#anyway. mutuals. have a good day. 💜

[hamburgirlbulge]

A girl wants to go back to bed so badly

[minisugakoobies]

Cross My Heart | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, friends to lovers (?), non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: pussy drunk mingyu, late night texting, biting/marking, fingering, lots of flirting, lots of teasing, grinding/dry humping, dirty talk, cunnilingus, face sitting, come eating, hand job, mingyu's a messy boy, OC is needy and mingyu loves it, mingyu has maybe the tiniest bit of a praise kink, use of pet names - pretty, mingyu requests death by pussy

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.

Text Prompt: You: I can’t stand you Mingyu: Then sit on my face

A/N: Hiiiii I'm writing for svt now and I'm starting with Mingyu because he's driving me insane. This is actually the first in a planned series of 13 svt fics based on text prompts. I'm fully in my self-indulgent era, so this is for everyone who, like me, needs some munch 'Gyu right about now 👅

Unbeta'd as usual. If you like this and want more svt fics from me, please let me know! I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s finally here. After months of planning, you and your friends have flown halfway around the world for a week of vacation. The six of you arrived just a few hours ago, and after the long flight, the long wait at the airport for your luggage, and the long drive to the hotel, you’re exhausted. 

Well, mentally you’re worn out, at least. Your body? Is still on your old timezone, where it’s currently tomorrow morning. So it thinks that you need to be awake, even though it’s night where you are. You had stayed awake the entire flight here in order to avoid this very problem. 

Fucking jet lag got you anyway.

Unlike you, Seungcheol and Vernon are having no issue sleeping. The three of you are sharing one room, while Minghao, Wonwoo, and Mingyu are sharing another. You glance over at the two lumps tucked in their beds, snoring away like you would be if your body wasn’t so confused.

Because you’re trying to be a good friend and let them sleep, you’re lying on your bed, scrolling lazily through your various social media apps. You could watch something, but you don’t really have the focus right now. Yet you want something pleasing to look at. Something to mindlessly enjoy while you wait for exhaustion to overwhelm you. 

So, naturally, you turn to your favorite nightly pastime - scrolling through your social media apps, looking for any new posts from Mingyu.

It’s an addiction, borne out of your raging crush on your friend. Well, really, he’s Minghao’s friend, you don’t know him as well as you do the others, but still. You’re friendly enough around each other. Which is because Mingyu is so nice, such a sweet and funny guy who always makes you feel more than welcome whenever he’s around. 

He’s also a blatant flirt. At first, his cocky smiles and playful words made you think he might be interested in more than just being your friend, but it wasn’t long before you realized he’s like that with everyone. So you tamped down the hope that burned in your chest, leaving only a simmering crush to smolder forever.

It’s morning back home, where most of your friends have barely started their days, so your feed is fairly dead. There are a few photos from Wonwoo from the flight, including one of Minghao sleeping with his mouth open that you immediately save to your favorites, a couple from Vernon, and, of course, several from Mingyu. You tap into his page.

Mingyu’s an avid photographer, particularly of beautiful things - breathtaking landscapes, delicious meals, himself. Mostly himself, to be honest. Not that you’re complaining. It’s maybe the most mutually beneficial relationship you’ve ever been in. Mingyu loves to provide pictures of himself. You love to admire them. A win-win all around. 

You tap back to home and refresh your feed. A new post appears, from Mingyu. The jet lag must be getting to him, too, if he’s awake and posting right now. The photo is another selfie, this time of him lying in bed, one arm resting behind his head, showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep. God. Could he be more gorgeous? 

Clicking into his page again, you rub your thumb over the screen to make his photos flip by in an endless parade of hot Mingyus. It’s ridiculous, you muse, watching picture after picture roll by, to think about how much time Mingyu must spend on these photos. Making sure he’s got the perfect lighting to bounce off his muscles just right in those gym selfies. Or figuring out the best angle to show off that sharp jawline of his. Just ridiculous. And yet, every second isn’t spent in vain, considering how the photos drew you in like shiny trinkets to your magpie eye. 

It would be so easy to think of Mingyu as a modern day Narcissus, endlessly snapping selfies, drowning in his own reflection on his phone. But he’s never struck you as conceited. It’s something else - a desire for connection, perhaps. A need for-

A tiny heart floats up your screen and you gasp. Shit. You just liked the post the scroll stopped on - one of his many gym selfies, frame zoomed in on his torso, his hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to show off his rippling abs.

Your eye drifts to the date of the photo. Posted eight months ago. 

Quick as lightning, you hit the screen again, shattering the little heart icon. Your pulse is beating too fast. There’s no need to panic. He couldn’t have seen that. Maybe you’re overreacting, but no one needs to know you’re lurking in his profile in the middle of the night, especially not him. 

A notification drops down over Mingyu’s face. A message.

Mingyu: Someone’s up late. 

Ah, damn. You were too slow. And now he’s in your DMs. 

After taking a moment to shriek quietly into your pillow, you write back. 

You: Can’t sleep

Mingyu: Same. Jet lag’s got me fucked up

Mingyu: You know what always helps when I can’t sleep?

You: What?

Mingyu: Creeping through someone’s old photos

Even though he’s not here looking at you, your neck flames with embarrassment anyway. You could play it cool. If only you knew how to do that. 

You: Shut up

Mingyu: It’s ok, I’m flattered

You: Oh fuck off

Mingyu: No really, I am

Mingyu: I like that you want me so bad

Pressing your mouth firmly into your pillow, you swallow another screech. Here we go. Right into the flirting. You can’t handle this right now.

You: Idk what you’re talking about

You:  It was an accident

Mingyu: Oh you were accidentally admiring me? 

You: How did you even notice? Are you just staring at your phone, waiting for attention?

Mingyu: I mean yeah

You snort. 

You: You’re ridiculous

Mingyu: Maybe. But I’m honest about it

You: I’ll give you that

A few seconds go by, then a minute, then two. Maybe you’re boring him. Maybe he’s found something else to entertain him. Or someone else.

When the next notification comes in, you jolt a little. 

Mingyu: What else will you give me?

And now your heart does a funny jump as you stare at his words. God, what a question. How you wish he were asking for real, and not just being playful, like he always is. 

Would it be too real to reply with the truth? “Whatever you want?”

You: I don’t know

You: What do you want?

Mingyu: What if I say you?

Suddenly you don’t understand words.

You: Why would you say that?

Mingyu: Because it’s my answer

Mingyu: I’m being honest again

You: That’s the jet lag talking

Mingyu: Oh come on

Mingyu: You really don’t know?

You: Know what??

Mingyu: How I feel about you

Is he being serious right now??

You: If this is a joke I don’t get it

Mingyu: Not a joke

Mingyu: Hold on

The notification icon on your app suddenly lights up. One heart. Two. Three four five. You open your notifications and immediately start laughing. Mingyu’s going through your oldest photos and liking them, one by one. 

Mingyu: See? I’m obsessed with you

Seungcheol grunts in his sleep, and you press your arm harder over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself better.

You: You’re so annoying, oh my god

Mingyu: So annoying that you can’t stop looking at my photos at 1 am?

Mingyu: Or flirting with me?

You: Is that what’s happening? Are we flirting?

Mingyu: Ok don’t act like you don’t know

Mingyu: I flirt with you all the time

You: You flirt with EVERYONE all the time

Mingyu: Yeah but I only mean it with you

Like any other time this happens, any time his words make your head spin, you put on the brakes, stopping before you start to believe you might have a chance. 

You: You’re so dumb

Mingyu: Are you really going to pretend you’re not enjoying this?

You: Who said I’m pretending?

Mingyu: Me. I know you’re loving this

Mingyu: Because you want me soooooo bad

You: Shut uppppp

Mingyu: Go on, yell at me

Mingyu: You’re cute when you’re mad

You: No really

You: I can’t stand you

Mingyu: Then sit on my face

Your mouth falls open, an amused huff of air escaping in a befuddled laugh at his unexpected response. 

You: What?

Mingyu: Come shut me up. Sit on my face.

You’re blinking so hard, you can hear your eyelids clapping together.

You: Fuck off. Stop playing. 

Mingyu: Who’s playing? I’m serious

Mingyu: Smother me with those gorgeous thighs of yours. I’ll go out a happy man. 

Your gorgeous thighs? He’s never said anything like that before. What the fuck is happening.

You can’t help but picture it - him lying on his bed, you kneeling over him, fingers tangled in his dark hair as you ride that pouty little mouth of his. It’s not the first time you’ve fantasized about it, but it’s the first time the vision has felt… possible. 

Mingyu: No response? You’re just gonna leave me hanging like this?

You: Don’t tease me

Mingyu: Trust me, there are a million ways I’d love to tease you, but this isn’t one

You lay down again, rolling onto your side, curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to contain all the excitement rushing through your veins, keep it from spilling out and over into the room where your friends are still sleeping.  

You: You’re really serious?

Mingyu: Cross my heart and hope to die

Mingyu: Between your legs

Again you laugh.

You: You’re such an idiot

Mingyu: Does that mean you’re not coming over?

You: Like right now??

Mingyu: Why not? 

Mingyu: Wonwoo and Minghao both slept on the plane. They went out exploring

Mingyu: I’ve got the room to myself

You bite your lip, a little harder than you normally would, the sharp sting confirming that you are not dreaming and this is, in actual fact, happening right now. 

You: I guess if I’m not sleeping anytime soon

In the dim light from your phone, you eye the path to the door. You can easily make it out of the room without waking anyone. Should you so decide. 

You: I could come over

Mingyu: I promise I’ll make it so good for you

Mingyu: Eat that pussy like you deserve. Make you cum on my tongue over and over

You inhale sharply. He’s definitely never talked about your pussy like that before. Reading his words has you positively throbbing.

Mingyu: Please, just let me taste you

What else is there to say to that but -  

You: I’m coming over

It’s a short walk to Mingyu’s room. A rush of anticipation hits you as you raise your hand to knock. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, bringing you face to face with the man whose social media you can’t stop stalking. Mingyu’s shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging alarmingly low on his hips, and if you weren’t already planning on crushing him with your thighs, this insta thirst trap of an outfit would push you right over the edge. 

“That was fast,” he laughs, stepping aside to let you in. “Did you run down the hall?” 

“I thought I told you to shut up,” you shoot back. 

“And I thought I told you to make me,” he smirks, reaching for you at the same time you reach for him, practically mashing his teeth against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Despite what he just said, he’s kissing you, too eager to wait for you to do what he demands. 

It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue, both of you doing your fair share to keep the other silent. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say speechless, because Mingyu’s definitely not being quiet, moaning into your mouth, and you’re certainly whining loud enough for the other rooms to hear you.

He presses you back into the door, chest to chest, hip to hip. You tilt your head and he follows, chasing your mouth, as if he’s needing another taste. Your hands roam over his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, covering every inch of warm skin that’s exposed, and he slips his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly tight. Not for one second do your lips part. This is the type of kiss you’ve always read about in your favorite stories - the one that makes your knees weak, makes your head float, makes you forget everything but Mingyu. 

It’s delicious. It’s amazing. It’s every superlative you can think of. But it’s not enough. You want more. Part of you wants to tell him to get on with it, take you to bed, because you’re here to make him eat his words by eating you, but the other part isn’t about to quit kissing him any time soon. 

Thankfully, Mingyu takes care of your dilemma by eliminating the choice. Without warning, he bends his knees and lifts you, big hands secure on your thighs to hold you close to him. Okay, now it’s like one of your stories, the way he lifts you like you’re lighter than air. You’d swoon if you weren’t so busy licking into his lips. All that time in the gym is really paying off

He carries you to his bed, displaying his impressive thigh strength by slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, bringing you into his lap. You loop your arms around his shoulders, desperately seeking his mouth, as if the 0.2 seconds between kisses might kill you, which, honestly, it feels like it might, and you’ve never been in this situation before, making out with the man of your dreams, so for all you know, it will, so why risk it? 

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” he says between kisses. 

“You can go as fast as you want,” you reply, without even a second’s pause. “Just don’t stop.” 

“Damn, and here I was worried I was coming off too excited,” he grins, face lighting up in delight. Then he kisses your cheek, whispering against your skin at your offended huff. “It’s okay, I like how needy you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but you know he felt the way you shuddered, so you give up the weak protests and start kissing him again, twisting your fingers in his hair to keep him close. 

Mingyu finally stops laughing when you take his bottom lip between your own, sucking and licking at the plump skin. With a groan, he digs his fingers into your sides, and he starts to guide you back and forth, rolling you over the eye-catching bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a sight that makes you clench, thinking about how much you want to sit on it now, just pull him out and ride, too needy to feel him inside you to even take your clothes off.

But again, you want more. You want what he’d promised earlier.  

He nips his way down your throat until his mouth latches at the base of your neck, sucking and biting, and you whimper, squirming in his hold. “

‘Gyu, please!”

“Please what?” 

He doesn’t lift his head, too absorbed in sinking his vampire-like canines into your soft skin, not sharp enough to pierce, just hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises blooming there tomorrow, little souvenirs of this moment. 

Please everything, you think. You want it all, whatever he’s willing to give, you’ll take. You’re feeling greedy as fuck right now. 

“I want what you promised me.” 

“Hold on,” he intones seriously, right before laving his tongue over a fresh mark. “Let a man at death’s door enjoy his last moments.” 

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid,” you groan, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together. He’s just - just such an idiot, such a stupid sexy idiot and you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

“Fine,” he says after a few minutes of frantic making out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, hands circling around your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Time for my last meal.” 

He kisses away your embarrassingly pleased moan, and then he maneuvers the two of you around so he’s lying on the bed on his back and you’re straddling him. As he watches with rapt attention, you peel off your shirt. Since you’d been dressed for bed, you hadn’t bothered to throw on a bra. Judging from Mingyu’s expression, you made the right call.  

“Pretty,” he breathes out, wide eyes finding yours, and you have to take a beat, have to take a moment to sit and let the reality of the situation wash over you. The two of you are here, together, in this hotel room half a world away from home. Both wanting this. It’s clear to you now just how eager Mingyu’s been since you walked in. He wasn’t lying - he wants you just as much as you want him. 

With this new understanding, you stand up to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, before straddling him again, and lowering yourself for another kiss. Immediately, his arms are around you, gliding down your back, all the way to your bare ass, taking the biggest handfuls he can. 

“You drive me insane. So pretty, so hot.” 

Mingyu’s words kick the simmering heat in your gut into a full blown fire. You moan into his kiss, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands grips your side, helping you chase the friction, while the other slips between your bodies. When his fingers brush your inner thigh, he lets out a strangled groan. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”  

“Your fault,” you gasp, lips fervently pressing against his, licking at the seam of his mouth until he allows you in, so you can roll your tongue over his like you roll your hips. 

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he grins, long fingers cupping your mound, trapping the heat there in his palm as he rubs it against you. You keen, thighs already twitching. You’re going to lose your mind before you even get to his face. 

You’re not alone in that feeling, as he suddenly reaches for your thighs, urging you to crawl up his body. “Get up here, please,” he begs, flat out begs you, and you slide forward as fast as you can. You need his mouth, right now.

Hovering over him is a little surreal - MIngyu’s big brown eyes are gazing up at you in a perfect replication of your favorite daydream, only it’s so much better than you’d ever imagined, because the expression he wears is one of complete awe, like he’s the one living out his fantasy. Again you feel bold, so you run your fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He moans quietly, low in his throat, like he’s trying to hold it in, and your mouth quirks in a half smile as you kneel. 

“Nice knowing you, ‘Gyu.” 

He hums a happy note, lips vibrating lightly just as your cunt reaches them, and you moan quietly. You don’t settle all the way down, because as much as you were playing along with this whole death-by-pussy dream of his, you are slightly worried that you might actually suffocate him, if not because of your weight than because of your dire need, that you might get too lost in the aching desire that’s building inside you, spurred on by the way he’s brushing the lower half of his face and down your folds, just breathing you in, teasing you with his touches but not giving you what you so desperately want. 

“‘Gyu,” you whine, tilting your pelvis forward, to catch his tongue as he traces your inner thigh, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He blows a puff of air across the wetness, sending goosebumps running at the cooling sensation. 

When you try to shift again, he’s quick to wrap his hands up around your hips, holding you still. Not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to let you know - he’s in charge now. 

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, tenderly pressing a kiss into your skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise. Cross my heart, remember?” 

With that reminder, he pulls you down further onto his face. His tongue slides into you, nose bumping your clit, and you whimper, hands flailing at your sides, seeking something to cling to, finding nothing but the warm air around you. The pressure on the sensitive bud combining with the wet hot muscle plunging between your slick folds is overwhelming in the best way.

“‘Gyu, oh, that’s so good!”  

Mingyu nods his head vigorously, nudging his nose around, letting his tongue drag up and down your slit. It almost feels like he’s agreeing with you, backed up by the way he grunts brokenly, this deep rumble in his chest that gets strangled halfway through his throat. 

You’re not sure at what point you start thrust your hips. Mingyu helps you find the right pace, big hands guiding you forward and back, forward and back, until you feel the rhythm all the way from your ears to your toes. 

As his mouth slides up to suckle on your clit, his left hand also snakes upwards, cupping your right breast, thumb rolling over your puckered nipple. You shudder, nerves sizzling like power lines, lit up by his every touch.

“‘Gyu…” Mingyu’s mouth pulls another whine from you. You glance down, catching the furrow in his brow, the sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh my god.” 

“Mmmmphf,” Mingyu agrees, or so you assume, unable to understand anything he might be mumbling into you. A particularly sharp suck on your pulsating clit makes your back arch, and Mingyu’s hand falls from your chest, disappearing behind you. 

The sudden rustling of fabric draws your attention. You glance over your shoulder, only to whimper when you catch sight of Mingyu’s hand stroking his erection, band of his sweatpants hastily shoved down, stiff cock so flushed it brings a matching heat to your neck. 

If you were more limber, you’d reach for him, give him a helping hand, but you can’t stay twisted around for long, not when Mingyu’s tongue makes you refocus on his mouth. It’s too difficult to think about anything else right now but the way he keeps plunging inside you, using the thick muscle to fuck you shallowly. 

