#process Word documents in cloud

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent life photos

[coupsalchemy]

Hothouse Flower [Part 1]

Summary - Your five year relationship with him ended two years ago. You need to move on, have to, since you are the only one stuck in the past. Jeonghan moved on, happy, gallivanting away. When you finally agree to meet up a fellow heartbroken stranger set up by 'Get Love Quick', you didn't expect to see him there.

Tags: Jeonghan x f.reader, exes! au, second chance romance, angst, yearning, fluff, suggestive, SLOW BURN

Warnings: mdni, very suggestive (at least in the next part), fist fight, mentions of blood, just a very angry Jeonghan, swearing, and a lot of grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language.

Word Count: 21k (this part, total 40k)

A's Note: I've been working on this for like four months. Please get ready for the angst and yearning. The birth of this story took place from Don't Wanna Cry Jeonghan falling onto his knees in yearning, and the song 'no one noticed by the marias'.

I wanted to write a story where reader gets to forget everything and be in the world of the fiction, enjoy momentary bliss instead of the bitter taste of life, at least for some time. So by the time you complete reading this part, next part would have already been uploaded. If I succeeded in making you forget everything and you enjoyed the fic please let me know so I can stare at your message for eternity in happiness.

Also I want to thank my two friends who have been patiently answering my questions, and kept on encouraging me all the time. If not for you two this wouldn't have happened. Thank you!!

divider credits to the rightful owner.

⌜ If anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name.⌟

— Clementine von Radics

“You should try this,” Seungkwan places the folded worn out newspaper on your work desk, looming over you like a dark cloud before rain. Nothing good is going to come out of this. 

With a sigh you minimize the word document you have been working on, and focus on the headline of the advertisement, Get Love Quick. “If you have time to find crap then you have time to prepare the deck.”

Seungkwan tsks. “I have time till this Friday.” He drags the chair from the next cubicle, making a home for himself. “Send in an application.” He shoves the paper back to you, sending your notebook flying.  “It’s high time for you to move on.” 

You reopen the word document glaring at the words and hit random letters on the keyboard with more force, “I have work unlike someone. If you leave me alone.” 

“Come on,” he insists, locking your system and turning your chair in his direction. “You have to get out of that four walls of darkness you call a room,” his gaze is firm, the frown line between his eyebrows makes you think. He isn’t going to back away like the other times, this time he is serious. 

You fall back into your chair, gnawing on your lower lip. The words on the newspaper glares at you, in mockery or a challenge, you couldn’t say. 

Find your other broken hearted half.. 

It’s been more than a year since you went on a date. You are sure that even the process of dating has changed by now. Fresh after the break up you were relentless, swiping right on guy after guy to rile up your ex, only to end up canceling most of the dates.

The two men you met were good, considerate and even attentive, something you begged from your previous relationship. Their questions and interest in your work, hobbies and daily life solidified their points in gaining the second date. 

If not for the constant comparison to a certain long black haired man, who would be cracking jokes on the other two for their pretentiousness. It’s safe to say that you didn’t get a second date with anyone. Eventually the fire to make your ex jealous and show him what he is missing has died down. 

“Are you still here?” Seungkwan shakes your arm. 

You faze out from your thoughts, “I'm not sure. It’s a lot of work.” You pull your hair to one side, playing with the ends. “I have to dress up, put on makeup and,” you suck in a breath dreading the worst of all, “I have to make stimulating conversations.” 

You click your pen, chewing on your lip, losing yourself in thoughts. What you don’t voice out is the fear of losing someone again and losing yourself in the process of clinging onto him to make him stay. You have done it once, and not sure you could do it again. Especially if it’s someone who is not your Jeonghan. 

Seungkwan holds your hands in his, he says, “you don’t need to put up an act this time.” 

“Hey.” A coworker greets you, crossing the office floor to the elevator. 

Seungkwan presses his lips in a thin line, nodding back at the intruder who is already out of earshot. “Anyway, as I am saying,” he goes back to the topic, “no need for an act. Be yourself and the right one will come.” 

The strong belief in his words sways your stubborn heart a little, a faint hope flickering in your chest. 

“Remember there’s no one you need to get back at this time.” He reemphasizes, “I don’t want to see you pulling that old shit.” 

You nod without a second thought, a little scared of his authoritative tone. 

“Good.” He presses your hand, eyes softening, studying you. “I have a gut feeling that this is going to be your turning point.” He adds, “a good one. You’ll find someone who understands you as you are.” 

The love in his words and caring gestures were what made you you till now. He always dragged you back whenever you were spiraling down the rabbit hole. He doesn’t have a reason to look after you, especially when even your mom has given up on you after a few tries. 

“Oh,” his soft voice makes your eyes moist, “I didn’t want to make you cry.” 

“I know.” 

He ruffles your hair, “straighten up and fight back, my warrior. You can do this.” 

You laugh, wiping the corner of your eyes. “Warrior?” 

“Frontline army?” 

You push him away, “go back, Seungkwan. Our boss is already glaring.” You backspace the crap you have written on the report. “We are one call away from the HR office.” 

“Ugh,” he fixes his tie, “that old retard should find someone else to stalk.” He slowly rolls away to the next cubicle leaving the chair in its rightful place. “Think about it. Okay?” 

“Thank you, Seungkwan.” 

“Anything for you.” 

—

You wake up with a start, your mind in a haze. The rotating ceiling fan spins your head making your dizziness worse. You fight with the comforter rolled around you to free your hand, the movements worsen the pounding in your head. 

“Ugh, Hannie.” You search for the other side of the bed, your fingers tracing the cold bed sheet. “Huh?” 

You open your eyes forcefully, the bright sunshine falling directly on you. You forgot to draw curtains again. The empty space beside you cracks your heart again, the unused pillow still in bright yellow cover mocks you. He is not in your life anymore. You pluck the pillow, hugging it to your chest and inhaling its scent. It doesn’t smell like him anymore. 

The warmth of this pillow doesn’t suffice the warmth of him, his midnight cuddles, kisses all over your face when he thinks you are in deep sleep. Your fingers grasp the edges of the pillow, legs curling into your stomach from the ache echoing your entire body.  

Longing for Jeonghan has become one with breathing. Each moment and thing is closely intricated with his existence, the reminder of him throwing you back into the pits of suffering. You eye your phone resting beside you, the temptation to check his whereabouts is gripping your chest. Your fingers hover over it succumbing to your desires, but no, not this time, not when he never cared about you. Does he even think about you? 

—

Jeonghan smiles at his date reassuringly, “it’s fine. It’s fine. Don’t panic.” He stands up from his seat, approaching her side of the table, “let’s go get you cleaned up.” He holds out his palm, interlacing their fingers.  

His confident stride leads them across linen covered tables, wafts of delicious food surrounding them. Familiarity with this restaurant propels his sense of direction, he took this path countless times. He grips her hand, almost crushing, anchoring himself to the present moment. 

She squeezes back, peering at him through his shoulder. He runs his fingers through his long hair strands, curling the strays behind his ear. She reaches out, tenderly running her fingertips at the back of his head. He ducks his head down, straightening his suit pants. Her steps stumble into one another, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment.  

The kitchen is bustling with waiters coming in and out with orders. A waiter carrying an order is craning his neck, waving his hand to gain Jeonghan’s attention. 

Jeonghan frowns at the unprofessional etiquette of the staff, and the waiter’s relentless efforts only irks him further. It strikes him, the reason behind the enthusiasm of the boy. Jeonghan exhales through his mouth. He knew it was a bad idea to dine in this restaurant, but two years is enough time for people to forget. 

Oh. How he never learns. 

The boy stops in his tracks confused at the lady hiding behind Jeonghan, and the rosary blush on her cheeks complimented with the shy glances at Jeonghan. He drops his hand, unimpressed. 

Jeonghan is annoyed, reading the judgemental stare he is receiving. He presses his lips in a thin line, not sparing another glance he leads his date to the washroom. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.” He leans on the wall opposite to the women’s restroom, pocketing his hands. 

She hurries in with a blush creeping up her cheeks, matching the red of her dress. He would have found it cute once upon a time, and would have even teased a little. But now, Jeonghan throws his head back a sigh escaping his lips, he can’t even bring to crack a joke or worse lead the conversation from topics other than weather or work.  

Silver lining out of all is, this is their second date. Maybe it can lead to something prominent one day. And he can go back to his old ways, find it in himself to laugh and joke around. His gaze flickers to the women’s restroom door, a memory creeping into his mind. 

You spilled wine on yourself on a date with him. He tsks, teased you for a klutz while leading you to the washroom. You expected him to stop outside but you should have known how crazy he was. He checked either side before following you in with a false pretense to help you wipe the stain near your chest. 

You rolled your eyes at him when his thumb caressed a little longer, understanding his actions. You pinch his arm and he bites his lower lip, suppressing a smile. He looks at you in mockery before squeezing your breast, eliciting a moan, he crashes his lips on you. 

“Been a long time,” the waiter reappears before him disturbing him from the memory of his ex. “I hope you remember me.”

Jeonghan’s jaw ticks. The boy, his name tag reads, Dino, is oblivious to Jeonghan's bubbling irritation. He continues, “well, if it was her,” he whispers, checking around for Jeonghan’s date, “she would have recognized me. I can’t believe you let her go.” He shakes his head in disappointment, sneaking glances at Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan stands up straight, looming over the younger boy. Darkness exuding from him, now he doesn’t need some little boy to preach what he missed out. 

Dino, bad with reading cues continues, “well,” he presses, drawing random figures on the serving tray, “can I… get her number?” 

Red flashes in Jeonghan’s eyes, “what?” 

Dino takes a step back, eyes shaking, “I-I-I me-mean..” he shields himself with the tray, “yo-you moved on, so, I thought–”

“Thought what?” Jeonghan spits.

“Th-that I sh-should shoot my shot,” Dino musters up courage, squaring his shoulders, head held high, “she is worth the–”

Jeonghan grabs Dino’s collar, “Fuck off you little—” 

“Jeonghan? Jeonghan?”

His date grabs his arm off the waiter, “are you crazy? Let him go.” 

His date looks at him in worry, her hand still holding onto his arm. Jeonghan snaps at her, “what?” She reels back from him, dropping her hand. Jeonghan closes his eyes, regaining his senses. “Sorry.” 

She nods, not meeting his eyes. He scoffs at Dino scurrying away without looking back. “Let’s go.” He leads the way back to their table. This time he doesn’t hold her hand. She jogs to keep up with his pace, reaching out to his hand only to fail. If she is upset she doesn’t show it when he slips his hands into his pockets. 

—

“I had fun tonight, Hannie.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, leaning into him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear.  

Jeonghan taps his forefinger against the leather of the steering wheel, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah.” 

She holds his chin, gently nudging him towards her. Her thumb traces his bottom lip, her brown eyes focusing on the slight cracks and splits. “I don’t wanna ask what you are not gonna tell,” she taps on his lip twice, “but I can’t tolerate it happening again.” She holds his gaze, “if I am gonna have you I want all of you.”

He nods. 

She presses a kiss on his lips, her soft ones moving against his static ones. He closes his eyes, shutting down the images of someone who is not his date. He sucks on her bottom lip, the cherry flavour of her lip balm on his tongue. 

He unbuckles the seatbelt, slips his hand around her nape pulling her in. Their lips move in fervent need, tongues clashing, biting and nipping. Soft whimpers fill in the car, her hands roaming across his chest. “So hot.” She runs her hand through his long hairstrands, tugging at their ends, “You look—” she breathes as he nips her bottom lip “—fucking hot.”

He holds her roaming hand, intertwining their fingers, his eyes still closed, kissing her now swollen lips. 

Images of her clouds him, her cheeky smile when he catches her causing ruckus, her droopy eyes yet a blissful look of satisfaction, her kisses in the middle of the night, her taste, her, her, her everywhere. 

Her name slips past his lips in a shaky whisper. He backs away from his date, running a hand through his ruffled hair, “fuck.” He holds the hand slipping away from his grasp, “I am sorry. Sorry, it's just the,” he blinks at her teary face, “the..” he falters. 

“Goodbye, Jeonghan.” She exits the car. Her flowery scent lingering in his car, a constant reminder of what he fucked up just because he couldn’t forget his ex. 

He hits the steering wheel repeatedly. The ghost of his ex is still haunting him, in the corners of his apartment, the track sounds of her favorite sitcom, in his office, and fuck even in his car fiddling with the playlist. 

Does he miss you? He doesn’t (it’s killing him). 

Jeonghan ignites the car, clicking some random playlist on his phone. He reverses the car, driving through the silent empty streets, humming to the songs to clear his mind off the awkward date. 

The community he resides in is a mile away, small stalls and restaurants around the area are bustling. Familiar neighborhood eases his uneasiness. Few more minutes and he can go home to his whiskey and drown himself in sleep. He rolls the car to a stop at a red light. He keeps clicking on the next song. 

Her laughter plays on the speakers. Jeonghan drops his phone in a shock, startled to hear the voice he didn’t hear for months. Her giggles fill in his car, “Hannie, Hannie, baby,” cut off with a moan. 

Next song starts playing and Jeonghan stares at the screen with a frown. What just happened? He clicks on the previous song, the voice note replaying. A car honks behind him, he drops the phone checking the rear view, he accelerates through the green light, and pulls up to the side. 

The voice note replays again and again. The blinkers on his car keep flicking till a police car pulls up to check on him.

—

You fiddle with the silver band on your ring finger, staring at the blank application opened up on your laptop. It has been an hour, and not even one question has been answered. You let out a long sigh, still confused, still hesitant whether you are truly ready to give love a chance again. The questions are simple, What’s your heartbreaking story? The answer to them isn’t, you are not sure you can rehash your heartbreak in words, without getting the need to find him and see how life has been treating him. 

You close the laptop and throw it aside on the bed, burying yourself in the comforter, staring at the unoccupied side of the bed and bright yellow pillow. A stray tear wets your pillow, your hand tracing the empty bedside. 

—

Jeonghan punches in the words on his keyboard with force since he can’t punch the person in the face. He sits back cross-checking the draft email just in case his thoughts are translated into words subconsciously. Another visit to the HR will for sure land him in trouble. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His senior, Soobin, raps his knuckles on the table. 

Great, Jeonghan can feel the universe breathing down his neck today. He folds the laptop screen, reclining in his seat listening to the rant.

“I can’t believe you messed up man.” Soobin rakes his hand through his hair, plopping on the empty chair, rolling the paper weights around the table. “She is the hottest one dude.” A sleazy grin on his lips, “a goddess in that red dress.” He mimics the shape of her waist line with his hands. Jeonghan raises his eyebrow at the detail. Soobin smiles sheepishly, adding, “She posted a picture on her account.”

Jeonghan wants to throw up at the vulgarity. “If you find her attractive then why don’t you date her?” He opens his laptop back, sending the mail.

“Have to wait till I break up with my current one.” He says with remorse. 

Jeonghan grits his teeth, irritation bubbling up in his chest. He tries to tone it down before it escalates into something like throwing him out of his room or worse, throwing a punch. He doesn’t have it in him to sort through another mess and complicate his already stressful life. 

Soobin, not heeding to any hints radiating from Jeonghan, dips his fingers into forbidden waters. “But, come on, man.” He leans in with a wicked expression, “admit it she is the hottest one out of all of your exes. And waaaay better than that sorry shit of your ex. I can’t believe you were stuck up on her. She was boring as hell, and I bet the sex was as dull as—” 

Jeonghan isn’t sure of his movements, how and when the things ended up in the way they did. Soobin is on the floor, spitting blood. Jeonghan holds the floor, helping himself to stand up from his senior’s body. Grabbing the opportunity, Soobin throws a punch. 

Jeonghan falls back on his ass, his ears ringing and knuckles ache like fuck. He clutches his head, watching Soobin scramble on the floor, sliding away from him. Their CEO is standing at the door barking at them. 

He stands up, flicking his hand and stretching his fingers. He grabs Soobin before he can go hide behind their head and puts his all into one last punch. 

The CEO drags bloody Jeonghan to his cabin while Soobin is taken to the hospital. “You were up for promotion next month,” the CEO scolds, “a director can’t hit a coworker in broad daylight.” 

This followed a two hour long lecture mixed with threats of termination. All the while Jeonghan stares outside the window, two birds coddling. Strangely, he is jealous of two birds for having something he once had. 

“Yoon Jeonghan!” The head of the company snaps, “do you feel any remorse for bruising one of our most important employees?” 

Jeonghan massages the ache in his hand, did he break his bones? He did keep punching Soobin’s jaw until he saw red. 

“He had it coming.” He stands up, buttoning up his suit. “I’m quitting. You can write it up as terminated or whatever makes your ass happy.” 

—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” 

You wake up with a jerk, disoriented. Light floods your room, blinding you for a second, and someone is singing happy birthday. A cake with a burning candle is shoved in your face, and were those cats on the cake. 

“Blow it,” a high-pitch voice screams in your ears. 

You blow the candle, still lost in the happenings in the middle of the night. Cheers and claps snaps you out of your drowsiness, awakening your brain. 

Seungkwan is busy squashing the remnants of cake on his girlfriend’s face, and your roommate is standing awkwardly near your bed end. You search for your phone, finding it under your pillow, you read the date. Ah, birthday. 

Messages from your friends and family flood your phone, a hope births inside you, maybe, maybe he remembered and wished you this time. You scroll through the notifications slowly in case you miss it. None. Tears brim your eyes, stupid heart, why does it still hope? 

“Come on, come on.” Seungkwan drags you out of your bed and into the living room, blasting music and orchestrating a sudden dance battle. You laugh at their antics, momentarily forgetting about the heartache.

— 

“We should go for drinks,” Seungkwan announces in the middle of you enjoying each bite of cold noodles. “Enjoy the fact you become a year older and wiser.” He stirs his chopsticks around the noodles.

“Overnight?” You raise an eyebrow, slurping in the noodles. 

The waiter refills the water jug, sets it on the wooden table with a clang. You grab Seungkwan’s glass, filling it to the brim before the waiter has an opportunity to do it. “Thank you,” you smile at the younger male, assuming a college student working for extra pocket money, “we got it. Go and take a breather.” You shoo him away. 

He bows in gratitude, scurries away grabbing the opportunity of a five minute break. You chuckle reminiscing about your days of waiting tables.

“Too kind,” Seungkwan berates, sipping on the water. “It’s gonna bite your ass someday.” 

“I can’t drink.” You go back to the main topic, “it’s weekday. I have an early meeting tomorrow,” you set the chopsticks down at the soar reminder, “a round of drinks sounds good tho.” You sigh wistfully, “but what can one do? I’m not young anymore to bound back after a night of drinking.” 

Seungkwan chews at his food a little louder for your taste. “This must be what they mean by growing pains. And you can’t handle drinks. It’s better to not have you drunk since we have an important meeting tomorrow.” He grabs the menu from the holder, skimming through the noodles section again. “Their noodles are tasty.” He murmurs, “ah,” he taps on a ramyeon picture. 

He flags down the waiter from before who approaches your table with merriment. Seungkwan narrows his eyes at the wandering gaze of the waiter towards you. 

“One ramyeon,” Seungkwan orders, “and a drink please.” 

“Anything else for the beautiful lady over here?” His dimple pops out waiting for you to swallow your food. 

“No, thank you.” You twirl the noodles around the chopsticks, you slurp the cold noodles enjoying the flavours bursting in your mouth. 

Seungkwan chuckles, “poor boy. Look at him walk away like a sad puppy.” 

“Huh?”

He shakes his head, “nothing.” He sets his chopsticks down, “did you hear that there’s restructuring happening? I just hope I won’t be transferred again,” he huffs, folding his hands, “I don’t want to leave Nari.” 

“And you,” he adds, after a beat. 

The meat floats in the broth, you dunk it deeper into the liquid. You prefer to not be mentioned at all rather than being added as an afterthought. Being someone’s priority is a luxury you realized, not after the break up, but rather when you were in a five year long relationship with your ex. 

The nights you laid on the bed waiting for your lover to join you were countless, his disinterest in your enthusiasm, and his laid back answers were the slow killers. Labeled as needy and clingy when asked for attention was the threshold point. And yet, you begged him to stay. 

A green feeling bubbles in your chest, stabbing the meat piece you nod to Seungkwan’s rant absentmindedly. You catch bits and pieces of how his girlfriend suffered from the long distance during his last transfer, and how he was helpless to pacify her. If only you got a transfer and Jeonghan was desperate for you back then, would he have realized your value? Does he realize your value now? 

The answer was glaring back at you. You have seen, stalked, his dates and flings profile, how happy he is, smiling at the pictures, posing intimately and sharing something that was yours first with strangers. How can he be happy after ruining you for anyone else? Making you incapable of loving someone else? Why, only you, can’t replace him where he is mingling as if you never existed?

—

You peek from your computer at the manager’s cabin. He is in a meeting with a team, and it doesn’t end for another thirty minutes. You click the third link of the web results for Get Love Quick. The cursor at the name field blinks, waiting for your input. 

