#KeyPress

[greenteawarlock]

WIZARD, OR WARLOCK?

Let's talk terminology, if you'll allow this humble moth a moment of your time.

Sorcerer, witch, mage, conjurer, enchantress: these--and many myriads more--are the terms used to describe various practitioners of, to use the broadest possible term, "magic".

In casual conversation, such terms are often bandied about with little regard for the appropriateness of their use in a given specific case. To some extent, this is harmless: after all, who among us hasn't borrowed from a set of magical practices outside of our own usual wheelhouse?

(In practice, it seems to me that in rolling up our sleeves and delving into the Mysteries Arcane and Bizarre, we are grafting another piece of occult handiwork onto a larger patchwork quilt that is an individual's diverse corpus of fantastical deeds far more often than we could be said to be carving out yet another contour of one's personal monolith of a mystical career, consisting only of strict practice within one magical discipline. It's a tired bit, but I'm sure even the most transmutation-obsessed alchemists have learned Mend Buttcrack for the sake of a laugh. And before you tell me you haven't, just know I won't believe you.)

That said, I have seen a carelessness recently in how practitioners use these terms in more professional arcane circles, which worries me. I may just be yelling into the void again, but I feel like I can't be the only one who's a little bit concerned about this.

In essence, the problem as I see it is about getting people who need magic to the right practitioner.

Sure, as a seasoned (and delicious) warlock, I can inscribe some flame-bursting runes on your Real Sword, or slap together a Draught of Uncontrollable Glottal-Stopping to slip into the punch bowl for a good office-party prank. But really, you'd be better seeing an enchanter for the sword, and an apothecary for the Draught if you want either to pack their most spectacular punch.

That preamble out of the way, I figured I'd at least outline the basics of what distinguishes a warlock from other practitioners of the mystic arts, in hopes that such an explanation will make it easier to find the right type of caster for your needs.

Thankfully, when it comes to warlocks, there's really just one main thing you need to know:

✨It's All In The Name, Baybee✨

We warlocks are referred to as such primarily because of how we get our magical powers.

Popular media--especially a certain tabletop roleplaying game--usually depicts warlocks as accessing power through a pact with some sort of otherworldly, innately magical entity or denizen. In the broadest sense, this is not strictly untrue.

However, in contrast to your conventional pen-and-paper "warlock," the vast majority of warlocks you'll encounter do not Get Shit Done because we stuck to an agreement, carrying out a patron's bidding in obedience to an oath hither and thither in the manner of some sort of mindless Paladin. (Eugh.)

No, warlocks are distinguished not by the keeping of oaths and honoring of pacts, but by the breaking of them.

For some, it's screwing over a spirit; for others, it's wire fraud against a djinni, or pulling a grift over on a geist. (For my part, it began when I reneged on a deal with a lawn gnome.)

(You do get the odd "made a deal and now Daddy Lucifuge doms me in our little Pocket Hell, with ballgags, leather, and the whole nine yards," here and there in accordance with the stereotype, but that tends to be the exception to the rule. Not every Talented And Gifted Submissive Brat With A Praise Kink And A Grimoire is a warlock. Summoning just tends to lend itself naturally to horny pursuits 🤷. Not much else to say about it other than be Safe, Sane, and Consensual and have a safeword. And that unless your apothecary specifies otherwise, you probably need a Potion of Unburning and lube. Fire resistance ≠ can't get friction burns.)

It's important to note that it's also not just about one broken deal: a wizard can give a devil a raw deal for services rendered, and still be best described as a wizard. A dick move here or there won't make you a warlock.

We warlocks have built our careers on chicanery. Warlocks exploit loopholes as well as the most underhanded demon-lawyers of the Hells, and play with the rules and linguistic representations that govern the twisting of realities alongside the craftiest among the fae.

The above probably sounds like I'm just trying to talk up myself and colleagues in my field, but these stereotypically infamous deal-makers and tricksters are some of the entities we take power or influence from on a regular basis, since a devil or fae looking to make a deal is usually not at all uncommon.

(Those of you who are more versed in such matters may be wondering, "Doesn't that make warlocks kind of like Asshole Sorcerers, since sorcerers are generally about conjuring and working with spirits?" And, I mean, kind of? But as much as I respect my sorcerer colleagues, you wouldn't want to go to one of them to do a warlock's job: we specialize in Fine Print Fuckery and surviving/getting results out of impossible situations through trickery. A sorcerer commands or entices to get results, whereas a warlock manipulates and exploits underlying conditions to achieve their goals.

It's similar to the relationship between how squares and rectangles are defined: all warlocks are at least sort of sorcerers, whereas most sorcerers aren't warlocks at all.)

As such, "warlock" is not a title you claim for yourself after learning to cast on a certain level of complexity: it is an epithet you earn your way into having thrown at you by making and breaking deals with entities of successively greater influence and guile until it sticks, metaphysically speaking. We may not be as studied as most wizards, or as powerful as your average archmage, but if you get good enough at the art of oath-breaking, you'll be punching well above your weight pretty damn quickly.

Eventually, so many different beings will have conflicting IOUs for your soul that none of them will be able to collect without fighting with the others over you first, so most just don't bother. Besides, they're often wary of the fact that most warlocks worth their salt will have bargained for protection from something particularly nasty. And you'd better bet we keep those deals--most of the time.

If you're a wizard--or some other type of caster, for that matter--feel free to add how you define your work in a reblog.

[evg]

in so deep into modding sims 3 that I made a script to mass change 2000 cc files' hex header 😭😭😭😭😭

[dailyrazordoodle]

day 120: nightwind horn

[ammonitetestpatterns]

"A good working assumption is that the NSA can read any message that it chooses, but that it cannot read all messages that it chooses. The NSA is limited by resources, and has to pick and choose among its various targets. Another good assumption is that they prefer breaking knuckles to breaking codes; this preference is so strong that they will only resort to breaking codes when they wish to preserve the secret that they have read the message."

[irradiate-space]

the "Zero" in "Raspberry Pi Zero W" stands for "zero megahertz"

[epicdogymoment]

hands in the air victoriously. transfer basically done

[deerest-me]

probably my last year of spotify wrapped since i have pretty much transitioned to an mp3 and cd library, but these are always fun

also, look at this lmao

[the-wolf-lady]

I finally beat Hassian's score

[junkmailmusubi]

I JUST PURE PERFECTED CREDITS??????????

THST WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN?!?!??!?!?!??

