#look I know this has probably been drawn a thousand times before

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 8

[prompt: phone sex]

male reader x shin ryujin

16k words

The phone rings one too many times, and Ryujin is in the middle of scrunching up the paper slip that Chaeryeong handed her earlier that afternoon when she hears your voice.

The sounds of her scrambling for the receiver and her head smacking against the headboard come through in pretty good quality.

That never gets old.

"Stimulating conversations," you offer smoothly, like it isn't a euphemism and instead some high-brow intellectual pursuit. "How can I help you?"

Ryujin is speechless for an unbearable five, ten seconds until she lets out the kind of low chuckle that probably sounds better than it looks. "Hi," she says, "hello, I, uh- I don't know how all of this works."

"Why don't we start with who you're looking to speak with tonight?" you ask.

Ryujin sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the messy tangle of clothes on her bedroom floor with mild resentment. She’ll take her chances, figuring a direct approach is the best route when she doesn't really know where any of the lines get drawn or who is allowed to say what and who isn't.

"Um. Okay. Who you got?"

"We have a large variety of operators to suit any taste," you explain kindly. She appreciates that. "Do you have someone specific in mind? A gender perhaps, to start?"

"Well," Ryujin starts, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. Lia has this thing she constantly says, that there's always a thousand and one reasons not to do something, and Ryujin is the first person to make fun of her for it - but here she is, finally putting that adage to use.

"I was actually calling to, um," she exhales loudly. "A guy? I mean look - girls. Girls are great, but if you - mmm." She clears her throat. Because she knows how she wants to do this, and it's most definitely: "A man."

You wait for a second before replying, and Ryujin allows the stillness to expand over and fill out every corner of her bedroom before a bright, "Alrighty, well," comes filtering out her phone, tinny but as enticing as ever. "That would be me."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you reply, easy and unhurried. You sound exactly like the kind of person whose company people pay handsomely to be around; the professionalism is undeniable, but there's something to be said for your tone. The softness to the vowels, the almost imperceptible upward lilt to the words - Ryujin gets that, maybe.

You're pretty confident in the answer, but you ask anyway, "have you ever done anything like this?"

Ryujin opens her mouth and hesitates for a brief moment.

"Well," she muses. She's tried porn, she's tried her own fantasies, she's tried cranking up the hot water and touching herself with the head of the shower aimed somewhere she's told by other girls: it's there, free of charge. "I haven't."

"But you have a boyfriend," you state. "You have a man, who you enjoy things with?"

Ryujin laughs nervously. "It's...it's been a little while. Not recently. Sorry. I know you don't-"

"No, no, not at all, you're doing fine, it's just that you sound very attractive over the phone. Excuse the assumption."

Ryujin laughs and rakes her fingers through her fringe. She knows it's a line, but she laughs anyway. She could - if she was looking for the deranged fulfillment of it - pore through a billion comments on instagram, on twitter that call her a lot of things: gorgeous, beautiful, hot. The last comment she read before almost deleting her app entirely was someone who decided to textually imitate a dog barking to a picture Yeji had taken of her in a coffee shop. There's a novelty, she thinks, in being charmed by someone who has no idea who she is.

"You have good ears then," she says, smirking into the receiver. "So do you normally do, what, ask questions? I have no idea."

"Yeah, it helps me build a profile," you reply, "but if you had something else in mind-"

"No, please, shoot." She grabs the pillow from behind her back and flops against the mattress, staring up into the ceiling fan.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing your age with me?"

"Twenty," she answers without missing a beat, even though that isn't right. It's weirdly important to her, keeping it private, and she isn't sure why - but then you say something pleasant and complimentary about college and new experiences that she's unable to register, and you ask her for her name so quick she just blurts it out:

"Ryujin."

"Pretty."

"Fuck," Ryujin grins, immediately chewing on her knuckle to bite back a gasp. "Sorry. The name is cute or, whatever. Whatever. Sorry for the curse. God, I don't really have a filter - what about you? Do you have a name, Mr. Operator?"

"I do."

Ryujin lifts a leg up and puts it down again. She doesn't know if she should already have taken off her pajamas or if that's weird. Or if the fact that it doesn't bother her means this is more or less wholesome. She turns over onto her stomach, humming into the phone and now she doesn't know why she's thinking about your face. You could be- well, fuck, you could be anyone, but there's this gnawing compulsion to put something together.

You tell her your name and she scoffs for a second, before quieting down and returning you a, "pretty."

"Ryujin, tell me." There's probably a slightly too long pause from your end of the line before you get on with asking her, "when was your last orgasm?"

She drops the phone right in her face. It bounces off the bridge of her nose before landing in bedsheets beside her and her eyes are welling with tears while she scrambles blindly across her bed, cursing into the receiver and squirming. She pulls the phone to her ear and catches the last couple seconds of you reassuring her that it's okay, that it's completely fine if she's hung up or gone.

"Actually, I have," and she curls her fingers into a fist, "never came in my whole life."

You clear your throat to keep a less than professional sound from coming out. A quiet space she feels necessary to fill: “Not even once.”

"Really?"

"I know. And I've only recently realized that's, uh - er- a pretty un-normal thing." Ryujin makes a waving motion with her hand even though you can't see it, trailing off into silence and blushing furiously. "Sorry," she apologizes. She doesn't know what she’s apologizing for, but she does it again. "Sorry about that."

"I should be the one feeling sorry for you," you rib.

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Hey, this reminds me, would you be averse to the idea of touching yourself?"

The question stutters Ryujin in her tracks, and she doesn't even say no but a drawn-out "nngh" leaks out before she can stumble into something more intelligible. "Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to do on these calls?"

"Every call is different, Ryujin."

She chews on her lower lip, rolling it under her front teeth. You say her name like you know her, and it's throwing her for a loop. The comfort you have with the whole situation - asking her a million questions and not demanding answers, taking cues and reassurances in stride and turning everything into some sort of ploy for getting her naked. Fuck, she'll take a bit of a plunge:

"Should I be touching myself?"

"It's not my place to say."

"Okay, well that's kind of a frustrating answer."

"So you're saying you like being told what to do," you tell her, and you hear the sharp inhale in reply.

"If I knew what I liked, you think I'd be calling a sex hotline and hoping some stranger might take pity on me?"

You laugh out loud, and her response is the quickest, the cutest little, "seriously!" before she chuckles too.

"Ryujin?" you ask.

"Yeah?"

"Are you straight?"

She nearly chokes - because it's like you're able to just read her mind - and if you can do that then there's nothing you can't do, maybe. And here, excitement feels a lot like apprehension. She twists and curls in on herself, thighs rubbing together, the flat of her hand traveling across her stomach.

"I'm-"

"Because no one should have to pretend that they're interested in guys," you interrupt her and, god, for as much time as she's spent dwelling on that, she wishes it were that simple. 

It would be a hell of a lot easier if she knew why she wanted to get her face between Yeji's thighs and drag her tongue all over her clit until that prettier-than-perfect face of hers cinches up in a pleasure that comes with just the right amount of agony - or if she knew why she didn't feel anything like remorse or guilt or envy when her boyfriend came around instead of wanting, you know, to get on her knees with her mouth around his cock too -

Fuck, it's all very complicated.

"Straight," she answers. She likes cock, as much as anyone realistically can, and she knows the body on a man can get her dripping and easy in all the right ways. So, she just swallows. Says, "straight enough."

"If you were to touch yourself, right now, and someone - say, a man - were telling you exactly what to do: what would spring to mind, if anything."

"Mmm. Is this you asking me to touch myself?"

"Again. That's up to you."

Your voice is light. Very pleasant. Very male, Ryujin realizes. She gulps.

"Can you, I mean," she says, running a hand down the length of her thigh, pressing down at the hollow.

"Ryujin,” you say, letting her mull over how it sounds in your mouth. “Take a breath for me, please."

Her exhale leaves her with a heavy push and she tries not to laugh. Nervous tic. She's getting goosebumps, but she feels warmer than before.

"We could say this isn't the first time, you and me, in some very broad and abstract sense. How does that make you feel?"

"Strange." She touches her outer thighs again and arches her back. "Kind of horny," she admits. And it is odd - your words, the things you say - and maybe it's her nerves because the experience is new, and so are you, and so are her feelings, all wrapped in one.

"Do you want to do something about that?"

There's silence between you for what seems like a very long time, your breathing quiet but apparent - a signal you haven't abandoned her in some state of vulnerability. Ryujin inhales deeply. She's shaking in her fingertips. The tension has her taut and waiting, and that's funny, really, because it's what she's been doing for years. The rubbing. The touching.

Her hips rock forward gently and she answers the unasked question with a sweetly husked, "uh-huh."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah, really?" Ryujin laughs. Her fingers pause at her waistline. "That old, bad porn trope."

"I like hearing about people's clothes, is all," you excuse yourself lightly. "Helps me get a sense of things."

"Yeah, alright. Sweats. Baggy ones." Her lips fall apart. "Shirt."

"Is that all? Nothing sexy."

"What's sexy?"

"Sexy is…"

She listens to you mull it over, listening for a ruffling or two. "For a girl with a nice body - some body - some curves," you continue, and Ryujin has to drop another finger to the hot line of her thigh, her lower belly. "You need lace. Silk. You've gotta leave the best bits a little hidden, at least for a while longer."

"Wow. You sound a hell of a lot like you'd enjoy taking someone's pants off," she half-teases. "Do you make all your calls like this? One sordid fantasy at a time, huh?"

"Something like that," you reply. And then, as if reading her mind, "are you doing anything, right now?"

"I'm touching myself," she exhales. "Are you?"

"Ryujin, not yet. Please be patient."

She makes a face even though you can't see it or taunt her. That's an unfair request - you have an unfair request.

"Just, wait," you tell her. She's drawing lazy, winding circles across her thigh. "Let me show you something, will you do that for me?"

"But, what."

"Tell me everything. All the things you're thinking. Things you want to do."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

She blinks away her initial disbelief and reaches around for her lamp to switch it off. Until it's just the hallway light peeking in through the crack between her door and the door jamb and you, a stranger who won't be seeing her face or hearing her say anything stupid. She shakes out a few more breaths, shuffles against the sheets, and glides her fingertips past her belly button.

Her hand rises up her stomach in one decisive movement, until her fingers curl beneath the bottoms of her bra, trapped in its underwire. "I'm thinking - unh - about, ah. My friend?"

You're quiet and let the silence linger, until she seems like she might not find her way; so you repeat, "Go ahead."

"And a guy she used to like, fuck, she'd show up here, drunk on, ah. A weeknight. Somewhere, fuck, around midnight. Walk past me into the kitchen where we had the - the light. God." Her hips stutter and she grits out the rest through her teeth. "In the refrigerator. Ah, yeah, a midnight snack. Always looked way too fucking good for, um, oh, for a casual booty-call."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yuna," she practically pants, and immediately realizes she shouldn't have said that either.

"Did you always know what was going on? Between Yuna and her-"

"Boy-toy, yes - it was so obvious, I always knew, yeah," she said, clumsily grabbing the sheets with one hand as she drifts further between the peaks. "Just - fuck - he'd be picking at, ah, something with chopsticks."

"In your kitchen?"

"My, uh, table. And I'd be working up the nerve to ask."

You sigh over the phone, "ask him what?"

"What it was, like, I knew she was only- shit." She keens high in her throat. "What it was like, fucking taking that cock of his, and bending Yuna's tight little, ah, ass over and, mm, railing her on the side of her fucking bed - and just pumping her full of cum just like that until- Jesus, she would walk around after and sometimes-"

You groan softly. This encouraging little sound.

"-fuck - sorry, I mean. Yeah, he, sometimes he'd make her walk around with his, ah, stuff inside. Down her fucking pants and, it's like, fucking disgusting, I swear-"

"And?" You breathe a heavy edged noise over the line.

Actually okay, so maybe this was more than she bargained for, maybe she bit off more than she can chew - maybe, she feels like her insides are collapsing; all the fire pooling around in her stomach and gathering into a melting sort of weightlessness.

"And it makes me feel fucking-"

"Fucking what."

"Why am I talking about this, why-"

"Talking to me? Fucking wet, Ryujin, answer the question."

She pants down at her phone and then turns her face into her forearm, rubbing and making sounds. She thinks about, oh, fucking Yuna and how she showed up to hang out once, with cum leaking down the crease of her inner thigh, smearing against her skin and down between her legs.

"Wet." She swallows. "How do I-"

"Say that you wish it was you," you tell her. "That you wanted that, to be fucked. To feel a cock inside."

Her head falls back. "That," she manages, "fucking, that."

You drawl so that the question might roll off, easy: "Is that the kind of girl you are? Told not to curse, not supposed to let anyone else play with you - you just need it, don't you? Do you need someone's cum? Just tell me."

"I think so, ah," and she stops moving her hand. "I think I'm gonna go now. This is fucking embarrassing, like. Okay, sorry."

"Don't hang up," you tell her, and the soft edge to it is one she really wants to indulge. "Don't," you repeat, a little louder.

You start talking, about the same sorts of things she's imagined herself: the sex and the sounds and what he can do to her. You build a slow and aching heat between her thighs that has her dripping through her underwear and grinding against her fingers. Telling her how she's the one that needs to be filled, needs a man who can wrap her legs around his waist, get to the deepest parts of her, the parts untouched and willing.

Ryujin gets that - she wonders, half out of it and stroking faster than she usually would be, how much of it has anything to do with who the voice is on the other end of the receiver, and how it could be what a desperate, pathetic, tired part of her has always wanted.

"Are you?" she asks, panting over the phone.

"Am I what?" you whisper back to her.

"Are you," and you hear how she inhales sharply through her nose, a desperate gasp leaving her lips on the exhale, "going to, um. Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your reply is immediate, and her eyes flutter and close the second you tell her exactly what she wants to hear:

"God, yes."

She drags her hand up the center of her body, runs her fingertips over her jaw and presses the heel of her wrist to her neck to feel her pulse slamming hard.

"I'm fucking throbbing, Ryujin; you sound gorgeous like this, like nothing I've ever heard, I'm stroking my cock just picturing you, please-"

"Tell me." She's mouthing into the center of her palm, saying the words, tasting salt and musk. "Fuck, ah," she babbles, "tell me what you would do with me."

"I'd get you on your knees," you tell her without hesitating for a beat.

"Fuck."

"I'd come up behind you and tell you not to be scared, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, I'd just touch you real gentle. Push my fingers past your tongue, slide a little down your throat."

"Uh huh," she moans, her head falling back and rolling, rocking against the mattress.

"Want you sucking on my fingers. Need your hands around my cock, or better, my balls, play with them. You're going to take those fingers - every finger I got, all five, yeah?- all ten of them," you joke, "and open up your tight cunt - like you are now, like such a good fucking girl-"

The girl fucking yelps. Just this honest sound of depravity; it's what she's paying you for. It's a silly line of bullshit, but it makes her bite hard and ache a little around her own knuckles and moan in her palm and dig her nails hard into her flesh. Her thumb fumbles across the top edge of her underwear and you pant again into her ear as if on cue, giving her a small bit of guidance that has her jolting in pleasure. She didn't know that was there, fuck, fuck-

"Like that, Ryujin. Breathe," and she does.

"Please," she whines, trying to find somewhere for her arm to settle, resting finally in her hair - setting the phone to speaker in a foolish moment of lapsed-judgment, just before it nearly clatters off the side of her bed.

Keep going - she's telling you over and over - keep going, and you’re picturing her there: eyes closed, legs spread wide, bent knees quivering and toes curling into the sheets. It doesn’t sound fake - you've heard a million of them, you've learned them in their different tones and accents and you can spot a faker a mile away. And the girl on the phone right now isn't pretending or thinking about whatever's happening somewhere else.

(You don't join in for everyone. You can't. It's an asinine consideration that you'd be rubbing your fist up and down your cock while it's sore and wanting - aching from the neglect or lack of rhythm. You have to remind yourself it's just a job, that the logistics just can't support such selflessness.

But then there's the very fucking premise.

That the girl on the other end of the line is inches from the goalposts, fingering her cunt and sighing into the throes of her first orgasm - first ever, because you did this, you brought her this far - you're the fucking culprit, and no matter how many girls, or boys-pretending-to-be-girls, how many people have gotten off with the help of your voice, your instruction, this one sets a different fucking precedent.

You're not lying when you say, "I'm rock fucking hard, Ryujin," or "there's precum all over my knuckles, baby."

Because there is, and the poor thing chokes out another desperate sound when you tell her.)

"I'm right there, ah, fuck, keep going-"

"I've got my hand around my shaft, just enough that I can fuck it, can't I? The head is getting slick - baby - and my palm is gliding nice and easy. Are you cumming, Ryujin? You better be, you better be cumming right now."

There's a heaving gasp and she calls out for you, babbling curses and "please" and "fuck" in alternating succession, with enough punctuation for you to have to let your lip slip under the hard bite of your front teeth. "Don't stop," she tells you, voice thready.

"You need this so bad."

"Yes," she gasps. "How would you-"

"How would I fuck you?" you finish her thought.

She waits a moment, sucking in shallow breaths and then replying weakly, "I really like... I like doggy."

"On your knees?"

"Yeah," she stammers, "I like when, like- ah, like, pulling my hair."

"Fuck, I love that," you say into her mewling. "Splayed out with your tits against a pillow and getting your pretty, little pussy pounded? I bet that'd feel so good, huh? Hands so rough on your hips, on your throat, squeezing your neck so you'll turn pink. Just to see you smile, I'd probably fucking let you take whatever you want."

You're met with a broken moan, a long string of syllables ending on a note that has your shoulders clenching and cock jumping in your grip.

Tense over the things you can't see: Ryujin biting down into the side of her hand, the other knocking painfully against the wooden side rail on her mattress, her thighs tightening and screaming and clamping around her wrist as she pulls weaker, wilder whimpers out of her chest each time her fingers drag across her slit and the sensitive curve of her swollen clit. She's dying, she thinks, she's going to fucking die - the in and out of her soaked pussy, through all that sticky, satiny skin, slick fingers diving in, twisting until there's nowhere for them to go.

No other recourse than to fuck in, fuck, fuck, like that, fucking god.

There's heavy silence on the line for god knows how long - well, you have to check the log. But for her, it feels like fucking forever. That was - that was it. It's so fucking mind-wracking how good it was, she can't quite wrap her brain around it. Nowhere near. She thinks she'll have a better idea after two rounds, definitely by four. She'll buy something, use the discount, go shopping - an orgasm just to make sure she's not bullshitting herself.

You clear your throat.

She moves sluggishly, away from the side and against the headboard - the heat still unbearably oppressive, her t-shirt clinging and sticking. "That," she stumbles through the afterglow.

"Do I need to apologize to you?" you ask lightly.

"What? Oh god, no - no way. No way. I just."

"Yes?"

"Like I didn't know it was this-"

"Did you just cum, Ryujin?"

She's laying there with the phone pressed to her brow. A hand palmed over her own racing pulse. The faint smell of her own cunt lingering around her face.

"I don't know," she tells you, and promptly hangs up.

-

The darkness in Ryujin's bedroom is punctuated only by the faint, hazy light streaming in from the hall, and her bedroom fan making its creaking little circles, as she waits in her post-nut-high for her breathing to normalize. Her mind is buzzing, and out of all this, she has a hell of a bill and a couple conclusions:

She's a coward and a pervert, but definitely, definitely bisexual.

Or, like. She's in some weird gray area between not liking whenever anyone buys her drinks, but also the girls at least let her dance a little close. That's a strange thing, isn't it? For how often her mouth does stupid shit - you think at least someone would figure it out for her.

But you, oh fuck. You-

She's fucking shaken up, for sure.

-

(It's a home office set-up, actually.

Your desk isn't organized; you're sure the photos on the wall are askew and the paint looks slightly worse for wear if you were to turn the lights on - which you never really do. There's an aging lamp tucked into the back corner, a bottle of scotch next to your handset that's closer to halfway empty than halfway full, and you can't stop imagining it.

