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deepdarkdelights · 2 years

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The Reaper | Jungkook x Reader

Pairing: Yandere Mercenary Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 14.6k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Touching, Symptoms of Panic/Anxiety, Stalking, Murder, Lots of Blood, Attempted Sexual Assault (Not By Jungkook), Mild Smut, Dub-Con, Cunnilingus, Decapitation, Throats are Slit, Wolf Attacks

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: “With your skirts drawn up over your thighs, the skin raised with goosebumps from the cool spring air, his hand retreated only to return with what looked like a stamp but where the rubber should have been, there were instead tiny needles all coated with bright red ink. Before you could begin to squirm again he quickly pressed it against the side of your thigh pulling a pained cry from your throat.

When he removed the faux stamp beads of blood rose to the surface of your skin, blending with the red ink that has been left behind. But the image imprinted on your skin was clear as day, a symbol your town had come to associate with fear: a skull pierced by a sword and ensnared by a snake. It was the mark of the reaper.

You had been marked for death.”

A/N: Here I am at almost three in the morning again lol. This is super UNEDITED but I will edit it tomorrow so please bear with me when it comes to any grammatical errors. I HUSTLED to get this done before classes start Monday so hopefully the quality did not suffer. This also ended up being 4-6k longer than intended. Very on brand. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to see you in my inbox and the comments, love you 💜💜💜

It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but your stomach was twisted in knots.

You were one of the lucky ones, at least that was what your father had told you when he excitedly grabbed hold of your hands with a winning smile.

“A diamond in the rough,” He had whispered in awe, “How lucky I am to have had such a beautiful daughter born out of this village.”

It is true that none of us have a say as to what family we are born into, and that couldn’t be any more true for you. You were born into a poor family in a dilapidated village in the woods, you had been destined to live a destitute life like everyone else who had come before you. But you were happy. You enjoyed your spring days running barefoot through the Brooke, the lingering heat of summer nights beneath the stars, the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, and the bite of cold winter wind against your cheeks. You adored the simplicity of the only life you had ever known and you never wanted for more.

But oftentimes, parents desired more for their children, more than they ever had. And that was why your father had jumped at the chance to marry you off to a visiting lord.

Had you not entered the forest that day to forage, maybe you would not have ended up in this situation. But you had so there was no point in dwelling on the alternate possibilities of what could have come to pass rather than what actually had.

~~~~~~~

You had always been warned about the danger of the woods growing up, but those warnings had been about wolves, bears, and mountain lions. There had been one dangerous animal you had ignored, one you walked amongst every day: men.

You had been sitting down in the soft grass, your legs folded beneath you at the knee as you carefully plucked berries from the bush, your cupped palms pouring them into the basket beside you when he had approached. At first, you considered that you had been so focused you had not heard him follow you, but you soon came to understand that he had been perfectly silent - his body so trained to move in stealth that even the woods would not give him away.

A firm arm wrapping around your waist and the cool glide of metal against your throat startled a shriek from you as your body flinched back only causing you to corral yourself into his arms, your back pressed against his solid chest as the knife posed at your neck barred you from moving.

You panted in fright, your eyes clenching shut as you felt his lips brush over the shell of your ear while he hushed you and cooed like you were a little injured animal.

“Stay still, little lamb, I don’t want to hurt you.” He muttered, his voice low and rhythmic as he spoke a language you had no way of understanding.

“I don’t understand,” You said after an uncomfortable swallow, your neck tense beneath the blade of the knife.

“There are many things you can’t understand, not yet, the hunt hasn’t begun.” He said with an amused chuckle.

The humor was lost on you, his words nothing more than a jumbled mess of sounds strung together that you were unable to decipher. His actions though, were readable. You jerked in surprise as his knifeless hand slid down your body, tugging your layers of skirts up over your knees and not stopping there.

“Stop! Leave me alone!” You cried, your legs kicking frantically as you grabbed his forearm and tried to still it.

You were quick to learn that he was incredibly strong as your grasp did nothing to dissuade him. Another laugh vibrated through his chest and against your back, he was clearly amused by your thrashing which only served to send chills down your spine. He pressed the blade harder against your skin, the metal just barely piercing the soft, vulnerable flesh causing your body to go rigid in fear that he would slit your throat.

“Good girl,” He hummed, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheekbone in what felt like an almost affectionate gesture. “Be still,”

With your skirts drawn up over your thighs, the skin raised with goosebumps from the cool spring air, his hand retreated only to return with what looked like a stamp but where the rubber should have been, there were instead tiny needles all coated with bright red ink. Before you could begin to squirm again he quickly pressed it against the side of your thigh pulling a pained cry from your throat.

You had been marked for death.

A pained cry of devastation filled the forest, a sound that had unwillingly left you that was not unlike the call of a wounded animal. Out of everyone in your village, why had you been chosen to die? Who would have paid the hefty price to target a quiet village girl?

You knew what came next, you were going to be hunted down. That was what they did - they marred the flesh of their victim so that they could find them if by some miracle they had found a way to run away. And that meant the runner would have an entire band of reapers on their tail, chasing them until they grew too tired to continue running and were unwillingly dispatched - their soul severed from the body in one fell swoop of a blade.

You weren’t going to survive this, no one ever did. And why would you be the exception?

The reaper behind you hummed in what he attempted to make a soothing manner as he lowered his knife from your throat, the hand that once held the horrific stamp was now freely caressing your arm in short smooth strokes.

“Did it hurt that badly, little lamb?” He whispered in what you now knew to be the coded language of the reapers.

There was no way you would ever be able to understand what he was saying and he knew that so why did he bother speaking to you in his language at all? Why didn’t he speak the villages’ language? At least then you could understand what he was planning to do to you, and your wild imagination was only frightening you more than what he had done so far.

His fingers brushed your tears away, they were long, nimble, and calloused, the perfect tools to wield an arsenal of weaponry but were instead attempting to soothe you. You were utterly confused.

“Don’t cry, this is a happy day, you’ll see that soon I promise you.” He spoke softly, his hands gently cupping your face and allowing you to face him as his thumbs continued to swipe the tears away.

Your vision was blurry making it difficult to identify him, your body still shaking with frightened hiccups. You could make out the honey hue of his smooth skin and the dark strokes of coal around his eyes as well as the black leather and linen that covered his body. You could tell that he was young and most definitely strong, his linens straining against the cords of muscle that built his shoulders. Even with your limited vision, you were able to tell that he was perfectly sculpted to be a reaper, a hired killer to whoever offered the highest price.

His fingers lightly traced down the length of your jaw before freezing, his entire body stiffening like he had heard something you were not able to hear. And you were exactly right, he had heard the incoming party of hunters.

You heard him unsheathe his sword before you had seen it, the sound of metal slicing through the air as he wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side.

It took a moment before you heard it, but the sound of hooves was unmistakable. And, a few short seconds later, the first horse broke through the trees before being followed by a band of its fellows. Seated astride the first horse was a man that was near your father’s age, his clothing refined and expensive along with the gold and jeweled rings that covered his fingers. And the sigil he bore on his horse was enough to confirm your suspicions - he was the lord of the land.

Your body sagged in relief and, as a result, relaxed against the strong chest of your captor whose grip only tightened further. You were going to be saved.

“Release the girl, or suffer the consequences.” The Lord spoke, his voice still and commanding.

The man behind you was motionless, his breathing steady and calm despite the massive hunting party that was armed to the teeth staring him down.

“I won’t tell you again,” The lord called, and with that, his men raised their bows and notched their arrows - all waiting for the command to fire.

The reaper leaned forward, his warm breath beside your ear as he whispered the only words he has been permitted to say, “When the time comes, I will find you.”

And with that, he threw a small pouch with lightning speed, the fabric unraveling as it met the ground and releasing a massive and unrelenting stream of dark plumes of smoke blinding everyone in its vicinity - giving him the perfect cover to slip away.

Your eyes teared up as the smoke cleared, whatever powder had ignited had greatly irritated your eyes and filled your lungs with smoke causing the hunting party and yourself to violently cough away the burning sensation in your throats and chests.

You dug the heels of your palms into your eyes as you recovered from the unexpected attack. You were shocked that you were alive more than anything else. It had been a twist of fate and a shot of luck that a highborn had traveled this far into the land and because of that, you were alive. But for how much longer, you were unaware. The mark on your thigh still stung, demanding its presence be known. With that mark, you were as good as dead. No, you were a walking corpse - it was only a matter of time before the reapers came for you.

The sudden appearance of a hand before your face startled you back to reality causing you to fall back onto your rear in an embarrassing display of clumsiness.

It was him, Lord Ilseong.

“Are you unharmed?” He asked, concern heavy in his eyes.

You gratefully took his hand and allowed him to help you to your feet before bowing your head to him and bending at the knee in a show of respect, your eyes trained to the ground.

“Thank you,” Your voice wavered, heavy with emotion, “You saved my life, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Lord Ilseong hummed in appreciation at the sight of your submission, “How unusual, someone of your status who understands etiquette.”

Your blood warmed in irritation from his remark, despite the heroic actions he was like every other highborn of the land. They saw the people of your village as uncouth, dirty, and uneducated. You were surprised he hadn’t wiped his hand after helping you up.

You flinched in surprise as your chin was held still once more today by his hand. The creases around his eyes deepened as he smiled, turning your head from side to side to appraise you.

“Why you don’t look like the common peasantry at all,” He said with an amused grin and lecherous eyes, “In fact, you are quite the beauty.”

“Thank you, my lord,” You forced the words out from a strained smile. You knew better than to disrespect a high born, lest your head would be swiftly removed and your family slaughtered from your careless wrath.

One of the firmest lessons you had learned had been how to control your anger. Village people were expendable and you were not special.

“Well trained,” He mused before releasing you from his hold, “I think I know just how you can repay me, my dear.”

You were suddenly struck by the thought that you had escaped one dangerous trap only to wander into another.

Lord Ilseong and his men had escorted you back home. The entire process was quite the spectacle, especially for the village people as you returned astride the horse of the lord of the land. He had helped you up and sat you directly in front of him, his one hand holding the reigns and the other settled on your waist. It had put you in an uncomfortable position, you couldn’t pull away from his wandering touch or you would tumble off of the horse. You had nearly collapsed in relief upon returning to your shack, your body slipping down the side of the horse and making for the front door in record time.

Your stomach turned when he followed you inside. He had greeted your father enthusiastically who in turn fell to his knees in a deep bow. You rushed to his side and slid your arms beneath his, helping him rise back up to his feet.

It was then that the horrible deal was made.

“I have saved your daughter’s life and in turn, I expect to be repaid.” He said after he recounted the tale of your rescue to your father.

“Repaid, my lord?” Your father asked, his voice wavering in fright, “I am afraid there isn’t much we lowly peasants could offer you.”

“It is not money I require, nor land, nor tax,”

“Then…what more could you request?”

“Your daughter’s hand, assuming she is untouched of course.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as soon as his words met your ears. Lord Ilseong was not much younger than your father, in fact, you were certain that had your father not been subjected to decades of hard labor he would not look as aged as he did now, his stature would resemble that of his lords’.

The sickness that brewed in your stomach was only made worse by the elation present on your father’s face. You could tell what he was thinking, being the father of the lady of the land would ensure the end of his days of work. He could find comfort and peace until the end of his days.

“But of course,” Your father nodded excitedly, “Forgive my questioning, but what could you want with a peasant girl?”

“The previous lady was unable to birth me a son before her untimely passing. Your daughter is young and not nearly as uncouth as the rest of this village and her upbringing while unfit for that of a lady has no doubt made her strong. She will surely give me many children, and with training, we shall break her into the life of a lady.”

You stood there, floored by the conversation that transpired before you. Your maidenhood and your liveliness were being haggled as if you had no say as if you weren’t even there. He spoke of breaking you like a mare and reducing you to nothing more than a child bearer.

“She has certainly passed marrying age, I am doing you an immense favor by marrying her, really.”

“An immense favor, indeed,” Your father mused, his hand cupping his chin as he pretended to be deep in thought despite already having made his decision, “Consider it done.”

You felt as if you were on the verge of fainting.

“Excellent, I shall send for my new bride in a week's time, until then I shall make preparations for the ceremony,” He said with a triumphant grin that told you that he was all too accustomed to getting what he wanted. “Until then, my dear.”

In a matter of moments, your life had been irrevocably changed. And at that moment, you desperately hoped that the reaper would find you first and dispatch you before Lord Ilseong would ever have the chance of taking you.

You shivered in disgust as the lord left a parting kiss on your hand before shutting the door after him. You frantically wiped your knuckles against your patched skirts before running to your room. You could hear your father calling after you, demanding you to stop but you did not listen.

The yelling only continued when your mother returned home. You could hear your parents fighting the entire night, your father raising his voice over your mothers as he explained what this marriage could do for your family. Your mother understood your plight, she too was against the idea of your being wed to a man twice, almost thrice your age.

But at the end of the day, your father’s decision reigned supreme. There was a hierarchy to all things, to society, to work, and of course to families. You were to be wed, regardless of your and your mother’s protests.

Your fingers traced over the red-inked mark on your thigh, the imprint of the reaper still there with nowhere else to go. You relayed your thoughts as you traced the mark, a mantra barely parting your lips as you begged for the reaper to find you first.

Your index finger traced the lower curve of the circle that surrounded the symbol, and just there you could feel the raised bumps of a word, of a name.

Jungkook.

~~~~~~~

That was what had landed you where you were now, seated in a carriage sent by Lord Ilseong and dressed in pristine, elaborate robes.

It was your wedding day, it was supposed to be the happiest day of your life but you could not help but entertain the thought of throwing yourself from the carriage and allowing your body to be crushed beneath its wheels. While that seemed dramatic, you knew that the only way you could escape that old man was by death. He was a Lord, he took what he wanted and didn’t stop until he obtained it, and that included yourself.

Your stomach churned with nausea, not only from the ceaseless swaying of the transportation but from the ever-present anxiety you had felt all week which had come to a climax on this very day.

Perhaps, if you were lucky, he would take many mistresses and would be satisfied with them after you birthed him a son and he would leave you alone for the rest of your days. And maybe if you were even luckier he would die within ten years' time - stricken by disease or the halt of his heart. But you could only dream, dreaming would get you through this inevitable endless nightmare.

The reaper had not come to save your soul.

That was what you had reasoned, your untimely death would save your soul from being tainted by his lordship. You would much rather die young than be bound to that man for the remainder of his days. You would much rather be impaled by the cool steel of a blade than ever allow him to touch you again.

You allowed your body to go limp against the side of the carriage, the cool spring breeze soothing over your face like a gentle caress. You were in the thick of the woods now, the winding branches of the trees casting twisted shadows over everything below them. They looked like snares just waiting for the right prey to wander into them.

After that thought entered your mind, everything changed. In the blink of an eye, an array of arrows were let loose, flying into the wheels of the carriage and sending it careening off to its side.

You shrieked in surprise and fright as the carriage was easily tipped over, your body following immediately causing you to slam down all of your weight against your right shoulder and the other carriage door which now lay against the ground.

You cried out in pain as your body thrummed in shock from the fall, your head ringing from the collision against the door. You could feel a stickiness in your hair causing you to raise your hand to touch your scalp, and when your fingers retreated they were coated with thick, red, blood.

A gurgled scream had you snapping back to awareness. That had to have been the driver, you could just faintly make out his form, from the small slatted windows toward the front of the carriage, which was steadily slumping forward as all life was rapidly draining from him.

“What?” You gasped as you struggled to sit up, all of your weight resting on your bent forearms as your vision blurred. You had hit your head well.

The carriage shook with a loud thump, your throat tightening in fright as you heard several more steady thumps follow. Someone had landed on top of it, they were coming for you.

You hissed as you were blinded by a sudden burst of light, the other carriage door that was now above you had been wrenched open. As you blinked away the stinging sensation in your eyes you realized that you were no longer alone.

There was a man standing above you, straddling the entrance to the door. He was clothed from head to toe in black cloth and leather, his left arm bare and exposed, and a mask covering his mouth and nose. All that you could make of his face was the glinting metal pierced through his eyebrow, both of which were furrowed in what was concern but came across as intimidating.

“Stay away from me!” You yelled, your head throbbing in response to your shouts.

The man shook his head silently before settling into a squat and gripping the door of the carriage in one hand before leaning inside and grabbing the sleeve of your robes. Now that he was nearer you were able to make out the stitched symbol on his shoulder that you hadn’t been able to see before - a red skull, sword, and snake.

He was a reaper.

You didn’t know whether to struggle or flee due to the fact that your whispered wishes in the night had suddenly come true. The reaper had come for you first, Lord Ilseong would not have you. Due to your plight your body had frozen, your mind overloaded by your sudden realization.

The reaper - Jungkook, took the opportunity to swiftly pull you out of the carriage and gently set you down on the soft grass. You stared at him dumbly as he dropped into a squat in front of you, his hands taking hold of your face and maneuvering it so he could assess your head wound. He tisked to himself in displeasure, his fingers lightly prodding the area around the wound forcing a wince and a groan out of you.

“Poor little lamb,” He hummed, his fingers retreating only to lightly trace down the curve of your jaw.

“Please, if you’re going to kill me do it quickly, and don’t make me suffer. Let me die with dignity.” You said, boldly grabbing his hand and pulling it away from your face.

You had heard tales in your village, tales of what some of the reapers had done to some poor unfortunate girls - stealing their innocence and leaving them behind to deal with the burdens that have been relinquished to them whether they had been marked or not. The marked girls were luckier than most - their pain ended along with their life.

Jungkook cocked his head to the side in curiosity. He was not stupid, he knew what you were asking. But what truly puzzled him, was why you would think he would do something like that. If he had wanted to kill you he would have done it that very day he had met you.

“Mea Lunatta,” He replied despite knowing you could not understand him, “My wife.”

With that, he scooped you up into his strong arms and began to walk deeper into the trees. Your body went limp, you knew very well there was no way you could fight a born killer, it would be futile. Instead, you stared ahead, the light disappearing as he walked, his grip firm and strong. Although the woods were quiet you could not shake the chill that curled around your spine, you could feel that you were being watched. And you were not wrong, all it took was a little concentration and your eyes adjusting to the dim light before you saw it.

There were eyes in the trees.

~~~~~~~

Jungkook had finally come of age. At the age of twenty-five, he was finally permitted to partake in the hunt.

The hunt was an annual occurrence, it happened like clockwork every spring. The reapers lived far from the villages, deep in the woods in their homes they had built all in a clustered community. And because of this reclusiveness, they often operated much like the predators of the woods. And that contributed to the start of the hunts. Every spring, like animals in rut, they hunted for partners - for wives.

On the first of spring they dispersed, all the men that were twenty-five or older, and searched for their prospective partner.

Jungkook had found you that first morning, on a cold spring day. He had heard you humming to yourself in the early hours of the morning. The small piles of melting snow glittered with the golden light of the steadily rising sun. You were hanging up white sheets on a clothesline, the fabric fluttering around you from the cool breeze. You looked absolutely breathtaking, like an angel shrouded in white with golden rays.

From that moment on, he knew he had to have you. And as protocol instructed, he followed you around for the next several weeks. He grew attached. You radiated a warmth he had never felt before with your gentle smile and kind words. It was a warmth he wanted to steal for himself, a warmth that he could not bear the thought of sharing with anyone else.

He found it endearing, how shy you were. But you were oh so tempting. He liked to think that you were inviting him into your room when you left your window unlatched, you were just too bashful to say anything. So he took the opportunity to sneak inside whenever you “allowed” him to. He wasn’t embarrassed to admit that he had rummaged through your things while you slept mere inches away. It had become a habit of his ever since he had trained to become a reaper, to learn all he could about a person.

He learned that you were a bookworm from the hidden stories he found tucked behind your dresser, the pages creased and torn with love from the continuous thumbing through them.

He learned you loved flowers from the blossoms he found pressed between those pages, bright blooms of daffodils, violets, and buttercups greeting him.

He learned you often went hungry from the lack of food in your family's pantry.

So began the second stage of the hunt, the courting. You seemed puzzled but unconcerned from the sudden discoveries of presents left on your window sill. By all means, you were delighted by the short stories, the bundles of wildflowers, and the occasional carefully wrapped veal and loaves of bread. Your excited smiles were enough to make his heart thump in his chest.

And so the courting continued until the week before the ceremony. That was where he was finally permitted to touch you, to mark you.

The marking always occurred one week before the new moon, the date on which the official hunt would take place. The mark of the reaper meant different things depending on where it was placed on a person’s body, something which outsiders were typically unaware of.

A mark on the wrist meant the mark of death.

A mark on the chest signified that you were a reaper.

And a mark on the thigh was reserved only for potential spouses - for a wife in Jungkook’s case.

Jungkook hadn’t anticipated that a lord would be in the area that day, nonetheless, Hell’s Hollow as the reapers referred to it. And he certainly could not have anticipated that said lord would come to your aid. Jungkook would have fled, taking you with him had he been permitted to do so. But there were rules he had to follow.

The first rule was that he was not permitted to speak to outsiders. Although you were marked, you weren’t considered to be one of them and you were not allowed to have any knowledge of what was to come.

The second rule was that after the marking, he was not permitted to see his potential spouse until the night of the hunt.

The third rule was that the official hunt always took place on the new moon. The lack of moonlight gave the potential spouses an advantage - the darkness created a new challenge for the reaper that was seeking them.

And the fourth rule was the most important of them all: if the runner made it outside of the reaper’s territory they would be given their freedom - no strings attached.

That was a rule that made his heart clench uncomfortably. It was a rule engrained in tradition, if you were to best him, prove yourself capable, he would have to let you go. Despite what most of the villagers believed, reapers were bound by their honor and if they were to break those rules they would be dishonoring their brethren, and they would be exiled.

But the thought of that didn’t frighten him nearly as much as the thought of you successfully evading him. He knew he had an advantage, he had been tracking marks his entire life, he was confident that he would be able to capture you before you broke the boundaries of their territory. He couldn’t afford to doubt himself, doubt leads to mistakes and mistakes led to failure.

He would not fail.

You were surprisingly still in his hold as he trekked through the forest. He had expected you to put up more of a fight, to try and flee. But he had forgotten that you were indeed smart, you most likely knew you would not be able to escape him like this, especially now. Pride swelled within him at the thought of how clever you were, but at the same time worry quelled in his mind, your cleverness might take you away from him.

He glanced down at you several times as he continued your journey, he would be lying if he were to say you were not distracting. You smelled fresh and clean with a lingering scent of oils that had been rubbed into your skin which was practically glowing, especially with the added intricacy of the garments you wore. They were familiar to him, the style, the embroidery, it was from someone he knew. Someone he wished he didn’t know. And that greatly confused him, but not as much as the sight of you inside that carriage that they had planned to attack. They had thought the lord himself would be inside, departing the village with collected taxes. But instead, you were there, his chosen.

He could feel the eyes of his comrades in the trees, burning into his back. This was something he had been trying to avoid.

Jungkook was strong and he was promising, it was well known knowledge that once the leader of their troupe stepped down he would be in the running for the position, a position that was highly sought after. And while Jungkook had many friends, brothers, amongst the reapers, he had just as many enemies. So what better way to scorn him than by stealing his chosen?

They all knew now, and he was certain that they would be hunting you alongside him tonight.

That was a part of the hunt, after all, to challenge themselves. Reapers that were of age that did not bring a chosen partner would hunt from the pool if they wished to. And if they died in the process, the reaper that killed them would go unpunished. Jungkook was certain he would have to kill for you tonight, and that thought did not bother him.

Your body suddenly tensed in his arms and in turn he stopped, immediately going on the defensive. He could feel you shrinking back into his chest in utter fear, harsh pants of breath parting your lips in pure fright.

“Wolves.” You gasped, your hand involuntarily squeezing his bicep.

A loud snap severed the silence of the forest and from the bushes emerged a wolf. It had the brightest blue eyes and pitch black fur, standing as tall as a horse.

“Direwolf,” He said, a word that was the same in your language.

You shrieked as he began to walk forward, your body wriggling for the first time since he had grabbed you. He hushed you, patting your back as he neared the wolf. The wolf did not appear to be aggressive, in fact, it seemed quite relaxed, even happy at the sight of Jungkook. Its massive tail swung slowly in excitement as it walked beside Jungkook, consciously slowing its pace so it did not overtake him.

“My wolf,” He explained. He knew very well that you could not understand, but he could not remain silent, he wished to speak to you.

The Direwolves had become their companions, they respected one another's borders and in turn, had formed a close relationship with select reapers. The Direwolves guarded their campgrounds, and in turn, the reapers ensured they would be fed in the barren days of winter. The Direwolves were the reason why no one ever tried to ambush them, they’re massive bodies, fanged teeth, and tough skin made them an impossible adversary.

They were incredibly good at keeping people inside as well.

His wolf made a good guide, leading the way into the campgrounds. The sun was nearly set, the forest growing impenetrably dark on these short spring days. It would not be long before the hunt started and he still needed to prepare you.

The campgrounds were fairly empty, not many reapers or families milling about. They all knew what tonight marked and they were all preparing in their own ways. The wolf followed behind closely, coming to stop and sitting by his cabin, his bright blue eyes steady and alert.

You began to struggle again as he crossed the threshold, the missing presence of the wolf instilling your instincts to fight once more.

“Put me down!” You yelled through gritted teeth, your irritation from being carried around like a rag doll boiling to the surface.

You could see his jaw clench beneath the cover of his mask, you were making him angry.

He slammed the door shut behind him before setting you down, leaning against the only exit to make sure you wouldn’t try to leave before it was time.

“I won’t let you touch me,” You said with a shake of your head, “And I won’t go down without a fight.”

You were impressed by the steadiness in your voice in spite of the deep-rooted fear you felt inside. You were not necessarily lying to him, you would make it as hard as possible for him despite knowing just how easily he could restrain you. You were terribly frightened.

His body shook with laughter, his eyes crinkling in amusement which only served to unsettle you as well as frustrate you. He too knew that your threats were useless, in fact, he found them to be adorable. But, he did not have any plans that were like what you were insinuating. He would not be able to do that until after he caught you, fair and square. Not until you were his wife.

He crossed his strong arms over his chest, leaning back in a relaxed manner against the door before nodding his head in the direction of the table where a white garment was folded on top.

“Change.” He instructed.

You looked between him and the table before shaking your head, “No.”

He cocked his head to the side, his pierced eyebrow raising in questioning at your defiance. He pulled down his mask and let it rest around his neck before he spoke again.

“Change,” He smirked before sliding a knife out of his leg sheath, “Or I will do it for you.”

You didn’t have to speak his language in order to understand what he was insinuating. He would have no problems slashing your clothes into ribbons so you would have no other choice but to wear what he was giving you.

You could feel your eyes burning with unshed tears that were threatening to pool over. Whenever you became overwhelmed with emotion you cried, especially when you were angry and you hated that so much. You sniffled pitifully and rubbed at the skin beneath your eyes, the playful smirk immediately dropping off of Jungkook’s face as he took a step in your direction.

“Look away,” You snapped, stepping backward and grabbing the plain fabric from the table.

Jungkook seemed distressed, his lips pressing together in worry as he watched you. But, after a few moments, he nodded and faced the door to give you your privacy. That was at least one kindness that could be afforded.

You were woefully embarrassed to not only be changing in the same room as a man, but also by the attire he had provided you with. It was a dress that was thin and breathable with loose angel sleeves as well as a skirt that ended mid calf, it was made to offer mobility and comfort. You felt horribly exposed, the dress far too scandalous to be anything but sleep wear. You felt naked, in your village this would be just as bad as being naked.

But it was either this, or nothing at all.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked, and despite your attempts, worry penetrated your words.

He looked over his shoulder before slowly turning to face you, his dark eyes roaming over your body from head to toe in what could only be described as appreciation. He didn’t answer you, and from what you understood that was in his character. Instead he approached you and in turn you took several steps back until you were halted by the table behind you. He advanced and did not stop until there was barely an inch of space left in between you two.

Your harsh swallow was cacophonous in the quiet cabin, your gaze was turned downward in an attempt to avoid his eyes.

He softly lifted your head up with his thumb and forefinger on your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your hands gripped the table behind you in response, your eyes flickering off to the side in anxiety.

“I’m going to love you,” he whispered with a soothing tone as he retrieved a small silver jar from behind you filled with red pigment, “I’m going to protect you, and if anyone tries to take you from me I’ll slaughter them without hesitation.”

He gently smoothed your eyelids shut and proceeded to paint the red pigment over your eyes, over the crests of your cheekbones, and dragged down the hollows beneath your eyes. Even without seeing it, you could recognize the pattern as the same one he wore on his face in coal dust.

“You are mine, and I am yours,” He said while cupping your cheeks tenderly and pressing his forehead against yours.

After Jungkook had finished preparing you, he grabbed you be the hand and lead you out of the house. The Direwolf was still there and it continued to follow the two of you around like, well like an overgrown puppy.

Jungkook’s grip was firm but not painful, it was meant to keep you by his side. It was dark out, the dirt paths just barely lit by a line of torches leading toward the center of the ground where a massive until bonfire was constructed. And surrounding the unlit fire was a massive crowd of reapers as well as women dressed almost identically to yourself.

Your heart clenched in your chest, what was coming next? Were you going to be sacrificed? Roasted and cannibalized? Whatever is was, it wasn’t going to be good for you.

You dug your heels into the ground, surprisingly, startling Jungkook. He turned to face you, the light of the torches glinting off of his piercing and the red hue of his lips. You hated to admit it, but he was painfully beautiful. With a strong jaw, prominent brows, dark eyes, and pouty lips, he was the most attractive man you had ever seen. He looked as if he belonged among nobility, not here, in the middle of the woods with a bunch of wild men.

“Please,” You whispered, stepping closer so he could hear, “I need to know what’s going to happen to me.”

His jaw clenched, his lips pressed firmly together in thought. There was a beat of silence before he warily looked around and flipped your palm over so it was facing the sky. And then, he began to trace patterns, no, letters over the surface of your palm.

You focused, memorizing the letters and stringing them together in your mind until they formed coherent words. Words that sent a violent chill throughout your entire body.

“Run, don’t hide.”

~~~~~~~

The bonfire roared to life behind you as you sprinted through the forest, an eerie red glow casting long shadows all around you. The women that hadn’t figured out what was happening right away were far behind you, you had been granted a head start. But you knew that time was precious, eventually the reapers would descend and if they didn’t manage to catch you, you didn’t want to imagine was the Direwolves would do to you.

You could only imagine that this was how they entertained themselves. Perhaps someone had not hired Jungkook to kill you, but instead like an apex predator he desired to hunt you. This had to be a game for them, whoever slaughtered the most people won.

But then why did he tell you to keep running and not to hide? To lengthen the game? Or, if you hid, would the others find you? Did he want to claim your life instead?

Your legs and arms burned with exertion as you ran, the cool earth soggy and soft beneath your shoes that were most definitely not made for running. They were a size too small and pinched you in all of the worst places sending searing pain throughout the bottoms of your feet. You debated kicking them off but thought better of that, the nights were still freezing and if you managed to make it out of this alive you would prefer to keep all ten of your toes.

Despite your head start you could still hear everything that happened behind you. You could hear the other women screaming and fighting for their lives and that only served as motivation, forcing you to push yourself past your limits and sprint faster than you ever had before.

A scream parted your lips as a large black mass shot out of the trees and just barely brushed against you. You stumbled but did not fall and continued running but you couldn’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder. Black fur and piercing blue eyes, it was Jungkook’s wolf who was pinning a reaper down to the ground. You watched as he snarled and lunged for the man’s neck and crushed it with one snap of it’s jaws before slowly dragging the corpse back into the trees and ripping his throat open. His blood rolled down his neck and practically sizzled from the cold air.

Your stomach turned and your throat tightened, you were definitely running slower now from your nausea and the muscle fatigue. How had you not noticed the wolf tracking you? Or the reaper? They both had been perfectly silent, one with the forest, and you had not even realized that man had been less than a foot behind you.

You were out of your depth, you were going to die.

Your body had been rife with adrenaline at the beginning of this horrible race, and that still was present especially after what you had just experienced. But your mind was contesting your body and you were horribly frightened and confused.

In your panicked state and the deep darkness of the night, you had failed to see it. A wire had been strung up and the minute you ran through it your ankles were caught, you tripped and fell and the wire wrapped smoothly around you ankles: binding them together.

Someone had set traps before the start of the hunt, they had done something that felt an awful lot like cheating.

“No!” You cried, smacking your palm over your mouth from the volume, “No, no, no, please no,” You whispered.

You flipped yourself onto your back and sat upright, your hands instantly pulling at the wire and attempting to unravel it from your ankles. You hissed in pain, a stray tear falling from your eye as the wire slashed at the delicate skin of your palms - crimson blood beading up and slipping from the wound.

You clenched your jaw tight to muffle your sounds of discomfort and got to work, whimpering at each slice as you pried the wire open and unwound it painstakingly slow. You grunted under your breath as you pulled it free, a clear indent left in the flesh of your ankles that was bloody and fresh. You let out a soft breath of relief before turning over onto your hands and knees, attempting to stand back up so that you could continue your escape.

Before you could move any farther a boot connected with your back, forcing your down to the ground like a helpless bug. A sharp wheeze left your lungs as pain radiated through your back, your fingers curling into the dirt beneath you as you tried to drag yourself out from underneath whoever was pinning you down.

“There you are,” The man said with a pleased tone in the language you spoke.

You cried out as he wove his gloved fingers into your hair and sharply yanked your head up by causing shocks of pain to blossom over your scalp. He turned your head to face him, his other hand tightly grasping your cheeks.

“Oh yeah, you’re Jungkook’s bitch,” He laughed, “You’re pretty too, that’ll make this hurt even more.”

“Please, please let me go! I swear you’ll never see me again, I just want to go home!” You cried, emotion swelling up in your chest to the point where you couldn’t stop yourself from crying.

You hated crying, you wanted to be strong but fuck, you were so scared. You knew that you were moments from dying, this had to be it and you weren’t ready.

“And that’s exactly what I can’t have, what better way to piss that asshole off than to steal his woman from him? To make him see you everyday knowing I rightfully won you and he can’t do anything about it? Hell, I could even fuck you against the side of his house if I wanted to and he wouldn’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”

His woman? His woman?

You suddenly came to realize a horrific thought. They weren’t hunting for sport, they were hunting for wives.

“You’re a little older than I would have liked, but I’ll make do,” He sneered, flipping you over onto your back and straddling your waist.

“Stop, let go of me!” You screamed, wriggling underneath him and hitting whatever part of his body you could reach. You caught him by surprise, your nails catching on his skin and dragging down over his face drawing blood beneath them.

“You fucking bitch!” He yelled, wiping the blood from his face before grasping your wrists and pinning them down to the ground and above your head.

“I was going to be nice to you, ya know? But now, now I’m going to make you suffer,” He spat, the veins in his neck bulging with rage.

You screamed, panicked sobs filling the air as he gripped your hands with one of his own, the other going for the waist of his pants. You knew what was coming next, you had heard the stories of what they did and all you could do was cry and struggle beneath him, he had you pinned well.

You clenched your eyes shut, your lashes clumping together from the amount of tears you had shed. You didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see what was about to happen.

In a last ditch effort, a small ember of hope, you screamed once more, “Jungkook!”

And it was all over in a flash. A warm, thick, wetness sprayed over your face - a coppery taste misting over your lips as a gurgled, choked cry sounded from above you before the weight of the man fell off of you.

You kept your eyes closed, still too afraid to move, your body was completely frozen against your own desire to flee. You jolted at the feeling of fingers ghosting over your cheek, fingers that were rough and coated with something that felt tacky.

Warily, you opened your eyes. It was Jungkook. His mask was pulled down around his neck again, his expression was one of panic and rage. You swallowed harshly as he wiped away your tears and whatever was coating your face. You allowed yourself to take in the sight of him from head to toe and you were met with the startling realization that he was covered in blood. His forearms, his palms, his chest, and his boots, and not to mention the light smattering over his sharp jawline.

He had killed many people tonight.

Your eyes wandered behind him and on the ground a lifeless corpse was splayed out. It was the man that had captured you, his throat was savagely slashed so deeply you thought you could see bone.

You frantically began to rub at your face, the white sleeves of your dress stained with dirt and blood rubbing roughly against your skin. You were certain your face would be raw by the time you were done.

You hadn’t even realized you were panicking, frantically mumbling sentences that didn’t make sense as you attacked your own face, until he spoke.

“Sh, sh, sh,” He hushed you, pulling your hands from your face, “It’s over, you’re safe now.”

Your body froze, it took you a few moments to realize that you could understand him, this was the first time he had spoken your language.

“Please, I want to go home now,” You whispered, your hands limp beneath his as your shoulders shook.

“I’ll take you home,” He nodded, standing up and helping you to your feet. Your knees were still weak, your ankles protesting as they continued to bleed. You were sure they were going to get infected at this rate.

“You’re hurt?” He asked, his voice much softer than you had anticipated. You merely nodded in response.

He recognized those marks, they were from a specific snare that only reapers used. And, on the night of the hunt, they were banned. His jaw clenched in anger, he was trying his best not to explode, not to scare you. His rage would be wasted, after all he had already killed that bastard and his little band of low-lives. Just as he had suspected, they were all after you that night.

