#or the person that is only a friend out of convenience or obligation

[sillylittlefemme]

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[chlorinecake]

𓂃 watercolor eyes | park wonbin oneshot

⚡︎ pairing: Stoner!Wonbin x Female!Reader | ⚡︎ word count: 7.8k | ⚡︎ genre: mutual pining, college au, smut (⚠︎) | ⚡︎ contains: awkward relationships, an original character + sungchan and shotaro, swearing, drug use/distribution, angst (?), mild dacryphilia, sexual tension mixed with fluff, kissing, unprotected sex while buzzed, heavy petting, oral (m. r)

ON TOP OF countless other obligations in your life, upcoming exams were kicking your anxiety's ass with the biggest fucking boots imaginable.

All you wanted was to take the edge off, and at this point, you didn’t care what it’d take to do that.

Introducing Exhibit A: Your closest friend and roommate, Roxanne, who so conveniently happened to be a junkie.

You brought up your need for a “quick fix” (so to speak) while studying in your dorm together one afternoon. Though, she offered to get you some help from another friend of hers who you’d never met before.

“Wait, you want me to go with you?” You asked in confusion, already prepared to reject Roxanne’s proposal at the idea of personally consulting her drug dealer.

“Yes, you're coming with me… What do you think this is, Kiki’s Delivery Service?”

“No, but… I-"

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, ____,” she chuckled, turning the steering wheel as she trailed down a shadowy lane.

“No, I… I want this… I need this even, it’s just that…I don’t really know what to expect…”

“Then don’t expect anything,” she answered, giving you an encouraging smile that came off as more condescending, “Expectations are for pussies anyways.”

“Roxanne, I’ve never even met this guy before,” you pressed, hoping that she’d maybe let you sit outside in the car instead of actually speaking with him.

“Look, I’m close with my dealer, and as I always say, a friend of mine is a friend of yours.”

Cue your internal sigh of submission.

“Okay,” you said, straightening your posture in your seat with a feigned confidence.

“Uhhhh, are you sure with that ‘okay,’ or is it more like an ‘okay, I have more questions’ type of ‘okay’?”

“No,” you clarified, “it means what I said… I’m okay.”

“Okay,” she nodded, before giving you a brief synopsis about this friend of hers: STEM major, weed connoisseur, and art-hoe with a shy guy undercut.

Doesn’t sound anywhere near as daunting as the drug dealers on TV shows appear to be, right?

She pulled up to one of the apartment complexes a few miles from your university. It was one of the lower quality establishments, with the only oddity being how nice the vehicles parked outside the apartment divisions were, a sleek black motorcycle belonging to none other than the mysterious drug smuggler named Wonbin Park.

“Hey, take off your hood, silly, it’s rude,” Roxanne nudged, locking her car from the keys in her pocket more times than necessary.

“But… what if someone sees us?,” you whispered, walking closely beside her.

“Then I’m glad their eyes are working? Hell, I don’t fucking know what they’d want me to tell ‘em,” she shrugged, walking up to the front door.

“So are you acting like a nonchalant loser on purpose, or is this just your way of trying to calm me down?”

Roxanne laughed hysterically at your words, showcasing the sparkly pink gem decorating her upper canine teeth as she patted you on the back.

“We’re just here for weed, babe. That will help calm you down before I can.”

You had almost missed the part where she knocked as you got lost in your head, the front door suddenly opening and basking you both with a sudden warmth, contrasting with the cold evening weather.

“Roxie?,” asked the male from the doorstep that you fought with every bone in your body to avoid making eye contact with.

“Wonie?” Your friend mocked goofily, walking up to hug the boy briefly before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend.”

“Not at all, my place is always open to you and your girlfriends,” he chirped with forced yet gentle enthusiasm.

“Uhhhh, she’s just a friend, considering how we’ve only slept together while clothed before… but thanks anyway!”

“Any time,” he replied confidently, walking up to the sink that was conveniently in his living room before re-lighting the dead bud of the joint he held gracefully between his plump lips, ashes falling from the tip before he inhaled a thick huff.

Some of the ash fell on his lower abdomen, and you were just now realizing that he didn’t have a shirt on.

Good thing you were used to the smell of pot by now, thanks to Roxanne’s inevitable habit of greening out every Friday night.

“So, what brings you ladies in today? I’d hate to break it to you, but I used my last condom just a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, we’re actually here for a different kind of pipe this time,” Roxanne answered, blinking as if trying to communicate with him to ditch the wild language.

“Oh,” he said, doe eyes widening as his mouth hung a little, his bunny teeth shining right back at you.

Stop staring at his mouth.

Stop staring at his mouth-

“I uh… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything,” he smiled softly, and of course you noticed because that’s where your eyes were glued the entire time, so distracted that it startled you when he reached to shake your hand.

“I’m Wonbin, but… you can call me anything you like, really.”

“It’s alright,” you returned, finally coming back to the present, “I’m ____.”

His initially confident demeanor stemmed from his assumption that you were more flamboyant like Roxanne, but he made note to be less vulgar until he could tell you warmed up to him.

Until he properly warmed up to you.

“So uh, yeah, do you want the usual, or were you thinking to try something new?” Wonbin asked casually as he leaned on the back of the sofa.

“Hmm,” Roxie hummed in thought, “yeah, my usual’s good. Just lay off the stronger stuff in the mix, though. It’s her first time.”

Something about what she said made Wonbin smile, wide and excited, peeking at you through his shaggy bangs with zero intent of hiding it.

Was he… flirting with you?

“Well, it’s my pleasure to be your first then,” he winked, getting up from the couch and heading to another room on his flat.

“You two kittens just wait here and I’ll be back with your stuff in a minute,” he claimed, which actually ended up being around an 8 minute wait while you and Roxanne went on and on about something you can’t even remember now.

The smile evaporated from Roxanne’s face as Wonbin returned to the living room while reciting the order. “You’ve got two ounces of-”

“I know the recipe, moron. You might scare my friend away if you say it out loud…,” she joked, feigning a pout as she hugged your shoulder, “so how much do you want for it, candy man?”

“It’s on the house this time,” Wonbin said, “so long as you bring me dinner tonight.”

“Fucking fat ass,” she spat, “what’re you craving?”

“Something warm,” he replied almost immediately, “with seasoned meat and a sauce… Maybe some rice, too.”

“Gotcha,” Roxie chirped as she pushed off of her knees to stand up.

Wonbin walked up to hand her the goody bag with such politeness, almost in the way that a child would give something to his big sister.

“Cool. I like eating around 7 o’clock, so you know when and where to find me.”

“Yes, through your stomach and all the way up to your greedy little heart.”

“Mhm,” he said with a satisfied hum, taking Roxanne’s spot on the couch as she walked towards the door. You and Wonbin were now sitting next to each other, his arms spread out on the back of the couch in a relaxed manner.

“Uhm, ____?”

“Oh, right! Sorry… I didn’t know we were finished,” you stammered, getting up from the couch to meet Roxanne at the door.

“Yeah, took him long enough,” she rolled her eyes, “I was starting to think he wanted us to spend the night…”

“Alright, get out of my apartment already,” he said playfully, waving a hand as if shooing you two, “and make sure to secure the bottom lock for me, I don’t feel like getting back up yet.”

“Whatever.”

Slam.

The door was closed, 50% locked, and you two were heading back down the staircase, cold air greeting you once again before you both got back in the car, driving back to your dorm room to drop off the drugs first, and then to the grocery store…

… to buy a bag of rice and a fresh pack of chicken.

“WHAT’S THAT NOISE?,” Roxanne asked with animatedly furrowed eyebrows, holding the grocery bag you two had packed Wonbin’s “dinner” in.

You ended up making a chicken roast with carrots, potatoes, gravy, and steamed rice like he asked.

“Here, hold this,” Roxanne mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear before she dropped the bag, your reflects luckily kicking in fast enough for you to catch it before the glass container could hit the concrete stair well.

“It’s as cold as a snowman’s grave out here, Wonie, open up!,” She yelled while banging on the front door, the little dream catcher that hung on the inner side jingling with her forceful hits, “Hellooooo?”

“You’re like Doordash but with the temper of FedEx,” you heard a deep voice say from behind the walls.

“But I only charge herbal fees for my services,” she added while crossing her arms.

Creek.

The door slung open, Wonbin’s muscular arms framing the entrance with a fed up look plastered on his face.

There were two people sitting behind him on the couch playing video games. A violent game, you’d assume, given the sporadic and sharp flashes of light that filled the room.

“Is there some kind of a secret password now or something?,” Roxanne asked impatiently, not as entertained my the view of Wonbin’s still shirtless body like you were.

“Oh, right… come on in ladies,” he said with a feigned smile, extending a hand to welcome you two back in, “hope you brought enough food, because I have guests.”

You followed Roxanne and Wonbin to the kitchen, where you placed the steaming bag of food on the counter before taking out the containers. That’s when Roxanne started grabbing dishes from the cabinet.

The glass plates clinked behind you as you went to search for a serving spoon in the drawer. “Hey… where are the spoons and forks?,” you asked while still looking through one of his kitchen drawers before Wonbin suddenly tapped you on the shoulder.

“I uhm… I keep the utensils in here,” he smiled shyly, just as he reached for the overhead counter to grab the silverware he kept in a box. Your breath got caught in your chest as you felt his hips nearly fuse with yours in the moment. Luckily, he couldn’t see how flustered you appeared underneath his shadow.

“Gimme that,” Roxanne giggled, snatching the box from him and taking out two large ladles, one for the rice and another for the roast.

“Gosh, that smells amazing! Can you put cheese on mine, pretty please?,” you heard one of the boys ask from the couch, peeking over his shoulder with soft eyes.

“Yes, Taro, I can put some cheese on it for you… even though I think it’s weird,” Roxanne smiled.

“Ahh, thanks man. Oh- and who’s the new girl?” He went on, placing the controller down as he was no longer interested in playing.

“Just a friend in need of a good time—” Wonbin answered, which shocked you to say the least, “—so be nice, Sungchan.”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?,” The taller boy pitched in, “but does she even talk?”

The room went quiet for a moment, the only sound being Sungchan’s clicks from the remote controller before he got gunned down by a random player.

“Dammit, Shotaro! Why’d you stop playing? Now we’re tied with the other team!!”

“Too bad, so sad, bro. I’m hungry,” he chirped, getting up from the couch to help you bring the plates to everyone.

“Woah, who’s the big plate for?” Shotaro asked with widened eyes.

“Me and Sungchan,” Roxanne said with a satisfied smile, “we’re sharing.”

“Oh… you didn’t tell me you and Sungchan were on good terms now,” you said, breaking your awkward streak of silence, just now recognizing the taller boys face from Roxanne’s phone.

She always talked about Sungchan and his “big stupid dick,” as she liked calling it.

The pair stopped being cool with each other for reasons you don’t really remember anymore, but you’d take her sudden affection towards him over the violence you witnessed during one of her texting fits the other night.

“Shhh,” she giggled, meeting Sungchan on the couch before sitting on his lap, “I hope you don’t mind me feeding you in front of your little friends… unless that makes you shy,” she pouted.

All he did was open his mouth in response, savoring the taste of the first spoon she fed him.

It was a sickeningly cute sight to be honest.

“Sick and twisted,” Shotaro said as if reading your mind.

“Cry about it,” Sungchan joked between a mouth full of saucy rice, heart swelling from the way Roxanne cooed at him.

You and Wonbin were just now making it to the living room after getting some napkins for everyone. There was room left for the two of you on the couch thanks to Roxie sitting on Sungchan’s lap, but that meant you and Wonbin would be sandwiched together in the middle.

Great.

“Come on guys, take a seat,” Roxie said before taking a bite of the food, her teeth grazing the metal fork with a loud scrap.

“God, I hate when you do that,” Sungchan sighed, tickling her sides as she laughed uncontrollably.

“Stop that, asshole, before I drop this food everywhere!”

“That’d be a shame, this chicken is so good,” Wonbin hummed with a nod, stuffing his cheeks with more of the gravy.

“____ made it,” Roxie pitched, giving you a look.

Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you were started to feel pretty awkward.

You knew it had a lot to do with Wonbin, thanks to his cripplingly annoying quirk to not put a damn shirt on.

You did eventually warm up to everyone, even pitching in on some of Sungchan’s dad jokes.

Though, the stack of empty dishes in the center of the living room table seemed more alive than your spirits right now.

The inevitable tiredness that came with staying up late without a phone in your hand started to kick in.

“Hey, I’m gonna go wash up these dishes real quick,” Wonbin said, glancing your way for reasons you almost couldn’t process between the loud laughter of Shotaro and Roxie over whatever dirty joke Sungchan told about SpongeBob and Patrick.

Did he want you to come with him? Alone?

Yes.

By now, Wonbin was no longer in the living room, having walked to the kitchen sink where he proceeded to run soapy dish water.

The scent of lemon wafted through the dimly lit space as you stepped beside him to get the dish towel.

“Sorry,” you said nervously, noticing the way he jumped as your hand grazed his arm slightly.

“It’s alright, you just surprised me,” Wonbin smiled, drying his hands before walking over to the other side of the counter, opening a plastic bag filled with what appeared to be blunt wraps and another bag filled with fluffy green.

“You just leave that stuff out on your counter?,” You asked, voice kind of quiet over the running water.

“Mhm…,” he started, “it’s not like the cops are just gonna raid my house randomly… unless… you were to say something,” he winked, putting a filler along the inside of the wrap before sprinkling in some herb, then tucking it tightly.

“Your secrets safe with me,” you said, the faucet squeaking as you turned the water off.

“____.”

“Yes?” You asked in confusion almost… he was already starting to use your name so normally.

“Pass me that lighter from over there,” he pointed before sticking his tongue out, licking the inner side on the blunt wrap to seal it.

His pretty tongue glistened underneath the kitchen lights, captivating you once again.

Fuck, stop staring, you internally swore at yourself.

He put the blunt between his lips, waiting for you to light the tip. “Stop moving, silly,” you giggled, holding his face in place with your other hand to keep him still as he playfully moved his head around to give you a hard time.

A tiny giggle erupted from his throat, too, making your smile linger for a little longer before he bid his thanks, inhaling a huff of the smoke and exhaling it through his nose.

“Hmmm,” he hummed as he cleared his throat. By now you were leaning against the sink with no intention of washing the dishes any time soon. No intention of leaving the kitchen, either.

“C’mere,” he offered, reaching for your chin in the same way you did to him earlier before inching closer to your face.

“Wonbin-”

“Just part your lips for me, okay?” He asked in a light voice, “I want you to try it with me.”

You nodded at his words, hesitantly parting your lips as he slowly set the blunt between the opening you allowed for him.

“Okay now seal your lips,” he said, licking his own, “and inhale… slowly.”

You obeyed his words, taking a steady breath in as the warm and cloudy smoke filled your mouth… then your stomach… then your senses.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, coughing at the way the smoke hit the back of your throat, to which Wonbin only laughed at your reaction.

“Good job, newbie,” he teased, running you a glass of water before passing it to you, your teary eyes staring back at him in a mix of embarrassment, regret, and intrigue.

“How was hitting it,” he asked, pearly eyes staring back at you.

“Just as bad as I thought,” you admitted.

“Yeah… they effects will start kicking in pretty fast, too,” he chuckled, proceeding to take a huff from the same blunt. “But,” he started, voice falling to an alto, “you know that wasn’t free, right?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, watching as he lazily cradled the joint in his two fingers.

“I only do favors for Roxie because we’re chill like that…,” he paused, biting his lip derisively as he tilted his head, “I hardly know you, though.”

You didn’t even bother checking your pockets because you knew you came empty handed.

“Aww, what is it, baby?,” he cooed, turning your chin to face him again as he took another huff from the joint.

“I didn’t bring any cash with me, unfortunately,” you replied with a halfhearted expression, already feeling yourself get dizzy.

He noticed the way you began to tear up even more from the smoke he was now gently blowing in your face.

“You’re eyes look pretty right now,” he smiled, staring way harder than he should’ve, “how do you feel?”

All of a sudden your core starting to heat up, making your legs feel as though you were merely hovering over the floor. You didn’t feel grounded anymore because you were overcome with a feeling of light.

“A little warm,” you started dryly, “but like… numb and euphoric at the same time.”

“In here?” He asked, placing a hand on your upper stomach, resting dangerously close to your tits.

“No…. It’s uh… a bit lower,” you said, reaching for his wrist before pulling his hand away from you.

That’s when you caught a glimpse of a colorful splash decorating his wrist. “That’s pretty,” you smiled, adoring the tattoo from afar.

“You think so?” He asked sarcastically before whispering in your ear, “too bad compliments won’t pay my bills.”

You sighed at his words, watching as he braced his body weight on the counter before your right hand found a mind of it’s own, reaching out to trace a line up his defined abdomen.

“Then allow me to repay you in another way,” you offered, poking his flesh with your nail a bit, “you like my cooking, don’t you?”

“Very much so, yes. But you could try pleasing me somewhere else… ‘A bit lower,’ like you said,” he whispered seductively, eyes in a daze as he guided your hand by your delicate wrist to the center of his belt buckle, a line of hair leading to the bulge buried behind his baggy jeans.

A thick vein trailed from his thumb to his forearm before his grip left your wrist.

“Wanna take a closer look?” He offered, drawing your attention back to the colorful spot on his skin even though your first mind thought he was talking about something naughtier.

“Sure,” you answered quietly, taking his hand again to examine the design, “a butterfly?”

“A moth, actually… it’s a little more masculine if you ask me,” he added, the shadow of a proud smile ghosting over his lips.

“But it has watercolored eyes,” you pointed out.

“True… So it’s like.. more ambiguous I guess?”

“Maybe… or it could just be a beautiful man,” you voiced, stroking over his skin with the pad of your thumb.

You liked this.

The look of his skin, but more so the way it felt.

The way touching him made you feel.

“Uhmmmm, guys?,” Shotaro cried out from the living room, the energy in his voice breaking the stillness of the moment, “I’m pretty sure Sungchan and Roxie are about to start fucking each other in a few seconds, and I could use a little help in here!”

You and Wonbin made eye contact at Shotaro’s words, the same thought filling both your heads:

“What?”

“Just get in here, quickly! They’re taking each others clothes off!!!”

“FUCK, MY STOMACH still hurts like a bitch from laughing so hard yesterday night,” Roxie sighed, cheeks a flushed hue either from the three shots of brandy she just guzzled or the three comforters she was wrapped in on her side of your shared room.

“Yeah… I had a great time hanging out with everyone,” you said, only half-present as other thoughts floated around in your mind.

Thoughts about when you would get to see Wonbin again?

What you two would even do?

How Roxanne would react if she knew Wonbin had been stuck in your mind like gum on a-

“What the hell are you thinking about?”

Oh shit.

“Uhm… Nothing, why?”

“It’s gotta be something,” Roxie pressed, staring at you from across the room through her false eyelashes, “you were moaning in your sleep last night with that same look on your face.”

Wow. She was quite a fast talker for someone so tipsy.

“I was?”

“Mhm,” she smirked cheekily, trailing a finger along the knitted seam of her bed sheet.

“Tell me who you were thinking about… I’ll know if you’re lying, too,” she pressed.

“I was just… gosh, why is that making me so flustered,” you sighed, hiding your face in your pillows.

“C’mon, spit it out, ____!”

“I was thinking about Wonie, okay?,” you finally admitted, hoping it would make her shut up.

“Hmm…,” she started with a satisfied smirk, “you’ve already starting calling him by a nickname, I see… what’s up with that?”

“Nothing at all,” you smiled aggressively, watching as she spread herself out on the mattress like a star fish, “would you like me to call Sungchan over to keep you company while I’m out?”

“He’s already on his way over, silly,” she smiled, flexing her fingers around nothing, “wait, where are you going, anyway?”

“Nowhere special… probably just gonna talk a walk around campus. But don’t worry, I’ll wait for your boyfriend to get here before I leave.”

She pouted at your words, lower lip poking out like a baby, “Aww… stupid… big dick Sungie’s my boyfriend… ehehe…”

SUNGCHAN SHOWED UP shortly after you managed to get Roxanne back to bed. Praying that they wouldn’t end up fucking in your bedroom while you were gone, you put on a jacket with hopes of taking that walk to clear your head, even though now you simply hit a joint to calm your nerves.

That’s when you heard a pair of footsteps approaching from outside your door, just as you were about to zip up your winter boots.

Knock, knock, knock.

A a warm feeling erupted in your stomach, making your fingers freeze at your ankles.

Standing up to peek through the door-hole, you saw Wonbin’s plump lips first, before his bright brown eyes stared back at you.

Shit, why was he here?

“Hey, I can hear you breathing from behind the door… well, whoever you are,” he giggled, which made you giggle a bit too.

There’s no way you were gonna get out of this now, but you still counted down from ten before opening the door.

“Hi,” you smiled, letting him in, “don’t know how you got on campus, let alone to my dorm room, but okay.”

“I’m friends with Roxie, remember?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember you visiting here before… like, ever.”

Even if he had, it’s not like you’d be able to forget a face or presence like his.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” you teased, poking him in the stomach to which he smiled.

That terribly cute smile of his.

“Yeah I uh… wear them sometimes,” he replied, adjusting the beanie he wore before speaking again, “Where is she, anyway?”

“Pretending to be asleep so I can cuddle with her while she sucks on me… well… not there but… nevermind,” Sungchan interupted, walking from the room with now disheveled hair.

“Hell, I left for like three seconds, what happened,” you asked, observing the fresh purple bruise on Sungchan’s neck.

“Roxie gets unbelievably horny whenever she’s drunk for some reason, and I refuse to do anything with her when half of her mind is on fucking mars,” he sighed, going to the fridge and pulling out a can of soda.

“She’s lucky I let her do this much… Wait- I thought you said you weren’t coming?” Sungchan said to Wonbin with a suspicious look.

So Wonbin was invited to your place. How fun.

“Ahh, I changed my mind out of boredom...”

“Right,” Sungchan nodded while walking to the front door, “I’ve gotta go get a lighter from my truck, but I’ll be back if Roxie asks for me.”

“Hey uh, me and ____ can go get it for you if you want,” Wonbin offered, flashing you a look.

“Really, I mean I parked pretty far away, but-”

“It’s fine, really, I saw where your truck on my way here.“

“____?” Sungchan said your name as if searching for your approval, to which you nodded which a humble, “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Alright then, go ahead. But take your time though so you don’t slip and break your asses…”

WONBIN LOOKED IN the roof compartment of Sungchan’s truck, just as the lighter fell down, slipping between the small crack in the seat.

“Shit,” he cursed upon trying to reach for it, “my hands too big to get it.”

“Hey, I can try getting it for you,” you offered, watching as he made room for you to take his place in the vehicle.

The drawstring of your underwear clinging to your hips as your shirt fell down your waist with gravity.

“Are you wearing a thong?” Wonbin asked, cold index finger hooking with the thin strap of your panties before pulling back and releasing it with a snap.

“Ahh, what the hell, Won!,” You yelped, retreating from the seat to swat his hands from you, “you’re supposed to be helping me!”

“No, we’re supposed to be helping Sungchan. Now get back to work,” he order you playfully, pointing back down to where the lighter fell.

You shook your head, bending back over in an attempt to retrieve the lighter once again.

He was only teasing you because he wanted to see more of your personality.

He couldn’t say that things were moving fast between you thanks to the inevitably awkward grounds your first impression of each other was cultivated upon, but he still wanted to get past the shy stage.

Skip all of the a baby steps and just start running with you.

Weakened grunts fell from your lips as you desperately fished for the lighter, your hips looking a mere second from bursting through your tight jeans given the position you were in.

“Shit,” Wonbin cursed under his breath, feeling a sense of warmth grow on his cheeks as he darted his eyes away from you.

“Oh,” you said with a muffled sounding voice.

“Um, y-yeah? What’s up?” He stuttered, still looking off into the distance.

“I’ve got the lighter… And some spare change,” you chirped, clasping the findings in your hand before reaching a foot down cautiously.

“Isn’t that stealing?” Wonbin teased, finally looking back to only see your foot slipping on the wet condensation from the truck’s running board.

“____, watch your step!” He called out with a slightly raised voice, his hands finding your waist to protect your fall, which only led to you both tumbling down together.

A strained groan erupted from Wonbin’s throat as his back hit the cold hard ground first, your body weight falling onto his center as your hands hit the gravel, slightly scuffing your skin.

You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were closed the entire time until you finally opened them, the coins you held being scattered about as Wonbin’s wide bunny eyes scanned you with shock.

His arms framed his head, nose a little red from the weather and a sprinkle of snowflakes dusting his black beanie.

“Are you…are you okay?,” he started, voice trailing off as it finally clicked in his mind that you were straddling him on the ground, essentially in public.

He couldn’t pin a finger on what it was about you that made him feel all shy like this, especially whenever he wasn’t buzzed.

“I-I’m… uh… I’m fine,” you stuttered, freeing him of your body weight and extending a hand to help him up.

“Thank you,” he huffed, a puff of cold air escaping his mouth before circling around your warm bodies, “I told you to watch your step….”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that those stupid coins distracted me,” you shivered, just now feeling the effects of the weather as goosebumps sprouted on your skin, “At least I got the lighter, though!”

Wonbin chuckled, both at your enthusiastic words and the uncanniness of this moment, taking off his beanie and adjusting it over your head before closing the door to Sungchan’s truck, pulling you close to him by the shoulder.

“Alright… let’s get back inside before we both freeze to death.”

AFTER GOING BACK inside, Sungchan had somehow managed to get Roxie out of bed, the four of you sitting on the couch while watching a random movie till midnight.

