#drapes and curtains can be deep cleaned!

[chocosvt]

HER | part six (m).

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.6k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

here it is... the FINAL part 😭 it seemed that a number of you were quite worried as to how i'd wrap this up, and i can finally give you the answer! :3 this has been an epic journey. thank yew for ur time 💕

more rambling continues at the very end. as per usual. again, a little bit more of an early upload! as a treat <3

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part four | part five ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—SEPTEMBER 30TH.

The morning after was strange.

Early sunlight permeated through the living room’s white cloth curtains, dappling in water-like speckles against the glasses still held on his nose. For a moment, Wonwoo was frozen, as his mind made the shift from deep sleep to consciousness, though when he finally did awaken to find his blanket half-pushed off the recliner and the remnants of Chinese takeout left scattered across the coffee table, his lethargy started fading.

Vernon was gone.

Judging from the text on Wonwoo’s phone, the boy had quietly made his way out at around seven in the morning. It surprised Wonwoo to no end that Vernon could manage to sleep so little yet remain fully functional all the time. He seemed magic—or maybe it was something else that Wonwoo would be concerned to know about.

He spent some time cleaning off the coffee table.

Down the hall, his bedroom door remained closed.

When you finally did emerge, it was with the olive-green dress draped over your arm and the ivory heels in hand, which you proceeded to arrange on the small dining table by the kitchen.

Notably, however, there was something off about you, something that Wonwoo interpreted as nerves with an underlying awkwardness you didn’t typically, if at all, demonstrate. When he asked if you wanted breakfast and tea, your response was a tiny head shake and a poorly fit smile. Though, Wonwoo wasn’t going to paw at you.

He found that mornings always tended to be quite sobering, even if he hadn’t exactly drunk enough to make the room spin or swallowed some colourfully disguised pill on his tongue. Just the air was enough to rewire his head—that cooler, crisp air that he either loved or hated.

Undoubtedly, you had much to think about.

Wonwoo helped you get a hold of Princess using his phone, and the two of you watched television in silence while waiting for her to pick you up. He escorted you down through the pottery shop when it was time, and you sported very little shame, walking out onto the bright city sidewalk in just his t-shirt, clothes and shoes wrapped in your arms. Princess had this awfully perplexed look slapped onto her face while leaning over to nudge the car door open for you, and in that  moment, Wonwoo was scared of how it all appeared and what might transpire now that the giddiness and frivolity from the night before had ebbed away. He didn’t regret anything, though. Not at all.

But, in truth, what the fuck even were you two?

And what was supposed to happen now?

—OCTOBER 3RD.  

Since you had left his apartment in a daze that Saturday morning, Wonwoo hadn’t seen or heard from you. It was concerning him as time passed, he couldn’t deny it, but he also trusted you and wanted not to make you feel pressured into explaining yourself.

He was caught in a brisk walk along campus after leaving his early lecture, a warm coffee cup pressed against his lip that he had grabbed from the ground floor of SRX—they had been giving hot drinks away for free, and, consequently, it tasted like it. Nonetheless, the air was chillier by the day as autumn pushed its way in and decorated the walkway with dry leaves that rustled and crunched under his shoes. It was nice to have something hot in his hand.

He took a second to glance down at his phone.

Still, no messages from you, Wonwoo realized with a suckling sip of the very watery coffee, nearly tempted to text you himself—not anything pushy—just a simple reassurance that he was there for you if things weren’t going well.

Suddenly, however, Wonwoo had smacked into someone.

“Fuck—sorry,” he muttered, readjusting the computer bag slung over his shoulder and pushing up his circled glasses.

To Wonwoo’s complete and utter misery, he was unfortunately acquainted with the person he’d bumped shoulders, and now he was wishing that he had just kept walking like an impatient asshole.

Seokmin was standing before him, dressed in a similar-style woolen trench coat that his hands were stuffed into, the sun turning certain threads of his chocolate brown hair all shimmery. He hadn’t gotten back to Seokmin’s numerous texts ever since Wonwoo sent a brief, very purposefully vague message to the boy that night he ran out with you at the dinner party.

Now he was wondering if the shoulder bump was intentional.

“Wonwoo… uh, hey,” Seokmin stumbled.

Sniffling, Wonwoo let a second or two pass before answering.

He was still debating whether or not to walk away.

“What’s up?”

“You just get out of class, or?”

Wonwoo nodded. “Yeah—advanced stats.”

Seokmin flitted a barely-there smile, staring at his coffee cup.

“Is that the free stuff from SRX?”

“Indeed.”

“How does it taste?”

“Uh, watery… like shit, basically.”

Wonwoo knew—he fucking knew—that there was something buzzing on the tip of Seokmin’s tongue that he just couldn’t spit out. His absentminded expression and clear not-giving-a-damness about whether Wonwoo’s free coffee was actually good completely betrayed him. Not wanting to dawdle and get stuck in the mud of conversation, Wonwoo swallowed the lump in his throat, flashed his friend a tight-lipped smile, and pitched a goodbye, blandly wording it as, “I won’t keep you. Later.”

But Seokmin didn’t seem prepared to let that happen.

And Wonwoo’s eyes nearly rolled backward into his skull when the boy turned around and attempted to catch his attention again.

For some stupid, incomprehensible reason, Wonwoo stopped.

Maybe he knew the conversation needed to happen.

It only made him loathe the situation more.

“Yeah?”

Seokmin dragged a hand through his hair, brushing it up and down against the back of his head while he squinted at Wonwoo.

“I think… uh… if you’re not busy… I think there’s maybe some stuff we need to talk about. I don’t mean to like, catch you at a bad time or anything… do you wanna go sit at the picnic table over there?”

At Seokmin’s carefully suggested inquiry, Wonwoo followed the boy’s pointing finger toward the empty table placed on the large grass circle that the walkway wove around. With his grip hardening into the coffee cup, Wonwoo stopped to think despite knowing his answer.

“Okay… yeah.”

Wonwoo realized it had never felt this weird and stilted to sit down with Seokmin despite him being quite a reliable friend over the months, though Wonwoo was developing the sneaking feeling that his study buddy was about to deal an irreparable blow to their relationship. Seokmin’s folded hands were sitting atop the flecked, aged wood of the table, thumbs nervously twiddling, meanwhile Wonwoo remained silent to sip from his coffee that only became more and more tasteless.

Eventually, his friend seemed to find the words he needed.

“So, I don’t know if you’ve heard… but… Her and Mingyu are taking a break. They’re officially pressing the big pause button. I wasn’t there to witness the conversation, although I get the gist it was a pretty… uh, unpleasant talk,” Seokmin winced, bracing his teeth, “and… well, naturally, I learned that you were a big part of that talk, seeing how it looked and all—you and Her running out at the dinner party…”

He left what seemed like a purposeful pause, and Wonwoo assumed that he was supposed to feel pressured and jump to make a correction or provide an explanation, but he kept silent and rather expressionless. Ironically, Seokmin was the one to continue his spiel.

“Well, basically, there were some accusations thrown around as you can imagine. And I’m not sitting here to point a finger and question you to death about everything, but I just thought I’d give you the table—uh, literally—to explain what’s been happening.”

Wonwoo finally set aside his drink, then shifting off the strap to his computer bag, letting it fall down his shoulder. He didn’t make a huge, overwhelmed sigh even though his body was screaming for it, nor did he ponder abandoning the conversation despite the magnitude of everything Seokmin laid out for him.

Fuck—he hated being matured.

“I can’t speak on her feelings. But I like her.”

“Oh—you do?” Seokmin was astonishingly surprised.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So, then, does that mean—”

“Actually, sorry, I’m downplaying it like a coward,” Wonwoo interrupted, shaking his head, “I don’t just like her. I’m in love with her.”

It was then that Seokmin simply didn’t speak at all. His mouth had formed a hollowed shape, resembling something like a gulping fish, and Wonwoo capitalized on the silence to keep his thoughts fluent.

“I understand, okay? I understand why Mingyu is pissed. It takes two to tango, I get all that. And I know you probably want me to state my regret and all that so I don’t seem like such an asshole, but, honestly, I don’t really regret anything. Mingyu doesn’t care about her.”

Seokmin chuffed, rubbing at his chin. “Okay… I don’t know if I would go as far as to say that in particular. But you are admitting to it? I don’t know what it is you’ve done but you’ve done things with Her.”

“We’ve never had sex if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And—”

“We’ve never kissed, either… the only thing I was supposed to do was help her write that little love story. Which you set up, by the way. I didn’t know it would turn into this. I tried to get out of it.”

“I never thought she would stick it out.”

“I know.” Wonwoo sucked in his bottom lip, staring across the weathered wood at Seokmin. “You probably wanted her to drop it the second she mentioned it. I bet Mingyu thought the same.”

Seokmin scrunched up his face in disagreement. “That’s not necessarily true. She just fixates on stuff and then burns out after. She's always been like that, ever since I've known her. I figured the book would be no different. I thought it was something she needed to get out of her system, I didn’t think it would start rolling and—” he leaned forward into his palms for a moment, swallowing audibly. “Sorry, I just—I don’t get it, that’s all. I don’t get her fixations.”

“I think you’re just uncomfortable with her self-expression.”

“She—it’s not self-expression, though. Look, I know a pinch of what her story is about. It’s not about herself. It’s about Mingyu.”

“You think that just because she’s writing about someone else, there’s no pieces of herself in it? Her own feelings? Her own perspective? C’mon, Seokmin. You’re fucking smarter than that. You know what it's actually about.”

His friend’s eyes drifted away from him.  

Wonwoo then cleared his throat. “Look, you don’t really need all the details, Seokmin. Like I said, I don’t know exactly how she feels about me. I can surmise. I can say we’ve had moments that we shouldn’t. But—genuinely—you probably know more than I do and you’re lying to yourself if you can’t realize that Mingyu is just some advantageous prick who makes her miserable.”

“Well, I think that—I don’t know if it’s really—”

“He walked into an opportunity with her and he knew it. His whole fucking life and career was basically set up for him the second he met her family. He’s beyond lucky Her ever looked his way.”

“Jeez, Wonwoo. Honestly, it’s not like that.”

“How is it not?”

Seokmin ran a hand through his hair, appearing flustered and without a tongue to make sense. “Just—okay—I’ve been around them a lot. I know how it seems from an outsider’s view. They can argue and push buttons. Their relationship isn’t perfect, but whose is? Mingyu didn’t just walk into the family asking for this and that—he’s never asked for anything, no handouts. Everything that’s been ‘set up’ for him was because Her’s family wanted it. They know he’s a good guy.”

The scoff shot from Wonwoo’s mouth like an arrow. “I’m sorry but, what do they want for Her? Were we at the same dinner party? Did you see her nearly burst into tears? She has to live life in this rigid box, trying to conform to everyone else around her. Don’t you think she wants to live her own life? Be her own person?”

“Of course, but—”

“No—why is there even a ‘but’?”

“I don’t think you understand. Her has everything she needs.”

“You mean, what everyone thinks she needs.” Wonwoo tossed his hand up in the air, laughing, while also getting the strong impulse to ring out his friend’s neck. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. How can you be so close to her, but you don’t realize how unhappy she is? You know what I think? You’re part of it, Seokmin. You're always in her business, hovering, watching, sewing seeds of doubt, shooting down her interests—and you disguise it as help. No one in that house listens to her. They’ve told her who she should be instead of letting her figure it out for herself. How can you be so complicit in that? She gets no support from any of you, about the decisions in her life that actually matter. And Mingyu—honestly, he can go fuck himself. He’s just as complicit as you. He’s soul-sucking.”

“God—sh-she’s an adult.” Seokmin was exasperated, his cheeks reddening like two ripe apples. “She doesn’t have to visit her parents. She doesn’t have to date Mingyu. Nothing is forced on her. No one is dragging her there. I help because I know what she's capable of. I know the perfect life she can have. Her parents know, too. But she just gets sidetracked! She gets wrapped up in stuff that doesn't matter! If she hates everything, she can easily walk away.”

“But you guys have made that so impossible for her.”

“How?”

Wonwoo proceeded to clench his fist up so tight he thought his skin might bleed, the edge of his knuckles pressing down on the table.

“She doesn’t know who the fuck she is.”

Seokmin instantly paled. He looked whiter than a snowflake.

“That’s like clipping a bird’s wings and then asking why it can’t fly away. Knowing who you are is such a big part of life. It’s arguably the foundation. What the fuck do you want her to do? I don’t even—I honestly don’t even want to look at you, Seokmin. Let Mingyu beat me up if he wants to—let it happen a thousand times—” slinging the computer bag back over his shoulder, Wonwoo was rising from the picnic table while glaring down at the stiff, empty-faced Seokmin, who had suddenly morphed from a friend to a bitter stranger, “—I don’t care what he thinks. It’s not going to change how I feel about her, or make me stay away. I’ve seen who she can be and what she actually wants from life, and it's not some snotty, vapid, copy-and-paste hell that her parents are forcing on her. But neither of you seem to give a shit. You’re both completely undeserving.”

Stepping away from the bench, Wonwoo tensed his jaw as the sunlight splashed over him, breaking in between the skeletal trees and their resilient orange leaves. “Got everything you wanted to know? Go run it back to Mingyu. I’m sure that’s what you were gonna do anyway.”

The anger in his chest felt like it was going to crawl out from his mouth and squeeze Seokmin into a ball, therefore Wonwoo exercised his breathing while on a strict path back down the walkway.

Abandoning Seokmin did hurt him more than he had thought, knowing he just lost a friend from his already very limited circle, someone whom he clicked with so readily. At the same time, however, there was a lightness about it. As Wonwoo’s frustration seeped out during the walk back to his apartment, some of the weight pressed into his shoulders released itself like water evaporating from a blacktop.

He just wished he could be at your side more than anything.

There was obviously a reason for your silence.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I heard about the break.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I’m here if you need anything at all.

…

[ Her | 4:05 pm ]: you talked to seokmin?

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: Yeah. Never again.

[ Her | 4:07 pm ]: mingyu is so mad

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: I figure.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: please avoid him if you can. i’m worried

[ Wonwoo | 4:08 pm ]: I’m not.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: wonwoo he’s seriously pissed

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: can’t you hang out with vernon some more

[ Wonwoo | 4:09 pm ]: Seriously?

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: yes

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: mingyu got into trouble with dots and had a real big scare. so he doesn’t like to mess much with him or his friends. he'll showboat but that's about it

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: well ik dots died but u get the point

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: Fair.

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: But I can’t just pull Vernon around as my Mingyu repellent lol. Honestly, if he wants to rock me, idc.

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: well I do care

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: ugh

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: life has been sucking so hard lately

[ Wonwoo | 4:11 pm ]: I want to come see you.

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: I want that too. but I need more time, k?

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: I know.

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: Here if you need me.

—OCTOBER 18TH.

For the past two weeks, Wonwoo had been walking around with the looming possibility of getting jumped by your six-foot tall, rather muscley boyfriend, and he was thus very relieved to have made it this far without eating a fist to the face. Well, now Mingyu was an ex.

Maybe.

The pause in your relationship read like a gray area that Wonwoo had been treading the thinnest eggshells on, prompting him to wait and hear the truth from you directly whenever you felt steady enough to tell him. He wondered if today might be that day.

Placing another strawberry onto the cutting board, Wonwoo chopped his knife through the leafy green bit, removing the stem. The cleaned-up strawberry was then dropped into a bowl of fresh ones that you had been picking away at for the past few minutes or so.

Wonwoo smiled while grabbing another berry to cut.

“I feel like this bowl hasn’t gotten any fuller, for some reason.”

Your legs were swinging as you sat atop the small kitchen island while looking down at his every movement with the knife. Once he  dropped another cut strawberry into the bowl, you scooped it out.

“Just making sure they don’t go bad,” you responded, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “The fruit you buy usually goes bad within the minute? Are you getting into a fist fight with it?”

You poked at his hip with your socked foot. “Well, you said you were cutting it for me. So can I eat it or not? I’m getting mixed signals.”

“No, of course you can eat it. I’m just teasing.”

“I don’t do too well with delayed gratification.”

Wonwoo smiled at you, proceeding to remove the last few strawberries from the basket to cleanly dissect their stems. He then turned around, tossing the cutting board and knife into the stainless-steel sink with a clatter. After washing his hands, he was back at the island, noticing that the bowl was now seated in your lap like a bag of movie theatre popcorn with just the perfect amount of butter and salt. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t say anything—that focused look to your face as you ate the fruit he prepared was much too captivating. He wanted to catch one of your swinging legs, pull you right to the counter’s very edge and have you wrap yourself around him. He wanted everything with you.

In your earlier days together, Wonwoo used to be a lot more evasive about his staring (at least, that’s what he wanted to believe), but now he didn’t feel as required to be so painfully subtle and imperceptible about things. He let you snack until you were satisfied, the empty bowl then being exchanged with a damp rag to clean your fingers.

“So,” clearing his throat, Wonwoo braced his hands against the granite island and glanced at you from behind his glasses, scanning down the unbothered, relatively straight face you had, “everything going okay?”

Pressing your lips together, you nodded, making only an “mhm” sound that didn’t leave much to be interpreted.

Wonwoo saw the hands that plunged swiftly between your thighs, how you were quick to squeeze around them, like there existed something weighted and hidden.

He wanted to leave it up to your discretion—he really did.

“Okay, that’s good… just—uh, he’s not giving you a hard time, right? He’s not bothering you at all?” Wonwoo asked, adjusting the rim of the black beanie he’d thrown on to keep his messy hair tucked back. “I don’t mean to disinter anything. I’m only asking because I—”

“Because you care,” you finished his sentence quietly with a trusting and faint smile, “I know. Thank you. It is hard for me, though… I don’t know why this particular thing is so hard but it is.”

Wonwoo slid his hands together, moving them slow along the cold granite. “No… that’s understandable. I get it plenty.” Hell—he didn’t just get it—Wonwoo had miserably and insufferably lived it for damn near a year at that point. In fact, tomorrow would mark the day that he came home to this same apartment only to discover the interior stripped of all the traces, sentiments, and artifacts that breathed miraculous life into the girl he once thought to be his other half.

A whole fucking year without Jeanie.

How flipped things were. How oddly coincidental that he was now in the same space but with a new person to create everlasting memories. You had the most opposite personality and spark.

Wonwoo sighed. He got close to you, settling his hand atop your knee before gliding it underneath your thigh, gripping at you firmly and pulling you forward until he was bracketed in between your legs. Your response was smitten, and he couldn’t deny that he loved to practically see your heart beating under your chest in addition to sensing the warmth that flourished off your skin like you were sizzling in a pan.

Wonwoo set one hand down on the counter, right next to your hip, while the other tended to the side of your face, his fingers running behind your ear and down the slender path to your silk-smooth neck.

“Look…” he breathed out, finding your eyes that were now a bit watery and tinged with stinging emotion, “I know it’s hard. And I would never rush you into figuring things out… but I like you…” Wonwoo swallowed, letting his thumb play with your earring meanwhile his deep voice triggered the sharp, raised hairs spreading down your arms like an electric current, “I love spending time with you—even just being in the same room as you, getting to stare at you—but I just—when I don’t know what you are to Mingyu, I don’t know what to do with us.”

You drew in an immediate breath, then releasing a quiet laugh mixed with a runny sniffle. “I-It seems like you know…”

He pushed both his hands into the countertop, smiling at you.

“Well, I know what I want to do…” Wonwoo murmured, gazing so intimately into your eyes as the oceans he urged to drown in, “but you have to understand my reservations about it. That’s all.”

Bringing a pinky finger to your mouth to nibble on, you nodded.

Softly, he pinched the bare expanse of your waist. You gasped.

“Because I do, in fact, want you.”

You didn’t say anything, although Wonwoo noted that you were staring back into his gaze with so many hues of simple human emotion pulsating behind your eyes—there was frustration, possibly at yourself and everything you couldn’t yet communicate, and twinkles of impulse that matched rhythm with your heart. Then, employing unforeseen abruptness, your fingers were running down the back of his neck all ticklish and he felt the warmth from your breath feather his lips as you moved in closer, smirking at him, hazy like a sunrise pouring its light through a thick cover of morning fog.

“If you can be patient for just a little longer, you'll have all of me.”

Thankfully (or maybe not so thankfully judging from the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins in a hedonistic, addictive sort of way) there were a few knocks at his door.

Your eyes rolled. “Is that your landlord or something?”

Wonwoo took a step back, letting you slide off the countertop while he adjusted his glasses and brushed down his t-shirt. How were you suddenly so casual? One second you were chewing nervously on your finger with the timidness of a newborn doe and the next—back to your typical self. He watched you approach the door, tilting his head.

“Uh, maybe? She usually texts me, though.”

“Or Seokmin with a batch of chocolate apology brownies.”

He chuckled, folding his arms. “Doubt it.”

Really, Wonwoo had no idea who it could be. It possibly was his landlord who had perhaps forgotten her usual warning text, or maybe his younger, sometimes irresponsible neighbour across the hall who would specifically ask to borrow his scent-free laundry detergent every now and then. As long as it wasn’t Lady Liberty on the other side (in Vernon’s tried and true nicknaming spirit) then Wonwoo had no reason to care.

“Welp,” you made a balmy, popping sound with your lips, “only one way to find out. I think I can smell the chocolate.” But once the door was pulled open, that little joking smile fell from your face concerningly fast, as though someone had plucked it right off.

Fuck—Wonwoo thought right off the cuff—it was Lady Liberty.

Your head quirked ever so slightly. “Uh, hello…”

Whoever the person was, they were just outside the threshold of what Wonwoo could see from his spot in the kitchen—except, now he didn’t think it was Mingyu at all, since your tone seemed more confused than anything else.

For a moment, Wonwoo just stood where he was, not particularly understanding why he couldn’t even twitch a measly finger.

“Hi—I’m sorry, is this the—is this—does Wonwoo still live here?”

From across the room, you shifted him a glance.

There was a heavy pause before you answered.

“… Yeah.”

“O-Oh, well… um… I’m so sorry, but are you living here as well? Is he home? I don’t mean to bother or anything. I guess I came by on a whim. It’s a little hard to explain… I can always come back later.”

At that point, Wonwoo was making his way beside you.

That voice—that delicate wispy voice, lighter than a tuft of cotton adrift through the breeze under a salt blue sky—there was such a familiarity about it that he was getting dizzier by the second. Your jaw was distinctly clenched as Wonwoo stopped at your side.

He took one look into the hallway and damn near fainted.

“What the fuck…” Wonwoo whispered, his mouth suddenly stark of moisture as he lifted a hand to grab the door’s edge, “Jeanie?”

“Uh, hey, Wonwoo.”

Wait—never mind, never mind—he panicked. Maybe he did want it to be Mingyu. In fact, Wonwoo would have anticipated Bohyuk showing up outside his door, or his parents, or his girlfriend of two weeks back in sixth grade who broke up with him over a juice box before he could guess that his ex who disappeared without a trace would be there.

It sounded borderline insane, but Wonwoo almost wanted to poke her just to test if she was even real. She looked real. She sounded real. You didn’t seem to be staring into empty space while side-eyeing him worriedly, rather you had very much acknowledged her. Wonwoo’s grip fastened to the door, then realizing he was using it as a personal crutch to keep him upright as his legs slowly regained their rigidity and strength. He also realized that you likely had no idea who she was until her name had been distantly tugged from his lips by his instincts.

Jeanie splayed out her hands in a demonstration of submission.

“If it’s a bad time, I can come back later…”

Wonwoo noted that you had taken a step away from the door, although you continued to stare at Jeanie with a countenance that refused to spoil much—it seemed inquisitive and curious but still hardened—the moment was probably overwhelming you, too.

He gulped dryly, flicking his eyes back to her. “Uh, well, I wasn’t even—you’re like, the last person I would expect to see and—”

“It’s okay. I’ll leave.”

Jerking back to you, Wonwoo nearly gave himself whiplash.

“Her—you don’t need to—”

But you shook your head.

Grabbing the cream purse off the couch and slipping back into your comfortable, clean white tennis shoes, you seemed eager to go while simultaneously jaded at the circumstances.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you stopped in front of Wonwoo, adjusting the strap wove around your shoulder, “this seems important, so… I don’t want to stand in the way of anything… I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

Then, you turned to Jeanie, sticking out your hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She looked to Wonwoo for a split second.

“Um, yeah, you as well…” Jeanie eventually accepted the handshake, sounding breathy with nerves, “sorry about all this.”

While making your way to the staircase, Wonwoo quickly stepped into the corridor and waved at you, feeling his chest tighten.

“I’ll call you, okay?”

You flashed a transient smile. He hated watching you leave.

Jeanie was watching you, too, hands politely folded at her abdomen, bunny rabbit teeth digging at the skin of her ruby-stained and calloused lips. She had always been a chronic lip-biter—anxiety, thrill, or stress, Wonwoo vividly remembered the blisters she absentmindedly inflicted unto herself from the bad habit, similar to the scars marking the cuticle of his thumb. After a year Jeanie looked different no doubt, but she also reflected an unchanged image through her conserved, fidgety behaviours. She was shy like a budding flower kept just short of the sun.

“Are you okay if I come in?” Jeanie mumbled, hardly able to maintain eye contact with Wonwoo for no more than a second or two.

He stepped back, beckoning indoors.

“Yeah… that’s fine, I guess.”

“Looks pretty nice in here…” she remarked soft-spokenly, taking a moment to marvel the space she once came home to every day, although she couldn’t seem more like a stranger to the apartment even if she tried—like a magazine cutout slapped onto a novel.

Wonwoo rubbed under his nose. “Well… I make due.”

Her hair used to be a symmetric, blunt length with her chin, but she had clearly grown it out over the months. The black tresses thrived in long and loose ribbons down her back, shinier than sea glass polished by rough waves. She was never one to wear much makeup either—trimming her eyebrows, glossing her lips, and flicking on some mascara was all she really ever cared to do, and Wonwoo remembered being in love with her simplicity.

Jeanie proceeded to walk behind the couch, squeezing the back in her hands. She was so tiny. That hadn’t changed much. He could only stand in one place, keeping still, examining her every movement and fighting against the trillions of voices clawing to his mind’s surface.

“Feels strange to be in here,” she laughed, running her fingers along the couch’s fabric, staring around the space, “I think it definitely has more of your touch now… it was nice to see Saskia again, too.”

“Yeah.”

She stopped on him. “You look well. Healthy.”

Wonwoo squinted at her. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t say it in a rude, impatient way. Genuinely, Wonwoo wasn’t angry with her, not like he might have been a few months ago.

But he was confused and feeling increasingly anxious. You were gone, probably on your way back home, though Wonwoo wished you hadn’t left at all, even if it were to make things sticky and awkward. Your presence in a room was the comfort he badly, painfully missed.

“Sure,” Jeanie cleared her throat, “I’ll explain. Care to sit?”

Together, they nestled onto the couch.

Wonwoo was kept to one end while Jeanie sat more in the middle, pulling at the long, flowy hem of her fern-patterned blue dress.

He tugged at the rim to his beanie, waiting for her to speak.

The girl gripped onto her knees, poised a soft, gentle look in his direction while taking in a breath. Their nerves seemed to be coalescing like different colours bleeding from freshly soaked paintbrushes. If anxiety were personified into butterflies, the room would start fluttering.

“I guess I thought it was time. Taking a shot in the dark, I know. I didn’t know if you would still be here, but I got lucky…” she clutched at her dress, fingers pulling into the airy material. “Wonwoo, it’s not like I don’t think about you, or wonder about you. I know what I did, how much it hurt… then I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to come back to here, with you. But I processed it all and it became an itch I had to scratch.”

Puffing out through his nose, Wonwoo almost laughed.

“Yeah—you wanted to see if I, what? Threw myself off the building or persevered, becoming some big money writer?”

Jeanie blinked at him a few times, furrowing her neat, straight brow, with every hair gelled down perfectly in place.

Wonwoo shook his head, lifting out his hand.

“Okay, my bad. That sounded like such an asshole thing to say.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Her cheeks flooded with a tide of rosy pink as she chuckled. “I-I just… well, you seem different now.”

He pushed up his glasses. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Jeanie clasped her hands together, thumbs tapping.

“Well, I guess you seem more... upfront, not as prevaricating. Maybe that’s how you’ve always been and I just never really saw it or you picked it up from someone else.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Probably a bit of both.”

“I am sorry. I know it was all so… sudden. I know this is sudden. I thought about calling... my hands would just shake so much whenever I picked up the phone, getting all sweaty and stuff. It felt like something that I had to just do. And, well, once I was back in the area, I didn’t even want to lend myself time to dwell. I only came in yesterday.”

“You went back home, then?”

“I did.”

“I figured… well, I got the hint pretty clear when your mom sent me that email. It was only a sentence or two long, but it hurt like hell.”

“It’s what I asked her to send. It’s all I felt you needed to know.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Jeanie sighed, “I feel warranted in what I did… even so, I-I think I owe you an apology. Because, well, you were and still are someone I regard highly. You were going through something pretty serious… I mean, it’s obvious you’re taking such better care of yourself.”

 “It definitely hasn’t been linear.”

Tucking some hair behind her ear, the girl smiled. “Well, what in life really is? It only feels that way when you’re going straight down.”

He hmphed, thinking. “… Yeah. Really though, don’t worry about it. An apology isn’t necessary. You’ve always been too gracious.”

“I-I guess… but, I think it is, since—”

“Jeanie, c’mon. It’s really not. I was dragging you down.”

“Wonwoo, I feel like—”

“I’m telling you—”

“Well, I’m telling you and it would mean a lot if you just let me speak and get this off my chest. Please. Then you can have the floor. Tell me to package it all back up. Whatever it is you have to say. But I spent our entire relationship just listening and trying to understand you and interpret all your vague signals when I should have been trying to understand myself, and what I wanted. I’m not the verbose type, I know that. Going off on longwinded tangents about my feelings has never been something that suits me but I’m here now and I owe it to the girl who just sucked it all up, all the time, trying to be this perfect girlfriend for you.”

He managed a long, introspective breath.

Fuck—he really did owe her that. He owed her so much more.

“… Okay,” Wonwoo nodded complicity, “you’re right.”

“Leaving was the very last thing I wanted. I swear it. I agonized over the choice every day. But you didn’t even notice. That’s when I knew it was more than bad, and whatever it was you were going through was just pulling you down so deep, like a whirlpool. It’s like… I would talk to you, and there was no one inside. When I felt like you needed space, I gave you space. When I felt like you had something hard to say, I would sit with you all day, trying to ease it out, waiting for you to say it.

When you seemed so angry at yourself and everything around you—I-I don’t know—I tried to be the best thing for you. But I was hitting wall after wall. Sometimes I wonder how much of it was my fault. If I had just been upfront about my feelings then maybe things would have been… well, you know, different. I guess I never did say much because it seemed like the last thing you needed to hear, like I would be adding to your already massive collection of burdens. You have to understand, I felt trapped, Wonwoo. Like I was in a glass box or something.

I was decaying from the inside out. If I didn’t leave, if I didn’t make that split second decision to phone up my mom and tell her everything that morning you left for work—then maybe we would have gotten even worse. Maybe we would have just drowned. I don’t know. I’m… glad, relieved, happier than ever, that I don’t know what might have happened. And now that it seems we’re both… whole… I feel like an apology is just a way for me to say that if I had the steel to speak for the both of us, maybe we could have spared so much pain in between.”

Jeanie’s doe eyes twinkled with tears. “I thought that being apart might heal us both… I-I did it ‘cause—in essence—I did it because I cared, Wonwoo. About you. So deeply. But I also needed to start caring about myself, too.”

The corners of his mouth flitted in an unbridled smile toward the girl, his gaze admiring how the evening sunlight warmed up her cool-toned skin and shimmered through her strong, healthy hair.

“I know,” Wonwoo finally answered. “I’ve known for a while.”

Jeanie stayed for about an hour longer, until the sky started darkening. Together, they filled each other in on the breakages in each other’s distant lives, like a spider reweaving a gash through its cobweb. He was pleased to learn that she was doing quite well for herself—now moved out from her family house and living with her younger sister, Jeanie held true to pursuing her ambition of managing the library she had always adored coming to during her childhood (he remembered it specifically as “the one with the bean bag corner and the giant toy crate with the giraffe.”)

Wonwoo felt he didn’t have much to say regarding himself, however, he had plenty to say about you.

Rubbing at a strand of her hair, Jeanie nodded. “Yeah, I remember Her. She—like—she did scare me a bit… I don’t know—she really seemed to know what she was doing. I was a little envious of that. And she had really great style. She could pull anything off. She came in looking for a textbook one time, but I made my co-worker help her instead. I think I was too nervous to talk to her.”

Wonwoo had his legs stretched out onto the coffee table, hands settled on his stomach. Itching at his eyebrow, he smiled. “I probably would have done the same, back then. Honestly though, she’s nothing like what she seems. I can promise you that.”