Promise, This never happens.

You've got the name stuck to the roof of your mouth even though you know it's fake. Stuck with something so painfully abstract. Imagining this girl that is probably as brash and bawdy as her voice, or more exciting than either - maybe her hair is long enough to brush along her breasts. Or maybe it hangs just over her shoulders. God knows just how that would frame her features.

You can see it, really. You pump a handful of coconut oil into your palm and the details solidify so easily in your head: her pretty mouth, nose, the dimples in her cheeks - eyes glazed and sultry and gazing at you.

Smelling sweet, all the places you need, skin hot, clit swollen-

Just- fuck. Fuck.

Ryujin, huh, imagine that.

Ryujin.

And you jerk off right into the soft embrace of a tissue.)

-

A little more than a week later:

Ryujin's all wrapped up on the couch, with an arm cushioning her head and watching TV when there's a sudden commotion from the front door. Yuna - her friend, her very nice, very male friend who never shows up after midnight unless there's a promise of sex - comes bumbling into the room.

He has no regard for boundaries.

So,

Yuna starts to say, smug, from where the hallway becomes the living room, "Ryujin - look at us. Stuck on a Friday night. You gotta boyfriend or something?"

She's completely unfazed by this interaction. She's pretty sure he has his own key, so like, he should be used to it by now too.

"Kind of." She shuts off the TV to turn her attention towards the topic at hand. "Why?"

Yuna runs a hand through all her long, silky hair and gestures her cock-du-jour on over to the door of her room. "Waiting for a call, maybe." She waggles her eyebrows. "Are you any good, I mean, you never seem to..."

Annoying brat. 

Ryujin smacks the back of her neck and interrupts, "you gonna fuck him? Go ahead and fuck him, Yuna." She checks the lock. The kitchen. Gets up and tries to ignore the heat flaring behind her ears.

"We could pretend," Yuna muses, tugging the waistband of Ryujin's shorts around her fingers before she's out of arm's reach. The elastic flips back into her waist with a dull snap.

"Dumb idea. That's a dumb, dumb idea," she reasons, because she knows Yuna has no self control. None, and it's showing; the second her shoulders sag forward and her eyes dart, craving, Ryujin steps back in. "Don't be stupid."

Yuna's lips are tilted, playful. Ryujin wants to smack that look right off her face. Like she fucking deserves any kind of victory just because she found out she can fuck anyone she wants while lacking the self-awareness to somehow be contented with anyone. She's not going to call her a slut - out of a matter of principle - but god, does she fucking want to.

"Gotta get ready, is what you should do," Ryujin mumbles under her breath.

"Fine." Yuna shrugs and pecks an annoying kiss to Ryujin's temple on her way to the shower, waving a hand over her head with a casual, "If you want something, you've only got a half-hour."

Ryujin pushes her hair out of her face and does what she does best: overanalyze and overthink the situation.

Whatever. Yuna won't give it up regardless, not in any way she'd actually be able to enjoy. Her cheeks go a little redder while she pretends to not be considering it.

God, a threesome in total functional harmony however: her working her mouth on Yeji (Ryujin doesn't know why she's thinking about Yeji, but she is), Yeji working her mouth on her boyfriend, her boyfriend working his mouth on her -

That'd be something, she thinks. Like one of those Escher diagrams, but one where everyone cums at the end.

The thought makes Ryujin wet enough to squeeze her thighs together and stand up a little straighter.

Then she hears the showerhead turn on, and she wonders just why, exactly, Yuna is such a spoiled asshole.

-

Turns out,

The universe just has this habit of providing Ryujin with what she wants right alongside everything she doesn't.

She’s stretched out in her sweats, sat up at the top of her bed again and touching herself beneath the sheet in a pointless attempt to contain the mess. Fucking horny - it's honestly unbelievable - and her left hand's making lecherous, slick noises until it's absolutely gross. Until Ryujin's gasping and panting and sweating from the nape of her neck and the back of her knees.

All because Yuna's the loudest little-fucking-whore of a roommate anyone has ever heard.

She's moaning like she's getting fucking plowed into the next life. And apparently, the cock she's got in her cunt is fucking huge if those little murmuring whimpers are anything to go on. She keeps begging the guy, coy, for a kiss while she's probably folded up like a lawn chair in there, getting railed, and the fact that the boy keeps obliging is as admirable as it is kind of insulting.

"Goddamn," she thinks out loud, because the walls are paper-fucking-thin. The apartments in the area are built in an earthquake-safe way, which in reality, means they can either withstand a magnitude 6.0 and come out without any severe structural damages - or that it's so cheaply constructed the building will go down like a matchbox house before it stands a chance against a tremor of any significance.

They're easier to replace that way she’s told. And Ryujin's apartment is definitely of the latter; she can hear everything.

The skin on skin, their bodies sliding together in the slippery sheets. Her mouth smacking wet around his tongue as he bucks forward and asks her to do a hundred filthy things, asking her where it feels best - that sort of thing, which gets her wound and agitated and frustrated, and fucking horny as fuck. Ryujin's bent-inward and panting when he really gets to work - the creaks and groans, their mingled pants and the constant thudding and swaying of the headboard smacking into the wall.

She doesn't even need to put her ear to the partition like she's sixteen years old all over again, hoping to catch her old brother going at it while her mom was out. Trying to figure out this whole sex thing - what all the fuss was about.

Just the way Ryujin sighs is nothing short of despondent. Slightly pitiful.

And every tight circle she's running over clit feels so fucking good, until she realizes the room goes real quiet for a bit. The stillness - no slapping, no movement, just wet, panted-breaths and muffled speech. She nearly asks aloud what's wrong - but she hears it: Yuna's hushed but totally undeniable,

"Been so long- don't, don't- hold up," she croons in these high, sing-song little huffs. "That - uhn, ah - that's my - that's my good spot, there, keep - yes, harder!"

Ryujin slams her eyes closed, dropping down onto the mattress and wishing she'd slipped her hands into her sweats sooner. Fuck. And as Yuna's back starts banging against the wall - so rhythmic and fucking thorough - Ryujin can feel the heat curling behind the backs of her knees, radiating along her calf and reaching into the smalls of her feet. Fuck. Fuck, she doesn't even get to watch.

Right there. So good, please, so fucking good, is what Ryujin can’t not hear coming right through the drywall.

She’s three knuckles deep in her pussy, all stretched out, and she's practically drooling - "spread me, baby. Hold the, fuck, spread my lips open. See me- unh. Ah - see me? Please, do it-" - the boy groaning about it as he fucks her, and then, Yuna, needling him with a quiet, breathy, "harder, can't you?"

The answer seems to make Yuna squirm and scream.

And Ryujin's nearly rolling - rocking, fucking humping her own fingers because it's starting to ache a little, a cramping in her wrist and arm and jaw that she's trying really hard to ignore, rubbing and fingering and fucking herself closer, the heels of her feet sinking hard against the sheets, throbbing and aching around the flicks of her knuckles, harder, faster - faster -

"Fucking hell-" she seethes and stops moving all at once - because god, Yuna is un-fucking-believable.

The absolute bitch, she's doing it again: squealing and cursing and calling his name into her orgasm and just basking, it sounds like, right in it. Because she always does this, every single fucking time, she acts like it's the best feeling in the fucking world and she fucking loves everything, and that shit just - Ryujin grits her teeth and grimaces and pulls her slick fingers from her body - that just ruins it.

All that build-up and for what?

Fuck, Yuna really has the nerve to go there too. She's talking about sucking her own damn cunt or some bullshit-

Yeah, it's not fucking fair, Ryujin concedes.

Or maybe she's being punished. She could live with that, but god. The unfairness of it all. She tries, for a half a minute, to let her throbbing stop being a goddamn nuisance. But the noises coming from the other room are making her crankier, more angry, more irate - and definitely hornier than she ever really intended, even though she knows Yuna is thoroughly distracted in there.

Ryujin sits up a little straighter. Squares her shoulders, steadies herself and fishes around in her pockets with her uncoordinated, cum-coated hands until she finds her wallet, a credit card, her cell -

And there's an aching, a sore pulse of neglect between her legs; that's all too much. A quick peek down confirms that, yep, she's practically dripped right out of her shorts and even gotten a dark spot in the front of them. How great is that.

Yuna is over there, all, "thank you - ah - can you please do me a favor and fuck my mouth with your big, big, huge, fucking cock-" and this guy, he sounds so patient, telling her how he wants to do exactly that, but he wants to fill her tiny pussy up first, fuck her here, fuck her there, fuck a baby right into her. Wants to get his cum all over her face, smear her mouth and her throat and her cheeks - 

Ryujin inhales through her nose and holds, eyes falling closed in something between misery and anguish.

He's telling her, yeah, of course he'll fill up her throat - give her so much it's leaking out of her fucking nose - and Yuna sounds like she's moaning and garbling an objection to that last part - but it doesn't actually fucking matter.

"Geez," is Ryujin's quiet, little gasped-out response. He just fucking pounds her right back into place; her next orgasm. Fuck-

And there it is: the slew of moans that start back up and just keep on keeping on.

Shin Ryujin is going to lose her fucking mind.

-

Ryujin only lasts a handful more days before she calls again.

It’s another Wednesday night, if only to increase the odds that you’re working. Yeah, she could go with another guy, but another guy might not do everything you did, talking quietly and calmly - so composed while Ryujin was losing some part of her sanity to the thumb she pressed on her clit. 

No, it has to be you.

That's what Ryujin makes herself say when the operator apologizes and explains you're busy.

"Will he be working much longer? Please, I, um-"

"If you give me your number," the operator tells her, "I can add him as a preferred associate. You'll get him next time instead of going to the line."

Ryujin pauses, finger held to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication isn't there, that maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some people do it already.

Oh god, this is kind of fucked up.

Maybe a little. Maybe.

Ryujin pauses, finger to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication, isn't there, or maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone you like-like for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some of things other people are undoubtedly doing with this service, Ryujin decides, and rattles off the digits so fast the operator asks for clarification.

"If your schedule doesn't open," the line says, "call back and leave a message with when."

Ryujin shrugs and says, "yeah, okay."

-

You make Ryujin sit through forty-five-fucking minutes of on-hold music - this barely audible synthetic noise that signals a connection is still there, truly a genre for no one - all before she just cuts the fucking line and lays down on the couch.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

Whatever.

-

(You are… going through the motions.

Some girl on the other line is barely holding it together; you can hear her thighs making slick noises. God. She sounds desperate, she's holding the phone all tight and saying your name. She's fucking babbling; it's not attractive, not while you're tilted back as far as your office chair will go and staring up in the ceiling.

You're bored, mostly.

"Please, please, I'm-"

"Going to cum, I know, princess." She asked you to call her that. "Mouth all open? Can't help it? Just need to lick it nice and fast?"

The answer comes all choppy: "I can't, ah, a-ah-nymore, no, I, can't, need-"

"Do you have any idea? How hard I'm fucking stroking my cock right now? Sitting right in my lap. Jerking it right for you," you say, and then she makes an embarrassingly wet noise, gasping through a choked whine, "so I'm ready to give you what you really fucking need."

"Yes," she chokes. "There - um, please, I just-"

"The biggest fucking load," you tell her. She has no idea, really, that you've got one hand on the receiver, the other just pinching the bridge of your nose - neither of which are you jerking the cum out of your cock and balls like a fucking hydrant as you’d described. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and you keep your face turned to the side as she starts screaming. As it starts running into one noise that lasts forever - so unbearable that, this time, you consider going out to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. "Need it deep. Let me pour it in, yeah?"

"Yes," she gasps again, heard on this distant frequency because, yes, yes, you've plugged your ear with a finger.

"That'll satisfy you. C'mon, now, princess - give it right up," you tell her, but your eyes are a little dull when her moan turns out all-gagging and twitchy and spasming through it, until finally:

"Ugh."

You wait a moment for the gasping and hitching to finish.

"Good girl," is your distant reply, followed by a polite, perfunctory, "call back anytime.")

-

Ryujin feels like she's in grade eleven again as she stares at her phone. Boys. Drama. Girls. The drama.

The overanalyzing, the wondering, the hesitating. Fuck. She wishes she knew a way to change this, because she doesn't feel particularly mature and is somehow reduced to this girl, this idiot sitting here all embarrassed and staring and moping about a thousand different calamities at once.

She's looking right at the lock screen: the wallpaper of her and Yeji and Chaeryeong out getting coffee on a random Sunday, all bundled up. Winter. Like three, four years ago, maybe.

Ryujin looks like shit, it's funny.

But Yeji -

How she can make the winter pallor look good is beyond Ryujin's understanding. It's unfair. All the things are. Her brain is back and forth and spinning, spinning like the hands on the old clock hung up on the wall in the kitchen. So stuck on what's not quite normal. Stuck on what doesn't fucking matter - who even fucking cares who the fuck she's attracted to?

She feels it between her legs.

Has been for like a month, or longer, without an outlet. Without anything to give her the hint that maybe she can get back to it - the right it.

She doesn't need to call, she tells herself. She's not some weirdo who's sitting on this for days just in the hopes that her boyfriend is having a bad week with work or whatever. It's only Wednesday, technically. Still way early. Just another few days, she reasons, another few hours - what does it matter?

Wednesday. She can feel the word settle inside of her.

Though only once her bottom lip is chewed to hell, does she pick up her phone and decide she will.

-

(You're in your bedroom this time around, finishing up your own weekday workout - on the bike, fifteen-second sprints - when your phone goes off. A simple dinging. Very unassuming.

The operator comes in with a cool, level, "line two, callback."

Then there's nothing but silence for a few beats.

You towel some of the sweat off your face. It's warm - your skin, flushed. Bouncing your phone in your palm. The same feeling that's been tugging at your throat for the past two weeks starts to flare and swell.

Not quite a hope, not quite expectation: just something close.

"Are they still there?"

The operator confirms. "Shall I put them through?")

-

Ryujin fumbles in her own rush of bravado, hands pressing against the fronts of her thighs in an unflattering, nervous little gesture as the connection clicks and picks up.

"This is him," comes your voice, a little husky and raspy from all the day-to-day talk, but even and easygoing and maybe - just maybe - something she can hang on to. Ryujin gives an acknowledging "Mmmn," like the phone call isn't causing her major inner-turmoil.

"Right, ah." You sound kind of, dare she say, nervous yourself. You clear your throat into the line and ask, "what brings you here, stranger?"

Ryujin pauses at this; the red in her ears reaches her fucking jaw. Stranger. Jesus christ, okay, okay-

She laughs. Stops immediately at how self-conscious she sounds. Clears her throat and tucks some of her hair back - settles herself into it like her life hangs in the balance. "I'm here to get my rocks off."

"It's not usually my place to say," you begin in earnest, "but if you're anything like me, and this is gonna sound completely off-the-cusp, but those two weeks really seem to build up, don't they?"

God.

She pulls her sock off her ankle. There's eczema on her heel, and it's the kind of thing she can imagine Yeji telling her to not scratch - that she's going to fuck up her skin. It's funny the stupid fucking things she can remember and all the things she forgets. Like just now, with your voice in her ear, a little unsure in a way that says you've got other, much more important things you should be doing. But you're here with her.

With Ryujin.

God. She might hate herself a little.

"Um," is how she finds her bearings. "Actually."

"It's a joke. Not that- I mean." She hears some rustling - assumes it's coming through the ear piece. There's an abrupt slamming on her side of the line and it seems like the worst kind of deja-fucking-vu. Her neighbors. She forgets it's even this late into the evening. That other people don't have to work so hard in their free-time.

"Maybe this isn't a good night," she says, not so much as thinking the words.

"What?" you ask. Then it dawns on you. "No, no. If you're there, I'm here." You clear your throat. "Besides, there's nobody I'd rather hear from than a woman so desperate she's signed onto my frequent flier's club."

She stops chewing the insides of her cheeks long enough to give you a tired, irritated sound. "Whatever."

And you nearly choke trying not to laugh.

"I don't, um-"

"What, do I have a nice voice?" You laugh quietly.

Under normal circumstances, that wry edge, the bit of try-hard-humor would have her rolling her fucking eyes clean out of their sockets. So when instead she opens her mouth and a fatal-fucked-flirty-feminine, stop, comes out, the vowel pulled long like a plea or a request - well, Ryujin's forehead drops against her bedspread in immediate regret.

You seem startled by it too, going quiet for a second.

"I-I'm-"

"Cute," you decide.

Her ears are red-hot and her cheeks have to be pinking and god, she hates this. That she's hearing this so soon, and it's making her brain hazy and soft and stuttering through, um's and yeah, well, um's. A part of her can't believe she's paying for this, and then, at the same time, she can't believe she's not actually putting cash down for more right this second.

Because it feels -

Like maybe -

Her shoulders rise. She wants this to be quick; she hates this feeling of embarrassment creeping its way in and grabbing onto her with both hands, like this weird, pseudo-affection. She's a grown fucking woman and here she is, letting all her guard down for someone she doesn't even fucking know.

You can feel the tension, hear it. Your lips purse. You try for something easy.

"Go on and give me the details, Ryujin."

Before you'd even picked up, she'd already half-undone her shirt, the flaps of the collar hanging loose with her hands gently petting her ribcage - so easily giving and pliant that there's a good portion of her, in spite of the doubt, in spite of what seems completely illogical about all this, that has her realizing maybe she wants this more than she can possibly understand.

God, she feels like a fucking fool.

"It's pretty boring."

"Not to me. I've spent the last few weeks talking to a bunch of assholes who don't appreciate what they got in the first place," you reply. She imagines you're a little playful about it. Wonders, momentarily, how good that smirk looks - if your eyebrows are lifting like you've been teasing her since day one. Fuck. 

“Your operator is a total asshole too, by the way."

"Don't say that," is Ryujin's shy reply, practically moaned out. "You sound like someone I'd absolutely fucking hate, jesus, stop that."

"Just because you don't get on with someone, doesn't mean they can't get you off."

"Smooth, or something."

"I'm taking a break, relaxing a little, enjoying an overrated TV show or whatever this is - not really minding my business," you say, but your smile is so audible it's fucking offensive. And she's - she's maybe, definitely into that. Like the fucking embarrassment in this is turning her on. Ryujin puts the tip of her finger in the waist of her shorts, experimentally, gently, this small brush and press to her sensitive lower stomach. And it's true. All she hears is her own breathing in the receiver, a bit labored over the slightest, least indecent touch. It's amazing, how much her body can want even when her head can't seem to catch up.

"What do you like?" she asks. “You’re a person, working bits and all, something’s gotta get you all worked up and flustered, no?”

"Will you believe me if I tell you this is my absolute favorite?"

"Do you always dodge the question?"

"It's just like a courtesy," you clarify, "it's not personal."

"Now I sound like a desperate pervert."

"On the contrary," is your warm, buttery reply, and it is fucking aggravating just how well this works on her. "I think there are much better things people can say about you."

God, that - the thought, the possibility of something about her that has nothing to do with how 'thick' or 'thin' her thighs are, or the silhouette of her ass in safety shorts, or how her voice makes guys want to ask if they can take her home and fuck the answers from her, or any of that; it's kind of liberating, just a tiny bit. That it can be a good thing for some reason. God.

Ryujin rubs herself. "Yeah, well."

She wants it all the same and says nothing, shifting a little until her hips tilt slightly upwards, letting her pull at the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the grip. She's already kind of feeling woozy in all the best ways, soft and feminine in how she slides her hand underneath her shorts. Over panties first, with no clear idea if you can tell and honestly, too distracted to wonder about that, if she should care or not, too caught up with her fingertips over the raised seam in her underwear - where the fabric's wet from her.

A shush comes into the line when Ryujin swallows.

The ache between her legs grows louder.

"You still there, Ryujin?"