It all brought you a strange sense of déjà vu. You and Wonbin sitting awkwardly together while Roxie and her Sungchan sat like Siamese twins. The only thing missing, aside from some good home cooked food, was Shotaro’s infectious smile and a recreational drug in your system.

A soul booster.

You had gotten lost in your thoughts again, not even realizing when Roxie kissed Sungchan goodnight before he headed home.

Nor when Wonbin pretended to be sleep so no one would wake him as you slept peacefully on his shoulder.

Nor how he left your side once Roxie went to her room to sleep, reaching for the dust-ridden acoustic guitar hiding in a corner of your loft after a long forgotten ex-roommate left it behind as a “farewell” gift.

Nor the warm and woody melody he started to play from the other end of the couch, the gentle hums from his throat luring your busy mind from its slumber.

Your eyes opened with lazy blinks, vision slowly keening in on the lit joint that hung from his mouth, the sound of his fingers sliding against the fretboard and strings sending shivers down your spine.

Or maybe that had more to do with the winter air thrumming through your dorm room's cheap windows.

From the look outside, you’d guess it was sometime around 1am.

The stars were sparkling in the sky and the world beneath almost dead quiet.

“Oh- sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Wonbin said in a half-whisper, noticing the way you were glancing at him before taking the blunt from his mouth.

“Oh, no… it’s okay, I was just… I didn’t mind…” your words trailed off to a mumble as you sat up a little straighter on the couch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “What song was that? It sounded really pretty from what I heard.”

“Yesterday… by the Beatles,” he smiled, getting up to set the guitar back in its original place of abandonment, “it would’ve sounded even better though if I had a pick with me.”

He took another huff from the blunt, exhaling through his nose in a familiar manner as he offered it to you, “Want some?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, taking the blunt from his hand before inhaling the herb yourself, though, it was slightly different from the one you had in Wonbin’s kitchen the other night.

“It’s some of Sungchan’s pot,” he said in a husk voice as if reading your mind, “Don’t go too crazy though, ‘cause his shit’s pretty strong.”

He peeked at you through his wavy bangs, waiting for a cough from you that never came.

“Are you buzzed yet?” You asked after taking another huff or two yourself, playing with the smoke in your mouth before blowing it out slowly.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “don’t know how I managed to play a full song, but... yeah... I'm trashed.”

“It must be a talent, I guess,” you hummed at his words, just now noticing the lit candles sitting at random areas in the kitchen and living room.

Good thing, because it helped to drown out the scent of marijuana.

“What else are you good at doing while high?”

His tongue clicked at the roof of his mouth as a subtle yet unmistakable smirk creeped on his face, perfectly matching the rosy hue that began to stain his cheeks.

“You thought of something dirty, didn’t you?”

“Maybe…” he chuckled, widening the distance between his legs a bit as he sat.

Was he… teasing you?

Your eyes fell down to the blunt he placed on the ashtray beside the table, it’s lit bud ceasing with a quiet hiss.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t free either, huh?” You joked, shaking your head at yesterday's memory.

“Nope,” he smiled, “but… you still haven’t returned the favor from your first hit, so I won’t be too mean for now.”

Of course he’d bring that up again.

Right here, right now as you sat mere inches in distance from each other, both buzzed out of your minds.

“And if you were to be mean,” you started hesitantly, biting your lower lip before continuing, “what would that look like?”

He thought on your words carefully before answering, “Well, I doubt it’ll ever come to that anyway, so don't worry about it.”

“Oh, and is it the weed making you confident all of a sudden?”

“No, just the simple fact that you’ll pretty much do anything I tell you to.”

You scoffed, “That’s crazy talk.”

“Is it?“ he pressed, inching closer to you. "Kiss me,” he said, lips just a gentle wind's push from touching yours.

You didn’t budge, but your heart beat escalated all the same.

“Cute,” he smirked, his large hand finding the length of your neck, gliding up to your jawline as his thumb toyed with your lower lip. “I can see it all over your face that you want me, ____.”

“Then why are you asking for it?,” you teased.

“Because I wanted to hear you say it first… even though I already knew you’d let me do this,” he whispered, closing the space between you with a kiss, his warm mouth engulfing yours as the scent of his woody cologne filled your senses.

His other hand found your lower back, pulling you impossibly close to him as the sound of both your hearts beating and his needy grunts consumed you.

Much like the watercolor moth on his wrist, Wonbin’s gentle and vibrant masculinity couldn’t get any more precious in this moment.

This is exactly what he was looking forward to, whether he decided to guise it under the façade of a favor or be completely straight up with you, he finally got you right where you wanted.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you tugged a bit, desperate to hear more of his pretty sounds before the shadow of a smile wavered over Wonbin’s face at your actions, up until he felt your knee bump his hard-on through his pants, causing him to hiss.

“You’re being rough with me,” he said in between kissing your mouth, his hot and thick tongue darting past your lips as the kiss become messier.

Louder.

“And?” You asked, pulling away from his lips before leaving a trail of wetness down his neck, paying extra attention to a spot that made him twitch in his seat.

“And it’s so fucking hot,” he almost moaned when your teeth grazed his skin, his back meeting the couch arm as you subconsciously grinded your hips against his pants, straddling him.

“Is this how you wanted me earlier,” you said, stopping your movements, “when we were outside in the cold?”

By now his shirt was off and your fingers unbuckling his belt with gentle clinking sounds from the metal.

“No,” he said in an impossibly deep voice, looking dead at you as he spoke, “My first mind wanted to fuck you silly in the backseat… but I couldn’t to that to you.”

You giggled at his choice of words given how high you were, shimmying his pants down a bit further before halting at the waistband of his boxers, palming him gently through the fabric.

“Why not?” You asked in a soft voice, contrasting with the fierce grip you had on his clothed shaft.

“Because... even though you’re being an impossible tease right now, I felt like you deserved better than to be fucked in your best friends boyfriend's truck,” he said with a shaky voice, gripping at the couch to contain himself.

You appreciated his consideration in your heart, but didn’t wanna say anything out loud, especially not while your hands were on him like this.

And thank God for these thick curtains, otherwise the whole world would’ve seen how red his throbbing tip looked after finally being freed from the restrictions of his boxers.

You started at the base of his length before gliding upwards, spitting on the head that was already leaking a bit of his early release.

You started to pump him slowly, pearly white precum standing out as it mixed with your clear spit like watercolor.

“Use your mouth for me,” he almost begged, eyes falling victim to a blurry haze as his knuckles turned white with his grip on the cushions.

You teased him a bit by letting your warm breath ghost over his tip, eliciting a groan from him as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

The desperation inside of him only grew from here as your warm and wet lips finally wrapped around him.

You hollowed your cheeks a bit, hands resting at either side of his hips as you began using your tongue to help you take him inch by inch.

“Mmm, feels so fucking good, baby,” he said with a strained voice, his hands finding your head before his thumbs grazed your lips, one of them prying to squeeze itself into your mouth with his already thick cock.

The sight alone was enough to make him buss, so he threw his head back, biting his lip harshly to contain his sounds.

You hummed against his dick, almost feeling it in your chest once his hands pushed your head down further.

He just couldn’t deal with your teasing anymore, wanting to feel you more than he could begin to explain.

He bucked his hips upwards, rutting into your mouth like a bunny in heat. “Aww, fuck,” he cursed, watching the way your eyes glazed with tears.

He always managed to see you crying one way or another, and he loved it every single time.

Your fingernails dug into his sides as the sound of your gagging became hard to miss. He released your head with a sigh, panting as both of your faces burned with heat.

He didn’t expect you to start pumping him again though as soon as your mouth left his cock, but you knew he’d end up missing your warmth in seconds anyways.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean when I did that, by the way,” he sighed, biting his lip as you looked back at him with moist eyelashes, “I just couldn’t hold bac- nghhh~.”

A broken moan escaped his mouth once your hands found his balls, gently cradling them in your hands while alternating with pressures, your other hand still stroking him.

“I’m doing quite the favor for you, Wonbin,” you said with a rasp voice, your throat a bit sore from his actions on top of the smoke you huffed earlier, but he figured it made you sound hotter anyway. “Are you sure I’m not overdoing it?”

“Mmm… no, p-please don’t stop, baby,” he whimpered shamelessly, screwing his eyebrows tightly.

You felt yourself clench around nothing at the nickname, and judging from the way his face changed, you’d bet he noticed.

By now, he could hardly keep still, the muscles in his stomach flexing just as you felt his balls tighten, just as he was finished, chest heaving with need as you rode out his high.

That's when you started to take off your jeans, tossing them in the corner somewhere as he practically drooled at the sight of you in just a baggy top and panties, a dark spot forming at the center of your core where your arousal started to leak through.

“____,” he paused you, bringing you into his lap, your warm core sitting right atop his aching hardness, “you don’t have to go this far if you don’t want to.”

“Well maybe this isn’t just about me owing you anymore,” you whispered, kissing him on the corner of his mouth, “what if I want this?”

His cock stimulated you through your panties as he thought on your words, subconsciously rocking your hips back and forth.

“Then I’ll let you have your way with me…” he said with a rasp whisper, kissing up your neck as one of his hands massaged your tits, his other hand sneaking past your underwear to find your soaking wet clit, rubbing it slowly but with such a pressure that your fingers clung to his broad shoulders.

“I want you to make me feel like I’m falling apart,” he groaned against your skin, spreading your slick all over your aching pussy lips, “I want you to ruin me.”

You didn't waste any time with aligning him at your entrance, sliding down with ease most of the way given how wet you were.

He groaned as your tight walls fully consumed him.

“Fuck~,” you whined, feeling euphorically full as he started thrusting into you, hands gripping at your back as he became overstimulated inside you.

The drugs must've made you feel extra sensitive, especially with the way his tip fucked against your g-spot. You looked into his teary eyes, stoking his face as you helped to bounce with his movements, lewd sounds bouncing off of the walls.

“You’re being so fucking good for me, baby, just like that," he moaned as you clenched around him, too high to give a damn about filling you up raw with thick spurts of his cum.

“Wonie,” you whimpered, feeling as his hands roamed all over your climaxing body.

You felt every part of him in every part of you, and to say the least, it was worth all the awkward moments it took to get here.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke up with your head resting on Wonbin’s chest, his messy hair spread about his head as you felt his breath faintly on your head. You probably looked like two babies with the way you were cuddling each other under the blanket.

It was a sickeningly cute sight, one might say.

“Sick and twisted,” you heard Shotaro say in the back of your mind, just as Wonbin groaned beneath you with a cat-like yawn.

“I still feel high,” was the first thing he said, making you giggle a little more than necessary before looking him in the face, the effects of your night together ever-present on his face.

“I feel…good,” you smiled.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hummed back, peeling yourself from his body as you blinked the tiredness from your eyes.

“You can keep a secret, right?” He asked hesitantly, voice barely audible given how quietly he spoke.

“With my whole life,” you answered, now making eye contact with him which was surprisingly way easier to do than a day ago.

He found your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “We should do each other favors more often… but… maybe not call it that.”

Was he initiating a sexual relationship with you?

Maybe something more?

“Well…” you started curiously, “what would you wanna call it instead, then?”

A grin peeped on his face that quickly softened when he licked his lips, giving your hand a squeeze once again before parting his lips to speak. “Maybe-”

“Fuck,” Roxanne sighed with annoyance, “you horny ducks didn’t blow my candles out last night… now the wax is no good,” she sulked.

“Oh, s-sorry about that, Roxie, we were smoking and it helped the smell,” Wonbin answered first.

“… wait, did you just call us horny ducks?” You asked with a mix of confusion, offense, and realization.

She heard you two.

Hell, of course she did.

“What? You think I didn’t hear Wonbin and his vocal ass practically singing as you did… whatever you did to him…?,” She rambled on, washing her hands in the sink before pulling some from produce from the fridge.

“Oh my God,” Wonbin cringed at himself, covering his face with his hands, though his ears were clearly burning red now.

“The blanket… you brought it in here, didn’t you,” you asked her, just now noticing that it was one she kept at the end of her bed.

“Yep! You’re welcome, freaks,” she chirped through a mouthful of raw celery, drawing your attention to the knife and cutting board she handled, “I’m gonna need your help soon though, ____. We're cooking for a mini get-together later with Taro and Sungchan.”

You hummed at her words, folding up the blanket while thankful that despite how high you two were last night, you managed to put your clothes back on before the sun came up.

“You guys should get cleaned up first, too, by the way,” she said, side-eyeing you as she diced a few green onions. “And preferably not at the same time, please... I’ve heard enough moans for the rest of this week, thanks to you two.”

⚡︎ a/n: I just wanna say thank you to everyone who read this goofy lil piece I wrote !! It's been a while since I wrote something that wasn't requesting, and I had so much fun getting back in my creative mode again !! Hopefully you guys enjoyed it as much as I did huhu !!

📍 check out my NEW RIIZE masterlist

⚡︎ tag list: @ashgonedash @jaylaxies @fakeuwus @ot7sevenlvr @nqvgue @riizebinnie @cherriruto @sungbbinieworld @kvstjwonnie @yjshannie @hyunjinsnumberonefun @nikisdubblchococake @babigriin @greasywall @snrrpyzen @squoxle @wonbinkisser @quirkymoon @bominute @serenityqtz @bahraini-aphrodite @jewjewbee04 @minslatte @svtf1lms @suquitoz @hyunilinia @yeonkis @pixiewoni @loljungwon @sunwonkiworld @iizanaa @bambseung @deadpool15 @s1eepyanahi @wearscvn @spkyfy @urfavmommy @anna-357j @numberonetaleprince @write4cench @choqolei @zhonglele02 @xenkimmie @whoslio @leeknow-minho2 @songbird033

[glitter-epoch]

Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.” 

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.  

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...” 

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling. 

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.” 

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked. 

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.” 

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory. 

i’ve been personally invited to the office.  

not like it’s the first time, though.  

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too). 

“lay down,” zayne commands.  

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up. 

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.” 

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.  

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.” 

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.  

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.” 

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.  

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad. 

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.” 

“and that’s bad?” 

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.” 

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.” 

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.  

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.” 

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.” 

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.  

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.” 

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.” 

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose. 

“ouch,” you hiss. 

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.  

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse. 

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.  

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says, 

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?” 

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.” 

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.” 

your eyes blow out like glass. 

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.” 

“oh, how nice of you.” 

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.  

he inhales at the sound. 

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly. 

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest. 

you bristle. “god, no.” 

“then why are you staring?”  

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say, 

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.” 

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”   

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think. 

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.” 

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.  

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures. 

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.” 

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.” 

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?” 

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.” 

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.  

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.” 

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine. 

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.” 

“it’s okay.” 

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill. 

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.  

you peel one eye open and then the other. 

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.” 

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.” 

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident. 

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.” 

“okay.” 

his brows lift. “okay?” 

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.” 

“no apologies,” zayne says. 

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.  

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.  

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.” 

well, i can’t now. 

“got it,” you grind out. 

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...” 

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth. 

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.” 

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.  

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.  

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?” 

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.” 

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.” 

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.” 

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.  

“no,” you gasp. too fast. 

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?” 

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.” 

oh, sure.  

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.” 

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying. 

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.  

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.  

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done. 

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.” 

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-” 

“watch.” 

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?” 

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.  

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.” 

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.” 

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.  

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand. 

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up. 

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.  

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs. 

“where?” you croak. 

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.” 

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.  

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word. 

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.” 

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.  

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more. 

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.  

“you like to watch me work,” he hums. 

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over. 

“shut up,” you bite. 

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving. 

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.  

his pupils are swollen. “sure.” 

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.  

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.  

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches. 

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare. 

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.” 

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.” 

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says, 

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.” 

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.” 

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins. 

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?” 

you swallow. “of course.” 

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds. 

“oh, sure,” you tease. 

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.  

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.” 

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’ 

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

[extremely-judgemental]

[Really, really long post.]

Every time I see ‘let my girl be happy’ tag and the post is about canon Nessian, it infuriates me as much as breaks my heart. Sometimes I wonder those who romanticise Cassian’s behaviour are speaking from a place of privilege or ignorance because admitting that calls for addressing real life abuse that misogyny forces them to endure.

I’m an Indian living in a highly patriarchal, misogynistic society where women are still required to marry someone out of convenience for the sake of their families. This is not the cute arranged marriages you read in books or watch in movies. Most women have to sacrifice everything they are and they stand for to ease the family’s burden. Let’s not start with dowry or DV. Sure our society has progressed in many ways, this is still reality of most women when it comes to marriages and having a family. No matter how well off you are, no matter how successful you are in your career. It’s more nuanced than you can imagine where the parents meddle with children’s life at every step and our lives are more intertwined with our families than in western society. So I simply can’t read Nesta’s story and delude myself that she got a happy ending with Cassian or the IC. I try to keep my emotions out of most of the criticisms to help people see the situation objectively. That’s hard to do in this case but I’ll try.

Nesta is the eldest child who ‘fails’ her sisters when it is her father’s responsibility to take care of three young girls. Being groomed to be a housewife all her life, Nesta contributes as much as she can by doing the chores and nurturing her family the only way she knows how. She seeks help from relatives and friends while the ones in position to do so ignore her. And when the time comes, she finds the way to be of useful to her family by marrying Tomas. Despite all this, Nesta is a failure of a sister simply because Feyre made a choice. These only come to light in Nesta’s book and even the few instances where Feyre realises this, there’s no real appreciation for her efforts. They are dismissed and only mentioned to highlight Feyre’s empathic tendencies and her general awareness of her sisters’ plights rather than uplifting Nesta’s character itself. None of these are acknowledged as these aren’t the typical masculine ways that’s glorified throughout the series.

As Nesta navigates her life as a recently transformed fae, she partakes in a war she has no part in. She has no obligation or need to risk her life for Night Court, or any other court, or even the mortals. These are the same acts that make Feyre a hero in the first book. But when it comes to Nesta and she rises up to the occasion, it’s downplayed as she deals with PTSD from her death, the Cauldron, the toll of war, and her father’s death. None of her sacrifices or her attempts to protect her sisters are given an ounce of importance or due respect that it deserves. It’s turned into Nesta’s duty as the eldest sister or the sister of Night Court’s High Lady instead.

When Nesta deals with her trauma, everyone takes great pleasure in controlling how the situation pans out. She goes as far as to live alone to spare her sisters, yet Feyre and Elain who have the choice of when and how to regulate their emotions, don’t grasp the concept of personal space. Her actions are self-sabotaging at best and have no real consequence on any of the other characters. Still, they are amplified to an extent that it’s made into a court affair. And the reason for this is Nesta isn’t coping in the right way. Gambling, drinking and sex which are common activities for the IC become a question of their reputation the moment she does it in her pain, emphasising that these are only acceptable when she does it with them. Spending Feyre’s money on gambling may seem like a reasonable cause for the IC to interfere but if we factor in how Nesta’s rightful wealth from Tamlin or her father was lost because of the direct consequence of IC’s actions, along with the fact that she’s still owed money for her contribution in the war, Nesta is deliberately stripped off any monetary agency to trap her.

If this isn’t punishment enough, Nesta is locked in an inescapable tower with a man she wants no part with. And when she fights, she is lied to about laws and threatened to be thrown among people who consider her a threat. She has no interest in training to fight or work for the Night Court but she’s forced to. She’s not compensated for any of this labour either. Nesta is known to starve herself after the war to the point that she’s all ‘skin and bones’. Cassian, an established gym bro in the series, weaponises food against her when she doesn’t eat what is offered and when. The moment she shows any interest in eating, he judges her for being picky and brings up her latent guilt that leads her down that path in the first place. And later on, knowing she’s not fit enough IC insists on training her right away and in freezing conditions without proper clothing. Nesta soon learns that she has no choice but to comply, goes on to train with Cassian, work in the library, and accept the food the house gives her. This is the first step in breaking her.

Nesta has no one to rely on or even talk to in the house except for Cassian. The relationship that develops between them is not circumstantial but a well orchestrated one. Even for small talk, her only choice is Cassian. After finding out Nesta was SA’d by the kelpie and was on the verge of death, no one (including her sisters) cares for her as much as they should. The one person who checks on her is Cassian and even he’s so overcome with his desire and lust that he has sex with her instead of comforting her. It’s a common knowledge that sex is a coping mechanism for her, and has been SA’d twice which something only Cassian knows. This perpetuates the idea that even when a woman is hurting and in pain, she has to be appealing, her trauma should be sexually gratifying and desirable for the man. A woman can walk back from the doors of death but she has to look pretty while doing it. There’s nothing empowering about that.

Feyre looks down on Nesta for contemplating selling her body to take care of her sisters. But the same is expected from her when she serves Night Court and seduces Eris. It’s almost glorified and revered by Cassian himself. During their conversation in River House, he lets Nesta believe that she has to earn his love and her sisters’. Not once does he contradict any of her fears or insecurities. For the first time, Nesta has sex with him without it being an escape and the next morning Cassian abandons her enforcing the idea that she indeed earned the sex and love for what she did in CoN.

When Nesta reveals the truth about Feyre’s pregnancy, her true feelings are swept under the rug with how she ‘failed’ her sister again. Nesta has the right to out Rhysand and his plans. And even if the situation isn’t the most appropriate, Nesta is locked in a tower and only ever talks to anyone when IC choose which limits her options. Besides, when will the timing be perfect for such conversation? Nesta is again vilified for being the only one honest to her sister and punished. Her intentions are warped to cover up others’ mistakes. Cassian is again the one who punishes her for it. Nesta is suicidal and Cassian recognises the signs. He insists on taking the hike, also using silent treatment to enforce the idea that Nesta is the one on the wrong. His interactions with Feyre proves none of them dwell on Nesta’s actions as much as she believes. While Nesta is having a guilt trip edging her closer to suicide, Cassian is laughing behind her back with Feyre, almost enjoying her fears. At the end of this trip, Nesta talks about her trauma for the first time, Cassian swoops in with his own sorrows and how he overcame them. Instead of making Nesta feel seen and heard, she’s again lectured on what she should do and how.

Lastly, Cassian and Morrigan have a mildly, if not completely, inappropriate relationship which Nesta is expected to accept. If she expresses jealousy or anger, it’s not because of the bond or their relationship but will be seen as an inherent quality of Nesta. She can’t fight it as everyone else has accepted it as a normal relationship. If Nesta shows any displeasure, her past of sleeping with other men will be brought into the conversation and she will be scrutinised. This is very similar to the ‘men will be men’ narrative where the man can flirt with whoever he wants and it’s harmless but the woman has to behave.

Throughout the series, everyone is against Nesta. Her family is her responsibility. She has duty to protect them and serve them no matter the circumstances, no matter how it costs her or how much pain she is in. Her own sisters will side with her in-laws saying it’s how things are and she ‘doesn’t have to be so miserable’. Her life is forever bound to a man she initially wanted nothing to do with and her everyday life is dependent on him. She is trapped with him until she learns to accept her fate. He doesn’t lay a hand on her but he psychologically and emotionally abuses her until she complies with his family and behaves to fit their image. He even gives her silent treatment, withdraws sex/intimacy from her, leaves her alone in the tower, cuts her off from everyone she loves and cares about if she misbehaves. She has no financial independence leaving her at the mercy of her sister and her family. Even when she’s hurting, she has no choice but to risk her life for them or go to wars when they demand. She goes as far as to change her body for her future child. Her life is threatened by her in-laws but no one bats an eye at that forever leaving her fearing for her safety.

If you believe it’s just fiction and all this is exaggeration of something in a fantasy book, you really need to look around you. This is a real nightmare for most women all over the world. Your girl Nesta isn’t happy. She settled. She has accepted a life where she’s treated less than a dog and is used as a weapon. She’s been beaten down until she learnt not to step out of line if she wants to live. She is still with Cassian because she doesn’t see a life other than that as an option and has come to accept whatever scraps her sister and her family have decided to throw her way. And I sincerely hope if you ever come across a real life Rhysand or Cassian, you have the wits to protect yourself and run the other way.

[nariism]

gojo satoru believes that all good things come in twos.

he was the second half of his best friend, after all— part of a wandering soul somewhere else in japan spouting some bullshit about retribution. he hasn't quite been the same since 2009.

it wasn't always this way. never before had he been so endeared, so enchanted by the prospect of keeping things together just for the sake of it. 

he remembers clearly the day this hyperfixation started, actually: a warm summer sunday in sagae with you dragging him along through the local fruit market. you picked out a bag of cherries, holding up a twin pair of them and dangling them in his face.

"they're sweeter here," you told him with such a fascinated expression, completely enamoured by the ruby jewels held between your fingers. and he savoured that moment, as mundane as it was, because your eyes were shining in adoration at such a perfect pair of cherries. 

(also, when you ate them your lips stained a pretty shade of red that made him salivate.)

he realized that things felt more whole in pairs: two hands cupping his face, two charms dangling from your neck, two cherries infinitely sweeter than one. two hearts, two souls, two people who both belong and don't belong in such a wicked world cradling each other with a shared breath.

gojo felt lonely without another— in the time between geto's defection and your reunion, he missed the feeling of being the other half of a duo. nanami buried himself into work. shoko fared no better. he was utterly, shamefully alone.

he was a new person when you returned to him. a lot of things had changed. but despite the distance and the slow untwining of your lives over the years, you knew gojo to be stubborn more than anything.

"two dogs are better than one," he argued when megumi was first learning how to control his cursed technique.

"he's just a kid. making him responsible for one, let alone two, is crazy!"