Jeanie was quiet for a moment, adjusting the legs tucked up underneath herself. “So… you two are… you’re dating?”

“No… it’s weird. I wish.”

“I recognized her when she opened the door. I was pretty confused since… of all the people that you could have over… she seemed like the most unlikely candidate. I-I mean, I’m not saying that you could never—I’m not saying that it could never happen—”

He tilted his head at Jeanie, grinning slyly. “No, just say it. You didn’t imagine I’d ever even be able to talk to someone like her.”

The girl’s face flushed. “Well, you’re quite the opposites.”

“In some ways.”

“I don’t think she’d like me.”

Wonwoo pursed his lip in disagreement. “That’s not true. To be fair, you’ve ever only got to see one side of her. She’s trying to figure shit out just as much as we are. You never really stop, I suppose.”

He felt Jeanie’s gaze still on him for a few seconds, her mouth twitching into a delicate, sincere smile made brighter by her eyes. “So… you figure she’d like me? Even if she knew all the details about us? How rough it all was?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms, staring back toward her confidently. “I figure she’d probably like you more than me, actually.”

8:28 pm

“Hey, thanks for picking up.”

“Oh, no big deal. You called me at a good time. I was just about to start my skincare and I would have needed to sit for fifteen minutes doing absolutely nothing in a slimy face mask.” 

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m guessing your conversation is over and done with.”

“Yeah. She only left like, five minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t want to sit alone in your bedroom contemplating the universe for an additional hour with all the blinds drawn? Woah. Wonwoo, I am impressed. Finger snaps.”

“Finger snaps.”

“So… am I allowed to know how the whole thing went or did you just call me to hear the sound of my voice?”

“Both. But mostly to hear your voice.”

“Okay. Enlighten me then.”

9:45 pm

“Anyway… yeah. The conversation went well. I still can’t believe she actually came back to see me. Like, what a mindfuck, you know?”

“That took a lot of courage from her part.”

“Yeah, it did. Makes me proud, though. To hear her actually speak her mind. She really was just trying to be the best possible person for me and the only thing that got her is heartbreak. She’s putting herself first, now. She’s spending a couple days in the city with her sister.”

“… Do you think that you’ll want to see her again?”

“I don’t know. Do I need to?”

“Do you?”

“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, as much as it was a shock to see her again, there was great closure in it. If she had come to see me way sooner, no way would I have been open to it—I probably would have freaked the fuck out and had an anxiety attack or some shit—but I feel way better about everything now. I felt like I understood her choices, kinda like I was the one making them... but, you know, we’re evolved people at this point. We’ve veered onto two separate paths, neither one being greater than or less than the other… just different.”

“Right.”

“We just wished each other well.”

“No, that’s great. You put a bow on it. I just didn’t really know what the whole thing was gonna entail… so, yeah, I had gotten kinda worried… like—once I knew it was her—I thought she looked so perfect for you. You two just made immediate sense in my mind. She’s got such a sweet voice, and the kind, shy personality that everyone always adores. I think if you stuck her in a room with me, she’d hate my guts.”

“Ha—Jeanie hates no one’s guts. She’s got no room in her heart for that kind of stuff. You two are different for sure, but I think that’s what would make you interesting and attractive to each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t think you’d like her either. But I told her you’d probably like her more than me.”

“What! She actually thought that? I mean, maybe I seemed a little damp when I left, but that was just my mind on overdrive.”

“Need me to arrange a date between you two?”

“Ha—she did have a great perfume on. Maybe ask about that.”

“Well, I will if I see her.”

“She doesn’t know about the book you were writing for her, does she? I can’t believe that’s been sitting on your laptop all this time.”

“No, she doesn’t. I used to sit there and stare at it every day, but I don’t think I’ve even opened the damn document in months… since I met you, my mind has gradually moved away from it, I guess. I think now it’s more of an effort thing. All the time I put into it. It’s like, if I delete it, I’m deleting that time from my life… does that even make sense?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re saying.”

“… Did you ever finish your book for Mingyu? I know you wanted it done before your anniversary in December. It seemed like you were on track to have it done quite early, with all that time you gave yourself.”

“I did finish it, actually.”

“No fucking way—that’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah. Now I’ve just gotta decide what to do with it.”

—NOVEMBER 3RD.

Wonwoo was fairly surprised that Princess had invited him to her birthday dinner at Terra Cotta. At one point, he wasn’t certain where he stood with your closest friend, even if his relationship with her presented itself as amicable on the surface—he always thought that maybe deep down, Princess really did despise him. Then Wonwoo wondered if you had nipped at the birthday girl into inviting him, although that didn’t seem like something in your character.

Through all his fretting, thumb-scraping, and late-night pondering in the shower, Wonwoo eventually came to the conclusion that was probably the simplest and most accurate: Princess just liked him.

A call from Vernon came through right as Wonwoo was getting into bed last week, to which the rambling boy had impetuously thrown out, “yeah, I got an invite to Her’s best friend’s birthday dinner or somethin’ like that—what was her name again? Penelope? The sexy dark skin girl with the braids? Anyway, I told her I’d love to go, but I’m gonna be out of town for a few days in November. Said I could hook her up with a couple MDMA bombs, though. Y’know, as a gift.”

Thus, that concluded the story of Wonwoo having to sit at a rather large and reserved candlelit table in an expensive, esteemed restaurant, surrounded by some friends and strangers alike, with a plastic baggie of hard drugs shoved into his pants pocket that he couldn’t stop worrying about. Vernon had wanted him to leave it with Princess when appropriate. Most people invited were going to the club later in the night—Room 319—which he figured could only be survived by going buckwild off ecstasy. As his knee continued to ricochet underneath the tablecloth, Wonwoo was soothed by your hand sliding over his thigh.

You gave him a solicitous glance, smiling with care. “Why don’t I just put it in my purse?” The offer was whispered amongst the conversation.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but flit his eyes around the table, ensuring no one was giving his general direction a lick of attention. The waiters and waitresses would pop from the blue every now and then with bottles that seemed glued to their hands, scouring for anyone who needed a top up on alcohol. His glass had been seldom touched for the past half-hour.

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Wonwoo,” you deadpanned at him.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh my God—just give me it. It’ll take me two seconds to dig it out from your pocket and shove it in my damn purse. Besides, I can’t enjoy myself when the anxiety is emanating off you in waves.”

His knee immediately stopped jerking. Wonwoo looked you straight in the eyes, the stiffness turning him into straw. “Is it really?”

“Yes!” You laughed quietly, your head hunkering down on his shoulder for a brief moment. “Now, give me it please. Pretty please.”

Sliding a hand into the smooth pocket on his pants, Wonwoo began fishing out the small plastic baggie while puffing, “fuck—alright.”

“Gosh,” he heard you mumble while discreetly taking the capsules from him, rustling them into your purse, “you could never be a drug dealer, could you? How are you even friends with Vernon? That dude probably walks around with sample sizes taped to his jacket.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo was finally able to roll out his shoulders and relax—even give you a humorous little smirk, “I have a way better chance of escaping the drug dogs than he does. I’ll get a nice head start.”

His thigh was met with a slap before your hand pulled away. “I’m acting like I don’t know either of you.”

To be fair, Wonwoo couldn’t picture his bad-mouthed, fairly uncouth friend in a snotty establishment like Terra Cotta, especially considering his ideal places to eat were twenty-four-hour diners and cereal pantries belonging to girls whom he’d just slept with. The restaurant was no doubt beautiful, though it was definitely for the upper echelons who could not only afford it, but also act the pleasant, opulent guise.

At least the table that Princess reserved was a bit more separated from the other tables in the restaurant—it was close to a waterfall built into the wall, encompassed by all sorts of burnish-looking smooth stones.

Neither Seokmin or Mingyu were at the dinner—two absences that no one seemed to be questioning. To Wonwoo, that was a gigantic relief—he assumed you felt the same. Clara was there, seated further down the table, but Bells wasn’t. Seungcheol was an obvious guest, and besides you, he was the person that Wonwoo had spoken to the most since arriving at the restaurant—he’d even given Wonwoo the slip on his secret gift for his girlfriend, which was a two-week vacation to the Bahamas after the winter exam season.

Wonwoo was a little jealous.

He would love for you and him to vacation somewhere.

Maybe even take you back to South Korea.

“So, you guys,” Princess had started a conversation with you and Wonwoo from across the table, hands folded underneath her chin while she smiled kindly between you, “think you’ll come to the club after?”

You pouted at her, “we’re passing, babe. A million sorries.”

“Awe, that’s okay.” She reached across the pristine tablecloth to lay her hand over top yours. “You already took me out for my birthday, anyway. And let me vomit in your washroom for two hours.”

“Mmhm. You’d do the same for me.”

Princess giggled, her grin luminous and wholly genuine. “Oh, of course. I have already done it!”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all about Room 319. The stories I’ve heard about that place—sounds like some shit from a movie.”

“Trust me, you’ll get the entire script in a bound book. I know the club thing isn’t for everyone—that’s why I did the dinner. And I’m doing cupcakes instead of cake! Remember those red velvet cupcakes we had that one night? And then that other night? Fuck—I couldn’t stop thinking about those damn things.”

“Oh, those were fucking delicious.”

“De-licious. Have you ever got to try one, Wonwoo?”

He swallowed, a bit jarred to be welcomed into their conversation that he had been happily listening to from the sidelines.

“I tried one. I liked it.”

Princess gasped at him. “Only liked? Be serious!”

“Well, ask me again later tonight. I wasn’t having it fresh.”

“I will be asking. How’s Vernon? I’m sad he couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, he’s fine. Sometimes he just mysteriously disappears from town for a couple days—I don’t ask because I don’t want to know. But, uh, he did leave me with a gift for you… if you didn’t already know.”

“Oh… oh! Right!” Princess straightened up, nodding. “Yeah, I remember. You can give it to me when we leave. Outside.”

“I have it actually,” you clarified, flickering a transient look at the tiny purse you had moved onto the table,  “when we take a girl’s trip to the washroom, you can have it. The dose is pretty high. I know I don’t have to worry about you and this stuff, but be careful, y’know?”

“Of course. Just make sure you hide the purse in your lap when the waiter comes back. They love offering to take bags and satchels and all that stuff to hang in the coat room.” After clearing her throat with a sip from her pink, frothy champagne, Princess curiously poked at you two. “So, how do you guys plan to spend the rest of your night?”

Wonwoo opted not to speak.

You grabbed your wine glass, swirling the aromatic alcohol around inside while shrugging. “Not sure. It’s chilly out. Hope you don’t freeze your tits off standing outside in the mile long line for the club.”

“That’s what this push-up is for. The padding’s so toasty warm.”

Laughing with Princess, you ended up snorting.

Seungcheol, who was sat beside his girlfriend and had been occupied in speaking to a friend Wonwoo forgot the name of, finally parted from his conversation, turning his head at the last second to hear the giggling.

“Push-up? What are you guys talking about?”

You shook your head. “Nothing—just her bra.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol mumbled, “what about her bra?”

Princess smiled. “Just that with all this padding it’s got, it’ll keep me nice and warm when I’m waiting outside. Perfectly insulated.”

Rubbing a thumb and index finger along his jaw, Seungcheol grinned all relaxed-like while Princess rolled her dark brown eyes at his comment, the gold accents in her inner corners glimmering.

“I bet my hands would be a lot more efficient. Nothing warmer than skin on skin as they say.”

She shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. “Who says that? Now, bedroom eyes away before I make you wear a bag over your head.”

“I don’t see a bag here.”

“As the birthday girl, I’m pretty sure I can request one.”

The dinner officially wrapped up around ten at night. Wonwoo was able to reaffirm with Princess that the red velvet cupcakes were indeed moist and delicious. As everyone stood right outside the restaurant in the nippy, cold November weather, giving hugs and farewells to those who weren’t clubbing, he made sure to wish Princess probably the twentieth happy birthday she’d heard that night. He waited for you to give her another speech about staying safe but still having fun, sprinkled with lots of “I love you’s” and inside jokes that Wonwoo wondered if he would ever understand, before you two left on your own.

Each time he spoke, his breath would come to life in a warm wisp from his mouth, meanwhile the streets lights reflected in the melted snow all over the sidewalk he aimlessly wandered down, with you sticking close to his side. It hadn’t been a heavy snow, at least.

“Be honest,” you said, glancing toward Wonwoo, “how relieved are you that we’re not going to the club? On a scale of one to ten.”

“Is ten the most relieved?”

“Yeah.”

He looked at you, completely unabashed. “Ten.”

Kissing your teeth, you nodded. “That’s what I expected.”

“So,” Wonwoo hummed, stopping beside you at the intersection while waiting for the crosswalk light to change, “what now?”

Your eyebrows raised. “Still want to do something?”

As the cars whipped past, throwing up brisk winds and exhaust into the twinkling city atmosphere, Wonwoo shrugged. “The night is young.”

“What's on your mind?”

“We’re not far from Centertown. It’s maybe a fifteen-minute walk or so at this point. There’s a bar there I want to try. The Honeymoon.”

He was glad you didn’t seem opposed.

“Sure. I’m down.”

Once the crosswalk was open and the floods of people started pressing forward, there was somebody who passed them—somebody who almost went completely unnoticed by Wonwoo until his memory reloaded and he suddenly found himself pausing to observe over his shoulder.

You pulled at his sleeve. “What?”

“Uh, nothing,” Wonwoo replied, wetting his dry lips while heeding your polite tug, “the woman that passed us—she’s dressed exactly like this prostitute that Vernon told me he saw last winter, hanging outside Room 319. She has the heels and everything.”

“What the fuck. Really?”

“Mmhm,” he laughed, “he called her Pink Heels Lady. To be honest, I thought he was lying… but I’m pretty sure that was her.”

“Spooky. Coincidence or fate, do you think?”

Wonwoo glanced at you, seeing the intrigued smile on your face.

“I don’t know, actually,” he responded after the question hovered around in his mind for an oddly long second, deciding to pick up your hand in is, “I assume it’s just the universe working its magic.”

Wonwoo was never particularly into bars, although he could tolerate them much more than a club despite their parallels. The seedy lighting, deafening music, and signature throw-up gutter in the street or alleyway right outside the building was crucial to both, he had realized.

The Honeymoon was a newer bar that had garnered some notable buzz. It was less like a pub, being slightly more formal with a touch of modernity that had landed it just below presumptuous, in Wonwoo’s opinion. At least the music wasn’t overbearing, nor was there intoxicated, flush-faced men hollering at sports teams on televisions that would never hear them. You decided to sit at the counter, sliding onto the heightened chairs and leaving your jackets draped over the low backs.

You bristled, shaking out your shoulders. “I’m cold.”

Wonwoo cupped his hands overtop your icy cheeks for a moment, allowing some of his warmth to seep into your skin.

“A drink will fix that right up.”

“How are your hands hotter than mine? You’re always freezing.”

He smiled at you, letting you have your face back. “I can warm them up at will to your benefit.” Wonwoo joked, bumping his knee against yours. “What do you think of the place?”

Your lip pursed as you glanced around, examining the bartenders filling up glasses with their silvery, shiny spouts, and then over your shoulder at the numerous other tables occupied by the city’s strangers. For a frigid November night, it was quite full.

“It’s nice. The lighting is pretty. Reminds me of Alley Cat.”

“Oh, yeah. Vernon took me there once to celebrate my exams being done, then he got into a fist fight with this university student over something I can’t remember—smashed a glass on the dude’s head.”

Predictably, your eyes rolled. “Only Vernon is getting into fist fights at Alley Cat.”

Wonwoo chuckled. “Well, now he can’t get into fist fights there at all—management banned him and the other guy. Apparently, they’ve got this back wall of people who’ve been kicked out and he’s on there.”

“Figures,” you sighed.

“Oh my gosh! Wonwoo? It’s you!”

At the sound of his name being excitedly called, Wonwoo was soon met with the surprised but cheerful expression coloured to Sierra’s freckled face. He hadn’t forgotten that she worked there, but he was clueless about her schedule. She looked very pretty, glowing in a halo almost, with her coarse, reddish-brown hair pulled back slick into a ponytail and a crisp, clean black uniform tailored to fit her perfectly.

Wonwoo grinned. “Hey there. I didn’t know you worked tonight.”

Sierra set one hand onto the lacquered wood counter while the other stuck to her hip. “I don’t usually. Fridays are game nights with my little sister. But there was a call-in. A little extra cash never hurt.” The girl’s big, round eyes then flitted to you. “Her, right? I don’t think we’ve ever met formally. I know you’re one smart cookie, though.”

“I’d like to think so,” you answered, smiling back at Sierra, “you were at the party, weren’t you? The one Seungcheol threw this summer?”

She nodded, “I was. I made a few drinks here and there.”

“I never got to taste one,” you frowned, pouting.

Throwing up her hands, Sierra was quick to exclaim with her typical charisma and sugar sweetness, “what! Preposterous! I think I’m pretty wicked at it. What are you thinking of having?”

“To be honest, I’m not looking for anything too fancy at the moment. In fifteen minutes from now, I won’t be able to promise the same. I’d like to start off with a rum and coke, if that’s alright. For now.”

Sierra grinned. “No, that’s perfect. What about you, Wonwoo?”

He shrugged. “I’ll have the same. For now.”

“Well, for now, I’ll start you guys off with two rum and cokes.”

Leaning his elbows onto the countertop, he threw her a question.

“How’s it going with Carmen?”

While she prepared the drinks, Sierra blossomed into a smile. “Oh, it’s going great. She’s genuinely a blast. We’re going to the movies next week—that horror one is coming out, about the swimming pool—we think it’s gonna suck but that’s what makes it fun.”

Once Sierra slid you the cold glass, you tilted your head at her while fixing your lips around the black straw. “Who’s Carmen?”

“My girlfriend.” Sierra answered. “We met here, actually.”

“Ugh, no way,” you swooned, pressing a cheek into your hand as the next drink was given to Wonwoo, “that’s so fucking adorable. Does she ever tell you how beautiful you look in that all-black uniform?”

Giggling, Sierra wiped down the countertop and flushed. “I’ve heard it many times. It’s honestly just a t-shirt and slacks!”

“Well, you’re making it work.”

“Please—my face is heating up! You’ve got quite the gorgeous dress on yourself, you know. I always wonder where you get all your clothes. Wonwoo, have you complimented her yet, tonight?”

Mixing the ice cubes together to hear the satisfying clinks using his straw, he answered easily. “It was the first thing out of my mouth.”

Sierra nodded in satisfaction. “Good! Well, I won’t hover. But if you need any refills or have any questions, you can try to flag me down—or ask Jamie! She’s just down there. She’s great at martinis. Later!”

Once Sierra had left to busy herself with tending to others waiting service at the counter, you looked to Wonwoo, lips downturned.

“Jeez, she’s so freaking nice. How come I don’t have that kind of natural charm? Not that I’m not charming. But hers is so… magnetic.”

“Everyone’s got their natural quirks.”

“Yeah, well, my natural quirk is that I’m probably going to down this in the next two minutes. And then have three more after that.”

Wonwoo rubbed a hand to your shoulder, smirking into the glass that he raised to his mouth. “Just focus on the one you have now.”

3 more rum and cokes (+ 1 martini) later.

“No, no—but then, it gets even worse! Because not only had she been lying straight to his face the entire time, so was his best friend! They were seeing each other for weeks and weeks—he had no idea. What gave it away though, was the perfume. He was always telling her not to wear heavy perfumes and stuff because it will leave a scent on the sheets, but she messed up—so they freaked it, she spends the night, and then the next day when he’s over, he goes into his friend’s room looking for a charger and smells the perfume on the sheets! He puts it together! And then, and then—”

You paused, picking up the wide-mouthed martini glass to take a sip in the midst of your long-winded and passionate adultery story that Wonwoo had been struggling to follow for the past blurred time interval, the names now completely lost on his ears. There was hardly anything left in your glass, which led to your frustrated grumble, followed by an attempt to flag down the bartender, Jamie.

However, Wonwoo swiftly caught your hand despite his own impaired state, lowering it back to the countertop.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” He pushed forward the cup of water he requested for you. “The least you can be right now is hydrated.”

Although you weren’t happy about his thwarting, you did yield to the advice and drink some of the water. Wonwoo knew he should probably have some himself after his own splurge on the bar’s pricy concoctions, but he still felt that he was holding up quite well. Before Jamie could whisk by again, he made sure to ask for another cup.

“So, what happened next?” Wonwoo nudged your elbow while you stared off cluelessly, urging you to continue the story.

“What?”

“He smells her perfume on the bedsheets. Now what?”

However, you were suddenly slumping forward, forehead nestled into your hands. For a moment, you stayed like that without word, until Wonwoo couldn’t help his concern and touched at your bare shoulder.

“Not feeling well?”

You shook your head, whining out, “no, no. It’s not that.”

He frowned, scooting to the edge of his chair and securing his arm across your shoulders. His voice was softer and closer against your warm cheek as he attempted to gauge that sour, twisted expression past your concealing hands, wanting to understand your hiding.

“Well, am I allowed to know what’s bothering you?”

Again, you remained silent, biting your lip. There was such tenseness in your body that he could simply feel with just his arm.

Wonwoo leaned back, instead tugging at your wrist. “Can I at least see your face? Please?” You didn’t budge. “Her, you’re worrying me a bit, here. Do you need me take you home—”

“Okay, I have something to tell you.” Breaking abruptly from your husk, you were now staring straight and square at Wonwoo with distinct inebriation cloudy in your eyes, although there was something else too that compelled Wonwoo to bite his tongue and listen. “Honestly, I think I’ve held onto this long enough. And, I’ve wanted to confess this to you for a while now, but there was just so much debris in my life that I needed to sort through first. But you’re beyond important to me, and I just think that it’s time you finally know… so, can I tell you?”

“Um…”

Wonwoo’s throat was suddenly bone-dry and his pulse had spiked to the point where he could feel a vein along his neck start throbbing—he even pondered waving down the bartender for another drink to pacify his growing nerves.  

Ultimately, Wonwoo wouldn’t last that long. Pushing up his glasses, he nodded, noting that you hadn’t blinked once while you waited.

“Sure. Tell me.”

Your upper lip twitched.

“Mingyu’s been cheating on me, for two years.”

Wonwoo was quick to feel all his awareness become dull and drowned. He hardly registered his elbow shifting across the countertop, almost knocking over the glass of water onto the floor, nor did he realize the manner in which his mouth had subtly dropped open. You continued to stare at him with intensity, likely studying every tweak and fidget in his body language before swallowing deeply and choosing to continue the revelation.

He tightened up his jaw, trying to seem firm.

You looked ashamed of yourself as you admitted, “it’s been going on for two years, and I’ve known for about a year.”

“Really?” He answered, sounding mystified. “An entire year?”

“Give or take.”

Then, Wonwoo was shaking his head. His fist had clenched up tight, though it wasn’t the usual automated response that accompanied his anxiety—he found there was immediate distaste and anger swirling together like storm clouds in the pit of his stomach.

Your gaze was cast to the water glass on the countertop, which you moved away for no apparent reason, your expression emptied.

After a frail sigh, you continued, “do you remember that day I came into creative writing and got super upset at that guy for sitting in my seat? Remember how we talked about it at the nature museum, and I told you that I had a fight with Mingyu before going to class?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, that day, I tried bringing it up to him. And it totally didn’t go over how I thought it would. Mingyu denied it all… of course, I only had some vague but suspicious texts to go off of, which he explained his way out of pretty poorly. But I just accepted it for the sake of our relationship. And I never brought it up again until… you know.”

Wonwoo let a natural, stagnant silence fall in between you, meanwhile the encompassing atmosphere was kept flowing by the various conversations of those around you—seemingly happy—with plenty to drink as they kept warm from the bitter cold just outside.

He was biting his tongue, though he couldn’t hold the question any longer, piquing his, “do you know who he was cheating with?”

A huff shot straight through your nose.

“I know…” you mumbled, “and you know her, too.”

Suddenly, a name popped to his mouth without thought.

“Bells.”

When you didn’t confirm nor deny, opting to stare off to the side to conceal the emotion springing forth, Wonwoo knew it was solid truth.

“Fuck…” he cursed, grazing his hand across the smooth leg that was folded over your knee, “I’m so sorry… I’m at a loss for words.”

You could only sigh while a glossy film developed in your eyes.

“I mean, I’ve been through all the stages already—grief, denial, acceptance—whatever the other ones are—so I don’t know why I’m still getting so choked up about it. I obviously didn’t want to believe it… I mean, who the fuck does? Especially when you truly do have feelings for that person.” Shaking your head and sniffling, you exasperatedly flicked out a hand. “Her and her stupid sparkles. That was when I really started putting it together. Oh, I’m going out to play poker, babe! And the next day, I’m wearing his sweater, and I realize there’s these fucking little bits of glitter on it, inside it—it was like a fucking beacon that was just screaming at me—hey! Your asshole boyfriend is cheating!”

That was something Wonwoo had noticed himself, after Bells had bumped into him at the party—the girl’s adoration for sparkly clothing and makeup essentially left behind a glaring trail of glimmery breadcrumbs. Wonwoo had found them on his clothes once he took them off and could really see the fabric underneath the light. The confession suddenly painted your actions that night in a new colour.

Rubbing against your temple, you explained further despite the struggle to speak over that clogged sound coming from your throat.

“It’s not like I’m stupid, either, even if right now, in this situation, I seem like it. I know what Bells is like… she’s spoiled rotten—always has been—and is used to getting whatever the fuck she wants. But, you see, that’s the thing! That’s the fucking thing! Seokmin, Clara, Bells, even Princess—I only met them because of the webs my parents have in their business world. I was never really allowed to find my own friends. It really just shows how much they had a say in my life… don’t misconstrue, I truly do love Princess and she’s by far the most normal, grounded person amongst them. She actually listens, and cares. But I was only allowed to befriend her ‘cause my parents know her parents.

Mingyu seemed like the one person I was actually able to connect with on my own… but he’s honestly changed so much. It’s like, my parents were able to get their little fangs in him and warp him. And now… I really don’t think he loves me at all… I think he loves my image, and what I represent, and the opportunities that come with me… but, I don’t think he actually, genuinely loves me like he used to... like, back then, he was so, so sweet. He was always fumbling over himself, nervous, trying his best. I mean, you've read about it! He used to want to be an architect, Wonwoo. A freaking architect! He sketched all the time. He has a closet drawer full of sketch books from when he was younger. But everything's different now. He doesn't care. He hates when I bring it up! He hates me!

And I don’t just think—I know it, Wonwoo. He resents me, but he won’t let go. Instead, he just sucks the life out of me, like he’s trying to get me to hate myself, too. And I do. I guess, as long as I hate myself, it makes me perfect in their eyes. I’ll just keep letting them mould me until I feel complete.”

Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

Hell, he didn’t even know what to say except for the fact that you were right—as long as you always felt subpar, or lacking, or frustrated with your drought of true identity, it would lead you back to the reliance you had on the deceptive characters in your life—it was nothing but a miserable cycle designed to bog you down and snuff you out. At least your tearful eyes had dried up.

You looked at him fondly, with a gentle smile. “That’s what I like so much about you… even if you didn’t intend to—which I know you didn’t, judging from what I’ve heard about you trying to avoid writing with me—” (he bit his inner cheek coyly, casting a somewhat anxious hand through his hair), “—you helped me realize parts of myself that were always there, but only needed some nurturing. You actually encouraged me. Supported me. And—okay—I know I said that I hate myself—but since I’ve met you, I’ve been replacing it with an understanding of my situation. I’ve been kinder. I’ve been more of myself. I like to think what we have is a sort of symbiosis.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“Do you think that I’m… stupid… for staying?”

Immediately, Wonwoo’s face furled in disagreement. “No, no. Absolutely not. Mingyu’s been with you for so long. He has an integral quality in your life. It would be difficult to uproot yourself just like that. No one’s a better judge of that situation than you.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

As you relaxed back into the bar chair, Wonwoo could practically see this heavy, dark mist levitate from you and dissipate into the air. He knew that feeling of relief and inner freedom very well, and there was almost nothing that could compare to it.

Wonwoo then sipped from his glass of water, continuing to watch the stiffness melt off you like ebbing spring snow. "So, what was his response like? To your accusations? Was he at least honest?"

"Yeah, I got it all out of him eventually," you revealed with a very cumbersome sigh. "But he was deflecting like crazy... I'd never seen him like that before... he was fumbling his words all over, like he used to when we were first dating. But it was different. It wasn't nerves, it was just blind anger. He said I was no better. I mean, he's convinced we've had sex, and he wouldn't accept my denial, no matter what."

"It's not black and white," Wonwoo said, squeezing your arm, "it seems to me like a natural consequence. You felt trapped and alone."

For a split second, Jeanie flashed in his mind. A sear of guilt snapped through him. Mingyu would have much reflecting to do.

Nodding your head, you looked to Wonwoo and graced him with the words he may or may not have been waiting months to hear: "it's all over now—Mingyu and I—I made that extremely clear. And I honestly don't care what anyone else has to say. My mom didn't want to believe it... she's been acting strange since. I don't blame her."

In response, he merely nodded, warming you up with his gentle eyes.

But then he was shifting forward in his seat, elbows settled to the counter. Although it was quite late and he felt exhausted from drinking, his curiosity about a particular matter was still sharp.

“So… I’m wondering… what's your reason for writing the book?”

You gulped. “I wanted a way of looking back on everything. Seeing if maybe I could find myself somewhere amongst all those memories. Maybe when I started losing Mingyu was when I started losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I was losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I never really knew myself to begin with.”

He shrugged, his face colouring with admiration for you.

“Well... have you found something?”

Your only means of response was a twinkle-eyed grin.

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t as dreadful as Wonwoo anticipated, mostly attributed to the alcohol soaking up in your stomachs, keeping your blood warm even in the face of a tough, harsh wind. Back when it wasn’t so late in the night and his lips had yet to touch his first rum and coke, Wonwoo thought he would take himself home after seeing you off first. But now it was almost midnight, and he had this impending feeling of vertigo while he walked, and he was therefore very limp to fight the offer that involved a comfortable stay at your place until morning.

Wonwoo wasn’t exactly sure where he deposited his coat or his shoes, or even his phone—instead he found himself sitting at the end of your bed, listening to the muffled sound of a running sink behind a closed door as you were busy in the washroom.

He leaned over, removing the glasses already slid down his nose and rubbing a palm into his eye until stars traversed the length of his vision. So, Lady Liberty was a cheater. For the past two years. It did bring Wonwoo to wonder what else Mingyu had said during your argument. Did he ever give a reason for cheating? Did he feel boxed into a life that wasn't the enriching utopia he surmised it might be, but he was toughing it out for the sake of success? Was he cheating because he was mad at you or mad at himself?

Or was he honestly just an asshole?

The Mingyu he was familiar with was shifty, and hardened, and image-obsessed, and now Wonwoo knew for a fact he wasn’t delusional for feeling the tension between you and him whenever you were together. God—he could practically cut all the thickness in the air using Seokmin’s nose and serve it like pieces of cake. But Mingyu hadn't always been like that according to your allegories. Deep down there could still be traces of the man you fell in love with, flickering like shiny little minnows beneath murky, clouded water.

But it was too late now.

Fitting his glasses back on, Wonwoo rolled back the sleeves to his crisp white dress shirt, proceeding to take a gander around your bedroom that he hadn’t revisited in quite some time.

The running sink in the washroom across the hall was finally turned off, although Wonwoo had stopped paying attention to the background noise in place of reading your every detail off the walls. In minuscule ways, the room had changed. There were missing photographs from the dresser, your makeup vanity drawers no longer left ajar in your likely last-minuting rushing to ensure everything was perfect. The closet seemed cleaned-out. Emptier than it once was.

“I thought you might fall asleep.”

He jumped slightly, realizing that you were in the bedroom now, setting down your heels in the corner before making a stride toward the closet where the dress over your arm was hung back up.

Wonwoo bit his lip. “I questioned it.”

You smiled, and within that moment he noticed the long t-shirt you were draped in was the dark blue, logoed math shirt, the one you’d picked after sprinting back to his apartment amidst a rain storm. He felt something in his chest swell and ache in response to how pretty you looked wearing it. Wonwoo knew he was staring, blushing, but he didn’t care. You had two of his t-shirts now. He hoped that collection might continue growing. He hoped that you wore them until his scent was naturally replaced by the strawberry sweetness of your own.

“Thinking about anything in particular?” You asked, arms folded.

Slapping a guilty little grin on his face, Wonwoo shrugged. “No.”

But then you started striding toward Wonwoo, uttering out something half-whispered that sounded a lot like “liar”, and now he truly wasn’t thinking about a damn thing, not even his own breath, as you proceeded to slide your arms around his neck and seat yourself in his lap. He was frozen. You hadn’t been this fucking close to him since you two had cuddled during Seungcheol’s party.