???? ANYWAY SCREW THE SPIKY LADDER. WE BALL

[shadowblade8192]

i use this

(used to use a discord server but then i found out about this when i got a steam deck)

i do also keep that old server around for an emoji server cause i have fakenitro on vencord

does anybody else have a discord server thats only yourself and nobody else exclusively used to send images from your mobile phone to your tablet or computer

[appleonjust-ice]

maybe i should invest in a nice keyboard and be done with it

[theskyexists]

The funny thing is, all I'm doing right now is make a versatile and good feeling movement system with choices that make sense and will hopefully make the player feel like moving around is fun and then if you actually go onto the Roblox platform you either get games in which you walk at absolute snails pace forever or reasonably nice movement locked behind 1000 level grinding and these are the extremely popular games.

[sed-official]

im good! was just eating dinner (chicken and pasta), and have had a great rest day today with my dogs. i did nothing of note! yippee!

how are you?

echo -n "meo" && while [ 1 ]; do echo -n "w"; done

- @sed-official

MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

hi sed how are you

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Stupid | Wooyoung [NSFW]

Jung Wooyoung - ATEEZ)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~10.2k

Pairing: Wooyoung x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Actual Plot, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Comfort

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: Hm, just thought I would do this since I made something similar for San.

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

The only sound you can hear is your own aggressive keypresses. You’d paused your music to go to the bathroom and hadn’t bothered hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blur and refocus, and you blink, trying to force your eyes to not blur again. Sighing, you push back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you get back up. It’s really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts are racing; and the thoughts have nothing to do with your job. The last thing you need the day before a project is due is to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thump on the wood floor of your hallway as you go down it. Your sister’s door is propped open, so you quietly open the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls casts a faint flow over the room. She’s starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Hugging, you step out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen... Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exit the hallway and go into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment includes the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room is in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sits across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you know it’s just full of boxes of old things. Someday you’ll have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio as an office or something, but…

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shuts, and your eyes focus in the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture is of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covers the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yank the photography from the magnet clip and slap the picture on the counter. The pitcher follows and as you grab a glass, you pluck the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grab the photo. Holding it up, you realize it’ll make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood on to see better, but you continue in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halt. The line splits the man’s pants from the shoulder of the little girl’s white sundress; she’s no more than four… She’s sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It’s weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handled scissors clatter onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drink the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it’s gone like it’s some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanks into the sink, and you leave the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reenter, you yank the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and go back to your computer. Your chair lets out a puff of air when you plop down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flip your phone over, so the screen faces up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble shows itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you open your message app and sniff at the message in annoyance.

🦊WooWoo🦊: did you get it done?

He’d sent it nearly an hour prior. You glare at your computer screen, then to the second monitor, the program running over and over, glitching at the same time stamp each time.

☀️: not even close 🦊: why are you up young lady ☀️: why are you?

He doesn’t reply right away so you look back at your computer, clicking your tongue. Hitting save and closing the window, you instead open up a new email and send one to your coworker that it might not get there by tomorrow night but that you’ll try. It’s not a hard deadline anyway. You work for an Indie label, not some AAA, so that gives you some flexibility. Closing the window, you stare at your background for a good few minutes, waiting for Wooyoung to reply. The picture used to make you smile, but it hurts your heart. San’s cute dimple smile, and his arm around you makes you wince. Wooyoung’s on your other side, his cheek pressed into the side of your head as he hugs you. You’re leaning into San, trying to escape the other man’s embrace, at least that was your excuse… The picture is getting close to five years old.

🦊: games 🦊: why are you up ☀️: working. thinking 🦊: about? ☀️: how shit I feel 🦊: you sick??

You roll your eyes; he isn’t super intuitive sometimes. It’s almost 2:30 in the morning though.

☀️: no. how shitty my life is now compared to back then…

Once again, he takes a bit to reply, and you almost get up to use the restroom before going to bed. Your phone then buzzes on the desk, the noise even louder going through the wood, and you grab it quickly, answering the call.

“Your life isn’t shitty (Y/N). I’m here, huh?” His giggle is forced. You just huff, getting out of your desk chair to move to your bed.

“Livin’ the dream.”

“What’s it this time? Your…da- uh, male-life-giver?” His little catch at least makes the corner of your mouth crook up.

“Yeah.”

“How’s (S/N)?”

“Good, I guess. She…she was a bit too young to really remember either of them.”

“Even if she doesn’t, it can’t be easy with…how it all played out.” He’s trying to be careful with what he says, but you’re already in a bad mood.

“Our dad cheating, leaving us for his second family and then my mother…” You thought tears would come to your eyes, but maybe you’re too tired.

“Where do you think she went?” Your best friend’s voice is soft.

“No clue. Neither did Gramma, or the cops. She could be in Timbuk-fucking-tu for all I know.”

“Do you want to go out tomorrow with me and San? Or do you have to work?” Before you can answer, your phone buzzes, and you pull it away from your ear. Opening the email from your coworker, you sigh in relief. Perfect timing.

“Not anymore. The character models are getting scrapped and redone so that means my code has to be scrapped. Might be why I can’t get it to move right.”

“What about (S/N)?”

“She’s thirteen not three. I’ll have her sleep over at a friend’s maybe…”

“Great! Get some sleep, sunshine. Meet us at 9!” He hands up and you flop back onto your mattress, feeling disappointed for some reason. Finally working up the energy to get off the bed, you go back to your computer and shut it down, staring at San’s smiling face a little too long, before letting it actually turn off.

~TωT~

“Good morning, little lady.” You leave the hallway, sandals in your hand. Your sister sends you a tired look over her cereal, waving lazily.

“G’mornin’.”

“Do any of your friends get to have sleep overs on school nights?” Her eyes open a bit wider then, then squint as she thinks.

“Uh…probably. Going out with-“ she gives a flirty pose, batting her eyelashes, “Sannie?” the drops the act.

“Wooyoung’s going too.”

“Oh. You ever gonna tell him?”

“Tell San I like him? I don’t know…”

“San? Oh, yeah, right… Why not?” You don’t answer right away, pouring a glass of juice.

“You’re gonna turn into an orange.” Your sister rolls her eyes, and you pour just a bit more before putting the pitcher back down.

“I just… I don’t think I stand a chance.”

“What?! Why?!” Your sister acts like you’ve personally offended her. Even before your whole messed up parental situation, you two never bickered or anything. Probably because you’re nearly thirteen years older than her.

“I’m not his type. He probably sees me as a sister. Also, he looks like that,” You motion down at your white tank and a think blue plaid shirt over, and worn denim capris, “and I’m…”

“You better compliment yourself.” Your sister glares at you, making you sigh.

“He likes the girls in skirts with makeup and their nails done. The ones that giggle at everything he says and touch his bicep ‘accidentally’…” You drift off, getting mad at the mental pictures.

“Then do all that.” (S/N) shrugs, getting up to put her cereal bowl in the sink.

“Counter.” You correct and she rolls her eyes, taking the bowl out and moving it to the counter.