"i'm telling you, megumi is no pushover! you'll see."

he was right. sometimes (and only sometimes) he does know better. two was better than one.

you could see it in megumi's face when both dogs pounced on him, licking him and wagging their tails. in fact, it was probably the first time you'd ever seen the kid smile at all.

so you went along with gojo, indulged him whenever he reached for two things instead of one: two boxes of juice from the convenience store fridge, two fingers locked together while you walk, two earbuds split between you so you can sing together. two hearts, two souls, two blue eyes fluttering shut when he leans in to kiss you.

when he asked you to move in with him, you weren't surprised in the least. you were also not surprised to see how he set things up around the house, nothing lonely and everything in a pair. gojo feels like you think he's insane. he might be.

being with you made him feel as normal as gojo satoru could ever feel in this life— breathing no longer hurt like water filling his lungs. it was as natural as you basking in the rising sun every morning. living didn't need to be justified anymore. he wasn't obligated to be the strongest. he just needed to exist in your warmth.

things make sense in twos. the world is less gloomy with you by his side.

it's unspoken between you, but you oblige to his strange fixation anyways: two slices of peanut butter on toast in the morning, two stars atop a christmas tree, two picture frames on every side table. two hearts, two souls, two people being each other's reason to keep pushing.

he thinks he loves you a foolish amount. knows he shouldn't be putting all his eggs into one basket. he might be untouchable, but you aren't.

it's inevitable. one day, gojo satoru will be alone again.

and it's a fair exchange for power; a curse he wishes he was never born with. if he had the choice, he would have picked you over limitless power without a moment's pause.

he doesn't have the choice. unlucky.

all he can really do is let you cup his face. feed him cherries. argue over how to raise megumi and tsumiki and live in your little fantasy of pretending to be a family. all he can do is cherish the time you have left together, regardless of how long. all he can do is hope you'll say yes.

two hearts, two souls, two matching rings (one white, one black; he was poetic that way). one meant for him, and the other meant for you— a promise to keep and to break.

he doesn’t care. you and him make the best pair he can think of, no matter how fleeting.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[thechaoticdruid]

Hello! A scene rewrite for your consideration (no obligation of course!):

Astarion’s siblings’ reactions when they break into the party’s camp at the Elfsong Tavern and see Astarion and Winnie cuddling in bed. After the fight, Winnie asks him about not having empathy for the other spawn and Astarion says his line, “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind thing to me…you’re the only one.”

angst/hurt/comfort?

Thank you for your amazing writing! ❤️

Forever

Pairing: Astarion x Named!Tav (Winnie)

Note: I hope you don't mind, but some of it is word for word from the game while some is changed a bit, but it's pretty much the same context. This is literally one of my favorite scenes in the game! Also please ignore that the photo is not set in the same place as this oneshot. The oneshot takes place in the Elfsong!

Content: Violence, Fluff, slight angst with comfort. Nothing too bad!

Winnie had never thought she'd feel safe enough to sleep peacefully, undisturbed. Not since before the attack on the Lost Grove, her childhood home, did she ever truly feel safe. Today had been particularly tiring since Winnie, Astarion, Jaheira and Karlach had been on the trail of Jaheira’s friend Minsc. Karlach seemed super excited to meet him, apparently he was some great hero or something. Winnie had never been too educated on Faerûn’s heros. They didn't tell stories of them in the Lost Grove. Now she was resting up in their room in the Elfsong, snuggled up in Astarion's arms as he played with her hair, face nuzzled into his chest. The two of them laid on the bed together hidden away from the view of the others as the drapes closed off the room they were in. 

Astarion was awake watching over the human druid as she dozed off in his arms. The sound of the Elfsong’s ghostly songstress lulling her to sleep. Astarion leans over and plants a chaste kiss on her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of lavender and cherry blossoms, the druid’s signature scent. 

For a while she was in a peaceful slumber, but the wicked don't sleep, someone was here to disturb her rest.

Astarion’s pointed ears detected the sound of footsteps and the scent of undeath hit him hard. 

His siblings had come for a visit, slipping in through the curtains that separated them from the rest of their sleeping companions. Glowing red eyes gazed over at the couple in curiosity.

“Astarion? Finally we've found you.” A tiefling female said as she stepped through the curtains. She was followed shortly by what appeared to be a shirtless human male. The two immediately noticed Astarion curled up around his sleeping human love. Astarion mentally cursed himself for allowing his siblings of all people to witness him in such a vulnerable moment. Cazador was the last person that needed to know of his relationship with Winnie.  

“Looks like he found himself a pet mortal.” The man murmured. Astarion slipped away from Winnie and stood in front of her. 

“Oh, her? She's more of a convenient blood bag, really.” Astarion bluffed, hoping his lie would make sure Cazador didn't see Winnie as a means of leverage to use against him. Winnie shifted, exposing the faded bite marks upon her neck.

“Nevermind that brother, you're coming with us.” The tiefling said before she and the male began to corner Astarion.

Winnie slowly shifted, unconsciously feeling around her bed for her lover. Her eyes blinked open as she suddenly heard the sound of shouting. 

“GET THE HELLS AWAY FROM ME!” Astarion snarled. Winnie leapt out of bed now wide awake as she noticed Astarion backing away from two unfamiliar intruders with his fangs barred. 

“Peace brother, we've come to take you home.” The tiefling said. Winnie glared at them and moved over towards Astarion's side.

“The master needs all seven of us for the ceremony, come with us and be reborn. We'll live again.” The man said.

“You're not taking Astarion anywhere.” Winnie growled out, taking a step in front of him protectively.

“Our master needs him for the Rite. He must attend.” The tiefling woman said.

“Oh, I'm well aware of what the master needs. But don't we deserve better?” Astarion spoke up.

“Better? What do you mean?” The other male spawn questioned.

“After these centuries of torment, I know what you all want, more than power, more than to walk in the sun.” Astarion looked at the other two spawn before a devilish grin formed upon his lips. “You want to see him dead.” The other spawn looked at one another as Astarion continued. Winnie rose an eyebrow at Astarion, curious about what he had to say. “The Rite of Profane Ascension will be mine and he won't see a scrap of its glory. I am going to complete the ritual as the Ascendant and then I am going to kill him!” 

Winnie's eyes widened in surprise. He was really still trying to go through with this despite all of her warnings. Winnie wasn’t a stranger when it came to killing, but his siblings were under Cazador's control just as much as he'd been. Whatever their sins were, they weren't their own. At least that's how it was in Winnie's mind. 

“This is your chance. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge and you will live again.”  Winnie could see the lie in his smile, the hunger for power was clear as day. He'd throw them to the wolves for his own gain.  Normally Winnie would be sickened by such a rotten scheme, but being that it was her lover cooking it up she just felt disappointed. 

“Astarion, you can't be this cruel. You're asking them to die for you in that ritual.” Winnie looked at him, eyes saddened. Astarion tensed as he looked back at his lover's round puppy-like eyes, the soft pout of her lips nearly making him cave.

“Don't look at me like that. With the sweet little ‘disappointed I'm not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can't take it.” He glared back at her slightly. “I can't be what you want to see in me.” 

“Die in the ritual? Whatever are you speaking of? We're going to cheat undeath.” The tiefling said, looking quite puzzled.

“Cazador is lying to you. He needs your souls to complete this ritual!” Winnie exclaimed, “why else do you think he wants Astarion back so badly?”

“The master doesn't need to lie to us. He controls us completely. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope?”

“Oh, I don't know…Maybe because he's a sadistic piece of shit?” Winnie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at their ignorance.

“Shit. She's right, we're doomed.” The male spawn said. “Alright, we'll help you. Just tell us what to do.” Just as he was about to speak further the tiefling woman began to cry out in pain, her body glowing red.

“The bond’s hold. He owns us. We have no choice, we must obey. Get out of here, Astarion!”  She shouted before the other male began to glow red as well.  Winnie tensed, the sound of the front doors to the connecting rooms slamming open sent her into survival mode. Almost immediately she dropped down, wild shaping into her direwolf form with a loud howl to alert the others. 

Astarion quickly grabbed his rapier from under the bed as his tiefling sister came at him with claws. Astarion's blocked her with the blade, slashing her across the chest and kicking her back. Winnie immediately jumped on Astarion's brother and sank her teeth into his shoulder. While the other members of their group fought with the other invading spawn, they were able to slip right past them and make their way towards the room where Astarion and Winnie were locked in combat. 

They lunged at the transformed druid, sinking their fangs into her flesh and draining her of her precious ichor. Winnie released the spawn, jerking back with a high pitched dog like whine as the other spawns mobbed her.

“Winnie!” Astarion pushed his sister out of the way and rushed over to the druid as she was forced out of her wild shape and into her human form. The arcane trickster kicked one of his siblings off her before casting scorching ray and hitting multiple of them with it. Winnie had to take a moment to regain her composure as her head was spinning from blood loss. 

This is bad….Fuck…If only the sun was….Wait a minute!

“Sol Invictus!” Winnie suddenly cast daylight on one of the nearby chairs, sending intense beams of light at all of the nearby vampire spawn. Their skin began to sizzle and scorch. Astarion's siblings immediately made a run for the exit, disappearing into mist before they could be turned to ashes. Winnie huffed a bit, eyes glancing around at the blood and damage caused by their uninvited guests. 

“What a mess. Well at least you've met my family now.” Astarion sighed, running a hand through his hair. Winnie crossed her arms and glared at Astarion.

“Oh come on, you're not still pouting over this!” Astarion whined.

“That was low Astarion. Lying to them like that.” Winnie huffed out.

“I don't know why you're so upset. They're only six vampire spawn!” 

“Can’t you at least be a little sympathetic to others who suffered the same as you?” 

“None of them would do the same for me! 200 years or torment and no one ever said a kind thing to me! You're the only one.” He said, gesturing towards the brunette haired druid.

“Astarion.” Winnie frowned, a saddened look in her eyes. 

“Other people don't have a heart like you….You're you….No one is like that.” Astarion said softly before suddenly feeling a soft hand on his cheek as Winnie looked into his eyes.

“Star, there are so many wonderful people in this world who will love you as much as I do. You just need to open your heart to them.” Astarion placed his larger hand over Winnie's. 

“Don't sell yourself so short. I'm doing this for you too, you know. To make sure we're both safe. Forever.” Astarion smiled sweetly as he gazed lovingly back at his druid before adding a firm, “for good.” Winnie smiled at him, eyes growing soft.

“Your sweet words aren't gonna change my view on this I'm afraid.” Winnie smirked, “but I am rather happy to hear you want to protect me.” 

“Stubborn little thing.” Astarion murmured before leaning in to kiss Winnie's forehead. “I saw you get bitten quite a few times. Are you alright?” 

“I feel woozy I guess, tired.” Winnie admitted, before receiving another forehead kiss. 

“Wait here, I'll go get you something to eat.”Her vampiric love hummed.

“Ooh! Ooh! Cheese!” Winnie said giddily as her partner rolled his eyes with a smile before walking off to fetch her some food. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Taglist for Winnie's during campaign oneshots:

@vixstarria , @paganwitchisis , @kerwin290710

[blossomthepinkbunny]

I'll probably just go on a rant after starting with this topic, but Helluva Boss really failed at showing us that Stolas doesn't look down on Imps. Or that he doesn't treat Blitzø as an exception, while not caring for Imps as a whole and the struggles they face. The only Imps/other lower-class Hellborns we see Stolas interact with are ones he:

-dislikes and shoves in Blitzø's face to make him feel guilty (Striker)

-abuses physically (his Butler)

-is indifferent to because they're on his side with being mad at Blitzø (Verosika, Tex)

-gets something out of (Blitzø, the guy at Verosikas party)

-ignores (Millie, Moxxie, Loona)

He gives Imps nicknames like: "little ones", uses the word "impish" as if Blitzø being an Imp implies anything about his behaviour (specifically his behaviour in bed). He tells Blitzø that his "friend", Striker tried to kill him, which either means that he believes every Imp knows/is friends with eachother or, that he said that to make Blitzø feel like he and Striker are like-minded (basically putting someone who was reasonably mad at him and tried to discuss their issues on the same side as someone who tried to assassinated him twice), which is manipulative as hell. He also ignores the fact that Blitzø couldn't come to save him because he had to take his daughter to the doctor (as if Loonas safety is less important than his, even though Blitzø has more of a reason to care for Loona than for him) and, that he sent Millie and Moxxie to save him (without them he literally wouldn't have survived). Stolas ignored Millie and Moxxie helping him in "LooLoo Land" as well, he only asked where Blitzø is because he is his "knight in shining armour", because he gets something out of him, which means he can just ignore the other Imps, who have no obligation/interest to sleep with him. Stolas being rich is never something he uses for the greater good. He could easily help Blitzø and his employees out financially, though I get that that might not be something Blitzø would want. But other than that as well, him seemingly having authority as royalty is completely useless. He only gets recognized in public when it's plot convenient (he has assassins trying to kill him as soon as he leaves the house in "LooLoo Land" and "Harvest Moon Festival", but going to a party with atleast 50 people or so is completely fine and no one seems to recognize him). We don't really see any of the duties he has as royalty. Apart from organizing the Harvest Moon festival, there really seems to be nothing he does (unless i'm forgetting something). The fact that he has to repress his sexuality also feels a little less impactful when you remember that Andrealphus and Vasago are also Gay. Though I guess we don't really know the connection they'll have to the story yet. The fact that he is super wealthy isn't really brought to focus either. He lives in a mansion and wears fancier clothes than the Imps, but that's just sorta it. Him being royal just makes the power imbalance much more apparent. Something that (from how I see it) was done intentionally, because Blitzø and Stolas were never ment to be endgame from the very start. At first it seems like Stolas is mostly just a running gag character, who got some depth in "LooLoo Land" but was never ment to be that important to Blitzø's story. He was more of a device that the I.M.P need to keep save, not because they actually cared for him (as he doesn't really care for them either), but because he is the only way they'll get to the human world. Characters that seemed like they'd be much more important to Blitzø's personal journey were:

-Moxxie (who probably gets used the best out of pretty much every character in HB, atleast in his relationship with Blitzø. Though they also didn't have real interactions for a while now)

-Loona (who hasn't changed her abusive behaviour towards him, because the show fails to give her meaningful screentime with Blitzø)

-Millie (who sorta has no real relationship to Blitzø aside from not really being dismissive of his actions. Though the Ghost episode might focus on how they met, etc.)

-Verosika (who they could've gotten more out of with the actually interesting relation she has to Blitzø, with a seemingly genuine and happy relationship they had, had they not sidelined her for the other, more uninteresting ship)

-Fizzarolli (who is utilized pretty well, though he and Blitzø got over their issues really fast and now they're just best buddies again with no complications and interesting moments whatsoever)

-Barbie Wire (Ya know, his sister who literally got nothing at all in terms of screentime, even though she should arguably be one of, if not the most important relationship Blitzø would need to be confronted with)

-Striker (who, from my understanding presented not only a threat to Stolas, but also a possible temptation for Blitzø to go against the system they live in. It was clear that he and Blitzø shared atleast some common ground, judging by the fact that he nearly became a new member of I.M.P because Blitzø liked him. They had chemistry and what Striker says about the system of hell is true and seemed like it would present a new option for Blitzø. A way to break free from oppression, which he might have never considered but is considering now that someone gave him a chance for things to change. But Striker got turned into a villian who completely lost the connection he shared with Blitzø. To become just another way the show could coddle Stolas by saying: "Oh no, Striker is saying that the upper class takes advantage of the lower classes?! But Stolas would never look down on Blitzø! He must be really aggressive and also, he was just hired by the evil Stella who wants Stolas dead for no good reason! So let's just ignore all the good reasons Striker has for wanting Stolas dead one way or another! Striker doesn't know what he's talking about, he was only an Imp suppressed by the upper class his whole life, how would he know what's best for Imp's?! Afterall Stolas is in love with Blitzø for real!!! That means that there is no problem with the royalty whatsoever and Striker and anyone like him should just shut up and stop complaining UwU..." <- definitely exaggerated)

(can you tell i'm really upset about what they did with Striker)

Some of these characters got dropped in order to make space for more screentime for Stolas, who is now considered the most important relationship for Blitzøs development, even though he should most definitely heal in other places, with other people before immediately deciding wether he wants to be in a romantic and sexual relationship or not. Blitzø has lots of issues and hurt a lot of people, there should be a lot of room to explore these relationships and to make Blitzø heal by sorting out his stuff, but the one he has with Stolas is not the one they should focus on first and foremost. If the way they've been writing Stolas for season two isn't going to change for the better, then I think he should've just stayed as an edgy joke. Atleast then he would've added context to the Imp's lower class status without taking away screentime from them and leaving way more interesting characters to be ingnored.

[qqueenofhades]

Maybe this is a controversial opinion, but its one that I've been reminded of in the few weeks since things have escalated so severely in Israel and Palestine-- I feel like the pressure for random, average individuals online to be vocally political is not only entitled and uncomfortable, but also just an example of misplaced priority.

Like, I have people on twitter right now that are flat out saying if you don't talk extensively about I/P you're truly, irredeemably evil. I've had mutuals say that silence means you're complacent in genocide, that you have blood on your hands (exact words). But it just doesn't make sense? Most of the people who I've seen being flat out harassed for being silent are teenagers who don't have money to donate, working class folks who don't have time to spare, and normal people who just don't have enough of a following online to even spread any word effectively. Of course, the ones doing the harassing are also poor/busy/not-popular, but they don't see the irony. (I've also seen them say that talking about war constantly is taking a toll on their mental health, saying they've cried, had nightmares, panic attacks, etc...but they also say that taking a mental health break from social media is "selfish" and genocidal, so.)

The whole interaction leaves me with so many questions. If stepping away from social media because politics are stressing you out (which they are known to do), are you obligated to use social media? Do you have to use twitter to be a good person? What does that say about people who can't afford a phone, or live in a country where it isn't quite possible? (Are homeless folks inherently genocidal, or is that an "obvious" exception that was never clarified because no one uses nuance anymore?) If you have to talk about world events, lest you side with the oppressor, at what point is something so catastrophic you *must* talk about it? Is there a number of lives lost that is low enough you can get away with being quiet, and a certain amount too high that you're obligated to talk about it? Is it your duty to have the news on 24/7 to make sure you don't miss anything and catch all the global disasters as they happen? How much do you have to talk about something for it to be considered "enough"? Is there a quota??

It just feels like a lot of people are acting as if people who aren't chronically online aren't 1. doing any activism, because the only important activism is social media networking (sarcasm), or 2. are inherently bad people for *not* spending 6 hours a day on their phones. Like, I had someone I thought was a friend say I was a bad person because I was trying to cut down my social media usage, because the timing was "too convenient"... as if that's a normal thing to say to someone, ever. Sorry if I went on a little bit of a rant, it wasn't my intention. I dunno, maybe it's just me; I've seen a lot of people saying this sort of stuff so maybe they are the majority. It just feels really weird to let people that are addicted to social media take charge of who online is "good" or "bad" based off their internet usage. As if we were all catholics or something. If I were to say that current takes on morality were very catholic-seeming, would you know what I mean?

As recently noted, I am myself on an embargo from answering asks related to this topic. I will make one exception because this is important. Please note that any wank in replies or reblogs will be instantly blocked (and I won't hesitate to disable reblogs if necessary). I will not be answering follow-up asks or getting drawn into Discourse. I do not want to do it and it will not be happening.

I have said it before, but it bears saying again: thinking that the only way to Do Activism is to be constantly on social media and immersing yourself in terrible things nonstop and then posting the Most Correct Opinions (and then viciously attacking anyone who is even slightly Not As Correct as you) is absolutely bullshit. If you're engaging with this content so much that it's giving you a mental breakdown or otherwise plunging you into a spiral of anxiety that you take out on other people who are just as far removed from actually doing anything about it as you: why? Do you really think that you and you alone, one random person on the Internet, are the only way anyone else is going to find out about these things? Or do you think you have to perform the Most Correct Opinions nonstop, viciously harass anyone who isn't responding in exactly the same way, and this is the sum total of what your response should be? Especially in a situation as bloody and complicated as this, dealing with reams of religious, social, cultural, and political history where the average commentator on this conflict knows only what's been fed to them by propaganda on TikTok? How the fuck is that useful or constructive for anyone, aside from perpetuating the idea that you have to be angry all the time on social media about things you essentially know nothing about? I can't see that it does.

What's happening to the Gazans right now is no qualification or equivocation, a genocide. It should rightfully be opposed and called what it is. But unfortunately, I have spent too much time around Western Online Leftists to believe they actually care a whit about stopping genocide as a fundamental principle, and only want to be seen to loudly care about what their Ideology has told them to care about. If it means hand-waving aside genocide and atrocities when committed by their preferred polities, so be it. Why haven't these same people been wall-to-wall up in arms about what Russia has been doing in Ukraine, or for God's sake Syria for the past ten years, if they're really concerned about the rights of innocent Muslim civilians attacked by a far-right imperialist power? Why not the Uighurs in China? Why not [insert the blank] of all the terrible things happening in the world as a result of far-right fascist genocidal imperialism? Why only this conflict? Why now? Why does it involve so much excusing of terrorism as long as it's committed for the Right Ideology? Why are some of the most loudly pro-Palestinian accounts on here also the most rabidly pro-Russian? How does that make sense? To put it bluntly, those genocides are being committed by nation-states that Online Leftists like for being "anti-Western," and therefore their activities are actually fine and should even need to be defended.

My point is not to say that what's happening to the Palestinians is not bad. It is. It is awful and inexcusable. However, I seriously doubt the motives and morality of those who are being the loudest about screaming on social media and attacking everyone else for not instantly repeating their views. I seriously doubt that the Online Left actually opposes genocide and accelerationism as fundamental principles, because they proudly demonstrate every day that they don't. Until those vast factors can be dismantled and shown for what they are, and this can be placed into its larger context, I don't buy it and I don't believe this wall-to-wall social media outrage factory is actually aimed at helping the Gazans or anyone else suffering the most as a result of this. It is just to show that they can be counted on to Perform Outrage and harass anyone else who doesn't do the same, and that does nothing for anyone whatsoever.

[utilitycaster]

Is there any like. Real lore based reasons ppl treat pelor as an analogue for the Big Honcho God or is that a false connection ppl who are already deadset on projecting their religious trauma with monotheistic Christian god onto fantasy pantheon make because something something "Father" and/or "Sun deity"

I think the fact that the people buying up the land in and around Hearthdell and putting in temples were doing so in the name of the Dawnfather is a big factor. It's quite honestly the only justified reason, but this was also extremely present before there was even a hint of that plot. Nothing with regards to his interactions with Deanna is anything untoward; he is arrogant but if you can't appreciate arrogant characters then skill issue; and this post (and OPs excellent reblog down the chain) covers his portrayal in Campaign 1 better than I could.

Otherwise? I'm not Christian and never have been, so personally Jesus Portrayals do nothing for me because that guy is way too nice, honestly, and it weirds me out. So while I suspect the hatred of Pelor is in part a projection of negative feelings about Christianity, for a number of reasons, particularly the fact that almost all the people dead set against him and other gods write arguments that sound like they learned rhetoric exclusively from fire-and-brimstone sermons, down to the presupposing their conclusions as part of the initial premise (they call it preaching to the choir for a reason) and the almost exclusive reliance on appeals to emotion in the absence of any logic, I do not want to say so definitively. I cannot say for sure why people came in to Campaign 3 deciding the gods had three strikes against them already and then proceeded to put on a Church Lady act of being Shocked and Sickened when people looked at the collapsed heap of unsupported presumptions they called an argument and said "no thanks" but they do. It is rather tedious.

I don't want to attribute to disingenuousness and a secret taste for the boot provided the "correct" people are wearing it what I think (and hope) is just being really, really, really stupid and incapable of considering perspectives other than one's own (though both of those can very easily be swayed towards dangerous beliefs), but there's one "argument" against the gods that I've mulled over since I first saw it. It boiled down to the idea that it was unjust for some people to have powers and some to not, and was phrased something like "if my friend got spells from their god and I didn't, I'd want to kill the gods" and that sounds like an abjectly miserable experience. I don't want to rest my argument entirely on emotion, though I'm trying to counter one resting entirely on emotion and it's pretty difficult, but man. To see your friend put in effort (perhaps not as concrete and material an effort as that of a wizard, but still an effort) and get something for it and feel only jealousy because you didn't get the same? Like not just a twinge of jealousy, which we all get, but to be so full of it as to be moved to violence? To have no joy for one's friends? That sounds like a life that would suck ass.

I think a lot of the Prime Deities in Exandrian lore, Pelor very much included (and he is perhaps the like...least nice about it, and some people get REALLY weird about a Lack of Uwu Soft Gentle Niceness even though as previously discussed I find it a turn-off) are very much about hope, and making good faith attempts, and responsibility and obligation to others, and keeping one's promises and I think that message sits very ill with people who would prefer a narrative of despair and nihilism. Ultimately that's kind of the split between the Primes and Betrayers that we see in Downfall. I think that while much of the Pelor hate is just a convenient scapegoat for a general hatred of all the gods (which is why I get general in the above paragraphs), some people hate Pelor, essentially, the way one hates sunny days when one is extremely depressed, and see them as a deliberate, cruel, and targeted affront when the sun is simply a thing that shines independently of one's mood.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Weird Mario Enemies presents

The Mystery of the Cabin Proprietor

It was a cold winter's day. Super Mario had found himself atop a frigid mountain, nothing but the abyss surrounding it. Right before him, a cabin. A convenient respite from the cold. How lucky! If Mario were to knock on the door, surely he would be invited inside to warm up for a bit. Maybe he would even be offered some tea! Wouldn't that be nice?