But this was worse—this was full-throttle intimacy with your penetrative, fluttering eyes eating up his soul while your bare thighs squeezed the sense out of him, trapping him, testing him.

“Scared?” You whispered, moving your face in closer.

Yes—he was horrified—he couldn’t even speak with you smiling at him so innocently despite the flames you were igniting.

Though, when he felt a wriggle from your hips that seemed to push against him in all the right places, Wonwoo’s hands were immediate on your waist, tight and stilling, and he swore there was a vulnerable, pliant spark in your eyes that he had never seen before. Maybe Wonwoo could have been more polite about the approach, but after waiting so, so long, he felt like a rocket ship rife with fuel.

He kissed you.

In one decision his lips were pressed to yours, and in a kiss that was full of friction and earnest want, he could only dig deeper. Your arms curled further around his neck, to which you slipped in a quick, sharp breath before pouring yourself back into him so suddenly, mouths moulding again and again, spit slickening, noses bumping. He would have paused to take off his glasses, though Wonwoo was in no place to leave your lips for even a second—especially when your playful tongue glided with his and the world around him melted like wax.

Maybe he was biased (or maybe it was love), but Wonwoo swore it had never felt this right to kiss someone. He knew it, somewhere outside himself, far out in the ever-expanding universe and every other version that belonged, that this moment felt destined to happened. Wonwoo had never particularly believed in fate.

But then he wouldn’t know how else to describe you.

His hands itching to touch more of your skin had gravitated to the thighs clenching at his hips. Your warmth and smoothness only made him greedier. As the kissing became messy in the desperation, he couldn’t help but slide his hands to your ass, immediately kneading his cold fingers into the flesh, pulling, squeezing, pushing you closer into him because he quite literally wanted you to engulf his body.

Then, you were gripping at the back of his hair. You had opened up his throat for your wet lips to continue exploring, and Wonwoo felt every suckle and teething bite draw him further from clarity.

Each kiss slithered lower, until you were gradually lifting from his lap and placing yourself onto the carpet floor. Wonwoo had leaned back to tightly fist the bedsheets behind him, although he would never waver his lusted eyes from the sight of you between his spread legs, on your knees, palming him overtop his dress pants while biting your swollen, glistening lip. He almost wanted the camcorder to capture it.

“How does it feel?” You hummed, staying focused on each pressured movement your hand applied to his prominent erection.

Wonwoo chuckled, clearing the huskiness in his throat, “like I’m gonna die.” His head tilted back. “Holy shit.”

Flashing nothing but a conniving, pleased smile, you tended to undoing his belt buckle. Wonwoo was burning up. As you pulled down the zipper to his pants and helped him shift down the waistband to his underwear an adequate distance, he couldn’t process anything but the fact that he might burst like an explosion of confetti the second your hand would touch him.

Except, you opted to sit back on your haunches.

Tilting your head, you smirked at him.

“I would like a demonstration, please.”

He almost choked. “A what?”

“A demonstration,” you repeated, shuffling closer in between his thighs and gazing up much too seraphically through your lashes, “won’t you show me how you touch yourself, Wonwoo? Please?”

For the life of him, he couldn’t produce one stupid fragment of a sentence, or even a word. God—it didn’t fucking help that you took reign and offered to get him started—your hand carefully reaching past his underwear, gripping onto him gently to spring his erection free. A shiver surged throughout his body at the sensation. Hotness spread like molten lava across his face as the result of your lascivious, teasing actions stood leaking and stiffer than wood right before your eyes, which were agleam with thrill and haze.

You seemed as though you were going to pounce on him.

But he could visibly see you swallow the temptation.

“Aww, you have the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen,” you giggled, wrapping a hand around him that was soft and warm, “would it make you feel better if I started you off, then? Gave you some help?”

Wonwoo’s fists were tangled so intensely into the bedsheets he was surprised the fabric hadn’t disintegrated. Holding his breath, he watched you lean forward until your mouth was hovering an agonizing distance over him, only to produce a line of spit that dripped onto his head. His jaw unhinged in a groan. Then you began working the saliva along his shaft, pumping a hand up and down, occasionally flickering your thumb over the sensitive tip only to remove the contact so casually, likely knowing it would rip him apart.

“Your turn.”

He took a second to push up his glasses and shake his head.

“M’not gonna last long, you know,” Wonwoo grunted, at last heeding your request and beginning to stroke himself for your viewing pleasure, “especially after that big display. You fucking tease.”

With an arm slid over his thigh and the drool collecting in your mouth, you couldn’t have looked anymore dazzled by the thirst you were experiencing, your eyes refusing to part from every tug delivered by his own hand. It was a spell, and you were unapologetically under it.

“Mmm, a tease?” You purred, smiling. “I was just trying to help.”

“Were you?” Wonwoo scoffed, pumping faster while continuing to twist up the bedsheets using his other hand. “Rubbing your fucking spit into my cock is tt-trying to help me? Is that what you think?”

“Mmhm,” you answered, straightening up as Wonwoo felt himself become tenser, felt the pressure in his abdomen climb.

He shuddered, a groan reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. The sound of his fist wetly slapping up and down consumed the room and Wonwoo knew it was only a matter of seconds before he lost it. You were basking in every sound and movement.

“Fuck, fuck, I-I can't—”

Suddenly, you’d pushed Wonwoo’s hand away. His stomach flipped upside down. Before he could recognize the brief loss and regain of pleasure, your suckling, wet, hot mouth was already sliding down around his erection, your grip fastening to whatever you couldn’t quite reach. Wonwoo bit his lip so hard at the sensation that something coppery-warm was tasted on his tongue, although that was the least of his concerns when you were throating him with messy desperation. His hand rested on your scalp, nervous to push your head down too firmly, but once he did, you moaned out so erotically around him that Wonwoo fragmented.

His hips bucked straight into your face while his fingers had tightened at the back of your scalp, feeling every intense throb expand against your throat, spurt after spurt filthy in your mouth. But you were diligent and zealous and Wonwoo knew you were swallowing it all despite the few tears trickling onto his pelvis. His length didn’t leave the velvet, pillowy confines of your mouth until every bit was expertly milked out from him, though had Wonwoo let his hand drift off your hair in case you wanted a breath.

With a hiccup and a wipe against your chin, you were tasting the bedroom’s heavy air and exhaling ragged as Wonwoo marvelled you.

“Trying to take my soul with you or something?” He huffed, using his thumb to remove some leftovers from the side of your lips.

You caught his hand in an instant. “No—” you piped up, quick to close your mouth around the digit and suck off whatever he politely removed, laving your tongue like you were licking a popsicle, “—I want all of it.”

He thought he might crumble, hearing you mumble such obscene words while tracks of tears dried overtop your cheeks, your voice sounding somewhat hoarse from the labour of taking him whole.

You were climbing back onto Wonwoo’s lap almost blindly, his next breath taken away by a passionate kiss you pushed so fervently onto his lips. There was another tangling of tongues, saliva mixing together, but neither attempting to take control— though at this point Wonwoo would gladly oblige to throwing you on the bed and twisting off those frustrating panties he imagined were sticking to you. He could feel your arousal dampening through the baby pink cotton as his length twitched back to hardness underneath you.

“Wonwoo,” you whined breathily into his ear while grinding your hips against him in search of friction, “I’ve got to tell you something I did.” You bruised up his neck with more kisses. “Something bad.”

His eyes were shut, hands continuing to grope your ass. “Yeah?” He mumbled, feeling your tongue drag across a vein in his neck. “You did something bad? What could that be?”

Your hands drifted down his chest, yanking open the buttons on his dress shirt in satisfying pops. Warm, feathery breath hit his ear. “That day I stayed the night in your bedroom… alone…” you kissed him on his mouth, letting it linger and last, “I couldn’t help it.”

Wonwoo had gripped the side of your face, meanwhile he rubbed underneath the waistband to your tiny, thin underwear.

“Couldn’t help what?”

He flinched as your hand sunk down to grab his cock.

“I touched myself,” you confessed just an inch from his face, “I laid back against your pillows, spread my legs all wide… I had my fingers stuffed so deep inside myself, but it still didn’t feel like enough.” Again, you were softly stroking him. Wonwoo continued to uphold that unwavering, painfully honest gaze you were pinning him in. “Nd’ I came all over your t-shirt, Wonwoo. I played with myself until my fingers were cramping and my legs couldn’t stay open anymore.”

He gulped—heavy—like swallowing a chunk of lead. His tender thumb grazed along your cheek and rubbed over your puffy lips. “I wanted to fuck you so bad that night,” Wonwoo soothed your confession with another, which was already quite obvious, “I dreamt about it. I wanted to bury myself so fucking deep inside your gut.”

You shook your head, eyes teary. “Why didn’t you?” He felt the delicate stroking motion along his erection come to a pause.

Wonwoo cradled your cheek. “It would have fucked everything up.”

“But I wanted it,” you whimpered. “I’ve been wanting it for so long and you just left me there. I would have been quiet. You could have put me face down in the pillows and just used me all you wanted.”

“No,” Wonwoo argued, “I would never want to use you. I want us to be together in everything. I know you wanted it. But lust makes you think different. Just like it’s making you think different right now.”

He softly slotted his mouth with yours, exchanging a much slower, sweeter kiss that lit a glow in his belly. You puddled right into the contact, curling your arms back around his neck to hold him tighter.

Much lighter kisses dappled the edges of your lips.

Wonwoo could feel you start to smile.

“I figured something was off the next morning,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t know how to face with you without thinking about it. I felt so dirty. But in the moment, I needed something.”

He nipped down your slender neck, letting his hot breath and reverberating, husky tone tickle your skin until your hairs stood up.

“How wet were you?” Wonwoo purred, smirking.

Immediately, your hips were pushing down on him. “Soaked,” you then whispered, “I was making such a mess. I tried so hard to be quiet. But part of me wanted you to hear.”

Wonwoo’s hands drifted up your t-shirt, gliding slow against your stomach, coming to reach the plump, sensitive breasts that he could only surmise were waiting for his attention. He cupped them in each palm, giving a tender squeeze and pull that pitched your breath into a squeak. Caressing your neck with more wet, open-mouthed kisses, he felt the absentminded grinding reignite the friction between you.

“Did you touch up here, too?”

His thumbs brushed your pert nipples. He felt you shiver.

“Y-Yes.”

Tsking his teeth, he pleasured them with slow, rubbing circles that you mewled in response to. “You’ve got the softest skin. I could touch you until I die, and it still wouldn't be enough.”

“Mmhm,” he heard you exhale shakily, “I touch myself at home, too. Put my pillow between my legs. Pretend I’m grinding against you. Then let my fingers take me again and again until it hurts.”

How dare you fucking say that to him—how dare you put such an intimate visual in his mind to haunt him like a ghost to hallowed grounds. How many times had you done it? How many times had you stood right in front of him, smiling so innocently, despite knowing damn well what you had done to yourself the night before.

Wonwoo pinched your nipples, watching you flinch.

“Does it hurt right now?”

You nodded.

“Where?” He lowered his voice, sinking his hand back down the creases in your tummy until it paused right on your mound, his eyes trained to your suddenly very desperate, misty look. “Down here?”

“Yes.”

Holding eye contact with you, Wonwoo trailed his hand further along your panties until his touch was situated right between your thighs, directly feeling the wet fabric, the radiating heat, the aroused pulsations. Your fingernails were pricks in his shoulders.

“Fuck, you are drenched, aren’t you?” Wonwoo commented, rubbing his hand against you through the cotton material, your hips soon chasing the overwhelming pleasure. “Can feel you throbbing against my hand, you know that? Bet it aches so fucking good, hm?”

He grinned hard at your eyebrows knitting together. While he massaged you with one hand, the other gripped your chin where he pushed a hot, uncoordinated kiss onto your whiny mouth.

“Lay across my lap,” Wonwoo whispered in between the hasty break for air, “let me play with you instead, make you cum. Please.”

To his delight, your compliance came easily.

It didn’t take long for you to splay yourself in the desired position, with Wonwoo pushing up the shirt to bunch at your waist while your bottom was perfectly presented in his lap. He massaged you, leaning down to mark a trail of kisses along your lower back, along your ass—spreading you wide to see the large, soaked patch glistening on those easily rippable underwear.

“Just open your thighs a bit more,” Wonwoo instructed, to which you quickly listened, “fuck—perfect—all this, only for me.” He pushed his thumb against you through the panties and you instantly squeaked.

“Right?” He urged. “Is this all just for me?”

“Mmhm—yes, yes. I fucking promise. Just for you.”

Wonwoo bit his lip to stop the size of the immediate smile from breaking across his face. Your hips wriggled up as his touch drifted away.

“I need more,” you groaned in frustration, “please.”

“More here?” Wonwoo pulled back on one side of your glute to help reveal the sensitive area, then rubbing his thumb against your clit.

Your entire body jerked, and he noticed your fingers dig into the bedsheets, clawing them up. He figured the wet friction between his thumb and your panties was frustratingly amplifying every little sensation in a dull but very cruel way. He continued his ministrations, adding some more pressure for you to squirm and moan at.

“Does it still hurt?” Wonwoo asked, letting his other hand slide up your bare waist, the skin beginning to sweat and turn even warmer.

“Please,” you groaned, attempting to adjust your hips against the stroking from his thumb, “I feel like m’gonna fucking die, Wonwoo.”

“Still need more, then?”

“Yes!”

Deciding to throw you a bone, Wonwoo grabbed those thin, pink panties in his hand and helped you slide the constricting fabric down and off your legs. Once he spread you nice and wide, let the cold air ghost the slicken, swollen skin, you had gasped. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t speak—he only stared at you with all the stars in the universe collecting behind his eyes, glittering like a snow globe—at how beautiful and exposed and needy you looked.

He let his fingers slide ever so slowly along your clit, drawing up to your hole, then pushing back down to hear you whimper brokenly.

Wonwoo swallowed the dryness in his throat.

“Do you have any fucking idea how beautiful you are?” He complimented, his fingers soaking in your arousal. “I knew your cunt would look pretty, but this is more than that. God…” experimentally, Wonwoo shifted a finger gentle into your opening, giving the digit a wriggle and few shallow pumps. Immediately your intense warmth clenched down tight before loosening, engendering him to effortlessly press in two more long fingers. “There you go… good girl…” he mumbled his encouragement as you gripped the bedsheets and moaned a guttural sound, “taking in my fingers so fucking well—they slide in so easy… make such perfect, dirty noises whenever they fill up this gorgeous cunt.”

His thumb touched at your clit, lending it some attention that had you twisting and bucking back to receive even more pleasure.

“God, Wonwoo…” you gasped, sounding lost to the ecstasy while letting him take his time with mapping out your inner walls with curious strokes, “that feels so fucking good. You have no idea. Feels like m’gonna pour all over you.”

He grinned, further stimulating your swollen clit, maintaining the pattern as you propped up on your elbows, tugged at the bedspread, and released a mellifluous, shuddering moan from your throat.

“F-fuck ye-yess…” you whined as his fingers squelched deeper and his thumb continued its circles, “yes, yes, yes, keep doing that—oh-oh, fuck! M’gonna cum all over your fingers—m’gonna make a mess!”

“That’s all I want,” he breathed, his chest tightening at how much arousal was pooling sticky around his digits, “that’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted—make a mess all over me, like the pretty, desperate girl you are. Let me see it. Let me feel everything. Cum just for me.”

Your entire body proceeded to seize, Wonwoo’s fingers now struggling to pump, as this striking wave seemingly coursed through you and resulted in heavy fluids wetting his dress pants. It took a moment for you to power through the pleasure, though Wonwoo was at least able to maintain his stroking gestures against your clit until he noted the sharp, almost spastic twitches in your muscles.

“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo hummed in satisfaction while he gingerly eased his fingers out and left your poor, throbbing bud alone.

He smoothed his hand down your back, offering you a moment to relax, breathe, and ride out the electricity.

“Fuck,” you wiped at the sweat on the back of your neck, chuckling at the discomfort, “I can feel it all between my legs.”

Wonwoo smirked. Hard. He bent forward to peck your temple, then brushed his lips against your stinging hot ear. "How about I clean that all up for you?" The velvety whisper caused your body to jitter.

"Clean me up how?" You turned your head, catching his eye.

There was a swap of positions. Wonwoo lowered himself to the bedroom floor, the carpet spongey against his knees, while you lay down on your back and draped your legs off the edge of the bed. But he was hungry for you, and greedier than a treasure hunter, and you went limp as he hitched your knees over his broad shoulders.

Being face to face with your intimate heat was like the kiss of life—new energy was taking over him—giving him desire unlike any other.

He didn't know if he wanted to keep staring at you, your soft skin messy with slick and twitching anticipatorly at his closeness, or if he should stop prolonging the moment and just bury everything into you. Adjusting his glasses, Wonwoo licked his bitten lips. You were in the midst of shuffling up to your elbows, likely wondering what the hell he doing, staring between your thighs for so long.

But as quickly as you squeaked his name, it was interrupted by an intense gasp a second later. You leaned all your weight onto a single elbow, tossing your head back, panting for dear life as Wonwoo striped his tongue long and flat against your heat. His hands gripped your hips, sculpting them over your bone while he tasted your arousal, all sticky and musky and delicious to the point of addiction.

"O-Oh my god, Wonwoo," you cried, letting your body collapse onto the bedsheets, limbs becoming jelly, "that feels fucking amazing."

He licked into you like he were trying to reach the centre of a sweet, colourful jawbreaker. Every pass from his tongue was firm, encompassing, smothering you in pleasure and painting you with spit. But you reacted best when he toyed his ministrations around your sensitive clit—your back would jolt off the bed, arched, as your thighs hugged him tight—Wonwoo heard your begging akin to a distant echo. He would even smile into you, glasses all foggy, chin running in wetness, as you preached his name dumbly, losing your mind. Wonwoo pressed his mouth hot against you, flicking his tongue to your overstimulated clit, focusing hard on his pattern.

"Fuck, fuck!" You shouted, writhing into the sheets. "Please, Wonwoo. Please, please, please—I'm—I'm gonna cum! Please, just—k-keep—"

There was a surge of something warm and liquid that Wonwoo wanted to drink like a peach's nectar. You were throbbing right under his tongue and he loved it to a point that felt utterly insane. He didn't want to stop even if the world was ending. His face plunged in deeper, his hands grafting into your hips harsher, completely ignorant to your fingers pulling at his hectic locks of hair. Wonwoo only wanted you and nothing else and he was going to drown in it.

But you were attempting to sit up, your sweaty body becoming better at escaping his eager, hungry licks that dug into your slit, and once he heard you wince particularly sharp, he knew he had to stop.

He sat back, removing his glasses and wiping off his chin. You slid a leg from his shoulder, using a foot to gently prod against his chest—a light scolding for perhaps enjoying you a little too much.

"Are you starved?" You laughed heavily, gulping down a breath.

Wonwoo fit the glasses back to his face. "For you? Yes." He then licked at his teeth and lips, still yearning to find traces of your arousal, only to realize you were shaking. "Shit—I'm sorry if I hurt you." Standing up, he cupped your face, bending down to kiss you gentle on the lips over and over. "I'm so fucking sorry. You taste amazing, that's all. And you're so beautiful. I couldn't fucking help it."

With a giggle, you tousled his hair. "No, I'm fine. I like a little pain." Your eyes were back to shining. Then, you caught his mouth, stealing another kiss. "But I’m even greedier than you—," pushing yourself up, you nipped at his lips, “—and I want that pretty, long cock inside me to hit all the right spots.” The exchange had you seated back in Wonwoo’s lap, where your bare, soaked pussy was free to brush against his straining and achingly hard length.

“Yeah?” Wonwoo smirked, welcoming your spit-smeared mouth.

Feeling your hips grind against him, you purred, “yeah.”

“I’ve got no protection,” Wonwoo admitted in between the make-out session, hardly able to pry your lips from one another as you slid backward on the bed with Wonwoo climbing over top.

Helping to shove off his dress shirt and slacks, discarding them to the floor, you shook your head. “Don’t need it.”

Returning the gesture, Wonwoo had you fully undressed. The entirety of your bare body on full display felt like something sacred—an artwork that had been crafted with unimaginable attentiveness to every single detail, no matter how miniscule. He couldn't liken it to anything else in his life but a distant memory from childhood—a grand mausoleum that he found himself inside with his older brother, the ceiling intricately chiselled with angelic, satin-like bodies.

Your words seemed distant. It took a second for him to remember.

“Don't need protection? Why?"

As your hands locked behind his neck, pulling him down close, you dug into his eyes with an emotional gaze. “Finish inside me.”

He stuttered, furrowing his brow, “seriously? You won’t—”

“No. I’m taking precautions, you know.” Brushing at his dampened, thick hair, you asked, “have you ever had unprotected sex?”

Wonwoo scoffed, surprised at the inquiry, “yeah. But—is that—you really want that? With me?” He stared down at you intensely.

“I only want it if you want it, too.”

He nodded, biting his lip, taking a moment to examine your perspiring face alongside the the rising and dipping of your chest.

“I want it,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, “I definitely want it.”

Truth be told, a splinter of nerves had lodged into his chest at the thought of having to perform to your anticipation—Wonwoo was never really sure if he would ever get intimate with you—and as his gaze again streamed your body, he felt overwhelmed. But then your fingertips were stroking down his bicep, seemingly drawing out the forthcoming anxiety from him like you were pulling out a thread of energy, and the easygoing smile he was met with tamed his heart.

Wonwoo eased closer toward you, allowing your expert touches to be the guide. Your hand had returned to his length for a few more thorough and especially lentamente tugs, prompting him to hiss into your neck while very flushed shades of pink crawled up his face.

He felt himself throb, wanting to simply collapse against you and climax at your hand for the second time. To make matters even more complicated, Wonwoo felt you shift slightly, and then the tip of his impatient cock was suddenly gliding all slippery like butter along your folds. Wonwoo’s arms started to shake.

You laid your palm gentle against his neck.

“How’s that feel?” You whispered in a trembling breath, meanwhile continuing the heavenly ministrations of tracing your clit with his length. “I-I think it feels quite nice—getting you all wet.”

“Amazing,” he answered, pressing his forehead to yours and pecking at your lips, “you want me to take it from here?”

Keeping silent, your grip drifted from his erection and you seemed satisfied to let the control sway now that Wonwoo was adjusted. Just before he aligned himself, however, he looked at you and laughed.

“Can you push up my glasses real quick?”

You chuckled, “seriously?”

“What’s wrong with wanting to be see you properly?”

“Nothing,” you flashed a tender smile, then using your finger to help position the glasses back up his nose, “there you go.”

Wonwoo proceeded to slide himself inside you at a slower pace that allowed him to bask in the intimate sensation—he made damn sure every little squeeze, flutter, and convulsion your heat cushioned him with was felt—though that made it considerably hard for him not to release in pathetic fashion, before he had even made a good, swift thrust. You were soaking up the moment just as much.

He didn’t want to advert his eyes from the pleasure cascading like ripples across your face for even a second. Once he was buried in still and deep, completely stuffing you to the hilt, your breath had fogged up his glasses.

“Fuck—s-sorry—” you squirmed through the apology, your hips occasionally canting against his in unbridled twitches, “—I can hardly fucking think right now. Do you know how much you’re throbbing?”

He choked out a hoarse laugh, “do you know how insanely good you feel to me? Feels like m’gonna fucking break into a million pieces. ”

“I want you to break me into a million pieces,” you whined so needily, looping your arms around his neck, “fuck me, Wonwoo. Please.”

He was positive you had told him that in a dream once.

As euphoric as you felt clenching around him, Wonwoo truly did want the sex to last. His thrusts into your heat weren’t frantically impatient, rather they grooved incredibly, purposefully deep—each stroke was thoughtful but hard, slow but timely, and judging from your high-pitched keens and the nails scraping against his shoulder blades, he knew you were appreciating the moment just the same.

Wonwoo grasped your sweaty hands in his, your fingers interlocking tight, in order to hold them against the sea of silky pillows above your head. With another especially daggering thrust that made his teeth clench and his abdomen flutter, you had jerked and cried out his name, followed by a breathless, “rr-right there!”

A leg wrapped around his hips, your ankle digging uncomfortably into his side while he continued to push his length into the spot that was making you howl. But it was getting increasingly difficult to continue the tempo—your leg was tightening around him like a boa constrictor and your warmth was clamping down with plain strength, almost as though your body was attempting to lock him inside.

He merely squeezed your hands harder, losing his breath. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Taking advantage of another thorough stroke, Wonwoo had the bedframe thudding the wall, his words hotly pressing into your ear. “You’re trying to keep me suctioned in.”

Your whimpers were falling apart like crumbling clay. Wonwoo tried to understand what it was you were mewling at him, something involving his name, how good it felt, that he should keep going, meanwhile tears were springing to your eyes and wetting your glimmery cheeks. Wonwoo bit his lip. He was throbbing wildly inside your heat, knowing you were only getting dumber and turning incoherent as he speared you so intimately on his cock.

Wonwoo wasn’t going to last much longer and neither were you. He was already feeling himself burst and break—the convulsion ripped through him like a landslide and now your leg was fully hooked around his hips, pinning him against you while he emptied himself disgustingly deep inside your warmth.

The sensation must have triggered your own orgasm, because his cock felt like it was practically being suffocated as you squeezed down on him. Wonwoo thought he might blackout when you whined his name into the dim bedroom humidity, strung in a loud, trembling lilt that cracked beautifully in the middle.

Your arms were winding back around his neck, pulling his face to yours, a kiss crushed onto his awaiting mouth.

“I need more,” you panted in between the kisses, “don’t feel full enough yet. Cum inside me again, Wonwoo. Please, take me again.”

“Again?” He smiled, his glasses bumping your nose. You were completely uncaring, only nipping at him harder. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, “I’ve never been surer of anything in my fucking life.” Suddenly, you were wriggling underneath him, rolling onto your stomach, and repositioning yourself such that you were face-down-ass-up. With eyes twinkling bright in pure, carnal lust, you threw him a a yearning glance from over your shoulder. “Fuck me again, nice and deep like before." His heart shot into his throat. When you begged, it was like his world was shrinking into a bubble where only you and him existed. "Please—I need it before your cum starts leaking out. I need to be filled by you, Wonwoo. Please.” You looked like you might cry if he didn't oblige the plead.

And so he did, his fingers planting a firm grip on your strong hips.

As much as you were willing to take, he was willing to give, finding himself submerge further and further into the intoxicating nature of it all until he started to lose his mind—all he knew is that it was concerningly late at night, your bedsheets were sticky and ruined, and you had gone from being thrust into the pillows to slapping yourself down on his cock while Wonwoo hazily watched. He loved the sight of your sweat, your glowing light, your bouncing breasts and pleasure-drunk face far too much. At some point, you had slumped forward into him, spent to fucking hell.

With your chests were pressed together, his cock still throbbing and stuffed inside you, there was a moment of nothing but thick, laboured breathing and heartbeats synchronizing. He kissed your temple and wrapped his arms around you, proceeding to mumble something sweet and half-asleep that contained your name.

You had squeezed his length unforgivingly in response.

“Fuck—don’t get me hard again. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I like when you use my name.”

He smiled into your cheek. “I can tell.”

Wonwoo had woken before you.

Mostly because the bedsheets had been gradually wrapped up and tugged away and progressively stolen from him during the night, letting the cool, morning air dust over him like spray from an ocean. You were a fidgety sleeper, he had realized, sometimes even a mumbler, although Wonwoo had never been able to discern what it was you were sluggishly declaring in your dreams.

He turned his head to you, saw the bare groove of your back, shapely like a flower petal, and your arm dug underneath the silk pillow, observing every breath your unconscious body took.

Then, Wonwoo was leaning over you, feeling his fingers sink into your fleshy waist while his lips touched a kiss against your warm cheek. He hoped you wouldn’t mind him using your washroom for a shower.

Afterward, Wonwoo retraced the apartment, finding his shoes a questionable distance apart—one stood square at the front door while the other was left in the hallway leading to your room. His winter jacket was tossed over the arm to the couch, meanwhile his phone involved a more in-depth search. For some reason, he’d left it atop a shelf beside the television, hidden by a clumsy stack of textbooks.

When he tapped the screen, it illuminated some text messages from Vernon that had been sent at around two in the morning—mostly inquiries about the birthday dinner and whether or not Wonwoo had bothered going to the famed and mysterious Room 319.

Though, he opted not to respond, realizing the details he wanted to share with his friend would likely require a sit-down discussion over burgers, fries, and sodas at Solar Pop. Making his way back to the bedroom, Wonwoo carefully creaked open the door to find you half-shoved onto an arm, making tired circles against your eye.

He smiled, coming to sit beside you, handing off the glass of water he poured for himself.

“Are you leaving?” Was the first question you blearily pieced together after accepting the water but not drinking anything from it.

Wonwoo shook his head. “No.”

You managed to sit up properly, the sheets settling around your hips while you continued holding onto the glass. For a moment, you seemed to just observe Wonwoo, your eyes still swollen from sleep.

“Where are you going, then?”

He furrowed his brow. “Nowhere,” Wonwoo laughed, pulling one leg up onto the bed. “I got up to shower. Went and found my things. Got a glass of water, which you’re now holding, by the way.”

You swallowed, looking down at your lap.

“Oh…” after a recollecting pause, you took a sip from it.

Wonwoo smiled, his eyes softening like fresh brown sugar, as he proceeded to unstick some matted hairs from the edge of your face.

“You’re a pretty big sheet stealer,” he said, continuing to spread his fingers about your features, removing fluffs and rubbing off bits of dried spit, “and you seem to like talking, even in your sleep.”

“Oh, yeah… I should have told you that.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I liked not knowing.”

“Did you?” With a laugh and smile, you drank some more water.

“Yeah. Because it’s you, it makes me adore it even more.”

“I don’t always mumble. I swear. Only sometimes.”

Wonwoo didn’t care. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I guess I should shower, too. Then I’ll change the sheets and get new ones on.” You abruptly raised the blankets at your lap, lifting up a leg to examine something Wonwoo couldn’t see. “Yeah, I definitely need to change the sheets… oh! And take my pill. Fuck. I can’t forget.”

“I can help with the sheets.”

“Okay,” you said while leaning forward to pull open a drawer on your nightstand, revealing a thin, silver cartridge of pills, “thanks.”

After you had showered and gotten dressed in a clean spare t-shirt, you changed the dirtied sheets to your bed together.

Then you and Wonwoo spent some time together in the open, bright living room, lounging on the couch. Maybe you had kissed a few more times, and maybe his naturally cold hands had found their way underneath your loose t-shirt to curiously massage and press along your pretty chest, and maybe you had kissed a little more after that while the sun rays slid up your sensitive skin.

You twisted away from Wonwoo’s lips with a giggle.

“M’kay, that’s enough, or else I’ll need another shower.” You grabbed at Wonwoo’s hands that had been squeezing your breasts.

Although he didn’t want to stop, he listened, relaxing against the pillow he had stuffed between his spine and the arm of the couch, now throwing an elbow behind his head. You were leaning back against him, getting comfy between his legs, and for a few minutes or so, the two of you gazed out those large, floor-length glass windows into the awakening, snow-capped city.

He felt you stir against him.

“You know… sometimes you don’t always speak English.”

Wonwoo itched his eyebrow, chuckling, “what?”

“Last night, like, when I was riding you—” your head tilted back onto his shoulder, beaming him a smile, “—you would start switching languages. In between English and Korean. It was so cute.”

“Oh, yeah.” He adjusted his glasses, staring down at you while his cheeks became rosy. “I don’t know, it’s just something my brain does automatically. I don’t always realize I’m doing it.”

You grinned; eyes sparkling. “When it feels too good?”

Ruffling a hand through his hair, he simply smirked at you.

“Having a front seat view to the most beautiful girl in the world riding me just happens to be something that makes me feel really good.”

You pushed your head up to kiss him, followed by a sweet and brief whisper that he smiled at, “compliment appreciated.”

A few more quiet minutes passed. Wonwoo thought he could spend the entire day just sitting on the couch with you warm in his arms, watching the snow tumble down like wisps of tender willows.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

You got quiet.

Then, your weight against his chest was gone, and you had half-turned yourself around to look at him, seeming nervous.

He tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answered, glancing down briefly before soaking him back into your agleam eyes. “I just want to apologize, actually.”

At that, Wonwoo stiffened. “Yeah? What for?”

With a sigh and another anxious moment to fiddle with the rolled-up cuff belonging to his wrinkled dress shirt, you were reserved.

“Ever since we fought, I can't help thinking about it. I mean, I’ve thought about what you said, and the fact you apologized, and explained yourself, and how you gave me time to process it all. You gave me so much grace, even when I felt like I hated you… but… I also said some hurtful things about you… I mean, back then I felt like you deserved it. And, I don’t know… maybe you did? Like, maybe we both needed to just be there, screaming at each other, digging our guts out, throwing up all this stuff to the surface because no one else has ever given us that freedom or made us feel like we could before. Anyway, I just feel like it’s only right that I say sorry, too.”