"Of course," and then, she finds a little more reassured finality: "fuck, yeah, fuck. Please, I..."

"Ryujin," you say with all the calm and control in the world, "talk to me."

-

(So - truthfully, honestly, factually - you are a total wreck.

You're sitting there in a heap of bedsheets and a cold sweat when Ryujin finally mutters into the silence, "thanks, for that, I, uh- that felt really good, exactly what I needed," and hangs up before you can ask about her day or comment on the weather or suggest calling back tomorrow.

She is just perfect, the way she lets a small "I..." slip when she's close. Perfect, how she groans her little broken, satisfied sigh of a yes, her last, fleeting exhale just a sweet, high, barely there please, her body tensing with every little shudder and moan and pant. How the pace goes fast and then slow - like she's gotta think it out a second, her own fingers bringing her closer and closer until there's nothing but a flurry of movement and ragged breaths - an enthusiastic little mmph noise - followed by Ryujin's wet and slick little laugh that sounds like relief.

Like you did something to help, like she needed you and wanted you.

There's cum sticking all up your torso and along your wrist, the inside of your thigh - everywhere you could manage, frankly - and, shit, it's not fair, you realize:

She can find you, whenever she needs you.

And you -

You're just sitting here. Nowhere near sure she'll even call again.)

-

There's a sizable difference between being lonely and being alone, Ryujin thinks, running the cloth under the stream of the shower and then pressing it damp against her throat, wiping at the backs of her knees.

Lonely means that something's missing - it's something she feels when she catches a glance at the handsome arm reached around Chaeryeong's waist, the way she dances so close to someone she just met, or whenever she tells her that she's thinking about, maybe, probably, definitely, absolutely going home with him if her friends don't stop her from leaving. God, her smile is always so cute when he's near. When someone's calling her over for drinks - hips sashaying like she doesn't know the whole bar is staring at the creases where her thighs flare into her ass - because he gave her a look from across the room, and she's swaying from drink to drink.

Like, of course, they're fucking; it's a known, unsaid thing.

She knows it, he knows it. Chaeryeong fucking owns it.

Alone however, is just what it says on the tin.

That's something else Ryujin has yet to learn - that everyone loves differently, cares for different things. Yuna is still single after all, and she can never shake the feeling that it's simply to spite her for some perceived slight or another; Yuna can't live without company, no matter how brief or short or meaningless, so perhaps it's better she never catches on or finds anyone worth keeping around.

And Yeji?

Ryujin sighs, rakes the comb through her wet hair.

The showerhead is running hot between Ryujin's fingers, and the water coming off of her skin turns to steam instantly, filling the bathroom with a permanent cloud, stuck in flux - rising towards the ceiling. She passes her fingers under it, watches the flow, a quiet hm escaping the back of her throat - and she considers the way it feels beating against her throat and chest.

Down the concave curve of her stomach. How it burns red right over her thighs. The pressure slips and sinks low, lower - and when she puts a palm out for a little stability, her left leg can't help but buckle just so, lifting itself out and off to the side. So she stands, toes pointing against the shower floor, face first into her arm against the cool tile.

Ryujin sees where the rivulets of water have gathered above her clavicle - feels them trail down over the tightness in her breasts and between. A couple images pass through her mind at once - thoughts of fingers trailing a line back up the center of her body and a gentle tap against her chin, turning her face to some perfect all-consuming kiss - a hand squeezing at her calf, rubbing her muscles gently - Yeji smiling into the crook of her neck, the grasp on her hip, wrist flexing. Her back bowed and fingers, broad and experienced -

"Don't need you," Ryujin quietly says to nobody, which -

You're doing so well, Ryujin hears back in her imagination, you're so beautiful, you can keep this up, I know you can. I bet it feels good, doesn't it? Just let go and I'll...

Ryujin whimpers out. She can feel that line deep inside her going taut, buckling in her core, the reverberations down to her wrists and fingertips and toes. If she didn't have the wall in front of her, she knows she'd be on her knees - kneeling to the hot water pulsing around the knots of nerves right behind her clit. The pressure hitting her like the crack of a whip.

"Fuck me," she says to no one, gasping in that way you only can when no one is listening.

Yeji's smile is what's gotten her this close so many times, the smell of the ends of her hair tickling Ryujin's nose. Hell, she can't stop thinking about the way her nose crinkles or her dimples flare just when she finds Ryujin's name in her mouth.

It's not fair.

She's so close to cumming and letting whatever happens happen. The slick of her release pouring right out into the drain of the shower, washed away with the excess. So when her whole hand shifts and catches in just the right, delicious, frustrating way, Ryujin inhales so deep through the end of the sentence that, as a result, her knees wobble.

She feels like fucking crying.

It's that sweet little lilt in Yeji's voice, saying things like: "It's alright. I promise you can keep this up a little longer." And "Oh, god, baby." And, at worst, the way her voice shakes with a "come here, honey. Let me-"

Ryujin has to catch herself when her footing slips a little from under her. Then, your voice, coming in distant at first, grows louder, clearer. Into something catastrophic, right against her throat, like it knows the very inside-and-out of her, "go on. Fuck, please, cum all over me, baby - show me a face no one else gets to see."

And for the first time,

Ryujin gets herself off. Alone.

She moans and sighs out. Gasps, "there you go-" and whispers an, "ah, jesus." She manages the most silent, the least decipherable, fuck, as it leaves her mouth like a prayer. Her left knee twitches, body curling into itself, and her hand moves - fingers closing and her eyes clenched shut, a wave, cresting - she just-

Collapses.

Wanting: Yeji, sure - and she came - but the only thing she can really wrap her head around is the truth that she's so, utterly fucked.

-

"Are you sure there's no one you can bring?" Yeji asks in the middle of slapping the ever-loving shit out of a coffee maker that has, for as far as anyone can remember, never worked.

"Uh," is Ryujin's inconvenienced reaction, the tips of her fingers idly sorting through her credit card statements, which a more-sober, less-horny version of herself is a little out of sorts over. "I'm not sure there's anyone I'd want to bring."

"Uh huh," Yeji replies.

She pauses and rests the bottom edge of the coffee maker on the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping herself mid-smack - leaning away to try and give the stupid thing a once-over.

"Who the hell says it's got to be someone you wanna make babies with? Maybe it's just someone you'd think would look good beside you, smiling at the cameras with. Or."

"Or."

Yeji's lips tilt. "Or someone you wouldn't mind screwing in the bathroom."

Ryujin spins the pen in her fingers and gives Yeji a look that says back off and can you chill out already, in the sort of way it takes years to ferment - the silent understandings, the good-natured naggings, the good-fucking-luck-with-that-buddy's. Yeji knows she's getting on Ryujin's nerves. Knows that has never stopped her before.

"In my defense," Yeji clarifies, "I can count at least a hundred people that would crawl over broken glass to sleep with you and, uh-" She knocks the coffee maker off of its stand and holds it gingerly to her chest like some child, motherly. "-I don't wanna take a bullet for your unintentional chastity, Shin Ryujin."

"First of all, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor here," she replies. "Second-"

"Can't hurt just asking, right? I could set you up, you know, someone you've never even met - no pre-burnt bridges to maneuver."

There’s a world, and Ryujin imagines it for all of a second, where she stands up and grabs hold of Yeji by her cute little ponytail - if nothing else, just to stop the way it bounces every time she steps - and maybe, she also kisses her on the mouth so hard she stumbles. Or perhaps she could pull that ribbon free of its holdings and unravel it down against Yeji's jaw. Pull a whimper, a tiny little ah that says this was inevitable. Maybe they crash onto her bed. Maybe she gets her fingers sticky with how soaked through the cotton of Yeji's shorts have gotten in those short, heated moments - what a world that would be.

"One of what's-his-name's friends? I’m assuming."

Yeji looks annoyed and proud and beautiful; all at once.

"Yes, and what's-his-name's pillow talk is exceedingly whiny about how my best friend is so incredibly standoffish and abrasive and-"

"Okay. I'll go." Anything to stop the image of Yeji with the comforter pulled up to her tits and hair splayed all over the place; red and flushed. Her lips curling with the curve of the sheets and god -

"Just for an hour?" Ryujin asks.

Yeji finally places the coffee maker back onto its stand.

"I mean, nothing much happens an hour into a birthday party," Yeji reassures. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Trust me."

Ryujin wonders just how far Yeji could go - if she knows that she can snap her fingers together, and Ryujin will be there: ready to do anything.

-

Ryujin is trying to go to sleep, is how she'll explain it if anyone asks. Though she prays to god no one ever will.

She tries books. And she tries scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. And there's this one guy she kinda-sorta-dated's updates: photos of a vacation to Boracay, which seems nice; his chest is a little more defined, more chiseled than when she was seventeen and kind of fumbling her way around a college boy and his stupid fucking preoccupation with who should be paying for drinks at whatever run down establishment was his pick of the night. Ryujin makes a face at the screen, pursing her lips; there's a girl in the photo - she looks too young for how her ass is falling out the one-piece. To the extent that she makes sure to send an unsolicited meme she's tagged herself in - like "here is my past and here are his balls", and gets a block and a report as a thank you.

It makes her feel good. That's what's most important.

And then, with little other distraction and a decent lack of luck, she picks up the phone.

It rings for a while before the operator comes in and says, "You're at number nine."

"What?"

"The queue. This call has you at number nine."

Ryujin slowly leans up from the pillows and squints into her bedroom.

"Huh."

"Would you still like to be connected, miss?

Ryujin thinks it over for a moment. Of course you're popular, a part of her mind comments, because you've got a voice like gravel-slung honey-gold. She's imagining eight other girls just like her, laying in their bed, panties on their ankles and thumbs covered with spit. All desperate for you. All curled up - one right after the other - with no fucking idea.

"Miss," the operator comes back with.

The line goes quiet - a few beats, but not too uncomfortable a silence. Then she gets a soft little exhale out, saying, "can I leave a callback number?"

"If you like." The operator considers the idea. "I can’t promise whether he’ll call you.”

“No, yeah.” Ryujin curls an arm under her chest and plays a finger against the swell of her breast through her night shirt. Gets lost in her own consideration. “Don't think he would anyway."

-

A new day is defined by new possibilities, or something or another you read once stitched into a frame; Something you muse over the rim of your coffee, nose-deep in the laptop at the kitchen counter top.

Last night ended a bit unexpectedly - this not considering the couple's awkward fight which took up two-thirds of the evening. Or the girlfriend-slash-fiancée of that guy, which somehow led you to wonder just how old was too old. But as you were logging your final client session of the night a ping came through the employee portal and let you know that someone had left their number with the operator in the hopes you'd call.

You swig back the rest of your coffee, roll your shoulders and shrug. Oh, there are at least a million reasons not to call a number that randomly, offhandedly arrives in the middle of the night and gets patched through a phonesex hot line under the cover of darkness.

The same number could be out there, defacing the wall of a truck stop bathroom, or inked into the skin of a squat prison convict who's got a brow like the horizon. Maybe, it belongs to that married business man that took your personal phone number as his private line and spent all the time bragging how he was going to quit his wife and make a run for it with you - just you - even though you'd rather stab him with a fork than be involved with that kind of psychopathy and are honestly just looking for that extra bump in commissions every time his wife calls to ask the exact same thing.

Your clients call. You talk.

You take the cash.

The point is: there's more fucking deviants out there than there are stars in the sky. You would know; you talk to a new handful every goddamn day.

Yet it doesn't really matter. You're gonna do it. Because you're feeling restless. Because - and it sounds insane - there's at least some probability, no matter how remote, that you will pick up that receiver and punch in a number and the line will connect with the girl who's been on your mind almost constantly for the better half of two months. That you might listen to the dial tone turn into her answering with a genuinely indifferent, "this is Ryujin," or whatever her name actually is -

You're living in a pipe dream. You're probably reaching, actually. And all you know about this woman, is, what? What does it really, factually, truly amount to, the amount you feel you've come to know about her.

You know more about how she prefers to methodically, meticulously begin, then draw out, and finally end a blowjob to someone that ain't you than you do about any detail in her life story, frankly. You're reaching, and you know it.

You pick up the phone and dial.

-

(It goes straight to voicemail, and get this: that’s her real fucking name.)

-

Yuna has the audacity to ask, as she slides into the booth, "who do you keep texting?"

Ryujin's eyebrow arches.

The younger girl nods towards where Ryujin's thumbs are practically flying over the keyboard.

"No one." Ryujin puts the phone on her lap and crosses her arms over her chest. Then the words seem to echo through the inside of her skull, so she shakes her head a little, in emphasis. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She's right though - and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why it's hard to answer.

Chaeryeong washes the shot of whisky down with a swallow of lemon-lime. Her eyes slide open to Ryujin as she wipes at her bottom lip. Then she spikes a finger into Ryujin's ribs.

"Spill."

It's a dangerous order, and she doesn't realize it at first. Chaeryeong's bad ideas have an annoying habit of flinging themselves on Ryujin, like a bomb dropped at low altitude - sudden, quick, and more than enough to shake everything up. Chaeryeong will make Ryujin go out dancing - and then she'll lose her clutch purse. Chaeryeong will remember she started the evening with a scarf - so they need to walk out a whole block or two to find it.

More importantly: Chaeryeong is not a great drunk.

So, of course she spills. She relays her findings, carefully and as deliberately as she can muster.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Chaeryeong asks.

"It's kind of deep?”

Chaeryeong snorts. Apologizes immediately.

"Not... deep. Sultry. I guess. Smooth, easy to hear." Ryujin tells the two across the table.

Yuna whistles low. "Romantic as shit."

“Fuck, I don’t know. In, like a sexy sort of way." Ryujin raises both palms in a vague gesture. She clears her throat at the two pairs of eyes staring back at her as though the words coming out of her mouth belonged to a foreign language. "Uh. Sort of raspy, or something, sometimes, like he's... on the phone a lot, and you know," Ryujin flushes, suddenly caught and wondering where all the confidence went, "yeah."

Yuna's leaning forward, chin in her palm. "I'm having a hard time believing texting is a sort of standard operating procedure."

"Well try a little harder," Ryujin snaps, eyes finding Yuna's and making herself fucking clear.

Chaeryeong has this look about her, she's trying to keep it all in, but then there's her eyes, cinched at the corners and dead-fucking-giveaways. She puts an arm against the table and points at Ryujin with an up-reaching thumb. "This is the cutest shit, like ever, and you two are texting like actual lovers instead of two, apparently rando-stranger fuck buddies, or whatever."

Yuna - for whatever reason - feels at liberty to throw gasoline on the fire. "Does that mean you think he's going to get jealous if you bring some dude along to Lia's birthday?"

Ryujin sucks in a breath; the fact that he'd never - well.

"Ryujin's in love," Yuna adds for dramatic effect, for the sake of being the worst fucking person. She can be so fucking petty. It's a side of her no one ever sees, because she's just so sweet all the time. Like right now, she's doing that smile-smirk thing that gets Chaeryeong giggling against her hand and then coughing into it a second later.

"Jesus christ," Ryujin starts gathering her jacket and purse. "He's- not- this is- God, I'm done." She slips her shoulder under the strap. "Thanks for listening to me sound like a teenager."

"Isn't that just normal for you," Yuna quips back, pulling at her straw until there's only air rushing through the bend of it. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Ryujin says as if it's obvious, as well as her point, the argument she's trying to make. "Besides, Yeji is gonna want me to get my dress and shit all sorted out."

"Don't fall in love with one of the robot voices at the cross-walk on your way home, or anything!" Yuna laughs out, giving a flippant wave goodbye.

Ryujin lets her eyes roll because sometimes, she hates her friends.

-

It still throws you for a loop whenever Ryujin pings your phone with a text that says something like:

have you jerked yourself off to exhaustion or is there one more in you for someone like me?

Or,

my roommate is getting pounded through the springs of her mattress, wanna see if you can hear it?

Or,

are you free? I really fucking need to cum. bad.

Each text is something you tuck into yourself. Save and mark and spend all your time in those long-form responses imagining how her face looked when her brain typed out the words for you. You wonder if she's sighing through her fingers or hiding her lips behind a pillow while the heat coils in the pits of her hips.

As time goes by, Ryujin slips a little more. From one text about whatever book or series she was rereading last and another about the sadism of politicians and how people are more likely to agree with what they've heard someone else say than the facts of a given subject, to texts with a few scattered thoughts to strings of sexting that has you cumming into the palm of your hand and through your sheets and in the middle of a dream in which there's no clothes and a pretty fucking filthy proposition.

"How have you been lately," you decide, and consider, briefly, the very strong likelihood this call is gonna send her right through the goddamn roof.

When Ryujin eventually finds herself able to get out: "fine," there's a tell-tale pause, then an even longer pause, that implies she'd definitely rather say anything else. Then she kind of stutters a, "pretty good. Not too bad. All that stuff, I suppose."

And not to say any part of this has felt like routine. Both of you breathing into the end of a telephone and letting your eyes clench tight while you cum all over yourself - imagining everything she told you she wanted you to do to her, how it'd all go: "fucking with my arms grappled behind my back," she'd hum, "head pushed into the bedsheets, you're smothering me, ah- I'd let you cum wherever the fuck you like, but please-" or maybe a bit simpler: "so my thighs are straddling your face?" is about the gist.

A second goes by, another, a third.

"Hang on," you end up having to tell her sometimes, "I need a fucking towel-"

"You really are, huh, jerking off with me- I get you that hot, is what you're telling me? Or is just too much imagining how you'd fuck your way right into my guts through my pretty little pussy? Ah, jesus," the cadence of her voice climbs high before ending up back where it belongs, "Jesus, fuck."

"Can you imagine," is how it'd start, "how good it'd feel? My pussy, or- anywhere, everywhere. I think you'd ruin me for anyone else - you- with how, god-"

You can hear Ryujin shift on the sheets, licking at her bottom lip. Silently cumming. Cumming for you.

"Okay."

"Okay what," Ryujin quietly says back.

The gears turning.

You press your hand into the side of your neck. "Fuck me. Now, in a second. Tell me the last fucking thing in the world you want me to be or do and-"

"Wait."

There's this half-breath. This hmm that almost trips off Ryujin's tongue. Her eyes squinting open to a new thought. You think she's about to be sly. About to surprise you with an offhand fuck yes I'd ride that face like a bus seat; that she might come back with, yes I'll put you right in the middle of the best part of me, god you'll love it, and I promise not to make you cum if you're nice enough not to let your hands wander. But.

It's funny how things are -

"I have a confession," she says, matter-of-factly.

That's not entirely unusual. You've had more of those come through your line in a year than a confessional grate might get in a lifetime. So it doesn't sound like something special to you; Ryujin and you are in this candid don't-ask-don't-tell in regards to payments and the exchange of goods and services, but here you are, still using lines and bits. Practiced.

"In the name of the father, and of the son, and-"

"Funny." Ryujin gets the hint to backtrack. "Uhm, I mean. Remember the roommate I was telling you about?"

You hum a, "maybe."

"Uh," and now the hushed voice from her throat sounds distant, suddenly out of the scope of the receiver, "can I be totally, honestly- just really, extremely honest here, are you- or?"

You stop thinking about the ebbs and flows of her voice, how it dips down then arches up a little. Because now her voice has become something that is nervous, bordering on uneasy. So you stop, take stock and hold on. You weren't expecting a voice of worry or tension, or not at least while she wasn't thrown back into her bed and rubbing furiously at the ache between her legs.

"Yeah, of course," you offer her up.

"This is so embarrassing," she's saying, and some part of you feels ready to sink - you haven't the faintest idea for what, but there is something. Your chest clenches.

You can't help the worry and reply: "Okay, um. I mean- yeah. Me too, I can admit I feel a bit- and you can, y'know, be a little-"

"I'm not straight," she says finally, with a little quiver of her voice right at the tail end.