He stepped forward, opening his arms to pick you up. You jerked away, your body still trying to protect you - not sensing that the danger had passed. Or was it right? Jungkook was one of them, he had marked you, brought you here, he was just as dangerous.

“I won’t hurt you,” He said, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing, “You need my help.”

As reluctant as you were to admit it, he was right, you wouldn’t be able to walk all the way back with him, you were in far too much pain. You nodded slowly before inching towards him and allowing him to gently cradle you to his chest.

Jungkook paused once he adjusted you in his hold. Your face was still stained just as badly as the rest of him despite your frantic attempts to clean yourself. The makeup that has once been on your face was smudged and dissolved by your tears. But, you had made it. He knew he chose you for a reason, you had ran the farthest, you had outrun so many men and the ones you couldn’t he and his wolf dispatched.

His heart thumped in anxiety as he looked over his shoulder where the bloody snare laid. You had been so close.

Another two feet, and you would have broken their borders and had been free to go.

~~~~~~~

The bonfire was still burning just as strongly as it had been at the start of the hunt. That led you to believe that it had not lasted as long as you thought it would. The reapers were proficient hunters and killers just like the Direwolves that protected their lands. It was foolish to believe that anything about this would have been challenging for them.

Upon your arrival you were met with the sight of a substantial crowd. All of your fellow runners were there each in a different state of despair and disbelief. But besides them, there were many newcomers that you had not seen before. There were families, large families. Mother’s occupied with their babies, young children giggling as they chased one another, and the glowing eyes of the Direwolves surveying, their massive bodies folded into themselves as they laid on the ground by the tree line.

They were on guard, not from outside threats, but guarding the way out. It would be suicide for anyone who tried to leave. You had seen what those wolves could do, you would not dare try to leave with them here.

“What is this?” You asked Jungkook who had set you down on a soft cushion a fair distance from the fire.

“A celebration,” He explained “For good fortune and prosperous futures.”

Prosperous futures? What future could anyone have after this? That was of course, if he was lying to you. If he didn’t know that you knew what all of this was really about.

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you chose me to be your wife?”

Jungkook flinched, his doe eyes widening in surprise before a small smile crept onto his lips, “You figured it out then? I knew you were smart, that was one of the reasons I chose you. I could see the cleverness in those eyes from a mile away.”

You shifted uncomfortably underneath his stare before straightening your spine, attempting to appear far more confident than you felt.

“I’m not yours, I never will be.”

His lips twitched into a frown, “You were mine the second I laid eyes on you. You accepted my gifts, my proposal, and I caught you fairly. This may not be conventional in your village but it is tradition in mine. You bare my mark, you followed me here willingly, and we completed the ceremony. You are mine and I am yours in a way that is far more binding than any church could declare. Do you understand me?”

He was thoroughly angered, you could practically feel the heat simmering off of him, stronger than the fire that was not too far away. You watched as he stood, dragging one of several large barrels filled to the brim with water over to you. He grabbed a spare cloth and dunked it into the water before dropping down to his knees and beginning to clean your hands and feet, removing the dirt and blood from beneath your nails and the wounds on your ankles.

You watched him work for a moment, his brows furrowed in irritation as well as focus. Behind him several reapers watched on in astonishment, several looks of surprise as well as disapproval coloring their features.

“Why are they staring at us?” You whispered, curling into yourself from the attention.

“It is tradition for the spouse to cleanse the reaper after the ceremony, not the other way around,” He mumbled, grabbing a new cloth for your face.

His intense, dark eyes bore into your own as he cleaned the blood from your cheeks, “I am willing to break tradition for you, rules for you, does that not prove that I am yours as much as you are mine?”

Your heart thumped against your will. Adoring words like those should not leave the mouth of a killer so easily.

“I can’t be yours.”

“And why is that?”

“I,” You swallowed harshly, the words burning your tongue before your could even form them, “I am promised to Lord Ilseong.”

Fire blossomed in his eyes, those dark coals igniting in an instant. You had never seen hatred grow so quickly in a man or woman’s eyes before and it genuinely frightened you.

“Lord Ilseong?” He hissed, his strong shoulders squared and tensed.

“Y-yes,” You stuttered, unnerved by the sudden shift in demeanor, “He will come for me, you must know that. I am his betrothed.”

Jungkook said nothing, instead he quickly rose to his feet and grabbed you firmly by the wrist, pulling you in the direction of his cabin where his wolf still laid in waiting. You struggled to keep up with his pace, stumbling over your own feet as you were nearly dragged by him into his home.

“What are you doing?! You said you would take me home!”

“And I did not lie to you, this is home, our home now.”

“Lord Ilseong-”

“Say his name one more time,” He warned as he fixed you with an intense glare, “One more time, and I’ll make sure mine is the only one you’ll be able to remember.”

You froze, your body refusing to move as you were pinned in place by his intimidating glare. You had been tossed from one fire into another. From one lecherous old man to a wild young one. You had yet to decide which was worse.

“Why do you hate him so?” You asked, surprised you were able to voice such a question when he was clearly on edge.

He laughed, a bitter and cruel sound. You could see his shoulders shaking in barely contained rage. He did not hate him, he loathed his entire existence.

“Why do I hate him?” He echoed, his jaw clenched tightly, “Lord Ilseong is my father.”

You couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping, he had taken you completely by surprise. Jungkook looked nothing like Lord Ilseong, Jungkook was far too beautiful. But, if you looked hard enough, the faintest traces of him were there, in his jaw and brow, but for the most part you could conclude that Jungkook was blessed with his mother’s features.

“That…that’s not possible! The lady was never able to conceive a child. Lord Ilseong has no children.”

“None that were legitimate. No, I am his bastard. And I had quite a few siblings to show for his unfaithfulness. He sought out any pretty face he could and took them with or without their regard. That is something that all reapers have in common, we are the rejected children of nobility and we have come to reap what they have sown.”

You could see it now. Many of the reapers you had seen at the fire were painfully attractive, the offspring of beautiful people who had been abused and taken advantage of. And in turn they were rejected by those who had given them life. But just like the nobility they had been born from, they too were tainted with corruption, that much was evidenced by your capture and what had almost transpired before Jungkook had slain that man in the forest.

“That is why he wishes to marry me, to finally have a legitimate child to continue his legacy.” You confirmed. You had thought before he was a perverted old man, and that much was true, but he had much bigger plans.

“He what?!” Jungkook was seething.

“That was what he told my father, he wished for me to give him many children.”

As soon as you were finished speaking, you could see him snap. He grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to the back of the house where his bedroom was. He slammed the door shut and pushed you firmly in the chest causing you to stumble back onto his bed.

“He has taken everything from me, but this I will finally take from him.” He said, tugging your skirt up just as he had done the week before spurring a squeal from your lips.

The red mark was still there on your thigh. No amount of scrubbing from you or your mother has managed to remove it from you skin. You gasped as he dropped to his knees and leaned over you, pressing a fervent kiss to the mark while his hand gripped your other thigh.

“This means that you are mine, I found you first, I chose you first. You have a purpose here, you are important here. Make no mistake I am not giving you a choice, you will not return to him. But if you try to run know this, a life with him will be one of misery and suffering. Here, I am offering you my love, my soul, whatever it is you desire. But in return I desire the same. And if you were to offer those to anyone else I would kill them without hesitation.”

You sat there in shock. Never had a man ever knelt before you in such a position, in submission. No man had ever declared such a violent love for you.

You knew, despite Jungkook’s vehement denial, that you did have choices and there were three.

The first was to return with Lord Ilseong when he inevitably came for you. And what would come of that. A life of misery, Jungkook had said. You would be doomed to marry a man nearly thrice your age, endure a horrific wedding night and several more like it until you missed your cycle, and then give birth. And that would continue over and over again until he died, an endless cycle to ensure he would have a pool of children to choose from in the event that his first born perished or, worse in his eyes, was a girl. And the thought of him, his wrinkled hands, touching your body had your stomach churning. You would rather fight the Direwolves.

The second was to run, to go back home. But that posed several problems. For one, your father would never take you back. You would become his greatest disappointment just as quickly as you had become his pride. He would send for Lord Ilseong and your fate would be sealed. Or, more likely, Jungkook would find you first. And you knew then that your family would no longer be safe.

The third option, the final option, was just as difficult as the first. And that was to stay with Jungkook and his reapers. To be his wife. You would be trapped with the man who had captured you, who had stolen you from your home. You would stand by for years on end, watching the cycle continue as people were either slaughtered for money, or were captured to be wed. But, you would still have some freedom. You wouldn’t be “broken like a mare” as his lordship has said. You would still be where you thrived, in nature. And your “husband” would not be an old decrepit man. As unwilling as you were to admit it, the thought of Jungkook touching you was not entirely repulsive. Had he been another village boy, had he been sweet, innocent, and kind, you would have jumped at the chance to be betrothed to him.

Jungkook was the lesser of evils.

“Let me have you,” He said, his hands stroking slowly up and down the expanse of your thighs which had pressed themselves together tightly out of not only anxiety but something else all together. It was a horrible, addicting blend.

And you couldn’t help but think to yourself, what better way to spite that old man than to lose your innocence to his bastard. You knew that Lord Ilseong would come, without a doubt he would not let you be free. But when he came with his army and slaughtered the reapers you would be free. Jungkook would be dead and the Lord would not take you, you who were no longer a virgin and tainted by his illegitimate son. Jungkook was right, you were clever.

You finally met his gaze, his head still craned up to look at you. There was something enticing about having a powerful man on his knees. You had never had power, you were always the pawn.

And so, when his hands moved higher, fiddling with the hem of your undergarments, you did not stop him. As nervous as you were, frightened as you were, this was a part of your plan and you would see through it. You would do it if it meant you could have your freedom.

And anyone else was better than Ilseong. Especially the attractive man that knelt before you like a devout worshiper at his altar. If you were lucky, he would not make it hurt.

A desperate sigh left his lips as he rolled your skirt up over your hips and hastily removed your undergarments before pulling you to the edge of his bed and forcing your legs over his shoulders as his head disappeared in between your thighs.

You shrieked in surprise as you felt his lips meet the skin of your inner thigh. His hands were holding your hips tightly, preventing you from moving as he left long, lingering kisses there. His lips were surprisingly soft, wet, and warm, creating an unfamiliar ache at the apex of your thighs. Your hips twitched without your permission, writhing in an attempt to get him to do something your body understood better than your mind. His soft laugh vibrated against your thigh, his dark eyes shooting up to look at you in a way that could only be described as mischievous before he ducked his head down and his lips met a place you had not dared to touch.

A cry of shock broke free from your lips, your head falling back and your chest heaving in pleasure.

“W-what? Jungkook wait-” You stuttered in confusion, your words easily silenced by the strokes of his tongue.

The entire inner workings of what happened between a husband and wife on their wedding night was a mystery to you. And that was not your fault. Mothers and fathers often kept that from their daughters, too afraid to tell them too much lest they learn how to rid themselves of their virginity before they marry. Your mother had told you enough the day you were to be sent to Lord Ilseong, but this, this was a far cry from what she had told you.

Despite your pleas he did not slow down, in fact he only became that much more enthusiastic. Your arms turned to jello, collapsing out from underneath you sending your back down to the mattress as your legs shook around his head. You could feel him groaning against you sending vibrations all throughout your core, it was like he was the one receiving immense pleasure and not you.

It felt like he wanted to devour you.

He broke away once to catch his breath, his shoulders heaving as he panted.

“So pretty for me,” He mumbled, his voice much lower than before and riddled with lust.

You jolted with a strangled moan as he pressed a long, lingering kiss to that place once more before his fingers firmly stroked up and down the length of your sex, just barely sinking in to your entrance in a teasing manner that had your hips bucking pitifully against his iron grip. He would to decided to give you what you needed when he wanted to. The chase had been great fun, but the capture was the true reward and he planned to thoroughly enjoy it.

“So sensitive,” He laughed, pushing your hips down, “Have you never been touched before?”

Your eyes were clenched shut, your mouth twisted into a frown as he continued his touches that still left behind a pleasant thrum but also an intense ache as he deliberately avoided every part that would provide you pleasure.

As soon as he realized you weren’t paying attention his withdrew his fingers and you could only whine from the lack of his touch.

“I asked you a question,” He said, very clearly waiting for your response.

“No,” You admitted despite your embarrassment.

His face was set with determination and glee, he was happy to know that he would have you first in every aspect.

You wriggled away from him as he stood up, joining you on the bed and attempting to remove your dress. You had never been exposed to someone else before and while you felt desire burning inside you the thought of him seeing you bare was frightening. But he smiled at your bashful actions and he knew that he would have to rid you of your clothes quickly.

You froze as he removed a very familiar knife from the strap on his leg, your heart beating louder than thunder. Maybe he had been planning to kill you all along, maybe he was finally going to do it.

But instead of killing you like you thought he would, he pulled your dress taut and with one impressive slash slit it open from the bottom to the top. Your chest heaved against the cool metal of the blade that now rested at your breasts - the feeling just as exhilarating as it was frightening.

“Easy, little lamb,” He cooed, setting the knife aside, “What use would I have for a lovely, dead, wife?”

You watched in awe as he stripped down, revealing every inch of honey skin and toned muscle. But, more surprisingly, and arm full of tattoos. He had always kept one arm bare and the other covered. The covered one hiding the collection of inked markings on his arm as well as the reaper’s mark on his chest, the mark that you shared with him on your thigh. He quickly noticed where your attention strayed to.

“Each one signifies something different. Some of them are milestones, ranks, and others represent kills,” He explained, grabbing your hand and resting it on his bicep, encouraging you to touch him.

Your fingers smoothed over the scarred skin, enraptured by the sight. You had never seen so many markings on one person. You could only assume Jungkook had killed many, many people.

He sighed at the feeling of your touch, eagerly wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you onto his lap, pressing your chest against his firmly so that there was no space left in between you two. Your body was rapidly heating up, the feeling of his strong thighs and hardened manhood beneath you only making the fire in your veins burn hotter.

He gently cradled your jaw with one hand, the other spread over your ribcage just beneath the swell of your breast. And, with a surprising tenderness, he pressed his lips against yours in a soft, slow, sweet kiss. But it did not remain soft for long, his hold grew firmer, his kisses more intense and hard like he could not get enough of you, like he needed you more than air itself.

And, with a flood of heat, you realized that he had kissed you in-between your legs before stealing your first kiss from your lips.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” He whispered against your mouth, misreading your trembling body, “I’ll never hurt you, I only want to pleasure you.”

And he followed through on his promise. You had never thought that hands that could bring death could also bring pleasure, but you had been mistaken. In the veil of darkness, under the absence of the moon, the two of you indulged in a night of debauchery.

You had been told that this night would be painful, that you would cry and wish it had never happened. But instead you had found immense satisfaction and a desire for more. While your life had been riddled with misfortune you had been granted one ounce of relief - Jungkook was a gifted lover. So gifted in fact that you found yourself unwilling to part from him, your hold on his body almost as strong as his grasp on you. Your nails had found themselves embedded in his back, raking down the once smooth skin and leaving marks of your own on him. You were certain that your inner thighs would be bruised from just how tightly you encircled his waist. You had allowed a part of yourself to escape that you did not recognize.

“My good little wife, taking me so well,” He had moaned into your ear, his hips desperately rutting against yours. “Absolutely perfect for me.”

And he continued on like that, whispering praises into your ear and bringing you to the edge over and over and over again, his stamina prevailing even as you weakly mewled and attempted to draw away from him, every inch of your body screaming in oversensitivity but even then that pain felt horribly good.

“You can take another, for me, I know you can handle it,” He growled out from behind gritted teeth, at this point he had become more animalistic than man.

“I can’t -”

“You can, and you will.”

That was something you had come to learn about Jungkook. He always followed through on his promises as well as his threats.

When he had finished for the second and final time he held you close to his chest, the scent of sweat and intimacy still fresh in the air as you unwillingly began to doze off, all of your energy completely drained from your body after not only the intense coupling but all of the energy you had expended prior running for your life.

But as you drifted off you were reminded of exactly why you had done this in the first place. You still were meant to leave, you still craved your freedom.

All it took was one sentence from Jungkook to remind you of your plan. As long as you stayed complacent you would never be free.

“I can’t wait to see what you’ll like, round with my children.”

This was what he had meant by “prosperous futures.”

~~~~~~~

The next morning you were abruptly awoken by the scent of smoke thick in the air and the sound of harsh pounding on the front door.

The space beside you was empty and faintly warm, Jungkook had been up for a little while. You could hear his voice now as well as another reaper’s.

“What is it?” Jungkook’s voice.

“We’ve spotted a decent band of soldiers a few miles out, they definitely belong to a nobleman from the crests they carry. They’ve set fire to the forests, they’re trying to burn everything down in sight - they’re either looking for us, someone else, or both.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Not much, the scouts we sent ahead have returned so I imagine that the soldiers can’t be that far behind. We’ve been ordered to to go ahead and assume our positions, the rest will evacuate.”

“Is that necessary?”

“For now, yes. For everyone else’s sake, they’ll only get in the way. Once we clean this mess up everyone will be escorted back. But we need you too, we can’t do it without you.”

“I understand,” Jungkook reluctantly said, “Thank you, Hoseok.”

You sat up in bed, the blanket tightly wrapped around your body as Jungkook came in. He looked distressed not because of the impending fight, that he was familiar with, but because you would be leaving. And while he wished he could trust you after what happened the night before, he knew that he couldn’t. When given the opportunity to flee, he was certain his little lamb would run for safer pastures.

He dressed you quickly, helping you pull on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pants, men’s clothing. You had never worn men’s clothing before.

“Easier to run in, if they come for you, you have to be ready to run.” He explained, bending down to help you lace up the boots on your feet.

“Don’t be afraid, Fang will protect you while I’m gone.”

“Fang?” You asked.

“My wolf.”

So, that was its name. How uncreative.

Jungkook paused, his brows pinched in stress as he looked at you. This was happening too quickly. He thought he had some time before Ilseong and his men would come, time that would get you to trust him.

He stepped forward, cradling your face before pressing his lips to yours again. You had found that each kiss with Jungkook was different and new. This one was desperate, this one felt like a promise, a promise to see you again.

“I love you,” He said, his dark eyes wide and glistening, “Come back to me.”

You could only stare back at him, you refused to make a promise you could not keep. You were going to try to leave if you could and you would not lie to him.

Fang was waiting outside, pacing impatiently and whining in the back of his throat. The Direwolf was agitated, you would be too if your home was burning.

“Follow him, he will take you somewhere safe. I will see you again, that is a promise.” Jungkook said before giving you one more final parting kiss and melting into the tree line.

Jungkook always followed through on his promises and his threats.

A few moments later you heard the cries of wounded men from the forest. The soldiers had arrived and they had not anticipated the reapers armed with bows and arrows high in the trees. It was foolish to try and ambush trained killers, that was something you had forgotten. The chances were that Jungkook would not die today, no, that army would. You had to move, now.

Fang moved swiftly beside you and, to your surprise, split off from the evacuating party. He was taking you somewhere else, perhaps a safe place the Jungkook had in case something like this were to happen. A place where he could find you again.

You were caught in a rock and a hard place. You had seen Fang tear into that reaper the night before, you had watched him consume him with no regret. He and Jungkook were bonded, but you were not. You did not want to test him and see if he would deliver upon you the same fate. It was another waiting game.

Your only other plan would be to follow him to the safe point and try and make your break from there. But, even then, you were certain that Direwolves had impeccable senses. And, like the reapers, Fang would have no problem hunting you.

The massive wolves' steps were hard to keep up with, you were practically jogging in an attempt to stay by his side. He was tense, his ears flicking now and then as he listened for a threat, his piercing blue eyes scanning the trees. Direwolves seemed far more human than regular wolves, especially with their intelligence.

Fang froze, sniffing the air rapidly before his hackles raised and a deep growl left him that was so loud it shook the ground beneath you. He backed up, his large body shielding your own as he waited for the threat to emerge.

And it was quite a threat. Lord Ilseong had not only sent one army but two. One surveying and burning one side of the forest, and another scouting the other side. And they too were armed, smaller than the other force, but still armed.

Fang lunged instantly, his jaw snapping down on three men at once and wildly shaking them around like they weighed nothing while blood and their screams filled the air.

And then you were off.

Once more, you had found yourself running for your life in the woods. Although this time you were much more efficient. The clothes Jungkook had given you were, in fact, much easier to run in. And now that the sun was out the forest was perfectly illuminated allowing you to see every fallen tree, root, and stump in your path.

You were going to run until you couldn’t anymore. This time, this time for sure you would make it out, you would be able to be free again.

At least, that was what you had thought, that was what you had hoped for. You had been wrong.

The trees were beginning to thin out, and what you had thought to be the clearing to a village turned out to be the small resting place of the noble army that had been abandoned save for guardsmen and of course, Lord Ilseong himself.

“My bride, there you are!” He called excitedly causing you to stumble backward, ready to begin running in the opposite direction but you were quickly stopped by his guards behind you.

“I have been looking all over for my pretty little bride, when my men found your carriage overturned we had assumed the worst.” He explained, coming to stand right in front of you leaving you with no exit to run to.

“What is this that you’re wearing?” He sneered, “What happened to the robes I sent you?”

He was more worried about the damn clothes than you, not that you cared at all what he felt for you but if he claimed to want you as his Lady you would think he would show an ounce of worry for your state of being.

“They were stolen from me, forgive me.” You said, your hands clenched into fists.

Lord Ilseong did not care, his beady eyes were still trained on the shirt and pants that donned your body.

“These are a man’s clothes!” He yelled, grasping the collar of the shirt and jerking it so strongly that it tore, the fabric falling to expose the column of your neck, your collarbones, and your left shoulder.

“Infidelity!” He screamed, rage burning red under his skin as he saw the marks that Jungkook had left the night before. A good portion of your body was littered with bruises but that spot was by far the worst, deep dark marks were clustered together along with a clear bite mark.

“It-it’s not what you think your grace!” You cried in an attempt to save yourself. Your eyes were burning and your heart was pounding, you knew what was going to come next.

“Do you know what the price of unfaithfulness is?” He hissed, his men forcing you down to your knees before him.

You whimpered as you heard the familiar sound of a sword being unsheathed, the metal glinting in the sun as it was passed to Ilseong.

“The penalty is death.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as warm tears attempted to fall. You refused to cry this time, you were done crying. And now, as you faced your certain death you refused to show this man your tears. This man was punishing you for a crime you did not commit against a relationship you did not have. A relationship you never wanted.

“What a shame, I had such high hopes for you, but you were just another common whore.” He seethed as he raised the sword above his head.

A sharp whistle shot by your ears and then another, the sound of something cutting through the air quickly. And almost immediately after two loud thuds sounded.

You cracked open your eyes to see the two guards laying limp on the forest floor, an arrow embedded in each of their throats. You peered over your shoulder and there, blending into the shadows of the trees sat a reaper high up in its branches. He was the man from this morning, Hoseok.

And if Hoseok was here, that meant -

Two more arrows sliced through the air, one piercing Ilseong’s left hand causing him to drop the sword and scream in pain only for another arrow to pierce his right hand. Both of his arms were spread out, each hand pinned to a tree and unable to move. He was defenseless.

Jungkook emerged from the shadows and behind him, Fang followed closely. Blood was matted into his fur, some was his own but the majority of it was not.

And Jungkook, he was trembling in rage.

“All you do is take. You took my mother from me, her life, my sibling's lives, and then you steal my wife from me not once but twice. Your judgment had been long awaited by not only myself but everyone under your rule.”

For the first time, Ilseong looked frightened like he was staring death in the face. Not unlike how you had been moments before.

“I promise you that I will take everything from you. Your riches, your land, and your life. That, that is the penalty for trying to murder another man’s wife.”

“J-Jungkook, I’m your father, have mercy, please!”

“Did you show my sisters mercy when you slaughtered them in their sleep? Or my brothers when you had your men shoot them down in the fields? Or my mother when you strangled her to death?!” He said, his voice growing louder and louder as his rage rolled off of him in waves.

“Please, I’ll give you whatever you want, anything!” Ilseong begged, his eyes wide in fright and panic.

“I want your life,” Jungkook said before picking up the sword from the ground and began hacking away without hesitation, once, twice, and three times until Ilseong’s head came lose from his neck and fell away his body going completely limp - only being held up by the arrows that still kept his decapitated body upright.

You couldn’t stop the raw scream that ripped freely from your throat. You had never seen a sight so horrific before, so violent and unforgiving. That image would forever be burned in your mind, haunting you each time to tried to sleep.

You watched in horror as Fang approached, grabbing what remained of Ilseong in his strong jaws and ripping his corpse free from the tree, dragging it back into the forest where he would no doubt be consumed.

“You shall reap what you sow.” Jungkook and Hoseok spoke in unison like it was a ritual.

Jungkook’s shoulders finally relaxed, the sword dropping from his hand as he turned to look at you. Blood was heavy on his face, covering the left side of it almost entirely. But he still smiled at you, the blood on his face making his teeth seem unbearably white only making your stomach turn ten times worse.

You whimpered in fright as he approached you, settling down in a crouch in front of you before tugging you into his arms. The scent of blood was ever stronger now as his hands smoothed up and down your back.

“Remember what I told you little lamb?” He grinned, “Without hesitation.”

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #yandere #yandere bts #yandere jungkook #bts fanfic #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere kpop #yandere bts x reader #mercenary jungkook #fantasy au #bts fantasy au #jungkook fantasy au

3K notes · View notes

icallhimjoey · 9 months

Note

So, have you ever thought about this: Joey agreed to casually have sex with you but finds himself not being able to be casual about it at all so he starts trying to make a connection but you’re running away from these conversations?

(Having an intense måneskin-phase, can’t get over Baby said) ✨

- @nadixm

the way this request lit something on FIRE inside of me was a little unexpected, but thank you so much for sending it in! wasnt able to stop thinking about it after receiving it, so, <3 (girlies, this is obviously going to be 18+ so proceed with caution, and minors: fuck off) Wordcount: 3.9K

---

More Than This

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

You were pretending you didn’t catch that.

But you’d seen him look.

Had felt his eyes on you.

That soft, half-lidded adoring type of shit, which was usually just this sappy post-orgasmic bliss Joe would swim in for a little bit.

Nothing more than biology. Hormones surging around the system and shit. That was all.

Joe would hook an arm somewhere and hold you in place until you gained the strength to let your combined sweat work in your favour, to let you slip free from him. Head for a shower if you were at your own flat – and hope Joe would let himself out whilst you were in there – or straight back into your clothes you’d have to pick up from the floor when you were at Joe’s.

You were in bed with him now, at his flat. You’d started by his front door about forty minutes ago – didn’t need more than a sultry look into each other’s eyes for you to be on him.

Joe hadn’t even greeted you, just stood in his own doorway and waited on the threshold for you to pop out of the lift. And then he didn’t step aside when you approached him.

Gave you no other choice but to launch yourself at him, did he?

Would only let you in if you were attached to him by the mouth and full torso, already ripping clothes from yourself or from him. Only then would he let you inside, turning the both of you around and into his flat for fear of you leaving clothing items out in the communal hallway.

It was like that with Joe.

You liked it like that with Joe.

Not much talk.

All sex.

Maybe a, “Is this new?” if you wore a top he’d never seen before, or a, “Blue, I like blue,” if he saw you’d changed your nails. Superficial shit. Things he’d see and could say something about to feign normal people chat. You never participated. Didn’t react to what he said. Would just yank the belt from his jeans which always either hurt you or hurt Joe.

And then it would get kissed better.

One time you bruised yourself because the belt whipped back at you, right in the face, and it had one of those metal pieces at the end that really fucking hurt. Joe had kissed you better for a long time then. All your escapades blended together, they had started to a short little while back, but you remembered that one time vividly because it was a real stand out. The way you’d gone from shooting pain in the face, pain that left your cheekbone legit bruised in blues and purples surrounding a bright yellow swollen bit of skin, to the pleasure of being cared for and being cared for was different.

Good different.

If you were feeling particularly needy, you’d refer to it still. Would ask Joe to kiss a random part of you better. You’d just point somewhere and go, “Am I red here? Skin’s not broken, is it?” because asking if something was bruised felt too on the nose.

Like Joe didn’t know what you were doing.

Not that it mattered.

Joe would kiss you anywhere for however long you wanted. And if he’d move away, and your throat made a desperate little noise, he’d just be back on you.

Anyway.

It was never anything too adventurous with Joe, but it was always good. It was good that you knew what to expect. Meant you weren’t scared of suggestions that would make you go, ugh, okay, this was fun whilst it lasted, but big nope.

Like, feet shit. Listen, no offence, but if Joe was going to suggest for you to step onto some pudding barefoot, this would be over real fast.

But it had never been like that.

Would never be like that.

You knew who to text for predictable sex that always happened on a soft surface. Where the rough person in the room was you, and you were by no means hard-handed. You’d maybe take Joe’s jaw into your hands a little rough every once in a while, because it’d make his pink lips look even more plush. Would occasionally leave teeth marks near his collar bone or around his thumb. But, that was about the extent of it.

Joe knew his lane. Could still surprise you within that lane from time to time, but you liked that Joe would never pretend to accidentally leave a ball gag out. No, oops how did that get here? sort of dumb shit.

No.

You’d lay eyes on each other and then get to a bed or a sofa as quickly as you could. Limbs tangled. Always kissing. Sharing breaths.

Joe loved kissing. Used it as foreplay but could do it for long without letting it go further until you’d grow restless, which always made Joe grin into the press of his lips against yours. Those were things you’d come to classify as one of the softer moments.

You didn’t mind a bit of emotion.

But kissing you until you were absolutely hungry for more, and then smiling where you could feel it? Almost too soft of a moment.

Those moments were tricky and were best kept to a minimum.

The looking at you after was one of those softer moments too. You were on your back and catching your breath as you stared up at the ceiling, and Joe was just sort of... staring at you. Slowly studying your face from the side, letting his eyes dance over your profile like he’d never seen it before.

Joe looked and looked and looked until you turned your head and he quickly looked away. Pretended he hadn’t been looking. Like peripheral vision wasn’t a thing.

“I don’t like it when you do that,”

Blunt.

But it was sort of nice to just say what you were thinking without being afraid of hurting feelings.

There were no feelings.

Nothing to hurt around here.

“What?”

Joe turned his head back and looked again. Less deep this time though. Not so hormonal.

“Look at you? After what we’ve just done I can’t look at you?”

He knew you’d seen. Was about to say he shouldn’t be blamed because it was sort of your fault. Had you seen yourself? Did you know what you looked like to others? To men? To him, after what you’d just done to each other and with each other?

He didn’t think you knew. Well, maybe you knew, but you’d never understand.

“No, you can look,” you lied, because you really did not like it. Made you feel all sorts of uncomfortable.

“But the looking away when I catch you does my head in. Look at me like you mean it or keep your eyes closed.”

It earned a huff of laughter from Joe who now rolled over onto his side to watch without restriction. No hiding what he was doing. You could only bear a couple of seconds of it before you sat up, stomach muscles working hard at pulling you upright, earning a groan that escaped your constricted throat.

“No, come on,” Joe’s hand was quick, moved from his side to grab at one of your arms. “I won’t look, all right?” he tried, like that would change everything and make you lay back down again.

You’d already scooped your bra up from the floor.

“I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” you said over your shoulder as you sorted the straps before covering your chest back up.

Joe let himself fall back as he let an annoyed sound escape him when you reached for your underwear next. If it had been any more guttural, you’d maybe have taken it seriously.

“You’ve always got an early day tomorrow,” he complained.

“Yea, well, some of us have office hours they need to abide by, can’t just go gallivant whenever we’d like, have to request time off and– it’s a whole ordeal,” you spoke like your life was burdened by the structure of a steady job and a permanent contract.

It wasn’t.

But, you know. You couldn’t go out and stay out late on random Tuesdays like Joe could.

Not that you wanted to go out with Joe on random Tuesdays.

You wanted Joe in between some sheets for an hour on random Tuesdays. And, any other time when you were up for it, really. When you wanted soft touches and face-to-face sex where Joe forced eye-contact.

No.

Joe never forced anything.

But Joe would go, “hey,” real soft, would repeat it until you actually heard it, and it would make you look at him. Then he’d hold your gaze. Was very intense sometimes, especially if you were close and he held eye-contact right as he fucked you through it.

If that was one of the softer moments was still up for debate. Maybe occasionally it was. Kind of depended on your mood, though.

“You got any plans for the weekend then?” Joe’d given up on trying to keep you there for now, and instead focussed on when the next time would be.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

Your sister’s boyfriend had a birthday barbecue that you’d attend, and you needed to find a good cobbler to fix a shoe you’d broken in a mad dash for a tube replacement bus the other day but – no real plans. You vaguely recalled other plans for the Friday night, but nothing was set in stone. There was still plenty of time for a little limb-tangling with Joe.

“Are you around?” you asked, pulling your top over your head, and standing up before turning to see Joe working his arms as he tried to place the covers back in the correct position from where he laid.

“Should be,”

“All right,” you nodded and found your jeans.

“All right,” Joe copied your tone of voice and the nod. You frowned at how corny that was.

“I’m stealing a drink from your fridge,” you said, stepping into said jeans and already making your way out of the bedroom.

“Squash is on the side,” Joe lazily gestured, having learnt by now you never just drank a bottle of water normally like a sane person. Then quickly and more pressingly Joe followed up with, “And I don’t want to find mouthfuls of my leftovers missing!”

You grinned to yourself out of his sight.

You were absolutely going to stick a fork into whatever tubs he had in there. You deserved it after swallowing Joe the way you had moments ago, and he knew it too.

“Focus on the important things, Joe,” you called back from the kitchen, going for a fork. “Like condoms. You’ve barely got any left.”

Fork in hand, you went for the fridge. Found a bottle of water in the door that you were going to put some squash into in a second.

And then, when your eyes looked towards the shelves, your breath hitched in your throat.

This idiot.

What an... all right. Nope. You weren’t going to do this. This wasn’t who you and Joe were and you weren’t going to play along with this.

You see, Joe was a Tupperware man – would always cook too much and then dump whatever he had left over into Tupperware that would fill up his fridge until he could go a full week just eating what he’d already cooked up days ago. It was a side effect of living alone and not knowing fucking portion sizes. Especially for pasta.

Almost every leftover Joe ever had in his fridge was pasta.

Made sense.

You also couldn’t measure spaghetti for the life of you.

What annoyed you about it most was how Joe seemed sort of messy, like any guy was messy, but the inside of his fridge was organised to the point where you thought he had health inspection checking up on him. It was all dated with sharpies – the leftovers. Like he was a professional chef that couldn’t get away with opening something up and just giving it a good whiff to decide whether that was still okay to eat or not.

Annoying.

But, what really got you, is that amongst the four or five tubs of dinner sat one smaller one. One with a little post-it note stuck to it with your name on.

This idiot made his fridge look like the one at your office.

One with Tupperware that had a name stuck to it.

A little preportioned bit of leftovers just for you inside Joe’s fridge, so you wouldn’t have to go digging into any of the other containers.

You took the note, looked at it up close and then flung it onto the counter. You ignored it. Went for a larger tub and opened that, ever the rebel. Let your fork run through it, messed it all up real nice and then took a big bite, grimacing at how cold it was.

Was still good though. Nice.

You closed the tub. Opened another.

Did the same thing – grimaced more because cold but also, it was really annoying how fucking good it still was. Joe either followed killer mommy food blogs, or just... knew shit about cooking. Was a whole ass natural in the kitchen when it came to herbs and spices and things.

Whatever.

You placed the tub back and purposefully left the lid off. Left that on the counter. Smirked at yourself when you closed the fridge and caught a last glance of your fork still inside there.

“Hey,” Joe stepped into his living room, in boxers and a T-shirt now.

You quickly swallowed and got busy with the squash.

“I’ve got um, I’m seeing my friend, he’s got a gig on Friday, it’s at a small venue near Brick Lane,” Joe talked in a casual tone of voice, made his way over to the fridge and opened it to remove the fork.

You feigned innocence. Ignored the whole thing as Joe reached around you to grab the lid you’d left out.

“Sounds cool,” you said, taking a sip to check you liked how sweet you’d made your drink. “Have fun.”

You knew he meant, come with me.

You knew this was his casual way of suggesting you could also maybe hang out together outside of the activities at your flat and his.

But he wasn’t using the actual words, so it was stupidly easy to pretend you had no idea what Joe was trying to do.

“Yea,” Joe spoke around a deep inhale, placing the lid back onto the Tupperware and then gave you a polite tight-lipped smile as he closed the fridge again. “Thanks.”

The way you wanted to squish Joe’s face to wipe that stupid smile off before messing that whole fridge up made your fingers itch a little.

When Joe moved to place the fork into the dishwasher, you decided that was your cue to leave. Man was cleaning up after you and couldn’t even leave the fork in the sink for a second like a normal person.

“Maybe see you after?”

It was a careful question, but one he knew he probably would get a yes to.

“Yea, maybe,” you said nonchalantly, slinging arms into your jacket. “Text me.”

You expertly left everything up in the air. You might have the time for him on Friday, you might not. You weren’t going to go see an amateur band with him though, that was for sure. That wasn’t what this was.

You’d been clear with each other from the start.