Scratching at his neck, Wonwoo swallowed. He never thought of it like that. “Uh, sure. If that’s what you feel you need to do. ”

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I really, truly am.”

He smiled, grasping at your hand and threading his fingers with yours. Pangs of regret were flooding your eyes, filling them up until they were undoubtedly teary and Wonwoo had to wipe it all away.

“It’s fine, I swear,” he whispered, moving in closer to you, brushing at your cheek as you sniffled. “Nothing has ever truly changed how I feel about you. You’re incredibly firm but sensitive, and have such fiery passion, and you’re curious about everything, and I know that it hurts so much to live without really knowing yourself. But I see you, and I feel like I know you. I never want to stop knowing you, alright?”

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

Your mouth pressed against his, and he tasted the salt from the tears that beaded down the slopes of your cheeks, warm with life.

“I love you.” He felt the whisper touch at his lips. “I really do.”

Wonwoo held onto your face like he was cradling a big pearl. “I love you, too.” Another kiss sealed the expression into felt, tangible emotion. “But honestly, you already knew that.”

Later in the day, you came up to Wonwoo as he ate lunch at the table, only after having disappeared into a distant office space further down the hallway. You dropped before him a clear, plastic duotang, which held a notably thick stack of papers that had quite a weight to it upon picking up. It only took a few flips into the papers for Wonwoo to realize that it was the completed book he used to proofread for you—a series of chronological memories between yourself and the boyfriend you had gradually drifted apart from.

True to your word, you had forged ahead and finished the book alone.

He was proud to hold the evidence.

Wonwoo asked what you planned to do with the book now that it was done. He even wondered if you might let him read some parts he never got to work on, though he understood if you preferred to keep the contents private. As he was in the middle of lifting a hot spoon to his mouth, Wonwoo suddenly paused at hearing your response.

“I think I’ll just shred it.”

You didn’t seem to care.

The decision came easier than pressing a button. There was only one copy of the book, apparently, and you had plans to turn all its pages into literary confetti. But that was a very you thing to do, Wonwoo had come to accept. Writing served many purposes, and it seemed that the purpose you had sought out was met. Somewhere, in all those paragraphs, sentences, letters, and ink, you found the fulfillment you had always ached for. At last, you struck a glimmer of promising gold after digging through all the haze and confusion.

“Sure,” he answered, “shred away.”

—8 MONTHS LATER. END OF JUNE.

“It looks so pathetic!”

“What?! No it doesn’t!”

Peeking up from the mason jar of earthy blue water he’d been swirling together using some dirtied paintbrushes, Wonwoo saw you seated across from him, talking to a very dismayed, upset twelve-year-old girl. Sierra’s little sister, Cora, had enrolled in his landlord’s ceramics class over the summer, and thus every Saturday evening she spent her time moulding unwilling chunks of grey clay alongside other similarly aged students. It was only Cora in the shop since she had been the last to get her teapot in the kiln, taking extra time with every minute detail.

Though, despite her care and attentive pace, Cora was still not pleased with the teapot, leading her to grumble and shake her head.

You were sitting beside her, a hand rubbing along the little girl’s back while she continued scrutinizing her creation. Ever since you moved into Wonwoo’s apartment back in May, Saskia had quite liked you more than her average tenant, and that somehow transformed into an offer to help her teach the summer ceramics class (with pay).

Wonwoo was always there to assist in the clean-up afterward—his favourite part was submerging all the greasy, bristly paintbrushes into a clean jar of water so that he could watch how their colours bled out in thin, swirling hues.

“No, no, no—it’s just bad.”

“I’m telling you. It’s not.”

Cora picked up the lid to the pot, then placed it back down. “There—look—it doesn’t even close properly. And the spout is not spouty enough… it’s too thick, I think. Hardly any tea will go through!”

“Well, I really like it.”

Tucking a tuft of poofy, rust-brown hair behind her ear, Cora gave you a suspecting and funny sort of look that made Wonwoo smile to himself. She was a very shy student, but she talked to you the most.

“You say that about everything I make,” Cora sighed.

“So what?”

“So…” she nibbled on her small lip, looking off to the side, “you have to say that, because you're nice. You’re like my mom. She says she loves everything I make. But then why don’t I ever love it?”

“She loves it because you made it, obviously. And she loves you. I think love changes how we look at things. Even the impractical.” Then, you picked up her teapot and moved it closer. “You know why I like this teapot? Because it shows you’re determined. I mean, look at all those bowls on the newspaper over there—you’re the only one who did the teapot! And you did it mostly by yourself. You wouldn’t even let me help you roll out the clay. So, that’s why I like it. Because I see you in it. And when you tackle it again, you’ll know what to do differently. Plus, you know you can ask me for help, right? You know I’ll always help you.”

The little girl’s freckled face suddenly became less twisted with judgement and frustration. She set her elbows onto the table, scratching at a Hello Kitty bandaid along the back of her hand, while you gave her hair a quick ruffle. Wonwoo started drying off the paintbrushes using paper towel before moving them into the cup labelled “clean” with a piece of tape.

“What should I do with this, then? If it won’t work,” Cora asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But for now, just leave it with the other stuff. We’ll give it a nice glaze next time around. Make it even prettier. Then you can decide what to do with it—whether or not you want to keep it or smash it on the ground. It’s up to you, Cora.”

Wonwoo tilted his head. “Why don’t you turn it into a miniature flower pot or something? Fill it with soil and plant something in it?”

Cora raised her eyebrows. “I like that idea, actually.”

“Me too,” you said, shooting Wonwoo a sly wink that he smiled very stupidly at, “look at this guy over here. Lurking with his good ideas.”

By the time Sierra was available to pick up her sister, Wonwoo had officially finished cleaning all the paintbrushes and whittling tools, as well as replacing the tablecloth with a fresh one. The three of you stood at the base to the shop’s very small stoop, exchanging some general conversation while a sleepy Cora held onto her sister’s hand and leaned her seemingly heavy head against her side.

The sky was a tame yellow shade, not as bright as a buttercup, but something delicate of the like.

“Hey—I heard you guys are planning a vacation!” Sierra chirped, adjusting the car keys in her hand, “is that all true?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, flashing Wonwoo a soft smile, “uh, we decided that we’re gonna spend some time in South Korea. I haven’t visited his family at all. But, yeah. Gonna leave start of August and come back right before October. So, a pretty good chunk of time.”

“No way!” She exclaimed.

“We’ll see how it pans out,” Wonwoo commented, sliding his arm around your waist and digging his fingers into your hip. “But my brother won’t shut his mouth about meeting her. And my parents are obviously curious. Besides, there are some great places I want to show off.”

Sierra shook her head. “I’m jealous. And totally sure you guys will have a great experience together. We’ll miss you here, though.”

“Please do,” you laughed, and Sierra pinched your cheek.

She then looked down at her sister, who had her eyes shut.

“Okay, I’m gonna get this little dove home. Thank you so much for helping her at ceramics by the way. She talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” You touched at your face, seeming flustered. “Well, I love helping her out. She’s a sweet girl with a lot of will on her shoulders.” Lowering your voice, you moved in closer to Sierra. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a cute gift she can have while we’re gone.”

After parting ways with Sierra and Cora, you and Wonwoo returned upstairs, back into the apartment to prepare for supper.

Both of you were feeling particularly lazy, and the shiny red tomato he was supposed to chop ended up being ignored in place of eating ice cream straight from its tub.

You were the one who grabbed it—Wonwoo was only following suit as he picked up a spoon and curved some out.

Something else interesting about you that Wonwoo had learned since moving in together was that you didn’t really care to ever sit on a chair, even when you were eating. It was either the sofa, the floor, or the kitchen table, in which you would be holding onto your food even though he always thought how easier it could be if you did sit down properly. The quirk was fun, nonetheless, and Wonwoo had admittedly started looking at the kitchen table in a different light after he proceeded to give you oral on it one night. Consequently, it bloomed a very dangerous habit between the two of you.

A habit that might become drastically less accessible once you two jetted off to his native country for over a month, confined between his parent’s cozy home where he grew up and the two-story apartment his wealthy brother and sister-in-law owned in the glittering heart of South Korea’s Seoul. He was nervous. You were nervous. But at least you were together.

Over the months, your parents had gradually come to accept him as your boyfriend, even if they weren't exactly warmed up to the idea at the start. Wonwoo revisited your home a few times alongside you to help in the explanations of your story and future prospects, although he partially understood that Mingyu was like a precious sapphire to your family and having him out so suddenly was hard to stomach.

He spent years nestling himself a comfortable burrow and smoothing out the bumps to make a crafty façade that, particularly your mother, couldn't help but outwardly adore. Like a son. Like Seokmin, too.

Wonwoo thought Mingyu might give him trouble.

In truth, he'd scarcely seen him, unless transient glimpses of his towering, quickly bustling figure from across a university campus or city street were noteworthy. Obviously, he wasn't inside Mingyu's head and he really had no inclination as to what the boy might be thinking on the occasion he spotted you and Wonwoo hand-in-hand at the park, or sharing breakfast at the café along Sunnyside.

But if Mingyu maintained even half the feelings that Wonwoo did for you, then he was positive it hurt like fucking hell.

Of all people, Wonwoo supposed he himself knew best.

—AUGUST 1ST.

“Wonwoo!”

He closed his dresser drawer, almost slamming his fingers inside. Your voice echoed from the living room, sounding hectic.

“Yes? What’s up!”

“The taxi’s here!”

Fuck. He immediately thought. The time was flying by.

Wonwoo had made a gigantic list of what to pack, but over time he kept adding and taking things away from it. Now, it was early morning, soft rain and cracks of bursting light coming down outside, and he was doing a final clean-sweep of the bedroom as well as his poorly scribbled list to ensure everything he needed was with him.

Quickly approaching the window, Wonwoo glanced outside to see the cab parked at the curb. Fuck. Again. Vernon always said he would happily provide you two a ride to the airport, but then the boy was unsurprisingly wrapped back into some trouble, and Wonwoo hadn’t seen his best friend in over a week.

Graciously, however, Vernon had given him a heads up and a proper goodbye beforehand. He’d even left him a voicemail to listen to, which immediately jumped into Wonwoo’s brain at random as he scrambled around the bedroom in search of his phone.

“Just give me one more minute!” Wonwoo shouted.

There was a pause on your end, and then a sigh.

“Do you need help?”

“No—all good. I promise. Can you let the cab driver know?”

“I will.”

“Thank you!” Wonwoo sang, finding the phone blended into his bedsheets, then proceeding to open his inbox. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” You shouted back. “Just hurry the fuck up!”

He let Vernon’s message play while also tossing his suitcase onto the bed, stuffing in a few more last-minute grabs with utter clumsiness.

“Heyyy, Glasses! How are things? I’m shooting you this cute little message at arounddd—oh! Looks like it’s two in the mornin’! It’s two in the fuckin’ mornin’ and I’m pulled up outside this dude’s house all ‘cause he can’t pay me back for my good, hard services. It’s nothin’ serious, though. Don’t get all uptight like usual. You know I’m good at handlin’ stuff and keepin’ my cool. Probably my better qualities. Anyway, I’m bored as fuck. I’ve spun this Lloyd CD about four times and I just can’t listen to that dude anymore. He can sing, though.

I am pissed you’re leavin’ me. And I’m pissed she’s leavin’ me, too. You guys are what I look forward to whenever I drive down into that shithole city. Well, I think just about every city’s a shithole city. In fact, the city I’m in now is probably more of a shithole… Seokmin texted me the other day—said he wants to talk—which is vague as fuck and to be honest, I’ve been ignorin’ it ‘cause I can’t get myself to give a god damn. But maybe I’ll hear him out. That guy was a cutie, wasn’t he? I still think you’re a bit cuter. And better at mini-put.

I’ll miss you a lot when you’re down there… it got me thinkin’ about the night when we first met. The New Year’s Eve party. You remember that pretty well, don’t’chya? I saw you come in with those guys—they didn’t look like your crowd at all—but then after a while you were alone. Wanderin’ around. It didn’t even seem like you knew anyone else was there. You had the blankest look on your face. Like you were stuck in a loop and you didn’t even know it. I don’t know that I felt pity or anything… hell, maybe I felt a little. I just talked to ‘ya ‘cause I wanted to know if you knew where you even were.

You knew you were at some stupid, loud, awful fuckin’ house party jammed with unfamiliar faces. You knew how much you hated bein’ there. But I don’t think you actually knew how you got there, or why, or what was supposed to happen next. It kinda drew me to you. I wanted to understand it. And you gave me the weirdest look, too, when I stopped you. But once I got you outside, away from all the bullshit, you loosened up just a bit and I realized I was talkin’ to this smart, well-rounded, thoughtful guy who was just a little lost in the weeds.

I know you didn’t really care about me like that. I was just some jumped-up weirdo who could give you mint weed at a sweet price. But I still liked you… I dunno… other people see you differently when they care a whole lot, don’t they? I guess they see things about you that others can’t, or they know exactly what you could be when others don’t. They see stuff even you can’t see. It’s like a superpower, I think… my best superpower is probably makin’ girls giggle. I’ve got a lot of charm, wouldn’t you agree? Ha—anyway—stay safe on your trip, tell Her that I’ll miss her a lot, too—oh! Oh!

Fuck! That’s it. That little fucker is comin’ outside—he can’t resist his two am darts on the porch. God bless you, nicotine! Okay, uh, guess this is me hangin’ up on you. Later, Wonwoo!”

At that point, everything Wonwoo needed was packed. But he’d taken the additional time to complete Vernon’s voicemail, now sitting on the edge of his bed while staring out into the early, glimmering rain shower and the water droplets collecting against his window.

Then, Wonwoo glanced down at the laptop he had open.

He hadn’t written in… months. Not even months—it had been over a year since Wonwoo wrote. And, somehow, it felt good not to write.

It felt necessary to step away from the craft.

Besides, writing would always be there. Just because he hadn’t filled up a document on his computer with harmoniously arranged words, or penned anything down in the journal he used to scribble poetry in, that didn’t make him not a writer. In fact, it could be crucial to know when to step away from something—when to let go of an invisible weight keeping one from progressing. While he hadn’t thought about it in months, it floated to the surface of his mind that there may be something he should let go.

The unfinished book. 01.

Wonwoo deleted it. Simple as that.

Shoving the laptop into his shoulder-sling bag, Wonwoo made sure to knab his journal from the nightstand before he left, just in case anything did excite him with a crack of inspiration as he embarked on his newest chapter with you at his side. Rolling his suitcase hurriedly behind him, Wonwoo rushed out onto the street, feeling the rain graze his hair and skin, while you were leaned against the cab, arms folded and teeth anxiously raking over your bottom lip.

He peppered the cab driver in apologies while he helped shove the suitcase into the trunk.

“Liar—” you grumbled after sliding into the cab, undoing the buttons on your coat, “—you said one minute, not one lifetime.”

“I know, I know,” Wonwoo laughed, removing his glasses to rub off the mist and dew, “but that voice mail from Vernon distracted me.”

“Let me do it,” you said, taking his glasses with a sigh, “we should be fine. I know we’ll make it on time… I guess I’m just on edge.”

He watched you massage at the lenses gently with a sleeve. The driver climbed back into the cab, now pulling away from the pottery shop and driving toward the beam of light that sliced through the dense clouds, like the sun was handling a giant blade.

“Everything’s gonna work out, I promise… and I already told you that we’ll be staying with Bohyuk first, right? Him and Nari?”

Handing the glasses back to Wonwoo, you nodded.

“Yeah… god—I hope he likes me.”

“Oh, he will. You guys are pretty similar, actually.”

The look you gave him warbled slightly.

“What if that’s a bad thing? Every time you tell me a story about your brother, it usually involves you loathing him for something.”

“Those stories took place years ago.”

“But the feelings are still there, aren’t they?”

Wonwoo settled his hand over top yours, giving your fingers a soothing squeeze. He knew you wanted to make the perfect first impression. After all, first impressions were not something that could be easily taken back or erased, unless the people you were meeting were quite forgiving. And Bohyuk was fortunately the forgiving type.

It was only time that Wonwoo exercise the quality as well.

Leaning in close to your face, Wonwoo gazed into your eyes, watching their frantic nature become still like the surface of a calm pond.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, alright?” He murmured.

Huffing out an intense, long breath, you nodded.

“Alright… can I have a kiss, please?”

Lifting his hand to graze against the side of your cheek, he paused to admire your beauty for a moment, only to properly cup your face and push his lips to yours—which tasted sweet and balmy—before feeling you push back firm. He proceeded to give you another soft kiss for good measure, one that cured you to smile all fluttery and coy against his mouth until he was inevitably smiling, too.

In fact, Wonwoo only ever found himself smiling that hard when he was with you.

—END.

heyyyy :] ramble incoming...

first and foremost, ABOVE ALL ELSE, i just want to say thank you! i know this was a very, very long fic for me to be uploading on tumblr. this site is not the most fanfic friendly (or creation friendly for that matter) so stomaching the fact that this needed to be split up into so many parts was like a dagger to the heart! for those who decided to buckle up and lock into this journey, i honestly thank you so much <3 life was not always kind in the process of writing this (hence the fact it took me 2 years, plus some extra) but i was so dedicated to seeing this story through! a lot of the frustration i was feeling toward myself was funnelled into wonwoo's character, so this is quite personal :3

nonetheless, i hope there's something, even a single thing, someone else can take away from the story as well! both wonwoo and her as characters introduce their own unique themes--wonwoo (at the core) is more so about learning to let go in order to progress, whereas her is about using creative tools to help guide the search for identity. i think that writing has helped me learn a lot about myself (even uncomfy, icky things) so i wanted that to be represented through her.

of course, these are not the only things they stand for! but these are the elements i based their characters on, to which other concepts sprouted from. i also loved the idea of pairing someone as lost and misguided and emotionally stunted as wonwoo with this girl who seems so bossy and firm. at first he doesn't like it, but that was really what he needed to accept some of the flaws holding him back. idk if you're familiar with the EXCUSE ME! HE ASKED FOR NO PICKLES! meme but that's what comes to mind when i think of them xD

additionally: special shout out to vernon. he became a much bigger part of this story than i originally intended. he is in some ways wonwoo's foil. vernon knows he's flawed but that's sorta his strength and what makes him genuine. he witnesses wonwoo's entire journey, so at times he also feels like our role, the "reader" and gives wonwoo some wisdomy parting words without rly knowing it (but that's part of his charm <3 i don't want vernon's emotional intelligence to be underrated, which is also an ode to the conversation wonu & her have back in the museum. wonwoo knows there are different types of intelligence and emotionally he is lackinggg).

also small s/o to seokmin. SORRY! HAD TO DO IT!

this has been my slowest slowburn! i wasn't sure how late they were going to kiss. but i didn't want to force anything. i wanted to add the moment when i felt it was surely right! also, if you haven't yet listened to the playlist and you're curious, i recommend listening to the very last song, writer, by ellie goulding. i've been listening to that song for many years, and one day it hit me how coincidentally her lyrics overlap with some of the fic's storyline!

i think it adds a nice final touch <3

LASTLY!

upon contemplation, i will be uploading this fic to ao3 in the same chaptered format it's been posted here! i realize the convenience to bookmarking on that site (and it also doesn't give people's phones a heart attack when trying to read something lengthy) so i hope that appeases some of you who wish to reread with more leisure! i'll be under the username @/uglypluto!

i'll upload the final chapter (this chapter) to ao3 probably between late sunday & early monday.

THANK YOU x100! 💕

[thewriterg]

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

paring(s): Miles Morales x fem!reader, Miles morales x spidey!reader

summary: you were two months pregnant and it was only a matter of time before you had to stop hiding the child growing inside you and tell your boyfriend miles little did you know he has his own surprise for you as well

word count: 1.3k

request: Hi, can I ask for a, Miles Morales x pregnant reader please. Where reader is pregnant with Miles baby. She doesn't know how to tell him because she is skared that he's going to leave her and the baby. She doesn't realize that he knows and that he can hear the baby's heartbeat and not just hers. Just the rest love and fluf please. You can write the rest however you want. If you can do this thank you, if not that is ok.

warning(s): pregnancy, some tears, hormones, kisses, pet names, just a pinch of perinatal depression, I’m thinking this can be college-ish set, pet names, fluff, drinking while pregnant (a glass of wine is okay!), and language

A/n:—GIFs; @dailymilesmorales— I had to set my little angst whore brain aside for this and kept rewriting to make sure it was more happy than sad

Miles watched You in awe as you lied in bed staring at the feeling you were glowing under the late sunlight that seeped through the curtains of your shared bedroom Your was shiny, your nails were growing out, and your skin

that damn skin

“Hey love, I’m gonna go out on patrol for a little while” Miles had brought himself to your side of the bed down on both knees to get down to eye level with you as you let out a small breath before replying

“Okay, I’m sorry I can’t go with you” You felt beyond guilty for lying to your boyfriend this long he’d been taking up your shifts to patrol the city and holding you tight when you needed the comfort

What you had been telling him hadn’t necessarily been a lie you were feeling sick and the running to the bathroom every morning at the crack of dawn for the past two weeks was enough to prove it but you weren’t really telling him or anyone for that matter the full story

“Don’t apologize, ill be back soon okay?” Miles reassured you with that warm smile of his pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose as you nodded and soon enough the brunette was out the door on the way to protect the city

You finally decided to get up heading to your bathroom as you ducked to the cabinets level pushing aside the cleaning supplies and razors to wear two individually wrapped pregnancy test lied flat

You had already took some plenty actually that had all gave you the same results in someway

Two pink lines

or a

blue positive

You unwrapped them both carefully making sure not to tamper with anything even though deep down you knew it was true and that you were pregnant

You sat on the toilet as you went through the process you had many times before as you found yourself staring at the wall waiting as the timer on your phone silently ticked away the remaining time left

You would be more than overjoyed if you didn’t have the voice in the back of your head taunting and chastising you for even hoping Miles would stay with you and raise your baby together why would he you’ve been together merely four years your anniversary was three months from now

Or it would’ve been. Your little family would’ve been something breathtakingly beautiful.

You stared at yourself in the mirror a hand over your belly you weren’t showing but nonetheless it was a little version of you growing inside it and it made your heart squeeze in your chest

You slipped off your clothes and turned the knob to the hot water of your shower to sweep your thoughts clean you would tell Miles when he got back from patrol and would take care of your baby on your own if it came down to it

💌💌💌💌

Miles didn’t know what to do.

It was around two to three weeks ago that he heard something out of the ordinary, way out the ordinary.

He was lying next to your sleeping figure with an arm thrown across your hip draping over your stomach when he heard little rhythmic beats in the drums of his ears usually yours sounded more… lively and vibrant these ones were soft and dainty

Miles listened a little harder and he could hear both beats at the same time lively, vibrant, soft and dainty finally the realization had took his breath away

He was going to be a dad

you were going to be a mom

you had a family

Miles was so close to waking you up to engulf you whole and prepare kisses around your face but he settled you must have been tired carrying around the news of having a child growing inside you and maybe you wanted to surprise him he didn’t want to ruin that for you or himself so he waited

And waited

And waited

Now it was two weeks later and Miles was still trying to let you tell you on your own he tried to gently encourage you with warm smiles and checking up on you more than he usually would to the point where he thought it was overbearing

The only reason the man knew you were aware is when he offered you a glass of wine your favorite wine and all you did was take a sip leaving the cup deserted

The only reason Miles would confront you tonight is because he was simply worried for you and the baby’s health you hadn’t been to the doctor and the brunette didn’t want to wait too long to go

So he swung to the corner shop leaving with a dozen of white roses and some of your favorite snacks you enjoyed in a bag waiting to get home to you

💌💌💌💌

You sat on the couch your leg bouncing up and down in anticipation as you waited for your boyfriend to come back home you had six pregnancy test on tucked under your thigh playing with your hands in your lap

You finally heard the window beside you as you watched your boyfriend climb through the window of your home his suit skin tight on his body book bag residing on his back

you would miss seeing him like this

“Hey… how was patrol?” You questioned timidly and Miles would be lying if he said he weren’t surprised to see you out of bed

“Hi lovie it was good, calm surprisingly.” The boy responded as he sat on the couch next to you sliding the straps of his bad off his shoulders

“I got something for you”

“I got something for you”

You both chuckled at your in sync comment as you nodded for Miles to continue he didn’t speak he just reached in his bag before pulling out a bouquet of white roses and some of your favorite snack you had been eating on the last few weeks

“Thank you baby, your so thoughtful” The lump in your throat was more prominent that ever as you zoomed in on the feeling of the plastic test under your thigh

“Now what’s my surp-” Miles sentence was cut short as you shoved the test in his lap some facing up some facing down all of the saying the same result that you were pregnant

“I’m pregnant two months, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I-I was scared and I’m still scared and it’s okay if you want to leave I can do it by myself and-” This time you were cut short of your sobbing speech as Miles held your face In his hands his heart practically ripped in his chest as you sniffled heavy trying to keep your tears in your eyes for him to break up with you

“Oh sweetheart, im not going anywhere you hear me? I’m so glad you told me baby I’m so proud of you and I can’t wait to raise our baby together” Miles shushed you as you sobbed harder face pressed against his shoulder his suit soaking up your tears

“I’m so sorry it took me so long” You sniffled and Miles hugged you close rubbing small soothing circles on your back

“I’m just glad you told me okay? I’m so glad you told me baby” The brunette whispered running a hand over your hair smoothing it out as you began to fall asleep in his warm embrace

Miles would choose another day to tell you that he knew all this time but for now he would settle with holding you close in his arms and rubbing your belly

He held his world in his hands

[shalotttower]

The Art of Disappearing (part 1)

Title: The Art of Disappearing Fandom: Resident Evil Village Characters: Lady Dimitrescu x Reader (female) Summary: Lady Dimitrescu enjoys wine; you enjoy living. You pray to god those don't overlap. Word count: 1800+ Notes: mentions of death, implied torture and violence, NSFWish, WINE Part 2

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here.

Melt seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains until you're indistinguishable from them. Become wallpaper with eyes that stare and mouths that don't open, and arms that only pick, and pass, and scrub, and fold.

You're not the girl who was locked in the cellar last week.

You're not the girl who dropped a plate yesterday.

You're not the girl whose blood got so deep into the dining room rug that it's better off being burned.

You want to say that you won't be that girl, but you can't promise anything anymore except that dinner is at 6 o'clock every evening unless stated otherwise by Lady Dimitrescu. Your schedule revolves around hers entirely, like planets rotating around their dying sun, even if it's not your shift. There's no such thing as a day off in the castle.

But there're such things as a quiet day, or a normal day, or a bad one.

Today is a bad one.

Lady Dimitrescu's favourite lipstick is missing.

It's a very rare, expensive shade, like the red shell of a ladybug, or the last breath of a maiden. Your ears pick up the word being murmured from one maid to another — 'if anyone sees the item, return it to the Lady's vanity immediately'.

You hope that someone finds it soon. Nobody here is dumb enough to steal, so it's probably forgotten somewhere. But you don't say it of course, because Her Ladyship doesn't forget anything and you still need your tongue intact.

---

Lady Dimitrescu likes wine; you enjoy living.

You pray that the two never overlap.

So far luck has been on your side — for six months now you've been working in the castle. You've cleaned stains from carpets and floors without asking what they are (because it was clear even without questions); polished silverware until you could see yourself reflected in them and arranged flowers countless times to learn which ones Lady favors over others.

You were a mouth that didn't speak and eyes that saw nothing. A piece of furniture with legs and arms.

As long as you do your job and keep a low profile, you're safe. Humans thrive in delusion, and so do you. It keeps you sane, what an oxymoron that is.

---

At three in the afternoon, you clean the bathrooms.

Bela is the neatest among the three, and Cassandra leaves everything scattered around for maids like you to collect and place where it's supposed to be. Daniela is... unique. You're not sure how she manages to get stains and fingerprints on such random surfaces. Sometimes you wonder if she does it on purpose.

Daniela loves fun surprises.

Like sneaking up on you when you're on your knees, scrubbing the tub. She pokes your shoulder. "Hiya."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"Lady Daniela," you greet while trying not to let your hands shake under the apron.

She's smiling sweetly today, like she didn't just scare ten years out of you. You're not fooled and know better than to trust that expression. Nothing in this castle is innocent and saccharine and nice. Especially not the daughters.

"Can I help you with anything, my lady?"

Please say "no" and leave.

Daniela rocks on her heels then leans forward, inspecting your work.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

She's bored, you realize. Great. Bored means unpredictable behavior, and unpredictable behavior means trouble for everyone else who isn't Daniela herself. You wait for whatever she wants — entertainment? food? — patiently despite the churning in your gut.

"I'm bored," she announces.

"Yes, my lady."

"Let's play a game. Hide and seek, like little ones."

Six months have yet to make the instinctive urge to flee within you die out whenever one of them wants something from you directly. You'd think that this whole time might've increased your chances of survival, but humans thrive in delusion. In reality, everything is a gamble here. An embroidery of chance and circumstances that determines if you will live another day, that's all.

"I would be honored, my lady."

The bathrooms must be finished by five, and it's almost four. You're not going to make it on time.

"Who is going to hide first?" You ask after a moment.

Daniela claps. "Well you, of course, silly!"

Of course.

---

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here. Melting seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains.

But you're not a vase or a coat rack. You're just a girl who's been in the castle for a while and has gotten good at being invisible. You can't hide your heart beat. Your scent and the warmth of your skin are impossible to erase.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Daniela's sing-song voice carries from the other end of the west wing, and then fades.

She didn't count to ten. You know because you've been counting along, just to have an idea of how much time there's left until she finds you. There're no harbored hopes about the opposite happening. Hide and seek is one of Daniela's favourite games, and she dedicates herself to it thoroughly, with great interest.

It's not about winning the game — that much you realized early on when she played against other maids, plucking one out and chasing her around the castle before dissolving into flies with a cackle.

It's about the entertainment good enough to satiate her.

You're not the most agile, not the fastest. Even after six months your knowledge of the castle's layout is patchy, but you try to think logically. What places will she check last? What will Daniela expect you to choose?

Closets are off limits. So is the library, unless you want Bela on your tail as well.

Your mind wanders.

There're so many rooms in this castle that you haven't seen once during all of your shifts. You're always cleaning hallways, sometimes the daughters' parlors, and nothing more.

Down the stairs, past the servant quarters, is a place where rumors are born. Of thick barrels stacked to the ceiling like dominoes and wine in various stages of production. It smells sour-sweet down there — like fruit rotting in August.

Wine that never runs out in Dimitrescu castle as long as there're maids.

That's what others say, at least. Nobody has come back to confirm.

Would she look in the cellar? Would anyone?

It's the last place you'd search if you were looking for someone insignificant and replaceable.

You take off your shoes so that your steps don't echo in the expanse of marble and stairs.

---

There're all kinds of things down here. Broken furniture that's been tossed aside for disposal, boxes and crates of unidentified items, old paintings of people you don't recognize.

And wine.

A lot of it in barrels and bottles, some of which are labeled, some aren't. You walk past them, following the corridors of dusty brick. The air smells like mold and fermentation, damp. It reminds you of the lakeside by your grandmother's cottage in summertime and you feel strangely nostalgic.

You miss home.

The thought is dangerous and you quickly push it away, back to where it belongs — in your memories. Home doesn't exist anymore.

Time passes. Minutes go by without the sounds of buzzing swarms or doors creaking open somewhere nearby. No voices either, except for your own breathing and heartbeat that fill up every corner of silence. You find a nook between the stacked barrels and settle there with your knees pulled to your chest.

The place is colder, uncomfortably so. Cool ground sends its chill through your stockings.

You've done everything you could. Found a good hiding spot, a perfect one, and it's out of your control from here on.

The art of disappearing is simple: be nothing and wait until time decides if you're worth staying like that or not.

---

Daniela finds you after your legs start to numb from sitting.

"Found you," she grins from ear to ear.

Her flies settle as she solidifies into flesh with a giggle, girlish and mischievous. It could be cute if not the bloody smudges around her mouth and chin. She crouches down in front of you, close enough for you to see the specks of gold in her eyes.

"Congratulations, Lady Daniela."

Your fingers dig into your skirts.

Daniela tilts her head; a fly crawls on her cheek before taking off. "I win! I get my prize now."

You didn't know you were playing for a prize. But nobody tells you anything in this castle until it's too late, like that you're not supposed to open windows in winter, or that you can't touch Daniela's books because she has them organized alphabetically.

"What would you like, my lady?"

Another fly lands on your lips, a thick creature with translucent wings and little fuzzy legs. They tickle but you resist the urge to make a face lest she takes it as an insult. At your question her expression turns impish, one of those you never fail to associate with trouble.

She reaches into your apron's pocket... and pulls out a lipstick.

You stare at it — a simple elegant tube with a golden cap.