You can’t stop mewling like a cat in heat, rutting back and forth over Mingyu’s tongue. Even in your daze, it doesn’t escape your attention that Mingyu’s absolutely pussy drunk at this point, depraved moans buzzing endlessly against your most sensitive spots because he refuses to detach his mouth from you long enough to let them escape. Every muffled note reverberates deep in your core, joins the tense chord that’s building inside you to a crescendo. 

“‘Gyu, please.” 

At the sound of your plea, Mingyu stops stroking himself, bringing his hand around to find your clit, middle finger drawing circles around and around and around. 

When you double over, hands sinking into the plush bedding on either side of Mingyu’s head, he grunts, tipping his head to the side so he can speak. “You okay?” 

“Fuck, Mingyu, ‘m good,” you giggle, suddenly hit by a burst of glee, perhaps due to the lack of oxygen in your head, since all the blood in your body is concentrated in your clit right now. “I’m having an amazing night.” 

Mingyu hums again, sounding very pleased, and you meet his gaze, and suddenly you wish his phone was nearby, so you could snap a photo, because this look - hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, pupils blown, nose to chin coated in your glistening wetness - this is a look worth capturing.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath, and the sincerity in his voice steals your own away. If you had any nerve, you’d confess something right now, something you weren’t planning on telling him tonight or tomorrow or maybe ever. But you keep silent, only breathing a tiny exhale of surprise as he slides out from under you, and nudges you onto your back.

Mingyu folds you in half easily, because you’re giving no resistance, letting him shape you the way he desires, and then his mouth is on you again. Now that he's lying facedown between your legs, he’s able to get some much-desired friction without using his hands, grinding his neglected cock into the bed as he concentrates on you. 

His tongue glides over your throbbing nub again, and then his right hand ghosts over your slit. You whimper a soft “Please,” and that’s all he needs to slide his finger inside. The intrusion has you squirming, urging him silently to go deeper, and to your relief, he obliges. But he also locks his other arm over your legs, holding them so you can’t keep bucking your hips up. 

“I said, stay still,” he mumbles, with no anger or heat behind it, just amusement, laced with a slight tinge of cockiness. He knows he’s frustrating you, judging by the curl of his lips as he plunges his finger in and out slowly, way too slowly, teasing you with what you need most. You try to press your hips down onto his hand, to make him glide faster, but he just leans into you slightly, big arm stopping your movements. 

Your whine is beyond petulant. “Don’t tease me!” 

“Pretty, I promise you, when I tease you, you’ll know.” 

And then he adds his middle finger, curling both, pressing on the most sensitive spot on your inner wall. Over and over, his fingers flutter, massaging until starlight bursts behind your eyelids. 

“It’ll be something like this.” 

He withdraws his hand.

“Gyuuuuuu.”

If he was slightly cocky earlier, he’s fully arrogant now, face breaking into a wide grin while he laughs. “Wow, so whiny. You do want me bad.” 

“I swear to god if you dohhhhHHH-”

You break off in a moan when he lowers his face again, loudly lapping at your wetness. Clever fingers alternate between scissoring and stroking, following the changes in your breathing, and you hope that he’s close to being satiated, because you’re teetering on the edge of your climax, only the slightest bit more stimulation necessary to push you over. 

“Mingyu. Mingyu, I’m gonna cum.” You open your eyes, raising your head enough to look at him, to watch with a dropped jaw as he buries his face in your cunt, his own eyes closed in ecstasy, and oh, that’s it - “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!” 

Your warning cry - though clearly appreciated by Mingyu, who groans in answering refrain, hips humping the bed furiously - is ultimately unnecessary, given how hard your walls suddenly clench around his fingers. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, fingerfucking you through your orgasm as your lower half trembles beneath his heavy arm. He holds you in place as best he can, sweetly kissing your clit, while you wail and writhe, pressing your palm into your mouth to keep your cries from waking the rooms around you. 

Eventually your tremors slow, turning into occasional twitches, before your body finally relaxes. Mingyu continues to lap at you, every pass of his tongue getting lighter and lighter, until he lifts his head. He’s the perfect image of lust, eyes dark and desirous, and you claw at his shoulders, needing him close again. 

“Kiss me.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing you over himself more as he rises up to meet you. His cock is hard between you, and you moan, knowing that you did that, that he got this turned on just from eating you out, and extend your fingers to wrap around him.

The unbidden sound he utters when you take his cock and slide it through your soaking folds, coating it in your wetness, is the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Careful, pretty,” he pants, looking down at your hand. Under his close gaze, you circle the head of his cock before rubbing your thumb over and around the slit there. “‘M close.” 

“Wanna make you come, ‘Gyu,” you tell him, and he hisses, hips bucking into your grip. 

“Fuck.” His long fingers cover yours, guiding you into a faster pace. “But I’m gonna make a mess.”

“Do it. Make a mess.” The need to make him completely fall apart takes possession of you, makes you say things you’ve never said to anyone else. “Come all over me.” 

Mingyu whines, chin dropping to his chest. He’s barely blinking as he stares at your entwined hands. 

“Pretty… don’t say that….”

“Please, ‘Gyu.” All shame has fled your body. “I want it.” 

No further encouragement is needed. Mingyu grunts a few times before he’s painting your stomach in so much white, in little drops and big splashes, doing exactly what you told him, eyes rolling back in his head as he does.

When his high abates, he sits back on his heels, gazing at the mess he created, all the sticky sweat and semen that covers your body. A delirious thought comes to you. Is the sight beautiful enough for him to want to take a picture? 

“Wow,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head. “You’re even prettier when you’re covered in me.” 

His dead serious expression is enough to break the haze of lust hanging over you. You throw your arm over your face, too flustered to look at him. “‘Gyuuuuu!”

“Changed my mind, I’m calling you ‘whiny' from now on.” The bed shifts as Mingyu rises. He laughs all the way to and from the bathroom, laughs even harder when you glare at him, reaching for the towel he holds. He surprises you by nudging your hand away. “Let me.”  

His touch is so gentle as he wipes away his mess, then your own. When you’re both clean enough, he lays on his side, draping his arm over you. “Think you can sleep now?” 

Oh, you can sleep. You’re feeling satiated in a way you haven’t for a long time, and now that the rush has worn off, you could knock right out. You should probably go back to your room, ride this calm wave right into sleep, not let yourself get too excited at the thought that this vacation might be the best one ever.

Instead, you grin, sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.” 

“Oh?” Mingyu’s smile mirrors yours. “What do you wanna do instead?” 

“I might have some ideas.” 

He lets you pull him down for a kiss, humming eagerly.

“Tell me what you want, pre-”

A sharp rap on the door startles you both.

“Dude, don’t you dare!” Minghao hisses through the wood. “We’ve been out here forever!” 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐮𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 3.4k

chapter summary: You have dinner with Joel and Sarah. Tommy has a preposition that starts the process of healing.

warnings: mostly fluff with a hint of hurt/comfort, mentions of grief

a/n: I should've just called this chapter "I wanna hangout with the millers" Also thank you to all who showed interest in the series, I'm really excited about this one 💜

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Joel sits at the head of the table. There’s a navy blue napkin between his fingers, his eyes continuously darting to the kitchen. The napkin is subjected to his fidgeting, twisted, tugged, and torn, the remnants scattering across the table like confetti. You can’t stop staring. Your own fingers, too, betray your nerves, as you nervously trace the contours of the fork, its smooth surface a pleasant chill against your burning fingertips. 

The only noise that occupies the silence is the clatter of dishes and the sizzling of meat. Your eyes move from Joel’s fingers to Sarah in the kitchen. Your gaze drifts from Joel's fingers to Sarah in the kitchen, where she hums a melody unknown to you, her head bobbing in time with the tune, her wild curls escaping the confines of her hair tie. She seems at peace. Which is in complete contrast to what you and Joel are feeling right now. 

It's a mystery to you, this strange dynamic between you and Joel. You're neighbors, you see his brother and daughter nearly every day, yet when the two of you are alone together, which is a rarity in itself, words seem to fail you both, as if they've become adversaries instead of a means of communication. It leaves you to question why it is that you both seem to struggle when in each other's presence.

Taking a deep breath, the lingering garlic and tomato scent filling your lungs, you call out to her, “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

“I’m sure,” she answers without looking up. “I’m almost done anyway. Just soaking the buns in the sauce,” 

Buns…in the sauce? 

When you turn to Joel, he’s already looking at you. His lips turn up, arms crossing over his broad chest. He beats you to it before you can voice out the question echoing in your head, “Don’t knock it till you try it.” 

The effect his voice has on you is instant. It’s playful, soft, a barely there cool wave of the sea. A ghost of a shiver licks your spine, forcing you to sit straighter. You both relax and tense that you’re finally talking. You swallow, look down at your plate, then wet your lips. 

“As long as there aren’t any mushrooms we’re good,” 

He cocks an eyebrow and scratches his beard, “Now, what kinda person doesn’t like mushrooms?” 

You blow a raspberry into the air which makes him grin. With a dramatic flail, you raise your hands to the air and tilt your head back. “Everywhere I go it’s the same. When will this judgment end?” You call out to an invisible god. 

Joel laughs. 

He laughs. 

And it feels so fucking good to hear the sound. You’re pretty sure this is the first time he openly laughed next to you. Not a polite giggle, or a stifled chuckle. But a full-on, chest-vibrating laugh. It feels good. Sure maybe you didn’t paint anything today, again, but you made the neighbor that you thought hated you laugh. If that isn’t a win you don’t know what is. Your own smile blossoms on your lips. It’s a small one. However, you think it sends the point across that you’re happy to be here. 

His hands fall to his thighs, hidden underneath the tablecloth. “Maybe me and Tommy can change your mind. Our grilled mushrooms are to die for,” 

“Good luck with that,” you tease. “I’ve been hating them since the day I was born,” 

As soon as you finish, Sarah places a large plate of burgers down the middle. They aren’t really big, maybe a bit bigger than your hand. Just like Sarah said, they’re covered in sauce. But the smell is to die for; meaty, garlicky with a hint of spice. She plops down to the spot right across from you.

“Hating what?” she asks as Joel reaches out and places two burgers on her plate then two on yours. He takes four. “Because if it’s fish I agree,” 

“Fish?” you balk at her. “You don’t like fish?” 

Joel snorts, “Don’t act like her’s is sacrilegious when you don’t like mushrooms,” 

Sarah’s eyes go wide, eyebrows reaching all the way to her hairline, “You don’t like mushrooms?” 

“Okay, I did not come here to be judged for my food dislikes,” you silence them both with a light-hearted click of your tongue. Father and daughter look at each other, smiling. “So what are we eating?” 

“Wet burgers,” Sarah perks with excitement. “The buns are dipped in a garlicky tomato sauce and there’s just a beef patty in the middle. They’re really good.” 

Joel nods and picks up a burger with one hand. He addresses you without looking, “I wasn’t sure about it either, but the darn things actually taste decent,” 

“You should never doubt my cooking skills,” Sarah answers and stick her tongue out. You let out a hushed giggle. 

“Darlin’ I pick out eggshells from my breakfast every mornin’” 

“The eggs you buy are faulty.” 

“You guys should join me for breakfast,” you cut in, raising the burger to your lips. Red sauce stains your fingers tips. “I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes,” 

You don’t look, but you feel Joel’s eyes on you. The small hairs scattered over your arms raise, heat building under your skin. Ignoring it, you take a big bite of your burger. 

You’re mad that it tastes so good—good enough that you moan, very loudly, and follow it up with another bite without even properly swallowing the first. 

“Told you,” Joel grunts. 

Sarah’s eyes sparkle. It’s such a beautiful display of emotion. The eyebrows move first, lifting at the same time her lips start to stretch from side to side. The happiness always hits the eyes last. It’s also the place where emotion lingers the most. Long after it drains away from the rest of the features. 

The happiness that Sarah feels is so vivid there that it almost sparks something within you. A faint image of a girl appears in your mind. A girl similar to Sarah sitting in front of a window closed in with climbing roses, only bits of light shining over her skin—

The image fades as quickly as it appeared. You chew thoughtfully, a sting settling behind your eyelids. 

“You like it?” she asks. You nod and she turns to Joel with a smug grin. “See, people like what I cook. I should be a chef,” 

“I never said the burgers taste bad.” 

You chuckle, taking another bite. 

“Cut the girl some slack. It’s harder to function in the mornings.” 

Despite your protests, Joel is set on walking you home. 

You tell him that it’s only two steps away, he doesn’t listen and shakes his head, “If it’s such a short distance it shouldn’t be a problem to walk it with you.” 

You’re holding the doggy bag Sarah prepared for you. It rustles in the wind, the burgers still radiating a bit of heat, it makes your skin come alive where it brushes against. The pleasant conversation that seemed to flow effortlessly with Sarah present is nowhere to be found. You dared to open your mouth a total of two times but not a single syllable followed through. 

So instead of forcing it, you focus on the pleasant ambiance; the soft wind that feels like velvet on your skin, the soft blades of grass that tickle your bare ankles, and the moon that pours from the heavens. All of it combined to form the perfect night. 

You cheat a glance at Joel, his hands are in his pockets, one cheek hallowed out, a clear sign that he’s gnawing at it from the inside. He’s a perfect canvas for the raining moonlight. Dark hair, dark eyebrows, dark eyes. His skin glows in a hue that you can only describe as angelic, the fading scars more vivid in color. 

You stare longer than you realize. He steals a glance and clears his throat. 

You notice that he’d stopped walking, and your body had too, just by instinct. 

“We’re here,” he says, voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. 

“So we are,” you answer dumbly, forcing your eyes to move to the door. Recollection hits when you see the two chairs on the porch. You turn back to Joel. “Do you want to sit with me for a while?” 

He blinks, brows pinching together in confusion. “Is something wrong?” 

“Oh no, sorry I should’ve made that clear. I just remembered that when I first moved in I asked if I could ask you questions about my grandfather then never did,” your eyes drop to the ground. Your chest feels tight and uncomfortable. “I guess I never had the chance to ask you before. But we don’t have to now.” 

Joel isn’t the type of man to feel regret. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling it right this second. 

His hand touches your shoulder. A brush of fingertips that takes you by surprise and makes you flinch. Joel recoils quickly, fingers curling into his palm as he pulls away. 

“We can sit,” he says. “I have time.” 

You observe the stars and the moon. Something you used to do frequently with your grandfather whenever you stayed over. 

Something must be wrong with you because you don't remember the last time. 

You take a series of deep breaths. Collecting your thoughts and preparing yourself to ask Joel what you wanted to ask. You know what your first question is going to be. It scares you to actually go through with it. The minutes tick by. The night grows darker, the stars brighter. But he doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t say a word. He looks up to the sky with you, dark brown flicking from star to star. When you look at him you can see the sky directly reflected in his eyes. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“Was he happy?” you finally ask. Your voice sounds scratchy to your own ears. Joel leans back into his chair, fingertips digging into his palm enough so that he feels the sting of blunt nails. He swallows thickly before turning to you. 

“He was,” he answers. “He talked an awful lot about you and your brother. He was proud of you,” 

You laugh at that, it’s a sudden voice that booms from your chest. Unexpected, and jarring in the silence of the night, “Not so much my brother?” 

“Let’s say he ain’t a fan of the choices he made. Not a fan of the military that one,” a small smile peeks underneath his mustache. “He did still love him though. You can tell him that if he asks,” 

You nod, eyes once again tracing over every star in the sky, “Noted.” 

Comfortable silence envelopes you both. Joel makes no move to get up and return home. His words had doused the fear that lingered deep in your heart. 

He was happy. In his last days, he was still talking, complaining about your brother, and saying that he was proud of you. You’re sure you have more questions but all of them seem to slip your mind for now. He was happy. That’s all you need to know. 

“Hey,” you hear him call out, voice a rough whisper. “Are you okay?” 

Without looking away from the sky, you raise your hand to your face, fingertips touching the wet streaks going down your cheeks. Your hand drops to your mouth, the salt stings your chapped lips. You close your eyes and take deep breaths. You should be done crying.

But then why is your throat swelling? The simple act of breathing becomes harder and harder. 

When you open your eyes he’s there, kneeling, one leg tucked under him with the other firm on the ground. His fingers brush a line down your forearms, goosebumps rising in their wake. 

“Do you need me to get you anything?” he asks, his eyes looking rounder than ever. “We can talk about it if you need to darlin’. All I want you to do is say something to me so you calm down okay?” 

You nod, and his fingers tighten around your wrist, “Words. Please.” 

“I’m—I’m good,” your voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. You wet your lips and try again. “I’m good. Sorry, I was actually happy. I don’t know what came over me,” 

“You’re still grievin’. And I doubt anyone with a heart would expect you to apologize for that. Do you need anythin’?” 

You shake your head and Joel stands up, the warmth of his hand going away with him. There’s a brief pause where you don’t know what to do. Your eyes are still wet. Chest tight. You follow the way he moves; taking a step back and rubbing the corner of his jaw with the pad of his thumb. The sudden mood change disorientates you. He’s anxious. The hand that touched you, twitching like it’s been burned. 

“I think you need some sleep,” he says, taking a step down backward. “If anythin’ happens call me—or Tommy,” 

Tommy. 

The uttered name feels like a slap to the face, a rekindling of a feeling that makes you feel small. A complete mess. 

Of course, Joel doesn’t want to deal with all your shit. He’s just being nice that’s all. He already has his fair share of baggage, he doesn’t need yours to stack over it as well. You understand. And to a degree you’re grateful. It had been a lovely evening, one that would make you smile upon remembering. In the end, he’s giving you the comfort of knowing that you can call him—as a last resort. 

Standing up, you smile. He’s about to hug you good night, you can tell by the way his body leans forward, arms starting to stretch from both sides. But you stop him by extending a quick hand.

“Goodnight,” you say. His eyes drop to your hand, confusion stirs in his eyes. A soft sigh part his lips and he closes his eyes, taking your hand into his. 

“Goodnight, neighbor.” 

You stand behind the counter, wiping down the counters with a damp rag as the last of the customers filter out of the shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of baked goods from earlier in the day.

