his teeth. You cry out, spreading your legs as far as the tightness of your dress lets you while Hobi’s body compresses them down with his weight. 

You want it every night, every day until you have to return back to Korea. Want to be so full of his nectar that you’ll still feel it, even at home. 

“I want us to try every day,” you say, stroking his hair, shuddering as he rolls his tongue up and down on that nipple of yours, nuzzling his face in your breast as he sucks it. Makes your brain malfunction a little bit. “Do you think they sell pregnancy tests in that little shop? I should’ve brought some from home.”

Hobi grows serious, popping your nub free. His puffy lips search for yours, enveloping them in a deep kiss. And he spreads tiny kisses on your cheek and jaw as he responds. “We can say fuck it and take that test when we get home.” 

The same seriousness closes down upon you. “What if we fail? What if there’s something wrong with me that I don’t know about?” 

He cradles your face, his thumb fondling your skin, your black eyelashes, sturdier than they usually are due to your mascara. “You’re young, you’re healthy. You have nothing to worry about. I’m older. What if my swimmers are blind, hm?” 

Your eyes wet at the thought, but a sweet reminder seizes you—the softness you saw wrapping around him when he told you about the renewal of his work project, the amount of poor children without parents or homes that have won over his heart. And your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue. 

“There’s always the children from your work. We can adopt. As many as we want.” 

Hobi looks into your eyes, deeply, for a long time. And you don’t catch the drenching of his pools, nor the tender glint, the wetness of the pearls. No, you catch a single rivulet trickling down on each of his cheeks, plopping down onto your chest. The hard sucking in of his breath due to that softness swathing him all over again. The tremble of his lip. The petting of his hand over your hair as he exudes gratefulness. 

“I love you, you know that?” he whimpers and you burst, your own tears dripping down the sides of your face as you take him in. The raw, compassionate and humane version of him that only few, selected people are allowed to see. You, his mom, his dad, his sister and… little Luna. And you sob, your whole body warm from the amount of love that boils in you for him. “You’re my good little pup. I love you so much.” 

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice broken owing to the intensity of your feelings. Hobi kisses your neck and your hand brushes down his back, scattered with myriads of condoms. Try to feel for his wings. Want them as sensitive as his heart. “Your swimmers aren’t blind. They have 20/20 vision.” 

Your little joke causes him to chuckle, adorably, and he makes that sound travel down your throat as soon as he kisses you again. Slowly, carefully—as if engraving the shape and the feel of your lips deeply into his brain, into his system that he will give to you. You want more of him, the intangible things as well as the tangible ones. All of him, all that put his being together; all that helps him get up in the morning and lay his head down at night. 

And it invigorates you, the knowledge that you will get just that—once he fills you up with his nectar and his swimmers find you, perfectly. Yours and his berry baby will grow amidst the orchard he will continue to take care of; and you will have him. 

Eternally. 

Beyond death. Beyond the end of time. 

You will have him—and you will have a little him as well. 

“I want you,” you whisper onto his lips, perking up your breasts for him by squishing them together and he sees you, sees what you’re doing and he licks your nipple again, both of them at the same time in fact, torturously slowly, humming. “And I want a little you.” 

Lifting his head to kiss you, nastily, he groans. The smack of yours and his mouth, the ridding of your dress—still slow, still sensual. He studies your body for a moment, shuddering, full of longing for him and his nectar, ready for him with the way it’s glistening in sweat and arousal. And he sighs, differently this time. 

The sound is coated with as much longing as your body is. 

You love being looked at by him; love the knowledge that he’s looking at something that’s his. Always been his to transform, make new, clean and heal. Always been his to love. 

And he kisses his pathway down your tummy as if he thought about the same thing, his hands following every inch of your skin, fondling the places he kissed, licked and sucked. Not hard enough to create a mark, but lovingly enough to moisten you even more, to make your heart swell—and something else, too. 

He stops at your navel. Squishes the lower belly fat, biting it as he coos—and you can feel how much he loves that part of you; always has. Because of that, there’s no insecurity tightening your lungs or worrying your brain. Only balminess, the sound of cicadas, the dance of the palm trees as the wind blows through it, the faraway sea sloshing upon shore and his noises caked with yearning—for you, for the baby. 

“Our baby is going to live right here,” he says, as if he was coming to terms with it, now that he’s about to make it happen, and you soften, running your hand through the tufts of his windswept hair. “It’s going to grow and feel our love. Feel how much I love him or her. How much you do.” 

You nod, a liquified softness. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” 

He gazes at you through his lashes and butterflies zap your stomach. “I want a baby that looks like you.” 

Your heart, too. 

“So, a girl?” 

He rubs his face in your tummy, breathing evenly against it. “Even a boy can have your features. Your hair. Your hands.” He takes it, the one closest to him, and drifts his fingers through yours. “I want to hold their hand and know I’m holding yours. And I want to give them the love I have for you.” 

A film flashes through your mind. A little boy, sitting on a sofa next to resting Hobi, watching TV while his Daddy absentmindedly plays with his small fingers, kissing them, biting them playfully to make him growl in that adorable way. The same little boy growing into a young man, having been watered by the love Hobi has for you and the new, fatherly love he gained for him. One that does not cease even as he’s older. 

A boy, a man loved by his Father—ceaselessly. 

Something you never had, but your child will. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Hobi wipes your tears away. Your heart thumps so rapidly against your chest that you believe it could poke through the flesh. 

And you fall for him, all over again. 

“That’s the most beautiful thing you ever said to me,” you whisper, high on your heightened feelings for him, high on him. “Besides, ‘will you marry me?’”

Hobi smiles. Moves you so your head reclines on the pillows, knocking towel swan off the bed, making you giggle. And he sits on his legs, clutching your waist, thumb rubbing circles on your tummy, squished and overspilling in your position as you wrap your own legs around him. 

Comfortable, safe, elated. 

“Two days from now, I want you to wear that dress I bought you,” he says, his smile blossoming wider and your lips mimic the same movement for some reason, despite the fact your brows furrow in confusion. 

“What dress?” 

He slides his hands up your highs. “The white one. The one I told you I was gonna marry you in.” 

A soft gasp leaves your lips and a mist of tears thicken in your waterline, understanding what he’s saying. “Are we—?” 

“Yes, pup.” A stream, not a rivulet, cascades down his cheeks and you break, you break beautifully and happily. “We’re getting married in two days. I prepared everything. Your parents and mine are flying in. I paid for their plane tickets. A small wedding with the closest. My sister slapped me when I offered to pay for hers—”

An alarm rings loudly in your sternum and you don’t think before you voice it out. Hasty in a way you don’t like, but it’s due to a certain fear that you feel expanding throughout your body. 

“What did my Dad say?” 

Hobi’s smile doesn’t fade and it spurs a fragment of ease to shoot down your form. 

“Your Dad gave me his blessing.” 

A brand new shrub begins to grow in your orchard. The final one. A shrub of goji berries, healing, beneficial to your Father complex, the very means that will treat your scar caused from it, rejuvenate the skin that bears his ignorance, lack of love, care and attention. 

And you can’t breathe.

Hobi lays the front of his body against yours, propping his chin against your chest, holding the side of your face in his hand, tracing your shock and unbelief with his thumb. 

“He looked at me as if he wanted to kill me, but once he heard that I mean well with you and that I make good money at my job—actually, once he heard that I work with children, his whole demeanor changed—”

“He loves children,” you blurt out, your vision unfocusing. “He just doesn’t love me because I grew up. It’s some kind of block in his body, I don’t know.” 

Hobi pauses for a moment, thinking about your words, his thumb now tracing your lost eyes—your eyelids, your eyelashes. 

Your Father played with you when you were a little girl. Took you on walks around the city. Bought you McDonalds. Taught you how to count money when you were struggling, unsure if you had enough from the paper Wons he gave you. But once the sadness of your girlhood absorbed your life, his presence in it shifted and moved away. 

And never returned. 

“He does love you, he just doesn’t know how to express it. That’s what I sensed,” he whispers, his hand descending to your neck, and you wonder if he feels the twigs of those goji berries underneath that skin—that quickly they grow. “If he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t have listened to a word I said. He wouldn’t have asked me if there’s anything I needed from him in terms of the wedding. And he wasn’t mad about the fact that it would be non-traditional and in Turkey, though your mom insisted she’d wear a hanbok anyways.” 

You’re so overwhelmed that you can’t speak, the notion that your Father always knew you strayed away from your heritage and preferred the West sneaking into your heart. He accepted it; and he accepted Hobi. 

You reach within yourself, pluck a goji berry and feed it to the emptiness that lived within you for too long. And you do it again and again—until there’s no hollowness that eats at your insides. 

You’re whole.

“Thank you for telling me,” you murmur, brushing your knuckles down his cheek and Hobi leans into your touch like he always does. “That healed me. I can’t wait to marry you.” 

Hobi mirrors your softness and kisses you with it. And it’s now that the dip of the scar in your skin replenishes—through each and every moment of his mouth against yours and through his shifting to the place between your legs once you coyly ask for him there. He eats you as if he were starving, and it has great meaning to you—the fact it’s someone you love that is consuming you and not your emptiness anymore. Your feet slide across the pattern of the condoms on his back and it quickens your orgasm in the middle of his sucking and finger-fucking, all owing to the fact that Hobi made order in your life; healed your Father’s complex and now is preparing you to impregnate you, only to marry you two days later. 

You come so hard that you don’t sprinkle him, but drench him whole, your nectar painting him in glimmering light that becomes holy in the moonlight that streaks through the balcony. 

He heaves, ferally, kissing your clit over and over again—so hard that he’s essentially sucking it and you cry out in overstimulation. 

“Taught you how to squirt, didn’t I?” he growls, hovering above you as the drops of your nectar pitter-patter on your chest and within your shyness due to his words, you’re ready for him. 

He did teach you that. Since the fateful day of his work phone call, before and during which you edged yourself so painfully that when he pleasured you with your vibrator, you exploded just the same, you aren’t able to have dry orgasms. He has triggered something within you, using his businessman voice and respect, that rains for him and it has changed your sexuality once and for all.

“You did,” you try because of your shyness, your hands instinctively popping the button of his pants open, and Hobi hums, wiping his face clean and pushing his soaked fingers inside your mouth. 

You didn’t expect it and the loud moan that slips out of your throat comes as a surprise to you. Hobi’s length twitches beneath your hands and twitches again when you suck on his fingers, just as loudly. 

“I love it when you squirt for me, but pray to God, pup, that you don’t squirt around my dick because I’m not pulling out, you hear me?” he rasps, his voice deep and solemn, causing your walls to clench tightly and your heat to reach a boiling temperature. Your hand, mindlessly, slinks to your pussy to rub your clit and he tips his head, noticing it. “Move your hand.” You do, your heart bouncing in your ribcage. Hobi begins to thumb your clit and you writhe your body against the mattress, following each circle with your hips, the pleasure faint but so good. “Do you think you can hold your orgasms for me once I fuck you, hm?” 

You whimper, regarding the idea impossible, knowing how well he does it. Impossible and rapturous. “No.” 

He chuckles. Stops his circles. Lets you use his thumb. “I’ll make you, then. I can stop anytime.” 

You roll your eyes back, his dominance-tinged words better than the stimulation of your clit. “Can you?” you bite back, playfully, your shyness vanishing. 

Hobi bites his lip, intoxicated by your new confidence. Pins your hands above your head, leaning his weight on them. Brushes his lips against yours. “Don’t go bratty on me now. Don’t do it to the baby.” 

You choke out a curse and Hobi digs his half-moons into your forearms. The moonlight anoints them, purifying the atmosphere. 

“I’ll be good for the baby,” you whisper, curling your hips to feel more of his manhood, eager for it. “And good for you.”

Hobi growls, kissing the skin beneath your jawline just once. “A good what?” 

You know what he wants you to say and your eagerness lengthens. “A good pup.” 

Shifting so he can hold both of your wrists in his singular fist, he glides the tip of his cock along your feminine flesh—up and down, up and down. 

“That’s it. A good Mommy for the baby and a good pup for me.” 

He buries himself in your heat and it’s the breaking of the curse upon your life, for the intention is there. The final installment to your healing of your Father’s complex because you’re not a little girl anymore, walking in the withering forest of your saddened girlhood. 

You’re a tender woman and you’re being made love to. 

There’s respect to the languid and dionysian movements of his love, no matter the hardness he uses. A breath is choked out of you and he inhales it, letting your hands free to cradle your neck, pressing his forehead against yours as he moans. Your mouth is parted and Hobi plays with your tongue without closing down his lips on yours, which causes you to mark your nails down his lats. Goosebumps decorate his skin at the feeling and he speeds up, beckoning out your whiny noises as you take it. 

His cock, the healing, the respect, the love. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, consuming your noises as soon as he kisses you. Doesn’t stop ramming into you. “I love you, my pup. You’re my life.” 

You cry out and he rips the coil of your orgasm by filling you to the hilt and lingering there, stimulating your clit by giving you fast, little strokes that makes his mound rub against it. And the orgasm overtakes you, your whole body limp and delighted as the heavenly pressure courses down every nerve ending, spreading that healing, respect and love, sealing it there. 

“God, that was beautiful,” Hobi comments, stunned by the explosion of your pleasure, and he begins to give you long, hard strokes that empty out your brain and try to push out your sudden guilt for coming when he wanted you to hold back your orgasm. 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No, pup,” he groans, the muscles around his eyes tightening as he pants. “You’re good. Just keep coming for me. I was only kidding, pup.” 

He takes your nipple in his mouth, his back strong and monumental and you sink your nails into it, marking him with the same half-moons, blushing, joyful. Hobi returns to your neck, your jaw and lips and you whine at the principle of him returning. 

The feeling of it is so enormous that you come again. 

“Yes, pup, that’s it. Come for your Daddy. So pretty, yes. I’m so close. I’m right there with you. Gonna make you a Mommy.” 

The words that are true, at last. Not a pretense. 

And then he’s fast, fucking you into the bed. Changing his mind at the last minute and lifting your hips into the air, slamming into you so hard that you have to hold onto his forearms, scattering your half-moons there and you take it all, ravenous, yet tender as you are. The squelching noises, his growls melting into soft mewls as you squeeze around him and it’s him who can’t take it. 

Who can’t take the distance. 

Who places your hips back down and eats your mouth, plunging his tongue inside while keeping up his rhythm. Never once faltering, nor wavering. He kneads your breast, sucks on your lip, bites it. Holds you by your throat, pushing his thumb inside your parted mouth and you have a feeling, amidst the haziness of your mind, that’s your trigger. One of them, at least. 

“Suck on it.” 

You clamp down on his length, obeying. Your orgasm inches closer, your fourth one of the night. 

“Good pup,” he husks, closing his eyes for a split second, slowing down, rolling motions. “Are you ready to become a Mommy for our baby? Daddy’s so close.” 