A blink comes, another - there's nothing coming out of you and you have no idea why that should be at all difficult, so the silence grows long. A new sort of awkward; the kind that you find out isn't just the rush of cum cooling in a pair of sweat-damp underwear. No - this is embarrassment, the kind that taints you.

"What?" You exhale a strained laugh, almost too-bright. "Are you- is this some sort of-?"

"Nope, no, this is crazy, sorry." She laughs. "Sorry."

"You certainly had me fooled." You sit up straighter in your bed, resting elbows on your knees. The moon is filtering through the windowsill and bathing the room in blue - casting light all the wrong ways. Making your own heart beat just a little too fast. "Fuck, um. Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds uncharacteristically soft.

"What are you into?" and you as soon as you ask, you're laughing - because you've heard Ryujin wax lyrical for weeks, pontificate about every manner and way she'd take a cock between her hands, lips, fingers. Every. Single. Place, she wants one in - and now you can't believe this is what you went with: "I mean, like girls?"

"It's probably safe to assume I have some, y'know- degree of- yeah."

You chuckle a bit. The stiffness in your shoulders settling out.

"I've been in love, I realize - boy, with my roommate - for a while."

It's said with a sad laugh - as if this were a little shameful. Some deep, dark secret no one could ever be privy to; some stain on her soul that might wash out only after one final scrubbing with dish detergent and the cruelest bristles. A thing that keeps her up at night -

“Not the roommate, by the way, who we listen to get fucking railed like she’s on-demand pornography every weekend. Just to be clear."

"Good, jesus, that'd be fucking something."

Ryujin sounds more cheerful when her voice comes back through the line, "right?"

You wipe the perspiration of your top lip. You laugh nervously at this girl admitting to being in love over the phone - a stranger, truly, in all ways - to some fucked up audio-fetish sex line personality. And now - the fuck's wrong with you?

"Are you mad?" she asks, and some part of you is wrung. A small string of tension twisting so hard inside your gut, you're losing touch.

"No," you let her know. "No, not at all."

And that is honest. This is honest. There's this itching little scratch all over the insides of your skin that seems intent on driving a fucking wedge. Right at the center of your chest, tearing you apart. It feels as you've lost - not an object, not a material. Not an idea, nor a concept - but a feeling, that for once, was distinctly, overwhelmingly yours, without your wanting, or permission, or comprehension.

Ryujin sighs, this elongated relief coming in. She sinks back against the headboard.

She tells you everything. How Yeji smiles, and it's like the whole fucking room has gone up in lights, just from her and her alone. How there is nothing that she'd rather spend all her days around. She talks and you sit there, silent and listening. She talks about her. Her name and everything Yeji does and everything she wants.

The more you listen, you realize it's all real; she's not confused, or mistaken, or out to play a game or convince herself of something she believes is inherently untrue. She's not frustrated, or longing. She doesn't have this stomach-rolling pit of anxiety digging a cavern at her center because she just can't go through the rest of her life, living a life like everyone else. Not ever.

Because, all you really notice is-

She loves Yeji. The quiet kind. And she's sitting there, legs curled under her ass, crying. Not sad, or frightened, or wounded, just this beautiful sort of awed: it's the kind that only someone who is too inexperienced at crying should have. Where you just-

Look away.

"I'm not taking my phone into the bath with me," is the last thing she says to you, tears flooding out in her last couple words, before you can only offer her a meek: "anytime, Ryujin, I'm here."

-

(Four, five weeks go by in the blink of an eye. A month where you figure it's best to let her text or call or make it clear she wants your voice.

She never does.)

-

Lia is taking her sweet time to apply concealer over the cut Ryujin earned herself trying to get a stupid thing off a shelf - that's how low and unreasonable her tolerance for anything mildly inconvenient is.

"That fucking hurts," Ryujin tells her, wincing.

Lia ignores her.

She keeps on dabbing at the spot on her temple with the makeup brush until there isn't any trace of bruising, or where the jagged scar of a cut ends and skin begins, not anymore. At this point, she has gotten better, has developed a kind of surgeon's eye: zeroing in and unblinking, until every inch of damage is looking like Ryujin did when she was brought into this world -

(which is not perfect, but what it ought to look like, all things considered.)

Lia holds her hands in place on either side of Ryujin's head. "Stay."

It takes less than five minutes, and during those, Yuna just offers from around the bathroom door, "Ryujin, sweetheart, you’re looking hot tonight."

There's nothing more Ryujin wants to do than set the girl straight - the girl can't not keep a chirp to herself, for once in her fucking life. Because this flimsy slip of a dress around her middle feels too tight, the air choked out of her lungs if she shifts her weight onto the wrong foot. The hem rides way too fucking high up her thighs. So, if anyone didn't want a good long look at her ass tonight, they better come up with a plan B if she has to so much as approach a staircase.

"Have I ever not," she bites.

Yuna snorts.

And luckily for Ryujin, Lia feels the same way:

"Yuna, would it kill you to find something productive to do with your time?"

Yuna opens her mouth like she has something to say (she usually does) before retreating further away, the edge of her hair disappearing around the doorway. Then Ryujin's grinning - eyes taking in how Lia glowers a bit back, silently judging the stupidity in Ryujin's expression and also, admiring how good the girl looks. "Not bad, though, really."

Lia tells her with an underhanded wave of the brush and a wink: "historically, you do always get laid on my birthday, remember?"

Ryujin jerks a little, and the scar above her eye throbs into Lia's thumb. "Thanks?"

-

The party is miserable, but it's not Lia's fault. It's not really Yeji's fault either. They tried, that's really all she can say for them - her and her permanent-plus-one whose face Ryujin wants to both claw at and kiss until it’s swollen-

What she really can't wrap her mind around, though, is the guy sitting right fucking beside her. The idiot.

"Really, I'm telling you," her date - who is about 3.5 out of five stars at best and not so much handsome or hot as he is 'okay in a pinch' - grins up at her with the smarmiest of smiles, "if you'd just have taken me up on dinner, I would've spent all our time talking about you. We’d figure out how to enjoy ourselves."

"Likely story."

This fuckwad has the absolute goddamn gall to look wounded when his arm starts circling its way around the space where her dress is suffocating her at the waist, and Ryujin starts to shimmy her way out of hot water - again. God, she thinks, god save me-

"I think," she manages with a stilted grin, "I'm going to make myself useful- drinks, no?"

When he leans forward to grab her hand, it's only so she doesn't leave.

"You're not going to ask for my order?" he presses. The only reason Ryujin hasn't knocked out a couple of his front teeth is because Lia would be the one hearing Yeji whine about cleaning up the fucking mess.

"Just scotch. Neat."

Ryujin's a natural when it comes to smiling fake; it's part of her goddamned job. "Of course," she says, like she's not absolutely loathing him.

"Try the oakier, single-barrel variety, alright," he explains, because what's hotter than a man who's an expert in alcohol and being an insufferable tool? Nothing of course. She hopes he knocks back a few too many and his liver explodes - the painless way out. If god would ever fucking allow it.

She barely manages a half-strangled laugh over the blare of the music before he finally releases her wrist. 

The absolute fucking prick.

-

Here's something Ryujin never thought she'd come to appreciate:

Being alone.

It's just her and the breeze through the open doors of the rooftop garden, which is something every bit as refreshing as it is teeth-chatteringly cold. The wind picks up in gusts and billows, until it starts nipping up the fabric around her knees, like it's any one of the drunk, stumbling guests milling about and looking for a noncommittal lay.

Her left foot slips a step outwards, the uncomfortably tall heel bouncing on the edge of her toe and tapping a tune against the brick. Ryujin slouches on the railing that encapsulates the entire terrace, arms pressed over it, hands folded one-over the other - letting the night sky caress her bare shoulders with its wind-brushed kisses. This, is okay. It's better.

Maybe not ideal, but better.

And all it really took was a few fucking moments where she isn't smiling with pursed, stressed lips; where the pressure in her jaw finally settles out enough for the knot in the back of her teeth to fall loose and for her mouth to actually feel, y'know - good.

Not forced, is what. Not fake, or not real, or whatever-

Ryujin almost fishes her phone from her clutch. Almost. Almost texts to tell you that: this fucking night, like all the others in the past month or two or year, has left her feeling particularly done for, and yeah, no, it isn't helping that she'd take whatever would be the alternative if it meant a face like yours came in handy to lean against, or your shoulder or thigh to use. Like some pillow - that's all.

And you are, like. An option. But not, she sighs out, exactly the right one.

An errant chill shudders through her and down her spine.

"Shin Ryujin."

She'd recognize the tilt of that voice anywhere; even if her ears were pounding and her head filled with static and noise, she'd be able to place Yeji at the end of the world. The truth is easy to see, if only Yeji knew where to look: the corners of Ryujin's eyes screw up tight for a second, an immeasurably long time, in order to not do what they wanted. What it would mean.

She does anyway. "I'd hug you," Ryujin throws behind her with an airy sigh, "but I know where you've been."

Yeji's jaw has set at this point; a twist is still in her lip and she lets out this dry, half-laugh, half-not sound - which is the thing that drives Ryujin a little crazy. Yeji turns her attention from the concrete ground, to Ryujin's profile, her body leaning forward, toes tipping in: "sometimes I wonder if my partner in crime can breathe without saying something incendiary."

"Nope." Ryujin offers no further response or follow-up. Instead, the quiet gush of air makes itself the center of attention and a victim of silence.

"Sorry about-"

"Don't be. Don't give it a second thought." Ryujin stretches, leaning a little over the railing. Her fingers arch before her. Her words sounding the slightest bit cold, "can't win 'em all, right?"

Yeji's eyebrows pull together. "That's not how this was supposed-"

"God, Yeji." Ryujin smiles. Yeji hates that she never knows what that means. "I'm trying, really, I am, but you know - I really, I have tried my best, so can we just lay it to rest?"

Yeji leans over the railing - the fucking moon reflecting in these lustrous pools where her eyes go darker than night - and doesn't say anything for the longest moment. Ryujin chews her tongue, and tries to look as interested in the void of stars and night clouds as possible.

"Fuck's going on with you, lately?"

Ryujin just laughs back.

"Really," and the last word dips in a groan. It's almost childishly tragic how petulantly she insists, "talk to me."

But Ryujin has nothing else to say - no witty, scathing remarks. No deadpan observations or funny asides, not even a morose comment to throw back. There are times and moments and fucking periods of her day where she'd happily chew glass if it meant that Yeji would sit there a second longer, be beside her for a while and smile, just smile at only her, once - for once.

Her only response is the worst kind of lie, this soft: "really nothing."

The moment where it slips and hangs between them, when it lingers the longest -

She could reach out, a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, if she could only reach. And Yeji, she'd listen to her, for once. She'd really, genuinely hear what Ryujin says; like she can see it, plain as day, everything there's in Ryujin's eyes, the thoughts inside her head, written on her goddamn face and across the open night air in neon:

I love you. I'm in love with you, you're too close to me.

The seconds pass. They tick, they stretch and grow thin. Yeji looks at Ryujin expectantly, and Ryujin knows. It is something like being put on the spot and called in. Something like a long, pained whimper caught somewhere in her throat.

She is very much still, unmoving, and feeling nothing at all.

Maybe she can blame the alcohol, the dark, the series of events that saw her hiding away behind a bunch of decorative trees and fighting for breath where the wind blows a little cooler. She can pretend like the stars aren't absent above her, and it doesn't hurt a goddamn bit.

“Yeji, I-” She licks at her lip, ready, willing-

Ryujin grabs at her waist with a hand. Her knuckles white around the black of the railing. And with no further fanfare, she spits it out like venom, with no small measure of shame or guilt or worry for how Yeji will take it - or worse: how she herself would react in the wake of admitting it aloud -

“I love you,” Ryujin says, and it pops out of her mouth as neatly as it had the first thousand times practicing alone in her car.

A blink, and another. The look on Yeji's face is hard and blank, as if she'd understood every syllable, but didn't hear it at all - maybe. Her gaze drops, it trails a path along the long line of Ryujin's pale neck. Of the two ways it could ever go in her head, stuck on loop for as long as she can remember, Ryujin had never considered that Yeji might turn this still and vacant. A sudden feeling, a pull or a grip, starts in the lowest part of Ryujin's guts.

"And not-," she hears her own voice falter, "like-"

Then - it's on the back of Ryujin's head and in her hair, a hand curled at the base of her skull and pulling her head a little downward and her, until their foreheads meet. And before she has a chance to walk it back - to stuff it down where it came from and seal the bottle tight - before she can clench her eyes, shake her head, and spit out anything else like the fact that there was not much that had to change, between them -

Yeji just says plainly: "Yeah, hun. Love you too."

And it's shockingly, the most painful thing - that she just squeezes her hand and pats her back like it's all they could ever be. Without even the wherewithal to reject her properly; to tell her something like "don't ever say that again, god," or "oh shit- Ryujin. Sorry. So, no," or at least to spit back with a scathing laugh: "welcome to the fucking party," like what she always does.

"Yeah." Yeji clears her throat quietly and starts retreating back from the brink - with no apparent aim but to pull away as she draws herself away from the warmth of Ryujin's space, "uh, don't forget to say hello to some of the staffers before they go home, okay?"

Ryujin is left with nothing but the air that follows Yeji's outline; left with her heart sinking into the depths of the night; left trying to make sense of the bitter sting ripping her chest in two.

Left with her own hopelessness - the pining - when Yeji walks away.

To be lonely, to be alone; neither are the same. 

And she hates knowing she is so incredibly both.

-

The worst part is she knows how it looks.

Her pace just on the verge of unsteady, the way her feet come up from the ground: Left foot, the right. The other. Back and back and forth again, faster and then slower and- fuck.

A damsel, severely distressed.

She sits down on the curb. She wants to cry, but even just the way she looks, carrying her heels and struggling with this fucking dress she wishes she'd never bothered with at all - oh, the tabloids would be sure every detail gets pinned under all the wrong lights. A breakdown would only serve to confirm all the right things; it would paint a story for anyone who cares enough to glean from her crestfallen posture and red cheeks that she is yes, a little broken, and that everyone wants to be loved and she's no different - and -

She sucks a breath. This time, when her tears fall, it's a quick, perfunctory action, no show in it.

Her palms rub her face - and she wipes, and wipes, and wipes - smearing at the foundation under her eyes before she takes a long drag of night air. Deep from her core, filling up her lungs until she can't hold anymore. Until it hurts and stings the backs of her ribs - it's enough for a single, fleeting moment. The street is mostly empty; an occasional car will speed by every now and then and it's those few and far between intervals that hurt most, that nearly shatter her: if she can barely do this, alone, how can she possibly be enough for anyone?

Ryujin’s smiling only to hold back her tears, and it fucking stings. She flicks hurriedly past the lock screen of her phone and swipes through the message stream with blurry eyes - there’s a whole host of people that want to know where the fuck she went, if she's safe, why she up and vanished the moment Yeji couldn't keep an eye on her. And well. The girl sighs.

Finds your name in her contacts and puts her thumb right beside it.

It rings exactly three times, and she hates the number. She hates how many things can be associated with that number in those seconds alone.

Four, the pause where you must have had the opportunity, but didn't decide to pick up - just leave it be. Then five - Ryujin is definitely no longer looking forward to any of this.

Six: it stops.

There's this crackle, and through the night -

"Just what brings you here, stranger?"

For an indistinct amount of time, Ryujin drifts in the whirlpool current of that question; it sinks her deeper, into the currents of your voice and the tone and what it's suggesting and demanding from her. All the things your voice is giving her permission to ask of and with and-

Until finally she answers back: "do you ever just, like, wish," a shallow pause for the hitch in her breath, "something, someone was a little more for you- or to- with you-"

The swell of a smile through the receiver; and you can't help your laugh, soft.

"Sometimes," is what you say, "that's just human, don't you think?"

She doesn't understand how something like love or life or desire should be a universal trait.

"Uh, maybe," she shrugs out, and thinks.

"It's pretty normal," you tell her.

Quiet, as if you were right in front of her.

"Look," you start, and you can hear how she sniffs her nose and swipes the pad of her hand right along the side of it, to catch anything stupid and stupid sounding leaking down to her upper lip. "You don't have to. Let's just hang out. Tell me anything."

And for once, she does.

She talks.

-

(The whole story.

From the first time Ryujin realizes the world is never going to be fair - that she shouldn't have to look at herself like she's unlovable because she's seen her friends be held as though they are - or at Yeji like she's completely unattainable or somehow, unlovable, and that someone as amazing as Yeji should have been loved from the moment she was born.

The rest comes through as fragments: the truth of her career. Yeji.

The balcony, the breeze, the bitter-fucking-disappointment.

And what came of that -

When Ryujin isn't a million and one words per minute, it feels, almost, it feels - she'd swear there was less noise in her own head: this thrumming in her brain has settled out; the walls around her and the echo coming off of them - the booming and pulsing - it's, gone.

Because even though there was an indistinct shape for where she had landed, in the aftermath, and nothing much had changed - all that did. You listen, and that alone makes it so you're both exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if this, tonight - you are unsure, if it will actually fix anything - if anything needs fixing at all.)

[teatreeoilll]

ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna drabble-headcanon thingy part 2 | part I here w/c - 750 cw: manga spoilers (although I'm only on chapter 180 so if it kind of doesn't make sense with the rest I'm sorry!!)

ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who wakes up a thousand years later, now trapped in a boy's body, unaware of the fact that you, too, had made a deal with the devil to satisfy your yet unmet need for revenge.

Hein Era

"You must be Kenjaku," you said, relief washing over your body. It has been three long years since you've decided to find the man, the journey wearing you out, turning you into an empty shell in tattered rags.

"May the traveler who knows my name introduce herself?" He proposed, not making the effort to turn around from his position over the cooking pot. The shabby hut you stood in and his mild demeanor hardly lived up to the reputation of the most vicious man to set foot in Japan in eons.

And so you do, with a deep bow and a mutter of your name, "I've come to an understanding that to kill the man I wish dead might take more than one lifetime," you proclaimed, "and I've been told you're the one to turn to."

Tokyo, 2018

ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna felt something strange the moment Itadori Yuji fell face-first into Tokyo Colony No. 1. However, he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was, like the dull wistfulness of an old perfume. Itadori Yuji sensed it too, but had little time to muse over such things when he was too busy fighting to try to locate Higuruma Hiromi.

"Kogane, show me player Higuruma Hiromi," you order, looking at the information popping up, "his points are gone. Is he the one who changed the rule?" You don't wait for an answer before continuing, "It doesn't matter; he might still know something. Ikebukuro's close now."

You walk through the concrete and metal jungle; these people have built themselves miles upon miles of castles, you think, Sukuna probably enjoys watching them crumble.

When you approach the theater you were told Higuruma resides in, a boy walks out. As soon as he catches a glimpse of you, he halts, standing on guard on the other side of the road.

ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna has seen many faces, but yours was one that hadn't faded from his memory by the passing of time.

"I don't want to fight!" The boy exclaimed from across the road, but his shoulders were drawn back, fists curled near his pockets.

"I do not wish to fight either!" You shout back, thinking that another battle may wash off the remains of your strength. Besides, what good would it do to fight a young boy? Although only the look of his pink hair made your teeth clench and stomach tighten.

You watch the boy take a seat on the pavement, "Are you hurt?" You inquire, slowly drawing closer across the pavement.

"Just taking a breather!" He shouts, but you decide to approach regardless.

ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who laughs. He howls like a maniac inside Yuji's head, sending strange vibrations throughout the boy's body.

"Are you alright?" You ask the boy, watching him nod as he gulps the water you handed him. The resemblance is striking, you think, but perhaps I'm just thinking too much of it.

"Thank you," he puts the empty water bottle by his side, "I'm sorry I drank all your water."

"It's nothing." You assure him, "Have you seen Higuruma here? I've a question for him."

"I don't think he's the kind to answer questions," Yuji reflected, getting up from the sidewalk.

