#i've been waiting for this part for so long

[killinkiwi]

My Little Sodapop

Summary: After a depressive spell after a heart shattering break up, you find yourself distracting yourself from the voice in your head. Perhaps you can fixate on a member of a new boy band that debuted literally in front of you, but is it what it seems?

Content Warning: Cheating, Depressive Thoughts, Feeling Horny Af, Misuse of a Lightstick, Masturbation, Low-grade Stalking

Be gentle with me - I know I like it rough but it has been a long time since I've written something and I am a little vulnerable, okay 🥺

I am very rusty and didn't really proofread but here we go! I was inspired to clack away once again my some really talented people but also because there isn't enough Abs, so please enjoy.

Also, I was inspired to clack back onto the keyboard by @kinsuim who has been posting non-stop masterpieces and if you haven't already, please go check out their work. Phenomenal, chef's kiss.

-

Three years, you had given him, three full years of your fucking life and it would end this way. You had given him your heart and he shattered your soul.

Daniel, your now ex-boyfriend, pleaded at first for you to understand. "It's not what it looks like" and "Please, it didn't mean anything" poured from his mouth, clichés that fell on deaf ears. However, when you couldn't stop crying, when you just couldn't understand his side of the story, those words quickly became truly toxic.

"It's your fault, you're never here" because you work to support him and yourself so you can live somewhat comfortably.

"You say you're always tired, you never have time to satisfy me" because you are always working and struggle to maintain a social life.

"You've let yourself go, it's hard to be attracted to you sometimes" because you would come home exhausted, but still have to clean and cook as well as take care of chores he couldn't seem to find time to do - how could you have time to pamper and relax?

"Maybe if you weren't a fucking prude and put out more, I wouldn't have to go elsewhere..." Truthbetold, you couldn't find a suitable response to this one. Yes, you were chronically exhausted all the time from constantly working overtime. Yes, your stress levels felt through the roof 24/7. But generally - you just weren't in the mood to be intimate with him.

Sex with him was average at best - minimal foreplay, switching between two to three positions, and just waiting for it (for him) to finish so you could shower and sleep. You loved him with your entire, but sex with him wasn't the highlight of the relationship. His love for you, his adventurous soul, his caring heart was what made you love him beyond the realm.

But that seemed all for not now.

Not when you caught him fucking his coworker on your bed, in your room, in your apartment.

And in front of your fucking cat.

-

The good news was your name was on the entirety of the apartment so Daniel had no say when you kicked his ass out. Of course he fought back, stated he had paid a minor part of the rent, but the landlord (bless her soul) was quick to state he wasn't even on the lease and therefore had no right to stay. After half-an-hour of fighting and a threat to call authorities, Daniel proceeded to walk off the property with several boxes of haphazardly packed shit.

And you were left cold, in an apartment you once considered warm with love. Now it just felt empty, dull, lifeless - or perhaps that was just a reflection of yourself.

You refused to slump on the floor and sob, like the women in dramas do. Instead, you took a different approach that they do which is walk to the nearest convenience store and purchase several bottles of soju, get drunk off your ass, dismantle the entirety of the apartment to rid anything that reminded you of Daniel, then pass out on the couch because the bed was "tainted with disgusting betrayal" you muttered.

You refused to cry at first, trying to feign strong and stay angry while you poured another shot of soju. But the more you drank, the more the unwanted emotions crawled to the surface. You began hearing a rather grim track play in your mind, repeating, like a broken record over and over.

Sobs racked your body for several moments before you passed out from mental and emotional exhaustion.

"You're the problem, Y/N, you'll never be good enough."

-

You felt like a zombie for weeks after the break up, that same voice just scratching at the back of your mind constantly with the same grim message. At first you tried to ignore it, but it felt like that made it louder. You saw a therapist and while it helped to discuss your emotions and trauma, it didn't stop the voice from preying upon you in the night. You tried so many methods - went for walks, took supplements, tried working out, hell you redecorated the apartment and even bought a new bed!

Nothing was working. The pain and misery only grew, burning like a roaring fire. You began slowly accepting the voice, when...

Golden.

HUNTR/X released Golden and it was beautiful. It was the first time you cried in an accepting manner, almost relieving in a way. Something about the way the lyrics soothed your soul, made you feel warm, made that voice quiet for awhile. It was a breathe of fresh air.

It quickly became your most replayed song.

The voice that played in your head was muted, but the volume would crank up again when you would see loving couples walking around the city. It would become loud when you watched a romantic drama and felt your heart twinge with heartache again. It was hard to not be reminded that you weren't enough for Daniel...

It was this very thought you were pushing out of your head right now as you walked through the busy plaza, seeing cute couples holding hands and wearing matching outfits.

Golden played through your earbuds but lately, as you replayed it more and more, it lost its potency. The song was still beautiful and you had really wanted to see it live, but the night of it was canceled because the lead singer Rumi had laryngitis and was unable to perform. It still helped, but the voice in the back of your head was persistent and reminded you of your shame.

"You know we're gonna be, gonna be golden..." you muttered to yourself, trying to mask the voice once again. Today it was being especially persistent, loud enough that you decided going for a walk downtown was a better option than staying at home sulking. You thought that the sun and fresh air could do you some good, but that was before you saw the cutest couples just marching around together.

"You don't deserve that love, it's not meant for someone like you," that voice whispered once more, clearly cutting through the song that blasted into your ears.

"Fuck you," you couldn't help but mutter back. Frustration clawed at your soul, making you rip out your earbuds and stop in the middle of the sidewalk - inconveniencing the couple behind you and clearly upsetting the girlfriend.

"Good," that voice drawled, "Why should you be the only one to feel inconvenienced?"

Ignoring it once again, you quickly apologized with a slight bow before scampering to the side. Now out of the way, you surveyed the bustling area around you. It was abnormally busy for a random Thursday. Adults and teenagers alike were running about, peeking into stores, gossiping while sipping on coffees, buying snacks from the street vendors.

Which is where one vendor caught your eye - a bright pink pop-up with a lion head on top. It seemed rather busy, customers coming and going with hands full of what looked like canned drinks and flyers.

Perhaps it was the curiosity of it's popularity that drew you over, but you found yourself drawn to the little pop-up and waited in line. Under the lion head the title SAJA BOYS was scrawled.

"Who are the Saja Boys?" A gentleman behind you muttered, mirroring your thoughts as well.

You finally got to the front where you met a rather exhausted looking individual, their eyes glazed with a lifeless hue.

"Thank you for joining us here at the plaza to see the debut of the newest boy band, Saja Boys. Please take this free soda and cloth, here is a flyer as well. Enjoy the performance starting here soon."

This person had clearly said it hundreds of times with how monotonous it sounded.

You looked down at the goodies you were handed. There a bright pink can of soda with the lion logo on it, a black cloth with a pink lions head, and a flyer on with their name and logo on it as well. According to the information, it was starting shortly in the plaza center and it was a free performance.

"Why not, might as well," you mumbled to yourself as you began to walk over. Stuffing the flyer and cloth into your little side bag, you looked closer at the can of soda you were given. "What the actual fuck is Abs flavored soda?"

You turned the can to see what the ingredients list was because Abs wasn't a flavor but instead of seeing the usual table of additives and flavorings, it just said 1000% YOU on the back. Cute but useless for deciphering anything about the drink.

Regardless, you cracked it open and took a cautionary sip. It was pleasant, refreshing even. It had a fruity yet florla taste, something with berries and perhaps hibiscus. It was surgary and sweet, and honestly addicting. You almost hoped there would be more available after the free concert because this was delicious.

Your attention to the deliciously cold beverage was torn away when a cloud of purple smoke suddenly started to form in the plaza center, quite close to where you were actually. And just as sudden as the smoke, a background track started to play, the smoke clearing, and there stood...

Holy shit, these men were dangerously attractive.

Boy bands were objectively good looking, but these men were sinfully attractive. They wore bright colors and had even brighter hair, except who you assumed was the dashing lead who had very fluffy black hair. Their voices were like hot honey, smooth but set fire to your insides and soul. And clearly the crow agreed because everyone was going feral, even the older ahjummas were running up to them.

"Lookin' like snacks- 'cause you got it like that!

Take a big bite, want another bite, yeah!"

Fuck you in every position, you think you just found the one the soda was named after and fuck all if you didn't want a taste of him. Man was ripped, to say the least. His abs flashed from underneath the shorter green shirt, pecs ready to rip through the buttons, biceps pushing the seams to their limits. He held a dangerously seductive smile, hazel eyes sharp to match, the darker pink locks under his beanie bouncing softly as he danced.

For the first time in weeks, you felt genuine attraction towards someone and felt the familiar need to masturbate.

Because of him.

And as if he heard your thoughts, he turned to face you. Whether it was part of the dance or not, his eyes found yours and even gave you a wicked smirk, tongue coming to wet his lips for a moment and you felt the fire inside roar hotter. With one last wink, he flipped around to join his band mates in dancing for the main chorus.

"You're all I can think of, every drop I drink up.

You're my soda pop,

My little soda pop!"

His head snapped to you again as he sang and danced. And perhaps it was the delulu talking, but it felt so intentional as he sang the line "My little soda pop."

Regardless of your impending delusion and horniness, the song was ridiculously catchy. You found yourself dancing along without realizing, laughing and singing along as your shoulders popped side to side. These men were ridiculously talented and must be sponsored by a great talent agency because somehow, there was a giant soda can rising from the ground as they came to the end of the song.

As they delivered the last lyric and posed, the crowd and yourself went wild. Screams and cheers erupted from everyone, the energy was high and chaotic.

The leader began talking to the crowd as other members began to throw assorted merch at the crowd. It looked like light sticks, shirts, more cans of soda - you watched it all fly by in the air.

You turned back to the devilishly handsome men just in time to see the most chiseled, pink-haired specimen staring directly at you. There was no mistaking it this time, no delusion, because he crouched down slightly to throw merch at you. His eyes connected with yours, shirt tightening as he stretched, and down came a black shirt and bright pink can of soda.

It was suddenly hard to breathe because even after catching the merch, he stood up but continued to stare at you, dark eyes never breaking eye contact with you. You could hear the leader telling you to tune into the show tonight to watch them and that Saja Boys loved everyone.

"My Little Sodapop."

The baritone voice of the god standing above you rang straight into your core, a whimper coming involuntarily from your lips as he sang the words looking at you.

Another wink, a flash of purple, and they were all gone.

You were touching yourself tonight.

-

After buying a Saja Boys light stick from a stand nearby, you rushed home.

The need for release was suddenly consuming you, burning you up alive. Images of the pink-haired demon, his smirk, his tongue, those abs, it all played in your mind. You felt hot all over, mind plagued with him.

Crashing into your apartment, you threw everything down haphazardly and began to strip down. You felt warm, warm from your run and warm from the need that built inside you.

You threw your bare body down on your bed, fingers immediately between your wet folds. How you got this wet from that brief performance, from what you could barely call an interaction, was borderline ridiculous, perhaps he even embarrassing. Were you so starved you were getting off to a man who you looked at once, a man who's name you didn't know?

Yes, yes you were and you weren't ashamed.

"Fuck," you whispered breathlessly, fingers ghosting your sensitive clit. It had been awhile since you had touched yourself, or let alone been touched, and every nerve was on fire, sensitivity through the room.

A load, lustful moan filled the room as you put your fingers inside yourself, feeling your own tight walls clamp against two of your fingers. You didn't feel full enough, but you still slid your fingers in and out of your wet center and massaged your palm into your clit.

The pleasure felt amazing, the stimulation causing your body to stiffen and relax repeatedly, but...

"Not enough," you cried out, your climax seemingly out of of sight despite the stimulation.

A red glow filtered behind your eyelids, making them snap open as you look to the side. Mysteriously the light stick you bought had turned on, glowing bright red, beckoning you to it.

You removed your fingers from yourself, latching onto the handle of the light, smearing your own essence along it. You brought it to your face, the lion's eyes boaring into yours, like it was commanding you to do its bidding.

It seemed to glow brighter as you neared the handle closer to your pussy, urging you to use it for your own pleasure. Shifting your hands, you brought the handle down and began to rub it through your folds, pressing it into your clit.

Immediately, pleasure began to burst through your veins, stars dancing across your closed eyelids. You hadn't even inserted it into yourself yet, but it felt euphoric already.

After gliding it against yourself multiple times, coating the handle generously, you began to ease it into yourself gently. Your eyebrows scrunched at the foreign intrusion, walls tight and unsure if it was welcome.

The stars behind your eyelids were replaced suddenly with images of him again - pink hair tusseled, chiseled body on bare, his abs and chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat.

He was above you, panting through an open mouthed smirk, sharp canines on display, deep voice practically growling, "Atta girl, take it all in for me."

His golden eyes were locked with yours as you let a loud moan once again, the handle not fully fitting within you but filling you deliciously. Without breaking eye contact, you began to move it in and out of yourself, the motion filled with urgency as you climbed the ladder of euphoria.

Whimpers, pants, moans, began to fill the air, squelches sounding from your pussy as you used the light stick to pleasure yourself. All the while, those sinful golden stayed on you, watching your expressions, trailing down your naked body, locking in on to the light stick.

"How does it feel? Hmm?" He asked, his voice alone causing your eyes to roll, "Feel good fucking yourself with it?"

His words had you bucking up into the stick as it pushed in. "Feels good, 's so good," you mumbled incoherently.

He understood nonetheless, letting out a deep breathy laugh, "And yet you still wish it was me." It wasn't a question, it was a fact, one you could only whimper to answer.

After a few more strokes you suddenly felt the lightest touch along your stomach, a whisper of fingers as they trailed down towards your center.

Gold eyes met yours once more before deft and firm fingers pressed into your clit, a scream erupting from you lips at the stinging pleasure it brought. There was no mercy in his touch, his goal was to make you finish for him.

"What a good little slut you are for me," he taunted. "You don't even know my fucking name but you're sitting, fucking yourself to me."

Your arms were starting to get sore from the repetitive motion but you were teetering so close to the end, his ministrations and edge words hurtling you towards the finish. You needed this, you craved this.

"Be a good girl and scream my name when you come, Y/N, scream it for me."

Your blown out eyes met his again, trying hard to peace the sentence together, "What name, what-" cutting yourself off with a sharp moan, his fingers never letting up as you began to crest to the peak.

He leaned down, plump lips brushing your ear, biting his name out for you to scream.

You cried his name, chanted it like a fucking mantra, as you fell over the edge and into the darkest, deepest pit of euphoria. Your vision went black and you swore you felt something bit your neck as you fell.

When you opened your eyes again, the illusion of the sexy man was gone, his fingers never touched you, words never whispered, nothing. But you enjoyed the hallucination while it lasted because it felt amazing.

You removed the wand of the lightstick from yourself, grimacing how it was covered in your juices along with the sheets under yourself. Perhaps you broke it because it no longer shone red, which sucks because it wasn't cheap but you have no one to blame but your vagina.

Standing up with shaky and sore legs, you swiped the cloth from your bag and wiped yourself off with it. You were dripping from your orgasm and covered in sweat, feeling droplets roll down your face, neck, chest. Dropping the cloth to the side, you unfolded the shirt the chiseled vixen gifted you as well. From first glance it just seemed like an extra large shirt with Saja Boys written in fuchsia letter, but the lettering on the bottom made your heart drop and the sweat on body feel ice cold.

Abby.

The name Abby was scrawled at the bottom corner of the shirt in gold writing.

The same name your illusion of him told you to scream when you came.

And in the corner, gold eyes watched you from the shadows, lips smirking at how your heart and mind raced with momentary panic. You had no idea he was there, lurking over you.

He brought his fingers to his plump lips, a flash of a tongue parting them, and the sinful flesh tracing, licking your juices off of him. A silent groan built in his chest, a rumble at how exquisite you taste.

His little human tasted so sweet.

He couldn't wait to eat you up.

[theshadowsden]

Authors note: so kpop demon hunters right? Im legit obsessed with these guys, might end up writing more in the future if people like what I've done here. Just a small snippet ive been thinking of. Hopefully you guys enjoy this. Haven't written anything in awhile so I apologize. This could be considered a part one? Not sure if id continue this unless you guys like it.

The air was quiet in the night, save for a few passing cars that were stuck in traffic. Cars that seemed to pass on by with the drivers not having a care in the world. Time didn't seen to stop, time was a constant, humans were made slaves to their own creation of a twenty four hour clock when all it is was a weak excuse of a little bit of control, to take back what they can do in the short lives humans had.

And unlike humans that littered the world above, demons actually existed. Demons that have lived through every time period, century, war, famine, anything you could think of. These demons aren't slaves to time per-say, but they are slaves to a barrier known as the Honmoon. If this barrier goes golden, they are stuck, trapped in the demon realm.

--

You've had whispers in your mind all your life, speaking of things that you could be done in a instant, a snap of the fingers of you will. The whispers taunting you daily, wishing and waiting for you to break and fall victim under the horrible words that they spoke, about the past, about who you were...

About what you were...

But you preserved, ignoring them...at least for the time being. The more you ignored the whispers deep inside your mind, the more they grew louder, till all the you could hear was them, calling you with an icy grip. To falter for a second and to slip down the edge of the cliff. The one way you were able to ignore them was the music.

The music of the idol band known as Huntrix. The music that they sang, quieted the whispers down for a long time, but the time between was growing shorter everytime you've listened to them.

The edge of the cliff was getting stronger, you've realized one day. You had looked at yourself in your bathroom mirror, the voices inside your mind, taunting, laughing at how you looked. Disheveled, hair sticking up and in a mess. Purple lines streaked your body, across your abdomen, along your legs, and arms. With them almost reaching your face. Your hands had grown elongated, with your fingers growing into claws. And what should've been normal colored eyes. Human eyes. Golden-yellow eyes stared back, slitted like a cat.

But what was in the mirror on the wall, quickly vanished as quick as it came. You sat against the wall of the bathroom, trying to calm your nerves, trying to calm your breathing.

What was happening to you? What otherworldly being cursed you to suffer?

The whispers grew in volume, as if sensing your woes.

This time though, the whispers were speaking not at you, but to you.

A honey laced voice was in your mind, in your ear. The voice was all around you. It was as if you where in a trance. The voice felt like warm honey on your ears. Unbeknownst to you, the honey was laced with posion, clouding your judgment.

'I can make everything stop for you.' The voice replied in a cool tone, 'The whispers, the things you see, and give you something in return,' it had said.

'All you need to do is say yes.' It said simply.

[sylvianritual]

Hello everyone, I've got an update from Dina. The transfer fees to get the money to her in Gaza have risen to as much as 65%, which means a large part of the money goes towards these fees.

Because of this, the amount of money from the donations that's ready to send to her right won't be enough to buy food after these fees. The prices of food continue to rise along with the transfer fees. But Dina and her children are hungry and can't continue to wait for the money to come.

She's asking for about $500 to transfer, and there's $440 I have to send to her. We need to reach this $500 goal soon so her children don't have to wait longer than necessary.

You've been supporting my friend for so long and I appreciate it, so I hope you'll be able to support her in this critical time. Please help us get to $500 so she can buy something for her children to eat.

6/30

$0/$60

A message from Dina:

Hello to those who carry us in their hearts and their humanitarian actions. I know that you have felt bored towards us, but we are also dying every second from the oppression and woes of the merciless war. The war has lasted for almost a year and a half. Imagine, as a human being, living under all this pressure and suffering, food, drink, displacement, and fear, and you do not have anything in your hands. Please, I am a mother with two children. I am not important. What is important is my children. You are needed. You can help me with anything. Please, I speak to you with your conscience and humanity. Everything has become more expensive than ever before, and we can barely get it because of the severe siege on us. My children have lost a lot of weight due to the lack of nutrition, and on top of all this, they have been deprived of their childhood. We no longer have a life. We could die at any time. At least your help can enable them to do what they need and to buy them what they want before anything bad happens. Do not be lenient. I know that you are fed up and bored, but at least you can help me and be a support to me and my children.

Bombs are still falling on Gaza, and the situation only worsens. Dina and her children have been living in these conditions for over a year. She deserves better, her children deserve better. Please help my friend, I don't want to see her family continue to suffer. It breaks my heart hearing the fear and danger they live in every day, and I only hear a fraction of what is their reality.

Please do your part. Don't just scroll past this post. You can make a difference for Dina and her family.

[skibasyndrome]

Hi Simon! could you please do prompt #40 ☺️

Hiii!!! Thank you so much for sending me this smut prompt, thank you for waiting!! (and sorry for making you wait) 💜💜💜

So... ever since Roo @sobadbad posted this (not quite wilmon but in spirit) shower scene gif set I've been thinking about this. I give you: Shower scene wilmon! FWB wilmon!

I hope you enjoy 💜

cw: nsfw

Read below or on AO3

Simon lets out an unceremonious yelp when his naked back connects with the cool shower tiles. He has half a mind to complain, but Wille is already on him, warm and broad and damp, half sweat, half wayward sputtering from the shower spray. And all hungry mouth, quickly swallowing Simon’s complaints, all hungry hands, slipping between the wall and Simon’s body, making it better, making it good. Simon can’t help but smile into the kiss, even through the moan that’s punched out of him when Wille fully slots his body against Simon’s. Even when they’re so horny they’re forgetting themselves, Wille knows just what to do. Knows how to angle them in the small stall, so they can keep making out, unhindered by water rushing down and fogging up the air they’re sucking in, in between kisses.

They're not usually reckless like this. Their moments of… this, of them crashing together, of working out the daily stresses, of channelling every bit of frustration and maybe some loneliness, at least on Simon’s part, of seeking out comfort and companionship and relief and fun; they usually happen neatly hidden away. In Wille's dorm room, curtains drawn, after classes, or Simon's bedroom, when Wille gets granted a rare Saturday off the Hillerska premises. There’s a clear distinction between the them that’s for public spaces, that’s okay for others to see, that’s look and feels a lot like comfortable acquaintanceship, timid friendship, steadily growing less and less timid as time went on, and this. This them, that’s hot tongues and fingernails digging into backs and bodies moving like it’s everything they’ve ever done, and beautiful needy sounds that Simon feels secretly possessive over.

But today is... different. Today feels decidedly out of the ordinary, feels like they’ve lost their scrips and rewritten their roles. And Simon doesn’t think he’s ever wanted Wille quite this badly.

Simon could've predicted it, has felt an unnerving kind of crackling between them all throughout their training session. Every time their fingers brushed on the barbell bar and Wille seemingly leaned into the touch, whenever Simon sat down on the rowing machine, Wille's hand burning through the thin fabric of his shirt where it was pressed against the small of his back.

An unspoken understanding between them, silently agreeing to take their time cleaning up the gym afterwards, with their teammates slowly filing out through the door. A foreboding heaviness settling deep in the pit of Simon’s stomach when they rolled the parallel bars back into the storage space, exchanging looks and smiles and inaudible promises.

Their joint relief upon walking into the locker room with deliberately slowed steps, a mischievous glance exchanged when they found it already almost deserted, their slow stripping, backs turned, while they waited out their last teammates leaving.

Simon moans against Wille’s tongue, fingers finding their way into his damp hair. It's like the tension is worse today, like even the feeling of Wille's skin, glorious and naked and warm and more and more slick with water, pressing against his isn't enough to take off the edge. The normally impermeable wall between the Simon that gets to have and gets to want Wille like this, and the version of him that nods and smiles and jokes like he doesn’t know what Wille’s body feels like under his, is gone and long forgotten. A ludicrous thought crosses Simon’s mind, unfounded and yet hard to ignore. In this very moment, Simon isn’t even sure anymore if the wall ever really existed. 

Wille breaks away and Simon scrambles to pull him in again, but Wille moves his lips down Simon’s cheek and towards his ear.

“You looked so hot out there,” he breathes, in this voice that Simon deludes himself is reserved for him alone. He only tightens his grip on Wille’s hair.

“Yeah?”

It’s half a laugh, half a breathy plea for Wille to double down. 

They don’t do this. Wille doesn’t hold back on compliments, of course not, he’s quick to compliment Simon’s singing, his song lyrics, his good essays. But that’s the other Wille, not the one that’s-

“Fuck,” Simon drops his head against Wille’s shoulder when Wille wraps a hand around his cock, sliding easily with warm water running down his arm.

The Wille who knows how to stroke Simon to full hardness in a few seconds, the one that looks so so so pretty on his knees with Simon in his mouth, is not the Wille that gives his friend compliments. They don’t do this.

“So hot,” Wille adds, and peppers a line of kisses down the side of Simon’s neck. Simon only gasps. He desperately tries to buck his hips into Wille’s touch, but remains firmly pinned against the tiles by Wille leaning his weight on Simon’s thigh. And as if Simon isn’t already losing his mind a little, as if their kissing and grinding and touching out here and the heated air of the shower isn’t already making him feel lightheaded enough, Wille goes on.