The sound that leaves you is of such a desperate kind that he grunts, delighting in it. Buries himself inside you to the hilt, stopping there, giving you tiny strokes that scramble your brain, plays with the haziness. Your arousal and your yearning is so raging and feverish that the pain of his tip osculating your cervix feels divine. And all you can think about is how it’s going to widen over time for yours and his baby. 

“Yes, yes, please. I want it. Give it to me, please, please, please,” you beg, your lungs and your pulse quickening, muscles taut and Hobi moans in a way you’ve never heard him before. 

The longing at its peak, sensitive, delicate and frail—yet he still remains as strong and monumental as he is. His Achilles’ heel has been struck and he begins to twitch inside you. 

“Oh my God, pup, I’m coming so hard for you.” Long strokes, whimpers. “Are you gonna take it like the good little wife you are?” The ultimate hard thrust—the blooming of his longing, your agreement, and it’s happening. He comes. “Fuck, fuck, yes. It’s all yours. It’s all yours, pup.”

He paints you anew with the warmth of his nectar, fucking it deeply into you. And the title you utter is not one construed out of your lack, but it’s a crowning of his new role. 

“Daddy.”

The final breaking of the curse. 

The conclusion. 

He continues to ram into you, softly, his thumb finding your clit—and it’s over. 

Everything. 

You step into a new life with him while you’re still connected and he keeps coming for you, his swimmers antsy and desirous to find your egg. And crossing the threshold, you come—devastatingly intensely, your body trembling and his mirroring the same shakes while he gives you the last of his all and a kiss that lasts a lifetime. 

A clean slate, a clean heart, a clean body. 

A clean life.

An orchard, brimming with fullness and ripeness. 

Ready for your berry baby. 

He looks at you for a long time, then, grinning so widely that you can sense the entirety of his joyful heart in it. His eyes wet and his smile softens as the gravity of what just happened washes over him. You feel the same process collapsing over you, splendidly, and you think that you and him must have become one. 

“We did it,” he whispers, a tear pouring down his cheek and another one following. 

You nod, your cheeks stained with the same tears. “We did it.” 

And the newness of your life and being feels natural—just as though it has been there the whole time. 

On the day of your wedding, bright early in the morning—after Hobi woke you up with his sensual The Weeknd playlist and ate you out so calamitously that you had to give it back to him by riding him into oblivion—you sit down for breakfast and discover something about him that almost makes you call it off. 

Hobi put strawberry jam on his butter toast with scrambled eggs. 

The Turkish sun envelops him bewitchingly, makes his tanned skin glow in its light as he enjoys, provocatively, every bite of his strange breakfast, focusing all of his attention on it. His eyes never leave it and his mouth smacks so loudly that it as irks you as it makes you laugh. 

Your unbelief towards that combination is so strong that it took you some time before you could speak up. 

“What the fuck, Hobi?” 

His eyes flick in your direction, innocently, cheeks full and squirrel-like, layered in sweat. His hands hold a half of the toast, despite the fact you and him just sat down. Does he really enjoy it that much? He inhaled it. 

“What?” he asks, mouth full, and you chuckle. 

“Jam and eggs?” 

He swallows, making a sound that divulges just how much he loved that bite. “Pup, it’s so good.” 

You widen your eyes. “I’m not marrying you today,” you say, but you don’t mean it. You’d marry him even if he forced that abnormal toast down your throat. 

He’s not one bit perplexed by your sentence. Stares you down as he runs his tongue over his teeth, mouth closed. “Be quiet.” 

Heat comes apart in your body and you blush, squeezing your thighs together under the table.

“How could a combination of eggs and jam be good?” you ask, standing your ground, despite your feelings. 

Hobi smiles. “One time I accidentally put sugar instead of salt on my scrambled eggs and it changed my life forever.” 

Your eyes might pop out of your sockets. “What?” 

He laughs, extends his hand towards your face. The sweetened, yet buttery smell of the toast hits your nostrils and your repulsion towards it dissolves. “Try it.” 

You don’t trust it, though. “I’d rather die.” 

He tightens his lips. “Be quiet and take a bite.” 

Taken aback, your instincts win and you don’t realize your head is leaning towards the toast until your teeth sink into the crunchy tastiness. You take a small bite and thoroughly chew, the mixture of sweetness and a little bit of saltiness, wrapped around the crispiness of the toast and the slight mushiness of the eggs creating something metaphysical in your mouth. 

Hobi watches you with a proud, lopsided grin. Knows you like it before you say it. 

“What the fuck?” 

He bursts into laughter and lets you have it, places it on your plate before devouring his second one, your liking for it elevating his. 

And you devour it just the same. 

“Life changing, isn’t it?” he intones, smacking his mouth in all the pleasure of the world. “Expect this kind of breakfast every morning when we get home. After I eat out your little pussy.” 

You choke on it and hide your feverish face in your hands, your stomach doing somersaults. “Oh my God, Hobi.” 

He laughs again, tenderly, and the sound travels all the way to Cappadocia, where he marries you at sundown. 

On the rooftop of a cave hotel, overlooking an immeasurable amount of kaleidoscopic hot air balloons that magnetically travel to the heat of the orange sun, the mountains and volcanic peaks darkened by its overpowering magnificence. It encourages the sleepy walk of camels and tightens the hearts of the witnesses below and the hearts of your parents, parents in law and Hobi’s sister. 

The simple dress Hobi bought you ripples in the compassionate late afternoon wind. Silky, pearlescent like his eyes in a certain light, caressing your tanned skin. So very akin to the one you wore on your first date with him, but longer, sleek, homeric in its significance.

And he matches you, all white, in his tuxedo, a stark contrast against his bronze skin and black hair, a wispy strand softly being blown sideways from his forehead by the wind. He holds his tears back in the same way he holds your hand—with all his might. And you do the same. 

You share your vows. 

He shares his, intertwined with the first poem you recited for him. 

“I’ll carry your heart with me ‘til my last day on this Earth and I will fear no fate because you are my fate.” 

Through your tears, you can see the way he’s stifling his habit of saying your pet name. And when he catches your quivering smile, he breaks into more tears. 

And when you proclaim that you do take him as your husband and when he proclaims that he takes you as his wife, your tears conjoin as do your souls in a kiss that makes the mountains quake. The heat of the Turkish sun perpetuates the act of love. 

The audience cheers. 

Your Father weeps.

And you believe no sadness, no ruination will ever come close to you again. 

You and Hobi celebrate. Dance throughout the night to foreign, passionate music that your heart seems to know. Fly in a hot air balloon, where he gets drunk and kisses you until your lips get numb. 

Almost throws up all the dark liquor he drank once he sees how high from the ground he is. 

And you can’t stop laughing. 

Not as he takes you to the Valley of Love the next day to look at penis-shaped rock formations that nature apparently formed out of the blue. 

Not as you give birth nine months later and he makes his sound effects as you push out his child. 

A baby boy that has your hair, your hands, your mouth and your chin—and a whole lot of Hobi’s pearlescent eyes and slender nose. A delectable, heavenly concoction. 

And certainly not as you take the five-year old boy to the Yongchu waterfall, where his Father proposed to you, and he starts sputtering out uncontrollable giggles when Hobi tells him that you ran around when he popped the question and precisely, with utmost detail, shows him how. 

On your way back, when little Hyeonwol’s legs hurt and drowsiness weighs him down, he surveys the mountain peak, transfixed by it. You and Hobi notice it at the same time and share a look that could never be described through any poetry, through any beauty of words, not even the ordinary kind. 

And it’s automatic, a silent, collective and simultaneous decision to break Hyeonwol’s spell by kissing each of his cheek. 

The dream came true. 

All dreams have, even those undreamed. 

And you believe that even as you grow old with Hobi, you’ll never stop laughing. 

You’ll never stop eating strawberry jam toasts with scrambled eggs with him. 

With Hyeonwol, too. 

And you'll never stop feeding the berry boy the fruits from the orchard that Hobi continues to take care of within you.

HYEONWOL — HYE-ON-WOL 

賢월

Meaning: worthy moon 

This name is given to a worthy person who is as precious as the moon. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four | READ part five

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Dark HOTD - You allow them to visit brothels

Dark Daemon, Aegon, Aemond and Jace.

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

(female reader)

WARNINGS: Mentions of Non-con; Breeding kink.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

Daemon

Daemon is actually amused when you bring this up. He’ll smirk as you lie that you only want him to be fully pleased with the touch of professional women instead of you, but he can see right through your facade.

You clearly want him to leave you alone. Okay, so maybe he is relentless, compelling you to have sex multiple times a day but how is he supposed to resist to your magnificent body? 

Daemon will twist your words, instead. If you’re “concerned” about not being able to fully satisfy his carnal needs then don’t worry, he’ll teach you.

He’ll take on every opportunity to teach you and it becomes a kink for him. To give you lesson on how to give and take pleasure, educating his pure wife how to properly fuck.

You’ll end up being caught by servants one too many times on your knees, head between Daemon’s legs as his hand envelops your hair, guiding you to suck him off. 

"Do not worry, my love. I understand how afraid you are of the possibility of not being able to give me pleasure but I assure you that from now on I'll take upon myself the task of teaching you the depths of pleasure."

Aegon

Now, why would Aegon still visit brothels when he finally has a wife that can take care of him?

Not to mention that you’re now the only source of pleasure and lust for Aegon, you’re all he can think about. Not a moment goes by without him trying to allure you back into your private chambers for a quick release. 

It’s clear that you don’t like it but he doesn’t care. It’s your duty as wife, you’re there to please him, whether you like it or not.

And even if you outrightly try to refuse him, Aegon will just force you to do his bidding. Nice try but Aegon isn’t gonna give up on his favorite plaything. 

"Did you truly believe that I'd still visit those filthy whores when I finally have you? My pretty wife whose duty is to please me? If you wish to apologize to your husband, then get on your knees."

Aemond

Aemond will remain silent as you speak, analyzing you as you stutter words out. The only answer you get from him is a cryptic hmm and then he dives back into the book, so unbothered that you feel like he didn’t even listen to any of your words. 

And yet night after night, Aemond still comes to share a marital bed with you. If you really thought that he’d visit brothels instead of you, then you don’t know enough of Aemond. He doesn’t enjoy brothels, they’re filthy and gross. 

He can’t cum to anyone else other than you, his beautiful wife. It’s a mix between lust and possessive, that you’re his, fully his. 

It’s his cock that stretches you every night, it’s his cum that sticks inside of you and soon it will be his child to grow in your belly. You’re the only one that should bear his children, the true Targaryen blood. 

You’re the only one that he’ll bed, independently of how you feel about that. 

"I have no interest in seeking pleasure outside of our marital bed so you may forget about that topic. Or did you sincerely hope that I’d accept that offer? Either way, that won’t be happening."

Jace 

Jace isn’t going to be much pleased when you mention this. You’re married to each other and he wants both of you to be completely and entirely faithful to each other. 

He dotes on you so much, trying to be a good husband and here you come, throwing shameful suggestions onto him. 

Jace is going to be so mad that he won’t talk to you for a whole day as he cools down. Afterwards, he’s going to have an honest conversation on how he wants your marriage to work and for both of you to be fully devoted to each other.

He’ll let you know that he wants you, in every possible way and that isn’t going to change. He’ll make a clear point of informing you that you will be sharing chambers and a bed every night and that won’t change, no matter what. 

If you don’t feel inclined to make love on some night when you’re feeling unwell, then you should inform him and nothing needs to happen, but Jace makes it crystal clear that he won’t be seeking pleasure in anyone but you. 

"Do not insult me with this vile proposal, my wife. My body and soul belong entirely to you, so do not fear me. Our union will simply be the proof of my burning love for you."

[gh0stsp1d3r]

i absolutely LOVED what you wrote for my criminology major req. just thought of this..

AU where reader notices Williams strange behavior about the major and does some digging and ends up finding out everything but doesn’t give him up / doesn’t leave him. i’m not sure how to word it but i just thought of it and am obsessed !!

ahh love this. I did pretty good for my finals I’m proud, anyways, I can start writing again now yippee

True love

You noticed the way he acted, the way he spoke, and the way his eyes looked like they had a million secrets.

Of course you had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Steve. He was attractive, smart, sweet, and he was a gentleman.

And you noticed the way he changed when he heard you were starting criminology. His face dropped for a moment upon hearing, then a fake smile visible on his face. His office door became locked, along with the garage door now.

You sat down in your bed with a bottle of coffee as you scrolled through your work. Reading some article and writing down notes.

Once finished, Steve still wasn’t home. You closed your laptop, hopping off the bed and heading out to the living room. You glanced at the door leading to the garage for a moment.

It was odd, how he never went in. How it was locked every time you tried to open it now. It wasn’t like that before.

Was he cheating on you or something? Is that why his office and the garage are locked now? What was he hiding?

The thoughts ran through your head, and you did something that you never thought you would do to him.

Pulling your computer up again, you typed the words “Steve Raglan”

Of course you saw his work, a few more links leading to the website. Then you started to see obituaries for people with the same name.

You then saw a public record, an order for a name change.

“My complete present name is William Afton. I request that my name be changed to Steve Raglan.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. What? It can’t be the same person. You scrolled through the rest of his profile, seeing his job and even address. Under relatives was his daughter, whom you’ve met once.

What the hell? You quickly closed it and typed in William Afton.

“Owner of Freddy Fazbears pizzeria facing charges of murder.” The title read. A picture of a young man, who did look a lot like Ste- William was underneath. You looked closer at the photo, and the background.

The man had a goofy smile, holding a thumbs up at the person taking the picture. He had blue eyes, light brown hair. It was Steve. You knew it was. You could tell by the smile, the way his eyes twinkled with wonder and joy were the same.

And as horrible as it was, you continued to read through. Once the article finished you stared at the computer, already knowing what you had to do.

You got up quickly, stumbling slightly to the drawer. You rummaged through the files and objects; you then noticed a key hidden deep down.

You tried it to the garage door first, but it didn’t work. Then you tried it on his office one.

His office was clean, boxes in the corner, books neatly stacked, no mess or sign of anything out of the ordinary.

You sat down in front of the computer and turned it on. Your leg bounced as you thought of a password.

After a few tries, you finally guessed it. You opened up a file titled "Work" first, not expecting to find much. Just names of clients, background info. You closed it out and went into another titled "Plans."

In the folder, there were multiple sketches of animatronics, pictures of broken-down ones, and exoskeletons of ones. You then went further down into it, sketches of a dentist-like chair, blades on the animatronics head. Then pictures of bloodied blades, blood from God knows what.

Your eyes widened as you continued through the folder, it got worse as you scrolled. You quickly found out that the animatronics had bodies stuffed in them- children's bodies.

The worst part? Your feelings to William didn't change. You were a criminology student- you should hate him right now! You thought, quickly closing out of the folder and getting off the seat when you heard the car pull into the driveway.

You quickly went out the room. locking the door and making your way to the door where he would enter any second.

You, as always, were there to greet him with a kiss and a smile on your face, asking him how his day was.