But there is no door! There are not even any windows! The only access point is an oversized Minecraft-looking chimney, and a sign from a supposed "Cabin Proprietor" invites visitors to enter it. Suspicious! Scary! What if you fall further than you expect, and get hurt? What if the fireplace is lit? Yeowch! And if you do get inside, there's no telling what waits within... there could be a murderer, a monster, inviting victims into this shack with no escape! There are many ways in which one should be like Mario, but entering suspicious buildings like this is not one of them!

So what's the big idea? Who is this "Cabin Proprietor", and what are their motives? Let's go over the suspects...

The Big Penguin

This is PROBABLY the most likely answer. Big Penguin is the only creature ever found within the cabin, and addresses Mario as a friend. Big Penguin loves to slide, and wouldn't you know it, the cabin leads directly to a massive slide in the void! For all we know, Big Penguin could have previously invited Mario to this cabin for some fun! We wouldn't know. Mario is not obligated to tell us anything! What are you gonna do, check Mario's emails? Give him his privacy. My only concern with the Big Penguin theory is that I don't think a penguin would have much success acrobatically getting into the chimney in the first place. A door would be much more convenient for everyone, but especially a penguin!

Mother Penguin

Now THIS is a penguin with immediate access to the cabin's only door, at the base of the mountain! A door too small for her, but a door nonetheless. Mother Penguin is stationed right by the cabin's exit, so maybe she is associated with it! This part of the cabin could be some sort of nursery area for baby penguins, who COULD fit through the door, with a window to check on them when needed. Such a doting mother would surely love to have a place for her baby to be safe in a blizzard!

A Baby Penguin

Maybe we have a child prodigy on Cool, Cool Mountain! The first of the babies is Tuxie, THE Li'l Penguin Lost, who is found at the top of the mountain... right by the entrance to the cabin! Hmmm! Maybe she hops in the chimney, slides down, and uses that weird teleportation spot to get back up! The other baby penguin is found at the bottom of the mountain, but of course could also teleport to the top to get in the chimney, and there is also something important about this baby: it's an impostor! Not the baby you're looking for! That makes this baby Suspicious, just like the Cabin Proprietor. Veeery interesting...

The Headless Snowman

There is absolutely no way this guy could get into the cabin. But that does not mean he could not be the proprietor! We already know he has some Personal Infrastructure, with the weird "stages" his parts sit atop, so he clearly has some way to get stuff built. Carpentry connections of some sort. Perhaps he commissioned the cabin to be built so that others could have a warm place to go, and a fun slide! He just forgot the door on the top entrance, so he added that sign about Santa to add whimsy to the situation until it could be sorted out.

A Goomba

There are no Goombas in Cool, Cool Mountain, outside of the DS version, so prooobably not... But!!! Odyssey reveals the unique property of Goomba feet, that they retain traction even on icy surfaces! Goombas could, theoretically, walk all over the cabin's ice slide as they please. They sure would get a lot of use out of the space, more efficient than just sliding!

The sign itself

Has the answer been under Mario's bulbous, jiggly nose this whole time? Super Mario Galaxy shows us that some signs are alive, and talk to us! The sign from the Proprietor could BE the Proprietor, and be talking to us, rather than just displaying its text. We just don't know because of how 64 presents written text and dialogue in the same way. (EDIT: I learned I was literally just wrong about this and it should have been obvious because the text boxes are different colors. But we can say that the sign speaks in a Written Text Accent) Or maybe it's sleeping, and Mario is reading the text to not disturb it?

The Cap'n

The Cap'n is the other unseen character who we know authors signs in 64! But I think he is easy to write off here. He's too much of a scallywag to be the Cabin Proprietor, who at least puts on a facade of kindness, inviting anyone into the cabin. The Cap'n taunts anyone who seeks his treasure, and also writes in Pirate Speak, so it would be physically impossible for him to write in any other voice!

Santa Claus

And here we are. The final suspect. It's been so obvious, hasn't it? "Santa Claus isn't the only one who can go down a chimney", indeed, but he is the only one I can think of with the ability to magically go UP a chimney to exit the building! Santa is also absolutely the type to refer to himself in third person, so the grammar of the sign wouldn't be weird coming from him. Perhaps Santa built this cabin for himself initially, but quickly made it a public play area once others expressed an interest in it! Thank you, Santa!

So who do you think it is...? Do you think the proprietor is one of these suspects? Are you perhaps confident they have been an assuming Spindrift all along? Are YOU the proprietor? Would you tell us if you were?

[setsugekka]

❥project d (m)

↳ With a nice enough guy who’s just a little too rough around the edges for your parents liking, and a best friend who put you up to him (albeit a tad unknowingly), surely things can’t possibly get more complicated for the local illegal street racing squad.

Except, between racing for pink slips and bragging rights, there’s Emperors leader, Jeong Yunho.

kim hongjoong x fem!reader / jeong yunho x fem!reader — Initial D/street racing!au, unresolved romantic tension, exes to lovers, infidelity, angst, explicit sexual content [20.5k wc] cws: themes of smoking, drinking, & cheating throughout. the person getting cheated on is a scumbag!! mild physicality from a man to reader and more than mild physicality between two men ❱ light dom/sub dynamics in the beginning, penetrative sex (no barrier method), creampie, light choking, themes of possessiveness throughout, dirty talk, risky sex, public sex, oral sex (m).

“Ignore it.”

A simple enough request to oblige as Hongjoong's hand stretches out and over your body towards the side of you where your phone resides, only conveniently tossed there out of haste upon things between the two of you getting the better of you.

History getting the better of you.

Two, three more vibrations of the call alert cycle before it finally quiets, the man next to you hums with his face pressed into the pillow just before turning to face you with a devilish grin — as if a man having just won a prize, of sorts.

Perhaps he had done just that, at least, in this moment in time.

“I can't ignore him forever,” you sigh, back against the mattress and staring up towards the dingy, unpainted ceiling of this particular hotel that you and Hongjoong had become all too accustomed to.

The scent of far-from-fresh linens and a mixture of cigarette and other such smoke cascading through the small room — far from allowed but in a place like this, and for the rate that it goes for, it's what you'd expect. Housekeeping will do what they can, but there's only so much.

It's clean enough, but more than that, it's private. Part of you wishes coming here with him made you hate yourself as much as you think it's supposed to, because maybe then you'd stop.

“He's my boyfriend, after all.”

“He's a fucking tool,” he groans, finally sitting up beneath a single layer of white sheet and reaching to his left off of the side of the bed for his pants — long since discarded and not long after the two of you had arrived, at that. You can only presume the man to be reaching for his cigarettes, and unsurprised when it's precisely what comes into your line of vision as he sits back with his back against the headboard to light it — you watch him, every movement he makes no matter how small or unimportant it may seem. Taking in the details of him: short, platinum bleached hair with his fingernails painted black — two or three chipped, from what you can tell — and most likely from working on his car at some point over the week. “Who cares what he thinks? When are you going to leave him, anyways?”

“It's not that simple,” you answer, under your breath and slightly dejected at the turn the conversation has taken.

Because you know that you should feel bad, and yet you don't, but the fact that you don't sort of does do the trick. You wonder how terrible one has to be to falter morally to such a degree.

“I care about him.”

“The fuck you do,” Hongjoong bites back with a snort through his nose, smoke pushing out and towards the sheet that remains pooled around his waist. “If you did, you sure as shit wouldn't be here right now.”

Rolling your eyes and turning from him finally, it's likely that he's right. Somewhere, somehow, surely that is the only logical explanation.

But as complicated as things may be with your boyfriend, they're just as, if not more so, with the man next to you.

Goodbye's are hard, it's half of the reason people do everything in their power to avoid them.

Even to their own detriment.

“Don't be mad at me,” he adds, noticing the way you pull your eyes from him. “You wouldn't be fucking your ex still if things we're all sunshine and roses back at home. That's just the facts.”

“Do you have to do this tonight?” you say with a groan, turning back and onto your side to face away from him. It's then that you feel Hongjoong stir from behind, putting his cigarette out into a beer bottle on the nightstand and settling back down lengthwise along the bed, with the flesh of his chest pressed against your bare back. With one hand of his trailing down the exposed flesh and settling at the small of your back as fingers curl up and around the dip of your hip, you sigh into the feeling of his touch, once again starkly aware of how undressed you are once again, and how this will likely result in him fucking you for the second time tonight.

“I miss you,” he whispers after a while, lips ghosting gently across your exposed shoulder as he plants kisses there between words. “Leave him.”

“And do what? get back together with you?” you answer suddenly, with a tad bit more snip than you had really intended, but feeling the way his fingernails begin to curl into the skin of your waist, you need not worry about the reception of the response.

Chances are, he probably likes it.

The words come out so quietly that you can barely even hear them over the sound of the long since ignored television, only really used to help drown out the pathetic sounds of you succumbing to this man once again. “Do whatever you want, just not him.”

It's a weird sense of foreplay, the way that the two of you engage in conversations about the man in question — your partner — always seeming to get Hongjoong riled up sexually in some sort of sick, twisted way that you can't quite fathom — possibly the possession, possibly some sense of having won something over the man every time you agree to meet him like this — two competitors who have long since been rivals for far too long, with too much bad blood and no end in sight, either.

So when you left Hongjoong, and shortly after started dating Yunho, it was a punch to the gut and the ego — seemingly only quelled by the joy of having you cum around his dick a couple of times a week unbeknownst to the other party.

Shifting slightly, as if wanting to maintain some air of innocence and coincidence to it all — pressing your behind back and against him only to find that what greets you is a familiar hardness — Hongjoong's kisses into your shoulder intensify, nips and suction against the flesh where he had previously been ever so innocuously been touching.

Giving into him never was difficult, you wonder if you'll ever have control over yourself with him.

Hand slipping down to position himself better against you, the whimper that leaves your lips as he presses back inside of you for the second time that night is pitiful — grin forming across his mouth as he hears the utterance of you once again allowing yourself full compliance for him — his hand comes back up to snake along your side as he gently rocks into you, first settling for a moment atop your breast to thumb over the nub before continuing the journey up and around your throat to hold there tightly as he picks up his pace with a grunt into your ear from behind.

“You're mine, right?” Words echoing from his mouth and into your ear from just next to it, your body involuntarily clenching down around him giving you away more than anything you could say ever could — Hongjoong squeezing tighter around your throat at the feeling of you submitting to him in all of the same ways that he's always liked, that you've always liked — a game the two of you would often play deep within the throes of your romantic relationship. “You always came the hardest when I acted like I owned you.”

“Joong—“ another pitiful whimper at the sound and feeling of him encompassing you, especially given that he's right in his assessment of you.

Hand leaving your throat and continuing up again, two fingers prying between your lips to press into your mouth and lie flat against your tongue, Hongjoong's pace into hastens, fucking you harder than even the time earlier in the night — obviously with something to prove, now — some sort of motivation behind his actions; jealousy, angry, hatred.

The animalistic desire to have and own and need, perhaps.

“He fuck you like I do?” he finally asks in spite of already knowing the answer. There's a reason you keep coming back. “Know everything you like the way I do? Make you cum as hard as I do?”

And with fingers shoved deep into your mouth you can only groan at the words as your body threatens to release you from the contempt of a building orgasm — Hongjoong surely feels it with the way he slows and stills deep inside of you with a whine from you.

“Didn't say you could cum yet, did I?”

It's all you can do to beg for it, grinding back and against him for any sense of friction that will hopefully tip you over the edge that he's not allowing for you. Hot breath scented like cheap beer and cigarettes pressed into the shell of your ear as he holds your body flush tight against his as if to now even allow you the ability to escape his grasp — not that you'd want to, or have any intention to — but rather for what it represents to him.

That yes, this is a game that the two of you engage in consensually, but perhaps deep down for him, a confession of sorts, as well.

Hongjoong pulls his hand from your lips to quickly wrap it against your throat again, ever so slowly withdrawing his cock from you and almost completely before delivering you back an even more tortuously slow drive back inside — so slow that you feel as though you can feel every dip and curve and bulge of his shaft against your walls — the two of you don't play like this so much anymore since the dissolving of your relationship, and Hongjoong's willingness to reintroduce it now feels pointed and a bit like a man rushing to grasp a hold of something that he feels as though he's losing completely.

The break up wasn't on bad terms, and certainly appeared far from devastating to Hongjoong from what you could tell. He did start drinking more, though, and racked up a hefty DUI about a week after.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod quicker than you think the words finish leaving his mouth, much to his amusement. Hongjoong repeats yet another frustratingly slow drive into you as he sets the condition for your orgasm.

“Tell me whose it is,” he groans, the warm hug of your pussy pulling on him equally as much but far more able to maintain his cool. “Who owns it, who does it belong to, baby?”

a sharp inhale, breathing still constricted by his hand keeping you firmly in place and against him, and with a heavy exhale you say the words he's been looking for since the conversation started.

“You, it's yours, I'm yours— fuck, Joong, please—“

You can't see it, but you can feel the curl of his lips against your ear as he grins at the breathy admission, kissing you delicately against your temple twice before whispering how well you've done and how good you are as he picks his pace back up. A handful of hard, pointed thrusts back into you and you come undone around him all over again — the tight squeeze of you subsequently bringing him to his orgasmic demise just after as he buries cock as deeply as he can to cum inside of you.

And one of your favorite things about the man — your too-wild-to-ever-meet-the-parents ex-boyfriend who drives the custom paint maroon RX-7 — is how no matter how insane he is, he's always kind and loving to you. so, as Hongjoong gently pulls himself from you, raining kisses on every inch of exposed flesh he can manage to get his mouth on, the only words spilling from his mouth being those of praise; how good you are, how beautiful you are, how amazing you are — some times, you think he might slip and tell you he loves you in such raw, intimate times.

And sometimes, you wonder why it is the two of you ever did break up.

Phone vibrating again, the screen illuminating to show once again for your boyfriend to be attempting to get a hold of you, you feel Hongjoong still from behind you as he catches notice before rolling back and away from you and most likely, in search of another cigarette.

Picking the device up, with a tone small and shy but with an attempt at playfulness, you dare make the attempt at a joke on the matter. “Can I answer it now?”

But with silence following shortly after as the vibration cycle carries on, you're met with the sound of a lighter flickering once, twice, three times — before an exhale, then a voice laden with smoke and maybe even a hint of disappointment, if you look hard enough.

“Do whatever you want.”

Getting into the illegal street racing thing wasn't exactly something you had in mind, and truthfully, sometimes you had a difficult time tracing back just when it had started with the way things took off in a bit of a whirlwind.

It's particularly due to the fact that you're not a racer yourself, that sometimes has you standing roadside at meets, contemplating the how's and why's of your whereabouts. With no interest in purchasing a project of your own, it started as a sort of hobby interest of yours and Chaerin's — your best friend of six years with a bit of a penchant for trouble as the years progressed. Never anything substantial or too risky — no drugs beyond the extremely rare instance, no theft — and sure, the illegal street racing thing in and of itself being of legal dubiety, it's not the worst thing a girl in her early twenties could find herself wrapped up in, that's for sure.

Besides, Chaerin had a bit of a respectable eye for partners. Boyfriends leaning far into the realm of honest and endearing, even upon dating within the circle of cars, the sort of 'bad boy' reputation for them that one would likely assume upon hearing of teams of men engaging in such activities in the dead of night — while occasionally true, after two or three tag along’s of yourself with your friend, you'd quickly come to realize that the majority of them were simply guys. Nothing special or out of the ordinary, most working through college and probably a bit more than they have to in order to fund their rather expensive hobby, some rich, trust fund kids with no issues affording whatever it was that they wanted to soup up their cars with — and when the dust had eventually settled, it was of little shock to yourself that you ended up somewhere in between.

You remember the night as if it was yesterday, only a year or so back at most anyways, Chaerin explicitly informing you that he was to be played with, and not locked down.

It seemed easy enough when you met Kim Hongjoong, at least.

A little rough around the edges being an understatement: handsome and from a rich family now a couple of years estranged but still not entirely cut off from the family wallet, sometimes you could swear that you could still make out the ways in which his sheltered, prissy upbringing that he had long since attempted to bolt down under lock and key would come through — a heavy smoker, a lighter drinker, and now stuck living in a ratty apartment just a ways out of town with his teammate, Seonghwa.

So, you had agreed, because most certainly this wouldn't be the kind of man you'd fall for, anyways. A girl has needs, however, and you quickly found Hongjoong to be more than willing to go above and beyond for them in more ways than one would likely consider to be present in a friends with benefits sort of arrangement. His willingness to do any and everything you desired sexually, evolving into exploration of sorts, you found that it happened almost naturally in the way he would begin staying over some nights instead of running home, bringing you dinner before playtime turning into going out together for dinner, and when Chaerin began noticing you showing up to car meets from the passenger side of Hongjoong's RX-7, albeit not entirely pleased with the development, she wasn't necessarily against it, either.

Your parents on the other hand, were an entirely different story.

If Hongjoong came off as rough around the edges to yourself, you could only imagine how he came off to your parents, and after one dinner with all of you together, the imagining was no longer necessary — spending the better part of an hour tearing into you about your choice in men; how Hongjoong was going nowhere in life, a deadbeat with no aspirations, a smoker, a drinker, and despite having not disclosed it, father dearest pulling no punches in just what it was that he thought about the whole illegal street racing thing.

A point of contention in what had naturally and easily transformed into a relationship with the man, more than quick hook ups and take out dinners — but there was romance and genuine caring — something special about the way that Hongjoong looked at you that you knew to be sincere.

And perhaps you were too weak-willed to manage it, the constant barrage of opinions and negativity from your family about the man you had chosen, and perhaps the relationship all too young to really weather the storm as it was, so when you told Hongjoong that the two of you should just remain friends, the disappointment was evident, but it wasn't the end of the world.

It was a little bit the end of the world, though, when Yunho came into the picture.

Moving into town a month before yours and Hongjoong's relationship ending, you had already found yourself rather well acquainted with the man in all of the worst ways: every terrible, off-putting version of Hongjoong that you figured to be buried deep down within him in hopes of never resurfacing, seemingly being all of the defining features of Jeong Yunho; mouthy, loud, and far too into himself for anyones good, really, you had only met him a handful of times at races before calling it quits with your then boyfriend, but Yunho had already long made a case for himself in squirming his way into your bedroom as Hongjoong vented about teammates losing races — and even worse, their cars — to the man in the black EVO and his team, Emperors.

How you ended up here, exactly, on a quiet Thursday night during a meet with Yunho to your right as he talks to one of his friends about a new backseat modification he's been considering for weight to his car, suppose that's where it gets a little murky.

Oh, and also the fact that you were just with Hongjoong the night before, too.

As the thoughts finally fall out of your mind, it's the feeling of a large hand on your bottom that jolts you out from them in totality, first looking down then just as quickly back up to your boyfriend.

A habit of getting handsy in public, like some bizarre expression of property owned and wishing for the entire world to see it, it had been a conversation more than three times by this point, so much so that you figure it best to simply give up on it.

“Come on, I told you I don't like that,” you whisper, it is not lost on you how willing you are to bend yourself as to not embarrass him all the while he cares little about granting you the same luxury.

With a slightly crooked smile, Yunho grins down at you before leaning forward and kissing you on the forehead. “It's just Mingi babe, he doesn't care.”

“I care.”

Yunho rolling his eyes at the snide response, pulling his hand from you entirely as if to withhold affection for your poor behavior, your eyes can't help but find Hongjoong well across the parking lot as he engages with his friends among his own team, Spiral.

Meeting your eyes, the interaction is brief, and guilt ridden all of the same.

In fact, Yunho's disinterest in your boundaries had already resulted in a verbal altercation between the two more than once, and that's not even including everything related to on the road.

Of course, Yunho had charms, otherwise leaving would be easy to do. Earlier on, especially — perhaps you a little too fresh off of your break up and more willing to be swept up and away by the tall, handsome, guy with dark red hair that your ex kind of hated but 'maybe he isn't so bad,' you remember thinking to yourself the first time he catches you out and about one random day — asking you to dinner later that night, paying, and giving you the best dick, perhaps, of your life.

You'd find that it doesn't take much time for the layers to peel themselves back, as people with much to hide typically find it difficult to keep up the ruse for all too long, but perhaps losing Hongjoong in your life — and especially for the reasons as such — a larger hole was left than you had initially imagined, now being filled by the rich guy who lets you pay for everything despite having money, doesn't respect your boundaries, and is often found to be in questionable locations more times than you'd like to really acknowledge.

One of the reasons you sort of don't feel bad when Hongjoong texts you late in the afternoon and asks if you want to meet at the usual spot.

But for whatever reason it is, you find it hard to let Yunho go — that even still, there are times late at night when your hand fits impossible perfectly into his as the both of you lie out on the lawn just outside of town and gaze up at the stars together — him telling stories about where he used to live and what he did before he got into street racing and him actually taking an interest in you and your life beyond just showing you off as the pretty little thing he gets to put his dick into — as it often feels in relation to him.

That makes it difficult, as affairs of the heart tend to be. It's never really so cut and dry.

As the end of the night rolls around, Chaerin comes to greet you with her boyfriend, Yeonjun on her arm — and her belongings diligently being held by him as well — both with smiles on their faces as head lights begin to pop on and engines start revving around them. Yunho plopping into the drivers side of his car, Chaerin leans over the open car door with her arm across to cushion her chin, and much to Yunho's visible disapproval.

“Long time, how've things been?”

A long time because Chaerin hates him and refuses to go to mutual gatherings that you invite him along to.

Yunho's eyes first darting to you before settling back to the blonde girl hanging from his car door window, the man leans forward to grip it and shake it free from her annoying grasp before shutting it and opening the window to continue on the conversation. “Fine. You guys going out tonight or something?”

Much to your surprise, you arrived with Yunho with every intention of leaving with him, so the fact that you now are not comes as news to you, and the shock across your features is not wasted on your best friend and her boyfriend.

“You brought her, you're not going to take her home?” She asks, attitude laden in her tone and no effort to conceal it whatsoever.

Yunho snorts, nodding his head towards you as he answers. “Tell your friend not to act like such a bitch in front of my friends, maybe i'll be more inclined to be nicer to her.”

“What are you even talking—“

“I'll take her home.”

A familiar, pitchy, voice, to you especially, piping up from behind the group of you and the twist in Yunho's features making it all the more evident as Hongjoong steps up between you and Chaerin — black and white leather jacket lazily zipped halfway up across his chest and incredibly fitted, lightly destroyed black jeans hugging his thighs. Brushing a hand through silver hair, he nods to you as if it's no big deal.

And as if he didn't have his face between your legs just last night. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” you answer just as carelessly. “Need a ride home, apparently.”

“Awww, little Joongie is so sweet,” Chaerin pipes up, slinging an arm up and around Hongjoong's shoulders in such an aggressively animated way that it nearly brings the man toppling down on top of her, but Yunho only rolls his eyes at the friendly display while huffing out a “whatever,” as he turns the car engine on with a rumbling vibration.

“We'll talk about this tomorrow,” he adds, flipping the car into reverse and rolling up his window before driving off to who knows where, and leaving you to pick up the pieces of how so many interactions between the two of you end up this way.

You sigh, less of anger or sadness, but rather the exhaustion of having become so used to this treatment — it not being the first time your boyfriend has done such a thing, after all.

Letting go of Hongjoong, Chaerin judges him in the arm with her elbow. “I could have taken her, you know.”

Sometimes you wonder if she knows, if she's caught onto the games the two of you play together when you think no one is looking, or none the wiser.

A relationship ended by word of mouth only, but really, nothing having really changed.

You and Hongjoong picked back up sleeping together only a week after breaking up, and never really stopped since. You can't help but wonder if she can tell in the way the two of you interact, how comfortable it is, how unchanged it is from back then.

“It's fine, she's on the way anyways.”

You're not, and everyone knows it.

“Alright well,” your friend begins, tying long, blonde hair into a tight ponytail and slinging an arm over her lovely partner to pull him along. “Be safe you guys, have a good night. Try to get her to break up with her shitty boyfriend, would you, Joong?”

A sly grin as a parting gift and she's off before you really have a chance to say anything to the comment. Hongjoong opting for silence on the topic himself as the rest of the cars clear and the two of you find yourselves the last ones on the cement — the scent of burned rubber and exhaust still lingering heavily in the air, the man next to you shrugs, looking almost sympathetic of you and your situation — a situation that you could just as easily find yourself out of, but sympathetic nonetheless.

Walking over to Hongjoong's car, he steps around to open the passenger side door for you first before circling back and allowing himself to fall into the drivers side of his own.

“Really wish you'd leave that dickhead,” he starts, ignition growling to a start and the inside panel of the car illuminating a bright blue — all custom work, exactly to his personal liking. “Only reason I still have a passenger seat is for when I have to pick up his slack.”

It feels a little bad when he says it like that, as if he feels the need to stick around, by your side, to play boyfriend #2 because #1 does such a dog shit job of it himself, and rather than abandon you to play with the hand that you've been dealt, Hongjoong stands by to try to make each sting at the hand of Jeong Yunho just a little bit easier to deal with — until you manage the strength to do what you know you need to and leave him once and for all.

“I know, sorry,” you mutter under your breath, feeling it necessary to offer the apology. Hongjoong pulling onto the road and driving off and into the night, one hand on the steering wheel, he glances over at you twice before grinning just slightly. “It's fine, you don't have to apologize.”

Turning to look out of the window, eyes still as glued to you as driving safely might allow, he replacing his right hand on the steering wheel with his left, allowing his right to settle onto your clothed thigh with no intent beyond comfort. “Hungry? Wanna grab something?”

“It's two in the morning,” you chuckle, the lightness of the sound bringing a much brighter smile to the mans lips even in spite of your accuracy regarding the situation. “Okay yeah, we can go back to my place? Seonghwa is there but it's fine.”