“(S/N), I don’t even own a tube of mascara.” You sigh, then proceed to down your orange juice again like it’s a stiff drink. Your throat burns and your stomach stings somewhat… maybe you do drink too much.

“Use mine.”

“What?” You turn fast to look at her and her eyes widen in panic.

“I only have mascara, I promise!” She lifts her hands in surrender, and you breathe out your nose hard. She’s only a year off being allowed make up, you at least want to maintain the rules your mother put on you with your sister. Even if a lot of them never had to truly be enacted on you.

“Look, I’m just going to go hang out with them and pretend one of my best friends isn’t sex on legs.”

“I’m pretty sure they both are, but okay…” (S/N) mutters under her breath as she passes you to go get her backpack and you pretend to not hear her.

~θɞθ~

“Bye, sis!” (S/N) gets out of the car and heads into her middle school. She’s one of the few who doesn’t mind being seen dropped off right in front of the school, but laid-back older sisters are much, much coolers than any parent.

“Just text me who you can stay with!” You call to her, and she turns around with a shocked face.

“Right! What about my bag? My locker’s not big enough!” She realizes, coming back to your rolled down window, leaning into it.

“I’ll bring it by after you club meeting is done.”

“Really?! Can you bring WooSan?”

“Don’t call them that!” You scold, but laugh nonetheless, “Sure.”

“Bye, sis!” She takes off again, meeting her similarly uniformed friends by the entrance. You’re blessed that the school was willing to take her in for free more-or-less on a scholarship. Your mother had wanted both of you to go to the same school, but it’s private, and you’re in no way capable of paying. If you were, you wouldn’t be driving a whine red 2002 Hyundai Sonata with suede upholstery. Pulling out of the drop-off line, you continue down the road till you meet the traffic light. It sits at the edge of the academy’s campus and the park where you’re meeting the guys is just past the light. As you wait for the light to turn, you tap your fingers on the steering wheel along to the music playing from your radio. The light takes even longer because the crossing guard is leading a group of elementary schoolers across. You’re watching them pass in their cute little uniforms when you’re startled by a knock on your window. You flinch, looking to see what looks to be a high school boy on the other side. You roll the slightly tinted glass down just enough that you’d be able to hear him. He flashes a smoldering smile, and you blatantly sneer.

“What, kid?”

“You obviously don’t go to school here, you from the public school?” How dumb is this kid? You haven’t been in high school for seven years. You have a college degree and everything. Most might take it as a compliment to be seen as looking young enough to be a teenager, but…

“Get lost, squirt.” You scoff, looking away but not bothering to roll the window back up. You’re a bit curious what his reaction will be.

“I might look young, but I’m a senior this year, princess.” He’s clearly a little put off by your flat dismissal, trying to keep a flirty tone.

“Fuck off, kid. She’s our princess.” A familiar voice hits your ears, and you sigh in relief, watching Wooyoung essentially hip bump the kid so hard he falls back onto the sidewalk. Your heart skips as you huff a laugh, watching San come up as well and unlock the doors so the two guys can climb in, right as the light turns green. San barely shuts the back door before you take off, leaving the teenager’s friends laughing at this sorry state. Crossing the median, you pull into the parking lot of the park and slump back into your set.

“Got your favorite~” San leans forward, toned arm hovering over the center console, holding a bag with one finger.

“Sweet!” You swipe it from him and Wooyoung gets out, running around to your side where the window is still rolled down.

“Hey, pretty lady, want to go make out behind the bleachers?” He leans against the side of your car just like the cocky teen had and you can’t help but laugh.

“Uh, no.” You wonder if he catches your glance in your rearview mirror to watch San get out of the car, holding the drink holder of ice coffees as well. You can’t meet his gaze though, and surprisingly, he doesn’t respond, just stands up and starts to follow San down the path.

“Hey, wait up!” You get out quickly, nearly forgetting your phone and to lock the car as you dash after them. Finally getting half-way around the pond that’s trying to be a lake, you sit on a picnic bench of the wooden shelter right on the edge of the water. Some ducks quack as they lazily swim closer, hoping for a snack. As you take a long sip of your ice coffee, you watch San get up and go closer to the ducks, a little bit of his croissant left. Your eyes can’t help but travel over the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. His arms are on display since he’s in a sleeveless hoodie, and you smile at him as the ducks happily eat the bread.

“That’s bad for them, y’know?” Wooyoung calls and the other man tosses him a bored look over his shoulder, then goes back to the birds. Because you’re too busy eying over your friend, you don’t notice Wooyoung watching you. He lifts half of his nose in a sneer, glaring at his friend who’s taking up all of your attention. Wooyoung wants to blame it on that San’s started working out since you’d all started being friends, but he’s not sure that’s it.

“Just fucking tell him.” He whispers harshly to you and his sudden mutter makes you choke. San immediately turns around, and you wave him off, but he still goes to your side, patting your back some to help.

“You okay?” He kneels next to you, and you nod, flashing a small smile, trying not to get red. Not like you can control it… Just then, something green flies through the air, flying past San’s head as he stands, and he’s toppled over by a mass of blonde fur.

“Jeremy, get off of him!” A young woman scolds the golden retriever as it refuses to get off of San, sniffing him and licking his face. Why am I jealous of a dog? You sigh, slumping back against the wood railing of the shelter.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Wooyoung’s next whisper is much softer, he sounds very tired.

“And get rejected? Ruin our friendship? No.” You whisper back, still watching the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. The dog is a fat mood, refusing to get off of San…

“I’m so sorry!” The woman finally manages to pull the dog off of the man and he gets up laughing. She immediately blushes, finally able to see San past all of the fluff. Looking away and down the path to where the green flying disk still lies you get up to retrieve is, since the dog failed its job.

“Here.” You force a smile as you hand it back to her and she snaps out of her daze to take it from you, immediately looking back to San. Luckily, she leaves not too longer after and you’re able to continue the day with the two guys.

~υ-υ~

A week passes, and you still haven’t been able to work because the rest of the team can’t get their act together and finish their parts. So, you’d been left to your thoughts which is never good. You sit on the couch, boredly and only partially watching the TV. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your hands lazily tap a rhythm on the worn faux leather of the couch. Tilting your head, it rests on the back of the couch, and you stare at the ceiling of your loft apartment, the large ventilation pipes curving around the support columns high above your head. When the doorbell rings you almost don’t recognize it, thinking it might have been on the show. It happens again and you know it’s yours because the TV now displays a commercial for some kind of sports drink. Getting up with a groan, you trudge over to the door, a young woman stands on the other side, and her face makes you nervous. She looks…

“Hi. Are you (Y/N)?” She smiles gently and you nod.

“I’m Jena Hwang. Can…can I come in?” When she says her last name, your heart falls. You know immediately who she is.