“You always look so good…,” he mumbles, quiet and dampened by Simon’s skin, but still painfully clear to his ears. A sudden rush of heat has Simon trembling.

He only hums, unsure what the fuck else he’s supposed to do. Unsure what the fuck changed and why he so desperately needs Wille to mean it, needs both Willes to mean it.

But his body has its own mind, muscle memory tiding him over the confusing rush inside of his head. His hand easily finds its way down Wille’s body, palm sliding over slick skin and the firm muscles underneath, over Wille’s soft belly, sucked in with a quiet breath. Just as he feels the coarse hair against his fingertips, Wille wraps his fingers around his wrist, moving him further down.

“Need you,” Wille whispers between kisses, and Simon lets out a desperate sound when Wille runs the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock on a downstroke.

“Me too,” he replies, too loud maybe, and takes Wille into his hand.

So badly, he thinks, allowing himself a moment to revel in the weight of Wille’s cock in his hand, the soft, soft skin, the heat, the sparks rushing through his belly at every single one of Wille’s movements. Wille’s grip on his wrist tightens when Simon starts to move.

Wille’s strokes falter, he interrupts himself with a beautiful, wonderful, moan that… Simon’s cheeks heat up, head spinning, when he recognizes his name in the sound.

At once, everything else is forgotten, everything about who they are or what they aren’t, any limits to what this can be, every silly rule he’s ever tried to put in place for himself. Simon wants to make Wille falls apart, he wants to see it, wants to hear it, wants to feel it, wants to wash him clean afterwards, wants Wille to slump his tired, exhausted body against his, he wants-

A loud clatter towards the other end of the room startles them apart. Simon freezes, gears in his head turning and, horrifyingly, identifying the sound as the door being pushed open.

Too good to be true, it was all too fucking good to be true. He shouldn’t have dared to hope they could get away with this, could get away with something as stupid, as reckless, as fucking idiotic…

He hears steps slowly approaching. Then, a loud call of Wille’s name.

Strangely enough, Wille crowds closer against Simon, doesn’t let go of him. As if he could shield Simon from whoever is going to find them. As if that wouldn’t make a difficult to explain situation even worse. There’s no use hiding, Simon wants to say. Not with the water running, not with them staying back.

“What’s taking you so long?” the voice, Simon thinks it might be Henry, calls out. “Hurry up!”

So that must mean…

Twisting his head around, Wille answers.

“Coming!” he yells.

Simon’s body is quicker than his mind, snickering at the word choice. Before he can stop himself, Wille already firmly clasps a hand over his mouth.

That’s… Something.

Pinned against the tiles, one of Wille’s hands on his mouth, the other still on his cock - Simon swallows hard against the tightness in his throat.

Wille’s eyes dart from his hand on Simon’s mouth up to Simon’s eyes and down again, seemingly equally affected.

A second passes before he seems to shake himself out of it.

“Just… you can leave without me,” he yells, without really turning his head. “I’ll join later.”

A longer stretch of silence gives Simon just enough time to panic again, rattle his brain for excuses, explanations, something to justify why they’re crammed in a stall in the community showers, hands in compromising positions, lips and cheeks pink.

At the sound of more steps, Simon’s stomach drops, but he quickly realized that it worked, that Henry is walking away.

He waits until the door closes again, equally loud and startling sound, but so, so relieving this time around. As soon as he thinks the coast is clear, Wille drops his hand, apology somewhere in the unsteady look of his eyes. And as soon as Simon’s heart has slowed, is no longer hammering pressure against his temples, he lets out a laugh, loud and unguarded.

“Coming,” Simon mocks, still incredulous that it worked and squeezes Wille’s cock just to watch Wille’s eyes roll back and falls closed.

“Leave without me,” he tries again, now fully laughing, and Wille presses closer, traps both of their arms between their bodies. He lets out a long groan that sounds like frustration and embarrassment. And it’s so, so endearing.

This is Simon’s friend Wille, the one that jokes with him during lunch breaks. Except it’s also the Wille that softly kisses Simon’s shoulder. And has never once let go of his cock.

“Sorry,” Wille mumbles, this one almost too quiet to hear over the water rushing. “I forgot they wanted to go out for pizza…” He sounds embarrassed still, and regretful as well.

Simon swallows. He’s used to this. He knows it’s what they do, the boarders, spend time together, one way or another. He knows he’s not one of them, will never be one of them, frankly, doesn’t fucking want to, not one bit. And apparently, sometimes, like just now, his being essentially invisible to them can pay off. But there’s no downplaying the tiny, miniscule sting that always comes when it’s time for Wille to put on his public self again, the one that hangs out with his peers, without Simon. It’s a stupid, ridiculous, selfish thought to have, Simon knows that. They’ve laid done these implicit rules, this barrier between Simon and Wille who make out and fuck, and Simon and Wille who talk at school, but then go their separate ways. So he clears his throat, plastering on a hopefully casual smile.

“Guess we should finish up quickly, then, huh,” he suggests when Wille’s head comes up again, when Wille takes a tiny step back, reintroducing space between them. Simon hopes his tone is as light as he intended.

But Wille looks… strange. Wistful, maybe. Nothing like his hungry, wonderful, smiley earlier self. Simon’s eyes catch on his mouth, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

“Don’t wanna go with them.”

Wille’s hands are gone suddenly, leaving Simon bereft for all but a moment before Wille is skating them over Simon’s sides instead, slowly moving up and down, as if to soothe Simon, or maybe himself.

“You don’t?”

Simon vaguely knows that Wille gets annoyed with the guys sometimes, but he’s been under the impression that, despite it all, they’re friends. Maybe better friends than Simon and Wille are, even if the sex is blurring the lines and making things seem more meaningful than they probably are.

But Wille is shaking his head, avoiding Simon’s eyes to instead watch his hands mover over Simon’s body. There’s something he isn’t saying, Simon can tell. And so he mirrors Wille’s movements, regretfully lets go of him to instead let his palms slide over Wille’s soft skin.

Wille has so many moles on his body, Simon would think it’s funny if he wasn’t so helplessly attracted to them, the way they look like constellations that are meant to be traced. Slowly, Simon brushed his thumb over Wille’s nipple, just because he can, because he wants to seize the opportunity of having Wille naked like this in front of him.

Wille sucks in a sharp breath. But the way he grabs Simon just the tiniest bit more tightly is reassuring.

“I, I meant to ask,” Wille clears his throat, just as Simon lifts his eyes again. There’s a charming red tint to his face and his neck. Simon wonders if that’s from earlier, or if this is new.

“Meant to ask if you wanted to stay over,” he rushes out, all in one go.

Simon only blinks up at him, waiting for the words to settle in and make sense.

“What?” he starts with. “Like… in your room?”

That sounds unlikely. Because they don’t do that. Even Wille’s trips to Bjärstad don’t end in sleepovers. They very deliberately end before that, because anything else has always felt like it would warrant more of an explanation than either of them would be willing to give.

But Wille nods, slowly, looking bashful, but with the slightest smile tugging on his lips. 

“Yeah?” Wille says, still not looking at Simon. “I thought we could, like, hang out maybe?”

Huh, Simon thinks.

“Huh,” he says out loud. And finally Wille meets his eyes.

There’s an earnestness there, a shyness that Simon isn’t used to. It’s disarming, it’s wonderful, it makes his insides tickle with a strange feeling.

When Wille doesn’t say anything else, just raises a hand to Simon’s forehead, brushing a clumped up, wet curl out of his face, Simon leans into the touch with a smile.

“Would love to,” he says and gets to watch in real time how a grin spreads out on Wille’s face.

“Cool,” Wille says, and Simon feels anything but cool. But he nods. And tilts his head back when Wille steps closer and captures his mouth in a slow kiss that feels… new… different. Promising.

When they break apart, Simon becomes aware of just how close they’re standing again. Carefully, he pushes his hips forwards, carefully presses his weight against where they’re both half hard. Because, with this new thing, he’s just not sure if this is the them that’s happening today. Wille makes a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. His arms move around Simon’s back again, warm and wet and comforting.

“So beautiful,” Wille mumbles, and it’s a punch to Simon’s stomach.

So… maybe…

He doesn’t get to ask, because Wille is loosening his grip and turning away.

“Can I wash you?” Wille asks instead and Simon feels another new flutter in his chest. After his nod, Wille reaches for his body wash, the one that smells stupidly expensive, the one that is intrinsically linked to Wille in Simon’s mind, cedar wood and vanilla, and starts lathering up Simon’s shoulders, his arms, his chest.

Simon isn’t used to this, to the feeling of someone else washing him, but he sighs, eventually giving in to his eyelids falling closed as he relishes the feeling of Wille’s hands on him. He sighs, lifts his arms up for Wille to lather up his pits, hums happily when Wille brushes his hands down over his thighs and the outside of his legs.

“Nice,” he says quietly, it’s out before he thinks about, but when he opens his eyes to check if it’s okay Wille is nodding, sending him a smile.

After a short moment of hesitation, Wille runs his soapy hand over Simon’s flaccid cock, a little lower to get to his balls. It’s not enough to bring him back again, not yet, but there’s a warm little flush to his lower body, especially when Simon looks down on himself, watching Wille’s hand on him.

Once he’s done, he pulls Simon closer, wraps his arms around him in a hug that has some of the body wash rubbing off on Wille. Simon is about to make a joke, something about Wille not daring to think he can get away with some flimsy second-hand soap after training with weights, but then Simon feels Wille’s hands settle on top of his ass. Wille hesitates. Simon sucks in a long breath.

“May I?” Wille asks then, and traces the curve of Simon’s ass cheek with a single finger.

Simon nods desperately. Oh god.

The Wille that has asked him to hang out is also the Wille that is asking if he can wash Simon’s ass for him.

“Yeah,” the breathes quietly, widening his stance for Wille to have better access.

When he finally feels Wille’s soapy finger slip between his cheeks, he keens. Wille is moving carefully, but he knows what he’s doing, knows because he knows Simon’s body, even if this is entirely new. He’s so gentle with it, really taking his time as he’s rubbing his finger over Simon’s hole. He’s holding him open with one hand, kissing the shoulder he’s looking over in between his movements, letting Simon claw his fingers into his back. When he breaches the rim, Simon lets out a broken little sound, but stays put, lets Wille clean him. For himself, for later, for the both of them. Simon shivers in Wille’s arms.

“Okay?”

Simon nods, unable to make another sound. He’s hard again, or most of the way there, feels like his entire back is covered in goose bumps. 

This is so far from the usual fervor and the rush of them having sex, so far from the giggling hurried hand jobs and from hidden away blow jobs he’s had to bite his hand through to stay silent. This is Wille, one of them, all of them, taking his time, touching Simon slowly and intimately, before they’re going to make their way across the premises, together, towards Wille’s room. Where he wants him to stay.

When Wille turns his head again, slowly, almost apologetically pulling out of Simon, their lips crash together once again. And it’s a promise.

Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here

also pls let me know what you think <3

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. two. three. four. five. six. <epilogue.>

When they finally broke apart, a little out of breath and dazed, Megan’s eyes were sparkling. She still held Y/N close, her thumbs gently touching Y/N’s cheeks. "So," Megan whispered, a playful twinkle in her eyes, "you love me, huh, Y/L/N?"

Y/N's face turned bright red, a shy smile on her lips. "I… I might," she mumbled, trying to sound casual, but her voice was still shaky. The truth was, her heart was shouting it, but years of hiding her feelings made it hard to just blurt out.

Megan laughed, a soft, sweet sound that made Y/N’s heart flutter. "Oh, you 'might'? After all those secret gifts and notes? And that kiss?" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper, her breath warm against Y/N's ear. "I think you love me a lot more than 'might'."

Y/N finally looked into Megan's eyes, her own eyes shining with deep love and a bit of shyness. Her cheeks burned, but she couldn't look away. "Okay," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper, but strong with certainty, "I love you. A lot. More than I've ever loved anyone." The words, once so scary to even think, felt freeing as they left her lips.

Megan's smile softened, her eyes warm and gentle, showing how much she felt Y/N's confession. "Good," she breathed, the single word a deep, true promise. And then, without another word, she leaned in again. This kiss was deeper, more sure, a quiet promise between them. It was a kiss that sealed their new bond, a sign that all the hidden feelings were finally out in the open. Y/N kissed back with just as much feeling, her hands finding Megan's waist, pulling her even closer. The world outside the dorm room disappeared, leaving only the warmth of Megan's lips, the soft touch of her hair, and the clear truth of their shared moment.

The next week felt like a dream. Every glance, every shared smile, every brush of hands was charged with a new, exciting energy. Y/N found herself walking with a lighter step, a constant warmth in her chest. She and Megan spent every possible moment together, talking for hours, rediscovering each other now that their true feelings were out in the open. It was during one of these stolen moments, under the bright lights of the soccer field, that Megan made their love truly official.

Megan's team had just won a thrilling game against their biggest rivals, and Y/N had been there, as always, a steady presence in the stands, her cheers ringing loudest for Megan. As the crowd left, a happy Megan ran over to the fence where Y/N waited, her face red from playing and winning.

"Hey, superstar," Y/N said, a real smile lighting up her face as she handed Megan her water bottle.

Megan took a long, thankful drink, then looked at Y/N, her eyes shining with pride and something deeper. She reached through the fence, taking Y/N's hand, her grip warm and gentle, her thumb slowly stroking Y/N's knuckles. The last few fans were leaving, and the stadium lights hummed softly, making the moment feel almost magical. Megan took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering, her eyes full of hope and a newfound bravery.

"Y/N," she began, her voice a little breathless from the game, but now soft and full of feelings, "This past week, getting to know the real you, seeing how amazing you are, how kind and thoughtful… it's been the best time of my life. You're everything I never knew I was looking for, and so much more. Every poem, every quiet moment, every time you saw me when no one else did… it all led me right to you." She squeezed Y/N's hand, her voice gaining a confident, loving strength. "I don't want to imagine a single day without you. So, Y/N Y/L/N," Megan took another small breath, her eyes locking onto Y/N's, "will you be my girlfriend? For real. No more mixed signals, no more brothers taking credit. Just you and me, officially. What do you say?"

Y/N's smile was radiant, tears blurring her eyes again, but these were tears of pure, happy joy. Her heart felt like it was going to burst, a joyful fireworks display inside her chest. "Yes, Megan! A thousand times yes!" she shouted, her voice breaking a little with excitement, leaning into Megan's touch through the fence, wishing she could pull her closer.

Megan grinned, a wide, true smile that made Y/N's heart leap. She quickly moved around the fence, pulling Y/N into a tight, breathless hug that smelled of sweat and fresh grass and victory, but felt like pure home. "Good. Now, how about we celebrate with some really unhealthy food after the game? My treat."

Life with Megan quickly settled into a wonderful rhythm, full of sweet moments and easy laughter. Their dates were a perfect mix of Y/N's quiet hobbies and Megan's lively energy. They spent hours looking through old bookstores, Megan patiently listening as Y/N talked excitedly about old books and rare prints, sometimes leaning in to whisper a funny comment that would make Y/N giggle. Then, Megan would pull her to the local park for quick soccer games, teaching Y/N the basics of dribbling, laughing kindly when Y/N always tripped over her own feet.

One rainy Saturday, they found themselves curled up on Y/N's couch, covered in a mountain of blankets. Megan's arm was draped protectively around Y/N, her fingers gently tracing patterns on Y/N's arm as they watched a silly romantic movie.

"You know," Y/N said softly, "I never thought I'd be the type to date a jock."

Megan chuckled, kissing the top of Y/N's head, her lips warm against Y/N's hair. "And I never thought I'd be the type to date someone who knows more about old poems than soccer scores. Guess we both got lucky, huh?"

"Definitely lucky," Y/N agreed, snuggling deeper into Megan's hug, the warmth of her body a comforting feeling. "Hey, what are you thinking about right now?"

"Just… you," Megan whispered, holding her tighter. "How easy this is. How much I love just being with you, doing nothing. It's nice, Y/N/N. Really nice."

"It is," Y/N whispered back, feeling happy. "You're nice, too, Megs. Even when you're being super competitive on the field."

Megan playfully snorted. "Only for you, Y/N/N. For everyone else, I'm still the tough soccer captain." She then pulled Y/N's hand to her lips, giving it a soft kiss. "But you see past all that, don't you?"

"Always," Y/N said, her heart full of love.

Another time, they were baking cookies at Megan's house, a messy but fun activity. Flour covered their clothes, and chocolate chips seemed to be everywhere but in the dough. Megan, usually so graceful on the field, was surprisingly clumsy in the kitchen.

"Megan, no! You're going to burn them!" Y/N shrieked, laughing, as Megan tried to flip a cookie with a spatula that was clearly too big.

Megan pouted. "It's harder than it looks! You make it look so easy." She then playfully smeared a dab of flour on Y/N's nose. "Gotcha!"

Y/N got her back, flicking a tiny bit of dough onto Megan's cheek. Their playful flour fight ended with them falling down in laughter, arms around each other, covered in white dust and sticky dough, but completely happy.

"You're silly," Megan mumbled into Y/N's shoulder, still giggling.

"Only for you," Y/N echoed, pressing a soft kiss to Megan's flour-dusted cheek.

One evening, they were at a local open mic night, a place Y/N loved for its quiet, artistic feel. Y/N had been talked into reading a short poem she wrote, her hands shaking a little as she stood on the small stage. From the back, Megan gave her a comforting smile and a thumbs-up. As Y/N read, her voice growing stronger, Megan watched, her eyes filled with such deep admiration that Y/N felt a warmth spread through her. Afterwards, Megan was the first to rush up, pulling Y/N into a proud hug.

"That was amazing, Y/N/N!" Megan whispered, her voice full of real wonder. "You were incredible. I'm so proud of you."

"Only because you made me do it," Y/N mumbled, burying her blushing face in Megan's shoulder.

"And you loved every minute of it," Megan replied, hugging her tight. "See? I know you."

Their dates often included long walks through the campus garden, Megan pointing out different trees and Y/N drawing them in her notebook. They'd share headphones, listening to each other's favorite music, Megan showing Y/N upbeat pop songs and Y/N sharing her calm indie playlists. It was a constant exchange, a gentle mix of their worlds, each learning to enjoy the other's unique way of being. They found they both loved talking late at night under the stars, finding cool things in thrift stores, and quiet mornings with coffee and books.

"You know," Y/N said one afternoon, leaning her head on Megan's shoulder as they sat on a bench by the campus lake, "I never thought I'd be this happy. Like, truly, deeply happy."

Megan tightened her arm around Y/N, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Me neither, Y/N/N. But I'm glad we found each other. Even if it was… a bit unusual. You're my favorite surprise. My best choice."

One quiet evening, after a long day of classes, Y/N was sketching in her room when Megan appeared at her door, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. "Study break?" Megan asked, her eyes soft. Y/N smiled, pushing her sketchbook aside. Megan settled beside her on the bed, pulling Y/N close so their sides touched. They sipped their hot chocolate in comfortable silence, Y/N leaning her head on Megan's shoulder, feeling completely at peace. Megan's fingers gently played with a loose strand of Y/N's hair, a small, loving gesture that spoke volumes.

"This is nice," Y/N murmured, her voice a little sleepy.

"Yeah," Megan agreed, her voice a low rumble against Y/N's ear. "Just us. Perfect." She turned her head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N's hair.

Another time, Megan surprised Y/N with a small, beautifully bound copy of Y/N's favorite poetry book. "I found it at that little shop downtown," Megan explained, her eyes bright. "Thought you might like a new copy, just for you. No more, you know, accidental mix-ups." Y/N's eyes welled up, and she launched herself into Megan's arms, burying her face in Megan's neck.

"You're the best," Y/N whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"Only for you," Megan replied, holding her tight, a soft smile on her face.

They had a habit of leaving little notes for each other. Sometimes, Megan would find a tiny drawing of a soccer ball with a heart on her locker. Other times, Y/N would open her textbook to find a small, folded paper with a cheesy pickup line or a quick "Thinking of you, Y/N/N!" from Megan. These small gestures, echoing Y/N's original anonymous gifts, were now open and full of shared affection.

One morning, Y/N woke up to find Megan already awake, propped up on her elbow, just watching her sleep. Y/N blinked her eyes open, and Megan smiled softly. "Good morning, sleepyhead," Megan whispered, her voice raspy. She reached out and gently brushed a stray piece of hair from Y/N's face. "You're beautiful, even when you're drooling."

Y/N giggled, blushing. "Hey! I do not drool!"

"Mmm-hmm," Megan hummed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Y/N's forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips. "Just kidding. Mostly. Come here." She pulled Y/N into a warm, sleepy embrace, and they just lay there for a long time, tangled together, enjoying the quiet comfort of each other's presence.

As Y/N and Megan's love grew stronger, the shadow of Gabriel's past actions still lingered, especially between the siblings. Gabriel's relationship with Y/N took a very long time to heal. The first period after the truth came out was filled with cold silence, a deep gap of hurt and betrayal between them. Y/N couldn't even look at him, let alone talk to him. Megan, while supporting Y/N, made it very clear she had no patience for Gabriel's past actions.

"He's still your brother, Y/N," Megan would say, though her voice always had a hint of annoyance. "Just… a really dumb one sometimes. But he's trying, I guess." Megan’s acceptance of him was a quiet sign of her love for Y/N; she wouldn't talk much to him, but she wouldn't stop Y/N from trying to fix things either. She'd give a short nod if he spoke to her directly, but her eyes would always quickly look at Y/N, as if checking if she was okay. Gabriel knew he was on thin ice with Megan, and he respected that. He saw how fiercely Megan protected Y/N, and a part of him, the better part, even admired it.

Gabriel, for his part, was truly humbled. Losing Y/N's trust, and Megan's steady coldness, hit him hard. He started with small, unsure gestures: leaving Y/N's favorite snacks on her desk, offering to drive her places without being asked, even trying to make her coffee exactly how she liked it (and failing badly, but the effort was noticed). He stopped trying to be the center of attention when Y/N and Megan were together, often going to his room or finding something else to do. He even started showing up at Y/N's art shows, quietly watching, sometimes offering a surprisingly smart comment that showed he'd actually paid attention.

One quiet afternoon, he found Y/N drawing in her room, a rare peaceful moment. He knocked softly. "Hey," he said, his voice unusually quiet. "Can I… can I come in?"

Y/N hesitated, her pencil hanging over the paper, then nodded slowly.

He sat on the edge of her bed, fidgeting with his hands, his usual proud attitude completely gone. "Look, Y/N," he started, his voice rough with emotion. "I know I messed up. Really badly. What I did… taking credit for your feelings, for your effort… it was selfish and dumb. I just… I got caught up in the attention, and I didn't think about how it would affect you. Or how it would make you feel." He finally looked at her, his eyes honest, filled with real regret. "I'm truly, truly sorry, sis. You deserve so much better than that. And you deserve to be happy with Megan, without my stupid problems."

Y/N looked at him, seeing not just the usual confident brother, but a hint of weakness she rarely saw. "It hurt, Gabriel," she said, her voice soft but firm. "A lot. You made me feel invisible, and then you made me feel like a fool."

"I know," he said, his head bowed. "And I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Just… please, don't hate me."

It wasn't a quick fix, but it was the start. Y/N slowly, carefully, began to let him back in. Their talks became less tense, more honest. Gabriel started asking about Megan, truly interested in Y/N's happiness, sometimes even giving a surprising, positive comment. One day, he even brought home a new art supply for Y/N, a small, quiet gesture that showed a lot. The brother-sister bond, though hurt, was slowly, steadily getting better, built on new honesty and respect. He was still Gabriel, sometimes thoughtless, but now there was a deep feeling of real care and a new understanding of Y/N's feelings.

Their lives continued to intertwine, filled with the everyday joys and occasional bumps that come with any relationship. One sunny Saturday, Y/N was helping at the local animal shelter, playing with a new group of lively puppies. Megan had come to pick her up, leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on her face as she watched Y/N laugh, completely focused, as a tiny puppy happily chewed on her shoelaces.

Suddenly, a new volunteer, a cheerful, very outgoing guy named Alex, walked over. He had a bright, easy smile that seemed to be always there. "Hey, Y/N! You're amazing with these little guys. You really have a way with animals." He paused, his smile getting wider, and then added, leaning a little too close, "You know, there's a big rescue event next weekend, and I was wondering if you'd like to… help me set up? Maybe grab coffee beforehand to plan?" He winked, a little too obviously.

Y/N, always polite, blinked, a faint blush rising. "Oh, that's really nice of you, Alex, but I actually have plans with my girlfriend." She gestured vaguely towards the door where Megan stood, trying to quietly show she was there.