"Look what I found!" Daniela waves it in front of your face like it's a toy.

Your blood freezes over. How did it end up there? You've been working for hours today yet you don't recall ever picking it up off anywhere. Where-

"My lady, I didn't take it!" you blurt out in horror, when it dawns on you. "I swear, I wouldn't! I would never-"

Daniela blinks owlishly and then breaks into laughter, clutching her stomach. Her smile is so wide that you can see her gums stained with coagulated blood which makes your stomach turn. The flies swarm and dissipate around you both, disturbed by her unrestrained mirth.

"Silly," she interrupts your stammering. "I know! You should've seen your face!"

Oh thank god.

You're so relieved that for a second all air leaves your lungs.

"...you tricked me?" you ask quietly after a moment, a bit more composed now when the accusation of theft doesn't hang over your head.

"Mhm," Daniela nods and wipes tears from her eyes, still giggling.

You're not sure if it was funny to anyone except her.

Her smile lessens gradually and eventually vanishes from her lips altogether when the initial amusement wears off. Something coy appears in her demeanor, sheepish even, as she fiddles with the lipstick in silence.

"Can you put it back in mother's vanity?" she grabs your hand suddenly and places it into your palm.

That's when you realize that you never even once questioned where she got it from. But Daniela gives you a pout with a warning look, like she's able to tell exactly what you're thinking. All questions die instantly on your tongue; you nod.

"Yes, my lady. Of course."

"Good," she pats your knee. "Don't forget! Or I'll eat you."

Flies descend onto your skirt, buzzing around Daniela's fingers until she disappears into dozens of black insects.

You know that she meant every word.

[powdermelonkeg]

Personal headcanons for Gale's tower layout:

5F: An astronomical observatory with an orrery in it. The stardome is enchanted to reflect whatever sky and weather Gale wishes; if he wants to see the stars in Kythorn, that's what it shows him. If he wants rainy weather to read to, guess what. The stars reflect whatever position the orrery's been set to. There's a walkable ledge around the exterior of the roof for Tara's pigeon-hunting.

4F: A portal room, surrounded by three guest bedrooms and a bathroom. The bedrooms are themed: one smells like a sea breeze and faces the harbor, colored with sunset shades with gold accents, one smells like rose potpourri and fresh grass, mostly pastel purple with brass, one smells faintly spiced, deep maroon and bronze. Morena prefers the rose one. Each one comes equipped with a vanity that has three (magic) mirrors, a wardrobe that removes wrinkles and stains of anything hung in it and repairs minor stitches, a set of candles that never burn down their wicks, and curtains that, when drawn, enact a silent barrier around the room. The floors are polished hardwood with plush, patterned carpets. The bathroom is self-cleaning, has running water on command, whatever temp you want it, warms towels for you, and has a magic mirror (magic mirrors in my headcanon show hairstyles and things you WANT to try before you actually try them out).

3F: Gale's floor. His bedroom, a walk-in closet, a room for Tara, and a personal bathroom. Gale's bedroom has silence-spelled drapes, glowing crystal sconces he can dim with a wave, a desk, a large canopy bed (the one he summons during his last night in Act II), a small bookshelf for whatever he's currently reading that doubles as his nightstand, and a plush window seat. The walk-in closet is neatly sorted, with everything from travel robes to finery to wear to the annual Blackstaff Ball, and has the same enchantments in it as the guest room wardrobes, with the added effect of making anything put in it inexplicably smell like a library. His bathroom is just like the guest ones, but larger. The bathtub inside, when activated, always assumes he wants his bath piping hot and lavender-scented. Tara's room is smaller, but fully designed for her little cat body. Scratching posts, cat-sized perches and comfy cat towers, and a little bookcase and window seat of her own. She keeps her space VERY neat, in contrast to Gale's "organized chaos" sort of living.

2F: This is the floor we see in Gale's Act II illusion. The packed library, the messy desk, the private study, the balcony... He sorts his books by topic, then by date rather than author. Tara is appalled by it. The balcony has a minor enchantment to keep weather, pigeons, and seagulls off of it. Tara is upset at the lack of birds; it's SUCH a cozy napping spot, and you're going to take away her free breakfast, too? Gale's compromise was the 5th floor's walkable ledge, which is a prime pigeon-hunting perch.

1F: The entry floor. It's got a sitting room to entertain guests with, and a large, well-kitted kitchen. The dishwashing basin does the washing for Gale. On the wall in the sitting room, there are two notable paintings: one is of young, 10-year-old Gale in a cape, standing proudly with both his parents and holding his first-ever proper wizard staff. He's TRYING to have Tara on his shoulders, he insisted, but she's just too big, so he's wound up leaning forward where she awkwardly perches on his back. He has a snaggle tooth. The other painting is of a much older Gale, dressed finely and standing with his mother, smiling. It was made before he got the beard, so he looks a decent bit younger than he is. Tara is wrapped around Morena's shoulders like one of those feather boas, but she's headbutting Gale's shoulder affectionately.

B1: Gale's wine cellar and well-stocked pantry. He collects all kinds of wines from all over Faerûn, usually getting them from merchants that pass through Waterdeep, but he's not opposed to cracking open an expensive vintage with the right company. There's a locked cabinet labeled "in case of Elminster" that contains some cheeses and wine to offer the older wizard, that way Elminster doesn't raid Gale's pantry when he's not looking. If you don't feed Elminster, he WILL feed himself at your expense.

B2: Gale's spell workshop, scroll storage, alchemy lab, and vault. Gale's not especially well-versed in alchemy (I think Wyll's got dibs on that, personally), but he DOES mix himself up some Arcane Cultivation elixirs from time to time. And if a potion recipe intrigues him enough, he likes to have a place on hand to try things out. The vault is well-guarded with spells, but, sadly, pretty empty; it just has his savings there now, where once it held all sorts of enchanted items he'd picked up through his studies and younger adventuring days.

An additional note: Tara has perches all throughout the house, on every floor, basically anywhere Gale spends a lot of time doing things. The cushions that are hers are magically heated and smell like tea and mint.

[moog-rt]

GO TO HELL [ch. 2]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Chapter One

➨ Chapter Two

Next: Chapter Three

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

Warning(s): daddy issues, invasion of personal space

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER TWO

Once again, you found yourself having no clue what you signed up for. At this point, it was on you. You should have learned your lesson the last time you put your trust in someone.

This time, instead of being booted through a portal into hell, you were being dressed up like a doll. The outfit you arrived in wasn’t ‘hellspawn’ enough so Charlie was throwing a plethora of outfits at you and seeing what stuck. You had to admit, you liked how the new clothes looked on you, but Charlie would scrutinize them before changing them again.

Personally, you thought you were being a pretty good sport about it. 

Just when you thought it was over, she dragged you in front of her vanity before darting out of the room. This worried you. It was safe enough to assume she was going to do something with your hair or makeup, but what did she need that wasn’t already here?

You began looking around her bedroom, taking in the details of the rich maroon wallpaper and the way the wood paneling complemented it in both shape and color. Her bed was truly something to be envious of, though. It seemed to be even bigger than a king, and the canopy frame allowed her to have translucent and opaque purple curtains draped in layers above it. 

It was possible the entirety of the hotel could look like this once it was thoroughly scrubbed down and decorated. A diamond in the rough, if you will.

You could probably afford to stick around for a day to help deep clean. They were doing so much for you despite being a stranger who had (politely) broken in. Had you been in their shoes, you would have done them in with an iron skillet first and asked questions later (in the courtroom).

You jumped as Charlie came scrambling back in with what seemed to be tubes of paint. You couldn’t help but feel concerned for what was to come.

The paint was squeezed into a bowl with a squelching sound similar to a ketchup bottle towards the end of its life. She reached across you to grab a makeup brush and began mixing it together.

Where did she think she was gonna put that?

You barely had time to react before she dragged the cold wet brush across your cheek. It only took her a minute to completely lather your face. You dared to look at yourself in the vanity mirror as she moved on to cover the rest of your exposed skin. Her gentleness tickled as the brush swept across your arms. She kept it rather neat to your surprise.

“Don’t worry. We just need to get the base down, and then we can spruce it up!” she chirped.

When you asked what there was to get ready for, this was not what you imagined. You could understand not wanting to look like a bum when meeting new people, but to go this far… Meeting a parent shouldn’t even matter if you’re not dating their kid. There was nothing you had to prove to Charlie’s father. Especially since you wouldn’t see him again so long as everything went according to plan.

The actual reason Vaggie suggested this was far more reasonable.

No, they weren’t just doing this to make you look pretty. They wanted to hide you completely. The idea was to make you look like a demon to the best of their ability in hopes of avoiding any unwanted attention. You understood why. Your first hour or so in Hell was pretty traumatic to say the least.

Vaggie went on to list all the things that could happen to you if you were found as a human, which did not help your nerves one bit. You could end up on someone’s dinner plate, or your teeth could be sold on the not-so-black market for a pretty hefty price. Your bucket list may be lengthy, but having your parts being used as someone else’s decor was sure as shit not on it.

Charlie tried to reassure you that her childhood home wouldn’t be so dangerous. However, she couldn’t promise her dad would have a positive reaction to a human wandering around, so it would still be safer to go in disguise. It would also draw far less attention from the staff, meaning you wouldn’t be stuck there so long.

You really got the vibe that she had daddy issues from how much she emphasized it being a quick trip. Not to mention her reluctance to go in the first place…

Charlie finished up the base coat of paint and moved on to add details to make it more realistic. She then adjusted your hairstyle to cover your hairline where the edges of paint were most noticeable.

“Okay, okay, now the final touch…” she said as she bounced over to her closet behind you.

You couldn’t see what she was grabbing. You only felt something being placed on your head. Before you could look in the mirror, Charlie invaded your view and shoved a pair of glasses onto your face.

You were dragged over to her golden cheval mirror.

“Grand reveal!” 

You certainly didn’t look human anymore. Your natural complexion was completely hidden, and the thing Charlie placed upon your head was a pair of fake horns, which she was bobby-pinning in place to ensure they’d stay put. The outfit itself you really liked, but the glasses she had chosen were in the shape of large hearts with bold red tint.

You felt so goofy.

You’d rather be offered up to one of the demonic cannibals than be caught looking like this in the living world. Your only solace was that the majority of people in Hell looked even stranger than you. That, and the amount of coverage you had made you feel like you were wearing a mask that you could hide behind..

“You look…amazing!” Charlie sang, hopping up and down a little. You may have felt a little embarrassed by your get-up, but the joy on her face nearly made it worth it. “Come on, we have to show Vaggie!”

You trailed behind her down the stairs where Vaggie was waiting to send the two of you off. She couldn’t tag along due to prior arrangements. If you remembered correctly, she was going to be interviewing potential guests for the hotel. Real guests rather than a human who had washed up on their doorstep. 

“Vaggie, Vaggie, look!” Charlie called. “You would never guess she was human, right?”

Vaggie looked you up and down analytically before locking onto your face.

“It turned out pretty good, but, uh…” She gestured at her own eyes rather than pointing at you. “What’s with the shades?”

“Well…Her eyes were the only thing I couldn’t really disguise, so the sunglasses will keep them from being visible!” Charlie said with a big grin, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “They’re also so cute.”

She and you must have very different tastes, but who knows, this could be what was trendy here in Hell. Even if it wasn’t, she made a good point. Of the few demons you’d seen, none of their eyes looked like a typical human’s.

Two beeps from outside the hotel were your cue it was time to head out.

“It’ll go great,” Vaggie said to Charlie, rubbing her back.

“Right…we’ll be back soon!” Charlie said as she led you outside where a white and pink limo was waiting. 

Oh. So she was rich then.

You figured the hotel itself wasn’t too cheap, but the condition it was in didn’t make it seem like it would break the bank. This was a clue into Charlie’s status that had yet to be revealed to you.

The drive through town allowed you to take in the sights rather than watching it all blur by whilst running for your life. There was a good range of shops between ‘normal enough’ to ‘I’d expect no less from Hell.’ Some sold electronics and furniture while others advertised hitman services.

You were pretty sure you passed a vending machine that sold hard drugs.

Watching the denizens made you thankful that you were in the safety of the car. A woman in a business suit doing lines off a public bench before waltzing into the city library. A sketchy dude hanging around the outside of a rundown playground… He seemed to be mocking one of the kids before it launched itself at him, going straight for the jugular.

You looked away before you witnessed something you’d regret.

Charlie caught your eye, shooting you a wide grin. You did your best to smile back.

You wondered where her father would fall on the spectrum of people here. Would he be out for blood like the majority of folks you’d seen? If so, you’d be with Charlie trying to get out of there as quickly as you could.

“Park down here, please!” you heard Charlie say to the driver after a while.

Your surroundings hadn’t changed much from where you started out. The city did seem to be a bit more residential in this area, but the level of chaos remained the same.

You followed Charlie out of the vehicle, expecting to walk into one of the many townhouses lining the uneven street. Instead, she took you down a few blocks and around a corner. It was as if she didn’t want your arrival to be known. To be fair, you didn’t either. The thought of any interactions with Hell-dwellers beyond Charlie and Vaggie made you nervous.

You found yourself standing in front of tall golden gates attached to a stone wall that encircled a grand manor. It was massive, at least twice the size of the hotel, with elegant gold detailing around the windows and pillars. Even though it was gorgeous, you were a little thrown off by its odd shapes and red stripes that reminded you of a circus tent.

It was quite the niche aesthetic…

The front door opened as soon as the two of you reached the top of the stairs, greeted by a small red demon. He had black and white striped horns and wore a cute little suit that reminded you of a butler.

“Welcome back, miss,” he said, dipping his head a bit as he stepped aside to let us in. “I was unaware you would be visiting. Is your father expecting you?”

“Oh, no…” Charlie began fiddling with her hair. “We were just passing by when I remembered I wanted to…pick something up! It’s good to see you. I wish we could catch up, but my friend and I are on a tight schedule.”

Her laugh was forced as she grabbed your shoulders and began pushing you down the hall, ignoring the way you stumbled along. She told you that there would be a room where her dad kept an array of magical tools and artifacts. Most were gifts to earn his favor, she explained.

It made you wonder what sort of industry he was a part of where people were trying to suck up to such a degree.

Pictures lined the hallways with the majority having Charlie as the subject. Their golden frames contrasted nicely against the striped red wallpaper.

You couldn’t help but stop to look at one from when she was in an awkward preteen phase of her life. She was quick to notice and pull you away with a red face. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

Your relationship with Charlie was nothing deep. The two of you had only met the day before, afterall. But seeing bits of her past like this felt intimate in a way one would share memories with a friend. You hoped it didn’t embarrass her too much.

Maybe you would show her some of your baby pictures to make up for it later.

“Oh, this was my old bedroom! One second, there’s something I do want to grab,” she said as she pulled you to a stop before darting inside.

You peeked in through the doorway. It was similar to her current bedroom in some ways, another canopy bed with a plethora of drapery around it and a beautiful vanity with a soft glow emanating from behind it. Yet it was clear that it once belonged to a child from the stuffed animal collection and softer color palette.

Charlie had wandered over to a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, rummaging through it as she searched for whatever it was she remembered.

You waited outside the doorway. It felt inappropriate to enter a place so sentimental to someone who was largely still a stranger to you. Seeing so many portraits from her past already seemed like a breach of her privacy even though you couldn’t help it. It’s not like you could wander around the halls with your eyes closed.

As you turned away from her room, a small man came strutting around the corner, donned in all white save for a red waistcoat and black knee-high boots. He was about to proceed down the hall perpendicular to yours before skidding to a halt.

His head whipped around to face you, and you froze.

Shit.

His pale blonde hair, ghostly white skin, and rosy spots on his cheeks made him nearly identical to Charlie. He had to be either the father or a brother that she had yet to mention.

He stared into your damn soul, unmoving. You wondered if he could see right through your disguise. Through the paint on your skin to the blood that pulsed underneath. Past your skull to the thoughts racing through your mind.

You stood stalk still in your spot, as well, staring right back at him. You felt it was the only thing you could do. It was either that or book it, but you weren’t paying attention to the turns you took to get to this point. You’d be lost in a heartbeat. Imagine how stupid you’d look then.

So you opted to harness your inner statue. You didn’t dare move a muscle in case–by some miracle–he could only detect movement. If you were lucky, he would shrug and continue strutting away.

Manifest…manifest…manifest–

“Who are you?” He demanded in a deadpan voice as he jabbed his cane in your direction.

Shittt.

“I’m–uh…” Your eyes darted to the side before landing back on him. “Who are you?”

Meeting the parents was never your forte.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dad!”

Thank fucking god.

His eyes lit up and a massive sharp-toothed smile spread across his face, completely forgetting about you the instant Charlie entered the hallway. 

“Charlie!” he practically screamed, arms spreading wide into the air. You had to duck out of the way as he threw himself onto his daughter. One would think he was attempting to squeeze the life out of her with how tightly he was holding on.

She looked miserable.

You did your best to hide your smile at the exchange. You could remember all the times you were embarrassed by overly affectionate loved ones shamelessly kissing and cooing at you in front of your peers. You were sure that at least half the time it was done so with malicious intent.

On the flip side, it was always quite enjoyable to witness it happening to others.

“I know, Dad. It’s good to see you, too…” She was patting his back, an attempt to signal she was ready to be let go.

“Why didn’t you tell me you would be visiting? We could have planned something fun to do ahead of time–”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing! We weren’t originally planning on dropping by, but I remembered there was something I wanted to grab, so…” she lied.

You were unaware she hadn’t given her dad any sort of heads up at all. You felt bad that you were sneaking in without his knowing. Especially since he seemed so overjoyed just to get to see her.

“Speaking of,” she redirected, stepping aside and turning to you. “This is one of my friends–”

“Ah, it is so nice to meet you!” he eagerly cut in.

You were only going to exchange a small wave, but he practically jumped on you, grabbing your hand and shaking it with exuberance.

“My goodness, Charlie never brings her friends over. This–this is so exciting!”

He was so close that it gave you goosebumps. He looked less human than Charlie, but not quite animalistic like the other demons you’d seen. His red pupils were much smaller than hers, bordering on snake-like slits, and all of his teeth were akin to daggers. She must have gotten her more human qualities from her mother.

You did your very best to smile as genuinely as you could.

“It’s nice to meet you, too–uh–Sir.”

He drew back, finally giving you space. Then his eyes lowered to your mouth.

You quickly sealed your lips.

Was he looking at your teeth? They wouldn’t give you away, would they? Charlie and Vaggie had mostly dull teeth aside from their abnormally sharp canines. If he asked, you could tell him you wanted to see how far you could file them down…

Worrying about your appearance made you uncomfortably aware of the paint coating your skin. It felt so thick all of a sudden. So sticky but also dry. And the fake horns were so heavy. God, you wanted nothing more than to rip it all off.

Your heartbeat was picking up speed.

Did his eyebrow just twitch?

His eyes narrowed slightly but that grin held fast. He briefly looked down to his hands before returning to your face, rubbing his gloved fingers together. It was as if touching you left an uncomfortable feeling behind that he was trying to get off.

“I’m glad we got to run into you, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch, so we should get going,” Charlie said, laughing nervously as she tugged on your sleeve.

“It was nice meeting you,” you repeated with a dip of your head before following her down the hall.

You could feel his eyes on you while you walked away. As you turned the corner, you glanced back to confirm you were just paranoid. 

His red eyes were locked onto you. He hadn’t moved from his spot, and his smile was gone.

Relief washed over once you were out of his line of sight. There’s no way he knew you were human. He couldn’t have been able to tell from just your teeth.

But then why did he look at you so strangely?

Your anxiety began to let up more and more as you got further away. Glancing over at Charlie, you could tell she, too, was bothered. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips pursed. She kept silent until you finally arrived at the room you came here for in the first place.

It was filled with shelves that held a wide variety of objects. From books, to statues, to strange glowing orbs on pedestals…

If you could find what you needed quickly, none of this would matter. You wouldn’t have to worry about Charlie’s dad figuring you out. You would be back home, safe and sound.

Where it was a good thing you were human.

Where the only things you had to worry about were bills and boy troubles.

“Alrighty,” Charlie said, closing the door after you. “I’m not really sure where to start, but some of these should have labels or descriptions or something.”

That was reassuring.

You each got to work, filing through piece by piece. She wasn’t wrong about some being labeled, though their names often told you little to nothing about what they actually were or what they could do.

As you went to flip through an old book similar in appearance to Devon’s, it was engulfed in purple flames. You gasped, backing away and colliding with something behind you.

Spinning around in hopes of preventing whatever you bumped into from falling, you came face to face with Charlie’s father.

Your heart stopped.

“Might I help you find something?” The smirk adorning his lips as he leaned closer was not comforting whatsoever. You were beginning to understand Charlie’s distress. This man had no concern for personal space.

Wide-eyed, you glanced over at Charlie who looked nearly as alarmed as you to see him there. You side-stepped away so that you were no longer sandwiched between him and the shelves.

“Dad…” Charlie drawled. “Don’t you have something more important to be doing right now?”

“What could possibly be more important than my favorite daughter? It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you!” he said, facing her.

“I’m your only daughter,” Charlie groaned.

“Uh-huh, which is why I want to spend as much time with you as I can~” he sang as threw an arm around her shoulder. “Say, have I gotten to show you my newest ducks yet?”

“No…look we’re really busy right now.”

“Right, right. Looking for something that you need,” he said, waving his hand in the air as he recalled her previous words. “In this room of all places?”

That made Charlie stiffen. 

“Ah, well–uh…”

“She was just showing me around while we were passing,” you spoke up. You were so thankful that your smile didn’t falter when his half-lidded eyes turned to you once more. “It would have been a shame to have missed out on so many amazing relics.”

“I’m sure,” he hummed. “If you’re curious about any in particular, I can tell you all about them.”

He relinquished Charlie to step up to you again.

“Were you a historian when you were alive?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Ah…No…” you said, looking off to the side. There was a moment of silence before you realized he was probably expecting you to specify your occupation. “I was a clinical technician. Items such as these would be interesting to anyone though, I’d imagine.”

“And what did you do to wind up here in Hell?”

What?

“Um, I didn’t…”

“Many would assume working in the medical field would earn you a one-way ticket straight to Heaven, so what could you have possibly done to land yourself here?” His tone turned serious, eyes narrowing.

You needed to calm yourself down. He was probably just interrogating you to ensure his daughter was keeping good company. You’d likely do the same if your child was surrounded by a bunch of sinners with some of the worst track records known to man.

What answer could you give him that was justified enough but didn’t make you sound like a psycho?

You stole a bunch of human blood and used it in a satanic seance.

He didn’t need to know that.

Premarital sex?

No, he had no business knowing about your sex life either.

“I cheated on a test once,” you answered with a guilty smile.

He gave you the most deadpan stare you’d ever seen.

“Premarital sex, too.”

“That’ll do it!” Charlie chimed in.

“That’s the whole reason Charlie and I met actually,” you said, trying to redirect the conversation. 

Both gave you odd looks. That probably wasn’t the best way to follow up that statement, but oh well. 

“She told me all about how I can redeem myself at the hotel she’s running! I hope to one day reclaim my virginity until I find that special someone.”

You smiled sweetly in hopes that it would earn you a few more brownie points. Weren’t you just the most precious little sinner?

“That’s right! She only recently got here, and she’s already seeking redemption! Isn’t that fantastic?” Charlie placed herself at your side, presenting you as if you were a class project. “She hasn’t even heard about the extermination yet!”

“The what?” You turned to face her.

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved you off.

Her father had both hands propped upon his apple cane as he squinted at the two of you. You were clearly hiding something but he had yet to figure out what.

Trumpets began to blare from right beside you, causing even more strain on your frantic heart.

“Hehe, sorry, one second,” Charlie said, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check whatever notification caused that horrid noise. There was a moment of silence as she read the message before her eyes widened, and she went slack jawed. “Shit.”

Well. That didn’t sound good.

Her father looked concerned about her reaction, as well, placing himself at her side with a hand on her arm as he looked up at her.

“Is everything alright, sweetie?” he asked in a soft tone.

“It’s nothing,” she shook her head, pulling away from him. “It was nice seeing you, Dad, but we really have to go now.”

She grabbed your wrist and dragged you out of the room with her, leaving her father behind without a second glance.

Next Chapter

♡ ♡ ♡

tag list: @spookysisters @for-hearthand-home @crescent-z

[punk-in-docs]

A song of brides and hounds: part III

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 4.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter - mainly violence and some gore, also Caracalla being a nasty little bitch -- enjoy!

The servant girls’ hands are kind.

They undress you softly, and handle you with such reverence. Strip from you the ruined stola and tend your wounds.

They wash your feet, ply your cuts with a herbal paste of yarrow and uva ursi, wrap you in bandages. They rub new sweet smelling oil onto your unwounded skin.

Pick off your old jewellery and finery to be discarded. Slip you out your shoes. Lay you bare. Stood before them in naught but your skin as they tend you.

One is wetting, oiling and combing your netted hair to silky serenity again. Another is cleaning the wound on your elbow. All traces of dirt - and your previous life along with it - slowly removed.

Stood you in a shallow golden tub of warm water that laps at your ankles. Milky with oils and soaps. They put rose petals in the water. You watch them swim and dip.

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

They guided you to rooms draped in blue and gold. Stars moulded on the ceiling with the ornate marble that drips from every wall and corner. Giving the false illusion of a night sky. The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

Soft feminine blues befit these chambers. Statues and devotion to goddesses crown the walls and doorways. Urns of large stemmed white flowers. One wall holds a table lined with a huge offering of fruits, dried and fresh. Some bread and cured meats and oiled small fish. And an amphora of wine and goblet for after your bathing.

The air in here is scented all floral herb and clean. Too clean. No hint of sea salt or dried weed that tumbles on the shore to bake in the sun. It’s unfamiliar.

The huge slab of the cushioned bed is draped with silks and gauzy canopy curtains the colour of dove feathers. You don’t want to look at it. You dread thinking what will happen in it tonight.

A large maw of balcony gapes at another side of the room. This shows you the wall of rain outside. The violent tumble of thunder that must be shaking the very hills and peoples of Rome.

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Unlikely. It will have to rage on.

You stand, undressed, unseeing. Uncaring for the wealth of the room you’ve been pulled into.

The maid behind you, Oriana, a sweet and silent blonde, is scooping your hair back from your neck to comb and ply it with vanilla and orchid oil. Dark sweet musk.

Geta had specifically requested it.

Your head servant is a maid called Aeliana.

She has an accent you can’t place. It’s pretty, her tone husky. She had wonderful raven hair spilling silky and free over her shoulders, eyes dark as cassia bark, almond shaped. Long lashes. The epitome of tranquil beauty.

The colour of her dress is different to the rest of them. Indicating her higher status. Rusty red and it readily compliments the natural darkness of her skin. She wore golden bangles threaded on each wrist, and her touch is cloud soft.

She has a scar that intersects down from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and cheek and ends there. Skin twisted and healed shiny. An old wound. It makes her striking to look at.

Worse still; She catches you staring.

Lowers her eyes as she tended you. Layering the sticky wet herbal treatment to your wounded elbow.

“Does my appearance displease you, my lady?” She lapses into silence for a moment or two.

“If you’d prefer I could send for another handmaiden to come tend you-“ She asks. Not harshly. There’s a hint of shame to her tone.

You look to her. Fearful of offence.

“I am not displeased. Forgive me. To stare so openly is rude.” You mutter. Eyes falling to your feet again. You watch rose petals sway on the water. You swallow thickly.

If she’s amused at your asking her, a servant, for forgiveness, she doesn’t show it. She calmly counters;

“You are Empress Salacia of Rome. You are allowed to stare at whomever you wish.” She tells you plainly.

Your eyes water. You bite inside your lower lip before you respond.

Not yet I’m not. And I don’t want to be.

“How came you by the scar?” You ask. Knowing full well you won’t like the answer. She gently washed your shoulder with a cloth.

“The Emperor.” She tells frankly.

At your doe eyed expression of horror she elucidates.

“Not Emperor Geta. His brother, Caracalla. Emperor Geta’s temper may be foul and quick to boil. But, Caracalla he is… far crueler.” She explains.

Your mouth purses into a thin line.

Oriana has finished oiling your hair. Now she was styling it into waves. Decorated with ornaments of netted gold. Geta requested it down as opposed to the normal bridal style. Emperors have what they want.

“What was the reason…” You sought. Fearing the answer.

“I was too slow in bringing his wine one night.” She offers. Plucking a vial of oil from the side table and coming back to rub it into your bare arms.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Ignore the tickle of tears that threaten your scrunched eyelids.

This is the savage world you must inhabit now. Try to navigate with sharper hungrier teeth and deadlier instinct. You don’t feel ready. You must become lionhearted and fierce. Carry knives. Be ruthless.

You hear your mothers reverent voice in your head. Sweet sea child. You were not made that way.

“I am sorry for your pain. Aeliana. But I am grateful for your warning.” You decide.

She nods. “I thank the goddess’ for you. Empress.” She smiles at you.

Before going to the side to fetch your tunica recta, and the belt you’d wear on your waist in a knot of hercules. Which tradition dictated only Geta was allowed to undo.

Your husband.

You wince. Aueliana notices.

“Your majesty?” She seeks. Sensing your unease.

“I am nervous.” You tell her. You confide your worry in this woman with kind eyes and soft hands.

“It is expected of a bride to be nervous.” She awards you.

“I’m not a normal bride.” You confirm fearfully. She can see them shaking in your gaze. Threatening to breach your lash line.

She nods in understanding. You’re sure they all knew. The reason that placed you here. Spread like wildfire on dry plains through the servant halls.

“I know little of managing a husband. Of… starting a family.”

“If I may, your majesty. Your family is a noble one, yes?” She asks.

You nod. You lived in one of the richest houses in Corsica. You were never lacking in money or ribbons and new jewels. But at best you were a senators daughter. Not the ideal stock for an Emperors wife. Not the type to be governing one great nation.

“My grandmother is a well known seer in these parts. A healer. Purveyor of white magic. Many a time she has seen things that have yet to come to pass…” She explains as she wraps the belt around your waist. Speaking as she does.

“She foretold your arrival. Said the future of Rome would be written by rain and storm, when blood spills on the ancient serpent stone.”

Serpent. Synonymous with the Traitor. Two faced and shedding skin. Blood spilling, the death of your Brother. Rain on the rocks- this storm hammering down. You can’t believe it.

“What if Rome is your destiny?” She explains. Her voice kind and brave as the candles flicker and the storm rages on.

“Then I pray the goddess’ convey me the strength to survive it.”

“I will pray too.” She takes your hand. It feels like kinship.

They stepped you out of the tub and began to pat you dry with cloths and then dress you.

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Aeliana rubs a sweet balm like texture onto your pebbled nipples before she robes you. Said it was to increase your fertility. She also lines your eyes with burnt kohl.

They pulled your dress on around you. Let it fall into beautiful waves. You stood sedately and let them manoeuvre you.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

Slid fine golden sandals onto your feet. Aeliana brought a flame red veil and pinned it in place over your head. It floated down to your shoulders. Securing a crown of myrtle flowers over it.

It may have been gauzy fabric; rich and fine. But it felt like iron to you. Iron veil and a crown of thorns.

When they finish readying you, they bow and leave you alone to eat the fresh bread and fruits. Drink the sweet wine. Night closes in around you.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses. How they’d carry golden stalks of wheat to signify your prosperous marriage - how it would bear fruit. Be blessed by gods and fortune.

Your mother would bind your hands to the man you’d marry. To the man you’d love.

And you are here. Miserable in cold indifference. Clothed in perfumed oil and silence. With only your dour thoughts for company.

You pick at your offering of food. Feeling the milky eyes of those female deity marble statues watching you carefully. Judging. Maybe even disappointed.

When the doors next shudder open as the guards outside push them open, a divine older woman comes striding slowly, surely, into the room. Confidence woven into her steps like the very fine lavender purple cloth folded around her shoulders. A beautiful sage green palla. Her hair is dark and braided masterfully on her head. Shot through with bolts of silver.

You recognise her from coins. From statues. The Dowager Empress of Rome. Julia Domna.

She looks wise as Minerva. Goddess of education indeed. All of Rome had heard tale of not only her beauty, but her mind. Sharp as an arrowhead. A gentle mediator between her rabid sons.

Out of sheer politesse and nerves, you bolt out your seat and bow your head to her. Words shrivel on your tongue. Royalty is stood before you. Here you are plucked from the dungeons. You feel unworthy.

“Rise, my child.” She bids you. Holding out a hand laid with jewels on nearly every finger. Standing before you. Close enough to discern some of your beauty through the veil.

She examines you. Not unkindly. The way you’d expect a mother to examine the vessel that will carry her sons legacy. She’s discerning.

“Let me see my sons choice then…” she bids. Hands crossed in front of her, diplomatically, as she lets her deep set, serious eyes become acquainted with all of you.