Beside you, Olivia moves with an easy grace as she washes the final dishes of the night. Her hair, thinly braided and made into two separate low ponytails, falls in loose waves around her shoulders. Her dark skin glows in the dim light of the shop, and her hazel eyes sparkle with amusement as she catches your eye. 

“You have someone waiting for you,” 

Your brows furrow as you follow her gaze. There’s a matte grey truck out and inside you see Tommy, thumbs impatiently drumming against the steering wheel. You hold your gaze, he peers inside the coffee shop, he waves and you wave back, then you hold one finger up signaling him that he’ll have to wait a bit. 

“You should go,” Olivia says. “I’ll close up,” 

You raise an eyebrow, not really willing to leave your only friend alone to clean up after you, “You sure?” 

“Yeah yeah,” he waves you off, glossy lips stretching into a full grin. “Tell your boyfriend I say hi,” 

“Liv…he’s not my boyfriend,” you shake your head but you’re smiling. “He’s a friend. A good one,” 

Olivia pouts and you let out a laugh as you untie your apron. “Why not? He’s cute,” 

“I didn’t say he wasn’t—Also we’re still on for Saturday right?” 

“You know it, babe.” 

You head to the back of the shop to grab your bag. As you sling it over your shoulder, you make your way back to the front of the shop and bid Olivia farewell. Tomorrow is your day off so you’ll be seeing her Saturday. She waves to you and Tommy, who—in a state of slight confusion—waves back. 

Outside, the warmth of the night envelops you, and you can feel sweat beads starting to form on your skin. You make your way over to Tommy's truck and he greets you with a grin as he leans over and opens the door for you.

“How was your day?” he asks, turning the key and filling the inside with a familiar hum. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking mine; It was shit and I don’t wanna talk about it. I just need food—you good for some fried chicken?” 

“If you wanted me not to ask about it you shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” you grin, playfully punching his shoulder. “So what happened?”

Tommy sighs. He flattens his palm against the steering wheel and makes a turn. “Let’s just say that I fell into some very questionable fluids and Joel has pictures,” before you can say anything he adds. “Chicken?” 

“Chicken sounds good,” you grin, turning your eyes ahead. “And I can’t wait to see those pictures,” 

“Please don’t.”

You notice that something is off by the way Tommy’s fingers curl around the steering wheel. The truck shakes as you wait at a red light. Your eyes are fixated on it, burning your irises. “Are you okay?” he blurts, prompting you to pull away from the red light. A circle of blue forms right in the middle of your eyes. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Joel said that you cried last night. I probably shouldn’t say anythin’ but he mentioned it to me in good faith. And I’m worried,”

You internally coil into yourself. Your stomach rolls, hands on your lap forming tight fists. “You don’t need to be—” 

The truck starts to move again and he raises a hand, silencing you. “I’m just tryin’ to say I might have an idea that might help. If you’re willing,” 

“And what’s that?” you hate how closed off you sound but you can’t help it. 

“You need to change the house up a bit,” he answers, he’s talking like he always does but for some reason it feels like he’s mocking you instead. “And I know that’s hard to hear, so, how about we start from a room? Just one room that’s all yours, new paint, new furniture, new things. I’ll help you build it,” 

“I don’t want to trouble you,” 

“If it was gonna be trouble I wouldn’t have offered it,” he scoffs, his eyes flitting between you and the road. “I’m off tomorrow so I can come by then. Sounds good?” 

A soft smile breaches your lips, “Sounds great.” 

Joel can’t stop thinking about her. 

Her smile, her laughter. The feel of her skin under his fingertips. The way she looked at the stars. How the night sky came alive in her eyes. None of it he can ever forget. Her voice cracked when she spoke, her eyes sparkled under the white moon. It all felt like a movie to him. The tears. The heavy breathing. He calmed her down. She actually listened and allowed him to help. 

His life wasn’t a movie though. Some stories didn’t have a happy ending—Some relationships are never meant to last— not even begin. His happy ending was Sarah. The moment she was born his life became a bright light that continuously blinds him. 

She’ll have her happy ending too. Just not with him. Someone else, maybe his brother. At least he would still have you close then. He could still see you. 

He wanted to hug her. Wrap his arms around her as an unrealistic promise to never let  go. But she didn’t want that. He blamed the fact that she was still emotional, too raw to be touched. Some part of him wanted to believe that. He didn’t want to feel hurt by the offered handshake. 

Joel swallows down the disappointment. A thick knot in his throat. He grabs his jacket. He’s about to leave and invite her over for dinner again when he hears Tommy’s truck pulling in. 

He really shouldn’t but he goes to look out the window. She jumps out of the truck, almost tripping. Tommy’s laughter follows and he offers her his arm. She takes it, the two of them walking to the door. The sight angers him but he’s not sure why. A warm, boiling feeling rolling in his gut. It makes him feel dirty almost. As if he’d betrayed his brother. He hasn’t. 

He wouldn’t. 

Joel feels helpless as he hangs his coat back, heading to the living room. He falls to the couch, a heave to his chest. 

Joel needs to stop thinking about her. 

[saltpepperbeard]

OFMD Week Day 4: Favorite Ships/Fluff

The Kiss (Favorite Moments/Commentary/Fluffy Writing) 💙💋💜

So I've been wanting to step through the kiss bit by bit and point out/wax poetic ramble on about all the intricacies for so, so long. And on a day of OFMD Week dedicated to ships, fluff, and favorite moments, it was a match made in heaven!

I'll go ahead and start with the confession. The careful hesitance, the uncertainty, the moment right there in the air for both of them to take. The way Ed's lips barely even move with the whispered "...you" even when the weight of such an admittance is so strong. Yet, he does it. He goes for it. He finally frees the single word that has been clawing its way out of his chest for weeks.

But the way he's still so cautious, still so unsure. It's new to him. It's new to them both. He's likely never been in such a vulnerable position before. And it's a huge leap to make even if you're experienced anyway.

So, to see him slowly look over to gauge Stede's reaction, to see him so fragile...

...And then to see Stede smile.

Granted, Stede's expression hurts a bit because it's incredulous. The way his eyebrows shoot up—he can't fathom it. His mind can't process that he makes Edward Teach happy. He probably believes he hasn't made anyone happy, ever.

But still, he smiles. Something inside of him sings. Something inside of him rejoices, because Ed makes him so happy too. Ed makes him feel worthy, feel seen.

And that smile is him seeing Ed right back, meeting him in the vulnerability as they have before. Not a look of disgust, or judgement, or anything negative of the sort.

But acceptance. Mutuality. A sunrise over a new beginning.

So, of course Ed has to kiss him. Of course Ed has to take advantage of the moment. Of course Ed has to hush Stede by meeting his lips with his own. Words wouldn't have been as effective. Talking things through wouldn't have sufficed, not when things were so open.

Their mouths had to do a different sort of talking. Their souls had to breathe into each other, to finally meet as they had been wanting.

And oh, how they had been wanting. Even with the muddiness in Stede's mind, even with all the underlying complexities, they relax into each other. There's the split-second jolt of surprise, the utter shock that exists from suddenly sharing such intimacy.

But then their bodies melt. They both fall into the connection. Stede eases himself into it, and some of the tension in Ed's eyes lessens.

Even still, they don't move or actively kiss right away. But why should they? It's new. It's different. It's precious.

It's something to be experienced, something to be savored.

And something to be further explored, eventually.

Again, they meet each other. They know each other. They see each other.

When one body moves, so too, does the other. When one itches to try, to reach out just that little bit further, the other reaches back.

Ed started the kiss. Ed initiated. But Stede finds him—Stede kisses him in return.

And they seem to build off each other, to heighten their dance; when Stede kisses back, when Stede shows he's there, Ed seems that much more invigorated. He eases himself nearer, and pulls their bodies that much closer together...

With Stede following him and meeting his every move.

They're there. They're there with each other. There's nothing else but them in that moment.

Again, Ed steps, and again, Stede meets. A tilt of the head, a glide of their lips, answered by the softest hum. A breathy little something that screams bliss. A tiny noise that says, "I have never known this before, but I want to for the rest of my life."

And Stede's eyes remaining closed after they part really hammers that sentiment in.

His mind may be a mess. His emotions may be all over the place.

But his heart isn't. His heart assuredly isn't.

It is warm, and dazed, and just as dreamy as he.

Because goodness, the absolute fondness in his eyes. The sheer love in his eyes. The difference in his smiles—first stunned, then at home.

And again, another bit of mutuality. A returned breath in the space just for them.

"You make Stede happy."

And oh, how wondrous is that. Oh, how relieving is that.

They make each other happy.

They're in love.

Despite everything, despite what's beneath the surface, despite all that will come, they're in love.

They're there for each other in a way no one ever has been before, and no one ever will be. Ed can hold Stede so softly, regarding him so gently as though he'll shatter. Stede can stare right into Ed's eyes, breathing the same air as though it's the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe because it is.

Because they're in love.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 6: No Control]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, all-you-can-eat sushi, bodily injury, violence, hungry deer, Selena Gomez, angst!!!

Selected Chapter Quote: “He can’t see on that side, you fucking snake!”

Word count: 9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Your last day waking up in Singapore: lying in bed and watching the shadows of birds shoot across the ceiling like falling stars. Your wrist aches in its splint. The door to the balcony is wide open. The wind blows in hot and damp off the South China Sea. You hear him before you see him: the swipe of a keycard, the swinging of the door, the clop clop clop of undoubtedly neon Crocs against the hardwood floor.

You look over at him, not moving from the bed. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Then Aegon notices something in the tiny trashcan beside your nightstand that’s cluttered with souvenirs. Nestled between empty soda cans and Starburst wrappers is a mostly full pack of birth control pills. He stares at it for a while before he says, tentatively: “Trying for a little bundle of joy? With anyone I know?”

“Definitely not.” You sigh, turning back to the ceiling, morose. “Baela and I did 23AndMe like a month ago, and we just got our results back. She’s distantly related to royalty. I have a defective gene that makes me extra susceptible to blood clots. So if I take hormonal birth control I could have a stroke or something.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Aegon says.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s good you found out, you know? I wouldn’t want you dropping over dead.”

“Yeah,” you say again, flatly, ungenerously.

“Hey, no big deal, Stargirl. You know I’d use condoms anyway.”

“Well I might at some point in my life want to have sex with someone who’s not you, so.”

Aegon steps closer; he appears upside down as he studies you from above, sunburned forehead knit into thoughtful grooves, smelling like Tiger Beer and Axe body spray and…you think…chicken wings. His hair is in disarray, his aviator sunglasses tangled in blond knots. He’s wearing a lavender tank top, like dusk, like a bruise. “Ohhhh, I get it. This is an Aemond and Shelby thing.”

You hate that you’re so transparent, like a window wiped clean of fog and fingerprints. You hate that he’s right. “Why are they even together? What the hell do they have in common?”

“Now or before?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Well, before…” Aegon scratches at his cheek. There is a bug bite there, a tiny pink welt left by the venom of a mosquito or a spider. “It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Aemond got the satisfaction of boning the kind of girl who would have screamed if he touched her back in high school. Shelby got a massive career boost. She had 900,000 Instagram followers when they met. Now she has over 20 million.”

That recurring, futile refrain: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

“And I won’t lie. They had some good times.” Aegon grins down at you. “Just like we did.”

“What about now?”

“Now…” Aegon ponders this. “Now I think they’re both lost. Neither of them knows what comes next. Aemond leaving Comet. Shelby hitting that age when people like her start checking off the husband and kids boxes. When you’re thrown off a ship, you cling to the life raft, even if it’s small or ripped up or half-deflated or whatever, right? You try to hold on to what you have left. You return to what’s familiar. And that doesn’t make it right, but it’s what people do.”

“It is,” you agree mournfully. “So Aemond was the one who broke it off.”

“Yeah.”

“And then he took her back.” She called and called and called, he finally answered.

“He had a moment of weakness. Now we all have to live with it.”

“I didn’t know that.” Then you sit up on the bed and look at Aegon. “When the label wanted to get rid of Aemond, why didn’t you fight for him?”

“That’s just the way of the world, Stargirl.” He shrugs, an inevitability, good weather, bad weather, sun and clouds and storms. “He couldn’t stay in the band the way he is now. And the problem isn’t what he looks like. The problem is in his soul. But I have no idea how to fix it.” Aegon smiles, warm like summer. “I thought maybe you would. That’s why I called you.”

“You didn’t even know me,” you tell him. “I was just some girl from a bar.”

“No,” Aegon says softly, and he does not elaborate. And then, bright and cheerful again: “You’re really going to earn your paycheck at our next stop.”

“Where are we going?” You recall the names you’ve heard bouncing around since Comet arrived in East Asia, the cities you’ve seen on banners and t-shirts and Instagram posts. “Bangkok? Kuala Lumpur? Manila? Jakarta? Seoul?”