Alex's smile disappeared for a second, but he quickly got it back, his eyes flicking towards Megan, then back to Y/N. "Oh, right. Well, maybe your girlfriend would like to join us? The more the merrier, right?" He offered another, less sure, wink at Y/N.

Megan, who had been watching the whole talk with a steadily darkening look, pushed off the doorframe and walked over. Her presence gave off a quiet power that made Alex visibly shrink. She wrapped an arm around Y/N's waist, pulling her close, her eyes fixed on Alex, a sweet but firm smile on her face.

"She's pretty busy, Alex," Megan said, her voice calm, almost too calm, but with a clear edge that Y/N knew well. "And she usually likes to spend her free time with me. Right, babe?" She squeezed Y/N's waist, her eyes daring Alex to argue, showing clearly that Y/N was hers.

Alex's face went from confident to flustered in seconds. "Uh, yeah, no problem! Totally get it. See you around, Y/N!" He practically ran away, mumbling something about needing to check on the kittens.

Y/N turned to Megan, trying to stop a giggle, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. "Someone's a little protective, aren't they?" Y/N found Megan's jealousy surprisingly cute. It was a little silly, but it showed how much Megan cared, how much she truly saw Y/N as hers. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Megan huffed, crossing her arms, her pout still there, a clear sign she was genuinely annoyed. "He was practically staring, Y/N! And winking? Seriously? You're mine." She looked truly annoyed, a cute frown on her face. "I don't like it when other people try to take my girlfriend."

Y/N, still smiling at Megan's adorable sulk, decided to tease her a little. "Well, he seemed nice. Maybe I should go help him set up for the rescue event. He did say coffee beforehand…"

Megan's eyes widened, her pout deepening into a full-blown scowl. She dropped her arms and stepped back, looking truly hurt. "Y/N! Are you serious? After everything? You'd actually go with him?" Her voice was low, a mix of disbelief and genuine pain. "You'd just… go off with some random guy who was clearly hitting on you?"

Y/N's teasing smile faded as she saw the real hurt in Megan's eyes. This wasn't just a playful sulk anymore; Megan was truly upset. Y/N immediately closed the small distance between them, taking Megan's hands. "Hey, hey, no," Y/N said softly, her voice serious now. "Of course not. I was just teasing you, Megs. You know I would never. You're the only one I want to spend my time with. He's just a volunteer, and you're… you're my whole world." Y/N squeezed Megan's hands, her gaze steady and full of love. "I love you, Megan. Only you. You don't have to worry about anyone else."

Megan's shoulders relaxed, and the tension left her face. She looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Y/N, a soft, relieved smile slowly returning. "I know," she whispered, her voice a little shy now. "It's just… you're so amazing, Y/N. And sometimes… sometimes I just get really scared of losing you." She pulled Y/N into a gentle hug, burying her face in Y/N's hair. "You really are mine, right?"

Y/N wrapped her arms around Megan, holding her tight. "Always, Megs. Always yours." She pulled back just enough to press a soft, comforting kiss to Megan's lips. "Now, come on. My stomach's rumbling. And maybe I'll hold your hand in public, just to show any other winking weirdos who you belong to."

Megan's pout finally softened into a full smile, a blush spreading up her neck. "Oh, shut up, Y/L/N." She wrapped an arm around Y/N's waist, pulling her even closer, their hips touching as they walked out of the shelter.

The path to their happiness had been winding and unexpected, full of mistakes and betrayals, but it was truly theirs. Gabriel, too, was slowly finding his way back into Y/N's life, showing how strong family bonds can be. The "wrong" Y/L/N had turned out to be perfectly right, leading to a love story more real and beautiful than Y/N could have ever imagined.

previous part.

a/n: okay, here it goes! I feel like this is more of a special chapter than an epilogue but I think this is the right ending to the whole story. We didn't get any lovey-dovey scenes so here it is! I actually find the reader reading the poems to Megan cute, I thought it's a cute little detail seeing as we know Megan is dyslexic, I feel like she'd love for her partner to do that yk? ANYWAY! I hope this satisfied our hearts, this is officially a goodbye to this story. Thoughts? Requests?

[seaofreverie]

Tagged by @carcarrot to share 10 pieces of music that I've been enjoying lately!!! Thank you!!!!!

This got slightly long so I'm putting my choices under a read more XD Meanwhile I'm tagging @jellojellyroll @parts-of-me-unravelling @delicious-crab-meat @glampacked @laserlem0n (if you want to ofc!! or anyone who feels like doing this too and sharing some tunes they've been into!!)

The MAD!ness continues and never stops

SO EXCITED that there's a new Guerilla Toss album coming out, I've been waiting for this. The last album (from 2022, when I started getting into them) didn't speak to me at all (altough at this point maybe I should just give it another chance... it's been 3 years after all), but the two new singles from the upcoming album are both really great and remind me a lot of their older stuff that I loved, WE'RE SO BACK!! This september will be a treat musically (new David Byrne album coming too...)

Fuck yesssss, they released a live version of this song with Master Peace, just like I hoped!!! A real rave banger, seeing this live was one of the best moments of the year for me, what a show that was

One of my favourite songs that I've heard this year so far. Or, honestly, ever. I'm genuinely so impressed by it

Cibo Matto are very cool

Found them through their connection with Ambar Navarro (director of the Do Things My Own Way and Drowned In A Sea Of Tears music videos who did a music video for this band too). Very fun song and hey, that's another new album coming out in september!! Ahhhh so cool

Another banging recent album!!!! And song!!!

This song comes back to me in phases and it's been one of those months when it really hits again. Hard to think of another song that captures this specific mood quite as well, a "reflecting on life and how full of things to explore and all different sort of experiences it is" kind of mood

Meanwhile my mission to listen to more King Crimson (along with more prog in general) continues... And this is the newest entry on the "holy shit dude, wow" type of songs list from this category

And now something a bit more local. First heard about this band as this sort of, friend of a friend's friend's, kind of underground band from Warsaw about two years ago, so I was quite shocked to discover sometime last month that they are now going to be playing at a major polish alternative music festival! Really enjoying this slightly different new direction they seem to be taking and I'm excited to hear more

[prisvvner]

✫・゜・ ☆ﾟ. ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇʙᴀʀꜱ & ʜᴇʟʟꜰɪʀᴇ

─── pairing: biker!ryomensukuna x mechanic!femalereader

─── synopsis: you used to run tokyo’s streets. now you build the monsters that do. but when a rider in black shows up on a hayabusa with eyes like blood and a smirk like a loaded gun—something starts ticking again. something you swore you buried.

─── content: 4.7k words, street racer au, strong language, swearing, street culture, intense emotional conflict, verbal aggression, depictions of abandonment and betrayal

─── author's note: one of my fav' chapters i've written so far, enjoy!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ masterlist ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part two ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part three ⊹ ࣪ ˖ next tba.

Tokyo breathes differently at night. Down there, under the electric haze and between the glass-and-steel giants, the city pulses like an engine on the edge of redline. It’s not just the neon or the hum of life clinging to the streets—it’s the anticipation. The pressure in the air before the drop. The scent of burnt rubber and gasoline, of cigarettes half-smoked and egos half-checked.

Downtown is alive, veins glowing red and orange, arteries mapped by taillights and adrenaline. Somewhere far below, the streets stretch wide and wicked. They belong to the reckless, the brave, and the desperate. And tonight, those are all the same thing.

You’re posted near the edge of a rooftop, high above the chaos. A quiet silhouette cut sharp against the skyline, wind tugging at your jacket hem, hands shoved deep in your pockets. Your collar’s zipped high, jaw locked, eyes tracking the motion far beneath.

Next to you, Inumaki crouches low like a stray watching traffic, one hand bracing against the concrete ledge, the other raising the last bite of tuna onigiri to his mouth. His expression hasn’t changed all night, bored, casual, like he isn’t watching a powder keg counting down beneath his sneakers.

And then you hear it.

Not just the crowd, they’ve been murmuring for minutes, sound swelling and retreating like the tide. No, you hear the engines. Low at first. Then louder. Closer.

Four. No—five. Each one a monster, snarling down the tunnel of asphalt like they were built to kill gods. Exhaust howls up through the high-rises, guttural and sharp. V6s and V8s tuned to a dangerous frequency, built for nothing but speed and recklessness. They tear through the first straight like wolves loosed from the chain.

But one voice rises above them all.

The Skyline.

A silver-blue blur. Polished like a mirror but meaner than chrome. You catch it the second it rockets past the first checkpoint. Headlights low, body hugging the road like it’s in love with the danger. The underglow floods the pavement in a smooth wash of cold light, casting long shadows in its wake. She’s a ghost in a storm of thunder.

You can hear the turbo whine, high, hungry. The low-end growl curling under it like a secret. Every shift is violent and precise. Every movement intentional. No twitching. No wasted effort. No fear.

She was built for this. And you built her.

“Well damn,” someone murmurs behind you, low and reverent. “That’s Black Dog’s touch if I’ve ever seen it.”

“Has to be,” another voice adds, eyes tracking the Skyline as it takes a corner tighter than physics should allow. “No one else tunes that smooth. Listen to that grip—it’s not just speed, it’s balance.”

“She doesn’t just make them fast,” a third cuts in, arms folded, sunglasses still on despite the dark. “She makes them feel alive.”

You don’t turn. You don’t need to. The pride sinks deep into your chest like heat into metal, slow and satisfying. You’d smirk if this were a different night. If this race mattered.

But you’re not here for praise. You’re not here to bask in the engine’s song or to flex your name like a brand.

You’re here for something else entirely. Watching. Waiting. Just in case.

Inumaki flicks his gaze to you, then to the street below. You know what he’s thinking: if the cops show, you’ll see the flashing lights before anyone else. That’s the deal. That’s the reason you’re up here instead of down there.

But still. Still it’s hard to shake the feeling.

The rush in your bones when the Skyline cuts another corner too fast to be legal and too clean to be luck. When it drops a gear like it’s snapping vertebrae and Tokyo becomes a blur of chrome, glass, and madness. For one perfect heartbeat, that machine owns the night.

And though no one below can see your face, though no one knows you’re watching from above, steady and quiet, hands shoved in your jacket—

You know. And he knows.

The Skyline takes the final stretch like it’s laughing in the face of physics—tires skimming asphalt with a grace that borders on sacrilege, engine howling like it’s begging for just one more gear, one more second of freedom before the inevitable end. It weaves through the last bend like a whispered threat, body low, underglow kissing the street in a blur of silver-blue and phantom light.

Then—

It’s over.

The finish line explodes into view, nothing but cones, bodies, and broken rules, and the Skyline carves through it without hesitation. No fanfare. No hand out the window. No victory spin. Just a smooth deceleration, like the driver knows the moment spoke for itself. Like it would be disrespectful to say anything more.

The silence that follows barely lasts a heartbeat before it ruptures.

A roar. Screams, cheers, the metallic clatter of money changing hands and bets turning real. Phone flashes burst like muzzle fire. Someone’s already sprinting toward the winning car like it’s the last holy relic on Earth. The energy is molten, raw and electric.

And then, like it was choreographed by the devil himself—the sirens.

Faint, at first. Background noise. A soft, far-off scream that could almost be part of the city’s usual madness.

But they don’t fade.

They grow. Closer. Angrier. The kind of sound that cleaves the night in two, red and blue lights bleeding across glass towers and neon signage like some divine punishment.

You don’t need to say a word.

“Crows! Time to fly!” someone shouts behind you.

Panic moves fast up here. It has legs. The rooftop fractures, bodies scattering, voices cracking, equipment vanishing into bags and coats and shadows. You hear feet slamming against metal grates, laughter turned to panic, adrenaline flipping from thrill to survival like the click of a safety switch.

“Go,” you urge, low but clear.

Inumaki doesn’t move.

Your eyes flick to him, sharp. “Now, Toge.”

He stares back. Just for a second. Long enough for something to pass between you, something unspoken but heavy.

Then he nods, slow, brushing a few crumbs off his hoodie.

“Shake,” he mutters simply, and you can’t help the faint twitch of your mouth. That’s his way of saying stay alive.

You watch him slip into the chaos, light-footed and ghost-quiet, vanishing into the folds of the rooftop like he was never there at all.

And then it’s just you.

You stay rooted in place, arms folded tight, chin tipped down so the collar of your jacket catches the wind. The city breathes below you—hard, fast, alive. The Skyline’s long gone. So are the others. All that’s left is rubber ghosts on the asphalt and the howl of sirens echoing between glass and steel.

Your pulse has leveled out. Almost.

The breeze tugs your hair loose, slipping strands against your cheek. You don’t move. You’re not here for applause. You’re not here to be seen.

You feel it.

That shift in air pressure. The quiet wrongness of being watched. Not the jittery, paranoid kind. No, this is different. Familiar. Inevitable.

You don’t flinch. You don’t turn.

“Thought you might show,” you call out.

There’s a pause, long and deliberate.

“I was wondering,” a voice replies, velvet-smooth and knife-sharp, “if you’d recognize me without the lilies.”

It’s a voice like low tide and slow poison. The kind that slinks under your skin and nests there.

You turn, just enough to catch the silhouette easing out from the dark, from behind a hulking ventilation shaft that might as well have been built for moments like this. The glow of a rust-orange sign down the block catches the edge of his face in slices: cheekbones like a blade, mouth that doesn’t smile so much as suggest danger, eyes lit from the inside with something unreadable.

Oh. It’s him.

The ghost with a florist’s instincts and a habit of showing up like a problem you thought you’d buried.

“Big show tonight,” he remarks easily, like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Like he belongs here, breathing your air, standing on your rooftop.

“Wasn’t for you,” you shoot back, cool as chrome.

“No,” he murmurs, stepping forward. “It never is.”

He glances over the edge, toward the now-empty street. His lips quirk.

“But that Skyline… That was poetry on wheels.”

You don’t answer. He’s not wrong. But flattery smells like bait, and you’ve got enough hooks in you already.

“Most people just slap a turbo on and call it personality,” he continues. “But you? You build things that want to live.”

You tilt your head, dry as asphalt. “What do you want—a love letter or a quote for your next tattoo?”

He chuckles, low and rich. “Maybe just an answer.”

“To what?”

He leans against the rail beside you, like you invited him.

“Do you remember the rules of the game?”

Something cold curls at the base of your spine.

“What game?” you ask, voice flat.

“The one you walked away from,” his voice is soft, almost gentle, but he’s smiling like he knows exactly what you’re trying to forget. “Or tried to.”

And just like that, it’s there again. The image you thought you’d ground down to ash. The flicker of taillights disappearing into fog. The scream of an engine you built with your own hands, taken from you like a part of your body. The hollow pit of choices you made in the dark when no one else was watching.

Another siren shrieks down below, slicing clean through the moment. A helicopter blinks somewhere above the towers, indifferent and circling.

You could walk away. You should.

Instead, you stay.

“Careful,” you murmur, voice lowered like a threat. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

“Neither are you,” he replies, and there’s a flicker in his eyes, something knowing, something dangerous. Like he’s not just here to talk. Like he’s playing a move that was set in motion long before tonight.

The rooftop settles into a strange kind of stillness, the kind that only comes before a storm or a gunshot. The wind whistles between rusted vents and empty scaffoldings. Below, Tokyo pulses like a machine barely holding itself together, neon bleeding across rooftops, windows glowing like open secrets.

And the two of you?

You stand like statues, carved out of shadow and stubbornness. Balanced on the edge of memory and menace, high above a city that doesn’t care if either of you falls.

This rooftop was supposed to be your escape. Your observatory. The one place where the world quieted enough for you to think. To breathe. To forget.

But now?

With him here—poised, unreadable, too familiar in all the wrong ways—it doesn’t feel like a safehouse.

It feels like a chessboard.

Every breath is a move. Every silence a trap.

And the worst part?

You don’t know whose move it is.

Not anymore.

Your jaw ticks. You taste the weight of unspoken things on your tongue, bitterness and battery acid, old questions you buried so deep they almost fossilized.

He’s still watching you.

Like he’s got time. Like he’s got all the time in the world.

You’ve played this game before. Slow entrances, cryptic lines, smug half-smiles that don’t quite reach his eyes. And maybe it worked on you once. Maybe you were young enough, reckless enough, desperate enough for answers or attention or whatever poison he was selling dressed up as prophecy.

But not now.

Not anymore.

Your voice cuts sharper than the wind this time, low but laced with steel.

“What do you really want, Geto?”

It lands hard. No flourish. No theater. Just the truth, flung between you like a challenge in the dark.

His smile flickers, just for a heartbeat. A crack in the performance. It’s gone before it’s fully there, but you see it. You feel it.

He doesn’t answer right away. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He lets it hang, stretched taut between you, heavy with everything he isn’t saying.

Then he tilts his head, the dark fall of his hair catching what little light spills across the rooftop. There’s something ancient in his face now, something worn and weary beneath the gloss of charisma.

“What I’ve always wanted,” he answers smoothly. “Balance. Power where it belongs. A world that doesn’t eat its own just to keep the wheels turning.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Save the manifesto bullshit. You didn’t climb six stories and crawl out of the shadows just to give me your LinkedIn header.”

His eyes glint. There's a flicker of amusement, but it doesn’t reach the edges. Not tonight.

“You haven’t changed,” he steps a fraction closer. “Still mouth first, consequences later.”

“Don’t confuse consistency with tolerance.” Your spine is a live wire now, but you don’t back away. “You want to preach? Start a podcast. If you’re here, on my rooftop, after all this time, you want something. So let’s skip the preamble. And stay out of my apartment.”

Another step. Just close enough that you can hear the soft scuff of his boots on the gravel. He’s careful with his distance, not quite in your space, but close enough that the air between you turns electric.

“You always did hate games,” he murmurs. “And yet… you were so damn good at them.”

You feel it again, that strange pull in your chest. Not affection. Not nostalgia. Something darker. Something like recognition. Like staring into the mirror you broke and buried.

“Don’t make this sentimental, Geto,” you retort, almost cold now. “We both know where that road ends.”

There’s a beat. A wind gusts through, stealing the breath from between you both. Somewhere far below, a door slams. A dog barks. The city doesn’t care about your ghosts.

But Geto’s expression shifts, something flickers in the hollows of his eyes. A tension he can’t quite mask. When he finally speaks, it’s quieter. Slower.

“I need a driver.”

The words land like a stone in your gut. Simple. Sharp. Intentional.

You blink once. “You have the entire underground on speed dial and you come to me?”

“No one else knows how to handle what I’m building. And no one else has you under the hood.”

“That’s not flattery,” you mutter. “That’s manipulation in a leather jacket.”

His mouth lifts at one corner. “And yet you’re still here.”

You hate how true that feels. Hate how you didn’t walk. Hate how part of you—the part that still hears the roar of engines like a second heartbeat—didn’t want to.

You fold your arms, eyes narrowing like crosshairs.

“I don’t work for phantoms, Geto. And I sure as hell don’t run for people who ghost me and then show up like nothing happened.”

“I didn’t ghost you,” he says calmly. “I protected you.”

“Oh, spare me,” you hiss, the words sharp and jagged like shattered glass sliding across concrete. The cold night air tightens around you, pressing in like it’s waiting for a crack to split the silence. Your voice cuts through the space between you like a blade—raw, unyielding. “You left me. You left him. In the blast zone. And you called it mercy.”

That hits. You see it, a flicker of guilt, or memory, or something twisted between them.

“Maybe I did,” he admits. “But the game’s starting again. Come back. You know the rules.”

You stare at him. Silent. Furious. Alive.

And beneath all of that?

You’re listening.

Because you can’t help it.

Because you always did like to win.

The rooftop air is sharp, metallic, charged like the air before lightning splits the sky. You can smell rain that hasn’t fallen yet. The kind that clings to rusted rails and slick pavement, to the bones of the city itself.

He’s still so calm.

Hair slicked back, lips curled just barely at the corner, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he’s already counted every one of your defenses and written the blueprints for how to walk right through them.

Your silence stretches, taut as a tripwire.

The longer it hangs, the more brittle it becomes. You feel it fray. Hear it hum. Something inside you is splintering, minute cracks spiderwebbing from a pressure point you’ve spent years pretending didn’t exist.

Because God.

You miss it.

The danger. The burn.

The way racing used to sing in your veins louder than any heartbeat ever could. The feel of the throttle biting back. The smell of gasoline and rubber. The impossible high of a well-timed turn, an open stretch of road, and the belief—just for a second—that you belonged to something that made sense.

That you made sense.

The temptation curls hot in your gut.

One word. One step. One yes, and you'd be gone again. No questions. No apologies. Just the echo of your tires screaming against the dark.

You blink hard, dizzy with the weight of it.

And then—

CRASH.

The rooftop door explodes open with a violence that shakes the concrete. It slams against the wall and rebounds, rattling on its hinges like it's trying to escape.

You and Geto both snap toward the sound like dogs trained for the gunshot.

And then he’s there.

Sukuna.

He doesn’t enter, he invades. Like he’s not just stepping onto the rooftop but claiming it. Owning it. Daring the sky itself to strike him down.

His boots hit hard, heavy against the rooftop, each step loud enough to echo. His leather jacket flares behind him, catching the wind like a battle flag. Tattoos black as oil peek from under the collar, sliding down his throat like vines.

His face is a thundercloud. Eyes locked, jaw wired tight. No hesitation. No calculation.

He’s not looking for an explanation.

He’s looking for someone to bleed.

And first his eyes find Geto.

Something shifts.

Not surprise. Not rage.

Something older. Deeper.

Recognition.

The kind that crawls up from the past with blood on its hands. The kind that carries names carved into brass casings and tire tread. A slow, cold knowing. Like the past just walked back in, uninvited, and Sukuna remembered exactly where he’d buried the bodies.

The tension spikes, palpable as a live wire. For a heartbeat, neither of them move.

The skyline hums around them. Neon pulses. Wind howls.

Two storms. No safe shelter.

Then Sukuna’s gaze rips from Geto and crashes straight into you.

And now?

Now the fury erupts.

It ignites in his eyes, bright and volatile. Moves through his shoulders like a fuse running toward detonation. His jaw clenches so tightly the muscle ticks, and his breath sounds like it’s fighting to stay human.

He doesn’t bother with preamble.

“What the fuck are you doing here with him?”

His voice hits like a punch, raw, rough, ripped straight from the core of him.

You blink. The heat of his rage coils at the base of your spine. “Excuse me?”

Geto doesn’t so much as twitch. He watches Sukuna the way one apex predator watches another. Amused. Alert. Dangerous.

Sukuna steps forward again, each footfall heavier than the last. Like gravity itself is answering to his rage now.

“Got a real fucking talent,” he spits, the words dripping venom as they slice through the heavy silence, hanging in the cold air like smoke from a burnt-out fire, “for standing next to the worst goddamn people you could pick.”

You plant your stance without even realizing it. “I barely know you.”

His laugh is a single, sharp exhale. Almost a bark. Bitter and disbelieving.

“Bullshit. You touched my bike like it was sacred. Like every nut and bolt told you a secret. And now I find you here”—he waves a hand at Geto like he’s filth—“having a midnight rooftop chat with this snake?”

Geto lifts a brow, amused.

“Still running your mouth, Ryomen?” he drawls. “Still pretending there’s a soul left under all that engine grease and barbed wire?”

Sukuna doesn’t bite.

Doesn’t even glance his way.

His focus is locked on you like a targeting system. Eyes ablaze, but beneath the fury, something else now. Something heavier. Something that tastes like metal in the back of your throat.

Fear.

Or worse—

Possession.

Not the soft kind. Not the safe kind. The kind that burns. That digs its nails in. That refuses to lose.

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Sukuna growls, voice dropping like a hammer. “He’s not just another job. He’ll crawl inside your head, twist it until you think it’s your idea to fall apart.”

You blink once. Hard. Then laugh.

Cold. Empty. Hollow as an oil drum.

“And you’re different?” you snap.

“Yeah,” he bites back, not missing a beat. “Because I don’t lie to myself about what I am.”

The rooftop spins a little. Your ribs feel like they’re trying to crack open.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” his voice is rough, crimson eyes never leaving yours. “I know the way he’s looking at you means he’s already calculated what it’ll cost him to lose you again.”

Your heart stutters.

Air goes thin.

Your gaze cuts to Geto. But he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even blink.

He just stands there. Tall. Calm. Beautiful as a lie.

And you? You burn.

You take one step forward, fire in your spine. Your voice could slice steel.

“Find someone else to race your ghosts,” you hiss to Geto.

He opens his mouth.

You don’t let him.

“No. You don’t get to say something. Not after what happened. Not after what you did.”

You don’t wait for the response. Don’t care what it might be. You turn on your heel, the wind whipping past your ears as your boots hit pavement.

Past Sukuna.

Down the stairs.

Gone.

You don’t stop moving.