Hadn’t used the actual words, but, you were both adults and it was understood that this was what it was going to be. It was never anything else than what it had been tonight and good.

That was good.

You’d met Joe at a party you were only at because it was in your building and your neighbour had invited the whole flat just so no one would complain about the noise. A nice gesture, but never meant as an actual invitation. But it was the flat above yours, and you’d tried to go to sleep, but there were people out on the balcony and they had music going, so there was dancing and feet stomping and – it was all just, loud. You’d thought, all right fuck it, I could go for a few drinks, plan being you’d fall asleep much faster with a bit of drink in the system.

Joe was there.

You’d rocked up in an oversized T-shirt, bicycle shorts and socks in slides. Hair messy with the evidence of the stirring you’d done in your bed.

Joe’d taken one look and knew exactly what was going on. He guessed, but, he’d been right. He was looking at someone from inside the building. There just because they’d technically received an invitation, even if it was only so that they wouldn’t complain about the noise.

“Drink?”

“Yes please,”

For the first fifteen minutes of the two of you talking, you thought Joe was your neighbour. He was the one who’d let you in and who’d walked you into the kitchen.

Yet he wasn’t the neighbour.

Joe sort of knew someone who knew someone who knew your neighbour, vaguely. The person who lived in the flat above you was also a girl, something you weren’t aware of. Her name was Charlie, so you couldn’t really blame yourself for assuming the invitation had come from a guy.

Joe also gave you a drink that was so fucking gross, you immediately went, “What the fuck is this? Petrol?” and he’d gone, “You don’t like it?” before saying he’d try again, do a better job for your next one. You immediately felt bad, seeing as he’d mixed the drink, and had thrown the whole glass back to prove that the drink was fine.

Getting it down was a big task though, and your whole face contorted as you worked at swallowing every single last drop down. Made you shiver and made Joe laugh as he said, “No, no, no, don’t drink it if you don’t like it,” but it was all in your mouth already and fuck, that tasted like it was just pure vodka.

Which you then learned is exactly what that was.

“Dry martini with a twist,”

“What’s the twist? That’s it’s just a big glass of vodka?”

“I mean... yes, it’s exactly that, with a twist.” Joe said dryly and tapped the piece of lemon rind in his own glass. “Bit of lemon.”.

You had nearly burst into laughter. Nearly, because this man was a stranger, and you did come over to get a slight buzz going, so that just happened to work out exactly how you planned it.

“Are there any... I don’t know, regular beers? No twists?” and you’d craned your neck to see behind Joe, to look into the kitchen, which, you knew where the kitchen was because the floorplan was obviously the same to your flat.

Joe’d taken you over to the fridge.

Gave you a no twist beer.

And then later, you’d taken Joe over to your bedroom.

Had no twist sex.

It was so obvious you were looking for the weakest excuse to get Joe over to your place. You were both sort of scraping the barrel, didn’t want to just say it, because you had more dignity than that.

So you’d thrown out your fishing rod and hoped Joe would bite when you looked into the living room of your upstairs neighbour and said, “I like where she placed her sofa, that wouldn’t work in my flat,”

Joe bit immediately.

“Nah, ‘course it would, let’s go try.”

You’d not even gotten close to your sofa that night. Straight from the front door into your bedroom and then straight back towards the front door a short 60 minutes later.

And then it had been like that.

You’d text to check availability and then would either go, “omw” or “come here” and neither of you were ever too proud to pretend you didn’t want it. It was either a, “can’t im busy” or “ive got some time” and it worked fine like that.

It helped neither of you had flatmates you needed to explain shit too.

Except, if you had, you would’ve figured out Joe was somebody a lot sooner.

Oh well.

Joe was nobody in his flat, and even less of a somebody over in yours. You kept him in your phone as first name Joe last name No Twist and refused to change it to Quinn. He wasn’t any better than all the other guys whose last names were all Hinge, or the closest tube station to where they lived.

“Here,” Joe said, just before you were about to leave. You looked back and saw he was holding out the little container of leftovers.

You frowned at it.

“Take it, but heat it up in a pan with a little olive oil, don’t eat it when it’s still cold and stiff from the fridge,”

You kept frowning but held a hand out to take it from him anyway. This felt a bit like refusing to take a tenner from you grandmother because you didn’t need a tenner, but, it was still a tenner, you know?

“I’ll probably hate it,” you lied, stuffing the Tupperware into your bag.

“And you can tell me all about it on Friday,”

Stupid little smirk.

Okay, so sure, you were going to see Joe on Friday after this gig he had to go to. And you’d tell him about how much you hated his leftovers.

Also, if Joe was thinking he was going to get this little container back, he was wrong.

That was yours now.

With squash in hand, you said goodbye and made your way out by yourself. Didn’t need or want Joe to walk you out – Joe knew. Understood. Stayed in his kitchen, but did call, “Text me when you get home,” after you because he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t know you’d gotten home safe.

“Yea, yea,” you dismissed him, loudly said, “Condoms!” to remind him and gave yourself a quick once over in the mirror by the door before you left. Closed the door behind you a little more rested and satisfied than you had been when you’d walked through it a little while earlier.

Whilst making your way out of the building, you whipped your phone out and found the right text thread.

“can’t do friday, something came up, soz”

And then went over to your calendar where you removed “james hinge” and replaced it with “joe no twist”

James could wait.

James never made you pasta.

Joe did.

Joe would make sure you orgasmed – like, he’d keep going until he could feel the evidence of it himself, would make sure the question “did you come” was unnecessary, and would make sure there was squash on the side and now, Joe had made you pasta.

Yea, you were going to see Joe again on Friday.

You made the mental note to keep his staring to a minimum though. Would have to make him come and then immediately force him out of bed to clean the sheets, or whatever.

Less of the soft shit.

You were going to tell him his pasta was fucking disgusting.

Telling Joe you loved the food he made before climbing on top of him was too soft of a moment. Those moments were tricky. Best kept to a minimum.

---

The Taglisted

@05secondsofsexgods, @a-time-for-wolvess, @adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @luvrsbian, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #18+#more than this

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socksandfeetvideo · 2 months

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Welcome to my world! I’m Phoxy, a 5’5” gal who rocks a size 7.5 shoe, and I can’t wait to bring you into my realm of creativity and self-expression. From mouth-watering oiled barefoot closeups to the sleek allure of nylons, sockless sneakers, and the seductive charm of high heels and lingerie, my content is a tantalizing blend of diverse styles. Dive deeper with custom photos and videos tailored just for you, and let’s make magic together, creating moments that are truly unforgettable.

Pamper @ phoxyfeet and she’ll take good care of you!

Follow her on feetfinder check out her free gallery. Message Phoxy and mention the socksandfeet blog for some more free photos.

#socksandfeet #phoxyfeet #foot video #arches #soles #toes #bare foot #submission

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hussyknee · 6 months

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youtube

Video description:

Preface reading: "Rafeef Ziadah, 12/11/11, London". The video begins showing a young woman on a stage, her hair cut in a sharp, short bob, wearing a gauzy black dress with red accents to match the stage wall behind her. She speaks into a mic in a blend of Canadian and Palestinian accents:

Transcript: "I'll start with this poem I wrote. This poem—when the bombs were dropping on Gaza I was the media spokesperson for the coalition, doing a lot of the organizing, and we'd stayed up to about six o'clock in the morning perfecting every soundbite and by the end of—you know most Palestinians get tired and start pronouncing our "P"s as "B"s so we could become "Balestinians" by the end of the day. So I was practicing my "P"s all night, and the next morning one of the journalists asked me, "Don't you think it would all be fine if you just stopped teaching your children to hate?"

I did not insult the person, I was very polite, but I wrote this poem as a response to these types of questions we Palestinians always get."

Today, my body was a TV’d massacre. Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits. Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits filled enough with statistics to counter measured response; and I perfected my English and I learned my UN resolutions—But still, he asked me, "Ms. Ziadah, don’t you think that everything would be resolved if you would just stop teaching so much hatred to your children? Pause. I look inside of me for strength to be patient but patience is not at the tip of my tongue as the bombs drop over Gaza. Patience has just escaped me. Pause. Smile. "We teach life, sir." Rafeef, remember to smile. Pause. "We teach life, sir. We Palestinians teach life after they have occupied the last sky. We teach life after they have built their settlements and apartheid walls, after the last skies. We teach life, sir." But today, my body was a TV’d massacre made to fit into sound-bites and word limits. And— "Just give us a story, a human story. You see, this is not political. We just want to tell people about you and your people so give us a human story. Don’t mention that word: “apartheid” and “occupation”— This is not political. You have to help me as a journalist to help you tell your story which is not a political story—" Today, my body was a TV’d massacre. "How about you give us a story of a woman in Gaza who needs medication?" "How about you? Do you have enough bone-broken limbs to cover the sun? Hand me over your dead and give me the list of their names in one thousand two hundred word limits." Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits and move those that are desensitized to terrorist blood. But they felt sorry. They felt sorry for the cattle over Gaza. So, I give them UN resolutions and statistics and we condemn and we deplore and we reject and— These are not two equal sides: occupier and occupied. And a hundred dead, two hundred dead, and a thousand dead. And between that, war crime and massacre, I vent out words and smile (not exotic), smile (not terrorist) And I recount, I recount a hundred dead, two hundred dead, a thousand dead. Is anyone out there? Will anyone listen? I wish I could wail over their bodies. I wish I could just run barefoot in every refugee camp and hold every child, cover their ears so they wouldn’t have to hear the sound of bombing for the rest of their life the way I do. Today, my body was a TV’d massacre And let me just tell you, there’s nothing your UN resolutions have ever done about this. And no sound-bite—no sound-bite I come up with, no matter how good my English gets—no sound-bite-no sound-bite-no sound-bite-no sound-bite, will bring them back to life, no sound-bite will fix this. We teach life, sir. We teach life, sir. We Palestinians wake up every morning to teach the rest of the world LIFE. Sir.

End transcription.

I think this twitter thread gives some necessary political context for the poem, so you can really understand the cruelty and barbarity of that question, and why Western media insistently shies away from "political" answers:

Cursory Google check corroborates all the info except for the number of peace settlements Israel's rejected. I can't find the exact number off the first page of Google and my head is throbbing too much to look deeper. I'm going to leave that for y'all to fact check.

(I went and looked Rafeef Ziadah up to check whether she's still alive (because that's what we do with Palestinians now) and she's safe in London, teaching Politics and Public Policy at King's College. You can find the rest of her poetry here.)

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dudeitiskarev · 11 months

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Safe Haven

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn reader

Summary: Early morning secret tears are enough reason for Hotch to skip work and make sure you start your day all over again.

Warnings: implied depression; hurt/comfort; soft and domestic Hotch; food consumption.

Author’s note: another repost of one of my favorite pieces I’ve written. This one is sad so read with caution.

MASTERLIST | AO3

At six in the morning, the usual sound of Aaron's alarm blared in your bedroom. His arms lazily untangled from your waist as he stretched to turn it off then went back to snuggle you for at least two more minutes, giving you a good morning kiss on your cheek with a little groan.

The morning noise had just started — birds chirping and car engines polluting your silence. You’ve been wide awake since five, but that kiss for sure woke up the butterflies in your stomach. It’s always been the best thing to wake up to, his kisses made you start your day with an instant smile.

Aaron made your day brighter, lighter, but lately — as much as your love for him was the same — nothing made you want to get out of bed.

Those kinds of days came too often now. Even when the sun was out, it was as if a gray cloud was constantly hanging over your head, carrying every thought that decided to torment you that day.

Luckily, your alarm wasn't supposed to go off until 7:30.

Aaron kissed you one more time, making you turn around to give him a proper kiss on his lips.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

You haven’t had a good morning in a while. Still, you forced a smile and stayed in between the sheets, blinking a few times to adjust your eyes as he turned on the lamplight, paying attention to every single movement he did like always.

He’d sit on the edge of the bed to check for any message on his work phone first, then he’d make his way to the kitchen barefoot; the sound of his favorite mug being placed on the counter and water running to prepare the coffee pot brought you some sense of comfort. He'd go back to the bedroom yawning and silently open his closet door to pull out his nicely ironed suit and lay it on his side of the bed before walking to the bathroom to start the shower.

There was a time where you'd get up with him and help him choose his tie and make him breakfast while he got ready; hop in the shower with him if you were feeling playful – romantic.

It’s not that that side of you was gone, but your spark had been slowly burning out. And if it wasn’t because of your husband – his kisses, his smile, his touch, and his overall presence – the light you still had somewhere within you would’ve been long extinct.

He’d always leave the bathroom door half-open, hopeful in a way. The steam would sneak out inviting you in, almost. But you couldn’t. Not today. You knew if you went in, there would only be tears blending with the shower and him holding you in silence as you tried your best not to sob.

Shh, it’s okay.

I’m right here.

Let it out.

Those were words that came out of his mouth more often than you'd like to. They did make you feel better, but it seemed unfair. All the things he had put out with lately and every time he’d made sure to remind you of your vows: For better. For worse. For even worser . Until the very last star hanging above us disappears. For an eternity.

You've only given him your worst, and he was still with you, loving you like the very first night he said it to you. He also reminded you how you’d been there for him at his worst too; how you’d kissed away his tears many times before.

The shower soon shut off, meaning it was a matter of minutes he’d be out, and this morning you couldn’t bear that one kiss and one-sided good morning would be the only interaction between you two.

You gathered all the love you had for him and untangled yourself from the warm blankets, putting on his quarter-zip he’d worn the night before and going to prepare him something before he left you for work.

Chopped pineapple.

And finger.

“Shit!” you gasped, dropping the knife to the floor and rushing to the sink to wash off the blood that started to quickly run down your hand. “God damnit.”

It was way too early to be cursing that loud.

“Hey, hey.” Aaron came from behind and took over, gently grabbing your hand and twisting the faucet to the cold side. “What happened?”

“I just wanted to make you something.” You frowned, avoiding meeting his face. You felt stupid. You couldn't even chop your husband some fruit without messing up.

“You didn’t have to.” He softened his voice with his eyes trained on you.

“I know, I just–” You shook your head “–I don’t know.”

In silence, he stayed there helping you until the blood stopped, then wrapped your finger with a paper towel. “Do you want a bandaid?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Hey,” he lifted your chin and you finally stared into those eyes that said I love you without even trying.

He got you to smile. I love you too, your hand caressing his cheek said. He pulled up your zipper all the way up to your chin, kissing the tip of your nose. “I should be at the office all day, do you want to meet up for lunch?”

There he was, keeping the light inside of you alive.

“Uh, yeah. I– I’ll see if I can get an extra half hour.”

“ ‘kay,” he said, not so convinced, eyeing you face up and down. He reached for a mug and placed it next to his, pouring coffee for both of you and adding to yours every single thing you liked on it by heart. “It’s still early for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll go back to bed in a bit.” You took a sip of your coffee and gestured at the half-chopped pineapple with your head.

He brushed his hand over your head and kept you company, all while you finished what you started and he finished his coffee.

Just having him there next to you was painful. All your mind did was flood you with memories of when you and he would have a more thoughtful breakfast – eggs, bacon, and toast, plus a side of fruit – while watching some tv on the couch before work.

He kissed your shoulder as if he’d had the same memories and washed his mug before leaving you to brush his teeth.

You carefully packed his fruit in a tupperware and when he was back next to you –jacket on, briefcase in hand and handsome as always – you handed him the container that fit just perfectly in his bag and walked him to the door, kissing him under the threshold.

“Bye,” he whispered against your lips, lifting his hand to your cheek and brushing his thumb over it.

“I love you,” you said. Or more like slipped out of you.

It’d been two days since you last said it, but Aaron didn’t make a big deal out of it. You waved him goodbye until he disappeared downstairs.

The click of the door as you shut it close hit you with loneliness and that I love you didn’t make it any better. Your lips tingled from saying it. It felt good, but the lump forming on your throat and the way your heart clenched said otherwise.

You tried to swallow it back as your feet took you back to the suddenly cloudy bedroom. Then you swallowed again because the lump was so damn stubborn.

You still had fifteen more minutes according to the digital clock over Aaron’s nightstand, so instead of using that time to put more thought on your outfit like you would’ve done a while back, you cleared your throat, tapped away the tears that wanted to escape by the corner of your eyes and sank back into bed with the covers up to your nose, taking the deepest breath with your eyes closed.

It was all in your head, and you had it under control.

You scooted a little to Aaron's side of the bed and breathed him in. It was ridiculous to think that as soon as he left you, you missed him. And when you had him right there in front of you —kind eyes, warm smile— you didn’t feel the need to tell him how much you’ve missed him.

You took another deep breath; his scent only made the lump in your throat reappear and you couldn’t stop the tears that started to prick behind your eyelids. They burned your eyes as you squeezed them shut in an attempt to keep them inside you, but they ran down your face anyway. Your chin quivered as a quiet but deep sob filled your lungs, though it was as if you couldn't breathe properly already and tried to muffle your crying against the bed covers.

You had it under control.

It was all in your head.

Just breathe.

Just breathe, damn it.

This time an audible sob came out. You tried to remind yourself that that happened — cry for no reason — and that it was okay to do it now because Aaron wasn't around. You hated crying in front of him, even though he’d already been there with you when you were at your lowest.

If it wasn’t because of him, you would’ve hit rock bottom.

You were lucky to have him and were more than okay now — better. But you still needed from time to time to let that anguish out. So you did, quickly getting Aaron’s pillow soaked with tears.

Just let it out.

Breathe.

It’ll be over soon.

The sudden sound of the front door being open shot your eyes open in the middle of shaky sobs and steps made it to your bedroom before you could even sniff your nose and wipe the tears.

"Forgot my watch," Aaron whispered but his intense glare lingered on you as you barely nodded, holding back another deep sob and squeezing your eyes shut. It was like his comforting voice reached your heart and squeezed it tightly.

Three seconds of silence passed before he sighed deeply and shifting noises brought your wet eyes to him, finding him getting rid of his jacket and kicking off his shoes.

"What are you doing?" You said with a congested voice.

"Getting back to bed." He walked to your side of the bed and slid next to you, bringing you close in a hug and kissing the top of your head.

You hated him for it, for being so good that it hurt loving him so much.

More sobs came out and this time he was there to catch each one.

"Shh, it's okay. Let it out. I'm right here for you, honey, I'm right here."

“It hurts,” you said in a shaky whisper doing as he said, letting it all out.

There was no need to tell him what happened. He already knew that what hurt wasn’t the stupid cut on your finger, and the best thing he could do was just be there, holding you tight, rubbing your back, kissing your forehead, showing you that it was okay to be broken.

“I know.”

He kept on telling you that it was okay, almost as a lullaby and soon your sobs calmed down. No more tears came out and the ones you had shed, dried up. His company made it all better, and when you heard a little snore from him, you smiled half-asleep and fell into deep slumber too.

Just breathe.

A normal morning filled your dreams, and it somehow replaced the bitter taste your actual morning left you.

The pain was not gone when you woke up though, but it sure felt like a brand new day. You gasped when your eyes got almost blinded by how bright the room had gotten with the morning sunlight.

"You're gonna be so late." You pulled back a little to catch Aaron with his eyes closed.

"It's okay." He held you tighter.

"You don't have to stay, I'm better now. I have to get ready for work anyway."

"You're not going to work either."

“Either?” you asked. He kissed your temple as a response, finally opening his eyes. Neither of you was working that day. "I'm sorry."

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he frowned, stroking your cheek with the back of his curled fingers.

“You don’t have to stay.” You pulled back to get a better look at his face and you couldn't hide a wince as painful pulsing drummed over your temples.

That was the worst part of crying. The freaking headaches.

“How much? From one to ten?” Aaron was already peeling himself off you to get you something for the pain.

You sat up straight and rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hands.

“Uh, five?” You squinted your eyes.

He made his way to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water and a pain killer.

You swallowed it like it was the sweetest candy.

“All of it.” He raised his brows, gesturing at the water you didn’t drink. You drank it all in a mouthful sip and handed him back the empty glass, throwing yourself back to bed. “Are you hungry?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “But no pineapple.”

“Bacon? And eggs?”

“Yes please.” You nodded again.

Just the thought of it made your mouth water. If you were honest, he was better at cooking than you.

You dozed on and off with the sounds of Aaron in the kitchen in the background then in the next second, a quiet ‘hey’ put you back in all your senses.

Had he’d done magic to have it ready that fast? You couldn’t tell. The only thing that mattered was that it smelled — and tasted — delicious.

He made sure you’d start your morning all over again, with bacon-flavored kisses and stupid commentaries about whatever was on tv.

“Thank you,” you said as he put the tray aside.

You two went back to snuggle a little more while staring at each other in silence.

His eyes had kind of absorbed your darkness and you hated yourself for it. Of course he worried, but you wished he didn’t care that much.

Because it happened.

You were used to it.

It was nothing.

Just breathe.

“You know you can tell me anything when you’re ready,” he finally spoke.

“I know.” You nodded.

But you weren’t ready.

Not yet.

“For worse and even worser ,” he reminded you.

Just breathe.

“For an eternity.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #q

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chronically-ghosted · 8 months

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Little Monsters

rating: 18+ Explicit

pairing: dieter x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: A phone call home to your family has you missing them desperately . . . especially your husband, who always knows exactly what you need.

warnings/tags: pregnancy, Dieter has children and is actually a really good dad, director!reader, 1st half is mind numbing tooth rotting FLUFF, 2nd half is straight filth and dieter has a nasty nasty mouth, masturbation, camera/phone sex, slight breeding kink, one single use of ‘Daddy’, if I had an ounce of shame left in me I would not have posted this

a/n: special shout outs go to @spookyxsam for showing me about how babies work and to @lunapascal and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for talking me off the daddy dieter ledge. this is my first pregnancy fic and i do not know what came over me (she lied, knowing damn good and well what happened to her brain chemistry)

from @yoursoulsunbreakable 's request: Hello sweetie, congratulations on your milestone <3 Here's my request for the little drabble: 5. “Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.” With our precious Dieter and smutty? Hope it'll inspire you 😘

🤍Masterlist

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, Dieter, I’d – I’d –,”

“Yeah?”

You let out a burst of air from your lips, flopping back against the pillows. “I’d ask you for a foot rub,” you whine into the camera.

He chuckles, the sound a bit garbled through the speakers. He leans forward into the camera, as if trying to see down your body, the angle of the phone against the hotel’s lamp not quite right.

“Is Bravo Baby number three giving you trouble?”

You eye your swelling feet over the steadily swelling bump. Well into your second trimester and the list of shoes in your closet you could still wear is shrinking rapidly. This also happened with your second child and when Dieter made one joke about keeping you barefoot in the kitchen, you nearly threw a butcher’s knife at his head. You stroke the left side of your stomach to preemptively soothe the little brat before they start wailing on that spot all night, sighing into your husband’s sympathetic, pixelated face.

“They’ve been grouchy all day. Tom had to leave me in the car for a bit after we scouted a potential place for the exterior shots to finish taking pictures because somebody was having a grand old time wearing me out.” You narrow your eyes at him through the camera. “As if there was any doubt this was your child.”

This is a constant inside joke between you. Your first kid, a girl, was a beautiful blend of both you and Dieter. His eyes, but your hair, your cheeks, and his nose. He also got to name her – said it came to him after he bought some chocolate and water at the hospital lounge –

“Zelle, Dieter, ‘Zelle’?? Like the money transaction service?”

But you had been too zonked out on painkillers and endorphins to object (you thought it was beautiful at the time), and he signed the papers anyway. Neither of you had come up with a fitting name before then and he swears the instant he held his baby girl in his hands for the first time, it came to him, as if the stars rearranged themselves in the sky with that name. Incurably a romantic at heart – your husband – you found it sweet and also idiotic, but it was too late now.

Your second one, Orion, had his name written down on a post-it note you carried in your purse for months and you made sure to show the nurse when you were admitted. Not that Dieter would intentionally go against the name you had agreed on if the baby was a boy, but there was a slim chance he’d get so caught up in the moment and, with watery eyes, tell the nurse to write something like Mars Bar on the birth certificate.

And, for all that, Orion could have been a carbon copy of you.

The joke started when Dieter picked him up from his crib one night and brought that gurgling little mouth right up to his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t just spontaneously create this one? I don’t see a single hint of me in this little guy.” To which Orion giggled around a drool-damp fist and promptly bopped his father on the nose with it.

“Are you saying you don’t remember what happened the night he was conceived?” You asked with a smirk over your shoulder as you returned some baby bibs to the drawer.

Dieter snorted and slid Orion into the crook of his arm, those onesie-white feet seen kicking over his forearm. “Now Mommy is just being plain silly.”

That was five years ago and you couldn’t exactly deny you were excited for the smell of newborn to be all over your husband again.

“I’ll be glad when we hit the last trimester,” he says, chin propped up on his wrist to stare down at you in his other palm, “so I can wave that doctor’s note in your face when you try to work too hard . . . like you are now.”

You shift onto your side to face him, rolling your eyes. “You only like the third trimester for the sex hormones.”

After spending most of your first pregnancy, and at least half of your second, trying to claw Dieter’s eyes out if he so much as breathed in your direction, he was delighted to find that by month seven, the hellcat who had taken over his wife’s body turned into a needy, whiny little kitten.

Some of the best orgasms of his life come from those months, he swears up and down.

“I’m not going to complain,” he grins, peering down at you from those prescription sunglasses. The Dieter you used to know wore them because he was constantly hungover; your husband wears them because he keeps accidentally misplacing his actual prescription glasses. “All I’m saying is you better be back in time so Daddy can play house with Mommy.”

The shrill cry is heard through the phone, the closed bedroom door, and at least one hallway:

“Is Mommy on the phone?”

Barely a second later, you watch over his shoulder as the door flings open and a wild blur of arms and legs dogpiles Dieter onto the bed. You hear him grunt, the camera flips up to the ceiling, as Zelle and Orion clamor for the phone. Chuckling to yourself, you take up the phone from the bedside table and hold it in your palm as you lean back against the pillows and your children’s faces flash over the small screen.

“Mommy, I made a bug out of noodles and string today.”

“Mommy, I saw a cat that looked like a cow today.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s broccoli tasted funny - you cook it better!”

“Hey!” He lunges for Zelle’s little ankle and pulls her up around her waist as she giggles helplessly.

You can barely see them, Orion’s pudgy little finger over most of the camera, Dieter’s hair and Zelle’s kicking feet visible only in flashes.

“You better go help your sister, Orion!”

Needing no other prompting, he drops the phone against the pillows and leaps onto his father, squealing at the noise Dieter makes. Where Orion got your looks, he had all of his father’s mannerism. You blinked twice when as a toddler Orion’s purposeful pout had looked so similar to his father’s, you wondered if they had practiced it together. Orion is ruthless when it comes to the tickle wars and immediately goes for Dieter’s neck.

“Help!” he chokes, “I’m being overrun by tiny monsters!”

Zelle roars at his hip and Orion howls – he’d be a werewolf for Halloween a third year in a row if the tradition continued. Despite more frequent and loud protests about his poor back, Dieter lunges forward and yanks Zelle under his arm like she’s a football. He does the same to Orion and faceplants with both of them successfully pinned. It’s the oldest trick in the book and you muse what he’s going to do when they are too big to do that to anymore. But, as Dieter likes to say, one colossal nightmare at a time.

“Peace treaty?” His voice is muffled by the blanket.

“Stand and deliver,” they repeat, breathlessly and red faced. He lets them go and the two bodies barely move, grins still plastered to their faces. Cheeks pink, Dieter crawls over and snags the phone.

“See, darling?” he says between heavy breaths, “this parenting stuff is easy.”

“Mommy, when are you coming home?” Zelle pops her head between Dieter and the phone, her cheek pink and her little hands pushing her hair off her face.

“Yeah!” Orion pipes up, crawling over Dieter’s back, hooking his tiny hands over his father’s throat. Dieter’s eyes bug out for a moment before adjusting the five year old’s grip. “Are you done chasing the dragon?”

At that, Dieter snickers and you can’t glare with fire in your eyes like you’d like to so you plaster on an overly sweet smile on your face.

“Rori, we asked you not to say that. It’s a stork, remember?”

Orion frowns into Dieter’s curls. “But I want a baby brother or sister that comes from a dragon’s egg.”

“Yeah, Mom, a dragon baby is way cooler than a stork baby.”

Oh, you are going to kill him.

This was another ongoing joke . . . for Dieter. Orion’s teacher called home one night after Orion proudly announced that his mommy was off chasing the dragon. Understandably concerned about the phrase, she called to make sure everything was alright, only to find out what he meant was that his mother was expecting a new baby and instead of a stork, his father told him that Mommy was going to find a dragon to put a new egg inside her tummy, and then the new baby would eventually pop out from the egg.

This was something you had to relay through the phone to the teacher . . . because Dieter was curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he went mute, tears rolling down red cheeks. This had been his ‘stork’ story for Orion, and apparently unaware of just how impressionable a five-year-old is, told him that Mommy was chasing the dragon for a new egg. Dieter says his greatest regret in his life is that he wasn’t there to see the look on Orion’s teacher’s face.

After that, you (and Dieter once he recovered) tried to alter the story enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally imply his mother was off on a drug binge, but evidently too much stuck.

“I’m meeting with the dragon tomorrow, okay? I’m not chasing after anything. We’re having lunch. Right, Dad?”

“Absolutely.” He nods seriously at Orion and kisses that fat little cheek.

“When is the dragon gonna give you the egg with my baby sister in it?” Zelle asks, matching Dieter on her stomach. Dieter’s confidence manifested perfectly in his daughter; you and him had told her many times that the baby might be a little brother, but she just stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s a sister,” she said, with a characteristic roll of her eyes.

“A couple more months, baby,” you smile, unconsciously rubbing at your stomach again. Baby Bravo is suspiciously quiet. Not soon enough. “But I’ll be home tomorrow, but you two have to be good for Dad until then, okay?”

Orion nods from Dieter’s shoulder, but Zelle smirks up at her father in a way that is well beyond her six years.

“I promise to eat all of Daddy’s nasty broccoli!”

Dieter’s own impish nature, thrown right back at him. The one solace you found is that your husband might have finally met his match.

He grabs her, flips her on her back, and blows a strawberry on her tummy as she shrieks with glee.

“Alright – that’s it – it’s bath time for all naughty monsters!” He hikes Orion over his shoulder and picks up Zelle by her waist. He glances back over at you, his eyes bright and a giant smile on his face.

You swear every time you see Orion, there’s less and less baby in his pudgy face, his little hands. Zelle is constantly saying and doing things that surprises you with the depth of their awareness and you know it doesn’t all come from you or Dieter.

Your heart actually aches from missing them so much.

“Monsters, say goodnight to Queen Monster–,” more yelling, roaring, “I’ll call you later tonight, okay, baby?”

You nod, your eyes suddenly hot and tight. “O-okay – love you all.”

“LOVE YOU!” The three-headed monster yells in unison as it lumbers out of the bedroom.

You end the call, just before the tears spill. Again on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling incredibly sorry for yourself when the baby rolls over and kicks you in the ribs.

Hey, I’m here too!

You laugh, a little watery, and you wipe your eyes with your palms. Just get through tonight and you’re home.

“Okay, okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready for bed, would you like that?”

It’s late. You know you should be asleep already, but the shower had taken longer than expected. The phone call with your husband and children lingered in your mind when you turned on the water and stripped down. Your heart was so full to see Orion’s pout and Zelle’s mischievous grin, especially after such a long day on your feet and for all his teasing, Dieter’s own ease and confidence as a father, as well as a husband, left you feeling . . . warm. In fact, your mind’s eye lingers on him in the memory of the call: his beautiful, rich curls – those square black glasses that made him look annoyingly mysterious and so goddamn hot – his biceps flexing as he throws around his children with ease, his shoulders broad and straining against his shirt — his bulging forearm making his triangle tattoo pop – his wedding ring that replaced all the other rings –

The good news is the baby was almost here. The bad news is that you’re suddenly irrationally horny and your all-too-eager husband was a plane ride away.

Entirely naked besides the white hotel robe around your shoulders, you sternly ignore the plush tingling between your legs and try to focus on rubbing in lotion into your legs, your hips, over the old and new stretch marks over your stomach. Your fingers rub underneath the curve of your stomach and accidentally brush the damp curls, sending tiny shock waves up your pelvis. You gasp lowly, freezing, eyes tightly shut, fighting back that wave of arousal.

Goddamn it.

At first you think the ringing is between your ears, your blood rushing hard and fast, and then you realize it’s actually your phone going off.

Daddy Dieter, the screen reads.

You frown at the clock – if it’s late for you, then it’s very late for him. When he said he’d call you later, you didn’t think he meant literally later tonight. Still frowning, you put down the bottle of lotion and answer the phone.

“Dieter?”

“Hey, baby. How’s your night?”

He pulls back the phone and your mouth flushes with spit. He’s shirtless, sunglasses replaced with his actual glasses, that silver earring glinting in the low light. In the center of your bed, he’s propped up on several pillows with his arm tucked behind his head. He has thickened over the years, his chest and shoulders taking on a new weight as if he physically grew into fatherhood — and God, if his bicep was bulging before –

“Dieter –,” your voice is hoarse at first and you have to clear your throat to get anything out of your mouth that isn’t a whine. “Dieter, what are you doing up?”

He shrugs like he’s just been bored at home. “Bath time was easy. Orion wanted just one story and Zelle didn’t put up a fight when I told her it was bedtime and she had to put away the crayons.”

You narrow your eyes. “Did you slip them Benadryl?”

“Wow! No! Did you ever think that maybe I’m just that good of a dad?” He scoffs, mildly offended. And then he smirks. “I told them you’d come home sooner if they were good.”

“Ah, the old Santa Claus trick.” You nod sagely and sit down on the edge of the bed, the movement tugging the robe slightly. “Always a classic.”

“Yeah, I –,” Dieter’s eyes widen, edges going dark. “Are you naked?”

You swallow, his sudden shift in tone causing your thighs to clench. You cross your legs as tightly as your belly will allow, your chin held high.

“I’m in a robe, Dieter. Took a long shower.”

His eyes glitter with interest, the tip of his tongue running on the edge of his bottom lip. “How long?”

Feeling hot and swollen for months now, you flush pink, an overripe peach beneath the slightest pressure of his thumb.

“Dieter–,” it’s a whine but you shake your head. “Please don’t tease. I’m so . . . sensitive right now, and I won’t be home until tomorrow and–,”

“Baby, baby, breathe. I know it hurts.” He sits up, his eyes big and dark. “I remember how wet you get around now.”

Your cunt drools onto the robe below you, thighs sticky, his words ringing in your ears.

“Dieter, don’t –,”

“I know I can’t help you but what if I showed you how to help yourself?”

You whimper, arousal now hot and warm in the pit of your stomach. The strength of it makes your pelvis ache. You know it won’t be the same as him, but his voice, it might be enough. You nod, your heart pounding, hand holding the phone shaking.

“Then lie back, baby.” Dieter purrs and it’s almost like he’s pushing you back with his hands. You shift up the bed, careful to not step on your robe with your heels as you center yourself in the covers. But Dieter’s moving, off the bed, and he’s adjusting something behind his phone.

The baby inside you can feel your heartbeat racing and they turn, uneasy. You soothe them with small circles just above your hips, your lips between your teeth. But that touch on your skin, the look in Dieter’s eyes, you brush lower on your skin and immediately you shudder.

“Baby, please, hurry, whatever you’re doing, hurry –,”

You drop your fingers over your thighs, curling and uncurling, drawing imaginary lines like he does in the mornings against your shoulders and back.

“Just a second, sorry, almost got it.”

Then he steps back, the phone hovering in the air. Dieter sits on the bed and the camera holds the entire bed in view. Dieter is nothing if not a performer, bringing a tripod into the bedroom when he knows you need him the most. He’s so fucking hot.

“Can you see me, baby?”

You nod stiffly. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever way is comfortable,” he smiles and it’s almost as hot as his smirk. Fuck, he loves you so much. You slide the robe off your shoulders, exposing the tops of your breasts as best you can and still keeping your phone up. “Perfect, baby, that’s perfect.”

Your hand drops to your thigh again, dragging your nails up under the swell of your belly and you twitch.

“T-tell me what you would want to do,” you begin, your voice shaking, arousal smooth as it licks up your spine, “if you were here right now.” You feel warm all over, the sheets cool against your calves.

This far away, you can’t see his eyes clear enough to watch them darken entirely, but his low grunt is enough. It’s time for him to perform for his pregnant and insatiable wife.

He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the bedside table, where they land with a clatter. You can’t even think of scolding him when he lifts his hips and yanks his gray sweatpants down his knees, then to the floor. He’s half-hard as he shuffles back to the pillows, nearly in the same position you are. You shift to match him entirely, needing the immersion to be total and complete. You’d cry if he could actually touch you.

“Are you comfortable?”

You nod again. But Dieter shakes his head, his fingers digging into his thighs. “I can’t see you this far away, baby. I need you to say it. Talk to me.”

He was usually the one vocal enough for both of you, any coherent language impossible with the mess he makes out of you. You can’t imagine what you’re going to sound like, not when you’re this needy and desperate already.

