#but no this isn’t the worst thing they could have ever done with the story

[bottomvalerius]

Idk who needs to hear this but um

Killing one queer, disabled character in a full cast of queer, disabled characters is not “burying your gays.” It’s just complicated (and imo good) writing.

🤷🏻🤷🏻🤷🏻

[whatohitsonfirewelp]

Y’all: antman 3 opened the new phase for mcu!!

Me: tell me you don’t love Scott Lang without telling me you don’t love Scott Lang

[im-subtextsexual]

I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense. 

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay. 

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

[byoldervine]

Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

[ladykailitha]

Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate

Welcome to the little story I was working on during my move! Just a fun little thing to keep my writing streak going without have to dive into my heavy hitters.

The original idea is here.

I originally planned to go farther than the original idea like season 2-4 but as I was just needing something lighthearted it became a short little story three chapters long that might get turned into a series of What if's.

Summary: After the events surrounding Will Byers and his return to life, Steve has decided he can't control anything in his life but school, so he seeks to put a stop to the bullying. Cue Eddie getting heart-eyes over popular King Steve protecting his little sheepies. So he decides Steve needs a knew title. Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate will work just fine.

~

Steve was still reeling from actual fucking monsters and shit. And he actually had to go to school the following Monday like none of it had happened.

Fuck, they didn’t even offer therapy, just NDAs and money to keep their mouths shut. He had no doubt that the Byers family and Nancy had the worst of it, so he wasn’t even mad that she broke up with him.

He got it more than most people that she needed to time to grieve the lost of her best friend, be with family and hold them close for awhile.

It sucked.

Steve wasn’t going to pretend that it didn’t, because it absolutely did. But he understood. He told Nancy that if she ever needed a friend to give him a call.

His temper was short and his capacity for bullshit was low, that was the only reason he could come up with what happened that Monday morning.

He walked into the hall that held his locker to his books for the day when he saw Tommy H. having a go at some freshman. Like this kid still looked like he was in elementary, he looked that little.

“Knock it off, Hagan,” Steve huffed. “There is no reason to be harassing this kid.”

Tommy turned around and got in his face. “What’s it to you, Harrington? I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Dude,” Steve said, stepping forward instead of back like Tommy thought he would, “why are you so angry all the time? Chill out.”

Tommy’s head reared back as though he’d been struck in the face. He pushed Steve away. “Again, what’s it to you? You want to be friends again now that Miss Priss is finished with your scaly ass? Because where was my loyalty? We’ve been friends for years and you threw it all away for some piece of ass!”

Steve didn’t even stumble, he just crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You know what you did was over the line and you did it anyway. Because that’s the problem, Hagan, isn’t it? You don’t know where the fucking line is, do you?”

Tommy frowned and tried to push him again, but Steve just let his body slide with the motion and it didn’t even hurt. Tommy stared at him for a moment before stalking off down the hallway to his own locker. Steve just shook his head and went over to the kid who Tommy had been bullying.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked gently, helping him pick up his books. “If he does that again, you come running for me. I’m Steve, Steve Harrington, just ask around, someone will know how to find me, yeah?”

The kid nodded and took the books back from Steve before he took off in a tear. Steve sighed and he put his hands on his hips like a disappointed mom.

He looked around the hall to see everyone staring at him in shock. And that was when he realized what he had done.

Last week, he might have called Tommy off, but not really done anything about it. But he had not only called Tommy off, he put him in his place, and then helped the kid.

Yeah that was quite the turn around. So he just did like he would have done at basketball game.

He clapped his hands together once, nice and loud to make sure everyone was paying attention to him even more now.

“Right,” he said loudly. “Nothing more to see here. Move along now.”

They stared at him in even further shock now.

“Come on,” Steve said impatiently. “Move along. Shoo!” He waved his hands in front of him, trying to get them leave, but it was like herding cats.

Someone slammed their locker and that broke them out of their trance allowing them to move about their day like that didn’t just happen.

Steve looked around and saw Eddie Munson leaning against his locker, with his arms crossed. A locker, Steve was pretty sure was open when he walked in that morning.

Huh.

That was certainly interesting.

~

Eddie had been having a rough morning. He spilled milk on his only clean pair of jeans. He was going to do laundry after school. He was! He just didn’t do it over the weekend because he had gotten a new book. A book that was currently being painstakingly dried out by Uncle Wayne with an old hair dryer, because Eddie dropped it in the sink. Then he almost forgot his homework and had to run back for it. He had managed to get to school on time, but Tommy H. had decided to chose violence that morning against a nerdy little freshman literally next to his locker.

He promised Uncle Wayne that if Tommy started something that he wouldn’t fucking finish it. He needed to graduate from high school and as it much as it sucked ass, he had to look the other way.

So imagine his surprise when Steve got in Tommy’s face and almost threw hands with the guy, telling him to back off. What was even more surprising was how quickly Tommy stood down.

But that wasn’t the last of Steve Harrington’s surprises, oh no...

He helped the kid gather up his stuff and offered himself as a white knight if Tommy did it again. But by then Harrington had drawn quite the crowd, but instead of soaking the attention like the full tilt diva the asshole jock most certainly was, he had tried to disperse the crowd. Like the attention had made him uncomfortable.

So he thought he’d throw the king a bone and slammed his locker shut. The loud noise startled the populous out of their stupor and sent them packing. He was more than a little shocked to see that maybe Steve had figured out who had rescued him.

And wasn’t that a kick in the head.

By the time he got to lunch news had spread that that morning’s incident was only the start of the king’s campaign to clean up the hallowed halls of Hawkins High. According to ye ole rumor mill, Steve had broken up a fight, called out two accounts of bullying, and stopped a class from rioting when the teacher had a medical emergency.

What was even more surp– he needed to find another word. Shocking. Astounding. Astonishing. Mind-boggling.

Anyway Steve sat down next to Carol and Tommy. Like even the great ex Nancy Wheeler dropped her fork, flabbergasted.

Tommy and Carol exchanged a glance.

“What are you doing here, Harrington?” Tommy growled. “Why don’t you sit next to your girlfriend? Oh that’s right she dumped your ass.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “You made a valid point, we have been friends for years and I’ve decided I’m tired of running away from my problems.”

“And what,” Carol sneered, “we’re one of your problems now? Fuck off, Steve.”

Steve threaded his fingers together and rested his chin on his knuckles. “You didn’t use to be this way, you know. You used to be the sweetest girl and I’m trying to figure out if it was Tommy that made you this way or if you turning into a bitch is what made Tommy become such an ass?”

Tommy and Carol’s heads rocked back in unison. Tommy moved to stand up to hit him, but Carol pulled him back down.

“If we bother you so much why don’t you leave and stay gone?” she asked, low and menacingly. “We don’t need you, you need us. We made you king.”

Steve threw his head back and laughed. “No, you really didn’t. You need someone to keep you from your worst selves. And that’s what I’m going to do. You could be good.” He slid a piece of paper over to Tommy. “This is Miss Chen, the school counselor’s office hours. You will make an appointment with her by the end of the day.”

Tommy threw it on the table. “Fuck off, Harrington. You can’t make me.”

Steve leaned forward on his elbows. “Actually you’ll find that I can. After all they’re still trying to find the culprit who put the smoke bomb in the garbage in the principal’s office last year.” He slapped the table for emphasis. “It would be a real shame if they learned it was you.”

Tommy blanched and gulped heavily. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Steve confirmed. “I know too much about you to have you go against me.”

Carol folded her arms and huffed. “Like we don’t have information on you, too.”

“Do you though?” he asked, sitting back in the chair and lazily stuff his hands in pockets. “I was never directly involved in any of it. Including the buying of weed for all those parties.”

This time Carol’s color drained. “Shit.”

“So this how it’s going to go,” Steve murmured. “You two have become my pet projects. I’m going to see if you can be reformed. Become better people. And to do that, we’re going to have to be friends again.”

Carol frowned as she twirled her hair around a finger. “Why are you doing this, Steve? I mean really. When you think people aren’t watching you, you get this haunted expression. It’s a little freaky, honestly.”

Steve sighed. “I have learned the hard way that running every time things get tough will only lead to worse consequences and I hate to see you come to harm because you realized the same thing too late.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I do care about you guys, of course I do. But this behavior is frightening. What if you hurt someone so bad that they took their life or they died because of your direct actions? Do you really think you could live with yourselves?”

“Tha–that can’t really happen, can it?” Carol asked, holding up her hand to stall Tommy from scoffing.

Steve shrugged nonchalantly. “That something you really want to test?” He leaned forward again on his elbows. “Having someone’s blood on your hands?”

They were both thinking it but Tommy beat Carol to it. “Is this what this about? Barb Holland? You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

Steve turned his head away.

Carol slapped her hands on the table on either side of her tray. “If that’s what Miss Priss said, blackmail be damned, Steve, I’m going throw hands, do you understand me?”

Steve’s head snapped her direction. “What?”

“Look,” Tommy said, “what happened to her was a shame, but you did everything you could to make sure she was okay before we went in to dry off.”

“Like, she wasn’t even supposed to be there that night,” Carol said, nodding. “That’s all on Nancy. Don’t carry her shit too, just because you loved her. You tried to include Barb and she was rude.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and nodded, choking down tears. “Thanks, guys.”

“I suppose,” Tommy said with a put on sigh, “we could be nicer. I guess.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed as Carol shook her head. He stuck out his hand. “Friends?”

Tommy shook it first and then Carol.

“Friends,” they agreed.

~

Eddie wasn’t able to hear what Steve and Tommy and Carol were talking about, but whatever it was it had ripples that quivered through the halls of the school.

Word had it that Tommy was seeing the school counselor and Carol had stopped making snide comments in passing.

Like, you could tell Carol was fighting back every nasty word that came to her head, as Steve would nudge her side and she would whisper to him what she was thinking instead. You could tell she was still being nasty but at least it wasn’t aimed at the target anymore.

But there were starting to be other changes too.

The basketball team was the worst of the jocks when it came to harassing the masses, but when Steve caught one of the members bullying someone, the next day, the guy was too tired to start shit.

So Eddie decided it was time for a little research and that meant actually going to PE. Fuck, he hated high school.

He dragged his ass to PE and the coach merely raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing. He knew why Eddie was there. Same reason as all the other kids that never came started showing up.

Steve Harrington.

The coach blew his whistle to call a foul and the kid who had been fouled immediately got up and in the other guy’s face.

Faster than lightning, Steve was between before the coach could even take a step toward the mounting trouble.

“Come on, Kenny,” Steve was saying soothingly. “It was fair play, you were just in the right place at the wrong time. Walk it off, then take your shot. You’ve got this.”

Kenny glared at the other player, but did as Steve suggested. Steve turned to the other player and patted him on the chest, murmuring something Eddie couldn’t hear, but the other guy just nodded and took his place on the line.

Eddie laughed out loud when Kenny biffed both shots and the other team got the ball. He didn’t know enough about basketball, but he could still appreciate a good strategy when he saw it.

As the game wore on, Eddie was starting to see the pattern emerge. If it was malicious, Steve would be up in the guy’s face telling him to knock it off and to play clean. If it was a good play and the fouled player was pissed, Steve would calm him down and praise the other team.

It was almost freaky how well Steve seemed to know the difference. And Eddie loved freaky.

~

Part 2 Part 3

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[evansbby]

an update from me :)

hey everyone, i know i haven’t been very active on here lately. and the reason is because a lot of things in my life have changed. i’ve been debating even sharing this but i feel like i’m in a good enough position to be okay with sharing it.

so these past two years, i had been super active on here (late 2022- early 24) and that was because, well, I didn’t really have anything else. that’s because I had graduated in 2022 and then i just couldn’t find a job in my field. like so many other recent graduates, it was just so hard and tough and it really made me lose all faith in myself.

i found myself to be in the worst mental state i had ever been. I cut myself off from my friends, felt like a burden towards my family, was having meltdowns and panic attacks almost daily, even started eating unhealthily and was just overall in a very bad place.