It requires a lot more than momentary courage, you realized, your fingers hover over the keyboard hesitant. Are you really ready for this new step in life? The silver band ring glimmers under the fluorescent lights, you take it off and throw it in the drawer. You are going to fill in the form and submit it. If you are matched then it is a future you’s problem. 

Filling in the basic information was a breeze, you crack your knuckles preparing yourself for the big ones. 

What’s your heartbreaking story? 

The keys click-clacks under your fingers, momentary pauses, a tear rolling down your cheek. You hover over the exit button unable to articulate  it in words, but you don't want to give up. Not this time. 

By the time you press submit, the office is half empty. You check for your friend, he is clutching his head and looking close to breakdown. You clock out of the system for the day, grabbing your things and sauntering towards your distressed friend. 

“What’s wrong?” You grab an empty chair and settle next to him. 

Seungkwan looks up at you with red eyes, softly whispering your name. 

“Hey,” you panic, “tell me what happened?” You hold his hands bracing yourself. 

“My name is on the list for transfer,” his voice quivers, “I have to fill in an empty position at this new branch.” 

Your heart aches watching your friend breakdown. “Is there no other way?” 

He pulls his blue tie free, “I am not sure. God, I didn’t inform her yet. I just,” he exhales loudly, “I wanna try requesting the manager or the higher ups.” 

You nod slowly, gears turning in your mind. Seungkwan has been a steady pillar in your life even during the times of crisis. He didn’t walk away when you pushed him off your life. 

“By when you have to transfer?” 

“Soon, there’s an urgent requirement in Yangsan.” he answers, “I hate it so much. Why always me?” 

You pat his shoulders, “I know. But I think it will work out in your favor this time.”

He scoffs, shutting down the computer, and packs his stuff into his bag. “It never works out. One suffering after another is the theme of my life.” 

“Believe me, Seungkwan.” You smile. 

He pauses in his track, narrowing his eyes, “I know that smile. Don’t do anything stupid, please.” 

You smile wider. 

—

Jeonghan cradles nearly empty whisky glass to his chest, spreading his legs wide on the couch, reclining back. He sips from the bottle watching six friends lounging in the flat yapping on the TV screen, the laugh track accompanying the show irks him. How can one find comfort from this show? He can never understand it, but he never stops watching it again and again. 

He sips on the last drops of the drink, shaking it in hopes to get more out of it. He discards it on the floor, and grabs his phone. 

His thumb brushes over the date displayed on the phone. He used to be busy on this day in previous years, planning the day to its perfection, wooing his girl with carefully crafted plans and in the last two years buried in work. 

He misses his home being filled with delicious scents of his cooking her favourites, her laughter at some stupid reruns of sitcoms. It’s been so long since his home and his life has seen some daylight. 

His thumb hovers over her chat, uncertainty brimming up in his chest. He shouldn’t text her, he reiterates to himself. He scrolls through her unanswered texts right after their break up. 

Please. I’ll be better. 

-baby, May

Hannie… how can you do this to me? 

-baby, May

Don’t leave me, Jeonghan. Please, I can’t live without you. It can’t be that easy to leave me. I beg you. I’ll do whatever you want. I will text you less, call you less, and we can live separately and only visit once a day. Don’t leave me Jeonghan. 

-baby, May

[Voicenote 1:43 mins]

-baby, May

Jeonghan quickly scrolls past the voice note, he doesn’t have enough guts to hear you breaking down. If he does he will be standing outside your home, asking you to come back to this toxic union. Somewhere his mind nags, was it always toxic or were you scared to admit your wrongdoings?

Ridiculous

-baby, June 

For my sake? For my sake you broke up????? 

-baby, June

Be honest there’s someone else right?

-baby, June 

You wanted to get rid of me to be with her

-baby, June

Explains the late nights and unanswered calls 

-baby, June

YOON JEONGHAN YOU FUCKING BASTARD ASSHOLE AND AND I love you Jeonghan please… please reply I beg you

-baby, July 

I’ll change myself the way you want Jeonghan I won’t be needy please I will give you your space I would be one with the wall in your life as long as I can see you everyday I am okay with anything 

-baby, July

Did you loathe me that bad? I heard you already moved on. Is she prettier? Is she self-sufficient? Is she better than me?

-baby, August 

[photo of your date holding your hand]

-baby, August 

Ah so you really don’t care about me anymore. 

-baby, August 

I gave you five years of my life. You could have ended it in the first year. Could have spared me the heartache.

-baby, September 

It feels like dying. Is this how people feel in their last moments? How can you be so happy while I’m scraping myself off the floor? 

-baby, October 

Happy birthday

-baby, October 

Good luck with your life.

-baby, December

Jeonghan notices the unsent message sitting in the type bar. 

Should we try again 

He contemplates on sending it, but decides otherwise. He backspaces the message, he scrolls deeper into their conversation when things are rainbows and sunshine. 

Hannie Hannie my dear Hannie saw you again in the sky shining brighter than ever… my sun 🌞

-baby

😒

-Jeonghan 

Get back to work 

-Jeonghan 

He remembers smiling ear to ear in the office, rereading her message in the singsong tone of hers. He was fluid like water throughout his work that day, acing every meeting and task, humming all along. 

Saw a baby playing with a baby chick 🐤 

[photo] 

-baby

Sooooooooooo CUTE 

-baby

I JUST WANT TO GO AND BITE HIS CHEEKS 

-baby

Can I do that 🥺

-baby

Didn’t know our date is at jail tonight

-Jeonghan

Jeonghan laughs at their conversation. Rolling onto his side he scrolls deeper. He sniffles, tears falling onto the cushion. He wipes his blurry eyes, reading the conversation from another day.  

Rant incoming 

-baby

Uh oh  

-Jeonghan

That freaking bastard retard good for nothing asshole and the worlds most dumbest high paid person. How the fuck he got a job. Mr.know it all knows nothing. NOTHING EXCEPT MAKING MY LIFE HELL 

-baby

HAVE TO WORK OVERTIME AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!! 

-baby 

I MISS MY MAN!!!

-baby 

(I miss you too)

-Jeonghan

BUT DUE TO THAT FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT.. OH HANNIE MY PRECIOUS BABY MY LITTLE MUNCHKIN 

-baby 

[Incoming call from baby]

Jeonghan wishes he can go back to the time when you called him all the sweet things in the world. If the universe or whoever is out there, is willing to give them one more chance will he take it up? Maybe or maybe not. 

When will you be back? I miss you 

-baby 

… 

-Jeonghan 

Come on. It’s been like thirty minutes

-Jeonghan 

What can I do? 

-baby 

Your cum is still running down my thighs reminding me of you 🤷‍♀️

-baby 

FUCK 

-Jeonghan 

YOU CANT PULL THAT CARD 

-Jeonghan 

☹️ okayyyy don’t worry I pushed it all back in. 

-baby 

Happy golfing Hannie!!! Win and come home 🥰😘

-baby 

You DEVIL 

-Jeonghan 

I’m coming home

-Jeonghan 

😇😇😇

-baby 

Jeonghan locks his phone, closing his eyes, tears rushing out. A ripping pain in his chest makes him curl up into a ball, he holds himself, all the pain inside of him bursting out. The silence of his apartment is now broken with whimpers and cries for help. It's been so long since he felt something, he doesn’t want to continue to live in this pain. He doesn’t have the will or fighting spirit left in him. 

He messed with his career for the sake of his ex, he stopped going out with his friends, and it's been so long since he talked with his parents. Another sob escapes him remembering how you used to hold him whenever he felt low. Despite the thousand fights they had, you were always there to catch him. You are his sun, not the other way around. He is stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He ended things for their own good. He realised that no matter how much you love someone, sometimes you just end up hurting each other. He couldn’t bear seeing you standing in the middle of the apartment everyday mid fight with tears spilling out.  

He knows he is the problem, he wasn’t mature enough to handle his love with care, love and affection, the only thing you wanted out of him. He only gave you pain, sadness and a reason to cry. He was the source of your unhappiness. He tried to be a source of happiness, but things slipped right through his fingers.  

If only he could be more like how you wanted him, maybe today he would have been curled up in your warmth instead of the coldness of his apartment. 

—

The office is swarming, phones ringing, and hellos echoing around. You keep checking the manager’s cabin, eyeing the expressions of the director, manager and Seungkwan through the glass doors. It is hard to catch their words, or read their lips, as it is a few cubicles down from yours. You send a document to print, slipping on your heels, you march towards the printer next to the cabin. 

Seungkwan catches you, shaking his head subtly before answering to the director. The printer spits out the papers slowly with a wheezing sound, you adjust your hair straining your ears to catch at least a few words.

“... branch needs you,” the director’s firm tone makes you wince, “or…” you lose some words as the printer whirs loudly, and you swear you heard your name, “..can go in your place.”

“I am not sure,” Seungkwan replies, “I can’t..”

A colleague of yours watches you in suspicion, his eyes darting from you to the cabin you are eavesdropping. Fuck, he is HR. You bow in greeting, laughing, pointing at the old printer dying to print out some documents. He nods, mumbling a feeble, keep up the good work. 

You collect the papers just in time the director walks out of the cabin, noticing you, he smiles warmly in greeting before walking to his cabin. Seungkwan closes the manager’s cabin behind him, his lower lip wobbly at the sight of you. You step in with him to his cubicle, “what happened?”

Seungkwan lets out a big groan, “I have to start relocating by the end of the month.” He rubs his temples, “I have to tell her tonight.” He checks the time on his watch, “and she was looking forward to our date,” his voice shakes a little, “only for me to pour water over all her excitement.”

He plops down on his seat, keying in his password. You lean against his desk, thumbing the pages, “you know,” you muster up the courage, “I want to ask for this transfer.” You quickly add before he can jump in, “I really want this transfer, Seungkwan. I think..” you trail off, your voice dropping an octave, “I am done with this city.”

You blink back the tears with a laugh, you set the papers on his desk, turning away from him. “I am planning to talk it out with the manager, and,” you look at him from the corner of your eyes, “ask to get off your back.” 

He smiles, tapping his fingers on the armrest, “I don't want you to force yourself for my sake.” He raises his hand, stopping you from defending yourself, “someone going away in my place will loosen my burden but I don’t want that to be you. Got my point?”

“I understand, but,” you meet his eyes head on, “I really want to get out of this place, Seungkwan. I don’t have any fond memories left–” Seungkwan scoffs “–apart from our hangouts, of course.” 

With a deep inhale, you blurt out, “everywhere I go, I see us. I search for him everywhere,” you wipe away the stray tear, “I don’t want to live this way. Not when he is happy somewhere, in someone’s arms.”

Seungkwan evades your gaze, clicking on some email, “about that..” 

“I don’t wanna hear anything else.” You square up your shoulders, “I am going in now and ask for the transfer.” 

Seungkwan calls out your name but you are already at the manager’s cabin. 

—

“Cheers,” you clink the glasses with Seungkwan’s and Nari’s. You dunk the contents in a single gulp, a bitter sigh escaping your lips. 

“Congrats on the new role,” she congratulates, with a beaming smile, “I am very happy for you.” 

Seungkwan sips on his soju, not joining in the party of your transfer and beginning of new life. His girlfriend, not knowing the reason behind his silence, chats away about her new boss and the funny antics of his. 

Seungkwan grills the meat, the sizzling sounds of the meat grabs your attention more often than you let on. He places the cooked meat on Nari’s plate, your eyes fall on your empty plate, and the growling of your stomach. You pour yourself another glass of soju, laughing at the reenactment of the fall of her new boss. 

“I couldn’t not laugh!” she fans herself, “but I was the only one with a loud laugh. He saw me, I just hope he won’t get his revenge.” 

You grab the cooked meat from the grill, and blow on it, “he wouldn’t. You are one hard working person. He is lucky to have you on his team.”

She blushes, fumbling with her thumbs. Seungkwan drops the tongs, brushing her pink cheeks. You excuse yourself to the washroom, grabbing your phone. Few messages from your colleagues congratulating on the promotion, and also sad for the transfer. Your heels halt when the email from the Get Love Quick sits on your notifications. 

You open the washroom stall, and lock yourself in, calming your nerves. You open the mail.

Dear Heartbroken soul,

Thank you for choosing us to direct you to true love. We are sad to hear your pain, and with all the shit life threw at you, we just want to apologize on behalf of life. Along with the apology we also want to throw in some delight by informing you that, *drum roll*, your date has been fixed for this Sunday. Please find the venue details below. 

Ps. As a tradition of Get Love Quick the details of your date is a surprise. Builds the anticipation *wink wink*. 

With love,

Get Love Quick

It’s already Friday today, one more day and then you have a date. Your clammy fingers don't help in clicking the venue details in the maps. You rub your sweaty palms onto your skirt, and try again typing the details. This cafe is forty minutes drive away from your apartment. 

Is it worth it? You are about to move away from this place in a couple of weeks. You have to start packing away, look for a house in the new city, and break the news to your family and friends. Who would be interested in someone who isn’t available after the first date? Highly unlikely to convert this date into a long distance relationship. A part of you believes that there’s no aspect of you that will be appealing to the other person to make him leave everything too. 

For now you put the date on the back burner. You have one more day, and it's Sunday you to decide. 

Completing your business in the washroom, you saunter back to the table, slowing down, giving space to the couple kissing. You fiddle with the promotion mails on your phone, coughing into your fist before sliding onto your stool. Seungkwan hangs his hand around his girl, color coming back in his face. Ah, she does hold the key to his heart, no wonder he was desperate to stay. 

No matter how happy you are for them, to have each other through ebbs and flows, watching them, or spending time with a couple opens a part inside you that you aren’t proud of. It reminds you of what you don’t have in your life, or what you once had. 

“I’m done for the day,” you fake yawn, “my uber is on the way, I will meet you on Monday.” You sling your handbag, walking away before he can understand the urgency in your exit. 

“You didn’t even eat anything.” He points the tongs to your full plate, “why are you leaving so soon?”

“I’m tired from all those meetings, and I am not feeling good. Need some rest.” 

If he has doubts about your poor acting, he doesn’t comment on it. You greet them good night, exiting the restaurant.  

— 

The cafe is in a run down building, the ivy creeps all over the creaks, and the light illuminating the cafe name flickers. Sweet Life. No soul is seen around the empty street, a cat mewls from the garbage can, and rustling of covers echoes. The sun is already setting with an orange hue across the sky. You share your location with Seungkwan just in case, tugging the neckline of your dress up, you open the rusty door.

“Welcome!” A woman greets from the whirring coffee machine. “Please find a seat.”

You bow in a greeting, and turn to the almost empty cafe except for, your breath catches in your throat, one person. Your feet stay rooted, your gaze not moving from him, and him staring back at you with his lips parted. The exit door is two steps away, you can run away and sleep it off like it's a bad dream. 

The door rattles open, two sleazy men brush past you, stinking of alcohol. You grab the half open door, quickly slipping past the door, your vision blurry making your ankle twist a few times. You sit on your feet, leaning against the wall, rubbing your eyes and the runny nose with the back of your hand, your breathing becomes irregular. Seungkwan. You need him to tell you what to do. You search for your phone in your wallet, dropping the papers, lip balm and keys on the road. 

You gasp for air, breathing in through your mouth, hitting your chest. Five things. List down five things, you see a crumpled tin on the pavement, you smell stinky garbage, and you hear the crack of the door opening. Two black shoes step beside you, and you smell of him. 

Jeonghan separates a tissue from the stack, and holds the back of your head, wiping your tears. You push his hand away, shaking your head trying to get out of his grasp. He grips onto your neck, pulling you closer to him, his teary eyes glaring back at you. He cleans your wet cheeks. “Breathe in,” he commands, “one..two..do it,” he pleads. 

You turn away from his touch. He sighs, kneeling on one foot, “I get it,” his voice wavers, “I know you don’t want me here.” He wipes the corner of your eyes, and below your eyes, “but let's get you calm down.” He whispers, “please, ba–” he clears his throat “–not for me but for you, okay?”

“I-It’s be-because,” you gasp for air, “of y-you.” 

Jeonghan sits next to you, on the dirty pavement, “I know.” He holds a fresh tissue to your nose, “I am sorry.” His eyes run across your face, “I didn’t know, or else,” he trails off. 

You grab the tissue from him, and blow your nose, sitting on your bum next to him. “Or else you wouldn’t have come.” You hiccup, folding the tissue, “like always.”

He grabs the used tissue from you, stacking all of them next to him. He hands you a new one. Both of you sit in silence, his shoulder leaning against yours, while you catch your breath. 

He picks up your discarded items and puts them back in your wallet, “are you good now?” 

You pick on the ends of the tissue, sniffling, why is he my date out of all? Jeonghan clasps your wallet shut, drumming his fingers on the black surface of it, his long messy strands obscuring his face. 

He is here, next to you, after almost two years, breathing and you can feel his warmth unlike the Jeonghan in your dreams. But why now? When you were all set to move on with someone, anyone new. Leaving everything and him behind in a couple of weeks. What kind of cruel joke is the universe playing now? 

“Better than when you left me,” you reply. The bitterness in your words flinches him, he drops his head to his lap, fiddling with his thumbs. You scoff, “are you nervous now?” How dare you feel nervous? 

Jeonghan sighs, “I get it you hate me.”

“Hate, Jeonghan? Hate? You ruined me. You left me to tend to myself. I..” your voice wavers, remembering standing outside his apartment, begging him to open up, “what is the point anyway. Reiterating everything won’t change anything.” You grab your wallet from him, you hold onto his thigh helping yourself stand, “you will still be that bastard and I will still be.. me.” 

Jeonghan stands up, falling in step with you as you walk without any direction and your anger being the only navigator. “I’m sorry,” he holds your wrist, turning you to him, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Sorry?” You hit his chest, he stumbles back, “do you think saying sorry will heal me? All those nights,” you are crying again, “all…” you hit him, “those..” another hit “nights..” he accepts all your hits. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Stop saying that!” You shout. “You don’t even mean it.” You grab his shirt, his familiar warm woody scent cracks your semblance. “You don’t even.. mean it.” You inch closer, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling his scent. 

God, no!

You push him away, “no, no, no.” You turn around, running away from him and the dead feelings sprouting back. 

Few more steps and you will reach the road. Some taxis should be there for you to go back home. Before you can come into proper light, he tugs you back. 

“Please,” he begs, “one chance. One dinner,” he holds your hands, squeezing them. 

The streetlight falls on him, you forget your anger for a moment, reaching to his brown bruise on his chin and split lips. “What happened to you?” 

He leans into your palm, closing his eyes, tears falling onto your arm. He grips onto your other hand, “please, one more chance.” 

“What makes you think you deserve it?” 

Jeonghan slowly opens his eyes, his brown eyes flicking across your face, “you still carry my picture.” He holds up your left hand, tracing the print of the ring that used to be on your ring finger.  

You shove his hand away, “I’m not meeting you anytime soon. Or anymore.” 

You sink in the new details of him one last time, he lost weight, and the dark circles under his eyes are prominent. The bruise on his cheek is dark, and the split on his lip is red with blood. What on earth is he doing with himself? You don’t have it in you to know the reason, scared you will crumble here and now, taking him back into your life in a beat.

“Have a good life, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan speaks up, halting you from moving away. “When you are not wanted or needed by anyone then you cease to exist.” You look in his eyes, the dark ones hold yours, “The moment,” he is towering over you, clad in black long coat, “you walked away, my existence went away with you.” He silences you, pressing his finger onto your lips, “I am an idiot who didn’t realize your worth and,” he brushes your cheek with his thumb, “took you for granted.

“I tried everything, baby,” he rests his head over yours, bending to your height, “nothing is you. I was searching for you in everyone,” his breath hits your forehead, “and no one is you. I am not asking you to take me back,” you look in his eyes, “yet. One dinner, one chance is all I ask.”

When he meets your silence, he calls out your name in a soft whisper. “Baby,” he pulls your chin up, “one dinner.” 

And you crumble like a historic building holding years of past, falling apart. You are nodding to his request even before you know. 

—

The day’s heaviness settles on your shoulder, the entire ride back home has been a blur. Pushing past the door, you enter your apartment, leaving your high heels and keys. Seungkwan is already at your flat, lounging on the couch, eating your snacks. He springs to his feet, rushing towards you, “what happened? Why are you crying?” 

You throw your wallet onto the coffee table, the potato chip bag crunching under your feet as you make your way to the couch. Seungkwan sits next to you, questioning you. Your phone vibrates on the coffee table, he grabs it at a lightning speed, opening it and his eyes going wide, dropping the phone on the carpet. 

“Fuck.” 

He pulls you into a bear hug. You sob into his shoulder, incoherent words leaving your lips in an attempt to explain what happened. He pats your head, cooing comforting words. 

“He is there, Seungkwan.” You rub your eyes, “he is my date. How can this happen?” 

“I am sorry,” he holds your arms, tears in his eyes, “I am so sorry. It’s all because of me, I shouldn’t have forced you to–”

“No,” you pick your phone from the carpet, unlocking it. “It would have happened sooner or later.” 

Did you reach home safely?