Not when the streetlights begin to stretch and smear like watercolors left out in the rain, bleeding color into the corners of your vision until the world itself feels smudged and unreal, as though it’s sliding past you too quickly to catch.

Not when the heat in your chest—the fire that had started out sharp, righteous, volatile like oil on flame—starts to twist into something warped and unrecognizable, something slower, heavier, thick with memory and rot, slowly collapsing inward until it no longer feels like rage at all, but something infinitely worse.

Grief.

Not when your lungs seize and swell with more than exertion, aching not from the sprint or the bitter night air slicing into them, but from the weight of everything you haven’t said, everything you’ve buried so deep it’s begun to fossilize, pushing against your ribcage like a scream trapped beneath your sternum, hot and living and seconds from shattering you open.

One block. Two. Three.

Each footfall slaps against the wet concrete with a rhythm that doesn’t feel like movement so much as a warning, echoing through the empty street with the finality of a gunshot, like the city itself is bearing witness to your unraveling.

You don’t even register the wind shifting behind you until your jacket jerks against your shoulders, pulled suddenly by the breeze like a warning tug, like a ghost yanking at your collar to stop you, to turn around, to look.

When you finally see it, you visibly exhaled. There it is. Your garage.

Home. Sanctuary. Wound.

Familiar in the way only something broken can be. The metal front looms tall and indifferent beneath the streetlight’s sputtering glow, its rust-lined seams catching shadow in all the same places they always have, like the scars on your knuckles or the ones under your skin. Above it, the battered neon sign buzzes dimly, its blue and red glow flickering in and out like a faulty pulse, casting fractured light across the pavement, where it pools in puddles like old blood rinsed down a drain.

Your fingers, numbed and clumsy from the cold, scrabble for the keys in your pocket, fumbling them once, then twice, the metal biting into your palm as if punishing you for the hesitation. You shove the right one into the lock with more force than necessary, and for one brief second, all you want is to get inside—to slam the door behind you and drown yourself in the familiar smell of oil and rust and old gasoline, to lose yourself in the mechanical certainty of engines and steel where nothing—your mind goes blank.

A sound.

A breath.

A shift in the air like the night itself inhaled.

A shadow moves.

“You really walk off like that after a scene like that?”

The voice cuts through the dark, low, rough, familiar. It curls around you like smoke from a fire that should’ve gone out by now.

Of course he fucking followed. Of course he didn’t let it go.

You go rigid, spine drawn taut, hand still clutching the key, the cold metal digging into your skin like an anchor. You don’t turn around. Not yet. Your voice comes out low, measured, scraped raw at the edges.

“I don’t need an escort,” you declare, every syllable carefully carved like stone, controlled, unshaking, even if your heart is still racing.

“Too bad,” he bites out, the words rough with something darker than anger, something close to panic in disguise. “I didn’t ask.”

That does it.

You spin around, fast and sharp, like a blade unsheathed, body vibrating with fresh fury, with the unbearable pressure of everything you haven’t had the space to feel until now, and you meet him with a glare that could strip paint from steel.

“What the hell is your problem?”

His eyes flash. All heat and teeth. He paces forward like a wolf barely held at bay by the thread of his own restraint.

“My problem?” His voice cracks against the walls, low and thunderous. “Geto is my fucking problem.”

Your fists curl at your sides. “I noticed,” you throw back. “What is it between you two?”

Silence.

Not empty but bristling. Buzzing with history. With memory. With things you aren’t sure you want to know.

Sukuna doesn’t answer, but his face does. The twist of his mouth. The tension in his jaw. The way his hands twitch like they miss the feel of a weapon.

Like Geto isn’t just a threat. Like he’s unfinished business.

You shake your head, voice rising. “You barge in like a psycho, insult him like I’m not even standing there, and now you’re what—trying to protect me?”

His eyes narrow. The fire behind them dims—just a flicker—but it’s enough. Enough for something colder to settle in its place.

“He’s not who you think he is.”

Your laugh comes bitter and fast. You throw your hands up like you’re flinging off the weight that’s been chained to your shoulders since the moment Geto opened his mouth on that rooftop.

“I know who he is, Sukuna! I’ve known longer than you! I was there!” Your voice cracks. You don’t care. “I watched it all fall apart. I watched him burn everything down and walk away like it didn’t cost him a goddamn thing.”

Sukuna stills.

Like a gear slips. Like a switch flips inside him.

His chest stops heaving. His fists unclench. His whole presence goes quiet, not calm, but quiet, in that dangerous, seismic way right before something breaks.

And your own breath stutters.

You hadn’t meant to say that much. Not like this. Not to him.

But now it’s out. Raw and bleeding in the space between you. And it hurts.

“You think I’m naïve?” you whisper, your voice hollow with exhaustion. “That I’d just run back into that life because he showed up with an apology and two fucking words? I wasn’t gonna say yes.”

The silence that follows is vast.

Vast and unforgiving, like a canyon you can’t cross no matter how loud you scream into it.

Sukuna looks at you, really looks— Like he’s seeing not just the mechanic, not just the smart-ass girl who doesn’t flinch at blood and grit and steel. But the version of you that still carries ash in your lungs. That still smells like smoke from a fire someone else set.

And for once, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t mock or threaten.

He just stands there, chest rising slow, shadow cutting hard lines beneath his cheekbones.

Something in his eyes shifts.

Not softer. Not exactly.

But deeper. Something old. Like the sound of tires screaming on wet pavement. Like the last look you give someone in your rearview mirror, knowing damn well they won’t be there when you stop.

Finally, he exhales. And it sounds like regret.

tag-list:

@dahliadaenerys @greenday-bingus @w31rd0s7mblur

@blublublubby

✧･ﾟwritten by @prisvvner ⊹ dividers by @cafekitsune ⛓️ do NOT repost, steal, translate, or claim as your own. 🖤 reblogs are love — theft is not. 🏍respect the grease and the grind.

[iloveseraphims]

I saw this when I woke up this morning and it's so cuteeee ⚰️🤺 I wrote this quickly instead of getting out of bed. But now I had the chance to translate and send it. I hope you like it @thatanonymouschocolate 💕

I would also like to thank @sunandflame for reviewing my work and helping me out.

!! Words count 2,5k!!

Mihawk was restless. Not because of that stupid clown or stupid guild. It was because of you. He had just had to leave the area for a quick errand and you had disappeared in an instant. He had no idea what the hell you were doing and that worried him.

He wasn't sure how close you was but he knew you would return soon. Deep down, that was all he knew. He missed your voice, your words, your presence, your feeling.

If there was something crazy on your mind by now, he would have noticed and learned it long ago. He rubbed his temples with a small growl. "Like a cat, she goes to whatever she's interested in..." he said as he sat down on a chair with the new newspapers in his hand. He had to distract himself so that he wouldn't go out and look for you. Yes, you were his partner but he had no right to restrict you. As long as you weren't injured, he avoided interfering in your life easily.

All he hoped was that you wouldn’t get into trouble, but he knew that troublelessness and you were as opposite as the moon and the sun.

---

You didn't come as soon as he had hoped. When the night had devoured the sky he had only just seen your face after a long time. Your boat had slowly approached the land. And next to...well, he had heard rumors but he hadn't expected a 2m Vegapunk clone who looked like his childhood. He had secretly hoped that his Seraphim version wasn't real but now his hopes were as empty as his clone's eyes.

"So that's why you deprived me of yourself?" he asked, arms folded, moving closer to watch the efforts to tie up the boat more closely. His eyes drifted to the S-Hawk that had come ashore. His copy sword similar to Yoru's, his eyes with similar shades of color...but the rest of it. No, it wasn't his. Neither his white hair nor his skin tone were his, he wasn't even a part of him. Still, it was like looking at his old self in a mirror. And that just bothered him.

Giving up on tying the rope with his words, you walked quickly towards him and hugged him by bumping into his torso. His hand found your waist without waiting. "I missed you too, Mr. Stoic man~" you said while covering the line of his moustache with kisses. He only grunted at the nickname you gave him. He was tired of rejecting each of your nicknames, but you weren't tired of finding new ones. His eyes went from you back to the copy of him looking at you and him.

You broke your kiss and followed his gaze. “His name is S-Hawk.”

He quickly replied. "An whacky name," he said. His words must have caused a slight frown to form between S-Hawk's brows. "But he's half of you," you said, hoping to erase their attitudes towards each other.

"I don't think I've ever been cut in half." he said, looking at you. You rolled your eyes at his words and smiled a little. Oh this man and his words, you'll never know what they'll offer you.

"You went and stole him from the government."

"I couldn't handle those bastards having even a piece of you. Besides.." You said, even though Mihawk was reluctant to let go, you separated from him and headed towards S-Hawk. "I would never have the heart to leave him with those bastards. Not after I saw him with my own eyes."

"With your eyes?" Mihawk said with a stoic face, raising an eyebrow.

Ah he always managed to hit you somewhere. You growled playfully. “Okayy maybe I saw him from the photo but those eyes saw him? Saw him. ”

"Y/n...you stole a damn Seraphim from the government. You know what you did, right? - And how did you convince him to come here?" His eyes went from you to the weird version of his childhood. These eyes that should never have existed.

"Let's call it trust and recognition at first sight. It was like he recognized me just as I recognized him. And you should have seen it!...he spoke sweetly with that stoic face just like you Mihawk~ my heart was practically being moved away from my body!"

He ran his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. God, what was he going to do with you? “Does he have a tracking chip or something?”

You pressed your lips together, forming a walnut on your chin. "Uhmmmmmmm." You exchanged glances with S-Hawk then looked at Mihawk, shaking your head. "Nope. We're completely clear with this little friend." Mihawk glanced sideways at S-Hawk, not taking his gaze off of you. Little friend? Yes the 2m tall thing was definitely a little friend. Oh how cute.

"Y/n I'm sure the government will find out the truth sooner or later and come"

"Come on, if it's easy, let them step into Yonko's lands."

“Yonko?” He pointed his finger at the tent far behind him. “Who do you think will be the first to disappear from the island when the marines arrive?”

You chuckled a little at his words, which caused him to sigh. “I don’t mean metaphorically, I mean literally Y/n. This guy would jump into the sea with the first barrel he found as soon as the government men arrived.”

"How beautiful we and S-Hawk will go after him in your boat," you said without losing your cheerful mood.

His eyes narrowed in exasperation at your words. You and being convinced, even if he was the man of your heart were a difficult task. "Anyway it's late and the weather is quite chilly, let's go now." he said. You walked towards him, holding S-Hawk's hand, and held his hand. This wasn't what he had imagined, but it was what it was.

---

"Kahhhhhhh! As if one wasn't enough, you also brought a giant version that half-pint!"

"I can hear you," Mihawk said as he started his morning with his coffee, causing Buggy to jump.

The table was in complete chaos. Even Crocodile, who did not attend breakfast and always ate in his room, when he saw S-Hawk at the doorway made a difference and joined them. Mihawk began to focus on the newspaper in his hand among the loud and curious voices of the crew below.

But his eyes kept drifting to you behind the newspaper and to the S-Hawk you were feeding from your hand. He had just accepted you feeding him from your hand. What is this, a child?

He couldn’t help but think, “This is ridiculous.” Buggy leaned towards you, who were filling S-Hawk’s plate with sweets, “Y/n let me know if you need help.”

"What is that? Is there place for one more in the barrel?"

"What the hell barrel?"

You chuckled softly at his reaction. Maybe Crocodile and Mihawk didn’t like him but that wasn’t the case for you. Sure Buggy wasn’t someone everyone would want around, but deep down he was a man who was hungry to share his feelings and moments, who dreamed of freedom as much as his hair that resembled the sky. So…he was for you. And when you told Mihawk this one night in bed, you were definitely hushed in his arms and forced to sleep. For Mihawk, Buggy was trouble, and you were a chick who followed troubles like a mother.

S-Hawk kept glancing at the others at the table but his focus was always on you. But at the same time, it was also secretly on Mihawk and the only one knew this was Mihawk himself. You watched S-Hawk with excitement as he ate the dessert you put on his plate, he frowned a little while you listening to Buggy's whispers. Seeing that he couldn't control his expressions much, unlike Mihawk...it was so cute. You stood up to pinch S-Hawk's cheeks, who was taller than you and while squeezing his cheeks softly in your hands, you looked at Mihawk, who was reading the morning newspaper. "Mihawk, look at this cuteness!!" His gaze focused on you slightly, then went back to his newspaper. "I don't think what I saw is the same as what you were talking about, my dear."

Crocodile shifted slightly in his chair. He hummed with satisfaction as his chair was pushed back slightly. He watched the scene in front of him silently, lighting a new cigar. He had originally joined the breakfast because he thought it would be useful if they could use a seraphim, but now what was happening in front of him. He looked like he was going to watch a comedy show for free. He grinned as he took his cigar out of his mouth and blew the smoke out.

---

You were sitting with Mihawk on the upper floor of the Cross Guild, drinking wine and reading the newspaper you hadn’t looked at this morning. “They didn’t write anything about us,” you said, turning the newspaper over and looking at the back. Mihawk removed the wine from his lips. “I’m sure they must have lost their minds when their Seraphim went missing. I don’t think they’ll tell anyone about this information.”

You leaned back even more into Mihawk's chest. Even though your eyes scanned the newspaper, what you were thinking about was S-Hawk. After breakfast, he left saying that he wanted to observe the surroundings instead of spending time with you. To be honest you hadn't even thought he would want something like that but you were happy with it. Even though Mihawk didn't accept it, he was more than a weapon. You felt it, no you knew it.

Your eyes shifted from the newspaper to the man standing behind you. You turned your chest towards him, your hands roaming over the skin you had memorized. His hand, which had been resting on your hip so comfortably that you hadn’t realized it, tightened and slowly caressed your flesh through your clothing. “You’re thinking too much again.”

You smiled slightly at what he said and laid your head on his chest, your cheeks squashed under the pressure. “I’m just thinking about the moment I met S-Hawk…” You said, your hand still roaming over his skin.

Mihawk didn't let any words out. He just waited for you to share your thoughts with him. Like he always did. If your thoughts were a storm, he was a lighthouse you could take shelter in. Nothing less, nothing more, just the way it was meant to be.

"I entered the marine base wearing sailor clothes. That way I wouldn't stand out too much while walking around. And to be honest, I wasn't even sure if I could find him. Still, I had to try, Mihawk, even if it was a chance, I was willing. Do you understand?... The moment I saw his picture, the people around me calling him the government's new weapon... there was a huge weight on my heart that I couldn't accept it."

Seeing his childhood that you could never see in a photo...your eyes were silently filled with the weight of the words you said and didn't say. Mihawk must have sensed this because his hand slid above your waist in a silent reassuring manner. This movement pushed you even deeper. You lifted your head from his chest and looked into his eyes. Mihawk's gaze had accepted you just like that. Silent, observant, but so close. He was looking at you with those gentle eyes that belonged only to you, as if he could see everything.

You thought about Mihawk’s situation. Even though his attitude towards S-Hawk upset you, you had to understand him. “I’m sorry Mihawk.” You said. He put the wine glass in his hand on the table, his calloused hands slowly and gently touched your cheek. He wiped your tears. He poured his words with a deep voice that was as soft as his gaze. “Don’t apologize to me for things you can’t control, Y/n. Don’t numb your feelings for things that don’t deserve them.”

You licked your dry lips and wet them. "Neither of you deserved this, Mihawk." Even though the words came out of your mouth, they formed a lump in your throat as if they had gone back. Mihawk stroked your hair and kissed your head for a long time while he gently stroked your back.

You were both grateful for moments like these. Mihawk gently placed his finger on your chin and made you look at him. "You say he's half of me, but half of me is you." he said. His voice may have been very cold or deep but to you it was as sweet and soft as velvet. Only you could know the difference. No one else, yes. Only you.

You looked over Mihawk's shoulder as you heard footsteps approaching from behind.

S-Hawk slowly approached you. It's not known who his harsh gaze was directed at, but it slowly softened when he saw you. He approached you as if he was going to say something. Mihawk watched his movements with the side eye but didn't interfere.

You were expecting words for your ears, not the yellow tulips extended towards your face. You blinked once or twice to reinforce what was in front of your eyes. Your face, which was like a waveless sea, quickly became more and more excited. You took the flowers with excitement and said, "WOAHHHHHH ARE THESE FOR MEEE?! YOU ARE SO SWEET, S-HAWWKKK!" While looking at him with excitement, you noticed the slight blush on his dark cheeks, you couldn't resist anymore and jumped up from the couch and hugged him tightly. Your head was almost touching his chest. "Hehe thanks, I'll take care of these as best as I can," you said with a big smile, looking at him. S-Hawk looked at you with his usual stoic, sullen face. "I know."

At the sound of Mihawk placing the glass on the table you looked at him, still hugging S-Hawk. “Y/n likes daisies more.” He said with that stern face he always presented to others. But you knew better.

"Bring it next time."

Bonus:

[syndrossi]

OH for the fic prompt request- I truly always really loved Robb and Jon's relationships in the books/show. It was very complicated, and anyone who's grown up can see the bones of awkward teenage phases causing most of the friction in their canon relationship. (And shithead Theon NOT HELPING.) By the time they're old enough to move past a lot of their problems, Robb is dead and Jon's at the wall. It was always so tragic to me.

That being said I really loved your portrayal of Robb in Restoration AU, and dealing with two MORE bastard sons, and his mothers influence warring with his Stark honor and love for his family. (Side note, also love how you treat Catelyn, complicated as she is. All your character portrayals are very thoughtful, I think I've sent you an ask saying so before.)

I'd love to see more in this verse (if you're feeling it). Maybe Robb's POV reconciling after his and Jon's argument, or maybe Daemon's POV of Robb in the aftermath, or maybe even Baelon's POV of Robb? The heart break of seeing your lost brother, and he doesn't even know you. ;-; Because at the end of the day Robb DOES love Jon deeply, and he's a very smart strategist (King) eventually. I think I also saw you mention the hypothetical future where Robb goes to Dragonstone and Daemon smugly shows him how great his sons all are was a very funny image. (Robb, who already loves Jon, bemused at Daemon expounding his virtues. (Daemon does not know Jon as well as Robb.))

(Part of the post-interview prompt-fest, just in ask format!)

I opted for a Robb + R!Jon (Willam) heart to heart in the godswood. Prepare yourself for broody sad boys!

x~x~x

Robb did not usually seek out the godswood when he was upset. He preferred swinging at targets in the yard, or going for long rides within view of the castle, or sometimes drinking with Theon in town until he was sick, though that risked punishment.

But Jon did, so he settled into the roots where he sometimes found his brother brooding, overlooking one of the smaller pools, and waited. No one came in search of him. Certainly not his father, who seemed as determined to avoid his family as he had been to avoid the consequences of his infidelity. He had gone out with a scouting party instead, seeking the men who had kidnapped Willam and Raymar.

Robb remained in place, his butt growing numb as he stared at the surface of the pool. Green vegetation swayed around the rim where it met the red algae that thrived at the edge of the water, and the low buzz of insects lulled the maelstrom of emotion that churned within him, granting a clarity of thought.

He had been furious yesterday. He never should have sought Jon out, or their new little brothers. I did try to be kind. To reassure them as Father should have. It had stung that his efforts had been met only with suspicion from Jon, who instead assumed he had deliberately upset them. But he could admit to himself that kindness had not been his goal in visiting Jon’s chamber.

My appetite was for answers. Until he had found that he could not stomach them after all. All I did was make them cry. He did not know when their mother had died, but for Jon, it might as well have been yesterday, for he had not known her. And for all Robb knew, she could have been killed when the twins had been taken.

Worst of all, he was glad she was dead and could no longer tear their family apart. It was a terrible thing to think, but he could not help it, even though he wasn’t sure it would ease his own mother’s suffering at all. It did not erase his father’s betrayal.

“Hello, Robb,” a voice said softly, and Robb nearly tripped into the pool as he jolted to his feet, his legs numb and tingling.

It was Willam, who had crept up on him, as silent as Jon could be. In the light of day, the boy looked no less like his older brother, even the faint tilt of his head as he studied Robb an eerie echo of Jon’s.

“Where is Jon?” Robb asked, glancing about, but their brother was nowhere in sight. “You should not be wandering the grounds alone.”

“It is not wandering if I have been here before,” Willam said with a shrug. “Our father brought us here yesterday.”

That is not what I meant. But Robb could hardly say what he had, which was that his father’s bastards roaming freely throughout the yard would invite curiosity, and not all of it kind.

“Why did you come here?” Robb asked. Does Jon know that you are on your own?

“I like it here,” Willam said after a moment, settling into one of the gaps between the tree’s thick roots. “It is peaceful.”

Robb stared down at his little half-brother, caught between the desire to flee and the impulse to join him on the ground. Why should I flee? He eased himself back down, turning his gaze to the water once more. Doubtless Jon will accuse me of trying to upset him yet again if he were to stumble across us.

The thought came with a surge of resentment that tried to direct itself at Willam, who had catapulted himself along with his twin above Robb in Jon’s regard. We have been brothers all our lives, and he cast me aside for them in a heartbeat, even though they are as much as stranger to him as to me.

But when he glanced sidelong at Willam, he found the boy gazing back with what seemed a painful yearning, and the jealousy retreated beneath a welling of concern. “Is something the matter?”

“Quite often,” Willam said, even his humor wry like Jon’s, though he also sounded tired and more than a little sad.

“I am sorry,” Robb said, guilt rising in him. “I did not mean to speak about your mother so.”

Willam’s brow rose faintly, as though questioning the truth of his words. “It was not an easy day for anyone.”

“I fear I upset Raymar more,” Robb said, recalling the furious tears in the boy’s eyes as Willam held him back.

Willam nodded. “I do not think he will be seeking you out in the godswood any time soon. The yard, mayhaps.”

Robb smiled faintly at him, then asked, “What about Jon?”

Willam regarded him with a blank expression. “Should he be the one seeking you?”

I sought him last time. But Robb recognized the defensiveness in that thought. I sought him for a conflict.

“I do not know what to say to him,” Robb admitted. He feared that the anger would spring forth once more, and he would shout more things that he could not take back.

“You are his brother.”

Robb frowned, uncertain whether Willam meant that he should know, or if that was his suggestion.

“He loves you,” Willam added softly. “He does not want to be at odds with you.”

“Is that what he said?”

Willam shook his head. “I just know.”

“I am also your brother,” Robb said, because that sadness had returned to his expression, and it tugged at his heart.

Willam gave a silent nod, and he could see the glitter of tears in his eyes, so Robb shifted over to his root gap and slid an arm around his shoulder. After a moment, his head came to rest against Robb’s arm.

“I miss—” Willam said, only to halt, voice choking.

“I am sorry,” Robb said, meaning it this time. “I am here.”

x~x~x

I'm not crying, you're crying!

[changingplumbob]

Second Round - Day Seven (Gonk) 2 of 2

@sleepyselkiesims, @sanitysims, @bakersimmer, @invisiblequeen, @abbysimsfun, @fallin4fiction - Sim creators and co-writers

Nephinae: Like I said. It's okay. I know my strengths and weaknesses

Devin: Actually Nephinae since you completed the challenge and Nicola and Arista have both had dates, you did win the date from this challenge

Nephinae: Wait, what??? I'm not last place?? Huh??? I SURVIVED?

Arista: OH MY PLUMBOB did that really just happen?!?! I never thought I could ever win any fitness-based challenges, let alone rock climbing! Phew, I need to lie down- I know I don't get the date but still, second is a silver medal

Devin: Nicola you will get bonus points for having come first in lieu of another date

Nicola: This is amazing! That was the most amazing rush, and the payoff! I'm walking on a cloud. But could Deanna and I head back to the spa for fresh manicures? 

Devin: Deanna will be heading out on her date

Nicola: ...Can I go back to get one?

Nephinae has chosen to head to a cafe for her date today. The pair pick a nice table inside.

Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?

Nephinae: Oof. I'd say half-and-half. I worked hard to be good at what I do, but I lucked out with the inner voice telling me where to put my hands. I put my best foot forward submitting to this show, but I lucked out in getting picked! So I can't say if I'm lucky or unlucky...

Deanna: Any stories to support either opinion?

Nephinae: well...if I had to pick the unluckiest thing to happen to me, I think it was this time I saw a sim on the other side of the train tracks one day. We caught each other's eye and smiled, and I swear there was a spark. We kept giggling and looking at each other...but then the train came to take us on our separate journeys. I was bummed for a couple of hours, but then I got to the city and found the best on sale vintage coats I had ever seen! See how luck comes back around?

Deanna: My sister would be thrilled with the sale! But damn, romantically torn apart by trains

Nephinae: *smiles* Maybe they weren't the one for me. Maybe someone else closer is

Deanna: *blushes*

Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?