HOWEVER, i always felt like I could come on tumblr and that’s why i was so active and writing all these stories because honestly, they were almost like a crutch to me. like the ONE thing i had to look forward to in life during those times was the feedback I’d get when i posted a fic, and honestly it’s what kept me going. like i swear to god, on some days this blog and community was the only thing that i had to look forward to and keep me going, and writing felt like such a huge escape.

because i felt so USELESS. like i was wasting my life and not making any money or being able to kickstart my career after uni, and that it would be like this forever, so when I was writing it actually felt like I was doing something with a purpose. honestly on some days I would literally wake up early and go sit in Starbucks all day just writing my fics like i was cosplaying working or something just so I’d have a purpose. (I don’t go to Starbucks anymore lol boycott)

anyways, i never shared this on tumblr these past few years bc you guys don’t understand what a failure i felt like. i would sometimes get asks on here asking what i did for a job and I’d feel so embarrassed of my current state of being unable to find a job when it felt like everyone else who had graduated with me had one and obtained one so easily. like i felt ASHAMED.

i remember once i got an ask asking what my job was and I just said “fashion marketing” bc that was one of the things i wanted to do and id done an internship in that field so i just put that but it was a LIE i was unemployed and the most depressed ive been in my whole life but I thought maybe i could manifest it.

ANYWAYS, and you’ve probably already guessed it, but the reason I’m not so active anymore is because I did eventually find a job. a really good one that I’m enjoying so much and I’m so happy at. Finally, I’m feeling like myself again, like I’m living that life in London as a twenty something that I’d see everyone on tiktok living!! Like I’m finally just having fun, going out with friends, being active, having money to spend on fun things etc.

and it feels so surreal and crazy because when i was depressed and jobless, it made me doubt myself so much. Like the constant rejections and failed interviews made me doubt myself and lowered my self esteem so much and I thought I’d NEVER achieve this life that i have now! And I don’t want to jinx it but I literally thank God every day for finally granting me this because I really feel like I would’ve gotten worse and worse and IDEK.

But back to the main point, and so because of my new job I just don’t have that much time for tumblr anymore. But this isn’t a goodbye post… not at all! I find that when I’m super busy in life is also when I get the most motivated to write! Like for example in summer 2022 I was on here so much and that was the summer I had the most fun, was the most busy. I think when I’m busy in life, I get motivated to write.

Which I believe is the case right now, because I’m SO motivated to complete all my stories, I keep thinking about them and writing them slowly, so please don’t think anything is abandoned! I just wanted to make this post to be more transparent about what’s been going on in my life and what had been going on these past two years. That maybe someone else going through something similar can see that eventually, everything does work out.

Anddd I don’t really know how to end this. I just want to say, yall don’t understand just how thankful I am for having this blog, this platform, to write my stories. For having you guys. Because who knows how much worse my mental state would’ve been these past two years when I didn’t have ANYTHING else going for me, if I hadn’t had this blog it would’ve been so much worse.

Thank you so much for believing in me and enjoying my stories and always always letting me know how much you enjoy them. And I’ll say the truth; I know everyone says that engagement on tumblr has been bad lately but I can say that bc of you guys I have literally never EVER had this issue. And that’s not me being big headed, that’s just the truth and it makes me so happy and grateful. Yall always came through for me and still do now! Every time I think my fic is going to flop, you guys come through for me. I appreciate it so much. You guys have no idea how much you helped me when I was at my lowest. And continue to.

Many thanks

Me 🩷🩷🫶🏼🫶🏼

[aperrywilliams]

I Need You Now (Spencer Reid x Ex!Girlfriend!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Ex!Girlfriend!Reader.

Summary:  After the break up with his girlfriend, Spencer isn’t taking it in the best possible way. Memories flood his mind and the guilt of what he could have done differently. When everything is lost, there is no more to do than to go on, even if the only certainty in his heart is that he needs her now.

Word Count: 2.1k (a little thing)

Warnings: Angst. Spencer overthinks over and over again. The reasons for the breakout are not explicit, but you can infer them. Alcohol consumption. Open ending (hahahahahaha). I’m sorry (I’m not).

A/N: Full inspired by I Need You Now by Lady A. Please don’t sue me.

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Pictures perfect memories

Scattered all around the floor

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It’s late when I unlock my apartment door. As soon as I open it, it is the darkness that welcomes me and not you.

At other times, you would have jumped from the couch to greet me, throwing your arms around my neck and kissing me all over my face. And even if I always complained about you being up late for me, I silently loved it.

Sometimes, when I returned at dawn, I found you asleep on the couch with a book open on your chest. Those times, you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn't like the idea of waking you up.

That isn’t happening tonight, though.

You’re not on the couch. You’re not home.

And the worst part is that you said you are not coming back.

---------------

Reaching for the phone cause

I can't fight it anymore

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind

For me, it happens all the time

---------------

Our love story started pretty close as a romantic movie would do. I bumped into you on my way out of a coffee shop. You were going to go inside but were distracted by your phone. You didn't see me coming out until you were stumbling, and before touching the ground, I secured you with my arms.

I was the one who apologized profusely, even if you were the one who didn't watch your way.

When I finally looked at you, words left me. And to hear your voice telling me not to worry didn't help my cause.

I would have asked for your number if I were bolder.

I didn't and let you go instead.

But luck must have been by my side when we crossed paths again.

The same coffee shop, two weeks later.

I got inside that morning and saw you at the counter waiting for your drink. I recognized you immediately.

Without a second thought, I walked up to you. Before I could say anything, you looked up and recognized me, too. A smile tugged your lips when you saw me.

“Hi,” I greeted you.

At that moment, I realized I had actually spoken to you. Why did I do that? What was I going to talk to you about?

“Hi. Glad you haven’t got a coffee yet,” you quipped. Making me stutter.

“Oh, no, no. I wasn’t thinking of spilling my coffee on you. I mean-” I stumbled over my words.

“Don’t freak out. I was joking,” you hastened to explain. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

“A joke. Yeah. Uh. I knew that,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Why was it so hard to sound casual?

“Yeah. I figured,” you chuckled. “Will you tell me your name this time?”

That day, my fate was sealed.

We exchanged phone numbers, and against the odds, I was the one who called first.

That was followed by text messages and some coffee dates.

We both were pleasantly surprised at how naturally the conversation flowed between us and how much fun we had together. Forgetting our first encounter where I couldn't stop stuttering, as the weeks went by, I relaxed enough to be myself.

I can recall the time I told you I loved you. I was a nervous wreck, and as the words left my mouth, I only wanted to take them back because I couldn't stand the idea of being rejected by you, of losing you.

You were the one who told me not to be afraid of telling the truth because you felt the same way. I can swear it was one of the best days of my life. A passionate kiss sealed our confession as we vowed to be each other forever.

Nothing of that remains now, though. And I know that the one to blame is no one but me.

---------------

It's a quarter after one

I'm all alone, and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control

---------------

Why did things go down between us? We were perfect for each other. People told me that often, and I believed it, too.

After dating for over a year, I asked you to move in. I was excited to begin a new phase in our relationship, although you were a bit reluctant. Not for lack of love or wanting. You said you were head over heels for me, but you have been cautious about your love life. The last time you had a serious relationship, things ended pretty badly for you. That time, you swore not to go through something like that again, so you were careful about protecting yourself.

I knew that, too. You told me what happened to you a few months after we started dating. I swore I would never hurt you. I loved you, and I would never do anything to harm you.

I’m now sitting on the same couch where we spend so many movie nights. The same where truths were told, dreams were discussed, and we planned a future.

With a drink in my hand, I glance at my phone over the coffee table and feel the urge to hear your voice. I want to grab the device and dial your number even if you told me not to call you again, even if I agreed not to contact you again.

But I miss you, even if every day I tell the world I'm doing better and I will get over it.

The truth is I don't know how to do it without you.

I need you now.

---------------

And I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

---------------

Never did the silence overwhelm me as much as it does right now. It’s past midnight, and I can only think about what I should have done differently.

Maybe I should have opened up about what was happening before. You always knew I had a hard time expressing my feelings, but with you, that never was an issue. That’s why I can’t figure out why I did differently this time.

You told me I didn’t love you anymore, and that’s farther from the truth. I couldn’t stop loving you even if I tried.

Why did you say that, though?

Because I stop nurturing our love.

Because I took it for granted.

I made you doubt your worth and how important you are to me. I stopped listening. I stopped seeing. You gave me the signals, and I overlooked them.

Yeah, the job seemed more important at the time.

Of course, lives were on the line.

It's funny because none of that matters to me right now.

Missing you is something I never thought it could be a reality. How could I think about that when you were by my side to stay? Even the times I hurt you, you said you were to keep up no matter what. It was an unconditional love until it wasn’t. And I can’t blame you for leaving. It's all my doing, and I deserve to be alone. I deserve it, but I can’t stand it.

---------------

Another shot of whisky

Can't stop looking at the door

Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind

For me, it happens all the time

---------------

There are times when you think of me. I do think of you every day. When I wake up alone in my bed or when I drink my first coffee in the morning, you are not teasing me by pouring all the sugar from the container.

I think of you when I check my phone, and there are no texts from you. When at night I don’t want to go to bed because you are not with me to let me love you.

I can still hear your footsteps on the hardwood floor of this apartment.

I can recall, like yesterday, the times we danced in this very living room. The time you build a fort with cushions and blankets just because I told you once I loved that as a kid.

The nights when you let us watch foreign films so I could translate you whispering in your ear. The same nights when the movie ended were long forgotten because we were making out just like the first time.

I don’t think I can stop recounting every single memory we shared: the good ones and the bad ones.

Because, of course, I, too, remember the fights, the arguments, the silent treatments. But above all, the talks and our agreement of never going to sleep mad at each other.

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It's a quarter after one

I'm a little drunk, and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control

---------------

With the alcohol running in my blood now, I can’t stop thinking about if your affections belong to someone else now.

Of course, I can’t be mad or blame you for it.

But my heart aches when I think about it.

I know I lost you the moment I allowed you to walk out that door.

But the damn phone is still there, tempting me, pushing me to call you. Even if I don't know what I could tell you.

Or maybe I do: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I love you. I miss you. I need you.

Would you believe me this time?

It’s wishful thinking. A naive one?

I don’t think any word I could say right now can do some repair to the pain I caused you. But I could try.

I grab the phone with trembling hands and start typing the first three numbers: 8-6-7...

I can do this so that I will continue: 5-3-0... just one more digit.

But I know you’ll not answer. And if you do, it’s unfair to you for me to do this. I should respect your wishes. It’s the bare minimum I can do.

So I toss the phone again over the coffee table, and the tears run freely this time.

---------------

And I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

Guess I rather hurt than feel nothing at all

---------------

If anything, I feel jealous of the person who will love you the way you deserve and will call you his.

In the same way I did a time ago.

Maybe I just need to get used to the idea. I lost you, and there is nothing I can do even if I still need you here.

I had the privilege of you letting me love you, and I’ll be grateful for having the chance.

Curling on the couch, I see the damn phone watching me again, defiance me. I’ll not give in this time. I owe you that much.

I was so immersed in my new determination that I could barely register the two knocks on my front door. It’s past one am, so I just assume it must be on a neighbor's door.

But then I hear another two knocks again. It is louder this time and impossible to ignore.

Grumbling, I stood from my spot.

I already know who it is. Derek Morgan has been adamant about pulling me out of my misery in the way he only knows: going out.

I could pretend to be deaf and pretend I didn't hear anything. But I know Derek; he won't settle, and he will use his spare key to get in anyway.

I open the door, ready to scold him for showing up at my door at this time. But words kept stuck in my throat when I confirmed Derek was not the one who was standing at my door.

“Hi. I’m sorry for showing up here without warning. I guess I didn’t think this thoroughly.”

My mouth opens and closes several times with nothing to say. At the lack of words, you continues talking.

“I thought I should call you first. But I wasn’t sure if you would pick it up. But if it’s a bad moment, it’s okay; I can go.”

Does telepathy really exist? I don't know, but I don't want to question it either.

“No, no. It’s okay. Would you like to come in?”

Your face shows something similar to relief. A bit of anxiety, maybe? I’m sure I’m not doing better.

What kind of test is this? I don’t know, but if it is the last chance I’ll get to do things right, God helps me to doesn’t fuck up.