“O-okay, Dieter, I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” You whimper again, trying to restrain from touching yourself before he tells you to. But you’re throbbing, the heat blooming from your cunt rushing to the rest of your body, the baby in you restless. As if mother and child can only be soothed by their father. “Now, breathe, darling, you’re flushed.”

You inhale, the air notching on every bone in your spine, and exhale, your lungs shuddering, eyes shut. “Dieter, please, tell me what you’d –,”

“I’d touch your thighs,” he says with such immediacy, your eyes spring open. He’s got the knee farthest from you bent up, as if putting himself on display, turning his hips towards the camera slightly. His other leg is stretched out long beside him and his left hand strokes his cock. Hair and shoulders backlit from the far lamp, the image of him like this alone — just for you — has your cunt clenching, a moan spilling from your lips. “Touch your thighs, baby.”

You can’t grab as much skin as he does, but you try. You lift your knees, and massage the backs of your thighs, then up to your knees, and back down. You can almost feel his breath on your calves and you shudder. “What else? W-where else?”

“I’ve been thinking about your tits for days,” he groans, the sound strangled, his cock now fully-hard and red. He cups himself, twisting as slow as he can take it. “Tell me what your tits feel like.”

“Sensitive,” you gasp as you draw two fingers across your nipple and squeeze gently. Dieter only uses his mouth now on them, so you wet them with yours and return them to your swollen bud, slowly twisting and pulling.

He’s watching you through the camera, eyes wide, breath sharp when you suck your fingers into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Get them wet. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your lips around my nipple, under my breast. Your teeth. They’re so heavy, Dieter.”

His hips jerk under his hand, his fingers moving faster now. You can’t quite hear what he’s muttering, but you catch weak mumblings, “gonna feed our baby”, “yeah, your tits”, the baby” —

“Dieter, please–,”

“Touch yourself with your fingers wet from your mouth. T-t-tell me what it feels like.”

With a relieved cry, you slide your hand down from your tits, over the swell of your belly, and in between your thighs. Wetness clings to the curls, to the curve of your ass, your body so ready to take him, and it locks up when you slip a finger inside.

“So wet. Warm. How many fingers can I put in?”

“One, but – can you already do two?”

You nod, the huff arching into a whine. “Yeah, baby. You have no idea how wet I am. I can slip in two with no resistance.”

“Jesus,” he pants and slows down, his hips rocking of their own accord. “You’ve got me so hard.”

You curl your fingers inside of you, searching for that spot made and found and praised by him. Your folds plump and achy, you twist your wrist, scissor your fingers, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as his three fingers plugging you up, readying you to take so much of him, it’s enough to ease the sharp ache for a bit. You moan, fucking yourself more. He hears it, sees it, and grunts.

“You can come wherever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his own hand hesitant to match your speed. He tugs on his balls and his toes curl, his neck long and tense. “Fuck, I need your hands.”

“Me too,” you sob, real tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It feels good but it’s not the relief you need. It’s pathetic but you don’t want to stop. You can’t get in deep enough, even if you could get around your big belly. “Dieter, I can’t reach. It’s – I’m –,”

“Breathe, love, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing, calming. The same one he uses when you’re in labor and the sweet honey warmth of it sinks into your bones, easing the panic. You slow, gasping, tears pooling down your temple. Your orgasm is harsh, sunken in the dark, waiting for you to draw it out.

“What can you reach?”

“My clit.”

“Then touch that. Can I see?”

You nod, angle the phone down as you rub that electric nub.

“Oh, fuck, baby. I know it’s frustrating and I know it hurts, but you look so fucking good. So wet for me. Your pussy is perfect, pink, just how I like her.”

“Yeah?” you spin your fingers faster. That hot arousal returns steadily, melting back the resentment towards your own body the longer he praises.

“Oh yeah.” You can hear the slap of skin on the other end of the phone and you can picture Dieter flat on his back jerking himself off to your pulsating cunt and you moan, loudly, tension evaporating from your body. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Tight. I just need a bit more.”

“Me too. Let me see your face, pretty girl.” You turn the camera and gape at the sight on the screen.

Precum drips out of his now-purple cock, his chest flushed and neck sweaty. He’s twirling the head around with his thumb at the pace you’ve set with your fingers against your clit.

“Look at what you’ve done to me. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait for you to be home so I can eat you out for hours.”

“I want your cock in me, Dieter,” you gasp, furiously rubbing on your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your cunt clenches in time with your thudding heartbeat. “You’re so thick. I wanna feel the stretch.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you hard.” The confession is a low snarl, a promise made between the ridges of his teeth. He fucks his fist faster, the noise over his labored breathing obscene. “Gonna put your hands on the headboard, your pussy in my lap and I’m gonna fuck up into you until I fill you full again. Wanna make you pregnant twice.”

Arousal floods your veins, your thighs a gooey mess. You toss your head back, back arching, and you moan as loud as you can.

“Oh– shit, oh, oh, shit–,”

“You’re gonna leak all over my thighs and when you’re done coming so hard you can’t see straight, I’m gonna lick it up all off you, my wife. Mine. My baby. Mine. Fuck, you look so good full of me.”

He’s never this possessive, never angry that he can’t have you but he sounds livid. He fucks his fist, his hips bucking into nothing, his other hand squeezing his thigh so hard his knuckles go white.

You circle your clit one more time and finally — your orgasm crests, your body locking up, your cunt gushing – and it leaves your mouth before you can stop it –

“Oh, Daddy–,”

You hear him gasp as if electrocuted, and you have to drop your phone to steady yourself as the weight of white-hot pleasure explodes across your body. You rock, breath gone from your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, and everything slams back into you and you gasp, high and loud, every inch of your skin hot and trembling. You don’t realize you’re sweating until you feel it drip off your neck.

All you can hear is Dieter panting from your phone amongst the covers, the sound muffled. Your eyes flutter as the warm waves languish, then curl, and finally, you sigh as the last waves drain out of your body. If you weren’t lying down you’re sure you’d be dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter breathlessly to no one in particular.

“B-baby, you still there?”

You blindly feel around for your phone, arm so weak it’s trembling as you pull the camera towards your face

Dieter looks about as fucked out as you feel. Cock limp and still dribbling, his stomach and chest are covered in cum. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.

“Holy shit, baby, that was …”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing your dry tongue, wishing again he was here so he could get you a glass of water. “I hope that wasn’t all of it because I really want you to say all of those things again tomorrow when you’re inside me.”

He groans and adjusts his limp cock. “You say that now but wait until Baby Bravo kicks you in the kidneys. You’ll be feeling a lot less generous towards this,” he gestures aimlessly to his naked body, “then.”

You chuckle. “Let’s just hope for the best. Besides,” you say, groaning a bit as you sit up to wipe the sweat off your neck with the robe, “I’m pretty sure I can have you eating out of the palm of my hand. Now that I know your secret . . . Daddy.”

Dieter groans as you laugh. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so surprised by now when you make me discover new kinks.”

“Mhmm hmm.”

He rolls his eyes as he gets up and picks the phone off the tripod. Holding the phone to his face, he wipes the cum off with his sweatpants before turning his attention back to you.

“How are you? Feel better?”

“Much better.” You stretch and lean back in the bed. If he was here, you’d probably be asking to eat you out, but at least the knife’s edge of desire has dulled. You can at least wait until nap time to jump your husband’s bones.

“Good,” Dieter sighs, satisfied. “I’ll be there to pick you up from the airport tomorrow, okay?”

He always gets like this the nearer the due date comes, as if he can’t stand to see you lift a finger unnecessarily. You smile and nod, never wanting it to be any other way.

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. Good night, my biggest love. I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Dieter.” Goddamn hormones, making you cry again.

“Now lemme say goodbye to our little traveler.”

You wipe your eyes with your thumb as you tilt the phone to your swollen belly.

“Good night, Baby Bravo. Can’t wait to have you around.”

And, at the sound of their father’s voice, they stir. Not kick or hurt. Just a tiny foot against your tight skin.

You are officially crying now.

“They said hi, didn’t they?”

You’re nodding, crying, and he can’t see a damn thing. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “They said good night, Dad.”

He’s patient with you as you wipe your eyes, cheeks flushed again.

“Baby, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’re just a really good dad. And I’m so lucky,” you blubber. “This is it! I’m never leaving to go scouting again. I can’t take it.”

“Mhmm. Let’s revisit that when you’re about two months postpartum and clawing at the walls.”

You laugh with him, your own sticky and goopy. “Fine.”

“Go to bed, love, and for the record, I’m the lucky one. Don’t forget that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You blow a kiss and he catches it. You roll your eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You stay like that for a bit, cradled by the pillows, and your phone on your chest, thinking about everything from Dieter to the next school picture day, to the next family vacation, and of course, the zillion things you have to get done with work before the baby comes — hopefully all from the home office.

She kicks.

You smile, wondering how you and Zelle both just know it’s a girl. Dieter has his own suspicions, he says, but he’s saving them. Orion would probably be thrilled to have a dragon in the family. You snort, hand over the place where she put her little foot.

“I miss them too, sweetie. And once you’re here, we’ll outnumber those silly boys. Maybe we’ll have to get a dog. You’ll like dogs.”

She’s silent, maybe sleeping, maybe thinking about what the heck a dog is. You smile, turn off the lamp, and peel back the covers. The sheets are cool and soft.

You fall asleep, dreaming of little feet, and hands, and wedding rings.

#dieter bravo #daddy dieter #gonna make this an official tag if its the last thing i do #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #100 followers event

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gothicbabydollz · 1 year

Note

You try to run away from dark!Azriel and he's not very happy about it.

Warnings: dark, dubcon, prey/predator vibes, azriel’s a bit delusional

Read at your own risk

↬ 𝐑𝐮𝐧, 𝐫𝐮𝐧, 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 ↫

In…

Out.

In…

Out.

Your lungs burn. Each breath feels like sucking down broken glass. You’ve never been one to really care about staying fit, though now you curse yourself for it. Pure adrenaline is all that’s keeping your legs moving. You can’t stop. You can’t rest. There’s no time to spare in this situation.

In all your time spent as his prisoner, locked away. A damsel in distress. Although there’s no knight in shining armour coming to your rescue. Only the beast, who taunts you, watches over you, makes it impossible to every run free.

Until tonight.

So you took your chance, ran off, barefoot and half dressed. Hoping to put as much distance as possible between you and the winged male. He frightens you. A towering bulk of dark skin and even darker features, perfect for blending into shadows. You wonder if he’s watching you know, hiding in the darkness, waiting to strike. Releasing a sob, you push forward. If he wasn’t so…so fucking insane, you would probably yearn for a male like him.

The stray branches are invisible to your eyes, as you try your hardest to keep up pace, whipping through the tree line to possible freedom.

That’s why a surprised shout escapes you when your foot is sliced as you step down on splintered wood. Your hands are next, bracing your landing as you fall forward. Fresh tears soak your cheeks, hot against your skin. “No, no, no, no,” you cry, scrambling to get back on your feet, “Fuck.” Your foot throbs in pain, your palms scuffed, knees bruised. Yet, you keep going, using the trees for support as you limp forward. Your lip bleeds from how hard you bite, trying to keep your sobs at bay. The sound would draw too much attention.

You make it another 10 yards before you feel his presence. The temperature drops to freezing and chills cover the expanse your body. You halt, clamping a hand over your mouth as you cry harder. Knowing you’ve been caught. There’s no use trying to run or trying to hide. The male has told you countless of times how much your scent affects him, how he could sniff you out from miles away.

Something wraps around your bare ankle, wispy yet strong. You don’t get the chance to look before it’s pulling hard. You’re flung back onto the ground from the sheer force it possesses. Dirt, leaves and branches tug at you as you’re dragged along the forest floor. Fingers scrambling for purchase, as pain nips at you from every direction.

You stop. And silence fills the space. You try to push yourself up, eyes darting the surrounding area. As soon as the quiet began, it ends. A large hand grips your shoulder and you squirm as you’re flipped onto your back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” The male glares down at you, venom laced in his voice, that scarred hand of his now squeezing your jaw in a vice like grip. “Stupid girl, you could have been killed. What would I have done then huh? Mates don’t fall from fucking the sky!” He jerks your face, as if trying to shake sense into you. He’s cages you to the ground. His face right above yours. His knee trapped between your thighs, pressing into your core. Heat blossoms reluctantly. Your unconscious attraction makes you sick to the stomach.

Breathing heavily, you glare right back, seething. “I’m not your fucking mate!”

You regret the outburst the moment those words leave your lips. The male goes still…quiet. However you can see the rage bubbling behind his eyes. You can’t help the pathetic sob you let out, truly scared he’s going to kill you and leave you out here for the animals to fight over. “If i was to check right now…would your cunt be wet?”

You almost choke with surprise.

Lips tight and quivering, you shake your head as best as possible. Not trusting your own voice. He grunts, shifting to slip his hand down between your bodies. Your eyes widen, yet all he does is smile down at you. As if he already knows the answer. Your underwear is ripped from your body with ease. You whimper as thick, warm fingers slide through your folds, damp with slick, as expected. The male chuckles darkly. Gotcha. He says with the action.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” You try, involuntarily bucking your hips when the heal of his hand brushes your clit. He plays with your slick, palm grinding purposely against your clit as he speaks, “Oh, but it does. You hate me….but your body doesn’t.” His canines flash in the moonlight streaking through the trees, he’s grinning as he notes your body’s reaction to the stimulation. Your breath turned shallow, brows furrowed, lips parted. “Your body knows your soul intertwines with my own, even if you’re too dumb to realise.” He scoffs, yet leans down, hot breath fanning over your skin as he nears your ear, “Tell me this doesn’t feel good,” He whispers as two fingers slowly sink into your cunt, your walls hugging him immediately.

You can’t stop the way your eyes roll back, or the pleasured sound which leaves your throat. “Let me show you we’re meant to be, bunny,” he says, softer than how he spoke before. His fingers curl against your walls and you mewl, squirming. “Let me show you…and maybe, just maybe i’ll forget the little stunt you pulled tonight.”

#azriel #azriel smut #dark!azriel #azriel x reader #dark fic #azriel x reader smut #azriel acotar

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lilyway · 3 months

Text

Tainted Melody {Alastor x Reader} Prologue

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Death and canon-typical violence. Please be aware of these warnings going forward.

Sequel to Icarus! Please read that here first. Prologue | Chapter 1 |

Prologue: An Never Ending Dream

There was a young woman laying on the floor seemingly abandoned there. Her eyes fluttered open as found herself lying on the cold, unforgiving cement floor, a thick crimson blanket serving as her only shield against the biting chill that permeated the air.

Despite its softness, the blanket offered little reprieve from the shivers that wracked her body. The cold left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. As she sat up, the blanket pooled at her sides, its warmth dissipating immediately. With a glance around, she could discern nothing but the shadowy contours of the hallway.

The silence that hung heavy in the air was deafening.

The hallway was barren, devoid of life and adorned only by sporadic red stains on the cold floor. As (Name) rose from the cold cement floor, her fingers instinctively sought the comforting embrace of the crimson blanket, its warmth a soothing balm against the chill that permeated the barren hallway. With deft fingers, she secured it behind her back, the rich hue contrasting starkly against the white of her outfit.

Her long brown locks cascaded over her shoulders, with a tender touch, she ran her fingers through her hair. The faintest hint of white at the tips blending seamlessly with the purity of her attire. Her gaze trailed downward, taking in the ethereal grace of her long white dress that flowed effortlessly around her frame, ending just above her ankles. Barefoot, she stood in quiet contemplation, her gaze trailing back up to her neck.

As (Name)'s fingers brushed against the thick layer of lace encircling her neck, she felt a strange mixture of discomfort and familiarity. The lace, while itchy against her skin, also offered a peculiar sense of comfort, like a second skin that refused to be shed.

With growing unease, she attempted to pick at the lace, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns in a futile attempt to remove it. But the lace remained steadfast, clinging to her skin with a tenacity that defied her efforts.

As frustration mounted, her attempts to rip it off grew more desperate, her fingers tugging and pulling at the stubborn fabric to no avail. With each futile attempt, the stable light that had bathed the corridor in its gentle glow began to flicker violently.

“Good Morning, (Name).” The disembodied voice, its tone familiar yet shrouded in a thick layer of static that made it difficult to understand. It said her name with a familiarity that unsettled her senses.

(Name) searched in vain for the source of the voice, her heart quickened with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

"Who are you?" (Name) asked as she felt goosebumps on her skin.

The voice offered a cryptic response. "I'm someone of no importance," It declared, its words hanging in the air like wisps of smoke.

(Name), unwilling to accept such a dismissive answer, counted with a remark of her own. "Everyone has some importance," Her brow furrowing in skepticism.

"That's true. But, is that something you believe in?"

The voice posed a thought-provoking question. (Name), arms crossed and brow furrowed, didn’t seem very impressed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. You should get moving.”

Begrudgingly looking down the hallway had the occasional dim light with the occasional flicker. The flickering light above was unstable and unpredictable, casting fleeting shadows against the glass dome. It seemed to have a mind of their own as she glanced up. It was barely hanging onto the cords that kept it up in the ceiling.

There was nothing but the white cement floor and the occasional reminder of the glass walls that kept her trapped there. Making her way down the hallway came with the small visions to the black void outside.

As the swinging light cast its erratic glow, it unveiled fleeting glimpses of the world beyond, revealing rows upon rows of empty chairs that stretched out before her like an endless sea. Each chair, its surface worn down far past the point of seeing any actual use.

The chairs, arranged in perfect symmetry on either side of the narrow hallway, seemed to beckon to her with their silent invitation. Placing her hands on the glass she wondered how comfortable those seats would be.

Beneath them, a layer of pristine white snow blanketed the ground, its purity a stark contrast to the weathered appearance of the chairs above. Each snowflake danced in the air as it slowly fell to the ground.

“Take a seat. Stay a while. There’s nowhere to go, right? Rest.”

A voice echoed in her mind as it beckoned her to surrender and stay a while. To rest her weary feet and seek solace in the emptiness. Keeping the words of temptation out of her mind she kept walking forward. She was determined to find her way out.

As her gaze returned to her hands she was welcomed with blood staining her hands sent a jolt of fear coursing through (Name)'s veins. Her heart was pounding in her chest as adrenaline surged through her body. With a gasp of shock, she instinctively recoiled, stumbling backward in a desperate attempt to escape.

As she staggered to the other side of the glass, her mind reeled with a whirlwind of emotions – confusion, fear, and a gnawing sense of unease. The sight of her hands bathed in crimson, the viscous liquid slowly dripping down in macabre rivulets.

Blinking away the remnants of her fear, (Name) found herself back in the familiar embrace of normalcy, the blood-stained illusion disappeared. The lingering sense of something foreboding was going to happen remained.

The relentless creaking of the lamps echoed through the corridor, urging her onward as she sought refuge from the suffocating confines of her prison. With each creak, the sound reverberated through the stillness.

“You don’t want to rest?”

“I can’t trust you.”

Ignoring the voice’s question she pressed forward, her footsteps echoing in the silence as she pressed further down hoping for a way to escape. The flashes of white that danced around the glass windows served as a warning to keep moving and move quickly.

“I won’t hurt you. Promise.“

There was something here and whatever it was she didn’t want to stick around for. As her strides quickened until she was sprinting down the hallway. There was a deafening silence around her as she only had the sound of her footsteps to keep her company.

There seemed to be nothing for miles as the corridor didn’t leave much to the imagination. Just the view ten steps ahead of her and the occasional flicker that left her alone in the dark.

She didn’t even remember anything. Her memory was that fragmented as she tried to recall how she even ended up there. Everything was fuzzy, each one a blurred reflection that seemed to slip through her fingers like sand.

There was only one memory that she could somewhat recall.

The memory of the oddly shaped ax piercing through her stomach lingered in the recesses of (Name)'s mind. The mere thought of such a gruesome injury made her shudder involuntarily, her hand instinctively drifting to her stomach. To her relief, there was nothing – no pain, no ache, no trace of blood to mar the pristine surface of her pure white dress.

Despite the absence of physical injury, (Name)'s steps faltered as she sought solace against the cool embrace of the glass. She half expected something to jump out at her and drag her back the way she came.

Deep down it would’ve brought her solace. Since that would mean there could be someone else here.

"Hello?" (Name)'s voice pierced the silence, its echo reverberating down the deserted hallway.

As (Name)'s voice dissipated into the stillness of the corridor, she was welcomed with a sense of unease. There was something here hiding in the dark and she didn’t didn’t want to stick around. She pushed herself off the glass as she quickly started walking down the hallway.

She could feel eyes trailing her as she moved, they followed her every step. Her every movement. (Name) didn’t want to anger it by sticking around where she didn’t belong. She could feel the goosebumps on her skin as she tried to not jump with every flicker of the light.

The woman heard something bang against the glass and made her sprinted down the hallway. Trying to put as much distance between herself and whatever that was. The lights flickered out for a moment longer than usual as something appeared in the graveyard of chairs.

She needed to get out.

She needed to leave.

Now.

(Name)'s heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted down the hallway, her footsteps echoing in the empty expanse like a desperate plea for escape. With each stride, she prayed fervently that the presence haunting her was nothing more than a figment of her imagination, a phantom born from the depths of her subconscious.

But her hopes were shattered by the resounding bang on the glass, a deafening echo that reverberated through the corridor. The lights flickered again before another bang on the glass deafened her again. As she turned to face the source of the sound, her worst fears materialized before her eyes – a grotesque reflection of herself, smeared with blood and adorned with injuries, pressed against the unforgiving surface of the glass.

The sound of claws scraping against the glass sent a shiver down (Name)'s spine, each screech reverberating through the marrow of her bones like a symphony of dread. As the creature's onslaught intensified, its fists pounding against the glass with unrestrained fury, cracks began to spider web across the surface. Their every blow against the glass reverberated through the corridor as (Name) tried to cover her ears.

(Name) stood there paralyzed by the sound of their claws pounding against the glass. She mentally kicked herself for not running as soon as it appeared.

Its flesh hung from its frame like tattered rags, as the organs spilled all over the glass. As its empty stare bore into hers, (Name) felt a chill crawl down her spine. There was something hauntingly vacant about its eyes, devoid of emotion or humanity. The burning ache in (Name)'s legs intensified with every frantic step, she needed distance.

It didn’t take long for the glass to shatter.

As her bare feet made contact with the cold floor, she winced at the discomfort, the jagged remnants of shattered glass threatening to embed themselves into her skin. To her dismay, the pursuing creatures displayed an unnatural stamina and speed. They were already right behind her as she started ignoring the shards of glass. Just stepping on them to save whatever seconds she could.

The awakening of one creature seemed to trigger a chain reaction, a sinister ripple of groaning and feet running towards her. With each flicker of the lights, the corridor was bathed in shades of crimson, and began to fill with these monsters.

(Name)'s heart pounded in her chest, the rapid rhythm of adrenaline coursing through her veins gave her the energy she needed to keep running. As she stumbled and slipped, the cold floor unforgiving beneath her bare feet, a surge of panic threatened to overwhelm her. Catching herself before she hit the floor, she kept running.

“Need help?” It was the same voice from before echoing in her ears. It sounded genuinely caring and concerned for her safety.

“Yes! Please!” The woman begged as the monsters were quickly approaching.

“Tell me something first.”

“That isn’t how help works!” (Name) screamed as she felt a claw touch her hair as she tried to lose them.

Their long claws ripped and nipped at her skin as she weaved through the hallways. There was no end in sight. Every hallway looked the same and made it impossible to tell if she was going in circles.

“Why are you running from yourself? Those creatures are you too.”

That voice got under her skin as she felt her eyebrows furrow in anger, but there was no real point yelling back. She had to run and make enough distance to preferably not be ripped to shreds.

“You seem to think these creatures aren’t you.” As the voice spoke, the glass dome shattered into a million pieces.

The hallway was littered with glass as a few shards found themselves embedded into her skin. There was a golden footprint in every step she took as she escaped the hallway and into the snow. It was the only ‘safe’ path she had left as she tried to weave through the endless rows.

“Take a good look. Though, I’m not too sure if you recognize yourself anymore.”

As (Name)'s gaze flickered backward, a chilling sight greeted her—the grotesque creature, it was right behind her. Its twisted form mirroring her own, its sullen eyes brimming with sorrow and pain, reached out and seized her hair in its gnarled claws. With swift reflexes, (Name)'s hands grasped the nearest chair, wielding it like a weapon against the abomination.

These things may look like her. They would never be her.

Her eyes didn’t look like that.

They were full of life and love.

She had a bright outlook on life.

There was nothing that would make her look like that. Even the only memory she had wasn’t enough to make her belief such filth. She believed she was a good person.

As the chair connected with the twisted form of her mimic, a visceral cry of agony pierced the air. The impact unleashed a torrent of blood from the creature's wounded chest, staining the pristine white snow. Yet, even as the creature writhed in agony, its neck contorted and twisted to meet (Name)’s gaze.

“Who are you? Do you even remember why you’re here?”

(Name)'s chest heaved with exertion, her breaths ragged as she raised the chair high above her head. With each blow, she unleashed a torrent of pent-up emotions. If these things insisted on chasing her they would feel everything.

As the creature staggered beneath the force of her assault, its form contorted in pain.

(Name) met its gaze with cruelty in her eyes, she looked down at herself and saw herself in its empty eyes. She raised the chair back into the air and slammed it back down.

“Those things aren’t me!”

Over.

“Those things will never be me!”

And over.

“You aren’t real!”

And over.

She only stopped when the monster stopped moving as she struggled to catch her breath. (Name) stared at the rows of chairs in front of her as she straightened herself up. There was blood trickling down her face as she felt her heart drop at the sight of dozens of monsters approaching her.

“Are you so sure? Even without a memory of a past to go by?”

“Yes.”

“If you say so.”

💟

As (Name) plummeted into the abyss, engulfed by the suffocating embrace of endless darkness. The snow, cascading down like confetti, offered no solace as the air was pulled out of her lungs. (Name) was fine with going back to the hallways filled with monsters. It was better than slowly suffocating to death. At least the endless row of chairs gave her some hope to escape.

“Who are you?” (Name) couldn’t answer as it felt like she had weights on her chest. She wanted the pain to stop as she grasped at her neck.

“You don’t know anything without your memories. Perhaps one memory might jog your memory.”

The ethereal glow of the abyss enveloped her, a surreal sensation of weightlessness giving way to the comforting solidity of a floor beneath her feet. The rush of air into her lungs brought her back into reality. As the ethereal light began to dim, she found herself standing in what could only be described as a living room. The transition was abrupt and disorienting as she glanced around.

The air was thick with the enticing aroma of something being cooked, a scent that beckoned her senses to life. The room was dimly lit as it revealed the slightest hint of the decorative wallpaper. As (Name) stepped towards the warm glow emanating from the kitchen, a scene unfolded before her eyes—a man and a woman, their faces alight with joy and affection, stood around the oven. Much to her surprise the woman standing next to him looked just like her.

The woman, her eyes sparkling with delight, watched with anticipation as Alastor lifted the lid of the pan, revealing the tantalizing aromas that wafted through the air. With a smile that radiated warmth, she accepted the spoon he offered, her lips curling into a smile as she savored the flavors.

"Alastor, this is incredible! " She seemed to lighten up as she rewarded him with a tender kiss upon the lips.

"Well, my dear," Alastor replied, his voice carrying a note of pride. "It is my mother's recipe."

(Name) watched as the woman’s eyes softened. “Your mother must’ve been an amazing cook.” There was something about how familiar this all was. How she had a feeling she never actually tasted his mother’s cooking before.

With the softest chuckle (Name) ever heard escaping his lips as he thought of his dear mother. “Oh, she was. This recipe has been in our family for generations.”

How a frown tugged down on her lips. “Right.” (Name) as Alastor put the spoon back down and laced her fingers with his. “She would've been so proud of you, Alastor. You've truly mastered her recipe.”

Alastor smiling softly kisses her hand. “She would've loved to hear you say that, my dear.”

The woman pulled her hand back as she looked down at the ground. “I wish I could have met her. She sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”

I wish I could’ve been there to support you, Alastor. Her thoughts echoed in her mind as she watched the scene frozen in place. Her heart was bursting with emotions she didn’t understand.

His eyes softened as he used his spare hand to tilt her head up. “She would've adored you, (Name). Don’t worry, my belle.”

The woman forced a smile that could rival the sun. “Thank you, Alastor. That means a lot.”

Alastor leaned in closer to where they were practically kissing. “You know, (Name), you look your best when you smile. It lights up the room like nothing else.” Her cheeks burned as she became a flustered mess.

Dear God, I’m pathetic. Her voice echoed back in her brain. There was something about how disappointed she felt. She should’ve known better than bringing up his mother. She felt terrible.

Pushing her feelings aside, the woman smiled at him. “Oh, Alastor. You always know how to make me feel better.” She closed the gap between them as they shared a passionate kiss as the pot boiled.

“Is that you?”

The voice cruelly shattered the moment as (Name) was finally able to move her body again. She moved closer to the couple and touched the man’s shoulder and the woman snapped her eyes open.

Stepping back at the sudden reaction. “I believe so? She shares my name and appearance.” (Name) leaned over the oven and observed the soup boiling in the pot.

Squinting at her reflection, there was something wrong. Her chocolate brown hair was now pure white and long enough to reach the floor. Her eyes glowed an eerie golden color before slowly dimming back down. Who was that? That didn’t look like her even if her face looked the same.

“Is the woman in the reflection also you?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Then, good luck.”

Alastor had disappeared and she was left alone with her copy who seemed to turn back around and stare directly into her eyes. (Name) found herself alone with her doppelgänger, a sense of surrealism washed over her, mingling with the tension. The click of her copy's heels against the floor echoed through the silence.

Draped in a red polka-dot dress that swayed with each graceful movement, her copy exuded an aura of familiarity tinged with an unsettling aura of otherness. Despite the uncanny resemblance, there was a subtle difference in the way she carried herself—a softness in her smile, a warmth in her gaze that hinted at depths of compassion and understanding.

She had a soft smile on her lips as she moved to the drawers. "Hello, me. " her copy greeted her, her voice a melody of sweetness and everything good about the world.

“Hello. Sorry for intruding on your moment.” With a soft giggle, her copy brushed aside the apology, her hand resting gently upon the drawer handle as if inviting (Name) into her world.

“Why?” There was a chill in the air, a sense of foreboding that lingered in the air. “These are our memories after all.” She had turned her back to (Name) as she opened the drawer.

“Right. We must’ve loved that man.” (Name)’s reply was oddly cold. She could feel the warm fuzzy feelings in her chest as her eyes looked at him. (Name) knew he was important as the sight of him made her warm and fluffy like she was resting on clouds.

"Alastor. He's charming, isn't he?" The clone's question seemed innocent enough, but there was an underlying edge to her tone.

(Name) felt herself relax and smile at her doppelgänger. “He really is.”

But then came the question, a question that shattered the fragile veneer of relaxation she had. "Would you die for him?"

(Name)'s eyes widened. “What?”

The sight of the blade in her clone's hands sent a shiver down (Name)'s spine, a silent threat that spoke volumes without uttering a word. “You heard me. Would you die for him?”

Her instincts urged her to retreat, to seek safety in the familiarity of the living room beyond.

(Name) stepped back as she quickly glanced around for anything to protect herself with. "No, I mean... I don't know. You know him better than I do right now.”

“Is that so?” The woman eyed her suspiciously as her eyes flickered down at the knife then back at her. "We did die for him," she asserted, her gaze piercing through (Name) with an intensity that made her blood run cold. "We said love was more important than our own life."

“Start running.” The voice warned as (Name) ignored the warning, she could talk her way out of this one. Her doppelgänger didn’t seem like she could hurt a fly. It had to be bluffing.

“She’s not that dangerous.” (Name) replied with a hint of unease.

“Is that because she looks like you? Or her features give you the impression she couldn’t hurt a fly?“

“Fate should take its course. We shouldn’t exist right now. We should be dead.” Her voice distorted as she raised the blade and stabbed herself in the chest over and over.

Blood flew everywhere as it stained the cabinets, ceilings and floor. Some of her blood hit her face as it slowly trickled down. (Name) was stunned as the shock washed over her. She looked so normal just a moment ago.

“What? Just happened?” (Name) stepped back as the doppelgänger smiled as tears streamed down her face.

“I don’t want to die.”

“I won’t want to die. I just wanted to protect him.” The woman repeated as the knife got lodged into her chest as she stumbled forward.

“Run. Now.”

💟

As she emerged into the open air, the world around her shifted once more, revealing a landscape untouched by the ravages of time. The streets stretched out before her, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, their shadows dancing in the stillness of the night.

The air was thick with the whispers of idle chatter, the remnants of a world long forgotten. Yet, despite the echoes of life that lingered in the air, there was not a soul to be found. The streets were devoid of people that once filled the streets with warmth and laughter.

Above, the stars sparkled like diamonds in the velvet sky, casting their gentle light upon the abandoned cars that lined the roadside.

Round and Round.

The sound of (Name)'s voice echoed through the empty streets, a haunting melody that seemed to carry her forward. It was odd since she wasn’t the one singing, but her voice echoed around her like a warm embrace. With each step, she felt the weight of the world fall away, replaced by a sense of purpose that drove her ever onward.

As she ascended the steps and pushed open the door to the bar, (Name) was enveloped in a cloud of smoke, the acrid scent mingling with the stale air that hung heavy in the room. The dim light cast long shadows across the deserted tables, their surfaces littered with half-empty cups and bottles.

(Name) felt drawn to the stage where a solitary piano stood bathed in the glow of a single spotlight. Its keys beckoned to her, their ebony and ivory gleaming in the dimness of the room.

Round and Round.

Taking a seat at the piano, a familiar pair appeared. It was a young man and woman. She recognized the man, it was Alastor standing by the door.

The woman was wearing a flashy smile as she stared at the man steps away from her holding her jacket to her. She seemed to be admiring his good looks as her face was flushed a deep crimson. She was holding onto a table to keep herself standing as her ankles wobbled and shook. Her heels were a little too high for her comfort as she tried to keep her cool.

Round and Round.

“Perhaps it's time to call it a night. Let me help you with your coat.” He was holding her coat out to her as she stared at it absentmindedly as her gaze returned to his face.

The woman’s eyes darted to the door behind her. “Please, let me help you. It's not safe for you to be out here alone in this state.” Her eyes returned to Alastor and lingered there for a moment before looking back at the door.

Round and Round.

(Name) blinked at the awkward scene in front of her as the woman placed her hand on the door and flung it open in a blink of an eye. She didn’t even give him an answer before she bolted outside.

Alastor was left standing there blinking for a moment. “Wait!” He ran after her and (Name) turned to the glasses in front of her.

You see me standing there.

(Name) stood up and began exploring the bar. As (Name)'s gaze drifted towards the reflective surface of the glasses, she froze. There was another version of herself trapped inside. (Name) couldn’t but stare as she bent down and squinted her eyes to get a better look.

She stared back at her in her pristine white dress as her hair cascaded down her back. The copy looked like a doll on strings as she moved her arms unnaturally and danced for (Name)’s amusement. However, the woman in the cup stood proud as she held something in her hands.

“What in heaven?” (Name) muttered as she picked up the glass and moved it closer to her face.

And act like you don't know me.

As the object in her doppelgänger's hand tilted, the world around her seemed to lurch to the right. With a gasp of alarm, (Name) felt herself tumbling from her chair, the ground rushing up to meet her with a jarring impact. The glasses, now dislodged from their resting place, clattered to the floor in a cacophony of sound.

“I’m so tired of this!” (Name) grumbled as she pushed herself back up.

With trembling limbs, she staggered towards the door. The echoes of her footsteps reverberating in the empty space around her. Each step carried her further from the haunting specter of her doppelgänger, that sang and danced in every shard of glass.

As (Name) stepped out into the street, she was greeted by a cacophony of flashing. The air crackled with static energy, sending shivers down her spine. High above, amidst the sea of flashing lights, the figure of the woman from before materialized in the sky. Her form shimmering and distorted in an eerie rhythm. It was as if she had become a living projection that no longer existed. (Name) gazed upwards, she noticed faint strings of light intertwining around the woman’s joints.

“She looks like you. But, is this someone who is the ‘true’ you?” The voice asked as (Name) hesitated as she walked down the steps as the woman appeared on every reflective surface.

But last night you were calling me.

(Name) just ran. She wasn't going to stick around like last time. There was something about not wanting to see what other horrors awaited her. Everything that had shown up had her face and voice. She couldn’t even tell what was real anymore.

“What are you trying to say! I’m the only one here!” (Name) could hear her heartbeat in her ear as the desperation started to take over. She wanted to leave. Now.

“Why are you rejecting these girls? They’re all you.”

“No! Just let me out! I’m begging you!”

(Name) threw another door open and practically herself inside. She was welcomed with a bunch of doppelgängers of herself staring back at her with an empty gaze and a toothy grin. They were drenched with blood as if someone poured it all over their heads.

Boy, I need you here with me.

The lights flickered red as the clones distorted they were wearing a black dress with a large rip in the stomach. “Why? You seem to be in conflict with yourself.” The voice asked as the world continued flashing rapidly. All (Name) could do was turn back around and slam the door behind her.

We can't go on this way.

“I'm not!”

(Name) returned to the street and did the static as she ran down the street opening whatever doors she could. She just needed an exit. Anything was better than this. Even that black abyss.