Nephinae: Eh, I don't like to think that something is knowingly in control of me, or someone, someone I don't know about...but maybe fate, destiny, watchers, all of that is a word for the part of me that feels compelled to say and do things I didn't think I ever would

Deanna: Like intuition?

Nephinae:  Maybe. Maybe it's the part of me that feels a connection to someone or something that I didn't expect. Maybe that part of me is just a hidden version of me that's less conscious and more instinctive. Like right now...I want to take your hand in mine. Is that someone else's doing, or my own? I know the feelings are mine, but whatever pushes me to finally take your hand...I think it's me and my subconscious in agreement

Deanna: *blushes* Good answer

Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?

Nephinae: Tomorang

Deanna: I've never been but I've heard good things

Nephinae: Everybody there says they love the culture, that the food and fashion are everything and the community is even better. Food, Fashion, Friends. What more could I want?

Deanna: A fully stocked toolbox?

Nephinae: *laughs* Guilty

Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family.I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable, not constant packing and unpacking

Nephinae: Look, wherever I can open up my shop, I'm happy to stay. Just don't try to swear me off thrifting around the world *winks*

Deanna: *laughs* Oh my sister would never forgive me stopping the spirit of a shopper!

Nephinae: I'll never be gone long and I'll always come back home

Deanna: *smiles* I could be talked into vacations

When everyone is back at the villa it's time to work on their skills. While some challenges are more up to luck, there are some that are influenced a lot by skill.

Nicola elects to study research and debate by practicing her debating in the mirror. Arista picks comedy and reads up on the skill. Nephinae feels a little tense after the date, it went well but she has a low romance skill. Perhaps inspired by her performance today she elects to study rock climbing. Evelyn, Yasmine and Kristina all decide to work on their nectar making skills so it's a crowded balcony above the kitchen.

Devin: You look happy

Deanna: I am. The date with Nephinae went really well

Devin: Gold level then?

Deanna: For sure. We have different personalities so it is a case of opposites attracting again. Which yeah makes me smitten

Devin: How did you find the date?

Nephinae: Really good. I worried with her being cheerful and me being hot headed we'd be too different but there are things we agree on. So yeah, feeling smitten about her

And then the watcher forgot to put everyone in their hot weather outfits! So the water balloon fight was done in everyday clothes. There was a theme for this day… everyone try hit Deanna! Almost every one thrown was aimed at her.

Nephinae goofed around, trying to draw some of the fire but nope, another one pelted Deanna. Evelyn had a lot of fun while the whole ordeal reminded Nicola of being with her students again. They would have loved this!

As I said Yasmine, Arista, Evelyn and Kristina had next to no balloons thrown at them. At least none that hit! Which suited Arista fine since she alleges she's not a fan of water. It appears Yasmine didn't harbor a grudge against Kristina for her family's work which was nice.

Deanna: Darn, we should have changed clothes

Kristina: We'll survive, we pretty much dried immediately in the sun

Evelyn: Thanks for not hitting me in the face everyone

Arista: Never Evie

Deanna: You seem happier now Nicola

Nicola: Yeah, I guess technically winning the challenge put me in a good mood *blows kiss*

Nephinae: This tastes good

Yasmine: Your cooking really is great Deanna

Deanna: *smiles* Thanks

After dinner autonomy is set to full and Deanna is locked out of all rooms (and away from computers). To start things off though she suggests the group watch a movie. I don't tell her to do anything so the night is very much up to the contestants.

Nephinae: E.T.? Classic! Part of the reason I started tinkering with stuff

Kristina: But do you think there are aliens out there? What if they like red heads?

Yasmine: To me this film shows government overreach in a crisis. Like what gave them the right to take over the house?

Nicola: They didn't know he wasn't a threat

Arista: They should have listened to Elliot

Evelyn: Do you think that trick with the lamp and thermometer actually works?

And then right in the middle of the film Evelyn proposes a mistletoe kiss with Deanna!!! Ahhhh!!!

Deanna: That was pretty cute

Evelyn: I know I don't have as high romance scores as some but I'm here to try

Deanna: I think you're doing great

Evie is just full of kisses and goes for Deanna's hands next. Is Kristina crying over the display of affection or the movie? Who knows.

Arista: Ummm is Nephinae asleep

Yasmine: I think so

Nicola: Give her a shake, she's going to get a sore neck like that

Nephinae: *awakes with a start* Spanner!

Kristina: Spanner?

Evelyn: She does want to be master maker

The end of the film approaches and everyone is filled with dread at the thought of E.T. not escaping. Everyone except Deanna and Evelyn who are still chatting away (I checked their queues and they were allegedly still watching the film).

Nephinae: *sighs* why must so many films end with friends being apart?

Yasmine: I still can't believe they were going to make them dissect living frogs, that's barbaric

Nicola: No dissection in my classes, the frogs would be free

While Arista and Evelyn head to sleep, followed closely by Yasmine, Nicola takes a minute to chat with Deanna.

Nicola: Was that a kiss I saw

Deanna: Do mistletoe kisses count?

Nicola: Just checking that you're not against us trying

Deanna: Not at all if the whim hits you. I wouldn't want anyone to feel like they had to just to stay though

Nicola: *smiles* I'll think about it

Kristina: Must you blast that music

Nephinae: Kristina you're the one who chose to nap there. There's plenty of beds

Kristina: *sighs* Normally I don't mind noise when I sleep. There's plenty of strange sounds in the woods at home

Before the time ends for this household Deanna pulls Nephinae aside and gives her a rose. Thanks for the gold level date perhaps?

Gym build by @hashimasims Cafe build by @sleepyselkiesims Villa renovation by @paracosmic-sims

[caniaskwhoiscallingplease]

I have some thoughts about the next to normal proshot that I need to share because I have never been less normal about any musical ever and no one I know irl has seen it. Spoilers below if you care about that sort of thing.

The whole plot happens because Diana wants to connect with Natalie! She sees her reaction to Henry and wants to relate to her and feel how she feels, so she dumps her meds and it's only when she acknowledges Natalie in therapy that she really starts making progress. It's also only when Nat tells the truth of their lives that Diana starts to remember it. Natalie really is the driving force of the story.

Gabe corrects Dan on Henry's name! In my mind this means either Diana's subconscious pays more attention than Natalie thinks she does or Dan's guilt extends to how little attention he pays to Natalie.

In I am the One, Gabe only speaks after Dan says "could you leave me" to Diana. Gabe really is Dan's fears in that moment, not Diana's, and it's about what will happen if Di leaves and he is left alone with his grief. The next time we see Gabe around Dan is after the suicide attempt, and he's refusing to hear his fears even when they're screaming beside him. "I've never had to face a world without her by my side". When she does leave him officially that is when he is finally able to acknowledge (and name!) his grief and he is terrified.

The Break is Diana finally taking her mental health into her own hands. She's not just trying to be 'normal' for Dan any more, as his 'normal' is ignoring Gabe. The staging is just amazing, showing how she acknowledges Gabe in a healthy way, instead of relying on him to get her through the day.

The hand touch! When Nat sees her dad (Dan "it's going to be good" Goodman) crying in the dark, Natalie feels a small part of the grief that has been haunting her family. She has always known about Gabe, but she didn't overtly feel the grief of the loss until she sees it in her dad.

The references to weather throughout are crazy, but I don't see people talking about references to the light/night! At the very beginning, Diana is waiting up for Gabe. She says it's the seventh night this week (obviously insomnia due to her manic state) but also because when Gabe was a baby they would stay up all night to make sure he made it through. During the last song, Dan finally acknowledges those nights "night after night, we'd sit and wait for the morning light, but we've waited far too long". Then Diana comes in with "day after day, wishing all our cares away, trying to fight the things we feel but some hurts never heal, some ghosts are never gone" she's again acknowledging that she doesn't need to be normal! And she can live with her illness and her grief in the daylight.

And that's it!! Maybe now that I've put all my thoughts out there I can stop thinking about this musical but unlikely.

[physalian]

Speaking also on the prioritization of hyperfixations—meaning I can Get Shit Done at speed while neglecting basic necessities, and I do this because it's fun and I enjoy it. The hardest part of being a writer around other writers is that my sense of scale is completely off compared to every other writer I have met, based on posts I see and conversations I've had.

Their sense of “a lot of writing done today” 5-600 words.

My sense of “a lot of writing done today” 5-6000 words.

Their sense of “wrote this so fast” 6 months.

My sense of “wrote this so fast” 1 month.

Their sense of “I couldn’t put it down” read across 6 weeks.

My sense of “I couldn’t put it down” read in 6 hours.

This isn't a competition, I'm not pushing myself to work this fast, it's literally the only speed I know how to work at. If I'm not writing this quickly, then I'm in a months-long slump. I don't know what to do with "daily wordcount challenges" because I'd either get frustrated by the upper limit, over overwork myself attempting to write at my quantity for 30 days straight, inorganically. Ask me to pace myself and I'll forfeit the race because I'm understimulated and bored.

Which makes it really hard to make friends with other writers? It’s like I have to have a print out of a conversion chart to remind myself to set my expectations and that I am I guess Writers Georg.

If there others like me out there, hiya, I haven't found you yet.

Like, even if I don't think your work is subjectively *good* I made a promise and by god, I'm going to keep it at the same level of quality at the same delivery time as I would if I thought it was amazing. You asked *me* for feedback and I'm honored to be of service. If I couldn't, I would not have let you get excited.

What you say: “Yeah I’ll get to your wip asap!”

What that means to me: “Yeah I’ll get to your wip immediately!”

What that means to you: “Yeah I’ll (maybe) get to your wip in 6-8 business weeks, no promises!”

Everyone has different priorities and the amount of time they want to alot to any given commitment. I just struggle with feeling taken advantage of, because if I were to delay my delivery of feedback, I’d be doing so deliberately to punish you and make you wait, because you’re unintentionally making me wait.

If I have to tell myself “it can wait I have time” I know myself well enough that no, it will not get done. I get it done now, when I’m guaranteed to have time, before I end up making promises I can’t keep.

So if I have to go into a new friendship with a consciously suppressed amount of enthusiasm to match another writer’s ability to prioritize my work the way I can with theirs, it’s more of a loose transactional agreement than anything else. I don't want to make you wait, it's not a good feeling for me.

I can make other writer friends, I guess, but it cannot be on the basis of sharing our works with each other, because it will always be lopsided. Friends who both happen to be writers dimly aware of each other's projects, more like it.

Again. This is no one’s fault. I just don’t know where that leaves me. I've been on the failed end of what I thought was an enthusiastic WIP-swap too many times now to take anyone's offer optimistically.

Somebody is inevitably going to think I'm arrogant. So as nice as possible: If every single post screaming into the void about how none of us can find readers and people to gush about our wips with had a writer behind them willing to put in the effort to read other writers' wips with the enthusiasm and dedication they're hoping for themselves, we wouldn't all be lonely writers screaming into the void.

[hongjoongspoetry]

A Love Written in Gold

Part 2 — The Garden

🦢 Summary: Dearest reader, as the fateful meeting by the willow looms ever nearer, our dear Miss Lee finds herself under the weighty gaze of familial expectations. With whispers swirling around her, she is compelled to distance herself from her cherished companion Mister Song, all whilst dazzling noble Duke Park. Yet, Miss Lee's heart dances to a different tune, seeking not the ties of love, but the sweet symphony of musical strings. It appears the piano prodigy, Mister Kim, has pledged that his interactions with the exquisite Miss Lee shall remain purely of a professional nature. Lo and behold, as he is caught in the throes of temptation at a most exhilarating horse race, casting furtive glances at the enchanting Miss Lee and her gallant companion, Duke Park. Alas, the bitter taste of lemons lingers cruelly upon his tongue, a most tantalizing reminder of his struggle! But pray, dear reader, while Miss Lee and Mister Kim each harbor their secrets, what hidden shadows might lie behind the confident smiles of other esteemed gentlemen, be they Dukes or Viscounts?

🦢 Pairing(s): Proletarian!Hongjoong x Noble!Reader, Duke!Seonghwa x Noble!Reader

🦢 Genres/Tropes: Bridgerton AU, Regency era, forbidden love, fluff, angst

🦢 Warnings/Tags: no use of (Y/N), female reader, sexism, explicit language, family disputes, familial pressure, emotional manipulation and repression, verbal mockery, sibling feud, invalidation of one's feelings, mild classism/elitist attitudes, jealousy, pressure to conform, subtle coercion, romantic tension, light angst, skinship (not sexual), fear of being caught, wholesome!mingi, but also sad!mingi, petnames (flea, my dear, my diamond, darling, sweetie, little lady, little one)

🦢 Wordcount: 15.4K

🦢 Author's Note: Well, well, well. If it isn't my first real post after my hiatus. The last time I wrote on this part was in October/November of 2024. So it's been in the works for a while... I've really missed writing fanfics, you guys, and I'm so freaking happy to be back! Anyways, in this part we get to know the characters a bit more and their dynamics. For starters, you'll get a better image of the Jeong/Lees and I assume most of you will be disappointed with how the Jeongs act... Let me assure you, it will only go downhill from here ;-; On another note, we get more scenes of our lovely three musketeers!! And for all my yeodongies, Yeosang finally makes his first appearance heheheh... There's so much more I want to say, but I fear that would spoil too much of the chapter... Per usual, I haven't beta read this chapter so except errors and enjoy!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs refrain from reading this work!

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The Jeong household was certainly not devoid of company the following two days. Every eligible gentleman in the whole land trekked across hills and sea to vy for your attention. It was a rather exhausting morning with no room for faults to slip past your act of the most demure lady of the century. The long hallway was teeming with handsome men carrying extravagant bouquets and chocolate delicates waiting for their turn to socialize with Miss Lee. The gentleman you were currently conversing with under the watchful eyes of your family was an earl, but over what territory you could not remember for the well-being of your loved ones. 

“Perchance we have spoken enough of my vineyard. Pray, do enlighten me regarding your own endeavors.” 

The brittle bubble wrapped around you burst as the earl’s curiosity pricked its surface. The background crashed into you like a cold wave of sea water and made you overly aware of your surroundings. The burning sensation of Yunho’s eyes on your skin, the loud slurping noise of the caller drinking his tea and the commotion outside that Wooyoung was seemingly having trouble settling. The foul smell of his breath stung your nose and you fought the urge to crinkle your face in sheer disgust. It was a miracle you had not spilled your guts out on the fairly new Axminster carpet. Your pinky was also hurting from its awkward position and your lips longed to be released from their curved confines, but the earl was waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, yes… My pursuits… Well, I find great pleasure in the art of instrumental play, particularly the piano–” The loud and dare you say forced cough of Ireum made you halt and change the course of your response. “That was in my younger days. Now, I have discovered a most profound affection for hand sewing… and reading.”

His spirits lightened at the mention of passing time by reading and put down the teacup, dabbed his mouth with a napkin and leaned back with a hum of intrigue.

“Do tell, which work of literature do you prefer? I find myself rather well-versed in pieces of strategy and martial exploits.”

It was foolish of you to suppose there existed one topic you shared interest in. The novels you read were written by women such as Jane Austen and Anne Radcliff who spread tales of love. Helpless and stranded, you cast a quick glance in Yunho’s direction and wordlessly urged him to come to your rescue. As the shining man in armor he was not, he smoothly swooped into the conversation in three long strides with both of his hands resting respectfully behind his back.

“Excuse me for interrupting the discourse, Lord Gremlin, but I believe Miss Lee has other activities to attend and has to be prepared in due time. Are you not, Sister?”

Lord Gremlin, what a fitting name for his short nature, you thought and sipped on your tea to mask the taunting smirk begging to stretch across your lips. The lord was but a few inches shorter than Wooyoung with a face jarring enough to scare the habitats of a pet cemetery. 

“Yes, indeed. I am to accompany Mister Song to the park, an engagement decided days prior. Forgive my lack of clarity, my Lord.”

The look of utmost disbelief crossed Lord Gremlin’s features and you were certain if not for Yunho’s presence, vile words of distreatment and not being granted the equal amount of time as the prior callers would leave his bitter tongue. 

“Indeed, Miss Lee, it is quite acceptable. Although I do hope for a more prolonged discourse at our next meeting.”

The lord pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your hand and bid farewell to the remaining members of your family. Before the doors could close, Wooyoung slipped in and marched across the room, sparing no one second glances. He snatched all of three biscuits from the almost empty tray and slumped in the warm seat beside you. It was silent in the common room, aside from Wooyoung’s loud chewing, and you knew neither Ireum nor Yunho were overly joyous with the available gentlemen taking it upon themselves to visit the estate, but perhaps it was not the men prancing on Ireum’s toes.

The Dowager Viscountess sighed and set down her teacup, her hands falling over each other on her lap as she turned to you. “Did you feel compelled to mention Mister Song? It does not look good for you, my dear.”

“But Mother, I cannot lie to our guests. It would be truly horrendous if I implied to visit the garden alone and then be seen accompanying Mingi. I believe it better to be honest. Besides, I would not wish to marry a man who is not comfortable with the friendship between Mingi and I.”

“Perhaps it is something we shall discuss then…” Ireum patted the plush padding on her right and you could do nothing, but oblige. 

She cast Yunho and Wooyoung a simple glance telling them to grant you some privacy, that it was not a conversation for their ears. Simple minded men as they were, they could only think of the courses, a natural process of changes a woman went through each month, and scattered as a heap of flies. 

“You see, my diamond.” Ireum gently clasped your hand between hears and caressed the line of your knuckles. “A friendship between a male and a woman is heavily frowned upon. It is unruly and not proper, especially without a chaperone too. It taints you, my dear, and wards off the eligible gentlemen eager to seek you out.”

“But… Mingi is my friend?” 

“I am aware of it, but the rest of the Ton is not, darling and mayhaps you should take into account how your… outings will look amongst outsiders.”

Your brows scrunched together and you slipped your hand out of her hold. “So what am I to do? I am not going to halt our friendship. Mingi is my best friend!”

Word spread around the Ton of the new diamond in the span of a few hours and suddenly everyone’s eyes were on you. Everything from your behavior to interactions was under the watchful gazes of high society, eagerly waiting for you to hand them new material of gossip. It was a drastic change, to say the least, and you could not understand why a simple outing with Mingi would stir up drama. It was not as if your friendship was a secret prior to your debut and it would certainly not lead to a romance either. Nonetheless, if your future partner had an issue with your social circle, perhaps he was not the suitable man for you.

“I am not asking that of you, sweetie, but perhaps do not mention him amongst the suitors. It makes you… undesirable and you, my dear, are a diamond. The diamond. We cannot have a diamond be ruined by whispers and gossip stemming from jealousy…”

As much as you wished to throw a tantrum, cross your arms and assault the floor with the rapid stomping of your feet, you could not. The childish days of whining until your wishes were granted and the object of your desires was in the palms of your hands were over. There was also a certain truth to Ireum’s words. A lady who spoke of man in front of another was not a lady anyone was eager to wed, even if the man posed no threat at all. It did not change the fact that the fear of losing Mingi was perhaps greater than the fear of never finding a husband. In the end, only one resulted in loneliness and to be frank, you were willing to give up the magical moment of falling in love for a lifelong friendship. Mingi would always give you love and that was enough.

“Believe me. I am saying this from my heart because I do not wish to see you face the hatred I did when I married your father.”

The anger sinking its claws into your skin chipped away and you could but harbor sadness and grief for how the Ton treated Ireum. It was unfair and unjust, and you would not wish it upon anyone, certainly not a woman who did not amount to the harsh words society forced upon her. 

Sighing, you leaned into the camel backed sofa and accepted defeat. “I know, Mother. I will not mention Mingi in future discussions if possible.”

Ireum’s satisfied smile shone brighter than the spring seeping through the three paned wide windows, but you could not muster up a smile of your own.

“You are a smart girl, darling. I knew you would listen to me. Your brothers and I are only doing what we deem most fit for you. Most fit to find you a perfect husband.”

The majority of the talks exchanged between ladies of your kind circulated around finding a perfect husband, but you were yet to hear what a perfect husband entailed. Money? Goods? Estates? Perhaps a kind nature and dotting personality? To fill you with babies? It was a question you would save for your maid, considering none of your remaining family members were reliable sources. Despite being men, your brothers had yet to find the women of their dreams and would prove to be quite futile for your wonders. Ireum, on the other hand, had quite the knowledge, but she was someone you would rather not discuss such a topic with. You had an inkling feeling she would push her beliefs upon you in the disguise of spreading wisdom.

“I shall leave now. It would be most improper to keep my company waiting.”

The common room was suddenly void of the many people previously there, safe from Ireum who was left to entertain herself and one could wonder whether it had anything to do with the controlling side of the Dowager Viscountess. It never crossed your mind that Ireum of all people would view Mingi as an obstacle to your future. Sweet and kind Mingi with nothing but love coursing through his veins. You wonder what she would think of him if she were to know of his proposal, you were certain a wedding would already be in the plans.

Turning the corner leading to the entrance of the estate, you masked the groan threatening to escape. Standing by the doors was no other than Wooyoung, your chaperone for the evening. 

“You seem vexed, dear Sister. Did the talk with Mama not go to your liking?” 

“I do not wish to speak of it.”

Wooyoung raised his hands in mock surrender as you continued straight past him. “Your wish is my command, little lady.”

The second-born Jeong held onto his words, but it did not save you from a journey engrossed in conversation. Your brother had quite the mouth on him and it would be foolish to think the ride would be anything but silent in his presence. 

“What do you and Mister Song have planned then? A promenade by the river? Tea and biscuits by Ambrosia?”

“Just a mere promenade, Brother. To indulge in the happenings of our respective lives. Mingi is quite interested in my new life as a débutante and I am simply missing his presence.”

“‘To indulge in the happenings of our respective lives’– As if you do not exchange letters with updates of every little occurrence or mishap in your days!”

“You are merely jealous that I have a pen pal and you do not.” You crossed your arms and tauntingly stuck your tongue out. 

With neither the Dowager Viscountess or the head of the family there to keep order amongst the younger members, you and Wooyoung were free to quarrel as much as your hearts desired to, and it often ended in childish bickering or a brawl of hair-pulling and skin-clawing. The carriage came to a halt and the coachman opened the door, respectfully stepping aside and waiting for either of you to emerge. Being older than you, it was Wooyoung’s duty to step out first, but he lingered longer than necessary. He crossed his legs, rested his interlocked hands on his knee and tauntingly leaned closer to you. 

“Very mature of you, Sister, and pray tell, what man do you believe to gain with such hideous behavior?”

Deep within, you were aware he was just unleashing his frustration because Ireum forced him to be your chaperone for the evening, but you could not deny his words pierced your heart sharper than a dagger and stung greater than a paper cut. Perhaps Yunho would take out his frustration on you too after your return to the estate, it seemed everyone had the urge to mention your absurd immaturity and lack of consequential thinking. Sourness crawled up your throat and spread on the soft surface of your velvet tongue. There was nothing interesting in Wooyoung’s history you could bring up that would scrape off the bitter taste of invalidation and replace it with pride. 

Heeding Ireum’s past words and Wooyoung’s statement, you decided to for once act your age and be the bigger person. Inflicting pain upon your brother would only lower you to his standard. Keeping the tears at bay and far away from Wooyoung’s intense stare, you grabbed the waiting hand of the coachman and exited the carriage. You did not bother waiting for your brother and took off in the direction you and Mingi agreed to meet as if a fire was lit beneath your feet. At least Mingi would not be the one to start a conversation circulating your carefree behavior and what gentleman was unlucky enough to put a ring on your finger. 

As promised in his letter, Mingi patiently stood by the fountain molded to replicate an angel reaching for the sky as water sprinkled out of its hands. The cement sculpture was surrounded by pretty flowers, but nothing could compare to the beauty of your best friend standing with his arms crossed behind his back, posture straight and eyes dancing among the crowd of passersby searching for your familiar face. As they fell upon you, his stoic expression changed and challenged the sun of which shone brighter. Mingi raised his hand high up in the sky and took all of three steps to reach you. A hug would be too inappropriate for the setting and not to mention all the prying eyes. You would not hear the end of it if any of the Jeongs got a whiff of you hugging another man in front of possible suitors, especially not if said man was Mingi after Ireum chastised you for his very presence.

“Good evening, Miss Lee.” 

“I wish the same to you, Mister Song. The weather is rather splendid, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, my Lady…” 

You noticed Mingi shift attention to something behind you and before you could ask him about it, the sound of stepping on gravel grew louder and louder until it completely vanished and the voice of Mingi filled the chirping silence once again.

“Mister Jeong, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise, Mister Song. It seems we missed each other at His Grace’s ball.”

“Ah, yes. I managed to steal the attention of Lord Jeong and Miss Lee here, but I did not see you.”