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A/N2: Bonus point if you know where her phone number comes from.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[intricatechaosofyou]

Blind Date Gone…Wrong?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x f!reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Summary: Maybe getting stood up isn’t the worst thing ever

Warnings: drinking, alcohol, language

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

You glanced down at your watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. It was 7:45, almost a full hour after you were supposed to meet your date. Convinced you needed a boyfriend, or at the very least a hookup, your best friend insisted on setting you up with one of her friends at the office. Having nothing better to do, you agreed.

Your blind date, Thomas, and you had talked, agreeing to meet up at an Italian restaurant on the beach. Putting on one of your favorite dresses that did wonders for your ass and donning a little extra makeup than usual, you had arrived at the restaurant five minutes past seven, fully expecting Thomas to be there. When you discovered he wasn’t, you shrugged it off and ordered yourself a drink while you waited.

You waited for ten minutes before texting him. You never got a response but you decided to wait a little bit longer.

Ten minutes turned into thirty.

And thirty minutes had turned into forty.

The waiter had been asking you if you were ready to order for the past twenty minutes, and yet you still insisted you needed more time, praying that Thomas would walk through the door.

You were starting to get blatant looks of pity from the patrons seated around you.

He wasn’t coming.

You were flagging down the waiter, ready to pay so you could escape the restaurant with some of your pride still intact when a man slid into the seat across from you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Darlin’. Maverick kept me late and then traffic was just awful,” he announced loudly before leaning across the table and planting a kiss on your cheek. His voice dropped in volume so only you could hear him when he whispered, “I’m Bob. Just go with it.”

You nodded slightly and tried your best to smile at the man, Bob apparently, once he pulled away from you. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I was more worried than anything.”

The waiter smiled at the two of you. Whether he was glad your date had finally showed up or glad you were finally going to order, you couldn’t tell.

Once the two of you ordered and the waiter was out of earshot, you turned back to the man seated across from you. “Thank you so much.”

He blushed and nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I appreciate it though,” you admitted. “Got stood up and I was getting all those looks of pity.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

You smiled. “So, your name’s Bob?”

He nodded. “Lt. Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob.”

“Lt. Robert Floyd?” You repeated. “You Navy?”

“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know?”

“We are in Fightertown, USA,” you mused with a grin.

“I guess you’re right,” Bob chuckled.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n),” you introduced yourself, sticking your hand out for him to shake.

Bob smiled and grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to leave a kiss on the back of it. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you replied, blush creeping up your face at his actions. “So is this your typical Friday night? Going around saving girls who got stood up?”

“N- no, this is the first time I’ve done this. And whoever stood you up is an idiot,” Bob replied.

You smiled at the man, head tilting slightly. The way he had said it was so genuine, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell at the comment.

“Thanks, Bob.”

“Anytime, Darlin’.”

———————

“No way!” You giggled. “I don’t believe it!

Bob shrugged, bashful smile on his face. “Yup. Punched him right in the face.”

“What happened after that?” You questioned, trying to contain your laughter so you could hear more of the story.

“Suspended for two weeks.”

“And the other kid?”

“Nothing.”

You gasped, utterly appalled. “But he was the one being a bully! You were just standing up for your friend!”

“School didn’t see it that way.”

“Well, I do. Looks like you’ve always been a hero, Bob.”

A blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyone would have done it.”

“I don’t think so. You don’t give yourself enough credit, honey.”

The blush on his cheeks deepened as the pet name rolled off your tongue. “It really wasn’t a big deal.”

“If you say so,” you said with a laugh, resting your head on your hand as you gazed at the man.

The two of you had been talking for hours, meals long gone and a crème brûlée now being shared between the two of you. The conversation flowed naturally despite never having met before. You had talked about almost everything, from why you were in Miramar, childhood memories, to your favorite ice cream flavors.

“So, what’s it like being in the Navy?” You asked, pointing your spoon at him.

“It’s fun. I’m a Weapons System Officer which means I’m in charge of all the weapons in the back of the plane. Phoenix is my pilot.”

“Phoenix?” You question, tilting your head.

“That’s her call sign. Everyone has one,” Bob explained. “There’s Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman, Payback.”

“So what’s yours?”

“Uhh…Bob,” he admitted bashfully, eyes not meeting yours.

You grinned and let out a small giggle. “I like it. I think it suits you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, short and sweet.”

“Calling me short, Darlin’?” Bob joked.

“Definitely,” you replied with a wink.

———————

When the cheque came, Bob swiped it up before you could even touch it.

“To repay you for letting me crash your date,” he explained.

“‘Crash my date?’” You repeated. “Bob, you saved it.”

“Then to repay you for your company.”

You pouted and leaned back in your chair. “Fine. But you let me pay next time.”

“‘Next time?’”

Your cheeks heated up as you realized your mistake. “Not that there has to be a next time. I just had a lot of fun and thought maybe we could do this again. But that was a very bold assumption,” you rambled.

“Actually, I was gonna ask if I could see you again?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I had a really good time tonight,” Bob admitted, awkwardly shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Smiling, you reached across the table to grab his hand. “I’d like that.”

“Next Friday?” Bob suggested.

“It’s a date.”

———————

The two of you walked outside the restaurant hand in hand, giggling like a couple of high schoolers.

“Well, my car’s this way,” you mumbled, pointing behind you.

“Mine’s the other way,” Bob replied, frown making its way onto his face.

“Then I guess this is where we part,” you sighed dramatically. “But I’ll see you next Friday?”

Bob nodded. “Six o’clock.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, Bob.”

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

With a sudden burst of confidence you grabbed his collar and pressed your lips to his, relishing in the small gasp that left him. His hands came to rest on your hips as your mouths slotted together almost perfectly.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was long enough to leave Bob a mess when you pulled back. His glasses were knocked askew on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks were flushed, and a bit of your lipstick was now staining the side of his mouth.

You giggled at his appearance and patted his bicep. “You good there, Robby?”

“Better than that,” he whispered.

“I should get going.”

He nodded and pecked your lips once more before letting you go.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but spare one more glance at the man. He was walking in the opposite direction, fist pumping as he went.

You smiled to yourself. Maybe this blind date wasn’t a total disaster after all.

TAGLIST

@pono-pura-vida

[verm1c1de]

Zims entire personality is completely fabricated

Let me explain.

Zim, as we know him, is just a mask made up by.. well, Zim.

Zim doesn’t exist.

Because Zim, at his most genuine, loves.

And Zim is not supposed to love.

It’s been thrown around throughout the entire course of the series that Zim is, in fact, a very intelligent individual. Moreso than irkens, renowned technology-thieves, are known to be. It’s for this fact, that it would make sense, that Zim would not be completely ignorant of how the rest of Irken society views him.

The defect, the worst irken to ever exist, et cetera.

There’s no way to be that obtuse about your own infamy, and if there is, there’s enough hints and clues in the series to allow viewers to come to the conclusion that Zim isn’t unaware of it all.

And no, this is not a “Zim is a genius and knows absolutely everything” post. He’s definitely gullible. He absolutely has the worst priorities, he doesn’t know when to quit, too stubborn and set in his own beliefs, but he does Know a lot more than he lets on.

Multiple instances of Tallest Purple nearly revealing the truth about Zim’s mission or being too careless with his words are brushed away, either spoken over by Red or ignored completely by Zim, as if he didn’t hear it at all. Similarly, Sizz-Lorr exists as tangible evidence of everything wrong with Zim’s falsified identity as an invader. He shows up for one episode and that episode introduces some of the most important building on Zim’s coding and the consequences derived from his destructive actions on Irk. And his response to this, is to flat out deny it. Because with Purple, he has the expectation to not be aware. With Sizz-Lorr, everything he’s done is laid out in front of him, forcing him to acknowledge it. He won’t.

Zim, at his most genuine, is paranoid.

Paranoid enough to fabricate an entire personality from nothing after having the entirety of Irken knowledge downloaded into his PAK, only minutes after having been freed from his tube.

Zim is a bootlicker. Zim couldn’t care less about the Tallest. Zim seeks absolution from the Tallest because he knows that he was Made Wrong and that the things he’s done are unforgivable, but he can’t help himself. Zim only goes out of his way to gain their attention because he knows that’s what the average irken desires. All of these are true.

Zim is only drawn to invading in the most superficial way possible for an irken. He enjoys the idea of invading, not because it is personally "appealing" to him in any sense of the word, but because he knows that it is for others. It's an esteemed title. An invader gets to have respect. An invader gets to be addressed directly by the Tallest.

Being an invader is the best thing. Not for him, but for his act.

He needs the act. The act will save him from his imperialistic society. The act is the worst thing to ever happen to him.

Zim is nothing without it. He’s nothing with it.

He hates the act.

(“Hey, you’re a worse flier than I am!”)

And it’s very, very likely that he hates himself because of it. Much more than anyone else could ever hate him, because their hate for him is as superficial as his allegiance to the Empire is.

Zim does not fit in on Irk because Irk doesn’t need a Zim. Irk doesn’t need an irken soldier whose sole identity is to destroy.

Which is why Zim fits in so much better on Earth as its villain. On Earth, he gets to be a part of the story, not a fool that has to force himself on stage to even have some semblance of a spotlight.

Zim was already firmly set into his role before arriving to Earth; but coming there, and meeting Dib, further instills Zim with the drive to keep it up. Dib exists to be a hero, after all! And heroes need their villains. Zim fits into that role perfectly. And of course Zim, being nothing BUT a role, is drawn to it. He'll feed into Dib's alien obsession because Dib's alien obsession fits into Zim's "character". The big bad guy that needs to be fought against.

Which makes sense.

If he's the big bad that everyone hates, he doesn't have to worry about wondering if anyone loves him, because he knows they don't.

His first words were “I love you.”

The Zim we know does not love.

The Zim we know is nothing but an elaborate, one-irken act, stuck playing the same role in the same show for as long as he draws it out for.

One which would collapse if anything ever brought attention to it.

this post would not have been made without the help of @short-and-ugly and @animatorfun. seriously. like they wrote it. they were my editors.

this is NOT a headcanon post, im for realsies. this is metatextual analysis. i genuinely believe this is what zims character is supposed to be ((even if not necessarily intentionally))

[futterurl]

Hello! I absolutely love the future man writings you’ve done and wanted to request smut for josh futturman. I can just imagine for his first time getting intimate with a partner he just gets so overly eager that he ends up overstimulating himself and his partner hehe

sry ive been gone for a bit schools been kicking my ass ! anyways yeah i got a little carried away sry if this isnt what u rlly had in mind

WARNINGS: fem!reader, titplay, oral(f!receiving), virgin!josh, p in v, creampie, super soft

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it had been a nice day, going out and spending the day with your boyfriend, josh. you two were sat in your apartment, watching a movie, him holding you in his arms while a bowl of popcorn sat in your lap. his hand held onto your forearm, rubbing back and forth lightly with his thumb.

you loved days like this. you loved your boyfriend. he was the sweetest guy you had ever met, and boy were you glad he was yours. he would constantly try to spend time with you, and would try to teach you about the video games that he played. you always looked up to him.

and to him? lord, you were a goddess. you were this kickass woman who was one of his well respected co-workers, you had such a beautiful personality, and you were drop dead gorgeous to him. he fell in love with you all over again whenever he looked at you.

you both tool each other in with your worries and guilts. he knew that you were more shy, and he did a majority of the talking in public, and wouldn’t try to pressure you with anything. he was so kind to you, you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

while you guys were snuggled up, you started to talk over the movie, not paying it much attention. just talking about funny stories that happened in the past.

“…and she caught me. jacking off. in my room. it was the worst thing ever.” josh was telling the unfortunate story of his poor mother just trying to bring him something, but seeing that mess instead. you couldn’t help but laugh.

“god, if that kinda stuff happened to me, i swear, i’d never look anyone in the eyes again.” you laughed.

“this is a random question, and sorry if it’s intrusive, but…have you ever had…like, sex before?” he asked you, sitting up on the couch so he could look you in your eyes.

you shifted, not used to being asked this question. “i…i have. once. it was a mistake. i don’t know why i did it.”

he started to look a little worried. “did he make you do that?” hoping it wasn’t that.

“oh, no! no! don’t worry, i was fine with it.” you reassured him. “i just…regret it, was all. it wasn’t all that good, just a heat of the moment thing, wanting to do it. we fucked, he came, and that was that. nothing special.”