“Sure.” Your tone is flat, but since she doesn’t know you, it seems she doesn’t notice. You motion her in and toward the couch and you glance around your place. It isn’t messy, but it isn’t nice either. She’s in a sundress that’s at least $300, and she has a giant rock on her finger. You grimace as she sits on your very well-worn couch and you sit down as well, facing her by sitting sideways. She puts her designer bag down, linking her fingers and resting her hands on her knee, legs crossed.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but… I’m assuming you know Daniel Hwang?” You never wanted to hear that name again.

“Uh, yeah.” You shuffle on the couch, the faux leather creaking under you.

“I’m his daughter. I have to admit I was being a little…stalky?” She cringes at herself, smiling sheepishly.

“Dad is…well, he doesn’t have much longer.” When you don’t really react, she continues. On the inside, you’re just aren’t sure how to react.

“They don’t know if he drank too much when he was younger or what, but his liver is failing. He’s been on a transplant list, but they can’t find anyone compatible.” She better not have come to get you to give him half of your fucking liver-

“Anyway, I was looking over his will-“

“Where’s your mom?”

“Huh?”

“How…what about your mom?”

“Oh, uh…” She looked down, a sad expression covering her face.

“When he got sick, she left him, so I’m in charge of everything.” Rolling your eyes, you huff, looking toward the kitchen, focusing on the picture on the fridge you meant to cut up.

“Uh… Right, your name is on the will.” She pulls a packet of paper from her purse, showing you where your name is highlighted. You don’t even care what he’s leaving you, so you hand it back.

“I don’t want it.”

“O-oh…if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” You raise an eyebrow, and she wilts under your glare.

“You don’t know?”

“No, sorry.” She hides bashfully behind the papers, “are we cousins or something?” You just stare at her in shock.

“No offense, but it’s a bit weird to have a niece in your will when you have four kids?”

“Look, if you want my part, have it.”

“No! That’s not… Actually, the reason I’m really here is-“ She pulls something else out of her bag and you recognize it.

“Dad kept saying the name Naomi.” You stand up at this and she flinches. You pace a bit, hands going to your head, fingers digging into your scalp. Breathing out slowly, you turn back to her.

“Sorry…keep going, I’m just…struggling with this.” She seems a bit unwilling to continue without asking anything, but she does so as you sit back down. Your ire is evident, you’re sure.

“Um…well, I can’t figure out who she is, so I looked in his yearbook. He’s…” She flips to the middle of the book, “with a girl named Naomi.” She shows you the page, but you already know it. High School Sweethearts reads in the flowery script over the picture of your parents.

“But when I looked her up, I can’t find anything.” Of course not. You never could either.

“So, I used Google’s new AI search with this picture, and I found a woman…” You hadn’t gone that far, still not really trusting any kind of program claiming to be AI. She pulls out another paper from her bag and shows it to you. It’s an article about some town’s mayor on the other side of the country, and the caption lists the woman next to him as his wife. It’s your mother… But her name is wrong.

“It says her name is Carry, but that looks like the same woman, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Maybe they’re sisters? Twins even? I know it’s a long shot, but do you have her contact information? Even if they broke up soon after high school, maybe she’d be willing to see him since he’s dying…” As soon as you see her face on the paper, your anger leaves, and you’re holding back tears.

“I don’t…but-“ you take a shuddering breath, “uh, I don’t think she’ll go see him.”

“Really?” She deflates a bit, and you look down at your lap, picking at your torn jeans.

“Uh. No. She’s…Okay, I’m in the will because I’m…your sister. Those are my parents. She’s my mother.” This information floors her, her jaw literally dropping. Sniffing hard, you hate crying, let alone in front of essentially a stranger.

“How old are you?” Your question snaps her back, making her flinch.

“T-twenty.” Of course.

“Dad…He uh, left us and mom for…you guys. The mom fucking snapped or broke or whatever and left us too.” You look at the printed off article, at your mother’s smiling face next to some man you’ve never seen or heard of before. This shocks her even further. You give her the article back and stand, moving to the door.

“Uh, take me out of the will or whatever and just leave us alone please. Thank you.” You open your front door, not able to look at her.

“U-us?”

“Ah… (S/N). My thirteen-year-old sister.” This must really make this Jena girl realize why you’re acting the way you are. It isn’t that your father left your mother then fathered her, he had both families at the same time.

“M-my brother is twelve…” Reality is hitting her.

“Great. That sucks for everyone, please leave.” You motion with your arm for her to get out and as soon as she shuffled out into the hallway, you let the door fall closed. Your shoulder hits the wall, and you slump to the floor, hot tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your chest heaves as you sob, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Fuck!” You scream, grabbing a cheap ceramic bowl you use for change and chuck it across the room. It hits the column behind your TV and shatters, coins clattering onto the floor in its trail. You bury your face in your hands, breathing harshly, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. It buzzes again a few minutes later, then again. Again.

“Damnit.” You get up, storming over to your phone, looking at it. It’s the group chat, Wooyoung and San are talking about doing something the next day, some kind of lawn game competition at the community college. When they see you’re reading the messages but not replying, your phone rings with a call from Wooyoung.

“I know that we’re not in college anymore, but we can get away-“ You’d stopped crying more or less, but hearing his voice brings tears back to your eyes and you fight a sob.

“Are you crying? What happened?”

“U-um…” You swallow hard, a lump rising in your throat along with the tears.

“I’ll be there in five…six minutes!” He hangs up and you let the device fall onto the couch. Your shoulders fall as you stand in the middle of the main room of your place, glaring at the coffee table’s scratched surface. A tear falls onto the plywood, then another. Snapping out of your daze when hard knocks pound on the door, you only get hallway to the door before he opens it, finding it unlocked.

“(Y/N)?” Seeing the concerned look of your best friend makes you feel safe and so your self-erected walls fall. He shuts the door as he moves forward, catching you in his arms as you shrivel to the floor. Wooyoung holds you tighter as you cry, desperate sobs and whimpers muffled as you press your face into his chest. Your tears darken the red fabric of his sweatshirt, and he adjusts your position, so you sit on the floor, legs over one of his, cheek pressed to his collarbone. A tear of his own falls and mixes with yours on your jaw, but you don’t notice it. He doesn’t know what happened that wrecked you so badly, but he can’t stand hearing and seeing you so upset. He even hates it if you cry at a movie.

“What happened, sunshine?” His embrace loosens so you can sit up straighter, tears still falling, but you aren’t actively sobbing. Wooyoung cups your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear from your eye. You have to take several deep breaths through the story, but you manage to tell him what happened.

“M-my mother’s alive, Wooyoung.” Your voice has quieted so much at the end, but he still hears the pain.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, come here.” He stands, helping you get up and he leads you over to the couch. He grabs your phone, and you rest back on the couch as he easily puts in your pin code without having to ask what it is. You listen half-heartedly as he calls your sister, most likely just getting out of class, about to go to her art club meeting.