"I won't leave him much of a choice." You asserted, watching the boy's doubtful expression, "Do you have any insight you may offer on his technique?"

"Well, I don't think I understand it, really, but.." Yuji starts explaining, watching your brows furrow as you nod along at his descriptions.

You thank him, parting curtly before turning away towards the theater.

"Wait!" Yuji exclaims behind you, "What's the question? Maybe I'll save you the trouble."

You doubt his words, but turn back to face him, "There's a man I'm looking to kill," you disclosed, "trust me, you'd want him dead too,” you chuckle, pausing for a moment, but deciding there's no harm in asking, "Sukuna, do you know where he is?"

Yuji freezes, his heartbeat quickening at the mention of the name, his wide eyes pointed straight at you.

"Didn't think so," you sigh.

ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who pops out as a mouth carved in Yuji's cheek, causing you to jump back slightly at the bizarre sight while he taunted loudly;

"You're not going to tell her, brat?"

_

tag list: @saoirseirose, @marimeown, @http-dilflvr Thank you guys for the wonderful comments on part one, hope this one doesn't disappoint

[gi4hao]

the idiots you date — x. minghao

roommate!minghao x gn!reader

word count: 1k

genre: fluff but slightly angsty (mention of a past toxic relationship)

“you shouldn’t work for a company that doesn’t respect you”

“yeah, and you shouldn’t date guys who don’t deserve you, yet here we are.”

minghao’s face bears signs of exhaustion that you’ve learned to recognize months ago. signs which started to appear exactly when he took on this new “big corporate job” as you often call it, simply because you’re not quite sure to understand what it is.

you’ve finished your dinner an hour ago. you used to wait for him to come home, but that was when he wasn’t working overtime most days of the week.

“they needed me to finish some urgent reports, i didn’t really have a choice,” he tells you before you can even ask anything. his tone is like a permanent sigh, but you know it’s not directed towards you.

sat at the kitchen table, you remain silent, fiddling with the rings he took off before washing his hands. the lights are dimmed, making the dark circles under his eyes slightly more prominent.

“how was your date?” he asks as he takes his plate out of the microwave, probably wanting to change the subject. but you doubt he’s still interested in your date anecdotes, especially since this one was your third of the week.

although he comes to sit right next to you, you carefully avoid his eyes when you reply:

“okay, i guess? the guy was nice but had terrible takes on most topics we talked about. well, ‘we’ is kind of a stretch because i was doing most of the talking. i think he was just here to eat good food and make me pay for most of it.”

“so… not okay, then”, minghao corrects you, and the silence that follows speaks louder than any word would have.

you’ve been single for almost a year now, and your last relationship was not exactly a model of good and healthy communication.

living alone after the breakup was a depressing prospect, and minghao was in need of a roommate to avoid letting his job drive him insane: a perfect match for two long-time friends like you two.

there was always a certain closeness between you, but living together has made it more intimate, and consequently harder to ignore... which is why you decided to ask for the help of various dating apps in hope to get minghao out of your head.

“yeah, not okay…” you sigh, mindlessly sliding one of his rings on your finger.

your gaze lands on the painting hung next to the fridge. one of minghao’s, which you insisted should be put up in your apartment; swirls of paint meeting in rosebuds and milky tulips. you can still see where the paint was spread across the canvas by his fingers.

with a tinge of sadness, you realize minghao hasn’t drawn anything in months. his paint-covered clothes were all replaced by dull suits that make him look like the people he used to feel sorry for.

“what time do you start tomorrow?” you ask, pouring him another glass of water.

his lips press into a thin line; you’re not sure whether he’s holding back a sigh of annoyance or just mentally preparing for an answer you’re not going to like.

“7. there’s a meeting i need to prepare for.”

“and when you get to the office at 7, are other employees there? or just you?”

“don’t start,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing his plate to go put it in the dishwasher. “we’ve already discussed this, it’s a dead-end.”

he’s right, this conversation has never ended well. but your eyes keep coming back to that painting, to everything he’s slowly turning his back to. the sadness ebbs away, giving way to a rising anger:

“no, i will start actually,” you state, walking up to him. “you’re unhappy, hao. you shouldn’t work for a company that doesn’t respect you.”

“yeah, and you shouldn’t date guys who don’t deserve you, yet here we are,” he replies, slamming the dishwasher shut. but his voice sounded more cutting than intended: “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said that.”

there are a thousand words on your lips right now, but few of them would be reasonable to say out loud. meanwhile, minghao is looking at you like you’re a ticking time bomb.

“but you said it. so now i expect you to either hit me with a miracle solution or kiss me.”

you said it without really thinking, basically shrugging as you know he will never take you seriously. the best outcome would be for him to never speak about your love life ever again.

but his reply makes you instantly freeze: “what if i did both?”

a rush of warmth spreads from the pit of your stomach, radiating through your entire body as his hand comes to meet your cheek, silently asking for confirmation that this is something you want.

your lips crash against his before he can even start to lean in, and the feeling of his skin so close to yours feels so unreal you expect him to push you away any second.

but instead, he matches your eagerness to the point where you’re scared you might lose your balance.

“i hope you like that solution,” he breathes out, leaving one last kiss on your nose.

in that fleeting moment, you reunite with the old minghao, the lively one who makes his own decisions and owns up to his actions. the one you fell in love with years ago.

“absolutely”, you chuckle, your hands meeting behind his neck. “…so i guess i can tell that guy we won’t go on a second date.”

“you better,” he earnestly tells you as he starts to take his black blazer off. “working from 7 to 9 will never be as painful as watching another idiot take you on a date. from now on, i’ll take care of it.”

-> rbs and feedback are always appreciated!

masterlist here!

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Okay so like, I’ve never requested anything so I don’t really even expect you to see this lol. But likeeee, can I possibly request a Din Djarin x reader, where neither the reader or Din know Grogu has the armor under his robe that the armorer gave him, and something happens where Grogu gets hurt and they both lose their minds before getting to him and realizing little dude is just fine. Please and thank you 🥹

Ooooh this is a good prompt. Speaking of, if you've asked for one then it's probably on my to-do list, but i am slow🤡. plus, updates of AFS and a couple other things come before random drabbles.

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k (i dont think I'm capable of writing less than a thousand words apparently smh)

AT FAULT

"don't let fear make your decisions." -Michael G. Manning

The quarry was laid on his back as a pool of purple blood began to settle in the sand under him. The twi'lek was motionless and your breathing was finally starting to calm. In one arm you held Grogu who seemed nonplussed by the violence at hand and in your other you held the still smoking blaster. When you managed to tear your eyes off the quarry's body they lifted to land on Din who stood stiff on the other side of the body.

"What the kriff was that?" Din snapped. His entire body was drawn taut like a wired rope pulled to tight. He was nearly vibrating in place and the anger that leaked into his voice was palpable. "Karking⏤ what the hell do you think you're doing out here!?"

His tone made your already irritable mood worse. You stuck the rarely used blaster back into the holster at your thigh. "Apparently, saving you! Maybe show a little gratitude!"

"Grati⏤” The word wasn’t even able to leave Din’s mouth. He stormed forward, boots passing the dead quarry, until he stood right in front of you. Close enough that the Mandalorian was forcing you to tilt your head up to look at him. You knew he stood that close on purpose⏤ he wanted to tower over you right now. “The two of you could’ve gotten killed! I told you not to leave the Razor Crest!”

“We’ve been on that ship for two weeks straight, Din!” You argued. “We just wanted a little fresh air⏤”

“I told you this quarry was dangerous, I said⏤”

“All your quarries are dangerous, Din. You⏤”

“When I tell you to stay on the damn ship,” Din grabbed your by the arm not holding Grogu, “I expect you to kriffing listen. Dank farrik, cyar’ika.” The way he spat out your usual nickname made you wince. “I told you this quarry was bad news⏤”

“And I told you that you shouldn't have taken the bounty!” You yelled and tried to yank your arm free. Din held on tight, and Grogu began to babble worriedly in your arms. “I told you we should take a break! Take a breath! We all need it, even you. Especially, you!”

You yanked your arm back again and this time it broke free. Din settled on placing his hands on his hips, but you could still feel his anger radiating off of him. Tempers had been running high the last few weeks, stuck on a close quarter ship while stressing over the Empire being on your heels, and it seemed the two of you were finally letting it come to a head. 

“It’s naive of you to think we have the time for a break.” Din seethed. “I take bounties so we can afford fuel to run, food to eat, and⏤” He shook his head, taking in a sharp breath before continuing. “You tell me to show you gratitude? Gratitude because you risked yours and Grogu’s life for me?” Din took one step toward you and you took two steps back so he stayed a foot or so away. He pointed to himself. “Everything I do, my only priority, is keeping you and Grogu safe. Away from the Empire. So, how about you show a little gratitude and stay on the damn ship when I tell you to.”

Grogu whined in your arms and you shifted him to the other in a poor attempt to console him. You weren’t ready to climb onto the Razor Crest quite yet. You weren’t done with this fight. Din’s anger and words only spurring you on further.

“You think I’m not grateful for all you do?” You spat. “Of course, I am, you ass! I just hate watching you burn yourself into the ground for us. You need to take care of yourself too, Din. That involves taking a break now and then! That’s why I suggested leaving this bounty untouched. I just want to help.”

Din nodded once then tilted his head. “Right. Yeah. Putting Grogu and yourself at risk was a lot of help. I feel much better. Thank you, cyar’ika.”

You scoffed, “You know what, Din? You are⏤”

The sound of an unfamiliar chuckle and your eyes snapped from the dark t-shape visor to the quarry sitting up with a menacing grin. It took less than a second. It happened so quickly that your mind couldn’t register the movements fast enough.

A blaster raised.

A blaster fired.

And, you didn’t have the time to spin away. The force of the blaster bolt knocked you right off your feet and onto the ground. 

You heard Din scream, the sound hoarse and raw and broken, then you heard another blaster go off. As you laid on your back, you realized you weren’t hurting. Your back was a little sore from landing on it, but you didn’t feel the sharp burning pain of a blaster scorching through your skin. That’s when your brain finally clicked. That’s when you realized. Grogu. Oh, Maker. Grogu. Grogu, baby⏤ Your eyes snapped down to see the little boy’s eyes closed and the front of his robe was blackened from the blow.

The scream that filled the air this time was yours. You felt the sound reverberate in the base of your throat, it rattled your chest, but the only noise you could hear was the racing heartbeats that pounded in your ears. You sat up, cradling him to your chest, and you could feel gloved hands pawing at your arms. Someone was trying to take him⏤ someone was trying to take him from you. You screamed once more, your body shook, and a gloved hand cupped the side of your face. Nothing registered until you saw Grogu blink his big eyes open. Your breath caught in your throat. That same gloved hand pulled aside Grogu’s ruined robe and the telltale shine of beskar stared back up at you. A mudhorn adorning the plate that Grogu wore at the center of his chest.

Grogu let out a soft mumble and smiled up at you. 

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Din breathed. “Cyar’ika. Cyar’ika? Cyari’ka!” A hand titled your face up, tearing your eyes away from Grogu who was wiggling in your tight grip. You met the dark t-shape visor of Din’s helmet. “Are you okay? Did it clip you? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head and opened your mouth, but all that came out was a ragged sob. Even after Din pulled you both into his arms, you continued to cry against his silver beskar plated chest until your own chest ached from how badly each sob racked your body. Grogu seemed content to be squashed between you and Din. 

Hours later, in the quiet of hyperspace, Din sat in the pilot’s chair with you on his lap, cradled against his body, while you held Grogu tight to yours. It seemed since the incident Din refused to let either of you go, and you had no desire to complain. Having his arms wrapped around you while you watched Grogu sleep was the safest you had ever felt.

“I’m so sorry, Cyar’ika.” Din whispered. His unmodulated words were muffled by the way he rested his face at the top of your head⏤ buried his lips into your hair to continue peppering light kisses anywhere he had access. In this position, your head tucked under his, you couldn’t see his face. “I am so, so sorry.”

You shook your head lightly. When you spoke, your voice was ragged from screaming earlier, “No, I am. I should’ve listened to you, Din. I should’ve stayed on the ship.” Your eyes began to water again. “I almost got Grogu killed.”

“No. No, that wasn’t your fault. Ner mesh'la cyar'ika, ibic hara cuyir pal'vut.” Din mumbled the end of his sentence in Mando’a. “You were right. I shouldn’t have taken that bounty. I can’t lose the two of you and I’ve grown… obsessive in trying to protect you.”

“It’s worked. You’ve kept us safe. If I had listened to you⏤”

“You’re not prisoners. I can’t lock you away from the world because of my fear.” Din cut in. You let your free hand trace down the small bridge of Grogu’s nose and he scrunched it up at the contact while staying soundly in his sleep. Nothing Din would say could rid you of this guilt entirely. If he wanted to claim the mistake he could, but that didn’t make it any less your fault as well. “Please speak to me.”

You closed your eyes and lifted your head so you could press a kiss against Din’s throat. He shuddered and sighed at the touch. “Can we just agree that this is both of our faults?”

“We can.” Din shrugged, his arms tightened around you. “But I'd rather you not take any of the blame.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately as we’ve learned, I’m not good at listening.” You mumbled.

Din chuckled. “Good. I don’t want you to blindly listen to me. Your ideas are equally as good as mind, if not occasionally better.” He closed the space to press a soft kiss against yours. It was sweet and tender. Not a declaration of lust or desire, but a reassurance that you were there. Din broke away to whisper. “But if you could at least let me know when you are leaving the ship, I’d appreciate it.”

“Only if you promise to take us somewhere pretty soon.”

“I’m already ahead of you, cyar’ika.” As he spoke, his lips brushed against yours and you had no desire to lean back away from him. Din moved his hand and you could feel his hand brush against the side of your arm every time he soothingly rubbed Grogu’s head. “Crest is on route to Naboo.”

You pressed another light peck of your lips against his before leaning your head back down against his chest. Din settled his head back on top of yours, and you felt the soft caress of his thumb against your arm from the hand that was wrapped around you. Din pulled you and Grogu a hair closer, and you reveled in the silence of hyperspace.

"Also, when did Grogu get a mudhorn beskar chestplate?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

mando'a translations

Ner mesh'la cyar'ika, ibic hara cuyir pal'vut. [My beautiful darling, this sin is mine.]

[periracha]

Waiting

 ☾ pairing: Dad!Chan x Mom!Reader  ☾ wc: 2k  ☾  genre: fluff, boring domesticity (gasp)  ☾ cw: Christmas themes, kids, suggestive jokes, me trying to be funny idk, language, chan being chan ☾ summary: the bangs get in the holiday spirit!   ☾ a/n: wanted to get a whole aesthetic and masterlist up for this blog before i posted anything but this little idea had my brain in a chokehold all day so,,,,enjoy ! also, let me know if I should continue writing this family so i can give them names, etc.  yes this piece is fluff but this blog is 18+, MDNI

Ripples start to splash against the inside of your mug as you set it down on the coffee table that has been pushed aside for the evening to allow enough room for you and your husband. 

“Clearing the living room floor the second both kids are down and out?” Chan asks with a wiggle of his eyebrow. 

“Bit risky but I can work with this” he says while straining his neck and pulling his left arm across his chest in a stretch in preparation. 

You look up at him when a scoff falls from your lips, “ha yeah you wish. Now get the wrapping paper from the closet” 

“Please” you add with a sarcastic smile and sweet like honey tone. 

He blinked at you silently for a split second before he huffed out a big sigh, “Oh thank god. I don’t think my back could handle these hardwood floors like it used to” he finishes as he makes his way to the hallway closet. 

“Mmm unfortunately the only action these floors have been getting lately is spilled juice and probably some dusty cheetos the kids kicked under the couch” you joke as Chan meets you on the floor with wrapping supplies and gifts. 

A quiet laugh in agreement leaves his lips. 

“She’s gonna love this” Chan says with a grin so wide it meets his eyes. 

He’s holding up a Bluey plushie that plays a few catchphrases from the show when its paw is squeezed. 

“She better…. I’m running out of reasons why she can’t buy it every time we go to the store” you say as you cut wrapping paper big enough to wrap the doll and hand it to him. 

Your daughter had wanted this little plushie for months now, always asking to stop by the toy section whenever you visit your local department store. You quickly learned that simply telling her the store didn’t have anymore wasn’t gonna fly with her. She always found a way to swindle you into the toy aisles, finding the plushie every time. Distracting her with books or other small toys could only get you so far; luckily Christmas was only a few days away and you both would soon see the joy on her face when she opened her gift. 

“How do you even wrap these things??” Chan huffed out with a bewildered look on his face; his brows drawn tight and his eyes wide open. The piece of wrapping paper you had given him was creased all over, and covered in way too many pieces of tape that didn’t actually do anything to keep the paper together. 

A giggle started in your chest but you choked it down with a fake cough. Chan was used to being good at almost anything he put his mind to. 

Dancing? Easy.

Singing? No Problem. 

Writing thousands of unique songs that differed in their own ways? Piece of cake. 

Sports? Absolutely. 

Wrapping a small gift for his three year old daughter? Not so much. 

Carefully, you took the small doll from his hand and replaced it with a box of bath toys for your son. 

“Here, let me handle this…and you wrap these” you said nonchalantly as soon as you made the switch; immediately working on your new task at hand. 

Chan gawked at you with a goofy smile on his face, “You don’t think I can do it?...you’re demoting me to only wrapping boxes?” he laughed while feigning offense. 

“No no no!”, you waved off, “you’re just soooo good! Better than me! The best actually!” you rushed out while trying to contain your laughter but ultimately failing. 

Chan looked at you with pointed eyes, but had a wide smile plastered on his face the entire time. He looked like he was going to say something in retaliation but decided against it, letting out a small chuckle and shaking his head instead while he got to work on the box. 

Many presents later you were both feeling the ache deep in your lower back from hunching over on the floor. 

“Okay that's enough for me, I’m tapping out,” Chan said stretching his back with a yawn. 

You yawned and simply shook your head up and down in agreement, thinking about how you were too tired to even keep your eyes open. 

You got up and gathered all your wrapping supplies to store away. 

“Oh! Can you take all those and put them under the tree?” you asked him while pointing to the group of gifts. 

He hummed a quick mhm and started gathering them in his arms. 

“Make sure to put Bluey on top of the one of the taller presents so they can’t get to it” you called out as you made your way to your room. 

“Yep, got it” Chan quickly responded before placing all the presents down and making his way to follow you to your bedroom. 

~

The next day went blissfully as usual; waking up way too early to cries before the sun is even fully out, only to finally get your son back down and you barely back in bed before your daughter barges in demanding French toast stat. 

Did you even have all the ingredients for french toast? 

You already got one kid handled, Chan could handle this one.

You lightly kicked him in the leg as he laid beside you to wake him up before you made yourself comfortable to fall back asleep. 

When you did wake up, you grabbed your son and met your husband and daughter in the living room, setting him down to crawl around the rug.

“Good morning love”, Chan greeted you with a kiss to your cheek and sliding his arms around your waist in a loose hug. 

You hummed a good morning back before resting your head against his chest. 

“My turn! My turn!” your daughter yelled entirely too close to your eardrum as she stood on the couch in an attempt to be as eye level as she could with you. 

“Coffee?” Chan asked with a smirk as he let you go and made his way to the kitchen. 

“Ohhh yeah” you answered before turning your attention fully on your daughter. 

She puckered her lips and stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to copy her dad’s previous actions. You bent down and she kissed your cheek, “Good morning, mommy!”, she giggled before flopping down on the couch. 

“Oh it is a good morning!” you smiled back to her before tickling her to get some hugs in. 

Chan met you back in the living room with your fresh cup of coffee as you both sat on the couch, watching your children play together in the early morning hours. 

Your son crawled towards the christmas tree and before you could get up to grab him he had already bumped into a few presents, causing one of them to go off. 