Wooyoung chuckled and stepped closer to you, even slung his arm around your shoulders and brought you into his side, much to your dismay. “Yes, she has told me all about your encounter. It is truly a blessing she has a friend the likes of you, Mister Song.”

The words were a double edged sword Wooyoung wielded to strike a chord within the gentle giant before him, yet Mingi did not falter. His smile appeared as if frozen and still displaying the white pearls usually hiding behind his thick lips, and you nearly grinned as his eyes did not break the unspoken contest between him and your brother. Mingi did not participate in quarrels, but he was not afraid to halt Wooyoung’s attacks.

“Perhaps it is I who am blessed to have a friendship with Miss Lee.”

Noticing Mingi did not fall for the bait, Wooyoung hummed and retracted his sword in the scabbard. In return, Mingi faced you again. 

“Would you be so kind as to join me for a gentle promenade?” He brought forth his arm and cheekily smiled, already well aware of your response. There was not a world in which you would decline his propositions. 

Gingerly, you looped your arm through his and allowed him to steer the way. Wooyoung, your chaperone for the evening, settled on a bench with a clear view of the whole park, giving him the possibility to spot you at any given moment and interfere if needed. He ordered Mingi to return you within three quarters of time, leaving no room for arguing. You would just have to fill Mingi in on your daring adventure and hold your end of the promise. It could not be harder than balancing a stack of books on your head through a tea party without letting them topple over, you thought and ignored all the heads turning at your presence or perhaps it was the candy on your left that stole everyone’s attention.

“You appeared rather…” Lowering his voice just for your ears, Mingi dove into another topic. “Perturbed. Is everything alright, little one?”

Bless Mingi and his golden heart. 

“It is just Wooyoung and his annoying antics. Nothing to fret over, I promise.”

From a young age, Mingi struggled with reading books as he could not get immersed in its story, but to him, you were by far the easiest literature to read. He found himself returning to you over and over again. It got to the point where your content was edged into his mind. The hasty averting of your eyes, the slight twitch of your nose and the telltale sign of how you rocked on your feet answered all his questions. It was a plausible lie. As a shadow could not be without light, Wooyoung could not exist without being annoying and Mingi knew better than to let you fence with your own thoughts. Tracing the delicate details on your beautiful face, he smiled widely enough to show his uneven front teeth.

“That is impossible, you will forever be the object of my concern. Do not be shy… It is just I, just Mingi. Speak freely of that which weighs upon your heart.” 

“Do you believe…” You started with a confidence that died quicker than a bee losing its stinger.

Mingi was a man after all and displaying your feelings for him to see was further proof Wooyoung was right in his statement. Only children cried over silly things and you were not a child anymore. It did not help that Ireum’s warning buzzed in your head as a swarm of agitated wasps. Perhaps you should not indulge Mingi with every occurrence in your life. Friends did not need to disclose everything about each other and maybe it would give you space from him, to show the eligible suitors you were not that close to hi– 

“Do I believe what?” Mingi’s prying question broke you out of your thoughts. 

You could compare the shame with the branding of an iron, lighting your skin on fire and feeling the need to hide from Mingi’s round, concerned eyes. How selfish of you to even imagine such a horrid take. Losing Mingi would not magically transport you to the majestic church, where most aristocrats were proclaimed married, dressed in a white wedding gown while staring into the loving eyes of your soon-to-be-husband. The guilt was burning you alive, if the shame did not suffocate you before. Swallowing the bundle of complex emotions, you pushed Ireum and Wooyoung out of your head, and flung your concern into the universe.

“Do you believe I am… difficult?”

Had it not been for the many people listening in on each other’s conversations in disguise of enjoying the sunny weather, Mingi would have stopped your leisure promenade and gently dragged more information out of you. He settled on a glance out the corner of his eyes, worry painted across all of his features. Long seconds filled the time from when you asked him the question and Mingi still kept his thoughts a secret. You did not pressure him though. Mingi was a thinker and would sometimes take two quarters of the time before he was content with the answer concluded in the safety of his mind. That was what many years of friendship and discussions taught you. As you reached the opposite side of the pond and stood straight across from where your brother was resting on the bench, Mingi cleared his throat and slowed the brisk walk to a leisure stroll. He was satisfied with his thinking and was ready to share it with you. 

“I do not know what the certain topic revolves around, alas it does not matter. You are not difficult, little one. It is the contrary, in fact. The people around you are the ones who are difficult. Your nature is one of kindness, patience, and respect, particularly amidst social gatherings. You seldom articulate your true sentiments, fearing it may bring pain upon others, even if they have wronged you first. Yet, when you do unveil the profound thoughts that you keep concealed from the world, you lay bare your remarkable intellect. In my regard, such an individual is not challenging, but rather one of great thoughtfulness and charm.”

Dog Days Are Over, Vitamin String Quartet, 0:40-1:40

The basic socializing knowledge you possessed was reduced to dust with Mingi’s response. A heavy pressure burned the back of your eyes and it would only be a matter of seconds until the tears kissed your smooth cheeks, and your voice would be nothing but the shiver of a sound. Regardless, you were never one for speeches and words, that was Mingi’s speciality, evidently enough. Therefore you settled on a gentle, barely-even-there brush of your fingers along his bicep. The touch conveyed a gratitude you could not muster up with words and Mingi knew so as he met your gaze, harshly shut his eyes as if to say, ‘You’re welcome’.

“Let us move along, little one. I take it there is something else you tend to share with me, preferably in the absence of these numerous listeners and watchful gazes…”

As the viscount-in-waiting advanced forward, you did not move from your spot on the gravely path. Mingi faced you with the expression of a question mark, wondering what the hold up was.

“My brother… He is my chaperone, so we cannot venture out of his sight.”

For it is well understood that Wooyoung would seize upon the slightest of opportunity to create an excuse to return to the estate, where a plethora of fun events awaited him. 

Mingi grinned that boyish-smile of his you had come to learn only meant there was a grave detail you missed. He nodded slightly behind you and as you turned, you came to witness Wooyoung accompanied by an unknown man, you guessed him to be a lord or viscount of some sort, and a young lady hiding her cheeks the color of ripe apples behind a flimsy fan. You could not find it in you to feel sorry for him. 

“Shall we, before he takes notice of our absence?”

“Let us,” you replied with a pearly smile and slid your arm out of his, trailing it down the path of his vein and interlocked your fingers in a sturdy grip. 

Mingi gave it a tentative squeeze and hastened his steps. You barely managed to bunch up your dress before you took off into a sprint. The pedestrians jumped out of the way, whether it be from Mingi’s loud hollers of ‘Excuse me’ and ‘Coming through’s accompanied by your giggling or the loud stomping of your feet.

Nonetheless, they hastily stepped to the side as if a second away from being chugged over by a steam locomotive. The dove trapped in your chest soared at Mingi’s laughter and you forgot all about the crude words spoken by your own family

The sun cast a burning glow over the earth and every lady held tightly onto their flowery umbrellas, wary of attaining a sunburn. It gave you the perfect excuse to hide in the shade of the big willow tree. To be frank, it was not your fault the branches of the tree toppled over itself as a waterfall and separated you from the outside world. The grass was not anyone’s property and whoever wished to seek what was, or rather what was not, happening, would be free to do so. 

A table, big enough for a board of chess, occupied the space between you. The two sets of chairs positioned on each side of the table were carved out of the same tree and if it were not for your tiredness, you would be reclusive to sit on moldy chairs.

“Are you most assured that this supposed piano prodigy shall grace us with his presence?”

“Very much indeed so, Mings. I explicitly told him to meet me by the big willow tree and is this not the biggest tree in London?” 

You leaned back against the wooden chair, hands falling over your lap and mouth curved into a lip-tight smile. Hongjoong was in fact running late. As you were not in possession of a watch, you could not say with how much, but your and Mingi’s conversation should not have been longer than three discussions.

“Is the prodigy at least a handsome gentleman?” Mingi suddenly cut in.

It suddenly dawned on you that Mingi had no idea of how Mister Kim looked. A dreamy smile climbed up your face.

“His hair is the color of a beautiful sunset and his eyes are warmer than coffee in the morning. They melt you from within and have you craving for more.” You started while counting the most subtle details of Hongjoong’s face from memory. “What else…? He has a pointy nose and thin rosy lips, and his smile! Oh, Mingi, his smile makes even the stars envious of its brightness.”

In all his eighteen years of being your friend, not once had Mingi witnessed such a love-sick look on your face whilst a man was the center of your conversation. It was a delightful sight. Seeing you happy. It was something Mingi missed dearly and albeit, he could bring out a smile from you, it was not one born from the depths of your very soul. 

“I do not wish to be insensitive, flea, yet might it be inappropriate of me to presume you are quite… enamoured with Mister Kim?”

He truly did not intend to be the gloomy cloud standing between you and the rays of sunshine. Mingi only wanted what was best for you and, dear Lord, if you would get a nickel every time people reasoned with that logic, you would be the wealthiest person of the Ton. 

“I… I solely admire his talents, Mings. Do not fret over me. I am very well aware of my duty as a debutante. Mother and my brothers are pestering me with it every day, so, please, do not join them!” 

That, he did not. Mingi would rather marry and have five children the following day before he ever sided with your family. He hastily apologized, his hand taking yours in a comforting embrace, which you accepted with a squeeze.

 You were inching closer to your fifth change of topic. Although you held tightly onto the hope of Hongjoong sliding through the feather-veined leaves, Mingi was not. If you were the epitome of calm, then Mingi was the polar opposite. His leg would not stop bouncing and his thumb always seemed to find its way back between his teeth leaving the skin around his nail raw and bruised. It was a bad habit he carried from his days as a little boy and no matter what, he could not get rid of it.

The impatience prickled Mingi in the rear as he shot up from his seat and paced back and forth. His right hand ran over the soft surface of his chin, the stubble lightly pricking his fingers, but it did nothing to bring him out of the suffocating bubble. It was just a matter of time before Mingi had to bring you back to Wooyoung, the rehearsed line of ‘We lost track of time following a hoard of butterflies’ waiting to be launched into existence. Mingi could not lie and say he was not interested in meeting the mystery man, considering you had nothing to offer but a name and vague, but quite captivating description of his features. However, the fear of Wooyoung’s scrutinizing gaze was bigger than Mingi’s curiosity. Not to mention his relation to Yunho. If Mingi stepped on the feet of the younger Jeong, it would broaden his already big distance with the viscount.

Mingi abruptly stopped as he passed the table and the change in pace startled you out of your thoughts. He pressed his hands on the top rail of his chair and leaned over it. Your view was obscured by his broad figure and the beautiful, green scenery behind him turned into a blur.

 “It is best if we return–”

The ruffling of leaves rippled down the middle of his sentence and stole the breath from both of you. Slowly, as the seasons changed from summer to autumn, Mingi turned around and locked eyes with a man giving even Wooyoung, the shortest man Mingi knew of, a run for his wealth. The longer he stared at the unknown man, the more familiar his features became and not because he had seen him walk the streets of London. 

“...His hair is the color of a beautiful sunset and his eyes are warmer than coffee in the morning. They melt you from within and have you craving for more. What else…? He has a pointy nose and thin rosy lips, and his smile! Mingi, his smile makes even the stars envious of its brightness.”

A hatch in the far back of his mind came undone and opened a door leading to his memories that left Mingi gaping like a fish fresh out of a pond. If it were not for your rambling moment earlier, Mingi would never have guessed the man standing before him was the Hongjoong.

The thought of being caught (doing absolutely nothing) bubbled to a panic forcing you to stand up. The fact that Mingi was rooted to his spot, back straight and nails digging into the palms of his hands, was alarming. Your friend was rarely rendered speechless and it could not have been Wooyoung emerging through the wall of leaves, otherwise the script of losing track of time would come into play. The gentle summer breeze whisked through the air and the leaves stirred yet again. You could not stay there frozen for the rest of the evening, you concluded. The minutes were counting down until Wooyoung would start patrolling the park, searching for his little sister and her giant of a friend. 

“I beg your pardon, Mister. It appears I have mistakenly ventured to the incorrect destination.”

An explosion of fireworks set off in your abdomen and the familiar voice was the match lighting each and every one. Your presence was known as you stepped out from behind Mingi. A timid smile graced your face and the warmth kissing your cheeks was not from the scorching sun. 

“Mister Kim,” you greeted, your eyes barely meeting his.

“Miss Lee! I apologize if I am intruding on your… moment.”

Mingi, finally breaking out of his frozen posture, hastily dismissed Hongjoog’s claim. “Not at all! In fact, we have been waiting on you.”

“We?”

“Very much so. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mingi Song, first son and heir of the seventh Viscount Song. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Kim.”

Mingi’s hand hovered in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time until Hongjoong accepted it. The pianist glanced in your direction for a flicker of a second. He was quite unsure of your relationship with Mingi, but it had to be close considering he was aware of Hongjoong’s existence. He would not mention it, although it was a tiny rock in his shoe, wanting to know of your exact correlation to the gentleman.

“I see you are already well versed with my existence… Regardless, it is my pleasure, Mister Song.”

Inhaling a breath for confidence, you stepped forward and successfully attained the attention of the both men. “Take a seat, please. We do not have much time until I shall return.”

“I deeply apologize for my tardiness.”

“Pray, do not fret. All shall be well as long as we make haste… Mister Song, if you would?”

Said man playfully saluted and disappeared through the wall of hanging branches. The intent was for him to stand guard a few paces from the willow tree and signal if anyone was walking toward you. The green sanctuary was beautiful, even more so with the many rays of sunshine peeking through its long and thin leaves, but you could not stop admiring the man before you. The man who was staring up at the tree with the edges of his lips curled as if observing the root of everything cute. The light breeze shattered his focus and as you locked gazes, you darted your eyes down to his trousers. Hongjoong looked far more charming dressed in a casual black attire, than in the sparkly suit the other night. The sight of his hair haphazardly falling over his forehead and the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms played double Dutch with your emotions. 

Silently, he walked up to the seat previously occupied by Mingi and rested both of his hands on it. You waited for his next move, but when Hongjoong did not budge, you glanced up only to find him already looking at you. The breath hitched in your throat at the sudden attention and you thanked the nature of humans for not having the ability to make out the thumping of one's heart.

“May I sit down?”

You blinked once, twice, and then realized why Hongjoong was staring when your lashes fluttered against your cheek a third time. He waited for you to step back, to give him space and allow him to sit down as you previously asked. 

“Of course,” you squeaked out and hastily retracted, nearly tripping over your own feet. It certainly would not be the first time.

A heavy silence settled over the table. The soft notes of the piano were not there to sing the tension away and you had to make due with the light chatter of people and the gentle wind swishing through the leaves. Perhaps it was the magic of the ball making you easy to talk with or the adrenaline of being separated from your brothers, the ones keeping their eyes on you, failing arguably, no matter the circumstance, that gave you a surge of bravery to confront the pianist. It would certainly explain why neither jumped into a conversation. The lack of noise on the other side of the table could be inferred as Hongjoong disagreeing with the proposal. Another part of your brain tugged to a more wishful thinking, believing Hongjoong came because he was rather keen on your idea.

The sound of his voice sliced through your thoughts and allowed the water suffocating you from inside to spill out, giving you a moment to breathe.  

“You wanted to discuss the arrangement for our lessons, Miss Lee?”

“Yes! I mean… yes.”

“What did you envision?”

Like a stick untangling from the bundle of branches and mud, the dam broke loose and you explained the plan you struck together over the course of two restless nights. Hongjoong did not interrupt you once. He simply granted you the time to speak and lay out everything you had in mind. 

"Twice a week,” you said. "Ming– Mister Song and I have three weekly outings, yet we could transform two of such occasions into piano lessons at the esteemed Song estate. No one would suspect a thing.”

“But… Mister Song is an unwed man and... so are you, I mean, an unwed woman. Would that not cast light to the situation?”

In your long rambling you forgot to mention the key to the plan, your and Mingi’s friendship.

“Ah, uh, you see… Mister Song and I are, uh… rather close.”

Hongjoong arched his brow and propped his elbows on the table, resting his lips on the side of his clasped fingers. “Close?” 

“A most platonic bond! We have been dear friends since our tender youth and hold no romantic inclinations towards one another, therefore it would not raise suspicion of my visit at the Song manors.”

It was the first time you mentioned the friendship frowned upon by all of London. The fear of finding disgust in the cracks and crevices of Hongjoong’s face was haunted by the threatening words of Ireum you so thoughtlessly ignored. The callous reaction you expected did not breach the surface and you could only hope his mind was clear of malicious thoughts too. 

“And how shall I explain my presence on their grounds?” Hongjoong asked and put barely any emphasis on the new discovery of your and Mingi’s friendship.

“Lord and Lady Song are rarely home. Lord Song is beset with numerous meetings throughout the day, while Lady Song frequently engages in social pursuits with the other ladies of the Ton. The Song estate is empty, safe for the maids and butlers, and Mingi, of course.”

Satisfied with the answer, Hongjoong put pressure on other points regarding your arrangement. He wished to not be so curt, but he could not think of another way to properly articulate his thoughts. 

“You mentioned it would not be without expense… Does that still stand?”

“Of course,” you replied without missing a beat. 

“How much do you intend to offer?”

Business transactions and discussing paychecks was certainly not ladylike, yet you could not ignore the crackling of pride exploding along your spine. It felt good being in charge and actually listened to. No wonder your brothers acted high and mighty, they were never forced to hush and sit there all dolled up. 

“I was thinking a hundred pounds an hour.”

You could not hinder the giggle from bubbling out at Hongjoong’s gaping mouth and wide eyes. A pink dust settled over his usually pale cheeks and he coughed away the embarrassment.

“Excuse my… boldness, but may I inquire as to where you think to receive such a considerable sum? You are rather young and a…”

Your chuckles died as he did not finish his sentence. It was not that you took offense to Hongjoong’s question as he was not wrong in his statement. Everyone was aware women did not have their own income, unless they opened their own businesses like a modiste shop,  worked in a factory or as a nurse, and Hongjoong had all the right to wonder where his pay would come from. Did it still sting knowing you would be reduced to nothing but a mere lady with nothing to her name that would follow her to the grave? Very much indeed so.

The question hung heavy between you, but before you could answer, a sharp whistle whizzed through the air and put a pause on the conversation. 

“Someone is coming,” you breathed out, but were unable to move.

“What?”

Another whistle, more frantic than the first one, reached your ears and sliced the ropes tied around your limbs keeping you in place. You stood up and urged Hongjoong to follow. He did not prod further, but you could see the questions hovering around his head begging to be answered.

“You have to leave. Now.”

You grabbed his forearm and dragged him toward the opposite end of the willow tree, all and every warning of society buried six feet below as your skin touched his. 

Your heart dropped in your stomach as Wooyoung’s raised voice sounded on the other side followed by Mingi’s calmer and softer tone. Without thinking, you pushed Hongjoong behind the slender trunk of the tree and prayed he would not fall in Wooyoung’s line of sight. 

“Mister Jeong, I was merely fetching lemonade as requested by Miss Lee. The day is exceedingly warm, and I did not desire for her to wander about in a state of thirst.”

“Sister!”

You just about jumped from beside Hongjoong’s hiding form and plopped down on the chair closest to you as Wooyoung emerged from the branches. Although Wooyoung was a menace, he was first and foremost your brother and it was evident by the way he grabbed your wrists and eyed you from head to toe, ensuring you had not come to harm. Moments such as these where his protective side shone the brightest were few and always caught you off guard.

“I searched the whole park for you! We agreed you would be back before the clock turned three, do you know what time it is? It is currently half past three!”

You all but managed to take half a breath before he answered on your behalf. Wooyoung’s concern was dipped in a pint of anger and you knew he was just worried about losing sight of his one responsibility and over what Ireum would put him through if word spread of the incident. Wooyoung snapped his head in Mingi’s direction, reminding the giant of a startled owl, and leveled him with furious eyes. 

“You are lucky she takes great liking to you, otherwise you would be facing grave consequences. If one suggests a promenade, Mister Song, they are to be with the lady at all times and not wander around like a headless chicken in search of lemonade!”

You gently pulled at Wooyoung’s hands and whispered for him to stop. “Mingi is not at fault for our tardiness. If you are to blame someone then it shall be me, Brother. I was feeling quite parched and requested for something to soothe my thirst. Ming– Huh– Um, Mister Song went out of his way to accommodate me, is that not admirable of him, Brother?”

Mister Jeong’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed firmly together, refusing to acknowledge the taller man’s good deed. When he could not find further reason to diminish Mingi’s presence, he cleared his throat and stepped away. 

“We shall take our leave. We have exceeded the time given by Mama.” 

To avoid standing there awkwardly, Wooyoung pushed his hair back, completely ignoring your praise and intertwining your arms together. As he dragged you from beneath the willow, he could not help but complain about potential bugs falling into your hair. Another subtle nag at Mingi’s carelessness that the young man had no vote in the choice of setting. Mingi followed your moving forms until you disappeared behind the wall of leaves. As you left, Hongjoong emerged from behind the tree with his hands in the pockets of his pants and whistled a low note. He took a stance beside Mingi, both yet to utter a word of what ensued seconds ago. 

Mingi handed Hongjoong a lemonade and drank from his own.

“Come by the Song Estate on Wednesday around noon and inform the maidservants of your arranged meeting with the heir-in-waiting, Mister Song. No further details should be disclosed.”

The modiste was a rather busy shop that Tuesday afternoon and Hongjoong regretted heeding Jongho’s word of stopping by. The trio, Hongjoong, San and Jongho, had been in the shop for a good amount of time and were yet to find a suit for your and Hongjoong’s lessons. Had the choice been left to the man in question, he would not buy new attire. Why would he when the one from the ball was in perfect condition to be used again?

Jongho did not share the same sentiment and vowed to tear all of Hongjoong’s old clothes, expensive as well as cheap, if he did not agree to visit the Blue Bird, which was how they got there in the first place.

The shop had a peculiar layout and unlike the other businesses in town, the boutique was divided into two parts. On the left side of the singular entrance door was a bay window displaying mannequins wearing elegant suits and dresses with black font reading The Blue Bird across the glass. The floor was elevated and decorated with a leather armchair and floor lamp that were crammed in the corner by the window. A finishing touch was the emerald green rug, not bigger than a coffee table, which was vertically placed on the dark oak floor in front of the furniture. The walls, a white tapestry, were a contrast to the floor, but appeared far more luxurious than some of the big estates owned by wealthy men and women. Three steps reaching from one wall to the other led to the remaining part of the room. The shop would have been bare of color if it were not for the various textiles hanging on a long rack occupying the majority of the left wall of the boutique. 

The first area was tiny and barely big enough to house five people at once, yet the owner managed to fit a generous amount of furniture despite its size. Hongjoong was certain the room had reached its limit, but he was proved wrong as he laid eyes on the counter where the seamster presumably kept his orders and other important paperworks. Between the wall full of color and counter was an opening leading to the remaining part of the shop, but was divided by a black cardigan looking fabric. Although the trio had no reason to explore further, Hongjoong was still curious about what was hiding behind the curtain. 

“What about the sapphire velvet one?” Jongho grabbed barely an inch of a random fabric hanging off the rack between his index finger and thumb. “I believe it suits your complexion.”

Hongjoong was lazily seated on the leather armchair whose main purpose was for decoration. The armrest held the weight of his elbow as the tip of his fingers pressed against his forehead, keeping it upright. 

“You have claimed that for the past five colors too. Just decide for me and let us leave.”

“I cannot help but worry, Hongjoong. Do you really truly consider this to be a smart idea?” San, always the voice of reason, whispered. 

While his friend and cousin argued whether a new suit was necessary, the boxer could not stop thinking about why he would need it. The whole ordeal sounded too good to be true and a complete disaster waiting to happen. There was so much that could go wrong and ruin not only Hongjoong and your life, but everyone involved including Jongho, San and Mingi’s.

San did not understand how neither you nor Hongjoong seemed to take a minute of your day to actually think about what was on the line. If word got out about this arrangement, all hell would break loose. Your reputation as the Diamond of the season would go up in smoke and you would either be a spinster for the rest of your life or forced to marry the first best man that comes along the way. Considering what Hongjoong’s first impression of your older brother was, it would not surprise San if Mister Jeong alone was the reason behind Hongjoong’s demise, whether it be through a duel or a more diplomatic approach.

“Of course. I do not see how it could be anything but smart.”

“Hongjoong, it is a rather grave situation you have found yourself in. Should you not… I do not know, maybe weigh out the good and bad of the whole predicament?”

“I already have and I appreciate you looking out for me, San, but there is no reason to grow early white hairs. She promised to pay well and what better way to earn money than to teach a measly girl a few melodies on the pianoforte?”