“Tokyo.” Aegon is still smiling, though in an off-kilter way now, uneasily, his murky ocean-blue eyes somber. The scene of the crime. Where the accident happened. Where Aemond believes his life ended. “We’re performing at the Budokan.”

~~~~~~~~~~

White clouds turn to sapphire waves, then emerald green fields and forests, then buildings in a million different shades of grey that stretch on forever, steel and concrete and asphalt and glass. Tokyo is the largest city you’ve ever seen, the largest city imaginable. It is a labyrinth that makes you think of the hay mazes that farms back home set up each autumn; it beckons you in and then dares you to leave.

As the band hurries through Haneda Airport, you are pursued by paparazzi and hyperventilating fans. The usual suspects—Aegon, Daeron, and Jace—can be relied upon to high five, smile, flash peace signs and hand hearts, blow kisses, pass out crochet astronomical objects, and shout such endearments as (woefully mispronounced) “Konnichiwa!” and “We love you, Japan!” Shelby waves like she’s goddamn Princess Diana. Aemond bows his head, his eyes enigmatic behind his sunglasses, his steps swift. Luke holds Rhaena’s hand; Baela walks with them. You hide behind Cregan. He casts quite a large shadow.

“I look real rock and roll now,” you joke, gesturing with your splinted arm.

Cregan replies in his rumbly subterranean voice: “I think I have you beat.” He pulls up one of his sleeves—floral print, silk, Valentino—and shows you the underside of his right forearm. Bisecting the flesh from his wrist to the crook of his elbow is a long, faint, moon-white scar that you’ve never noticed before, never even heard anyone mention.

“Oh, ouch! You broke it?”

“Compound fracture.” He covers his forearm again with his sleeve.

“When? How?”

Cregan hesitates. Suddenly, he no longer wants to be having this conversation. “Years ago.”

Just outside the airport waits that trusty fleet of black, tinted-window Escalades; but Aemond has requested that his 1960 Gold Star be there too. He takes his keys, helmet, and jacket from one of Comet’s hulking security guards. Shelby’s detail is notably more subdued since that night in Singapore; the man who dislocated your wrist has been exiled from the tour. Aemond climbs onto his motorcycle and starts the engine. The sound takes you back to Rome: when your hopes and spirits were high, when you and Aemond were still living on the light side of the moon.

“You in the mood for a ride, Shelby?” Aegon asks, smirking unkindly, taunting, chomping loudly on cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. “Don’t forget your helmet. We’d all be lost without you.”

Shelby combs out her beachy blond waves with her artful fingers, tan, reedy, nails turquoise and adorned with golden koi fish. “You’re psychotic if you think I’m getting on that bike.”

“Jesus,” Jace mutters. He is as shocked as anyone by his abrupt demotion to only the second most villainous person in Comet’s retinue.

Aemond doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything to Shelby, doesn’t even look at her. But he does glance over at you. And the words rise in your throat like a burning sun at dawn: I’ll go, I’d love to go, I trust you, I want you. But before you can say anything, Aemond has knocked the kickstand out of the way and is weaving through thick afternoon traffic towards the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. And as the Escalades roll and the band chats around you—indistinctly, abstractedly—you keep staring out the window and searching for glimpses of Aemond like the rare flash of a meteor in a city sky; but you can’t find him.

Criston knows he’s brought Comet to dangerous ground, peppered with quagmires and landmines. So he has planned a ruthlessly hectic itinerary. As soon as you’ve received your room key and unpacked, it’s time for dinner at an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant down the street. Criston herds the band there like the rugged Australian cattle dogs that your parents have back in Kansas City nip at the heels of snorting, intractable Black Angus bulls. You sit between Baela and Aegon, who is wearing his neon green tank top, matching Crocs (per usual), and khaki cargo shorts. He’s also gulping sake bombs until they dribble down his sunburned face. Countless varieties of sushi and side dishes rotate by on a conveyer belt, colorful little plates waiting to be snatched up: salmon, tuna, eel, octopus, shrimp, miniature omelets, fried tofu, Wagyu beef, squid, yellowtail, veggie rolls, chicken and pork dumplings, seaweed salad.

“You okay over there?” Aegon asks, grinning as he watches you stab at your eel sushi, topped with some kind of mayo-like sauce and delicious but tragically challenging to eat.

“I didn’t know how to use chopsticks before my dominant hand was put out of commission.” You glare down the row at Shelby. She glowers back. Since that night in Singapore, you circle each other like snarling undomesticated animals, wolves or coyotes. Now you’re on her radar. Now she knows there is something—that mysterious, ever-shifting, worrying something—between you and Aemond. She just doesn’t know what it is. Neither do you, neither does he, neither does anyone.

“Want me to feed you?” Aegon slurs flirtatiously. He plucks up a piece of your eel sushi with his chopsticks and promptly drops it in your lap. “Oh. Fuck.”

Baela presses the button on the counter to summon the server. “I’ll get you a fork.”

“You are a saint,” you tell her. “Patron saint of initiative. Or drive, whichever you prefer the sound of.” Aegon is mayhem, Aemond is lost causes. What am I?

“And you are an uncultured hick from Kansas.”

You smile at her. “Missouri.”

Your fork soon arrives. A few seats down the row, you hear Shelby ask innocently, like it doesn’t mean anything: “How old is Louis Tomlinson’s son now?”

Aemond shrugs. He’s watching the conveyor belt for vegan options; he keeps missing them when they pass by. “I don’t know, five?”

“No, Freddie?!” Luke says. “He’s gotta be like seven now. We saw him last summer at Niall’s pool party.”

“He was so cute,” Shelby says. She’s sitting on Aemond’s good side, as always. She rubs his back and you fight the urge to break her fingers one by one, snapping them in half like dry autumn twigs, lifeless and hollow. “Wasn’t he cute, honeybunch?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies distractedly. And of course Shelby is the type of person who believes that becoming a father will heal a man, rather than just dooming his children to be collateral damage.

Aegon peeks over the conveyer belt at the chefs who are preparing plates in the middle. He lurches and wobbles. Criston covers his own face with his hands, mortified. “Hey, hey, can I get a Crab Rangoon please?”

A chef says something in Japanese, soft and polite but clearly imploring him to sit back down.

Aegon repeats slowly: ��Crab! Rangooooooon!”

“Hey dumbass,” Jace says. “That’s Chinese. We’re in Japan.”

“Oh. Right.” Aegon sighs, retreats, and orders himself another sake bomb.

You grab a plate of veggie rolls and another of fried tofu sushi off the conveyer belt and pass them down the row to Aemond. Shelby sends you the most venomous of glares, but Aemond mouths when she’s not paying attention: Thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two shows in Tokyo, two performances on the stage where Aemond was mutilated. Of course, you don’t see mutilation when you look at him. You never have. You see the way the light hits the angles of his jaw and nose and cheekbones and think of marble faces in museums, generals, kings, saints, angels. You see the crystalline blue of his right eye and think of rivers, cool and rushing and clean. You see the ethereal haze of his left eye and think of other planets. You don’t know why everyone else reads his scar and blindness as a tale of unspeakable ruin. You can’t imagine seeing Aemond that way. It would be easier, less painful, simpler for you if you could. Maybe you could stop wanting him. Maybe you could stop dreaming about him, wisps of longing and memory that escape you as soon as you wake.

Aemond does not attend Comet’s concerts at the Budokan. They’re the only ones you’ve ever known him to miss. He rides out on his Gold Star instead, and then reappears to join the band for their post-show ritual in Jace’s suite, grim and quiet and scribbling in his black-paged notebook, smoking his cigarettes, sipping his Brambles. You cannot blame Aemond. You weren’t here last December when a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck and nearly killed him, and yet you can’t stop thinking about it; you can’t stop yourself from glancing up at the rafters during shows, wondering exactly how it happened, picturing Aemond bloody and unconscious on the stage, half-blinded and robbed without knowing it yet.

Tomorrow night is Comet Donati’s final performance in Tokyo, but today Criston has a day trip planned. He has filled every spare second of this tour stop with distractions. The band travels by bullet train (or shinkansen) and then local railways to Nara, the city that served as Japan’s capital in the 700s. Criston hires a tour guide—an 80-year old man called Toru-san, who possesses an incalculable amount of knowledge and also a very, very thick accent—to lead you all around Nara Park to see Isuien Garden, the Kasuga Taisha Shrine, the Nara National Museum, and finally the Great Buddha. Nara Park is full of food and souvenir vendors, as well as 1,200 sika deer that you can pet and feed, albeit at risk of being trampled by overenthusiastic herbivores. There are signs posted with warnings to exercise caution, complete with cartoon illustrations of deer gone rogue.

It’s 95 degrees outside with 80% humidity. You are drenched with sweat and guzzling boba tea. The handle of your bag from a gift shop is slung over your splint. Toru-san, despite his long pants and cardigan sweater, is looking spry as ever and is deep in conversation with Luke and Rhaena; he is regaling them with a bottomless well of Nara trivia. Cregan and Daeron are still browsing through gift shops, mostly for the opportunity to escape the heat and hover, sighing with relief, in front of every electric fan they come across. Aegon, lobster-level red—you aren’t sure if he’s more sunburned or flushed—is snoring under a tree as deer nibble at his cyan tank top and white cargo shorts. Aemond purchased probably $200 worth of deer crackers and has attracted a sizeable crowd of furry new friends. He’s like he always is around animals: beaming, immersed, at peace. Shelby is capturing pictures and video clips of him from a distance.

Nearby where you stand under the shade of a black pine tree, Baela is dressed in a crop top and yoga pants and stretching in the middle of a patch of grass. She keeps having to stop to shove deer away from her as they tiptoe close, searching for snacks. Jace is using Google Translate to flirt with a crowd of Japanese fangirls who have recognized him. They are giggling so loudly you can hear them from across a field. Baela is trying to ignore this. She falls out of a pose and sighs irritably, then walks over to you. Together, you watch Jace for a while, you slurping on your boba tea, Baela frowning with her hands on her willowy waist.

At last, she says: “Sometimes we love people who we know don’t deserve it. But that doesn’t make us love them any less. We just hate ourselves for not being stronger.”

“I think you’re incredibly strong, Baela.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Strong enough to leave him. Strong enough to begin living your own life again.”

Her expression is suddenly uncharacteristically vulnerable, fearful. “I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve never been an adult without him.”

“You’d figure it out. And you wouldn’t be alone. You’d have Rhaena, and Luke, and ballet, and all your friends and family—”

“And you too, right?” she asks. “You’ll still be my friend? Even after you go back home?”

You are stunned into a silence that Baela first mistakes for rejection. Her face falls. “No no no, I’m not hesitating, you just caught me by surprise. Of course I’ll still be your friend after the tour is over. I’ll be your friend forever.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you’ll visit me in prison if I snap one day and throw Jace into a meatgrinder?”

You laugh and hug her, your sweat dampening each other’s clothes: her orange crop top, your Backstreet Boys t-shirt. “Absolutely. For sure.”

“Okay. I gotta go practice some more.” She spends long hours down in the hotel gym while everyone else is sleeping or partying or preparing for shows, running and stretching and yoga and repeating the same dance routines over and over again. You applaud and whistle as she leaves. “Stop,” Baela complains, but she’s grinning.

You procure another boba tea. You find a nice shady spot on a bench. You check your phone; there’s maybe fifteen more minutes until the band is scheduled to leave for the train station to begin the journey back to Tokyo. Naturally, Criston has dinner already planned: kaiseki ryori, a traditional multi-course meal. You wonder if there will be vegan options for Aemond. Your eyes drift back to him. They always seem to. He’s dragging his palm down the face of a ten-point buck as he feeds him a crumbling brown cracker. There’s a fawn curled up in Aemond’s lap. His blond hair is slicked back off his forehead, his black shirt mostly unbuttoned. Sweat gleams on his chest. Your fingertips ache to draw sloping lines and lazy circles in it.

“I never worried about him,” Criston says. He’s appeared beside you, arms crossed guardedly. You move over so there’s room for Criston on the bench. He sits, distant and troubled. “I always worried about the others. Aegon and Jace especially. But not Aemond.”

“Because he never needed you,” you say quietly.

“He didn’t,” Criston agrees. “And so I wasn’t there to protect him that day.”

The day of the accident. “From what I understand, it wasn’t something you could have prevented.”

“No, I couldn’t have stopped that piece of rigging from falling. But I could have made it so he wasn’t standing under it.”

You wait for Criston to explain. That’s an element that people often underestimate: the power of waiting for someone to be ready.

“It was soundcheck,” Criston says. His voice is strained, hushed. He repeatedly touches the stubble of his beard, a nervous habit. “Aemond was on time, as always. Aemond was exactly where he was supposed to be. But no one else was. Aegon and Jace had gone off to a strip club or a burlesque show or something, I don’t remember. They came back to the hotel and were absolutely hammered, they were crawling around on the hallway floor and puking in corners, laughing hysterically, completely out of their minds. Cregan and Luke were there trying to get them cleaned up. I was on the phone with Cregan, he was pissed, probably the most angry I’ve ever heard him, he kept pausing to yell at Aegon. He’d dragged him into a cold shower, but Aegon was fighting, trying to bite and kick him and whatever the hell else. So eventually I decided to go to the hotel and deal with it. Aemond offered to go with me. I told him no, you stay here, I’ll bring the other four even if I have to get the security guys to toss Aegon and Jace over their shoulders and carry them. Then I left.”

“And that’s when it happened,” you realize. “While you were gone.”

“Yes,” Criston says. And he gazes across Nara Park, here in body but his mind trapped in the maze of the past.

“You had no way of knowing what would happen, Criston. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should have told him to come with me back to the hotel. Or I should have stopped Aegon and Jace from getting wasted. If they’d been on time, if soundcheck had happened as scheduled, no one would have been standing where that piece of rigging fell. Aemond would still be the leader of Comet. He would still have his face, his sight, his life.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say again.

“Alicent blames me,” he confesses. And you only know who she is because you’ve asked Aegon: the wife of Viserys Targaryen, the mother of his three sons. “She’ll never forgive me.”

Is that really why she avoids you, Criston? Or is there another reason? “If that’s true, it’s only because she’s feeling a lot of horrible things—grief, pain, regret, guilt—and she’s directing them at you. You haven’t earned them. You’re just the person standing in the line of fire. They’re a reflection of Alicent’s inner turmoil, not of your own worth. I think you’ve done a phenomenal job trying to keep this band safe and happy. And I know it’s not easy. I know it’s damn near impossible.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, looking at you with large, dark, truthful eyes like a dog’s.

And you imagine a world in which you’d never seen Aegon after that night in Kansas City, never met Aemond, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan, Daeron, Criston. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

Criston reaches over and—for a moment, so briefly you could have imagined it—rests his hand on your shoulder like he sometimes does to Aemond and Luke. Then he leaves to collect Cregan and Daeron from a shaved ice vendor. Shelby has strolled over to consult with Toru-san, presumably so she can add his trivia to her Instagram posts and TikTok videos. You go to Aemond.

“I have a confession to make,” he says solemnly as you approach.

The oxygen vanishes from your lungs; you try to hide this. “What is it?”

Aemond smiles up at you. “When the tour guide was leading us here, I thought he kept saying that the park was full of bears. And I didn’t want to kill the mood or anything, but I was definitely concerned about going on a field trip to feed over 1,000 uncaged bears. I am very, very relieved that he was in fact saying deer.”

You chuckle and sit next to Aemond on the grass, petting the fawn in his lap. It blinks sleepily at you, its fur soft and spotted, its ears pricked up and curious.

“What’s your souvenir for this stop of the tour?” Aemond asks.

You pull it out of your bag to show him: a small stuffed sika deer complete with floppy felt antlers. “Isn’t it adorable?”

“It is,” he says. “Are you going to have room for all these keepsakes in your apartment back home?”

“Already fantasizing about me leaving, huh?”

“No,” Aemond says, seriously now. Deadly serious. “No, I’m not.” And then Criston is shouting through cupped hands for everybody to huddle up so you can all head to the train station.

It’s not until the band is trekking out of Nara Park towards the blissful promise of air conditioning that you realize someone is missing. When you look around, you see Criston, Aemond, Shelby, Aegon (rubbing his eyes and yawning), Baela, Jace, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan, and a smattering of security guards dressed in black.

“Wait,” you say. “Where’s Daeron?”

A chorus of confusion: “What?” Huh?” “He’s not here?” At last, Criston spies him sitting alone on a wooden park bench, glumly eating through his mountain of shaved ice.

“What the hell is he doing?!” Jace says impatiently, swiping perspiration from his forehead.

Aegon massages your shoulders. “I think this might call for your particular area of expertise, Stargirl.” And when Aemond’s eye flicks to Aegon fleetingly, resentfully, you think for the first time: And where were you, Aegon, when Aemond was waiting all those months ago? Whoring, drinking, self-destructing in ways that take other people down with you? Then you leave him.

Through the heat that lays thick over the city like a tangle of vines, you trudge to the bench where the youngest Targaryen brother is lingering. “Daeron? What’s wrong?”

He stares gloomily down into his shaved ice: blood-colored, strawberry, ichigo. “Everyone thinks I’m always joking and optimistic, but I’m not.”

You ask gently: “What are you really, Daeron?”

“I don’t know what to be. That’s the problem. I worry about it all the time. I can’t win. If I’m sad, then I’m ungrateful for this tremendous opportunity. But if I’m happy, it’s like I’m dancing on Aemond’s grave.”

“He’s not dead, Daeron,” you say.

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“But a lot of the time people talk about him like he is. You speak around him, over him, through him. Do you think he doesn’t notice?” Do you think he can’t feel the weight of that dark gravity that roots him to the earth? Do you think he can disentangle who he is from the wreckage that has buried its shrapnel in his bones?

Daeron isn’t insulted by what you’ve said. Instead, he seems fascinated. He seems grateful, like you’ve sat down to help him with an especially baffling puzzle. “What would he want from us, do you think?”

“I think he wants to know that his time in Comet wasn’t wasted. That even if he leaves, he will still be a part of this family. I think he wants to be acknowledged. He doesn’t want pity or awkward silences, he doesn’t want to pretend that the accident never happened. He wants to know that his life will go on in spite of it.”

Daeron ruminates on this, taking a bite of his towering mound of shaved ice. “If I said something about him at the last Tokyo show tomorrow, do you think he’d mind? I’ve had this idea for a while, but I didn’t know how he’d take it.”

“That depends on what you say.”

Daeron asks, peering up at you with large pale eyes: more translucent than Aegon’s, more harmless than Aemond’s. He has been shown more kindness than either of them; he is perhaps less deep, less singularly brilliant, but also less burdened. It is a trade many would happily agree to. It is a trade they would pay for in blood. “What should I say?”

You smile at Daeron. “The truth.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’d like to take a moment to share something with all of you,” Daeron says into his microphone as soon as Comet finishes The Worst Way To Be. The audience lowers their cheers to a reverent, intensely attentive murmur.

“Wait, what?” Baela whispers to you and Rhaena as you stand in the front row. Shelby, who had been looking rather bored, whips out her phone and begins a live stream. Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Cregan are upbeat and beaming—as is expected of them, as is required—but they pass each other nervous glances like folded paper notes in a high school classroom. This is not in the script.