-Hannie

“Block him.”

Locking your phone, you hide it behind you. “Can’t.” 

He frowns, “why?”

You drop your gaze to your lap, “we are meeting on Tuesday for dinner.” 

The expletives leaving from Seungkwan’s mouth makes you shut your ears. “Hand me over your phone now.” He extends his palm, waiting. Your bottom lip quivers, you give a slow shake of your head. “For fuck’s sake.” He reaches for it, and you hold it with your entire being. 

“Listen to me, listen to me,” you plead, Seungkwan reclines back in his seat. “He just wanted one dinner,” you raise your arm when Seungkwan opens his mouth, “only one dinner. And with my schedule, I won’t be able to meet him more than that.” You reason. “I will be away, and he won’t be there. I think this will be the end.”

“End my foot.” Seungkwan snatches the phone from you, and hits the block button. “He is back at it again. Getting into fights, summoned by po—”

“Fights?” 

Seungkwan bites his tongue in grimace. “Nothing.”

“Seungkwan.” Your voice is firm, thinking about the bruises on his face. What on earth is he up to? Fights? You knew he had some issues managing his tongue but he never hit someone out of anger. “What are you hiding?” 

Seungkwan clutches his head in a groan, leaning back on the couch. “I’ll tell you if you promise me you won’t meet him.” 

You gape at him, your lips opening and closing without a single word escaping. Anger seeps into your thoughts, hating the way Seungkwan is interfering in your life. “I am telling you that it's going to be only one dinner!” 

He flinches at your sharp voice, glaring back at you. “And I know you!” He fights back, “I saw you. It's not gonna be a single dinner.” 

He holds your arm, handing you your phone back. “I am not against you,” he stands up, “I was with you, am with you and will always be.” 

Guilt crawls into your heart, god, it’s happening again. How can you lash out at Seungkwan? This is exactly why Jeonghan re-entering your life is catastrophic. The chaos he left took you long enough to calm it down. And now with your behavior you aren’t sure Seungkwan is going to stay with you this time. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, staring at the blocked contact on your phone, tracing his message. You lock the phone, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” you gesture between you two, “I’m sorry. I won’t meet him.” 

Seungkwan takes your hands in his, sitting next to you, “you have to believe me.” You nod, not meeting his gaze. “I know it seems tempting and you want to have him back but,” he tilts to the side, wanting you to look at him, “he is not worth it. Not worthy of your love.”

Flashes of Jeonghan holding you, calming you and wiping your tears and snort crosses your mind. The tenderness in his gestures, regularizing you out of the anxiety attack, and the desperation to meet you one more time. If this ain’t love then what is? 

But you don’t say this to Seungkwan, he wouldn’t understand you or Jeonghan. Your relationship with Jeonghan wasn't smooth sailing like Seungkwan’s is. You had your high tides, heavy rains and darkest sails but he was your port, your anchor, and the morning always came. 

“Yeah,” you pull your arms out of his hold. “Go home, Seungkwan, it’s late.” 

He is silent for a few seconds, but stands up ready to leave. 

“Should I know why Jeonghan is involved in fights?” You ask from the couch. 

Seungkwan holds the door open, turning to you, “it's better if you don’t.”

So it is because of you.

—

Packing your entire life and moving away isn’t as easy as you thought it would be. The boxes around you are overwhelming, and yet the packing is the only thing that’s keeping you sane. 

It’s been a week since your meeting with Jeonghan. Work has been hectic leaving you little time to think about the notifications of the blocked contact. It feels like a drink is placed before a recovering alcoholic, tempting yet restraining yourself. 

Your phone lights up again with another notification of the blocked caller. You flip the phone, tackling the old clothes into a box. Why did you buy all of these? Folding an old sweater your attention drifts to your phone. One call or text wouldn’t hurt, right? Or unblocking him is not going to hurt you. He is your Jeonghan after all. 

Shaking yourself out of it you shove the sweater into the box. You kneel down on the floor, bending to grab the clothes shoved inside of your cupboard. Jeonghan’s. Hoodies and oversized T-shirts of his you loved to wear. 

You pluck the blue oversized tee, running your hand over the softness, a laugh tumbling out of you at the memory.

He spent an entire week searching for the tee only to find you wearing it one night. He stood near the kitchen counter, hands folded across his chest, pissed. 

You didn’t dare to acknowledge him knowing he is waiting for you to give in. Or some explanation on why you searched for the tee along with him when you are very well aware where it is hiding.  

You chop the carrots into thin slices and pretend he isn’t standing near you. He scoffs, his slippers hitting against the wooden floors as he approaches you. You slithered to the side slowly, peeking over your shoulders. 

Anger is replaced with a lopsided grin on his face, he drags you to him by the shirt. He locks your wrists behind your back and grabs your face, leaving stinging kisses. Hearing your grumbles, and chasing lips for his’ in need of a proper kiss, he spanks your ass muttering, “punishment.”

You stuff his clothes into an empty moving box before it can pull you into the darkness of his memories. Wiping your tears with your shirt sleeve. The phone lights up yet with another notification. Another call from the blocked contact. 

A sob leaves your lips, why is he so insistent now? After all these months why is he adamant on talking to you. The urge to unblock him and text him is uncontrollable, but Seungkwan’s words run through your mind. You imagine his disappointed face once he knows that you didn’t listen to him, and honestly you are a little scared that he will stop talking to you. You are scared that the only person who cares about you will leave you, just like everyone else. 

Clearing the notifications you shoot a text to Seungkwan. 

Need to drop these off at Jeonghan’s. 

-sent

I’ll drop by and do that. 

-Seungkwan

One last glance at the box containing his clothes you are overcome by the need, and pluck one of his black hoodies. You pull over the hoodie, hugging yourself as you curl up on the floor next to a half filled trolley and dozens of boxes. 

—

Jeonghan is pacing around his living room, chewing on the unlit cigarette. He dials your number again and again. Blocked? How can you block him? You didn’t delete him away after the break up, but you did it now? Not when you agreed to meet him for dinner, and he can tell a lie, especially when it's coming from you. 

He drops the cigarette on the couch rustling through his drawers for the unused phone. It should have another sim, if he can contact you with it he can end this torture. Going to your house is also an option that he considered dearly, he didn’t want to cross that last boundary. Not especially when you are putting up a wall for some reason. Oh, how he so wants to fuck the rules. 

The knock on his door garners his attention from throwing the notebooks and mail from the drawer like a raccoon sifting through trash. He runs his hand through his unkempt hair watching Seungkwan standing outside his door. He leaves the door open, massaging the space between his eyebrows. Seungkwan visiting him will never end in peace.  

“Here.” Seungkwan throws a bag onto the couch. The bag bounces off the couch and falls on the floor. “Your clothes.” 

Jeonghan turns around at those words, frowning. His clothes? Why would Seungkwan have–ah. He pads over the strewn notebooks and papers on the floor, reaching for a new cigarette, his fingers shaky. The bits and pieces aligning themself, the abandoned dinner, blocked contact, and now—his clothes. He glares over his shoulder at the man who is ruining his life, along with yours. You would never ever even dare to discard a single message from him. 

“Don’t ever contact her.” Seungkwan warns, completing surveying Jeonghan’s dumpster called home. “She finally moved on.”

Jeonghan rests his hand on the wooden surface, the cigarette crushing between his fingers. He tilts his head to the side, giving a once-over at the friend of his ex. “Did she, now?”

Seungkwan takes a threatening step forward, “Don’t you dare, Yoon Jeonghan.” He fists his hand, “you are a bastard, and have you seen yourself,” he spits, “do you think she needs someone like you?” 

Images of you laughing at his mess and swatting his shoulder before dragging him to clean up crosses his mind. He loved those moments. 

“You don’t deserve a second of her attention.” Seungkwan continues, “Go back to your devious ways and party life. And leave her alone.”

He storms out of the apartment, leaving behind a seething Jeonghan. 

Fuck rules. 

—

You rustle under your blanket, the faint knock on your door stirring you out of your slumber. The night is up outside your window, the cool spring air blowing in, curtains flying in tune with it. Another knock. No one visits you at ten in the night, peeling off the thin blanket you step in the empty spots between trolleys and card boxes. Did Seungkwan need something from you? 

Your roommate winces at your sleepy state once you open the door. She looks over to her left scowling. “I tried.”

What? Your eyebrows pull in at the confusion, what’s going on? 

Jeonghan steps in, hovering over your roommate. The sleep goes away from your body, nervous system kicking in for the fight or flight response. What is he doing here? His blood red eyes doesn’t move away from you, drinking in your bed head, and the—shit, fuck, his hoodie. Your knuckles turn white from the deadly grip on the door handle, shut it. 

“Call me if you need me.” Your roommate steps away, giving space for him to come closer.

He crowds over you, his cozy scent mixed with cigarette smell messing with your senses. You push the door to a close on his face, his hand holds the door, his strength threatening over yours, he pushes it open with ease. If he was angry earlier, now he is pissed. His chest brushes your face, his hand coming over your shoulders, bringing you both inside your room, and shuts the door behind him, turning the lock in. 

“Why?” 

Desperateness clings to your voice. The grip on your shoulder causes you to jerk back, pushing his chest away from you. He backs away to the door, hands behind him. Your fingers hover over the light switch, wondering whether to turn it on or not. Seeing him might make it harder for you to handle all the emotions. The memories of him you have in this room, the ones that kept you going and also pulled you back, drove you crazy and now with him in the space won’t help you hold back anymore.  

The light stays off, the street light falling from your window is the only illumination outlining the shadow of him. You are standing next to the window a few feet away from him, your hands clasped behind your back. 

Jeonghan shuffles across the room, his hand tracing the edge of the table placed near the window, a few steps away from you but closer than before. He leans on the table with one hand, another stuffed in his jean pocket. A car headlights flashes across your room, he is wearing the blue t-shirt. He got his clothes back. 

“You aren’t picking my calls.” 

“Didn’t feel like it,” you answer after a beat.  

“You or Seungkwan?”

You snap your head from your fingers to him, “What?”

Another step forward. “You have so many protecting you,” he pauses, and adds with a slight shake in his voice, “from your villain.” He dips his head to the floor, his hair cascading his face. 

You prick on your fingers, locking them behind you. No, you can’t touch him. 

A chuckle escapes from him, he flips his head back, running his crooked fingers through the hair. “I earned the title.” He shrugs. “But,” he singled out his focus on you, “I would’ve stopped calling if,” another step, “you didn’t want me.” He tilts his head, the light from the window directly falling on him, his frown, “but for Seungkwan?”  

“I didn’t want to see you.” A half lie.  

His lip curls into a smirk, “you couldn’t lie then.” He nods to himself, “and you can’t lie now. So, don’t.” 

“Why are you here, Yoon Jeonghan?” 

He is toying with the bobble head on your desk. “Why do you think so?” 

The words rattles the last wall you are holding up. Tears prick your eyes, exhaustion creeps up your bones. “Stop,” your voice wavers, he looks up with confused eyes, “please.” 

The frown line between his eyes is prominent, he lets go of the bobble head and is standing next to you. His scent engulfs you, clouding all your thoughts. “Don’t cry,” his hand reaches for your cheek but stops, not touching. “Please.” The crack in his voice is too much. 

You step away from him, stumbling on the trolley. He stabilises you by your arm. You push away his grip, backing away to the bed. Pulling up the blanket you hide beneath it. A sob escaping. The bed dips, he holds your knee over the blanket. 

“Let me see you,” he pleads, “one last time, and I’ll leave. But don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. “You are the worst.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yo-you ca-can’t come-comeb-ack and.. and,” you hiccup, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ex-expect me-me to be ok.”

He pulls you into a hug, the blanket slips off your face. He pats your head, “please, don’t cry.” His cheek presses into yours, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I don’t want you to cry. If being with me makes you cry then,” he grips onto your shoulder, pressing himself tightly, “then I’ll leave.” 

“You always leave.” You free yourself from him. Breathing in and out to regulate yourself. “Always.”

Jeonghan holds you down, “if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” He brushes the stray strands off your face, “but if I’m going to be the reason for you to cry then I won’t. I don’t want you to cry, not again.

“I realise my mistakes. I shouldn’t have been the asshole, and ran away from our problems that day. I’m sorry. Hate me, hit me and slap me all you want till your anger subsides. But don’t cry. You and I, we both want each other,” he holds the drawstrings of your hoodie, “we are for each other. I’ll wait till you can accept me.” 

“Lies.” You turn away from his pleading face. “I have seen you. And your fuck buddies.” 

Jeonghan groans, rubbing his face in frustration. “I didn’t sleep with anyone. There was no one after you.” He clings onto you, “I did go out but it never worked.” 

You scoff, not believing his words. The pictures looked pretty chummy for you to believe that nothing happened afterwards, especially knowing how handsy Jeonghan can be. 

“I can dial all my dates and let them speak to you,” he pulls out his phone, opening the messaging app and scrolling through dozens of unanswered chats. 

You hold his hand before he hits the dial button. “No need.” Like Jeonghan, you can tell when he is lying or not. “But you moved on pretty quickly.” 

“I had to.” He answers quickly, “or else I would have sorted you back. And it wouldn’t have been a good choice.” 

“Why?”

“You weren’t happy,” his voice drops, barely a whisper, “and I wasn’t too. And it really gutted me to see you cry,” he sounds distant, like lost in a memory, “I hate to see you cry, whether we were fighting or not. It didn’t matter that I was angry at you. And when it became clear that I was the reason for you crying every night, I couldn’t do it any longer.

“I wondered maybe if I stepped away from–” his voice breaks “–your life then you would finally be happy. You don’t know how much my chest hurt when you were crying outside my door. Baby,” the nickname slips his mouth before he can hold it back, “I really thought you would be happy, and if I had known,” he wipes your tears tenderly, “it would break you this bad, I would not have done it.” 

“It’s for good.” You say, “we needed space. I was too much, too greedy for you and your attention.” 

“No–” 

You cut him off, “let me talk. I realized how it tortured you, I occupied your entire life. I restrained you, what not. I did later on hear from your friends on how.. how you cancelled all your plans and didn’t meet them.” You chuckle, fumbling with your fingers, “and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I am sorry. Truly.”

“I don’t want–”

“And as much as we want to rework on our relationship,” you cut in again, “I don’t think it’ll work again. Not only because of our pre-existing issues, but there are few others.” 

He shifts uncomfortably, “like?”

“Like, I am moving away in a week.” You gesture around the trolleys and moving boxes. “I was that needy when you were next to me, imagine us doing long distance.” You chuckle imagining the disaster it will be, the tears shining on the edge of your eyes. “I might even kill you.”

“You are moving?” 

The smile vanishes noticing the hurt laced in his words. “Yeah. That should explain the mess in my room. You know how much–”

“You hate messy room. I know.” 

“Yeah..”

Silence cascades between you two. He is ruffling his hair, a tic whenever he is in distress. You pick on your finger not knowing what to say or how to.. end things again. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did the first time, right? Maybe this time you may walk out unharmed as long as you don’t remember that Jeonghan wants to try things again. If only it was as easy as telling yourself to just forget. 

Jeonghan wouldn’t move from Seoul or quit his job where he put in his blood, sweat and tears. The long nights and weekends he invested, the ranks he climbed are too dear to him to lose now. You aren’t that special anymore for him to resign and find you. Bidding your goodbyes now is the right thing to do. 

“I–”

“Where are you moving to?” He asks. “What about your job? The lease? Your parents?”

You hear the unasked question. What about me?

“I am being transferred to another branch. Seungkwan was supposed to go but his girlfriend–”

Jeonghan snorts. “Explains. You are lifting your entire life just for a friend?” 

“He is my brother.” You snap. “If not for my father he will be the one to walk me down the aisle. Don’t downplay our friendship.”

“How can I not? He is the reason you weren’t talking to me. Me! He is ruining whatever we are having or would have.”

“Because he saw me. He helped me put myself back when you were galavanting with your dates and what not!” 

“This is too much to do for someone else. It isn’t right. If he is chosen he has to go no matter what.” 

You stare at Jeonghan in the dark, “this is nothing compared for people we love. If you loved someone then you would have understood.” 

Nodding to yourself at his silence, you pull your hoodie sleeves over your fingers. “I am not going to tell you where I am moving to, Jeonghan. It wouldn’t help either of us. I would be too stuck up in hopes that you would come, and you wouldn’t even bother to..” you shake your head, “what’s the point. We are running in circles.

“We had a good five years, maybe four before it all went down. But it's something I cherish for the rest of my life.” You cup his cheek, “have a good life, Jeonghan. Don’t drink too much, or smoke. Clean up after yourself, and,” you feel wetness crawling on your hand, “and, you are a good person. If we had met in different timelines where you weren’t distant and I wasn’t desperate, we would have ended up in an ocean side house with a little family like you always wanted.”

He rests his head on your forehead, his tears falling on your cheeks. “Bye, Jeonghan.”

—

Yangsan is a breath of fresh air. It’s more of a town than a city, reminding you a little of your hometown. Neighbors were friendly helping you lug your furniture up the stairs to the first floor. Your ears strained from listening to them go off about the highlights this city has to offer. Sparkly, full of life. 

Their words blend with the sounds of the ocean. You saunter to the balcony attached to the living room, sliding the glass doors. Salty air hits you in the face, a little treat for your sweaty self. The summer sun sits in the middle of the sky, shining brighter than ever you have seen, blinding you for a few seconds. Adjusting to the light, the blueness of the ocean pulls you further. 

The sounds of the waves rattles the serene feeling, an overwhelming emotion consuming your entire being. You gamble with the risk of staying near to the ocean, the stench and cyclones, but if you are going to live here for a year you want it to be somewhere you love. 

You got a feeling— a hunch, that you are going to love Yangsan. It’s about time.

—

Work at the new branch turns out to be better than your previous office—minus not having Seungkwan. The new role is full of heavy responsibilities as you have to carry a team of six. Growing closer to them was a task, and it took you three months to reach this point. 

“Thank you for all your hard work.” You beam at your small team cooped up in the meeting room. Tired smiles thrown back at you. “Should we grab dinner and have some—”

The team is already up, closing their laptops and hurrying out of the meeting room. You have never seen an enthusiastic team for a team dinner. Seungkwan and you had to drag yourselves to the dreadful and boring dinner which was borderline a self-boasting manager session. 

Hansol, one of your juniors, is closing his notes and capping his pen. Neatly coiling his charger cable, he sets everything on top of his laptop. 

“Hansol,” you approach him slowly, like getting near to a stray kitten afraid you might make it run away, “are you coming for dinner?” 

He straightens, rubbing his neck. “Ah..”

“I mean no big deal but the team would be happy to have you with us. Afterall you were the key player to lock in the client. You need to celebrate.” You persuade, or more like try to. 

Hansol is known for skipping the team dinners, happy hours and laying low until it’s crucial work. One month into the office, you heard the rumours floating around, Hansol moved back from Seoul. His childhood sweetheart and love of his life cheated on him. It’s his third year in this branch, and he still eats alone most of the time. You didn’t dig deeper, if time comes then he will be ready to talk about it. 

You would be lying if you say you don’t have a soft spot for him. You saw a part of you in him, in his absent stares, hunched back, and disassociated nature. Coming out of love can be heart wrenching, imagining a betrayal from the most trusted person is just dying. The dark cloud is always over his head, a smile as rare as a comet. All you could do is hope that he will find his happiness again. 

He traces his finger along the coiled charger. “I mean it's fine if you don’t want to,” you jump in scared that you are acting as your previous manager. “But I really appreciate all your help.” You smile when he finally looks at you. “Keep up the good work! See you on Monday.” 

Sunhee, your other junior is standing by the door, her handbag on her arm. Anxious eyes on the man trailing behind you. Turning off the lights you cross check the meeting room before closing it. 

“Are you going to your cats again?” Sunhee asks Hansol. 

“Ah..” he rubs the back of his neck, looking at her for a second before staring at the floor. After a brief moment he adds, “nah, coming for dinner.”

The girl’s cheeks tint pink, jaw slack open. You shake your head, walking to your desk and packing away your day. 

— 

The dinner turns rowdier than you anticipated. One by one of your co-workers are being sent home, leaving you with slightly buzzed Sunhee, Hansol, and two more of your co-workers waiting on their ride home. 

“I’ll pour you a drink,” Sunhee grabs the soju bottle, giggling at the swirling liquid, “round, round,” she mimics the movement with her head, “ah, dizzy.”

You slap her hand away from the bottle, “no more drinks. You are going home next.” 

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat??!?!??” She cups her mouth, tears springing in her eyes. “You can’t do this to me!!” Coyly she flits her gaze to the man sitting across her, “Chwe Hansol!” 

The man, already tipsy with overly bobbing his head, said, “that’s me.” 

“Why??” She screeches, “for the love of the god—”

“Amen.” He bows. 

You throw your head back laughing at the ridiculous scene unfolding before you. 

Sunhee hits him with a crumpled up tissue. “CHWE HANSOL!” 

He straightens up, “yes, ma’am.”

“For the love of the god,” she repeats, he mutters another amen, “why? Why won’t you understand?” She continues over his giggles. 