“Again? Is this going to be weekly? I think I can stay with Amanda, maybe Emily…” You hear (S/N) sigh, “what about my stuff?”

“Can’t you manage with borrowing?” Wooyoung casts you a glance, your forearm over your eyes.

“I guess. What’s wrong with (Y/N)?”

“She’s just really struggling with something.”

“What?”

“Adult stuff.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, uh-huh.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, little lady.”

“You better take good care of her Mr. Jung.”

“I will Miss Hwang.” He hangs up and puts your phone back down. You feel the couch shift when he stands up, then feel his body heat as he kneels on the floor next to you. Wooyoung gently removes your arm from your face, and you turn to look at him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He sighs, hand going to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red skin of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

“C-can you call San? And we can watch a movie? Get Indian food?” You aren’t sure how to read Wooyoung’s expression. He seems to be thinking, but then he forces a smile and nods.

“Sure, princess.” Wooyoung stands and presses a long kiss to your forehead, and you blame your turbulent emotions on your racing heart.

~σ-σ~

About two weeks later, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the number you’ve plugged into your phone. You haven’t pressed call yet, the non-local area code of the number glaring at you. It’s a long shot, but you hope calling the mayor’s office might get you somewhere. You’ve been stalling for a long time, his office will only be open for another hour thanks to the time difference. Your sister is getting annoyed with you having her stay the night at a friend’s place, but luckily, she has a slumber party she’d been invited to. The sun is starting to set, and you finally work up the courage to hit call, then turn it onto speaker, at 5:57. It’s probably around 3 there…

“Mayor Elledge’s office, this is Peg.”

“Hi, uh, Peg. I’m… I’m trying to get in contact with Carry Elledge, but I’m not sure how to get ahold of her…” The silence scares you, worried that the woman might be too suspicious to help you.

“May I ask who you are?”

“I’m…a relative. It’s about…my father’s will.” Please work…

“I see… I can get you her cellphone number.” The secretary relents and you sigh in relief, thanking her several times. Typing the number she give you into your notes app, you politely end the conversation and go to call the other number while you still have the courage to do so.

Ring… Ring… Ring-

“Hello, this is Carry?” It’s your mom, no doubt. Tears well in your eyes and you swallow, voice coming out softer than normal to keep from crying.

“M-mom? It’s me. It’s (Y/N).” More silence.

“I think you might have the wrong number, dear.” You feel your face fall, your brow furrowing, your lip trembling.

“This isn’t Naomi Hwang?”

“No, dear, sorry.” There isn’t any kind of recognition in her voice, but it’s hers.

“O-oh…okay, sorry.” The call ends and you press your lips hard together, jaw clenching. What the hell happened? You sit trying to wrap your head around everything, about thirty minutes passing, and your phone stars to ring. It’s a different number, but it’s the same area code as the other two.

“H-hello?”

“Are you the young woman looking for Naomi Hwang?” A man speaks, and you wonder if it’s the mayor guy.

“Yessir.”

“You must be (Y/N).”

“What the hell happened to my mother?” Your tone doesn’t have nearly as much malice as you wanted. Even if this guy did nothing wrong, you hate him. He sighs. He explains that he found her near death in an alleyway. She was malnourished and dehydrated. He got her to the hospital, she had been in a medically induced coma for a few days, and when she woke up…she didn’t remember anything.

“So, she has no idea about her past life?”

“No, miss.”

“Thank you for…not letting her die.”

“I’m sorry to not be of more help Miss (Y/N). Though, I don’t think it’s good for her to be reminded of her past life. I called because she is…having a panic attack. Maybe it was your voice, some part of her recognized it maybe? It’s clear she’s traumatized from her past. I think it’s best if you leave her be.” You don’t want to. You want to get in your car, grab your sister, and drive for the three or four days you need, and get your mother. But… she isn’t your mother anymore, even if she does remember you, it’s clear her brain is hiding you and your sister.

“I…Okay. If you want to know, Daniel Hwang is dying.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate you wanting to reach out, but I’d like you to lose our numbers.”

“Yessir.” He hangs up. Your body must’ve ran out of tears along with your energy because you just slump back into the couch. Something rises in your then, something bold. Grabbing your bag, phone and keys, you leave your place, heading for Wooyoung and San’s.

~₸v₸~

As you ride the elevator to the third floor, you’re shaking. Whether it’s nerves or pure exhaustion you aren’t sure. Going down the hall, you hear voices further down and you finally see the owners as you turn the corner. San’s standing at this apartment door, some bleach blonde girl wedged between him and the door. You aren’t sure how to feel, your emotions are too turbulent. Somehow, it feels like your heart finally completely shatters, but you’re also relieved, but the latter makes you mad. You turn and flee before you can see his lips actually meet hers.

~ę×ę~

“(Y/N)?” You hear your name through the door, then Wooyoung’s rapid knocks. You’re slumped against the island counter, hands stinging and bleeding, shards of glass and ceramic scattered around the room. Tissue paper and packing peanuts are strewn about the main room of the apartment as well, old papers and books torn and discarded. Splinters of wood from broken frames and dismembered toys litter the floor as well, and you run your thumb over a glass paper weight shaped like a cat.

“(Y/N)?!” Wooyoung jiggles the door handle harder, but it’s locked. A red smear follows your thumb on the glass cat, the cuts on your palms still oozing blood.

“Damnit, (Y/N) Hwang! Open the fucking door, I know you’re in there.” He’s panicking, you can hear it in his voice.

“Fuck off.” You sigh, throwing the glass piece as hard as you can, and it hits the far wall. The ear chips of and breaks, the finish over the brick wall flaking off, then it clatters to the floor.

“(Y/N), please princess, let me in.” You hear a thump, presumably his forehead hitting the door. You lick your lips, the salt of your tears hitting along with the iron tang of blood. You aren’t sure if it’s from where you’d bitten your lip or the cut on the tip of your nose.

“(Y/N)… Please, I need to see you, sweet girl. Please let me know if you’re okay.” You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late, only the light of the storage room flowing into the room from the door. Your phone had been going off, and you hated the final message you saw on it, so you chucked it across the room as well, breaking it instantly. The place is a mess, and you’re grateful your sister isn’t home to see your breakdown.

“Go away, Wooyoung.” Your voice is hoarse after your crying, but the door is thin, and you know he hears.

“Not a fucking chance, (Y/N).”

“Just…just let me be alone.”

“No! Open the door, damn it!”

“Go home.”