Going round and round.

(Name)'s world spun with dizzying speed as her body was thrust into the confines of the car, the sensation of being trapped engulfing her in a suffocating embrace. As the girl continued to play with the mysterious object in her hands, (Name) felt a sense of dread gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. There was no escape.

Every door led to the same place. Back to the bar filled with doppelgängers of herself. There was some variety as a few rooms repeated the scene with Alastor. It was an endless loop that didn’t break.

“Why are you rejecting yourself?” A woman’s loud voice came from behind her.

“Because these things aren't me.”

We're never gonna stop.

"But they are," The woman countered. "They're all parts of you. The things you feel terrible about."

"We're your fear," One of the clones spoke with her voice tinged with an air of solemnity, her wings stained with blood.

"Your hope," Another chimed in, her hands were together in prayer with her eyes closed.

“Your love.” Another spoke softly as she brought her bouquet to her nose and smiled.

“Your guilt.” The youngest of them all—the embodiment of (Name)'s guilt—stared up at her with big innocent eyes.

We'll never get where we are going.

“Your pain.” She looked similar to the clone with wings, the only difference was the tears that streamed down her face.

"Your hatred,” Another spoke as her wings flared out. There was pain in her eyes that laid under the heavy glare.

“Your melancholy,” Her voice tinged with anguish, tears streaming down her face.

"Your happiness," It was the woman from the kitchen. Even with her endless joy, there lingered a sense of tragedy.

The figure with the halberd spoke next, their voice heavy with the weight of despair. "Your despair," Their weapon dripped with blood.

And finally, the singer's voice rang out, soft and sorrowful. "Your sorrow,"

Round and round.

“Do you get it now? These are all you. (Name) Winters, do you finally see yourself?”

(Name) took a step forward with a hand reaching out to touch them before pulling away. “What are you even trying to say?” She didn’t want to admit it. Admitting it would mean they’re all real.

"Who are we?" They asked, their voices echoing through the empty street.

(Name)'s heart pounded in her chest, there had to be something wrong with her. "What?" She stammered, her mind reeling with confusion.

"Who are we? That's what we want to know," They repeated, their voices tinged with a mixture of curiosity and desperation.

"I don't know!" (Name) exclaimed, her voice rising with frustration. "You took my memory!"

"Did we? You gave it willingly," They countered, their words cutting through the silence like a blade.

(Name)'s head spun with confusion as she grappled with the implications of their statement. "What? What are you talking about?"

"We gave it up to save our love. We said we were willing to give anything, even our soul, for the power to save him,"

"I don't remember saying it," (Name) confessed, their words didn’t seem unfamiliar. It felt like she did give them up willingly.

"Of course. But, even without your memory, you can still answer our question,"

(Name) hesitated as she bit down on her lip. "You just want me to tell you who you are?"

"Yes," They nodded as they waited patiently for their answer.

The monster from the hallway pushed their way through and moved to the front. "Would you regret dying?" They asked, their words hanging heavy in the air.

(Name) raised a brow at the weird question. "I died to save someone I loved, right?"

"Yes, you did," They confirmed with a nod.

And in that moment, (Name) found her answer—a simple truth that resonated deep within her soul. "Then no," she declared, her voice unwavering in its conviction. "I don't regret it at all."

“Good. That’s everything I wanted to hear.” The world glowed with a soft light as they all disappeared into petals.

💟

In the midst of the vast expanse of flowers left (Name) with a sense of serenity. Amidst the field of flowers stood a majestic tree, its branches adorned with delicate glass flowers that shimmered in the soft light.

Beneath the tree, a woman stood, her long white hair danced in the gentle breeze. Her hair cascaded around her like a shimmering waterfall. Clutched tightly to her chest, she held a music box, its melodious tune weaving through the air.

As she sang, her voice soared, intertwining with the rustling of leaves and the whispering of the wind. "Some day, the source of all fights and sadness will one day vanish.” (Name) walked forward and hoped this one would give her the answers she was looking for. “That day will come.”

The flowers parted slightly allowing a narrow passage forward without crushing them. “I want to sing with a singular love…” (Name) stood a couple of feet away and just listened as the strings kept the girl in place.

(Name) was the same height as her and had the same complexion other than the lightest blush on her cheeks. “Someone sweetly spoke out my name.” Lights twinkled around her as her eyelids fluttered open.

“So they would know of my wish.”

“I believe this is yours.” The woman smiled as outstretched her hands to give her the music box.

As (Name) reached out to accept the music box, she felt its weight settle into her palms, the cool surface of the crystal sending a shiver of recognition through her. Its intricate design, with the pair dancing at its center, seemed familiar.

"Thank you. Are you also me?" (Name) inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of uncertainty.

The woman paused, as her finger tapped her chin. "Not necessarily. I am you, but at the same time, no," She replied with a bright smile.

Confusion flickered in (Name)'s eyes as she struggled to understand what she was saying. "Then who are you?"

The woman offered a soft smile. "Someone who exists and doesn't exist at the same time,"

"That doesn't make much sense," (Name) remarked, her voice tinged with a hint of confusion.

"Right? Well, I brought you here to come to an agreement," With a snap of her fingers a blank scroll appeared next to her.

"What sort of agreement?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued by what she meant by ‘come to an agreement’.

"A deal of sorts,"

(Name)'s gaze narrowed, as she realized who the woman was. "You're the one who answered my call?" She ventured, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Yes. I was, and now we need to finalize our deal," The woman confirmed with a bright smile.

(Name)'s eyes widened in surprise at the woman's unexpected proposal, her mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of the offer. "What do you want?

The woman's smile remained unwavering, a glimmer of determination flickering on her face. "Help Lucifer's daughter redeem as many souls as possible, and I'll make it worth your while,"

(Name)' furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What?" She whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the wind.

"Help her, and I will grant your wish," The woman continued, she was driving her into a corner and making ‘no’ seem very undesirable.

"I sold my soul to you, didn't I? Can't you just force me?" (Name) questioned.

"Force you? Heavens, I could. But, that isn't fair to you," The woman replied, her features softening as she waved away the thought.

(Name)'s gaze hardened as she considered the woman's offer. "Then what sort of wish are you going to grant?"

"There was a point where you wished for a chance to do things over. To make things better and stay with your lover. I can make that happen," Her words made something click in her mind and she already knew the answer.

"Deal," The words slipped out quicker than she could even second guess them.

"That quickly? Even without your memories, you accepted that quickly," The woman laughed as she brought a hand to her lips.

"I want to know the man I gave up my soul for,"

"Of course. Also, don't you worry, you'll get your memories back with time," The woman looked overjoyed as she reached her hand out.

"Thank goodness," (Name) placed a hand on her chest as she felt that weight move off her shoulders.

"Let's shake on it," she proposed.

(Name)'s hand met hers with a firm grasp. "It's a deal,"

The scroll wrote out her signature before fading.

💟

As (Name)'s consciousness stirred, she found herself enveloped in the embrace of a heavy lethargy, as though she had just emerged from the depths of a profound slumber. The sensation of her body settling upon the mattress beneath her echoed with the weight of exhaustion. Her each movement accompanied by the subtle rustle of curtains dancing in the gentle breeze. With a soft flutter, her eyes parted, welcoming the world into focus as the veil of sleep receded.

Before her, a tapestry of curtains unfurled in a kaleidoscope of colors. Their intricate patterns weaving a labyrinth of light and shadow that enveloped her bed in a cocoon of warmth. She felt like a princess laying here — well, wherever here was.

As her gaze wandered, she found herself immersed in a sanctuary of greenery, the verdant hues of countless trees stretching as far as she could see. Their branches swayed in harmony with the rhythm of the wind.

After enough time admiring the scenery, (Name) sat up with a groan. A fleeting shadow cast its presence over her, its enigmatic grin widening as it returned back to its master. (Name) placed a hand on her stomach as she felt a thick fabric under her nightgown. Well, it felt like fabric.

Moving herself to the edge of the bed she placed her feet on the ground and jolted them back to the bed. There was a layer of cold water at her feet, sighing to herself she placed her feet back in. Now, sitting at the edge she weighed her options as a reflection loomed over her. It was a familiar pair of red eyes and a smile.

“Good morning, Alastor. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Good morning, dearest.”

The songs used:

Round and Round by Selena Gomez Beautiful Wish From Mermaid Melody

{Edited the mistakes: Feb 14 2024 @ 5:14 am}

#alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #fanfic #long fic #really long post

93 notes · View notes

wondernus · 7 months

Text

˗ˋˏ Briefly Orange ˎˊ˗

SYNOPSIS: Fragmentary source of healing and like an oasis away from the city, for his group of friends, Boo Seungkwan’s family farm is a regular vacation destination away from the city. Yet Seungkwan wishes for anything but a future filled with mountains of oranges, his dream of living in the city still ineffaceable in his head. When he receives a request from a friend he fell out of touch with asking if they could stay on his farm for the summer, Seungkwan finally finds himself in an opportunistic place in which his dream can finally become a reality. Why? Because you’re cursed to have everything you love disappear.

Sweltering heat and an eventful summer, magic touches lives in ways that we can never imagine. But in this transition between seasons, we find ourselves asking: when loss is as transient as the lives we live, what does it mean to love with every fiber of our being?

PAIRING: bsk x reader

GENRE: angst, romance, slice of life, magical realism

TAGS: food/drinks, time jump, friends to lovers, single father!csc, summer fic, slow burn, cooking processes (including descriptions of knives), a character falls off an atv, different povs (yn's chapters are set in the past / seungkwan's chapters are set in the present), soonyoung and jihoon should have their own separate warning

WC: 32k

A/N: if loneliness and loss could be consolidated through prose, maybe this fic was meant for you – nu.

wondernus's masterlist

ONE. PEELED ORANGES

It starts with the peel. Hold the orange in both hands and press your thumbs against the hollow bottom where there’s an open dip between the peel and the fleshy meat of the orange. Press into the peel with the tips of your fingernails, hard, penetrating the peel and creating a perfect opening to peel the fruit. Then, start peeling the bright and smooth outer shell away until you’re left with that orange and fleshy ball of juice. When you halve the fruit between your fingers, it sizzles and cracks crisply as you rip it apart — sometimes the juice escapes the membrane in a transparent drop of liquid, collecting on your finger, and rolling down your hand toward your arm. Sweet or sour, the rest comes after.

Sometimes when we’re not careful, we fall in love.

Waves broke over and over again against wet sand and caused hundreds of tiny ripples to race towards the shore, outlined by a frothy white foam that briefly settled on wet sand before it dissipated. You thought that you knew everything there was to know at that age. Fifteen. It was the oldest you’ve ever been. From your spot on the sand, far away from the water, you knew exactly where the water would run and stop to kiss the sand and say a brief greeting before leaving. You knew how in Autumn, the sun sets in hues of pink and orange that blend so finely that you would often wish that the sky was always pink instead of blue. And you knew that she was happy to be walking barefoot in the sand-turned-sludge area of the shore with her army green capris rolled up to her knees and her scuffed sneakers dangling from their shoelaces in her hands.

There she was in the distance, mouth pulled back into a wide smile as she looked down to watch and feel how the waves quickly run over her feet to wash the sand away and leave her about an inch or two deeper in the sand when the water retreats back into the ocean. From where you were sitting, you could clearly see her looking back at you while her entire upper body shook with glee from her happiness of simply being at the beach. Giant chunks of her unkempt bangs kept hitting her face as the ocean breeze blew, but she didn’t mind. She was so happy that you swore you could hear the remnants of her laughter carried by the breeze that brushed against you. You knew you were happy to be there. With her.

However, at that moment, you felt it grow in you again. It was that same feeling that came and went during the past few days during class, on the way to school, and even at night right when you tried to keep your eyes closed to sleep. Eyes locked on her as she squatted down to inspect something in the sand, you could barely hear the people around you as your vision tunneled while the previously acquainted feeling grew with so much warmth in your chest that you didn’t know whether you should scream in fear or cry from that swell of happiness. The more that feeling grew, the more it weighed your heart down so much that you felt that the weight could send something seesawing out of your mouth and past your lips. There was no escaping the feeling this time. No more suppression. You were in high school then. You had to be braver and smarter than you were in middle school. You could feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drying your mouth to a sandpaper texture and threatening to escape from its prison. Raging seas. Raging emotions. It threatened to come like the waves.

Water. You wanted to table the feeling and drink something refreshing before fully exploring it. No, you weren’t making an excuse to push it away, you think. Again. Practically forcefully peeling and prying your eyes away from her figure, which was making her way back to where you were sitting, you quickly dug through your beach bag to find the crinkled plastic water bottle you’d forgotten you brought. You felt assured that she would be coming to your side in that empty space between you and her stuff on the blanket you were sitting on. So when you finally uncapped the water bottle and brought the bottle to your lips, you let the lukewarm water fill your mouth, saturating every parched crevice in your mouth before gulping it down all at once. The second gulp of water wasn’t as big, but a few drops managed to escape the passage between your lips and the water bottle’s opening. And they trickled down the corner of your mouth and down to your chin before you wiped it away and stopped it with the sleeve of your new school hoodie.

You could hear her, her and her sweet voice calling for your name. Voice as affectionate as she was, it always felt like a symphony in your ears with the percussion section located in your heart. The very thought of her made your heart beat and hammer like a timpani during a solo or a piano played by the world’s finest musician. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Allegro. This time her voice was calling for you to come join her in the shallow part of the water. Wade a little bit with her because it would feel cool against your hot skin. It was a hot day. She didn’t know why you kept your hoodie on the whole time, but she was just happy you were there with her. You haven’t moved from your spot except to toss a stray volleyball back to its owners. Come on, go join her. Please. She wanted you to. The feeling wanted you to. You wanted to.

When you finally looked up, you could see the waves crashing against the shore underneath the setting sky. Peace. Nothing rang in your ears except for the sound of the roaring waves and the joyous shrieks of small children being chased by their parents. Nothing weighed down on you, not even personal worries about the future after high school that your classmates often talked about. Despite how your skin still felt hot and stuffy under your hoodie, you didn’t feel particularly parched. After all, you haven��t moved all day from your spot except to return a stray volleyball back to its owners. Even then, it was a lot better to cover up than to have your skin feel dry yet sticky from the warm and salty ocean breeze and mist flying against you all day.

Hot sand. Stiff crossed knees that were in need of stretching. You never expected anybody to be by your side when you looked up. Nobody to walk around the beach with. That day, you came to the beach alone to sit and people watch as the sun set in front of your eyes. It was nice being there by yourself, with no bag to watch over and no extra tracked sand leading into your house. Nobody to care about. Empty shell of a body like a lonely sandcastle alone on dry sand. There were footprints that led towards where you were sitting. No person who the footsteps belonged to.

Incoming sunset breeze to cool your face. Pulverized stone exfoliate via walking. Footsteps on the shore without a trace.

Inexplicable feelings. Setting sun. Forgotten youth. Home.

TWO. ORANGE JUICE

Roll your orange against the counter while pushing against it. Don’t be afraid to rough it up a little. We’re trying to release the juices. I think I learned something weird from this old television show I used to watch with my mom before bed that was part talk show and part DIY show… Huh? A mom? Let me finish first. So the ladies with their black hair in neat curls and matching outfits with those really fluffy short sleeves were talking to a guest, someone that deals with food maybe. Anyway, I learned that if you toss citrus around in your hands for a while, the tartness of the fruit gets replaced with sweetness. So I spent much of my childhood juggling my tangerines from the sidelines of the soccer field before eating them. Unfortunately, because I spent too long juggling my fruit and ended up eating it last minute, I always ended up with a stomachache that sent me back to being benched. Silver lining is, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a sour piece of tangerine before. So if you want a sweeter juice, I guess you can juggle the fruit a little before you halve it. Orange juice is easy. I don’t know why I have to teach you. But I guess you’re a good listener. That’s nice.

SEUNGKWAN

The large rolling suitcase leaves behind two long indents in the dry dirt path as it drags along the road. Each pull and tug towards a new temporary familiar coats the once black and glossy wheels in a matte tan color disrupted by speckled imprints of tiny gravel in every new layer of dirt rolled onto the suitcase wheels. Once in a while, much like the long lines used to omit phrases from a written sentence, the wheels break through a pair of footprints that belong to the person pulling the suitcase. Still, the traces along the dirt path are never straight nor as continuous as one would usually prefer. As an arborist would study the rings of a tree to determine periods of sickness and health, anybody could see how the lines left by the suitcase indicate periods of pause in transit, a person struggling along the road, and moments of pure and undisrupted conversation.

Under the warm morning sunlight, Boo Seungkwan has a new kind of warmth lingering by his side — someone so familiar yet so new, neither déjà vu nor jamais vu but nostalgia in person. He hasn’t seen you in years, yet he can’t find himself saying he expected the person to step out of the taxi to be a person drastically different from what he remembers. But you’ve changed since he last saw you, albeit it’s a more mature version of you who walks alongside him toward his family farm.

Seungkwan knows everything about you. For instance, as long as he asked you about family, close friends, past relationships, or the summary of the last chapter you read, you would always answer him truthfully, albeit bluntly. In the past, he would often find himself wondering whether or not you never tried to ask him any questions about himself because you were simply not interested or if you were afraid of your inevitable. He knows the amount of hair that collects on your drain every time you shampoo your hair. He knows you never order the same drink from a coffee shop twice. He knows the answer to every single question he has ever asked you to the point where even he's afraid that one day he would run out of questions to ask you. So when he received a message from you asking if you could work at his farm for the summer in exchange for room and board, he knew both your lives are about to undergo a new form of change and momentum. Change or no change, he agreed to your request if and only if you would be willing to fulfill his additional term: you must help him get rid of his oranges.

What presents itself as the summer getaway of the century is a 3-acre piece of land that hosts a small orange grove behind the cream-colored family farmhouse and guest house-turned-seasonal café that Seungkwan was left in charge of for the summer while his family vacations in the Maldives. Even sitting in the car with the windows down and turning onto the street the property sits, wafts of honeyed and tangy citrus can energize those on a long journey away from the city. Besides the dirt road that leads towards the farmhouse are large patches of clover in place of grass, and a beautiful array of flowers and bushes are planted between dirt and clover. What is most magnificent, Seungkwan points out while walking up to the farmhouse where you would be staying for the rest of the summer, is not the fact that his grandparents built this place from the ground up or the thousands of oranges they produce each year, but the fact that he drew the long end of the stick for you so you have the first-floor study to yourself instead of having to share a room with the rest of his friends.

When his introductory gist is returned with your silence, Seungkwan finds himself too embarrassed to see whether or not you reacted in response. But if he took the time to look, he would’ve seen you looking around your surroundings in awe, your mind wondering about how much of the landscape could change just by being thirty minutes away from the city.

“Let’s see,” Seungkwan mumbles while he opens the front door and leads you to the interior of the house in an attempt to free himself from his embarrassment. “The study is the first door on the left down the left hallway. It’s a sofa bed, and I already set it up for you. Laundry room is one door down. I’m in my grandparents’ bedroom down the right hallway. There’s also a bathroom and a guest room on our side. Everybody else should be upstairs…if you think it’s awkward to have pictures of my family stare at you while you sleep, I won’t be offended if you turn them around.” He scratches his hair, still trying to figure out whether or not he conjured an air of awkwardness between you and him.

He hovers behind you as you quietly make your way to your room — him studying how you crane your head to look around the foreign farmhouse interior from the living room to the ceiling's supportive wooden beams. It is rather quiet, as if you’ve both run out of topics to discuss after the brief moment you shared while trekking from taxi to house. He doesn’t know why he hesitates when you reach for the door's doorknob as if he were imagining you to be some interior design critic for a magazine. But his breath hitches for a second when you open the door and step into the modest office. Distracting himself from nothing, he looks at anything but you and settles for the tiny streaks of dirt your suitcase wheels brought indoors. And he smears the dirt streaks with his foot, making a mental note to mop when he has time.

Not too long after you enter the office, your voice calls for his attention. "Seungkwan?" You call for him.

Seungkwan steps into the office's open doorframe, careful not to cross the threshold of the room to give you some privacy. He notices you are sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, your suitcase temporarily tucked against the wall and underneath the light switch. Framed pictures of his family sit on the office's bookshelves. Some pictures depict little Seungkwan in a puffer jacket while holding large oranges in his tiny hands, causing Seungkwan to become quite embarrassed. What is more, is how he notices your hand clutching the blanket you sit on loosening with his presence and leaving a mountainous crease in its absence.

You thank him.

The response sounds like a squeak, which Seungkwan finds amusing and reassuring. There is the fact that there is an air of awkwardness present, not from his creation but from the years the two of you spent apart, that causes you to squeak. Gratitude is phrased simply, the attempt is more than enough to let him know you are feeling the same way he is feeling.

Truthfully, Seungkwan is still trying to fathom and process the fact that you are here with him. It hits him in this moment that maybe the you who sits in comfortable silence while staring out the window is not exactly the same person he once knew like the back of his hand. Finally taking time to look at his friend closely, Seungkwan still recognizes you in the same way that we recognize ourselves as ourselves even when all of our cells have exchanged themselves for new cells. He recognizes the way your hands clutch into balls with your thumbs placed between your pointer and middle finger when you fidget. He recognizes the backpack you brought as the same one you used in college. But he fails to recognize and understand why or how you have become the person to reach out to him for any reason. Why is it that he was chosen to be one of your protagonists in your journey to find the meaning of your life? How is it that a nobody who dreams of a life unattached to the farm could possibly offer something of such value to someone who constantly lives life in fear of loss?

The truth is, there is always something about being next to you that always makes Boo Seungkwan want to cry. Pity doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that wells and burns in his chest. Is it rage? Sadness? Regret? Empathetic and sympathetic as he is, he is prone to wearing his emotions before he can even realize what he is feeling. Being next to you causes his chest to concave and collapse in on itself, but he knows better than to feel bad for you. Or maybe he thinks it’s so fucked that you’re in a position in which you’re so desensitized to loss that you can’t even recognize at any moment that you lost what you loved. Always by your side, or at least until a few years ago, Seungkwan was there to reintroduce you to the things and concepts you’ve once loved because he cared and noticed. A savior isn’t who he’s trying to be, nor was that ever his intended role. Maybe a constant without caution is what he strives to be, even if his selfishness causes him to believe that in case you ever allow yourself to fall in love with him he would be able to disappear and thus never take on the responsibilities of a third-generation farm owner.

Yet a curse regarding loss upon a regular human being in love shouldn’t be the wake-up call that shows the world that loss is a daily occurrence. Loss is as banal and unremarkable as its spelling. And Seungkwan knows this. He’s lost torn snack foil wrapper corners from his pockets. He’s lost time during transit. He’s lost those who he once loved dearly. So why is someone else’s loss so much more important to him when he knows that love is involved?

And why is it that Boo Seungkwan chooses to show everybody unconditional love and care even when he knows transactional relationships would statistically yield more return?

Seungkwan isn’t a bad person. There isn’t a single bad bone in his body. He’s known you long enough not to tiptoe around you because, despite your curse, you’re just a regular person. And you would prefer it if other people treated you regularly. But why is it that he feels the way he feels whenever he’s alone with you?

A silver compact car with dusty windows pulls into the driveway, crushing rocks under tires. Seungkwan watches his guests through the study window, how the driver parks his car and pauses his music before pulling up his emergency brake as if his music is more important than the safety of his car. On the bookshelf near the window, Seungkwan’s grandfather’s plastic analog clock continues to tick through the silence and makes itself known.

“I’ll let you unpack on your own.” Seungkwan breaks the silence, only now realizing the time and how he never replied to your thanks. “I have to lead the others to their rooms so call for me when you’re done. I’ll bring you around.”

“Who’s here?” You ask Seungkwan before turning your head to look back at him.

Seungkwan leans against the doorframe and tilts his head toward the ceiling to think. Sticking his fingers out one by one, he lists his upstairs visitors, “Lex, Morg, Noah, Hao…I think you remember Jihoon right? He just arrived with Soonyoung and Terry. Oh, Yunling is also here. Seokmin, Jeonghan, and others are coming later this week.”

“Oh? I didn’t know he was…” He hears you mumble to yourself.

“Oh? Oh. Oh no.” Seungkwan slaps his hand over his mouth in realization. His eyes widen as he stares at you staring back at him, and he feels like he’s about to be presented with the “World’s Worst Host” award. “I’m sorry I didn’t even think about it because I know you haven’t-”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off...a little too eagerly for his liking.

“I’m sorry this didn’t cross my mind at all. I- I can probably keep him far away from yo-”

“It’s okay Seungkwan.” You try to reassure him.

“Are you sure? Won’t it be awkward to spend the summer with him?”

“It’s been years. I think I can manage.” A tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, well I’m here.” Seungkwan isn’t sure whether or not his tone indicated reassurance or his physical proximity to you. He removes himself from the doorframe and turns his body away from the office entrance.

“You are,” you reaffirm, yet your voice can make two syllables sound as monotonous as ever.

“For you if you need anything.” He hopes this fragment can come off as the latter half of his previous statement. Only his head can be seen from inside the office.

“I’ll find you when I’m done.” Your voice is a bit lighter.

“You changed.”

“I’m still trying to change.” Hopefulness. A twinge of a tiny smile.

“You know, I’m glad you’re here. Not just because of the oranges, but I’m just…glad.”

THREE. HONEY CITRON TEA

You know, I hated this when I was a child because I always associated this with sickness. Whenever I coughed, Mom would grab me by the back of my collar and march me to the kitchen, and she would get the large jar of yuja from the innermost corner of the fridge by pushing all the condiments to the side. I remember the yuja jar being so old that I can’t remember the label, but the faded and discolored leftover pieces stuck to the remaining glue whose stickiness never seemed to wash off my hands no matter how much I scrubbed. Wooden dowl into the jar, it emerges with a heaping pile of jammy and golden cheong. Boiling watery concoction with sunken pieces of rind washes down the sore throat and coats it with handmade love. Eat it, she would tell me, it helps with the swelling. This is what you get for not bringing a jacket with you when you go out.

During the summer, they switched the old sand for dark brown wood chips. A preschool-wide assembly was held a few weeks into the start of the Fall program regarding playground safety. More children were sent to the nurse’s office than the preschool workers have ever seen in such a short amount of time. It hurt a lot when you tripped and fell on your palms and tried to break the fall in the areas where sand once lay. It hurt even more when the taller kids purposely kicked the wood chips upwards, swinging them at the other kids when they hogged the swings. At least with sand, all you had to do was close your eyes and hold your breath when they kicked so the sand wouldn’t get in your eyes and mouth. But the topic of the assembly was “Walk Don’t Run”, as if the adults expected preschoolers to understand and believe that they were the problem and not the cheap excuse for an easier and flexible playground maintenance.

It was fun spending the day with your friends, digging as deeply as you could in the sandbox before the preschool workers called you indoors. After the sand replacement, it hurt to even kneel on the wood chips. So when you were three, you knew when to stop when you got hurt. After the implementation of the wood chips, you decided to stay indoors.

There was one kid who constantly got in trouble. Whether it be him failing to do assignments or him not finishing his food, he was always punished. You saw him squatting in the corner of the room, mumbling to himself while you played with your toy. It was your new obsession. It rattled. It twisted. It was soft. It kept you company. Weeks passed. You, indoors. Toy in your hand. Boy in the corner. Sometimes mumbling. Sometimes he talked to you. Indoors was safe. That, you understood.

An unfortunate incident, the same boy in trouble again walked past you just as an adult walked into the room. Eyes wide, you sat in a daze with your tiny legs stretched in front of you. You looked as if you had forgotten something. With nothing to do on your spot on the rug, you stared at the boy walking to his time-out spot and then at the adult.

The worker kindly called your name. Where is your toy?

What toy, you replied. There were so many toys that you didn’t know which one the worker was referring to. Trying to decipher the ambiguous question overwhelmed your tiny brain and made your head hurt. Which one, you asked again.

Adults were always weird. They asked vaguely phrased questions and changed directions when were asked to reiterate or further explain their intentions. Instead of describing the toy for you, the worker decided to target the boy because he saw him walking past you when he entered the classroom. Illogical as it was, a new suspect had arisen in the worker’s mind. And to the worker, his mind was absolute.

You couldn’t do anything to help the screaming match that ensued. The boy shrieked until his voice became raspy, crying about how he didn’t steal anything. He looked at you with his helpless eyes, puffy eyes, pleading for you to side with him. He didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t like you didn’t help. You stated that you did not know of such a toy. Collusion. Turning good kids bad. Overthinking in the name of good standing with the directors of the preschool.

The preschool prided itself in implementing strict and good morals in its students. You don’t remember liking the place very much.

On report cards, there was always a section for the teachers and workers to write extra notes. "Good kid" was what was written in the section on the card sent home in an envelope. "Doesn’t cry."

If love erases, then societal expectations belittle human emotions. But what did you know? You didn't remember anything that came after the incident, just bits and pieces. You were only three.

FOUR. CANDIED ORANGES

She loved eating these, my grandma. It broke her heart when she couldn’t chew through these when she got her dentures. Sometimes she would forget that she couldn’t eat these anymore and would spend an entire day making a batch. Taking her time to text and tell us that she accidentally made some, she urged us to go and pick it up after class. While they were fresh, she said. I'm not sure if it was forgetfulness or the fact that she missed us that she would end up spending hours candying orange slices. I was living hours away for school, and she was too old to send them over by parcel. I wish I made more time for her.

SEUNGKWAN

“For a person who says that he hates oranges, you sure put a lot of care into them.”

Unable to see the person talking to him from his squatting position in the middle of the orange orchard, Seungkwan takes off his sun hat and lets it drop against his back with its drawcord secured around his neck. Shadow cast by the sun to the side of him, Seungkwan’s eyes follow the shadow towards its person and draw his eyes upon an old man's familiar figure.

“Uncle Hsieh!” Seungkwan exclaims happily upon recognition. He puts his hands on his knees and immediately hoists himself up to greet the elder while eyeing the man’s foldable personal shopping dolly almost filled to the brim with oranges. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Are you picking oranges for your kids?”

The old man immediately crinkles his face and slaps Seungkwan’s shoulder while shaking his head. “You know my kids never have time for me anymore. They took my grandkids on a vacation and wouldn’t let me come with them,” he tsks through his front teeth.

“No.” Seungkwan’s response sounds exasperated. He remembers the Hsiehs to be annual visitors of the farm.

“Right? They said that they’re worried my partner and I are too old to travel. But look at us-” He gestures to his dolly and someone in the distance. “If we’re healthy enough to come to your farm to pick oranges every winter, then why can’t we vacation in a nice hotel?”

Seungkwan quickly waves at another visitor passing by before turning to the man. He doesn’t know what to say in response and only hopes that everything turns out fine for the man because friendly banter would only cause him to bring up the fact that his grandparents are currently vacationing with his family. Not wanting to accidentally offend the nice man, he quickly diverts the conversation with a suggestion. “Chill off in our café before you go, yeah? I don’t want to have you ending up in a hospital because of heatstroke.”

“Maybe that’s the only way that I’ll get my family to visit.” The old man smiles, but Seungkwan can clearly see through the man's humor used as a pretense for his longing and sadness regarding his family. This interaction leaves Seungkwan wondering how his family is doing while he waves the old man goodbye.

This summer, for Seungkwan, is a montage of bliss between new and old moments shared with friends and the constant reminder of how loved his grandparents are by the community. As Seungkwan’s friends slowly move into this farmhouse for the summer, business at the farm proceeds as usual. So he runs the farm and café like how he has been trained to do it his entire life — picking oranges, shipping oranges to local grocers, running the café, making drinks, greeting customers, bookkeeping… He doesn’t complain about the fact that his family left the farm to him for the summer to go on a proper vacation. Bliss to him, then, is encapsulated by moments shared with new and old friends. Moments that make him forget, even just for a minute that the possibility of a predetermined and unwavering future are what make unbearable humidity and sweltering solar heat fundamental parts of a summer away from the bustling city life he’s grown accustomed to.

“Growing accustomed to,” this phrase when taken into another context, however, means something entirely different from Seungkwan. From his pile of oranges, he stacks into a wooden crate to load onto the wagon attachment for his ATV. Seungkwan looks specifically in the direction of the farm entrance where a group of people are working. He spots you sitting with Yunling under the navy blue canopy, chatting away and probably taking a break while persons three and four man the cash register. It’s been a few days since you arrived, but Seungkwan can’t help but want to look out for you as he used to when the two of you were in school together. And he catches himself, as he is doing now, and reminds himself that he doesn’t need to look out for you like how he used to do. That isn’t to say that his friends are bad people, but maybe the only lost puppy he has in his life right now is probably the literal one who is currently on vacation with his family.

Granted, he didn’t expect you to immediately open up to his friends over a couple of hard seltzers by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the sunroom on the first day you arrived. Sitting in the middle of strangers and a few familiar faces, you looked comfortable in your spot on the beige cushions of the rattan sofa.

“I have this condition where everything and everybody I love disappears…” Seungkwan remembers you saying with a soft voice. Your eyes dropped to stare at the open can of hard seltzer you hold in your hands. It was a topic about your life that you often chose to keep hidden, so it felt like a revolutionary turn hearing you address it so openly. “It sounds unbelievable doesn’t it? I had people tell me that it’s a common occurrence to lose what you love, but it’s literally as if that person or object completely vanishes from my life and memory.”

The room was silent after you finished speaking. Nobody raised their drink to their lips, and nobody moved so much an inch. Seungkwan thought that that was it, that everything was bound to fall to ruins. But Soonyoung’s simple yet loud hum of ponderance was enough to break the quietness.

“I think,” Soonyoung slurred, immediately redirecting the group’s attention to him. Minghao, who saw his friend’s tipsy state, reached over to gently pluck the drink from the older friend’s hand to set it on the coffee table in front of them. “I think anything is possible in this world, including magic. I mean look at Alex.” Soonyoung sat up straight and pointed at Alex, who sat across from him, and proceeded to laugh out loud while talking, “Out of everybody around us, he’s the one in a relationship, and you would be lying if you believed he was able to achieve it without witchcraft.”

So, maybe it is in Seungkwan’s nature to worry about those around him. Such nosiness for even the most picayune of problems and people, Seungkwan’s habit of worrying for and about others doesn’t even have an origin story. It just happens because he is who he is.

Dropping the ATV off near the entrance to the orchard, Seungkwan jingles and twirls the keys in his left hand while directing his seasonal workers where the crates should be stored for the night shipment to local grocers. Without noticing how hard he twirls the keys around his pointer finger, the small chain of keys flies off his finger and onto the ground a few feet ahead of him. It lands on a soft patch of dirt, light-colored dust covering surfaces that gleamed with a metallic sheen just a few seconds ago. Someone picks up the pair of keys before Seungkwan has the chance to react in the same way and lightly tosses the keys back to their owner.

Yoon Jeonghan, with his jet-black hair he spent months growing out that finally touches his shoulders, takes long strides towards his friend while reaching into his pant pocket for his phone, a long stream of complaints already trailing out of his mouth.

“I looked everywhere for you,” Jeonghan complains to Seungkwan while Seungkwan finds himself rolling his eyes. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone? We’ve been calling and texting you, but you wouldn’t reply.”

“I left it somewhere. Can’t remember where I put it,” Seungkwan sighs while wiping the dust off his keys with the hem of his shirt. “When did you arrive?”

“Like half an hour ago.” Jeonghan adjusts his light blue baseball cap to better shield his eyes from the sun. He clicks open his lock screen to double-check the text he received from his driver. “Seokmin’s napping in our room. He’ll come out later.”

“Oh no, was the drive bad? When did you guys leave?”

“Nah, the drive wasn’t bad. He’s just hungover,” he replies nonchalantly while shoving his phone back into his pocket. The dark-haired man quickly looks around the familiar farm and rocks on the heels of his feet. “Busy, huh?” He observes.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees. There is a glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes when he cocks his head toward the ATV he parked not so long ago. “But the new investments help.”

“Bro I can’t imagine how cool your grandparents must look while riding the ATVs.”

“5 miles an hour.” Seungkwan gestures to the number five with his hand and drops it after. “Speed demons.”

“Still cool.” Jeonghan nods while looking around his periphery again.

It’s clear to Seungkwan that Jeonghan, who had spent a remarkable amount of time on this farm over the past few years, isn’t looking around to people-watch or check out the farm's new and expensive additions. Jeonghan has been around long enough that even Seungkwan’s grandparents consider him one of their grandsons. No, Seungkwan knows that while Jeonghan is trying to play it off as if he’s only checking out and reminiscing in his surroundings, what he is looking for is not it, but rather, a who.

When Yoon Jeonghan, who is usually not the type of person to be silent or stay still for long periods, freezes in his spot like a deer in headlights, Seungkwan knows better than to follow his friend’s line of vision to see who exactly it was who caught his eye. Instead, Seungkwan looks toward the blue canopy near the entrance and notices two people missing from their posts.

Out of nowhere, Seungkwan feels someone behind him throw their entire weight onto his shoulders. The force of the sudden weight on top of Seungkwan knocks Seungkwan’s sunhat from his head forward and onto the ground and causes him to lose his balance, but he grabs onto Jeonghan's unwavering and sturdy shoulder to steady himself.