“did he uh…did he make you…y’know…” he tried to ask in the most not awkward way possible, which was still very awkward.

“make me cum? uh, no. it wasn’t…wasn’t really a priority, i guess. just the experience.” you started to fidget with your hands.

“that’s…yeesh, that’s kinda fucked.” he was a little irritated. was it that difficult to focus on a girl for a few minutes to make her feel good? he didn’t understand it. “i’m sorry it wasn’t good. i just don’t get how he could finish and not care that you didn’t.”

“it’s fine. i don’t really care that much.” you were still a tad bit upset over it, but he was out of your life now. you didn’t have to worry shout him, only being in your happiest relationship yet with josh.

“what about you?” you asked him, curious.

“me? oh, uh, this is kinda sad, but i…haven’t done that kinda stuff.” he started. “it just never kinda…happened. moment was never really right. but now i’m here, with you. i couldn’t be happier.” he hugged you, kissing your jaw.

you rubbed the back of his head. you loved this man more than words could describe.

“i don’t know how to ask this in a way that isn’t awkward, but i’m just gonna go ahead…would you mind if i…if i, uh, made you…you cum?” he asked, looking at you.

you looked at him. “a-are you sure? you don’t have to if you feel bad or anything like that, it’s not your obligation to-”

he cut you off, holding your hands in his. “i…i want to do this. it’s not out of sadness or anger for you…”

you gave him an inquisitive stare.

“okay, maybe it is a little bit.” he admitted. “but i really do wanna do this. i’ve wanted to do this with you…for a little bit now, but i didn’t know how to ask, or bring it up. you feeling good makes me happy.”

it was like he was trying to make you fall in love again and again.

“josh, that’s really sweet…i…i do think i may be ready to try this stuff out with you.” you started to get a little shy.

“okay…okay…great.” he tried to hype himself up, telling himself that it’s real and this was happening. “just, uh, tell me if you’re uncomfortable or anything like that, and we can stop, go back to watching the movie, no questions asked, okay?”

you smiled, knowing he was your safe place. “thank you so much.” you gave him a kiss on his lips. he went and deepened the kiss, holding your frame in his arms.

you made out, him slowly getting on top of you, laying you in the couch. his hands went from holding your body to feeling around: touching your hips, your waist, your breasts, everything. he gently caressed one of your breasts, to which you let a moan out at.

“did you like that?” he asked.

you nodded, pulling your shirt up. “please.” you yanked it off your body. he stared at you with awe, your breasts clad with a bra. you looked so beautiful to him.

“can i…can i take this off?” he asked, fingers playing with your bra. you nodded, reaching back and unclasping it.

“how the hell do you unclasp that so easily?” he discarded your bra, asking while staring at your bare breasts.

“lots of practice, i guess. you get used to it after wearing these since the ripe age of 13.” you giggled.

his hand moved towards your breasts, but hesitated. he didn’t want to squeeze them too tight, or hurt you.

“you can touch then, josh. it’s okay. please. i want you to.” you reassured him, guiding his hand to gently caress your left tit. he played with it, new to the sense of it.

“it’s so soft…” his thumb ran over your nipple, causing you to shudder. he could tell you liked that.

“do you think i could…suck on them?” he asked, testing the waters. you nodded your head slowly.

“yes, please. whatever you like.”

“this is about you, though, not me. i want this to feel good for you.” he looked at you with concern in his eyes. sure, he was getting very caught up in the moment, but he knew he ultimately wanted you to have a good takeaway from this: you were someone he loved so much, he wanted to watch and make you feel good.

“josh, i want you to do this, don’t worry.” you smiled at him. he was so careful with you, it made you feel so delicate. so special.

he leaned his head down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. his lips wrapped around it while his tongue ran over it.

you ran your fingers through his hair. you had thought he’d be a boob guy, and this for sure proved it. he loved feeling them, the texture so foreign to him.

he moved on to the other breast, suckling onto your other nipple, to which you let out a gasp at. it felt…good.

he played with your other breast in his hand, giving it gentle squeezes. you let out a hushed moan. you didn’t think it’d feel good.

his head lifted up, kissing you again. it was a deep kiss, his hand digging to play with the hem of your pants.

“please, wanna make you feel good down there.” he pleaded, looking at you for permission.

you had never been like this before. someone focusing on you felt…unbelievable. it really did.

you nodded, unzipping your pants. “please, josh, want this so bad. want you so bad.”

he lifted your hips up, helping you shimmy out of your pants and panties. you were there, completely bare in front of him. he took his shirt off, trying to make you feel more comfortable. he stared at you with awe.

he couldn’t believe you were with him. you were so beautiful, and had an even better personality. he couldn’t believe that you loved him, and that you were willing to do this with him. he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

“is this okay?” he asked, lowering himself, his head in between your legs. he rubbed your thighs, trying to help you stay comfortable. he could see your slick. he wanted to get a taste so badly.

“yes, please josh. please.” you wailed.

he obliged, taking a long lick up your slit.

“oh, fuck…” you moaned. loud. you hadn’t ever felt that good before.

“you okay?” he asked, making sure he didn’t do something wrong.

“i’m great, just felt really fucking good…holy shit.” you looked down at the sight of him, in between your thighs.

he dipped in again, this time bringing his tongue to lay flat on your clit. you shuddered, feeling all sorts of sensations. he held your hips steady, running his tongue in tight circles around your clit.

you swore to god, you could hear him groaning into your cunt. he was letting out little noises in exasperation as he pleasured you, rubbing your clit with his tongue, getting into a rhythm.

“jesus christ, josh, i’ve never felt so good, fuck…” you could barely get the words out in between moans.

he licked another stripe down your slit and ran his tongue on your entrance. you tugged at his hair a big, cautious yet excited to see where this was gonna go.

his tongue slowly crept inside of you, feeling around as you scratched at his scalp, letting little whimpers out. he held tightly onto your thigh as he started to tongue fuck you.

you threw your head back in pure ecstasy. you were starting to get close.

“josh…g’na come soon…fuck…” you panted out.

“please.” he said, moving his mouth up and tasting you all over. “do it f’ me. come on my face. please. you’re so hot. fuck. come all over me.”

he moved his mouth and latched onto your clit again. from there, he just sucked. your orgasm approached.

you let out a cry as your hips started to spasm ever so slightly, your body contorting. josh continued to suckle on your clit while you rode out your orgasm.

“oh my god…” you breathed. “how are you so fucking good at that?”

he lifted his head up, mouth coated in your cum. “don’t know. just pure talent i guess.”

you lightly pushed him. “fuck you.”

“i mean, if you’d be ever so kind.”

you looked at him, starting to laugh, but understanding what he wanted: you.

you moved yourself closer to him, closing the space in between you two.

“please.” you said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “i..i think i’m ready for this. fuck me, josh. please.”

“fuck, i’m so fucking hard for you right now, holy shit.” he kissed you, lying you back down on the couch. he pulled his pants down, huge erection standing up in his underwear.

“do you see how crazy you make me? you’re so perfect.” he looked down as he slowly started to take off his underwear, cock standing out.

you blushed. even in situations like this, he still made you feel so special.

he got on top of you, cock springing out, almost touching your delicate folds. you shuddered.

“a-are you sure you wanna do this, josh?” you asked him. doing something like this for the first time was really important to you, so you hoped you could make it important to him.

“yes, there’s no one i’d rather do this with than you.” he kissed you softly, sliding his cock through your slit, bumping his tip to your clit. you both groaned lightly.

“i…i’m gonna put it in now…okay?” he asked for permission.

you smiled. “yes. please.”

he used one of his hands to steady himself and his other one to hold yours as he slowly pushed inside of you. he was feeling all sorts of new sensations, all good like he’d never felt before. your walls clenched around him. he let out a moan as he slowly inched himself inside you.

you held his hand, gripping it tight. it had been awhile since you’d done this. it was a big stretch, but it felt so damn good to have him inside of you.

he finally bottomed out, cupping your cheek. “you’re so tight…oh my god…i knew it’d feel good but…didn’t expect this…” he was breathing heavily, catching up with his senses. he felt like he was going to cum just from being in you.

“josh, want you t’ start moving.” you pleaded, feeling so full but desperate for friction.

he obliged, giving experimental thrusts and letting out low groans in the process. your tight walls kept sucking him in, as if they didn’t want him to pull out.

“fuck, you feel so good. i love you so much.” he started to thrust a bit faster now, hands on your hips, holding you steady. every time his hips met yours you could feel yourself groan with delight. even though this was his first time, he wanted to take care of you.

he started to thrust hard, moaning sweet nothings into the room. every word he said professed his love for you and your body.

one thrust in particular hit a certain part inside you that made you let out a really high-pitched moan. he stopped, looking at you.

“shit, you okay?” he asked.

“yeah, m’ fine, that just felt really good.” you gave him a smile.

he tried to angle his hips to hit that sensitive spot again, which he was successful with after a few harsh thrusts. he abused that sweet spot with every thrust, leaving you a moaning mess. he took your lips into his, kissing you like your lives depended on it.

“josh, close, shit.” you could barely form words with how good you felt.

“me too, gonna cum, fuck.” he started to move incredibly fast, moving like there was no tomorrow. “please, cum on my cock.”

you could feel the knot on your stomach start to snap, riding out your orgasm. you were letting out these pornographic moans that were driving him insane, leading him to cum right after you did.

but he didn’t stop.

“feel too damn good. can’t stop. shit.” he continued his quick and deep thrusts, leaving you screaming.

“josh, can’t. already came. oh my god.” you were a moaning mess, feeling his cock penetrating your tight walls right after having an earth shattering orgasm.

“please, need you to cum again. wanna make you feel better than you’ve ever felt.” he moaned, trying to hit that spot inside you with every single thrust, making himself feel overstimulated in the process.

you felt another orgasm start to bubble up inside you as he kept going. the knot snapped yet again when he led his hand to your clit, rubbing it in circles with his thumb.

“cum for me, please. cum. wanna make you feel good. please. need you to cum on my cock again. i’ll do anything.” he begged and pleaded, bot stopping his aggression to your cunt.

you were practically screaming, head thrown back and breathing like a madman. he helped you ride through your orgasm, him taking a few extra seconds to reach his own again, as well.

he eventually stopped, laying on you carefully as to not hurt you.

“sorry, got…got a little carried away.” he said in between breaths. he felt so woozy.

“no, it felt really good josh. thank you.” you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as he lay on top of you.

“was it that good?” he asked, making sure you got as much satisfaction as he did.

“i’ve never felt that good in my life. serious.” you replied. he knew how to make you feel special and really good. “you’re amazing.”

he held you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “i hope you know how much you mean to me. i love you so much, and i wanna be with you forever.”

you were practically gushing. he was so darn cute. “i love you more.”

[fic-over-cannon]

Part 8: The New Normal

part 7 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x fem!reader

summary: both you and jason struggle with defining your new normal in the wake of your changed friendship

tags: angst, mentions of offscreen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: with this chapter we officially cross 20k words (whoops). i dropped quite a few hints about future developments in this chapter, i wonder if you'll find them all.

Jason’s never felt so bitter about successfully achieving something. The taste of it curdles in his mouth, sour and heavy. He’d known that amputating his heart would hurt but this? This was worse. It was bloodless and toothless and the worst thing he’s ever done to himself. To you. You’re friends now. Friends! No lasting repercussions to having what he wanted. Shockingly, no lasting repercussions for fucking up his secret identity either. He’s gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? 

He’d known, in that half-abstract kind of way that Talia had taught him, that if he had been earnest enough and insistent enough on the idea of friendship he’d be able to end the conversation there. No questions about why he had kissed you a second time. No scathing comments about how desperate he had been to know what you tasted like. He wouldn’t have to explain himself, or all of his messy inconvenient feelings, to you. Friends. Easy as that. 

Or at least that’s what he tells himself, walking in to face you. He’d know your footsteps anywhere and the just sound of them sets his senses on edge. All of his focus narrows down to you, hyperawareness kicking in. Jason doesn’t take any notes in class, can barely hear the sound of the professor speaking over you fidgeting next to him. To think his biggest worry a few months back had been if he would pass his courses. He can’t shake this fog, but he’s terrified of letting on just how gone he already is. Leaves a respectful three inches of space between the two of you through lunch that he obsessively maintains through Will telling some story about actually getting hit by a car over the weekend that Jason could care less about. He doesn’t breathe fully until the two of you are walking out of your last joined class of the day, cold air burning with every breath. He can do this.