“Shit. (Y/N) open the freaking door or I’m coming up the fire escape!” You know he means it. You get up, not bothering to be careful of what you step on, only wincing slightly as a speck of glass wedges in your foot, joining other scrapes and cuts already present. Shakily, you undo the door chain, and he must hear you turn the deadbolt and unlock the doorknob, because he opens the door before you can. He gasps, looking at your face, pale but red from smeared blood of the small cuts on your face. He looks at your hands too, and the bloody footprints on the floor…

“Oh, my god, (Y/N).” Wooyoung shuts the door, dropping his backpack and cupping your face with his hands. They’re cold from being out in the early autumn night and you don’t even react when he does so. Wooyoung lifts your head so you can look at him and his brow furrows in despair at the blank look in your eyes. Finally, he looks around the room in the low light, shocked at the carnage.

“I called her.” You manage to get out and he looks back at you, confused.

“Mom. I looked up the mayor guy’s office number and called. She didn’t… She didn’t know who I was. Her husband called and told me she had some kind of amnesia after he found her. Then he told me never to try again. So, I…” you lick your lips, “then I…I decided and went to your place. San was taking some blonde bitch into the apartment.” Your breath shudders and his shoulders slump.

“(Y/N)-“

“I…I went to the store, but they were out of Cayman Jacks. The Indian place down the street closed early. The pizza place was out of white sauce… I grabbed some random food from the convenience store and then when I got home… I got a text from that Jena girl, my half-sister,” you spit, “dad’s dead.”

“(Y/N), sunshine, you must… What can I do?” He steps closer, one hand leaving your face to grab your hand. You flinch at the sting, and he holds your hand up to see the cuts in the skin. It looks like you have a few splinters as well.

“Help me clean this mess?”

“I’ll just do it, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

~

He picks a few splinters out of your hands and feet, then sends you off to shower. Wooyoung vows to work on the mess more later, maybe even get Seonghwa’s help, but he deals with the dangerous stuff first. He’s shoved and/or swept all the debris into a big pile in the ravaged storage room, leaving the mess for another time. After carefully picking up all the sharp shards and splintered wood, he vacuums to make sure everything is picked up. He glances up when you shuffle out of the hallway, a towel draped over your wet hair, a soft light-weight grey sweater draped over your torso, and a darker grey pair of shorts nearly hidden by the shirt. Your head is bowed, hands and feet red and he shuffles over to lead you to the couch.

“Did you use soap?”

“Mm… Conditioner stung.” You sit, and he pulls your hands into his lap so he can look them over.

“I’ll help you with these.” He lets your hands go and then his own go to the towel on your head, gently rubbing it over your hair, then scrunching the strands with the fabric to get more of the water out. Gently he lays it around your neck and shoulders, so the still damp strands don’t drip on your shirt. When Wooyoung returns with your first aid box from the bathroom, you’re still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at a spot on the couch. Sighing, he goes back to you and neither of you say anything as he smears ointment on the cuts. He goes ahead and just wraps some bandages around your right hand since it’s so cut up, but puts band aids on the other. Wooyoung does the same with your feet, and you don’t even flinch even though you’re usually ticklish there. As he finishes some other little tidying things, you run your finger over the chipped nails of your opposite hand, the polish flaking and cracked as well even though (S/N) only painted them two days prior.

“(Y/N), look at me.” He prompts and when you don’t, he gently lifts your head with his finger under your chin.

“I’m so sorry, princess, that your…about your mom. And your father. But with San-“

“It was a stupid thought. I don’t know why I got the courage to go.” You try to look away, but he forces you back to look at him, thumbs stroking your cleaned face. The little cuts have already pretty much closed, and he leans forward and presses a small kiss on the scratch on the tip of your nose.

“It’s not stupid, (Y/N). Neither are you; he is.” You huff a wry laugh, but he shakes his head.

“No, he is. He’s a fucking idiot. You wanna know why?”

“Yeah, why?” You pull both of your legs up under you, leaning with you side into the back of the couch, head resting on the back cushion.

“Any man who doesn’t fall in love with you after knowing you is an idiot. I think I’m the only smart person there is.” Wooyoung shakes his head, throwing the band-aid wrappers onto the coffee tables. It takes your tired brain a bit to process what he’s said, but you still barely have the energy to snap your head up to look at him.

“What?”

“You’re looked at him like he’s hung the damn moon for like two years, but you’re still like a sister to him or something. Fucking stupid.”

“You…fell in love with me?”

“Yes! And you’re an idiot for not noticing. That’s why I’m the only smart one.” He stands up to actually throw the wrappers away, using the task to flee since he’s flushed from his confession. He stands looking down into the nearly full trash for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do next. Before he can turn back to you, he feels your arms wrap around his middle from behind, your cheek pressing to his back. He isn’t very tall, one of the shortest in your friend group, but you’re small compared to even him. Normally your hugs have a great deal of strength in them, like you do as a whole, but he can feel your arms shaking around him.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot, Wooyoung.” Your voice is quiet, he feels it vibrate through him more than actually hearing it with his ears. He sighs.

“It’s…it’s fine. You can’t help how you feel any more than I can.” He lays his hand over your arm, gently prying you off of him, but pulling you back into him once he turns around. As he rests back against the island, you go with him, letting him hold you close. His fingers run through the drying strands of your hair, and you shuffle even closer when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I…My brain is too frazzled to give you a response right now, Woo. I…I want to tell you-“

“It’s fine, (Y/N). I’m not expecting anything back…”

“No, it’s… I can’t put emotions together right now, but I might like you back, but it could just be my subconscious looking for comfort.”

“Can I help? We can talk it out? What do you want me to do?”

“What do I want…?”

“Anything.” You pull back to look at him, looking over his face. He’s so freaking pretty, his longer black hair is pulled half-up, a few strands framing his face. The ends of the little strands brush over the beauty mark under his eye and your eyes flit to the small one he has on his lip. You bet most people don’t even know it’s there… Bringing your left hand up, your sleeve falls so it’s no longer hanging by your fingers, and your index finger runs over the small dot. You flinch when he quickly grabs your wrist, a little tighter than it maybe should be. He realizes this and loosens, sliding his thumb up to your palm.

“(Y/N). Be careful, sweetheart.” With his grip on your wrist, he pulls you closer.

“Anytime you’re close to me, I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I want to pin you to the nearest surface and…” He licks his lips, brow furrowing, “don’t let me do something you’ll regret because you’re weak now.” You grimace, looking down, stepping back from him.

“D-don’t…” Your breath shudders and he can tell you’re starting to cry again.

“Hey, hey.” He pulls you back in for a hug, “I will hold you as long as you want. I can lie on the couch, and you can lie on me. We can sleep there. We’ll watch that movie you like so much that your sister hates…” You sniff, nodding and he kisses the crown of your head before you pull back, and he leads you to the couch. Not even ten minutes later he’s stretched across the old couch, you nestled half on top of him, half between him and the back of the couch, the intro of The Last Unicorn playing on the TV. You normally don’t use a blanket on the couch, not unless you’re upset, so it’s wrapped around you, tucked under your chin.