“It's late, I should probably just go home.”

You don't mean for it to sound so dejected as the sounds leave your lips, a culmination of so many things stirring around in your head all at once in regards to Hongjoong and Yunho both — you think of all of the ways that Hongjoong has always been so kind and good to you, even in the midst of a purely sexual relationship with him, where Yunho finds himself seemingly unwilling to meet you even halfway on simple things or gestures anymore — a man who won his prize and no longer finds it necessary to carry on. His dues paid, and once again, Hongjoong picking up the slack.

And as if some major cosmic joke, it's not lost on you how much your parents adore Yunho.

Never having learned of the street racing thing, on top of being much more cleaned up and presentable in appearance than the alternative — it's easy for Yunho to pull off the guy next door look, and for all intents and purposes, it is him, but in all of the worst ways, and the worst possible version of it. Arrogant and egotistical and unforgiving. Unloving. Manipulative, and in so many ways, cruel.

Like two personalities swapped from the bodies you would expect to find them — Hongjoong with a mouth on him for sure and probably incapable of uttering a sentence without an expletive in it, still kinder and more loving to you than perhaps Yunho has ever been.

And worse than that, you suspect for more than one reason that Yunho is meeting with an unidentified woman this evening. The unmentionable fact that everyone seems to know about but no one talks about, and no one tells you.

But suppose that may be fair and square, after all.

As Hongjoong's car rolls to a gentle stop in front of your parents home, you know what it will result in in the morning — them chewing you out for once again being out with the man that they loathe so much, but unbeknownst to them, the one willing to get their daughter home safe and sound — you let out a heavy exhale as he turns the ignition off and the both of you open car doors to exit from his and greet the chilly, spring air awaiting you.

Watching as the man settles himself against the dark red vehicle full of labor, love and more than all, money, you can't help how natural it feels to bring your arms up and around his neck — and happy to greet you, his own falling downwards and wrapping lightly around your waist to pull you tighter against his torso as foreheads close the space between them.

“Getting daring,” Hongjoong sighs just centimeters from your mouth, referencing the rather public display of affection despite it being the absolute dead of night and not a soul to be seen within eye shot.

“Thanks for taking me home,” you ignore his words in favor of your own and with a sly tone to them at that, as if hoping that the man may have the audacity to make a move on you like this.

But you know Hongjoong well, and what he's into, and enticing him into this takes little to no effort at all.

Shifting to press the top of your thigh against his crotch, feeling the already blooming hardness beneath his pants, you're able to watch in real time as his expression turns slightly lust-fueled as he pulls the door open to the drivers side once again and seats himself on the side of the chair with his legs hanging out. pulling you along with and down towards his face, it's then that he finally kisses you — as if making enough of an effort to do the best he can to conceal these sorts of rendezvous between you — it's hard and needy, all teeth and little tongue as he devours you while you settle on your knees between his own and his hands turn downward to fumble with the belt and button of his jeans.

“You and your risky sex,” you tease, waiting for him to expose his dick for you, but Hongjoong huffs out a laugh in his haste, as if well aware of it himself.

“I'll fuck you against the car if you want.”

“What if my parents saw?” you answer with a quirked eyebrow as he finally frees his length from the confines of his jeans, hand quickly wrapping around him and delicately stroking him.

“Hope they tell Yunho.”

“You're so annoying,” and with a roll of your eyes, you press yourself forward to wrap warm, wet lips around the girth of his cock. Fingers immediately reaching up and tangling into your hair with the first dip of your head along him, you know that in scenarios like this — Hongjoong's favorite thing being having you in places and situations he has no business taking you — he'll get handsy, and he'll cum quick, and for this, both are ideal.

“God, fuck, you feel so good,” Hongjoong chimes with a groan, fingers tightening in your strands just a bit more along with the noticeable raise of his hips up and into your mouth as you bob along his cock in timed, rhythmic strokes — you think it can't be longer than a minute or two before he's whimpering expletives and praise from between his lips as you take him deep into your mouth to swallow his load down as he comes. Pulling back off of him and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, the man leans down and kisses you on the mouth — an open mouth kiss, not at all chaste or unwilling to taste himself or what you've just done on you.

“I want to see you Saturday after the race.”

You hate to ruin the mood with the information, but suppose honesty is the best policy even in scenarios where you're watching the man you're cheating on your boyfriend with tuck his softening dick back into his pants.

“Think...I have plans with Yunho that night.”

It's meek, partly because you hate saying the words to your ex, and also partly because with the way that Yunho is, who knows if that will even happen.

But Hongjoong takes it in stride as you pull away from him, standing to clear yourself out of the way so that he can pull his legs back into the car and get ready to see you off for the night.

“Well, think about it,” he begins the thought casually, and you think he may actually end it off that well if not for the sharp inhale that follows afterwards. “I'm sure you could think of an excuse, something like 'oh, I want to get fucked by my ex-boyfriend who has a sexier car and is also way better at driving than you are, you fucking loser.' would do the trick?”

Leaning down once again, you kiss Hongjoong on the mouth — quick, but bringing your hand up and to the side of his head as you do so, the touch lingers long after the kiss ends, the man leaning into it as if offering a newly unlocked form of adoration and intimacy not previously felt tonight.

“Get some sleep,” you mutter, finally pulling from him.

Hand through short blonde hair, he smiles back at you with a nod. “Anything for you, darling.”

And watching him drive off into the foggy night, all you can think is how could your parents be so wrong.

“Hey sweetness—“

Barely jarring you from your sleep, the words comfort your ears in some strange way, like warmth itself uttered despite not even being sure that you're actually awake, actually hearing them — the dipping on the other side of the bed, however, doing a much better job of making you aware of the fact that this is, in fact, real life and not a dream. Groggy and attempting to bring yourself to cohesion, you roll onto your other side beneath warm blankets — the light from the morning, or early afternoon, which ever it is you can't be too sure just yet, shining through barely pulled apart, black out blinds.

The first thing you notice being how unfamiliar the man smells to you.

Hair damp and gently sticking to his forehead — evidence of a shower taken prior to visiting you, it's something that you've sort of made peace with, gotten used to.

But you've been to Yunho's enough to know that this isn't what his shampoo smells like.

Of course it's not fair for your chest to twist the way it does at the realization, Yunho's hand coming up to delicately press strands of your hair away from your face with a smile before leaning towards you and planting a kiss to your exposed forehead.

“I brought breakfast.”

Your lips curling upwards, a reaction that you can't help in relation to the kindness that your boyfriend extends to you, you're reminded of all of the ways and reasons that you feel for him, and even now, stay with him.

You figure no one's perfect, after all. We all have our faults.

And some of them, you share.

“Mom let you in?” you whisper, voice laden with sleep heaviness as you stretch arms out above you. you already know the answer, because your mother adores him and is ecstatic every time the man makes the effort to show his face around.

“Of course,” he chimes with another toothy smile, proud of himself for the accomplishment in having won over your parents. “Brought them something, too.”

Sitting up in bed slowly, nothing but a loose tank top and panties clinging to your body, you finally glance out and towards your computer — screensaver touting a comforting time of the day for you to see; 9:22, and you're happy that you haven't overslept despite still being tired from being out so late the night before.

Line of thought serving as a reminder of the activities also having taken place.

“We don't have to rush down,” Yunho adds as his hand begins it's slow journey between the sheets and beyond that, between your legs. Long, thin fingers dipping underneath your panties and wasting no time finding their mark between your folds — you sigh into the touch, and you'd be lying if you had attempted to tell yourself you weren't craving some release after the activities of only a handful of hours prior.

Perhaps fucked up on a number of levels, willing to give Yunho the pleasure of getting you off as a result of Hongjoong's hard work earlier.

But that also kind of does it for you, as well.

It flashes across your mind briefly, knowing but not knowing Yunho's whereabouts while you were out and about with Hongjoong, so maybe it was what you deserved — someone's sloppy seconds — melting into the touch your boyfriend offers as he shifts over and between your legs, pulling the sheets from you and beginning the hasty work of his pants button. You reach up, hands gripping at his black t-shirt to pull him down and against you as he barely catches himself with a palm against the mattress before crushing you — both of you laughing against each other lips at the clumsiness of just wanting to feel the other in a rush with little time at your disposal — Yunho kisses you like there's no time at all before dipping down towards your neck and sucking into the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Lemmie fuck you with your panties on,” he whispers, finally freeing his cock from his pants just enough to grant him the ability to take you.

“Please,” you whine, his fingers already pulling at the sides to give himself access before your answer even rings out from between your lips — the scent of where ever it was that he had been now overwhelming your senses, it feels so bizarre how your body physically reacts to it — the knowledge of him being in places or arms where he shouldn't dare be and now coming back to you — tip of his length already pushing into you with a heavy exhale from both and bottoming out fast despite his length and your lack of prep, it's something that you've never quite gotten used to even after all of these times together, and especially in the circumstances of a quickie.

But god did you want it bad right now.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” another admission from him straight against your ear — breaths hot and humid on your skin, your eyes clamp shut at the feeling of being so filled by him just as he makes his first withdraw and push back inside of you — a hard, rough, snap of his hips that has you reeling and moaning out for him already.

This was typically how you and Yunho worked out your problems.

A few minutes down, your hands wrapped into your boyfriends hair, you whimper against his neck to fuck you harder, and feeling the nearly sinister curl of his lips you know he's happy to oblige the request — two, three harsher fucks into you, Yunho quickly slips the hand not supporting his weight over you down and between your legs to rub into your clit harshly to get you to cum around him.

“Yeah baby, cum for me,” he whispers into your ear, words cut up and jerked out from the own movement of his body. “Cum with me baby, I'm close.”

“Fuck, Yunho—“

Whining out for him as your muscles clench around him, orgasm taking you with the help of his handy work and his words (and perhaps a bit of the memory of Hongjoong cumming down your throat a few hours prior), you cum hard — hands coming down to grip into his shoulders, Yunho pulls up to fuck you harder and faster as he chases his own just behind you — the evidence of your nails digging into his clothed skin evident across his features as a splash of pain flashes across — but it's only seconds later that he groans, burying himself almost painfully deep inside of your cunt as he paints your walls with his release — then two more lazy, shallow thrusts into you before gently lying himself atop your torso with a heavy, contented, sigh.

For whatever reason, it's times like this especially that you want to ask him where he was.

Why he has to go elsewhere — if it's you, him, or a culmination of the two that causes him to do the things he does.

When you hear your phone vibrate on your nightstand just as Yunho slips out of you and pushes himself back inside of his pants, you know it's Hongjoong.

“When are you going to break up with that guy, anyways?”

Not the ideal first thing to hear upon meeting up with your best friend, but not surprising, either, after the events of the night before.

Setting your bag down on an empty chair at the table, Chaerin watches you intently with her arms crossed in front of her chest, one eyebrow perked up as if somewhat judging even though you know she doesn't, not really.

Both of you in lazy t-shirts and jeans, a far cry from the bit of dress up each of you tend to play when it comes to car related events, you realize it's become rare that the two of you meet this casually — with how busy both of you are with your respective lives.

“Nice to see you, too,” you chime back sarcastically as you sit yourself down at the table. grabbing towards a menu, Chaerin pops her hand out to stop you from taking it.

“I already ordered, don't change the subject!”

“I hardly think ordering food at a restaurant is changing the subject...”

“You know he's cheating on you.”

Hearing the words sting, but not as much as they would if you weren't doing the exact same thing, you guess.

Clearing your throat uncomfortably and looking around in an attempt to find any prying eyes or ears that may be listening in on your conversation, you lean across the table towards your friend with a sigh. “I don't know that, Chaerin.”

Sitting back in her chair with a huff, the blonde rolls her eyes. “Give me a break, you're smarter than that, you know. You're fine with it?”

“I mean, I don't know.”

“Beyond that, he treats you like shit anyways, what the fuck was all of that last night? Just abandoning you at the meet?”

“I knew plenty of people there who could take me home,” you quietly offer as argument, much to Chaerin's dismay.

“Gotta be honest with you,” she starts, eyes pulling away from you momentarily as if unsure of the right way to go about the rest of the conversation. “I don't think he really cared all that much about whether you did or not. Let your ex take you home so he could go fuck some other—“

“Chaerin—“

“I'm just saying.”

Silence befalling the table just as wait staff arrive with the previously ordered food, you exhale heavily at the sight of everything sprawled out in front of you, and the suffocating knowledge of everything just discussed.

Hardly much for making an appetite.

“I need to tell you something,” you pipe up suddenly, and much to your friends surprise. you watch as her eyes slowly pull towards your own, waiting for the bomb you have to drop, and boy, is it a doozy, too.

“I've...I've actually been—“

“Oh, what the fuck, hey.”

Once again, piped up out of no where, and you're sort of beginning to curse living in such a small city where so few restaurants reign as the supreme places to go — you already know who awaits your eyesight before ever turning towards him, but it's the sight of him dressed in his Spiral gear that is what takes you by surprise more than anything.

That, and the fact that you were just about to tell Chaerin about your ongoing involvement.

“Now, why are you everywhere?” Chaerin greets with a smile before playfully nodding in your direction. “You stalking your ex?”

“She's got enough problems without the whole crazy ex-boyfriend thing, i'll spare her the trouble,” Hongjoong snorts just before sitting himself into another empty chair at your table.

It's awkward — because you feel as though everyone knows a secret but it can't be spoken. Perhaps that is the case, after all. Too many secrets.

“She was just about to tell me something and now you came and ruined it, thanks a lot,” your friend jokes just before scooping a fork full of meat into her mouth. Hongjoong turns to glance at you — as if knowing fully well what it was that you were about to disclose to the woman — and with a devilish grin and an elbow on the table to cradle his chin: “Oh really? Do tell.”

He definitely knows.

“It's...nothing. Girl talk.”

You make the decision to bring your hands into your lap, for fear of them visibly shaking should you bring them up to eye sight.

“I'm sure it is,” he replies with a tone that you can only describe as knowing. “Anyways, just picking up food for the guys down at the shop — Seonghwa's been working nonstop on the car for tomorrow so he can be ready to beat your shitty little boyfriend.”

Chaerin laughs, a woman with no particular horse in the race aside from hating that man, and with Hongjoong standing back up, you send him off with a hello for Seonghwa in particular.

A race planned for over a month now, and not one that you've been looking forward to, either. Yunho doing what he does — challenging drivers from opposing teams to races for their pink slips, and it's unsurprising that anyone from Spirals would ever turn down the opposition — if you get challenged by Emperors, you have to accept.

Not accepting is as good as losing, anyways.

You wonder why it is that neither Yunho nor Hongjoong have ever challenged one another — bringing it up one evening over a couple of beers with your partner, and Yunho's only answer being that he doesn't even want Hongjoong's 'shitty RX-7.'

The irony being, of course, that Hongjoong and Seonghwa drive the same make.

Phone vibrating from your pocket shortly after Hongjoong leaves, you pull it from your jeans to illuminate the screen and view the notification gracing the lockscreen.

>Aunty H: gonna tell your bestie you're still getting dick on the side? she'd probably be thrilled lmao

Looking up towards your friend across the table for a split second before unlocking your phone to reply — as if she somehow has the ability to know what it is that the man said to you from the back of your device, you feel as though every eye in the entire world rests on you in this moment. Perhaps not the best time for this conversation, after all.

>You: I don't like keeping the secret from her, idk. she hates Yunho for it when i'm doing the same thing.

Hongjoong begins typing back so quickly you believe him to simply be sitting in his car in the parking lot just outside to have this conversation in the moment.

>Aunty H: she hates Yunho because he's a piece of shit and on top of that he can't keep it in his pants either. not the same. speaking of, I want to see you tomorrow night after the race

>You: I told you I have plans with Yunho

>Aunty H: you fuck him since last night?

Rolling your eyes, you pause for a moment to think over your response. It's really none of his business, but given the circumstances — suppose everyone's sexual whereabouts be everyone else's business.

>You: don't do that

>Aunty H: i'll see you saturday

It doesn't feel good, the circumstances you've allowed yourself to fall into, but at the same time — the promise of what Saturday night may hold — after the sounds of tires screeching and adrenaline pumping through every vein subsides, what either man may have in store for you, depending on how the evening turns out.

And perhaps, it's time to get it the fuck together and make an actual decision, too.

 More than anything, it's the familiar scent of exhaust, fuel, and burnt rubber that you've come to find comforting, a sense of home in the strangest sense.

Dozens of cars lined up on the outside of the road — a long, winding trail of only two lanes, one each way — that is tonight’s destination. a sheen of wetness on the ground from rain much earlier on in the evening, not ideal driving circumstances for most, but for the more experienced drivers — the ones that experience an even higher thrill from the danger, the unexpectedness of it — it's ideal. Hongjoong specifically, touted as a master of the pin hair corner drift, and especially out of Spirals, you know it to be precisely the sort of weather that he wishes to be racing in.

But tonight isn't his night, it's his best friend, Seonghwa's.

A tall, beautiful man with long, black hair and often clad in all black leather, black jeans, and his hair tied up into a half ponytail — he's far from the kind of person most would expect to find at a place like this — currently bent in half and over the engine of his matte black RX-7 making the finishing preparations for his race against your main squeeze.

With the leader of the crew standing just beside him, of which you are well acquainted.

And on nights like this, you belong to Emperors.

Race nights turn into strictly 'friendship aside' events, at least, once Yunho and Emperors started coming around. A group of street racers all intermingling and enjoying one another's company once before, now heavily segregated and pushed apart — the need to choose sides becoming apparent once Emperors began racing people for their cars, and subsequently, Spirals member and long time friend of Hongjoong's, Jongho, losing his to Mingi.

So now, as you with Yunho to your side pass by Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and the rest of Spirals with your own little band of Emperors tagging just behind, a few glances are all that are exchanged between the lot of you, with eyes between you and your ex lingering just a bit longer than some may even notice at a glance.

Yunho's hand slipping down from around your shoulders to your waist only to linger there for a moment before trailing down and to your ass — right in Hongjoong's line of vision, you snap your head up and towards your boyfriend to tell him off for far from the first time for such a grievance—

Only to find his attention far from you, and rather, on that of the man who only a few months prior called you his own, himself.

Following the tall man to his vehicle and settling yourself against the side of it as he settles himself inside of the drivers seat, you spare yourself the bother of looking him in the eye to reprimand him for the behavior, simply looking out and towards the scene before you of people laughing, enjoying themselves — people with nothing to lose tonight, only here to enjoy a show, and hopefully, everyone making it out in one piece.

“How many times do I have to tell you—“

“Yeah yeah, I know, why's it such a big deal to you? a lot of women would like having me show them off, ya know.”

“Yeah? a lot of women?” you say with a snide bite to your tone, finally turning to face him. “Guess you'd know, wouldn't you?”

Raising his eyebrows in surprise at the retort, Yunho pauses before curling his lips into a smirk. “Anything else, princess? I've got shit to do tonight, like take your little pals' friends' car.”

“Why do you have to be like that with him? With them?”

As much of a surprise as it is to Yunho — the sudden aggressiveness to you that you never having displayed towards him before for all of his transgressions — it's just as much a surprise to yourself. Knowing fully well that the outcome of enough of this could easily result in the dissolution of your relationship with the man.

And you wonder, if that's a price you're willing to pay. You also wonder, if this is effectively you slamming your hand down on the self-destruct button.

“I'm not being like anything,” he snaps back, ignition of his car roaring on and gently pushing you out of the way so that he can shut his car door. “Back where I'm from, anywhere where people actually race, people drive for pink slips all of the time. Those are the stakes. It's not my fucking problem that everyone here wants to play carebears and rainbows and no one actually wants to drive.”

“You're such an asshole, you know that? Why can't you just fit in? Assimilate? Why does everything have to be about your fucking ego all of the time?”

“Well babe,” he sighs, pressing his car into drive and effectively communicating to you that the conversation is over — something that you're well aware of already with calls for the drivers to come to the front lines. ���You wanted to be with me, and you still are, so what does that say about you?”

Silence takes you, chewing on the inside of your lip — you do wonder.

“Get your attitude in check by the time the race is over,” he adds just before rolling off. “I have a much better use for your mouth in mind than all of this bullshit.”

With that, your boyfriend slowly rolls off and towards the starting line, glancing over and across the cement, you watch as Hongjoong pulls up from Seonghwa's drivers side window for his friend to carry on doing the same, and as if feeling your gaze upon him, turns to meet eyes with your own.

It's ill-advised to be seen mingling in a place like this, during a night like this, so instead, you're barred to stolen glances through midnight fog and cigarette smoke.

Stepping up with your jacket clutched inwards towards your chest, you stand alongside another Emperors driver, Yeosang — a shorter guy with a wicked birthmark adorning his face — as Seonghwa and Yunho meet up at the starting line in the dead of night, awaiting the referees announcements to begin preparation. First, it's a rundown of the rules for the race; very little of them, given that it is illegal street racing, but effectively boiling down to 'don't intentionally do things that put you or others at higher risk of injury or death,' then it's how the countdown to start will begin shortly. You meet eyes with Yunho — the car closest to you — a stare cold and disinterested and lacking any emotional care for you at all, so when he pulls his eyes away and back towards the wet road ahead of him, your eyes wander further out and towards Seonghwa, who also greets you.

A silent nod that the two of you share, as if agreeing on a preferable outcome for the evening.

The truth is that Jeong Yunho's reputation certainly be fitting of him: a good driver, skilled, and with a fast car, at that.

Seonghwa was good, great, even — but technically outmatched — and part of the evil that shrouded Emperors reputation, as well. A sort of 'pick on someone your own size' mentality certainly lost on them.

Yunho had never challenged Hongjoong, and for that, many thought there to be a reason.

With the buzzer sounding for the impending countdown, your hands gripping the steel of the barrier erected between the viewers and the street in front, you inhale sharply the scent of the dewy night sky, and all in all, can only hope for each of them to make it out in one piece.

Then, the familiar scent of a certain cigarette evading your senses.

Three, two, one, go.

Tires screeching, the two pull off lightning quick, and you're disappointed in the fact that from where you stand, you'll see very little of it until the end — people already beginning to move towards the finishing line to have the perfect view of the outcome, you feel the familiar presence of not one, but two people coming up on either side of you: Chaerin, and Hongjoong, naturally.

“You're late,” you nod to your friend, her nodding in response.

“Purposefully, I don't need to watch Emperors all circle jerk each other off pre-race, seen it enough times as it is.”

Hongjoong snorts at the comment from the other side of you before taking a drag of his already lit cigarette as it sits between freshly painted fingers.

“What do you think?” you ask him, tone lower and less playful than the one you had just had with Chaerin a moment ago. The man hums, looking up and into the night sky before stepping back again with intent to head towards the finish line as well.

“Yunho will probably win,” he states, matter of a fact. “But it's fine, we have cars. Paint job on his was expensive though so that'll probably hurt.”

“He has a lot of money in that car,” you sigh disappointingly, and Hongjoong nods. “Yeah, he does.”

“We should go,” Chaerin chimes with a nudge into your arm.

The thought of Yunho taking, and taking from the people and places that mean so much to you without giving much of anything back weighing heavier and heavier on your heart and soul with each passing day, you find.

Seonghwa figures that for a race like this, the fact that it's an uphill track works out in his favor — with the roads wet and gravity defying, top speeds peak relatively low, which means that despite Yunho having far more time and money into his car, what it will really come down to is skill, and knowledge — two things that the man with the ponytail feels he has leaps and bounds of over his opponent. a course he's done countless times, and Yunho, only a handful since moving here, it lends itself to being the course that people test, especially when it comes to the hairpin drift.

It's Hongjoong's favorite, too.

Hitting the shift and snapping his car forward with Yunho just behind, the two take the first turn — not an especially difficult one, but Seonghwa notices that already he feels the road give way a bit beneath his vehicle at the speed in which he's driving as he momentarily loses the back end of the car — it's not a loss, nothing that his opponent can gain on having immediately straightened out for a bit just past it — but Seonghwa takes note of the fact regardless, being well aware of the kinds of twists and turns that await them just a bit further up the road.

For Yunho, however, the turn is of little concern to him, happily trailing behind his opponent for the time being as he grins at the sight of the much lesser experienced driver just ahead of him lose it in the tail end of the corner. 'A good sign,' he thinks to himself, not that he was worried to begin with — considering this to be just another easy win for his team to collect under their belts.

The next corner proves to be much tighter, and much more difficult to navigate — for Seonghwa, at least. Slamming his shift to hit the drift at just the precise moment, heart leaping into his chest as he steals a second to stare back into his rear view mirror to check on how Yunho is handling it, it gives him little comfort watching the way that Yunho navigates the track with his vehicle, and with a lump in his throat, slams his shift once again for the next oncoming turn — a hard right following the previous hard left — and with it being a relatively short track with no long straightaways after the last hairpin corner for Yunho to gain on him with an objectively faster and more powerful car, if he can manage to avoid allowing his opponent the space to overtake in one of the turns, or worse, lose control of his car and give Yunho the race for free — that it should be an easy win for the man on Team Spirals.

Shifting gear, Seonghwa slams on the break just enough to hit his drift just right, this time not losing the back end at all — a comforting sign, glancing back at the EVO behind him and still trailing — a short straight drive before the last sharp left, and subsequently the end of the race — this being the make or break of the entire competition.

Shifting again to hit his drift — tires screeching and the smell of burning rubber carrying so heavy in the air that surely everyone waiting at the top of the mountain can feel the heaviness of the impending end, Seonghwa glances back again to look towards the tall man with the dark, red hair in his rearview mirror—

But this time, he finds no one there looking back at him.