“Can I– may I walk you home?” he asks uncertainly.

“Oh so you finally ask permission, huh?” you tease, and it’s the first thing he’s heard properly all day. Maybe it comes out sharper edged than he’s used to you directing at him, but it’s so close to resembling the easy camaraderie of the early days that he will take it.

“I was actually listening to your lecture on privacy,” Jason somehow finds the strength to sass back. 

“You can take the bus with me and walk me to my building door but that’s it. I already talked to the super about changing the door code.” Jason knows. He watched the super change it yesterday. 

“Just to the building. Scouts honour,” he says, drawing an x over his heart. 

When it comes to normal, Jason Todd sucks at pretending to be it. Or maybe you’ve just learned to read him too well. A space – not just literal but physical – exists between you now. He doesn’t sit right anymore, shoulders tensing up when you sit down next to him an only relaxing when you make no move to lean into him. He walks a full foot away now, no more arms accidentally brushing. He still keeps you fed – let it never be said that a friend of Jason’s goes hungry – but your fingers never brush as he hands containers over. Messages dwindle, text threads drying up. You can bear all of that, you can. It’s almost like the distant but friendly relationship you have with Will or half of your fellow interns. No, it’s the part where almost a week later, Jason still won’t look you in the eye. 

It would be so easy to dismiss everything else as growing pains, the both of you testing and reassessing where the new lines have been drawn. This isn’t that. Jason has drawn a line and it’s one that feels like a cut every time you brush up against it. These days there’s a tension in your jaw that you didn’t carry  before. Magically it appears whenever Jason chooses a particularly interesting patch of paint on the wall behind you to stare at instead of meeting your gaze. You think you hide the way your hands clench in your lap pretty well. You laugh and joke, exclaiming over Lina’s one liners, asking Rei about his next swim meet, and gasping in all the right places over Will’s sprained wrist. Keeping up the appearance of normalcy is tiring in a way that it hadn’t been before.  So your smiles are a little more forced than they were before, so what? The two of you are still friends and no one else is any wiser. 

There’s a Rogue attack, close enough to campus that it goes into lock down for the first time this semester. One second you’re following Jason’s broad back cutting a swathe through the frightened crowd of students to the muster location and then suddenly he’s gone. It doesn’t matter how quickly you crank your head to the side, he’s just vanished. Again. You spend the whole two hours huddled up in the auditorium glued to your phone as you watch the Red Hood fight Black Mask over a shitty news helicopter live stream. You’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, have practically become numb to the sirens and the drills for the worst that the city has to offer, but not today. Today your heart is in your mouth as you watch Jason take a blow to the head and go reeling across your phone screen. Breathing shakily, you realize that if he were to die – now – you’d never get to tell him just how fully he’s made a home for himself in your life, in your chest.

Obligingly, Jason doesn’t die today. Instead he pops up in the auditorium just as the all clear to evacuate has been sounded, ruefully explaining the mark on his cheek to your friends as the result of a panicking freshman’s fist. He’s a good liar you notice, through the hazy adrenaline rush of he’s alive, he’s alive pounding through your skull. 

Later that night lying in bed, you stretch your hand up, observing the way the light from passing cars cuts across your palm. You should probably do something about the shutters that don’t close right onto the fire escape but there’s always a thousand other things clamouring for attention. Besides, on nights like this when your thoughts turn in on themselves and sleep is a distant memory, the glow of the world outside provides a kind of comfort to you. No matter how bad things seem, life rumbles ever onwards. So what if every time you struggle with the keys to the front door it’s because you get lost in the memory of the one bright moment when it seemed like you could finally keep Jason? He’s not here now. The sheets have been washed – twice – but sometimes in that hazy place between sleeping and waking you swear you can still smell him. You think about the last time Jason had smiled at you, real and true and so sweetly uncomplicated. Your hand balls up into a fist and you cradle it to your chest. Maybe you suck at pretending everything is normal too.  

You must, because two weeks later, Danika corners you at one of your Wednesday study sessions. The student union is busy, tables full of students finally starting to realize exams are fast approaching with all the unwavering care of a freight train. 

“Hey can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks, just as you’re getting up.

“D’you mind if we talk and walk? I’m dying for caffeine and my stamp card says the next cup is free at The Grind,” you reply distractedly, digging your wallet out of your bag. 

“Oh you know I’m always down for a little snack,” she says, but there’s a note to her intonation that you can’t parse. 

The line for the coffee shop is long, but moving fast. You don’t notice anything off until you look up from struggling to extricate your membership card from your wallet, soft card stock folding under you nails. Danika is tugging at her hair as she stands next to you, twirling the strands tight around her finger until the circulation cuts off, the way she only does when she’s nervous and building up to something. 

She takes a deep breath and asks, “Are you and Jason, like, okay?” ripping the bandaid off.  

“I– why would you ask me that?” you deflect, scrambling to figure out where, exactly, your performance had faltered. The line surges forward, carrying the two of you along with it.

“Just, the last week or so something’s been off between you two. You know how you’re so obviously his favourite and he forgets the meaning of ‘personal space’ but only around you and he’s always–”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you struggle to cut her off. “It can’t be that bad, he’s good friends with all of us.”

“I’m pretty sure that whenever you start speaking the rest of us turn invisible or something,” Danika says wryly. “But the last week or so the vibes have just been off. He’s even less talkative than usual and I have been this–” she pinches her fingers together, pink nails catching the light “–close to recommending you a better concealer. So did you guys fight or something? Because you can tell me, you know.” She looks at you with wide, earnest eyes. “Because it doesn’t matter what it’s about, I’m on your side. If you wanna drop him as a friend, we’ll all do it no questions asked.”

“No, we uh, we didn’t fight but hold that thought okay?” you reassure her, before hurrying through your order as quickly as you can. Danika’s already standing by the pickup counter, finger still twisting in her hair.

“Or like, if you need a body buried the two of us could definitely take him,” she offers.

“We didn’t fight, okay? I’m serious. And while I’m happy that you’d hide a body for me, it’s really, honestly, not necessary. Me and Jason are fine,” you reassure her. The high neck of your sweater feels too tight.

“Alright so we don’t go all Gone Girl on him but whatever happened hurt you and I don’t like it when my best friend is hurting. Whatever it is I’m not gonna tell anyone, not if you don’t want me to,” she says, suddenly turning earnest again. 

“Jesus, it was nothing okay? It’s just, do you remember that night we all went out after Thanksgiving?” you offer up.

“The night where we were all taking bets on if Jason would make a move before or after the club?” she chimes in. 

“You were what?!” you hiss, heart stuttering and palms suddenly damp. 

“I’m kidding! Kidding!” she says with a laugh. “Sorry, you were just getting so wound up, I wanted to bring the mood up a bit. We didn’t actually bet on it. We did talk about though, before you both got there.”

You bite your lips, weigh up how much truth you want to tell. The barista calls out your order and you’re thankful for the extra moment to gather yourself.

“I was drunk and I tried to kiss him, okay?” She gasps. “And then he shut that shit down. He made it really, really clear that we were only ever gonna be friends,” you finish, gulping down your tea to cover for your embarrassment and immediately burning your tongue. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough without having to debride the festering wound you still haven’t made peace with. 

“Wait you’re sure that’s what he said? Absolutely no chance of anything?” Danika seems stunned. “I could swear there’s no way whatever you two have going on is platonic.” 

“Kinda hard to misinterpret the whole ‘that was a bad idea let’s just stay friends speech’. I wasn’t drunk enough to forget that.” You study your drink with false interest. 

“Oh. Oh I’m sorry,” she says, the kind of soft that she almost never is. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t realising exactly what he’s missing out on.” Danika reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “We’ll find you someone else that’s way, way hotter and makes better life choices. Until then, he’s on thin fucking ice.”

“This is all my shit, yeah? Leave him be, we’ll figure it out and this’ll all blow over,” you warn her. There’s a certainty to your words that you definitely don’t feel. But Jason shouldn’t be punished for the crime of not returning your affection and so you’ll just have to learn how to fake normalcy better. “Plenty of more fish in the sea or whatever. I’ll get over him.”

“Fine, but I’m gonna trust you to tell me if you don’t,” she says, linking your arm through hers. The two of you head back to the group, weaving your way through outstretched legs and scattered bags littering the space between tables. There’s a kind of comfort in having your charade seen through by someone that cares enough to ask. It won’t do in the long run, but this stutter step with Jason won’t last forever. 

“Hey you’re still living in the Alley right?” Danika asks offhandedly, sliding back into the booth.

“Haven’t moved since first year, Dani.”

“Just be careful, then, okay? I saw on the news that there’s been more muggings in that area.” 

You almost choke on your tea. “Yeah okay, I’ll avoid any muggers,” you croak. Jason’s eyes burn a hole into the side of your head.

[capslocked]

WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval. 

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens. 

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that. 

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

-

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning. 

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god– 

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

 –it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do. 

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat. 

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it. 

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…" 

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic. 

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something." 

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking: 

What kind of journalism career is this? 

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested. 

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth. 

You tilt your head, quizzical. 

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions. 

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

-

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident. 

(Albeit woefully precarious.) 

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her. 

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide. 

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk. 

Monday.

-

5:00 p.m. rolls around. 

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place. 

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

-

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

-

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough. 

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

-

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar. 

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

-

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration. 

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again. 

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–” 

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?” 

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.” 

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.” 

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning. 

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

-

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles. 

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow. 

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat. 

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits. 

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary. 

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs. 

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you. 

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

-

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own. 

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.” 

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.” 

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate. 

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

-

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss. 

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass. 

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm. 

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.  

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill -  near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

-

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket. 

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly. 

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone. 

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.  

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic. 

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact. 

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.” 

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

-

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

-

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door. 

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum. 

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

-

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

-

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

-

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

-

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable: 

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

-

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression. 

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?” 

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

-

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

-

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#55: The Future Generations (1.06)

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

The CRM was so convinced that they were creating a better world for future generations but they failed to see how they’re actually destroying and traumatizing the youth and those that survive their horrible attacks. But fortunately, Rick and Michonne see right through them. 👌🏽 And what I see within these next scenes is the most gorgeous shot of Richonne of all time 🤩...

Beale and Rick continue their meeting and Beale reveals that, similar to Okafor, he also sacrificed people he cared about, his home, and the whole city of Pittsburg for the “greater good” of saving Philadelphia.

Then Beale says, “It’s not exactly tearing into a person with your canines, but it’s not nothing. isn’t that right?” Why do I have a feeling that of all the soldiers he’s asked that same question of what’s the worst thing you’ve done, Rick gave Beale the craziest answer he’s ever heard lol? 🤭

Rick replies, “No it’s not nothing, sir...My dad taught me, for better or worse…some things have to burn to bring things back.” And Beale agrees with that line of thinking, saying, “It was that. The sword that kills is the sword that brings life. I killed my past and a whole city so another could live.”

Whenever I hear Beale talk about the sword bringing life I always think Rick would agree with him it’s just Beale’s talking about the wrong sword.

Also, it’s interesting hearing Beale say he killed his past because the CRM nearly killed Rick’s past too by taking away the images of his loved ones from his mind. But fortunately, the sword-wielding woman who gives Rick life helped restore what the CRM tried to take from him. 😇

Beale tells Rick the first secret which is that the most likely outcome is they’re all gonna die. And then we see Michonne enter an auditorium where a projector shows a bunch of photos of little kids as a robotic-sounding soldier goes over the Child Evacuation Protocol of their horrific Operation N1W.

Then y’all, we’re hit with a stunning shot of Rick and Michonne in that candlelit bed scene, and the lighting and framing of it all is perfect. 🙌🏽

And of course, now that Michonne is no longer facing away from Rick they’re back up on each other as expected. 😊 Michonne looks up at Rick with her ring-clad hand on his face as she says, “So, we’re born this way.” And the eye contact. 🫠 My goodness, they invented chemistry. 💯

They cut to several more clips of Richonne kicking butt in TWD that just further hammers home that they’re cut from the same cloth. And then Rick smiles down at Michonne and says, “I guess so.”