[meichenxi]

UK accent bias, discrimination, minority languages and the question of the 'default, normal' english speaker

today I came across something overtly that is usually a covert problem, and I wanted to take a chance to talk about the questions it raises about what it means to be 'normal' and speak 'normal english' in an anglocentric, global world.

let's start at the beginning. I was aimlessly googling around and came across this article, discussing ergodic literature:

I hope that you will see what angered me right away, but if not:

brogue? inaccessible, insufferable brogue? that is so difficult to read you might want to relieve your frustrations by harming a housepet, or striking a loved one?

what????? the fuck??????

my dearly beloathed. this is not a made up sci-fi language. this was not written for your convenience.

this is the glaswegian dialect.

this is how it is written. scots, which is very similar to this, is a language whose speakers have been systematically taught to change and hide and modify their speech, to not speak it in the classroom, to conform. this is NOT comparable to any of the made-up dialects or ways of writing in cloud atlas or any other specularative fiction. the suggestion of ir is deeply insulting.

(the line between various 'dialects' and 'languages' I speak about here is by definition sometimes political, sometimes arbitrary, and often very thin. what goes for the glaswegian dialect here in terms of discrimination goes for scots in general - which is, in fact, even more 'inaccessible' than glaswegian because it has a greater quantity of non-english and therefore non-'familiar' words. speakers of different englishes will face more or less discrimination in different circumstances. caveat over.)

you can find it on twitter, in books, in poetry; and more than that, on the streets and in living rooms, in places that this kind of england-first discrimination hasn't totally eradicated.

an imporant note - this book in question is called Naw Much of a Talker, and it was written originally in Swiss-German and then translated into Glaswegian to preserve similar themes and questions of language and identity. rather than detracting from anything I'm saying, I think the fact this is a translated piece of fiction adds to it - it has literally been translated so it is more accessible, and the article writer did not even realise. it also highlights the fact as well that these are questions which exist across the globe, across multiple languages, of the constant tension everywhere between the 'correct' high language and the 'incorrect, backward' 'low' language or dialect. these are all interesting questions, and someone else can tackle them about german and swiss german -

but I am going to talk today about scots and english, because that is how the writer of this article engaged with this piece and that is the basis upon which they called it 'insufferable brogue', the prejudice they have revealed about scots is what I want to address.

so here, today, in this post: let's talk about it. what is 'normal' english, why is that a political question, and why should we care?

as we begin, so we're all on the same page, I would like to remind everyone that england is not the only country in the united kingdom, and that the native languages of the united kingdom do not only include english, but also:

scots

ulster scots (thank you @la-galaxie-langblr for the correction here!!)

scottish gaelic

welsh

british sign language

irish

anglo-romani

cornish

shelta

irish sign language

manx

northern ireland sign language

and others I have likely forgotten

there are also countless rich, beautiful dialects (the distinction between dialect and language is entirely political, so take this description with a pinch of salt if you're outside of these speaker communities), all with their own words and histories and all of them, yes all of them, are deserving of respect.

and there are hundreds and thousands of common immigrant languages, of languages from the empire, and of englishes across the globe that might sound 'funny' to you, but I want you to fucking think before you mock the man from the call centre: why does india speak english in the first place? before mocking him, think about that.

because it's political. it's ALL political. it's historical, and it's rooted in empire and colonialism and all you need to do is take one look at how we talk about Black language or languages of a colonised country to see that, AAVE or in the UK, multi-cultural london english, or further afield - the englishes of jamaica, kenya, india. all vestiges of empire, and all marked and prejudiced against as 'unintelligent' or lesser in some way.

and closer to home - the systematic eradication and 'englishification' of the celtic languages. how many people scottish gaelic now? cornish? manx? how many people speak welsh? and even within 'english' itself - how many people from a country or rural or very urban or immigrant or working class or queer background are discriminated against, because of their english? why do you think that is?

if you think that language isn't political, then you have likely never encountered discrimination based on how you, your friends, or your family speak.

you are speaking from a position of privilege.

'but it's not formal' 'but it's not fit for the classroom' 'but it sounds silly'. you sound silly, amy. I have a stereotypically 'posh' english accent, and I can tell you for a fact: when I go to scotland to visit my family, they think I sound silly too. but in the same way as 'reverse racism' isn't a fucking thing - the difference is that it's not systemic. when I wanted to learn gaelic, my grandmother - who speaks gaelic as her own native language - told me, no, you shouldn't do that. you're an english girl. why would you want to learn a backward language like gaelic?

discrimination against non-'english' englishes is pervasive, systematic and insidious.

it is not the same as being laughed at for being 'posh'. (there's more about class and in-group sociolinguistics here, but that's for another post)

and who told you this? where is this information from? why do you think an 'essex girl' accent sounds uneducated? why do you think a northern accent sound 'honest' and 'salt of the earth'? what relationship does that have with class? why does a standard southern british english sound educated and 'intelligent'? who is in charge? who speaks on your television? whose words and accents do you hear again and again, making your policies, shaping your future? who speaks over you?

think about that, please.

and before anyone says: this is so true except for X lol - I am talking about exactly that dialect. I am talking about that accent you are mocking. I am talking about brummie english, which you think sounds funny. I'm talking about old men in the west country who you think sound like pirates, arrrrr.

(actually, pirates sound like the west country. where do you the 'pirate accent' came from? devon was the heart of smuggling country in the uk.)

so. to this person who equated a book written in scots, a minority and marginalised language, to being 'insufferable, inaccessible brogue':

and also to anyone who is from the UK, anyone who is a native english speaker, and anyone abroad, but especially those of you who think your english is 'natural', who have never had to think about it, who have never had to code-switch, who have never had to change how they sound to fit in:

it might be difficult to read - for you. it might be strange and othering - to you.

but what is 'inaccessible' to you is the way that my family speaks - your english might be 'inaccessible' to them. so why does your 'inaccessible' seem to weigh more than theirs?

and why does it bother you, that you can't understand it easily in the first go? because you have to try? or because perhaps, just perhaps, dearly beloathed author of this article, after being catered to your entire life and shown your language on screen, constantly - you are finally confronted by something that isn't written for you.

and for the non-uk people reading this. I would like you to think very carefully about what a 'british accent' means to you.

there is no such thing. let me say it louder:

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A BRITISH ACCENT

there are a collection of accents and languages and dialects, each with different associations and stereotypes. the clever aristocrat, the honest farmer, the deceitful *racial slur*. there are accents, languages and dialects that you hear more than others because of political reasons, and there are accents, languages and dialects which are more common than others because of discrimination, violence and the path of history.

if you say 'british accent', we - in the UK - don't know exactly what you mean. much more than the US, because the english-speaking people have been here longer, we have incredibly different accents just fifty miles away from one another.

but we can guess. you probably don't mean my grandmother's second-language english - even though, by american conversations about race, she is the whitest person you could possibly find. you don't mean my brother, who sounds like a farmer.

you mean my accent. tom hiddleston's accent. benedict cumberbatch. dame judy dench. sir ian mckellen. and they are all wonderful people - but what sort of people are they, exactly? what sort of things do they have in common? why is it that you associate their way of speaking with all of the charming eloquence of 'dark academia' or high levels of education, and my family's english with being 'backward' or 'country bumpkins' or 'uneducated' or, more insidiously, 'salt-of-the-earth good honest folk'?

we are an old country with old prejudices and old classes and old oppression and old discrimination and old hate. my brother speaks with a 'farmer' west country accent; my aunt with a strong doric accent that most english people cannot understand; my father with a mockable birmingham accent; my grandmother with a gaelic accent, because despite the fact that she is from the UK, as scottish as you can get, english is not her first language.

these people exist. my grandmother is a real person, and she is not a dying relic of a forgotten time. her gaelic is not something to drool over in your outlander or braveheart or brave-fuelled scottish romanticism, the purity and goodness of the 'celt' - but there are fewer people like her now. and I would like to invite everyone to think about why that is the case.

if you don't know, you can educate yourself - look up the highland clearances, for a start, or look at the lives of anglo-romani speakers in the UK and the discrimination they face, or irish speakers in northern ireland. like many places, we are a country that has turned inward upon itself. there will always be an 'other'.

and then there's me. raised in southern england and well-educated and, however you want to call it, 'posh'. so why is it that it is my voice, and not theirs, which is considered typically british all over the world?

I think you can probably figure out that one by yourself.

when you talk about the 'british accent', this is doing one of two things. it's serving to perpetuate the myth that the only part of the UK is england, rather than four countries, and the harmful idea that it is only england in the UK that matters. (and only a certain type of people in england, at that.)

secondly, it serves to amalgamate all of the languages and accents and dialects - native or poor or immigrant or colonial - into one, erasing not only their history and importance, but even their very existence.

dearly beloathed person on the internet. I have no idea who you are. but the language scots exists. I'm sorry it's not convenient for you.

but before I go, I would like to take a moment to marvel. 'insufferable, inaccessible brogue'? what assumptions there are, behind your words!

is it 'insufferable' to want to write a story in the language you were raised in? is it 'inaccessible' to want to write a story in the shared language of your own community?

I don't think it is.

I think it takes a special sort of privilege and entitlement to assume that - the same one that assumes whiteness and Americanness and Englishness and able-bodiedness and cisness and maleness and straightness as being the 'standard' human experience, and every single other trait as being a deviance from that, an othering. that's the same entitlement that will describe Turning Red as a story about the chinese experience - but not talk about how Toy Story is a story about the white american middle class experience.

people do not exist for your ease of reading. they do not exist to be 'accessible'. and - what a strange thing, english reader, to assume all books are written for you, at all.

and despite the fact that the text that prompted this was written by one group of white people, translated into the language of another group, and critiqued by a third - this is a conversation about racism too, because it is the same sort of thinking and pervasive stereotyping which goes into how white people and spaces view Black language and language of people of colour around the world. it's about colonialism and it's about slavery and it's aboutsegregation and othering and the immigrant experience and it's about the history of britain - and my god, isn't that a violent one. it's inseparable from it. language is a tool to signify belonging, to shut people out and lock people in. it's a tool used to enforce that othering and discrimination and hate on a systemic level, because it says - I'm different from you. you're different from me. this post is focusing more on the native languages of the UK, but any question of 'correct language' must inevitably talk about racism too, because language is and has always been a signifier of group belonging, and a way to enforce power.

it is used to gatekeep, to enforce conformity, to control, to signify belonging to a particular group, to other. talking about language 'correctness' is NOT and never CAN be a neutral thing.

it reminds me of a quote, and I heard this second hand on twitter and for the life of me cannot remember who said it or exactly how it goes, but the gist of it was a queer writer addressing comments saying how 'universal' their book was, and saying - no, this is a queer book. if you want to find themes and moments in it that are applicable to your 'default' life, 'universals' of emotion and experience, go ahead. but I have had to translate things from the norm my entire life, to make them relatable for me. this time, you do the translation.

I do not speak or write scots or glaswegian, but I grew up reading it and listening to it (as well as doric and gaelic in smaller measures, which are still familiar to me but which I can understand less). for me, that passage is almost as easy to read as english - and the only reason it is slightly more difficult is because, predictably, I don't have a chance to practice reading scots very often at all. it isn't inaccessible to me.

(I was about to write: can you imagine looking at a book written in french, and scowling, saying, 'this is so insufferably foreign!' and then point out how ridiculous that would be. but then I realise - foreign film, cinema, lyrics increasingly in english, reluctance to read the subtitles, the footnotes, to look things up, to engage in any active way in any piece of media. this is an attitude which even in its most mockable, most caricature-like form, is extremely prevalent online. *deep sigh*)

because. what is 'inaccessible'? it means it is difficult for people who are 'normal'. and what is 'normal', exactly? why is a certain class of people the 'default'? could that be, perhaps, a question with very loaded and very extensive political, social and historical answers? who is making the judgement about what language is 'normal'? who gets to decide?

I'd also like to note that this applies to everyone. it doesn't matter if you are a member of an oppressed group, or five, or none, you can still engage in this kind of discrimination and stereotyping. my scottish family, who have themselves had to change the way they speak and many of them lost their gaelic because of it, routinely mock anglo-romani speakers in their local area. I have an indian friend, herself speaking english because of a history of violence and colonialism, who laughed for five minutes at the beginning of derry girls because the girls sounded so 'funny', and asked me: why did they choose to speak like that? my brother, who sounds very stereotypically rural and 'uneducated', laughs at the essex accent and says that he would never date a girl from essex. I had a classmate from wales who was passionate about welsh language rights and indigenous and minority language education but also made fun of the accent of her native-english speaking classmate from singapore. it goes on and on and on.

take the dialect/language question out of the topic, and I think this reveals a much broader problem with a lot of conversations about media, and the implicit assumptions of what being 'normal' [read: white, anglo-centric, american, male, straight, young, able-bodied, cis, etc] actually means:

if something is written about an experience I do not share, is it inaccessible? or is it just written for someone else?

so, please. next time you want to write a review about a dialect or language you don't speak, think a little before you open your mouth.

the rest of the world has to, every time.

[wriothesleybear]

Beauty and the Beast: Chapter 1

~warnings: wriothesley x fem! reader, slow burn romance?, possible ooc for wrio and sigewinnie.