Panic settling hard and fast into his chest, the man looks over to his side, Yunho now having crept up just next to him on the same drift — unaware of how it is that he's able to gain on a hairpin turn such as this one but without the ability to think much of it now — and sure, through numerous races between he and Hongjoong on this very same track, it's not unheard of, and has happened before.

But tonight, of all nights.

Yunho looking over at the panicking driver with a cool and collected demeanor as he slams his shift to carry a straighter drive just a second faster than Seonghwa — the man can't help but let out an exasperated 'fuck!' to no one as he follows suit but all too late in the grand scheme of things — seconds of drive feeling like a collection of years in the moment and the outcomes resulting the same, all it takes it one second — and in situations such as this one, it's the Emperors leader Jeong Yunho who effortlessly shows his skill, precision, and experience. all within one seconds time.

Coming out of the turn, the lights from the awaiting crowd in full view as Yunho rips forward and ahead of Seonghwa who only straightens out his own vehicle just after — and in less than ten seconds, the race is over as the both of them cross the finish line.

Trying to temper your frown at the result, and pulling away from Hongjoong before Yunho can catch you in his eyesight of being with the man, you notice the way he chews on the inside of his cheek contemplatively — disappointed, but not surprised.

As you make your way through the crowd and towards your boyfriend — stepping tall and proud from his vehicle with a smug grin on his face as if the entire world rest in his palm, it's a bubbling feeling of disgust, and maybe even resentment that starts to churn within you at the sight of him.

The cheers from other Emperors members and fans alike ringing through your ears, too loud, too obnoxious to stand listening to for too long, Yunho catches sight of you before you have a chance to duck out of the group of people, stepping forward and taking you by the hand to pull you towards him and into a kiss for the people to see.

When he finally releases you, you catch eyes with Hongjoong in the back of the standing people — cigarette dangling between pretty lips and eyes rolling as he turns back to console the loser of the race.

“Problem, Chief.”

The words come from Mingi — driver, racer, mechanic and closest friend of Yunho's, so you know it's not good when the both of you quickly turn your attention to the man with his attention hard pressed into the windshield of your boyfriends car.

“Man, come on, what now!” Yunho whines as he steps around and next to his friend to view whatever it is that is the issue.

Pointing a finger towards a large crack in the glass — spanning from the bottom right corner all of the way up to nearly the center, Mingi doesn't even really have to say it before the red head starts groaning with his head tossed back. “Give me a fuckin' break.”

“You didn't notice?” Mingi asks with a bit of a chuckle, as if completely unsure how that could be, but Yunho shrugs. “I heard something hit it but I just thought it was a small rock, I didn't think it would be all of this.”

“You can't drive it like this, we'll have to bring it back to the shop tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I know,” your boyfriend groans again, the largest inconvenience in the world now being presented just before him. “Good thing I just gained a new car, I guess.”

It sends chills down your spine, only now being reminded of exactly what it was that was on the line for this race.

With a sinister tone and a single corner of his mouth upturning, Mingi chuckles. “Better go collect, then.”

Slinging an arm up and around your shoulders a bit more roughly than you would have liked, Yunho leans down just a bit to plant a kiss on the top of your head as he pulls you forward and towards the group of Spirals only a few feet away.

“Just another pretty little thing I get to take from these bums.”

The words twisting your stomach into knots all over again, there had always been a sneaking suspicion deep within your soul that somewhere in there, at the end of the day, there was no respect for you, no love for you, nothing genuine at all.

Just another possession that Yunho wished to acquire, as he had been his entire time there.

Shouting out and towards the grouping of guys, Seonghwa leaning with his back against his car and quite evidently to you trying to play his loss cool — you've known him long enough to know how much he loves that car, and how badly it stings for him to lose it.

You hate to see it, and more than that, you hate to see it be lost to Emperors.

“You cracked my windshield, fuckboy,” Yunho shouts — the tone is playful, but it's more fuel to the fire you can tell from the way Hongjoong's jaw tightens as he clenches it in an attempt to be a good sport about the whole ordeal. “Time to pay up, I need to get me and the girl home, after all.”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa sighs, turning to lean into his car and popping the dashboard compartment to retrieve the title, it's then that the sound of Hongjoong stepping up from the side can be heard.

“What can I do to keep Seonghwa's car?”

At first a sweeping moment of silence, before a crashing sound and what you can only imagine to be Seonghwa slamming his head against his dash in shock at the proclamation by his friend as the man hisses and is found to be rubbing the back of it upon pulling himself out of the side of the vehicle — but with short silver hair and similarly short in stature — especially compared to your boyfriend, Hongjoong stands firm in front of the man, arms crossed in front of his chest as he awaits a response.

Yunho looking at him with one quirked eyebrow before glancing down towards you with a lopsided grin, he looks back up at Hongjoong through eyelashes before delivering his short-thought response.

“Kind of bad form to beg me not to take my spoils, don't you think?” he asks smugly. “Kind of pathetic, ya know?”

“You don't need it, you guys only drive EVO's anyways, who cares.”

“Hardly the point,” he says, matching Hongjoong's stance as he pulls from you and crosses his arms to stand straight — and even taller — in front of your ex. “We had an agreement, and I won fair and square, the car is mine.”

“What, so you can rip it for parts?” Hongjoong asks.

“No, so I can trash it where it belongs.”

Snorting at the pissy response, the shorter of the two glances away for a second, chewing on the inside of his cheek again before turning back to carry on the conversation, but it's Seonghwa who interjects before he's able to.

“Hongjoong, it's fine, he won.”

“Actually, it's not,” he says, this time more pointed than his previous tone. “I don't think it is fine, actually, so what can I do to keep my mans car?”

Watching the three go back and forth causing anxiety to bubble up in your gut, unsure of the lengths in which any of the men are willing to go to in order to get their points across, you give it some thought yourself — if there's anything that you can do to settle this situation between all of them yourself. the person with the most dealings with all parties involved, now standing by on the sidelines as the two teams attempt to hash it out — and not well, at that, your mind races in an attempt to come to an answer, but before you're able, you feel the discomforting gaze of your partner raining down on you from just above, all before any words even leave his mouth.

“Well babe, what do you think? Should we let the poor guy keep his ratty ol' car?”

You know a set up when you see it — or in this case, when you hear it.

Glancing towards Hongjoong, his eyes pull away almost immediately, you figure as to not attempt to pressure you into making a decision one way or another — and not knowing how much weight your decision holds, that earlier anxiety continues creeping up through your chest, and into your throat.

You know that one thing is for sure: doing the right thing most certainly will come with consequences.

“Well?”

Inhaling slowly, deeply, you make your decision.

“Let Seonghwa keep the car.”

You try not to engage in eye contact with your boyfriend, knowing full well that his gaze remain laser focused on you especially now, but the curiosity getting the best of you as you glance upwards to meet angry, disappointed eyes — the strangest result of an expression of compassion awaiting you — Yunho hums just barely audibly before forcing a grin and looking back up and towards the Spirals members.

“Lady says fuckboy keeps his car, so fuckboy keeps his car.”

One part relieved at the outcome, one part surprised by your word carrying any weight with the man, and the last concerned about the result of this in regards to your relationship with Yunho, slinging an arm up and around your shoulder again, he hurries you off and away from the men.

But regardless of what happens now, you know that you've done the right thing — and maybe for once you'll be able to sleep well tonight.

“We're gonna go to the bar, wanna come?”

Yeosang's voice ringing out as the two of you step forward, Yunho abruptly pulls his arm from you as he carries forward and towards the friends glossy white EVO — and waving a hand up in the air, he bids you farewell in a turn of events that you find not all that surprising anymore.

“Get a ride home with your pals,” he rings out, tone venomous and contemptuous. “In the ratty old RX-7, all used up and past its prime—“ he scoffs as he opens the passenger side door.

“—Kinda reminds me of someone else I know.” He says, finishing the thought before sliding inside of the car and slamming the door shut.

The words don't hurt — not from him. It's an anticipated outcome from a calculated risk that you decided to take.

But they show the mans true colors all the same.

As you watch your boyfriend and his friends drive off to enjoy the rest of their victory evening without you — shooting you knowing glances all the while — you contemplate sending the text message then and there, the one ending your relationship with him once and for all. A break up via text, perhaps precisely what he deserves for his thoughtlessness towards you, anyways, but still extending yourself much further for him than perhaps the man would ever do for you.

Save it for another day, and try to enjoy the rest of your evening.

Sauntering back over towards Spirals, Chaerin now joining the fray, she looks up at you from beneath Seonghwa's popped hood — having been checking out his engine as you dealt with the disaster on the other side of the asphalt.

But as she flashes you with a wide smile, it's all the more indication that what you had done was right.

“You're in big trouble, aren't you?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Sighing, you shrug. “Looks like I need another ride home tonight.”

Hongjoong popping up from the drivers side of Seonghwa's car, where the tallest man is sat and about ready to head off for the night and overhearing the conversation, he sends you a knowing look from across matte black paint that may now still remain in the company of his teammate, and all thanks to you.

With Chaerin and Seonghwa being the last two to drive off, and leaving only you and your ex-boyfriend at the top of the hill, you place your bag into the passenger side seat of Hongjoong's car before shutting the door and leaning against it with your chest — arms crossed along the top as you wait for the man on the other side to finish doing the same and come up to meet your eyes.

“Surprised you did it,” he says as he does, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket to loosen it just a bit. “Guess I don't have to ask if he's pissed since you're here.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, long since accepting of the outcome of the situation and having made peace with it. “He'll get over it.”

“Why's his car still here, anyway?”

“Crack in the windshield,” you reply with a shrug. “Karma, maybe.”

“Oh, definitely,” he chimes back with a snort. “Lemmie see this thing.”

The two of you walking back over towards Yunho's car, long since abandoned and awaiting it's rescue in the early morning hours (or not so early, depending on how the night out goes), you recall this being the exact spot where you and Hongjoong shared your first kiss — first romantic kiss — past the veil of a friends with benefits arrangement, more raw and exposed and knowing between you both; a much chillier night than this and much windier when he finally pulled you in for it with no other intentions beyond it, and the words that you had secretly been wanting to hear for weeks before then.

'I think we should just see each other, only, what do you think?'

“Oh man, that's a fuckin' doozy!”

High pitched laughter ringing through the night air and straight through the memory, effectively bringing you back to the present, your attention pulls back to Hongjoong, leaned over the side hood of Yunho's EVO to laugh at your boyfriends misfortune. “No wonder he was so hard up for Seonghwa's car, fuckin' scumbag.”

Meeting him at his side to take a look at the damage again, you smile at Hongjoong's joy in it, knowing it's well deserved, and most earned.

“Looks like I got you to myself tonight, after all.”

It's sort of a sudden change, the way his body shifts to pull away from the vehicle only enough to plant you further against it, and underneath him — arms on either side of you, caging you in with little option for escape from the man.

Not that you really wanted to, anyway.

Hongjoong leans in towards your face, lips grazing the skin of your cheek on their way towards your ear — the contact sending a shiver down your spine — some bizarre taboo of being held like this by him against such a prized possession of your boyfriends — but suppose that makes two of them, now well within Hongjoong's grasp currently.

“Have the keys?”

For a second you wonder what he's referring to, before it dawns on you that he's referring to the car, and with a shake of your head to protest. “No, only Mingi has another set.”

“Damn,” he whispers against the shell of your ear as a hand dips down and makes its way between your legs to palm at you. “That's okay, we can make due.”

Devilish in tone, you melt into the touch as he begins pulling at the buttoning of your jeans, face turning upwards and pulling your mouth into his — his tongue tasting of cigarette and coffee in anticipation of a long night ahead, you happily lean into it as your arms sling up and around his neck to pull him harder against you.

Shimmying your pants down your legs, he pulls away from your mouth only long enough to slink down to free one of your feet from the restrictive clothing, hiking your leg up and around his hip as he comes back up to meet your mouth for the second round of devouring you — cool metal greeting your behind as he presses you harder against the vehicle, you moan into his mouth as a finger presses into you slowly, one hand from around his neck falling back and against the car to steady yourself better for what it is that's soon to take place.

A second finger in, slowly prying you open for his cock, Hongjoong's mouth pulls away to trail down your neck, latching onto the skin just below your chin to suck a mark into it.

Just another doing of his that you'll have to cover up, like all of the ones before it. Perhaps if you were smarter, you'd tell him to avoid doing such things.

But frankly, that's not something you want, either.

“Wanna fuck you,” he groans into your skin, a whimper escaping you in response to the admission. Fingers pulling from you to work into his own jeans, you allow your head to fall back to take in the moment — the beautiful night sky, the light breeze, and the lingering scents of the nights earlier goings on. only a few seconds granted to you before you feel the familiar prodding of the tip of him pushing inside of you through the sound of his belt buckle jingling through the air.

“Kiss me,” you whisper out, Hongjoong wasting no time obliging the request as he brings his mouth up from your neck and to your lips, one hand gripping tightly into your thigh to keep it hoisted up his hip as he fucks you against the vehicle.

The angle certainly doing you favors, presenting the perfect ability for Hongjoong's cock to graze the perfect spot with every drive into you, free hand not used to keep yourself somewhat upright now buried into short, blonde hair — the man fucks you hard, but not particularly fast, every thrust seemingly deliberate in his desire to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible.

Legs quaking around him as you cry out his name, clenching down around him as he fucks you through your orgasm, Hongjoong pauses kissing you long enough to pull from your lips enough to watch you intently as you cum around his dick — forehead pressed to your own as you moan and whimper through your release.

“Fuck me from behind.”

The demand spilling from your lips before you have a chance to think much of it, still reeling from your orgasm, no time lost in taking heed of it — pulling himself from you and turning you around to bend you over the cold metal of your boyfriends car before burying his cock inside of you again and settling into a much harder, quicker pace than before.

You feel him reach down for something briefly, without much thought to it, until you hear the sound of a lighter flickering, and the scent of freshly lit cigarette from behind you.

It's a little charming, in a hilariously degenerate way, you think.

“Rubbed off on you a little bit, huh?” he huffs out between thrusts, one hand settled on the small of your back while the other wraps around the dip in your waist. “Now who likes getting fucked in places they have no business getting fucked in?”

“Joong— feel so good, fuck—“ and it's hardly a response to the questions, although it sort of is with how exquisite the drag of his cock feels against your walls.

“Yeah, baby? Want me to make you cum again? Like me fucking you on your mans car?”

“Yes,” you manage to huff out, the air nearly fucked out of you with every hard push of himself against you.

Feeling the brief loss of one of his hands — presumably to finish off his cigarette and toss it to the side — he brings it back to gently snake up the length of your back, settling at the back of your neck and gripping fingers into the sides to continue his rhythm.

“Rub yourself for me,” Hongjoong whispers, voice faltering every so slightly at the creeping promise of his own release, and you waste no time bringing your dominant hand down and between your legs — first feeling for the way his cock stretches your pussy open with every push inside of you, enough in and of itself to get you that much closer to where you want to get to before circling fingers against your clit to bring yourself over the edge around him — groaning immediately at the feeling of you tightening around him with the additional stimulation, he fucks you that much harder.

Biting hard into your lip in an attempt to stifle your cries, Hongjoong notices, and much to his disapproval.

“No one can hear you, you can scream for me,” he groans, clearly and quickly reaching his own orgasmic inevitability. “Lemmie hear you, tell me how good it feels.”

The instruction does enough of the work, his desire to hear you cry out for him and how good he makes you feel as you cum hard — at the same time, Hongjoong's hips stuttering with a breathy moan of your name as he shoves his cock as deep into you as he can to cum — the throb of his release prolonging your own as you sound nearly pained by the feeling of a long, drawn out, second orgasm of the night.

An airy 'fuck' dropping from him as he attempts to steady himself, catch his breath after his release, Hongjoong only bends forward to lean himself against your back — gentle kisses peppered across your shoulder and back before he settles the side of his head down against you for a moment of reprieve.

As a gust of fresh, night air flushes by and across hot skin, when the words ring out through bitten, red, lips, you think for a split second that you're not sure which one of you they truly come from — long since having been hanging in the forefront of your mind, as it was.

'I miss you. Us.'

Over the next following weeks, you can't help but notice the acute way in which messages back from Hongjoong dissipate. You figure, at least to some degree, that the relationship between Spirals and Emperors having reached such a boiling point after the last race, that perhaps it's expected — that even in spite of your good deed in martyring yourself for Seonghwa's car, the fact that it ever even reached that point be reason enough to want to distance himself from you.

That's what you tell yourself, at least, ignoring the elephant in the room.

And as the days pass, you find your relationship with Yunho having also deteriorated in such a way that maybe you hadn't anticipated. Yes, you expected him to be mad about the dealing with Seonghwa, and yes, that had been something that you had factored in prior to making the decision — in thinking that with a few days to cool off, things might just go back to normal.

Not that normal was ever even that great, either.

So two weeks later, on a rainy Thursday night just two hours before the scheduled meet up — no races and no thrills given the weather — when Yunho texts you that he's coming over to talk, you're unsure of what to expect. Perhaps the dissolution of your relationship, the thought causing an expected twisting to the contents of your stomach.

Why, you're not sure. Would breaking up even really be that bad?

But suppose the ending of a relationship where there once had been love will always be hard.

Watching Yunho drag himself through the doorway of your bedroom, jacket almost certainly left at the front door of your home and bag slumping down to the floor with a thud, you watch as he avoids eye contact with you for the first few seconds of his arrival — fingers pushing through damp, rained upon hair to remove what's stuck to the skin of his forehead, he sighs heavily as he finally makes eye contact with you — but doesn't press himself further inside of the bedroom, either.

Awkwardness so tangible, it's the first time that you think you've ever seen him in such a bizarre state — not so astoundingly full of ego and grandeur but rather, somewhat impish as a result of whatever it is that he came here tonight to say.

“We should talk.”

Voice deep but almost cracking through the abruptness of the words, it takes you quite a bit back as once again his eyes dart from you — knots tightening in your abdomen at the sight of your boyfriend just before you.

You can't find it in you to respond to him, waiting for the pin to drop, instead.

“You can't spend time with Spirals anymore.”

Wait, what?

You don't say it, not verbally at least, and you suppose you twist of your features in near disgust says everything that it needs to as Yunho rolls his eyes at the quiet display of you before him.

“Don't really want you hanging out with that bitch Chaerin, either, but i'm willing to compromise.”

“'Willing'?” you mirror back, shock laden in your tone. “You're telling me who I can and can't hang out with, now? I've known them all way longer than i've known you.”

“Yeah and I don't think that's doing you any favors,” he bites back, finally stepping towards you in a much stronger stride than the way he had entered. “The thing with Seonghwa was humiliating, you're my girlfriend, why the fuck are you going to bat for him? He lost.”

Scoffing, you reel at the fact that the argument is taking place at all with how asinine it is to you.

“This is stupid, you can't tell me who I can spend time with.”

“I can and I will.”

Standing up from the edge of your bed and pushing past him, you swiftly grab your phone and keys from your nightstand on the way out before turning back to him for the final blow.

You pause, having to think twice before delivering it.

“You feel big, Yunho?” You start, contempt heavy in your voice towards him with eyes equally narrow and cutting. “You feel brave only racing people who aren't on your level? Is that why—“

Pausing again, you watch the mans eyes widen at the beginning of the implication, stepping towards you again. “Say it! Say what you were going to say!”

“—that why you never challenged Hongjoong?”

You turn again to leave, but not before long fingers wrap around your arm to stop you. Not especially aggressive or violent but enough to have your heart beating through your chest at the implications — a man putting his hands on you during a heated argument — You still anyways, just in case.

You don't think Yunho would hit you, but frankly, you're not entirely sure, either.

The two of you locking eyes, rage and disdain painting each one of your faces as you stare each other down, Yunho lets go of you almost just as quickly as he had grasped a hold.

And probably regretting it just as much, too.

“See yourself out,” you say just before turning to leave again, and when Yunho asks you where you're going, the only details you grace him with are “out.”

“He put his fucking hands on you?”

The voice rings out from Chaerin — shrill and shrieky through the echoing walls of the mechanic shop, previously rolled up beneath her forest green RX-8 — but quickly wheeling herself out from under it at the sound of the words leaving your mouth.

Hongjoong only a few more feet away; leaned back in a tattered rolling chair that's certainly seen better days and boots kicked up onto a desk that's now used for very little besides holding water bottles and the occasional wrench — as he attempts to dig out oil from underneath a fingernail with a switchblade he adds commentary of his own. “The guy's a piece of shit, got half a mind to slash his fucking tires right in front of his face tonight.”

“Don't bother,” you sigh. “He didn't hurt me, he wasn't violent, but yeah—“

“A man putting his hands on you in any way during an argument is violent,” Chaerin states clearly as she walks towards you to pull you into a hug. “I'm sorry, my love.”

“I'm okay, seriously.”

“You've got to leave him,” the blonde woman adds after your affirmation of being alright with the circumstances. “I mean, this can't keep going on. It was already bad but things are just getting worse, and worse at this point. The cheating, the controlling behavior, now getting physical with you...”

You can't help but glance to your far right towards Hongjoong in an attempt to assess the way that he's intaking the information, but the man appears to be outwardly unbothered — still picking apart the underside of his fingernail with little more to say on the situation.

“We can find you a nice guy,” your best friend says with a smile and a certain cheekiness to her.

“Like Hongjoong.”

First it's a crashing sound, followed by a pointed 'fuck' and turning to follow where the sounds had come from, the sight before you being your ex planted back to the floor, wheels of his chair having given out from beneath him — and a nasty gash in the tip of his finger from the knife once toyed with.

“Are you okay?” you ask, relatively unbothered by the sight before you as Chaerin jogs off to retrieve the first aid kid.

“What's wrong with your friend?”

“How much time do you have?” you chuckle, implication of 'a lot' heavy in the answer. A playful huff from the man following as the blonde woman arrives back with a large enough bandage for the wound and something to disinfect it.

“Someone's jittery.” She says with a knowing grin, which Hongjoong pointedly avoids looking at.

“I drink a lot of coffee.”

“Why did you guys break up, anyway?”

As silence befalls the mechanic shop, you slowly glance towards the woman next to you, flashing a look that says a thousand words in and of itself, but most importantly being: what are you doing right now?

Chaerin mouths “what?” back to you, as if Hongjoong isn't lying just in front of the both of you and fully capable of seeing the display before him, he finally rolls his eyes with a huff — more than exhausted of the situation already.

“Her parents hated me, okay?” he begins, wincing as the tight bandage wraps around his open wound. “Guess I look a little too much like a guy who does illegal street racing for fun and has a DUI.”

Silence again, and you think for a moment that perhaps Hongjoong's admission a bit too raw and unfiltered for what Chaerin had anticipated — a teasing that had begun rather lighthearted, now seemingly serving as a tool for the mans emotional release. It's not much, but for someone who doesn't talk about his feelings all that much, you know how much it really is, and from the way the words sound on the edge of broken by the end of the sentence, most definitely coming from a place of genuine hurt.

“Well,” she begins, and you figure that she's doing it out of a feeling of obligation — the need to respond to something so open and honest, to not leave him hanging. “Parents can be wrong—“

Her eyes now switching to flash to you as she says it.

“—but anyways, it's a good thing there's no races tonight because that's probably gonna hurt like a bitch for a couple of days. I'd recommend staying off of it and not—“

“We never stopped sleeping together.”

It's Hongjoong that you look at first — the man sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth and eyes widening at the words as he slowly turns to look at you with a face that asks 'right, what's all this, then?' and after, it's Chaerin that you glance towards — hers not all that different from Hongjoong's, although you think that if you look hard enough, you can see a sense of having already suspected as much through her features.

If she had thought as much, she keeps it to herself, opting instead to clear her throat and yank Hongjoong back up to his feet with her as the three of you stand up from the concrete floor.

“Never stopped as in...?” She inquires, curious of the exact timeline in relation to Yunho.

“Think we stopped seeing each other for like—“ you pause to think as you glance towards your ex next to you, still relatively shell-shocked by the whole ordeal. You shrug and sigh simultaneously. “A week, after we broke up?”

“So, you've always...since Yunho...”

Lips pulled into a thin line as you're forced to admit such, you nod gently — far from proud of your misdoings, but acknowledging them all the same.

“Wow,” your friend chimes out, eyes wide still with the gathering of new information. Hands pressed to her hips as another layer of quiet wafts over the three of you — Hongjoong not dare speaking out of turn in events such as this — neither of you have to, not with Chaerin around.

“Thank god! It's what he fucking deserves. Fuck that guy.”

Laughing nervously, you understand where she's coming from, of course: as your best friend, and a friend of Hongjoong's much more so now than earlier, to know that Yunho has been repeatedly done wrong in such a way feels a bit like a breath of fresh air — an understanding that through everything that he's put everyone else through, there is still some semblance of justice — somewhere, somehow.

You don't necessarily agree with the feeling, guilt and disgusting swirling around deep in your chest every time you're forced to acknowledge the fact, but perhaps it's admitting to it out loud that will give you the strength to do something with it.

And everything else aside, you've wondered how much of Hongjoong's truth laid bare for you that night on top of the mountain with his confession to you.

The least that you can ask of Yunho — and everyone else involved, for that matter, is for one night where nothing goes wrong.

You're thankful that even in never verbally requesting of it, it seems as though the stars aligned themselves all the same — everyone on their best behavior, and a casual car meet night starting and ending without an argument, or otherwise nasty words exchanged.

The looks are unavoidable — Spirals, Chaerin and the like in Yunho's direction — something he most definitely picks up on yet chooses not to comment. Surprising, for him. A man that always has something to say, including and almost especially in circumstances where it's him that's in the wrong.