“I just want to say thank you,” Daeron continues. His voice reverberates off the walls of the Budokan. “Thank you to all of you guys, of course. Our amazing, incredible fans. Thank you for letting us live this dream of a life.” There are claps and whistles, shrieked declarations of undying adoration. Daeron takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking; you can see the microphone tremble. “And thank you to my big brother Aemond.” Instantaneously, the crowd goes as close to silent as it is possible for a stadium at max capacity to be. The others are gawking at him openly now, unable to paper over it with masklike smiles. “I had been following Comet around for years before I got the offer to officially join. So I know how much work and talent Aemond poured into this band. I’m beyond honored to be up on this stage tonight performing for all of you, but I wish it could have happened a different way. I wish Aemond could be here too. And no matter where he goes in the world or what he does next, he will always be the person who made Comet Donati possible. And he will always be my greatest inspiration. I love you, man. We all love you.”

And the audience erupts into deafening cheers and applause, all for a soul who could not bring himself to attend the show. There are chants of We love you, Aemond! that go on for more than five minutes. Aegon is shouting as loudly as anyone; Jace, Luke, and Cregan are running around the stage and encouraging the crowd. They are a little shellshocked, but they are genuine.

Even Jace, you think, you marvel. Even Jace is honoring him. He doesn’t hate Aemond after all. He provokes and he taunts, sure, and he crosses lines on occasion, but Jace doesn’t hate Aemond. He might even miss him.

For their last night in Tokyo, Criston has grander aspirations for the band than the usual wind down in Jace’s suite. He gets everyone—Aemond included, fetched from the bar of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, already several Brambles deep—into the Escalades to drive to Club Camelot, where Criston has reserved one of the three floors for Comet. It swiftly fills like a flute of champagne: women in sparkling gowns, men with baiting smiles, security guards and label executives and friends and acquaintances and models. The tiles on the floor are black and white, but bathed in sapphire luminescence that covers everyone like rain. Empty hands are filled with frosty bottles and glasses clinking with ice. The song that thunders out of the speakers is a throwback: Butterfly by Crazy Town.

Cregan has acquired a harem of sorts; you look once and he’s flocked by three gazelle-like companions, you look again and there are five of them. Jace is mingling freely. Aemond is talking to Daeron—thanking him, it appears, offering heartfelt gratitude—while Shelby greets a pack of influencer-types as they arrive. They squeal and jump up and down with her in their clicking stilettos, then take turns snapping each other’s pictures. Criston actually appears to be somewhat relaxed. He sips on a Sapporo Premium and chats with one of the guys from the label, gesturing casually with his expressive hands. Aegon is curled up in a booth with Selena Gomez. Yes, Selena freaking Gomez. He keeps playing with her glossy dark tresses and making her giggle, propping his sunburned face up on his knuckles, glowing in that way that he does. It’s not just for you. It’s never been just for you. And sometimes he’s close to you and sometimes he’s not, and right now he’s on the other side of the solar system, he’s out in the Oort cloud, he’ll be back to visit earth in a few hundred years. Aegon disappears into the bathroom every few minutes. You see smudges of white powder on his hands, under his nose. If he tried to talk to you right now, you wouldn’t know what to say to him. He would feel like a stranger.

You’re watching Aemond. You wish you weren’t, but you are. He’s in all black, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. You nurse a Bramble and follow Baela, Rhaena, and Luke around the dancefloor, barely able to hear them over the music. Luke is lightheartedly making fun of Baela for something. Her earrings? Her shoes?

“I’ll have you know that I’m very important around here!” Baela cries over the music. “I’m the patron saint of drive!”

“Patron saint of driving herself to the Gucci store, maybe,” Luke says.

They’re all laughing. You feel like you’re observing them through a transparent wall, like you’re at the aquarium and they’re a dazzling rare species and you’re some grubby kid with your palms pressed to the glass. What am I still doing here? Why did I ever think I belonged here?

You break away from Baela, Rhaena, and Luke and drift by Shelby and her fellow influencers, not intending to eavesdrop but catching a few fragments of their conversation like Jupiter and Saturn capture moons. As Aemond talks to Daeron across the room, Shelby is lamenting her love life. She thinks she’s being discrete, but she’s had more than a few gin and tonics.

“No, he still…he probably doesn’t want me looking at him…he’ll let me blow him, but he won’t actually…you know…?”

And you remember what you told him on that balcony in Reykjavik: I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to.

You were right. You’re still right. And here you are, like mirrors: Aemond not fucking Shelby, you not fucking Aegon, and there’s no especially good reason for either except that it just doesn’t feel right. After a while, Shelby and her entourage leave to check out another nightclub down the block. More photo opportunities, you suspect. A change of scenery.

“How’s your wrist?” Jace inquires. He’s found you loitering on the outskirts of the dancefloor. He’s wearing a black sequined blazer with nothing underneath except skin and ink. He’s unsteady on his feet, a Vesper sloshing in his glass. Now the song that’s playing is Ed Sheeran’s I Don’t Care, featuring Justin Bieber. In the booth she’s sharing with Aegon, Selena Gomez audibly groans.

“Great. It actually feels better when no one talks to me.”

Jace cackles, far too loudly. “You are hilarious. Hey, hey, listen.” His free hand skates around your waist. Instinctively, you jolt away from him.

“Nope.”

“Listen.” He grips you more adamantly. “Let’s do this.”

“No, no, that’s a very kind offer but I’d rather chew off my own limbs, thank you.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’ve hooked up with Aegon,” Jace purrs into your ear, sweating out vodka and gin, his curls brushing against your cheek. “Hell, I don’t care if you’re still hooking up with Aegon. I’m better than him. I have to be, right? That fat drunk. I’ll show you.”

You try to pull away from him again. You’re wearing the short sparkly dress you bought in Reykjavik, black velvet and silver stars. “Jace, don’t touch me.”

“Come on, Stargirl, give me a shot—”

“Jace,” you say harshly, your eyes blazing. “Do not touch me.”

“Okay,” he sighs; and, to his credit, he releases you. He holds up his palm in surrender. “Okay, fine, but when you change your mind—”

Aemond soars in out of nowhere, a comet, a meteor, the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs. His fist connects with Jace’s jaw. Jace’s Vesper goes flying; blood spurts from his mouth, split lips and lost teeth. “Don’t you fucking touch her!” Aemond is roaring. He has Jace pinned to the floor, black and white and sapphire and red. “When she says not to touch her, you don’t, you hear me?!”

People are screaming and descending upon them, trying to pull them apart. Your Bramble shatters against the tile floor. Criston is here, and security guards, and Baela and Rhaena and Luke and Aegon. Everyone is talking at the same time, so it’s almost like no one is. Jace is striking at Aemond from the ground. Aemond hits him again, and again, knuckles into defenseless flesh and bone, blood vessels bursting, nerves on fire. The music stops, the lights come on.

“Aemond, stop!” you shout. “Aemond, Aemond, you’re going to kill him!”

“Let him go, Aemond, please!” Baela is yelling, and there’s raw terror in her voice.

Then Jace lands a solid punch at last, a hook that comes in from Aemond’s left. Blood pours from Aemond’s nose, it’s on his face and his throat, it’s running down his chest. Cregan arrives, locks his arms around Aemond’s waist, and heaves him away. Before Jace has a second to recover, Aegon wrenches him up by the collar of his blazer and slaps him open-handed across the face.

“He can’t see on that side, you fucking snake!”

Criston bellows: “Aegon, back up, back up, back the fuck up!” He finally gets a good look at Jace: bleeding, bruised, teeth missing, blinking dazedly at the spectators, too stunned to feel the pain yet. “Oh my God!” Criston whirls to Aemond, who is struggling against Cregan’s grasp. “How’s he going to perform in five days, huh?! Jesus Christ, he looks like he’s been butchered! How am I going to cover that up?! How is he going to sing?!” Criston pulls Jace to his feet; he practically has to carry him. Baela follows after them, more distressed than you’ve ever seen her, flowing tears and strangled sobs. Rhaena and Luke go too.

You, Aegon, and Daeron rush to Aemond. He’s bent over and spitting blood onto the floor so he doesn’t choke on it. “Not broken,” Cregan pronounces after examining his nose. “Just gonna bleed real bad. Needs pressure on it.”

“Are you okay?” Aegon asks you, a hand careful and tender on your face. He’s back again, for a minute, an hour, a day.

Your voice quakes. “Yeah.”

“What did Jace do…?”

“Nothing, nothing that bad, I mean he grabbed my waist but—”

“Aegon?” Selena Gomez says tentatively, waiting nearby and hugging her arms around herself.

“Yeah, one second, love. Give me a second.” He appraises Aemond and whistles. “Man, you are wrecked.” And not just physically. He’s incensed, he’s in shock. You reach for Aemond’s hand and he lets you take it.

“You got him?” Cregan asks you.

“I’ll clean him up. I’ll take care of him.” And as blood continues to run down his face, you draw Aemond towards the bathrooms. You lead him inside the women’s room and lock the door, blue walls and white florescent light. Somewhat ungainly—relying mostly upon your non-dominant hand—you press a pile of paper towels against his nose and tell him to hold it there. Then you wet more paper towels and wipe down his knuckles, his face, his throat. The blood on his chest has run beneath his glossy black shirt. We match, you think randomly. “Can I…?”

He yanks the shirt over his head, then returns the mass of crimson-stained paper towels to his nose. Fortunately, the bleeding appears to be slowing. You erase the smudged trail of scarlet that runs all the way to the waistline of his dark jeans. When you reach the end of it, Aemond flinches away from you; not a pained flinch, but a fearful one. He turns his back on you and walks to the other end of the small and shadowless room. He braces one palm against the wall and sighs deeply. He throws the wad of paper towels in the trashcan and then covers his face with his hand, shaking his head.

“Aemond,” you say. And you wait for him to look you in the eye. It takes a long time. “What do you want?” Why were you watching me and Jace? Why did you lose control?

“Nothing,” he replies immediately.

“That’s a lie.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you insist, your voice fracturing. “It does matter. Just tell me what you want.”

“Why, so you can let me down easy? Or worse, pretend to be into it to make me feel better, to help piece me and my fragile little ego back together? I don’t beg for anything. You really think I’m going to beg you to want me?”

“No, you’re too fucking proud, you’d never even ask for it. You’ll beat people half to death for things you’re too much of a coward to say out loud, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?!”

“Then why are you even in here with me?! Just go back to Aegon, I know that’s what you want. I guess you’ll have to wait in line behind Selena Gomez, but he’ll work his way back around to you eventually.”

“Jace stole something from you, right?” you say. “You feel like he stole the band from you after you were kicked out, and then tonight you felt like he was stealing something else, and that’s why you freaked out and almost murdered him—��

“No. No, because you’re not mine.”

“What do you want, Aemond?” you ask him again, tears of exhaustion and desperation in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says, coming in closer. “So you’re absolved, you’re free to go, I don’t need your goddamn charity—”

Your good hand juts out, and what you plan to do is plant it against his bare chest and push him away. What you do instead—as if by muscle memory, a reflex, an instinct—is reach up to plunge your fingers into his hair. And then his palm is cradling the small of your back and his lips are on yours, moving seamlessly like how currents thread through the ocean. He helps lift you up onto the counter; there is just enough room between two of the sinks. Your legs link around Aemond as he presses himself to you, lips still tinged with coppery blood, bare chest, his waist, his hips. Your back hits the mirror—cool and unyielding, the ink of his lyrics flat against the glass—with enough force to make a thump.

“Are you okay—?”

“I’m more okay than I’ve been in years.”

He tilts up your chin and kisses you deeply, dizzyingly, his tongue darting between your lips. He tastes like his Brambles, sweetness cut with the bite of gin, and smoke, and something else too, something that’s just purely him, something you could drown in like the river of his clear right eye. Gently, you bring your fingertips to his face, to his scar. “Don’t,” he pleads softly, pained.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Don’t—”

“Aemond, look at me.” And you hold his face still so you know he hears you. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

You watch it hit him like a stone into water, ripples that wash away everything he’s felt before. He knows you mean it, he can feel it, the same way you can feel the care with which he caresses you, not just lust but engulfing warmth, wordless veneration. He whispers between kisses: “Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want.”

Your lock your gaze with his, then reach down to unbutton his jeans. It’s difficult with the splint, but you manage. You think he might stop you, you prepare yourself for it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Aemond’s hands vanish beneath your dress and slip off your panties, black lace you hadn’t planned on anyone seeing tonight. As you kiss his face—jagged scar, flushed cheek, the slope of his jaw—his fingers slide into a pool of staggering heat and wetness.

He moans. “Oh fuck, that’s for me?”

“I’ve wanted this from the start.”

“Show me…show me how you like it…”

You guide his hand to exactly the right spot and give him a rhythm, a pressure, a pace that rolls a euphoric shudder down your spine. He’s barely touched you, and already you’re shaking all over; you’re throbbing, you’re dazed with that delicious needful aching, you’re gasping into the sweltering, salt-strewn dampness of his neck. His fingertips stroke you in commanding circles—only a few times—until you’re on the precipice, until you stop him. You’re ready, even though he’s huge: long and thick, revealed as he tugs down his jeans and boxers. He pins your uninjured hand against the mirror and kisses and bites at your throat as he eases himself inside you: a stretching that is intense but not unpleasant, hunger being satisfied. And when he thrusts—carefully at first, waiting for you to tell him he can be rougher—there are so many layers of pleasure that it stuns you, it leaves you speechless. Has it ever been like this before? Never, never, never, not once, not for a moment, not with anybody. His future was stolen from him, but he’s taken your past from you; he’s carved it out like a gemstone from the earth and locked it away in a vault no one remembers the passcode to.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, you beg. “Aemond, please, please, I want to come for you…” And you gasp as his fingers skim down your belly again, stroking you forcefully as his thrusts become deeper, quicker, impossibly powerful.

His voice is low and murmuring. His scent is everywhere; it’s all you know how to breathe. “You okay, baby? You alright?”

“Yes, yes, oh God, Aemond, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t stop, baby. You’re doing so well, you’re almost there.”

“Aemond…yes…I love this…”

“I love you.”

He what…? He WHAT…??

And it doesn’t just drag you over the edge; it pushes you, it propels you, you go plummeting off the cliffside and freefall for miles. There’s no disguising it. You have to bury your face in his chest to keep from crying out, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving indents like crescent moons. Aemond, fighting his own climax viciously, lasts just long enough to fuck you through the aftershocks and then empties himself not just physically but also of the shame and aimlessness of the past seven months, of his fears, of his suspicions.

“Wait,” you say as he pulls away from you. You yank a paper towel out of the dispenser and wet it with cold water. First you cool his forehead and the back of his neck with it, then you wipe his fingers and his cock. Still perched on the counter, you wet another paper towel for yourself.

“No,” Aemond tells you. “Let me.” He takes it from you, opens your thighs, and kisses your mouth—teasingly, biting and sucking your lower lip—as he spreads your folds and cleans them of his seed, abundant hot white fluid that you can feel dripping out of you. As he passes over where you are most sensitive—where you can already feel longing for him rebuilding brick by brick—you jump a little, and you both laugh. I could go again, you think. I could do this with him forever. And then, as Aemond descends from the chemical high like a plane gliding down towards a tarmac, you watch as those old familiar poisons—shame, aimlessness, fear, suspicion—begin to fill up in him again, slowly but unmistakably.

He throws out the paper towels and takes several steps back. He starts putting on his clothes, staring at the wall, then at the mirror, not at you but past you, at himself, his clear river-blue eye wide and vacant. He looks horrified by what he’s done; or perhaps, rather, by what he’s said.

You grab your panties off the counter and step into them, readjusting your dress. “Look, uh…if you didn’t mean what you said…that’s totally cool. I get it, sometimes people say things in the moment that aren’t real, there’s the oxytocin and the dopamine, and I don’t want you to feel…uh…you know…like you have to keep up a false pretense or anything…”

Aemond turns around and walks out of the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.

“Okay,” you say to yourself. “Okay. I can fix this.” You use the toilet quickly—UTIs are not welcome here—and then head out onto the dancefloor.

The lights are dim again, and thank God for that; your makeup is smudged, your hair unruly, your eyes glazed, your dress rumpled and stained. Cregan is the only person still waiting. “Hey,” he says flatly, then squints at you. You avoid his astute greyish eyes.

“Hey. Where is everyone?”

“Criston took Jace to the hospital. Baela is there too. Rhaena and Luke are back at the hotel. Aegon is presumably balls deep in Selena Gomez. Aemond just sprinted out of this club and I’d guess he’s headed back to the hotel too. Daeron went after him. I think that’s everybody.”

You shift your weight from foot to foot uneasily. “Shelby?”

“Oh, right. Haven’t seen her. Still out with her friends.” His eyes sweep over you. “On a scale of one to ten, how homicidal would she be if she found out about whatever happened in that bathroom?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Uh huh.” Cregan strides towards the stairwell that leads down to the front door. “Let’s go.”

Back at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, you swipe your keycard and flick the lights on in your suite. You stand there alone, feeling the evidence of what you’ve done: sore muscles and bruised skin and pooling wetness, both yours and his. You are absorbed with thoughts of what you’re going to say to Aemond when you confront him, how much of your truth you are willing to bare. And then your eyes catch on the small trashcan beside your bed, which reminds you of the one back in Singapore, which reminds you of your pack of birth control pills discarded on a pile of crumpled soda cans and snack wrappers.

I haven’t taken a pill in days. How many days? A week?

“Oh my God,” you breathe. And then, more frantically: “Oh no, oh no, no no no…”

What do I do? What the hell do I do?

You race out into the hallway and knock on Baela’s door. Nobody answers. You try Rhaena’s next. She appears in her pajamas, pink and dotted with tiny green Tyrannosaurus rexes. “Hi,” she says agreeably enough, but she’s rubbing her eyes drowsily.

“Hi. I’m really, really sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency.”

She perks up considerably. “Okay, how can I help?”

“Where’s Luke?”

“In the shower.”

“So he can’t hear us right now?”

“No, he can’t.”

“Good. Do you know when Baela will be back from the hospital?”

“Not anytime soon,” Rhaena says. “She messaged me that Jace needs stitches and has a concussion. They’ll be there all night, at least.”

You exhale, a defeated little squeak. “Is Aegon around? With or without Selena Gomez?”

“No, they haven’t come back yet. I have no idea where they are.”

“Okay.” You swallow noisily.

“What’s going on with you?” Rhaena asks, concerned.

“This really is not a Rhaena situation. This is a Baela or Aegon situation.”

“Alright, but neither of them are here. So I’m who you’ve got.”

You stare at her. “I need Plan B. Do you happen to have any Plan B?”

“Plan B…? Like, you just had unprotected sex with someone Plan B?”

“Yes, exactly, that one.”

Rhaena gapes, scandalized. “With who?!”

“Confidential,” you say briskly. “Do you have any or not?”