I love that Rick and Michonne found someone who matches their crazy and their fighting spirit so much to where they can both just know 'we were born like this and that’s okay.' In fact, being a bit certifiably crazy is part of why they’re still here. 👌🏽 And they're crazy about each other which is part of what makes this story about 'crazy love' so golden.

Back in the echelon briefing, Rick learns that according to Beale humans only have 14 years left before extinction and that’s why the CRM does what it does.

Rick inquires about what they do and Beale says, “We’re trying to beat the odds, Grimes.” Then they cut to more TWD clips of Rick and Michonne, and I like how intercutting between Rick and Michonne clips really makes it feel like these two are one being. The baddest being. 😌

Michonne is appalled by what she is learning in the auditorium and Rick is appalled by what he’s learning in the briefing as Beale finally shares what the CRM is really up to. Beale says that they destroy other communities for resources, strategic superiority, and the CRM's favorite line “to ensure the city’s secrecy and security above all.”

I like the parallel clips they use of Rick looking up at a helicopter in TWD season 8 and in TOWL ep 1, as he learns that these helicopters he saw were likely heading out to cause some serious destruction. 

Michonne sits in the auditorium as it's revealed that the CRM intends to evacuate 10% of the children before the area is gassed and its population is liquidated. And you already know none of this is happening on Mama Michonne’s watch. She’s going to fight for these kids and her kids because clearly, this 'last light of the world' doesn’t care who they hurt.

gif cred: @nerd4music

And I know after having been gassed herself, Michonne is especially horrified that they intend to do it again to tons of innocent people.

Meanwhile, Beale tells Rick they have spies throughout the world to monitor and potentially sabotage others. Jadis must have been trying to win Spy of the Month, the way she stayed sabotaging Richonne and team family back in the day. 😒

Beale says the CRM was behind destroying Omaha and in 18 hours they’ll destroy Portland to become the supreme force on the continent.

And then we’re blessed with another great shot of Rick and Michonne in bed as Rick says they’ll tell the Civic Republic the truth about what the CRM does, like the bombing.

Rick says “if they won’t who will?” as Michonne intently says, “No one” and I admit I’m not the craziest about this dialogue but what it lacks in subtlety it more than makes up for with the stunning visual.

Because then Rick notes that they don’t leave people behind and Michonne affirms that this is what they do and y’all the visual of her sliding her ring-clad hand in his hair as they look at each other…Put it in the Louvre. 🤩🖼

This gorgeous visual right here is truly my favorite Richonne visual of all time. 👏🏽 These two are some serious stunners and this shot is a mesmerizing work of art. 😍🔥

gif cred: @lousolversons

Beale continues to give Rick the 411 on what they’re about to do and he’s so emotionally removed from the fact that he’s talking about wiping out a whole city of people. That alone lets you know his brand of crazy is a major problem and Rick can sense that too as he starts to reach for his knife.

Beale also says they’ll continue to take the resources of even more communities they find, which means eventually they’ll end up on ASZ's doorstep.

As Beale says, “Maybe we get to survive'' there are quick clips shown from several surviving members of the TWD cast. Michonne then radios Rick in the auditorium while she listens to the soldiers talk in a cold and disconnected manner about the trauma they’re bound to put these kids through.

In the final bedroom scene, Rick continues to go over he and Michonne’s plan and he lets her know to key the walkie if anything changes and then he’ll get back to her when he can. Hearing that is always sweet to me because even with the stuff he has to take care of with the plan, he wants her to be assured he’ll get to her if she needs him.

gif cred: @nat111love

Looking like a beautiful mermaid, Michonne says, “if I can be gotten back to.” 🧜🏾‍♀️ And then Rick’s walkie goes off in the briefing. 😬

Beale notices and Rick is quick on his feet saying it was just Thorne. Back in the auditorium, Danai does a great job communicating Michonne’s horror even through a mask as the CRM soldier continues their cold and emotionally detached speech even calling the stuffed animals “comfort items” to “furnish” the children with. 

As the projector lands on the final image of a young Black boy (which I like how Danai wanted that pic to be the final one to connect to Michonne’s kids RJ and Andre) we then get more TWD clips of the adorable Grimes kids. And I like how each clip feels like it embodies a different season - fall, winter, summer.

There’s Carl smiling on those train tracks. 😭 Judith smiling and hugging Michonne in the snow. 😭 And RJ’s adorable little smile at the beach. 😭 And then, having seen enough, Michonne makes her way out of the auditorium. 

I feel like here is a good time to note something regarding the CRM too. I know some felt like the handling of the CRM was rushed in TOWL and wanted it to be explored more in the show, but I think the CRM/Civic Repiblic was actually intended to be more of an arena for a far more personal story being told in The Ones Who Live.

This show was more about Rick and Michonne navigating a journey to overcome a lot of internal imprisonment, and the CRM was always explored in relation to that more contained and personal story of these two characters finding themselves and each other again.

At least in TOWL (I can’t really speak on any other spinoff show in the twdu since I don't watch them) we’re always seeing the CRM through the lens of how it impacts Rick and Michonne specifically. The CRM makes Rick lose himself, they make Michonne nearly lose her life when they gas her and her friends, they almost cause a major wedge in Richonne’s relationship and nearly keep them from going home together.

The CRM had done a lot of damage throughout the miniseries so it’s not like their impact isn’t felt, it's just not necessarily dived into on a grander scale outside of Rick and Michonne because this is Rick and Michonne’s story.

gif cred: @nat111love

This miniseries was always meant to give Richonne closure, not launch the next ten years of the twdu. So for me personally, I was more than fine with Richonne getting substantially more focus than the CRM stuff.

Also, one of the main things to acknowledge about the CRM is that it makes everyone lose themselves. All these soldiers become faceless cogs in the machine, devoid of caring about anything other than the mission.

We see this with Pearl becoming a convert and becoming so obsessively mission-minded. That’s what the CRM does to its soldiers - strips them of what makes them human, so they can just obediently go along with these heinous acts for the so-called greater good. So in a sense, the way the CRM felt faceless and distant might’ve been the point. That’s what you have to be to belong to this military.

And lifeless and distant is what the CRM nearly made Rick. However, what we saw in TOWL's actual core plot is that Rick did devastatingly lose himself but he found himself again when his other half reentered his life.

In fact, Rick is fully cognizant of the fact that his beloved wife and son are why he didn’t succumb to losing himself and being in the same emotionally numb state that Beale, Okafor, Jadis, and Pearl ended up in.

And in his final confrontation with Beale, Rick makes it known the ones who truly give him something to live for. 😌👌🏽

[ihave-atummyache]

i was never there

bang chan one shot/imagine

SFW but some allusions to NSFW activities.

toxic relationship! toxic!chan toxic!reader

summary: to everyone’s disapproval, you and chan just cant seem to leave one another alone.

1.2k words

Chan knows that the two of you breaking up was for the best. Your relationship was unstable and toxic, borderline obsessive. You both had become distant from important things in your life because all you cared about was each other.

If he knows that then why is he feeling so guilty about having someone else in his bed? Why does he feel guilty that it isn’t you in some foreign country with him instead of some girl he met at a bar? Why has he only been able to write the worst heart broken lyrics that he has ever thought of?

Despite his better judgement, after his hookup leaves, he sits up and grabs his phone. He unlocks it and instantly opens social media, hoping that you had posted something, posted anything, just so he could see your face.

He feels like he’s going crazy. He checks your social media at least 10 times a day. He doesn’t care if he’s the first view, he just needs to see you. He opens your profile and sees you posted a story and of course he opens it.

13 s ago

He chews his bottom lip as he analyzes the photo you had posted. It looked like you were having brunch and mimosas but that isn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the fact that there was somebody sitting at the seat across from you.

There was another plate and another glass but the chair was empty, something you had purposely done to try to maintain your privacy, he assumes.

Maybe it’s the drinks he had earlier in the night or the post nut high but something makes him open his texts and message you, despite every fiber in his brain telling him not to.

Who are you with?

Why would he say that? Now he probably looks insane. But your response is almost instant, not even a minute later.

it’s almost 5 am over there. why are u up?

He chuckles at his phone. You’re right, it’s 4:47am where he is but he can’t help his stomach doing a flip at the thought that you know exactly where in the world that he is. It makes him feel slightly less crazy that you seem to have been watching him just as much as he has been watching you.

Keeping tabs on me now? He types the message and sends it before he thinks too much about it. This is the first time the two of you have talked in almost a month and he feels like he’s getting an adrenaline high.

Chan stands from the bed and heads to his bathroom before turning the shower on and staring at his phone as he waits for the water to heat up.

ik YOU aren’t talking about keeping tabs on anyone. somehow you see everything i post within a minute of it being posted. care to explain? He can sense your sassy attitude through the screen and smirks down at his phone.

I can’t miss you?

Risky. Risky reply and he knows it but its all or nothing at this point.

He sends the message before he can think too hard about it. He sees you’re typing then the bubble disappears. This happens a few times before he finally decides to get into the shower.

A few countries away, you’re staring down at your phone, debating how you should reply.

“I fucked up,” you glance up at your coworker, a new friend that you had made. She had listened to you rant and rant about your ex boyfriend and it had actually brought the two of you pretty close.

“What happened?” She raises an eyebrow at you as she takes another sip of mimosa. you let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair before sliding your phone across the table to her. She reads the messages quickly before shaking her head in disbelief.

“He is fucking insane. Are you going to reply?” her words linger in the air for a minute before you grab your phone and read over the messages again.

“Should I even reply? This is so toxic. I’m feeding into him. Fuck!” You drag your hand down your face, frustrated and the waitress returns to your table at the perfect time.

“Can we get another bottle of champagne?” You ask with a polite smile and she nods before walking away.

“Y/n, it’s 11 in the morning,” your new friend eyes you from across the table and you shrug.

“I’ve officially been driven to drinking. I just need to get drunk and then I’ll go home and fall asleep then I’ll wake up and text him back,” you nod at her and she chuckles but lets you continue drinking anyways. Your phone vibrates again on the table and you flip it over, Chan had texted you again.

“What did he say?” Your friend already knows who it is without you having to say a word. You lean forward and unlock your phone and your heart drops at the message.

Baby, I need you. I miss you. Come to the show in Seoul.

You choke on air and start coughing before sliding your phone to your friend so she can read the messages. Her jaw drops and just as she hands your phone back, a notification pops up at the top of your screen; an incoming call from ‘Christopher Bahng’.

Without thinking you answer the call, excusing yourself from the table and stepping onto the patio, right next to your table so your friend can still see you.

“Chris…” you breathe his name out, it feels like a stab to your chest when you hear him let out a breath on the other side.

“I’ve missed hearing you say my name. I miss you so much, baby. Did you see my message?” His voice is slightly slurred over the phone and you recognize the influence that alcohol probably has over this entire interaction but honestly, you don’t even care.

“I saw it. Chris I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not. I just need to see you. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I don’t get to hold you soon,” his voice is desperate and you can hear how overcome with emotions he is.

“We aren’t together anymore. This is exactly why. We aren’t healthy for each other, baby. You know that,” the nickname slips from your mouth like a habit and you immediately gulp when you realize what you said.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything if you aren’t at my side,” his confession just further nails it into your head that the two of you aren’t good for each other. You chew on your lip, pulling your sweater tighter around yourself.

“Fine.” Before you realize it, you have agreed to see him, just one more time. This will be the final time, your final goodbye.

Or the cycle will start over and you’ll be back in the endless toxicity that you two have been in for a long time.

“God, I love you so much, y/n,” his voice is raspy and you can tell he’s getting tired.

“I know, Chris. Send me two tickets so I can bring my friend since you ruined our brunch,” you chuckle and you hear him laugh on the other end.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies and you feel your phone vibrate, probably the notification that he just sent you the tickets.

[writer-by-the-sea]

Um, hi! I'm new and I really like your works!

I want to make a request for Haley and Penny (separate) if that's okay with you!

Scenario: how would they react when they find out that their s/o, the farmer, used to be a member of the Mafia? A hitman to be exact, but they've changed and left that life behind.