His giggles die down. She slumps over the table, her long hair all over the place. You awkwardly look across the two, scratching your forehead wondering whether you should stay or give them the private space. 

The team has already gone home except for you three. Sending them home is also your responsibility as the sober one and as a senior. One look at the distressed girl next to you makes you slouch back giving them the time they needed. 

It’s no secret that Sunhee loves Hansol. From bringing in his favorite coffee to staying back overtime just so she could leave with him. Countless conversation starters only to end with a nod from him. 

“Look at me,” she pleads, “please look at me.” Her voice quivers, “I’m standing here waiting for you to look at me.” 

Hansol twirls the liquid in his glass, her words going over him. He doesn’t reply or even acknowledge her words, all her efforts and love are one-sided. 

You attempt to stand up and leave them to talk, maybe without you between them Hansol might talk. 

Sunhee grabs your hand, tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, “if you leave he isn’t gonna stay. Please.” 

You concede, patting her back in quiet encouragement. 

“I answered you.” He replies after a prolonged silence. “It’s not gonna change.” 

Your heart breaks watching tears spill from Sunhee’s eyes onto her lap. Her attention is not wavering from the one boy who is actively avoiding her. You slip your hand into hers, pressing it in a reassuring way. 

She squeezes back, a wavering smile and she picks her bag. “See you on Monday, senior.” She salutes, laughing with tears. “Bye, Hansol.” 

“Can I drop you home?” You ask. 

“I sobered up. Thank you.” She walks out of the table, and her wobbly steps towards the exit. 

Hansol refills his empty glass, sipping on it in silence. You check for the notifications on your phone, another missed call from Seungkwan. You sigh, you have to answer him one day. 

“I’m a villain in your eyes right?” Hansol’s question cuts through the awkward silence. “A bastard who broke the sweetest girl on the earth.” 

You set your phone down, shaking your head vehemently. “No, Hansol.” 

He chuckles to himself, pouring another glass of drink. “The funny part is my sweetest girl on the earth broke me beyond repair.” He looks at you, but distant, lost in thought. “I feel something after so long,” his hand is over his heart. “I feel bad for breaking her. But she deserves more than what I could offer.” 

You frown. 

“It’s for her best.” 

His words trigger the angrier side of you. You shouldn’t mix your past with their future. Before you can restrain yourself a scoff slips past your lips. 

His eyes widen, “what?” 

“If you don’t have guts to change yourself, then don’t say stuff like ‘it’s for her’,” you say, “if you want her then pick your ass up and get your life together.” 

Hansol blinks. 

“I mean,” you run a hand through your hair, “thinking about it, if you are letting her go because she deserves more, then you should have at least a little bit of interest in her right?”

He doesn’t agree nor deny. 

“Do you doubt Sunhee’s capability of decision making?” 

“No.” His answer is quick. “Her decisions led us to achieve the highest returns.”

“See.” You refill his empty glass, “she knows you for years, she likes you, and she has an idea of what she will get out of this relationship. So don’t bullshit yourself saying she deserves more.” 

Hansol is lost in thought. His gaze on the exit where Sunhee disappeared. 

“She isn’t your ex. I can’t say she won’t break your heart,” your voice lowers, “you never know what life makes you do but you can’t deny something beautiful just so you are scared.

“And that’s where I’ll stop. I have already butt in where I shouldn’t have. Do you have a ride home?” 

Hansol checks his phone, “yeah. My neighbor is around and he said he’ll pick me up.” 

“That’s kind of him.” You comment. “People around here are more hospitable than the ones in Seoul.” 

“He is from Seoul.” Hansol clarifies, “he came here,” he ponders, “one or two months back? But he is always travelling back and forth.” 

“Ah. Seoul has good people too then.” 

“You are from Seoul.” He frowns, “you are a good person.” 

You turn pink from his compliment. “Th-thank you. I’ll be right back.” 

You take a much needed washroom break. The day has been tiring, and very long. Did you overstep in counselling Hansol? Who are you to lecture him on what he should or shouldn’t think? You couldn’t help yourself listening to him say the same words once you heard from your ex.

Washing your hands you wipe them off with a paper towel. Yoon Jeonghan. It's been six months since your last conversation with him. How is he doing? You are actively trying to not think about your life from Seoul, pushing everything away that reminded you of that time. Sadly, Seungkwan also falls into that category hence screening his calls too. 

Jeonghan must be living his dream. He isn’t the one to fall back in life. The grit and passion he has shown is enough testament. He must have moved on by now. Found a girl who is of his ideal type, not someone needy and clingy. 

You rush out of the washroom before you submerge yourself in self-pity. This is Yangsan. And this is new you. No more Yoon Jeonghan. No more… 

A man in a long black coat catches your attention for having a similar build as your ex lover. You search for his hair to make sure if he is your Jeonghan. Sadly he is wearing a cap. Your steps pick up its pace, following the stranger amidst the drunken men going towards washroom. 

The stranger whispers something to Hansol and exits. Hansol’s neighbour? 

“Senior!” Hansol waves to you, “caught you in the right moment. My ride's here, see you on Monday.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You crane your neck to get a sight of the stranger but he is already out of the restaurant. “Did your neighbour come?” 

He nods. “I have to go. I’m sorry. He’s a bit short tempered.” He winces. “But thank you for all your help. Thank you.” 

“No problem.” You pick your own bag ready to leave. “Have a great weekend, Hansol. Remember to get some sun.” 

He smiles before leaving. 

You pay the bill at the counter, berating yourself. What were you thinking? Yoon Jeonghan here? In a nameless city? He didn’t put his feet anywhere remotely as close to a town. Even your trips while dating were to some exotic places. 

Why are you following some stranger? Why are you still looking for him when you ended things with him? When will you learn? 

—

You are at a restaurant again. This time Hansol chooses a seat next to Sunhee. During the one month since the team dinner, there have been little changes in Hansol. He has been starting conversations—not every single time but once or twice in a couple of weeks. He tries to attend the happy hours every Thursday. 

Biggest change of all is he doesn’t shut down Sunhee completely. He sits in his chair when she comes around and doesn’t leave like previous times. Talks in sentences instead of one or two word answers. All in all you are proud to see the change. 

“You are drinking tonight?” Sunhee holds the soju bottle, suspicious of your sudden need for alcohol. “Are you really sure you can hold your liquor?” 

You roll your eyes, “I should be asking you that. Do you even remember what you do once you are drunk? Should I remind you of the countless times I have to drag your screaming ass?”

Hansol snickers. 

“You too. You were the worst. How can you sleep in the middle of the road?!” 

Hansol plucks the soju from Sunhee and pours you a drink. “Enjoy your night, senior.” 

He is shutting you up with alcohol but you don’t complain, drowning it in one gulp. Ah, the bitterness. You missed the feeling.

“Pour me one too.” Sunhee shoves her glass into his face. “Why are you hiding it? I need a drink too.” 

“Another!” You slam your empty glass on the table. 

Hansol fulfills your request. You drain down the contents. 

“Slow down.” Sunhee attempts to steal your glass. You slap her hand away. “What’s gotten into you today?” 

“The rain doesn’t look like it’s gonna stop soon.” Hansol sighs, “I can’t believe we are in October already.” 

Sunhee nods, momentarily forgetting about you stealing the bottle and pouring yourself another drink. “It’s getting chilly. I have to take out my scarves and cardigans.” 

“October,” you sigh, dragging all of your hair to one side, “I hate octobers.” 

“And that’s because?” 

“Just hate it.” You shake your head, pouting. The table starts to spin, “hate it hate it.” 

“She’s gone.” Hansol concludes. 

“Not even half a bottle? You are drunk only from four glasses?” Sunhee throws her arms in the air, “I can’t believe you.” 

You giggle into your palms. “Hehe.” 

Sunhee and Hansol sit in silence, dropping everything to watch you, the ever uptight senior, always in control of every moment, giggling to yourself. 

“Did you see what I saw?” Sunhee nudges Hansol’s ribs. 

He gives an affirmative nod. 

“What I’m saying is!!” You stand up holding the soju bottle as your mic, “hello! Everyone!” 

The elder men all hooted back. Sunhee grabs your arm from across the table, whisper-yelling you to sit down. 

The overhead lights are brighter than your future, blinding you for a second. “Hehe,” you snicker at the futile attempts of Sunhee to make you shut up, “I love youuuuu guysss.” 

“Love you back, princess.” One of the drinkers calls back. 

Few other voices overlap your muzzled brain can’t decipher. You turn to the audience, “what?” 

A hand clamps your mouth shut, another hand dragging you out of the restaurant. “Touch alcohol one more time and you’ll see my—”

You fumble over your heel at an unseen step, falling onto your knees and hands. You giggle remembering something similar happened to you. You sit down on the wet floor wondering when you fell on the floor. 

It was related to someone you love. “Loved.” You mutter to yourself, sadness washing all over you, “loved.” You toy with the sleeves of your shirt. “Is he celebrating now?” 

Sunhee picks you up by your shoulder, “I can’t with you and this city. I am fed up. Stand up please. I can’t carry you all on my own. Where the fuck is Hansol?” 

You lean on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her. “Why do you hate this city so much? I love it!” 

“Are you being serious now? What’s there to love about this city? No one loves this city except you.” 

“That’s not true.” You watch a car approaching you two. “Hannie will love it.” 

“Hannie?” She steals a glance at you. “Hansol? Since when did you two become nickname basis?”

Hansol gets down from the parked car, grabs you from Sunhee helping you into the car. He drops you on the seat, you plop down from the sudden release hitting the roof of the car. Your mind blanks out a second, pain vibrating throughout your skull. 

“Careful.” Sunhee chides from behind, helps you sit up in the seat before buckling you up. “Are you okay? Should we go to the hospital?” 

You smile, shaking your head. 

“Are you sure?” 

You nod. 

Hansol drives you home. The rain hits the window harshly, the water sliding down in a hurry. Your eyes droop, blinking slowly at the blurry window. It’s October 4th. The day you dread, his birthday. 

You honestly thought you were doing great. Going out, talking with new people, actively not pushing away people who show interest in you and even went on a date. It ended on a friendly note but the point is you moved on. 

Until a memory or a food or a tv show reminds you of him. In the middle of the day when you hear someone hum a song he used to sing, you have to spend thirty minutes in the restroom consoling yourself, or overwork yourself to death. 

Then you realised you can’t tear him away from your life. He is going to cross your mind, strangle your heart, and it will always leave a bitter taste of what could have been if you weren’t scared. If you were a little brave to accept him again, brave to loose Seungkwan over Jeonghan, and brave to face another heartbreak, you would have been celebrating his birthday. 

Sunhee tugs you to your flat, holding your arm and keeping you from rain. The umbrella pokes your shoulder now and then, you stretch your arm enjoying the rain drops on your hand. 

“Rain is pretty,” you mumble. A little sad that you are already under the roof. “Pretty, just like Hannie.”

“Hannie?” Hansol asks, confused. 

“Hannie, Hansol.” Sunhee doesn’t spare him a glance, helping you up the stairs. “I didn’t know you were close.” 

Hansol frowns, trying to squeeze between you two to face her. “I’m not close with her.”

“Keys?” She searches for the pocket you pointed in your bag. “Are you hungry? I can whip something up in a minute.”

You saunter into your home going straight to your bedroom. Opening your closet you grab the yellow pillow and fall on your comfortable bed. You nuzzle deeper into the pillow, mumbling his name. 

“I don’t think she is calling for me.” Hansol stands at the door watching you cry into the pillow. 

“Unrequited love?” 

“Or an ex.” 

—

The first time you have seen Jeonghan is at a party you weren’t invited to. The infamous yet rowdy party happening at one of the houses near your campus is always the talk of the town—a whisper shared between two, and then three. Next you were hoping you could at least get a glimpse of the dancing crowd and games. 

Seungkwan, your almost knight in shining armour, dragged you along with him in hopes of shaking off the semester end exams. You were going back home tomorrow for the winter break, and he is staying back to work to save money. 

Girls dressed in the shortest possible skirts, and moderately covering their assets you realized how outdated you are living. The long skirt you are donning is a hazard from the number of times you tripped, and almost dragged a stranger along with you to the floor if not for the wall. 

Meandering the long halls, and along the locked rooms, you rest against the railing of the veranda. In spite of the chaoticness there was no one accompanying you, Seungkwan took a detour when he saw his crush from the statistics class. The full moon is shining in the sky, shining tranquility upon the drunk hazed people, and from the clouds eclipsing the moon your gaze falls on him. 

He has neck length hair, mostly black, wavy at the ends. Bobbing his head to the chants from his group, “Yoon Jeonghan! Yoon Jeonghan!” He gestures his hand for them to chant louder, cupping his ear with a smirk. They comply, his name louder than the music blasting from a huge speaker. 

A beer bottle is passed to him. He chugs its contents in a single lift, his Adam's apple moving along with his each gulp. He throws the bottle to the side, brushing his wet lips with the back of his hand. People burst out in cheers. He ducks down his hair hiding his face, shaking his head once before he flips his head back, his hair forming a perfect arc. 

The clouds move away from the moon. His eyes fall on you. 

—

Yoon Jeonghan is a final year student you got to know at the beginning of the spring season. Another hushed whisper among your classmates about his scandalizing break up happened at the cafeteria. 

“He was drenched!” the girl beside you shrieks as slowly as she can without garnering attention from the professor but loud enough for you to hear. 

“I wouldn’t have done that.” her friend chimes in. “not gonna lie he looked hot.”

“And embarrassing! Who gets dumped near a trash can with chocolate milk dripping down their face.” 

“Yoon Jeonghan.”

—

Next time you hear about Yoon Jeonghan is from your best friend, Seungkwan. He is going off about his day, your daily ritual before sleep, when he comes to the part where his car has been crashed into (more like scratched but you weren’t going into details and spark another fire). 

“That bastard,” Seungkwan eyes flit to you, “pardon my words but that scumbag deserves it.” 

“Mmhmm.”

“He was so clearly in wrong, and he has fucking guts to say, ‘how much?’” Seungkwan’s face is as red as your pyjama pants. Should you be scared? “How much?! Where is the sorry and remorse? What happened to having decency?”

You nod. You swear you are trying your best to be empathetic to the victims of Yoon Jeonghan— the girl who got stood up in the rain, Seungkwan who got his car scratched, another girl who got dumped on the first date within ten minutes, another girl who you forgot about. 

“If you can’t drive then you should stay home tending your ego.” Seungkwan rants on. And you keep nodding. 

He is a menace. You know this, if you didn’t then you would be the dumbest person. But god isn’t he hot. That night still haunts your dreams, his eyes still on the back of your mind. 

You hear your name. “Are you listening?”

“Of course.” 

Would he kill you if you confess you are developing a crush on his enemy?

—

In a blink of an eye you were about to sit through your semester end exams. Library is bustling with drained and lifeless students, the smell of coffee lingers around you as you search for the row containing the textbook you are looking for. 

“History… literature.. AH!” You step on something, losing your balance. You fall on your hands, minimising the fall trying not to scrape your knees. “Fuck.” 

A male howls in pain. 

“Shhh.” 

Several shhs hit your face. 

You sit on your bum, brushing off your scraped hands. A head peeks out of the rows of the bookshelves. His frowning eyes soften landing on you, revealing more of him. Yoon Jeonghan. 

You tripped over his fucking feet. 

“Who sleeps on the library floor?” You scoff, picking up your textbooks. 

“Me?” He scoffs back. He crawls out of his hiding space, sitting in front of you. “Don’t you know to keep your eyes on the road?” 

Now you understand why Seungkwan hates Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan’s lips curl into a smile, as he clutches his ankle, “I think I hurt my ankle. What if I can’t walk?” He gasps, holding his chest. 

You roll your eyes at his antics. Yet with little apprehension you near him, crawling to him, peering over his outstretched leg. You poke a finger at his ankle with a frown. 

“Does it hurt?” 

You look up at him meeting his silence, curling your hair behind your ear so you can see him clearly. His eyes follow your hand as you do it, lingering at the side of your face before snapping to your eyes. 

“Ah, ah, it hurts.” He grins cheekily when you pinch his leg. “What? It takes time for your body to send signals to your brain.”

“I can’t believe you.” You stand up, dusting your ass off. You walk away from him, your heart clogged in your throat.  

Fuck that was Yoon Jeonghan and you had a conversation with him. 

“Hey,” he calls you. You turn around, hair obscuring your vision before you tuck it back, his head tilted to the side, “did we meet before?” 

—

The semester came to an end. You heard about the biggest party of the year from your best friend as you are stuck at home. 

Grad party of the century, and you are depressed that you missed your last chance of seeing Yoon Jeonghan.

Life works that way. 

— 

You aren’t sure whether to be happy as you are past the tumultuous student life or sad that you have finally become an adult. 

Adulting came with responsibilities, body aches, and magic ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime. Tiredness is your second nature at twenty two. 

“I could have been sleeping but no. You fucking have to attend this fucking ridiculous reunion.” You exasperatedly throw your hands in the air. 

Seungkwan feigns a hurt expression. “That hurts right here,” he pokes at his heart. “It’s been a year since we last met and here you are nagging.”

“Gah!” You march into the restaurant, throwing the door open, only on someone’s face. “Ah,” you cup your mouth with wide eyes. 

Seungkwan slips past you pretending to not know you while the man you just hit is bent in half groaning in pain. 

“Is that blood!?!?” You gasp again. Seungkwan is now running to the others. He is so going to die tonight for leaving you at times of crisis. 

The man in the question stands up licking his thumb, “nah, that’s ketchup.” 

“You!” You gasp yet again not believing your eyes. 

“Yeah, me.” Jeonghan sniffles, touching his nose tenderly. “Why do you always inflict pain on me whenever we meet?” 

“What pain?” You frown. 

“You forgot?” He holds his left leg, “I still limp from the pain. And you forgot.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “You wound me.” He later on adds touching his black nose, “literally.”  

You step away from the entrance to let the customers flow in and out. Jeonghan trails behind you, limping when you look over your shoulder and walking perfectly fine when you look at him in the glass reflection ahead of you. This man—

“But from what I remember I think I stepped on your,” you flit your eyes down his pants, “didn’t I?” You lie. 

His tongue pokes his cheek, interest blooming in his eyes as he watches you. “Well played.” He leads you to the boisterous table out of all, “remembering properly, didn’t you palm my—”

You hit his back with your wallet. “Fine! You win.” 

He throws you a boyish grin over his shoulder, snagging two empty seats and patting one to you. You comply, accepting it and settling yourself for the long night. The fatigue from work disappears at the sight of Jeonghan’s teasing smiles and intrusive questions. 

“We live ten minutes away!” He beams at the google maps displaying the route between his and your apartments. “So when are you bringing me homemade lunch?” 

He props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm watching you suffocate under his scrutiny. You nibble on the chicken leg, suddenly shy. 

“Why would I ever do that?” You throw him a heated look. 

He grins, finally having your attention on him. “Why not? Korea is known for its hospitality. Are you denying it by not bringing me food?” 

This man’s audacity. A flicker in your heart. You toy the chicken between your fingers hundreds of thoughts running at a million speed. Is he insinuating what your overworking brain is thinking? 

“Why don’t you bring me food? You can tend to me to,” you pick up the chicken again, taking a big bite. You are starving for fuck’s sake. 

“Is this your way of roping me into your service?” He grabs a tissue, wiping your mouth as you chew. “Not only looks like a baby but is a baby.” 

He flicks his eyes to yours, cunningness apparent in them. His face glows watching the pinkness spread across your cheeks. 

“Should have opened the door harder,” you grumble under your breath. 

Yoon Jeonghan throws his head back, laughing. And man doesn’t his laughter tickle your insides, ending with a smile on your lips too.

—

You aren’t sure how you ended up here. It’s been two months since the reunion dinner. Suddenly there are two adult sized kids bickering in the middle of your flat. 

“That’s a lame movie.” Seungkwan points the TV remote at the Godzilla paused in the middle of roaring. Not a pretty sight and you are hundred percent sure those canines are gonna chase you in the dreams tonight. 

Jeonghan dramatically clasps his chest, bunching his eyebrows together. “You are saying that to an animal?” He searches for his phone, “should report you to animal protection authorities. Cruel cruel human.” 

Seungkwan grabs Jeonghan by the collar who just raises his eyebrow. “What are you saying?” 

And cue. Another WWE fight breaks out in your home. You pick up your delicate vase and move your coffee table away from them. Picking up the discarded remote from the floor, you plop on the couch exiting the movie and playing a recently released rom-com. 

Twenty minutes into the movie with you actively trying to catch the dialogues over two grown ups bickering, suddenly silence fills in. Did they finally kill each other? 

Two men loom over you. You gulp, setting your feet down ready to run. Seungkwan makes a grabby hand for the remote only to be blocked by Jeonghan’s body. He rests his knee on the couch next to you, the other leg between your feet, trapping you. 