“Seungkwan,” Yunling sings in a sing-song voice. Her bleached blonde hair falls and covers half of Seungkwan’s face as she reaches her arm over his shoulder to wave a familiar object in front of him. “You forgot your phone.”

“Get off me. It’s hot,” Seungkwan groans while bending his knees so she can safely hop off his back. She hands him his phone, which he thanks her for. In the meantime, another person picks the sunhat from the floor and tucks a thick booklet underneath their aim pit to brush the dust off the hat before handing it back to its owner. And Seungkwan finds himself, yet again, thanking another person for handing him an item he dropped.

Seungkwan sees you bring the accounting booklet to the front of your chest while Yunling leans her elbow on your shoulder. It looks like you are about to say something to him, but someone interrupts your question.

“Yn.” Jeonghan manages to push through his state of shock, yet your name rolls off the tip of his tongue as if he spent his entire life dedicated to saying the name he just said.

It feels familiar because it is.

FIVE. ORANGE SALAD

Orange peel sliced away to form a hexagonal-shaped fruit, lean the fruit on its long side against the cutting board to slice thin hexagons. If what you hold in your hand is too dull, then you risk losing more than what there is to the recipe. Dullness slices the fruit just as sharpness does, but you risk bruising the delicate meat and creating soft pockets of mush while the juice escapes and drips onto the cutting board. There are times when it’s better to do things quickly and all at once or you will risk losing the beauty in your creation. Simple orange slices in a refreshing salad, sometimes it’s better to not try too hard. You did your best. And that’s enough for me.

The more you shifted on your plastic desk chair, the more static electricity you created, causing your arm hairs to stand up straight every time your arm brushed against the back of your chair. But you couldn’t help yourself — the singular high school desk chairs always felt confining to sit in, and this situation felt even more like a prison because you were attending your scheduled parent-teacher conference without any guardians present. The empty classroom was quiet with just your homeroom teacher and you present. Only your cell phone, which sat on the teacher's desk in front of you, rang loudly through its speakerphone option as the two of you waited for your guardians to pick up the call.

The space between your legs and the front of the teacher’s desk was minuscule, to say the least, so you could only stretch your legs to relieve some physical tension in your body toward the side of your desk. She readjusted her dark purple tortoiseshell rectangular-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose as she stared at your phone and then back at you as if doing so could create a telepathic communication with your aunt and uncle on the other side of the world. All that did was confirm that she was very disappointed in the current affairs of your home life.

Clearly annoyed, she pressed the red “End Call” button before the phone could go to voicemail and slid your phone toward you. You leaned forward and gingerly took the phone from the desk and set it in front of you, still feeling the lingering warmth of the screen on the tips of your fingers even after your fingers left the phone. It wasn’t like you were in trouble, but the guilty feeling you felt at that moment burned and churned in your stomach and left you feeling nauseous.

The teacher let out a breathy sigh, grabbed your manila folder from the stack of student folders to the side of her, and opened it to the first page. She tapped her chipped manicured finger on your information that you could not see from where you were sitting and looked at you. Her expression softened as she looked at your body language. She wasn’t mad at you. She knew you didn’t do anything wrong.

“There are a few things that we have to understand as things that are out of our grasp. And today is such an instance in which we have to recognize that fact. Your parents…” she trailed, as if unsure if she should bring up the topic of your parents.

“My aunt and uncle,” you promptly corrected her. “They work overseas on ships so it’s hard to contact them when they’re too far out. I live alone most of the time. But I do have someone who comes in and helps around the house so I guess I’m not really alone.”

“Right.” She nodded. “My mistake, but you didn’t need to tell me that much.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no.” She shook her head and breathed out through her teeth, feeling a tiny unsettled by your current situation at home and in the present. “Um, I think you’re a good student. Actually, an outstanding student given your grades and extracurriculars. But you’re a Junior now, and I really think you should start thinking about your future.” She tried to end her sentence with a polite smile, but you knew that there was still an air of uncomfortableness present.

If you were being truthful to yourself, you would admit that you never really took the time to think about your future as the prospect of a future for someone like you, more often than not, seemed like a myth than a reality. And the idea of going to school for something you didn’t love and then finding a job in the workforce for something you didn’t love felt like a torturous future you weren’t willing to partake in.

Sixteen-year-olds your age, you knew for a fact, didn’t have to worry about their future as you did with yours. Theoretically, our futures would be dictated in the direction of the things we saw ourselves loving doing even if it meant changing directions once in a while. Yours would be too, although the direction of change would be dictated through an erasure. What you love will always become what you lost. Maybe there was one thing that you could relate to others your age: it was the feeling of not knowing what your future would be like. And what would become of your future if you somehow fell in love with yourself? Would you lose the idea of yourself or would you simply perish?

“…career workshop next week. Do you have anybody to pick you up?” Your teacher asked while handing you your manilla folder containing your progress report.

“I’m taking the bus home,” you replied, feeling sheepish that you completely zoned out after she started talking about your future. You hoped you didn’t miss anything important.

“Okay. Well, stay safe.” She nodded while craning her upper body over her desk to see you put your folder in your backpack. “And I know you’re a bit forgetful at times, so I’ve attached the workshop flyer in your folder so you won’t forget about it. I’ll also remind you in class.”

SIX. CITRUS SALMON

I wonder if I am wasting away my life. We wish our elders to live long and grow old, but…I dunno. Citrus salmon baked at a steady heat for a quarter of an hour, I wonder how much of my time I’ve wasted waiting for it to bake to perfection, waiting for something to happen to me. Maybe this is why I nag so much to the point that even I know I’m starting to become such a nuisance to those around me. The pressure to do something worthwhile and not let anything precious go to waste, why must we try so hard all of the time? If I spent all my fifteen minutes lying on the couch while staring at the ceiling, not even thinking about my salmon baking, just simply zoning out until I’m stopped by my timer, am I wasting my time? Whatever I do in those fifteen minutes, I would still end up with flaky citrus salmon, right? Right?

SEUNGKWAN

Boo Seungkwan drags you by your elbow toward the front of the café, dodging patrons sitting on beautiful glossy white barstools with orange wood-stained surfaces and looping around farm product displays.

“There’s nowhere for me to sit.” He hears you complain in his ear. He knows it’s a bit embarrassing for you to be dragged around like a toddler in front of people you don’t know, but he’s on a mission. “I’ll honestly be more comfortable hanging out in the back until my break is over.”

The two of you appear in front of a man sitting alone in the corner of the café who stares through the large windows beside him at nothing in particular. It’s one of the only spots in the café with cushioned seating and low coffee tables positioned with the intent to allow groups of friends to sit and chat together while enjoying the scenery. But it seems as if the man is too occupied with his thoughts to notice incoming groups of customers eyeing his spot. Thick groomed eyebrows that contrast and provide a balance to his softer facial features and with an irresistible boyish charm to him, the man sits with his back against the loveseat to better support the sleeping baby in his arms. Despite his well-kept appearance, small stains on his knit beige tee, dark circles under his eyes, and the fact that his lunch on the table in front of him remains untouched but his coffee gone, is a clear tell that the sleeping child is his daughter.

Leaning towards you, Seungkwan brings a hand to the side of his face to purposely create a wall between the man and him and whispers rather loudly to you, “This is Seungcheol. He’s living in the café.”

“Bro.” The man named Seungcheol looks at his friend with a rather unenthusiastic expression. His voice is raspy as a result of not speaking all day. “You’re making it seem like you’re describing some random weirdo living in your café. And I’m only living in the rooms in the back of the café because the main house is too noisy.” He turns his head toward you as if to defend himself in front of a judge, “I have a house and a well-paying job you know. It’s enough to support two daughters.” His rebuttal is said with an obligatory huff, as if it was part of a spiel he’s said more than a hundred times, yet there is a twinge of sorrow in his tone that is entirely intertwined with his cheekiness. It’s a feeling and a state of being that Seungkwan knows that Seungcheol can never truly escape.

“One of his daughters is a dog,” Seungkwan quickly quips in an attempt to lighten the mood to avoid a sense of awkwardness between the three of you before the two are introduced to each other.

“Still a daughter.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes and nods at the empty space in front of him, jutting his chin slightly upwards in place of his occupied hands. “Sit.”

Seungkwan also nods at you, indicating that it’s fine for you to sit. Dragging you toward a random man and his daughter in the corner of the café has its place in Seungkwan’s grand scheme for you to get rid of his oranges, but he thinks the interaction with Seungcheol could prove worthwhile for all of you — including Seungcheol. So he takes it upon himself to sit next to his older friend, quietly stretching his arms outwards so the father could pass him his sleeping daughter. And if all of the cards are played right, Seungkwan thinks he could be killing two birds with one stone.

Gladly handing his daughter over to his friend, Choi Seungcheol mumbles a quiet note of gratitude before he sits up straight and rolls his shoulder backward to stretch his back. He leans forward in his seat and comfortably rests his elbows on his knees before grabbing the untouched fork next to his salmon salad. Seungkwan watches him dig his metal fork into the roasted salmon and take a hearty bite to enjoy the marinated citrus flavor of the salmon by itself before raking the metal prongs through the meat to shred it to pieces just as Seungkwan’s grandparents had taught Seungcheol to do so before they went on vacation.

June is when Seungkwan’s friends all arrive at the farm for a summer away from the city; January is when Seungcheol arrived at the farm, two people’s lives packed up in a couple of suitcases and cardboard boxes for time away from the city to heal and escape. The café, originally a guesthouse, returned to serve its original purpose by housing Seungcheol and his daughter for a little over half a year, and Seungkwan knows very well that he doesn’t have the heart to tell his friend that he should’ve moved out months ago. So Seungkwan sits in the once sought-after spot in the café with a sleeping baby in his arms, watching the newly single father scarf down his salad like it’s his last meal. Looking at the infant, her dark-colored eyebrows and the pout that resembles her father’s all too well, stress stores itself in the pit of his stomach, finding company with the sympathetic grief he shared with the heartbroken Seungcheol who once couldn’t so much bring himself to pick up the pen to sign his divorce papers.

Falling in love is easy, but falling out of love and learning how to become whole again is a process that can shatter one’s soul and make one doubt whether or not love in any shape and form is an achievable future feat. For some people, a lifetime is not long enough to contain and overcome love’s defeat. And for those devastated by love, the process of falling in love would never be the same as it once was.

“How long have you had her for?” Seungkwan hears you ask him, your voice clear and without apprehension yet only loud enough for those sitting across from you to hear.

The father hesitates for a second, nodding his head while licking his lips clean of vinaigrette before leaning his fork on the edge of his ceramic plate. He sits up with his arms crossed in front of his chest before dropping his arms and folding his hands in his lap. “That’s weird for me to hear because usually people ask me how old she is, but you seem to measure time differently,” he replies and unfolds his hands yet again, this time stacking one over another neatly on his thighs. “Asking me how long I had her for is what I usually hear when it comes to pets or cars. I also get questions about my age when they see me with her.”

Seungkwan scoffs at his friend’s rather thorough reply to a simple question. “Stop lecturing them. You sound like an English professor.”

“Maybe I was one in another life.” Seungcheol smiles meekly. He separates his hands, clutching them in two fists before letting go as if he is struggling with deciding where he wants to place them. “I just celebrated her first birthday earlier this year. Seungkwan’s grandparents let me mark her height against the wall. Got to prop her up against the wall and everything.”

In the brief moment of awkward newly acquainted silence between the two, Seungkwan’s eyes dart between his two friends, registering in his mind the start of a friendship. He sees your soft smile, lips pulled back to reveal the top row of your teeth. And Seungcheol, although a bit embarrassed to be gushing about his daughter, smiles with his head pointed downwards yet his lips pull back to allow his dimples to finally show after being hidden for so long.

“Oh.” You laugh, clapping your hands together, suddenly remembering a story. “I remember Seungkwan showing me the spot in the hallway. She’s taller than Seungkwan was at this age, right?”

“Literally one of the best moments of my life,” Seungcheol adds without hesitation, slapping both of his palms against his knees to further solidify his statement.

Mouth hanging open, Seungkwan glares at the two, somehow finding himself regretting introducing you to each other. But before he can verbally retaliate, a cream-colored sleeve blocks Seungkwan’s view. Yoon Jeonghan, in his textured button-up shirt, quietly retrieves Seungcheol’s empty cup to place on his small serving cart. And he takes the damp towel hanging from his apron and wipes the empty space on the table in front of you before he slings the towel back on his shoulder after he finishes. The three of you have no choice but to pause your conversation to watch the worker as he slowly turns away again to grab something from the top of his cart, a slice of orange cake nobody ordered, to place it in the empty space that he wiped. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything to the three of you nor does he try to make eye contact, but Seungkwan observes how he places the plate of dessert in front of you as if he is handling something as delicate as his first love.

Shifting his observation focus, Seungkwan sees how you stare at him with a look of bewilderment and something unreadable even as Jeonghan reaches into his apron to protrude a set of utensils for you to use. A chorus of welcomes causes Jeonghan to pause what he is doing, shoot straight up, and join in welcoming the customer. Jeonghan seems to recognize the man who walked in and waves at him, letting him know that he’ll clear a table for him as soon as possible. And he takes the opportunity to set the utensils next to the plate he placed and quickly rolls his cart away, avoiding confrontation.

“Asshole,” Seungcheol mutters while leaning forward to pick up his fork. “He could’ve asked if I wanted a refill. I’m literally one of his closest friends yet he chooses to take my cup away just to spite me.”

Seungkwan looks down at the sleeping baby he is holding to make sure she is still sleeping. When he sees that she’s still asleep, he puts extra caution in covering her ears not because the café is loud, but because her dad has a potty mouth.

“But you know-” Seungcheol attempts to speak while chewing. The action is a little harder than he expected, so he swallows before continuing. “Jeonghan. He’s not the same as he once was. I’m sorry for admitting this, but I know about you only because I found out through Jeonghan back then. And believe me when I say this- Wait, no… actually, Seungkwan can vouch for me. But I was honestly super against what he did. We actually lectured him at that time. But who am I to lecture someone about love? I haven’t even hit my thirties and I’m already divorced.”

He slumps back into his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stays like that for a second before letting go of his nose, and he folds his hands in his lap while staring out the window. His right leg shakes, sending little tremors that vibrate beneath his feet, while his lips purse and shut tightly as if not to let the words on the tip of his tongue come out. Gloom casts over Seungcheol as quickly as mist covers car windows on foggy days. His eyes blink fast.

“It’s hard…isn’t it?” Words come out of Seungkwan’s mouth, but it’s not said to console anybody in particular. He has never experienced loss like you and Seungcheol have. “Finding yourself after love.” It becomes more of a personal question rather than a rhetorical one.

“I feel like I am always on the verge of crumbling inside…” His voice cracks and Seungkwan can feel his heart shatter. “…my entire body is tethered by a thin string of hope I hold onto. Sometimes I cry in the restroom with the fan on so I wouldn’t wake the baby. But looking at the bright side of things is easier said than done.”

Silence fills the space between the three of you, expanding and pushing itself against the invisible bubble that protects your conversation from eavesdroppers. Nobody really knows how to respond to Seungcheol, how they should reply, or if they should console him. Wracking his brain for the correct answer, Seungkwan sits silently while staring between the half-eaten lunch on the table and the man next to him. It seems unbelievable that any form of separation between two people could cause an almost never-ending avalanche of hurt even after the person has healed.

When Seungcheol snaps out of his brief melancholic moment, he feels extremely bashful upon seeing how his friend and new friend look at him with such pity. So he does what every other normal human being does: play it off and play it cool. “You guys honestly don’t have to look at me that way. I’ve accepted the fact that I have to move on. And I’m pretty sure I’m okay now. It’s just scary to take the next step, but-”

“She gave up when it was getting too hard is what Seungcheol was trying to say.” Yes, Seungkwan wants Seungcheol to become better and heal over time, but it angers him so personally that anyone feels forced to hide their pain. Who is healed is healed, but it doesn’t mean that healing has to equate to something painless. “And she took everything she owned except for the child.” Seungkwan finds himself, in the moment, extremely heated so much that he jolts in his seat almost as if he is preparing to launch himself at somebody.

“Because I wanted to look after her. Afterall, I’m the one who wanted her.” Seungcheol glares at his friend while reaching over to take back his stirring child. He clutches her against his chest, his right hand placed over her head as if to shield and protect her from damage. “Leave it to Seungkwan to be mad at things and people you’re not even mad at anymore. But, in all honesty, I think it should be okay to give up when it gets too hard.”

Seungkwan doesn’t catch your conversation with Seungcheol because he finds himself staring at Jeonghan on the other side of the café. He stands at the self-serve bar, refilling glass pitchers and organizing the utensils the customers are supposed to grab themselves. Someone calls for Jeonghan, Morgan probably, and Jeonghan waves him goodbye. A customer comes up to Jeonghan, a nice-looking lady whose skin looks severely sunburned. Standing straighter than usual, he looks around the café before locating whatever it was that she needed him to find. He sends her off with a smile that quickly fades after she leaves his vicinity. The worker continues to survey the rest of the café, probably people watching while he grabs the emptied pitchers in his left hand. His eyes land on Seungkwan’s, and he tilts his head to the right as if to ask Seungkwan “what’s up?” Seungkwan thinks about Seungcheol’s comment about his empty cup and quickly cups his left hand, tilting it toward his mouth. Fully expecting Jeonghan to shake his head no, Jeonghan defies all odds and nods at Seungkwan. Albeit, he does motion to his friend that he has to bring the empty pitchers to the kitchen first.

“I don’t know,” you drag while prodding your cake with your fork, eventually taking a small bite. “I feel like it would be awkward, but I am here to find at least some meaning in my life. I’ll do it if you do it.”

“Yeah, and have Soonyoung and Seokmin use my baby as an entry ticket so they could spend hours at the children’s arcade because they would be getting their money’s worth because the games are technically for kids? Do you honestly think I would let them near her just so I could go hiking with you guys?”

“Yes?” you reply with your mouth full. A smidge of cream decorates the corner of your mouth, which you wipe away with the back of your hand. “I mean we haven’t really talked since we both arrived, but Yunling says she’ll shove him off a cliff or something if anything bad happens. Or at least join us for our morning jogs.”

Seungkwan snorts when the image of Yunling shoving Jeonghan off a hiking trail appears in his mind. He looks at Jeonghan cautiously approaching the three of you again, this time with a glass pitcher and three cups in his hand.

“…that people change over time, and they change even more after they’ve been given time to grow on their own.” Seungcheol looks at his friend who carefully pours water into the glasses and smirks at him. “Preferences change so in the future you might fall in love with what you gave up in the past. Isn’t that right, Jeonghan?”

SEVEN. SUZETTE SAUCE

When I talk to my mom, sometimes she would bring up stories about my childhood that even I don’t remember, stories I can’t fathom I once did. It would seem as if she were describing somebody completely different from me, like a different person. Time moves linearly as do our lives, but it’s nice to know that there are others out there who stop to remember who we once were even when we can’t. So what I’m saying is that there are more people who care about you than you think. Even when you’re gone, even when you’ve lost yourself, to many of us, you would never be gone…Speaking of gone. This sauce, add some to your crepes before the others come use it all. I’m too lazy to make another batch.

“So you’re giving me your number so I can text you whenever I have the urge to launch myself at someone? What if I get my phone confiscated? What if I text you and then get the urge again and then end up launching myself at somebody just because you didn’t reply to my text in time? Even I don’t think that’s a very good plan, but I’ll exchange phone numbers with you.” The boy pursed his lips and uncrossed his legs, defeated by his assigned peer leader. It wasn’t like he wanted to be in a “safe” room set aside by the guidance counselors where students could talk through whatever it was that they were going through with their peer leaders. Yet here Boo Seungkwan was, sinking deeper into the giant bean bag seat that he hoped would swallow him whole before his parents found out how he “threatened” to lunge at a kid in another class.

Sighing, you shut your spiral notebook and tucked your pen in between the metal spirals. Seungkwan was right, offering him your phone number as a form of life alert wasn’t the best plan of action. But it wasn’t like you had a lot of practical peer leader practice, to begin with. With no peer leaders available to help another student, the guidance counselors could only turn to you as their last resort — the last pick of the bunch.

“Complicated” was what you would use to describe the student in front of you. You’ve seen him in passing and at the schoolwide activities where he would lead the student body in several activities like it was his calling. He was popular and well-liked, to say the least, always kind yet with a temper unmatched like no other. Perhaps it was Seungkwan’s humor or exaggerated movements which sometimes landed him in trouble. Honestly, he never meant any harm. So maybe this was why the guidance counselors thought you were the perfect peer leader for Seungkwan: because he was complicated but not too much to become a complication.

“Well, enough about me.” Seungkwan struggled to adjust his bean bag between words so he could adjust himself in a way that would allow him to sit up straight. “What about you? I’ve seen you around but I didn’t know you were a peer leader. How much experience do you have?”

“Not a lot,” you found yourself admitting. Whether it be Seungkwan’s friendliness or the “nothing goes outside of this room” rule set by the Peer Leaders Program, you decided that you had nothing to lose in confessing to your lack of experience. “My grade keeps fluctuating in my literature class and I’m pretty sure my literature teacher things I’m a pathological liar so I’m always on the verge of getting kicked out of this program…hence, my not being able to take anybody under my wing until you.”

“So I’m basically your saving grace.” He nodded while smoothing out his navy khaki pants.

“I guess,” you grumbled. It wasn’t like you were failing tests and lying to your teacher on purpose. And it wasn’t like your truth would ever be accepted as truth. Because to the adults in the high school, you were as truthful as the boy who cried wolf.

“Well.” He shot up from his bean bag and walked over to the wooden square table to sit with you. Crossing his arms on the table he continued, “I think it’s dumb that your grades play a huge factor in determining whether or not you can be a peer leader. There has to be more to it than grades. What about you? Aren’t you in the class above mine? Why is it that your grades determine your worth in this program?”

Only having had your first proper conversation with him today, you felt a twinge of surprise that someone as social and hot-headed as Boo Seungkwan would be mad at you. Like the Vertigo effect was used in films, you felt trapped under the fiery stare of Boo Seungkwan while everything else in the room grew in size. From bean bag to wooden table, Seungkwan turned the tables on you. He may not have been a peer leader, but you felt as if he was mad for you, as if Boo Seungkwan was someone you could confide in without being judged. As paradoxical as it seemed, being trapped under Seungkwan’s gaze felt like a freeing opportunity for you to take.

Moments like these, as you understood for people like you, came once in a lifetime. Still, hesitation made your voice quiver, “Promise me you won’t think I’m lying.”

You watched him sit up straighter than before. He shook his head and crossed his fingers in the air. “I promise.”

Throughout the school, the school bell rang to signal the end of class and the start of lunch. You let your eyes wander a bit before they eventually landed back on Seungkwan, who looked more than eager to listen to your story than to pack up his things and rush to lunch. Scratching the corner of your mouth, you began before your heart could find itself stuck inside of your throat, “Whenever I love something, that thing disappears. In literature class, we were reading a book, but I think I accidentally fell in love with the plot and ended up having its existence erased from my memory. So when we were taking the exam, I bombed it because I couldn’t recall ever reading the book and it disappeared from my possession.” You found yourself getting agitated while recalling your most recent incident, “And the thing is, how do I know if I’ve forgotten something if I don’t know what it is that I forgot? So when my teacher met with me, he thought I was purposely being a smartass for trying to tell him that I’ve never heard of the book before even when we’ve clearly spent like two weeks on it.”

Feeling even more frustrated than before, you wanted to be anywhere but near Seungkwan because a large part of you felt as if he was going to start laughing. It wasn’t like you knew how this curse started. And it wasn’t like you could go see a doctor regarding your condition. Everything felt…frustrating.

“So,” he began warily as if he was struggling to find the correct words to say, “does this mean you can forget simple things and also people?”

It was as if you were blasted by a theatrical breeze from a home fragrance commercial. You could see Boo Seungkwan looking at you earnestly, a gaze you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“I guess. But…I don’t know.” It came out more like a sigh.

“Yn, is there someone around you who will remind you of these things?” Seungkwan asked you. “Because it seems like some of these things could be gone for you, but they wouldn’t really be gone.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Sure, those you loved disappeared, but it wasn’t like you didn’t have any friends. You had a regular social life in high school, with friends in every class and friends to have lunch with or hang out with during the weekends. But there was always a particular friend that people would ask you about, the one you could only assume you truly loved. “I had a friend toward the beginning of high school, but I think she moved away? I can’t really remember her at all. But I would like to think that she was there to teach and remind me about those things.” You shrugged. You had no choice but to act nonchalantly towards someone you didn't remember at all.

“Then can I be that friend?” Seungkwan’s eyes looked hopeful. “For you, I mean. I want to be your friend.”

“Aren’t you scared of the fact that I could possibly fall in love with you romantically or as a friend and you would disappear? Do you really not think I’m joking?”

“Not really.” He cocked his head toward the ceiling and tapped his finger on his chin. “If anything, you can fall in love with my family farm so I’m not forced to take over it after I graduate from college.” He tried to joke. You weren’t sure if he was serious or not. Yet he smiled brightly at you and stretched his hand toward you. “Let’s be friends Yn. As long as you stay with me and I stay with you, we’re bound to not get kicked out of school.”

You shook his hand. “Okay. Yeah. Thank you for wanting to be my friend.”

“And thank you for agreeing.” He got up from his seat and pointed at the jar of sweets on the shelf by the door. “Can I take a piece of candy? I can’t believe they’re making us miss lunch for this.”

EIGHT. CRANBERRY ORANGE SCONES

Can you help me pick up a box of the cranberry orange ones? Do you remember if it is “scOWNs” or “scAWNs”? No, I’m not going to make them myself. Have you ever tasted a bad store-bought scone? Me neither.

SEUNGKWAN

Morgan meticulously applies globs of light brown hair dye onto Seungkwan’s hair by covering his roots and then moving on to the rest. Blissful as he can be, Seungkwan tries to take advantage of this brief moment of pure relaxation, even if it means sitting on the same kitchen barstool for a few hours while the rest of his friends are having a pool day. He reaches under his plastic cape to grab the TV remote on the island countertop to turn on the subtitles because it feels wrong to not have them on. It’s a recent spy movie, but he can’t remember if it came out one or two summers ago.

Tonight, the inside of the house is so quiet that Seungkwan can hear everything in his vicinity: the sound of the dye brush scratching against his hair, someone turning off the faucet in the upstairs shower, someone closing a door, muffled shouting from the outdoor pool. The farm and café are now closed to the public, and all of Seungkwan's friends have dispersed for the time being. With some people in the pool and some in the city, Seungkwan thinks it is rather nice that Morgan would rather spend time dying his hair than be in the pool with her boyfriend.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me if your scalp burns or hurts,” Morgan hums while maneuvering pieces of his hair with her gloved fingers, looking for dry patches she missed.

Seungkwan likes Morgan. She’s meticulous in her actions, and her natural flair of confidence allows her to stand out from the crowd. So he was just as shocked as the rest of his friends when Alex showed them her dating profile, saying that she was the one who matched with him and proceeded to schedule a date with him in the span of a few exchanged messages.

Pulling off the plastic gloves from her sweaty hands, Morgan crumples them in her palms before tossing them into the trashcan. From her apron, she produces a shower cap and places it over Seungkwan’s hair, making sure to carefully tuck the plastic against his skin so that it doesn’t cover his ears. She bends over to further inspect Seungkwan’s hairline and wipes off stray streaks of dye before they can tint his skin a different color.

The sliding door to the sunroom opens, and Minghao steps into the living room with the novel he is currently reading tucked under his arm. He takes a seat across from Seungkwan, and looks at the shower cap’s design and squints through his circular-rimmed glasses, “Duckies.” He admires the childish print for a bit before turning to Morgan, “Alex texted me to say that your phone is still by the pool. He’s worried that it would overheat in the sun so he moved it to the tables for you.”

“Go take a break.” Seungkwan turns around to nudge her arm. “You’ve been standing for an hour. I’ll watch the clock for you.”

“Thirty minutes and then you go wash your hair.” Morgan shrugs off her apron and folds it before placing it on the island next to the other hair-dying products. “I’ll style it after you’re done washing it, but make sure you scrub your scalp thoroughly so that the dye doesn’t stain your skin.”

She exits through the back door, and the movie breaks into commercial. It’s an ad for a topical cream, and short clips of people smiling while doing everyday activities play while the narrator lists all of the possible side effects.

“Did you happen to see where Jihoon is?” Minghao asks Seungkwan. “Seungcheol said that he wanted to gym with him today, but he can’t reach him.”

Just then, the front door cracks open with a swing, and the entry alert chime rings to let those in the house know that someone has just entered. Seungkwan couldn’t see who it was, but he could hear sneakers getting kicked off and the familiar sound of a duffle bag’s plastic strap buckles clacking against metal zippers to know who it was. Seungkwan looks at Minghao and cocks his head toward the entrance, and Minghao lazily waves a hand in response as if he’s saying it’s not his problem anymore.

“I think someone’s in the downstairs bathroom. You can shower first.” Seungkwan hears you say, but he can’t catch what Jihoon replies. He assumes that he agrees because he sees his figure quickly pass the living room to make its way upstairs.

Seungkwan listens to your footsteps while you make your way down the hall to the office. Instead of entering the office, he watches you walk toward the kitchen where you approach him and look at the mess on the island and the duckies on his shower cap.

“Oh, you dyed your hair,” you observe.

If Seungkwan didn’t feel hot while Morgan was dying his hair, the warmth that courses from his head to his stomach makes him feel like he’s sitting in a sauna. He knows that he shouldn’t be embarrassed to be sitting in the kitchen looking like a plastic cone, but that’s unfortunately what he feels he looks like. Fortunately enough, it doesn’t seem like you needed an answer as you turn around to go to the fridge where you fill up your water bottle before waving goodbye so you can go to your room. Seungkwan sighs and sulks in his seat, his black plastic cape crinkling in response.

“How many minutes has it been?” he asks Minghao who currently messages someone on his phone.

“Hmm, like five? Six minutes?” He replies without looking up.

God, Seungkwan thinks. Five minutes felt like forever.

A door closes at the end of the hallway, and Seungkwan can hear the sound of someone’s plastic slippers slapping the ground as they walk toward the living room of the house. He sees Jeonghan holding the bathroom laundry basket in his arms as he lightens his footsteps when he walks towards the office. He continues to observe his friend who seems hesitant to approach the door of the office, as if knocking would cause him to burn in hell. Jeonghan sucks in his breath, maneuvers the weight of the laundry basket into his left arm, and pops up his knee to support the weight as he slowly brings up his right arm to knock on your door. But he hesitates before his fist can make contact so he drops his arm and turns around only to meet Seungkwan’s eyes.

Seungkwan cocks an eyebrow. Jeonghan shrugs. Seungkwan cocks his eyebrow again. Jeonghan’s eyes widen and eyebrows scrunch towards the middle as he throws up his hand to let it fall to his side.

“Just knock,” Seungkwan urges him, although with a tone of annoyance. But it is enough to get Jeonghan to knock on your door. Twice. Seungkwan hears you tell the person outside your door to come in, and when he sees Jeonghan finally close the door behind him, he feels as if he has just finished a triathlon.

“Why are you guys looking at their door?”

Seungkwan turns around to stare at Soonyoung, who stands at the far end of the kitchen island, drenched from head to toe. Chlorine water droplets rain down the kitchen floor, creating a mini pool around Soonyoung’s feet. Red goggle indents line the perimeter of Soonyoung’s eyes, evident that he had been swimming for a while. However, his goggles are nowhere in sight.

“Where’s your towel?” Seungkwan asks his friend, his judgmental eyes trailing the one drop of water that rolls from Soonyoung’s chin and onto the previously dry floor.

Soonyoung only shrugs and runs his fingers through his hair, causing more water to fling onto the floor. “I’m on mopping duty so I thought I would rush to shower and then mop afterwards. But why were you guys staring at Yn’s door? What happened?”

“Jeonghan’s inside,” Minghao explains.

For some reason, Soonyoung takes that information as an invitation to sit on the last open island barstool. He puts his elbows on the counter and leans in, “They were exes, right?”

“You’re dripping,” Seungkwan comments with judgement in his voice. “But, yeah. How did you find out?”

“I’m mopping,” Soonyoung retaliates but leans in closer. His eyes squint as he looks at the office door and back at his two friends. He whispers loudly, “Word travels fast. But I heard it’s because Jeonghan got scared or something and dumped Yn when he found out that everything Yn loves disappears.”

Of course, Seungkwan was never going to confirm or deny Soonyoung’s gossip even though it is technically true. Given Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s friendship, Seungkwan would never want to grant Soonyoung the satisfaction of knowing that whatever comes out of his mouth could possibly be true. He also doesn’t think it’s his place to tell anybody that Jeonghan’s been trying to find a way to apologize to Yn for what he did in the past. So he stays quiet, pretending to ignore Soonyoung by looking over his shoulder to get a better look at the television.

Soonyoung opens his mouth again because he is unable to read the room, causing Seungkwan’s bottom lip to twitch. “Hey, do you think Jeonghan wants to get back together with Yn?” Once again, he speaks his stream of consciousness without regard to how bad it is in the open. “Because if not, I might make a move.”

The statement is enough to make Minghao look up from his novel, only to give the man sitting next to him the coldest side eye Seungkwan had ever seen. Seungkwan can only sit in his seat, utterly shocked that such an idea would ever form in Soonyoung’s mind. It’s only been a week since the two met, and Seungkwan was sure that they weren’t that close with each other. So “Go shower” is all Seungkwan can say to his friend. He makes sure to point at the several pools of water Soonyoung has created since he came into the house a few minutes ago.

But before Soonyoung leaves for the bathroom, he points at the television in the background, “Oh, that’s the movie where the agents thought the crystals were bombs but the bombs were supposed to be books right? The one where the main character’s dad was some famous dude who owed a bunch of money to bad guys so the bad guys intercepted the dad’s chandelier delivery because they wanted to plant a bomb in it to frame the dad.”

Minghao nods, clearly not paying to whatever Soonyoung is saying.

“Or was it the second one with the backstory with the good agents having to mess up their mission because they found out that their agency only wanted surveillance on the dad but didn’t want them to stop the bad guys from planting the bomb because they wanted to stay in their own lane or something? So two of them went MIA to fix the situation while the tall one volunteered to stay back and act like the mission went wrong. Oh, remember how the main character found out about the spy she was dating, so she broke up with him and her best friend spent the entire time trying to make his move?”

“Dude.” Seungkwan can feel heat gathering and bunching at the top of his head, and it’s not from the dye’s chemical reaction. “Go shower.”

“I swear Soonyoung is like a psychic or something,” you hum while bringing the rim of the brown glass bottle to your lips. “He did come to apologize and ask if I had any clothes I also needed to wash. A little awkward though.”

Seungkwan watches you tilt the bottle towards the night sky, watches the beer flow into your open mouth, and watches how your throat bobs as the liquid makes its way into your system. Jacuzzi jets blast toward the center, creating several bubbles that pop against your legs, exploding on contact and drenching the underside of the fabric of your knee shorts. You don’t seem to mind though, Seungkwan thinks having to talk to an ex is probably more uncomfortable than getting your shorts wet while you dip your feet in the hot jacuzzi.

“Tell me about your day though.” You reach over to hold a strand of his hair between your fingers. “I can’t believe Morgan was able to do this,” you murmur.

The simple admiration of his hair makes him feel like the world’s most special boy. In his spot on the jacuzzi next to you, underneath the scintillant country sky where the crickets chirp loudly, simply, and carefreely, his happiness comes alive to dance and sing with all of the other nocturnal creatures. He glows as brightly as the moon as he tells you about his day, his hair, and the little things that nobody would care about. A little drunk, you still manage to listen and stop to remind him about how much you love his hair. How pretty it is. How much you appreciate him for looking out for you for so long.

He forgets that he has his own drink in his hand, an aluminum can whose contents are probably more flat than they are carbonated. Suddenly he is a boy again in that same room where he first met you. The feeling is inexplicable, but the feeling is there. The past courses through his present, and his constant sits beside him, thanking him out of nowhere for staying by their side.

He wants to say it was a promise that he made, or that it wasn’t even because of the promise. He looked out for them because that’s what friends do. But Boo Seungkwan is in a place where he is starting to realize that he is stuck in a place between two extremes: friendship and romance. And in this math equation, there is the added Z-axis. Jeonghan. So he scoffs and decides to make a joke out of his internal dilemma, “Me being here this whole time literally means you never really loved me. Even as a friend.”

“What do you mee-an,” you wail. “I do love you. And appreciate you. And love you Kwan.”

He waves his free hand in front of your face. “My hand is clearly here. Why am I not gone?”

You take a sip of your beer while squinting at his hand. “I can’t see your hand because you’re waving it too fast.” You laugh while putting your bottle beside you. “That means it disappeared because I do love you.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes and brings his drink up to his lips. He feels your hands run through his hair, circular soothing motions, and then all at once, purposely ruffling and messing it up. But he lets you. He sees your dopey smile as you continue to play with his colored hair while you remind him, yet again, how much you like it. So he sits and drinks his flat seltzer while his legs prune in the hot tub. And he wonders what it would be like to love you as someone who wants to be more than just friends.