~a/n: credit to @kiwasaji for the idea. i hope this satiates what you were looking for🥰 I was just going to make headcanons or a small drabble but this turned out to be longer than I expected so I'll probably turn this into a series with multiple chapters. It may not go exactly like the Beauty and the Beast movie but it's similar to it with some changes. I hope you guys enjoy :)❤️

~word count: 2,674

~~~

While going for a walk in the woods, you got caught in a snow storm. You got lost and stumbled upon a castle. The Fortress of Meropide. You heard stories of the famous fortress. The stories talked about a handsome Duke who was cursed by a witch and was turned into a beast. You never believed these stories because they were only rumors. I mean, a man turning into a beast. It couldn't be possible.

Shivering, you knocked on the large wooden door a few times but no one answered. You figured it would be empty. You tried pushing open the door and it opened with ease. You really didn't want to trespass but you had no where else to go in the blizzard and you didn't want to freeze to death. You take a step inside.

It was hard to see anything in the room due to the little light from the door barely being able to reach the inside. Suddenly the door slammed shut, making you jump. You begin to panic as you're left in complete darkness. You try to remain calm as you feel around for any source of light. You feel a lamp shaped object and twist the knob, praying that it works. You sigh in relief as the lamp shines with a dim light.

You look at your surroundings and discover you're in a foyer. "Hello, is anyone here?" Your voice echos in the large room. Silence. You begin to shiver again, noticing that it wasn't any warmer in the empty castle compared to outside. You decide to look for a fireplace to warm up. You walk around the room, having no luck finding a fireplace. You come upon a door.

Maybe there's a fireplace in here, you thought.

You open the door and discover that it leads to another dark room. Using your lamp to light the way for you, you look around the room. It appeared to be a large living room. You light up with joy as you spotted a fireplace. Luckily, there was some wood near by, but no matches to light it up. You begin to look around. While doing so, you heard some skittering behind you. You turn around, curious and noticed a box of matches on the floor. You thought it was a bit odd but didn't think much of it. You were just happy to have something to light the fire.

Finally having a fire, you were able to warm up. As you sit in front of the fire enjoying the warmth, you hear a noise from somewhere behind you. You quickly turn around, a bit scared. The light from the fire lit up the whole room, but you didn't see anything out of the ordinary. You did however feel like you were being watched. You tried to ignore the feeling, thinking it was just your imagination.

You walk over to a bookcase, figuring you would keep yourself occupied while waiting out the storm. The books were very old classics, which was what you loved to read. You pick a book and sit down in front of the fire.

You read peacefully for a while, engrossed in your book until your stomach starts to rumble. You weren't sure if you would be able to find anything to eat in this old castle, but it wouldn't hurt to try. Taking the lamp, you begin to explore nearby rooms. A few of the rooms were empty. While exploring, you noticed how all the rooms you had been in looked untouched and clean from dust. Was someone taking care of this place? You wondered. Room after room, you still couldn't find the kitchen. "Man, how big is this place? I'll never find the kitchen." You exasperated, close to giving up hope. Suddenly, something taps on your lower back. You scream, turning around and backing away from whatever touched you. You look down and see a cute little girl with bunny ears. You stand there surprised, with your hands covering your mouth.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you." She said in a sweet, worried voice.

"It's okay. I didn't think anyone lived here so it just shocked me to find someone else." You tell her, hoping to relieve her worries.

"My name is Sigewinnie and I help take care of this castle and its occupants." She smiles. Her adorable smile helps you relax.

"My name is y/n." You return her smile. "I apologize for letting myself in. I needed a place to stay during the blizzard. I tried knocking but no one answered."

"It's okay. The Duke said that you can stay until the storm passes. I overheard you talking about a kitchen. I can show you where it is."

"Yes, that would be great."

She leads you to the kitchen and lights up the lamps in the room, giving you the ability to see clearly. It was a large and spacious room with shiny counters and fancy looking cabinets. As you admire the furniture, she walks over to the fridge and opens it. You're surprised to find it full of delicious looking food.

"Would you like me to make you something? I know a good recipe for homemade soup. It'd be good to have during this storm." Sigewinnie offers. Your stomach growls, agreeing with the offer. You both laugh.

"That sounds good. How about I give you a hand."

You both work together to make the soup. You notice some of the ingredients she uses look a bit odd. She told you they're a special kind of vegetables she grows. You also ask her a few more questions about the occupants she mentioned earlier. She said there were other 'melusines" like her that help take care of the castle and its owner. When trying to get more information about the castle's owner, all Sigewinnie would say is that he seems scary but he's actually really nice.

The soup smells so good when it's finished. It tastes even better that you finished it in no time. For dessert, Sigewinnie handed you a drink with a flower on top of it.

"It's a sweet drink." She says as you scan the glass carefully. It looks edible. You notice her watching you carefully, hope evident in her eyes. You take a sip, the sweet flavor filling your taste buds.

"It's delicious!"

"Really?!" She asks excitedly.

"Yes, I love sweet drinks and I was craving something sweet after that yummy soup we made." She jumps with joy in her seat. It was adorable seeing her like that. It caused you to laugh.

"It makes me happy that you like it because He never wants to try my drinks."

"Who's He?"

"The Duke of the castle." You wanted to try and get more information about him but suddenly, another melusine walks into the kitchen. This one looks a bit different compared to Sigewinnie. They don't have human like features like her, but they're still adorable like her.

"Hello, I'm here to show you to your room. The Duke has prepared one for you." You follow the melusine down a hallway, stopping at a door. They open it and your jaw drops. It's a beautiful room, with red and gold designs. There is a large bed with a couch in front of it, a dresser, a bedside table on each side of the bed and a door that leads to a bathroom. It's beautiful. Your trance is broken when the melusine speaks up.

"We hope it's to your liking. There is one condition you must follow during your stay. You cannot roam around the castle on your own. If you need anything, please let one of us melusines know." You respect the rule, but you have a feeling there's more meaning behind it. You keep your questions to yourself as you don't want to ruin the opportunity given to you.

"I understand. Please send my thanks and gratitude to the Duke."

"Understood. Have a good night." The melusine leaves, closing the door behind them. You sit on the bed, surprised at how soft it feels. It feels just like a cloud. You get up and prepare for bed. All the experience in the snow storm and exploring the castle really drained your energy. So much so that you fell asleep once your head hit the pillow.

~~

With two glasses in hand, Sigewinnie walks up a staircase and down a long, darkened hallway. She stops in front of a large wooden door with a wolf symbol on it. She opens the heavy door and enters the dimly lit room. She closes the door behind her and walks towards the desk in the middle of the room. She jumps onto one of the chairs that is placed next to the only other occupant in the room. She sets down one of the glasses and pushes it towards the man. He notices her and sets down the papers he was reading. He sighs, realizing her plan. He reaches his hand out to grab for his cup of tea, stopping when he notices that he was reaching for the wrong drink. Sigewinnie watches closely with determination in her eyes. Her eyes shine as she sees the man reaching for her drink. He lightly smirks, enjoying teasing the girl. His hand changes direction and grabs his cup, pulling it to his lips to take a sip. Sigewinnie cries, disappointed. She grabs the cup and holds it out to the man, trying to get him to take it instead of his tea.

"You're so mean". She huffs. He doesn't react, continuing to read his paper. "At least y/n drinks my creations." This grabs the man's attention. He looks at Sigewinnie, silently waiting for her to continue.

"Yeah, she was happy to try the drinks I made. She said they were delicious. She's really nice. We made soup together. Also, Liath told me y/n sends her thanks and gratitude to you." Sigewinnie continues on, telling the man all about you. He listens closely, noticing how happily she talks about you. He just hopes Sigewinnie doesn't get attached to you. After all, you'll be gone once the snow storm clears.

~~~

You woke up the next morning, fully rested. You opened the curtains to the bedroom window and the blizzard was still going on strong. You slightly sighed but ultimately decided to get ready for the day. You planned to have breakfast and to ask Sigewinnie if she would give you a tour of the castle. You leave your room and do your best to remember the directions to the kitchen, but you end up becoming lost. It's not your fault the hallways look exactly the same. Eventually, you come across a staircase heading upstairs. You remember the kitchen being downstairs so you know this isn't the right way. You remember what the melusine told you about not exploring on your own, but your curiosity was getting the better of you. You put one foot on the first step of the staircase until you're stopped by the same melusine from yesterday.

"You can't go up there. Remember the Duke's condition for letting you stay here."

You step down from the staircase. "My apologies. I was trying to find the kitchen but got lost."

"I'll take you to the dining room. Sigewinnie just finished making breakfast. Next time, wait for me in your room." You nod your head and follow.

"I forgot to introduce myself yesterday. My name is Liath." The melusine says as you walk.

"My name is y/n."

"Yes, Sigewinnie told me. She's told me a lot about you and how nice you are to her. She's been waiting for you to wake up so she can have you try more of her speciality drinks." You giggle.

You arrive to the dining room. It's beautiful just like the rest of the castle. There is a long dining table with multiple red and gold cushioned seats and a red table cloth. Three large chandeliers hang from the ceiling, lighting up the room, reflecting off of the beautiful furniture. Sigewinnie is sitting in one of the chairs. Her eyes light up and she smiles wide as she sees you.

"y/n! I have your plate set up over here next to me." She says as she pets the seat next to her.

"Good morning Sigewinnie. I hope you weren't waiting long." You say as you take a seat.

"It's okay. Your food is still warm. For breakfast, I made an omelette with tomatoes with a bowl of fruit on the side. I also made a new special drink for you. It should give you energy to get you through the day." Sigewinnie says excitedly.

You can't get over how adorable she is. It makes you happy seeing how excited she gets. "Thank you Sigewinnie. It all looks delicious. I can't wait to eat it."

You two chat about random things while you eat. While Sigewinnie is passionately talking about the new stickers she made, you notice that the Duke of the castle never shows up for breakfast. You inquire Sigewinnie about it.

"The Duke? He doesn't eat in the dining room. He always eats in his office." She says.

"Is he always in his office?"

"Yeah. He usually stays in there the most compared to the rest of the castle. He rarely leaves it."

You would think he'd at least want to greet his guest. "Can I meet him?"

Sigewinnie takes a bit to answer, thinking about what she should say. "Hm. He likes to be alone really. He has us melusine greet and take care of his guests."

"Does he get guests often?"

"No, not really. You're our first guest we've had in a long time."

You're about to ask more but Sigewinnie changes the subject by offering to give you a tour of the castle. You accept her offer, wanting to explore more of the castle. You hold off on more questions about the Duke, saving them for later.

~~~

Sigewinnie showed you around the first floor first, most of it you already explored yourself. Next she showed you the second level which has the bedroom you slept in. Most of the rooms weren't that interesting to you until you came across the castle's library. It was a massive room with large bookcases that reached the high ceilings and covered every wall. Multiple books covered every shelf. You gaze in amazement, admiring everything.

"Hehe. I see you like the library." Sigewinnie giggles.

"Was my amazement that obvious?" You laugh. "I love books. I own my own bookstore in town, but the size is nothing compared to this. It's like my dream come true."

"The Duke also likes this room. He comes here in his free time when he isn't working to relax, but that's rarely."

"Would it be okay if I spent time in here, reading some books?"

"Yes! This is one of the places you can explore." You remember the staircase from earlier where Liath stopped you.

"Sigewinnie, where does that staircase on the second floor lead to?"

"Oh that one. That leads to the third floor where the Duke's personal quarters are. You're not allowed to go up there though."

"Is there a reason why?"

"Hm. The Duke likes his personal space to be respected and prefers to be alone." You contemplate what she said. While in thought, you don't notice Sigwinnie choosing a book off of the shelf. She walks over to you and hands you a book, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"Can you read this to me please?" She asks with puppy dog eyes. You giggle and say yes. You two take a seat on one of the couches in the room. You open the book and begin reading. Sigewinnie sits close to you so she can look at the pictures in the book while you read to her. You smile gently at her.

All the while, you don't notice the pair of eyes watching you from the darkness...

~~~

Part 2 coming soon

[robinsno1lesbian]

𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫!𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

(𝐫.𝐛. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

neighbor!robin x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: living next to robin buckley...heaven on earth

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1673

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content! (MDNI), implied age gap (reader is 18+!!) , fingering, oral, strap on, pet names, praise kink, very brief mention of mommy kink, no beta read (let me know if i missed anything <3)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is heavily inspired by @lightvixxen ‘s concept! definitely check out their page for more neighbor!robin x reader content! <3 the ending is a bit rushed so if you need more content there is a part 2 :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you thought you had it all figured out: great job, nice house…a good life.

that is until your new neighbor moves in next door: robin buckley.

the first time you ever see her is when she’s carrying heavy boxes into her new house.

she’s wearing a muscle shirt and loose pants.

you can see the muscles on her arm flexing as she’s picking up multiple heavy-looking boxes at once.

she lets out somewhat of a grunt as she lifts them up.

that catches your attention. you can’t help but watch from your lawn, biting your lip as your eyes wander over her athletic figure.

you didn’t even think it was possible to feel this kind of attraction towards women. you aren’t supposed to feel this way. not for women and especially not for your new, older neighbor.

of course it doesn’t take long until robin notices you too.

you sure are an eye-catcher; wearing short dresses as you’re reading books in your garden, spreading your legs wider when you feel robin’s gaze upon you.

it does take some time for you to fully understand what you’re doing or why you’re doing it…

....why you like the way she eyes your body, why you like to have her attention on you.

but there’s definitely something between the two of you…a cat and mouse game if you will.

your clothes get shorter, the looks linger for longer, robin spends more and more time in her garden to do god knows what.

all you know is that she looks good doing it.

doing work in her garden, mowing her lawn in nothing but a pair of shorts in a sports bra, her skin glistening sweaty under the hot sun.

in return for all the hard work she’s doing all day, you leave the curtains open when you change at night.

allowing her to see you getting undressed.

and you don’t stop there.

because that night is also the first night you and robin take it further than just longing stares across the fence…

your eyes never leave hers as you drop onto the bed and spread your legs for her, arching your back at the very first contact your fingers make with your throbbing entrance.

and that night is just the beginning.

because when you get back from grocery shopping the next day, robin is already waiting for you.

"that looks heavy. let me help you"

just like that, she's inside of your house, carrying your groceries for you.

you don't even have enough time to put them in their place, before robin has you pressed up against your kitchen counter...

kicking your legs apart as she's kissing your neck harshly

"you love teasing me don't you? think you can just fuck yourself with your curtains open? and you enjoyed every second of it too didn`t you? such a dirty girl...such a fucking slut"

you don't understand how her words could have such an impact on you.

but your legs shake and you feel yourself clenching around nothing

and, oh her raspy voice is making this so much worse

"you want me this bad, don't you? so desperate for me..." and she fucking chuckles right at your face.

and before you can help it, her touch is gone and she's stepping out of your space.

"maybe another time pretty girl"

and with that she's gone, leaving you dripping wet and needy for her.

after that first little incident, there is nothing holding you back anymore.

you would walk through your room topless, knowing robin is watching you from her window. you would go out without panties underneath, bending over for robin to see while she's outside. moaning her name through the night, knowing damn well your window is open only for her to hear.

one night you're being particularly loud when you see a shadow outside your window.

you immediately stop when you notice robin's presence.

you are all naked, spread out on your bed with your neighbor towering over you.

"w-what are you- you can't be here" you stutter.

"oh, but you were calling for me weren't you...?"

but all robin is really here for is to finally break that damn circle of constant teasing.

she would never admit it but she wants you just as bad

"now don't stop just because I'm here...you wanted this, didn't you?"

she sits down on the edge of your bed, the mattress bouncing under the extra weight of hers.

and when you can't help but nod, a desperate whine coming from your lips, she gestures for you to continue.

oh but it doesn't end when your first orgasm rushes through you.

"i don't remember telling you to stop"

and just like that, robin coaxes some of the best orgasms out of you, without even touching you herself.

but when she finally, finally touches you...it's literal heaven on earth.

it happens at one of your parents' annual bbq gatherings. they tend to invite the whole neighborhood and so -obviously- robin is gonna be there.

so of course you pick out a tiny little dress to wear.

when robin first see you approaching, she really can't help it but stare at the way the material looks on you, tightly clinging to your body in all the right ways.

but when you lean it close and whisper into her ear, that is when she loses it.

"i'm not wearing any panties. i thought you would like to know"

you knew you would get a reaction out of her, but little did you know what kind of reaction...

not even 2 minutes later, you're laying on your bed and robin is straddling your hips and pushing that pretty little dress up your legs

you don't miss the way her eyes go just a tiny bit wider when she feels the wetness that has pooled between your legs.