You hide the remote behind you, not letting go of the chance to watch your most anticipated film. It’s Friday night, it's supposed to be your unwinding time from the week’s stress. And you haven’t tasted peace since Jeonghan started crashing in your spare bedroom regularly—despite having his own huge flat all to himself. 

He is a wall taking in Seungkwan’s hits. His fingers trail down your arm with a tickling touch. His fingers grazing your waist before slipping his hand between you and the couch. Seungkwan pushes him and Jeonghan crashes into you. His chest landing on your face. Your grip loosens on the remote momentarily as you try to push him off of you. 

He steals the remote from you, walking away in a second. Seungkwan berates you while you catch your breath, still feeling the softness of his shirt. 

Jeonghan resumes Godzilla sitting in the middle of the couch. The smirk never leaves his lips. 

—

Jeonghan is your unofficial roommate at this point. He is on your mind while grocery shopping and planning the dinners for the coming weeks. He hates greens and you can’t sit through another lecture on how we are stealing animals’ food. Ridiculous, yet you couldn’t help but nod along with his points. 

After getting used to his antics’ and finding him sprawled on your couch by the time you are home from the office, it is odd to not see him some days. 

You will find yourself sitting on the couch where he should have been and lay there for a few minutes wondering. Asking him will make it easier and can put your overthinking brain to rest. But there’s this meaningless fear of him finding out your crush. 

He is not home today, and the TV isn’t playing in the background. It is friday and usually he is at home, waiting for you. A sigh escapes your lips as you drop the keys in the bowl and neatly line up your shoes. You pause by the couch staring at the empty couch, what is he up to? 

Your shoulders snag realizing there is no movie night today. You can’t slowly find yourself resting against him, some days on his lap falling asleep as he runs his fingers across your hair. Is he on a date? Did he find someone? Is that why he is not with you now? 

Sadness engulfs you, the thought alone rattling your peace. What will you do if you see him with someone else? This whatever that is between you two is doomed to begin with. Seungkwan has been relentless about his hatred for your crush, throwing warnings everytime possible. 

“He is not right for you. I never saw him with the same girl.” Seungkwan’s words are an echo in your mind. “You deserve more than him.”

But you want Yoon Jeonghan. Whatever or however he is. You like him as he is. 

He doesn't reciprocate the same, apparently. You never find him looking at you twice or bringing up dating or anything he usually does. You heard stories of him but not one of them playing out in reality. Does he not see you as a girl? Are you his bro?

Before you can spiral into your downfall you rush into the shower to clean yourself of the miseries. 

—

One hour into a refreshing bath and re-energized version of you, you step out of the shower only to find you forgot to bring in change of clothes. Wrapping a towel around your wet body you open the bathroom door to rush into your bedroom. 

Watching over your steps trying not to slip and meet the floor, your eyes are rooted on the floor. A rustle of a bag of chips falling on the ground startles you. 

Yoon Jeonghan is standing across the hallway still clad in his work suit, his lips parted and gaze scanning over you slowly, lingering. You grab onto the knot holding your towel tightly, the sound of your heart too loud even to your ears. With a shriek you rush into your room slamming the door behind you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You pull your hair in frustration. 

Did he see you? 

Of course he did. He couldn’t move his eyes off of you. 

“Ugh.” You groan into void. How to face him again? 

You are prancing around your room—clothed, you learnt your lesson now. Wasting time inside so that magically the night will deepen and he falls asleep. You will go out once everything is clear to grab some food. Your stomach growls, not agreeing to the timeline. 

Jeonghan knocks on your door, “come out.” 

“No.” The answer is swift, surprising yourself. 

“I ordered chicken and beer.” 

He can’t know the cheat code to your weakness. How does he know it’s your favorite? You didn’t mention it to him. Did you?

He raps his knuckles again on the door. “Come on.” 

You trace the doorknob pondering. Your stomach growls yet again. You turn the knob opening the door, Jeonghan is leaning against the door frame, his suit jacket missing and the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone. 

You avoid his eyes, tucking your wet hair behind your ear. He inches towards you, lingering for a second before walking back into the living room. 

The dinner passes in silence, the usual chatterbox Jeonghan is concentrating more on his chicken. You frown when he lets you pick the movie without a fight or random game. Not wanting to let go of the golden chance you choose the cheesiest chick flick to rile him up. Only for him to watch it without a comment. 

In the middle of the movie, amidst the hero and heroine yelling their love for each other, Jeonghan’s hands rest over yours. When the couple on screen is kissing, he interlocks his fingers with yours. 

—

“I can’t believe you!” Yoon Jeonghan is pacing around your living room. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?” 

“Why are you yelling?” You shout back and shrink back into the corner of the couch receiving a glare from him. 

“Why? Why?!” He marches towards you, gripping your cheeks. “You exactly know why. Don’t play dumb.”

A storm is brewing in his black eyes, but still pretty, and still lovely. This is the exact reason you did what you did. Went on a date arranged by Seungkwan. 

It was okay. Your date was plain, boring. Ending the date quickly, you came home only to find a fuming Jeonghan. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You push his chest, he doesn’t budge. “Let go, Jeonghan.” 

“She doesn’t know,” his voice is low, threatening. “Sneaking into my bed middle of night thinking I don’t know, and leaving before I wake up, what does that mean?” 

He curls the stray strand behind your ear, “stealing looks, clothes. What is my hoodie doing in your closet, baby?” 

“I’m not sure.” You fluster, gripping onto the couch, pushing yourself back into it as much as you can, away from him. 

“How was he?” He pushes your chin up, “look at me.” 

“Why do you care?” You snap. “You don’t even care. I am going crazy because you don’t even care—mmmph.”

He shuts you up, crashing his lips on yours. You imagined this moment countless nights, on your bed restless and desperate. He would do it slowly, sweetly just how he is with you. But you were wrong. His kisses are feral, biting and, and, so, so Jeonghan. 

He bites on your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. You gasp, your tongues clashing for dominance. Slowly you follow his dance, letting him lead. You are sprawled on the couch, Jeonghan hovering over you, his knee nuzzled just right between your legs. 

He breaks the kiss, a wet string of saliva trailing behind his lips. The storms in his black eyes shifted into starry eyes, ethereal, luring you right into him. 

“Pretty boy.” You cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, inhaling big gulps of air. “Mine.” 

His eyes snap open, a glimmer, possessiveness shining in them. He shifts, his knee pressing into your core. A moan spills from your lips before you can stop it, eyes fluttering shut from the bliss. He presses further extracting moan after moan. 

His name, a prayer, chanting the entire night as he makes sure you know just how much he cares. 

—

“Don’t panic,” Jeonghan chuckles at your panicky self, rummaging through the first aid kit. “It’s just blood.” 

You slam the cotton on the coffee table, glaring at him. The smile drops off his face seeing the unshed tears. A sour taste spreads across his mouth, he doesn’t like it. He hates seeing you cry, he realized. 

You weren’t a crybaby, even during the fights and silent treatment you didn’t cry. His heart softens, grasping the meaning, oh, you love him. If you asked Jeonghan later on which moment solidified his love for you, he would point out this exact moment. 

You tenderly tend his bruised hands and legs, wiping your eyes with your sleeves. Once neatly bandaged you put back everything in the kit not meeting his eyes. 

He calls your name. You shake your head. He sighs, pulling you onto his lap not heeding your warnings. He circles his arms around your waist, resting his face in your chest. 

“Home.”

—

You wake up with a jerk, heart beating against your chest like you were running a marathon. Squeezing yourself out of the tangled blanket, you wipe the wetness off your face, eyes. 

Jeonghan. You dreamt of him. It’s been so long since you have seen his smile, the dream Jeonghan was your Jeonghan, the one you fell in love with. 

It’s the day after his birthday, you want, need, to check who he celebrated it with. Who took your place in his life. You trudge to the living room searching for the phone, a dull pound in your temples slowing your body. Why did you have to drink? 

The phone is lying on the kitchen counter next to your bag, and you see notifications from Seungkwan. Twenty messages and three calls. You swipe off his ‘don’t do anything stupid’ messages and open your fake account. 

You sit on your knees, pushing your hair away from your eyes. It would be a lie to say you aren’t scared. If he has a girl again you don’t know how you would stomach it. Your thumb shivers before clicking on his profile. 

No update. No story. Or any post. You sit back on your butt staring at the dry profile. Did he finally choose to go private? Or did he figure out that bloom_234 is you? 

Or what if he didn’t have any girl last night. 

You click on his contact, still blocked. Should you unblock him? He doesn’t even know if you unblocked him, it’s been more than a half year. You unblock him before nerves get you. Or Seungkwan. 

—

“He is still sulking,” Seungkwan’s girlfriend rolls her eyes, “you know how he is.” She says with an exasperated sigh, summing up the childish acts of her boyfriend. 

It’s Sunday, and it’s been a week since you unblocked Jeonghan. He didn’t realise it just as you expected. You weren’t going to push it, or beg him this time. At least you leveled up one bit from being a pathetic loser to a loser. 

Call with Seungkwan has become inevitable as he threatened to revoke your right to be one of his groomsmen. He proposed to his long time girlfriend last weekend. 

“You would have known if you picked up my calls.” He berates when you pout about missing out on a precious moment. 

His girlfriend who was already brighter than the sun is shining like a thousand suns combined in her. The green feeling births inside your chest and you snuff it out before it can blazes over. 

“I’m so happy for you.” Your eyes prick from the overflowing emotions. “So so happy.” 

You really are. Seungkwan and you have been attached to each other since high school, seen every phase, every embarrassing moment and every key event of each other’s lives. And now marriage. 

They both smile endearingly at each other, Seungkwan kisses her ring clad finger before turning to you with a serious expression. Uh-oh.

“What were you doing all these months? Why are you avoiding me?” 

You flip the pancake, pressing on it with spatula. “I didn’t avoid you.” You hold the phone away from your face, “I was busy getting used to a new place and settling in. Mind you of the fact I have to set up everything on my own.”

Seungkwan barks into the phone, his voice loud to your quiet apartment. “You are avoiding me now. Show me your face.” 

You wince, setting the spatula down and picking up your phone. “Happy?” 

“This is exactly how a guilty person looks.” He sits up from the bed, rubbing his swollen face, “spill.”

“Spill what?” You sweat, despite the cold autumn breeze flowing in through your balcony. “Ah, there’s new love blooming in my office. Cute I have to say. Didn’t confess yet, but they are on their way.

“Can you believe Hansol also tried ‘Get Love Quick’ only to be paired with a man?” You continue not giving a second for Seungkwan to budge in. If he knows you have opened the gate to Jeonghan again, he will manifest himself next to you in mere seconds. “Well, that’s that. Anyway, Sunhee is excited that they are going out this friday. She said some place but I don’t remember where it is.”

Seungkwan calls your name in a warning. 

“What?” You whine, turning off the stove, leaning on the kitchen counter. “What else do you want me to do? I made new friends, I am not wallowing in self-pity, and I am not saying no to blind dates. What else do you want Boo Seungkwan? Should I write off my life now?”

“Did you talk with Yoon Jeonghan? Again?” Seungkwan discards your rant like removing a cherry from a cake. 

“I didn’t!” 

“Guys. Guys.” Seungkwan’s girlfriend snatches the phone from him. “You have to chill,” she chides her boyfriend. “And you,” she gets down the bed and walks out of the room, away from Seungkwan. “He is just worried about you. You literally ghosted us for months. You know how he gets.” 

You hold the bridge of your nose, letting out a long exhale. “Yeah, I am sorry.” You pick your breakfast to your couch. “It’s just.. Its too much. I mean I am human, what if I did text him,” you quickly add, noticing her alarmed expression, “I didn’t. Hypothetically, I am saying. He isn’t a bad person, you know.” 

“If he was so bad, why would I,” you trail off, not seeing the point in explaining yourself again and again to someone who just couldn’t get you. “Enough about me. How’s the celebrations going on? How did your family react to the engagement?”

She lets the topic change with a side glance. “They knew about it. He met my family and asked for their permission.” She huffs in disbelief, a smile on her face, “I can’t believe my family knows how to shut up. Usually, we kims are very bad at keeping secrets.”

“I had to prepone the date a week,” Seungkwan joins in, resting his chin on her shoulder, “her sister almost spilled the beans and I was pissing in pants the entire time. You had to be there to see it.” 

You chuckle, taking a bite of the pancake. “I missed it all, didn’t I? I am sorry, I wasn’t there to help you with your big moment.” 

“That’s okay,” Seungkwan brushes it off, his girl bobbing her head. “My big moment will be in six months, and I am gonna kill you if you miss it.” 

You screech, dropping your fork to the carpet. You promise him to be there with him for planning and executing everything, letting him verbally bind you to a contract having you to be a slave for him as long as he wants if you miss even a small event. 

You should’ve stopped yourself, should’ve seen the red light glaring but you concede away blind in happiness. 

—

Universe is plotting against you. The series of misfortunate events should speak for itself. It started with a client imposing an urgent task, throwing you off your work schedule. Your heater at home crashed forcing you to experience a free simulation of how raw chill autumn nights work. The repairman is out of town, ranaway to marry the love of his life. Administration is on look out for a replacement. And, you had to catch the new love birds making out at the staircase. 

Awkward is just another word as you currently sit at your desk avoiding your juniors. You weren’t mad per say seeing them break rules it's more of a shock, like seeing your sister make out. Sunhee has grown close to you over the days, especially after the disastrous night of her taking care of you. 

“Come on,” she swivels her chair next to you, “till when are you going to run away. I am sorry!” 

“What? Who?” You blink at her feigning innocence after almost reaching for the bleach to clean your eyes. “Did something happen that I should know of?”

Hansol stretches his body, walking away from you guys with his hands in pockets and whistling his way out. Sunhee grumbles under her breath, “scaredy-cat.” She turns to you, eye-to-eye. You push your chair away from her slowly, scared for your life. “You are almost 30, and you act like you haven’t seen a kiss or kissed someone.” 

That hurts your pride. “What?!”

She has a teasing lilt, “but that couldn’t be true.” Her eyes shine, mimicking you, “‘Hannie, Hannie, my Hannie will like Yangsan’.”

You shove her face off of you. “Shut up. We are in the office. And I am your senior. I can easily report you—” 

“Who is he?”

“I have a deadline. And you have one too.” You roll her away to her desk. “If you could go back to working I’ll be happy that I won’t need to pull another all-nighter.” 

She is back at your side in a beat. “Who is he? Tell me. It’s only fair since you know all of my love story—”

“Only because you shove it in my face even when I don’t want to—”

“—I won’t stop pestering you until you go on a date.” 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend? I’m flattered that you find me attractive but I like men.” 

“Ha. Ha. Funny.” She folds her arms, “on a blind date. With a man. That’s the only requirement for you right?” 

“Excuse me!” You are offended yet again. “My bar isn’t as low as you think. I’m one sophisticated woman.” 

“This Sunday at 6. Be ready.” She rolls away humming a song. 

Did you just get blackmailed into a date? 

—

The restaurant is bustling. You check the message from Hansol again to confirm your date is at the expensive restaurant of Yangsan. Checking up on the details of the restaurant, you had to recheck the city and pin code to make sure it’s in the city.  

People in their fifties, pepper hair and classy suits, a woman on their arm, file in and out of the wooden doors. You press the black velvet dress, smoothing down your jitters. It’s been so long since you dined in a fine restaurant. Three years to be exact. 

How bad does your date want to impress you to choose this place? Can you back out now? Is it too late? 

He’s waiting. 

-Hansol

You groan reading the text. There’s no way out of it now. You put the phone back in your purse clicking it shut. Rounding your shoulders you get ready for the date, it’s going to be alright. You flick your hair back, pulling your dress a little higher and you climb the steps to the door. A sweet valet parker beats you in opening the door for you. Mumbling a thank you, you wait for the attendee to finish up talking with an elderly couple. 

“Welcome!” The lady dressed in a red jacket and red lipstick beams at you. 

With a small smile, you check the message from Hansol again. “Hey. My reservation is for table 17?” 

She checks her iPad scrolling through her list before leading you through the oak tables, servers tending to customers, different scents of food hitting your nostrils, awakening your dead hunger. All the anxiety numbed you from the usual munching of your snacks, and the dread of the date now settled in your stomach. You may throw up if food hits your stomach but you may faint if you don’t eat anything in the next hour. Workings of your body never leaves you amazed. 

“Here you are,” she points to the empty chair, her red lips still stretched wide in a smile. 

You look up from your phone reading the sender’s name. Seungkwan. “Thank you,” you bow to the lady. Your phone vibrates in your hand, your life tilted on the axis seeing the man sitting at your table, supposed to be your date. 

Yoon Jeonghan is occupying the other chair watching you with his hooded eyes, hard to read, hard to decipher his feelings. You hold the woman’s shoulder before she can leave you two. “Are you sure this is table 17?”

Her perfect grin slips, a frown dancing on her face, checking the iPad yet again. “I am sure. This is the table. Is there any problem?”

Jeonghan shifts in his chair uncomfortably. You made the mistake of meeting his eyes, the darkness in them pulled you in, his eyebrows pulled in, and a breath escaping his parted lips. You can't believe that you are again here, in the same situation as few months ago, set up with Jeonghan coincidentally. He anticipates your decision, not saying a word or asking you to join him. Should you go along with this dinner or take a turn and make a run?

Your comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated as they encourage me to write more! Here is the like to part 2

[savi0rr]

Crystal Skies

Viktor x Fem! Reader

In which, the skies remained you of the Hextech gem. But Viktor’s eyes are locked on you.

a/n: i forgot to make the little summary part gradient and cute! also this is kinda short cuz i wanted to go play dress to impress…

⊹ ˖────⊹ ˖

⊹ ˖────⊹ ˖

"You're still awake?" you called out softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the lab as the door creaked open. You stepped inside, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Viktor sat hunched over his cluttered desk, absorbed in his work, his pen moving in smooth, deliberate strokes across the paper. He merely nodded in response, his eyes glued to the dense text he was composing.

You frowned slightly, concern etching your features, and approached him. "C'mon, Viktor," you urged gently, your tone echoing in the quiet space that was filled only with the faint scratching of his pen and the occasional rustle of parchment.

"I can't. I'm almost done," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, still not breaking his concentration to glance at you. You sighed audibly, leaning against the edge of his desk, your eyes drifting over the sprawling documents littered with intricate diagrams and notes, before settling on the lone window. Through the glass, the night sky unveiled itself, a vast canvas of deep indigo strewn with shimmering stars. You noticed the clouds, soft and billowy, as they danced slowly with the wind.

"The sky looks just like the Hextech gem," you mused, tilting your head to capture the view better, the corners of your lips hinting at a smile. Viktor's attention momentarily shifted to the window, his brow arching slightly as he contemplated your words.

"I suppose they do," he murmured, his voice still low and contemplative, before returning to his meticulous writing, the pen gliding effortlessly across the paper.

"You have a unique imagination," he remarked without looking up, his focus firmly entrenched in his task.

"You say that quite often," you replied, keeping your gaze locked on the celestial display outside, enraptured by the beauty of the night. 

Viktor let out a tired, weighed-down sigh. Finally leaning back in his chair, he glanced at you, the shadows under his eyes revealing his fatigue. "Did you need anything else?" he asked, his stern expression faltering just slightly as he met your gaze for the first time, his sharp features softened in the dim light.

"What if I said I needed you?" you teased, allowing a playful smirk to cross your face as you shifted to fully face him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Viktor tensed visibly, his expression shifting to one of concern and confusion, brows knitting together tightly. "Don't say such things," he muttered, his eyes darting away from your gaze as if unwilling to confront the weight of your words.

You let out a soft chuckle, the sound light and carefree in contrast to Viktor’s solemn demeanor. "Just teasing," you reassured him, your attention returning to the wistful sight of the sky beyond the window.

He continued to watch you, an intense look in his eyes as he assessed your features illuminated by the soft glow of the lab’s lights. The warm light wrapped around you, creating an almost ethereal aura that made you appear otherworldly. His expression softened, though an unsettling mix of emotion battled within him. He glanced back at his desk, biting his tongue, unsure of how to process what was unfolding.

Just then, your voice broke the silence again, filled with excitement. "Did you see that?" you exclaimed, your eyes brightening as you watched the stars shimmering in waves as clouds floated by. "A shooting star!" you gasped, beaming with delight.

"Yeah…" Viktor replied, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, though he hadn’t seen any shooting stars; his vision was solely fixated on you. 

"Beautiful," he murmured almost absentmindedly, his voice thick with a mix of admiration and something deeper.

"I know, right?" you replied, enthusiasm radiating from you as you gazed adoringly at the window, missing the way Viktor's eyes traced your form, endlessly captivated by the light dancing in your eyes, his attention unwavering and utterly consumed by you.

[olderwomenenthusiast]

she's in control (alex cabot)

PAIRING: alex cabot & fem reader DESCRIPTION: you were meant to be focusing on the team's meeting but alex made sure you were only focused on her CAUTION: semi-public sex, spanking, oral, fingering, slight degradation, power dynamics; dominance and submissive, vibrating painties, reader recieving, aftercare! WORD COUNT: 3.2k AUTHOR'S NOTE: i haven't proof read this, let me know if it doesn't flow or there are any mistakes! x

The precinct was heavy with the weight of the case, the fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the room. Every face around the table was grim, brows furrowed in concentration as they pored over evidence, their minds sharpened by urgency. The air smelled of stale coffee and exhaustion, a familiar scent that usually kept you grounded in moments like this.