NINE. ORANGE CHICKEN

I had a friend who would eat this every single day in college because it was cheap and because it came with a fortune cookie. Two, if you were lucky. I don’t even know how he was able to eat this every single time we went to the food court. But I remember very clearly how he would hold the fortune cookie in one hand and squeeze until the plastic bag obnoxiously popped. He never cared about how the popping noise would scare the other students in his proximity because all he really cared about was how he could hold both ends of the cookie between his two thumbs and index fingers and break it in half with a clean snap. And he would separate the two ends just enough so that he could read the fortune. He didn’t even eat the cookie. He just wanted to keep the fortune in the back of his phone case. Didn’t care if there were doubles. I remember asking him if it meant anything to him. He said he wouldn’t know until it happens. His bike got stolen on campus, and he ended up throwing away his fortunes.

SEUNGKWAN

Today is quite possibly the second worst day of Seungkwan’s life, the first being the day his parents told him that he was going to inherit the family farm. About fifteen minutes after the clock struck eight at night, Seungkwan's group of friends huddle around the kitchen island. Each person grips a red plastic cup in their hands. Alcohol is the drink of choice tonight, rounds of quick shots before someone is smart enough to phone the cab to come pick them up to take them into the city for a night out. And Seungkwan sits in the middle of the living room couch with his arms crossed over his chest. His navy blue cap hides the top of his head. Tonight, he has no indication of going out. Not when his head is bald.

Shame is what Seungkwan feels. He feels ashamed that his hair disappeared without reaching even two full days since Morgan spent forever dying and styling it. He feels shame because a small part of him is mad at you, but he knows he could never be mad at you because it is not entirely your fault that his hair disappeared. He feels ashamed of himself for allowing himself to feel as if he has been stripped bare and left vulnerable when it is only hair on the top of his hair that he is missing. The only difference between him and you is that you don’t seem to care that your hair has also magically disappeared.

You are sorry. Haircuts, dyes, trends, hair loss, roots, split ends…they all took time to teach you everything there is to know about hair. You have apologized to Seungkwan multiple times since relearning the concept of hair. Although Seungkwan can see you standing with the rest of the group, laughing and pre-gaming for the night out, he sees you make eye contact with him from time to time as if to check up on him. To say you’re sorry. You didn’t mean for it to happen.

What sucks even more, to Seungkwan, is that you’re blessed with a certain kind of confidence that allows you to not care about something as banal as losing your hair. But Seungkwan is the type of person who cares a lot about what other people think of him, and how other people perceive his outward and inward appearance. A soft heart is what he has, one that allows him to feel for others, but also one that can shatter easily. Not having hair feels like a blow to his gut. His ears tinged bright red even in the dimly lit living room, he still doesn’t have the confidence to go out for a night out in town to club with his best friends no matter how much he wanted to do so.

Even Seungcheol is here. Even the man who couldn’t leave the farm for god knows how long is finally willing to go clubbing out of all things. Seungcheol stands near the sink with a giant handle of tequila in his hands, holding it up while a thin silver chain swings from his neck. His daughter is upstairs with Terry, who can’t come out tonight because of cramps. Terry has gotten into trivia lately, so the baby might end up gaining a few more brain cells while the rest of the group loses who knows how much by the end of the night.

Soonyoung stumbles to the couch and crashes into the open space left of Seungkwan. His body hits the cushions with a hard thud, and he lays there for a second before he realizes that his red face is uncomfortably wedged in the crack between the back cushion and the armrest. Seungkwan reluctantly helps him sit upright and offers a shoulder for him to lean on. It looks like there’s another person on the couch who can’t join the rest of the group tonight.

While Soonyoung mumbles incoherencies about getting lit while lying on Seungkwan’s neck, Seungkwan can only look at his lap while wishing he were more like you. And he would be lying if the thought of him also being cursed to forget the things he loved so his baldness wouldn’t affect him as much had also crossed his mind, so he mentally scolds himself for even coming up with that thought. It’s a fucked up thing to cross his mind, and all Seungkwan really needs is someone to validate his emotions and feelings.

“Seungkwan.” You disrupt him from his thoughts and squat in front of him while another person sits on his other side, Yunling. You look up at him with your round eyes and pout, “Are you really not coming out with us tonight?”

Seungkwan finds it hard to reply. He wants to go. He really wants to. But his sudden lack of confidence since he woke up and discovered that he didn’t have any hair made him want to curl up into a ball and hide in this house until all of his hair grew back. And it sucked seeing all of his friends prepare to go out and have fun while he rots away in his thoughts. “I don’t know” is what he sadly replies.

“Look,” Yunling begins, “None of us made fun of you when we saw you panic when you didn’t have hair, right? We don’t care. Hair grows back. And you look amazing with hair and without hair. Right, Soonyoung?”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung raises his left arm before letting it drop against the armrest. “A baddie and a baldie.”

“So you’re going to come with us to the club. You’re going to flash your ID at the bouncer. And you’re going to walk into the club and have a great time,” Yunling lists while patting the top of Seungkwan’s head.

“If you want, we can all stop by and buy colorful wigs before hitting the club together. I know that some of them did their hair, but I doubt they’ll mind putting a wig over it. Confidence doesn’t come back that easily, but at least we can start by being a little silly.” You tap his knees

before pushing yourself up. “If it’s not club appropriate, then we’ll go bar hopping.”

He tries to look up at you though his baseball cap’s visor blocks the upper half of his vision. Palms up, your outstretched hands wait for him to accept their invitation. Truly feeling the presence of his loved ones around him, Seungkwan accepts that he is one of the luckiest people in the world. You might not be the type of person who verbally tells him how much you love him, but he likes to believe that there’s a loophole in your curse, one that allows him to exist even when you love him platonically. So he allows you to heave him upwards from his place on the couch, wondering if you know that he has fallen for you.

TEN. SHAVED ICE

Discomforting sting on the tips of your fingers, you grate the frozen orange against the zester, letting the miniscule pieces of ice fall into the bowl below like snow. It burns and you ask yourself why you wanted to do this again, why this was the treat you wanted to eat on a hot day. Halfway through shaving the frozen fruit, the surfaces hugged by the pads of your fingers slowly melt and turn into mush. Juicy and mushy and orange and leaking, snow continues to fall into a pile until the sting becomes unbearable. The reward isn’t so much of a reward, but a reminder of you impatiently waiting as you watched them do the same thing every time the house was too hot and the fans weren’t enough, grating and zesting frozen fruit. Were there tears in their eyes? Did they run their frozen fingers under the tap? Refreshing treat in your mouth, you wouldn’t know. The ice is melting in your bowl. You still don’t know.

“Hey.”

The masculine voice dragged you out of the conversation with your friends regarding your plans for the weekend. It caused you to turn your head to the left, only to see a familiar-looking student your age who sported a large wrinkled tee and a prominent mole on his cheek. Choppy and short black hair and those prominent eye bags that matched your own, the student looked too handsome to be the kind to approach you.

“You’re in my history class with Dr. Edelman, right? 7:45 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays? I’m Jeonghan,” he introduced himself.

It was about halfway through the semester, and you knew you were always barely awake in the class to even notice the other students in the class. It wasn’t a very large class — the only people who were willing to sign up for a 7:45 a.m. class were the people who needed the class to graduate or people who couldn’t sign up for the same class at a different time. You were the latter. To be honest, you didn’t even bother to get to know anybody during the class, nevertheless hung out with them after class, so you didn’t know why Jeonghan would make the effort to introduce himself to you while you were having dinner with friends at a small restaurant in another city.

“What’s your name?” He pushed. Did he push? You didn’t know. This was the first time somebody approached you outside of class like he did. The situation was awkward yet a little bit exciting. You were only nineteen and waiting for the day somebody approached you the same way Jeonghan just did.

Yunling, whose elbow was sharp as the edge of a table, elbowed you on the side of your ribs. Digging her elbow into your side, she urged you to reply to the guy who approached you.

“Ow- Oh. Hi, I’m Yn,” you replied while you shoved your friend away from your side.

There was an amused smile on his face in reaction to Yunling and you, the kind where his lips were stretched wide into a smile, and his mouth hung open just a little so that his teeth didn't touch.

A soft chuckle emitted from that awkward smile, but you thought he didn’t necessarily find it awkward or off-putting. It was the kind of reaction that you would give to a stranger or an acquaintance — truly interested and amused but not close enough to emit a real reaction.

Knowing very well that all of your friends had their attention turned to your conversation with Jeonghan, you felt the littlest bit of embarrassment to be in the spotlight. However, this moment is what you wanted for the longest time. To have a stranger approach you in the middle of a conversation, not even a meet-cute, but to be seen by others after being unseen for nineteen years is all that you wanted. So, with the pride that swelled in your chest, you decided to make small talk with the guy standing at the end of your booth in the middle of the restaurant.

“Did you come with anybody?” you asked while holding eye contact with him.

“Yeah.” His response was smooth. He turned his body and quickly pointed at his group of friends crowded around the several menus on their table. “I think I should go back before they order something for me that I don’t want. But it was nice talking to you.” He shoved his thumbs into his jeans pockets and flashed another smile.

“It was nice talking to you too.” You glowed. You felt like you were glowing as bright as a glowstick in a dark room. Was it possible for a person like you to glow? Were you feeling what people were talking about when they looked at another person after a good experience and described it as a glow?

“I have to go. But I’ll save a seat for you. One of the guys at my table is also in my class. He won’t bite. I also won’t…” You noticed that the tips of his ears began to pink in color when he noticed that he was trailing in his speech as if he noticed that he was rambling. “Okay. Bye,” he basically fired out of his mouth before he rushed back to his table.

It was quiet between the four of you, all of you trying to process what just happened. Still, you couldn’t help but squeal with your friends, giggling while your friends dramatically reenacted what happened and then shushing them when it got too loud. You felt like you were on cloud nine. You didn’t know where the expression came from, so you felt as if you passed cloud nine and were simply floating higher and higher. Each time you snuck a glance at him over your friend’s shoulder, you found him looking back at you with a polite smile on his face.

Did he purposely sit in a seat facing you so he could also sneak glances at you? What were his intentions? Was he just being nice? You didn’t know. All you knew was that he waved you goodbye when you left with your friends, and it made you trip on your way out.

ELEVEN. ORANGE CREAMSICLE

Huh? No. I’m not judging you for eating the shell before eating the ice cream part…No, I’m not being sarcastic right now. But aren’t you scared that by the time you’re done with the shell, the inner ice cream portion would start to melt? It just feels like once you deconstructed it by eating it in layers you’re basically eating an orange popsicle and vanilla ice cream instead of eating a creamsicle. Or maybe I’m too traditional of a person that I find myself judging a person for doing something as banal as eating a creamsicle like that. Been taught that rules were always created for a reason. Huh? Okay you got me. Of course I’m judging you. Who eats a creamsicle like that? I don’t care about your teeth. Eat it together. Please, I’m begging you. Or at least turn away so I don’t have to see that atrocity.

SEUNGKWAN

Sunless is the sky today. Hot and stuffy air and the rising humidity make the fabric of a tee stick to sweaty backs. When it’s been unbearably hot these past few days, it’s hard to imagine that there is no sun in the sky today despite the blistering heat. Pedestal clouds in the sky hang so low that they almost hug the farmland underneath them. The blue underneath the clouds cast the sunroom in a hazy cobalt filter. Indoor lights have been switched on since eleven in the morning. It seldom rains in early June. Today is an exception.

The familiar loud ping of Terry’s cell phone trivia game rings for a second before it is shrouded by the rolling thunder. After days of hearing pings and buzzes, the rest of the summer group couldn’t help but find themselves drifting toward Terry whenever they started playing a new round. Cash was at stake, but there were thousands of people to beat.

Like a new divorcee in divorce fiction, Seungkwan stands on his front porch with a warm cup of citron tea in his hands while his robe stays securely wrapped around his frame. Mist from the pouring rain hits his skin and makes him feel even more sticky than usual, but he’s too worried about those who haven’t made it home to worry about himself.

Chewing through the hard yuja rinds that made it into his mouth after he sipped tea, he watches the collected water on the roof pour down on the gravel below like a constant waterfall. The rate at which the rain pours down in the distance makes each individual droplet invisible to the human eye. The falling rain looks like the grain on old television screens so much that the thundering sky feels more alive than the rain it accompanies. The rind is hard to swallow.

Two muddled blobs in the distance close in on the house and become even more clear to Seungkwan with each passing second. To Seungkwan, there is something very interesting to him about how people tend to cover themselves with anything they have when they’re in the rain even if they’re soaked. Finally, back from your daily run, Yunling and you run with your hands covering your faces despite the two of you fully drenched. And Seungkwan is ready to call the two of you inside the house when he sees the two of you pause in front of the porch. Walking toward the two of you to get a better understanding as to why the two of you suddenly stopped, he feels a sense of relief when he sees the scene in front of him.

Like two characters in a brief montage in a movie, Seungkwan’s two friends laugh as they let their arms fall to their sides as if giving up in their fight against the rain. Instead, they allow the water to fall onto their skin without worry as they live life in slow motion. What a wonder it is to be able to let go without worry. And what a treat it is to be able to play outdoors to appease and amuse the child in us. Seungkwan feels a twinge of jealousy, jealous that he could never allow himself to let go like the two of you, jealous that he’s the one standing in the comfort of the shade.

Yunling is the first to notice him standing on the porch, and she stops to wave at him, beckoning him to join. “Come in the rain,” she yells over the pouring rain. “It feels nice.”

Seungkwan walks over to the porch fence and places his mug on the flat railing, careful not to touch the chipped railing because of its bothersome texture. He’s trying not to mind it so much, but the wet and sticky mist created from the rain splashing against the ground clings onto his skin uncomfortably like a second skin.

“Seungkwan, have you ever played in the rain before?” Yunling yells at him, her hands cupped around her mouth to create a megaphone shape. The rain slicks her long hair so much that it makes her ponytail look flat. Even her sport-wick running top looks glossy when saturated by water. Still, she lets the rain pellet and massage her skin.

He has to think about the answer to her simple question. Yet the circumstances turn it into a rather complex question. When was the last time he played in the rain? Has he ever played in the rain before? The thing is, Seungkwan can’t come up with a solid answer because he can’t find it. “Childhood maybe” is his reply.

“Well, nobody is stopping you now except for yourself” is her reply.

Nobody is stopping him except himself. This is something that he knows in the back of his mind. They say we are our worst enemies, and Seungkwan constantly finds himself in situations in which he is his worst enemy. Today, his enemy tells him that it’s better to stay dry because he doesn’t want to risk catching a cold after being soaked by the rain even if it’s only for a couple of minutes. It’s what he’s always been taught: getting wet by rain means the risk of catching a cold and that catching a cold is bad. Plus, he absolutely despises the feeling of wet clothes stuck against his skin so much that even imagining the struggle of trying to peel off his wet jeans makes him shudder. So he waves his hands and denies Yunling’s open invitation despite wanting so badly to join the two of you in the rain, splashing in small puddles, and big puddles; and laughing while chasing each other. How amazing it would be, even for a minute, to simply let go without any worry.

Too bad he is his own enemy.

“Oh fuck!” You stop in the middle of a puddle, causing Seungkwan to suddenly become very alert. “Our phones,” you wail into the open.

The man who is quite possibly in love with one of his best friends watches you from the porch, how only when you’re running from the rain do your hands magically float upwards to create a sort of shade in front of your face despite you playing in the rain without any care in the world a few minutes ago. He can hear it, running shoes crunching against wet gravel, the wet squishing noise created by the amount of water in your shoes, and your panting as you stand in front of him.

Eyes wide and eyes blinking hard as if to squeeze and wring away the drops of water on your eyelids, you greet the owner of the house. And the owner of the house looks at you from his place on the porch, how he can see drops of water drip from your clothes and create a pool at your feet, how he can still see tiny droplets on your lashes. You’re standing so close to him that he feels like he has to hold his breath as a form of defense.

“Gosh,” you mutter while looking down to inspect your clothes. “My shoes are going to take forever to dry.”

The front door opens with a swing, and the familiar entry alert chime’s ring barely makes its way through the pouring rain. Yoon Jeonghan walks out of the door and onto the porch while wearing his house slippers. In his hand are two large towels, immediately attracting the two drenched runners towards it like moths with an open flame. Only this time, it’s not the moths that are getting hurt, it’s the bystander.

Seungkwan watches you run over to your ex, thanking him as you take the dry towel from him before making your way indoors. Yunling follows in your footsteps shortly after, thanking Jeonghan for the towel before turning to Seungkwan. “Come inside before you catch a cold.” She smirks at him before she steps indoors. Seungkwan finds himself scoffing in response.

TWELVE. MIMOSAS

I remember when my friend told us to meet at this brunch place she really liked because the mimosas were good the last time she went. But we ended up having a sober brunch because we forgot that we had somebody’s birthday party to attend the night before. The food was good and the vibes were good, but we were all hungover. Sober brunch sounds wrong, but it’s not bad at all. Really. It’s not bad. But we should go sometime. I heard the Mimosas are good.

He dug the eraser into the flimsy page of his notebook and erased the same mistake over and over until his hands crinkled the page and the friction of the eraser against the paper left a noticeable tear in the page. You watched his frustration continue to unfold as he haphazardly swiped the eraser crumbs off his notebook, flinging them to the middle of the circular table where you were sitting.

The third person at the table flicked the singular eraser shaving that landed on his pencil case back at its owner before shoving the plastic mesh pouch into his backpack along with his study notes without a folder. Vernon, with his poorly dyed auburn hair that curled and covered his eyes, took out his metal water bottle from his backpack to make room for his textbooks. He quickly zipped his backpack and flung it over his shoulder before grabbing his water bottle. The water bottle's ice cubes clanged loudly against its interior and caused multiple students in the library to look in his direction. He looked at you before looking at Jeonghan, who looked stressed enough to rip his eraser in half and looked back at you with an apologetic look on his face.

“You want my fortune cookie fortune from today? It has special numbers,” Vernon suggested as he stood up and pushed in his hair.

“No,” Jeonghan mumbled in response.

“Well I wasn’t going to give it to you anyway,” Vernon taunted in return. He looked at the wall clock in the corner of the library and clicked his tongue before waving goodbye to you.

You watched the younger student as he walked over to the elevators and rapidly pushed the elevator button to hitch a ride to the first floor before giving up and choosing to take the stairs. The elevator dinged and made itself known to the entire floor the minute the fire escape door closed behind Vernon. To your left, Jeonghan, whom you found to be good company over the last month, stared at his history notes like he was trying to decipher the writing on an ancient clay tablet.

“I don’t get it,” he whined while he reached for your notes to compare with his.

You scooted your chair closer to him to get a better look at the two spiral notebooks on the table. Handwriting defined by its heaviness, Jeonghan’s scrawled history notes were defined by the broadness and heavy indents in each etch. Despite each heavily scribbled word, there were clear and evenly defined spaces between each word and character. Your handwriting, however, was slanted and connected through loops, and your inability to lift your pencil off the paper between each character you wrote. Its overall messiness made you want to rewrite everything after you compared it to Jeonghan’s handwriting. Still, you looked at the content written between both notebooks and found that there weren’t any differences between the notes. After all, the two of you were taking the same class.

“I gave you my notes and also studied with you these past two weeks. If you still don’t get it you can look it up online or memorize things word for word. It’s just history,” you mused while sliding your notebook closer to him so you could go back to your homework. “What did you even get on the midterm?”

“Full marks…” he replied in an almost embarrassed whisper. “With extra credit.”

The look you shot him was an inexplicable blend of confusion, annoyance, and humor. You thought that if Jeonghan was able to score above full marks on a midterm, there was no reason for him to ask you to study with him after class.

“Shouldn’t you be the one tutoring us instead?” You raised a brow at him while he looked back at you with amusement. “Do you even get the material?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and you wanted to take your pointer finger to pull it back down. Yoon Jeonghan crossed his arms and turned his body toward you, making you lean back just a little in response. You watched as the familiar lazy half-smile reappeared on his face, this time partnered with an unreadable expression.

“I get the material.” Maybe it was the way the sun from the windows across the room hit his face at the exact moment, but you swore you saw his eyes glimmer for a nanosecond. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t get it.”

When he realized he wasn’t pulling a response out of you, he visibly gave up and looked you in the eye. “Yn,” he stated.

“Yes,” you replied.

“I was trying to hit on you this whole time.”

“Huh?” This was not how you thought the conversation was going to go. The truth came down on you like the warm sunlight in the library, allowing you to finally understand the nuanced ways Jeonghan tried to get closer to you since the first time he introduced himself to you. And it filled your heart the same way it did when the handsome Jeonghan approached you while you were eating with your friends.

“Go on a date with me? Without Vernon next time.”

“Okay.”

THIRTEEN. BAKLAVA

Thin sheets of pre-made phyllo, the lady in the video said to cover them so they wouldn’t dry. With only her voice, she tells us not to worry if we tear the fragile sheets of unleavened dough. As if it were her telling us that it’s okay if we break something that is fragile even if we handled it with the utmost care. As if it’s okay if we mess up. It’s just phyllo. It’s just dessert. It’s just baklava. You’re a first-timer. Cover the sheet with ghee and then add another layer of phyllo. It’s going to be okay. There was something so comforting in her words, as if she were my own baklava guardian. Telling me it��s okay if mistakes are made, she continues phyllo, ghee, phyllo, ghee, phyllo until it’s stacked to a specific length. Then it’s nuts and the numerous layers of phyllo and ghee. Make the baklava, still careful when handling the fragile sheets of phyllo, but forgiving of simple mistakes. Lessons in baklava. Sweetness in sticky orange syrup. Mouthwatering dessert and a soothed heart.

SEUNGKWAN

Squishy orchard soil, not yet dry from the rainfall a few nights ago, is loose enough to track mud splatters against calves. Seungkwan and Terry walk alongside each other. Mud suctioned against the bottoms of their shoes, clipboards in hand, they leave tracks wherever they walk. Broken branches and fallen oranges are accounted for, but soil erosion is what Seungkwan is most concerned about. Terry, however, cheerfully walks alongside their friend while leading their conversation about niche trivia regarding agriculture.

“Also, I learned something from a trivia question I answered wrong yester-”

A scream pierces the conversation from a distance and causes the two to stop in their tracks in the middle of the orchard. Seungkwan’s eyes follow his hearing, turning his head toward where the scream came from. Overturned ATV and a wagonful of oranges behind it, Seungkwan’s heart drops when he realizes the severity of the scene. Seokmin is already on the scene, visibly fearful yet determined to help the person who drove the ATV.

Terry is already running across the field and heading toward the accident. “Noah” they yell, their light flannel flapping behind them as they run. Noah’s name, carried by the breeze, alerts those it passes. It notifies Seungcheol. Alex. You.

As if struggling to drag himself through the mud, Seungkwan tries to run, although lethargic in his strides. Something is holding him back. Is it the way the ATV fell over in a way that even the damp mud would never allow? Or is it the way the wagon of oranges is still magically hooked and attached to the ATV with not one of the oranges in the pyramid leaving its stack? By the time Seungkwan makes his way over, Seokmin already has her upright and leaning against him for support.

“It’s just a light sprain.” Seungkwan hears Noah say through a hiss. “This rock. It came out of nowhere. Believe me Seok. I’ve never seen it before…Seungkwan! This was never here before? Right?”

Seungkwan walks toward where Noah points. To the side of the ATV, in the middle of two rows of orange trees, a rock protruding out of the ground sits proudly. However, the land around the rock is extremely flat. There is no sign of erosion at all. And Seungkwan has walked this orchard long enough to know that there were no bumps to indicate a rock of that size and stature.

“No,” Seungkwan confirms. The existence of this rock wracks Seungkwan's mind. “You’re right. It was never there.”

“See?” It came out as a plea. She looked at Seokmin and pointed at Seungkwan. “I wasn’t going too fast. It was the ro- Ow! Fuck!”

“I’m sorry,” Seokmin apologetically mumbles. “Get on my back. Let me carry you.”

Seungcheol arrives, bent over and panting. He places his hands on his thighs to take a breath. Alex arrives shortly after, panting but also with a fearful look on his face. He tries to speak, but Seungkwan motions for him to slow down and catch his breath before starting. He’s never seen Alex act like this before. Alex, possibly the only person on the farm who could almost match Soonyoung’s entire personality and energy, stutters as he tries to talk while catching his breath. Seungkwan observes how he breathes a little too hard for someone who only ran a couple of meters, to realize that Alex looks like he's seen a ghost. Alex crumples to his knees, landing with his palms against the wet mud.

“Shit.” Seungkwan immediately rushes over to Alex’s side, placing his hand on his back. Worry erupts in his body, its lava traveling through his veins. “Breathe, Alex.”

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol calls.

“What?” Seungkwan’s tone is a bit unrightfully agitated. Thinking about it, even he agrees that his glare was uncalled for.

“Yn.”

Seungkwan pats Alex’s back twice before he looks over to where he saw you previously run. Seungkwan has trouble trying to locate you as you are nowhere to be seen until he finally sees a lump on the ground between trees a few rows away from where he is standing.

A lump in the mud, hands pushing yourself up from the ground, you rise to your full height. But you can’t because your legs are nowhere to be seen.

FOURTEEN. BUDAPESTBAKELSE

Do you know what it feels like to give into what you thought you hated the most? To give up and give in and end up loving what you once condemned? Beautiful and decadent was this roll on display. Budapestbakelse on the tiny card on a stand. Thought they were mangoes peeking through the whipped cream in the magnificent rolls. Delicate hazelnut meringue cake tickled with the burst of the oranges, I fell in love through my hurt. Where did my hate come from? How could I hate something that gives me so much joy?

Soft kiss on your lips, the feeling lingered on your lips before it faded. Too embarrassed to look him in the eye, you opted to look at his lips. Perky cupid’s bow and the muted dark pink of his lip balm, his lips could only remind you that his hand was still holding your cheek with his thumb resting on the corner of your lips. Delicate was his touch, cupping his love and waiting for an answer to his future. Your future. A future together where you both loved each other if the present permitted it.

Courage built up in your heart, you decided to tell him before it was too late. How everything and everybody you loved disappeared. Not sure if it was a curse or not, but you told him it was a condition that was perpetually fixable if those around you noticed what was missing. Seungkwan’s name left your lips like it was second nature. Then Yunling’s. Then Terry’s. Then Noah's. You listed your helpers with the thought that he could also be one for you as he was the one with whom you were most intimate. Yoon Jeonghan, whom you’ve been in a relationship with for the past month — who pulled you to his side and introduced you to his friends as his, who told you he loved you the moment he felt it within him — you finally told him in that used car of his.

You kissed him again on the cheek before you left his car with your backpack. He was quiet while he took time to process the information. That action of his was what you liked about him. You liked his clinginess towards you and his drive to manifest everything and anything he wanted through hard work. Your friends liked him too and squealed whenever he brought snacks and drinks for all of them while he visited when you were studying. You liked how, despite processing the information, he still managed to smile when you kissed him on the cheek goodbye. And you liked how he always stayed in the car even after you locked the door behind you.

His goodbye text came before he started the car. The notification made your heart race as you pulled out your phone from the front pocket of your backpack.

Goodbye, it read. I don’t think this is going to work out for us, another text. Bye.

Yoon Jeonghan threw away the relationship before it could reach its next stage.

FIFTEEN. CROSTINI

Cream cheese and orange marmalade spread on store-bought crostini topped with prosciutto, we ate these like we depended on them. When the prosciutto ran out, we ate them with cream cheese and marmalade. When the crostini ran out, we ate the leftover cream cheese with our spoons and swiped the remainder off the foil wrapper with our pointer fingers. It’ll be okay. We don’t know when exactly it will get better, but it’ll get better. Don’t make the same mistakes as we did back then. Clearance section cream cheese and prosciutto? That morning after could not possibly be tamer than what you’re currently going through. You can do it…just like you’ve done before.

SEUNGKWAN

Lowered center of mass, he keeps your body balanced on his shoulders as he increases his stability in his squats. Heels dig into the ground as he keeps his chest up, grunting as he comes up from a squat. Soonyoung watches Jihoon use you as his weight, patiently waiting for his turn to use you as his gym weight while reminding Jihoon to protect his knees by keeping them behind his toes.

The rain from last Tuesday never really left — it only migrated from one area to the next: from the countryside to the city to the mountains. What could have been a nice Sunday afternoon hiking trip for the group was unfortunately obstructed by emergency text notifications regarding

avalanche warnings in the mountains. With all of the cars gone, Jihoon and Soonyoung could only resort to creating their own mini gym in the entryway of the house to work in some exercise before their next shift on the farm. The only person willing to work out with them was the only person who thought it would be funny if they used them as their weights.

Seungkwan watches everything from the kitchen, observing the gym heads at work and how Jeonghan casually walks out of your room while carrying your backpack on his back for you. It seems to Seungkwan that the distance between Jeonghan and you has closed a significant distance. Jeonghan, who even struggled to knock on your door, is now comfortable enough to walk in and out of your room even without you present. But he doesn’t want to be too quick to judge. After all, Jeonghan is his friend. Seeing how your mobility is limited, you would technically need someone to help you do things for you. Jealousy makes Seungkwan wonder why Jeonghan would be the one you go to for help.

So Seungkwan chooses to stay quiet while he continues to scrub his dishes in the sink. He rinses his batter-covered dish sponge under the tap, squeezes some of the water out, and tosses dish soap on the sponge before lathering it again. He pretends to be interested in the suds that slide and glide on his orange kitchen gloves. God, how he hates that even his grandparents’ kitchen gloves are also orange. They’ve only been gone for a little over two weeks, but Seungkwan can’t help but miss them. After stumbling upon a recipe book on the office shelves while hanging out with you, Seungkwan thought that a little baking to pass the time that was supposed to be spent hiking in the mountains could soothe his lonely heart.

Still, his hands are at work, yet his ears stay alert. He hears Jeonghan tell the three that it’s time for their shift on the farm. There’s a brief moment of silence that causes Seungkwan to look up from his dishes. He sees Jeonghan take you from Jihoon’s arms, opting to playfully tuck you under his right arm instead of holding you in both his arms. There is a complaint from you telling him to hold you properly instead of carrying you like a briefcase. The playful banter between the two of you marks your departure from the house with Jihoon following suit. Soonyoung stays behind.

Soonyoung makes his way toward the kitchen, and Seungkwan keeps his head low, turning on the tap and cleaning his sponge before he rinses his dishes. The refrigerator door opens and shuts within a few seconds. Seungkwan is barely able to put his sponge back in its sponge tray

within those seconds.

“Smells good,” Soonyoung comments while digging around the cabinets for something. A blender bottle. He grabs the communal tub of protein powder from the countertop that aligns the wall and brings it to the island where Seungkwan washes his dishes. “Can we eat it later?”

Seungkwan huffs when he hears Soonyoung’s question. Asking if he can eat whatever is in the oven instead of asking what it is. Typical. He starts setting his rinsed dishes on the dry towel to the side of Soonyoung. Soonyoung dumps a few scoops of the powder into his bottle and turns the lid of the protein powder tub shut. He turns around to put the tub back where it came from and then goes back to the clean plates, bringing it upon himself to load them into the dish dryer for his friend.

A question has been bothering Seungkwan for the past few days, a question strong enough to make him whip a meringue cake without an electric whisk. Like a prisoner in his mouth, the question wants to escape into the open. But every single time he sees you interact with Jeonghan, even if it’s just a simple wave, Seungkwan can’t help but feel a little down. The question wracks his brain and eats away at his heart so much that he hates himself for feeling jealousy towards two people. The only person who might be able to answer his question is the one who abandoned his blender bottle to help his friend load the dishes.

“If you have a question, you can ask me,” Soonyoung offers out of nowhere. He grabs the chain of measuring spoons from Seungkwan’s hand and places them in the dryer for him. “Especially if it’s about them.”

There are times when Seungkwan tends to forget that Soonyoung is older than him. The problem does not really lie in his age, but in the way he presents himself. Soonyoung, goofy and energetic, is not really someone Seungkwan turns to when he needs to confide in someone. However, it doesn’t mean that Soonyoung isn’t capable of harboring emotional intelligence. In fact, the way that Soonyoung sees the world is precious. He looks at everything around him in a way that captivates him so much that he becomes a Little Prince in a big circular Earth. He sees the world as it is — simple yet beautiful. Simplicity, in Soonyoung’s mind, is the aesthetics of reasoning and the beauty of living. Seungkwan knows that Soonyoung knows what’s on his mind. It’s simple. So he asks him:

“Is there something going on between them?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung replies. Simple. “Jeonghan’s trying to get back together with Yn.”

“You’re not gonna tell me more?”

Soonyoung grabs something from the fridge and fills his bottle with it. “Nah,” he replies while shutting the fridge, “It’s not my place to tell. But cheer up. It’s just Jeonghan.”

“It’s just Jeonghan” probably sounded a lot better in Soonyoung’s head, but the statement only sends Seungkwan into a further state of anxiousness and jealousy. He knows he shouldn’t feel that way, but it’s hard not to when Soonyoung basically confirms that two people are currently pining over you.

After Soonyoung heads toward the farm, Seungkwan stands alone in the kitchen, thinking about how dumb he was for believing that Jeonghan only wanted to reconcile the relationship to become friends again. A little part of him finds himself hating the hypothetical you who would be willing to get back with someone who literally tore their heart into pieces. The exact same heart that Seungkwan spent weeks mending.

And the dynamics. Gosh, Seungkwan, a lover of consistency, especially hates change when it comes to group dynamics. He wonders about how the dynamics of the current group would change if the two got back together. He wonders how the dynamics between you and him would change if you really got back together with Jeonghan.

Deep in thought, only the smell of something burning can alarm Seungkwan before he can hear his timer go off. And the air of the room, once sweet and citrusy, is replaced with something acrid and burnt. Stress causes him to freeze, and Seungkwan can only watch as Terry rushes into the kitchen to throw open the oven door.

“Fire alarm,” Terry yells at him. “Fan at the fire alarm while I grab your cake.”

SIXTEEN. ORANGE AND HERB MARINATED FETA

Use orange zest for these. Good cheese too. Marinate it for at least half a day in the fridge. Overnight is best. But nobody is going to judge if you get a little bit ahead of yourself. Why is it so normal to shame one’s excitement? Why do we look down upon people for the trivial things that make them happy? It’s just cheese, you know. I’d be happy if I got to sneak a few pieces before it’s properly marinated.

Warmth was his kindness as he held you in his arms while you let your tears roll onto his crew neck. Heartbreak was on the table, and you were served. Yet Boo Seungkwan, who smelled of dirt and his city garden internship, made sure he was always there to clear away the plates. Chest heavy and your eyes sore and puffy, heartbreak hit you in waves following the day Jeonghan dumped you on the same day he told you he loved you.

You were always interested in how heartbreak felt. The internet never gave you a straightforward answer. Seeing your friends suffer from one heartbreak to another was never enough to show you how it would feel. And you were never sure if you were ever going to experience heartbreak. Not that you wanted to be a masochist, but you couldn’t help but be interested in something you never felt before. You wanted to be prepared in case you were able to experience it someday. Maybe that one day might be the day you felt the most human.

It always felt weird, like an invisible exclusionary line that separated you from the rest of the world. Your curse. Your illness. Your whatever you wanted to call it. Why did it have to be you who lost everything you loved?

With nobody to be mad at, you could only be mad at yourself. How you spent years letting yourself be defined by your curse so much that you lived every day tiptoeing around anything and anyone because you were afraid to fall in love. Because of that, you never really had an absolute understanding of what love was or what love felt like. And it sucked when your friends told you that even they couldn’t tell you a definitive answer as to what love was.

Then came Jeonghan. A shining beam of light in your wandering, you lunged at him both figuratively and literally with the hope that he could be the one who changed you. You thought that maybe if you were able to be in a relationship with him, you could feel more human. This didn’t mean that you faked your way through your relationship with him. No. You weren’t that kind of person. You had a crush on him. You liked him. You liked being his. But you weren’t given a chance to love him.

This time, you weren’t sure if that chance was tarnished because he was afraid of you loving him or you were afraid of loving him.

“Fuck.” You sniffed while wiping your eye with the collar of your shirt. “Is this what heartbreak feels like?”

“Feels like?” Seungkwan’s tone sounded like he was offended for some reason. He pulled away from his embrace to reach toward your desk to grab a few tissues from your tissue box to hand them to you. “You’re going through a heartbreak.”

Defensive is what you felt upon hearing Seungkwan’s reply. This sinking feeling in your heart that came and went whenever it pleased, you had trouble understanding it as heartbreak. So you replied, “But I didn’t even love him.”

Did you love him? Could the strong affection you felt towards him as well as the peace you felt within your heart be signs that you loved him? Did your love find a new way to drive another person away? If anything, all of that led to you admitting to your best friend that you felt a fear creeping and building within you. You were scared of falling for somebody in the future if it meant that this entire ordeal would happen again. Yet the fear of falling in love and knowing the person you loved is going to disappear was something that you continued to let define your present and future.

“An ordeal?” Seungkwan sounded more offended than he should be in the current situation. “You don’t have to lessen heartbreak as a means of trying to overcome the situation by calling it something less than it is. You’re young. I’m young. We’re supposed to date around, break hearts, get heartbroken, and discover ourselves during our twenties. I would never forgive you if you spent your twenties hung up about a man, so please live your life to the fullest whenever you can.”