"this really turns you on huh? acting all innocent out there while you aren't wearing anything underneath that pretty dress of yours..."

before you have the chance to tell her how this is exactly what you've wanted ever since she moved in, robin flicks her fingers over your clit and your mind goes blank.

shortly after that, two of her fingers are buried knuckle-deep inside of you and she's fucking you exactly the way you've always imagined

neighbor!robin definitely has a mommy kink, like 100%!!

her fingers have the ability to make you see stars already but her mouth...

(besides the fact that she can easily multitask and whisper the filthiest things in your ear, all while fingering you through multiple orgasms)

she is a pro when it comes to going down on you

she could literally eat you out for hours, praising your pussy as she does so.

"oh, you taste so good. all for me"

robin is so fucking possessive over you and you love it

she will use every opportunity she can get to remind you that she's the only one who could ever make you feel this good

"all of this just for me doll? yeah? all mine, only mine"

robin loves to tease you, to remind you that you're practically her little fuck toy.

so it doesn't even surprise you to feel her palm on your thigh when she's visiting your place to have dinner with you.

but when dinner is over and robin explains that she's gonna need you to show her where the bathroom is, it's even worse.

suddenly you're shoved against the wall and robin's fingers are pounding into you while she's standing behind you, holding you against the door by your hair.

"be quiet or they might hear what a slut they've raised"

you love it when robin takes you with her strap.

the first time it happens, you're at her place and she makes you ride it for her while she's holding back your hair in somewhat of a makeshift ponytail.

but she's such a tease and won't move her hips the way you want her to, leaving you without any other choice but to grind down on it.

her hand on your hipbone keeps you still, restricting any further movement.

and she wouldn’t stop, not until you’re a squirming, begging mess for her.

begging her to finally fuck you the way you need her to.

“what do you want pretty girl? want me to fuck you? then say it baby. use your manners…”

you’re far too desperate to be embarrassed about the obscene noises that come from your lips.

however, it’s all worth it when robin begins rolling her hips up to meet your skin.

oh, how robin loves to watch your face whenever she hits that spot that makes you whimper im pleasure.

if she could, she would watch you cum on her strap for hours.

speaking of fucking you with her strap; neither of you will ever forget the time she took you in front of her full length mirror

her hand is yanking you back by the hair, while she’s pounding into you from behind.

“open your eyes doll, look at yourself. oh you can’t? am i fucking you this good?”

robin loves your tits. she’s literally obsessed. she will use any chance she can get to put them in her mouth. any other time she will just stare at them, especially at inconvenient times.

you are about to go out with friends and guess what? robin is watching from her window, eyes focused on your chest.

you are having dinner together? her gaze keeps wandering lower and lower until she’s just shamelessly gaping at your breasts.

robin loves to mock you while she’s inside you.

she knows damn well she has the ability to make you forget your own name with how good she fucks you.

so whenever you start babbling sweet nothings, she will make fun of you.

“oh you liked that…? when i touch you there?”

and as if that’s not enough, she chuckles in your ear.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

comments & reblogs are always appreciated 🫶🏼

[d34dlysinner]

🙇Hi yes hello very self indulgent request or whatchamacallit. But the Kings esp Beezlebub and lucifer, my bbygs, (Stolas too if possible 👉👈) first overall needing to asbord demon Lust event, with an afab me. Mc is kinda nervous and unsure about havin sex lmao, it doesn't repulse her or anything, but it follows the phenomenon of touch starved people wanting affection but when It comes to intimate moments they kinda freeze and get unsure. Totally not callin myself out rn

Understandable

MINORS DNI!

(Let's assume that MC doesn't instantly need demon essence)

Satan crawled on top of you. Eager to finally have you like this. He lined himself up with you and planned to push himself in until he noticed how stiff you were. He halted what he was doing and sat up straight on his knees.

"You're as stiff as a plank right now. Are you okay?", he asked. His actions and words really made you wonder whether he's really the great demon king of wrath. It made your heart melt seeing how he worried for you. He settled for holding you for a while. You could smell the scent of cat fur as he embraced you. He was just waiting until you were calm enough to relax before he dared to do anything.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't feel up for it..."

Mammon does the thing he always does with every partner he had. He waits and sees if they're prepared enough to take him. One of his hands was feeling along your sides. Rubbing up and down in a comforting way as he felt you freeze.

"If you're scared, we don't have to continue.", he says as he finishes with a promise that he will be careful when you both do continue.

He would wait until you're ready. If you're not ready at all he wouldn't even blame you. He can always settle for holding you once more.

Leviathan somehow knew that you were going to freeze as he pulled away from your neck and sat straight.

"I knew that this was going to happen. It's somehow weird how you can eye upon my frame with such lust and then chicken out the moment we're actually trying to do the deed."

He seemed harsh and very honest. It made you feel worse in a way and regret starting this. It wasn't until he noticed how hurt you were that he changed his demeanor. He started to hold your hands as his thumbs rubbed circles on the top of your hand. He kissed them before he decided to lay down and wait with you.

"We can continue when you feel like it... sorry.", he said that last part quietly. How you managed to make this king apologise. You'll never know. He probably did care a lot for you.

Beelzebub was kissing, biting and licking all over you before he decided that you were ready enough for him. He planned to push into you when he noticed that you almost stopped breathing. He halted what he was about to do as he checked up on you first.

"Are you okay?", he asked as he was drawing circles on the inside of your leg. He would lean in and give tiny kisses over your face as he waited for a response. When you tell him that you're not ready he'll lay down beside you and offer to watch some sort of movie to keep your mind of off things.

"We might aswell watch something interesting.", he says as he puts on a screen and allows you to scroll

Lucifer is one who would love to taste your tears again. He would abuse the situation you're in right now if he didn't fear you hating him. It also goes against what he wants to do with you. He said multiple times that he'd rather make you cry out of happiness and love. Sometimes he can't help it and he causes it with fear. He'll feel shitty afterwards, but always makes sure to make it up somehow. Not by apologising tho... that's too much for him.

He decided that it's best to stop at that moments as he takes a book to read. He'll read it for you if your interested enough.

Stolas himself would also get nervous when this is happening. So he sort of understand where you're coming from. It's not like he has absolutely no experience, but the connection he feels to you makes him scared to mess it all up. So he just stopped what he was doing when he saw you tense up and freeze.

"Look... We don't need to continue now... we can do it any other time if you're still up for it."

The only thing he hopes is that he's atleast allowed to be the one you're doing it with when you do feel up for it. He doesn't know what he'll feel or do when he hears that you just straight up went with another demon to do this with.

[yerimacoustic]

𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡ 𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

❝ 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙚'𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞’𝙢 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙞 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙄 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ❞ ✧ ೃ༄

summary : after impulsively quitting your job and moving back to your hometown, you reconnect with a childhood friend of yours and rekindle your relationship. you even take the opportunity to get closer to your former crush upon realizing he actually does know you exist. however, you realize that you might be in over your own head when faced with complications involving family, responsibilities, and love.

content warnings : librarian!boo seungkwan x gender neutral reader, college professor!oh sehun x gender neutral reader, EXTREMELY slow burn, implied love triangle, childhood friends to (eventual) lovers, swearing, stress and angst, banter, very very brief mention of implied death, not proofread. 11.6k wc. mostly inspired by kdrama : love next door, it’s the ‘it’s always been you’ trope you guyssss

soundtrack : those eyes by new west, scott street by phoebe bridgers, ceilings by lizzy mcalpine, i hear a symphony by cody fry, the loneliest time by carlie rae jepsen, always been you by chris grey (will add more)

additional notes : this is going to be a multiple part series! i’m talking about EXTREMELY slow burn. don’t mind me adding sehun into the mix, i am a big fan of his lately.

it felt like nothing had changed. the pavement on the sidewalks was still loose, the grass near the empty fields was still much too tall.. everything was still so close. that was, of course, the main reason why you instructed your uber driver to drop you off at the coffee shop near your house. heaven knew you needed the extra ten minutes to clear your mind with the help of some fresh air, anyways.

you didn’t see yourself coming back home, not for a while at least. the plan had always been simple: graduate college, get a well-paying job, get married, start a family.. well, at least, your parents had always found it to be simple. you made it to step two, which you were able to give yourself at least some credit for.. unfortunately that was short lived, considering that one day at lunch with your boss, you made an impulsive decision to quit your job. 

you stopped in place at a familiar crack in the pavement, one that you remembered tripping over and promptly falling off your bike several times in your youth. how in the world were you supposed to face your mother and father? how were you supposed to summon the courage to tell them that you were currently unemployed and had no current plans for the future? that you were too burned out and exhausted to even begin looking for a new job?

maybe a nice cup of coffee would provide all the answers… except they were closed. shit.

the only thing left to do, obviously, was to procrastinate going home as much as possible. which, of course, meant exploring the street you knew like the back of your hand. the benches near the coffee shop looked exactly the same, the tiny post office, the library.. wait.

the library!

luckily, they stuck to the same schedule implemented from the time you were working there, which meant you had less than thirty minutes to step inside. as you swung the door open, the loud bell announced your arrival- not that it startled you. you’d grown numb to the loud clanging sound, almost as if you had been conditioned. once inside, you were greeted by the nostalgic smell of parchment and cinnamon, comfortable silence and dimmed lighting. there were two other patrons in there that you knew of, who were quietly huddled in the corner reading separate books. 

stepping up to the front desk, you looked around the calming, tranquil space with a content grin. much like everything else in town, the library had stayed exactly the same. there were still paintings of landscapes and skylines scattered along the walls, a fireplace in the back area, comfortable bean bags and rugs… and..

“seungkwan?” you whispered, your eyes going wide.

the young man in question was pushing a cart of books with his back towards you and had already begun to carefully set them down on the nearest shelf before he heard someone speaking behind him. the last person he expected to see standing behind his counter was you. as far as seungkwan knew, you had no plans of returning home. 

his eyes went wide as he turned back, lips forming a perfect ‘o’ shape. he did his best to keep his voice down as he saw you and stood frozen in place for a moment, dumbfounded. “y/n??”

you smiled sheepishly upon taking note of your childhood friend's reaction. it was truly one for the books, but you still couldn’t hold back from teasing him, whispering, “well are you just gonna stand there or…?”

“ugh, fine. get over here.” seungkwan let out a mocking huff of annoyance before carefully setting the last book down on the cart and rushing to you. he flung his arms around your waist and pulled you in for a tight hug, one that seemed to convey all the sentiments that had been lost to you for four years now. all of the tight hugs, the words of affirmation, the quality time spent after school and work.. 

he finally spoke up again, making no effort to keep his voice lowered down. “what are you doing here? how long are you in town?”

you chuckled awkwardly, waiting for just a moment longer to break out of his embrace. “um..indefinitely?”

seungkwan’s eyes narrowed. “whoa.. i didn’t think those big shots in the city would let you take an indefinite hiatus...”

“oh.. yeah, what can i say? they love me over there.” you mocked a hair flip for dramatic effect, earning a scoff from seungkwan. 

“well hopefully your work ethic’s better now than when you were working here with me.” he rolled his eyes while reminiscing several shifts gone wrong in your time together at the library. they still blew his mind several years later; how difficult could it be to work in a building full of books?

you furrowed your eyebrows. “what are you talking about? i was your favorite coworker.”

“nuh uh, you were my only coworker. big difference.” seungkwan waved a finger to you with a growing smirk, his eyes still narrowed. 

you swatted his shoulder. you would never admit out loud that you definitely were not the best employee, that you would rather spend the day reading or distracting seungkwan as much as you could than get any actual work done. still, you hoped that at the very least, seungkwan enjoyed his time with you. “come on. you know i made things more entertaining around here.” 

your best friend let out a prolonged sigh as he made a dramatic show of pulling off his striped apron and folding it over the front desk. “i guess.” he paused, rolling up the sleeves of his large sweater to his elbows before folding his arms. “have you been home yet?”

your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confrontation. “well.. not exactly. my plane just landed.”

“really? i’m surprised that your folks didn’t come pick you up from the airport..” he shook his head, a grin of amusement slowly starting to surface. seungkwan seemed to have been gifted with intuition after years of being your closest friend; judging by your body language, alone, he could tell that something wasn’t quite right.

“about that,” your tone suddenly grew hushed as you rubbed the back of your neck. “i didn’t exactly tell them i’m coming home.”

“hmm?” seungkwan furrowed his eyebrows. “why wouldn’t you tell them something like that?”

you parted your lips before the proper excuse could come to mind. but.. neither of their birthdays were coming up. it wasn’t a holiday. and you definitely had nothing exciting to share with them in person. you barely made a sound before the loud bell across the room announced someone else’s arrival. your heads snapped towards the doorway, your own eyes going wide at the revelation..

“hey sehun,” seungkwan greeted halfheartedly, as if it was customary for the other man to show up fifteen minutes before closing. he moved to stand behind the counter while you stayed frozen in place, watching the taller man make his way to the two of you. 

sehun was exactly how you remembered him too. tall, stoic, smartly dressed.. classically handsome. in the four years you’d been gone, you hadn���t forgotten about the infatuation you had developed with him in college. not completely, at least. he carried a large pile of books in his arms, which he set down carefully on the counter in front of him. “hey, thanks for helping me out. you’re a lifesaver.” 

“no problem.” seungkwan went to work immediately, starting to log the books sehun had borrowed into the ancient computer resting on the counter. he glanced to you before explaining, “sehun got that teaching degree. he comes in here every so often to borrow some extra books they don’t have on campus.”

just as you nodded in understanding, sehun looked over his shoulder to see you already staring at him. his eyes went wide as he wore a deeply apologetic expression, “oh! hey..y/n. it’s y/n, right?”

“yeah, yeah, that’s right,” you chuckled.

“it's good to see you,” he grinned modestly, turning his back on seungkwan in favor of facing you fully. “i haven’t seen you in a while, where have you been?”

“i relocated for work after graduating but..i’m back here now.” you punctuated your statement by shrugging halfheartedly, chuckling under your breath. to tell the truth, you were surprised sehun had even noticed you were missing; he never paid much attention to you in school. it wasn’t like you were nonexistent, but more like he always had something else on his mind. 

“indefinitely,” seungkwan chimed in, much to your annoyance. 

sehun raised an eyebrow. “indefinitely?”

you felt as if the two of them had backed you in a corner. it was difficult to ignore seungkwan as he leaned over the counter with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, an amused grin bringing you to clench your jaw. “well..”

“and she didn’t even tell her parents,” seungkwan whispered, as if the three of you were in a gossip session. he smirked to you, knowing fully well that you would have lunged for him if sehun wasn’t in the room. 

“i’m sure they’ll be excited to see you visiting them. indefinitely.” sehun, of course, was oblivious to seungkwan’s antics. he kept his back turned on him as he focused on you, waiting almost too patiently for you to explain your motives. 

just before you could mutter a ‘thank you’ to him, seungkwan cut you off once again, “by the way, when you say indefinitely, what exactly do you mean?”

in that moment, you crafted a plot in your mind to jump over the counter the minute sehun would close the door behind him. seungkwan had always known of your interest in sehun, so.. you could give him the benefit of the doubt and excuse his actions by saying he had good intentions. but there was something deep inside you nagging and arguing that he was only trying to embarrass you.