But right now, no amount of familiarity could anchor you.

Because beneath the sturdy conference table, hidden from every detective, sergeant, and assistant district attorney in the room, a secret war was waging inside you.

Your panties were vibrating.

It was subtle at first, a faint hum that barely registered over the murmur of conversation. But your body noticed immediately. Heat prickled over your skin, and your breath stilled in your chest as the sensation bloomed between your thighs. Your grip on your pen tightened, knuckles white as you forced yourself to keep still.

Across the room, Alex Cabot sat poised, the very picture of composure. Blonde hair pulled back into a perfect bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, she exuded nothing but professionalism. To anyone else, she was absorbed in the case file before her, flipping through the pages with steady, meticulous hands.

But you knew better.

You knew that the phone in her hand wasn’t just for checking emails or reviewing legal documents. You knew that with the slightest flick of her finger, she could send another pulse of pleasure through you, controlling you from across the room.

Your panties. Her rules.

Your stomach clenched, desire curling low in your abdomen as the vibration intensified, still gentle, just enough to make you aware of it, to make you ache.

You swallowed hard. Focus. Stay calm.

A grainy surveillance photo of a dark alleyway stared up at you from the file, but you couldn’t process a single detail. You were hyper-aware of every sensation - the soft throb between your legs, the way your skin flushed with warmth, the way your thighs clenched together in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache Alex was so cruelly stoking.

And then nothing.

The vibration stopped.

Your breath left you in a quiet, controlled exhale. Relief and frustration warred inside you as you forced yourself to steady your hands. Maybe she was done. Maybe she’d had her fun.

Then a new wave hit.

Stronger. Fucking hell babe.

Your body jolted. Just a tiny movement, but enough.

"Something wrong?" Fin’s voice broke through the haze clouding your mind. His dark eyes flicked toward you, brow raised.

Oh shit.

You forced yourself to blink, to shake off the heat creeping up your neck. "No. Just thinking."

You swore you could feel Alex’s eyes on you, but when you dared a glance in her direction, she was the very picture of professionalism. The only giveaway was the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, almost imperceptible.

She was enjoying this. Savoring every second.

And you were completely at her mercy.

The vibrations stopped again. Your body ached at the sudden loss, but you couldn’t allow yourself to react. Not here. Not in a room full of detectives trained to notice the slightest shift in body language.

A beat passed. Then another.

You allowed yourself to relax, just a little.

And then Alex turned the dial higher. Shitshitshit.

Your breath hitched, and a sharp pulse of pleasure slammed into you. This wasn’t teasing anymore. This was punishment.

Heat pooled between your legs, your pulse pounding in your ears as you struggled to stay still. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to grip the table as your entire body tensed. The pleasure was unbearable, just on the edge of overwhelming, and yet you had no choice but to endure it.

Alex was playing a dangerous game.

"Hey," Olivia called your name, her sharp gaze locking onto you. "You good?"

Fuck.

You couldn’t speak immediately. Couldn’t even move. You knew your face must have been flushed, your breath just slightly too uneven. You were seconds away from completely unraveling.

Then Alex spoke.

“Maybe they need a break,” she suggested smoothly, not even looking up from her file. Her voice was calm, completely unbothered, as if she weren’t the reason you were struggling to hold yourself together.

You shot her a glare, but all she did was lift one perfectly sculpted brow. She was mocking you, daring you to challenge her.

Oh, she was going to pay for this later.

But for now, she was in control. She always is.

And as she pressed another button on her phone, sending another sharp, pulsing vibration through your body, you realized something chilling.

You barely made it through the rest of the briefing. Every second was torture. Alex’s calculated teasing, the unbearable pressure building inside you, the constant struggle to keep your face neutral while the SVU team carried on as if nothing was wrong.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, your body was humming with unfulfilled need, and you were desperate for relief.

The second Olivia dismissed everyone, you bolted. You didn’t even try to make it subtle, you just grabbed your case file and strode out of the conference room as fast as your legs would carry you. You could still hear the others talking behind you, but it didn’t matter. You needed to get away.

Alex knew that.

That’s why she followed.

You could feel her presence behind you, her heels clicking purposefully against the tile floor. She didn’t call out to you, didn’t make a scene. She didn’t need to.

The moment you turned the corner, she was on you.

Before you could react, Alex’s hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the nearest empty office. The door clicked shut behind you, and then it was just the two of you - alone, finally.

The second she let go, you spun around to face her, eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, your voice sharp but quiet.

Alex didn’t answer right away. Instead, she took a slow, measured step forward, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Your whole body was still buzzing, throbbing from her relentless teasing. You clenched your fists, your frustration boiling over. “You damn well know what I mean.”

Alex just tilted her head, watching you with those piercing blue eyes, the ones that always saw too much, the ones that always stripped you bare. “You did so well,” she murmured, and the warmth in her voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “Not a single noise. Almost like you wanted to be good for me.”

You inhaled sharply, your fingers twitching at your sides. “Alex,” you warned.

She took another step closer, so close now that you could smell her perfume, could feel the heat radiating off her body. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to sit there and watch you struggle?” she murmured, her voice low and dangerous. “To know exactly how wet you were, how much you wanted to squirm, and not be able to touch you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The air between you crackled, thick with tension. You wanted to fight her. Wanted to push her against the wall and punish her for making you suffer.

But she was faster.

Before you could react, Alex reached into her blazer pocket, pulled out her phone, and with a single press of her thumb ---

The vibrations started again.

A strangled gasp escaped you as your knees nearly buckled. The pleasure was instant, overwhelming after all the torment she had put you through. Your hands shot out, gripping the edge of the desk behind you as your body arched into the sensation.

Alex’s gaze darkened with satisfaction. “You’re so responsive,” she murmured, stepping even closer. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”

You let out a shuddering breath, barely able to focus. “Alex...”

She lifted a single finger and pressed it against your lips. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Be a good girl and take what I give you.”

Your entire body trembled.

And then she turned the dial even higher. The relentless vibration between your legs was torturous, your body wound so tight you thought you might snap.

Alex knew it. Course she did, she knew exactly how to work you.

She watched you with the sharp focus of a predator, her blue eyes dark with something deeper than just satisfaction. Power. Control. Possession.

And you had given yourself over to it.

With deliberate slowness, she reached for you, her fingertips ghosting over your hips before sliding beneath the hem of your skirt. Her touch was electric, sending sparks across your skin, but it wasn’t enough. Not after everything she had put you through.

You needed more.

"Please," you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

A pleased hum left her lips. "So polite," she murmured, her breath warm against your jaw. "I should reward you for that."

Then, without warning, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your thighs. The cool air against your flushed, aching core sent a violent shudder through you, but before you could react ---

Her teeth sank into your neck.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as pleasure and pain mingled into something dizzying, something primal. Alex bit down hard, her mouth hot and demanding against your skin, sucking deep enough to leave a mark. One that would linger long after this moment ended.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping at her blazer, her shirt, anything to ground yourself as she claimed you. The vibrations had stopped now, but the absence did nothing to ease the ache. If anything, it made you more desperate.

Then finally, she slid two fingers inside you.

The moment Alex’s fingers slid inside you, a sharp gasp tore from your lips. The stretch, the fullness, the precision of her movements, it was everything you had been aching for, everything she had been teasing you with all night. Your body clenched around her, desperate, your fingers clutching at the fabric of her blazer to keep yourself from unraveling completely.

Jesus.

Alex bit down harder on your neck, her mouth hot and unyielding as she sucked a deep, claiming bruise into your skin. The pain was sharp, intoxicating, a stark contrast to the pleasure flooding through you.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured against your throat, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You’ve been holding back all night, haven’t you?”

Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against that spot that made your knees threaten to give out. A strangled whimper escaped your lips.

Alex chuckled softly, a dark, pleased sound, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips slightly parted, her expression dripping with control and hunger.

“Look at you,” she purred. “Dripping. Needy. Desperate for me.”

Then her other hand slipped between your legs, her thumb pressing against your clit.

Another sharp cry left you, your body jolting at the sudden contact. The sensation was immediate, unbearable in the best way, after all the teasing, all the waiting, she was finally giving you what you needed.

Alex moved in slow circles, her fingers inside you matching the rhythm, coaxing, guiding, and certainly demanding.

“Shhh,” she whispered when another whimper escaped you. “Do you want the whole squad to hear how wrecked you are for me?”

You did. You didn’t care. Not when she was touching you like this, not when she was rubbing tight, merciless circles against your clit while her fingers worked you open with practiced ease.

Her mouth found your ear, her breath hot, teasing. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, unable to form words, pleasure coiling so tight in your stomach you thought you might snap from the tension.

Alex’s pace quickened. Her thumb pressed harder, her fingers thrust deeper, and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore ---

“Cum for me.”

Her command shattered you.

Your body arched, pleasure slamming into you with an intensity that stole your breath. You clenched around her fingers, a broken moan slipping from your lips as wave after wave of release crashed over you.

Alex didn’t stop. She worked you through it, her movements steady, guiding you down from the high until you were trembling in her arms, breathless, spent, utterly wrecked.

Only then did she slow, her fingers slipping from you, her touch gentle now as she smoothed her hand over your thigh.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against the bruise she had left on your neck. “That’s my girl.”

Your head was still spinning, your body still tingling with aftershocks, but even through the haze, one thing was clear.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

Before you could catch your breath, Alex’s hands gripped your hips, lifting you with effortless strength. Your back met the cool surface of the desk, papers scattering to the floor, but you barely noticed. Not when she was pushing your legs apart, her fingers digging harshly into your thighs as she spread you wide.

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and ravenous. “I’m not done with you.”

Then she hooked your legs over her shoulders, her breath hot against your already-sensitive core. Alex held you in place, her grip firm as her mouth descended on you. The first slow, deliberate drag of her tongue sent a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you, making your fingers claw at the edge of the desk.

"Fuck.." The word ripped from your throat before you could stop it, but Alex only smirked against you, lips brushing your soaked skin as she chuckled darkly.

"Language," she teased, her breath a cruel, teasing heat before she licked into you again, firmer this time, her tongue flattening against your clit in a way that had your hips jerking against her.

She hummed, pleased with your reaction, and then tightened her grip on your thighs, holding you still as she truly began to devour you.

Her tongue moved with precision, flicking, circling, sucking, never staying in one spot long enough to let you adjust. The sensitivity from your first orgasm made every touch feel unbearable, too much, yet not nearly enough.

Your body writhed against the desk, your hands flying to her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as if grounding yourself was the only way to keep from unraveling completely.

Alex groaned at that, the vibration sinking deep into you, making your breath hitch.

“You taste so fucking good,” she murmured between strokes, her voice thick, dripping with hunger. She flicked her tongue over your clit again before sucking it into her mouth, sending another shockwave of pleasure crashing through you.

Your back arched violently, another strangled moan escaping your lips.

Alex didn't let up. If anything, she doubled down, her tongue working you over with ruthless intent. When she slid two fingers back inside you, curling them just right, you knew you were done for.

"A-Alex --" Your voice was nothing more than a desperate whimper, your body trembling against the desk.

"I know," she murmured, her lips brushing against you between strokes. "Cum for me again. I want to feel you fall apart."

Her words, her touch, her voice. It was all too much.

The tension in your core snapped, pleasure flooding through you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook against her shoulders, your fingers gripping her hair tightening even more as you came hard, a broken cry spilling from your lips.

Alex groaned as she worked you through it, her tongue and fingers relentless, drawing out every last aftershock until you were nothing more than a trembling, gasping mess beneath her.

Only when your body finally sagged against the desk, boneless and spent, did she pull away, placing one last teasing kiss against your thigh before straightening.

Her eyes were heavy with satisfaction as she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, wiping away the evidence of just how thoroughly she had ruined you.

She smirked. "I should keep you on this desk more often."

Your chest heaved, your limbs still weak. Alex’s eyes softened as she watched you, still sprawled across the desk, your chest heaving with each breath. Her expression shifted from the intense hunger of moments before to something gentler, more protective.

She didn’t need to say anything. Her hands were already on you, tenderly adjusting your body so you were sitting upright, her fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing it back from your face.

“Easy,” she murmured, her voice soothing, her touch gentle as she lifted you carefully off the desk. You felt dizzy, light-headed, the effects of your orgasm still rippling through you in waves.

Alex supported your weight, guiding you toward the chair, her hands steady, never once letting you wobble or fall. She knelt down in front of you, her fingers carefully massaging the tension from your shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, as she worked her way down to your wrists, her touch light but sure, coaxing the last remnants of strain from your body.

You were too tired to speak, your voice still a bit shaky, but you leaned into her touch, closing your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself relax.

She stood, pulling a blanket from the chair and wrapping it around you like a protective cocoon. Her hands lingered, her fingers tracing soothing circles on your skin as she sat down beside you, holding you close.

“You did so well,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering there for a moment. “Just breathe. Let me take care of you now.”

Her hands were warm as they moved over your body, a contrast to the cool air around you. She ran her fingers gently over your thighs, down your arms, offering you comfort in every touch, grounding you back to reality.

She didn’t rush you, didn’t demand anything more from you. Just slow, soft caresses that reminded you of her presence—solid, steady, always there for you.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked, her voice low, almost protective now.

You nodded slowly, unable to form words just yet, still caught in the aftermath of everything she’d given you.

Alex gave you a soft smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, her touch tender. “I know it was a lot. Just relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

You melted into her embrace, your body still humming, but safe, warm, cherished in the aftermath.

She kissed your forehead, and for a moment, all the intense energy of the night seemed to fade into something soft, something that felt like home.

You could feel yourself drifting into a gentle calm, the stress of the day, the hunger from earlier, all fading away under her care.

As the silence settled around the two of you, Alex’s fingers continued their slow, rhythmic movements over your skin. It was a different kind of connection now, one built on trust and tenderness.

This wasn’t over. Not yet. But for now, you were exactly where you needed to be.

"I love you, Alex." you whispered.

"And I love you."

[coca-cola-brainstorm]

Stronger in the dark

pt1 ———Out on Bruce———

He approached your cell deliberately, his piercing gaze locked onto yours for what felt like an eternity. The silence grew thick and uncomfortable; you could almost hear your heartbeat echoing in the small space. Feeling increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny, you instinctively waved your hand in front of his face to break the spell. The motion seemed to jolt him back to reality, as he blinked rapidly, momentarily perplexed.

Just then, Officer Gordon entered the scene, his demeanor calm but authoritative. He swung open the door to your cell, the creaking metal adding to the dramatic atmosphere. With an efficient motion, he removed your handcuffs, the clanking sound echoing through the stark concrete walls. Without uttering a single word, he gestured for you to step forward.

You moved towards his desk, the gravity of the situation settling in—but Bruce Wayne did not remain behind. He trailed closely behind you, his shadow looming as you walked into the unknown, the weight of his presence lingering in the air. It was a strange intersection of your world and his, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more complex.

“So, where’s Greg?” you asked, glancing around the dimly lit room, searching for any sign of your dad. Gordon’s expression shifted from concern to confusion as he looked at you and then at Bruce, who stood awkwardly by the door. The silence that followed felt heavy, and your heart raced with uncertainty. “I thought you said my dad was picking me up,” you repeated, your voice a mix of anxiety and frustration.

Gordon sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor before meeting your eyes again. “That’s why Bruce is here,” he said slowly, clearly choosing his words with care. “The blood test came back, and… he’s your father.”

The revelation hit you like a wave, crashing over your thoughts and leaving you reeling. You stared at Bruce, the man you barely knew but who suddenly represented so much more than just a stranger. Questions filled your mind, swirling and clashing—who was he? Why had you never met him before? The air felt thick with unsaid emotions, and you could sense the weight of the truth hanging in the room, waiting for you to process it.

You laughed, initially believing it was just a joke, but when you turned to Gordon and Bruce, their expressions revealed the truth; they weren’t laughing. A cold wave of realization washed over you as you recognized their seriousness. The evidence was undeniable—documents spread out on the table confirmed everything you feared. You swallowed hard, your heart racing, and you cautiously asked to see the proof. As they handed over the papers, a chill ran down your spine; there it was, a match for this stranger.

At that moment, you knew you had to think fast. Bruce’s gaze was fixed on you, filled with an intense scrutiny that made your pulse quicken. With a sudden rush of urgency, you dashed towards him, calling out, “Dad!” before enveloping him in a tight embrace. The embrace felt desperate, a mix of relief and confusion swirling in your chest. You often acted on impulse, and it struck you in that moment just how much was at stake.

As you hugged him, you felt the warmth of his body, but there was something else—a plan forming beneath the surface of your thoughts. With deft hands, you subtly reached into his pocket and snatched his wallet, your heart pounding as you let go and stepped back. The exhilaration of your reckless choice mingled with a creeping sense of guilt. In an instant, the stakes had been raised, and the gravity of what you had done pressed down on you harder than ever.

Bruce and Gordon exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern as they sized you up. You turned to Bruce, hesitating for a moment before asking if he could assist you with the tangled mess of paperwork that loomed over you like a dark cloud. Gordon, ever enthusiastic, seized the opportunity to chat your ear off about the possibilities that lay before you—a real dad, a stable home, a family to call your own. You listened, nodding along, but inside, you felt a familiar tightness in your chest. You crafted half-hearted plans in your mind, knowing deep down that they were just smoke and mirrors; none of them ever seemed likely to materialize. For now, all you could do was stall for time while the gears of a more concrete strategy began to turn in your head.

As Bruce concluded whatever bureaucratic tasks Gordon had piled on him, he turned to you with a serious tone, declaring, "You're coming home with me."

You responded with a simple, "Okay," carefully avoiding any argument that might spark further scrutiny. Bruce narrowed his eyes, a hint of suspicion flickering there as if he were trying to decode the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in your mind. Without another word, you both walked out of the station, the bustling sounds of the city fading behind you.

Outside, the sight that greeted you was unexpected—a sleek black limousine, its glossy surface gleaming under the sun, accompanied by a sharply dressed man standing by the door. Bruce began a conversation with him, his tone brisk yet confident. As he caught your eye for a brief moment, he gestured for you to get into the car. You felt a jolt of uncertainty. The plan you had been forming needed an immediate adjustment, but you understood the importance of going with the flow to keep any suspicions at bay. With a deep breath, you steeled yourself and climbed into the vehicle, ready to navigate whatever this new chapter might bring.

Once inside the most luxurious car you had ever sat in, which had snacks, drinks, and even champagne, Gordon returned your backpack when you were in the station so you had It now You began to fill it with all the options, then looked out the window to see Bruce and the man still talking. They both got into the car, and another man took the driver’s seat and turned to you. "Hi, I'm Alfred," he said. You enthusiastically replied that it was nice to meet him, and soon you were off driving through Gotham.

As you drove past the familiar buildings lining the streets of Gotham, a plan began to take shape in your mind. The weight of your decision settled around you; thoughts of staying with Bruce Wayne felt suffocating. You cherished your solitude, a precious state that had become harder to maintain, and you didn't want his presence to disrupt that hard-won independence. Bruce was a stranger to you, a looming figure from a world you had no interest in entering.

"Can I use the bathroom?" you asked, breaking the silence that hung in the car. Alfred, Bruce’s loyal butler, pulled over to the curb with practiced ease. The bright neon sign of a fast-food restaurant flickered to life in the twilight, and you recognized it instantly. It was one of those places you had frequented in quieter, simpler days, long before life twisted into its current shape.

Climbing out of the car, you felt the cool evening air on your skin as you stepped into the restaurant. Bruce followed closely behind; his presence—though imposing—was also a reminder of your plan in motion. He asked if you were hungry, but you quickly nodded, feigning a casualness you didn’t feel. “I can eat,” you said, and with that, he made his way to the counter to place an order. “I’ll grab your food while you use the bathroom,” he instructed, and you allowed yourself a small smirk as you headed in the opposite direction.

You moved quickly, almost instinctively, as you navigated the cramped restroom. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and you washed your hands, taking a moment to steady your breath. This was it; your moment to break free. With a small sigh of determination, you exited the bathroom.

Peering through the door’s glass, you spotted Bruce still waiting at the counter, engrossed in conversation with the cashier. Seizing the opportunity, you pushed through the other exit, stepping out into the familiar alley that ran behind the restaurant. This was your chance—a calculated move in your carefully crafted plan.

You strode through the alley, each step echoing your resolve to create distance between yourself and Bruce. Grab a few belongings, slip away unnoticed, and vanish back into the anonymity of Gotham. You yearned for the freedom of your separate life, perhaps even to erase the memory of this fleeting encounter, though deep down, you knew that wouldn’t be possible.