“No, I definitely don’t have any Plan B lying around.”

“No,” you groan. Tears are welling up in your eyes. “What am I going to do? How do I get Plan B in Japan?!”

“We’ll figure this out,” Rhaena says. She dashes to her nightstand to grab her iPhone. “Don’t panic. It’ll be okay. Let’s Google 24-hour pharmacies in Tokyo…”

You don’t have Criston here to summon an Escalade—nor would you willingly risk him finding out about this—but Rhaena uses Google Translate to ask the hotel’s front desk to call a taxi. She shows the taxi driver an address, figures out how many yen you owe him, and then asks him very politely (if haltingly) in Japanese to wait ten minutes while you’re inside the pharmacy so you can take a return trip as well. He seems to agree.

Rhaena accompanies you into the pharmacy and repeats these steps: Google Translate, an exchange of yen, the receipt of a service. She tells you that based on her quick research, Plan B is usually by prescription only in Japan, but pharmacists will sometimes be willing to prescribe it on the spot to a patient in need. Rhaena spends a long time typing out a message for the middle-aged, bespectacled pharmacist, then points to you. This is my friend, the maybe-pregnant slut from Missouri, you imagine her saying. She needs emergency contraception. It’s really in all of humanity’s best interests for her not to continue her bloodline.

“You have to show him your ID,” Rhaena tells you.

You give your passport to the pharmacist, and then he hands you a small package. You and Rhaena purchase a bottle of Coke Zero as well. You gulp down the single tablet as the pharmacist watches with bushy raised eyebrows, amused. You are pleased to discover that the taxi driver has waited, and within fifteen minutes you and Rhaena are back at the hotel.

“You’ve talked to a lot of people tonight,” you tell Rhaena matter-of-factly as you ride the elevator back up to the band’s floor.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I did. I mean, I’ve been practicing. And you needed me.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say.

Rhaena smiles sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“And I’ll be even more proud of you when I get my period.”

She giggles, she trots off to her suite, you retreat into yours. You collapse onto the floor and gaze up at the ceiling, studying the specks and grooves in the tiles like constellations.

“It was only one time,” you say to the ceiling. “I was on the pill for years. That takes a while to leave my system, right? I mean, what are the odds? It’s fine. It’s totally fine. Nothing’s going to happen, right?”

Right?

[k-nonsense]

My updated rankings/reviews of all the k dramas I have seen so far (up to 56 now). I would recommend any show I gave a C grade or higher, which is most of them. I bolded recently added shows.

1. Hometown Cha Cha Cha: An absolute masterpiece. It’s a heartwarming fish out of water story about a big city girl who finds herself in the quirkiest little seaside town. I wanted to stay in Gongjin forever. Grade: A+(Netflix)

2. Extraordinary Attorney Woo (S1): Delightful! Never have I ever rooted for a lead harder. She is the most endearing lead you will ever find. And the male lead is so so swoony. Grade: A+(Netflix)

3. Alchemy of Souls: The wildest of rides and the perfect blend of fantasy, adventure, mystery, comedy, and romance. The characters are just so lovable, you’ll never want it to end. Season 2 just as good as Season 1. Grade: A+ (Netflix)

4. Lovely Runner: the most beautiful love story ever told. ImSol and Sunjae forever! In every timeline! My only wish is that the drama would never end. Grade A (Viki)

5. My Demon: This show had me utterly enthralled, it was so mysterious and suspenseful and yet incredibly goofy and romantic. My new favorite main couple in all KDrama land. Yes it wasn’t perfect but I enjoyed it so much, it really encapsulated everything I love in a tv show. Grade: A (Netflix)

6. Love To Hate You: New fastest binge of my life. 10 episodes and I didn’t fast forward at all. There were no bad/slow parts. Also the funniest KDrama I’ve ever seen. Just watch it. You won’t regret it. Grade A+ (Netflix).

7. Business Proposal: It’s got every trope you can think of and it does them all to perfection. Plus it’s hilarious. Grade: A (Netflix)

8. Healer: This super romantic action mystery drama will keep you on the edge of your seat. Ji Chang Wook is equal parts sexy and adorable which is a seriously winning combination. Grade A (Viki). One caveat: I was very disappointed by a certain wardrobe decision in episode 3.

9.Her Private Life: Super funny and charming. The romantic leads have incredible chemistry. The premise is so good! Might be the one of the most rewatchable kdramas. Grade: A (Netflix)

10. Castaway Diva: Just utterly heartwarming. An instant classic. Ultimate underdog, redemption, story that teaches us what real love and family is. Also Ki-Ho is the new standard by which all men will be judged. Grade: A (Netflix)

11. Rookie Historian Goo Hae Ryung: Great strong female lead. Very good messages. Couldn’t stop watching. The most adorable prince I’ve ever seen 💜Cha Eunwoo💜 Grade: A (Netflix)

12. Bad Prosecutor: Absolutely thrilling and hilarious. It’s like a heist, detective, lawyer, action comedy that will keep you wondering who is outsmarting who? Super shocking plot twists. Amazing OST. Stuck the landing with a truly satisfying finale. Grade A (Viki)

13. Sh**ting Stars: Probable the biggest turnaround of any show I’ve seen (The “Africa” part was so problematic). However it turned out to be one of the funniest and swooniest KDramas out there. There are 5 couples and you will cheer for all of them. Grade: A- (Viki)

14. Strong Woman Do Bong Soon: The main couple is absolutely everything! Just fast forward through pretty much every side plot (they are not important) and you’ll love it. Grade: A- (Viki)

15. So I Married the Anti-Fan: It’s campy, fluffy, goodness, with a fierce female lead and a K-pop star enemy/love interest. 2nd fastest binge of my life. Grade: A- (Viki)

16. 100 Days My Prince: An absolute classic period drama romcom. Who knew D.O. could kiss like that? Such a great strong female lead. I LOVE a show with adorable, quirky, townspeople. Grade: A- (Netflix)

17. Romance is a Bonus Book: Might be the most romantic K-Drama I’ve ever seen. Nothing about the trailer or setup intrigued me but I’m so glad I watched it anyway. It was a truly beautiful love story. Grade: A- (Netflix)

18. Because This Is My First Life: This drama really does everything right for me… A slow burn romance built on mutual love and respect. Supporting characters who I genuinely cared about and had incredible side stories of their own. A critique of the patriarchy. Women supporting women. An adorable cat. Maybe a bit melodramatic at times but not too much. Grade A- (Netflix)

19. Start-Up: Exceptional acting, compelling storylines, intriguing plot twists, great cinematography, intense love triangle. It’s just all around high quality. Grade: A- (Netflix)

20. Run On: Cute, fun, silly and pretty light. I especially loved the supporting cast. Strange storyline but it was a fun easy ride. Grade: A- (Netflix)

21. Forbidden Marriage: This is a weird show, but weird in the best way. It’s like a comedy, horror, romance, fictional-historical. I don’t know how to describe it but it’s really fun. B+(Viki)

22. Soundtrack #1: Short and beautiful. I just loved it. No one does heart eyes better than Park Hyung-Sik. Grade: B+(Disney+)

23. Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-Joo: A bad-ass yet vulnerable female lead. The main couple just had a lot of fun together. Refreshing. Grade: B+ (Viki)

24. Doctor Slump: This show was a really nice journey of both mental health and romance. Grade: B+ (Netflix)

25. Welcome to Samdalri: Very heartwarming and beautiful story about love, family, friendship, and going home. It has quirky townspeople and Ji Chang Wook 😍 what’s not to love? Grade: B+ (Netflix)

26. My Lovely Liar: Creative and engaging premise, intriguing mystery, and a swoon worthy romance. A very fun viewing experience. Grade: B+ (Viki)

27. King the Land: This drama pretty much has no stakes or conflict and the main couple has THE MOST chemistry I have ever seen in my entire life. So if you just want to turn your brain off and be happy, this is the drama for you. I absolutely loved it. Grade: B+ (Netflix)

28.Law Cafe: This drama has so much to love, a strong/fierce/brilliant and morally righteous female lead, lovable side characters, steamy romance. But what I loved most was how the show spotlighted important issues like consent and abuse in nuanced and progressive ways. Yes it’s a fun rom-com but it felt like the beginning of a new chapter of more egalitarian storytelling which made me really excited for the future of k-dramas. Grade: B+ (Viki)

29. Not Others: A lovely Gilmore Girls type show about the relationship between an immature mother and her very mature adult daughter. It was a pleasure seeing them grow in their relationships with each other, others, and themselves. I want more! Grade B+ (Viki)

30. Cheer Up: Sports, comedy, romance, mystery, suspense, coming of age, this show had everything. The female lead was the lovable, feisty, driven, and brave. The male lead was adorkable, considerate, and sweet. It’s all very enjoyable and wholesome. Grade: B+ (Viki)

31. I Am Not A Robot: Zany premise but it was surprisingly pretty grounded for how crazy the set up was. It’s funny, emotional, good story telling. Great character development. Grade: B+ (Viki)

32. The Atypical Family: A really good healing family drama. I was a bit bored at times but it was overall very good. I liked all the mysteries a lot. Grade: B+ (Netflix)

33. See You in My 19th Life: The shared experience of watching this mystical mystery drama week to week made it a really enjoyable watch. Not sure if it was totally satisfying, or that any of the couples’ chemistry felt authentic, but it was a very interesting and creative storyline. Grade B (Netflix)

34. Summer Strike: This show made me cry a lot. It’s heartbreaking yet healing. I’m still not sure if I liked watching it or not but it was a beautiful story of found family. Grade B (Netflix).

35. Shopping King Louie: Adorable! So many light fluffy feels for this show but it does drag a bit in the second half. Grade B (Viki)

36. Fight For My Way: Such lovable leads. Love the fierce female lead and adorable himbo male lead. It’s like a coming of age story but for 30 year olds. Storyline was ok. Second couple was skippable. Grade: B (Viki)

37. What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim: More PSJ is always a good thing. This drama did all the tropes in ways that didn’t always feel fresh, but it was very romantic and hilarious. A true classic. Grade: B (Viki)

38. Touch Your Heart: If you can just stick it out through the first few very shaky episodes, you will enjoy this adorable, fluffy, series. Grade: B- (Netflix)

39. Doom at Your Service: It was sometimes real sad yet ultimately a heart warming mystical story. Grade: B- (Viki)

40. True Beauty: Fun, cute, teen drama however, it’s a little too “antsy teen” for me. Cha Eunwoo though💜 Grade: C+ (Viki)

41. Destined With You: The chemistry between the main couple was absolutely sizzling. Rowoon was both hilarious and next level adorable. However, the plot and the characterization of women occasionally made me very frustrated. Grade: C+ (Netflix).

42. Suspicious Partner: Great story, great characters, attractive actors, beautiful romance, interesting plot, sometimes funny, sometimes suspenseful, but with 40 episodes, the plot was dragged. Grade C+ (Viki)

43. Crash Landing On You: The first half is GREAT but the second half is way too melodramatic for my taste. It’s a very interesting storyline, the main couple has insane chemistry, and there are very lovable side characters. Grade: C+ (Netflix)

44. Secret Romantic Guesthouse: First few episodes were a fun scooby gang mystery, middle episodes were super boring, last 3 episodes were crazy fast paced and thrilling. It ended well- I’ll give it that. Grade: C (Viki)

45. Dear.M: It was inoffensive and decently entertaining. If you like school dramas, you’ll probably enjoy it. Grade: C (Viki).

46. A Good Day To Be A Dog: The storyline is bonkers but very intriguing. It started off so well but the storyline lost its way in the back half. But hey, Cha Eunwoo + dogs, it’s worth the watch. Grade: C (Viki).

47. Angel’s Last Mission: Love: This drama was very similar to Doom At Your Service but it was more a bit more redundant with all of the tragedy and crying. I LOVED the chemistry of the main couple but I found myself fast forwarding a lot. Grade: C- (Viki)

48. Marry My Husband: Episodes 1-11 were phenomenal. Such an interesting premise with shocking twists and turns. After episode 11 it seemed like there were new writers who had never seen the show. Very disappointing but top tier villains. Grade: C-

49. Our Beloved Summer: I LOVED V’s “Christmas Tree” OST however I struggled to keep watching. Boring storyline but great acting. Grade: D+ (Netflix)

50. Heavenly Idol: An absolute hot mess. It was completely convoluted and just low quality but I also weirdly liked it. I can’t bring myself to rank it higher because I know how bad it was but I actually enjoyed it better than many shows I ranked ahead of it. Grade: D+ (Viki)

51. My Secret Romance: The story of a total screw up female lead falling for a manipulative, gaslighting, hottie. It was problematic yet fun? So 🤷‍♀️ Grade: D+ (Netflix)

52. My Man Is Cupid: Pros: many cute dogs, sometimes those dogs wear human clothes, cute ending. Cons: Makes no sense, not much chemistry, murder plot takes up too much time. Grade D+ (Prime).

53. She Would Never Know: As handsome as Rowoon is, I found his character problematic at the beginning (no means no buddy) but he did get a lot better as the show went on. I just ended up skipping to watch just the scenes with the main couple, which made the show way more enjoyable. Grade D (Netflix)

54. My Love From the Star: I found myself fast forwarding a lot through all the parts that didn’t involve the main couple and most of the flashbacks. Grade D (Viki)

55. Goblin: The age gap is too disturbing for me, like call the police disturbing. However, the Grim Reaper who is one of the most adorable characters I’ve ever seen. Grade: D- (Viki)

56. Extra-Ordinary You: I have never felt so betrayed by a second half of a series as I did in this one. All of the character development that it seemed to be leading to was replaced by a pretty sickening codependent relationship. Grade: D- (Viki).

Currently Watching: My Sweet Mobster

Dramas I’m Thinking About Watching: Gaus Electronics, Bad and Crazy, Hospital Playlist, Another Miss Oh, Oh My Venus, My Roommate is Gumiho, She Was Pretty, Crash Course in Romance, Soundtrack #2

Dramas I just couldn’t Finish (I’m sorry I tried): Today’s Webtoon, Once Upon a Small Town, Love in Contract, Hotel Del Luna, Kings Affection, Record of Youth, Behind Your Touch, Sparkling Watermelon, Tale of Nine Tailed 1938, Strong Girl Nam Soon, The Story of Park’s Marriage Contract, Wedding Impossible

What are your thoughts on these shows? Do you agree or disagree with my rankings? Any k-romcom recommendations that are not on the list yet?

[joels6string]

you’re a genius and your plot and world-building skills are next level. i’m truly such a fan girl you have no idea 👉🏼👈🏼

i’m politely begging you for a joel miller ANYTHING with prompts 2, 35, 41, and 44. all the sweetness and whatever else you think it deserves! i trust you wholeheartedly with all of P’s characters 🤍 thank you so much for sharing your gift with all of us!!

Stop it...thank you so much. I appreciate you very much💜 Oh goodness, don't trust me with all of them lol. Ezra, you're a gem, but we don't vibe 😂 I was also politely begging for anything Joel Miller so I'll literally happily oblige. Actual loml. I also thoroughly appreciate the subtle shout-out to Buckley the dog. I made a shitty gif and everything for it. I'm fairly certain I'm the only one who likes slow-burning shit like this 😂 but hey, I hope someone else enjoys it too.

Illegible

Joel Miller x f!reader

"Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"//"Stop laughing at me."//"You need some sleep."//"I'm only here for the dog."

Word Count: 3.5k Content: Buckley the dog in all his goodest boy glory, flirting with Joel Miller is like romancing a very handsome brick wall, fluff, mutual crush, two hopeless morons, matchmaker Maria to the rescue, first kiss

Farming rotation had always been your favorite assignment. It was rigorous, exhausting, and the pre-dawn wakeups were less than desirable, but there was something soothing about it. People mostly kept to themselves here, just asking for a hand when needed, and damn if this job didn’t feel useful. Food you’d worked for months to grow fed this whole damn town, and if that wasn’t something to be proud of, nothing was.

Maria knew you preferred it here in the greenhouses, being friendly with her certainly had its perks, too. Your gate patrols had become minimal, the shotgun almost felt foreign in your hands now when you had to head up atop the walls and survey the wilderness for threats from infected and hunters alike. 

It was another early morning, an eerie gray seeping through your thin curtains and rain dripping down the windows ahead of your fieldwork, a heady sigh leaving your lips as you slipped the rubber boots that were two sizes too big onto your feet. But even on days like today, you didn’t mind the work. Sure, the soil would be heavier soaked and your clothes would be clinging to your skin within the hour, but it sure as hell beat fighting for your life outside these walls.

It had been a miracle you’d stumbled across a patrol team a few months back, scared and alone. The vetting was brutal and the townsfolk were wary of the newcomer for weeks after your arrival. But you’d earned their trust through your hard work and willingness to do what was needed. You were a damn fine cook, too, and that went a long way.

By the time noon hit, the rain hadn’t slowed at all. You were shivering despite the exertion, the warmth of the pub calling your name even if it would only be for the hour allotted for your lunch. The cover of the plastic enclosures had done little to keep you dry with how many times you’d gone in and out, the humidity the plants needed keeping you thoroughly damp and chilled. You were finishing your final task, your hands quivering too much for the precision you needed, 

“You look cold,” a Texas drawl chuckled from behind you, “Why are you out in the rain anyway? Can’t this wait?”

“You tell me, boss,” you replied with a grin, your gaze shooting back over your shoulder to see Tommy Miller, his faithful companion Buckley at his side.

“It can wait til it’s dry. Come on.”

The Millers–Tommy and Maria–were good friends, but Tommy’s brother Joel, while revered in the town, was someone you hadn’t had much contact with, not anything of merit anyway. That was an avoidance of your own creation, your thoughts dizzying into idiocy when you were in his presence for more than a few minutes. It was shameful. But it was thankfully easy to maintain. He mostly kept to himself in his big house by the cemetery, his job solely a patrolman thanks to his exceptional skills with just about every weapon under the sun and his proficiency at what some of the town referred to as “extermination.” Joel could kill anything and not bat an eye, and everyone knew it, too. 

“Dinner at our place tonight,” Tommy offered after walking you past the pub and to your front door, “Maria is cooking, but if you wanted to maybe come a little early and make those sweet potatoes, you won’t find a soul complainin’ and I got a basket full.”

“Well, you did get me out of the rain,” you answered, waving goodbye as your body ached for a warm shower and dry clothes.

By three o’clock you were knocking on Tommy’s door and none other than Joel greeted you as it swung open after a single knock, a mug of coffee being swallowed whole by his hand.

“Joel…” you gasped, his hazel eyes widening at the sight of you.

“Tommy said you were comin’,” he muttered, you couldn’t tell if it was just to himself, your stomach flipping just like it had every other time you’d been this close to him.

Joel was tall and broad, his thick gray hair almost brushing his brow and an equally lush and silvered beard covering his jaw and cheeks. Heat flushed your face beneath his gaze–typical–the reason for your stark evasion of the man coming to full fruition here and now. He’d caught your eye long before you knew who he was, not that you’d ever even considered acting on this ridiculous little crush. You were too old for this anyway, and Joel, well, he’d never once acted like he wanted to be bothered by anyone’s attention much less your own. There’d been many shared functions and yet you’d still never graduated past pleasantries, your quick escape plans always being enacted before you could reach the next stage of conversation.

“Are you gonna let her in or leave her to soak?!” you heard Tommy yelling from somewhere in the house, Joel’s obvious alarm from being shaken from whatever mental space he’d gone to playing out too charmingly on his face for you to deny giggling at.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes on the floor as he stepped aside, the sack of spices and honey you’d brought to prep your dish jostling in your arms, “I’ll–let me,” he offered, the way his fingers brushed against the back of your hand had goosebumps erupting across your skin making you thankful for the cover of your sweater.

“Thanks,” you gasped, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic to his ears as it did to your own.

Long strides had him well ahead of you on your way to the kitchen and you took full advantage to shake off the effects of Joel Miller’s studious gaze before joining the group, you didn’t need anyone getting any ideas.

“Welcome!” Tommy greeted almost too exuberantly, “Joel here said he’ll help you with whatever you need to get started.”