“well..” you muttered, prompting seungkwan to lean in comically close over the counter. unfortunately, whether you liked it or not, you came to the realization that your close friends and family would eventually find out the truth.. so it was better to bite the bullet. “forever?”

“forever??” seungkwan asked incredulously. 

in that moment you had completely abandoned all intentions of giving your best friend the benefit of the doubt and instead wondered if seungkwan truly would stop at nothing to humiliate you. the look of intrigue donned by sehun almost caused your heart to stop beating in your chest completely. “forever,” you repeated quietly.

and although sehun showed no signs of disgust or disapproval, you wondered what he truly thought of you. he must have thought so lowly of you, unemployed and forced to move back in with your parents with no prospects or plans of any sort... as much as you would have liked to tell yourself you were most likely overthinking the tension rising between the three of you, it was part of your nature to assume the worst.

sehun’s expression of intrigue was quickly replaced by one of reserved shock; he wasn’t sure how to respond. he wanted to handle the situation (if one could even call it a ‘situation’) with delicacy without seeming like he was tiptoeing around it. it was quite the contrast from seungkwan’s reaction; your best friend looked like he would soon pass out due to the color draining from his face. seungkwan, who was visible just behind sehun’s shoulder, slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his gasp. 

of course. he always had a flair for the dramatics.

sehun cleared his throat, as if to defuse the tension in the space between the three of you. the air had felt much more constricting until he snapped you out of your shame induced gaze. “thanks again, seungkwan. same time tomorrow?”

“maybe a few more minutes before closing.” seungkwan was quick to smile enthusiastically, with authenticity rather than cruel irony, towards the other man. he even went so far as to punctuate his statement with an amused chuckle. 

“right, sorry,” sehun nodded apologetically. he knew he had a bad habit of bothering seungkwan, who was generous enough to help him even in the most inconvenient times, but there was no use trying to adjust his schedule to his own liking. he looked to you just as he turned towards the exit, a smile barely reaching his eyes. “see you around.” 

somehow, you weren’t hyperfocused on the fact that he seemed to disappear before you could gift him a proper goodbye. once the loud bell signaled his absence, you reached across the front counter to swat at seungkwan’s shoulder. a high pitched shriek flew from his lips, but it didn’t startle you enough to back away from him. “what was that for?” he demanded with a pout.

“you know damn well! he probably thinks i’m some deadbeat now.” 

“why, because you got fired?” seungkwan regretted his teasing remark the second he saw you wind back your hand to swat his untouched shoulder, his hands flying to shield his face. “wait! wait, stop! truce! truce!” the sigh of relief he let out once you finally relented was almost comedic. “you didn’t get fired, did you?”

you folded your arms across the countertop with a huff, avoiding his eyes. although sehun’s opinion meant a lot to you, it was nothing compared to how seungkwan perceived you. you grew up with him, after all. “no. i quit.”

“why?”

“does it matter?” those three words came out in a much harsher, more defensive tone than you had anticipated. it was too late to apologize by the time you had processed the gravity of your words, or the effect they had on your best friend.

seungkwan matched your energy, his eyebrows raised as his tone grew just a tad harsher, as well. “well… yeah? you’re throwing a lot away. you know it’s really hard to get a job these days. you were really lucky.”

you huffed. “please, seungkwan, spare me. i’ve already been preparing for that lecture from my parents.” 

“well, what do you want me to say instead?” he snapped, folding his arms across his chest. those words stung in your chest, as if the blade had been laced with venom. out of all of the people you expected to be this harsh with you, the last person on your list was boo seungkwan.

you furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up and letting your arms fall from the counter in favor of relaxing at your sides. “nothing.” you paused before mustering up the courage to speak again, swallowing. “it was great to see you.”

you took long strides towards the door, ignoring seungkwan’s protests even as his voice grew nearer. only when you felt his hand grip onto your forearm did you finally turn back to face him, a deadpan expression dulling your features. quite the contrast from his look of pleading, sorrow filling his eyes. always the flair for the dramatics. “don’t go. please?” he paused, searching for an answer within your irises. “if i know anything about your parents, they’re gonna be pissed. we need a game plan.”

“‘we?’” you asked him quietly.

“yeah. we’re in this together.” he hooked his arm around yours, his words and the tight grip on your upper arm prompting a rush of nostalgia to numb your mind for the time being. 

“but first, we need to grab some dinner.” your eyes lit up, accentuating your smirk as you heard seungkwan groan next to you in annoyance. 

—----------------

“i hardly see how grabbing sandwiches is going to help the situation.” even so, seungkwan dipped his grilled cheese in the flavorful tomato soup in front of him, letting out a content sigh once the taste of basil and sourdough lingered in his mouth. 

“comfort food always helps keep one level headed in stressful situations. i thought you knew that,” you took a large bite from your own sandwich, as if the exaggerated actions would punctuate your words. 

of course, seungkwan knew you brought up a great point; he didn’t raise that argument when the two of you grabbed brunch before taking finals or when he ordered takeout while both of you spent the entire night applying for jobs. after all, the two of you shared a similar love of food for as long as you could remember. 

“yeah, but doesn’t it just feel like we’re prolonging the inevitable?” seungkwan’s words were slightly muffled as he chewed politely on his sandwich.

unfortunately, he brought up a great point, as well. that was the whole reason you found yourself in his family’s library in the first place: to prolong the inevitable. you swallowed nervously as an image of the disappointment on your mother’s face flashed in your mind, dabbing at the corners of your lips with a napkin. “no. i’m starving. i haven’t eaten since noon.”

seungkwan let out an audible sigh, which inevitably earned him an eye roll. “sure, we’ll go with that excuse.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you straightened out your shoulders. “excuse me, have you seen how my mom is when she gets angry?”

“of course i have. i was there when you cut the bangs off of all of her porcelain dolls because ‘you wanted to see their eyes.’” he dropped his spoon to add air quotes to the last part of his statement, much to his own amusement.  

your eyes grew nearly twice their size as you watched the man in front of you take a sip of his iced water with such infuriating casualness. “not only were you there, but you helped me cut their hair!”

“what? you don’t expect her to raise her voice at her best friend’s child, do you?” he feigned an expression of innocence, his eyes going wide as he pursed his pouty lips.

you huffed, “no. only because she’s always held you up on a pedestal. i swear, it’s like she’s always wanted to switch children with your mother.”

seungkwan laughed, a little too loudly for your liking. not that his laughs weren’t always adorable and endearing, of course. it was his next statement, however, that caught you off guard: “don’t say that.”

of course, the shock didn’t stop you from taking another jab at him. “no, really. you’ve heard her talk about how badly she wanted a son multiple times.”

seungkwan began to laugh again as more and more memories started coming back to him. your mother had always greatly esteemed him, held him to the highest regards.. to say that he didn’t appreciate those sentiments would be a lie. especially since there were plenty of occasions he could think of where he desperately needed the praise. his only wish was that she extended them towards her own child. “i’m sure that she would change her mind if her wish was ever granted,” he rationalized, still not quite eliminating the laughs escaping his lips.

you snickered. “yeah. i’m sure she would.” both of you sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, savoring the last few remnants of your respective meals. you, however, couldn’t stand listening to the daunting sound of your own heart racing in your chest and spoke up, “how are things going with the library?”

seungkwan wasn’t expecting you to bring up such a delicate subject of his own at a time like this. he knew that you were already under a great deal of stress and didn’t want to add another burden onto your shoulders. that was why he spoke so dismissively, “things are…fine. pretty busy.”

“just busy?” after you had successfully folded your napkin into something that vaguely resembled a swan, you lifted your head up with every intention to meet his gaze. only to look directly past his shoulder and draw in a shaky breath. “shit..”

“what??” seungkwan instantly demanded an answer and furrowed his eyebrows, watching you pull the hood of your jacket over your head and hunch your shoulders over. 

“look behind you. don’t make it obvious.” seungkwan muttered to himself before turning around in his seat to get a better look at your mother and another close friend of hers sitting across the restaurant, making no effort to be discreet. you immediately hissed in annoyance, “goddammit, i said don’t make it obvious!”

“geez, sorry.” seungkwan snapped his head back towards you, tilting his head to the side as he saw you duck under the table. suddenly, his eyes lit up as he leaned down to get a better look at you crouched down on the floor. “hey.. now seems as good a time as any to go and talk to her!”

you gasped, “are you kidding me? she’ll cause a huge scene! we better just make a run for it. i was never one to dine and dash but i guess there’s a first time for everything.”

seungkwan rolled his eyes and got to his feet, reaching for your hand. “come on, i’ll be right there beside you. who knows, she might actually take it well? she wouldn’t want to risk embarrassing herself in public, would she?”

“no, but she wouldn’t care about embarrassing me in public.” you refused to take his hand in favor of wrapping both arms around the leg of the table. “now lemme know when it’s a good time to crawl out of here.”

seungkwan laughed, thoroughly amused by your antics. “no. come on, its time to face your fears.” he crouched down again, hooking both hands around your arm. 

“seungkwan, no-” you tried to keep your voice down while keeping a firm grip on the table’s wobbly leg. 

seungkwan clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, a scolding expression overtaking his features as he shook his head. “i can’t believe you would risk getting arrested to avoid having an adult conversation with your mom. absolutely shameful. come on.”

you shuddered out of his touch, pouting. “but i’m not ready! please, can we just wait an hour or so until they’re done..”

suddenly, seungkwan threw his head back with a loud groan of annoyance and prompted you to put a finger to your lips. “no. there’s no time like the present, come on!” despite your relentless hold on the table, your persistent arguing and whines of annoyance, seungkwan fell to his knees in an effort to successfully pull you out from under the table. he felt like he was wrangling a stubborn toddler. “jesus, you were worried about your mom making a scene?”

just then, a voice behind seungkwan’s figure called to you, “y/n?”

seungkwan looked back before scooting away from you to give you a clear view of your mother standing with her arms folded. when he got to his feet, you moved out of the way just enough for you to see her close friend in question standing next to her. the two older women stood like a pair of identical twins with their arms folded and their heads cocked to the right. you waved to the two of them, suddenly feeling much more vulnerable under the table. “heyyy mom..”

just as you looked up, you got the opportunity to witness seungkwan realize the gravity of the situation in real time. his lips pressed to a thin line as he looked off to the side, making no attempts to alleviate any suspicious appearances or keep up any innocent appearances. much to your surprise, your mother paid no attention to the man she considered her perfect son in another life. she scoffed incredulously, “come here! what are you doing here?”

you brushed off your dress pants as you slowly began to emerge from your hiding place. “i wanted to catch up with seungkwan before heading home..”

your mother wasted no time shaking her head and cutting you off, “you know what i mean.”

you looked to seungkwan with desperation in your eyes, as if asking him speechlessly to do the talking for you. he’d always had a much better way with words than you did, especially whenever your mother was concerned. she always seemed to hear him out. however.. he stayed silent. his eyes went wide once they met yours, as if trying to communicate back to you without words.

you knew right then and there that you were on your own. 

“it’s kind of a long story..”

—----------

needless to say, your mother did not take the news very well, seeing that you were now lying in the fetal position on seungkwan’s bed, tugging his small blankets closer towards your shivering figure. none of it felt.. real. your mother yelling at you and chastising you in public, seungkwan trying desperately to intervene until his efforts proved to be fruitless, the four of you getting removed from the restaurant.. but what seemed to remain frozen in your mind was the look on your mother’s face.

there was so much to be said from the look in her eyes alone, irises filled with.. hatred. the mere thought of it made you shudder. 

the image of seungkwan stepping out of his tiny bathroom in an oversized t-shirt and shorts was enough to pull you out of your miserable thoughts. for the most part. “glad to see you made yourself at home,” he teased you and made his way to the bed, grabbing a spare blanket and pillow. 

you furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him tuck the bedding under your arm. “hey. you’re not sleeping on the floor.” 

“you’re right. i’m sleeping on the couch,” seungkwan replied without skipping a beat. he ran a hand through his chestnut hair, which was already tousled from the headband he’d worn just minutes before he joined you. “goodnight.”

“wait-” you called to him just as he turned on his heel in favor of walking towards the door. then you watched in amusement as he let out a huff of mock annoyance and turn to face you with raised eyebrows. “please.. please stay with me. i don’t want to be alone right now.”

sleepovers weren’t a foreign concept to you and seungkwan. there were countless nights where study sessions, late night chats, and carpooling after parties led to impromptu sleepovers. it reached the point where both of you had extra toothbrushes and other toiletries waiting for the other. you never seemed to stay far from each other, even in slumber; usually the two of you ended up on the couch together. 

it was nothing. neither of you thought anything of it, because you didn’t have to. yet.. there was a sense of timidity within his demeanor as he stepped closer to the bed. you were quick to shrug it off and sit up once he climbed under the covers with you, relaxing back against the mattress when you felt his arm drape around your shoulders. the two of you were so close that you felt the gentle impact of the rising and falling of his chest with every steady breath he took. “what are you gonna do?”

you were close to telling seungkwan that you hadn’t thought this far ahead. you always thought you could depend on your family to help you out during tough times.. but you’d had your heart broken that day. fear settled comfortably within your heart as you laid a hand on his chest and scooted closer to him. “i don’t know.”

you were expecting a fiery rebuttal from him. or some more scolding, even reprimanding.. but none of it came. instead he spoke gently, his voice barely above a whisper, “we’ll figure it out in the morning. get some sleep.”

you nodded and let your head fall more comfortably against the pillow before shutting your eyes, his arm curled around your figure and his hand cupping your shoulder bringing that much needed sense of comfort. seungkwan, however, stared at the ceiling as you felt yourself drifting off into a peaceful slumber next to him. he connected the dots in the plaster while trying not to pay any mind to the water stain near the corner of the room, the patterns providing him temporary relief. 

he felt like he was dreaming; when you left, he wasn’t sure if the two of you were ever going to be in a situation like this again. laying together, laughing, forgetting about the rest of the world.. sure, in this particular moment the circumstances were less than ideal, but he was just grateful to feel your warmth. now more than ever.

a half an hour must have passed before he gently pulled his arm out from underneath your figure and allowed you to fall more cozily against the mattress. he sat quietly at his desk, which was less than two steps away from his bed, and opened the drawer slowly in hopes that you wouldn’t hear the gentle creak. there was a letter tucked securely into an envelope, one that he had read so many times that it was a miracle the seal of tape was still effective. 

no matter how many times he had already read the letter, the beautiful words still brought a single tear to his eye and a gentle smile to his lips. it was the last thing his mother had ever given him besides the library, both of which he held close to his heart. he read it almost every night before he went to bed, swearing that he heard her voice in his head every single time. 

on a separate sheet, she’d left him instructions and tips for running the library. he still couldn’t fully believe that the family business was completely in his hands now. he put his own career on hold to see it through, devoting his entire time to ensuring the success of the library. he had no other employees. he was forced to move into a much cheaper apartment across the street, saving money on transportation.

yes, some days were better than others. but he wouldn’t trade the business for anything else in the world.

now that you were here with him, seungkwan felt so many different emotions hitting him all at once. while he was grateful to finally see you again, there was a nagging feeling akin to resentment in the back of his mind. he only hoped that he wouldn’t let the troubling emotion take over him completely.

you were already a shoo-in for the internship agency near your school. judging by the end of your interview, you basically already had a guaranteed position. it was near school, it paid fairly well, you could still go to school part time.. you had nothing to worry about, having all of your prospects lined into a neat row.

seungkwan, however, was not quite so fortunate. school was challenging for him; when one crisis was ending, another was just beginning. one particular event was the breaking point for him. his finger had been hovering over his laptop’s mouse for a good five minutes as he gazed at the highlighted button on the screen: ‘submit request to withdraw.’ maybe school wasn’t for everyone. maybe school wasn’t for him.

his fingertip had inched closer towards the mouse when you finally reached his side, slumping down on the chair next to him. before you could complain about a strenuous day in your psychology class, you took note of the image displayed on his laptop screen and immediately slammed it shut. “what do you think you’re doing??” you demanded. 