I don’t think I’ve ever done a full on headcanon before, but I figured why not! 

Instead of doing mini fics for only two characters, I am going to attempt to write these thoughts into a slightly coherent but readable mess. WARNING: These do not all end happily. Some are very heavy angst and they break up with you.

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“There’s… something I need to tell you,” the farmer began, rubbing the back of their neck while they looked away from the person in front of them. Someone that they’ve come to love, to trust enough to finally open up to, and someone who might understand.”Before moving to Stardew… I was... Part of a very bad crowd,” they pause and take a deep breath. “Not just a little group of delinquents that spray paint the side of buildings.

“Something.. Far worse. I know that you might view me differently because of this but– I want you to know who I truly am. I never want to lie to you, and while I wanted to keep this secret buried deep inside; I care about you too much to allow you to continue dating me without knowing… 

“I was a hired killer, an assassin, a hitman.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Alex

“Hey, man, you don’t have to lie to me to look cool,” Alex laughed and gave you a thumbs up. “You’re already really cool in my book.” 

You grimace before saying, “Alex, I’m not lying.” 

“Oh,” he breathes out. A minute passes, the gears turning in his head as he thinks it over. “Ohhh.” 

“Yeah, oh,” you reply. “I understand if you need some space–” 

Alex leaned back into his bed, letting himself land softly on his back. “Gramps has killed a few guys, so I’m not really worried about it.” 

You look down at him and raise a single brow, “Wasn’t that in war though?” 

“It was, but it’s the same thing, isn’t it?” 

“Not.. really.” 

Alex shrugs and sighs, “if you asked him for stories, he would spend the rest of the day telling you every single bloody detail. I’ve heard them all a thousand times.” He sat up, dropping her face to a sneer and pulled his lips back. “During that war,” he began, perfectly mimicking his grandfather. “I killed fitty men! I collected their earlobes and wore them around my neck like a trophy!” 

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into Alex. “Okay, that’s a little fucked up actually.” 

“You haven’t even heard the worst of it,” he answered with a grin. “He likes to tell this story about the time they had to go save some guy–”

“Wait,” you cut him off, gently placing your fingertips against his lips to stop him. “I just.. I want you to know that I love you, and that all of that shit is in the past… but I understand if you want nothing to do with me after this.” 

Alex pushed your hands away with his lips, laughing again as he pulled back. “It’s alright, I get it. Just don’t keep anything else from me, okay?” 

You nodded and pulled him into your arms, giving him a good squeeze. “I promise.” 

Alex slid out of your arms and ran to his bedroom door, swinging it open before playfully glaring at you. “As punishment for not telling me in the first place!” He took a really deep breath filling his lungs before shouting “Grandpa! The farmer wants to hear all your war stories!” 

Alex wasn’t scared of you. Afterall, nothing you’ve done could ever compare to the stories he grew up with. He knew his grandpa regretted the choices he made, but sometimes, you have to do cruel things to survive. 

Elliott

Elliott quickly grabbed his wine, downing the glass in one huge gulp before placing it back onto the table. “What you’re telling me,” he whispered, his gaze focused on the empty wine glass. “You’re being truthful? This isn’t a jest?” 

“No,” you answered, scooting your chair closer to his. “Just.. I know you’re in shock right now, but please just give me a chance to explain–”

“This is wonderful news!” Elliott jumped up from his chair, darting to a notebook that lies open with scribbles across the pages. He sprinted back, throwing himself back into the chair as harshly it nearly toppled over with him in it. “Tell me, what does another man’s eyes look like as you choke the life out of him?” 

“W-what?” you stammered, glancing down at the notebook that was now on the table where Elliott held his quill above it, ready to write. “Are you trying to get a confession from me?” 

“Heavens no!” He replied with a laugh, putting his quill down and turning to grab your hands. “My next novel is a murder mystery! I would love to have your feedback.” 

“You’re kidding,” you replied, your mouth hanging open. 

“Not at all, my love!” Elliott smiled so brightly, you would have thought you just told him his book had a million sales; not that you used to kill people for a living. “It truly is destiny that we were to meet!” 

“Do… Are you okay with my past?” 

“Ah,” Elliott nodded, understanding now why you seemed so hesitant with your words. “We all have our demons, don’t we, darling? If I were ever to judge every person I knew by the skeletons in their closet.. Well, life wouldn’t be very fun, now would it?” 

“I’m…” you tried to focus, confusion swirling in your head making everything foggy and hard to follow. “What?” 

Elliott was already back to his notebook, licking the pad of his thumb while he flipped through the pages. “This part here,” he held the book out to you, the page filled with brainstorms and more messy scribbles. “Could you fact check it for me? I honestly don’t know what a man sounds like when he gets stabbed like this. Also, the shoulder would be a good spot for them to survive from a stab, right?” 

You laughed, shaking your head at this ridiculous man. “Well, actually, there’s a main artery that going along the shoulder–” 

Part of you wasn’t surprised that Elliott was excited to discuss bloody, brutal, cold murder with you. Although, the writer did make a point the next day to scold you for keeping the secret from him. He could have finished his novel even sooner, and… he could have told you how much he loves you and would never give you up. 

In fact, he would help you get away with murder. 

Harvey

“No,” Harvey stood abruptly, his knee hitting his kitchen table and nearly knocking his coffee over, the hot liquid jumping out of the mug and onto the table. “Shoot!” he cried as the coffee landed on some of his folders that were spread out. 

You joined him in grabbing napkins, trying to clean the coffee before it caused too much damage. 

“I can’t believe this,” he whispered as he tossed the dirty napkins aside, uncaring of where they would land. “Not you, not my farmer, no…” 

You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back your emotions. “Harvey–” 

Then he broke before you, a sob ripping through his throat right before he began sobbing. His glasses getting wet and foggy as he let each tear slide down his cheeks. “Not you…” 

“Please, I just–” 

Harvey straightened up, taking a deep breath and forced himself to meet your eyes. “I have dedicated my whole life to helping those who need it. I took an oath to assist any single soul that cries for help. If a patient dies on my table, I have to live with that for the rest of my life. The rest of my life knowing that I couldn’t do enough for them!” 

Your eyes widen, dread filling you as you realize this is the end. “Harvey, please–” 

“Get out,” he growled, his voice deep, dangerous, and oozing with hatred. 

“Let me explain–” 

“For you to come to me, and tell me that you took human lives for your own gain? I don’t need to hear another word,” Harvey took a step towards you, his body tensing, preparing to fight you if he must. “Get the fuck out of my home.”

Everything in you wanted to stay, to fight for what you had… 

You left, crying on your way back to the farm, your heart shattered beyond repair. 

Sam

“For real?” Sam's face scrunched in disbelief. “No, you’ve gotta be joking. Ain’t no way the hot farmer killed some dudes.” 

While your hands may have been tough from constantly working in the dirt, Sam could never imagine in a million years that you would kill a fly on the wall, let alone another human being!

“Is it April Fool’s? It is, isn't it?” he joked and nudged you. “Well, you got me–” 

“Sam,” you breathed out in reply, the truth hanging between you. 

“Holy shit,” Sam stood slowly, taking a step back from you. “You’re serious? You’ve actually killed people?” 

“Yes.” 

“Dude…” he ran a hand through his wild hair, not caring how the gel stuck to his fingers. 

He needed more information, but right now, he needed to make one thing clear. 

“Look,” he started and made his way back to you, dropping himself on his mattress next to you. “Like, I’m not gonna dump you over this; but keeping that from me was seriously not cool.” 

“I know,” you mumbled in reply and offered a weak smile. “I just–” 

Sam raised a hand, cutting you off. “No, we’re gonna talk about this later, after we’ve both had some pizza, and maybe a couple… or an entire case of beer. You’re gonna break all this shit down for me, and then we’re gonna talk about how you’re doing like.. Mentally. After doing all that shit.” 

“Mentally?” you asked with a laugh. “What--” 

“Nope,” Sam stood and grabbed your hand. “Pizza first, you asshole. I can’t believe you killed people, so fucking weird.” 

Sam was in it for the long run, and while he viewed you differently (as like, a cold blooded killer what the fuck,) he wasn’t going to give up on you just because of a dark past. 

Sebastian

“I mean, who hasn’t?” 

Your head whips up to stare back at Sebastian, not sure you just hear those words correctly. “Wait–” 

“You think I haven’t killed a man? Why do you think I hide out in the basement coding shit all day instead of living in the city and making a fortune? Be realistic.” 

“Sebastian, I–” 

“No, it’s cool. I really don’t care,” he said with a shrug and went back to typing on his computer. 

“Well, no, wait; Sebastian that’s a lot to drop on someone–” 

“Hey, I wasn’t a fucking hitman though now was I?” 

“I don’t know, were you?!” 

He shrugs again, reaching for an open pack of cigarettes and lights one up. He takes a deep drag and then blows it out slowly. “I’m gonna go get some leftover pumpkin soup, I made it last night, you want some?” 

You just stare back at him, your jaw hanging open. Now you were the one that needed more information! 

But, you supposed that could wait. Pumpkin soup was on the line, afterall. 

Shane

He takes a sip of his soda, savoring the flavor and bubbles before putting his can back down on the kitchen table. 

“So,” he began, forcing himself to sit up straight and meet your eyes. 

“Are you here to kill me then?” 

“What?” 

“Are you.. here, to kill me?” Shane asked again, slowly. 

“No!” you shouted and waved your hands in front of you like a white flag. “You’ve got the wrong idea!” 

“I’m not telling you how I made the chickens blue, you can beat me to the brink of death and I’ll never spill–” 

“Shane, babe, no– well actually how do you–” you stopped speaking as Shane glared at you and narrowed his eyes. “Nevermind the chickens, I’m not here to kill you.” 

“To kill Marnie then?” He asks. “To end the competition for milk and eggs? You make me sick,” he spit. 

“No, what? I turn all my milk into cheese to make you Pepper Poppers or Pizza–” 

“Then the eggs!” He declares and stands up, pointing a finger down where you sat. 

“Please, just listen to me,” you stood with him, on the verge of tears knowing that this could be the end–

Shane’s frown twitched, so quick you could almost miss it. 

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again. 

“Oh, I see. You came here to kill Willy, with your gaping fish mouth.” 

Any doubt or worries you had dropped instantly. “You’re totally fucking with me, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, I found your list of names a few months ago. You really shouldn’t leave that stuff lying around you know?” 

“Yoba,” you sighed in relief and dropped back into your chair, the wood lightly squeezing on the tiled floor. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You kept your head down, ashamed to have ever tried to hide this from him. 

Shane chuckled and sat back down, “I figured you’d tell me when the time was right.” 

You risked a glance at Shane, “do you hate me for it.” 

“Hate you? Of all people to hate someone for the mistakes they made in their past, you think I’m going to be one of them? I’m a little offended, farmer.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cracked a smile as he gazed at you, his eyes filled with all of the love and support in the world. 

He was right, Shane would never judge you for your past, just as you never judge him for his. The only thing that matters is the kind of person you are moving forward, and that suits him just fine. 

Abigail

The first thing she asks, with a wicked grin and excited eyes, “So, how many people did you kill?” 

While she knows the value of a human life, she could never allow her thoughts to wander towards ‘what if I killed someone?’ She feared she may pursue it herself. 

“What was your weapon of choice?” she would ask next, hardly containing the buzz flowing through her body from the quick high; knowing she was talking to (dating!) a certified badass killer. 

She does view you differently, however. 

Not as an evil person, as you might have expected; but someone strong enough to protect her, someone who told her this knowing that she might turn away from them, someone who loves her enough to put her first. 

The subject is sensitive, and she knows not to tease you too much or ask for too many details; but she does ask for the occasional story – if you’re willing to give it. 

Emily

She gasps, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as she stares back at you in horror. “W-what do you m-mean,” she stumbles over her words, her hands now shaking as she lowers them away from her face, trying to steady them as they rest in her lap. “You.. you actually, ki–” she can’t finish the sentence. 

“I did what I had to, to get by. Please understand that I’m not a bad person-” 

“You killed people,” she dropped her head and watched as tears fell into her lap. “You actually killed people…” 

“Emily–” 

“How can I trust you after this?!” She jumped up, still shaking while she paced around her room. “How can I know that you’re not withholding more?!” 