“Hello! Hehehe”  

The noise immediately caught your daughter's attention and her head snapped towards the tree before her eyes widened. You could see the wheels starting to turn in her head to try and make sense of what just happened when you looked over at Chan who was sporting a mortified look. Jaw hung open and downward, eyes widening and moving around the room at everyone’s faces. 

The damn Bluey doll had gone off and one of her most wanted presents was most likely spoiled now. 

“WHAT WAS THAT?” she rushed out, walking closer to the tree.

“Your brother!” Chan blurted out way too quickly before tightening his lip into a flat line, realizing what he just did. 

Your daughter stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the both of you. 

“What???” she asked again, her eyes darting between yours and Chan’s a few times. 

“He can talk??, “ she screamed, bewildered at the new information being thrown at her all too quickly, pointing at him and eyes wide as saucers.

You let out a huff of air and forced yourself to take a sip of your coffee, hoping to buy you some time, waiting for your brain to kick on. It was too early for this.

Chan looked at you waiting for you to come in and save the conversation but you had nothing. How were you supposed to convince a 3 year old that her 8 month old brother could now speak when he’s never done that before. 

You’re on your own here. You thought to yourself as your eyes met Chan’s again. His face still stuck in the same shocked expression. 

“Uhh…yeah..yeah…?” Chan tried to get out nonchalantly but it ended up coming out more like a question and high pitched tone, before clearing his throat. 

Your son had now crawled toward your daughter and started grabbing at her legs to get her attention. 

You needed a moment to think but your daughter would absolutely follow you wherever you went to…. Unless…?

You coughed into your arm dramatically, “ooooh mommy needs medicine, I will be right back” you said before quickly standing up and making your way to the hallway cabinets before she could stop you.

Even the possibility of being around cough medicine, seeing it with her own eyes, was enough to keep your daughter from following you. She was not about to risk having to take that, yucky grape stuff, as she likes to call it. 

Chan followed after you, staying in the open area to keep an eye on the two kids. 

“So our 8 month old is saying full words now is he?” you asked, raising your eyebrows when he got closer to you. 

“I panicked okay!”, he screamed in a hushed tone. 

“So you blame it on the baby?!” you asked in disbelief, a laugh starting in the bottom of your throat. You tightened your lips in an effort to stop the smile you knew was coming. 

“What else was I supposed to say it came from?” Chan asked with a strained laugh, “you were no help!” he accused, pointing his finger and narrowing his gaze. 

“I don’t know Chan! The TV? Your phone?” you huffed out off the top of your head and throwing your hands in the air.

“Hm. yeah that would’ve been good”, he said staring at the floor, realizing just how easy those would’ve been to explain away to a child. 

He stepped back from you to get a better look at your kids a few steps away. His brow furrowed so you stepped forward to see what he was looking at. 

Your daughter was sitting directly across from your son with a serious expression on her face, no more playing going on in sight. 

“What..what are you guys doing?” Chan asked loud enough for your kids to hear. 

Your daughter looked back at him, “Waiting,” she said matter of factly before refocusing her attention back on her brother. 

“Waiting foorrr?” Chan asked, raising his eyebrows as you both took a step toward them. 

“Him to talk again” she answered without bothering to even look at Chan this time, her serious gaze never leaving her brother's face. He was babbling and drooling while playing with the legs of her pajama pants. 

You both couldn’t contain the laughs that came from your mouths. Today was going to be a long day. 

You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as you thought about your family’s antics. Never a boring day in the Bang household, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Hey Chan, what did you do with the matching talking Bingo we wrapped last night?” 

“Shit” 

©periracha, 2023.

[refiwrites]

Your Love

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x Fem! Reader

Requested?: Yes

Summary: Playful moments with Jonathan Byers.

WC: 1.4k

Warning/s: none, just pure love and fluff

Note: this is a petition for jonathan byers to break my back love me

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

“What are you doing?” Jonathan asks from beside you as his arm started to strain from you holding onto it for a while now. The two of you were in his room, spending the afternoon together. The two of you were the only current people in the Byers household since Joyce had to go to work and Will was off and biking to get to Mike’s.

It felt odd having a relaxing day with all that’s been going on, it felt like all of you never really got over what happened the past couple of months, that’s when you decided to hang with Jonathan today, and knowing Jonathan, he wouldn’t say no to you.

“Hold on, I’m almost done.” You say, holding onto his arm firmer as you placed the last finishing touches of yet another drawing on his arm.

Jonathan stared at you watching as you remained focused on completing your task, your face contorted in determination as he felt the pen drag on his skin. He never realized when this started between the two of you, often the both of you would be together and then by the end of the day Jonathan would find little drawings and phrases of adoration littering his arm.

He never found it annoying, in fact, he has found comfort in this little act. The silence occasionally disrupted by your little hums of satisfaction, the way your hand held his arm, the way he’d notice how you’d absent-mindedly stroke his skin with your thumb as you drew. He almost forgot the numbing strain just by staring at you. Then his eyes shifted to the drawing on his arm.

“A flower?” He asked curiously in a whisper as he tilts his head to get a better view.

You look up at him and his eyes flickered to you. You smiled and went back to drawing. “Well, not just any flower,” you say, slightly frowning as you rubbed a little stray ink away. Jonathan raises his eyebrow. “It’s a honeysuckle.” You answered.

“Ah, it looks cool.” Jonathan noted. “Actually,” You swallowed, “Did you know that honeysuckles symbolize affection? Pure happiness even.” You finish.

Jonathan nods, processing the information. “No, I didn’t.”

“Done.” You say smiling up at him, finally letting go of his arm. Jonathan frowned at the loss of contact but it faded as you held his arm again and slowly inched it to his face so he could see the full drawing. It was amazing, it looked almost like a tattoo.

“Since they symbolize happiness and love, I thought it’d be nice to put it on you… since you make me happy and these vines,” You shy, taking your finger and carefully going over the vines you’ve drawn on him. “They say it also symbolizes the form of a lover’s embrace.”

Jonathan could notice how the vines almost clung and wrapped around each other, before looking at you.

“Since like I said, the symbol of love… I think it fits because…” You muttered, you’ve probably said the phrase probably a thousand times before but every time you felt yourself uttering it out loud your heart always skipped a beat, and Jonathan could feel the same.

“Because I love you.”

Jonathan had his hand acting on its own as it carefully held your neck, pulling you towards him to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

“I love you too.”

Then there was a night where all the gang were gathered at Mike’s house for a little hang out in the basement or as Dustin dubbed it as “Movie Night with the Gang”

You and Jonathan were on the left side of the couch, while Nancy and Steve were arguing about the plot of the movies about to be watched, while Dustin and Mike were setting up the TV. Lucas and Max were too busy with each other, Will was reading the back of the case that held the tape for the movie and Eleven was curiously watching Dustin and Mike.

After everything had been set, including blankets and food being passed around, it was time to watch the movie.

You were halfway through when Jonathan nuzzled up next to you, his head resting on your shoulder as you comfortably wrapped an arm around him to nudge him closer to you whilst the two of you shared the blanket. Your hands started playing with the collar of his shirt, then it slowly travelled to his hair. It was soft and you found yourself twirling a strand before running your fingers through his scalp.

Jonathan let out a small hum which sounded more like a soft groan. Your eyes switched from the movie to him. “Something wrong?” You whispered in order not to distract the others.

“Mm, no. If you keep doing that, I’ll miss the movie and fall asleep.” He slightly chuckled which made you laugh.

“Hey lovebirds! We’ve still got a movie to watch!” Steve said which made all eyes turn to the pair of you.

“Shut it Harrington, we’re watching!” You replied. “You better be!” He retorted.

Few months passed and now you were in the forest.

You felt his gaze on you followed by the clicking and snapping of the camera. “You trying to spy on me, Byers?” You teased him, turning around to meet him face to face. He rolled his eyes, smiling as he set the camera down. “I don’t know, you make a pretty good candid.” He said.

“Try me.” You say with a laugh, trying to pose for the photo. Jonathan smiled wider and wasted no time bringing the camera up to take a picture of you.

It went on for about a while, Jonathan taking pictures of nature and you. Only you noticed he hasn’t taken any pictures of himself. “Hey, babe?” You ask as he takes another snap at the sky with the trees.

“Hm, yeah?” He replied.

“I just noticed; you take pictures of everything but yourself.” You said, stepping towards him. “And?” He looks at you. “Why don’t you take any?”

“Apart from I have only two hands, I don’t find a reason to.” He joked.

“Why not? And hey, you have me!” You gestured to yourself. “I can take a picture of you.”

“Nah, it’s fine, never really liked looking at myself in pictures anyways.” Jonathan responded.

“Jonathan, as much as I love seeing your pictures come to life, I would also love to see the creator of these beautiful portraits with them.” You walked closer towards him, placing your hands on his that held the camera.

“I know what you’re doing (Y/N), it’s not gonna work on me.” Jonathan said, trying to avoid you but the smile he was failing at hiding said otherwise.

You laughed and your hands made its way to his face, making him look at you. “Please? You never know how handsome you look.” You pleaded.

Jonathan closed his eyes and shakes his head. “Nope, not going to work.”

“Just one- or how about, every picture I take of you… you get a kiss?”

Jonathan’s eyes suddenly opened, looking at you. “Hm? Come again?”

“You heard me.” You pursed your lips teasingly.

Jonathan stares at you for a moment before sighing in defeat. “Alright, but- you do know how this works right?”

You gave him a mocked look of hurt. “Jonathan Byers, what am I? Born and raised yesterday? Of course, I know how to work a camera! Not to mention I have one hell of a photographer of a boyfriend.”

Jonathan blushes at your words with a shake of his head. “Just making sure.” Before he removes the sling off his shoulders, passing the camera to you.

“You won’t regret this, I promise!” You said, putting on the sling over your shoulder and handling the camera carefully.

You set it up, then pointed the camera at Jonathan. “So, uh, what am I just going to stand- or-?” He asks unsure. “How about you act like I’m not here and walk around okay? Feel everything that’s surrounding you.”

Jonathan did what he was told, and you couldn’t believe the number of pictures you took.

But your most favorite one was where he was looking straight at the camera with that smile of his.

“Alright that’s enough, missy.” He says laughing, going over to you, and covering the camera.

“I was just starting to have fun!” You jokingly complained. Jonathan shook his head. “We had a deal, remember?”

“What deal was it again?” You teased.

“One picture equals to a kiss if I heard that right?” Jonathan teased back.

You tilt your head as you start to walk back as a devious smile set on your face.

“That is if you can catch me, Jonathan Byers.” Was the last thing you said before you raced towards the car.

Jonathan shook his head, stepping to prepare for a run. “Oh, I will.”

[sunnyknoxville]

a little something from the fic that’s gonna be my first published one! it doesn’t have a set title yet, but it’s something about eddie being scared to love steve + first kisses

i promise that the rest of the fic will make sense to this, sorry for any mistakes as well, the fic isn’t in the final edit stage at all :]

Steve is left standing to look at himself in the mirror. Eddie has left to sit at the edge of his bed. His elbows digging into the flesh of his thighs, head in hands. He almost regrets it. Almost. The yawn that comes from him almost cracks his jaw out of place. Makes a loud pop that Steve probably heard from the room over.

Sweetheart Steve knocks on the cracked open door before he comes back in. Eddie is drawn to him in second’s notice. Sweet honeydew smile and glowing. Steve is glowing, beaming at Eddie. And Eddie believes he about dies for the second time in his life. He wants to drink him like peach sweet tea, bask in that sweetness under the unrelenting summer sun.

“Did you just get your first kiss or something, Harrington?” Eddie teases. He has to beat Steve to saying something.

He could not let Steve know that’s the first time he kissed and had been kissed. Eddie would rather die first than for that to happen. Hell, he’d rather be eaten by those shit-eating demobats a thousand times than to let Steve know that was his first kiss. Fuck that. Nope.

Steve sits close to Eddie, right up on him. Their sides are mushing together, unsure of where Steve ends and Eddie begins. Eddie chooses not to think about that too much. It’ll come hell or high water before he puts too much thought into it. It’ll make him put supernova to shame.

Steve snorts. “Was it yours?” He knocks his knee into Eddie’s.

Eddie’s silence speaks for itself. He looks to Steve with vulnerability. Head rested on his hands with rings clanking together. His secret was out. One of them at least. Virgin. Pathetic virgin who had his chances and didn’t take them. Steve didn’t see it that way, Steve understood, Steve knew.

“No shit?” Steve breaks the silence. He smiles something big and proud.

Cold washes over Eddie, stops his heart in his chest, he stops breathing. Soul crunches like snow. He blinks at Steve, devastated. “What?”

Steve flushes red in the fury of being misunderstood. Jesus Christ. Steve would not do that to Eddie. Fuck no. Steve starts to backtrack.

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 233 (spoilers)

Gojo's CE output isn't as high anymore as before but the fight doesn't stop because Sukuna recovers unbelievably fast from the Black Flash attack. This time though he's actually utilizing the entirety of the 10 Shadows Technique including its shadow.

Toji is back again but he had already been present during this fight since the beginning in spirit: from Gojo's outfit to his first defeat that's been referenced here. (I also have the feeling that the way that Gege drew Toji here is inspired by the anime)

This is also the first time that Yorozu's quote is applied to Gojo (going by this translation) but unlike with Sukuna it actually has an end. For Gojo, Sukuna is the one who is standing by his side against the loneliness of strength. Will the same be true for Sukuna? And what about Gojo's students whom he originally taught to stand by him as well?

Needless to say, Gojo realized that he's just a few steps from losing and still he smiles because he's having a fulfilling time right now and however Sukuna's quote will end he too is all smiles.

Sukuna uses Piercing Water by applying Max Elephants technique on himself the same as Mahoraga's wheel. This actually might explain how the previous Zenin head fought successfully against the previous 6-Eyes. The attack connects with Gojo because in that moment he's touching Mahoraga which releases infinity.

(As far as I remember, the idea for Piercing Water didn't come from observing Choso but from observing Noritoshi (Megumi's memories))

Sukuna can't use two Innate Techniques at the same time and because he needs Mahoraga out he can't switch them up as well. The same goes for Kenjaku and however many CT he retained from his previous hosts.

Just as Gojo is weakened, Sukuna is weakened too which shows in his current battle tactic. Sukuna doesn't have the stamina and CE reserves anymore for a drawn out adaptation to Red, instead he goes all out while Gojo's defense can be circumvented.

He summons a new shikigami with Nue and from the looks of it he infuses the bird with the power of the dead snake shikigami he had killed himself. I'm not sure about the hand sign though.

This new shikigami is called Agito, a name I only know from a Final Fantasy game but let's see what it actually means or what other kinds of fused shikigami we'll get.

Tits.

Also I can't wait for the fanart with this funny little family. The alien remark and the silhouette are a reference for a picture apparently where two men are holding an alien child(?)

Gojo still has an ace up his sleeve and next chapter is probably going to shift the battle dynamics of this fight but well, that already happened a thousand times.

What I want to talk about a little bit more though is Sukuna using Megumi's technique. It was expected that he was going to use it and that he was going to use it well but it still hurts to see it because with every new thing he does with the 10 Shadows he takes something away from Megumi.

This is by design of course, it's supposed to feel unfair and make Megumi less. Since his possession, Megumi has been pushed down, literally, metaphorically, emotionally and getting hit by his teacher's technique (Unlimited Void) and having Sukuna using his own CT better than himself are just the next kicks to keep him down.

But through all of this suffering he'll rise up again, stronger and more capable than before, the same way Gojo rose up after being sliced open by Toji. And even in all of this, the one thing that Sukuna can't take away from Megumi is his Domain and with his intelligence (which might be supplemented with Sukuna's memories that Megumi might've seen) I'm confident that Megumi will reach even greater heights with his technique than Sukuna later on.

[cxcassii]

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reincarnation au snippets

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…

“Earth to Eren,” Sasha says, waving her hand in front of my face. I blink several times, turning my head to look at her. “Where were you?”

“In another time.”

“Yeah that happens to me a lot.” She gives me a sad smile. Suddenly, an intense wave of nausea runs through me as a very loud and intrusive thought stabs my mind like a knife slicing into it—how far back does Sasha remember?

“I’m going to pretend,” Mikasa says carefully, “I understand what’s going on.”

I can’t help but laugh at her tone. She sounds almost jealous. “Don’t worry. It’s not too interesting.”

“He’s lying!” Sasha shouts. “It’s soo interesting!”

She leans her elbow on the arm of the couch, thin brows furrowing. It makes her have a similar expression to the one she wore two thousand years ago. Then she scowls, and the look is complete. I give her a half-assed salute.

Sasha does the same, offering her heart to a cause that hasn't existed in twenty centuries. “Dedicate your heart!”

“What are you even talking about?” She looks completely puzzled and asks, “Are you guys going on about something that has to do with that story Eren made up?” I nod around a small smile, slightly jutting my eyebrows.

“Yeah! I made sure to tell her last night all about the highest ranked cadet I personally named her after.” Sasha says around a massive grin.

Mikasa’s expression shifts into something irresistibly adorable, her brows drawn together and she nibbles smally at her bottom lip. “I’ve always been confused why, though. I’m not strong or brave like that Mikasa character. If I saw a ‘titan’, I’d probably piss myself and run away.” Her cheeks flush slightly, and she clears her throat before looking away from us. “Seriously, this story of your’s is the stuff of nightmares.”

I snicker a little. “Yeah, that was kind of the point.”

She meets my eyes once more, emotions unspecified swirling in the chasms of her gray hues. I think about her answer, really sit there and think about it. It’s an earnest explanation and it makes something deep in my soul shift in a manner of marvel. A sincere, untainted reaction to the depiction of the horrors from our last life. Luckily, for now anyways, little does she know. There are parts of me that somewhat hope she stays this way. Even if she never remembers who I am, I can live with that. It’s worth it to see zero traces of the previous life not clouding her expressions, not in the slightest.

“No way!” Sasha exclaims dramatically, gesturing her arms wide. “You’re the embodiment of who Mikasa is! Titans might not exist, but you are brave and strong. Just not in the ways you’re thinking.” Sasha doesn’t elaborate further than that. For me specifically, she doesn’t have to. I wholeheartedly concur, despite not knowing Mikasa that well in this life yet. What she and Sasha seem to share illuminated those faucets she retained from the last life, in one manner or another. I feel certain of that.