“i can’t take this anymore,” he groaned, tilting his head back. the hood of his jacket fell back upon his shoulders in the process, revealing his tousled hair. “i’m done. i’m dropping out.”

“no you’re not,” you argued without skipping a beat.

“yes i am.”

“no you’re not.”

seungkwan groaned again, covering his now strained eyes. he’d lost count of the hours he’d spent staring at the screen in front of him. “yes i am! it’s my only option. plus, if worse comes to worse, i’ll always have the library.”

your hand fell to rest on his back, silently communicating to him that you sympathized with him. you had had plenty of trials and tribulations during your time in school, seungkwan knew that fully well. “is this about your trig. test? seungkwan, no one passes that class. it’s not your fault you got stuck with the worst teacher.”

“it’s not just that.” he scooted his chair to the side so he could face you more fully. the look in his eyes was painfully unfamiliar; the closest resemblance being one that he’d worn a few times as a child. over some stupid, simple things that didn’t matter one bit anymore. this.. this was different. your best friend was scared to death about what lay ahead of him.

you took seungkwan’s hand in yours and squeezed it the moment you noticed his gentle tremble. “you’re one of the smartest people i know. if anyone can get through this, its you,” you told him quietly, with such gentle sincerity that warmed his heart. “i’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? i’ll always be here for you.”  

i’ll always be here for you. 

what seungkwan didn’t know was that you replayed that moment in your mind every night before you went to bed. he didn’t know you were currently reminiscing in your sleep. guilt and regret overtook you every single time you thought about the relief flooding his features upon hearing such a beautiful sentiment from you: i’ll always be here for you. 

what a phony he must think you are.

—---------------------------

the aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the air of his small apartment, strong enough to pull you out of your deep sleep. the promise of the refreshing beverage prompted you to sit up and stretch your arms out before joining your brand new roommate in the kitchen. seungkwan was already seated near the bar, halfway through his toast when he smiled at the sight of you, “morning, sleeping beauty.”

you let out a chuckle that resembled more of a scoff before taking the initiative and pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “i would have slept a lot better if someone didn’t hog all the blankets.”

“tsk tsk,” seungkwan shook his head while dabbing at the corners of his lips with a napkin. less than five seconds passed before he was on his feet, carrying his own mug in one hand and reaching for his briefcase with the other. “well, i’m off. do me a favor and clean the kitchen, will you?”

you furrowed your eyebrows while watching him search the tiny sitting room (which was more like a nook) for his dress shoes. “hey, wait! where are you going?”

he snickered, “where do you think? i’m going to work.” 

“can i come with you?”

seungkwan stared at you incredulously. “why would you want to do that?”

you cocked your head to the side, confused. wasn’t the answer perfectly obvious? “because if i spend nine hours cooped up in here by myself, i’ll go crazy. no offense.”

he brushed off your statement, grabbing his keys off the tiny hook near the front door. “what makes you think you won’t go crazy cooped up in the library for nine hours?”

you paused and shrugged your shoulders as a pleading look filled your eyes. “i’ll.. be with you? and books?” 

once again, seungkwan had to wrestle with all of the emotions hitting him at once- he’d enjoyed this time with you, yes, but.. a small part of him wanted space. he wanted time alone to sort through his conflicted feelings. no words could describe the guilt that sentiment, alone, had brought upon him. still, he let out an exaggerated huff and tilted his head back, “ughh fine. hurry and get ready.”

the squeal that escaped your lips nearly caused seungkwan to jump enough to spill his coffee. much to his own relief, the hot liquid never escaped from his cup and fled towards his sweater. it was a close call, however, when you threw your arms around his neck and pressed a firm kiss against his cheek. that time a few drops did spill on the floor, prompting the two of you to giggle in almost frightening unison before seungkwan made a dramatic show of pretending to rub the kiss off of his cheek. “ew-ew-ew-ew-”

“shut up,” you called out to him before shutting his bedroom door behind you. it didn’t take too long for you to find a sensible outfit, seeing that such boring outfits had taken over your entire wardrobe since you graduated. 

before too long, the two of you were greeted by the crisp autumn air as seungkwan locked his door. you both held onto your mugs, chasing the warmth of the coffee as you took prolonged sips in unison. in that moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if seungkwan shared the same sentiment as you, if he thought about how taking the familiar road to work felt so strangely different this time around.

“why don’t you hire some other employees?” you asked seungkwan once the two of you sat comfortably in the warmth of the quiet library.

“what, are you tired of your new job already?” seungkwan teased, tilting his head with that all too familiar lopsided grin. 

“job? who said anything about a job?” you fired back, all in good fun, of course. you had no issues helping seungkwan out with the business, if he would have you. you could only imagine how much of a nightmare it was to run a business completely alone. besides.. you hated the thought of sleeping at his apartment all day while he worked his ass off.

he nodded his head once, his grin only growing wider. “ohh, i see what’s going on here. shame, i expected more from you.”

“you’ll have to get in line,” you chuckled before averting your gaze back to the sticky note on the front desk in front of you. you’d been drawing tiny flowers on the little slip of paper for about an hour now, hoping to pass the time quickly. soon, you spoke up again without looking up from the lime green pad of paper, “you didn’t answer my question, though.”

you noticed seungkwan shrug in your peripheral vision. “can’t really afford it.”

he watched as you nodded in understanding, eyes still not leaving the sticky note in front of you. “well.. you could always ask for volunteers. there’s a lot of different ways to get the word out.”

seungkwan chuckled dismissively, “i doubt anyone’s gonna want to volunteer at the local library.” he spun in his chair slowly to gaze at one side of the open space in front of him and then the other. the first day he had ever worked there by himself he realized that he had to come to terms with the harsh reality that no one would value this place quite like he did. 

you caught onto it, however, and it broke your heart to put yourself in his shoes. he’d barely jump started his own career before this was thrown onto his lap; to say it was a lot of pressure was the understatement of the year. “you never know,” you countered in a hushed tone. 

several minutes passed before the loud bell startled you out of your boredom. just before you could lecture seungkwan about investing in a battery operated one, sehun stood on the other side of the desk. your focus shifted completely to the man standing in front of you, both of you separated only by the smooth oak desk. 

“hey sehun,” a short greeting you were barely able to muster as you rose to your feet.  

sehun, of course, stayed cordial, his grin just notably wider than the last he’d greeted you with. “hey. i didn’t realize you’d be working here too.” 

“oh.. yeah. seungkwan and i go way back, i thought i could help him out a bit.” you tilted your head towards the other man in question, who was still seated comfortably in the chestnut leather chair. strange.. he was usually so quick to attend to his customers’ needs.

“why don’t you help sehun grab his books? get some practice in?” you didn’t have to look over at seungkwan to know that insufferable smirk had taken over his lips. 

“uh.. yeah, sure. i can do my best.” the promise of getting some alone time with your former ‘campus crush’ was almost enough to make you giggle like you were in college all over again. you were quick to abandon seungkwan in favor of joining the taller man as he strode towards the aisle directly across from where your friend was sitting. “so..classic literature, huh?”

sehun chuckled fondly at your attempt to make conversation, prompting that warming sensation in your chest to return. “yeah. i don’t know if seungkwan told you, but i’m teaching ‘reading comprehension’ on campus. the library over there seems to have lost most of its funding since we graduated. he’s helped out a lot.”

you nodded and began to pull the books off the shelves that he pointed to with his free hand. “‘reading comprehension?’ i loved that class.”

“oh you did? it was one of my favorites. with mrs-”

“sylvester,” you finished politely.

“sylvester, yeah,” sehun chuckled again, and it was the most that you’d ever seen him smile. although it was somewhat short lived, it didn’t disappear completely from view. “she transferred a few years back. that was when i got the promotion.”

“oh.” an expression of disappointment clouded your features as he led you into the next aisle. you tried not to think about how you wished you’d brought one of those carts, considering it was completely off topic.. “that’s too bad. i don’t think i’ve ever had a teacher like her.”

sehun sighed, tucking a small pile of books under his other arm. “i don’t think anyone has. she left some pretty big boots to fill.”

“i’m sure you’re more than capable,” you assured him with a tilt of your head. “you were the one with the best assignments in ‘creative writing.’”

sehun donned an expression mixed with shock and confusion. for a moment you wondered if it was because he had no memory of sharing a creative writing class with you. had you really managed to stay so invisible? his gaze left you on the edge of your seat until he finally spoke, his words throwing you through another loop, “i.. didn’t think anyone remembered those. in fact, i hoped no one did.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, showcasing your genuine confusion. “why? your writing was so beautiful.”

he let out a short chuckle in favor of accepting your compliment. “i prefer to leave it to the professionals.” so he was handsome and he was humble.. good to know. his next statement pulled you out of your temporary daze, “speaking of which-” his gaze briefly shifted to the stack of books in both hands. “i better get back to it.”

“oh, yeah. yeah. sure.” however, you couldn’t bring yourself to face seungkwan without taking a step in a much bolder direction. “maybe we could talk about them sometime.” your heart skipped a beat as you watched him turn back to get a proper look at you once more. “i mean..the professionals. we could grab coffee sometime, talk about our favorites.”

he stayed quiet for a moment, as if he was thinking carefully over your question. once again, he seemed intent on keeping you on the edge of your seat, on stopping your heart from beating in your chest. relief warmed your heart as a gentle, barely visible smile was sent in your direction. “yeah. i’d like that a lot.”

even though the words were on the tip of your tongue, you couldn’t bring yourself to mutter a confirmation or any other proper response. planning the logistics or even a proper meeting time and place would have been a good start. even so, bashful silence filled the air and sehun was graced with an equally awkward grin before the two of you met with seungkwan again to carry out the rest of the checking process.

the crisp autumn air did nothing to soothe your shaking hands and arms as you and sehun carried the borrowed books to his car. he kept a respectful distance the entirety of the short walk to the end of the parking lot, not enough to keep you wondering if he found your presence to be a nuisance, of course. you earned yourself a smile of gratitude once the entirety of his collection was placed carefully in his backseat, his words doing nothing to soothe the aching in your heart: “so, about that coffee…”

“i should be done around five,” you cut him off, regretting it immediately. suddenly, one of your mother’s habitual lectures had once again proved fruitless and you realized just how pathetically eager you must have sounded. 

much to your relief, sehun nodded to signal his confirmation. “five sounds great. i’ll just meet you over there, yeah?” your gaze followed his hand as he pointed to the coffee shop that was no more than a ten minute walk from your current location.

luckily, you were able to hold back a sigh of relief. “yeah.” you paused, taking the opportunity to mirror his smile as your hands linked together behind your back. “well..see you then.”

after you were sent on your way with a quiet ‘goodbye,’ you were lucky not to trip over your own feet as you turned on your heel. to tell the truth, you only felt like you had come back down to earth once you were face to face with seungkwan in the warmth of the library again. his smirk was infuriating, as per usual, as he confirmed that he’d listened to your entire exchange, “big date tonight, huh?”

scolding him was a redundant move. instead, you followed his remark with a smirk of your own, arms folding across your chest while you eagerly awaited for the storm to come. “yeah.. about that, i’m gonna need to head out early.”

—-----------------------------

there was nothing quite like the cafe you knew like the back of your head in the evening. just as the sun began to set, the limited light peeked through the windows, crafting with the low fi hip hop in the speakers to create the perfect ambience. there was a sense of comfort in the familiarity, which counted for everything in this moment, especially. 

although the shaking in your hands had come to a timid stop, there was still an uncomfortable persistent thumping in your heart. if y/n from years ago could only see you now.. as inexperienced as you had become over the last four years, it didn’t stop a fair pang of excitement from mixing with your overall anxiety. you were on a date.. well, if that was the right word to describe this meeting with sehun. 

the man in question pulled you out of your daze once he sat across from you, taking in the sight of you with a relaxed grin. “sorry, i know i’m a bit late.”

“no, it’s fine. i barely even noticed,” you replied truthfully. “i’m in my own little word over here, i was barely keeping track of time.”

“well, that makes me feel a little bit better,” a deep chuckle punctuated his gentle words before he turned his attention towards the small menu in front of him. you did the same, even if it was a bit of a formality; you had known fully well what you were going to order before setting foot in the cafe. it simply kept you busy while trying to formulate a good response. 

once the orders had been placed, your arms were folded over the small table as you paid full attention to the man in front of you. “so..should we start with poetry?”

“actually,” sehun responded without a sense of urgency to interrupt you in his tone. it was quite the contrast from what you had grown accustomed to. “i thought i might get to know you first, if that’s alright.”

you raised an eyebrow, his statement catching you off guard. “oh?”

“is that so surprising?” sehun noticed the surprise that had filled your demeanor and honestly, it made him feel guilty. maybe he had unintentionally sent you messages signaling his disinterest during your time together in college.

“yeah- i mean-” you stuttered, pondering your own response carefully in the meantime. “well, i think we both just had a lot on our mind back then.” 

he nodded in understanding. “you’re probably right. but i don’t want you to think i was ever uninterested.” he paused just as a barista briefly interrupted the two of you to place two mugs on the table, being quick to send a quiet ‘thank you’ in his direction. 

you thought about telling him the truth, that the fear of his disinterest in you kept you up at night. that your social anxiety prevented you from getting to know anyone or spending time outside of your social circle. but what good would complaining do? instead, you nodded shortly. “then in that case.. i’d like to get to know you, too.”

you watched as sehun took the brief moment before his lips reached the mug in front of him to send you a smile. seconds later, he was delicately wiping a light stripe of foam that had landed above his upper lip. “can i start by asking you something a little personal?”