“But what if…” You were hesitant to finish the thought, but the very fact that you were with the person you trusted with your entire heart allowed you to finish speaking. “…what if I fall in love with myself while I’m discovering myself?”

The thought of disappearing from the world sucked you dry. You felt like your insides were sucked into a cosmic black hole that formed inside of your body, body concaving and making you shrivel. Then came the immense amount of guilt you always carried with you, the guilt of knowing that you made people disappear on multiple occasions. You were scared of making people disappear as you were equally scared of disappearing yourself. It wasn’t the fact that you didn’t know what came next after disappearing. It was the fact that you were scared of disappearing because you thought that you were not important enough to have someone notice that you disappeared. It scared you.

“Why don’t you fall in love with yourself?” His question.

“I’m scared of being forgotten.” Your answer.

“I don’t think I can ever forget someone like you.” His honest answer.

A sad smile. Your vague answer. You knew that you could never put as much effort into your friendship with Seungkwan as he does because you were scared of loving him as a friend. Yet love was so twisted. You struggled to understand how it was that you didn’t love Seungkwan as a friend. You would probably launch yourself in front of a bus if it meant saving him. You would give him your entire bank account if he needed it. You would always rely on him if you were sad. So how was it that it was not love? Why was it that Seungkwan was not gone? And why was it that Seungkwan chose to stick around even when he knew that you were constantly restraining yourself from giving as much as he did?

Boo Seungkwan had quite literally become one of the only constants in your cursed life, and you were doing everything that you could to keep him from disappearing. Because you knew that there was probably nobody else in this world who would understand you as much as Boo Seungkwan.

SEVENTEEN. FREEKEH SALAD

I had this friend who would always buy this at the grocery store for every single potluck. And every single potluck you could see his name under the dishes section with this same salad written next to his name. It wasn’t like anybody complained or anything. He would bring the salad, and we would eat it. One time, I found myself craving this grocery store salad after a workout so I went and bought the same one in the same container I’ve seen so many times. But when I was able to sit down to eat it, I realized that the flavor was off. And it wracked my mind. I had a picture of the container taken on my phone so I knew I bought the correct item. Even the ingredients were the same. I tasted the salad so many times that I knew that there was no way that this salad that I was eating was the same as the salad I ate multiple times at the potluck. So I reached out to him. Turns out, he would add orange slices and drizzle some of that orange juice left over from cutting the oranges into the salad. Who would’ve thought. It was a tiny extra step that he never talked about. Yet comparing the original salad to his salad, it made me wonder just about how much of what I know I do not know.

SEUNGKWAN

Not yet the end of the summer, nine people arrange themselves on the front porch of the house while the afternoon sun shines on them. A tripod is being set up by two people who have yet to join the group. Silver van parked on the cul-de-sac, the remaining two finish loading suitcases into the trunk and slam it shut when they finish their task. The seasons have changed for a while now; now it’s time for someone’s season to progress onto a new one.

Boo Seungkwan watches Seungcheol and Alex as they jog back to the group. Morgan and Soonyoung have finally finished setting up the tripod with the added mini-lesson from Morgan who taught Soonyoung how to take pictures from his phone by using his smartwatch. Sadness is stored in Boo Seungkwan’s chest, already creeping up his throat.

They’ve been wasting away under the burning summer sun when they could’ve been running the farm with the wasted time. One can easily blame Soonyoung for his lack of knowledge regarding technology despite having the best phone on the market, which led to the loss of time. And the father’s inability to pack all of his and his daughter’s things until the very morning could also be a potential subject of blame. Yet nobody complains about wasting time. They could never. Wasted time, in this case, was a gift that kept loved ones from leaving.

Granted, the father-daughter duo are only moving their stuff back to their place in the city while Seungcheol has to attend a few “IRL side quests” (as Terry likes to put it) disguised as in-person meetings for his job. Seungkwan is still making Seungcheol come back for free labor until the end of the season. Nonetheless, the very thought of two beloved people leaving for only a few days is enough to cause forlornness to wash over the group.

Seungkwan sees how Seungcheol’s aura of happiness shines brighter than it has for a while. There is a newfound energy in his friend, and Seungkwan could never be more proud of him. So, taking a group picture to commemorate friendship and new beginnings seems fitting for this day.

“Hey Kwan.” Your voice causes Seungkwan to respond by looking down at your upper body in his arms. He props up his right knee to lift your body higher so he can properly talk to you. “You can put me down whenever you’re tired.”

“I’ll never be tired,” he replies.

Seungkwan isn't trying to make his conversation with you private, nor is he expecting anybody to listen, but he sees Seungcheol in the corner of his eye smiling at him. An actual smile, the kind where the smile is so big that his eyes squint and tiny smiles form on the outer corners of his eyes. He’s not sure if the older guy is smiling because of his conversation with you or the fact that him holding you in his arms visually parallels how Seungcheol is carrying his baby in his arms, but he doesn’t really think anything of it. Although Seungkwan is finding it harder to read his friends nowadays, he’s just happy that Seungcheol is finally in a state where he’s ready to move on with life.

“Come on everybody,” Soonyoung shouts while running back to join the group on the porch. “Let’s take the group photo.”

EIGHTEEN. SCREWDRIVER

If you think about it, a Screwdriver is like a Mimosa’s rebellious sibling. But only if they were from a refined family or not even refined. I don’t even think refined is a good word for it. But it’s like in the movies where it’s set in a prestigious private school or something and there’s this one rebellious student who “wears” the school uniform but in a different way. Yeah. Okay. I’m not good at explaining things am I?

Bodies squished against one another on the worn-down brown couch originally bought as a flea market passed from one graduating friend to another, the bodies tried to scoot closer to each other to accommodate everybody who wanted to join the drinking game at the party. What could better define a graduation rager than a fun little Truth or Dare happening in the living room of some random acquaintance’s apartment?

The strip of LED lights that wrapped around only a quarter of the living room’s edges was enough to illuminate the small university apartment. The music from the speaker was synched to the lights, causing the lights to pulse and switch colors every few seconds. There were enough people packed inside the apartment to cause every firefighter’s arm hair to tingle. A game of beer pong took place on the dining room table. The sound of the ping pong ball hitting the insides of the cup was drowned out by the cheers. Graduation was over, and there were only a few days before the apartment leases ended for everybody. Tonight, every apartment unit was celebrating.

You found yourself on the floor, your legs tucked uncomfortably to the side of your body because your jeans couldn’t allow you to cross your legs. Two red plastic cups were passed to you, the contents being several strips of folded truths and dares for you to choose from. The cups weren’t heavy themselves because the weight of having to choose between truth or dare felt heavier. Center of attention, you didn’t know whether you should be a bit adventurous and go for the dares or play it safe but risk not wanting to spill something and drink from the disgusting concoction that Vernon and Yunling came up with on a whim as a punishment if you picked from the other cup. Plus, you knew and were close to everybody participating in the game, so you knew that they wouldn’t judge you based on the decision you were about to make. So you stuck your hand in one of the cups and pulled out the truth you had to answer openly.

With the slip of paper tucked in your palm, you gingerly placed the cups on the coffee table in front of you by pushing away the mess of opened hard seltzers and cheap beers from the liquor store next to the wholesale store a few blocks down the street. Anticipation caused your fingers to quiver as you opened the slightly damp piece of paper that was in your hand. And you read what was scribbled on there loudly, “Is there anybody in the room that you like?” But your voice faltered as you hit the end of the question.

Suddenly, your corner of the apartment became a couple of decibels quieter than the rest of the apartment. Half of the Screwdriver you drank along with a bunch of other liquids sat uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Everybody knew about your curse and about the breakup that happened. It was only a simple little truth to answer, so how could it change the atmosphere of such a lively party so quickly?

Seungkwan, who sat beside you, took it upon to snatch the piece of paper between your thumb and pointer finger to read for himself. He laughed a little too loudly as if it were forced. And he pushed your bicep with his right hand as if to make it seem like he was kidding around with you. “Oh my god” is what you remembered him gasping before you reached over to grab Terry’s unfinished drink on the coffee table.

“Yn, you’re drunk! It clearly says ‘Is there anybody in the room who is most like you?’” Seungkwan waved the piece of paper in the air with the blank back facing the circle of friends as a sort of ethos to support his claim and dropped it in his drunken stupor.

Rim of the can to your lips, you knew what you read. Seungkwan told a white lie for you.

“Whoever wrote that has to take a shot. Couldn’t you have thought of something juicier?” Seungkwan huffed before grabbing your wrist in his hand, pulling the can away from your mouth in the process. You picked up the piece of paper and pocketed it before you allowed him to pull you away. “We’re going to go to the balcony so they can get some air and sober up a bit. You guys keep playing.”

NINETEEN. PORTOKALOPITA

Heaven in a bite melts in your mouth into a pool of orange and vanilla. Heat of an unusually warm Autumn day opts you to pay extra to add a scoop of ice cream on top. Did you ever need a reason to treat yourself to something as small as a scoop of ice cream on top of a slice of Portokalopita? Does it count as cheating to want to indulge in something from time to time? The world shouldn’t feel like it’s going to end if you do something out of the ordinary or if you spend a little extra for something that you may not remember eating a couple months down the road. The truth is, we’re not going to remember exactly how we felt in the present in the future. We may remember being happy, but there will come a time in which you forget what exactly it was that made you happy…what it was that made you sad. It’s just life. It’s just cake. Even if you’re not going to remember in the future, wouldn’t you like to grant yourself that tiny bit of fleeting happiness?

SEUNGKWAN

It’s over, he thinks.

Boo Seungkwan lies awake in the dark on his side of the large shared mattress. Two soft pillows comfortably prop up his head, and the air conditioning in the room brings the room to his preferred sleeping temperature. Nevertheless, Seungkwan is finding it especially hard to sleep. Whenever he closes his eyes, he cannot stop seeing the scene of Jeonghan holding you in his lap the whole time everybody was in the backyard roasting marshmallows. And when he opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling above him, he can’t stop himself from thinking about how comfortable Jeonghan looked when Jeonghan would hunch his back a little to rest his chin on top of your head while he kept his arm wrapped securely around your stomach to keep you from falling off of his legs. It renders Seungkwan jealous.

It's time to give up, he thinks to himself no matter how much that idea hurts him. Give it up for Boo Seungkwan for finally realizing his feelings for you, only to have the guy who usually sleeps next to him be one step ahead of him. Or even several steps ahead of him. But Seungkwan is much too nice of a guy to even think about ruining a blossoming relationship between two exes to get what he wants even if the person he wants is one of the aforementioned friends. He wants to wish the two of his friends well no matter how much thinking about the two of them possibly getting together in the near future hurts him and makes him feel like crumbling. Even lying flat in the dark bedroom makes him want to cry so much that his tears escape his tear ducts through the outer corners of his eyes and fall along his face to wet the tips of his ears and then land on the pillow.

Extremely jealous and desolate on the inside is how he feels. He thinks about what he could have possibly done in the past to allow him to be in the same position as Jeonghan was tonight. Piercing sadness strikes through his gut, and it pins him to his bed. This feeling that makes him immobile is worse than the feeling of waking up in the middle of the night and being unable to move even the tips of his fingers.

Where he excused himself from his group of friends early, claiming that he was feeling more tired than usual, he now finds himself alone with his thoughts while life animates the rest of the house. He hears bits of laughter that escape from the living room and footsteps above his head. Seungkwan’s lie was not a lie at all — he does feel tired, but in a way that dries his eyes and eats at his insides. He’s too tired to socialize. He’s much too tired to think about tomorrow. He’s exhausted thinking about love and friendship.

A rectangular ray of light disrupts the dark ceiling for a brief second before it disappears. Yoon Jeonghan closes the bedroom door behind him while he’s careful to walk lightly and quietly to his side of the bed in the dark. Pretending to be asleep, Seungkwan closes his eyes to avoid confrontation with his friend. It’s a childish move, but what can he do?

Seungkwan’s body slightly dips to the left when Jeonghan climbs into bed. Jeonghan is doing his best to not wake his friend because, for all he knows, Seungkwan has probably been asleep for a while. Jeonghan showered earlier in the evening, but Seungkwan can still smell the scent of the fragrant smoked wood on Jeonghan.

He doesn’t know how long it has been since Jeonghan got into bed. The two of them are silent. The room is uncomfortably silent.

It’s so silent that Seungkwan can hear the tiny crackle Jeonghan’s lips and saliva make when he opens his mouth to speak. “Are you awake?” Seungkwan hears his friend ask him.

“Yeah.” He finds himself automatically replying. He feels so dumb. “Can’t fall asleep. You?” He doesn’t know why he’s being so honest with Jeonghan.

“Nah,” Jeonghan admits. He brings his left hand up to his mouth to clear his throat before awkwardly folding his hands on his stomach as if he is mentally preparing himself to say something confessional. “I uh- I kissed Yn.”

There it is.

At that moment, it felt like the end of the world, is what Seungkwan currently wishes he felt. But he doesn’t. The confession doesn’t pain him either. The feeling he currently feels while trying to absorb the fact that Jeonghan kissed you feels so disgusting. It makes him feel disgusting, yet it also numbs him so much that he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Is it the feeling of his world crashing down? Not really. It’s as if he knew that it was going to happen despite how much he did not want it to happen. Like a harsh reality slap to his entire body. That’s what it is. Somehow, he finds himself mustering up the courage to ask Jeonghan what happened.

“They kissed me back.” Jeonghan answers, but there isn’t any pride in his voice. To Seungkwan, he sounded kind of sad. Dejected.

Jeonghan’s hair ruffles as he turns his head so that his right cheek lays against his pillow. He wants to make proper conversation with Seungkwan by looking at him. Feeling incredibly hurt, Seungkwan can’t bring himself to face him.

“Kwan. Do you know what a pity kiss is?” Jeonghan almost whispers as if he is admitting a fault.

“Why would you ask me about that?” Seungkwan grumbles while pulling the sheets closer to him.

“They kissed me back only because they pitied me.” Jeonghan turns his body so he’s leaning on his right side. He moves his right arm towards his head so he can prop himself up. “I mean, it’s not like they were leading me on this whole time. I was only getting ahead of myself. It was a pity kiss, Seungkwan. They pitied me. I think they’re appreciative that I’ve been trying to repair what I broke, but I know for a fact that Yn never planned to get back with me even if we became friends again.”

Seungkwan feels Jeonghan stroke his hair by running his fingers through his bangs and straightening it out for him. It’s as if Jeonghan is simultaneously trying to mend what could become a broken friendship with Seungkwan before it happens. Seungkwan is hardheaded as to how truly soft-hearted the mature Jeonghan is.

There’s a soft smile on Jeonghan’s lips as he continues to stoke his friend’s hair. He feels pity for himself. “I know you hated me for messing up in the past, and even now I regret letting go of Yn because I was afraid. I don’t know what I was so afraid of. I ended up still liking Yn even if half of them is physically missing.”

Seungkwan turns his body so he’s facing away from Jeonghan. He doesn’t get why Jeonghan is telling him so much. Is Jeonghan trying to rub it in his face that he finally understood what Seungkwan and the rest of the world knew when they were back in college? His eyebrows are furrowed with stress, and it would take more than a hot iron to flatten them out.

Jeonghan lets his left hand drop before taking it upon himself to pull the sheets over Seungkwan’s body. “There’s no use in pursuing them anymore. I let hope get the best of me.”

“Oh” is the only thing that Seungkwan can manage to say. He doesn’t really know how to continue the conversation with the older man or if he should even continue the currently one-sided conversation because he also likes you. Really likes you to the point where it feels almost obsessive given how much he thinks about liking you.

“God,” Jeonghan groans while grabbing Seungkwan’s shoulder to shake him. “Stop being dumb. If you like Yn then make sure you tell them before you live the rest of your life being regretful because you didn’t do something when you had the chance. Stop being so stubborn and confess your feelings. There’s no need for courtesy when it comes to love.”

“Yes there is,” Seungkwan snaps at Jeonghan. He sits up in a fit of madness and tosses his legs over the edge of the bed. “I need water.”

“You need to tell them how you feel.”

The walk from the bedroom, down the hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen feels like the longest journey of Seungkwan’s life. When he finally gets to the kitchen, he sees a few people walk out of your room. He grabs a cup from the cabinet and fills it up the cup with water while trying to make it seem like he’s not staring at the people exiting your room. He sees them wave and say “goodnight” while shutting the lights and closing the door for you because you can’t do it yourself.

Thoughts cloud Seungkwan’s head. There’s a huge part of him that wants to knock on your door after all of the others have gone to bed, but he doesn’t want to be a bother. So he tells himself that he will eventually confess to you. He just doesn’t know when.

TWENTY. MADRAS COCKTAIL

Get this. If a Screwdriver and a Mimosa are family members, then the Madras is like the cool single aunt. Or even like the coolest older sister who you always wanted to be like when you grew up. It’s just cranberry juice, orange juice, vodka, and some lime juice if you’re feeling a little extra. She’s cool. She’s sweet. She’s sour. She’s everything you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less than what you think yourself to be. You’ll get there some day.

“You okay?” Seungkwan asked you after shutting the balcony door behind him.

“Yeah,” you meekly replied while you leaned against the black metallic balcony railing. “Thanks for saving me.”

“If I still need to save you from a little game of Truth or Dare, then how are you going to survive without me by your side all the time?” Seungkwan joined you to your right, leaned his forearms against the railing, and looked below towards the apartment parking lot.

Down below, a couple of people were moving out of their apartments and loading boxes filled with an ending chapter of their lives into their cars. There were a couple of inebriated stragglers who stumbled around and sat on curbs. And there were the people on the balconies who stepped out to look beyond their tiny apartments to see the world around them only to be met with the view of a parking lot and a gas station in the distance.

If people were stepping out to do all kinds of things, what did you step out for? You struggled to find meaning in escaping an awkward scenario during a drinking game with your friends and felt even more trapped with the fact that you stepped out onto the balcony where you were hit with the reality of not being with these people you shared days and nights with for years.

“I don’t know” is what you came up with. It was fine to not know. You spent your whole life avoiding not knowing, escaping unthinkable truths. If you spent your whole life dedicated to prevention, then who were you trying to protect? And were who you were trying to protect worth protecting at all? There was so much meaning in everything around you, and it constantly seemed like people were trying to find meaning in their lives, trying to find meaning in anything they could find. You knew that Seungkwan wanted to work in the city gardens to find meaning in his life so that he was not tied down to his family farm. He had tons of friends and people he loved, a future he wanted, and meaning to his life. And he still promised that nothing was going to change between the two of you, that he would stay by your side for his entire life if he could. But did you want that for him? Did you want to keep him by your side just because he was one of the only few people in this world who truly understood you? Or was there some deeper meaning that you have not yet found or considered?

“I’m going to miss you,” you told him.

Even under the dimly lit balcony light, you could see how red his ears were, how deeply red his chest was through the unbuttoned portion of his polo. His tinted sunscreen hid most of his glow, but you thought about how physically uncomfortable he must have felt at that moment, how alcohol doesn’t sit right in his system. Yet he patted your shoulder before tossing his arm around it to tell you just how much he was going to miss you. He reminded you again that he was going to be working at the city garden for their summer program so you could visit him or hit him up whenever you wanted. He was always looking out for you, but you could only hope that he never felt like you were ever taking him for granted.

Because you knew that if you could ever allow yourself to fully love him, you would do so without any restriction to give him the unconditional love that only someone like him could deserve.

“Seungkwan!” The balcony door swung open, sending a quick breeze toward the both of you. A cat-type with pale skin who was wearing a beanie pulled over his head of hair appeared in the doorway. He must have slammed the door open a little too forcibly as he quickly held onto the door to keep it from vibrating and proceeded to bring his opened can of cola to his lips to lick away the contents that spilled onto his hand. “Shots” was all he said before he headed back inside without bothering to close the door.

“I- I think I’ll go inside. I hear them yelling for me, and I don’t want my name to be perceived by the neighbors.” Seungkwan awkwardly gestured to the ongoing party before looking at you again. “Can I get you anything?”

You shook your head to tell him you didn’t need anything. “I’ll head inside after a few minutes. You go ahead,” you told him.

A sheepish smile is what he left you with before he went inside. After you saw him gently close the door behind him, you looked at the piece of paper that you picked up and kept in your clammy hand. Uncrumpling it, you straightened it out against the flat side of the metal railing. You didn’t even need much light to see the words scribbled on the piece of paper: “Is there anybody in the room that you like?”

Yells emitted from inside the apartment, and you looked through the large glass windows to see Seungkwan taking a shot with those around him. He looked happy to be exactly where he wanted to be, but you couldn’t help but think he always looked a different kind of happy whenever he was around you. You read the stupid little strip once over and looked back at your group of friends, especially the one in the center. Smiling to yourself, you folded the little paper and tucked it in the space between the back of your phone and your silicon phone case before opening the balcony door to join the rest of them.

TWENTY-ONE. GLAZED CARROTS

You would think orange-glazed carrots would taste the same as orange carrot juice, but it doesn’t. It’s mostly the same ingredients used in different ways. It’s like how a lot of us live such similar lives, yet we all have different outcomes. A framework is only there to guide you along the way, but the results may vary even if you choose to follow or not follow the framework. I can tell you that I need a couple stalks of carrots, a quarter cup of orange juice, two tablespoons of sugar, and a bunch of other things, but it doesn’t mean that our end result would turn out the same. I may be making some glazed carrots while you end up with carrot cake. Don’t worry about sticking to what was originally written in stone. Focus on what you want to do.

SEUNGKWAN

Sweat drips down his back and colors the back of his shirt a darker hue. The fabric sticks uncomfortably to his skin as he runs around the farm while constantly checking his overheating phone to see if there are any new messages. Today, fear lingers over everybody like a dark cloud in the sky. You are missing, and nobody can find you.

Something unsettling has been going on for a few days. It’s Wednesday now, the last Wednesday of the month. It was only Saturday when Jeonghan confessed that he kissed you, Friday when Seungcheol moved out. As if there is a new shift in the pacing on the farm, nothing feels the same even though everything is the same. Seungkwan doesn’t know if he’s gaslighting himself into thinking there’s something wrong, but ever since the day Terry was finally able to pull Seungkwan to the side to talk to him, he knew that there was something wrong:

“What is so important that you have to talk to me in Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Jihoon’s room? It smells like sweat in here,” Seungkwan complained while standing in the middle of the bedroom and looking at the mess of gym equipment and strewn gym shorts on the floor.

Terry stuck their phone in Seungkwan’s face. On the screen was a picture of a chart that Seungkwan couldn’t quite comprehend was describing. There were a bunch of different colors, and he couldn’t quite make out the words with how Terry’s hand trembled. “Oranges. I was a couple of rounds away from winning that trivia game when a question about oranges popped up. I swore I was going to move on seeing how I’m literally working on an orange farm,” Terry said. “I was so pissed when it said that I lost because I answered incorrectly so I had to look it up. Look at this chart, Seungkwan. It’s summer. We don’t grow grapefruits or lemons here. Most oranges are in season from November to early spring.”

Seungkwan squinted his eyes and grabbed the phone from his friend’s hand to double-check the chart and the website where that page was pulled from. It looked legit, but it didn’t mean that it was impossible to have a late orange harvest. Then again, he couldn’t recall ever working on the farm in the summer because his entire family always went on a summer vacation together. He tried to recall what he learned in university. Was it during a botany course that he learned about fruits? Was it a pomology course? He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember?

“But that’s impossible,” he bluffed. Why did he bluff? “We’re still getting loads of oranges. They’re plump, juicy, and ripe. It’s always been this way.”

“Yeah, it’s always been this way during winter.” Terry took their phone back from Seungkwan to pull up something before flipping their screen for their friend to see. “Look at the date. December. The reason why we were wearing short-sleeves was because we got sweaty from working on the farm. I always liked building gingerbread houses at your place because your grandma always baked them with orange zest.”

“Then why are we here? Why are they in season?”

“I don’t know, Kwannie…You think we would have all of the answers we’re looking for. But we don’t. But is it really that big of a difference if there’s no harm at all?”

What makes the current situation at the farm even worse is the fact that you stopped using your phone about a week ago. There was no use in carrying your phone around when people were always by your side, and you were also wary of the possibility of not being able to hold your phone anymore. That means that there is no way that somebody could possibly reach you without having to physically find you first.

He takes the back door through the café kitchen and rounds the corner up the stairs. The air-conditioned interior of the café pricks his skin, but he doesn’t care. There are only a few places left to check, and Seungkwan is determined to be the one to find you. His heart is racing. He doesn’t even stop to catch his breath as he double-checks every single upstairs room.

Surprise. Relief. A long laugh. Long last, he finally finds you asleep with Seungcheol’s daughter in the middle of the bedroom surrounded by the pile of the baby’s plushies. He drops to his knees, clearly out of breath, and lays flat with half his body on the baby’s soft rug and the other half on the cold hardwood floor.

Only your head is what is left of you. Seungkwan thinks it happened sometime today while you watched the baby for Seungcheol. But you’re still you. That’s all that matters.

A couple of footsteps bound up the stairs. Seungkwan calls out to them from his place on the floor. Alex and Morgan appear, both with sweat dripping down their foreheads and making strands of their hair stick to their face. All is well on the farm.

All is well.

“Are you hungry?” Seungkwan asks you as he props your head on his jacket to keep you from rolling off the picnic blanket he set up. A brief bike ride with your head in the bicycle basket brought the two of you to a nearby field a couple of minutes away from the farm.

“You know what? I haven’t been hungry for days, but you’re the only person who still takes time to ask me that question out of habit. Maybe I miss your cooking or your nagging about my food choices, but I think I’m feeling a bit hungry now that you mention it,” you answer him from the comfort of your spot on the blanket. “Thank you for bringing me out here. You must’ve been scared the whole bike ride because I could see you looking at me while you were biking just to make sure I didn’t bounce out of the basket. I’m not a bouncy ball, you know.”

Seungkwan sits by your side before deciding he would be much more comfortable lying down on the blanket. So he lies there with you, under the canopy of a giant tree and the vast blue sky that stretches into an unknkown world.

There are so many things in life that Seungkwan still doesn’t understand. He thinks about Jeonghan and how he quickly became Seungkwan’s biggest hypeman since that day. There’s also his conversation with Terry that lingers in his mind, how magical this summer seems. And he thinks about you, how lucky he is to spend even an hour with you, quiet, and in the area between the bustling city and the quiet countryside.

“Do you think,” Seungkwan begins, “that because you’re hungry that there’s a chance for your body to come back? Is that too much of a question? Is it bad that I’m asking that? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you laugh. “I think I used to be so scared of anything that had to do with disappearing that I lived life just so that I could prevent it from happening. I think I’m much happier now…Definitely much happier now that I don’t physically have a body. I’m okay if it doesn’t come back.”

“Can I ask why?” At this point, Seungkwan’s head turns towards yours. He sees you. Peaceful. Still. The foil to the inner turmoil that defines his very character.

So you laugh. A big “Ahh haha” that precedes the feeling of embarrassment. And you roll off Seungkwan’s jacket so that you can face him face-to-face, a chance to be physically closer to him. And he’s here to catch you, to steady you by keeping you close to him with his hand supporting the back of your head, never really wanting to let you go.

“Because I know you’ll be by my side.” Big and toothy, you grin at him so widely that it causes his breath to hitch.

“What if I’m not by your side?” Seungkwan tries you even when his intimate proximity to you causes him to feel such an immense child-like glee.

“Then I’ll find a way to you,” you tell him. Soft is the words on your lips, soft is your gaze as he brings you closer to him so that your foreheads meet, and softer is how your very being lands on his heart. “I like you, Seungkwan.”

Soft is the way he kisses you, carefully and gently as if to wade in the waters. A tumultuous first meeting that predetermines the present, Seungkwan’s lips fold between yours as if connecting two puzzle pieces not necessarily missing from each other. They were always meant to be for each other.

So he pulls your head closer to his as he deepens the kiss, wetting lips and sparking a new season of life even if it is only briefly.

Magical summer and the oasis away from the city, how hard is it to tell someone you have loved them for so long that your heart yearns for them even when they are near you? Like the fibers that hold the oranges together, he wants to envelop you with his entire being even when he knows the two of you would eventually part. But what is life like when you live in fear of the future? The present time is brief — but how beautiful it is to live it fully, to not take the present for granted?

“I think,” you tell him when the two of you pull apart, “if I wake up tomorrow without my head, I would be fine with it knowing what it is like now to live without regrets. But would you miss me if I disappeared?”

Seungkwan flipped over to lay on his back and brought your head to his chest so that you could hear his voice rumble in his chest against the backdrop of his beating heart. “I miss you even when you’re near me.”

“Stop being cheesy. Be honest,” you pout.

“I wouldn’t miss you.”

“Why is that?” You asked him.

Seungkwan stops to think for a second and brings an arm up to support the back of his head. “I dunno. I think it’s because I would delude myself to the point where I would believe that you are right beside me. But I would miss you, and I would do everything to not forget you. And I wouldn’t ever blame myself or regret the fact that I have loved you for the longest time. In fact, I’m thinking about that time in college when I got mad because you said that you didn’t love me.”

“Well you asked me why you weren’t gone after being friends with me for so long. Me telling you that I didn’t love you was logical, wasn’t it?” you complain.

“I’m still hurt. Wounded, actually,” Seungkwan pouts while holding your head above his face. He kisses the tip of your nose before putting you back against his chest, hugging you tightly even if it suffocates you.

“Stop handling me like I’m your doll.” He watches as you roll your eyes at him while speaking even though it’s evidently clear to him that you’re just being shy. Even then, he has to admit that his boldness also surprises him. “I don’t think there’s anything logical about anything, really. So I think I can say that I’ve also been loving you for the longest time. So to be able to say it out loud without being afraid, even if I can only do it briefly, I would still be happy about the fact that I could give and receive love from you, Seungkwan. So hold me tight, briefly, even if it’s only for a moment.”

TWENTY-TWO. CHOCOLATE ORANGES

Giant ball of molded chocolate wrapped in orange tinfoil, you thwack it against a flat surface until you feel the chocolate break into their individual slices. What is underneath is a classic milk chocolate treat, several slices too many. Take a slice and bring it to your mouth. Do you let it dissolve into a pool of chocolate and orange or do you break it apart between your teeth? Do you bring your fingers to your lips to lick away the melted bits or do you wipe it away? Is it wrong to do what you want to do? I like licking my fingers even if the person next to me thinks it’s a disgusting habit. I don’t care. I’m just eating chocolate and minding my business. Wrap it in the tinfoil if you’re not finished. There are a lot of pieces, so you don’t have to try to finish it in one sitting. I like trying to keep it in the shape of an orange, but that’s just me. I won’t judge you based on something as small as eating sweets. Several years down the line, you might still remember how anxious you felt or how embarrassed you felt in this moment. You would think about what other people might have thought about you. But in reality, I would be thinking about this moment. About how fun it was to whack the chocolate ball on different surfaces and watch the slices reveal themselves as we unwrapped the foil together.

SEUNGKWAN

Rows upon rows of trees barren and without fruit, the sight of it all was like a miracle at the end of June. The fact that it actually happened shocked Seungkwan so much that he didn’t even react when Seokmin and Soonyoung swiped his wallet from his trekking backpack to pay for the overpriced convenience store sliced oranges and whole oranges for the group during their hiking trip as a joke.

Trail mixes in plastic baggies, filled water bottles in hand, and several forms of oranges thrown in a plastic bag, the group follows each other along the hiking trail they were supposed to visit several weeks ago. Sunlight bright and cool winds passing by, today could not be a more perfect day for a friendly group hiking excursion in the mountains overlooking the city. And Seungkwan keeps your head wrapped tightly in his arms in fear that Jihoon would somehow find a way to use you as some form of weight training. Again.

Not once does he complain about not being able to use his hands to hold onto rails for support while climbing steep staircases or while crossing over stepping stones in the several rivers. He walks in the middle of the group, holding you up to let you inspect nature from different heights, happily chatting with his friends who surround him.

He tells you about oranges: the fruit, the ones on the farm, the way you like them prepared in desserts, the smell, the taste, the history he has with them. And he fills the gaps in your memory one description at a time. He has done it so many times that he knows what questions you are going to ask him. He knows how to describe things in ways even authors struggle to do. He’s patient, careful with his words, and welcoming of different voices in his conversations.

Tennis shoes crunching against the dirt paths, every time Seungkwan hands you over to another friend, he would always somehow find you back in his arms. Beyond the lush and vibrant green leaves is the city Seungkwan so badly wishes to live. But he sees his group of friends — Jihoon and Jeonghan, who try to push Soonyoung into the bushes whenever they can; Seokmin, who blushes while he intertwines his fingers with Noah’s; Morgan, who drags Alex by the straps of his backpack; Minghao, who is about to use your head as a phone stand for pictures before getting yelled at by Terry and Yunling; and Seungcheol, who is happier than ever — and it makes him think about just how much his life has been touched by magic to be able to be so unlonely in such a big world.

There is a scenic spot that overlooks the city. The group decides to stop there to rest before turning back so they can have dinner in the city before going back to the farm to pack up to leave.

Seungkwan sits on one of the stone benches with you in his lap. Yunling sits to the side of him and stretches her legs, bending over to massage her calves. Noah, whose sprain is already gone, comes over to hand her a few of the whole oranges they bought at the store before leaving to pass out the rest.

“God,” Yunling complains while handing Seungkwan an orange, “the peel for these are so thick that I kind of regret clipping my nails last night. And I bet these aren’t as tasty as the ones on your farm.”

“Not my farm,” Seungkwan sighs.

“I know.” Yunling pats him reassuringly on the back. “But some of my most precious memories happened on that farm. And you’re so entirely precious to all of us. How can we not associate you with the farm?”

Seungkwan bites his lip, not sure if he should come up with something witty to counter or continue the conversation with Yunling. In fact, he doesn’t know what he should be doing. He’s a college graduate, but he struggles with finding the balance between filial piety and his dreams. He struggles with trying too hard to try to fit into a world that makes it seem like everybody has their lives in order. He wonders about where everybody would go after they leave the farm. Would they remember this month how he remembers it, or would they return to their daily lives as if nothing has happened? He doubts they would treat their time on the farm as nothing, but he is human. He worries about things that he shouldn’t be worried about even if they cause him to become incredibly stressed. And he worries about you — how you would be able to go back to where you were in your life before you reconnected with him.

Yunling excuses herself to exchange her orange for another snack, leaving Seungkwan alone with you. Seungkwan looks at you with a slight frown on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him, your facial features soft yet filled with concern.

“Umm,” Seungkwan hums while looking to the side of him where two oranges sit. One for him and one for you. He tells you about how even if the convenience store orange would take him forever to peel, he would separate the tough skin from the delicate fruit as usual until the perfectly round ball of fruit is halved and then quartered and then whatever it takes to separate the fruit piece-by-piece. One after another, transferring fruit from his orange-stained fingertips into your awaiting mouth, he would watch you chew and smile as brightly as the sun in the summer sky. And he would smile too, fruitless in his hands yet fruitful in his love for you.

Boo Seungkwan knows he’s so lucky even when he didn’t realize the presence of love buried in the rising heat that left his skin sticky to the touch during summer. Tiny people struggling to find their place in this big world, he sits on his spot on the bench wondering what he must have done in his past life to be able to sit there, in that moment, sharing fruit against the backdrop of the world with you. Moments with others, so pure and tender. To Seungkwan, to have met you in this life is a once in a lifetime.

“Tell me, Seungkwan, what is the best way to peel an orange?” You ask him with such a cheerful smile on your face.

Suddenly, Seungkwan’s lap feels as if something heavy had been lifted off of him. His hand is still hovering where his hand had previously held your head steady. A sense of calmness instead of grief overwhelms him. Happiness even. Because he understands that even when we’ve fallen out of love with others or with ourselves, there is still someone other there who loves you and remembers you for who you were. So he takes one of the oranges to the side of him in his two hands and starts peeling.

He answers your question, wherever you may be, “It starts with the peel. Hold the orange in both hands and press your thumbs against the hollow bottom where there’s an open dip between the peel and the fleshy meat of the orange. Press into the peel with the tips of your fingernails, hard, penetrating the peel and creating a perfect opening to peel the fruit. Then, start peeling the bright and smooth outer shell away until you’re left with that orange and fleshy ball of juice. When you halve the fruit between your fingers, it sizzles and cracks crisply as you rip it apart — sometimes the juice escapes the membrane in a transparent drop of liquid, collecting on your finger, and rolling down your hand toward your arm. Sweet or sour, the rest comes after.”

TWENTY-THREE. THE ORANGE

Tough and protective skin, I’ll still hold you delicately in the palm of my hands. Being tough doesn’t mean you can never get hurt. Tell me about how vulnerable you are on the inside, and I’ll continue to sit beside you and cherish your worth.

Sometimes we fall in love before we realize we're in love.

TO MY BETA READERS AND HELPERS, to be constantly surrounded by your (INDI @playmetheclassics, ZETA @multi-kpop-fanfics, BEE @idyllic-ghost, PAULA @gyuwoncheol) support, I am incredibly lucky that it isn't only once in a lifetime. and much like how seungkwan feels, to be friends with you is once in a lifetime.

DEDICATED to those who are struggling to find love after loss — it may not be as far as you think.

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