…

ᡣ𐭩 story link ᡣ𐭩

[duck-in-a-thrift-store]

Prologue? Pilot? IDK Man I Just Work Here

(part 1.2)

{hey so uhhhh

i have finals coming up and its the last week of classes and im lowkey failing two of mine right now, so unfortunately im going to have to go on hiatus for a bit- even though i literally just started, ugh- while i try to catch up and deal with... all that

that said, ive decided to split the prologue up into three parts instead of two and just go ahead and give you what ive got so far of the rest of it

this and the third (and hopefully final) segment is where we really start setting up/contextualizing the "full house" premise of the fic

link to part 1.1 here}

~~~

So, over the next several weeks, they come up with a plan.

Most of them aren’t exactly happy about the plan, but… oh well.

The parents are determined to move their children- who have proven themselves to be prime targets for the supernatural- out of town, to relocate them somewhere they’ll be well-removed from the apocalypse unfolding in Hawkins. Caught up to speed about the history of Hawkins Lab and Owens’s involvement in everything, they all but order him to help with the arrangements.

And he delivers. Calls are made, blueprints are drawn, and before they know it, a plot of land has been secured two thousand miles away in California for a house to be built on. And it’s going to have to be a pretty big house, considering it’ll be home to six teenagers and a pre-teen.

The kids are dead set on not being separated again; it’s one of their conditions for agreeing to leave. Steve can’t blame them, honestly. After everything they’ve been through together, he doesn’t want to be apart from them either. In fact, he’s been feeling a bit paralyzed by the thought, has had a little trouble breathing since the move was decided.

He’s sort of out of it the next time everyone gathers at the hospital to hash out the details, to be honest, but in his defense, his head isn’t quite what it used to be before all the hits he’s taken in recent years.

But then the ongoing discussion turns to who will look after the kids, and well, that certainly gets his attention.

There’s a military blockade taking shape around the area, keeping the threat contained- but also the citizens. It’s only through Owens’s connections and influence that they’ll be able to sneak the kids out, and just that in itself is going to be risky. As much as they’d like to, they can’t take everyone.

The parents have agreed to join the resistance that’s starting to form, a force of townsfolk who have finally realized what’s really happening and are banding together to find a solution, or at least hold off the Upside Down from taking over for as long as they can. Hopper and Joyce have taken it upon themselves to teach everyone as much as they can about what they’re up against, and a few of the others are helping out with pooling resources and organizing community childcare.

For various reasons, their families won’t be coming along.

“Who’s going to take care of you all?” Sue asks, her question directed more towards the room at large than the kids themselves. “None of you are older than fifteen; I don’t want you out there on your own with no adult supervision.”

Karen starts to say something, probably about how she doesn’t intend to let Nancy stay behind either, that there will definitely be at least one person over fifteen present, but Steve cuts her off in his eagerness. He practically jumps out of his seat, actually, but he’s held in place by his desperate grip on the sheets of the hospital bed he’s still stuck in until he’s done recovering from the demobat bites.

“I’ll do it!”

Once again, all eyes are on him, and they’re broadcasting confusion, surprise- in the case of the parents, that is. The kids mostly look relieved. None of them will say it- the little shits- but he’s pretty sure they were just as worried about leaving him behind as he was about sending them away.

Claudia tilts her head at him in question. “You? What, by yourself?”

Steve figures the faintly bitter disbelief in her voice has less to do with him and more to do with Dustin’s deadbeat dad, so he chooses not to take it to heart. But before he can make a remark about how some men are actually interested in fatherhood- although he’s not entirely sure what his brain even means by that- Karen Wheeler speaks up.

“Not by himself, no. What I was about to say a moment ago was that Nancy is going too. I don’t want my daughter staying here after being involved with all this pretty much since the beginning. But, Steve, even then, you’re hardly adults yourselves- Nancy only just graduated high school last week. I don’t think you two should be left to basically parent seven kids all alone; it’s too much responsibility.”

(While she does have a point, and he’s certainly not opposed to having Nancy out of harm’s way, it’s also important to note that the daughter in question is currently busy giving shooting lessons to a sizable portion of the resistance. Nancy is no stranger to responsibility, but she isn’t exactly the motherly type, either. Regardless, Steve wants both roles for himself- at least on a subconscious level. He’s not quite aware of it yet, his rightful place as both mom and dad to the party, but… he’ll get there. He thinks of himself more as a glorified babysitter, really, but it is a position he takes very seriously nowadays.)

Mistaking Steve's spacey expression for something else, Dustin mutters smugly beside him, “I bet you would looove that.”

Steve rolls his eyes and shoots back, “Can it, kid. We’ve been over this. Nance and I are not getting back together.”

Nancy and Jonathan broke up after her graduation, for reasons which Steve has decided are none of his business. In some ways, this made the idea of rekindling their relationship- something his friends insisted he should try to do- more of an actual possibility. And yet, somehow, that in itself helped him realize that he doesn’t really want to get back together. And he knows she feels the same, even if there are some weird lingering feelings on both sides of the issue. They simply aren’t compatible, and that’s okay. It took him a while to get here, but now he’s happy just being her friend.

Thankfully, Robin joins in, interrupting that awkward train of thought and providing the solution to a problem Steve hasn't even considered yet.

“They wouldn’t be alone, Mrs. Wheeler. I can help out, too.”

“You would do that? Move across the country and play house with me and these brats?”

“Of course I would, dingus. Where you go, I go.”

The fondness in their exchange prompts some raised eyebrows from the others, but that’s irrelevant. Steve is just massively thankful that Robin is offering to come along. Having to choose between the kids and his platonic soulmate would have torn him apart just as badly as the bats did.

“And I’d say the same about Will and El,” Jonathan says as he joins the group. “So I hope there’s room for a couple more.” He glances questioningly at Argyle, who came in with him.

Argyle just shrugs. “I’m sticking with you, man.” Apparently, his parents turned him out to fend for himself when he hit eighteen, so he doesn’t have much to go back to, and he’s been content staying with the Byers until the blockade is lifted- or for the long haul, it seems.

Karen nods in Jonathan’s direction. “Good, I’m sure Joyce will feel better knowing you’ll be there.”

So that makes five of us. Considering I’ve wrangled most of these guys on my own plenty of times by now, that should be totally manageable. I guess it will be nice to have some guaranteed backup for once.

It looks like the gang is staying together after all, plus at least one new-ish addition.

But, speaking of "new-ish additions" to the group, there is still a six-foot deep hole in the entire plan, which is the question of what to do with a dead man when all his remaining friends are ditching town.

“What about... Eddie?”

~~~

{well folks theres the second installment of the prologue. as for the rest of it... youll get it when you get it. hopefully ill be able to start updating more regularly once i go back home for the summer. things are just kinda crazy right now hahahahaha <-(the deranged laughter of a person whose ass is not passing all their courses this time and is very seriously considering becoming a college dropout)

oh and yeah so eddies dead i guess. not what i had planned but sometimes the plot just does what it wants. you know how full house basically starts off with dannys wife dying in a car accident (offscreen and prior to the events of the actual show anyway)? and steve is like, very loosely the au's parallel of danny? well you might not have known that actually but i just told you. so. yeah. you get where this is going

also, to my unofficial beta readers and lovely mutuals @moreover-clover and @redley-of-many-noodles: i have seen your comments/messages and i appreciate your input, but ive decided im going to try not to take this project too seriously and just have fun with it rather than worry about how polished it is, so i think this is going to be a no beta project from here on out. thank you for the thoughtful commentary/critiques on part 1.1, and i do hope you continue to enjoy it <3

having said that, if anyone happens to notice glaringly obvious/simple typos that i could easily fix, or if any parts are just genuinely incomprehensible, feel free to point it out/ask for clarification if you want to}

[desultory-novice]

hello! i've been meaning to ask you this for a while, but i keep forgetting! i'll lead by saying that i'm sorry for being so annoying in your askbox about this stuff... i just really want to know your opinion!

i've been seeing a lot of "galacta knight is canonically dead" takes lately, and i was wondering what you thought about that? i've always been a little annoyed at the concept since star allies (and the star allies art books!) seems to make a big deal out of morpho knight being a fusion of gk and the butterfly, and while katfl seems to disprove this (?) it's also important to note that we never saw gk's soul leave morpho knight, only forgo's. i just feel like there's a lot more evidence for morpho knight to be a fusion than the other way around? i can't really talk to people about this bc it always makes me look like a fangirl that's upset her favorite is dead... :/ your killing game post kind of reminded me about that jajaj

Annoying? Noooo! Not in the slightest!

"Canon."

Oh boy. I mean, yes, I use "canon" myself but at the same time, I hear the phrase "canonically dead" paired with Galacta Knight and I can't help but laugh. (And sigh, because I really do think fandom can get caught up in policing people based on what's presumed(!!!) canon and that just seems like a big way to suck the fun out of things!)

But seriously, Galacta Knight is just one of the funniest characters to argue about this because before now, people were arguing he wasn't even canon at all! Can we just enjoy the character, people?! XD

That said, I did some looking through my copy of the SA art book and Galacta and Morpho's pause screen lore for this ask and...

The art book is pretty clear about Morpho Knight being a fusion of the butterfly and Galacta. That said, the pause lore also seems to imply that Morpho is their own thing, and that while they might be fused in this form, it's not to say that Morpho can only take that form because they absorbed Galacta/that it was borrowed from Gala.

Galacta definitely has an effect on Morpho, physically, as Morpho EX is explicitly stated to be a change brought on as Morpho finishes the process of absorbing Galacta's power and has learned to make it entirely their own. (Interesting how that turns them dark, not unlike the Aeon Hero unlocking his own "true" power and turning quite...malevolent looking.)

That Morpho needed Gala's power (in fact, Morpho is described as being "drawn  to" Gala so I don't think there's anything wrong with imagining fate plays a bit into their meeting) could be why Morpho becomes Morpho Knight to be but doesn't turn into, say , Forgo Knight after absorbing Fecto Forgo. (Although Fecto isn't a complete soul, missing Elfilin.) Morpho Knight probably couldn't have taken that same form in FL had they not fused with Gala but...

...because Gala wasn't shown leaving Morpho, does that suddenly mean Gala's dead? ...Personally, I don't think so. Especially if you are one of those "EX Modes are Non-Canon" people, in which case, we can take the pause screen text to mean that regular Morpho hasn't even "finished" absorbing Gala's soul! IE: It's still around.

But here's the real reason it's so odd to me to suggest that Gala is dead after their encounter with Morpho in Star Allies:

Galacta Knight is a character who pretty clearly has multiple selves from multiple timelines existing at any/many given points in the timeline! So the SA Gala was absorbed! What does that say for the other dozen Galactas flying around out there? There many be THOUSANDS of Crystal Prisons containing thousands of Galacta Knights floating through the mess that is Another Dimension! We saw that SA Gala getting absorbed had no effect on the Galacta Knight fight existing as per normal in RtDL DX.

Even if you wanted to go all River Song and say that getting absorbed by Morpho is Gala's end fate, that regardless of where we catch them in the timeline, that would be a fixed moment, we haven't seen Gala's beginning! (Even Aeon Hero would seem to represent something like Gala's "career highlight" phase.) It's simply too soon/we have too little evidence to say Galacta is "canonically dead."

It's just very silly to me to insist on/badger people about that. Which is why I tend to think that at least a portion of the people saying that are saying it as a joke. This humorous idea that "Man Galacta never even got to be canon (:Dess groaning in the background:) and the first time he does get to be canon, he dies! lolololol"

It's overplayed as a joke to me, but if that's the way they enjoy the series, I try to let them be and focus on the parts of the fandom/the discussions that are most meaningful and constructive to me!

(Lastly, I hope you don't feel like there's anything negative about being seriously concerned about the fate of your favorite or that it's anything to be ashamed about! Ask and talk away, please! I want note that if evidence ever came out that Marx was most likely dead, I would be rushing to complain about it/try to reassure myself that there was evidence to the contrary in every ask box that would listen! XD It's natural and very sane to get emotionally invested in the state of your fav in a series you're still currently invested in! Something something kill the part of you that cringes~)

[danco110]

“Simply fascinating! Klara, come look at this!”

The Drannith researcher marveled at the mural on the wall. Behind him, the soldier escorting him lazily lifted the torch in their hand, clearly less impressed.

“Yeah, it’s a nice painting. So what, Warren?”

“‘So what?’ This is a depiction of Snapdax! Which means the apex monster must have lived hundreds…no, thousands of years ago!”

“Well, it is that old, but the painting isn’t-”

“AH!”

Klara and Warren cried out in alarm as a third voice chimed in, from right behind them. They whipped around - Klara with their sword drawn - only to see a smiling young woman with fox ears sprouting from the top of her head. A bushy tail swayed lazily behind her as she greeted them, oblivious to their alarm.

“Hello!”

“Lona!” Klara gasped, still recovering from their shock. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding from Snapdax, along with Harith. Speaking of which, c’mon out, pal!”

A hulking wolfbear lumbered into the torchlight, nearly taking up the entire width of the small cave. Lona leapt atop Harith’s back with an unnaturally large leap before pointing to the mural.

“I know, it’s one of my better works,” snickered the bonder. “Like I was saying, Snapdax has been around forever, yes. But I only made that just last week.”

Klara fired a smirk back at Warren. “Thousands of years, eh, professor?”

“W-Well, my time range was pretty wide!” Warren bristled, embarrassed about not realizing the painting’s true age. “I was merely making an educated guess!”

Lona and Klara shared a quiet laugh, which was quickly silenced by an ear-piercing shriek from outside the cave. Klara stepped in front of Warren, Lana, and Harith with their blade raised.

“…Snapdax?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lona squeaked, frozen in fear atop Harith’s back. “It’s been hunting around here for a while, now…”

“Which means, it’ll probably be here a while longer,” Warren sighed. “Mind if we join you in here, Miss Lona?”

“The more the merrier,” Lona chuckled wryly.

[freebooter4ever]

So you guys know i (try to) post daily doodles, and i have said before that i draw for about 2-3 hrs every night. BUT that also means i dont post about like 80-90% of the drawings i do each night. Today though, i've been thinking about A*I and my own relationship with drawing, and how utterly baffled i am that anyone would want to use it to like...draw for them..and how the concept that *tell a computer what art to do so i dont have to do it* is alien to me. So here's ALL the drawings i did tonight. The bottom one is the last one i did and the one i would normally post. And i want to talk about A*I without talking about good or bad end product. Because i dont care if im making the shittiest art in the universe - i still wouldn't use A*I. Not even as a ‘tool’.

If you've been around here for a while you know i have a love/hate relationship with my art. I write too, but writing doesnt make me so frustrated and angry that i want to throw my computer out a second story window. HOWEVER. There is a huge caveat to that anger.

It happens after.

You could look at it a little like hockey. Every game is fresh, right? I mean god knows the US made an entire movie about how every game is a new game and the odds could always fall in your favor no matter how stacked against you. So every drawing i go into it excited - like LOOK at that reference material, its gorgeous. The gesture is beautiful, the post is interesting, there is something about it that is just begging to be drawn. But then say you hit intermission in the hockey game and the opposing team scored a few points. And i step back and look at the drawing and realize i started to go wrong somewhere along the way. But its too late now, you gotta commit and keep going. And you do but somehow the final score is STILL 6 to 0 and thats when i want to flush all my art down the toilet and never look at it again. But its okay because the next drawing is going to start with a blank canvas and who cares what happened last time.

Ok maybe a bad example.

The product is never really what drives me to draw - i mean, sure i do like it a heck of a lot better when i have something /anything/ that i can post to show that im sticking with my everyday doodle. But its not a requirement to doodling. The process of drawing is always fun. Its when i come out of it and look at the stupid thing that im like ‘well fuck i fucked that one up again didnt i’, and THEN i get annoyed lol.

I dont sit there consumed with frustration over ‘gee i dont know what to draw’. This is never an issue. I HAVE TOO MUCH TO DRAW. Sometimes i avoid certain gifs/photos because in the back of my mind im like ‘yeah no, i havent leveled up that far yet, i cant do that justice’. But i dont want to admit the sheer number of images of geno alone i have saved. I think my biggest reference folder is still aoki and that has over two thousand screenshots - i dont think anyone will ever surpass that LOL. I have a never ending supply of practice art to be done.

The frustration comes when i have an image in my head and i want to get it down on paper so-to-speak (computer whatever). So - when im NOT using reference (or at least not an exact one) and am making an ‘illustration’ (ish). But again, the process isn't the issue. I like the act of drawing, i like the image in my head slowly taking shape, i like how vividly i can see it. Yall know how obsessed i am with personality - that's not just part of the drawing, that IS the drawing. And each deicision in the illustration is defined by the personality/character.

A computer can't fucking do this.

Could i maybe tell a computer ‘draw geno in the shower’. Sure. And it probably could. And if i didnt care about the process - if all i wanted was a very good drawing of geno in the shower....that probably would be fine. Maybe great even. Maybe it would be the best damn drawing of geno in the shower ever. And then i'd feel like shit because a machine is producing art that is more valuable to other people than mine ever will be. But holy fucking shit that ruins the entire POINT of drawing???? Why would you do that?

I mean, im sure yall can infer the entire point of the act of drawing geno in the shower. He's hot, he's wet. ANYWAY.

In my opinion, a person who wants the end product and doesn't care about the process of getting there....that person is not an artist. That person is someone who enjoys art, and probably thinks they have a lot of good ideas to make into art, but who doesn't feel that pull to make art themselves. They just want to buy art. And they want it cheap. And mindless computers being trained in seconds on the decades of creativity and hard work of art masters is a heck of a lot cheaper than a human.

And the hardest part of all this for me is how worthless this makes me feel - nobody wants you, they want that automatic button. Kinda like my dad that way (haha)

[wafflesandkruge]

hello, wraith (kanej 3+1)

3 times Kaz hears Inej behind him and 1 time he doesn't.

ao3

a/n: hiiii if the premise sounds familiar then you've probably read the original ficlet which i posted a few years ago (a real fan ty). after sab s2 (ew) i wanted to revisit some of my old kanej fics and rewrite them bc i noticed a lot of changes and edits i wanted to make so they're less,,,cringe. original can be found here if you want to do a comparison (pls don't). the plot is exactly the same, but (i hope) the writing has improved, so pls enjoy ✌🏼

The first time Inej entered his office through the window, he heard her coming. Her cheap boots scratched along the rough brick of the Slat’s exterior wall, and Kaz was alerted before she’d even reached the second floor below his office. He set his paperwork down with a sigh and pushed the window open for her just before she could reach for the latch. “Hello, Wraith.”

Inej clambered through the window, frustration evident in every movement, and pulled her hood down. In the soft candlelight of his office, her skin was luminous brown, the light catching the gold in her ears and the gleam of the knives at her waist. It had only been about a week since she’d left the Menagerie, and Kaz was pleased to see her color had improved somewhat. But her spywork needed improvement if she was to be of any use to him. “I could hear you a mile away.”

Inej pursed her lips, taking his criticisms silently. He could have said that it wasn’t her fault, that her boots were the problem, or her inexperience with the cityscape. But he was not kind, and Inej was not made of glass that would shatter under the slightest pressure. He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small, wooden box.

“Don’t come back here until you can do it soundlessly. With these on.”

He tossed the box at her. She flipped the lid open and a combination of displeasure and anger flashed across her face. Kaz knew what she was seeing—metal anklets with dozens of little bells strung on them, not unlike the ones she’d worn at the Menagerie. 

It was a test, and a challenge, in a way. Kaz watched as she stared at the anklets for another moment, then snapped the box shut. Her lips were pulled into a scowl, but still, she nodded mutely and left his office without a word.

-

The second time had been about a month after the first. Kaz had been worried—Inej had disappeared for long stretches of the night, only to reappear at the Slat early in the morning. When he’d put a tail on her, they’d all reported the same thing: she was practicing climbing in the warehouse district. Why she thought that was safe, he had no idea. He’d posted a Crow there to watch her discreetly, then put it out of his mind. Either she would learn, or he’d overestimated her. And Kaz Brekker was rarely wrong.

He smiled to himself and set his paperwork aside. It was always nice to be right.

“Hello, Wraith.” 

Inej paused, half of her body still outside the window. 

“How did you know?” They were the first words Inej had spoken to him in almost two weeks. She pulled herself through the window and stood to the side of his desk, each movement as silent as shadow despite the anklets clasped around her boots. She looked well rested despite her late nights, her countenance more confident and self-assured than ever. A new knife, one with a simple bone handle, was strapped to her forearm. He’d seen Jesper purchasing the same one from a street vendor during one of their trips to Fifth Harbor. Inej making friends among the Crows would be useful to him in the future. 

He leaned back in his chair and folded his gloved hands together. “I don’t let the same person get the drop on me twice. But you passed. The anklets.” 

He extended a hand, and he could see the way Inej’s gaze was drawn to his leather gloves, a thousand unasked questions in her dark eyes. She unclasped the anklets and placed them carefully in his palm, her fingertips brushing against the leather for the briefest second. Kaz’s breath hitched at the slight pressure. Although it was impossible through the thick material, he swore he felt a lick of warmth from her skin. His skin went cold. 

He pushed past his body’s panic and threw the anklets into the fireplace. Inej’s gaze was finally averted from him and he could breathe again. She watched them burn with a small curl of her lips, then was gone as quickly as she’d appeared.