You stood and put your hands on her shoulders, holding her in place, but she refused to meet your eyes. “I swear to you, I will never hide something from you again… if you just give me a chance to prove myself.” 

Emily dropped her head onto your shoulder, softly sobbing and letting her tears drip onto your shirt. “You’re going to tell me everything.” 

“Okay,” you whispered back, your arms moving down to wrap around her. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” 

There would be a lot of trust issues moving forward, and Emily would keep you on a tight leash for a while; but she knew that not everyone was perfect, and while she might not like your past, she loves who you are now. And she’s not willing to give up yet. 

Haley

She looked up from her phone, her brow dropping down and her eyes narrowing, “Ew.” 

You tried not to snort a laugh at her reply, but failed miserably. “That’s all you have to say? Ew?” 

She rolled her eyes at you, “what else am I supposed to say? Oh no, please don’t kill me, super scary hitman?” 

“Uh,” you looked around you as if you could find the answer hovering in the air. “I’m.. not.. sure, honestly.” 

Another eyeroll. “You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it’s worth. I’m still going to love you no matter what dumb shit you’ve done in your past. I mean, did you know that I dyed my hair black once? Also, ew. Total regret.” 

Bewildered, you plopped down beside her, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t care?” 

“Ugh. Of course I care,” she slapped you on the side and finally put her phone aside. “But you obviously regret it, like I did with the black hair, and while our past mistakes may have been huge; it doesn’t dictate who we are today. So, don’t worry about it.” 

“You realize you’re comparing black hair to the murder of a.. Lot of people?” 

“Babe,” she took a deep breath, staring deep into your eyes, begging you to understand… 

“I used a box dye. Tell me a worse crime than that.” 

You laughed together, her crime never coming close to your misdeeds, and she knew it. But after getting to know you, she knew she could continue to trust you just as she always has. 

Leah

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Leah threw her paintbrush at you, hitting you in the chest and leaving a splotch of yellow paint. “Not again!” 

“Again?!” you shouted back in shock. “What do you mean again!?”

“Tell me,” she hissed. “How many, what organization, and why the hell did you make me fall in love with you?!” 

“Leah,” 

“Do. Not. Leah. Me.” Each word spit in your direction. “Answer me.” 

You sighed, “it was a lot of people.. The organization was international and I never really knew who was in charge..” Closing your eyes, just to get away from her angry glare for a moment, you continued, “I never meant to mislead you. I wanted to tell you the truth to see if I even still stood a chance with you.” 

Leah relaxed, shaking her head before finding a place to sit down. “Thanks, for telling me, I guess.” 

Moving to her side, you kneeled next to her, taking her paint stained hands into your own. “Please, just give me a chance to make this up to you. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“Yeah, well. You did,” she gently pulled her hands away, turning away from you. “Honestly, I don’t know if I can go through this again.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re never fully out of that life, farmer. That past will come back to haunt you one day, and I don’t think I have the strength to endure it.” 

“No, Leah, it’s over, I swear–” 

“Just leave, okay? I have a lot to think about.” 

Dejected, you do as you're told, stopping to say one last thing before you go. “I hope you’ll give me another chance, Leah. I’ve never felt this way about someone before, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 

She sniffles and wipes a tear away, “we’ll see.” 

Maru

She begins by tilting her head at you, her eyes scanning you up and down before turning back to her studies. “I know that, it’s pretty obvious.”

“Huh?!” you blurt out, shaking your head. “How–” 

Maru sighed and put her work aside, realizing that they needed to have a full chat about this now, despite her samples calling for her. 

“Once, you mentioned the amount of required poison to kill a person without raising suspicion to require an autopsy.” 

“Okay, but–”

“Another time, when my dad asked if you wanted to go camping one weekend and maybe hunting, you asked if a Heckler & Koch P30L would be an appropriate gun to bring.”

“I’ve never been hunting before!” you defended, weakly. 

“Sweetheart, it’s a handgun. You don’t go hunting with a handgun.” 

“Hang on–”

“Furthermore, you have two bullet wounds that I know of. One on your lower left calf and the other on your upper bicep. You also have obvious scars from being stabbed or sliced and it was most certainly not from a childhood cat.” 

You both stared at one another. You felt like an idiot for thinking you could ever hide anything from her. 

“Does it bother you?” 

“A little,” she admitted with a small shrug. “So long as you don’t go back into that kind of work though, I can get over it. Just don’t ever try to lie to me again, I will always know.” 

Penny

Her eyes widen and her heartbeat jumps so quickly she thinks she might faint.

She would have never expected this of you. 

Going into the mines was one thing, but killing people was a whole other level of insanity. 

It takes her a minute to process what you’ve just told her, her hands twisting in her lap, fearing she’s going to say the wrong thing. 

“Were they all bad people?” she finally asks, lifting her eyes up to meet yours. 

You take a moment to respond, a lie resting at the tip of your tongue, but you squash it and say, “No, they weren’t.” 

At this, Penny breaks. 

She drops her head into her hands and cries, pulling her knees up and to her chest while the heels of her feet rest on the edge of the couch. 

She was in love with you. So desperately, eagerly, pathetically in love with you. 

And now, she doesn’t know how to move forward. 

Her whole life, she has dealt with bad people. From the moment she was born she has fought with everything she’s ever had to be one of the good ones. Abiding by the rules, keeping to herself to avoid stepping on any toes, taking care of others when they don’t even appreciate the kindness she shows to them. 

“I don’t-” she gasped between her tears. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

The farmer nodded, taking her hands into their own and squeezing them gently. “I love you, Penny. More than anything.” 

“Why did you have to tell me?” she whispered. “Why..” 

“I couldn’t keep lying to you..” 

Penny stood, ripping her hands away to rope the back of them under her eyes. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to me ever again.”

Then she ran off, leaving you there as the guilt washed over you. 

[ramblingguy54]

Nine’s Betrayal: A Predictable Route, But Important Execution.

     To no surprise, the idea of Nine becoming more antagonistic in Prime came to pass, but I’d like to breakdown why it just works so well in execution. Prime from the get go had set up Nine was a super vulnerable kid. Obviously, a kid with a high IQ in having great mechanical talent, although still a hurt and highly jaded child, nonetheless. Nine has easily been one of my favorite parts of Sonic Prime. Taking such a simple concept of reverse good guy doing something more interesting with it. He isn’t just a run of the mill polar opposite, rather one whom has been dealt a bad hand in turn lashing out at everyone and everything. Nine hasn’t ever taken chances in opening himself up after countless times being abused for his two tails. It wasn’t until Sonic arrived in his dimension, Nine began slightly letting his guard down.

     This moment between them in Prime’s very first episode is extremely crucial because it sets up the real solitude of Nine’s characterization. Immediately I felt sympathy for Tails’ polar opposite, given his unfortunate circumstances. Nine had to fend for himself with no real mentor figure to guide him, other than his own experiences. Nine buried away any sense of identity, or happiness, in favor of going full on coldly detached. Hiding those two tails in shame because it made Nine feel like a freak of nature. Suddenly, a happy go lucky guy, like Sonic, comes crashing into his reality. Boldly stating they’re close companions praising his natural gifts and calling those other mechanical tails seriously amazing.

     Nine has become desensitized to being seen as some disfigured individual, yet here someone is not mocking or assaulting him just because of his appearance. He didn’t know what to do in emotionally processing the fact someone is saying, “Embrace who you are! It doesn’t matter anyone else thinks!”, in a world where fears rules with an iron fist as their status quo. Perhaps, Nine reluctantly saw someone he could call a friend at long last, even if the kid didn’t want to fully admit to himself. As I had hoped, Sonic & Nine’s dynamic in Prime is a big aspect of the story getting explored. Honestly, with the way things have been handled thus far, I’d arguably say Sonic & Nine’s dysfunctional bond may pan out to be my favorite iterations Sonic & Tails iconic brotherly concept. There’s more going on underneath in their friendship.

     Shadow had warned Sonic from the start about being weary of Nine, to which he severely opposes him on said notion. Sonic’s optimism of seeing the best in others completely 180′d on him in the worst fashion. Nine’s highly self-conscious, jaded nature, and intelligence brought him to the same conclusion Shadow previously reached. If he returns all the Shatter pieces to normal, then there’s a likely chance he’ll disappear in exchange for restoring Sonic’s home world. He realized this after seeing the other Tails’ counterparts. Especially looking directly at the original Tails whom started it all scoffing at him. Any affection, or respect for that matter, Nine had toward Sonic began to fade away.

“You just assumed I’d go along with you, no matter what! Did you ever consider what I wanted!?”

     Nine was putting the pieces together in his mind realizing, “Sonic only likes me because he believes I’m just like his Tails. That I’ll agree to what he says and thinks.”, feeling very hurt by this revelation. He always had different intentions of what his “happy ending” was going to be. Seeing someone disregard his beliefs in favor of comparison to what is supposed to be an original counterpart did more to Nine than just sting. It felt like he been stabbed in the back after opening up his heart to someone. Something this poor kid hasn’t done in a very long time. Who’s to say Nine wasn’t questioning his place in all of this, as well?

    Throughout these new batch of episodes, Nine has been trying his best to give Sonic a helping hand. Putting his life on the line, so he can get a chance to return the favor of helping Sonic. Sonic had made Nine reconsider maybe there’s more to a life than simply a preference of being just another loner in a world where everyone fends for themselves. Only to have it thrown to the way side because Nine came to that same conclusion as Shadow did before. If Green Hill is to be restored, then himself, the Shatter-verse, and all other realities must apparently cease to exist. It not only terrifies him, but also makes Nine view himself as just another small cog in the system. A means to an end.

“Look’s like I can’t ever be happy.”

“Sonic doesn’t see me for who I truly am.”

“My very existence is irrelevant.”

“I don’t matter.”

     Wouldn’t surprise me if these thoughts were bubbling around in his mind before this heated confrontation happened. Nine doubles back down on his loner attitude because ultimately it has been what kept him getting hurt for so long. Getting dealt yet another hard dose of truth that Sonic stuck to his guns on Nine because he thought they would see eye to eye, like his own Tails. However, Shadow was completely right about Nine being different from who they know. Nine has been through a ton of emotional torment, even though there is still good in him. Any kindness is buried underneath a mountain of insecurities. Hence, the whole outcry of, “I AM REAL! Just not your real friend...”, is Nine hardly reaffirming his value as a person. That he isn’t defined by anything.  

    It’s what makes their dynamic so refreshing to watch between Sonic & Nine because he can’t just simply give an uplifting speech to make Tails feel better about himself. He’s gonna have to show some strong actions to Nine about his existence having significance. Breaking through those mental barriers of his isn’t gonna be easy after this falling out they’ve had. Nine has assumed Sonic didn’t genuinely ever care about him, despite standing up for him against Shadow earlier. To say I’m excited for Prime’s third season would be an understatement.

     Prime’s central conflict being centered around Sonic & Nine’s dynamic was a terrific idea, instead of simply going against different incarnations of Eggman. This makes matters a lot more dramatically complex. It isn’t simply about Sonic fixing his serious mistakes, but having to battle someone he never wanted to hurt. Sonic is gonna have to acknowledge his major oversight in not treating Nine for who he actually is. Nine isn’t Tails. He’ll never be Miles Tails Prower. Nine is a child molded by a world that was cruelly unfair to him and told he could never been proclaimed as an equal, ever. He had to do growing up on his own.

    This shot hurts to look at because you can see every ounce Nine’s remorse written all over his face thinking, “I should’ve known better than to ever put faith in someone other than myself. Why did I get my hopes up for thinking anything good would come of it?”. All the aspirations of wanting a clean slate with someone he deeply valued only to find out it was based on an empty comparison shattered Nine’s own hopes and dreams in the process.

“The only person I can ever trust is myself...”

     Sonic Prime Season 2 ends with our iconic protagonist hurting someone he never intended to, turning him into the next bigger hurdle to overcome. The writers took such a basic straight forward idea on paper making into an emotionally charged story testing Sonic’s resolve in facing down a friend.

     Taking well known tropes in stories should never be viewed as a bad thing. It’s what you go about doing with these ideas that truly matters. Sonic Prime is simply another reminder of that with Sonic & Nine’s contrasting personalities.