“What?” Joel interjected quietly to himself between Tommy’s words, his hands falling to his hips showcasing toned forearms straining against the rolled sleeves of his flannel.

“Anything at all.”

Clearly, something else was at play. With Tommy and Maria barely able to contain their fits of giggles, Joel’s brow knit in confusion, and you standing dumbfounded with Buckley sitting dutifully at your side it looked like something straight out of the sitcoms that had died decades ago. And somehow it felt like you were the butt of the joke.

“Why are you staring like that?” Maria pressed, “You said you wanted to get better at cooking, You’re reading those books. Time to put it into practice.”

“It’s fine,” you finally found the courage to speak, “I can do it.”

“What do you need help with?” Joel resigned with a sigh, turning to the sink to scrub his hands clean. That was a good start.

“No, you don’t have to–”

“Peel these,” Maria instructed, pushing the bowl of sweet potatoes she’d gotten out his way, “Let’s see if you’re as good with a knife on root vegetables as you are Clickers. Hmm?”

“Well, ain’t you funny this evening,” Joel grumbled, snatching the knife to his left and beginning work on his task. 

You almost felt bad for him, watching him struggle to catch only the skin and not the orange flesh beneath it, his tongue clicking in disappointment at himself with every swipe too deep and dropped peel. It was so endearing, Buckley’s little whines matching the way pity had set a breeze on the butterflies that had taken flight in your belly

“Stop laughing at me,” Joel finally snapped after Maria and Tommy’s little snickers had gone on for too long, the knife slamming onto the counter in frustration.

“Let me help you,” you offered, rushing over and plucking the tool from beneath his palm and showing him your technique, his eyes attentive as he watched and listened.

When dinner was served, you took the seat beside him, your appetite whisked away from hours of nervous fidgeting and stolen glances. What you did manage to force down was delicious, but you were more concerned about the reception of your dish from one guest at the table than you were about judging what was on your own plate.

“So,” Maria began after everyone’s forks had started to slow, “I saw you and Gabe hitting it off at work the other day.” What on Earth was she doing? “He’s nice. Good head on his shoulders, competent, great carpenter.”

“Oh,” you stammered, a nervous laugh flitting free, “No, I…I just work with him.”

“I need to get goin’,” Joel announced suddenly, his chair loudly scraping against the floor as he cleared his plate in the kitchen, Buckley getting a pat on the head before he bid everyone a gracious thank you and goodbye for the evening, your nerves settling immediately as soon as the door clicked closed.

After a night of tossing and turning at the replay of the embarrassment of your interactions from the evening, you were back in the greenhouses in much more suitable weather the following day, Maria and Buckley on site to help with the harvesting from half the crops. Gabe had been assigned your partner, something you assumed was no accident after Maria’s prying last night, her quest to get you saddled in with a “nice guy” in full swing.

“Long day, huh?” Gabe chirped from beside you, chest heaving after another heavy load of produce was dropped into the back of the truck, “You doing all right?”

“Yeah,” you answered, keeping your eyes straight ahead on your task, “busy.”

“Lunch!” Maria bellowed, “Let’s go, everyone! No exceptions!”

There went your hopes of skipping the congregated, shared hour in favor of hiding behind the greenhouses for a moment of reprieve. Gabe walked you to the grouping of tables, the citizens of Jackson having banded together to give the farming group a grateful lunch for their labors, a sentiment you should have appreciated but found yourself loathing at the moment. You were too tired, too agitated, and entirely too distracted.

“Joel…” Maria sang knowingly as if she’d been expecting him despite his presence never once having graced the workspace before, “What a surprise.”

“Tommy around? He ran off soon as we passed the gate,” he grunted fresh off patrol, his t-shirt screaming around his biceps ready to tear and his pack equipped with more weapons than you’d ever seen on one person strapped to his back; you couldn’t look away, “Who’s this?” 

“Him? Oh, that’s Gabe.”

Why was his face falling? Were you imagining things? His eyes flicked from you back to the man beside you, a hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head as he repeated the inspection once again.

“That so?” he drawled, “Never heard of ya.”

Well, that was a lie, and the way Gabe’s face fell that the famed Joel Miller didn’t know he existed, despite the fact that he most certainly did, only seemed to add a little glimmer to Joel’s eye as he watched him scamper off dejected. It was a little cruel, but at the moment you couldn’t care less as you tried to decipher what the hell situation you were standing in the middle of.

“Wait a minute… Are you jealous?” Maria asked tauntingly, your face falling in horror at the blatant accusation made on what you knew was your behalf.

“I beg your pardon?” Joel barked, and you had to hand it to Maria for never being intimidated because if you were on the receiving end of the expression currently staring her in the face you’d have cowered into the nearest corner like a mouse being pursued by a cat.

“It’s a simple question.” “I’m only here for the dog.”

Buckley yapped right on cue as Joel bent over to scratch his ear, Maria’s eyes rolling at one of the most pitiful excuses she’d ever heard in her life, especially from a grown  man. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she groaned.

"You need some sleep, Maria. You're gettin' delusional," he nagged as he stood, following after her as she stormed off towards the tables.

Maria’s question plagued you throughout the week. You hadn’t seen Joel again, but that didn’t stop your brain from spiraling with the hope that maybe she was right. Replaying the brief interactions you’d had with him led you nowhere, the man was entirely illegible, his face a stoic…handsome…mask and his random appearances too few to interpret but also too coincidental to be a coincidence. 

During another dinner alone on the old futon you’d scavenged, a soft knock on your door had you ready to duck under your table and hide until whoever it was left. It had to be Gabe, maybe Maria, but your frayed nerves had already had their fill of human interaction for the week, you wanted two days holed up in your little cabin with your books. Was that too much to ask?

“You home?” a gruff, deep voice called out, a timbre that did not belong to Gabe or Maria. 

Joel. That had you racing to the point you were tripping over your feet, catching him just as he’d begun to descend the three steps leading up to your front door.

“Joel!” you called out too loud, his demeanor unaffected by your outburst.

“Hi,” he greeted cautiously, “Maria told me your backdoor was broken, wanted me to come look at it.”

Your backdoor was not broken. Never had been. However, if you told him that he would leave, but he should leave because he didn’t need to be here…

“It ain’t broken, is it?” he resigned, the answer clearly written on your face.

“No,” you sighed, disappointment carving a hole out of your chest and hollowing it fast enough to have your lungs depleting.

“Well, if it’s all right with you I’ll check anyway. Can’t ever be too careful.”

The thorough inspection he gave your old wooden door surprised you knowing he’d discovered the ruse before stepping foot inside your house, and he did indeed find a few screws that needed tightening. You offered him a coffee that he gratefully accepted, the last of the grounds you’d traded for last month enough for two cups you sat around the small round table in your kitchen to enjoy as the crickets began to chirp outside the windows.

“Thank you,” you erupted, your voice too loud, too excited, his little chuckle confirming he could sense your school girl nervousness.

“Welcome,” that smooth, Texas twang settled in your stomach, pressing downward in the most forbidden of ways, “You know if you need a carpenter–”

“Oh no. I don’t.”

“Right. Okay.”

Wait, that was rude. He was about to offer help and you’d cut him off. His eyes hadn’t left the brown, murky depths swimming in the pink mug you’d given him, his shoulders slumped, chin to his chest.

“If I do though, I’ll let Maria know to tell you–”

“You can just…knock on my door. If I ain’t out on patrol, I’m home.”

“Oh. Sure.”

It felt like your entire body was vibrating, sweat was beading on your brow and it wasn’t a result of the hot coffee you were drinking. He seemed just as tense, you could see his knee bouncing beneath the table and you were desperate to know if it was nerves or simply his way of tolerating the less-than-ideal situation he’d found himself in. But that required a courage you didn’t think you’d ever be able to muster.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he announced after a moment of silence that had dragged on too long, “Let me know if that door needs tweakin’ again.”

Every nerve in your body lit up with the desire to keep him there, your hand involuntarily shooting out and gripping around his wrist as you leapt to your feet less than a second after he rose, fingers barely meeting around the sheer girth of it. Your stomach dropped to the floor when his head whipped around and his stony stare locked on wear your skin met, his lips slightly agape and brow furrowed. You were panting, not caring how it looked or whatever he was assuming, he was probably right. It was time to admit that.

“Are you hungry?” you asked meekly, listing the ingredients you knew you had off in your head to try and come up with a dish you could prepare, forgetting that your half-eaten dinner still sat on the small table beside the sofa.

“I could eat,” he replied barely above a whisper, his eyes shooting over to that very spot. You should have anticipated that level of perception.

“I’ll make you something.”

“If it’s too much trouble–”

“No!”

Now this was getting embarrassing. Your voice was quivering, breath ragged, your brain reminding you it had been more years than you’d like to admit since you’d had a man in any capacity, and it wasn’t like that was beyond a quick release of tension. 

“Calm down, darlin’,” he comforted warily, the pet name hitting you square in the chest, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya…”

That was where his mind had gone? This situation was worse than one you could have ever doomed yourself to in your mind. He thought you were afraid of him? Well, in a way you were, but not the way he was assuming. Your tongue was paralyzed as your brain screamed to fix the situation, your fingers unknowingly tightening around his wrist.

“I know that,” you quaked, “I didn’t think…you would.”

“Okay. Good,” he sighed, tapping your white-knuckling hand with his free pointer finger, “That’s startin’ to hurt, ya know.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry!”

Balling your fists at your chest, you retreated backward until you hit the kitchen counter, completely overwhelmed and embarrassed, wondering how in the hell you dug yourself out of this hole or if you’d be needing to find another settlement to move to. You couldn’t look him, Maria, or Tommy in the eye after this. You could just go on patrol and never come back, not like anyone would come looking for you when they found out what a fool you’d made of yourself. 

“Is Maria right?” he asked softly, his tone gentle and relaxed, “I can’t read this shit.”

“What?” you choked, his eyes taking on a warm glow you’d never seen on him before, it made him look younger and somehow even more endearing.

Nonchalantly, almost annoyed, he waved his hand between the two of you, your eyes widening in shock at his question before his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps stealing your attention so brazenly it had a wheezing laugh breaking free from a bright smile.

“That a yes?” he chuckled, eyeing you through his lashes mischievously.

“Um…” you stammered, did he really just think you were going to admit it so openly?

“S’okay if it is.”

The nod you gave him was barely discernible, but he understood, the corner of his mouth stretching up toward his eye as he took a step forward, then another, and then another until his arms were caging you in as they braced on the counter behind you, the smell of pine wood and leather hitting your senses like a tsunami.

“Joel…” 

“Hmm?”

“It’s been a really long time…”

“Yeah. Me too.”

His lips were softer than you expected them to be, plush and silky as they pressed to yours nervously, his beard prickling your skin a sensation you hadn’t felt in too damn long. When he pulled away you sought him out again, following his mouth as your fingers fisted into his shirt, your cue being followed as he came back harder, more intentionally, his nose pressing to your cheek when you pulled him in deeper, a muffled whine hitting him and eliciting one of his own.

“I um–” you began when you broke for air.

“Shh,” he soothed, feeling your fingers tightening in his shirt nervously again, “You don’t need to talk. I can stop, or I can keep goin’. Your call.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When his tongue slid along the seam of your mouth you relaxed, one of your hands releasing his shirt to slide up into his hair, his groan of approval hitting the back of your throat as you opened up to him completely. You barely needed time to learn one another, your mouths finding a fluid rhythm of give and take quickly. His hands felt so good settled easily on your hips, the lack of desperation in his grip a testament to his self-control, something you were clearly lacking as you pulled yourself in closer, tugging on his hair hard enough to sting. If it did he either didn’t mind or purely enjoyed it, not even a flinch settling across his features as he devoured you. 

He stopped you when your hands shot to his belt, arousal and desire having taken your wheel within seconds of this all beginning.

“Not tonight,” he breathed, “much as I want to. I do have standards.”

“Which are?” you inquired, enjoying the way his nose was nuzzling against your cheek.

“At least one damn date. I am a gentleman, after all.”

“Well, let’s just go to the pub now and get it out of the way.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I can do that.”

Part 2: Into Focus

I did not proofread this. I apologize and own any terrible typos.

Joel Miller Masterlist

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

Fellow Travelers Fic Recs | Monthlyish Recap (Part One)

Some of the favorite fics read by FTFR and/or newly posted in the months of May and June! This is a big one, friends... So, I'll be breaking it up into two parts. (Part Two: Here)

Mod Notes: My life's been so chaotic the past couple of months—a big move, new job, and new puppy... lots of big changes all at once, that doesn’t leave much time for reading fic, or keeping up with posting all the recs & recaps. So, apologies for the delays! While I get my bearings with the new work schedule and commute, some of the coming weeks' posts might be delayed, skipped or combined with another week's category. Please bear with me as I play a little fast and loose with the usual FTFR schedule.

Enjoy the summer! -Cy 💜💜💜

Anyway... onto the recs!

😇 🍕 This time around, we have not one, but two very special afterlife AU’s, a pizza delivery driver AU and a few other fantastic recent updates in some ongoing WIPs you might already be keeping track of. You can find the most recent chapters posted of these ongoing works here: Featured WIPs Rec List

💦 May wasn't so much of a collection as it was a trio of prompts, with “Missing Years”, “May I…” and “International Wankers Day” being on May 28. You will find them mixed throughout this month's rec list.

🧁 Of course, June 6 was our most beloved Catholic boy from Staten Island’s birthday, and there were a few fics to mark the occasion! 🎄 Mary and Tim celebrate Christmas in the 1950s, while 1980s Hawk makes good on a special wish Tim made long ago. ✍️Hawk breaks his promise not to write… While Tim breaks his vow not to give into unholy temptation. 🙏 ☀️ Kenny and Leonard forge a summertime bond before the war ... While Jackson reconnects with dad’s special friend from the cabin, out in San Francisco. 🚗

These are just a few teasers of the many great new fics posted in the past two months. It's been hard to keep up with them all! Check out the links below.

📚 Promise You WILL Write Masterpost (Updated w/May & June fics) If you're feeling inspired, please visit the collection to leave a prompt for someone to write or take one for yourself... All are welcome!Check out their page @promiseyouwillwrite for more info.

📣 May’s Features of the Month:

Fic of the Month: gold-skinned, eager baby by @lispenardst | lispenardstreet

Author of the Month: @redmyeyes | redmyeyes

May Featured Collection: Fire Island Fics 🔥🏝️ A handful of new Fire Island fics were posted recently, just in time for summer! Be sure to check out the new, updated list!

📚 More fic recs can be found at the fic register, here.

Not quite what you're looking for? Tell us what you had in mind, here! → 💌

✨ Show our amazing authors some love with your comments and kudos on the fics you enjoyed after reading! Likes are lovely, but please reblog this post to share this content with your mutuals! ✨

Happy Reading!

⛱️ It Can't Be Right [G, 2K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Tim has had a long day, but he doesn't quite get the welcome home he is looking for.

☀️ never enough [T, 2K] by kikisfuneralservice "Promise you won't write?"

"I won't."

Yet, he did anyway.

⛱️‘Somewhere In My Memory’ [T, 3K] by bre_thomas Hawk visits Tim at his apartment in San Francisco. He has a plan to take him to New York City for Christmas. Hawk wanting to just spend time with him. He thought they would have more time, but little did Hawk know that this weekend was the last he would ever spend with Tim.

☀️ i've got my love to keep me warm [T, 6K] by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords Mary brings Tim to a Christmas party at Hawk's mother's house.

⛱️ right or wrong i can't get along without you [NR, 3K] by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords Jackson Fuller disappears and everyone fears the worst - until he turns up in San Francisco asking Tim for help.

☀️ Making Time [G, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Hawk runs into Tim at work. Cue some flirting and favours.

⛱️ rough trade [NR, 3K] by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords Tim decides to plan a weekend in Rehoboth - not exactly a do-over, but close enough. It's exactly what they both needed.

☀️ Don't Try Hiding 'Cause There Isn't Any Use [G, 632] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Kenny and Lenny share a stolen moment during tennis practice.

Part 2 of You Better Be True To Me

⛱️I'm More Than Just Sure [G, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Before the second world war begins, Kenny and Lenny enjoy a vacation at the lake.

Fluff.

Part 3 of You Better Be True To Me

☀️ creating memories that will last [G, 4K] by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup 1991, five years after Tim's death. His friends are interviewed for a documentary film about his life.

⛱️ You're an Angel, I'm a Dog [E, 2K] by spiffyyy 💠 He was never that good.

“Father, forgive me for all the times when I fall short of your standards…” He took a breath and watched the ceiling fan rotate once, then twice. “And I’m sorry for this. It was what you gave me.”

Tim picked his phone up and swallowed dryly before tapping on the notification to open Grindr.

Or, the unlikely pairing of religious trauma and a Grindr hookup.

☀️ With You 'Mongst The Flowers [G, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) A hot summer day in Milan, Hawk is swimming. Tim is napping on the veranda.

Fluff. Really just fluff.

Part 5 of Bravery

⛱️ Kiss of Fire [NR, 2K] by drabbleswabbles💠 Tim pays a matchmaker to set him up on a blind date. Things do not go according to plan.

☀️ Almost Paradise [T, 8K] by @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3 | Likerealpeopledo In 1992, Hawk dies and goes...somewhere.

Equal parts apology tour, long-awaited reunions, and reluctant spiritual exploration, Hawk takes a journey through the a |fterlife and back to Tim.

⛱️ I Wanna Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart [E, 3K] by @jesterlesbian | captainquint Hawk tipped his hat politely towards Tim, the way he always did when he rode back into town and stabled his horse at the Liberty Bell, where Tim worked as a stable hand. The pay wasn’t much, but it was steady work, and the off-chance of spotting Hawkins Fuller in leather chaps astride a horse sweetened the pot considerably.

Hawk flashed Tim the look that he understood meant “Meet me around the back,” so Tim dawdled for a few moments more, trying in vain to wipe off as much dirt and muck as he could from his shirt before oh-so-casually strolling to behind the stables, where it met the treeline and provided just the right amount of cover.

☀️hold on (i'm coming) [NR, 2K] by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords Hawk's nightly phone calls become increasingly desperate until Tim has no choice but to go to him.

⛱️ my boy [G, 783] by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords Tim wants to know who Hawk belongs to. The answer isn't what he expects.

☀️a fool for life [NR, 1K] by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords Hawk has a panic attack, and Skippy takes care of him.

⛱️ grenade [G, 546] by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords Hawk is waiting for the results of his HIV test.

☀️ Late Night [G, 1K] by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) Hawk is working late at home. Tim keeps him company.

⛱️ 'I Want To Be With You' [E, 3K] by @bre1995 | bre_thomas, @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) It all started at the Nomad Bar when Hawk left Tim on his own.

Based on their weekend getaway trip with a filler scene of what happened in the hotel room before dinner.