“How did you know to come?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you come here?”

“Oh. (S/N) was freaking out because you weren’t answer any texts or video galls, and your phone was going straight to voicemail. I texted her that you broke your phone and that she doesn’t need to come home.” Like it feels left out, his phone buzzes, and he shifts to grab it from the coffee table. You sneakily glance and see that it’s from San.

🐯: where you at??

He just puts the phone down, but it buzzes not even a minute later.

🐯: is (Y/N) ok, or do I need to send Becca home and come over?

“You better not fucking come here.” Wooyoung huffs quietly, managing to use one hand and reply.

🦊: She’s fine now. Leave us alone.

“That’s harsh.”

“He broke your heart; I should be much worse.” He clicks his tongue, picking his phone up when it buzzes again on his stomach.

🐯: wtf you good? Are you mad?

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

“He’s calling.” You mumble, looking at his screen while he looks at the TV, trying to think of what to say. He angrily slides at the answer button, having to do it a second time for it to work.

“What?!” He nearly shouts into the phone, his even-louder-than-normal voice sharp in your ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Wooyoung brushes over your hair, “What?”

“Woah, dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Woo.” You scold, and that seems to make him even more mad.

“Is she okay?!” San must’ve not heard…

“Yes, you stupid- She’s fine. What do you want?”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No, you can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Just go…hang out with or in Becca or whatever-“ You smack his chest and he yipes.

“Did you make her upset; did you guys get into a fight?”

“No-“

“I’m coming over-“

“Damnit, no!”

“I don’t see why you fucking care, Choi San.” Something snaps in you, your last vestiges of rationale fizzling out. Wooyoung chokes around a laugh, quickly putting the call on speaker.

“N-(Y/N)?” He sounds like a whimpering puppy.

“Why are you trying to stuck up for me or defend me?”

“Y-you’re…you’re like my sister-“ Your fingers dig into Wooyoung’s shirt so hard, you scratched the skin underneath some, and you sit up, grabbing the phone.

“You know why I’m not okay? Huh? I found out my mom’s alive but doesn’t remember me or my sister. My dad is dead. I couldn’t get my favorite butter chicken, and the guy I like is at his place sucking face with some chick who looks like she can’t do basic addition. So, fuck off, San.” You hang up and slide Wooyoung’s phone away, so it lands on the coffee table, sliding just a bit further past where it lands. Huffing, you lay back down onto your other friend and continue to watch the movie. You both try to focus, but after a few minutes, you both burst into laughter, and it’s a good five minutes before you can fully calm down.

“I’m so fucking tired.” You rest your hand over your eyes, wedged between Wooyoung and the couch and he turns toward you, blocking your view of the TV.

“Do you feel better though?” He brushes your hair off your face, and you nod, nestling into the crook of his neck.

“Just sleep, sweetheart.” Wooyoung presses another kiss to your forehead, and you can’t help but listen.

~ųƐų~

You wake up sore, not sure if it’s from sleeping on your shitty couch or from the destruction you had wrecked on your apartment the night before. Wooyoung is still asleep, curled around you, and still so, so pretty. You assume he thinks that if you waited, you’d realize you’re just wanting him for comfort, not because you like him back. But, after sleeping on it, you aren’t so sure. Before, you really didn’t know if you like him back or not, but as you watch him sleep (feeling a bit creepy honestly) you think about it. When you first became friends, you had a pretty big crush on him. The closer you got, the more it seemed he got on your nerves, and he was just annoying and immature. But after graduating, you got much closer; he really is your best friend. You’re genuinely closer with Wooyoung than San, but you almost always hang out as the three of you. Could you have liked both, but chose San because you didn’t want to admit you’ve liked Wooyoung the entire time you’ve known him? Did he annoy you so much because you have feelings for him like some elementary age boy who pulls a girl’s hair, and says he hates her? Gently, so as not to wake him, you cup his jaw with your hands much like he had the day prior to you.

“Be careful, sweetheart.” He echoes the same words from the day before, not even opening his eyes.

“Why?” His eyes finally open, the intensity in his gaze taking your breath away. Wooyoung scoots an inch closer, pressing you further into the back cushions, his knee wedging between your legs. You gasp when he presses closer, finally feeling him against you.

“If you let me kiss you, I won’t stop there.” His lips hover over yours, tongue flicking out and running over your bottom lip as well as his.

“Then don’t.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m sure, Wooyoung. I thought about it, and yes, I have…had a crush on San. But that’s what it is, like a school crush. You’re right that I was stupid. I don’t love you because you’re my best friend, you’re my best friend because I love you. I’m in love with you.” Normally such flowery words make you cringe, but yours are genuine. He breathes out hard with his nose, brow furrowing, eyes flitting away from yours, down to your lips.

“That was part of the reason I was so upset last night. Yes, I felt heartbroken from seeing San with that girl, but I also felt horrible, because I wasn’t nearly as upset as I thought I’d be. I was just glad it wasn’t you with some bleach blonde bitch. After I found out about my mother…I was really glad you came over and not San.” Wooyoung can’t hold a giggle back, trying to keep his face serious, but he can’t.

“And I’m glad my sister called you, that you came.” You smile purely, but his turns into a smirk, the arm not under your head curling around you. You gasp when he slides the last little bit closer, hitching your leg over his hips and grinding his hardening cock into you.

“You have ten seconds to tell me to get off, otherwise I’m fucking you stupid on this couch.” You whimper at his words, hands leaving his face and resting on his shoulders. You buck your hips, causing him to let out a soft grunt.

“Stupid, huh?” You smirk back and you squeak when he rolls on top of you, soft lips capturing your chapped ones. The kiss isn’t gentle, his tongue quickly invading your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue, his strong thigh hitching hard against your mound. Sneaky hands sneak under the waist band of your shorts, fingers pressing hard into the flesh of your ass, pulling you up against him, feeling the outline of his dick against your tummy. Wooyoung pulls back from the kiss, letting you catch your breath, a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. He kneels over you, pulling his shirt off and chucking it across the room. You whimper, your won sneaky hands stroking over the skin of his chest and abs, when did he get so built?

“Up.” He orders, and you sit up just enough for him to pull your shirt off, along with your sports bra underneath.

“Fuck~!” You twitch as those sinful lips wrap around your nipple, teeth nibbling the peak before moving to the next, then up. Finally, his trail of kisses stop at your throat, and he sucks your skin between his teeth there. It’s too high to hide, and he works the skin nearly raw, leaving a large purple welt on your jaw.

“Ah!” You jerk under him when his hand dives under your shorts and panties, two fingers swiping through the slick of your folds.