But tonight? Nothing.

You heed your boyfriends request: not really with intention of actually doing so, that is, allowing him to control who it is that you can and cannot have contact with, but rather to keep the evening smooth and mellow.

It was a conversation that would see reopening.

“Hey,” you whisper, hand reaching over the center console of his vehicle to wrap delicate fingers around his forearm. “We should talk.”

Putting the car into drive and waving off his friends just before pulling off, you study his face as he remains silent from just next to you — jaw tight and lips pressed thin as he stares ahead — it's as if he's driving, sitting entirely still in the emptying parking garage used as tonight’s meeting place.

Sighing, Yunho closes his eyes for a moment as if to collect himself. You brace for impact.

“I'm sorry.”

And you figure that surprising would be an understatement, eyebrows pushing together as you take in the words just as they left his mouth. Foot pressing to the pedal now as the car slowly drives the both of you off, the man sighs again. “I shouldn't put my hands on you. Not ever. I'm sorry.”

You sort of knew that it was well beyond the scope of what even he finds to be acceptable-assholery, not that it excuses the behavior, but an apology for the goings on feels the least surprising of all of the other potential things the man could have been issuing it for.

Controlling behavior is okay, but he draws the line at getting physical. Guess it's something.

Not enough, though.

“Yeah,” you quietly reply back, not wanting to absolve him of it, nor do you really wish to accept his apology for it. Forgiveness for some things feeling well beyond your scope — suppose it would file under unforgivable. Something that Yunho would have to make peace with on his own time.

“That why you were on your best behavior tonight?” You ask, tone playful but sort of meaning it, also.

Your boyfriend chuckles at the words as the car slows to a halt for a red light just ahead.

“Yeah, kind of,” he says quickly, not needing time to mull it over at all. “I feel bad, it's fucked up—“

Pausing, Yunho leans forward to look out and through his windshield towards something a bit up ahead before sitting back again and glancing to his side at you. “—Mind if I kidnap you for a bit?” he asks with a gentle smile.

Suppose Jeong Yunho serves as your own blind spot.

Car parked in a nearby, open, parking lot — only a handful of street lights illuminating the area, but enough so that it doesn't feel secluded — the man next to you sits back against his custom seat more comfortably, head resting back as well just before turning to face you and stretching his arm out now against the center of the vehicle towards you in and effort to request for your hand in his.

You oblige.

Inhaling heavily — you await the words that seem to linger just on his tongue, the vision of a man still thinking through every thought before allowing them to exit through his mouth — you wonder, if perhaps it's the first time of him having done so. Yunho, so quick with words and thoughtless actions and selfishness, now contemplating everything in a whole new way, a way that you think, perhaps, you've never seen from him before.

“You know I just want what's best for you, right?”

Yuck.

Words carrying into your ears and twisting deep inside your stomach as if doused with poison themselves, it's not at all what you had been hoping to hear: it's an explanation for him being the way he is — it's an implication that you should need him to help you make decisions, to act right, to be good for him, because certainly you're incapable of doing it yourself.

For whatever reason, the memories of when the two of you first started dating come flooding back to you. Holding hands while shopping and movie nights late at your place with your parents home (previously uncharted waters, but your mother liked him so much she allowed it for him), a hand on your thigh when he took you out for a ride in his car, but nothing too dangerous — the assumption that he wouldn't be able to live with himself should anything happen to you while with him.

When perhaps he was the danger itself all along.

But it makes it hard nonetheless. It's never easy when there is love there, memories there — a history. You cared for Yunho, in all of the ways that a girlfriend does, no matter how wronged or slighted or for how long — it's difficult sometimes, to do what's best for oneself when knowing it to be the severance of so many others.

“We should break up.”

But you have to, anyways. Above all else.

You choose to stare forward out of the windshield in front of you — a vivid recollection of the way Hongjoong had you not so long ago just there springing up and into the forefront of your mind as if some cruel reminder that you not be the saint you wish to paint yourself as — that you're not a victim in all of this, not completely.

With dark red hair in your peripheral vision, you see the man dip his head down.

Then delicately pull his hand from your own.

But Yunho opts out of a verbal response, instead using his newly freed hand to start the ignition of his car once again and toss it into reverse. Panic sets in, although, you're not entirely sure why.

“Yunho—“

“I heard you.”

A response curt and lacking any emotion beyond anger, you find it in yourself to finally look towards him fully — jaw clenched hard as you're so used to seeing on him, and eyes narrow with indignation.

Stilling the car again and jamming the shift into drive much rougher than he had been before, he begins pulling off and back onto the road — it's towards your home, that much you are thankful — but you don't imagine the ride there will remain this quiet, either.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, now driving a tad bit faster than before. It's nothing especially dangerous, but you note it all the same. Yunho doesn't give you time to answer, though, before adding onto the inquiry with another thought of his own. “Because I grabbed your arm?”

He sounds stressed, voice pitchier than usual given his typically smoother, deep tone — perhaps panicked at being faced with the dissolution of the relationship.

And just as you're about to answer him, he continues on again.

“Because of him?”

You know who he means without the dropping of the name.

“You can't tell me who I can and can't hang out with, Yunho—“

“You're choosing him over me? Over us? You already broke up with that fucking loser once, how many times do you have to do it before it sticks?”

“It's not about Hongjoong.”

Sort of a lie.

“Then it shouldn't matter that I don't want you hanging out with your stupid ass ex. You miss a guy with a fuckin' DUI? Are you stupid?”

Yunho's tone raising louder and louder, anger bubbling quickly in the confined space of the vehicle, you want nothing more than to be free from the clutches of being there with him.

Sure, you had anticipated the break up to not go over well, but perhaps it was heading into territory you weren't quite ready for.

It's then that the fuel light pops on on Yunho's dashboard — slamming his palm against the steering wheel in frustration at all of these circumstances culminating annoyingly at once, he cusses to himself under his breath before looking just up ahead and on the right for a gas station open.

But what really causes your heart to do a nose dive into your stomach, is the visual of Hongjoong's car pulled up to gas pump three.

“Well, would you look at that,” Yunho sing-songs sarcastically as he pulls in, a man with silver hair just exiting the shop with a bottle of water and keys in hand before briefly looking up just enough to notice the scene before him. “Perfect timing.”

And now you know that tonight is going to be a problem.

Pulling up to gas pump two, Hongjoong slows just to the side of his car before hopping into the drivers seat — as if having some sort of sixth sense of there being a problem — carefully eyeing the EVO as it stills to a halt on the other side of the median separating you.

When Yunho slams the shift into park, the only word exiting his mouth is “out.”

For once, you're thrilled to be taking his direction.

Hopping out of the car with quickness, you shoot Hongjoong a look that says 'there's a problem' that you know has him watching the situation even more intently as he eyes the taller of the two getting out of his vehicle. A loud slamming of his car door — much louder and rougher than he would ever handle his car under normal circumstances — you watch as your ex grits his teeth as Yunho steps towards the two of you and meets Hongjoong face to face with a grin.

Nodding his head towards you, Yunho speaks first. “Ya know this one just broke up with me.”

Hongjoong snorts through his nose at the words, never faltering in his eye contact with the man in front of him. “'Bout time.”

Brave, you think. If Yunho put hands on you then you know he's not above putting Hongjoong on his ass, either.

A slow blink concealing the roll of his eyes as he nods at the words, Yunho keeps his crooked grin plastered across his face. “Big talk for a guy going nowhere, with nothing — you think you're big 'cause you got the girl? Over my dead body.”

You don't know entirely what he means by that. Intention to pursue you in spite of it all? An unwillingness to let the relationship go? A cold chill firing through your blood at the implications of what it means, you warm slightly at the sound of the silver haired man just next to you laughing at the words as he digs into his pockets for his pack of cigarettes — unable to light it due to their current whereabouts.

Hongjoong's eyebrow quirking up at the words as he takes them in — it's a look that almost explicitly explains all of the ways in which he does not take the tallest of the two seriously, in any way. You find it almost comforting, that perhaps he knows something you don't, and thus, you have little to worry about — but with a man known for acting on impulse and making rather poor decisions, who can really tell.

“What're you gonna do?” he questions, cigarette lazily dangling between his lips. “Make her be in a relationship with you, stupid?”

Jaw tense, Yunho steps towards Hongjoong slowly — the movement spiking your anxiety, but cool as a cucumber, the man remains in place with his behind gently pressed against his car and arms folded across his chest.

“If I want something, then it's mine,” he whispers — tone oozing of smugness and superiority.

For the first time ever, you think that Yunho is letting the charade go in full — no more plausible deniability about him being ultimately good or right underneath it all. The real him. This is who he is.

Waving his hand in the warm, late night air, as if evidencing their surroundings to prove his point despite no one else being around. “Maybe you've noticed, with my little collection of your friends' useless tin cans.”

Knowing Spirals and Yunho's propensity to take from them, you know it's a sore spot for Hongjoong, so watching the way in which the leader only drops his chin down to his chest with a grin before cocking his head to the side and glancing back up at the tallest of the three of you — you're unsure of what to expect.

But Hongjoong being so cool about it is probably a bad sign, based on what you know.

“Funny,” he says finally, inhaling sharply before pulling his arms apart again to rifle through his keys for the one leading to his car.

“'Cause if that were true I wouldn't have been laying into her the whole time y'all were together.”

The result comes on quicker than you expect — a fast and strong right hook to Hongjoong's jaw sending him almost barreling across the side of his own vehicle at the contact — Yunho breathing heavily as he rubs at his sore and potentially broken set of knuckles. the man glancing at you and for a second, you worry if you may also meet the same consequence as your mouthy ex, but without a word, and red hair swaying in the wind, Yunho only turns to head back towards his car.

No longer in his sights, you rush over to Hongjoong, delicately touching the place of impact and checking for mobility as he opens and closes his mouth with a wince. “God, he hits like a pussy, too. Unbelievable.”

“Hongjoong.” You whine, because god forbid the man delivering the assault overhear the comment.

“Hey!” Hongjoong shouts, and if you had known him to wish to say more, you'd have done everything in your power to stop him, but with the words already out there, your eyes widen at him, a nonverbal plead to shut the fuck up.

“Race me next Saturday,” he yells, still awkward with his damaged jaw but confident and pointed all of the same. “Not someone in my crew, me. If I win, you leave her the fuck alone and you leave town. That's it.”

You can't see the man, only the sound of him having opened the car door to go off of in relation to his whereabouts, but you hear nothing from behind you for what feels like eons. Then...

“And if I win?”

Pausing to spit out blood and hopefully not a tooth accompanying it to the ground just between his black boots, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the words come out far too confidently than you'd like them to, especially because you know him to have every intention of keeping his word.

“Then I leave. You get the car, the girl, the team, everything.”

A heavy gust of wind barreling through as silence overtakes the situation, silently pleading with Hongjoong through looks to not agree to this, to not go through with it — looks that you know the man to be purposefully avoiding in his reluctance to make eye contact with you as he asserts the deal — you don't feel any better knowing that the man is willing to put everyone on the line for you, or for whatever this is.

It's reckless, and it's dangerous, and there's got to be another way.

“See you next Saturday.” Yunho says with a tone so matter of a fact, before thrusting himself into his car and taking off just as fast.

When Saturday rolls around, it leaves you wondering where the time went between then and now.

Riding passenger side in Hongjoong's RX-7, you mull over the the happenings of the week leading up to now: countless hours leading into days spent at the mechanics shop with him, Chaerin and the rest of the Spirals team — testing and preparing his car for the impending race with everything and then some riding on it, the anticipation bubbles in your gut in a way that you're unfamiliar with — a race with far too much behind it, more than necessary, and it leaves you wondering why it is that the man driving next to you is willing to give everything up for what effectively boils down to one thing: you.

But with almost no down time between the declaration and the race — Hongjoong spending many nights at the shop, curled up asleep on the cold, beat up, leather couch inside instead of opting to bother with the travel time home when he knows he'll only end up back there early in the morning anyways — it leaves no time for the conversation.

A silent acknowledgment between you, him, and everyone else on your side of the equation.

Trailing behind Chaerin's RX-8 and pulling into the all too familiar roadside lot of the uphill racing track that serves to be Hongjoong's favorite, you figure that the two of them must have hashed it out unbeknownst to you — or it was some sort of understanding between racers for this to be the place that it would happen. The track. Not the most difficult, nor the one offering top speeds (and for that, it could be raced downhill, anyways), but rather the one feeling just right for the sort of situation.

Yunho too proud to decline the invitation to beat Hongjoong on his home terf, his favorite track, the one known to be his best — and Hongjoong all too confident to feel that he could ever be beaten on it.

Setting the car into park, you dare not speak as Hongjoong takes in a deep breath through the silence — a rowdy crowd of racers and onlookers alike heard easily from all around you outside of the car — it feels almost claustrophobic, suffocating in some way, being surrounded by people and the impending happenings of the evening.

Hongjoong looks calm and collected, however.

One hand loosening from the steering wheel to card through short, silver hair before unceremoniously plopping it onto his thigh with a flat palm, he lies his head back against the rest of his seat, turning to look at you finally with a shockingly soft expression.

“Should probably have a talk, huh?”

You can't help the way the corners of your lips curl upwards at the implications of the words. Delicate and caring. You nod.

“You're really just gonna move if you lose a race?” You ask, tone pointed with resistance in the thought of it, but the man next of you pulls his eyes away, head turning back to look out and in front of him at the passersby.

“To be honest,” he starts, thinking through the words a bit more before carrying on. “If guys like that are going to set up shop around here then maybe my time here has run out anyways, maybe it's time to move on.”

“You sound far more willing than I ever expected. You love this town.”

Hearing the exhale through his nose as if amused by the prospect of it, Hongjoong reaches forward and across you into his dashboard, rifling through papers and an empty water bottle in search of something, finally pulling an envelope with no wording sprawled across it — only an emblem.

Placing it on your lap, he nods for you to open it, but not before point out and into the crowd.

“See that guy over there with the hat? Red jacket.”

Squinting, you attempt to follow his finger with your eyes, gazing out and through the crowding of people for whoever it is that the man next to you is wishing for you to locate, all the while digging out whatever it is from this envelope that you're meant to see.

Hongjoong carries on with the thought before you do. “Those red jackets are special, custom order jackets. No one has those. You can't get them.”

“Okay...” you hesitantly acknowledge, finally landing on the man in question. Arms crossed and seemingly alone, he's looking onward — at the track, at the surroundings, and finally, over to the both of you. Nodding in your direction, Hongjoong nods back at him.

“Ever heard of Project D?” He asks.

“Uh, rings a bell. Think I've heard Yunho or Chaerin talk about it, why?”

Hongjoong snorts at the drop of names before speaking again, as if unsurprised by the ones mentioned as having any sort of interest. “Read the letter.”

A questioning look splashing across your features, you do as advised, pulling from his attention and down towards the piece of paper in your hands. It takes you some time to go through it, and then, another moment from reading it over again — because you're quite sure that you must have read something wrong, must have gone through this with a bit of wishful thinking and a simple wanting so badly of things to go good, and right.

But with the second read through and confidence in your reading comprehension, your attention snaps back up and towards Hongjoong — a wide grin sported on his face.

“This...this is—“ you manage to stutter out, heart threatening to beat through your chest entirely as he turns to meet your eyes again.

“Indeed. Turns out someone thinks this guy can drive a car,” he sighs with a sort of nonchalance that has you so taken aback you aren't even sure what to say or think.

Project D. The upper echelon of street racing. Entirely closed off, and run on a strict 'don't call us, we'll call you' type of basis. It's professional, and the dream for just about anyone involved in the sport. a one way ticket out of here, that much is for certain.

So unfamiliar to the common driver that no one here even recognizes the shining red jacket only adorned by drivers on the team.

“His name is Takahashi Ryosuke,” Hongjoong begins again, lazily having a hand out towards the man referenced only a moment ago. “He's the leader of Project D, he came to see me drive. I'm already in, but it's sort of a formality, plus, he's gotta give me my jacket.”

You pause, thinking it through in your mind again and trying to take it all in.

“In front of Yunho?”

Hongjoong laughs, a full laugh at the question. “In front of Yunho.”

Head lying back once again on the headrest of his seat and rolling gently to grant him vision of you — you watch the way his eyes fan over your features, as if taking all of them in for the first time all over again — as if it were to be the first or last time that he would ever see them, and with the calling to action of the racers needing to line up, it pulls your attention up and away with the abruptness of it, but not his — still watching you intently as if trying to read every thought floating through your mind in that very moment.

You figure it's no surprise that you ended up here, with him, like this tonight — all of his plans, everything he does perfectly in line with something that he has in mind — some sort of grand scheme of sorts, and you can't help but wonder for how long it's revolved around you.

'Racers line up, 5 until green!'

Turning back to look at Hongjoong, small hand with painted black fingernails reaching out and towards your own, he grips tightly atop one of them and squeezes lightly just before pulling it from you and shifting his car into drive again.

“So,” he starts, waving towards Ryosuke again before carefully maneuvering his vehicle towards the starting line of the track for a race that means nothing and everything to the both of you simultaneously.

“Want to take a ride with me?”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hope you enjoyed! please check out my navigation for more (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

[ruinofchimera]

It’s more convenient for me to analyze these arguments in depth in a separate post, so here we are. 1.

This is almost exactly what I’m suggesting, but you’ve managed to twist it. I wonder what exactly was so funny about Severus being attacked, humiliated, and threatened. In addition to this whole very “comical” situation, he was her friend. Let’s not forget this little detail. If this reaction seems absolutely reasonable to you, well, I wouldn’t envy your friends. I would never forgive such a reaction to my public humiliation, but maybe we have different standards for what should be called friendship.

In fact, she did join the mockery. Doesn't the use of a derogatory nickname, in addition to the mockery of his clothes, illustrate this enough? No, of course not, because she was just acting on emotion.

2.

Yes, I’m implying that Lily should have handled this situation with complete grace. Why shouldn’t she have, if she is the saintly and morally pure person you make her out to be? Why wouldn’t anyone expect her to be completely calm and polite in this situation? You expect exactly the same from a guy who was bullied and threatened in front of everyone. What are these double standards? Let’s make up our minds whether people still have the right to let loose emotions when they are being mentally destroyed, or whether there is no such right.

You state that Severus' words are not just a random insult, but a full attack on her identity and a bold sign that Severus associates himself with blood purists. You believe that this outburst of anger defines Severus. It doesn’t matter that he’s mentally broken at the moment. No. He had to behave with grace. He had to remain calm and polite. However, how he acted instead is seen as nothing more than malicious intent and a calculated situation (lmao, him being a mudblood too—and yes, anyone except pure-bloods is considered a mudblood by blood purists—definitely only confirms that his insult was well-considered and all). But does Lily play by some other rules? Doesn’t the same logic apply to her? Interesting. And I ask you to stop underestimating the power of bullying and abuse. That’s hardly on the same level, huh? If you're going to go into the emotional damage that Snape caused Lily with his insult, I can do the same. Severus’s mental state, already fragile from years of bullying and struggles with identity, was crushed even further by the realization that his only friend used the same cruel nickname his bullies had used to degrade him for years. Oh, and somehow she even managed to come up with a brand-new mockery to double the pile of bullying. She witnessed his public humiliation but joined the abusers at the first opportunity. And, of course, Severus’s trauma doesn’t mean anything. Only Lily’s trauma counts, given your constant highlighting of her hurt. 3.

No, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think she’s a hypocrite for rejecting Severus’s apology after everything. I implied that she was a hypocrite because she forgave James, who never even apologized for his behavior. And this whole idea that she started dating him only after he changed and became valiant is not supported by anything at all. Sirius and Remus pointed out that James continued his bullying—just not on dates with her, but behind her back. Anyway, I don't really care about Lily's love choices. She has the freedom to believe in James' redemption, just as she has the freedom to reject Severus' apology. And she was not obliged to stick around. I've written this I don't know how many times, and I have little faith that this will be the last time because you people are still ignoring it. I wasn’t talking about their reunion; I was talking about a sense of remorse. Whether Lily forgave Snape or not, he felt guilty about his behavior and apologized. Lily never did. She didn’t think she had done anything wrong, and this is a significant difference between them. They both followed their emotions and hurt each other, but only one of them repented. Such things, whether you like it or not, say a lot. 4.

I hate to judge something by how it’s talked about. Show, don't tell, you know? The characterization of anything will vary greatly depending on the narrator and their biases. We explore the story through Harry’s eyes and hear the perspective of his father’s friends. If we were to study the story through Draco’s eyes and hear his father’s perspective on the events, I’m sure many things wouldn’t match. And this is the natural state of affairs. So forgive me if I don’t remember a single scene where Lily behaved like a good friend, and therefore I’m skeptical when someone proclaims her to be one. The fact that she justified her friendship with Severus to others can have a very double meaning. The fact that she defended him is also very questionable if she did so in the manner shown in the only scene of her "heroism." For me, this is all unconvincing, especially when, in contrast, we have the precedent of Sirius and James' friendship, which in some ways mirrors the situation of Lily and Severus, except for the differences that actually define the concept of friendship. Both Sirius and Severus grew up in abusive families, both had dark tendencies that were just expressed in different ways. But Potter stayed loyal to Black after the Prank, even though James was forced to sort out the situation by himself. Apparently, for James, the bond with Sirius was more important than punishing him for his recklessness, and this bond wasn’t broken. When Sirius finally decided to run away from home, he ended up with the Potters because he knew that James was fully aware of his family’s atrocities and, more importantly, ready to shield him from it. I could go into this for a very long time, but my main point is that I have no doubt James was a good friend. And I don’t even need to hear Sirius praise him for this. Show, don’t tell—this is exactly the case. Everything that has been shown of Severus and Lily’s friendship seems disturbing, and not just because of Severus' actions. That was the point of my previous post. 5.

Well, I started my original post with the phrase, "If you want to talk about her toxic friendship with Snape, don’t try to erase her contribution to the equation." Toxic friendship (mind that I didn’t say that only Lily was a toxic friend) and contribution to the equation (not her fault for ruining their friendship) are the key words. Lily Evans was the focus of my thoughts, but not the scapegoat. Don’t confuse these things. I didn’t delve deeply into Severus' contribution (though I haven’t ignored it in my post) because I’m not new to the fandom. In the more than 12 years I’ve been here, I’m well aware that the incident with the slur has been covered as much as possible.

Moreover, it is actively used as a way to shut down any discussion about Snape, conveniently omitting that Lily was, in fact, an active participant in this unhealthy dynamic, not a victim. And yeah, she wasn’t a good friend.

Although it depends on everyone’s understanding of friendship, I admit that some may consider her approach to friendship to be worthy. But again, you need to make up your mind: if Lily has the right not to be held accountable for her emotional outburst, then Severus does too. If the circumstances don’t mitigate words spoken in a state of distress, then Lily is responsible for her sudden bullying. Otherwise, it’s hypocrisy. I’m not going to be convinced that Lily was a suffering friend, if only because I’m fortunate enough to know what real friendship and support look like. Their friendship was toxic, but not solely at Severus' hands. He misstepped, and so did she. He apologized, she did not. That’s pretty much the whole story.

[siderealscribblings]

It was said that dynasties were made and lost over tea cakes, and the owners of Le Cygne knew it. 

The restaurant was designed for discretion as much as it was designed for ambiance. Each table was conveniently out of earshot of its neighbors, and waiters were hired for their tight lips as much as their table skills. The fact that Emmaline had suggested such an establishment was not a coincidence; this was as much a part of their conversation as anything that was said. Furina was just hoping this wasn't another doomed marriage proposal she would have to awkwardly decline. Furina was used to pink-faced young men she had never met profess their undying love for her; perhaps it was only a matter of time before Fontaine's ladies tried where the gentlemen had failed. 

Whatever her intentions were, Emmaline gave her plenty of time to ponder as they spoke. Furina learned that it took about forty-five minutes of polite but meaningless small talk before her guests got to the point of their visit. Everyone wanted something from her and as the font of all blessings, Focalors was compelled to oblige her subjects' humble requests. But no one ever just asked; that would be too gauche. Not until they had discussed weather, the latest court trials, the latest operas, what authors were in vogue, the exhibition of Liyuen art, and twenty other unrelated things first.

Sure enough, by the time the jam tarts were delivered, Emmaline was getting to the thrust of her visit. 

"Lady Furina, I hope I could ask for your guidance on a personal matter," Emmaline said, dunking a palmier in her tea. 

Right on cue, Furina thought, glancing at the clock behind Emmaline's head. "A personal matter, Mme. deLacroix?"

"I wanted to get your insight as someone very familiar with the Iudex," Emmaline said. "I'm sure you recall that he recently ruled in favor of Madam Celia in that ugly real-estate dispute?" 

"Of course; Neuville-er, Iudex Neuvillette is the most perceptive gentleman," Furina said, clearing her throat. "As expected of my chief subordinate, he saw the facts of your case clearly as I did. You have no need to thank us; justice served is our greatest pleasure." 

"Your Eminence is an inspiration to a young lawyer like myself," Emmaline chuckled. "All the same, Madam Celia is very grateful to be able to live out the rest of her days in the house she and her husband built. The Iudex was very kind to grant her wish…and I feel compelled to personally thank him."

Personally thank him? Furina thought. Did she really ask the Archon to lunch for gift ideas ?

"Thanking Neuvillette is a very difficult task to accomplish, mademoiselle," Furina chuckled. It was one Furina had struggled with decades; how to properly thank her greatest agent, accomplice, partner (friend?) in a way that he would accept. Neuvillette did outstanding things in the course of duty and was quick to brush off his accomplishments as "part of the job." 