Choice? Or chattel?

She walks around you. Eyes your hair. Your build. Your hips. The way you’ve been presented like a prized sacrificial swine before the crowds on Saturnalia.

And she doesn’t appear to find you lacking

“Goodness. You really are beautiful.” She says. It sounds mournful. Introspective. As if she didn’t intend on you hearing it.

“He’s made a fine choice.” She lauded

“Corsica, I hear you hail from?”

“Yes, Dowager.”

“I want to know one thing.” She says. Voice hard as newly forged steel. A shiver runs your spine. So she could be terrifying if she wishes.

“Are you a traitor against Rome?” She demands. “There are spies who would conspire to align themselves with this great house, under false guises, to murder my sons.” She speaks, crossly. Eyes aflame.

She has bite after all. Lions teeth and knows full well how to use them.

“I am no spy. I am not a murderer I have no guise. Like you. I only want to protect those whom I love.” You answer calmly. Placid easy waves. Gently now.

She smiles. Though something curious still lurks in her eyes.

“Then we are on the same page.” She awards slyly. You feel as if you’ve passed a test.

Her smile crooks on one side. Relieved.

She turns to the doors. The great sway of her earrings are big as chandeliers as she moves. Stunning gold. Bands of gold also cross her well formed upper arms. Every inch a woman of gentility and riches. She is perfumed with lavender. Oil made from dried plants fetched all the way from purple fields in Aquitania.

“My son grows impatient to see his bride. Come. Salacia. It is time.” She offers her arm to you.

Apparently your destiny lays in wait.

~

The wedding was a short and simple affair. The Dowager Empress led you to the grand rooms where they were to be held.

Grand, just like the rest of this humongous sprawling palace.

When you see Geta, he is clad in so much gold and armour. A blinding white cloak draped off his form. Armour golden. Carved with gods and victorious hero’s of battle. Golden laurel crown adorns his head. His smile at the sight of you makes you blush with attention.

You are suddenly grateful for the veil. It manages to hide you from every stranger in this room. You can make out Caracalla. Some other senators. Other guests you’ve no idea who.

The celebrant, a rather portly priest, ordered the evil spirits away. Asked for the fire spirits to bless you. He invoked Janus to watch over you from single people to a joined couple. New beginnings.

When it is time, he takes your hand and carefully threads an engagement ring on your finger. It is weighty, pure gold. An imitation of two dog heads joined together. A round sapphire cradled between their mouths. As if they’re fighting for it.

Remus and Romulus. It reminds you of him already.

You dare to meet his eyes as he does it. He looks ravenous. Umbra catching you where you stand. Swallows you whole. You don’t think you can get used to it yet.

“Wherever you go, there also go I, as your wife.” You speak.

The dowager Empress binds your hands together with blood red linen as the rest of the vows are read. The way his fingers turn and grip the inside of your forearm - firm pressing, hot like a brand - it makes you shiver.

Then comes the time for the marriage to be sealed with a kiss. Hands freed.

Your stomach is squirming unpleasantly as your stranger of a groom steps forwards to lift your veil. When he lifts the red gauze from your vision, you keep your eyes lowered until the last moment.

You feel the urging of his eyes. You could hear the fierce nature of his words as if he’d spoken.

Look at me. Salacia.

He looks entirely too boastful. His perfect little nymph. Caught and landed at last.

Hepulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

It was official. You had been dragged out a golden net cast in the sea. And now property of the Emperor of Rome.

You had no time to let your thoughts wander. There’s been quite the celebration planned for after. He walks beside you as congratulations ripple around you from nobles, senators, generals and high officials of the courts.

You ignore the way Caracalla sneers a particularly vile look your way when you pass him. Plotting.

You are lead to an opulent triclinium. Open to one huge side, guarded by pillars, which overlooked a garden where fountains trickled and plants bloom even in the storm that’s still brewing. Spitting rain on the landscape.

There are torches at the sides of the rooms, huge bowls boasting orange flames that lick at the walls, and freshly plucked flowers, still green branches and fronds sit in urns to the side. Filling the room with petals and heady nectar scent.

There’s a huge swarm of lectus’ in the centre of the room. Bronze laid with cushions. All pointing towards a huge table were bread and wine goblets awaited. You’re not used to how the room echoes. Unused to the sheer amount of people and formality that fills it.

The wine is poured freely by silent servants who sweep in and out. Some of them carrying plates as huge as carriage wheels. A whole roasted boar with grapes spilling out its mouth is brought in. Trays upon trays of cooked moray eels, cod and oiled anchovies. A whole platter of stewed nightingale birds, arranged around stalks of herbs and plums.

There’s fruit and bread the like of which you’ve not seen before. White bowls filled with cut purple figs and waxy oranges. Apples and yellow golden pears on tiered stands. Grapes and dried apricots heaped in dishes. It’s dazzling. So much wealth thrust before you.

You have a cup of sweet honey wine and take some of the unleavened bread. Watching as others around you gorge and toast with their goblets. Drinking strong wine and telling jokes and bawdy stories.

You feel disjointed from it all. You feel the Emperors eyes pass over you. The dowagers too. You are a source of mystery and intrigue.

Plucked from misfortune and placed here at the feet of gods.

You do feel when your new husband slides some pieces of fruit, or fresh breads onto your plate. A small bunch of sweet red grapes. His head may be cocked to conversation in this room. But his attention remains somewhat on you.

“Eat. Wife. I do not wish to force you.” He commands you. Prodding food and more wine in your direction.

Nursing his own cup and barking at the servants when he wanted more. You know his tongue must be stained with the taste by now. Sour purple. You wonder if you’ll taste it later in another of his animalistic kisses.

It feels like there is a boulder in your stomach. You swallow. You sip. You try to breathe. It all feels too restricted.

“Refill my wife’s cup.” Geta demands of the nearest servant. You flinch at his cutting commands.

You meet the servants eyes for a second and flicker them a smile. They look to the ground as they fill your cup. Their poor hands shake. You thank them. They don’t respond.

You’ve a feeling his plying you with wine has more than one ulterior motive. To make you loosen. Make you pliant. Make you slip down easier in his crushing grip.

“I have no appetite.” You admit weakly.

You can’t stomach the way the fat on the meat before you glistens. These poor stewed birds with clipped wings. The gutted boar. Glistening fat and dead meat. Same as the way of those poor flayed men in the coliseum.

Butchered animals. One and the same. The way blood sprayed out on the biscuit brown dirt under the sun. The way viscera glistened bright when spilled free from once living flesh. How these animals looked served on a platter. There’s no difference.

You take some grapes. Pick them from the vine. Bite into some apricots. The fruit rots on your palate. Fine sugary flesh and it bursts on your tongue like ripe putrefaction. You place it gently back on your plate.

“Do they not have fruit in Corsica?” He asks. It’s vaguely mocking.

“We had lemon trees in the gardens. An olive tree in the courtyard. Over 200 years old.” You state quietly. Not taking your eyes off the plate in front of you. You picked and prodded at it.

“You have more now. You are Empress. You have anything you want.” He impressed on you.

“I miss the ocean. The sun on the shoreline. My sisters.” You mutter.

“Don’t risk sounding ungrateful.” He threatens.

Geta followed the path of your reluctant hand with his eyes. He then scans across all of his guests. People of the senate. Rich merchants. Fellow royalty.

They come to snipe and drink wine and watch this new wedded spectacle.

“They are all dull.” Geta decided.

You wonder if the only source of amusement he could delight at was seeing people being beaten to black and blue paste in the coliseum. To have to see the spray of blood to feel something.

“They are intrigued. Their Emperor has placed a traitor in his marriage bed.” You comment.

Geta turned to you. “That sounds like treason to my ears.” A warning.

“Perhaps.” You answered. Boldly.

“But is it inaccurate? It is what they are all thinking.” You add. “You’ve wedded yourself to someone disloyal. Someone who is not their kind. They are curious.”

Geta scans his eyes over everyone again. Their laughter. The flow of wine. The way they stab and cut into food and fruit like they’re half starved. None of them quite meet your eyes.

Perhaps they don’t wish too.

His hand finds the meat of your thigh. Flesh firm and warm.

“They will believe what I tell them too. Wife. You only need worry about your loyal duty to me. Nothing else.” He makes clear.

You go back to pushing bits of fruit around your plate. Taking no more sustenance.

“No doubt you are unused to such finery.” Caracalla pipes up. Seeing you toy with your food. “I wonder what they eat in Corsica. Peasants sea food?”

You meet Caracalla’s eyes across the tables and mountains of rich food.

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

“Perhaps you are jealous, brother. The fact that I will have heirs meant for the future of the empire. And you will… not.” He snaps. Petulant.

“If she makes it that far.” Caracalla sneers. Daggering a smile right at you. A sneer that make you feel cold. He’s twirling a dagger in his other hand. Eyeing you with sick lustful interest.

He wants your goodness too. He wants it so he can spoil you for himself and ruin Getas legitimacy. By whatever means necessary. Geta has cruelly inserted you into this feud.

“And who’s to say the heir will be yours… who knows where her eyes will stray.” He jabs. Eyes widening as he leers.

Geta stabs into his food. Glaring at his smaller twin all the while. Eyes dark as shadow cloaked black jewels.

When some servants near you move from pouring wine, the sight of the persons impeded by them, slowed your world to a halt, ringing gongs in your ears when you caught sight of someone you recognized.

Macrinus.

The food in your mouth turns to ash which you can hardly stomach swallowing. Your gaze locked on the man as he lays content at your wedding feast. Drinking wine and roaring laughter with Caracalla. Garbed in robes of rich Aquarian blue trimmed with gold pattern.

Exactly the gracious easy way he had been when he dined with you and your father in his home.

His smile remains as he locks eyes with you. And raises his glass in a toast in your direction. You hear him drink to your new name with a blazing smirk aimed your way. “Empress.”

You mumble a pithy excuse. You don’t know if anyone hears you or if they’ll even look up from their plates when you get up and rush to leave.

Caracalla snorts as you race from the room on the verge of tears.

“She’s a flighty one. Your Empress. So full of tears.” Caracalla comments loudly. Cruelly. Turning his head to meet the acid stare of his brother - and the Dowager Empress as she lowers her goblet from her lips. Eyes cool as metal.

“Maybe if you shoved your cock into your broodmare, brother, as you doubtless plan to do this night. Maybe that would settle her down? Or maybe a good beating from the guards will see her right, make her see her place… maybe let a few of the guards bend her over a lectus and see to her first? Loosen her up a little for your uses.”

“Caracalla. Enough.” The dowager snaps. Lightning power in her voice. Tone fashioned from a fury storms could envy. Her dark eyes glow with it.

She turns to Geta and lays a gentle pacifying hand to his arm. “See to your bride, dear. She looked unwell.”

Geta sighs a snarl. Glaring at his brother as he does as mother suggested.

She watches him leave. Turns to her other son with barely concealed ire.

Caracalla snorts into his wine with the other guests. Making sneering, high handed remarks.

“Such marital bliss.” He mocks to the guests. Twirling his favourite silver dagger in his other hand. Laughing as he played with the dead meats on his plate with a sneer. His tooth winked golden in the light.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

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[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

I wake up a couple of hours later, the sunrise barely peeking through the curtains in my window. Ash is no longer spooning me, and I’m afraid he might have snuck out, that I’ll roll over and he’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone, and the room will suddenly feel cold and dark the way it always does. I close my eyes and prepare myself for the usual disappointment as I turn over. But when I open my eyes, he’s here, on his back, sleeping soundly, and I’m filled with gratitude once again.

I watch him for a moment, smiling to myself. I don’t want to disturb him, but I want to be closer, to feel his skin against mine. So, I reach over and rest my hand on his, running my thumb over his long fingers with their perpetually chipped black polish.

When he begins to stir and roll onto his side, I slip my arm around him to pull him close and he lets out a sleepy, yet peaceful, “hmm” sound as he kisses my shoulder and nuzzles into me.

That feeling I longed for so many times when waking from my nightmare. It was this. His arm draped across my stomach, his leg across my leg, his head resting in that spot between my shoulder and my chest. The spot that was meant only for him. I tilt my head slightly toward his, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead again. His hair is clean and soft and smells faintly of my shampoo. But beneath the subtle notes of coconut, I can smell him. That smell that feels like home. I close my eyes and breathe him in, feeling as though I’ve been reunited with a part of myself that’d been lost. I lay quietly, too tired to fight it or overthink it. Instead, I focus on the feeling of his body against mine, getting gradually heavier. His breathing becomes deep and even, and I let the rhythm of it lull me back to unconsciousness.

I sleep deeper than I think I ever have, and it’s hard to climb my way out of at first. I feel Ash sit up next to me, take a drink of water and reach over to get his phone from his pants pocket.

“Good morning,” I say when he leans back on the bed.

“Good afternoon,” he replies, scrolling through the notifications on his phone.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter after one.”

“Oh shit.”

He doesn’t respond, and I wonder to myself if I’m imagining the tension in the air between us.

“Thank you for staying,” I say.

“Yeah, of course, I’m glad you asked you me to.” His tone is light, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his phone, doesn’t look at me, and my stomach drops as my senses heighten. I want to ask him if we’re okay, to get some kind of reassurance, but the words won’t come out, so I lie there silently suffering in my own personal purgatory.

Finally, he sets his phone down and looks over at me, “I have to get going.”

Before I can respond, he jumps out of my bed and starts gathering his clothes from the floor. “Sorry, I don’t mean to rush out, but apparently, I have to go out to the Bay to help my sister. And, of course, she didn’t bother to tell me this until the last minute…”

I barely register his venting as he pulls on his pants and searches for a missing sock. There’s a desperation rising in me, and all I want is to grab him and pull him back into bed, beg him not to leave. I know I can’t do that, and I won’t, but there is a part of me deep inside that is screaming at him not to leave me.

It must be written all over my face too because as soon as he looks up at me, he stops. His shoulders slump and his eyebrows pull together in a worried expression. “Atlas, what is it?”

I shake my head, looking down as I try to shove my feelings aside.

When I look up, the worry on his face reaches his eyes as he chews at his lip, “Do you regret it?”

“No! No, of course not.” The words fly out of my mouth. I hate that he even considered it.

“Good,” he says, relieved, “good, me neither. We probably shouldn’t make a habit out of it, but it was really great.”

He resumes putting on his shirt and I feel the wave of desperation rising again, gripping my throat. I look away from him, trying to collect myself. I stare at the blanket on my bed, analyzing the pattern of the blue, white, and gray stripes, inspecting the stitching for flaws, anything to keep my mind busy until the feeling passes. Much like I used to do as a child sitting silently in my room staring at the wallpaper for hours.

The bed shifts slightly, disrupting my visual analysis and forcing me to look up. Ash is sliding onto the bed in front of me, “I’m sorry I have to leave so abruptly; I don’t want to.” I think he’s still trying to guess what’s wrong with me, not that I could tell him even if I wanted to. We’re clearly fine, I overreacted, so why don’t I feel better? When I don’t respond, he says, “Okay, well, you can call me or text me later if you want to talk. I’ll make time.”

I nod in acknowledgement. I don’t know why he’s so kind to me. I almost wish he wasn’t. It only makes everything harder.

“Can I, um, is it okay if I kiss you goodbye?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, as if I’d ever say no.

When he kisses me, he does so slowly and with intention, ensuring it will linger there long after he’s gone. He puts so much of himself into the way he kisses. I bet I could tell what he’s thinking or feeling just by the way he moves his lips against mine. Right now, he’s saying goodbye. Not just because he’s leaving, but because this might be the last time that we’re this close. It might be the last kiss we ever have.

This thought brings on such a heavy wave of sadness that I have to stop. I pull back only slightly to rest my forehead against his and take a deep breath, shoving the thought back.

“Hey,” he holds my face in his hand, turning it slightly so I have to look him in the eyes, his perfect soft gray eyes, “I really did have a great time with you last night. And not just the sex, I mean, that was great too, amazing actually, but…” he pauses and looks down for a moment, letting his hand fall from my face. When he looks back, his eyes are shining slightly, “but you make me feel cared for in a way no one else ever has, and that means something to me. Last night meant something to me. And I feel like it meant something to you too. So, why are we doing this? Why are we pretending we’re just friends when, clearly, we both want more? Why don’t we give it a shot?”

“Ash, I—” I barely say anything before he looks down, shaking his head slightly side to side, already knowing what I’m going to say. He’s nearly off the bed by the time I finish, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Why?”

There’s nothing I can say that will satisfy him, that won’t lead to more questions, questions I’m not prepared to answer. And it feels stupid to say, “you don’t want to date a guy like me, you deserve better, blah blah blah”. It sounds like a bad fucking movie, even if it’s true. So, I say the only thing I can think of, the only thing that sounds semi-logical, the same thing I told him before, “I don’t date people I work with.”

He scoffs, “Right. So, you just hook up with them at nightclubs?”

“No, I usually don’t do that either.” He looks away from me, and I suddenly realize how that sounds. I’ve basically told him he’s worth breaking my own rules to fuck, but not to date, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit. “Ash, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” He cuts me off and stands, gathering the rest of his stuff. “You know what, I’m sorry. This is why I brought it up last night, so I wouldn’t do this, and I’m fucking doing it anyway, and that’s not fair. I get that. But listen, if a friend is what you need me to be right now, then I’ll be your friend, but then you can’t look at me like I’m breaking your heart when you’re the one who put the boundaries up in the first place. It’s too confusing. I don’t know what the fuck you want from me sometimes. Just…” he stops and sighs, “tell me what you want, Atlas, really.”

I hate this. I hate having to lie to him. “I want us to be friends.”

“Okay,” he replies, his lips pressed into a hard line, “Well, I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow then.” There’s a bite of sarcasm in his tone that reveals his frustration and hurt at my continued rejection.

I hate myself for the pain that I cause him. I hate myself for being so broken.

As if I’m determined on some level to make things worse, I can’t even bring myself to respond. So, he just nods and walks out of the room. I hear the door close behind him as he leaves my apartment. And then he’s just… gone.

I’m left alone in my room, his words echoing in the empty space he left behind.

The pain rises up, quick and efficient, clenching my gut and filling my chest, tearing me apart from the inside until I fold in on myself. I want to scream, to rip my hair out, to punch holes in the walls until my fists are bleeding and bruised. But I don’t. Instead, I force myself to sit in silent agony because I know it’s exactly what I deserve.

Prev // Next

[unangelic-thoughts]

Forgive me...I want you. (Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader)

Summary: After a drunken mistake where you expose yourself to your aunt's boyfriend, you unknowingly start something between you beyond your wildest dreams…

Warnings: NSFW smut 18+, infidelity, age gap, masturbating while being watched, phone sex (sorta?? but more like window sex??)

Word Count: 3k

Author’s note: A specific part in this is loosely inspired by taylor swift's 'you belong with me' scene where they see each other through their bedroom windows…hehe…;)

Reblogs and interactions are most appreciated <333

I walk as quietly as I can up the stairs of the house I currently live in with my parents so as to not wake them at one thirty in the morning. Although I'm in my mid twenties and would love nothing more but to have my own place, rent is ridiculously expensive and I'd rather save up for as long as I can. Thankfully for me, I get along with them both and we respect each other's privacy - so it works.

I shut the door to my bedroom quietly, extending my hand to the wall beside me to switch the light on. I take my cross-body bag off over my head and throw it on my bed with a sigh. Running my hands through my hair, I think back to today's unfortunate events. From deciding to surprise my girlfriend on our six month anniversary, to catching her in bed with my best friend, to going from bar to bar with my sweet Angel of a cousin to try and forget it all; I am completely and utterly emotionally and physically exhausted.

The makeup I put on earlier today is patchy and smudged but I feel too numb to care. Walking into my on-suite bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror while my arms rest on either side of the sink. Black streaks of mascara cover my cheeks from where I'd been crying. I take a deep breath, grabbing a makeup wipe and take it all off.

Once I'm done with skincare, I walk back into my bedroom and pick out a clean pair of undies and oversized tee from my closet, setting them out at the end of my bed. I begin stripping from my clothes, starting with my top, then my skirt and tights. I stand up straight, my hands reaching behind my back to take my bra off when I lock eyes with Joel and I freeze.

Joel is my next door neighbour. He is also my dad's sister's husband. In my current messy state, I  completely forgot to pull my curtains shut and that Joel's office literally faces my bedroom. In my defence, I wasn't expecting him to be up this late.

The initial state of shock begins to subside but neither of us has attempted to look away first. I'm reminded of the very innocent crush I've had on him since the day my aunt introduced us to him five years ago. Of course, I knew it was futile - considering the whole Joel-is-now-technically-my-uncle thing as well as the age gap thing. I never let myself think about it too seriously except for the times late at night whenever I've struggled to fall asleep. Thoughts of him laying on top of me, kissing down my neck while his hands caress my body intrude my mind more often than I'd like to admit and I feel so guilty, but I can't help it.

It feels like I've been standing there half-naked in front of my window for hours when in reality it's only been a second or two. I spot my dressing gown draped over my swivel chair in the corner of my eye and I quickly grab it to cover myself as best as I can.

When I look back at him, his eyes have fallen to the laptop in front of him and I instantly feel the loss of his intense stare. A pang of disappointment hits me, missing the feel of his eyes on me and the way it ignited a fire in my lower belly.

Desperate to get his attention, I loosen the grip I have on my dressing gown and let it fall in front me, exposing me once more. His dark brown eyes instantly meet mine again and it makes my insides flip.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, deciding to ignore the warning lights and sirens going off in my head that are telling me how terrible of an idea this is. But in this moment, I couldn't care less. I just want to feel wanted.

My hands find their way to my bra for a second time and unclasp it. I hold the cups of my bra against my breasts, a moment of hesitation washing over me but I shake that feeling away as I shake off my bra.

Joel goes very still and it feels good to know I'm having an effect on him, so I continue. My hands drop to my panties, my thumbs hooking on either side as I slowly slide them down my legs and step out of them.

I feel so empowered and in full control of the situation, which is exactly what I need right now. I turn around, grabbing my clean undies and slipping them on followed by my oversized tee. I walk to my window, wishing I could reach out to touch him but instead, I pull the curtains shut knowing I've already gone too far and put an end to whatever this is.

***

I've avoided Joel for two whole weeks since that night; not that it has been hard to do since he's definitely been avoiding me too. He hasn't even spared me a glance when we've passed by each other in our adjacent driveaways, oftentimes me going out and him coming home at the same time.

The anxiety of what I'd done was eating me up the first few days, worried that he'd tell my aunt about it. But the longer it's been, the more confident I feel that he's not planning on telling a soul. God, if anyone found out about my drunken mistake, it would completely destroy our family.

I've thought of countless of ways I could apologize to him but none seem good enough, worried it'll just make things more awkward; if that's even possible. Sometimes it's better to pretend like nothing ever happened and things will eventually fix by themselves with time. Yes...I just have to give it some time and it'll soon be a distant memory...

***

The chime of the doorbell distracts me from my current seated position on the sofa, one hand holding the book I've been reading and the other stroking my cat, Felix. I place the book next to me and cradle Felix in my arms like the little baby that he is and head to the door.

It's my aunt, Tess. "Hi hun, are you enjoying your weekend alone?" She extends an arm to rub Felix under his chin.

"Yeah, it's been nice having the house all to myself. Mum and dad won't be back until late Monday evening so I still have a couple of days of peace." I say, chuckling.

"That's great! Although I'm about to disturb that peace, but not for long. I promise! I just need a small favour." She cautiously smiles at me.

"As long as it doesn't involve screaming kids or maths, I'm happy to help." I respond lightheartedly.

"So, I ordered a couple of new sculptures of Athena and the delivery driver just dropped them off outside our door. He ran off before I could get the chance to ask him to help bring them in." She sighs.

"Oh my God, more Greek sculptures? You're obsessed! Don't you already have like 50? How do they all fit in the house?!" I say half-serious, half-laughing while I shake my head. For the past year, Tess has developed a fascination for Greek mythology and the house has basically turned into a museum of Ancient Greece.

"I know, I know." Tess replies, swinging her hands back and forth to dismiss my accusation. "Anyway, I've hurt my back so I can't lift anything and Joel needs another person to help him. Would you mind lending  him a hand?"

"Yeah, sure." I somehow manage to say nonchalantly even though inside I'm screaming. The last thing I want to do is be near Joel but I can't tell Tess that. "I'll be out in a minute" I say, forcing a smile and nod my head as I step back into the house to slip into something more appropriate. 

Once I've pulled my shit together and reassured myself that this isn't a big deal, I make the short walk over to their place. The door opens before I reach the steps, both Tess and Joel coming out at the same time. She places a quick peck on his lips before making her way to her car. "Just going to do some grocery shopping, I won't be long. And be careful with my sculptures!" She calls out as she shuts the car door after her.

I notice the silence between us immediately, fiddling my hands nervously. "Where do these need to go?" I ask as I point to the sculptures in front of me, desperate to be done with this as quickly as possible.

Joel doesn't hold my gaze however, and it makes me think that what happened is still bothering him. "One in the living room and one in the bedroom."

Once we've figured out how to carry the first one, we manage to place it in the living room with relative ease. The second one however is much trickier, needing to be carried all the way to the upstairs bedroom. I can feel myself building up a sweat but I try my best to keep my breathing steady. Once we reach the room, we set it down in its new spot. Not even a second later and I trip over my own foot, falling towards the direction of the sculpture. Joel is there before I know it, one hand holding Athena and the other steadying me. The feel of his arm around me feels different to any other time we've hugged, I notice.

"That was close." He says, pulling back once I've got both feet on the ground.

"It was. Thank you. Tess would kill me if anything happened to it." I exhale, widening my eyes in horror at the thought of breaking the sculpture.

"And I'd be right there with you too. She can be a scary woman when she wants to be." He jokes, an uneasy smile on his face.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out as I fix my gaze on the sculpture rather than Joel.

"Don't worry about it, nothin' broke so we get to live another day." He shrugs his shoulders as his hands rest on his hips and laughs.

"Not about that...I'm sorry about what happened that night. I was drunk and it was wrong of me." I find myself saying before I can stop myself, the guilt finally getting to me.

The grin on his face immediately drops and I brace myself for what he has to say.

"It was a fucked up thing to do and it's best that we forget about it." He says, his tone razor sharp.

"I know and for that, I sincerely apologize." His words sting even though I know they shouldn't. I mean, he didn't look away either. It can't just be all on me, he could've easily left. He had plenty of opportunity to do so.

"You put me in a really uncomfortable position. What would Tess say if she found out? What would your parents think?" His brows are furrowed together in anger and I regret ever bringing it up.

"I-I wasn't in a good place mentally and I definitely wasn't sober but I don't think it's fair to put all the blame on me." I defend, shaking my head.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "And who should share the blame? Me?"

It's my turn to furrow my brows, not liking where this conversation is going. "Well, yeah. You clearly didn't dislike what you saw. You could've left at any time."

"I think you should leave." He responds firmly, crossing his arms.

"You don't have to tell me twice." I scowl. Turning on my heal, I strut out of the room and slam the door shut behind me. Regret fills my chest, not for my drunken striptease, but for my stupid attempt at apologising to that asshole.

*** He tries to apologise to me twice this week but I blank him both times. He tells me that Tess noticed something has been off with us and confronted him about it. He told her it's because he yelled at me when I almost broke one of her statues and now I'm mad at him. That's the only reason he wants to apologise, so that everything seems normal in front of everyone else; not because he's genuinely sorry. So no, I'm not ready to forgive him that easily.

***

I'm having one of those late night closet clear outs, deciding whether my denim midi skirt is staying in the keep pile or the donation pile when my phone rings.

My breath hitches as the name of last person I thought would be calling me right now pops up on the screen. At first I think it might be a mistake, but as it rings for the fourth time, I have to decide whether to answer or ignore it.

He's never called me this late before and the curiosity takes over, so I swipe the green button on the screen and put the phone to my ear.

"Joel?" I ask hesitantly, even though I know it's him calling.

"Can we talk?" His voice low on the other end of the line.

"I'm busy right now." I reply, finally tossing the skirt I've been holding to the keep pile.

"No, you're not. I can literally see you in your bedroom." With that, I turn around and look up. Lo and behold, Joel is standing in front of his office's french doors and he's looking right at me.

"What do you want?" I ask, my heartbeat increasing tenfold.

I watch as his hand trails up his shirt, his fingers starting to unbutton it from the top.

"Tell me to stop at anytime, and I will." He whispers as I stand there completely dumbfounded.

Once his shirt is unbuttoned, he shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it fall on the floor behind him. It exposes his soft chest and belly, and I can't take my eyes off of him.

His hands move on to his belt, swiftly removing it from his jeans and popping open the button. He stops just before he pulls his zipper down and I feel a pang of disappointment until I hear his voice once more.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks simply, as if he hasn't just asked me such an incongruous question.

I shake my head from side to side ever so slightly, it's barely noticeable.

"I need you to use your words darlin'" He's looking at me intently and it makes me feel lightheaded.

I don't want to say it out loud but if I-

"Don't. Don't stop." I surprise myself at how sure I sound, not realising how badly I've wanted this since I exposed myself to him until this very moment.

I notice his chest contract as he exhales in relief; Like he was hoping I'd want this just as much as he does.

He continues then, removing his jeans completely and takes a seat on the chair behind him while still facing me.

"Your turn." It takes me a minute to process what he's saying. He wants to see me naked. Again. Part of me questions whether this is a prank but the part of me that has secretely wanted to do this since forever decides to push the doubts aside.

I hesitate only for a second before I remember that I've done this before and he's already seen my exposed body, and then I strip down to my underwear - just like he has.

His hand reaches inside his boxers and he begins to stroke himself. My panties are soaked within seconds. His breathing becomes shallow as he increases the speed of his hand on his member. My hand is on my breast, squeezing it hard as my thumb and index finger stroke my nipple.

"Touch yourself." He orders and I immediately oblige, my hand gliding from my breast to my soft tummy and finally underneath my panties. I hiss as my fingers touch my bundle of nerves, making circular motions. I'm already so wet at the sight in front of me that it doesn't take long for me to slide my fingers through my contracting walls. I pump my fingers with the same rhythm that he strokes his cock as I close my eyes to imagine that it's him inside of me. It feels so good and yet it's not enough, but I know that this is going to be as good as it's ever going to get. This won't ever happen again. I shake those thoughts away and decide to savour the present moment.

Opening up my eyes again, my gaze is back on Joel. His mouth is parted lightly and his eyes are half shut as his head rests on the back of his chair. His movements under his boxers become more frantic and I know he's close. It drives me to go faster and I yelp as I unexpectedly hit a sweet spot, "Fuck!"

"Keep going baby." He urges me on as he grunts in pleasure. My eyes shut tightly and I bite my lower lip, fastening my pace which causes squelching sounds from my dripping pussy.

"Atta girl." He praises, seemingly satisfied by the sounds travelling through the phone.

I whimper in pleasure as I feel the orgasm build inside of me. I stare back at Joel who lets out a "Fuck" at the same moment that I do. We both come apart together, moaning and whimpering in unison; creating a sweet melody of pleasure.

I never, in a million years, thought that I would ever get the chance to see and hear him coming undone but it's the most mesmerizing thing I've ever witnessed. 

"Am I forgiven?" He asks once his breathing has returned to normal.

"I think you already know the answer to that." I say, as a smile creeps up on my damp face.

--------

Thank you for reading! I'd love it if you let me know your throughts <3 (Uuumm personally, I would jump straight through that goddamn window and onto his lap...fuckkkk)

Lots of love, Elki xoxo

[world0fmadness]

OPEN YOUR HEART TO IT

pelle “ dead ” ohlin x reader

♡ general comforting headcanons for pelle!