As you continued through the dimly lit streets of Gotham, the weight of recent revelations hung over you: the truth about your father. But the reality was both stark and liberating—you didn’t care to delve into that connection any further. The city felt alive around you, a backdrop to the complex tapestry of your life, and you intended to keep weaving it on your terms.

[azullumi]

“midnight calls and comforts” ; alhaitham

summary — you call him in the middle of the night, unable to sleep and only wishing to hear him.

pairing — alhaitham (w/gender neutral reader)

tags — fluff, established relationship, modern settings, never proof-read ; ficlet/scenario

words — 776

note — hello hehe, did i put aside all of my drafts and did this instead? yes, i did

a ring crashes through the silence of the night, abruptly disrupting the tranquility of it. the continuous sound of tapping being put on halt in the process.

alhaitham who was up and working on his laptop briefly wondered who would call him at this time of the night, it was already well past midnight and most would have been asleep at this point—except for you, whose name was displayed across the screen with the sign ‘<’ and the number 3 next to it.

“yes, love?” he answers, placing the phone against his ear, “calling at this hour seems a little late, isn’t it? is something the matter?”

he maintains the same tone that he always speaks whenever he’s with you, a gentle melody laced with affection, but this time, there was a subtle shift: a touch of worry embracing the usual symphony. just the sound of his voice reassures you of your worries, like a gentle tide that caresses your feet lovingly as it crashes against the shore or a soft touch of the wind as it passes you by.

he hears a sigh coming from the other line before he hears your words: “i can’t sleep.”

“it appears so.”

“are you… busy?” he can sense the hesitance in your tone, afraid that you might be bothering him at this moment. he looks over the open document with the last paragraph left unfinished, the several windows splayed across his laptop screen, and the many tabs that conquers the very top of his browser, and then answers: “no, not as of the moment.”

a short silence ensues before you reply, “are you really?”

he didn’t fail to notice how the call became quiet for a little while after that; alhaitham doesn’t know what to say at that moment, if he should press on with his fib or admit that he was indeed occupied with many things; sure, he was busy but he’s (never) not too busy to spend some time with you, especially at this instant that there seems to be something clouding your mind, persisting and preventing you from falling asleep. besides, he has to admit, he misses you for a bit in this loneliness that this hushed night brings—hearing you does indeed stir some motivation in him, pushing him to finish the last of his work.

“can i stay on call with you?” you speak up once more.

“if you wish so, of course.”

the both of you didn’t speak for a while but the silence that rests wasn’t uncomfortable. alhaitham resumes with his work as the sound of keys tapping did—it was the only thing that you can hear from the other line, yet it was enough to tell you that he was there, that he’s right there with you always, and just the thought of it eases some comfort in your bones.

“what are you doing?”

“just working on a paper, aiming to complete it tonight and clear my agenda of any lingering tasks."

you hum, “have you had any rest?”

“i was able to, even though it was brief.”

in the ensuing quiet that persists, time drifted by. the sole audible sound consisted of hushed breaths, subtle shuffling, and the continuous tap-dance of fingers on keys, occasionally interrupted by the soft scribbling of a pen against paper and your voice that calls out to his name.

“alhaitham?”

he hums as an answer.

“oh, nothing.”

a moment slips by again.

“‘haitham?”

“i’m here.”

it didn’t require an extraordinary intellect to discern that you were simply asking for an assurance, a subtle dance of your intentions were very much clear to him. a delicate tether ensuring his presence remained entwined with yours. and he doesn’t tire of providing you with such assurances if it was to ease your mind, this gesture of his proving to be a testament to his commitment and affection to you; alhaitham was your anchor in the ebb and flow of uncertainties.

a moment passes by once more, fleeting. alhaitham had already finished the last of his work, closing the laptop and setting it aside. he takes notice of the other line of the call being completely silent, no murmur of rustling sheets nor an echo of your voice reaching out to him. there was only nothing but the soft cadence of your breathing filling the quiet space, proving the peaceful surrender of sleep that had claimed you.

a soothing warmth settled within him, painting a tender smile on his lips. he whispers into the serene stillness, “goodnight, my love.” pressing a kiss upon the cool surface phone screen, a silent yearning for it to be your lips beneath instead.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[nouearth]

servicing justice: superman [1]

pairing ; kal-el / clark kent / superman x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, superman. word count ; 2144. series ; servicing justice. genre ; smut. rating ; m. warnings ; bigdick!superman. blowjob. gloryhole. handjob. mouth-fucking. oral (reader giving). sexworker!reader. note ; yeah, okay. maybe i've been watching too much of a certain video genre, ahem. but i hope you guys enjoy my first smut! it's been a WHILE since i've written one, so i know it's rusty, HAHA. looks-wise, i mostly had maws's superman in mind (because the art style is so good and so himbo), but feel free to imagine it with any superman!

it isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. you’ve been kneeling on the floor for quite some time now, waiting for your assigned client. your palms begin to sweat to a minimal but uncomfortable degree. did i fuck up already? you ask yourself as your mind clouds with questions, doubts, and even judgement regarding this new job.

“jesus, what did i get myself into…” you recall the long process it took for you to end up here. the intensive (and ridiculously long) process of reading and signing multiple forms and documents almost had you backing out of this opportunity. though looking back at it, it was understandable since it’s quite unheard of to be… a sex worker for superheroes.

for an incredible pay, your privacy will essentially be stripped away starting from today. all phone messages, calls, and social media activities will be monitored during your venture as a sex worker, and that post-graduate life was not going to pay itself. for the most part, so far everything seemed… great? being driven to work by a chauffeur, having your own personal room and health coverage provided, and most importantly… eating free lunch was not bad at all.

or maybe you’re just naïve.

all you had to do was kneel and suck a few superhumans off. as the newbie, you were told that you’ll be starting on gloryhole duty due to privacy reasons; at least until you built enough camaraderie. though, you didn’t even mind since there would certainly be less strain on your body.

you couldn’t help but snicker at the mere thought of an entire league of superheroes holding a meeting regarding this subject matter. especially since almost everyone in the world, including you, holds these superheroes in such high regard.

“meeting is adjourned until 9 am tomorrow! until then, please help yourself to some delicious food trucks from outer spac-“ your humorous imitation of a noble superhero is silenced when you hear the door opening. within your private booth, all that blocks you from meeting your approaching client is another door with a hole cut through.

your curiosity is piqued when you catch a sight of the man’s physique through the hole. plaid shirt and jeans aside, and assuming he had to underdress, he’s huge. maybe because you’re kneeling right now, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never been near a superhero before, but you couldn’t help but be in awe at the size of the man. your eyes complete a full body scan by the time he approaches the door and before you could say something, he does.

“sorry i was late-“ a gentle voice echoes behind the door. contrary to his soft voice, the man’s large hands work aggressively at his belt, unlooping the leather with impatience yet eagerness as he anticipates the mouth that’s been waiting for his arrival. “there was this whole thing with this cat in this tree and then this school bus got hijacked- not my best day, unfortunately.”

“i’m sorry to hear that. sounds like a stressful day, yeah?” your voice is compassionate. you felt bad for the unnamed superhero and a part of you wanted to continue the conversation further, but your job isn’t to listen to their feelings. it’s to pleasure.

“yeah…” a huge sigh of relief expels from the man’s dry throat when he pulls his pants down. frustration stains another one of your client’s sigh, clearly troubled by the restrictive fabric guarding his erection. you watch with parted lips as he couldn’t help but give himself a needy stroke through his tight briefs, fondling his balls then beelining his palm to the very plump tip of his cock. your own cock hardens at this scene, and you find yourself doing the very same. mimicking his impatient hand to tend to the sensitive pressure below, you tiptoe the fine line between frustration and pleasure as your tightening pants and briefs define what it means to be an absolute nuisance. “very stressful.”

it doesn’t take much time before you’re faceful of cock and somehow, you manage to salivate more than you did a minute ago. the man’s throbbing erection is brimmed with thick pre-cum, stress practically leaving his body with every drip. it’s a heavenly sight that’s enough to make you stick your tongue out just in time to catch the substance into your mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. the salty taste always catches you off-guard yet at the same time, it puts you under a spell. a tantalizing spell that commands you to drag your warm tongue over and back the underside of his thick shaft, completely avoiding the plump glans to have his cock leak even more… stress.

the taste of his musk drives your palm further into your erection, palming at whatever you could as you preoccupy yourself with teasing the man. you almost felt bad for him. contrary to his build, his whimpers are… so small, so weak. you notice his hands grip over the top of the barrier, and it turns you on upon realizing how this supposed hero could become so fragile at the simple taunt of your tongue.

“please…” the superhero whimpers out, needlessly fucking the air in hopes of granting his cock some type of friction. you’re amazed, and a little proud, by how much pre-cum he’s been leaking by now, and it all goes right onto your tongue. the wet muscle follows the natural curve of his cock to meet up with the wet and plump head. his hips buckle into the barrier and feeling it shake, you keep him steady by wrapping your hand around his shaft. you’re addicted at this point. addicted to the salty taste of his pre-cum as your tongue licks and explores into the slit of his cock, while at the same time, your hand works at his large cock in slow, but steady strokes.

“oh christ-“ he breathes out, repeating the same two words under his shaky breath as you continue to pleasure him with your tongue and hand. after a few licks, you pull away to give your tongue a break. in doing so, your grip tightens around his shaft to pace your strokes quicker. when you find a moment where your wrist needs a break, you let your client catch his breath. his cock throbbing more and more with every passing second when your tongue and hand aren’t exploring him, and you bask in the sight of it. you believe you deserve a medal at this point. not for doing a great job (though, it doesn’t seem too far-fetched), but for having control. you haven’t even sucked him off yet, but you’re content on remaining just like this for a while longer. though, that wouldn’t be fair for the superhero.

before he could whimper out another plea, your warm mouth finally wraps around the head of his cock and your ears perk at the sound of his low moan almost instantly. your hand returns to its rightful position around the lower base of his penis as you cycle your tongue over the glans, satisfying your need to taste his musk once more. seconds later, your hand lets go when you push your head farther, taking in an inch more of the hero’s cock. your knees dig into the floor as you push your head more and more, stretching your mouth with his cock until you feel yourself gagging.

“fuck.” you sniffle out when you pull back. perhaps you were challenging yourself too hard. you think to yourself as you catch your breath, using the remaining moment to sloppily jerk him off with your saliva. part of you wanted to challenge yourself to deepthroat him, impress your client on the first day. but you already know you wouldn’t be able to take it… at least, for now.

“you could hurt someone with this, y’know?” for some reason, you thought you needed to crack a joke as if there was an awkward silence that needed to be filled. maybe you just wanted to hear him talk again. his voice is warm and inviting, somewhat fitting for a superhero or even a television host as the moment you hear his voice again, you felt safe.

“i have before- oh god.” you lube up his cock with your spit as you continue to jerk him off, refraining yourself from fucking his slit with your tongue again to concentrate on his words. “which is why i don’t do this much- sex and stuff… it’s all troublesome, really.”

“yeah?” and just when you talked yourself out of challenging yourself, you feel the competitive spark ignite inside of you again. “well, i guess you just have to find the right one. could be anyone, even people you just met.” you try to play it nonchalantly, hoping that double-handing his wet cock would distract him.

he was beyond speechless at this point, moans drawn out by means of your sloppy strokes. you swear you can hear his heartbeat behind the barrier when you lean your head closer to suck him off again. you moan along with him, drawing out every breath of yours as you bob your head up and down, taking more of his cock every time you come down. your hand twists and strokes the remaining few inches that isn’t violated by your tongue and mouth, following your mouth like a reel as your intent to make him cum is fervent more than ever.

it hurts. your mouth hurts by how large your client is and tears brim in your eyes as you hold yourself back from gagging. but you don’t stop yourself because you’ll know it’ll be worth it. your endeavor to please him to the fullest has you drowning out his groans into white noise and you can barely register the fact that you’ve been on paused for a while now. you find yourself in a closer position than before, where your mouth is open, lips fully pressed around the carved hole as the superhero fucks into your mouth, fucks into your gags like you’re his personal flesh light. you didn’t care how dirty you looked, how you had saliva and spittle dripping out from the corners of your mouth and onto the floor. who would see? and you didn’t care that you were too preoccupied to touch your dick right now, because you know you’ll be thinking about this very moment for the rest of your life. and right now, you didn’t know if you wanted to be covered in his cum or to have your mouth be filled with it.

remaining in this position, you glance your teary eyes up at his grip over the barrier again. the strength in his grasp forms small cracks in the material of the barrier and that was the sign you knew you fulfilled your sense of purpose.

“christ, i’m going to come-“ your eyes shut again and you breathe through your noise, bracing for impact. he pushes his cock down your throat and hits that sore spot one last time before unloading his cum into your mouth with a stifled groan. warm, hot seed quickly fills you up and you pull your head back an inch to fully enclose your lips around his cock, ensuring none escape your lips.

in a heartbeat, you swallowed it all. his warm cum coats the back of your throat like medicine and you moan around his cock at the taste, intoxicated. you made sure to lick every inch of his cock clean, calmly slurping any saliva and cum that threatens to leave your mouth as you pull back up with a soft pop, swallowing the remaining remnants of his stress away.

“t-thank you. i needed that…” he pulls his softening cock out, careful in avoiding the hole as he was still sensitive. “did you need a tissue or anything? i think i have one somewhere…” you can hear him rummage through what you can only assume would be his bag and you find it charming, a quiet laugh leaving your swollen lips as you lean back onto your elbows to take a breather and stretch your legs out.

“no, no. i’m okay. i, uh, don’t think i wasted a drop.” you proudly brag, only for him to respond with a shy chuckle. you watch him tidy himself through the hole from a leaned back view, occasionally tilting your head in various angles to see if you could catch a glimpse on who the mysterious superhero is, but the barrier remains an obstruction to your view.

“well then, i… uh… thank you for your service.” he covers up the silence with another laugh and you join in, re-adjusting his pants and belt before turning his back towards you and heading out the booth. “i’ll try not to be late next time.”

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[merakiui]

simply business.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight nsfw, misogyny, power imbalance, workplace misconduct, abuse of authority, ceo azul, secretary jade note - you'll do anything for this job. mr. ashengrotto wonders if there are limits to your anything.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Ashengrotto. Thank you for making time for me today. I can’t begin to imagine how packed your schedule is,” you admit with a gentle laugh.

Just as you practiced with Trey and Riddle, you shake his hand firmly and confidently. Even if most of your poise is feigned to hide a mountain of anxieties, it manages to fool the CEO of Mostro, for he mirrors your amiable greeting with one of his own. Or maybe he sees right through your act and is choosing to remain quiet. You’re not going to think too deeply about that.

“The pleasure’s all mine. You have no idea how startled I was when your application found its way on my desk. Why, I thought I was dreaming.”

If he brings up childhood memories, talk about it. Why not? Trey advised hours earlier, serving you and Riddle individual slices of strawberry tart. Friendship is just as good a connection as the one made through sweets.

Which is very solid guidance coming from a baker.

Even so, she shouldn’t rely solely on past connections. In business, that means nothing if the connection itself isn’t stable and worthwhile enough, Riddle, ever the realist, added with a grimace. We should know. We went to school with him.

Hey, don’t sweat it. You’ll do great, Trey added when he noticed the despairing look you’d given your tart. I’ll bake you something to celebrate, so do your best, be yourself, and bring home good news.

With his and Riddle’s encouragement, you had been so certain of your abilities before, in which you proudly proclaimed you’d get the job and charm Azul in the process, but now you’re not sure. Standing here in his office, thirty-something stories in the clouds, you can’t escape the suffocating fear as it saps the oxygen from the room and renders your lungs vacant.

“I aim to surprise.”

“And surprise you have. Pleasantly, might I add.” He motions for you to sit, to which you comply and lower into the seat across from him. A mahogany desk separates you from a sparkling future. Your gaze pans from him to the man standing a few inches behind, a clipboard and pen held in both hands. Standing isn’t the right word, actually. With his height, all lithe limbs dressed darkly, he looks like a bodyguard ready to escort you to your execution should you make the wrong move. You can handle one pressed suit, but another is too much. And this one looks even more intimidating than Azul with his sharp, stoic stare. “Pay him no mind. Jade’s merely here to make note of our discussion.”

“Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jade.”

He nods his silent acknowledgement, two-toned eyes filling with light.

“Shall we begin?” Azul gathers a few documents, straightens them, and then dives right into the rigmarole. “I must preface this by stating our past friendship has no influence on my decision or the outcome of this interview.”

“Completely understandable,” you blurt, trigger-happy with agreement.

Don’t be a yes-man, Riddle’s words from before float through your head, stern like a parent. You’re human, not some gear meant to strengthen their corporate machine. If they can’t see that, then that’s no environment for you.

“I… Actually, it feels a little awkward talking like this,” you add with a nervous sigh. “With the stakes being so high and everything… It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I’m happy you’re doing well for yourself. Oh! I’m not saying that to butter you up or anything! That’s my honest opinion.”

He chuckles. “I’m also pleased to see you again. Although going forward I would like to keep this matter separate from the task at hand.”

“Right. Sorry. We got off topic.”

He flips through the papers—likely your resume and application and any other information he has on file—and hums. “It says here that you have experience managing an online platform. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Oh, that. It was for my friend’s family business. He’s a baker. The shop has a nice reputation in the neighborhood, but they don’t really have any social media presence. My friend and I thought his family could benefit from a website and a Magicam account, so we put both together. I was in charge of creating and managing the website.”

“I see.”

You notice Jade scribbling something and your heart drops into your stomach. “S-So I have experience in design and…stuff.”

Relax. Don’t pay attention to him.

“Then may I assume you’re passionate about photography and graphic design?”

“Very.”

“It’s good to have an eye for aesthetics. I can clearly see that from the samples you submitted. Your portfolio is impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashengrotto. I take pride in all of my work.”

“In that case, would you mind walking me through your portfolio?”

“I’d be happy to.” You scoot closer to his desk without thinking, gesturing to the prints he’s laid out for you. “That’s the website I designed for my friend. He wanted something simple, family-friendly, and easy to navigate. I had to appeal to both customers from the neighborhood and customers who might be visiting for the first time. Finding a balance was a little difficult, but I made it work after lots of dedicated effort.”

He gestures to another sample and you delve into the lore behind it. This carries on twice more before he indicates his satisfaction with a beaming smile.

“Aren’t you diligent?”

The delivery is more backhanded than you’d care to hear, but you choose to brush it aside. “Thank you.”

“Your baker friend… Are you employed?”

“Oh, not currently! It was just a side gig. A one-time thing.”

“Is that all?”

You open your mouth to reply and then stop. Did you hear him correctly? “Is… Is what all?”

“You may not work for him in that capacity, but you might in another capacity. ‘One-time things’ could snowball into—”

“It didn’t and it never will,” you interrupt. You realize your error seconds later and smooth out the abrasiveness in your tone. “My apologies. I meant to say that I’m not affiliated with him in any of those ways. I’m merely a friend who helped out where she could. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Azul hums flatly, as if disappointed. Jade scribbles. You swallow mounting dread.

What was that about?

“Very well. Moving swiftly on… Can you tell me about yourself? What drew you to this job?”

“I’ve always wanted to manage a social media account for a business like yours. There are so many branches. I think it’d be a very fulfilling experience.”

“Is there a particular branch you’re interested in?”

“Definitely one of your restaurants. I’ve worked with food websites and accounts before, so I have the necessary qualifications you might be seeking.”

“Social media is no easy task. It can be stressful to manage any platform in which you have a following. With that in mind, may I ask how you normally handle stressful or challenging situations?”

“I don’t get stressed very easily. I’m normally very level-headed.”

Liar. I’m so stressed right now. Sweating like crazy and everything!

As if listening in on your thoughts, Jade drags his pen across paper.

“But in the event that you might face such a situation?”

“If such a thing were to occur, I’d take a step back, analyze everything objectively, and see what I can do to mitigate the stress or difficulty that’s cropped up. If it’s a team effort, I’d gather everyone involved for a meeting so that we could discuss together.”

“And if it was an individual effort?”

“It depends on the severity of the stress. If it comes down to it, I’d have no problem notifying my supervisor or manager of the issue firsthand. The sooner you’re made aware of something, the easier it is to draw up a plan of action, right?”

“That can be true, yes.” Azul shuffles his files. “How would others describe you? From the perspective of a friend, perhaps? Or a spouse? Are you married?”

That’s…way too personal. Is that even an interview question? So far he’s asked everything Riddle went over in our mock interview. What’s up with this sudden shift?

You force a stiff laugh. “Not married yet, no…”

“Do you plan to be?”

“Um… I…don’t know. I’m focused on my career right now.”

“Ah, a career woman. Most women your age often settle down. Not you, though. Ambitious thing, aren’t you?”

Your lips twitch into the beginning of a scandalized grimace, but before you can allow your tactful façade to slip you hurry to paste an unruffled grin on your countenance. “I’m passionate,” you smoothly correct. You don’t miss the way Jade’s pen halts before he continues his duty as scribe. “If I may, Mr. Ashengrotto, did you not say you wanted to keep work and personal matters separate?”