("A god is entitled to bestow favor on those who serve her faithfully," Furina had once pointed out. "And a good subject would receive such favors gracefully.")

("I'm sorry to be such a poor subject in this regard," Neuvillette said, lips twitching as Furina failed to suppress an indignant huff.) 

"All the same, I was raised to show adequate appreciation when someone has done a kindness for me," Emmaline said, Furina's brow twitching at the word adequate . "And, frankly, I was quite surprised to find the Iudex to be a remarkably kind man. My grandfather said he was harsh and unforgiving as a judge during his time before the bench." 

Well he was , Furina thought, remembering how Neuvillette could barely restrain his annoyance at the cases he oversaw when he first ascended to the Iudex's bench. "Time has granted him wisdom and perspective on the law…and of course, I did prod him to be more open-minded."

"I am sure the God of Justice would make for an excellent tutor for a chief justice," Emmaline said with a teasing smile. "Although, I confess, I find the prospect of the Iudex being prodded by anyone rather amusing." 

"Only one person in the realm is capable of such a feat; one of my library of duties," Furina chuckled airily. 

"One, I'm sure, you perform with your usual grace," Emmaline said, taking a thoughtful sip of her tea. "Still, it is no exaggeration to say he saved my client from living the last of her years in a poorhouse and I'd like to offer a small token of appreciation in thanks." 

A…token of appreciation? Furina thought. No, if she was bribing him she would have done it before the trial…what is she driving at here?

"Hmm…even trickier," Furina said, taking a small bite of her tart to give herself time to maneuver. "Neuvillette has rather…interesting tastes. Not exactly a man that can be mollified with a bottle of whiskey or gold bracelet, unfortunately. His only real vices are his morning swims; when he moved into the Palais, I commissioned for him a pool made out of marble from Liyue and filled with water from Loch Urania. Heated by special pipes and lit by glowing stone from the seabed of Inazuma; I daresay it's the only one of its kind."

Focalors would brag about her magnanimity, Furina reasoned, though it felt a little childish to throw such a grand display in Emmaline's face. 

"That may be out of my price-range," Emmaline laughed, regarding Furina over the rim of her cup. "The Iudex is a strong swimmer then…I can imagine he cuts as striking a figure in water as he cuts on land." 

A striking figure? Furina thought. Obviously; Neuvillette could cut a striking figure in pitch darkness. He commanded people's attention when he entered the room and even Furina found herself straightening up a little when she knew his eyes were on her. And when he was in the water-

Furina licked her lips, trying to refocus her attention on the woman in front of her. "Quite the strong figure, er, swimmer ." 

"My brothers and I would dive for 'sunken treasures' as children at our family's island estate," Emmaline said fondly, a mischievous glint forming in her eye. "I wonder if he's ever explored the caves beneath the Great Fontaine Lake; I'd be happy to give him a tour should he ever find the time in his busy schedule." 

Oh… oh. 

Realization slapped Furina in the face, the coy crook of Emmaline's lips speaking volumes. Now all the lingering looks, teasing jabs, and pointed remarks she sent Neuvillette's way during trials made total sense. Emmaline's legal ambitions were grand, but they paled in comparison to her romantic ambitions. Emmaline wanted to get acquainted with Neuvillette…and wanted Furina's permission before she approached him. 

Read More...

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 3: Medicinal Properties

The Sun is the Center of Everything

Read Author's Note (CW: addiction)

Word count: 2.9k

Damiano David x Y/n

He O.D.ed again. This time it wasn’t nearly as serious, but it still lit a fire under SME’s collective billionaire ass. Somebody was always keeping you updated: Ronnie, Ethan, Mia, Dami’s mother. Considering their commitment to conveying information, a person would assume you had outright requested the latest news on Damiano David’s epic, drug-fueled raging dumpster fire of a downfall. This was not the case. 

Regardless, it was through these channels that you found out Maneskin’s management was willing to renegotiate their contract. Damiano had ascended to a new level of self-destruction: drinking, drugs, unprotected sex, fighting, partying, smoking. He’d nearly been arrested. 

The antics had thoroughly trashed his voice, appearance, reputation, and marketability. Vic, Tom, and Ethan had lost their patience, turning first on Dami, then each other. Sony saw the writing on the wall and Maneskin had a great lawyer this time. Less press, guaranteed time off, more control over their music, and the focus of scheduling shifting to the band’s convenience. SME still demanded a minimum of 35 tour dates, which would be in addition to promotional performances in the year following an album release. It was still extreme, but not outright inhumane.

In return, Maneskin would go to a set of award shows every year with no exceptions. Each album for the rest of their contract would include a single with a featured artist, to be agreed upon by both parties. The exact number wasn’t disclosed, but the band agreed to profit several million dollars yearly in paid promotions and sponsorships. Finally, fix their image, which included Damiano going to rehab. Part of you wondered if the entire deal would fall through because he refused.

Luckily that didn’t happen. Dami went to rehab of his own volition, and checked himself out as soon as possible. Some idiot had contractually obligated Damiano to a mere two weeks, half a program. So he got out on day 15, just past nine in the morning and he did exactly what any knowledgeable person would predict. He went on a bender. 

However, he couldn’t be sloppy this time, and that left you in a constant state of anxiety-induced nausea. While everyone else seemed thrilled not to see him drunk at some club, you knew the reality of the situation. He was doing the same stuff, but alone in his hotel room. There was no one to turn him on his side or administer Narcan. If he made a mistake he was gonna die.

On the nights you managed to sleep, the morning was spent in terror. You refreshed Twitter compulsively, bracing for the news that they had found him cold and stiff, probably covered in the content’s of his stomach. That would forever be the way his light was extinguished. Your manager sat you down for a talk. Your therapist had even more very accurate and totally unhelpful advice.

“What if I can never move on? Like, I never get over him?”

“Tell me about that fear.” She sits back in her teal armchair, legs crossed, loafers polished.

“I thought he was my soulmate. It's like the more I try to get over him, the more of my day is consumed by thinking about him.”

“Addiction doesn’t make him not your soul mate. It gives you another person to contend with. Sometimes you’ll go decades only seeing the occasional glimmer of that person. Other times they can take complete control.”

“How does he get back control?” you ask in exasperation.

“He has to be brave enough to face himself.”

“He’s never going to do that!”

“Really?” She furrows her brow, skeptical.

“He’s an international rockstar and sex symbol. He’s celebrated on a global scale. In addition to that, it takes some prompting for Damiano to be self-reflective. He’s not gonna realize he’s doing the wrong thing because nobody’s telling him that.”

“His friends and family are. You are.”

“Well, what I think doesn’t matter.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“He used our entire relationship as a tool to justify doing heroin. He doesn’t give a shit about what I think or feel.”

“The hardest thing about loving someone with Substance Use Disorder is forgiveness. What addicts do to feed their addiction isn’t representative of them. It's not fair and it can be very difficult to find that forgiveness when you’re wounded.”

“If he would just act like himself and apologize, I think I’d forgive him.”

“That's very gracious. Unfortunately, addiction is a self-perpetuating cycle. The addict betrays a loved one and knows the only absolution is to apologize and to be forgiven. However, they harbor so much self-loathing for using that they think they’re unforgivable. The idea that the people you love won’t love you back if they knew the real you –”

“That's awful. That's a terrible thing to feel.”

“And because they are using substances to regulate their emotions, an addict will use as a way to escape that feeling, then possibly do something worse. Which creates an even greater weight and that makes them less likely to ask for forgiveness.”   

“‘Because I couldn’t bear you knowing that I was a piece of shit.’” Instead of getting a tissue, you watch as teardrops stain your pants darker.

“Hard drug users always have a reason. A normal person isn’t willing to commit a crime and ingest a possibly deadly substance just to get out of their own head. What Damiano does for work, that would lead most people with addictive personalities to substance abuse. We’ve seen evidence of that over and over.” There's a long pause as you process. “Also, it sounds like he’s already realized he doesn’t like himself on drugs.”

***

Three nights later, the emotional turmoil is tearing up your insides. After worrying on repeat, you get a feeling of certainty that tonight is when it's gonna happen. Dami is gonna combine coke with heroin with alcohol and he’s going to die alone in his hotel room, terrified and thinking he’s unforgivable. You slip in and out of vivid nightmares before waking up with stabbing chest pains.

He’s gone. You know he’s gone because you can feel the death of his body in your own. Finally you break and unblock his number with trembling hands. After two rings you’re sure Damiano won’t pick up, but he does.

“Y/n?” He doesn’t sound like he’s slurring his words, but he’s at a club somewhere, probably exclusive enough that Dami doesn’t worry about prying eyes. “Give me a sec.” You hear a couple doors open and shut as electronic music fades. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Can you just talk to me?”

“Um…okay, I wrote a terrible song today and the label liked it so now I have to burn all the harddrives. A couple shows from now I will be wearing the assless chaps and thong combo from MTV. Somewhat nervous about that because I looked pasty as hell last time and I’ve never used a self tanner. The hotel we stayed at in France had some of the best coffee ever, but the croissants were miniature which was extremely disappointing.” This used to be part of your normal routine while he was on tour. Dami’s voice had this cadence and tone to it that could distract you from anxiety. It was especially nice when you could lay your head on his chest and feel the vibrations of his words as he stroked your hair. Fuck.

“Should I keep going or are you gonna tell me why you called. I thought you had my number blocked.”

“I did,” you try to keep the tears out of your voice. 

“Up until when?”

“10 seconds before I called.”

“What’s going on?” His concern sounded exactly the same, the same affection. I thought you died. 

“I tho – “ You don’t even get to the third syllable before sobbing. It's slightly cathartic, to do what you’ve wanted to: curl in a ball and ugly cry so hard that you’re gasping for air like a toddler. 

“Baby,” he coos. “What happened, baby?”

“I’m not your baby!”

“I – you’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart – y/n.”

“You don’t have to deal with me being a mess.” He was alive. Your concern was negated.

“No, don’t hang up!” he rushes. “I’ve been wanting to apologize and – wait, why did that make you upset, sweet – y/n?”

“I thought you were dead!” you sob.

“Is there something online?”

“No! I’ve just been so fucking scared that you were gonna die, like every night. I can’t sleep and I just lay here in our fucking bed wondering if every moment is the moment you O.D. I’m powerless! I just have to wonder if you’re fucking dying and, and – and you’d just be gone!”

“Y/n, I am so sorry,” His voice is heavy with emotion.

“You can’t die thinking you’re a piece of shit, or that I couldn’t forgive you, or that I wouldn’t love you, or that I don’t still love you.”

“Baby –”

“You can’t die alone in your hotel room, because you’ll be scar – ared and there'll be no one to hold you. And that thought just makes me wanna” you scream into the bedding. “You have a fucking disease, Damia! You can’t O.D. because you can still heal. You have a whole life,” you whimper. “You’re supposed to have a whole life so you can’t fu – uck –cking die.”

“I won’t, y/n. I’m being careful now, and I’m not using as often. It’s just medicinal now, more than anything.”

“Because cocaine is just so well known for its medicinal properties.”

“I won’t end up in the hospital again. I’m not gonna overdose. You can sleep. I kept my promise.” You feel like an idiot, because of course he’s still an addict, even if he’s high functioning. Damiano is still deluding himself into thinking he can control it. Your emotions get away from you so easily.

“I’m still completely in love with you.”

“Fucking asshole,” is all you can manage. He chuckles and lights a cigarette.

“You said it first. I was gonna keep it to myself.”

“Is that why you wanted to break up? The drugs and how they made you act?”

“Umm,” he takes a puff and exhales the smoke. “That was part of it. The biggest part. You know, plus the booze and I think fame…took its toll on us.” 

“All of your stuff is still here. I boxed a bunch of it up, so it’s sitting in the corner.”

“By the radiator?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna set the apartment on fire.” You roll your eyes.

“We have central heating. The radiator doesn’t even work, it’s just there because the building is old.”

“I miss having this argument with you. Especially at Christmas, when you try to put lights on the damn thing.”

“It’s festive!”

“It’s a fire hazard.” You groan, and flip onto your back. “How’s Princess?” 

“She’s good. Took her to the vet to get her claws trimmed and the rest of her shots. It was traumatizing for both of us.” Again he chuckles, and you know exactly the face he’s making. A shy smile that reveals his gums and the tops of his teeth, eyes crinkled. You know the way he’s got his head slightly bowed forward, gaze downcast. You know exactly how he’s holding his cigarette. 

“I actually have two cats now. Princess got out and led me to a mom and her kittens behind the dumpster. Everyone wanted the kittens, but I wanted Cheeto.”

“Cheeto? Is she orange?”

“No, she’s black with white mittens.”

“Then why, for the love of god, did you name her Cheeto?” he laughs.

“She’d just rolled in an empty bag of Cheetos when I found her. I'm pretty positive it wasn’t the first time because her feet are still stained a little orange.” 

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, I swear! I’ll send you a picture right now.” You find the first picture ever taken of Cheeto and hit send, only to realize that you can see all of your past text conversations now that Dami’s number is unblocked.

“Hah! I can’t believe that. She’s got that little spot of white right between her ears, too. I love it, she’s adorable. They get along?”

“Yeah, but Cheeto is kind of a garbage gremlin and it's a bad influence on Princess.”

“You expected her not to be a garbage gremlin?”

“Okay! Well, when you put it that way.” You’re smiling, without even trying.

“I miss Princess. I miss you.” 

“Rude.” You’re still smiling. Damn it.

“I know I’m sorry.” You realize why Damiano is being so himself and it's like having cold water thrown over your head.

“How drunk are you right now?”

“Like a 4/10. I am not nearly fucked up enough for any of this to be disingenuous.”

“High?”

“No.” He wasn’t even saying anything and he was convincing you. Or perhaps you were convincing yourself, which is much worse.

“I wish I was sober right now, though,” cue heartbeat skip. “So you wouldn’t be suspicious of what I’m saying.”

“It’s been a while since you sounded like yourself.”

“And I’m really sorry about that. I’ve gotten past the live fast die, young stage.”

“Thank fuck.”

“I’m so sorry. The way I treated you last time was abominable.”

“Correct.”

“And imagining that day without you there still puts me on the edge of a panic attack. When I first woke up and heard your voice, I thought I’d died. I thought I’d gone to heaven because you were there, acting like I hadn’t fucked it all up.” Stand your motherfucking ground, bitch. 

“Spending six hours on the train was angelic, I agree.” There's a pause in the conversation and that moment is all it takes to land you back in reality. Playing house over the phone made you feel better now, but later you’d be angry at yourself for giving Damiano even an inch of acceptance for how he was living his life.

“Are you going to block my number again?” Right now you are leaning towards no, which is probably a sign that your judgment is impaired.

“I’ll decide tomorrow.”

“You can call me. If you’re having a panic attack or you’re upset, you can call me and I won’t make it about…our relationship or my habits. I can be a friend and I don’t expect it to go the other way.” You let out a long sigh and follow the texture of the ceiling with your eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“I hate the idea of you being anxious at night and wanting to call me for reassurance, but stopping yourself.”

“Well I hate it too, but you’re not sober or trying to be sober. You won’t even admit that you need sobriety.”

“I understand that some people need it.”

“But not you? No, I can’t do this. I’ll just get hurt again and this time it’ll be my own fault, because I know better.” You sit up with a groan and look out the window. It was starting to get light outside, the very beginning of dawn.

“Y/n, I’m not self-destructing for the fuck of it anymore. I’m past using drugs that way. I even have a therapist.”

“I need you to be past using drugs full stop.”

“Y/n –”

“Let me finish. The self destructive thing is half of it and even though I may sound pissy right now, I can’t describe the happiness and relief I get knowing that part is over. Truly, Damia. I don’t want to just skip over that because it's huge.”

“I – thank you.” He sounds bashful.

“I’m serious and the fact that you’re back in therapy, chef’s kiss. I know how exhausting it is to dig through that shit and you’re doing it while under more pressure than the rest of the human race. The relief at you answering this phone call and being you? Incredible, but you’re still an addict.”

“So if I got sober, you’d give me another chance?”

“I can’t be the reason you get sober, Dami. It won’t stick and it’ll destroy our relationship.”

“Fine, but hypothetically, if I was sober, could we try again? Because I didn’t agree to end it for the right reasons.”

“If you had been sober for six months, with regular drug tests, and were in therapy, then yes. If you did the work to get sober and stay sober there is a high likelihood that I would try again.”

“Okay,” you can hear his smile. “Has trying to move on from us been absolute hell for you too?”

 “Oh, 100%.”

“Good. Give Princess and Cheeto a kiss for me.” The first thing you do when you get off the phone is unblock him on Whatsapp. All the messages that he sent while blocked roll in through your notifications. Immediately you know this was a terrible idea, but can’t stop reading. At least half of it is inebriated, misspelled confessions of his feelings for you. Those hurt deep in your chest. An apology always comes the next day. There's a couple probably sober messages where he admits to missing you, more delicately. Dami even sent the occasional anecdote that he knew you’d enjoy if on speaking terms.

At 5:02 AM you reblock him and fall asleep, but wake up feeling surprisingly hopeful. He was thinking about sobriety, maybe a lot. Damiano wasn’t mindlessly destroying his body and reputation for all the world to see. He was on a saner schedule. These were all really good things that indicated he was moving in the right direction, so a phone call three weeks later was a surprise.

Notes: Okay, confession time. I haven't actually finished this novel, but I have finished the first 17 chapters, so ya'll will be getting bi-weekly updates for a couple months at least. The response I've received has been excellent motivation. I am both moved and sorry for how many of you relate deeply to this story.

P.S. My taglist is evolving via this post.

-XOXO Eden

Read the rest on my Masterlist!

@surelyfreedombound @shinshans @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog @hauntedpostpersona @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @harryssshouseee @slavicgoddess13 @persona1read1ng @katyldamusic @whore4damia @the-chaotic-cow @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @elvirabelle @bright-shiningstar @maneslut @stardustingold @little-moonbeam-666 @que--sera--sera

[poetry-protest-pornography]

All of Ray's worst fears about himself are true if Sand took his dad's money.

If Sand took him on as a job instead of as a friend, then he really is a burden, he really is unloveable, he is Too Much.

I think he knows that Sand does love him, under all the hurt and the knee-jerk reaction of lashing out in pain, he knows. But he needs Sand to hurt a fraction of how he's hurting, because that twenty seconds of conversation between Sand and his dad was enough to confirm that Ray's only worth what someone can gain from him, not worth anything himself.

If the one person who has encouraged him to get sober for his own good instead of for their convenience, was only doing that so they could get paid, and if his dad was the one making it happen, then Ray has no one who really cares, and all the things he thinks about himself are true.

And he was just letting himself be happy, and be loved, and believe that he has enough worth to get sober.

Fucking Khaotung Thanawat. Give him all the awards.

And then Sand! Fucking breaks the wine jar and screams and mourns, and I want to die.

Because Sand knows all of this. He knows that for Ray, the idea that he was with him out of obligation or for a paycheck is everything he's terrified of. And he recognizes that he can't do anything in that moment to convince Ray that he's wrong. And because he was also just starting to let himself be in love and trust his relationship with Ray, he's also as broken by this as Ray is.

Also, I think the breaking the wine jar -- and that Ray brought that up, that he was aware that that was a potential problem, Sand profiting from alcohol while encouraging his boyfriend's sobriety, that dichotomy is an issue (and I do so hope that he also sees how his friends constantly and consistently refused to remove alcohol from their interactions and how that was also terrible and problematic) -- is so significant!

Sand does profit from alcohol, and I think it was clear that he hadn't seen that for the issue that it is until that moment, and the way that he looked at his wall of wine, and the agony he was in when he threw the jar show clearly that now that he sees it, he can't stand the idea of continuing to profit from the thing that causes so much pain for the man he loves. Sand is willing to cut alcohol from his life in this way, for Ray's sake, in a way no one else is Ray's life has. Not his friends, not his dad, no one else.

Sand is such a good man, and his heartbreak was so much quieter than Ray's, but it was so visceral and desperate and it broke any pieces of my heart that Khao left in tact into dust.

First Kanaphan, the talent that you have.

(I do not know how these two got through filming these scenes, they can't say nice things about each other without crying and needing to hug about it)

[yandere-writer-momo]

NSFW Hcs: Shunsei Kaku, Izou Motobe, Gaia, Ali Jr, Jack Hanma, Kaioh Retsu??

I just did Jack Hanma (my first husband) and 2 regular for Gaia (y’all really like the gerber baby man). And what is with y’all and old men? I will oblige because I too indulge in old men from time to time

Yandere Baki Head Canons

Shunsei Kaku, Gaia, Muhammed Ali Jr, Izou Motobe, and Kaiou Retsu NSFW edition

Minors DNI

Kaiou Restu (NSFW)

After he isolated you from all of your friends and basically infantilized you, he swoops in with the romance. And Retsu can be a really romantic guy

He takes things slow and sweet. He’s definitely a make love type of guy

Retsu is probably super vanilla. He also doesn’t have a whole lot of experience since he was in a temple for a big chunk of his life

Lots of kisses and sweet words. Retsu wants you to depend on him and only think of him. So he’ll always be sweet and soft with you

I feel like Retsu is a great lover and a great listener. Despite the fact he made you so dependent on him, he still treats you with respect.

Muhammed Ali Jr (SFW and NSFW)

His interest in you starts at the underground tournament. You’re probably either another fighter or a pretty face he noticed in the crowd, either way he was first attracted to your appearance. It was your fiery personality that really drew him in

He’s an obsessive man. And he’s super tenacious in his pursuit of you. He’d show up to your work with flowers. He’d probably stand outside your house with a boom box blaring some kind of sappy love song

He wouldn’t give up no matter how many times your reject him. He’s very set on being with you. He doesn’t even care if you’re already with someone (example: when he pursued Kozue). If he wants you, he’ll have you

If you do finally give in, which you eventually will. He’s actually a really romantic guy and he’s very fun to hang out with. He’s a nice guy

I’m the bedroom he’s a very giving person. He’s not much of a receiver, he prefers prioritizing your pleasure over his own

Also pretty vanilla but he may spank you from time to time. Nothing too crazy

He’s a great kisser and he’s a very attentive lover. He would be willing to try just about anything

Might enjoy wax play and anal. Eats ass

Gaia (NSFW)

This man is kinky. I didn’t make the rules. Probably ties you up with soft ropes and spanks you

He’s pretty skilled in the bedroom and definitely a soft dom. He wouldn’t do anything that would hurt you too much

Praises you a lot. Sometimes he’ll degrade you, but that’s only when Nomura shows through

Loves leaving love marks on you. He likes showing off that you’re his

Izou Motobe

He’s a pretty gloomy guy so I’d say you’re the kind convenience store worker that he buys cigarettes from. You’re always waving at him and telling him to have a good day. It starts becoming his daily routine and then he stops in twice a day just to see you. He tells himself it’s just because you’re younger and pretty but he knows it’s because he likes you

He’s pretty protective of you. There was a time he was in the store and someone tried to rob it, holding poor, little you at gun point. You’re just lucky Motobe was there to stop him from hurting you. Motobe wouldn’t ever let anyone harm a hair on your head

He’d eventually weasel his way into your life, you’d see him as a father figure at first until he makes it clear that he doesn’t see you as his child. You’ll be a little hesitant since he’s a lot older than you, but Motobe is super patient with you. You’ll eventually give into his charms

I don’t imagine you two would be getting it on too often without viagra. But he would probably be a little rough. Being with you makes him feel young again and he’ll try his best to keep up with your energy

You two mostly cuddle or kiss. People assume you’re his child when you two are out and about. People are pretty judgmental so neither of you clarify your relationship. It makes things easier that way

Motobe gets extremely jealous when a guy around your age talks to you. It’s upsetting to him because he knows you can do a lot better than an old man. Motobe needs a lot of reassurance

Would probably let you call him daddy in bed

Shunsei Kaku (SFW and NSFW)

Yikes. He’s an arrogant prick. He’s a lot more ‘humble’ after being defeated by Baki but he starts over training himself to become stronger. Shunsei wants to prove himself to his father that he can still do martial arts.

You’re the poor nurse that has to deal with his bratty behavior every time he ends up in the clinic. He throws things and screams at you but you try your best to stay professional. It’s your calm demeanor that draws him in

Shunsei finds himself constantly at the clinic where you work and no one else will take care of him but you. He was mean to you at first but he eventually looks forward to seeing you. Even though he was so mean to you, you still kept a pleasant smile on your face and took care of him. You never treated him differently than anyone else

Obsessed. He started to latch onto your kindness to a point that he would begin to hurt himself more and more so he could be taken care of by you. If you weren’t there, he’d scream at the other nurses until they brought you. Shunsei was only ever pleasant with you

He overhears the nurses telling you he probably has a crush on you but you shut them down. You tell them you could never date a patient

Shunsei makes a promise to you that he’ll stop being a patient if you’ll go out with him. You reject him softly but he still thinks he has a chance. He’ll keep swinging by the clinic everyday to see you, even without injuries

Shunsei notices his martial art training is getting better now that he has a new goal in life, to prove to you he can be your spouse

Shunsei will not leave you alone, no matter how many times you gently put him down. He’s too obsessed with you to ever let you go. Shunsei believes that you’re his and he has a right to you. You’re his nurse

Shunsei is the only character (so far) that would probably do noncon. Shunsei has no morals and he’s very selfish. He believes you are his to keep and to have. You’re his so he can do whatever he wants to you

He’s very rough and only cares about his pleasure at first. He will eventually become softer once he notices how much you cry

Shunsei would try to be better but he’s very stuck in his ways. I feel like he’d be miserable to be with. He’d expect you to always support him

He would baby trap you if you’re child bearing