୨୧ again, i conjoined two requests for this one because they were very very very similar! hopefully the anons do not mind! where are my god of war fans at? gosh, i love faye and her dialogue so so so much <3

♡ requested by anon | related hc available here, here and here | view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: dark and lonely water by 400 lonely things - ashamed by health

♡ when it comes to comforting pelle, i think it could be a little difficult at times…

୨୧ more so at the beginning of your relationship, sometimes it would take a lot to really get him to open up and let you comfort him

♡ but as i said, this is mainly at the start of your relationship, when he still hasn’t completely opened up to you and opened his heart fully

୨୧ he’d likely just shake his head and stay silent when you attempt to comfort him, putting on a front as if he really isn’t all that sad or hurt, pulling away from you when you try to touch him and you will eventually just have to leave him be…

♡ but after a little while of dating, when pelle has almost completely opened up to you and opened his heart to you, he becomes much easier to approach and comfort when you know he needs it

୨୧ when it comes to him hurting himself, wether it be after a concert or just in general, the rest of mayhem kind of leave him to you, making sure he gets to you fine and knowing you can deal with him much better than they can, knowing that you can get through to him deeper than they can…

♡ after a concert that included pelle harming himself, usually necrobutcher or euronymous will force him over to you, having to slightly hold him up due to pelle being lightheaded and wobbling on his feet from blood loss

୨୧ after dropping him down on a seat next to you, they’ll likely wish you good luck and pat pelle on the shoulder before leaving, you thank them as they leave the room, knowing that if pelle has an audience, even if just one person, he likely wouldn’t have let you comfort him fully

♡ obviously, it damn near makes you vomit seeing someone you love so dearly purposefully hurt them self and bleed in front of you with seemingly no care for themselves but you would have to brave it out for him, you certainly can’t be a super blood sensitive person if you want to date and comfort pelle…

୨୧ as you go to grab some gauze and wound cleaning solution from your bag, now beyond used to this ritual of care after concerts and always keeping things like this with you, pelle will lift his head slightly to watch you… his blonde hair draped like curtains over his face, watching you with a slightly fearful look in his eyes, as if he was afraid you were walking away from him, leaving him…

♡ but the second you turn back around with the first aid equipment in hand, he quickly looks back down at his knees, his shaky hands tightening around his knees as blood still drips down his wrists and bleeds into his blue jeans

୨୧ when you sit back down next to him, you ask his permission before lifting his arm over to your lap, he’ll be dead silent but give you a nod of assurance, letting you know you can take his arm, you can fix him up

♡ pelle might be able to hurt himself so deeply but i do not think he would be immune to the pain, the sting of the wound cleaning solution as you drip it onto his wound

୨୧ he won’t cry from the pain but you will notice a difference as the liquid makes contact with the torn skin, his fists clenching and mouth dropping open slightly to release deep pants through gritted teeth… of course, this only makes you feel even worse as you mumble apologies to him, rubbing his upper arm with your free hand, trying to soothe his pain and he won’t try to stop you, the feeling of your fingers rubbing soothing circles into his skin helping him regulate his breathing and his fists loosen

♡ pelle would likely be very tired after cutting himself on stage, the loss of blood and pain coursing through his malnourished body simply exhausting him so in the midst of you cleaning his wounds, he’ll lean his head over to you, hunching his back and resting his head against your shoulder, remaining quiet as he inhales your natural musk and the scent of your shampoo from your hair

୨୧ you bring your free hand up to stroke his hair, the position making it a little harder to clean his wounds but you work through it, not wanting to move him, knowing how tired he must be and how comforted he feels with his head on your shoulder

♡ when you tilt your head to place a sweet kiss against his hair, resting your cheek atop his head as you talk to him softly, telling him how talented he is and how great you thought his vocals were this concert, pelle would probably actually fall sleep against your shoulder, mumbling an almost unintelligible two word phrase of love before he knocks out

“ love you… ” ( you can just barely make out what he said, his swedish accent even stronger due to his mind being foggy with sleep, it only causes you to smile and whisper that you love him too )

୨୧ he is just so tired, you do not wake him up, you just continue fixing him up, rubbing his back to keep him asleep when you begin to apply the gauze, lifting his wrists to your lips to place a soft kiss on the cotton covered wounds as he hums in his sleep, as if sensing the love

♡ this type of comfort is crucial to pelle, it proves something to him, proves something to the rest of the guys and it just helps him

୨୧ other times you comfort pelle and he accepts the comfort with very little to no resistance is the days he simply isn’t feeling the best, days when his mind is worse than ever and simply won’t let him rest…

♡ usually he just won’t even want to get out of bed on these days, or he’ll want to walk into the forest and stay there, surrounded by silence and animal bones scattered scarcely across the forest floor, most likely just laying back on the ground or sitting up against a tree and staring blankly ahead for hours

୨୧ when he just doesn’t want to get out of bed, when he just lays flat on his back staring up at the blank ceiling with his mouth dropped open slightly to release laboured breaths, he will not be as easy to open up

♡ it’s not even like he just doesn’t want to open up to you, it’s just that he doesn’t particularly know how to… he doesn’t know how to describe how he feels, he’s never really opened up to someone like he has you before…

୨୧ when you realise it’s one of those days for pelle, you’ll immediately become softer towards him, not that you weren’t already soft on him but you just know to be even softer, to mind your words and what you talk about

♡ you’ll leave him for a quick minute, planting a kiss on his head before going downstairs to make him a hot drink, telling the other guys to not bug him today to which they all just nod and get going with their days… when you go back to the room with a hot drink encased inside of some random white mug with a chipping picture of the norwegian flag printed across the front, pelle will mumble a nearly silent “ thank you ” as you place it on the floor beside him, you know it’s just one of those things for him, he obviously doesn’t have a comfort food but a hot drink is that for him

୨୧ the best thing to do is just sit on the bed next to him, looking at him with soft eyes and asking him questions about other things, getting simple head movements or mumbled responses back! ask him about things like his art or maybe new lyrics, that will perk him up a bit and distract his mind, even if just for a minute

“ hm? i made a new drawing yesterday… it’s up on the desk… if you want to see it… ” ( when you do get up to go and look at his drawing sitting atop the messy desk, his head will lift from the pillow to watch you, admiring your beauty with slightly watery eyes, not enough to cry but the emotion is there, he just doesn’t understand why you put up with him! but when you start walking back towards the bed with the drawing in hand, he’s quick to put his head back down so that you don’t see his glistening eyes )

♡ asking him about the drawing is a good comfort move, he likes talking about his art to you and it helps distract him, offering to buy him some new pencils or anything like that will make him smile just a tiny bit too, his hand opening and reaching for yours slightly, tightly holding your hand in his as he shakes his head, he’ll only replace his pencils when he really needs to but the fact that you offered?

୨୧ it struck him right in the heart! he already felt like you were the light of his life, one of the few people he truly loves but it’s times like that which really solidify it for him, solidify his love for you no matter how much he might be shy about showing it

♡ sometimes some days are just worse for pelle, sometimes all he does is sit in near complete silence for the whole day but with you by his side, gently rubbing your hand up and down his arm or playing with his hair, it makes his day just that bit better…

୨୧ just having you lay on your back next to him on your shared bed, both of you staring up at the painted ceiling with you making most of the conversation in between a comfortable silence, it makes the noise in his mind go quiet, thoughts of pain and harm transforming from loud yells to silent screams, the fog in his mind clearing as you talk to him about the things he actually likes in life

♡ at some point of you laying next to him, without even looking or moving his eyes at all, he’ll reach his hand over to yours and take it into his, the pads of his fingers tapping softly against your knuckles as you crack a smile, letting him take things at his own pace but lifting your head up and leaning over to place a loving kiss on his pale cheek which is quickly enveloped by a rosy blush before he tilts his head towards yours and leans over to you, rubbing his bigger nose against yours in an eskimo kiss which only makes you smile harder

୨୧ with his mind quiet and heart beating deeply in his chest, he’ll lay his head atop your chest, feeling your heart beating against his ear and your fingers brushing through his hair, your quiet voice whispering words of love down to him as the combinations of softness lull him into a peaceful sleep for just a couple hours but both of you treasure those hours of serenity

♡ you are his comfort, not just the acts of comfort you offer him, never just the words of love you whisper to him, just you as a whole… you are all the comfort he needs in his life <3

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

The Party

Jacinth Masterlist

Remember this post? Welp, I wrote it! At first I was going to use generic characters, but then I realized how well this scenario fits for Jacinth, so I quickly made the change!

Also, thank you to @lilywolfgray for helping me figure out the simile that pops up!

this one is a bit long, so I've put it under the cut!

The sound of Jacinth’s footsteps made Y/N stiffen in bed nervously.

“Wake up my little human,” Jacinth’s silvery voice cooed, “you’ve been napping long enough.”

Jacinth pulled the curtain of his and Y/N’s shared room aside, practically floating over to her. Y/N slowly sat up, her hands twisting the comforter draped over her.

“Have I told you what today is, hm?”

Y/N shook her head.

“It’s the Festival of Winter’s End,” Jacinth said with a gleaming smile, “and I’d like to bring you to the celebration. But first, I have to get you ready.”

Jacinth produced a small flower in his hand, its petals trembling from how much nectar it was filled with. Y/N knew exactly what that deceptively sweet liquid would do to her if she drank it. She looked at Jacinth with a pleading expression.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jacinth said, “drink this, won’t you? It tastes wonderful~”

When Y/N still didn’t drink, Jacinth took hold of her chin and tilted it up.

“Drink, Y/N,” he commanded gently.

As soon as Jacinth had said her name, Y/N felt her lips falling apart so the fae could pour the nectar into her mouth. Y/N swallowed, feeling the sweet, sticky liquid coat her mouth and throat.

“Very good,” Jacinth praised, “such an obedient human.”

Jacinth took Y/N’s hand and gently pulled her out of bed. He led her through the rooms of his abode to a little series of pools surrounded by soft moss. He sat her down next to one of them and positioned himself behind her. He took a small stone bowl and filled it with water from the pool. He poured the contents over her head, letting it soak into her hair. He picked up a vial and opened it, letting the fragrant contents cover her scalp. He started to work it into her hair, until a bubbly lather had formed. Once it was fully worked in, he rinsed it out with more water. All through the process, Y/N could feel her eyes getting heavy and her body going limp.

Jacinth went to remove Y/N’s dress next. When he had first taken her, he had gotten rid of those unsightly human clothes and replaced them with nicer, more appealing garments. He had barely gotten to the strap of the dress when Y/N attempted to shuffle away from him, her cheeks decorated with a red flush.

“Now now,” Jacinth said, “I have to wash you. Don’t be difficult.”

Y/N shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. Jacinth sighed.

“I forgot how sensitive you humans are,” he said, “I suppose we’ll just spot-clean.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but only a bit of slurred nonsense came out. Jacinth chuckled, then grabbed another vial. He poured the liquid inside onto a small wad of moss. He started to scrub Y/N’s skin until it was soft and clean. Y/N blinked slowly; the world started to tilt until she realized she had fallen against Jacinth’s chest.

“Aw,” Jacinth cooed, kissing her on her head, “how sweet.”

…

Y/N wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All she knew was one minute, Jacinth was holding her amongst the mossy pools, then the next, she was blinking up at a series of lanterns hung along the trees. She heard the sound of chatter and music. She tried to sit up, but her body felt too heavy. Jacinth’s soft laughter rumbled behind her, and his face came into view.

“Finally awake, hm?” he mused, “I suppose I could’ve just asked you to sleep instead of feeding you the nectar… ah well.”

Another face came into view. It was another fae, with pointy ears, pink skin and deep, red eyes.

“Jacinth, is this your human?” she asked in awe.

“Indeed she is,” Jacinth replied with a smile.

“May we hold her?” a green fae asked.

Jacinth’s grip on Y/N tightened ever so slightly.

“She isn’t used to other fae yet,” he said, “but you can feed her if you’d like.”

The pink fae giggled with delight, then allowed a raspberry to grow in her palm. She brought it to Y/N’s lips. Y/N, who was still quite out of it, opened her mouth to let the fae feed her. It tasted much sweeter than the fruit at home, and a little bit of the juice dribbled down her chin, which made the pink fae chuckle and coo. Jacinth wiped the juice away with the pad of his thumb.

A green fae came up next, holding a honeycomb in his hand. He offered it to Y/N, and she drank the honey inside.

“She is so precious,” the green fae said, “how I wish I had a human of my own.”

“She’s very special to me,” Jacinth replied, “she is like the soothing touch of a fresh spring breeze.”

“Quite so,” the green fae agreed.

As the night went on, several more fae came up to see Y/N. Any time one of them tried to touch her, Jacinth would pull her closer to himself and make some excuse for why they couldn’t. The music playing was otherworldly, and Y/N often caught herself swaying to it.

Y/N yawned and felt her eyelids drooping shut. She felt Jacinth lift her up in a bridal carry. He made his excuses to the other fae and started to carry her home.

“Did you have a good time, pet?” Jacinth asked.

Y/N only murmured in response, eliciting a fond chuckle from him.

“Sleep now, Y/N,” Jacinth whispered.

Y/N drifted off just as the sun began to peek out over the horizon. Spring was on the way.

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

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @21fandom-shipper21 @the-introverted-writer-for-life @shroombun @littlespacecastle

[danikamariewrites]

Hi there, can you do a cassian x fem reader fic where he takes care of her during her period?

Period Pains

Cassian x reader

A/n: hi anon! Thank you for the request I hope you like it

Warnings: none

Groaning, you drape your arm over your eyes to shield them from the morning sun breaking through the curtains. As you roll over to face Cassian you feel a shooting pain in your abdomen. You suck in a harsh breath, curling into a ball to try and make the pain stop but it just kept getting worse.

Your winces have Cassian shooting up in a panic. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” His voice is deep and groggy with sleep. Normally, that would turn you on but the pain shooting through your body was all you could focus on.

Cassian stroked your hair to help calm you. You could feel the wet spot of blood in your underwear, but you didn’t want to get up. “My cycle.” You mumbled. “Oh honey.” You sit up and massage your stomach to keep the pain away.

Cassian jumped out of bed, fully alert now, to help you to the bathroom. You stop halfway to rub your numb thighs. On the first day of your cycle pain spreads all over your body. The worst of it is your legs and knees. They get this numb feeling that evolves into pins and needles. Usually you can take it, but this time it feels unbearable. Tears start to form in your eyes. Cassian notices and scoops you into his arms to carry you the rest of the way.

He sets you down on the ledge of the massive tub that takes up most of your bathroom. He leaves and comes back with a fresh pair of underwear for you and a pair of his sweatpants. “Lets get you cleaned up baby.”

Cassian helps you take your sleep shorts and underwear off. He grabs a cloth and cleans between your legs. You put the clean pair on with a pad and Cassian helps you stand, pulling the sweatpants up your legs.

He scoops you up again, carrying you back to bed. Tucking you in he kisses your cheek, whispering, “I’ll be right back, do you want something to eat?”

“Mhmm. Can I have some toast and juice? The strawberry one.” “You got it baby.” As he leaves the room you smile to yourself. Even though your in pain you’re still happy. You feel so loved by Cassian.

You’re so lucky that he isn’t afraid to be around you when you’re on your cycle. Most males avoid females or do the bare minimum for them. But not Cassian. He prides himself on taking care of you. If he left you to suffer he would never forgive himself.

You sit up as he comes back in, carrying a tray with your requested food, a tonic for the pain, a hot water bottle, and the pillow from the couch you nap with. You give him a tired smile.

Cassian sets the tray down, handing you the water bottle and pillow. Uncorking the tonic, he holds it to your lips. After gulping the gross tonic down, you pull the tray on to your lap, munching away at the toast.

Cassian laid back down next to you and started rubbing your stomach. “How are you feeling?” “Better,” you say through a full mouth. “I told Rhys I’m taking the next few days to stay with you. The pain in your legs is making me nervous so I just want to keep an eye on you. If that’s ok?”

You run your hands through his shoulder length hair. Tears well up in your eyes again at his words. “It’s more than ok. I always want you here Cass.”

After you finish breakfast you snuggle into Cassian’s side. Warm and your pain subsiding, sleep took over your body. As you drifted off you heard Cassian whisper sweet nothings.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris

[missamyrisa2]

Agdjsj your massage story got me thinking of a professional clit-cleanser,,, little Lees sign up for a professional, thorough cleaning with a shower head, spinny brushes of all textures, and of course a feather brush-dry at the end

"Oooh you absolutely are overdue for a cleaning ~~ and luckily this is like, a fully automatic facility we have here~ just sit in this cozyy chair and relaxxx ~ now, this miiiiight ticklee~!!"

I skip about in my purple dress, pigtails bouncing as I start setting dials and pressing buttons before I nudge you back into the salon chair. I flash a smirk and pull a lever on the back and activate a team of robotic hands, unable to hold back my squeaky excitement while I watch and pose with a hand on my thick waist belt. Their fingers spring forth and wiggle menacingly at you before diving in, stripping away your clothes and tossing them to a nearby collection bin.

"For your safetyyy~" I grin, pressing a button to restrain your ankles and wrists to the chair with thick waterproof straps. Humming merrily, I pull out what looks like a hair cutting cape, though a bit smaller and emblazoned with a glimmering pearl logo. "Just relaxxx and let the machines do their work~hmm" I squeak and drape the cape over your waist, snugly setting it to hang over your royal area.

With another beep and clank, you suddenly find yourself looking up at my grinning face. The reclined salon chair starts scooting forth on its path, the walls opening and clicking to draw you into the cleansing factory. "First weee~ wheeee~!! We start with a presoak~" I can't contain my excitement, scurrying behind the chair with my clipboard and remote. With a whine and whoosh, a shiny showerhead twists into view coordinating with the chair which is shifting to gently spread your legs.

The collective of little circles on the head begin coating your royal area with a gentle spray, gradually raising in pressure to spread teasing soft touches across your thighs and royal lips, carefully aiming under the clit cape. "Now, did you want the triple foam package?" I start pressing buttons to summon nozzely hoses from three angles which start covering your girly area with a rainbow haze of tingly color. "Of course you dooo~"

As the foam settles and tingles and cleanses, the showerhead retracts and the chair moves further through curtains of light and growing machinery sounds. In the next segment a massive circle rolls out and clicks to life, extending a gang of scrubby brushes. Each one works to cleanse a layer of foam away as I watch and note the progress. "Pearl Destressing is absolutely essential. All these soft brushes make sure the foam is nicely scrubbed right into your most elegant areas." I lean in and watch as your legs quiver at the sensation of each brush gently gliding along your inner thighs over your lips and along your pearly area. "My my my ~ you really are sensitive huh? Don't worry, you can wiggle all you like. You're nice and snug."

The chair moves you along further into the facility, the sounds of slapping materials fill your ear right as you start to see the fuzzy curtains swishing back and forth. "Oh don't worry, that's just to keep the texture nice and fluffed. We're not gonna rough you up darling~" I snicker as we watch together the hanging threads of fuzz slowing and turning to start gently kissing and gliding up your royal area while the chair hums and takes you through. The remaining tingle foam is whisked away and your cleansed skin is thoroughly teased and coaxed into ticklish sensations by the endless parade of swishy soft materials~

"Awww, does that tickle? Does it just tickle soooo much?" I chuckle knowingly, patting your head and teasing your neck with feathery touches while you helplessly struggle through the treatments. In the next room you see the indicator stating it's time for the drying, but after a quick tingly scan the machine goes off in alarm and overrides the process to instead read Deep Rinse. "Ooooh my my my you're a naughty thing huhhhh?" I step around if fake shock, pointing at your swollen wanting button~ "Yeppp we've got a naughty pearlyyy~!!"

Tapping buttons on the machine, robotic hands spring back out and start lightly massaging your inner thighs with their wiggly index fingers, as a coat is slid down my arms and goggles placed over my eyes, with a hand dropping a shiny silver wand into my waiting hand. "Now hold still girlyyy~ we're gonna get you niiiice and clean, I promise~" my tongue pokes out in concentration as I lean in and use the water wand to start spraying up your royal lips. The robotic hands work to tickle and coax out your most royal button, getting close to the outside of your lips as I start drawing up from below.

"Aww ~ coochie cooo laughing girl~ you are soooo naughty ~ look at thatttt ~ you need sooo much cleansing~" I work my wand upward, spraying right over your button with a tickly jet, modulating the pressure up and down while my helpers tickle around your mound and down to your thighs and occasionally hold your steady so I can thoroughly cleanse your throbbing pearl before clicking my tongue in admonishment. "Tsk tsk. Sooo naughty. You keep that up and we'll just have to cleanse you all day oh yes we willll~ satisfaction guaranteed at this clitty cleansing center~!! You don't leave until we have you shiny clean~~"

I snicker and work away, reaching back to pick up a detail brush, teasing with the lightest of stroking pokes on the underside of your button while the spray works around side to side. "Sooo many giggles and gasps in youuu~ good thing we're extracting them allll~"

When you've finally been deep cleansed to satisfaction, your dizzy starry-eyed giggly self is at least in the final chamber. "Only the finest ~ gentlest ~ pamper dry for our cute girly pearllll~" I tease, tracing a long stiff feather over your neck and chest before planting it into the machine. The apparatus starts pivoting back and forth with a click, carefully wicking away the remaining droplets on your girly parts with the feather's tip. "The key is a slooooww dry ~ I could blot away all of it with this nice soft towel hmmm" I run the luxurious cloth over my own face and hum at you~ "but this special feather will dry you one drop at a time for maximum cleansing ~ and sensation~"

I plop myself onto the nearby chair and start pulling up the stats and footage of your cleansing as the machine clicks away, the feather tip caressing at your button and slowly drying it with the tickliest of slow strokes. "Don't you worry, I'll just be over here reviewing your progress and we'll check and see if you need a reclean here when the machine is done~"

[hey-august]

Helllooo!! Can you do

F, U, C, K, T, H, E, C, L, O, W, N

for the nsfw alphabet? 👀

Ty and have a nice day!! 🩵🩷

OH HECK YES. Thank you for this and I hope you have a fantastic day!! lolol I tried to think of a clever way to answer this, like doing YES PLS or BUGGY, but there are too many fun letters when it's to fuck the clown.

(NSFW Alphabet here)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Buggy likes to be on bottom. Ride him, pound him, just take care of him. Let him take a break from the spotlight for a moment (even if the show couldn’t go on with out him anyway). Even better when he’s seated. There’s something about the confines of a chair, luxury of a couch, or the power of a throne that gets his dick hard as a diamond.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It’s accidental at first. Really. All those little touches, feather light and fleeting, it’s because Buggy is nervous. N-not because he’s unsure about what to do! Definitely not! He just wants to make sure his partner likes what he does. Yeah, that’s it. But all that hesitation, all those moments that don’t last anywhere near long enough, it all builds up. And his partner is only moments away from grabbing the captain’s wrist and keeping him where he needs to be.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Thick and creamy. A good amount, just right when spread across someone’s chest or face. Buggy’s cum gets a fair amount of distance at first, before it dribbles out the slit for the remainder of his orgasm. It’s a bit bitter and salty, since Buggy does not have the best diet.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

…pegging. And double anal penetration. Buggy has fucked his own ass, no doubt about that. But to be stuffed with his own cock and by his partner? This clown is about to be out of commission for a few days. Only a few before he’s asking for it again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

At first Buggy wasn’t sure how he felt about toys, but he caved eventually. A dildo that he can use in place of his own dick so he can suck and gag on something while jacking off. Buggy also knows how to improvise. Need a gag? Or something to bind wrists? He has a bandana. Ropes and aerial silks are also available at the snap of a finger.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

For a dirty pirate, Buggy cleans up pretty well. A dusting of chest hair in a lovely shade of blue. A taunting happy trail under his belly button that looks damn near artistic when saturated and smeared with precum and sex. And below the belt, it’s usually trimmed, but always a nice field of fluffy blue. Sometimes he forgets or just doesn’t want to cut it shorter. Secretly, he likes watching his partner’s nose burrow into the curls when he’s balls deep in their throat.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think I could talk about this for days. It’s mixed. Sex? Intimate relationships? Buggy is not the most experienced there. He’s dabbled. Had a few auditions. A couple of callbacks, but none ever made it to curtain call. But Buggy is surprisingly experienced in regards to what he gets up to in his personal time. iykwim

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Doesn’t mind tasting or eating his own cum. Has done it before because he didn’t want to get up and find something to clean his mess with.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Semi-public places! Bar bathrooms, quiet hallways or alleys, empty community rooms. Being able to hear noise from nearby people gets Buggy all riled up. Or knowing that someone could show up at any point and see him and his partner doing the deed… Deep deep down, it’s a weird form of acceptance to Buggy - his partner is willing to risk getting caught fucking the clown.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Buggy loves a sloppy blowjob. Loooooves giving and receiving those. Balls that are dripping wet with spit, lips and chin coated in drool, glazed glassy eyes. Hell yes. Eating pussy is one that Buggy needed some time to get into. He couldn’t really practice it on his own and his fucking nose seemed to get in the way more often. Eventually, it clicked. Seeing his facepaint smeared inside his lovers thighs makes him want to keep making a mess. Face deep in those wet folds, licking and eating like a ravenous dog. He’ll stay down there like it’s his fucking job.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Buggy has cockwarmed himself more than once. No, he’s not squirming because he’s nervous about the meeting.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

CBT. It doesn’t quite do it for him and since Buggy can remove his own junk, it adds an extra layer of vulnerability that he’s not ready to deal with.

[ohsunnyboy]

i insist | kim taerae ˚₊‧⁺˖

when there's moments like this, it's hard not to fall in love with kim taerae all over again

TAGS: drabble, gn!reader, kissing but cute <3, full throttle fluff, cuddles galore, established relationship

A/N: taerae is the softest man i have ever seen and i will die on this hill :) as always, purely self-indulgent

WORDS: ~900

Battling against a fever for the past week doesn’t turn you – or anyone! – into the prettiest person.

In fact, you were entirely against Taerae even coming over to look after you in your horrid state: your three-blanket wrap, two ramyeon a day diet and maybe one sick retch every other hour. But whatever Taerae insists, Taerae gets. And it takes a week of constant mothering, cleaning and cooking, for someone like you to go insane under him – or rather, for him. It's actually infuriating how good Taerae is at this.

However, sometimes you want to hold him in place and demand, "who have you done this for before?!" because this type of mothering takes years of practice to perfect. Though, can you really expect anything less of your Kim Taerae.

Content to be bundled up in bed for the rest of your life – it really is a lovely life.

Sun streams through the crack in the curtains splashing your room in a dull yellow glow. The spring sun brings a chill that no one likes to admit exists. With your duvets woven around you like shields, the warmth seeps into you like a slow rambling fire. It takes a moment to blink halfway awake, to only just notice the arm slung around your waist and the feel the kisses peppering your nape.

"G'morning," you mumble into the bed. Voice all scratchy and dry, but noticeably smoother than it has been for the past week.

You can feel Taerae bury into your neck with another flurry of kisses now that you've woken up. Without a doubt shy, but eager to see you awake. “Do you feel better today?" he asks softly. His already deep voice rolls especially low and heavy in the morning wake. A tender blush climbs to your face as he hums into your neck – the steady thrum tempting you back to sleep.

"Did you fall back asleep already?" Taerae flicks the back of your head, and you kick him in the shins for revenge.

His laughter rumbles behind you, and your soft amusement follows suit. "Not when you’re such a morning menace." Smiling, you turn over to face him, tangling your legs back up with his and burying just a little more under the covers.

His blush stretches across his cheeks and to his ears – both cherry red. Taerae’s grin is abashed, and all you want to do is hold him by the face and kiss him stupid. Entwined in your sheets like this, it's a mess of limbs: his arm around your waist, your leg now hitched around his, and hands toying through hair. It's impossible to say where each other ends and the other begins.

"I feel much better," you answer. "All thanks to you and your kisses." You cup his face now, loving the way his smile stretches across it. It’s an unbearable warmth that spreads across your cheeks at seeing his wide smile and easy heart.

You could spend the day in bed doing nothing but trace his gorgeous smile, listen to the roll of his voice and tasting love on his tongue. It would feel as natural as a spring day to sleep in and do nothing – especially after the past week doing exactly that. Though, draped in this golden light, it’s hard to forget how stunning Taerae looks when he holds you. When you hold each other.

Frame by frame, second by second, you drink it in.

"… I'm glad.” He hesitates, for a second – one moment. If you were any less awake you would have never caught it.

You’re both close enough that all you have to do is tilt your head forward a bit to catch his lips. Maybe lean just a bit more to plant a kiss to each of his dimples and stretch an inch for one blessed kiss to his forehead. So close, all you can do is look to find the light tension about his eyes and little pinch to his lips.

It takes a moment to realise what the problem is.

"My breath stinks, doesn't it,” you deadpan. Entirely aware of how the little distance between you two doesn’t help and how he twists his nose is enough of an answer.

"It does,” he relents, and all you can do is whine. You two know that leaving the bed to go brush will only invite the spring chill but alas, one must make sacrifices for a relationship.

Brave and bold, you start to move to get up. The least you can do is get the day started between you two. “I’ll go brush my teeth then.” Fate accepted and doom foretold, you begin to lift your duvet.

But Taerae pulls you back down and keeps you where you were. “Nope! You stay in bed, it’s still early and cold.” He tucks your head back under his chin to silence you. The enveloping warmth traps you and wow do you not want to get up – stupidly effective. “You go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you up with breakfast later, okay?” he murmurs into your hair.

“I feel better though!”

Taerae shifts under you and presses you further into him. “And? Let me do this for you, I insist.” Then and there, you melt into him. It’s inevitable that you blush; head filled with nothing but fuzzy thoughts and mush.

Head hidden in the crook of Taerae’s neck, you can feel how his voice thrums and pulse beats along to a steady melody. Some ballad song that can have you both fully belting in the car but dreamy when going to bed. One that swings you away to sleep, bundled in warmth and kissed with joy.

thanks so much for reading!! a like and reblog would be wonderful if you enjoyed :) ⭒ masterlist

[queen--of--shadows]

Healing Shadows: Part 3

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is a gifted surgical healer and water bender. Rhysand needs her help when he finds out about Feyre’s risky pregnancy. Azriel finds out reader is his mate.

Warnings: mentions of C-section surgery and blood

Word Count: 2,050

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

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

Part 3: Pain

You barely slept all night, tossing and turning anxiously and waking up every hour. The satin sheets felt hot and sticky on your sweaty skin, forcing you to get up and sit by the window to get some air. You were still nervous about the surgery, despite everyone’s confidence in you. You also couldn’t stop thinking about Azriel, his lingering touches, and the sparkling gold hidden in tiny flecks throughout his deep hazel eyes. You shook your head to clear your thoughts, got dressed, and headed downstairs to start setting up. 

Rhys had cleared out one of the rooms on the first floor of the House, and Nuala and Cerridwen had offered to deep clean last night. To your surprise, most of the tools were already set out. A large table lay in the center of the room with a curtain cutting through the middle. To the side, a small silver tray table was spread out with all your medical supplies, and the makeshift IV you fashioned was up at the corner of the bed. Clean sheets and towels were piled on the couch, and you draped one of the sheets over the table, setting a pillow at the top.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre’s voice echoed in the silent room. You weren’t surprised that she was already up, too, since she was likely just as nervous as you were.

With a tight smile, you replied, “Good morning, Feyre. I feel ready,” you half-lied. “Everything will go great, and your baby will be here in no time.”

“Nyx.” Feyre’s blue eyes shone in the dark room as she whispered the name again, more to herself than to you. “Rhys and I decided on the name last night. I think it will suit him, even if he's not a boy.”

“That’s a beautiful name, and so fitting,” you breathed, striding over to grab her hands in yours. “Baby Nyx, we’re ready whenever you are,” you said as Feyre wrapped her long arms around you, pulling you into a hug. Over her shoulder, you noticed the three Illyrians making their way in, along with three females.

A tall, bustling blonde with sparkling brown eyes, and two females who looked similar yet opposite. One had golden-brown hair, like Feyre’s, with sharp features cutting the planes of her stern face. The other female had a softer look, with brunette hair curling down her back and large brown eyes like a doe. All of their gazes were focused on you.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Rhys began. “This is my cousin, Morrigan, and Feyre’s sisters Nesta and Elain,” he motioned towards the females. Morrigan and Elain offered quick smiles, but Nesta stared you down, as if peering into your very soul. You knew they worried about their friend, sister, and High Lady.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you all. I know everyone is nervous but I promise Madja and I have done everything we can to prepare for today, and I don’t foresee any issues.”

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

Madja joined shortly after, helping you sterilize all your tools one more time before beginning. Feyre was lying down on the table, and Rhys had already removed any sensations in her body. Madja took your hands in hers. “I’m proud of you for accepting this challenge. Nobody is more ready for this than you. Believe in yourself. We will all be here should anything go wrong, but I know with your quick wit, it should be a smooth surgery. You’re going to do great.” Her eyes shone with pride at her apprentice, and you couldn’t help the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. Unable to find the words, you simply nodded and gave her a quick hug.

Feyre was staring at the ceiling, taking long deep breaths. Rhys was on her left, holding her hand, and Nesta was on the other side doing the same. Elain stood behind her, gently patting her hair in a soothing motion. The tension in the air was palpable, but holding a scalpel in your hand, you suddenly felt confident in your skills.

You checked with Rhys one last time to ensure he was focused on Feyre’s body. Lightly scraping the edge of the scalpel on her swollen belly, you asked, “Feyre, can you feel that?” She shook her head in response, and you whispered a silent prayer before cutting into her.

“Alright, everyone. Let’s begin.”

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

You had worked with cadavers before, but that didn’t prepare you for how much blood would spill out of the High Lady’s body. As you made the first deep incision, sweat began collecting on the back of your neck and brow. You suddenly became aware of everyone’s attention on you, causing your hand to tremble slightly. Everyone remained silent, the only sounds coming from your hands as you continued cutting through the deep layers of skin, fat, and muscle. You took long breaths to steady your hand.

I can do this, I know how to do this.