“There are more important things than money. Think about it. This could look really bad for you if your little agreement reaches the ton. I mean, you saw how furious her brother was for being late. What do you think will happen when he sees his beloved little sister alone in a proximate position with a no-name lad?”

“Nothing. Nothing is going to happen,” Hongjoong bit back. “San, the offer is too good to pass up. Imagine what we could do with that money. No more living on a handful of pennies each month and worrying if the roof of Crescent will collapse or eating scraps for supper. We can start living as true gentlemen and pursue our every ambition. You want to give Crescent a new appearance? Let us. You want to expand it further? I say, why not?”

The ambitious tone possessed by a leader steering his men to a stone cold death dwindled and took on a much softer turn, almost as if Hongjoong was begging to be heard.

“San… I could truly devote myself to music… Yet for such a dream to flourish, I must embrace the chance, even if it means losing the little baggage I have left.”

The boxer had nothing to offer and thus remained silent. It was clear Hongjoong’s ears were stuffed with too much wax to really hear where San was coming from. He exhaled a breath of defeat and crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscle flexing beneath his clothes. 

LION, JIAREN, 0:10-0:30

The loud clicking of boots drowned out the shuffling and boisterous laughter of the gentlemen interested in placing orders for new suits. A man wielding the beauty of a swan emerged from the sea of men with long hats and tailcoats brushing their shins. The beauty he was blessed with belonged in an art museum and his face was the kind people proclaimed their love for in songs.

It was Hongjoong's second encounter with the modiste responsible for most, if not all, of the Ton's appearance and he was once again astonished by the seamster’s natural beauty. Hongjoong was a lot of things, but he was not jealous of other’s physical appearance. That was until he met the man with chestnut colored hair, ocean blue eyes and a nose sculpted by Antonio Canova himself. The most captivating feature of his were not his vibrant lips or razor sharp eyes, but the raspberry smudge situated right next to his left eye, a kiss from Aphrodite.

“I apologize for the hold up, gentlemen.”

“Ah, Yeosang,” Jongho chimed and suddenly appeared alongside Hongjoong. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

San and Hongjoong raised a brow each at the outgoing behaviour of their withdrawn companion. Yeosang did not seem to find the sudden friendliness out of the ordinary and put the shining pieces of fabric on his work bench.

“It is difficult not to stray with everyone placing orders for the same day, Mister Choi. But I take it you, an esteemed business man, should be very well aware of the stress in the industry.”

“Quite a bit.” Jongho smiled, the gums of his mouth showing for all the guests of Blue Bird. 

Yeosang, or Mister Kang as every patron called him beside Jongho, brushed past the subtle flirting of the pub owner and jumped straight into the reason for their appearance. 

“How can I be of assistance this fine evening? I take it my suits were to your liking and you have returned for more?”

“Something along those lines,” Hongjoong replied and stood up. He hid his hands in the pockets of his slacks, a pair borrowed by San who claimed he could not venture into town dressed in color stained and ripped pants. “It is only I who is in need of another suit… But perhaps something less… outstanding, nothing meeting the standard of the white pattern, please. I need something suitable for a gathering between friends.”

“It is quite a peculiar order you are placing, Mister. Many patrons travel days for my extravagant work and pay a good penny to make them the center of attention, but you? You wish to do the exact opposite.” 

Yeosang crossed to the wall portraying various patterns and lazily swept his hand through the different garments. He stopped on a bland-looking, at least in his eyes, maroon fabric and pinched it between his thumb and index finger. The material was pulled out for the buyer to see and unlike others, Hongjoong gave a nod of approval within five seconds of examining the selected cloth. 

Yeosang sighed as he gathered the garment. “I cannot make any promises, but I guess I will do my best to make you… blend in with the background.” 

“There is no doubt in my mind. Your hands are made out of gold, afterall.” Jongho reached for the material in Yeosang’s hands with the wish to ease his burden, but was halted as a bell jingled and alerted the entrance of yet another customer. 

Whispers broke out in the shop barely bigger than the locker rooms of Crescent and caught the attention of everyone in the room.

“Your Grace,” Yeosang greeted as his lips slightly curved up, a detail hard to notice, but the difference was there for the three gentlemen previously engaged in a conversation with the modiste.

The Duke simply walked past the remaining men and disregarded their presence as if they were not worth the time of his day, despite having met them at his ball. Hongjoong jumped to the conclusion that they were not that important for the bird brain of his to remember.

“Mister Choi,” he greeted with a nod, which Jongho returned, and then faced the modiste. “Mister Kang, I see you are quite busy this afternoon.”

“You of all people, Your Grace, should know I am busy more days than I am not.”

His Grace chuckled and Hongjoong could not calm the boiling anger threatening to spill over and burn everyone in his vicinity. Perhaps it was the boisterous nonchalance of the Duke or how everything was put on hold the moment he stepped foot inside the shop. There was truly nothing more Hongjoong despised than the upper class and their privileges. 

“Then it would be rude of me to request a new suit?”

Yeosang rounded the cashier register and placed Hongjoong’s chosen garment on the counter. He took out a lithe book from beneath the desk and flipped through the pages until he found a clean sheet.

“I am fully-booked for the upcoming three weeks… But allow me to guess, you need the attire before that?”

Seonghwa leaned against the counter yet still managed to tower over Yeosang and produced a sealed envelope from inside his jackpocket. He slid the white paper across the tabletop, bearing no mind to the witnesses around them, and winked.

“You do know me so well. I am to accompany Miss Lee to the horse race in two weeks time and I would wish to look presentable in her wake. Well, I have also noticed that I have not acquired a new suit in quite some time.”

The mental connection between the Chois was so strong that both cousins found Hongjoong’s face as a moth would spot a torch. The latter did his best to ignore their prying eyes and cast his own to the pristine clothes of the duke. What you and the duke planned had nothing to do with him. He was just your unofficial teacher. The story ended there and the rope that bound you together was as simple as a bow knot, and would eventually be undone with no further effort. You would return to your life of wealth and privilege with the newfound talent for piano playing, and Hongjoong would already be set to sail across the sea, with an amount of gold coins his family line had never heard of, let alone witnessed. 

Yeosang held Seonghwa’s gaze and without breaking contact, he accepted the envelope and closed his calendar. “You are lucky I am effective, Your Grace. Let us take a round and decide what it is you wish for.”

Seonehwa appeared over the moon as Yeosang accepted his order, as if the duke did not plan for that to happen. No more words were exchanged and the trio watched the seamster and duke part from the counter and inspected the different fabrics. The three musketeers did not make a peep while Seonghwa did his rounds. He certainly took his time and apparently the various textiles displayed in the first room were not enough. It was first when they disappeared into the other room, that the Choi cousins turned to Hongjoong with sparkles in their eyes. San reminded him more of a puppy begging for a treat, but Jongho on the other hand was rather mischievous, evil-looking if you will. The pianist raised a brow, his way of asking what they had in mind. 

San, ever the optimistic one, fell right into Hongjoong’s trap. “Shall we attend the horse rac–”

“For what reason exactly should the three of us attend the horse race? Must I remind you what kind of people events such as that cater to?”

The rejection was sharp and quick, crushing any and all hope San harbored in that broad chest of his. 

“Do you not find it the least intriguing that His Grace and Miss Lee are attending the race together?” Jongho asked, chin tilted to the ceiling and hands clasped behind his back, avoiding Hongjoong’s hard eyes.

A line of confusion appeared between Hongjoong’s furrowed brows and his lips ached from their downturned position. “No, Jongho. There is not much that interests me nowadays, let alone an arranged encounter between diamonds and gold.”

“I have never been to a horse race before.”

Jongho threw an arm around San’s shoulders, forcefully bringing the slightly taller man down to his level. 

“See, if you will not do it for yourself then do it for poor Sannie here. It has been his lifelong dream to watch a dozen five hundred kilogram beasts gallop in a circle. My cousin would do anything to be squished in a crowd of greedy men and women betting an insane amount of money that could feed the whole population of starving children living on the streets of London. Pretty please?”

“No,” he replied and it was final.

Hongjoong abhorred the rich with a fire challenging his passion for music and he was not paying a good sum to sit amongst the people he despised.

The crinkling of burning wood and utensils clattering against porcelain filled the spacious room. The Jeong family was not keen on making small talk during dinner time and everyone usually relied on Wooyoung to bring life to the socialisation. The younger brother seemed to not be in a talkative mood as he kept his mouth occupied with bites of steak and sips of his favorite champagne.

That's why everyone was taken aback when Yunho opened his mouth one evening while you were all gathered around the enormous dining table big enough to seat twenty people rather than a family of four.

“I met His Grace the other day.  He was quite happy to see me.”

Ireum hummed from her end of the table and hastily patted her red lips with a napkin. “That sounds wonderful, Yunho dear. His Grace is certainly a great companion to have by one's side.” 

You pushed around the peas on your plate, not nearly as interested in the new conversation as your remaining family members. The only man to cloud your mind was none other than the pianist the world had yet to hear of.

“His Grace asked about you, Sister.”

A rattling sound sliced everyone’s ears as the pea squeezed between your fork and plate catapulted across the dining table, landing in Wooyoung’s champagne. The maids and butlers on standby did not flinch, but the same could not be said for your family. Wooyoung was already halfway through complaining about his champagne, now contaminated by your germs, and a piece of Yunho’s steak slipped off his fork and landed on his lap, leaving a fat grease spot impossible to get out. A hushed ‘oh, dear’ escaped Ireum as she rubbed the growing ache blooming across her forehead.

“Apologies,” you sheepishly whispered and put your fork to rest on the clothed table. The flare of your cheeks was bringing a sweat to your already warm figure. “You were saying, Brother?”

“His Grace, Duke of Beaumonte, told me he wished to escort you to the races in two weeks' time.”

The possibility of the sun rising in the west was greater than witnessing Yunho smile and confess the act of a man asking about his little sister, yet there you were and the sun was still bound to rise in the east and set in the west, like any other day. Where the scary Yunho with eyes the epitome of death had disappeared to was a question burning in the back of your mind. This was not the reaction you expected to get out of your brother. Wooyoung? Perhaps, he was quite unpredictable. One day he could be bouncing with joy and the next, everyone and everything in his way was going to encounter his wrath. 

However, Yunho? 

There was nothing to smile about in his life and certainly not over the fact that another man was more or less showing interest in his sister.

But it was not just another man. It was the Duke of Beaumonte, the handsome man with piercing eyes and cherry red lips that every lady wished to stand by the side of. The lit fireplace was not the sole reason for the sudden change in temperature. The mere thought of His Grace seeking Yunho out with you in his interest sent sparks to the tips of your fingers and toes. A proper lady could not be without good manners and what was good about a lady  who jumped around, a wide grin on her face unable to contain her squeals?

Absolutely nothing.

“Oh.”

Your anti-climatic response yearned for everyone’s attention as a shimmering doxy in a room full of men with jewelry adorning their ring finger. It even caught Wooyoung’s eyes who was mourning his pea infused champagne. The feast was abandoned and left to freeze at the amount of cold shoulders received.

“Oh? I am sorry, is something the matter?” 

You shoved a piece of steak in your mouth to spare yourself a few moments to think.

Swallowing, you gently replied, “No, Brother. I was simply not expecting to attract the eye of someone with such importance as His Grace.”

The glances shared by the eldest pair seated on each end of the table went over your head and the piano prodigy was quickly forgotten as the light was angled on another man, maybe not equally gifted, but carrying a good, to be precise, the best, reputation in the Ton. 

“You are the diamond, dear. Your concern should be of who you have not intrigued rather than who is. Gentlemen from wide and far come for an inch of your time. It is certainly no surprise His Grace is amongst that category.”

“...Yes, Mother,” you replied with a tight-lipped smile to cover the traces of defeat, but even the tiniest of paw prints were impossible to hide in a snow-befallen field.

Ireum took a calculated sip of the wine imported from the Portuguese islands of Madeira, her favorite kind. The fermented liquid tasted better now that she could drink it in the confines of her own house instead of sneaking into a pub around the corner, seduce the first man that was most likely to give into her red lips and cunning eyes, and order her a glass of Madeira. Ireum allowed a silence to stretch across the room, giving you a chance to come through with your thoughts. As the silence continued, she put down the almost empty wine glass and patted her sweetened lips dry with a napkin.

“Yunho, dear? Accept the proposal. Tell His Grace that Miss Lee will with honor accompany him to the races.”

The youth of the Dowager Viscountess was anything but kind to her. She was not born into a wealthy family, rather to two hard-working parents who were rarely home. School was not an option either as someone had to stay and take care of the home and younglings. Being the oldest out of the litter made the pressure fall on Ireum’s tiny shoulders. There was more to her than just red lipstick and monochromic dresses. Behind the facade of a powerful and cunning woman stood a child yearning for a life free of labour and poverty. She found solace in the fact that her three children were born with golden spoons in their little fists. 

The universe was driving a hard bargain, but Ireum was willing to ignore the bad memories for as long as her children had everything they wished for. What she was not reluctant to do, however, was shape them into responsible adults willing to stand their ground. Perhaps it could explain why she was not coaxing you into spilling the many concerns swirling in your mind. She believed you were mature enough to voice your thoughts and feelings without anyone prodding from the outside. It was a slow process, but you were going to learn. Ireum was determined to see it through. No one asked eight-year-old Ireum of her feelings or concerns, she was her own shield and sword, fighting for her yearnings. Possessing a golden spoon or not, you were not going to fall into the tragic fate of being pushed around, let alone by your future partner.

“That does sound lovely, Mother. I am quite tired, is it alright if I tune in for the night?”

Ireum was not oblivious to your feigned fatigue, but out of the two, she was the better actress and reciprocated a smile warm enough to melt combs of honey.

“Yes, darling, you go right ahead.”

You did not hate the possibility of His Gracce being one of the many suitors asking for your hand in marriage. It would be outright foolish of you. Seonghwa was everything a lady searched for in a man. Handsome, compassionate, rich…

If the tales were true, of course. You had not exchanged more than a handful of words on the night of his ball to make that conclusion on your own, but even with all those alluring characteristics and good attributes, the Duke of Beaumonte was not calling to you as a midnight craving of strawberries and sugarcubes you needed or would succumb to death in your sleep. He was in the bowl along with the remaining fruit sold on the market of London, squashed between the apples and bananas everyone could reach, but did not look nearly as sweet or enticing as the passionfruit buried beneath. However, it did not matter as you would take the bite of the bland fruit, whether it be against your wishes or not, and return to the passionfruit another day. Perhaps, if you tasted the dull fruit enough times, it would suit your taste buds far better than the sweet one, and eventually bury any and all cravings of it.

The unexpected noise of knuckles knocking against your bedroom door jolted you back to the presence despite not being louder than the patting feet of a baby duck. The door opened gently as your voice reached the other side granting them entry. 

“You are still awake.”

You found Yunho’s eyes through your vanity mirror. “Yes. I am getting ready for bed.”

“Ah,” he replied in understanding and leaned against one of the posters on your bed, the tree sturdy enough to take his whole weight.

A silence lay over the room as a coverlet was spread over your bed and was interrupted every now and then by you adjusting beauty trinkets on your desk. You could sense the question lurking in the dark corners of your poorly lit room, the lantern to your right doing little to illuminate the space. Yunho watched you remove makeup with a cold cream gifted by Ireum, then continue with your night routine of removing bobby pins from your hair and neatly braiding it. You could only hold off on the conversation for so long until you ran out of things to do.

“If I ask, will you answer honestly?”

“I do not quite understand what you mean, Brother.”

“I am not Mother to pretend your sullen face was caused by the corn on your platter.”

You set the hairbrush down a tad bit harsher than intended and pushed away from the table, walked past Yunho with featherlight steps and slipped beneath your covers. “It is true I am not fond of corn…”

“Do you truly suppose I shall take your words to heart?” He asked and turned around with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“There is nothing wrong, Brother. I was simply tired from a long day of entertaining callers. You shall see, tomorrow I will return to my ordinary self again.”

The Jeong siblings were quite different from one another, sharing genetics or not. Wooyoung knew of no fear speaking his mind. Everyone in a close vicinity of him would be aware of his demeanor whether it was happiness, anger or sadness. The boy did little to hide it too. The crinkle of his eyes or the frown on his face was a quick giveaway of what the next rant of feelings would be about.

On the other side of the coin was Yunho. His many years of being a viscount shaped him into full control of his body. The facial expressions he made at balls and events could not be trusted, but nonetheless fooled all the right people. Unless Yunho wanted you to know about his inner turmoil, you would not get a glimpse of it. 

The youngest of the bunch was nowhere in between. You mastered the art of bottling up. Reflecting other’s emotions was an easier way to hide your own, besides it was worth it to see the smile on their faces. Turning with the wind and following the path of others spared you lectures and time of pointless arguing. Sacrificing your own thoughts and feelings for the sake of others’ felt rewarding in a way as you did not bring a cloud of disappointment over your family. Smiling and nodding like the perfect lady did its magic, and who were you to complain?

Yunho held back from sighing at your passiveness. It did irk him that you still kept your feelings beneath lock and key. He was your brother for heaven’s sake! If he was not the one you turned to with all your troubles and concerns, who was? 

The cloak of responsibility befell him the day Wooyoung was delivered in the bed of his parents' master bedroom. Six-year-old Yunho could feel the shift as an additional member was brought to their family of three. The Jeongs were already struggling to make ends meet and Yunho could not understand how a second child would make their life easier. Another mouth to feed, another body to keep warm. It took him weeks to grow accustomed to the baby wrapped in linen with demands of being cradled by Ireum day and night. Yunho hated Wooyoung for several reasons. For making their lives harder, having their parents stay up late at night while twelve hour shifts waited on them the day after, being fussy over the selected food they were ratioed and for always crying. 

A late night when the wind released its anger on London and the sun was afraid to appear, little Wooyoung had gotten sick with fever which refused to go down. Ireum and late Jongsu were helpless, desperately placing a wet rag over his tiny forehead and singing every lullaby passed down from generations to calm the crying babe, but it did nothing. Wooyoung split the heaven into two and would not stop his wailing until he was fever free. It was a shame to lose their second born not even a year into his life and Yunho, not having a job nor enough pennies to buy medicine, marched out of the door, hat and trenchcoat a miss while on a hunt for the stupid cure.

It was the same protective spark he felt at the age of fourteen, when Ireum and the Late Viscount Lee introduced their respective offsprings to each other. When your tiny head peeked from around your father’s leg, curious eyes stared up at Yunho who was even taller than your best friend.

Seven years later and Yunho vowed to keep you safe from harm as he did with Wooyoung all those years ago and still counting. It was a difficult promise to keep as you were going against everything he worked for. Yunho did not wish for you to please him by playing along to his supposed wants and needs. He would first feel a sense of accomplishment when you could give up half of the strain by opening up what was truly gnawing at the back of your head. It was eating him from the inside, but nothing would change by forcing you to open up.

So, Yunho yielded for the time being and returned to his chamber. 

The piano occupying the center of the drawing room was bought by Viscount and Viscountess Song, as every other instrument, in hopes of their son taking the path of music. It was yet another point added to their long list of disappointments. Mingi had in fact not touched the piano, let alone pursued music. The instruments were as new and clean as the day they were carried into the building and left to decay in their stands. It could not be compared to the grandeur of His Grace’s estate, but it was still impressive, especially to someone who did not have a music room or any instruments to begin with. 

“What did you tell Lady Lee?” Mingi asked as he watched you pace back and forth from his seat on the piano stool. 

You arrived at the Song estate a good hour earlier than you originally planned, just to prepare for your first lesson with Hongjoong. The maids under the Songs’ care set up marvellous biscuits and fruits on a silver platter accompanied by a pitcher full of water. Everything from the smallest of details had to be in perfect condition. You wanted Hongjoong to be aware of how important these lessons were for you and if that was by stuffing him full of dessert, then so be it.

Sweets and drinks were not the only thing you put a lot of thought behind. A variety of dresses filled your wardrobe, yet you spent more time nitpicking than choosing which one would suit you the best. Your maids were of no help at all as they deemed every dress perfect, which was true considering they were made for your very figure and appearance. In the end, you settled on a light pink gown. Its high waistline stopping just under the bust and flowing down in a long skirt. The sleeves were made of an almost translucent pink fabric with an exquisite embroidery pattern of a wildflower. The silk garment reached to your ankles with an added layer of the translucent fabric. It was beyond beautiful.

“I simply told her I had an appointment in town and would bring Franscesca.”

“Who is Franscesca?” Mingi reached for a powdery biscuit, but you gently slapped his hand away. 

“My lady’s maid.”

Feigning hurt, he pouted and cradled his hand to his chest. Noticing you were not indulging in his childish behaviour, he threw another question at you.

“And where is this Franscesca now?”

“She is running errands, of course.”

“...Have you ever been told you are one sly lady?”

A devious smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. You exaggeratedly pinched the silky fabric of your dress between your thumbs and pointer fingers, giving Mingi a slow bow. 

“Why, thank you kind sir.”

Deja-vu, Vitamin String Quartet, 0:00-0:40

He barked out a laugh, crumbs and chocolate bits falling onto his pristine black suit as his mouth gaped wide. You launched yourself onto the vacant seat beside him on the plush sofa as your belly laughter filled the spacious drawing room. Minutes later you lay limp on the furniture, heads thrown back against the headrests and arms close to the side of your bodies.

“Oh, I am going to miss this dearly,” you admitted as the gleeful sounds subdued to a silence cast in a yellow hue. Light puffs of air slipped through your lips as you recovered from the tummy aches as a result of your laughing session.

“What do you mean?” 

“This,” you beckoned to your disheveled states with a wave of your hand, “will all disappear when we both marry.” 

Your gaze was set on the spotless ceiling, but you could still feel the burn of Mingi staring holes in the side of your head. His dark brown eyes traveled down the slope of your nose and up your cheek, admiring the somber look of defeat and acceptance. He averted his attention to the same blank canvas and heaved a sigh as his fingers weaved together across his abdomen.

“I believe the Song bloodline will reach no farther than my grave.”

You glanced in his direction and pressed your lips in a thin line. No words could bring Mingi to hope for a marriage built on love. Instead, you brushed your pinky against his clad elbow. A brief, but powerful gesture to ground him in his lonely thoughts. To be the light slipping through the cracks of the dark tunnel he, more often than not, found himself in. 

“Then I dare argue it will be put to rest in the softest grave of all the Songs.”

A comfortable silence filled the room, yet the look on Mingi’s face as your eyes met in a gentle clash was louder than the heavens on a thunderous day. One corner of his mouth was tightly pulled at by an invisible force, creating something akin to a loop-sided smile that did not quite reach his eyes. If only you were not you, he thought and exhaled a puff of defeat. Mingi would never bring himself to say the words out in the open, for even the walls had ears.

“It is truly unfair I do not…”

The sentence ended abruptly like a burning candle being deprived of oxygen and your brows knit in worry. As you moved to sit upright and cast more attention to Mingi’s mind marred with deep thoughts, the grand doors of the drawing room flew up and a member of the staff stepped through, not batting an eye at the lack of proper space between you.

“A visitor for Mister Song.”

Loud footsteps echoed from the long hall outside and Mingi, with little to no urgency in his bones, stood up as you followed suit. The image of witnessing your best friend in distress refused to leave your mind, yet you were forced to push it further back, vowing to yourself to resume the conversation from where you left off after the awaited guest had taken his leave.

An orange hue only making its presence known during the golden hour of a day illuminated the room as Hongjoong gracefully emerged through the open doors. It did not matter that his hair was rather rowdy and unkept, carelessly combed through with his fingers, Mister Kim appeared as handsome as ever. In fact, you were far too occupied with admiring his face to even notice the new suit tailored to his precise measurements. The color, a shade only found in the most respected vineyard of the country, suited his honey complexion and you could barely keep your lips from curving obnoxiously. To ground yourself, you intertwined your fingers behind your back and nearly stumbled over your own feet from shifting too much.

“Mister Song,” Hongjoong acknowledged with a curt nod and then averted his gaze to you, his voice dropping in a softer octave. “Miss Lee.”

“Mister Kim, we are delighted by your presence. Please, I insist, take a seat.” You gestured toward the sofa opposite of you and the guest complied.

It was questionable to witness your relaxed posture in the property of another family, to whom you had no romantic pursuits with, but Hongjoong was in no position to ask questions. He was merely there for business, not to pry his nose in other people's.

“It is a very welcoming home you have.” 

The compliment was directed at Mingi, who barely acknowledged the man. A simple grunt vibrated from the depths of his throat as a stary, almost forlorn look, dimmed his usually bright eyes. 

“If you will excuse me, Miss Lee, Mister Kim, I have some important business to attend to. Do not let my absence trouble you. I shall be in the study above should you require my presence.”