Check out the May/June Recap Part Two Here

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[rebornologist]

Hi, Jyunie! I hope you're feeling well!

First of all, I really wanted to thank you for sharing your writings, they always make my day better. 💜

For my request, I'd like to see your take on this scenario: reader being Dino's S/o and Squalo's best friend.

Do you think they would get along fine, or bicker a lot? I kinda think Squalo is super protective, even though he pretends to not care a lot, so I can picture him threatening Dino right when the relationship started. On the other side, I think Dino would definitely try his best to become friends (in his head, they are since school years, but Squ denies it) with Squalo to make his S/o happy.

Anyways, thanks so much for keeping your requests open!

Also, you don't have to reply if it makes you uncomfortable in any way. Your health is the most important.

Hello Emyyy my lovee! Thank you for sliding this into my inbox, I love them both so much and this is such a fun dynamic. I penned this a bit late into the night, and honestly need to finish my reread of the series as a refresher of all the characters traits and interpersonal interactions in canon.. but I hope you enjoy :) All my love xox

♡ Dino as your S/O & Squalo as your best friend ✧

༚✧⁺˳₊˚‿︵‿︵‿୨୧ ⁺˳₊ ♡ ₊˳⁺ ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿˚₊˳⁺✧༚

Dino and Squalo are fascinating to me because they differ greatly in what they pride themselves in and where their loyalties lie, not to mention their contrasting temperaments. They’re a tortoiseshell cat and labrador retriever duo if I’ve ever seen one.

I see them as people that just keep finding each other in life, despite not intending to become close to one another, it kind of just happens. There’s a bond there, even if it’s just mutual respect and knowing that they can rely on the other (even if they would never want to do that).

I’d like to imagine that Reader would have known Squalo prior to the ring conflict, being a close friend of his, and not knowing Dino well/at all until Squalo got his ass handed to him and he reconnected with Dino in the hospital. They may not understand the Cavallone head’s intentions with saving Squalo, but it meant the world to them that they got to see their best friend in one piece. They could have gotten to know Dino better by running into him during their hospital visits. The relationship that ensued definitely developed outside of any interactions with Squalo involved, because they would have gotten their asses handed to them if either of them went to him for tips on how to woo the other.

Squalo��s invested in his friend’s wellness and success but is not the type to pry or think too much about their personal life—he has a lot going on with his work already, and if there was anything pressing, they would share without him asking. And that they do, earning them the most memorable shocked and wide-eyed look from the swordsman.

✧ ୨୧ ⁺˳₊ ♡ ₊˳⁺ ୨୧ ✧

“WITH WHO?! That Cavallone loser? You’re fucking with me.” He gives you an incredulous side eye when you finally mention that the date you’re leaving for is with Dino. You stand your ground, giving him a flat smile and a quick shake of the head.

“Nope, not joking.”

He holds his temples with his gloved hand for a moment, and you see his head dip as he sighs quietly in resignation.

“For fuck’s sake,” he turns to raise an eyebrow at you, his face twisted as if he just smelled something bad. “...why?”

✧ ୨୧ ⁺˳₊ ♡ ₊˳⁺ ୨୧ ✧

He asks out of curiosity, and would tell you “that’s enough” the second you start actually gushing about Dino. He’s smart enough to understand what your intentions may be with the Cavallone boss, but.. he still.. needs a moment to process the idea of anyone actually being worth your time and affections. He has a lot of pride in himself and by extension, the people he associates with. He respects Dino enough and can come to terms with the fact that in any case of you not being able to handle yourself, you’ll at least be in good hands. He realizes that now he’s doomed to meet Dino again for lunch or something, now that he’s your s/o. He pretends to mind it more than he actually does, he’s just not good at expressing himself.

While Squalo is processing this, Dino is, in fact, right outside ready to pick you up with his luxury car and a giant bouquet of flowers waiting for you.

Dino doesn’t see any issue with you being Squalo’s bestie and is actually... so happy that Squalo is the reason that he got to meet you again! He’s definitely the warmer one in any of their exchanges, but any tension between them is more about their differing loyalties than anything else, so they can at least both agree that you are an excellent individual.

Their bickering is minor, especially as time goes on and they grow used to the dynamic. In Squalo’s eyes, he doesn’t have to become Dino’s bestie just because he’s dating his best friend, and Dino is as amicable as ever. He cares just enough about not stepping on toes in the sense that he minds the PDA (he does this in general, but especially if he feels like it might be bothering someone in their presence).

Through you, Dino begins to learn more about Squalo. He’s the shit brickhouse and Reader is the one that gushes to their s/o about how much they love their best friend. Personally, I think that best friends are soulmates, so I can only imagine how much Reader has to share with Dino, and of course, he eats it all up. He loves learning more about Squalo on a level that only a personal friend would know, and not just what he knows about him as a swordsman and professional assassin. He also shares as much as you'd want to hear about his time in school and what "memories" he has from the alternate future. It's really amusing to see the differences in how the two describe the same events.

At some point Dino becomes involved in little things like your close friends' birthdays, Christmas cards, etc. Squalo thinks it’s totally extra and uncalled for, but Dino insists that it’s because they’re basically pals?!? Friends by proxy?! Nothing wrong with Squ being on the DinoY/N holiday postcard mailing list <3

Sometimes Squalo makes comments about how the two of y’all should “take it somewhere else”. Dino laughs it off and teases that Squ will most definitely be Reader's man of honour at the wedding, and Reader can decide to either shut down Dino in embarrassment or agree enthusiastically to torture their bestie further. All in good fun :’)

this was so cute to think about I love grumpy sunshine sm help

[holocene-sims]

for the OC asks!! 🍤 🥨 and 🍜 feel free to answer for whichever OC you want (but Henry is lowkey my fave hehe)

aww thank you so much for sending me questions!! 💜💙 i will definitely answer for henry - honestly, you're even reading my mind here because i was just telling myself the other day i should do more with him outside his role in the story. he's a fun character; i have a soft spot for him, too, and this is a good opportunity to dive into his personality and tastes a bit more 😅

🍤 what's their opinion on seafood?

he loves seafood! it's his favorite type of food, really, and if he were dying tomorrow and could have only one last meal, he'd want haemul kalguksu aka seafood noodle soup 🍽️

🥨 brunch picnic time with friends/partner(s)/companions/[insert your ocs' close people here]! what is your oc bringing?

i need to make a picnic post omg that would be so cute

anyway, the thing about henry is that he is comically bad at cooking 🙈 he and soobin have a mutually beneficial arrangement that she will do all the cooking, provided he does all the cleaning, so henry is never going to roll up to a picnic with homemade food, not unless you want burnt toast and very haphazardly chopped fruit.

however, what he *can* do well is make drinks. he's the kind of person who uses a french press and buys coffee that isn't ground up yet. he has high standards, that is. so, i think he'd show up to brunch with a variety of iced drinks, like coffee, tea, mocktails, etc., anything that keeps well in pitchers or kettles. he'd probably bring one of those letterboards, too, and use it as a daily drink menu sign!

🍜 do they love cooking dinner or would they rather eat somewhere else or order takeout?

for reasons (see above), he is not a fan of cooking! he's happy to, you know, set timers and measure out spices for soobin or someone else while they cook, but if it's just henry at home alone or soobin is either not in the mood or unable to cook, he is undoubtedly going out to eat or getting takeout. he'll go out to sit-down restaurants if soobin or a friend more generally are down to go with him (he's also not a fan of going to restaurants alone), but if no one is available or doesn't feel like it, he'll just get takeout.

[pocket-ozwynn]

✨Blog Status Update✨

Hi folks 💜

Getting this out of the way now: this blog isn't going anywhere, don't worry 😭 but I do know it's been a while, and with a recent influx of support for my writing and new followers I'd like to fill people in on what's going on a bit

In about a month or so I plan to slowly coming off my 18 month posting hiatus. Mutuals know I haven't abandoned my stories nor have I stopped thinking about these characters, but due to IRL circumstances the hiatus was good so I could focus on myself for a bit. That being said, I'll hopefully start posting one-shots, AUs, and chapters come June or July. My goal is to get the Genesis Day full reboot and Offline Valor soft reboot started this summer and regularly post those (on top of my sci-fi space opera with my new THIRD OC couple coming sometime in the winter, possibly 👀). Some more in depth AUs like Knightsona x Princess Peach, Knight Colossus, Werekaiju, and Shrunken Soldier x Archfey Princess (tentatively named All Who Wander or Dawnward) -- not to mention all the hundreds of one-shot ideas for various other more minor AUs -- will also get some love too if time, energy, and health permitting. Anyways, that's all ✨ it's been so much fun to see the community flourish, I'm so excited to get back into it soon

[polizwrites]

If you're up for it, then I'm going to request Bucky x Tony for this prompt if you find something that inspires you in the Prompts for Couples that aren't together yet. Seems like a fun one for them: 💜 Remembering the things their love interest often forgets, so they always have extra

Oooh - what a fun prompt! And it meshed surprisingly well with one of my @winterironevents bingo squares - KINK: Hair pulling - so here you go, my dear!

Untangling Their Attraction

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Pairing: Tony/Bucky Rating: Teen Tags: Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Kink Discovery, Kink: Hair Pulling, Summary: Tony finds a way to help Bucky out with his unruly hair, and discovers a kink along the way. Word Count: 544

It started during a walk on a windy day, with Bucky commenting how he wished he’d thought to grab a hair elastic.   Tony thought he looked even sexier than usual with the wind in his hair,  but could also understand his annoyance.  

They stopped in a nearby bodega, but the only hair elastics for sale were pastel and sparkly.   Bucky shrugged and bought a pack anyways, making a quick, messy ponytail with the blue one. “At least it matches my eyes,” he teased with a flirty wink.   Tony’s heart skipped a beat even as he made a mental note.   

A week or so later, they were getting ready for a sparring session; and while Tony could barely tear his eyes away from his partner’s thick thighs and broad shoulders, he did notice one potential issue: Bucky’s hair was loose.  “Here - might want to get  those gorgeous tresses of yours out of your way.”  Tony handed over a hair elastic from the pack he’d had JARVIS order.    

“Thanks, pal,” Bucky twisted his hair up into a bun, adding with a wink, “Just so ya know, a bit of sweet talk isn’t gonna make me take it any easier on you.”   

Later that week, they were taking  boxes of Avengers merchandise over to a children’s hospital and the wind kicked up again, sending Bucky’s hair flying every which way, including into his face.   Tony fished another elastic out of his pocket.  “Here you go, sunshine.”  

Bucky blinked in surprise, then smiled a little. “My hands are full - can you fix me up?”   

“Uh, sure.”  Tony reached up and combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair to gather it up; he hit a tangle and tugged harder than he’d intended, making Bucky grunt.  “Sorry.” 

“ ‘S’ok.”  Bucky’s reply came out a bit strangled, and his cheeks reddened.   Tony tried not to read too much into his companion’s reaction, even as it sparked something hot in his own core.  And of course, the scientist in him was already devising an experiment. 

The opportunity came the next day, when Tony was working on yet another prototype when Bucky came into the workshop.  “Got a minute to help me out, Sarge?” 

“Sure.”

“C’mere and hold these two plates in place while I get my spot welder.”     Bucky did as he was told; when Tony returned,  he tsk’ed slightly.  “Can’t have your hair getting singed by an errant spark -  let me pull it back for you.” 

Tony took an elastic off his wrist and carded his fingers through his companion’s hair, tugging just a little harder than he needed to.  Bucky inhaled sharply in response, his back arching ever so slightly.    

“That doesn’t hurt, does it, sunshine?”  Tony purred into his ear. Bucky made a negative hum, then gasped as Tony tugged again.  “Does it feel good?” 

“Yes.”  Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted. The experiment was a success; now to test the parameters. 

“Do you want me to do it again?  A little harder, maybe?”  

“Please.”  Tony did exactly that, tilting Bucky’s head back; sexual tension suddenly hung heavy in the air.   

“Unless you tell me otherwise,” Tony murmured, “I’m going to kiss the hell out of you right now.” 

Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk. “About damned time, hotshot.” 

Send me a prompt from this list and a pairing and I'll do my best to write you a ficlet!

[starsomens]

Hi sweetie! 💜

How are you doing? 🥺

I just wanted to thank you for the follow! It made me so happy 🥰

When I first used Tumblr I was afraid of interacting with the BO community because I was really new and I felt I was doing it like really late and there was no space for me... I know it's the anxiety talking but it made perfect sense in my head haha

Anyway, you were the very first person who answered a request I sent. I did as anon because I felt so embarrassed 🫣

I was so happy when I saw it and since that moment I've been looking forward to reading all your posts!

I just wanted to say it 🥹 Such an honor to be part of your community 🫶🏻

OMG!! HII BABBIIII

Don’t ever feel like it’s too late to join a phantom because I can guarantee you the people you think that maybe you make fun of you because you’re new, there will always be more people who are welcoming when you’re new to the fandom!

But overall, I’m glad that I was able to be part of the good side of the experience❤️

While you’re here, I do also want to apologize that your request that you put in is taking a little while I have been a little busy but I know it’s there! And thank you so much for dropping by inboxes from you guys so it really does make my day less boring

And if you say that, it’s an honor to be my community, it’s an honor to have you in it you damn sweet person! This is literally my favorite part of following bad people who follow me because you guys get so excited to see that it makes your day. Also I love to be mutuals with my followers and I get to know you guys a lot better. I just feel like we’re all more connected here we are :)

[sidekick-hero]

WIP Weekend

The most wonderful @hbyrde36 tagged me in the WIP Wednesday but because this week has been hell I didn't get to it. Now it's Friday night here and I'm ready to write all weekend 🥰

That means it’s time for WIP Weekend, which means time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

WIP filenames (which are often titles as well)

emotional motion sickness

caught in the careless arms of lust again (aka my metaldeputy pwp)

Hold my like a grudge (final part to hold me close I'm shaking apart)

End of beginnings

Metaldeputy: let there be plot

emotional motion sickness (under the cut because it's a bit spicy):

He groans at the thought of wearing Eddie's mark, a visible reminder of the things they have done.

"Eddie, please," he begs, not even knowing what for, only that he needs it, whatever Eddie has planned for him.

With one last lick along Steve's neck, his skin already aching from the abuse, Eddie lets up and leans back, just enough to cradle Steve's face in his hands while the rest of his body remains pressed against Steve's.

"Shhhh," he coos, "I'll give you what you want, sweetheart. I promise. You just have to be good for me, yeah?"

Steve nods without hesitation. He's played enough, now he just wants.

A sweet kiss on the tip of his nose, another on his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "So good for me. Come on, good boys get their reward."

No pressure tags for some of my dear writer mutuals: @starryeyedjanai, @thefreakandthehair, @shares-a-vest, @just-my-latest-hyperfixation, @runninriot, @steveseddie, @steddieas-shegoes and of course tagging @hbyrde36 right back 💜

[ashe-hallows]

hello beloved mutual. Do you have any favorite blackmadhi scenarios/concepts?

falls to my knees. raises my hands to the heavens. i literally just spin blackmadhi in our head all day with no further thought but i will do my best for you, dear mutual

they are such similar characters (see: their motivations, their situations during the plot, their relationships with the protagonists, just *gestures at them*) and i LOVE when they get to think about it. especially when they realize it in the middle of DESPISING one another and suddenly they just cant ignore it. they understand each other on a completely different level from everyone around them and they HATE it! because they are the same fucking person! gods we love fluff as much as any other guy but we adore when they're three steps away from hissing and spitting like angry cats. kiss about it, freaks.

so taking that and making them be vulnerable with each other? im fucking eating it. its in my mouth its so yummy. there's empathy there on a whole new level and i LOVE seeing that explored. and with these guys theres just so much material to work with, even without dipping into headcanon territory. do you think either of these men have gotten a good hug and cry in the past decade? i dont. what if they cried in each others arms about it.

also just sticking them in a domestic environment? chef's kiss. mwah. delicious. it either goes to the sweetest most tender fluff imaginable or (not to whip a dead horse, that is one of your american sayings, right?) its like you've shoved two cats that have beef into a room and are expecting them to not claw each others face off. im pointing you to ministarfruit's blackmadhi tag if you haven't looked in it before because everything there lives in our head rent free. i could probably just recommend you some of our favorite blackmadhi fics if you want specific scenarios

i feel like i have said nothing at all and given you no answer. i hope you like it anyways thank you so much for the ask about our guys. talk to us about them whenever 💜🩵

[irritablepoe]

Idk what your original post was all about but once again reminding you this is your space and you aren't responsible for other ppl if you are complaining in your own space/to the air and everyone else can respectfully suck it 💜🙏

Also ppl take things too personally imo I think it is important for other ppl to remember if someone is complaining about something that upset them it isn't always about you in fact most of the time it isn't about you unless you literally did the exact thing the person is complaining about. And even then arguing against someone's feelings when they are actively upset doesn't yield any sort of positive results or undo the hurt, you are just throwing your own emotions unprompted at someone who is already down.

Anyways sry to get on a soapbox but yeah, ily I'm sorry you are dealing with bullshit and I hope you can be gentle with yourself today even if other ppl aren't. I won't join Meli in the killing since they def can handle that on their own but I do agree that you are absolutely allowed to be selfish and I have a shovel in my trunk for any occasion don't worry about it 💀🙏

(I know I went on a bit of rant but pls don't feel obligated to answer publicly btw if you don't want to have it on your blog or something literally does not bother me at all)

hi hello thank you so much for this ask lue, you're too sweet😭😭🙏🙏

it's literally so exhausting but also, i was mostly upset that they were directly projecting it onto other authors and that they felt discouraged leaving comments now bc of this. i never even said short comments are bad, just that this particular comment was a bit disappointing (i said in my og post that i was not being serious about this). but not commenting on authors works because of me saying that is just. what.

idk i'll try to sleep the day away maybe, i thought today would be better but well..

ILY TOO AND I APPRECIATE YOU SO MUCH!!!!! <33 and omg i got knives and shovels on my side lmao, no need for it though dw dw <3 i'm sure even though they hurt me they weren't ill-intentioned. "selfish" just triggers me a lot and it kinda set off my already aggressive mood. i'm sharing my writing for free, i don't know how any of this could be selfish, i don't. fucking. get it. i really don't. like if they'd been a small author like "at least you get comments" i would have been like "eh yeah true" but as a reader idk... to pout and say "well would NO comments be better then?". bruh. i just want a bit of appreciation for the efforts, what a sin apparently

anyways. i'm very overly dramatic about this and now i've lost a mutual i think. welp. ruining my reputation as a sweetie, wtv

thank you again for everything!💜 i hope you're having a good start into your free time :3