Madja handed you towel after towel to soak up Feyre’s pooling blood, and after multiple incisions, you peeled back the layers of her abdomen to reveal a fluid-filled sac encasing the precious life within. “Is everything okay? What’s going on? Why isn’t anyone saying anything?” Feyre’s barrage of questions pulled you out of your mind and back into the reality of the present moment. “Yes, everything looks great, Feyre. I’m about to cut the amniotic sac and pull baby Nyx out. So far, so good.” Rhys shot you a worried look, but you weren’t lying. Everything had been smooth sailing, up until now.

Madja wiped away the leaking fluid as you cut open the sac and pulled out Nyx. He was a beautiful baby, with tiny wings that matched his father’s, and jet-black hair matted down over his head. You quickly handed the baby to Madja before cutting the placenta and preparing to suture up Feyre’s belly. You were about to start closing her up and were so engrossed in the task at hand, you didn’t realize until you heard Rhys yell, “Why isn’t he crying? Why is he so quiet?!” Rhys rushed to Madja, and a blood-curdling scream erupted through the room. “Rhys! Rhys, I can’t, please, help!” Feyre managed to get out through strangled sobs. In his wake of panic, Rhys had forgotten to take away her pain. Cassian and Azriel slowly put a hand on the hilt of their matching daggers, pocketed into the belt of their leathers. Mor took a defensive stance, ready to attack and defend her nephew.

A tingling sensation began at the crown of your head and snaked its way down your back, rushing into your arms and legs. Your heart began to race as the anxiety pumped through your veins. Everyone’s eyes were on you, and for a second the room seemed frozen in time.

“Rhysand, we need you to focus on the High Lady. Let us worry about the baby, please.” Madja’s stern voice shook Rhys out of his panic, and the High Lord ran back to his mate, muttering apologies as he tried to soothe her. The room started moving again. Rhys kept a watchful eye over you and Madja as you fussed over the baby. Elain remained at Feyre’s side, trying to calm her, while Mor, Nesta, Azriel, and Cassian all encircled you as you stood over the baby. Nyx remained silent with his eyes closed, as if he was in a deep slumber.

I…I don’t know what to do. I didn’t read about this. I didn’t even know this could happen. What do I do what do I do what do I--

“Y/N, do something.” As if she could hear your thoughts, Nesta’s sharp voice had you snapping up your head to meet her steely gaze. You don’t know why, but you looked to those dark hazel eyes, for comfort or guidance or…you didn’t even know what you were hoping for. Azriel dipped his chin in an imperceptible nod, encouraging you to move. You nodded back at Nesta, and began chest compressions on the tiny Illyrian, using your two fingers to pump his heart and breathe into his mouth.

The room felt too hot, too cramped, as you kept going.

Compress, compress, breath, breath.

You continued for 2 minutes, the room deathly silent.

“Y/N…hand me my baby right NOW!,” Feyre roared across the room.

Before you could turn around to face the High Lord and Lady, a shrieking cry pierced through the air. The color suddenly returned to Nyx’s face and he began crying, flailing his arms and kicking his legs.

You hadn’t even realized you were sobbing, but you wiped your tear-stained cheeks as you grabbed the baby and carried him over to Feyre, placing his bloody body on her chest. Rhys was on his knees next to the bed, sobbing with his head nestled in Feyre’s neck. They both looked up at you with wet eyes, and Rhys kissed your hands over and over. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for this,” he repeated. You sank to the ground and gave him a long hug before kissing Feyre on the cheek. “Let me finish closing you up, then we can get cleaned up and rest.”

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

You finished suturing and bandaging Feyre’s belly. After greeting baby Nyx with a shower of kisses and coos, the rest of the Inner Circle had left to give the new parents privacy. You didn’t need them to vocalize their appreciation, the hopeful look in their eyes as they met with yours was confirmation enough that they were all grateful for what you had done. Relief washed over you as you sat on the couch, stretching out the aches that had spread throughout your limbs.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N. You handled this entire situation with grace and poise. I knew you could do it, I never once doubted you.” Madja quipped as she walked out of the room, Cassian winnowing her back down to the clinic.

Pride and joy filled your heart as you walked over to check on Nyx. Cuddling against his mother, he was as gorgeous as expected after Madja had given him a bath. You were about to talk to Feyre about how she could start breastfeeding, but before you could say anything, she blurted through tears, “Y/N, I have no idea how to thank you. You’ve given me the gift of my child when all other options had failed. I am forever indebted to you.”

“Oh, please, Feyre--” She cut you off before you could finish.

“Rhys and I have been thinking, and we want to offer you a place in our home. I know we haven’t known each other for long, but you’ve become more than just an acquaintance, and we hope you feel the same. We want you to stay here, in the House of Wind, so you can study medicine freely in the library below. Rhys spoke with one of the priestesses, Clotho, who manages the library. She let us know there is at least an entire floor dedicated to healing and medical texts. Please, Y/N. It’s the least we can do to thank you.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your eyes darted back and forth between Feyre and Rhys, mouth slightly open. “I… I don’t-- I can’t,” you stammered.

“Please, Y/N. It would be our honor to have you join our family here. I know the rest of them would be thrilled if you stayed, and living here with them would give you a chance to get to know everyone better.”

It was no lie that despite only spending a few days with them, they all did feel like close friends, maybe even family. They had made you feel comfortable and welcomed, offering you a place in their home. The opportunity to study in the massive library was so enticing, you knew you couldn’t say no. 

The smile that spread across your face was answer enough, and Rhys and Feyre beamed right back at you.

“Thank you, Y/N. Welcome to our Inner Circle.” A playful spark lit up Rhysand’s eyes as you made your way outside, leaving the new parents to their baby, and feeling grateful for this new chapter of your life.

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

[chunkylechonk]

Weight of the Cards

“Can I please check your ID, and be sure to have your entrance fee ready before entering the room,” the casino employee said. 

Ethan stepped forward nervously, his shoes sinking into the plush carpet. As he handed over his driver’s license to the clerk, his ears caught the faintest click from somewhere nearby. He glanced behind him, but the cacophony of lights and sounds from the rest of the casino were like an ocean, swallowing a single drop of rain. When he turned back, the clerk was smiling at him widely. “And can I see your chips, sir?” 

Only managing a grimace in return, Ethan held up two: a blue 10 written in the middle of the checkered disks. They were all that were left of a very bad night, a very bad couple nights if he was being honest, and he needed to change his luck quick. So when another guest, an older man with a graying beard and wearing a flashy, purple chrome-colored shirt, told him about this secret poker table in the backroom of the casino, Ethan had felt it may be his only chance.

The clerk took the two chips and glanced at them before dropping them into a slot by his side. He smiled again as he handed back Ethan’s ID. “Your chips will be waiting at your seat. I hope you enjoy your time with us and that you win big.”

He stepped aside, ushering Ethan past the desk and towards the velvet curtain draped across the doorway. Lifting his hand, Ethan took a deep breath before he pushed through the threshold, the old man’s words coming unbidden to his mind. You’ll definitely gain more than you ever imagined. Pulling the heavy curtain back, he hoped that the man was right. 

The backroom was rather small, dominated by the poker table at its center. It was structured differently than Ethan would have expected: with the dealer in a hollow space in the middle; the players spaced around the origin at regular intervals. A large circle light hung overhead, illuminating the table while casting shadows across the rest of the room. Ethan squinted slightly, and saw a fully-stocked bar in the back corner. The bartender stood behind the counter, cleaning the inside of a glass with a rag. Upon spotting Ethan looking his way, he gave a slight bow, gesturing for him to approach the counter

Ethan walked over and perched nervously on the edge of one of the barstools there, glancing around at some of the other figures in the room. He turned back to the bartender’s welcoming smile, just as wide as the employee’s outside. The man flipped the glass he was cleaning into the air, simultaneously turning around and grabbing a crystal decanter from the shelf behind him. Before Ethan could even comprehend what was happening, the man turned back around, his hand out palm-down, and caught the glass perfectly on his knuckles. His smile could have lit up the entire back room. 

“First time here, buddy?” the bartender queried as he poured a thin stream of amber liquid into the glass. A coaster materialized in his hand next; the glass placed on it and slid in front of Ethan before he could respond. He ruefully took the glass, feeling a mixture of awe and embarrassment.

“Is it that obvious?” Ethan said, chuckling softly into his glass as he took a sip. The whiskey set his mouth on fire and scorched a trail as it slithered down his throat. Trying to save face, he masked his cough by continuing. “I don’t know why I feel like I’m going to get murdered back here or something.”  

The bartender laughed, inclining his head for Ethan to take another drink, which he did with marginally more success. “Nah, the regulars may seem intimidating, but they love new blood back here. Makes things exciting.” Grabbing the glass from Ethan’s hand right as he drained the last bit, he winked as he poured some more. “Besides, we only murder the guys who aren’t so cute.”

Ethan blushed, sure his cheeks were already aflame from the liquor in his stomach. “Thanks. I definitely feel a little out of my depth right now. Being the only newbie here doesn’t make me feel much better.” 

The man chuckled and casually waved toward the poker table behind them. “Don’t worry, newbie, I’m sure you'll grow into it.”

Feeling a little encouraged meeting a friendly welcome, Ethan stood with his second drink and approached the poker table, assuming that the single empty chair that was available must be for him. As Ethan drew near, the other men around the table turned to look at him, and Ethan felt a cold sweat running down his back. There were five others already there, and it seemed that Ethan had been the last to arrive.  

The first person he noticed was the older gentleman that had invited him to this secret rendezvous. He lounged back casually in his seat, with his purple suit jacket unbuttoned and thrown open. The man to his left was dressed much more subdued: a simple black polo shirt that bunched up where it was tucked into his tan, pleated pants. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, with a neat haircut and glasses that slipped down his nose slightly. The next participant was only slightly more remarkable, and he occupied the chair that was to the right of Ethan’s. He had twisted slightly to see who had come in, and Ethan took in the plain T-shirt, which was stained and hugged his protruding belly awkwardly. His neck was obscured by an extra padding of fat, and when he turned back around, his ill-fitting jeans and ample posterior gave Ethan a view of his ass crack. Honestly, the guy would have fit in much more plopped in front of a game console than at this supposedly exclusive meeting. 

When Ethan sat down, his chubby neighbor gave him a nod before pensively looking back at his phone, both of his stout thumbs tapping furiously away at the keyboard. Ethan sipped his drink and glanced to his left at the other two players that sat with them. 

The Asian man on his left was dressed impeccably, his suit tailored to show off the strong upper body and powerful legs that he had attained. On his wrist was a large gold watch, and several rings decorated his fingers. Ethan felt inferior sitting next to the guy, even though earlier today he had thought his outfit rather stylish, perhaps in a more understated kind of way. The man didn’t even glance his way, but Ethan suspected that the way he leaned forward, showing off his defined profile and sharp jawline, was a cunning way of showing off. But as he finally looked at the final player, he completely forgot about the stunning man to his left. 

This guy had to be at least 400 lbs, and he dominated the space as if he relished every bit of his size. There was no sign of the man’s chair underneath him, as it was completely engulfed by the wide stance he had to take to accommodate his massive belly. It hung heavily to sit in his lap, further accentuated by his baby blue shirt, tucked in and tracing the curve of his body. Suspenders of a darker shade bowed out on either side, and the stranger had one hand resting gently on the top of his belly, the other holding a cigar up to his lips. He let out a dense cloud of smoke from his mouth, blurring his rounded face, his bushy eyebrows giving him expression of a gentle scowl. His eyes pierced through the flimsy veil as he regarded Ethan, taking a long drag of his cigar. When Ethan’s eyes made it up to meet his, the man had already looked away, as if he was not interested in his presence at all. 

After a few more minutes, the dealer in the middle of the table deftly passed out two cards to the six players, his silence slightly unnerving Ethan. Unlike the other employees who were all smiles, the dealer’s wide-brimmed hat with the light directly overhead cast deep shadows across his face. Once their cards were in hand, the dealer uncovered the first two cards of the deck, beginning the first round. He was beginning to wonder if no one was allowed to speak, and if they were even playing with the same rules as regular poker, until the man that had invited him to this game suddenly spoke up. 

“Since I have the honor of going first, figured I’d introduce myself to all you lovely bastards I’ve not seen before. Name’s Quentin, and you best remember it,” he gave a cheeky smile as he threw two red chips into the center, “cause I’m the one gonna rob all ya out of heart and home.” Leaning back, he put his hands behind his head and laughed heartily to himself as his neighbor gave him a sour look.  

Ethan was surprised by the quiet voice of the next player, which carried a heavy Mexican accent. He simply told them his name, Angel, sniffing and pushing up his glasses as he threw his own chips into the pile. Next was Ethan’s chunky neighbor, whose name was Billy. As the guy leaned forward to place two chips in the center, Ethan noticed that his shirt clung to his sides, and when he sat back again his shirt had risen to reveal a thin strip of pale belly fat. It bulged over the waistband of his pants, looking soft and malleable. He had to look away quickly, since it was his turn and he hadn’t even looked at his cards yet. Scrambling, he quickly matched the bet and introduced himself to everyone, earning a mock salute from Quentin and a long look from Arthur. Great way to start getting back your winnings, he berated himself, downing the rest of his alcohol for liquid courage. 

The remaining two men matched the bets, introducing themselves in order as Yu-jun and Arthur.  The first game continued from there, and Ethan had a fairly bad hand once he glanced at his cards. He wasn’t even sure if this poker game had the same rules as he was used to. The chips he had started with seemed to have no basis, and the others around the table all had a varying amount. After all the cards were revealed, he only had a pair, while Quentin lauded his luck, having attained a full house that let him snag all the collected chips. Arthur reached over and clapped the victorious man on the back, seemingly unbothered by his loss. The second round went a little better for Ethan, but his hand still wasn’t enough against Arthur, who this time won with three of a kind. 

The players took a short break, and Ethan counted his chips. He had started with one-hundred seventy-eight pieces collectively, for whatever reason, and now was down twenty. He was wondering how much he could lose before cutting his losses when the dealer began giving out extra chips to the players: a black chip for Quentin, a yellow for Arthur, and blue for Ethan. He hadn’t expected that, though looking around the others didn’t seem at all surprised. A light tap on his shoulder caught his attention; the friendly bartender from before was standing behind him, his soothing smile instantly setting Ethan at ease. 

“Every couple rounds there’s a short intermission to allocate winnings and reward the players who have been playing well,” he explained, leaning past Ethan and filling his empty glass without asking for confirmation. “Each hand earns you points based on value, regardless of the outcome. At the end the top three players are awarded extra chips. Think of it like a bonus for playing well and maybe for luck as well. Even if you’re beaten by a better hand or simply a bluff, you still can earn something just because you had a good draw.”

Ethan graciously acknowledged the advice, awkwardly trying to twist around and meet the man’s eyes  “Thank you so much. I don’t know how I would survive without you.” He instantly cursed his choice of words, blaming the two drinks he’d already had for his tongue slip.  

But the guy chuckled and patted his shoulder, resting it there and slowly massaging his arm. Ethan hadn’t realized how tense he’d been, but didn’t pull away from the reassuring touch. We’re all just here to drink and have a good time. I have a feeling you’re going to win big before the night is over. ”

As the bartender drifted away to fill other drinks, Ethan turned back and his eyes fell on Quentin across the table. His jaw dropped. The man was still sitting languidly in his chair, his arms resting across the sides. But he’d suddenly acquired a substantial belly protruding from his center; a perfect sphere that stuck out several inches past his chest. The buttons of his shirt were still holding on, but large diamonds of exposed flesh were appearing between the ones at the crest of his midsection, revealing the peppering of white hair that also covered his stomach. Although mostly covered by his shirt, his chest was pressed against its confines as well, both nipples showing through the straining fabric. 

Ethan had no idea what had happened. He was positive that the guy who had invited him had not been this overweight, either before or during the game. But Quentin seemed unbothered, talking to Arthur at his side and laughing at something he was saying. Arthur also looked slightly bigger, although it was hard to tell with his already substantial size. Ethan felt that his belly had bowed out a little further; his underbelly encroaching just a little bit more into his lap. His jowls looked larger as well, rounding out his face and adding to his chubby appearance. Looking at the pair, acting as if nothing was amiss, Ethan felt like he was losing his mind.

The games continued shortly thereafter, and Ethan was definitely beginning to feel the effects of the strong drink. The entire room seemed to take on a hazy appearance, as if Ethan was looking at things through the sweltering mirage of the desert. He felt laser focused on the cards in his hand, but the edges of his vision warped and blurred. He was still watching the two men across from him however, noticing that everytime Quentin leaned forward to reach for his chips his belly looked even bigger. He glanced at the others, but no one else was exhibiting drastic physical changes at the moment. But the atmosphere had indeed changed, with all the participants bantering and joking more than before as they played through a couple games, chips exchanging hands repeated after each one. 

Again, they took a brief intermission, and Ethan took a moment to look at his total chips. He had earned the second place reward this time, which had bumped his total up to one-hundred ninety-eight. He was excited that he had finally made progress from where he had started, and the excitement made him shift in his chair. Then he shifted again, wiggling back and forth a few times, struggling to find a comfortable position. His slacks were hugging his waist awkwardly, which he hadn’t noticed before. Ignoring the sensation, Ethan figured he just hadn’t noticed before due to how nervous he had been. The third glass of whiskey he had over the last few games was helping him relax a lot more and enjoy the game. 

Billy, silent for most of the games and slowly losing more and more, grabbed his attention. With a sense of deja vu, Ethan was again left flabbergasted by the sudden change of the guy sitting next to him who was definitely not Billy. Gone was the chunky, awkward guy, whose clothes, once ill-fitting, had gone in the opposite direction and had turned baggy on his lean frame. His body had lost the layer of fat that had buried it, revealing skinny arms and a slim face. He no longer looked like that greasy nerd from a few moments ago; now Ethan would say Billy looked leaner than he was. He snapped out of his musing when Billy held a blue chip in front of his eyes.

“I’m backing out dude. I thought I'd give you a little gift on my way.” The stranger, who must have been Billy, handed a chip to Ethan, standing up as he did so. “You’re doing pretty well, but I heard that you’re new here, so I’ll give you a heads up. ” He gestured to the other men remaining, the movement illustrating how different his body was from mere moments ago. “It doesn't seem like anyone has explained to you what they’re betting with here. I would ask before it’s too late.” Holding up his pants slightly so they didn’t fall down, Billy waved and walked toward the exit. 

Hearing the sounds of another goodbye behind him, he turned and saw Yu-Jun standing to leave. The suave businessman had also changed drastically. His tailored suit hugged his body as at least twenty extra pounds of pure muscle had attached to his frame. His biceps were as big as grapefruits, and his shoulders were so broad that everyone could see the muscle definition through the material. Arthur shook the guy’s hand before Yu-Jun left, and as he turned he noticed Billy standing to leave as well. Ethan saw his eyes scan the guy’s body, like a wolf discovering a new source of prey. He strode toward the smaller guy and draped his muscular arm around Billy’s diminutive frame; his cocky smirk on full display as he basically corralled Billy toward the exit. As they walked out of the back room, Yu-jun leaned down to whisper something in Billy’s ear as his hand ghosted down to rest possessively on the guy's ass. 

Ethan stared at the blue chip he’d been given. He rolled it across his knuckles to collect his chaotic thoughts before placing it in the pile with the rest of his earnings. As he did though, Ethan began to feel a strange sensation in his stomach. At first he thought he had imagined it, but a growing pressure was building up behind his belly button. Looking down, he watched as his shirt began to creep up his stomach that was growing before his eyes. His waistband began digging uncomfortably into the underside of the new roll of flab. The way it bulged over his waistband reminded him ominously of Billy earlier that night. Ethan couldn’t believe his eyes, but when he reached down and grabbed the accumulated fat in each hand, he knew it was real. At a complete loss, he gave it a shake, watching the way his softer body bounced.

What the fuck just happened to me? Ethan’s mind was reeling, trying to comprehend what he had just seen. Nothing strange had preceded the change, the only thing he had done was add the extra chip to—. 

It suddenly all clicked into place. The number of chips Ethan had started with, the number feeling vaguely familiar for some reason; the discrepancy between each player's initial totals; the sudden changes he had witnessed the others incur, and the smaller one he had just experienced. Before he’d left, Billy had said he didn’t seem to know what they were betting with, as if it would be anything else besides money. But it was, and suddenly the bartender’s words from earlier took on a completely different meaning: I have a feeling you’re going to win big before the night is over. It wasn’t money they were playing for; it was actual weight. 

A deep voice intruded upon his sudden revelation, and Ethan looked up to see Arthur considering him. He inhaled deeply from his cigar, allowing the smoke to trickle from the corners of his lips before he spoke again. “So, did you figure it out, boy?”

The authority of his voice and stature left Ethan no alternative but to nod mutely and accept the bizarre situation he found himself in. Maybe it was the drink that was making him more malleable to the possibility. Maybe it was the way Arthur still had not broken eye contact, making him feel like a mouse being assessed by a lion. The larger man at last looked away and motioned to someone behind Ethan. He rapped his fingers on the tabletop, and the dealer began passing out cards as the bartender slid smoothly next to Ethan’s side. Arthur’s eyes were back on him as the server deftly poured more of that amber whiskey into his glass. “Let me elaborate while we play the next few rounds.”

The four remaining players each grabbed their cards as Arthur continued to speak. “I’m sure Quentin didn’t explain sufficiently when he invited you here tonight. However, I assure you his phrasing wasn’t meant to mislead you. I can tell you’ve realized we’re betting the weight on our bodies during this game, but just like any other game, you can cash it out when the betting is finished. Every ten pounds is ten thousand dollars.” Ethan almost dropped his glass as he had been about to take a drink, eliciting a laugh from Quentin. Arthur simply smiled, “Not a bad deal, is it?”   

 As he had been listening, the bartender had eased his way to stand directly behind Ethan, resting both hands on his shoulders. Like before, he began to apply pressure and massage Ethan’s wound up muscles, sending waves of electricity through him. The sensation made him relax physically, and he could barely focus on the game as Arthur spoke again. “Of course the money is nice, but some of us here don’t play simply for that. It’s the weight that we’re really after.” He placed his hands on the large expanse of his belly as he said that. “This feeling of being one of the biggest men in the room is simply intoxicating, and then coming here and feeling your clothes shrink before your eyes as you grow even larger. Feeling the fat start to bury you as it envelops your arms and legs, causes your ass to expand, and your gut to swell out in front of you.” Ethan could feel Arthur building up to something important as he lifted his heavy belly and let it thump heavily into his lap. His dress shirt looked basically painted on to the giant orb of lard it contained—it was basically see-through—which Ethan could not help but be enraptured by. 

“Then again, getting big isn’t the only thing that we enjoy. Watching other guys come in here and leave twice as large can be pretty arousing too.” As he said that, he reached for the top button of his shirt and undid it. “Let me get a little more comfortable so I can show you what I mean.”

One by one, Arthur undid the buttons on his dress shirt to reveal his monstrous belly. It seemed even bigger now that it had been set free. While the bottom appeared soft and hung agonizingly over the waistband of his pants, the top of his gut was firm and shone in the low lighting. The shelf his belly formed met with his pecs, although they were so soft that his nipples sagged down and formed a deep crease underneath. With his suspenders now framing his chest, Arthur’s pecs were squished together, highlighting his already significant man tits. 

He discarded his shirt and gestured to Quentin, who had been watching the entire scene with a devilish grin. Taking the queue, Quentin stood and quickly stripped off his own straining shirt, showing off his new spare tire, though it felt dwarfed by Arthur’s giant mass. Then he began to unbutton and shuffle out of his pants, allowing everyone to see how much his body shook as he worked himself out of the tight material. The jockstrap he wore matched the purple jacket he’d worn earlier, making it seem like he knew this would happen tonight. It was also tight, causing his love handles to flood over the straps. He seemed to have accumulated most of his weight in his lower body: his thighs looked positively doughy with the excess pounds, and the two giant spheres of his ass added to the width of his frame. Obviously reveling in everyone’s stares, he sauntered over to Arthur, draping his arms around the bigger man’s shoulders and playfully squeezing his pillowy tits.  

Ethan had not been able to tear his eyes away the entire time, completely enthralled by the men and the constant stimulation of the bartender. Arthur turned his attention to Ethan once again. “So boy, do you like what you see as well? Does it turn you on seeing these fat bodies we’ve earned and grown tonight?” He reached behind him and almost lovingly caressed Quentin’s belly where it hung by his side. In a daze, Ethan could only nod silently again. 

A smirk grew on Arthur’s face, as if his confession were some sort of prize to him. He pointed to Angel, whom Ethan had completely forgotten was still present. “That’s exactly how our little Angel used to feel as well.” Little was said in a mocking tone, as Angel had swelled to at least 250 lbs without Ethan even noticing. The quiet man was breathing laboriously as he leaned back in his seat. His body seemed made for taking on weight, spreading across his whole body and making him look absolutely rotund. His neck had been swallowed by a double chin, and his previously baggy polo barely reached down to his belly button. By watching Angel’s gentle ministrations to his belly, he could tell it was extremely soft.

“You and Angel should be at about the same size after that last game,” Arthur said, motioning to Angel to shift seats and sit beside Ethan. The fat boy heaved himself upright, and he pushed his glasses up subconsciously as he waddled to Ethan’s side. He had completely forgotten about their games, but now he saw the dealer holding a yellow chip out for him to reward his playing the past few rounds. Feeling numb, he placed it in his pile, raising his total to two hundred forty-eight. He distantly registered Quentin and Angel getting the other two chips, though only he seemed to have reached a new maximum. At first he was confused why Arthur had said they were the same size. His next words clarified, “Just sit back and look at our little Angel over there, so you can get a sense of what you're in for.” 

His chair was turned to face the other man, and similar to before, Ethan began to feel a growing discomfort in his stomach. He gripped his flabby midsection, and felt as new fat began to fill him from the inside. In a matter of seconds he had grown a proper beer belly, the additional weight straining his shirt. Unlike last time, however, fat also began forming across other areas as well. He stared at the mirror image of Angel as his chest puffed up and fat crept under his armpits, forcing his arms to rise and somewhat hug his frame. Ethan could see the chubby face he now felt on his own, and Ethan caught the glint of delight in Angel’s eyes as he watched. The discomfort of his pants digging into his belly was becoming unbearable, and as his thighs were barraged by the onslaught of fat as well, he feared his pants might fray and burst apart. Especially his rear, which had completely filled his seat, was threatening to break out. 

The other men watched Ethan’s body grow with rapt attention. The bartender had stepped back as the changes had wracked through his body, but now leaned close to his ear. “Let’s give these heavyweights what they want, shall we?”

At first, Ethan didn’t understand. But as he was turned back towards the others, hands reached down to the hem of his tight shirt, and he allowed his arms to rise and his shirt to be pulled off. The fabric brushing against his enlarged nipples stole a slight moan from his lips. Now shirtless, he gazed down at his belly as the bartender set to work kneading the excess fat. Bright red marks zigzagged down his sides, and Ethan had the sudden image of being like a dumpling stuffed to the brim in its packaging. 

In his drunken state, Ethan simply sat there for a while and took in the events as they unfolded in front of him. As his belly was fondled from behind, Angel also began squeezing his own fat, causing his shirt to ride up even higher. Two more chairs were brought over to them, and Arthur sat heavily in one of them. The other seemed to be for Quentin, but the eccentric man instead perched on the other man’s leg. Their bellies squished together deliciously as Quentin leaned into Arthur, kissing him deeply and feeling up his body. Arthur responded by grabbing the man’s bulbous rear and pulling him in closer; the movement showcasing Quentin to the other two. 

When they parted, Arthur grinned before clicking his fingers at the bartender, who had still been groping Ethan. Like a conductor directing his band, the employee instantly ceased, rushing around the group and giving each of them a glass of clear liquid. Once all four men had a drink in his hand, Arthur raised his glass for a toast, “To new friends, well-played games, and all we gained tonight!” Everyone cheered and downed the strong drink, before succumbing to the debauchery around them. 

 It was clear that Arthur was in complete control of the night. After all, that was why Ethan had been instantly intrigued by him when he’d laid eyes on his massive figure. With an outstretched hand, he was able to convey his desires, receiving a new cigar without a single word. A glance at Angel saw him remove his shirt completely, finally allowing the others to appreciate his girth. Quentin decided to take his seat and sidled up to the Mexican man’s side. He whispered something Ethan couldn’t hear, but the message was clear as he wrapped an arm around Angel’s waist, grabbing handfuls of fat as the guy groaned in pleasure. 

Turning back to Arthur, the man seemed to decide Ethan had been a spectator long enough. Those puppeteer hands beckoned him silently, bringing him into his sphere of power. Arthur placed a hand on the front of Ethan’s gut, his meaty hands exuding warmth as he traced slow circles around its circumference.

“Did you gain everything that you imagined, boy?” Before Ethan could even answer, Arthur took a long drag on his cigar. He firmly grabbed Ethan’s chin and drew him in, locking lips with him and letting the accumulated smoke overwhelm his senses. Ethan instantly grew lightheaded, both from the kiss and the high of the smoke. Arthur repeated the exchange, only pulling back at the last second to let the last remnants of the smoke wash over Ethan’s face. When it was clear, Ethan looked to see Arthur’s eyes on him. “You may have acknowledged that  you liked all of this,” he said, gesturing at his exposed body, “now it’s time you showed us how much.”

Fully under his spell, Ethan allowed himself to finally let go, diving down towards Arthur’s enormous belly. He realized as his face met the warm expanse of flesh that this was what he’d wanted from the beginning. From afar, it was simply impossible to fully appreciate how large Arthur was. Ethan kissed the furthest part of his belly, realizing that it surged out so far Arthur physically could not reach this part of his body anymore. That idea turned him on even more, and he pressed himself further into the obese man, sinking into his body. Short hair tickled his nose as he roamed across Arthur’s gut, planting kisses wherever he went. 

His movements also made it clear how much his own body had changed. Leaning forward so much, Ethan could feel his belly straining painfully against his pants. Refusing to pull away, he reached desperately to unbutton his pants, but the mass of his own fat obscured the buttons. 

Arthur must have noticed the movement, because when he separated from the man, the bartender had appeared again by their side. He coyly pushed Ethan to lean back and suck in his gut, allowing him to kneel down and reach between his legs to undo his suffering pants. Ethan felt instant relief as the button was freed and he breathed out heavily, not realizing that his belly had been held back so much. It flooded forward several inches to push against the bartender’s head, whose eyes rose to stare with obvious lust at his doughy middle. But he seemed to retain his composure and simply took Ethan’s pants off fully, stepping aside for Arthur to access him again.

The two fat men kissed passionately, and Arthur grabbed Ethan by the budding love handles he’d acquired. “I knew we’d found a keeper as soon as you walked in.” He took a deep breath and jiggled Ethan’s belly, watching the new fat bounce and ripple across his whole body. “I got a way of sensing these types of things. You can try to fight it if you want, but you’re nothing but a fat boy now.” He reached up and caressed both of Ethan’s nipples. They had become larger and more pointed, and just like before the stimulation to them elicited a deep moan from the smaller guy. “Cash all this weight out, but you’ll be back. Just like the rest of us, it’s not about the money anymore.” He pushed Ethan down to suck on his nipple, sighing as his tongue darted hungrily around it. “All we want is to be fat.”

As Arthur said it out loud, he knew in his heart that he did want to be this fat—no, even bigger—for the rest of his life. He imagined himself getting to be as big as Arthur: expanding out in all directions, having to widen his stance whenever he stood or even sat to accommodate his gigantic belly, losing definition all over his body as his arms, legs, and even his face got swallowed with lard. Maybe he would cash out fifty pounds or so tonight, but he would always keep a little paunch for him to play with. Over time, he might even start these games as large as Arthur did. The thought instantly got him hard, and he grabbed a chunk of his own blubber in excitement. Arthur was right, it wasn’t just about getting fatter; he looked at the three gorgeous butterballs around him and felt like he might swoon. Who else might eventually wander through that velvet curtain? 

“I think you might have found yourself a regular,” Ethan agreed, tickling Arthur’s chubby cheek playfully. He glanced over at Quentin and Angel, the former of whom was behind the other and devilishly bouncing his belly while kissing his neck. They both looked up at his words and nodded in acquiescence, obviously turned on by everything as well. “Although, I might give you a run for your money one day, big guy.” He compared his belly next to Arthur’s: smaller for now, but it was only his first night. “I have a good feeling that I’ll grow into this.”

The four men lost themselves to pleasure the rest of the night. The jumbled dings and sounds of slot machines and rolled dice filled the air outside the room, masking their moans of pleasure and indulgence. When they finally exited that room, no one but the grinning employee at the partition knew what had just happened that night. Ethan cradled two blue checkered disks in his hand as he left: the number 10 etched into the center of both. Though they were small, he knew they were by no means insignificant. They were an investment into his future.