Mingi did not wait a second too long before taking his leave, not sparing either of his guests a fleeting glance. The worry pulled at you from within and your fingers itched to latch onto his suit, to give it a little nudge and gently pry answers out of him. Yet you were well versed with how Mingi functioned. The gentle giant did not work well under pressure and would sooner or later come to you with the weights pushed onto his shoulders. He always did, and you welcomed him with open arms and soothing words every single time.

The soft clear of someone’s throat burst the bubble of worry wrapped around you. Hongjoong sheepishly smiled and quickly threw glances between you and the piano waiting to be used.

“Shall we?”

A weak smile took over your gloomy features. “Of course.”

A sense of deja-vu washed over you from your first encounter dating back to the first ball of the season. Elbows brushing and thighs touching with the sweet melody produced from Hongjoong’s talented fingers whisking you to a far away land. It was a magical evening and it had nothing to do with the Duke’s grand investments in hosting the perfect ball of the season. The scene was similar to then except for the bright sky and sun casting a boiling glow over London. 

Hongjoong suddenly pressed down on the piano keys, filling the room with a light note that eventually simmered to silence, but did not last long.

“Considering you wish to become familiar with the pianoforte again, Miss Lee, I have composed a selection of melodies that I trust shall be simple to master.”

It should have been the first indication that these lessons would be far from simple and you were truly foolish to believe a talented young man the kinds of Hongjoong could differentiate between ‘simple’ and ‘elementary tier’. You released a nervous breath and feigned a smile. A pinching feel of embarrassment clung to your cheeks at the thought of admitting it was a too perplexing melody for you to learn. Hongjoong, being overly observant, noticed your sudden unease and lifted his hands off the keyboard, shifting his torso to get a better view of your face.

“Perhaps I was a bit eager to begin our lessons to even reconsider the difference between my perception of simple and yours.”

Your already bruised confidence shriveled even more and you lowered your head further, like a child scolded for stealing a meringue first thing in the morning. Being subdued to an aloof and silly girl, whether people expressed it to your face or made alluding remarks, was not a strange occurrence. It burned your heart and choked up your windpipe, but you learned to ignore it. To push their harmful words beneath boiling water and just appreciate the bubbling sounds of nothing. However, you could not unhear the malicious intent slipping through Hongjoong’s statement and forming into jaded insults. 

Foolish. Naive. Tease. Emotional. Ditzy. Prude. Immature. Eager–

“It would be for the best that we revive your memory. To gain a clearer understanding of what you do remember and what you have… forgotten so to say.”

Useless. Bad. Silly. Easy. Obtuse. Absurd. Ineligible–

The voice dwindled out at the featherly touch of three fingers nudging your shoulder and you startled in your seat making the hand withdraw at instance. Vibrations of static pierced your shoulder and coursed down your spine. You wondered if he felt the heat venture through his fingertips and spread to the rest of his body. 

Facing the man who occupied your mind for the last couple of nights, your heart squeezed at the worry etched into his features. Brows drawn together and eyes darting across your face while his perfectly shaped lips were pressed in a tight line. Hongjoong appeared ethereal in every light, you realized, and perhaps this agreement was more than you could handle. Men from far away traveled to catch a glimpse of you, if the odds were in their favour maybe even exchange a couple of words. Men with big businesses to their names and bathtubs filled with gold did not spark your interest in the least, yet a man you were certain was of no such fortune made your heart jump and twirl by a mere glance.

“Are you… well?”

“My apologies, Mister Kim! Oh, how– how rude of me. I assure you, all is well. I have not been graced with a restful slumber.”

“Magnolia,” coughed Hongjoong and looked away, randomly pressing down on the piano. “Magnolia tea serves as a fine remedy for those who suffer from sleeping troubles.”

“I am afraid I have never heard of such tea before.”

“Then… Then I shall fetch you some on my next visit.” 

You paused and Hongjoong cast his attention back on you at the lack of response. His eyes widened and tongue ran dry as he realized how presumptuous it sounded. A pink dust sprinkled across his cheeks and ears burned from embarrassment, a feeling he rarely experienced, but before Hongjoong could explain himself and apologize, your mellow voice cut through the silence.

“That would be lovely and highly appreciated, Mister Kim.”

The blush did not die down. On the contrary, it increased in hue and burned hotter at the sight of the polite smile gracing your glowing face. Hongjoong understood why His Grace was invested in you. Not only were you beautiful, but warm hearted and kind. A trait most of the  members of high society lacked and something Hongjoong could attest for.

The hour you set off for piano lessons passed on a whim as the grandfather clock chimed four in the afternoon, putting an end to your secret gathering. Hongjoong scooted further up the piano stool and kissed the top of his teeth. 

Dancing Queen, Spark, 0:15-1:30

“I must admit, Miss Lee. You are an extraordinary pupil.”

The inside of your bottom lip caught between your teeth to keep them from curling at the praise. You managed to express your gratefulness in a timid, yet clear tone. However, your face and neck were not safe from the blistering heat attacking your exposed skin. 

“It is merely due to the presence of my gifted instructor.”

“Even the most gifted pianist alive could not teach the pure talent you possess, Miss Lee.” 

This time you could not hide your smile. Contagious as the plague, Hongjoong’s own mouth curved upwards and his eyes creased as if being blinded by the sun. The skin on his nose scrunched in glee and you desperately wished for the most famous artist in all of London to capture the beautiful sight in a painting that would be nothing short of mesmerizing. To hear another person, another man, acknowledge your artistry, mended the tarnished part of your soul which had only felt stinging slaps and pinches of your closest folks. Yet Hongjoong, like Mingi, entered your life with a caress and amidst all the hurt, you could pinpoint a touch of warmth. 

It tingled your chest in the form of a hand gently cupping your heart and you found yourself imagining Hongjoong standing in the place of your many suitors. A rather incredulous thought that you could not shake away and did not wish to dispose of. The next sentence you spoke into existence could be the very reason Yunho decides to ship you off to the closest mainland with the intent to keep you in solitude for all of eternity.

“Will you attend… the horse race set to take place in a few weeks’ time?”

He was not. He swore on his first born child that he would not attend the godforsaken horse race. It was simple, Hongjoong thought. Stare both Choi cousins in the face and outright refuse to come. They could not force him no matter the amount of muscles formed to perfection on their hunk of bodies. Little did he know that a brief look in your enchanting eyes, glassy with hope, would be enough for him to bend his morals. 

“It is the most sought out event of the month, correct?”

“Indeed, it is! Although, I am convinced everyone is attending in hopes of catching a glimpse of His Grace.” 

You did not intend for your tone to fall into a thin line, deprived of its usual excitement, and Hongjoong did not intend for the sour taste of lemons to scrape the insides of his mouth. 

“Might I anticipate… the pleasure of seeking out your presence there? Or shall your undivided attention be entirely devoted to His Grace?”

“No! Oh, I–Uh, I mean,” you smacked your lips together. “It would be quite rude of me to solely enjoy the company of His Grace…”

Hongjoong hastily rose from his seat. “Then it is settled. I shall take my leave now, Miss Lee, but until then…” He slowly retrieved a neatly tied scroll from the inside of his suit and held it out for you to take. 

Confused, yet intrigued, you accepted the paper. 

“Pray tell, what is this?”

Before you could untie the red string, Hongjoong wrapped his hand around yours. His fingers, nimble but determined, enclosed over yours and kept them in place. The touch was intoxicating, making the blood beneath your skin sizzle. All thoughts evaporated into air and the sole thing occupying your every being was the gentle caress of Hongjoong’s thumb against yours. The action was so innocent and yet pulled your mind into a haze of desire.

“Mister Kim–”

The words got caught in your throat as Hongjoong slid his fingers further down your hand, capturing your own fingers in his hold. His thumb resting on the space between your middle- and ring finger. The unbroken art of eye contact settled over your chest and did not let up, and you did not wish for it either. Staring into the windows of Hongjoong’s soul was like enjoying freshly picked strawberries alongside a cup of the richest brewed cocoa you could find in all of London. The real sweet treat, however, was feeling Hongjoong’s plush lips gently press against the bone of your knuckles, yet not once straying from your wide eyed look.

“Practice til your heart's content, Miss Lee. I eagerly anticipate our next coming lesson and expect you to master that composition.”

That marked the end of your first meeting and Hongjoong took his leave, politely nodding to the butler and maids seeing him on his way out. What would be viewed as rude by any other people of High Society, leaving a debutante in a state of clear frenzy, you deemed respectful of him. You would rather not be in the eye of a handsome gentleman whilst your tongue looped in on itself and your lungs vacant of air make out a single coherent sentence. Hongjoong did not leave to keep your dignity intact. The man ran his hand through his hair and, in that gentle and respectful voice of his, asked the carriage driver to make a quick stop by the Choi estate.

It seemed that the trio would need new suits for the horse race after all.

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[yanderes-galore]

I'm in the mood for some Annie AOT prompts: 7, 20, and 36 from your list, please?

An AU of sorts where instead of the EMA trio trying to expose Annie, it's just Darling meeting up with her to find out the truth. The confrontation goes elsewhere though as Annie changes the subject, admitting how she is indeed the Female Titan that she doesn't need to wait any longer with her plan, and that she just might as well snatch her Darling on the way. Whether Annie succeeds or not in climbing the wall with the Darling in hand/mouth I will leave it up to you to decide ^^

Yandere! Annie Prompts 7, 20, 36

"All this blood? It's all for you! Everything I do is all for you!"

"I've been waiting too long for this...."

"I'd hate to hurt you but... if you keep this up I might have to."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Violence, Murder, Blood, Implied forced relationship.

Why did you have to be so damn curious?

It's like you never heard of that infamous saying. Curiosity often kills the cat. Yet here you are, confronting her with such concern...

You're unaware of the beast she truly is... and she wishes she could hide that part of herself forever.

She wants you to stop trying to play hero... There's no heroes here.

Annie had known you when you were both Cadets. You were too caring for your own good, always offering to be friends with her. Annie originally tried to turn you down.

Yet part of her truly did yearn for your companionship.

Annie knew she didn't deserve you. She was sent here to destroy people like you just for a chance to get what she wants. She had a job to do.

But she still found herself falling for someone in these dreaded walls.

She honestly wished how you last saw her could remain an untarnished memory. Even though she was cold to you most of the time, you treated her like a human. It... felt nice....

Even if she never felt like she fully deserved it.

Before she left for the Military Police, Annie fought with her feelings. She was debating on just not telling you, of just leaving. But before she could evade you...

You came to see her instead.

She remembers how that conversation went. You looked similarly distraught as you were now. Except, this time she knew your confrontation wouldn't have a happy ending.

Back then you looked upset yet happy. You told her you knew the Military Police was the best for her. Even if you'd be separated from her... foolishly determined to be a Scout... you told her you'd think of her.

She should've had more control. She knows she should've. Yet, before she could stop herself, she found herself yearning...

She struggles to tell you to just go, that you're just making it harder for yourself. Nothing she could've said would prevent what happens next, however...

She tries to open her mouth... but the words are stuck the second she felt your arms around her.

"I hope we meet again..." You murmur, the promise hanging heavily in the air, "I can't bring myself to let you go...."

Annie felt herself trembling when she looked you in the eyes now. That memory... It's so familiar yet taunting. Why is she shaking now...?

Is she really scared?

She's wanted to meet you face to face again. Yet this wasn't what she meant. This... This was a twisted version of what she wanted...

Stop looking at her like that... You're making her feel trapped... You're forcing her to remember what she's done.

It... only hurts because of you. She doesn't feel guilty for any other reason. It's... all because of you.

"Annie, please, can you be honest with me... is what I'm hearing true...?" You ask. Damn it, your voice sounds so sweet.... You make this so difficult.

When you ask her such a question, you sound so innocent. You're asking for your own reassurance. It's like you weren't sent by those dreaded Scouts you're part of....

Annie tenses when she remembers what she's done. She remembers killing, she remembers all the blood. It hurts at first, to kill, to harm...

But she's meant to be selfish... You just threaten such thoughts.

Please... Why can't you leave...?

She wants you to remember her fondly....

"I'd hate to hurt you but... if you keep this up I might have to." Annie warns, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. "Just... leave, alright?"

You look even more hurt, no doubt realizing what her words mean. She almost can't take it. She just wishes she could... wait....

She's always been selfish... She needs to take Eren... What if...?

A grin soon spreads on her face, watching as you hesitantly step closer.

"I-I can't leave you, Annie... You know I can't... Come on, please, just talk to me?" You hesitantly ask, Annie's blue eyes watching your every move carefully.

"... No, you're right. Let's talk... You deserve to know everything, right?" Annie responds coolly, stepping closer to sling an arm around you. She distracts you with a soft smile, guiding you to exit the underground tunnel.

"Ah? Really? Please, tell me everything... I've been hearing horrible rumors...." You frown, Annie's grip tightening as flashes of blood flicker in her mind.

"I've been waiting too long for this...." Annie muses, eyes looking at you. To you, you probably think she means reuniting with you. Which... is partially true... "I've done so much for you... yet you don't even realize it yet...."

"Like...?" You murmur hesitantly, noticing the atmosphere between you two change. It's... tense.

Unnerving.

"You may not know it... But I've seen how those Scouts look at you." Annie murmurs before she can stop herself, envy slipping into her tone. "I wished I was them... I wished I could look out for you too... But that's okay, they deserve what I did."

"What... You did...?" The gears were turning in your head, which made her laugh slightly.

"They're red paste now. If I could do it again, I'd focus less on the mission and focus on killing more for you. They're all worthless compared to you...." Annie whispers mischievously to you, grip tightening. "Their blood was a worthy sacrifice, wasn't it...?"

"The Hell are you talking about—? There's... no way you're..." You freeze, seeing the sadistic glint in Annie's eyes.

"Are you sure?" She grins, "All this blood? It's all for you, love.... Everything I do is all for you at this point. Even if I fail the mission..."

You're suddenly shoved outside the tunnel, Annie flicking open the ring to slice her finger....

"I plan to at least keep you."

The Titan transformation blast blows you back into a building of the district. The familiar roar of the Female Titan pierces your ears, making you quickly try to prepare your ODM gear. Eren's Titan goes off in the distance...

But you're still so distracted from Annie's confession... her reveal... it's all so confusing...

You can barely process it as you're soon shoved into a long Titan battle.

The battle is long and tedious. Many had to escort civilians while dancing around the brawling Titans. Yet just when Annie realizes she's going to lose... That the mission is a failure...

Her eyes lock on you.

She thinks back to all the blood she shed. All of what she's done just to feel a bit of love from her father... from you.... She can't let it go to waste...

So, effortlessly, you're snatched from the sky... Your ODM gear snapping off the anchors you had...

Then slipped into her mouth.

You freeze, the wet hot saliva paralyzing you. You're expecting her to swallow, to end you. She never does.

Instead you feel her start running.

Your friends are surprised when she abandons Eren. Everyone nearly felt relief. Until they realized who she did grab.

If she can't take Eren with her...

The least she can do is make you hers.

You struggle in her mouth, jabbing your swords into her tongue. The Female Titan doesn't flinch, hardening her skin as she launches herself into a lunge. It appears your resistance doesn't matter in the end...

She always overpowered somehow, huh?

Annie hardens her skin when other Scouts try to cut her. They aim for her nape... her jaw... but she hardens her skin every time. She's a desperate woman at this point...

She needs you with her....

The slashes on her skin mean nothing. She's tired, running completely on adrenaline... Yet she pushes through. Your friends try to cut her down... they try to make her lose her grip....

Yet she grabs their ODM gear and tosses them... Not today....

As the saliva coats your clothes, she manages to make her way over the Wall. Who knows, maybe everyone thinks she swallowed you? Maybe they think she killed you like the savage beast they see her as.

It doesn't matter to her.

They'd never understand anyways. They'd never understand what's between you. Only you two can....

Does she feel bad for what she's doing... for taking you away? No. Her cohorts won't be too pleased... but she doesn't care. Really, since she met you as a Cadet... she's only had one desire.

Love from you...

She'll get that from you at some point... even if she has to force it out of you....

[arthurs-better-half]

Yellow - The Heart / "Because I care about him."

1. Malevolent part 40 “The Order” II // 2. Marina Ianova Tsvetaeva, Poem Of The End // 3. Malevolent part 21 // 4. Chen Chen, Nature Poem // 5. Malevolent part 21 // 6. Ace Song - Izzie Burton // 7. Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life // 8. Malevolent part 21 // 9. O My Heart - Mother Mother // 10. Malevolent part 22 // 11. Leah Horlick, For Your Own Good // 12. Malevolent part 21 // 13. Roadkill - Searows // 14. Malevolent part 21 / Malevolent part 22 / Wanderer by Joseph Feely // 15. Malevolent part 22 // 16. @starparkdesigns (Instagram) // 17. Malevolent part 22 // 18. “How to Be a Dog” by Andrew Kane // 19. Malevolent part 22 // 20. halfabed - clem turner // 21. Malevolent part 22 // 22. Franz Kafka, The Castle // 23. Malevolent part 22 // 24. Against the Kitchen Floor - Will Wood // 25. Janet Fitch, White Oleander // 26. Malevolent part 22 // 27. @metamorphesque (x) // 28. Malevolent part 40 “The Order” II // 29. Judas’ Gift by Adam Phillips // 30. @/lostaffections (Twitter)

I actually just want to get this one done so I can move on to other ones but I hope it's good enough I've been working on it for ages. Anyway I’m going to chew through drywall if I see someone say Yellow is genuinely uncaring again. The FAÇADE.

Ask to tag

YELLOW: I... I... (Quieter.) Why you, John? What did you have to offer? Why does he care about... you? JOHN (softly): Because... I care about him.

Either love is... - A shrine? - or else a scar.

YELLOW: What is that? ARTHUR: A poem. YELLOW: You wrote it?

"Why can't you see me? Why can't I stop / needing you to see me?"

YELLOW: Why did you share that? ARTHUR: Because... it's beautiful. It makes me feel strong. It makes me... feel. (He sighs.) Doesn't it make you? YELLOW (uncertain): I suppose.

And it's not something I'm missing Not something that I need But when you said something's wrong We both know that you meant me

I'm restless and harsh and despairing. Although I do have love inside me. I just don't know how to use love. Sometimes it tears at my flesh, like barbs.

YELLOW: Does it hurt?

And I throw my heart into the fire 'Cause, I want to set my heart on fire And I watch it try befriending embers But the ice don't melt in mid-December

YELLOW: Because I'm trying to understand. You want that, right? You wanted me back here, you wanted my friendship. So tell me what I have to do. ARTHUR: To what end? YELLOW (frustrated): To any fucking end. Did you even want your body back?

for you, ready. You'll never recover from that kind of devotion. Little lights

YELLOW: Wait. ARTHUR: What? YELLOW: There are... snowshoes, next to the door.

And maybe I'm crazy But some part of me had to care for you What would it take for me to be cared for, too?

ARTHUR: We can always turn back if there's nothing for us out here. YELLOW: You keep saying 'us' as if we're one. ARTHUR: It's an old habit. (He walks through the snow.) YELLOW: Fine. Then let's leave. We've paid, slept. You've shaved, taken a much-needed bath. Is there anything else for us here?

ARTHUR: I don't want to hurt you. (Gentle, optimistic piano melody.) I never have. I can be a real pain... when you cross me the wrong way, don't get me wrong, and - and don't say anything about that, but... I don't lavish causing strife. I don't - I don't enjoy making others suffer. I don't like hurting people. YELLOW: People. ARTHUR (scoffing, splashing water): You don't have to be a human to be a person, Yellow.

- How many times can the same thing break your heart? - As long as you love it

YELLOW: What's that? ARTHUR: God, look, I promise you, we can talk about all of this soon, when I'm not so hungover. For now, I just want to shave and head back to the room. YELLOW: Right.

A fugitive is also a kind of dog. Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. You must learn to be confused but never disappointed by a deficiency of love.

YELLOW: We're at the edge of the woods. This is where we came through last night. Your snowshoes are around here somewhere. ARTHUR: My what? (Shocked.) Oh, Jesus! I completely forgot. YELLOW (slightly smug): I noticed.

i sing a song to you with lyrics i can't even pronounce with lyrics that predate words the melody won't come out.

YELLOW: I don't know, Arthur! I see the mountain on the horizon, I'm leading us there. What do you want from me? ARTHUR: Some communication, Yellow! (Frustrated) God damn it.

"You misinterpret everything, even the silence."

YELLOW (furious): I'm trying, Arthur, I'm fucking trying!

I swear, I'm really trying Oh, I'm sorry, I promise, I'm doing my best I just haven't learned how to be human as you are yet

Isn't it funny. I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you.

YELLOW: You're... sorry?

Rage, that is love - rotten! Rage, that is desire - rotten! Rage! - like a prayer, unanswered, ricocheting from your ceiling and landing right onto your eyes, never quite reaching where it was meant to.

ARTHUR: I know. I'm not apologizing for you.

entrusted to secrecy in Judas' story is that betrayal is one of the forms revelation takes. Betrayal is an uncanny form of intimacy. Somewhere in ourselves we associate being loved with being betrayed, and being betrayed with growing. And we do a lot of work trying not to know this when it is, in fact...

he doesn't hate him, he came to realize, and that's what he hated.

@sunw00d because you asked

[ladylucksrogue]

300 Followers! 🎉🎉

I want to say thank you to everyone! This is so absolutely amazing and humbling to reach this milestone!

As promised, I will be doing a drabble challenge as a thank you for all the support. The poll a while back showed that a good chunk of people who voted were interested in kiss drabbles, so that is what we are going with! I've done a bit of research and pulled a bunch of prompts from all over the place into a list that promises a bit of everything for everyone I hope!

I will begin doing these in July and continue through July 31st. You can go ahead and get your prompts in as soon as you'd like.

There's no limit to how many prompts you can request, go wild!

Most of you know, I am very ship and let ship and I write for a variety of ships and this will be no different. Even if you don't particularly care for one or the other ship I write, there will likely be something for you, and you can always request what you'd like, so there's that :) All posts will be tagged with rating, ship and content warnings if any. We are keeping this space happy and drama free, thank you :)

Rules:

1. Pick a prompt

2. Pick a pairing I write for (rexsoka, foxiyo, blyla, codywan, Tech/Phee, Wolffe x Liri (my OC), any of my other OC pairings (Bacara x Sariyah, Spider x Iosen, etc), Wolffe x Riyo, etc. I have quiet a variety I have written for, so there should be a bit of choice out there. If you have ideas, questions on pairing I write for, feel free to ask!

3. Feel free to give timeline, setting, etc. Would you like this set in my Unexpected-verse fix it timeline? Is there a particular point in time you'd like it? Are there other characters you'd like as a cameo? Would you like it in my rebellion AU? Another timeframe entirely? During the war, post order 66, etc. I am open for ideas, this is your prompt after all.

4. Let me know if you'd prefer SFW or NSFW

Prompts under the cut to avoid this being a never ending post on your feed :) Thank you all again, you are amazing!

Kissing someone while they talk about something they are passionate about

Kisses after an argument

Kiss while cooking

Lazy kisses

Rough kisses

Neck kisses

Forehead kisses

Morning kisses to wake someone up

“I love you” between kisses

Soft kisses that turn passionate

Kisses between laughs or giggles

Kissing away tears

Spontaneous or surprise kiss

Shorter person tries kissing the taller one, gets frustrated

Kissing in the rain

Accidentally bumping heads while kissing

I missed you kisses

Kissing someone to rid them of a smear of chocolate/cream/ice cream, etc

Flustered kiss

Kissing down their body

First kiss

Goodbye kiss

Discovering a sensitive spot kiss

Hungry kiss

Not being able to speak after the kiss

 “I wasn’t planning on falling for you, you know.”

 “I dare you.” / “To what?” / “Kiss me.”

 “That wasn’t part of the plan.” / “No. But it felt right.”

 “It’s been a long day. Come here.”

 “If this is a dream, I’m never waking up.”

 "You’re shaking." / "So are you."

 "Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

 “You're not going to get out of this with just a kiss.”

 "You always taste like caf."

 That... was not how I thought tonight would go."

 “Let me make you forget.”

 “Your lips are distracting.”

 “Why do you always kiss me when I’m trying to be mad at you?”

 “If I beat you, I get a kiss.”

 "I’m not sorry."

 “Is it weird that I want to kiss you right now?”

 “I thought you were dead. You don’t get to kiss me like nothing happened.”

 “Your nose is cold. I should probably warm you up”

 “Do you want me to stop?”

“Wait, was that a thank you kiss or a bribe?”

  “This is a terrible idea.”

 “If you’re going to keep teasing me like that, at least put your mouth to better use.”

 “This is the part where you lean in and kiss me, right?”

“You kissed me through the helmet. That doesn’t count.”

 “Try that again, slower. Right there.”