“go right ahead. i’m an open book.”

he set his porcelain mug down carefully on the table, the impact making no sound. “what brings you back in town?”

once again, his question had brought you into a deep sense of pondering. although you hardly expected him to take the same direction as your mother and tell you how much of a lazy couch potato you were, there was still a possibility he would find your actions distasteful. “things.. weren’t working out there,” was all you could lead with. “i wasn’t happy.”

sehun wasn’t sure if asking you to delve into specifics was the best idea. “i’m sorry to hear that,” he said, the sympathy in his tone practically tangible. 

“that’s okay.” as always, you were quick to dismiss your own attitude; you were never the self-pitying type. 

“i’m glad that you were able to reconnect with seungkwan after so long,” he noticed. “you two have been thick as thieves for as long as i can remember.”

to tell the truth, you were surprised that sehun had even noticed. on the other hand, the two of you never seemed to let each other out of your sight for long. “i owe seungkwan a lot,” you sighed. “he’ll try to deny it but i don’t know if i would have been able to get through school without him.”

sehun beamed, his understanding of the sentimentality in your statement alone bringing a warm feeling to his chest. “you two are lucky to have each other.”

suddenly, you felt guilty discussing another man in such a manner while on a date (if it even was a date). you chimed in with a bashful grin, eager to change the subject, “tell me more about your job.”

sehun chuckled, “what do you want to know?”

“was mrs. sylvester the only reason you started teaching?” while eagerly awaiting a response, you savored the wonderfully bitter taste of your now slightly chilled latte.

sehun shook his head, gaze temporarily flicking to the modest silverware resting on his napkin. “no. everyone around me got tired of hearing me talking incessantly about my favorite scribes and poets, so i thought it would be better to lecture people who would actually listen to me. for the most part.” 

an amused beam lit up your features as you chuckled affectionately. “do you teach anything else besides ‘reading comprehension?’”

he gently shook his head, “as of right now, no. but i’m aiming to take over the literature and mythology position once it’s cleared up.”

“then i’ll keep my fingers crossed,” you told him, your beam ever persistent. 

“i appreciate it,” he looked up to see you already staring at him with reservation in your features. suddenly, he came to the realization that he had never realized how vibrant your eyes were up close. maybe he should have paid more attention in the past. he spoke up again before he could allow any awkward silence to loom over your table, “i’m keeping my fingers crossed for you as well. i hope you find what you’re looking for.”

just as you nodded in gratitude, you came to the realization that you had no idea what you were looking for. you came back home with desperation to get time for yourself, hope that you would find comfort in the nostalgia your hometown provided.. but you never thought about how slowly the answers to your questions would reveal themselves. “i hope so too,” was all you could think of to say.

much to your surprise, sehun was easy to make conversation with. he was respectful and quiet, not to mention attentive as he listened to you drone on and on about your favorite writings. you thoroughly enjoyed the banter you shared with him, as if the two of you were playing tennis with witty remark after witty remark. 

you had to take note of how incredibly smart he was. he was well read in every sense of the word, judging by the countless subjects of literature he’d studied in his youth. it was impressive. not to mention attractive. 

both of you reached the bottom of your mugs at the same time, and before too long, sehun had already paid the bill. he ignored your protests, your arguments that you should have been the one to pay since the outing was your idea. and of course, he politely insisted on driving you back to seungkwan’s apartment even if it was within walking distance. 

the moment you sat in his passenger seat, your gaze shifted to his hands circled gently around the steering wheel. the sleeves of his sweater had been rolled up to his elbows, exposing his lean forearms. however it was nothing compared to his side profile, the dimmed sunset lighting accentuating the sharpness of his jawline. “i’m glad we did this,” you were able to tell him. 

he nodded once, “me too. hope i didn’t take you away from seungkwan for too long.”

“he’ll be fine. he’s managed without me long enough,” you chuckled once he parked the car in the complex’s lot. before you could bring yourself to exit his car, to rid yourself of the man’s warm presence, you gifted him with a smile of gratitude. “i’m glad we did this.”

“me too,” sehun agreed, returning the grin with sincerity. “will you be at the library again tomorrow?”

“most likely,” you chuckled.

“perfect.” he watched as you stepped out of his car, ignoring the cold air hitting his skin once more. he called to you one last time before you could gently slam the door shut, “see you tomorrow.”  

you called out to him in farewell just as the impact of the car door closing sounded. the butterflies took flight in your stomach just as you watched him drive off, permitting yourself one last look at him through the slightly tinted window. none of it felt real. you knew that for the foreseeable future, you were about to ask yourself over and over again if these memories were just a figment of your imagination. the way he looked much more handsome up close, the way you were able to study his freckles and the gentle curls in his hair..

a wind rushing past your figure snapped you out of your daydreams; soon you were walking up the rickety staircase and back into seungkwan’s apartment. he was waiting in the sitting room, peering down at the coffee table which was covered in heavy files and scattered sheets of paper. he looked up to you through thin-framed glasses, raising his eyebrows, “took you long enough to get back home.”

your brows pulled together instinctively as you tossed your jacket onto the nearest coat hook. “what are you talking about? i wasn’t even gone for that long.”

“you were gone long enough to force me to close the library all by myself,” he argued without a hint of malice in his tone. “what did the two of you get up to, anyways?”

“coffee,” you sighed, slumping down next to him on the loveseat. suddenly, seungkwan paid absolutely no mind to the endless paperwork he had been tasked with and turned towards you. you went on, “we talked for a few hours.”

he tilted his head towards you with wide, questioning eyes, “aaand?”

“aand-” you mocked, snickering. “he’s.. excellent. really excellent.”

seungkwan stared at you in bewilderment as a snicker of his own escaped his lips. “‘really excellent?’ that’s the best you can do?”

you rolled your eyes, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. “i mean- i don’t know! he’s really smart. most of the time we were talking about the books and authors we both liked.” you paused, pondering your next response. “there’s something about him that is so..magnetizing. he’s so reserved..i always thought he was indifferent. but he’s not.”

“he sounds like a pretty great person,” seungkwan bowed his head in favor of taking another proper look at the piling documents in front of him. even if he knew there was absolutely no way he would focus properly on them with you seated next to him. his gaze didn’t leave a particular folder as he asked, “so it’s off to bed for you, then?”

you pressed a hand to your heart, feigning offense. “you would dismiss me so quickly?” after seungkwan merely hummed in response, you sighed, “no, actually. i probably shouldn’t have drank coffee this late.”

“if only someone had cautioned you against it,” seungkwan mused half-heartedly, flipping through a stack of papers after going through a few paragraphs with a highlighter. it was amazing just how quickly boredom set in after watching him flip through them for less than a minute.

“you could have,” you snickered and leaned your head against the back of the couch, staring at the patterns in the ceiling for the brief time in the uncomfortable position. “we should go on a walk. i think you could use some fresh air.”

an amused smirk tugged at your lips as you watched seungkwan let the papers fall on his lap in favor of staring at you incredulously. “what? no, it’s freezing out there.”

“it’s not that bad, we’ll only be out there for a second.” after grabbing the papers from his lap and slamming the pile back on the coffee table, you rose to your feet. “come on! i know what it’s like working indoors all the time. you need to go outside; it’s good for your health. and your psyche.”

seungkwan huffed, swatting your hand away when you tried to link arms with him. “you know what’s also good for my psyche? paying rent for two different buildings on time.”

ever persistent, you reached for his hand again. “these papers will all still be here when we get back. come on. take some time for yourself.”

he was finding it more difficult to resist your pleadings by the second, especially considering you brought up excellent points. he rarely got the chance to take time for himself.. he rarely got to enjoy his surroundings and reconnect with the town he grew up in. he sighed, rather heavily at that, bringing his palm to his forehead. “ughhhh fine. if i get frostbite, i’m killing you.”

“it’s definitely not cold enough for that.” you grabbed both of his hands to pull him off of the couch, beaming once the two of you were face to face. then you gently reached out to grab his glasses off, folding them before setting them down carefully on the table. your fingertips never came in contact with the lenses; you knew completely well how much seungkwan hated scuffs and marks on his glasses. “when did you become such a hermit?”

seungkwan’s gaze followed your hands as they fell to the coffee table just before he met your eyes again. he chuckled lowly, “a lot has changed since you left.”

you shook your head. “it doesn’t seem like it. you’re still just as annoying as you were the day i left.”

“takes one to know one.” much to your annoyance, seungkwan promptly moved his hand up to ruffle your hair, his nose scrunching up in an infuriatingly endearing way. he took note of your scowl, snickering loudly in amusement as he quickly turned on his heel before you could swat his shoulder, “come along then! you were the one who was begging to go on a walk.”  

you followed after him with a huff, both of you slipping into your large coats and boots in alarming unison. before too long, you were asking yourself how it was possible for the weather to drop so significantly and so quickly. regardless, the two of you walked down the street shoulder to shoulder, each heavy breath you took visible in a cloud of smoke.

seungkwan glanced at you in his peripheral vision once you’d linked arms with him, snickering, “is this what you wanted?”

“yes,” you replied curtly. you tried to ignore the soreness in your back caused by the hunching of your shoulders. in your defense, cold weather ruined your posture. with your free hand, you tugged your jacket closer to your chest in desperation. it wasn’t even winter yet, why was it so freezing?

“okay,” seungkwan mused, unconvinced. he let out a quiet huff of his own before scooting closer to you and keeping both hands in his pockets. “where are you taking me, anyways?”

“don’t sound too enthusiastic,” you replied. unfortunately, you hadn’t thought this far ahead. while you scoped out the area in hopes of finding a place to relax and forget about the rest of the world, you completely forgot about the loose crack in the pavement and tripped over your own feet. your hold on seungkwan’s arms loosened as you fell forward a few steps, causing your best friend to burst into a fit of laughter.

“phew! that never gets old,” he cackled, throwing his head back as he moved a hand to clutch at his chest.

you were less than amused, stepping forward to grab his forearms in hopes of grounding yourself. “you’re the worst, seungkwan.”

“you know you love me.” it was a miracle that seunkgwan was able to get the words out, considering the laughs that persistently fell from his lips. it was a deep fit of laughter too, one that rumbled from his chest and had his shoulders hunched over as he tried in desperation to catch his breath.

“oh my god. was it really that funny?” you asked incredulously. your lips twitched in order to hold back an amused smile; it wasn’t the situation in and of itself that you found humorous, only seungkwan’s reaction. his endearing laugh and beam, the redness in his cheeks, the light in his eyes..

once he had composed himself enough to stand up straight, he let a few more faint chuckles escape from his lips as he wiped his eyes. “uh, man. i guess it's because i haven’t seen you do it in a long time. i forgot how stupid you looked.”

your eyes went wide as you linked arms with him again, scoffing. “how could you laugh at such a delicate subject for me?” you teased. “i still have the scars to prove it.

“besides, you have no room to talk. you’re the one who couldn’t make it halfway through the monkey bars.”

seungkwan stopped dead in his tracks, prompting you to do the same. you couldn’t hold back a loud snicker once you took in the deadpanned expression he wore, signaling that he took offense. “come on. that’s a completely different issue.”

your hold on his arm loosened once again as you burst into a loud fit of laughter, shaking your head. “no it isn’t! you looked like an idiot hanging there lifeless on the rails.”

as your laughter only grew louder, seungkwan did everything he could to keep a level head. He kept his chin up, taking a step forward with his eyes narrowed. “whatever. i’ve come a long way since then.”

“oh yeah?” you challenged him. “prove it.”

seungkwan stopped in his track once again in favor of turning towards you with furrowed eyebrows. “what are you talking about?”

you paused, scoping out your surroundings as you cupped your chin with your thumb and index finger. pretending to be deep in thought, of course. you spun in a slow circle until your eyes landed on the desired target: the nearest playground. it was completely empty, perfect for seungkwan to showcase his so called newfound talents. 

without answering, you grabbed onto seungkwan’s forearm and forced his hand out of his jacket pocket. once your fingers were laced with his, you booked it towards the playground in question. seungkwan stumbled a little bit but followed your lead, laughing in disbelief, “hey, would you slow down for a second? god-”

once the familiar, run down monkey bar stand came into view, you came to a sudden and full stop. seungkwan nearly tripped over his own feet again, much to your amusement, but you were quick to brush it off and fall to the ground in a cross-legged position. “go on,” you encouraged him, gesturing dramatically towards the stand with a malicious grin.

he cocked his head to the side as he studied you with an amused smirk. you only responded with a raised eyebrow, the two of you silently communicating, waiting for the other to crack. much to your relief, it was seungkwan who finally broke the silence with a loud groan of annoyance, “fine. whatever makes you feel better.”

you clapped your hands in excitement and watched him walk pitifully towards the monkey bars. he ignored your cheers of encouragement as he climbed up the small ladder and reached both hands out to grip on the first rail, falling forward instantly. but much to your surprise, he kept his grip firm. “seung-kwan, seung-kwan, seung-kwan,” you chanted rhythmically, clapping your hands between each loud cheer. 

it felt like he made it to the middle of the stand in the blink of an eye. he took a moment to glance over at you with a prideful smirk once he’d reached his former stopping point. “ha! see?” he called out to you.

“you haven’t finished anything yet, go on!” you ignored the crisp, chilling winds that grew more intense by the second, focusing all of your intention on seungkwan instead. you could still see the faint cloud of vapor escaping his lips with every breath he took and you had to hand it to him- the fact that he was able to do this with such determination and focus was impressive. “go on, you’re so so close!”

suddenly, you began to wonder if he’d started working out more consistently since the two of you parted ways. he only paused for a second or two between movements, save the long-ish break in the middle to gloat. he kept his knees bent the entire time too, so his feet wouldn’t touch the ground and assist him in his endeavors. towards the end he began to huff louder, unwilling to showcase his growing tiredness. 

you, however, never got tired of encouraging him. “you got this! just a little further…there you go…” just then, your loud cheer nearly startled seungkwan enough to let go of the bars to fall to the ground rather than swing his feet towards the other ladder. 

after making sure you were able to clearly witness him roll his eyes, he climbed down and plopped down on the ground next to you with a loud sigh. “satisfied?” he asked, letting his back fall against the long brown grass.

“more than satisfied.” you smirked in his direction before mirroring his lying position with a sigh of content. your hands laid comfortably on your stomach as the two of you stared up at the stars in comfortable silence. “i’ve missed this,” you muttered without thinking. 

seungkwan paused, contemplating the gravity of those three words. he didn’t know how to tell you that he never knew true loneliness until you left town. that there was a pang of resentment towards you because of it, one that couldn’t be so easily disposed of. even once the relief that came with the knowledge that you were there to stay set over him. “me too,” he whispered. “me too.”  

you smiled upon hearing his agreement, and the two of you lay in comfortable silence once again. you studied the sky for any familiar constellations, the stars shining like diamonds that night in particular. maybe it was something within the sentimentality of the night with seungkwan and sehun that brought so much more beauty to the sky above. or maybe.. it was because it had been forever since you took a moment to simply look up.

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stay tuned for part two, coming soon >:)