-

The next time, Kaz was busy working on the Crow Club’s monthly accounting. He hardly looked up when he felt the telltale change in the air. “Hello, Wraith.”

Inej made a small noise of acknowledgement, then crossed his office to the small cabinet of medical supplies he kept around for emergencies. There was some clattering around and a few muttered words in Suli, then Inej plopped onto the chair in front of her desk and dumped supplies onto his desk.

Kaz looked up, peeved. “Inej, what– Ghezen!”

She’d tracked bloody footprints all over his office, from the window, to the cabinet, to the chair where she now sat, wincing, as she cleaned the cut and blistered undersides of her feet. “Don’t worry,” she said, in that unnervingly calm way of hers, “I’ll clean it up.”

“That’s not–” Kaz bit back a curse, not sure why he felt so irritated. “What the hell happened? Was it another gang?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug as she began wrapping bandages around her foot. “My boots wore out. I climb better without shoes anyways, but I am not used to Ketterdam yet.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’ll contract some disease before the day is out,” Kaz growled. He wasn’t about to lose his investment over something as foolish as an infection. “Borrow a pair from someone downstairs until you get paid.”

“As you say.”

As soon as Inej was gone, his office clean as she’d promised, Kaz paid a visit to a grisha fabrikator.

-

Years later, Kaz sat at his desk, a blank page in front of him. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and put his pen to the paper. Greatly esteemed Council of Tides…

If there was one thing Kaz hated more than kissing up to people, it was not getting what he wanted. He gritted his teeth as he used his most flattering language to ask for a blind eye at a certain berth, then signed the letter with a flourish. He stuffed the scrawled letter and a promissory note for an ungodly amount of kruge into an envelope and prepared his wax seal. Just as he started to melt the wax, his candle blew out with a gust of wind. Kaz paused.

“Hello, Wraith.”

The wind whistled on, but the voice he so desperately wanted to hear was missing. Kaz glanced at the window just to be sure. There wasn’t a soul in his office other than his, and that was debatable. Swearing softly to himself, he relit the candle and sealed the letter. He was losing his touch.

On his way to the Council of Tides, he passed by The Wraith’s berth. It was empty, as it had been for a month. Kaz glanced at the gray horizon. It wasn’t quite enough for him just to know she was out there somewhere, bringing down justice to those who deserved it. At every moment, he craved her silent presence next to his, her bright smiles, even her Suli proverbs. It was selfish, he knew. But he couldn’t help wanting. With one last glance, he continued on his way.

After a relative success of a meeting, he walked back through the harbor towards the Slat. Night had fallen, but the docks were still busy with wandering crews and raucous laughter. Kaz’s cane clicked against the ground as he turned his collar to the wind and resolutely went on his way. Perhaps there’d be an interesting brawl tonight, or Jesper would pay a visit. He passed by berth twenty-two. Then spun around. It was occupied, the crew already busy unloading by the dim streetlights. A voice came from the dark behind him. 

“Hello, Kaz.”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 As Dawn Breaks: Chapter Seventeen

As Dawn Breaks: Mother Night and Father Time, after having sired seven Endless to personify life in the known universe, create Earth and human life begins. One last Endless is created: Dawn, the personification of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day and a chance for happiness and improvement. A love will span thousands of millennia, breaking with every sunrise and renewing hope come sunset. Yet, even the personification of hope can lose the very notion of her existence from the sting of a broken heart.

Warnings: Petty Dawn, Idiot Dream Realizes What An Ass He Was.

To Note: Dream/Morpheus x Endless!FemaleReader(Dawn), This Involves Themes That Are Not For Everyone.

Word Count: ~2.3k

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You had felt the moment he had been bound by magic of old. It was the type of ancient magic that all Endless were linked with and intimately bound by. You could not refuse any summons if the right words were spoken and the right sigils were drawn. That’s how you knew that Dream had been summoned and subsequently trapped. All of the Endless had felt the harsh agony Dream has felt being summoned. But there was naught any you could do. Old magic was old magic. You were in the middle of reading some paperwork when you felt the call. Shifting your eyes from the paper in hand, you stared off into space as Death spoke.

I stand in my gallery and hold your sigil, may I visit you, Dawn? I fear we must have a conversation regarding a certain family member of ours.

You knew what she wanted to discuss with you, and you weren’t feeling inclined to help… but you weren’t a cruel Endless, so you sighed and responded.

“You may come,” You returned, lowering the paper in your hand and rolling it back up. You muttered your last thought. “Though I doubt you will be satisfied by what I have to say.”

You felt the ripple in your realm as Death entered The Garden, and wrapping a golden string back around the scroll you had been reading, you set it aside and waited for the older Endless to appear. She came swirling into your private courtyard in a cloud of worry and anxiety. You eyed her briefly as she came hurrying up to you.

“I am sure you felt what has happened,” She spoke to you, coming to a stop near the azalea bushes. You pursed your lips and slowly nodded.

“I did, I may be well sheltered here in my gardens but I am not impervious to the nature of old magic. I felt the power draw the moment he was summoned.” You told her, your face showing indifference to the topic that you spoke of. Perhaps it was a bit cold of you to speak of such a subject with such a blaśe attitude but in truth, you had already made up your mind regarding to Dream’s imprisonment. Death’s eyebrows crinkled at you.

“Then you know why I’ve come then?” You did. Naturally, you were probably in the best position to help Dream at the moment, probably the one that the rest of the Endless expected to go and help given your past indiscretions with him. Death sighed at you and gave you a pointed look. “Will you help him, Dawn?” You held in a snort.

“No,” You stated simply, your fingers weaving together in front of you. Death’s heart dropped in her chest. She had worried that ’no’ would be your answer. Certainly after what you had been through because of him.

“Dawn,” Death started, going to try and convince you to change your mind. Your eyes glittered with sternness and she held her tongue.

“I will not help him unless Dream explicitly asks for my help.” You further explained. Now that was cruel of you, because you both knew that Dream would never ask for help, certainly not from you. He was far too prideful. You knew that your words were hurtful. “I’m sorry Death, but I have made my decision. Unless Dream asks for my help, I will not offer it.” Death nodded in understanding, knowing just how much he had hurt you, and just how much agony you had suffered alone over the last several eons.

“I fear it may be a long time before Dream sees freedom,” Death quietly remarked. You stared at a shrub at the end of the courtyard.

“Perhaps, but it will be his doing should it come to that.”

Matthew and Dream were confronted with Lucifer Morningstar themself, and the fallen angel looked at the pair in amusement.

“Greetings to you, Lucifer Morningstar.” Dream spoke, bowing his head slightly in respect. “And to you, Mazikeen of the Lillim.” Lucifer’s face twitched ever so slightly.

“Greetings, Dream Lord.” Lucifer smoothly responded. “You look well, Dream. Are you well? And your family, Destiny, Death, Despair, the others? Precious little Dawn? She’s been rather… absent, these last few eons. Did she not seal her gates to all for eons? Even from you?” Lucifer wanted to laugh at the brief glimmer of warning that flashed through Dream’s eyes at the mention of the youngest Endless. Oh they knew of the tension between the older Endless and the youngest. It had been the talk since Dawn had sealed off The Garden’s from visitors eons ago… then there was that little juicy rumor of Dawn and Dream’s relationship.

“I presume the Ruler of Hell knows this is no social call.” Dream said, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. The returning of Dream’s helm.

“Have you come to join forces then?” Lucifer offered haughtily. “To ally your realm to ours? To acknowledge the sovereignty of Hell?”

“You know my feelings on that, Lightbringer.” Dream warned, his lips curling into a smirk. An amused looked crossed Lucifer’s face.

“Feelings change.”  Lucifer replied. “Especially when one has been caught and imprisoned by mortals. We expected better of you, sweet Morpheus.”

“I have come because my Helm of State was stolen from me. I believe one of your demons has it. I should like it back. Now.” Morpheus explained darkly.

“Dream, if only it were that easy. But there are rules, you see. Protocols which must be followed.” Lucifer turned around and strode over to their balcony. “Which demon has your helm? Name it and we will bring it here.”

“I confess I do not know the name.”

“Then we will have to summon all of them.” Lucifer raised their hand, summoning the billions of demon lords. “There, now, Dream, you may inquire. Which demon has your helmet?”  Dream approached and stared down at the crowd. “Shall we interview them one at a time, or…”

“That won't be necessary.” He told Lucifer before turning and walking away.

“It surprises us how easily you would give up, Dream. We know how you relied upon your tools.” Dream slowly came to a stop at Lucifer’s taunting. “But tools are the subtlest of traps. We become reliant upon them and in their absence we are vulnerable, weak, defenseless.”

“Not entirely.” Dream stated, pulling out his pouch of sand. “I have recovered my sand. It brought me to Hell and…” He started pouring it out. “…now it brings that which is mine in Hell to me.” The sand blew around in a vortex, summoning the demon which held the helm. A demon now stood before Dream and slowly turning around, Dream settled his eyes on his helm. Then glanced into the eyes of the demon. “Tell me your name, demon.”

“Do I have to tell him?”

“That is Choronzon. A Duke of Hell.” Lucifer supplied.

“Choronzon…” Dream repeated lowly. “The helm is mine. You must return it to me.”

“No. It's mine now. I traded it from a mortal for a paltry thing. It was a fair trade. I've broken no laws.” Choronzon said in a taunting voice. “And if the Dream King wants his helm back, he will have to fight me for it.”

“Very well. I challenge you, Choronzon.” The demon snorted.

“You know the rules, Dream Lord.”

“If I win, you will return my helmet.

“And if you lose, you'll serve as my slave in Hell for eternity.” Choronzon replied all too gleefully.

“I accept the terms.” Morpheus only had to think about those terms for but a few moments. The helm, after all, was rightfully his.

“And whom will you choose to represent you in the battle?” Lucifer questioned.

“I shall represent myself.”

“Choronzon, whom will you choose to represent you?”

“Hmm…” The dmeon sounded, sizing up the Dream Lord. “I choose you, sire.” Lucifer moved to stand directly behind Dream.

“Apologies, Dream, but the laws of Hell demand that I become his champion. But if you would not fight me…” Dream cut the Morningstar off.

“I have accepted the terms.” He stated, looking into Lucifer’s eyes. “Let the challenge begin.”

Matthew should have known better than to blindly think that Dream would win this little game between him and Lucifer of all creatures. Sure, he had started out strong, and had kept up with every counter Lucifer made… but this last one… anti-life? What could survive anti life? Matthew had to do something. So fluttering down to stand near Dream’s prone figure loosing life, Matthew took a chance.

“Boss? Hey, boss!” He called. Lucifer chuckled, already feeling the high of winning against an Endless

“Still with us, Dream?” They taunted.

“He is and it's his move, Your Majesty.” Matthew chattered back, ruffling his wings.

“There are no more moves.” Lucifer told the raven, their lips twitching triumphantly. “What can survive the anti-life?” Matthew turned back to Dream.

“Hey, boss. Listen to me. You know what can survive the anti-life?” Matthew told him, his head cocking side to side and his brain went into hyperdrive. “You. Dreams don't fucking die. Not if you believe in them, that’s why we got hope, yeah? Nothing can kill hope and hope is the base of all dreams, right? I believe Dream of the Endless would never leave his raven here alone, in Hell with Lucifer.”

Hope. That one little word that Dream had tried so hard to not think of in the last few eons, was now echoing in his mind like a beacon in the night. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope… Dawn. What was life without hope? What were dreams without hope? What was Dream without hope? What was Dream without Dawn?

You were lying within your lovers arms within Fiddler’s Green, nestled on a soft bed of leaves as you and Morpheus stared up at the night sky of The Dreaming. Your fingertips were sparking with bursts of stardust, echoing your happiness. This was what Morpheus started craving the moment you left his realm to return to your own. He never felt complete unless you were by his side. Turning his head, Morpheus looked down into your face. You were smiling up at him, eyes filled with adoration and pure love. Morpheus had never felt more loved than he did in that moment.

His hand was trapped by yours as you pulled Morpheus through the market of the lower river delta. Merchants and goods surrounded him, there were delicious looking fruits and vegetables, handmade trinkets crafted by the most skilled crafters, jewels, gems, precious metals… Morpheus was surrounded by beauty and splendor. The only thing that captured his attention was you, beaming and giggling as you dragged him towards a new garden you wanted to show him. Yes, Morpheus could be surrounded by the most beautiful things in the universe, but in the end, he would only see you.

You had once again arrived in his realm filthy. Your excuse? The Will’o’-the-wisp colony in the swamp had been playing tricks on the hydras and you had been sucked into one… and then you being little you, had joined in on what soon became a mud fight. You had blinked your stardust eyes at Morpheus in complete innocence, but Morpheus could see the delight and mischief lingering within their depths. You giggled the entire way he carried you to the bath.

Little Flōs was receiving a lesson on controlling her powers, but of course, it wasn’t really a lesson. No, you had simply taken the little dream out to Fiddler’s Green and had her unleash all of her frustration and fear… and what magic she had made. Plants had exploded outwards, growing into towering structures that twisted and bloomed with life even you were impressed with. She was such a little dream, still so new at her job, but what she could create was awe-inspiring. As you praised Flōs for her work, Morpheus couldn’t help but look upon the sight fondly.

“Boss!” Matthew called again. “Come on, boss, don’t give up.” Never. Dream had so much he needed to fix, so much he needed to change, so much he needed back. Opening his eyes and finding the strength to rising to his feet once more, Dream stared Lucifer in the eyes.

“I… Am… Hope.” He whispered, but enunciating each word. “I am hope.” Dream questioned, his eyes red from the gravity of the pain he had forced onto the one who had held his essence ever so gently. “Well, Lightbringer? It's your move. What is it that kills hope?”

“Choronzon, give him his helm.” Lucifer commanded, tears burning in their own eyes. For Dream to taunt such a thing in front of them, he really was cruel.

“No. I won’t.” The demon responded, shaking his head int refusal. “It's mine. Please.” Mazikeen walked up to the demon and hoisted him by the throat over the balcony. She ripped the helm from his grasp and let Choronzon fall to the masses below. Turning on her heel, Mazikeen marched to Dream and offered the helm. He took it with a slight bow of his head.

“Thank you, Mazikeen.” He echoed, tucking the helm beneath his arm. Then he turned to Lucifer. “Thank you, Lightbringer. The Ruler of Hell is honorable, indeed. I will not forget this.”

“Honorable?” Lucifer repeated in disgust. “You joke, surely. Look out there, Morpheus. The billion Lords of Hell stand arrayed about you.” Dream could feel the threat looming in their words. “Tell us. Why should we let you leave? Helmet or no, you have no power here. After all… What power have dreams in Hell?”

“You say I have no power here.” Dream said, he tilted his head to the side and smirked. “Perhaps you speak truly. But to say dreams have no power in Hell… Tell me, Lucifer Morningstar, what power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream… Of Heaven?” It was a cruel blow to the fallen angel, but a necessary and true one.

“One day, Morpheus… We shall destroy you.” Lucifer uttered, eyes simmering with rage.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.” Dream bowed with yet another smirk. With his helm in hand, he turned around and walked out away, Matthew on his heels.

Date Published: 3/13/23

Last Edit: 3/13/23

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[seeyalaterinnovator]

Surprise - Bob Floyd Imagine

Word Count: 1K

Synopsis: Bob Floyd x Reader - Reader surprises Bob at the Hard Deck, but the others are surprised to find out he has a S/O

Requested: Yes!

Standing outside the hard deck, you looked at the sheer number of people tightly packed in the building and if it weren’t for the fact that you hadn’t seen Bob in well over three months it would have taken a lot more convincing (and probably half a bottle of tequila) to get you into that building.

As soon as you stepped through those doors you were met with a sea of people, most of them clad in the crisp tan uniform that you knew all too well. It was hard to navigate around everyone, being that they were all packed in so tightly, tight enough that when you tried to scoot past behind someone you were met with a slosh of beer poured onto your arm. Normally you would have been a little bit more annoyed, but a familiar name had caught your attention over by the pool table.

“Really Pheonix? That’s the third game in a row?” A taller blonde man shook his head, leaning over the pool table as if he were looking for some reasonable explanation for his loss.

“What, can’t handle another?” She taunted. There was a group of what appeared to be pilots all crowded around the pool table knocking back beers and joking around. You tried your best to stay hidden while also trying to locate the specific naval pilot you came for.

Using your hand to slosh off the beer from your arm, you manage to weed your way through the crowd where finally you caught a glimpse of the one person you were dying to see. He looked so beautiful, sitting perched on a bar stool as he watched his friends banter back and forth while they played pool. His skin was a bit more sun-kissed than the last time you saw him, but he still had the same soft lipped smile as he always did. Ever your easy going Bob.

“Bob you want in on this one?” Phoenix asked him with a wide grin, already having spotted you from the corner of her vision. She had helped arrange this little mission, and had been expecting you all evening.

“Only if you promise to pass along the winning streak.” He let out a soft chuckle and the subsequent butterflies that fluttered through your stomach nearly had your head spinning. He stood from his seat, brushing off the crumbs from the snack that he had been eating and graciously took the pool cue from her. His opponent seemed impatient as Bob analyzed his shot carefully, hunched over the table and tied his best to line up the shot. His distraction was your best shot at really taking him off guard.

Quiet steps carried you around the group against the wall. You squeezed your way behind his opponent and managed to wiggle your way next to him. Phoenix gave you a silent smile, knowing that Bob was about to get the surprise of his life.

“Excuse me, sir,” a warm hand wraps firmly around the cue stick that was in his grasp, sliding it away from the table, “I got a better use for these hands than pool.” Bob, confused and flustered, does a double take before standing up straight and pushing his thin rimmed glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. A few of his friends snicker behind him at the prospect of a random woman hitting on innocent little Bob at a bar. Before they could make any comments though, Bob was putting them all in their places. One hand firmly planted along your cheek, the other tucked into the back pocket of your jean shorts so that his long fingers were pawing at the flesh of your ass, he spun the two of you so that you were pressed up against the pool table. He muttered an inaudible ‘god I missed you’ before leaning in to press a heated kiss to your lips.

Amazed, shocked, confused, Hangman, Rooster, and Payback amongst others all stared at the normally shy and reserved WSO becoming a whole other person right before their eyes. When you broke away from the kiss, cheeks heated a thousand shades of pink from the obvious attention that your antics had drawn, you smiled brightly up at your Boyfriend.

“When did you get- how?” Bob questioned, clearly not paying any attention to the curious pilots behind him.

“I came straight here. I just couldn’t wait another minute to see you.”

“You gonna tell us who the hell this is Bob?” That same tall man asked, stepping up with a bemused smirk on his face.

“You mean to tell me you have no idea?” Phoenix rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed.

“If you haven’t caught on, that’s Hangman.” Bob laughed, his hand that was on your cheek reaching up to push back some of the hair from your forehead so that he could plant his lips there. “Ah, I see.” You chuckle out a response.

“It’s alright Phoenix, from what Bob here has told me I didn’t expect him to know anyways.”

“Wait - but Phoenix knows?” Another tall man steps up, but this one isn’t in uniform, rather clad in some silly retro hawaiian shirt.

“Phoenix is the one who helped me arrange a visit out here.”

Bob turned to the pilot and thanked her with the warmest smile imaginable. It started when she noticed the polaroid that he kept tucked back near the controls in the back seat of their aircraft. She had inquired about the pretty girl he had been hugging, and if it was someone special back home. From there he had managed to tell every little detail about you that he had learned in your three year relationship. After that he never shut up about you. How the other guys never caught on was beyond her.

“Boys, this is the love of my life.” Bob positively beamed when he announced this to the rest of the pilots. Turning to you, his hands resting comfortably on the curve of your waist he spoke, “What do ya say we get out of here.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Authors note: Thank you so much for the request!! Please keep them coming! I was so excited to see this in my inbox!