“You’re already this wet for me, sweetheart?” Wooyoung chuckles in your ear, those two fingers not hesitating to plunge into you. The sudden intrusion takes your breath away, the slight burn leaves your head swimming. He only pumps the digits maybe twice before retracting his hand, and instead shoves his fingers in his own mouth.

“Oh, fuck~” He groans, climbing off of you, then shoves you up the rest of the way on the couch, landing on it with his stomach. Your shorts and pants fly through the air, joining the rest of your clothes and he throws your legs over his shoulders. Your skin feels like it catches on fire when his tongue wastes no time in wiggling inside your cunt. It’s long and he knows how to work it, his nose brushing your clit as he drank from you like a thirsty dog.

“Woo-Wooyoung, god~!” Your breath hitches, legs twitching around his head, that deft tongue leaving your core to circle your clit, those two fingers sinking into your heat once more. He pulls back, licking his lips, spread into a sinful grin.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart~” He groans, crooking his fingers up hard, battering your weak spot.

“W-w-wait!” Your orgasm is coming on fast, and his fingers keep up their antics as he lays over you again, nose nuzzling behind your ear.

“Cum for me, princess.” He licks over the crest of your ear, and he chuckles breathily as your cunt clenches and spasms around his fingers, their wiggling spurring your orgasm along. You shudder and heave as he pulls them out, and you flinch when the slick pad of his index finger lowers, swirling over your pucker.

“Huh?” Your back arches from the odd sensation, but he doesn’t go further than a few teasing brushes.

“Maybe later, I want to taste all of you. And I want to fuck you full of my cum there too.” He sinks his teeth into your earlobe, and you turn your head to the side submissively, whimpering.

“Oh, you’re a good girl, huh?” His teeth scrape along the column of your exposed throat, your head twists more to give him better access.

“Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good on my cock, princess.” Wooyoung groans, scattering kisses over your neck, shoulders and throat as he wiggles to get his pants and boxers off. Hauling you back down the couch, he easily grabs your thighs to lead you to wrap them around his middle. You sigh, feeling the heat of his hard cock sliding through your folds, heading swimming as the fat head prods your entrances, then slides up.

“Wooyoung, please~!” You whimper, wanting him to sear through you, craving the burning sting.

“You wanna know something, sunshine?”

“What?” He chuckles at your slightly slurred speech.

“I plan on railing you so hard you don’t even remember who San is.” He hums and you can’t brace for his entrance, his fat cock filling you with a hard snap of his hips. Your back arches, breath forced out of you, chipped fingernails digging crescents into his back. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, gummy walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, somehow the pain of him gouging into you threw you over the edge so quickly it makes your clit sting too.

“God, fuck, Wooyoung!” You finally catch your breath enough to speak and he groans long and deep.

“You’re so fucking perfect, (Y/N). Oh, sweetheart, you’re made for me~!” He groans a laugh, fading into a whine as the clenches fade with your orgasm. You feel like a truck hit you, vision blurry, lower half protesting at Wooyoung’s brutal entrance, but you love it. Your hips jump again, cunt sucking him in further when he sits up more, pinning one of your knees to your shoulder, holding the other at his waist.

“Look at your cute little pussy struggling to take me, huh?” He loves the sight of your tight core weeping around his sock, slick shining along his flesh and both of your inner thighs.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart~” He giggles, and your fingers gouge lines down the skin of his back as he starts, pace immediately relentless, battering your cervix with the head of his dick. The hand at your thigh holds it to his left side, sliding down your body and gripping your ass.

“Hm, you like it, pretty girl? Like my fat cock?”

“Fuck, yes, Woo~” Your breath heaves, and you let out a delirious giggle, gasping and whining hard as his rapid pace barrels you through your third orgasm. Your cunt stings, but it’s so good. You squeal when his hand leaves your butt, only to slap the skin hard, the sting travelling up your hip and into your thigh. He feels your walls grip him harder at the spank, so he does it again, harder.

“Oh, shit-!” Your head lolls against the couch cushion, face and neck flushed, heaving for air. Your nails claw down his chest to his stomach and he licks his lips at the sting.

“(Y/N), you’re such a good girl, yeah? My good girl~”

“Y-yours~!”

“Yes, sweetheart. All mine, oh, you’re doing so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, princess. This pussy’s so good too, welcoming my cock home?”

“Yeah~!” You giggle, dumb on his cock and he hasn’t even cum once yet.

“Aw, love, can I cum inside? You on the pill, yeah? Let me paint you white, huh? Fuck you full of my cum, then flip you over and give you more?” He’s laughing every few words, sounding a bit delirious himself. He’s wanted to have you like this for so long, and he’s going to fuck you on every surface in the place if he can.

“P-please~!”

“Okay, I’m gonna then-“ Wooyoung hums, it fading into a groan, then with a few more stuttering thrusts, you feel heat blossom in your lower stomach. His cock pulses as rope after rope of hot jizz fills you, a few drops leaking from where he splits you open, leaving a mess on the couch. Your body jerks as his orgasm fades, you almost black out from your own. Your clit is throbbing, folds swollen and red, but he’s still painfully hard…

~

“Hold on here.” Wooyoung moves your hands to the mount of the shower head, and you wrap your fingers around the metal pipe. Your toes curl as he enters you again, hot water hitting his back and dripping off of him onto you. Drops of cum hit the shower floor along with the water and he starts to pound into you again. The water makes the slaps of the skin of his pelvis against your butt and thighs all the louder, nearly muffling your soft whimpers and mewls. Your ass is red, covered in hand-shaped welts, thighs littered with hickeys and kiss-marks. His back, chest, and stomach are covered in scratches, a bite-mark etched into his shoulder and a single hickey clings to his jawline. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since he first got inside you, but it has to have been hours ago. You have no idea where his stamina has come from, and your once burning cunt has more or less numbed to the sting of overstimulation, tiny orgasms shattering through you without warning or reason. You feel the wets strands of his hair on your shoulders as he leans over you, hand cupping the underside of your breast, the other over your hands on the shower mount.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I love you. I love you so much.” He kisses your shoulder, avoiding a sore-looking mark he’d left.

“I-I love you t-t-too, Wooyoung-!” You heave for air as another tiny climax shivers through you.

“Breathe baby, you gotta pace yourself, I still gotta fuck you stupid~” Wooyoung giggles and you just squeak and mewl, since he already has.

Master-List

[just-a-hive-full-of-bees]

How do you type with such tiny little bee bodies?

bzzzzz *effortful bee dance* bzbzzzzzzzzbzzzz bzzz. bzzzzz *agile bee dance* bzzzbzzz bzz

(translation: It's hard! We work in teams of several to a key and have to jump all at once to make a keypress. Now we understand why humans have such big meaty fingers!)