“Forgive me. I was only testing you.”

Just what kind of test is that?

“O-Oh. Well, I hope I passed.”

“With flying colors.” He clears his throat. “Now then, what motivates you, Miss (Name)?”

“My friends and family. Myself. The food waiting for me at home.” He quirks a slight smile at that. “I always strive to do my best.”

“A fine attitude to have.”

“Mhm! I like what I do. Every day’s exciting and I love a good challenge.”

No, I don’t. I almost cried on the way here. This is too much of a challenge for me. I didn’t even think I’d get an email back from you…

“You seem like quite the optimist.” He straightens the papers once more and then clips them together. “I appreciate your insightful, honest answers.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, right! Of course! Thank you for your time.” You practically jump out of your seat to shake his hand.

That was good, right? It felt so fast, but I did well. Right?

“If I may ask one final question…”

“Sure thing!”

Azul smiles. “Just how badly do you want this job?”

More than anything. I need this job. I’m unemployed and desperate. Please, Azul. You have to help me out.

Obviously you can’t phrase it like that, even though the spineless side of you wants to.

“I…would benefit greatly if I was hired. Working for you and your successful company would be an amazing honor.”

“Is that right?” He releases your hand. “All right. The job is yours.”

You blink at him, shocked. “Wait. It is?”

“On one condition.” Azul sits back in his plush office chair. It’s the expensive type. The one with cushions and reclining abilities. “Strip for me.”

Your blood crystallizes in your veins; your heart almost stops. “Excuse me?”

Surely he didn’t just say that. Surely he meant to say something else. Something like…strip all of your worries and accept this position? Your eyes drift over to Jade. He blinks back at you, a razored smile hidden behind his clipboard.

“If you’re willing to go to extremes for this job, prove it.”

“Mr. Ashengrotto… I…” You laugh, but nothing about this is funny. Bile rises in your throat, scalding with sickening acid. “I…”

“Go on then.” Azul waves his hand impatiently, deceptively youthful features twisting with annoyance. “I haven’t got all day.”

Your hands curl into fists, and you dig your nails into your palms so roughly that you break skin. He can’t be serious. He really can’t.

And yet he’s watching you like he expects it.

Again, you look to Jade for help. He lowers his clipboard. “It’s not polite to make one wait, Miss (Name). We pride ourselves on timely efficiency here.”

“But…” You swallow thickly, your hope slowly waning. “But this… This is absurd! I… You must be joking. I can’t possibly—”

“You can,” Azul interjects. “If you want this job, you will do just as I’ve said. Well? The choice is yours. I’ve played my hand.”

Warmth drains from your person until all that’s left is creeping cold.

Oh, you think with devastating resignation, it’s this kind of management. So this is how everyone survives here.

Inhaling through your nose, you steel yourself. Your fingers twitch towards the buttons on your blazer.

“Will I truly get the job?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” you ask, dreading the answer.

“On how far you’re willing to go.”

“C-Can he leave?”

Azul glances at Jade, a sticky smile spreading his lips wide. “Oh, you’ll hurt his feelings with that. How cruel. I can already see the tears brimming in Jade’s eyes.”

“Heartless,” Jade echoes with a sniffle.

You school your scowl into something friendly. “I… I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with him here…”

“And you do with me? I’m flattered, but our past has nothing to do with this. I’m grateful you bothered to give me a Valentine every school year, but those days are behind us. So stop wasting my time. It’s money, and every second you spend stalling is a Madol lost.”

Your lip trembles, but you don’t cry. You won’t give either of these rotten monsters the satisfaction.

“H-How much do I have to undress to get the job?” You toy with a button, regret pooling in your stomach.

It’s not worth it. I should leave.

You should, but can you?

“We’ll see. I’m feeling generous today, so your fortune may just be favorable.”

Hopeless, you shut your eyes, exhale a defeated breath, and harden your features into something unshakeable.

I’m sorry, Riddle. I’m not a gear here. I’m not even human.

Slowly, while holding unbreakable eye contact, you undo each button on your blazer. You shrug out of it seconds later, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. Azul and Jade follow your movements like expert predators ensorcelled by prey.

Here, in this hellish bathyal zone, I’m just a whale fall.

From there, you move to your blouse next. You untuck it from your pencil skirt, allowing the fabric to fall freely. Deft fingers work at the buttons, traveling further down until there’s nothing left of the garment protecting your nudity. That, too, joins the slowly forming heap on the floor. The action leaves both men transfixed, and they eye your lacy white bralette as if attempting to sear the sight into their retinas. At one point, Jade decides to write something down. You fondly contemplate all the ways in which he should die.

“Will that be all?”

“Keep going.”

“Haven’t I done enough?”

“If you have room in that mouth to voice complaints, you can stuff it with my—”

You yank your pencil skirt down, silencing the sin that was ready to spill from Azul’s lips. Jade doesn’t muffle his snicker. Again, you fantasize about pushing him out the window.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

With trembling hands, you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra. It’s peeled from your chest then, exposing your tits for their ravenous leering. Their silence says enough. After what feels like an eternity, Azul stops you when you start to slide your panties down.

“I’ve seen enough.”

“On the contrary, I’ve yet to have my fill.” Jade smiles at you, hiding behind his clipboard like the coy bastard he is.

You stand there, clutching your bra so tightly your knuckles ache. “Is… Is it over?”

“For now.”

At that, you fall to your knees, wrap your arms around your chest, and suck in great gulps of air. Fixing your stare on the floor, you find yourself unable to meet his azure hues. If you do, you may just vomit. Footsteps click their way over to you. He pauses; you can feel his gaze burning through you. And then his fingers ghost over your bare shoulder, dancing like playful puppets.

“You start Monday. Bright and early,” Azul says. There’s a detached, clinical edge to the fluff. “I expect wonderful things from you, Miss Marketing Manager.”

As if his words have materialized to topple you—to shatter what’s left of your dignity—you almost collapse. Your arms shoot out to catch you; your palms press against the icy tiles. Still, you don’t cry. Jade’s leather shoes enter your line of sight, which immediately dries your ducts. You don’t have to look to see the satisfied smirk sharpening on his lips because you hear it.

“I must thank you for the entertaining show. Perhaps you should have considered a career in acting.” He drapes your blazer over your shoulders for added effect.

It’s the loudest fuck you in the quietest sentence.

I hope you die a million painful deaths, you despotic, disgusting dickhead.

When you finally stagger out of the building—fully clothed and gutted—dropping thirty-something floors from heaven to the sensible earth below in a compact lift, you fish your phone out of your bag. You’re moving on autopilot when you press his contact. Trey answers on the third ring.

“I was waiting for this call. So what’s the news? Am I baking a celebration cake or a consolation cake? I’m ready for either one. Just say the word.”

The tears are already streaming down your face. You wipe them away, smudging your makeup in the process. “No consolation needed. I… I got the job…”

“See? I knew you’d get it. This’ll be the best celebration cake you’ve ever tasted. Just you wait and—hey, you okay? You don’t sound good.”

You open and close your mouth, unable to pull a reply from the dry depths of your throat. For one minute, Trey listens to your soft, hiccuping sobs. “I’m just—” you sniffle— “I’m so happy… I can’t wait to eat cake.”

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

admittedly I’ve stopped following what’s happening beyond the broad strokes, but for anyone still interested in Blake’s case, there have been some developments on this Friday afternoon (of course).

Blake’s team is seeking a protective order against Baldoni’s about its continuing demands for Blake’s communications with Taylor even though it withdrew its subpoenas because it claimed it had got everything it needed to the press, while at the same time it is continuing to refuse to produce documents it is supposed to submit to Blake’s.

As per Taylor’s lawyer’s email to counsel, no documents were ever produced for Baldoni’s subpoena. In other words, nobody on her team ever turned anything over to Baldoni’s.

This is the relevant bit from Blake’s filing, about Baldoni’s team’s claims that they received communications from Taylor’s team:

Later on May 22, 2025, counsel for Ms. Lively emailed counsel for the Wayfarer Parties about the public statements, interpreted “to mean either that (1) the intent of the Wayfarer Parties’ subpoena, since our understanding is that they obtained no discoverable materials as part of this process, was to introduce scandalous allegations about Ms. Lively and her counsel into the public domain to generate negative stories, or (2) the Wayfarer Parties have received materials responsive to their subpoena, which would come as a surprise given that no materials have been provided to us.” Ex. B. The same email explained that any discovery that the Wayfarer Parties or their counsel obtained concerning Ms. Lively from any third party would be responsive to properly served RFPs. To date, the Wayfarer Parties have not responded to the email, and have not produced any productions from Ms. Swift. Further, the parties have an agreement to produce documents obtained via third party subpoenas to each other promptly upon receipt, which would clearly apply to these documents, if any, notwithstanding the withdrawal of the subpoena.

If I’m understanding Blake’s team’s filing today, its argument is that if Baldoni’s team refused to produce the documents to Blake’s team it received re: communications with Taylor (that it claimed to have to the press), it’s because they don’t actually exist. E.g., Baldoni’s team did not actually “get” anything from Taylor’s team, because there was nothing to produce, and its continued statements to the press that it got “exactly what [it] need[ed]” from Taylor is once again just more smear tactics in the press to cloud the case.

ETA: yes that is exactly what they’re alleging in their email correspondence with Baldoni’s counsel.

Blake’s team is claiming that Baldoni’s is continuing to invoke Taylor’s involvement in the case even though it has been established she has none in order to court the press as per its original strategy document from August 2024.

ETA 2: Taylor’s lawyer confirms there were no documents produced to Baldoni’s team:

Counsel – Please be advised that the Venable Subpoena and the Taylor Swift Subpoena have been withdrawn by counsel for the Wayfarer Parties without prejudice to them timely serving subpoenas in the future should they decide to do so (all parties reserving all rights). No documents are being produced and no deposition is being scheduled. Accordingly, we will be notifying the Court that our motion to quash is moot. Thank you. Doug

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 34

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Nesta had resolutely decided to tell Cassian about the pregnancy the next time he was home. She repeated it to you so often that it seemed more a reminder to herself than a note to you. However, when Cassian returned the following week, it was painfully clear that she was having more than a little trouble letting the secret out. Worse yet were Nesta’s increasingly obvious efforts to avoid being alone with Cassian at all. She was like a cat with a bellyful of secrets, her stormy grey eyes betraying the guilt gnawing at her from within.

You reminded yourself that it was Nesta’s news to share, and she would do it in her own time. It wasn’t your place to push her, especially after your revelation had left her visibly shaken.

Since then, Nesta had taken up wearing stronger perfumes, presumably to mask any new maternal scent that might be emanating from her. Watching her test out and purchase scents that most shopkeepers admitted they hadn't sold much of due to their rather potent odors was almost comical. She doused herself in them anyway. The first night Cassian was home, the perfume had been a particularly strong mix of lavender and something else you couldn’t quite place, and it left you wondering if she had actually used over half the bottle.

That same night, Nesta expertly managed to avoid dinner altogether, claiming an urgent meeting with a court advisor. The only urgency in her voice, however, was to avoid Cassian’s probing questions and comments regarding her new musk, which he described as, “worse than a scouting party that had been out in the woods for three weeks with no access to running water.”

Knowing his habits, she waited until he had passed out on the couch, snoring away, his wings sprawled wide, and his hulking body draped over the fine velvet. Azriel, perched next to you looking over a few documents Cassian had brought back from his trip, remarked that he looked like a dragon hoarding the pile of cushions he had positioned under himself.

It was only then that Nesta tiptoed past the living room door, where you sat in front of the fire, sitting on the floor in front of Azriel, curled up with a book. She moved like one of Azriel’s shadows, despite the perfume cloud that announced her arrival far before her actual body. You glanced up at her, catching her eye as she attempted to sneak past. Your eye caught hers as you smiled, amused and also sympathetic. Her return smile was tight-lipped, full of guilt and more than a little sheepishness. The kind of look that said, “Yes, I know, I’m being ridiculous, but please don’t say anything.”

Your book lay forgotten in your lap as you watched her. It was like witnessing a young fae sneaking back in after curfew. Her expression softened as you gave a tiny nod, a silent message: “Take your time. It’s okay.”

Nesta took a few more calculated steps forward, just out of earshot, before Azriel, without looking up from his papers, asked, “So, what’s all that about?”

His voice spooked you enough that you jumped lightly in your seat. “What?” you replied a bit too quickly, trying to hide your guilt by burying your nose deeper into your book.

Azriel’s eyes remained on his papers, but there was a teasing note in his voice. “Nesta’s sneaking around. And you two are giving each other these...glances.”

“You know, I don’t appreciate the parts of you that notice everything. You’re too nosy,” you quipped, hoping to deflect.

He simply shrugged. “It’s my job.”

You mulled over your options, finally settling on, “It’s not my place to say.”

Azriel folded down one corner of his page, glancing at you with those perceptive hazel eyes. “Is everything okay between her and Cassian?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” you muttered, your eyes glued to the page where the words blurred together, unread.

Setting his papers aside, Azriel slid down off the couch, drawing his knees to his chest as he sat next to you. He tried to catch your gaze, but you chewed your bottom lip, pretending to be engrossed in the book. After a few moments of awkward silence, you peeked at him from the corner of your eye. “Can I help you?” you asked, more to break the tension than anything else.

Azriel chuckled softly, his thumb grazing his nose. “What?” you pressed, shutting the book a bit too loudly. Cassian stirred lightly, a bit of drool hitting the floor. Nesta would have woken him immediately to make him clean it, but Azriel just watched as Cassian rolled over, now facing the back of the couch.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, Azriel said, “You know too?”

You turned to him, trying to mask your guilt with wide eyes. “Know what?”

“That Nesta’s—” He mimed an enlarged stomach with his hands.

Your mouth dropped open, struggling to find the right words. “How did you—? Did she—?”

Azriel shook his head, glancing back at Cassian. “It’s not hard to deduce. She’s acting strange. Avoiding him, and he’s not desperately trying to win her back for something he did. Plus, those perfumes are terrible. Nesta has much better taste.”

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank the gods someone else knows.”

“She hasn’t told him yet?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together.

You shook your head. “I just guessed it last week.” You gestured to the sleeping figure across the room. “How has he not noticed?”

Azriel shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’d like to say it’s because he’s been away and tired, but honestly, that’s giving him too much credit.”

Cassian choked on a snore, readjusting himself again.

Azriel’s expression grew more serious. “Why hasn’t she said anything?”

You set the book on the floor beside you. “She’s worried about getting his hopes up. They’ve had trouble the last few times.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his eyes darkening with unspoken memories. You hesitated before asking the question weighing heavily on your mind. “How many babes have they lost?”

Azriel’s brows drew together, his eyes clouding with sadness. “I think four. Three that Cassian knows about.”

Your stomach churned. “How do you know about the other one?”

Azriel leaned back, resting his head on the cushion behind him, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “She didn’t come to training one morning. Cassian was out on some mission for Rhys. Gwyn and I found her in the bathing room, just lying on the floor. She hadn’t told any of us about the babe.”

You watched the light in his eyes fade, replaced by a sorrowful reflection. “You didn’t tell Cassian?”

Azriel shook his head, the cushion shifting under him. “Nesta begged us not to. It didn’t feel right for me to tell him.”

Your gaze shifted to Cassian, sprawled on the couch, always the first to approach children wherever you went. He loved babysitting for Feyre and Rhys, encouraging them to extend their trips so he could spend more time with Nyx. He tossed Nyx higher into the air than anyone else, making Nesta gasp and scold him. Cassian was a natural with children, yet he never mentioned wanting his own. Perhaps he didn’t want to pressure Nesta. Or maybe he was trying to accept that he might only be an uncle, never a father.

The following night, you normally found yourself eagerly anticipating the weekly gathering at the River House. Those evenings were a balm to your soul, leaving you with a full belly, cheeks aching from smiling, and a heart warmed by laughter. But tonight, a subtle tension lingered as Azriel and Cassian flew you and Nesta down towards the High Lord and Lady’s home. Nesta’s tight-lipped expression as she gazed out over the sparkling Sidra was all you could seemingly focus on. Cassian, oblivious, chattered away to Azriel, but you were too preoccupied with Nesta’s silence to catch much of their conversation.

When you finally landed on the lawn, Elain and Lucien arrived behind you, hand in hand. Azriel placed a comforting hand on your back, his thumb rubbing up and down soothingly as he leaned down to whisper, “She’ll tell him.”

You swallowed your anxiety and nodded, falling in step with the group as you approached the door. It creaked open, revealing a tiny pair of hands tugging at the large oak door. A more slender hand appeared above them, helping to pull it open. Nyx’s shining, pudgy face peeked out, bathed in the warm faelight from inside. Without hesitation, he sprinted out towards the group, his bare feet pattering against the stones as Feyre’s voice called after him, “Nyx, no! You didn’t put shoes on!”

Nyx whipped his head back towards his mother, his eyes wide with defiance as he assessed the situation. Feyre’s arms crossed, her lips tightening into a stern line as she prepared to bring down the hammer. Caught between the allure of Cassian, Nyx’s obvious favorite among all of you, and the impending scolding, the little warrior made a split-second decision and bounded towards Cassian, who dropped into a crouch, arms outstretched.

Feyre scoffed, her eyes rolling as she cast a resigned smile at the group. Cassian scooped Nyx up, hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Nyx’s giggles filled the air.

As Cassian approached the front door, Nesta trailed behind, running a loving hand through her nephew’s jet-black hair. She licked her thumb and attempted to rub off some paint from his forehead. “I believe this belongs to you,” Cassian announced, shifting Nyx on his broad shoulder as the boy giggled again.

“Oh no,” Feyre replied with mock seriousness, her voice laced with humor, “My little boy wouldn’t go running out without his shoes on. And this one seems to be completely bare.” She tickled the soles of Nyx’s feet, causing him to squirm and kick lightly at Cassian’s chest as he laughed.

“So can I keep him?” Cassian asked, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“No!” Nyx howled, still trying to stifle his laughter. “I’m not yours!” he cried out, wriggling in Cassian’s hold.

Cassian dropped Nyx back to the floor with a feigned grunt. “Then you better start listening to your mama, or she might just let me take you.”

Nyx darted past Feyre, who sighed and shook her head as he pushed into her slightly, knocking her off balance. Even though Nyx barely came up to her knee, it was very clear he had both the most powerful fae in the Night Court wrapped around his tiny chubby finger. She rolled her eyes again and turned back to Cassian, bringing him into an embrace. “I swear, he’s getting more like you every day.”

Cassian pulled back with a grin, pecking her on the cheek. “Well, you’re welcome for encouraging him to be such a fun-loving, hilarious child.”

Nesta stepped in, gently nudging Cassian aside to hug her sister as Feyre replied, “Cassian, I’m not sure if you ever grew out of your terrible twenties.”

Cassian brushed past her with a laugh, following Nyx’s excited calls from the sitting room. 

The evening began as it typically did. Feyre was curled up against Rhys on one of the sitting room sofas, their casual intimacy still striking you as refreshingly normal despite their lofty positions. Elain disappeared into the kitchen, determined to help with dinner preparations, though Feyre protested that everything was already prepared. Nesta sat gracefully in one of the wingback chairs, her face resting in her palm as she observed Cassian on the floor. Nyx clambered over him like a piece of furniture, occasionally running out of the room to fetch another toy for his uncle to play with.

You and Azriel sat opposite, each in your own chair, cautious about displaying affection in front of others. Though you were certain everyone, save for Nyx, was aware of your slowly blossoming relationship, neither of you felt comfortable being overt.

At the dinner table, Nesta’s unusual quietness became more apparent. She moved her food around her plate, barely looking up as Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel guffawed over something. Elain, Feyre, and Lucien were engrossed in a discussion about a new playhouse opening in the city, occasionally trying to draw you into the conversation. However, your attention kept drifting to Nesta, who seemed to be retreating into herself.

Nyx, having finished his dinner, climbed down from his chair despite Feyre’s admonishments to stay put. He crawled under the table and tugged on Cassian’s pant leg, pleading to be lifted into his lap. Cassian, ever the doting uncle, obliged, and spent the rest of the meal eating around the tiny wings of his nephew. Nyx’s laughter filled the room as he and Cassian played a simple game—Nyx straining to unfurl Cassian’s massive fingers clenched into a fist.  You couldn’t help but notice the small, almost wistful smile that flickered on Nesta’s lips as she watched the two of them—the first you’d seen since Cassian returned.

Then, amidst the overlapping conversations, Nesta’s voice cut through. “Rhys, Feyre, can Cassian and I borrow the cabin this weekend?”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Nesta. It was the first substantial thing she had said all evening, and everyone seemed to realize it at once.

“Of course,” Feyre replied smoothly, taking another sip of her wine.

Cassian, taken aback, glanced at Nesta. “I didn’t know you wanted to go this weekend.”

Nesta shrugged, her fork chasing a rogue piece of meat. “I just think it would be nice to get away for a few days. Especially since you’ve been gone.”

Nyx, seizing the moment where Cassian had lost focus, gave a triumphant shout, “I did it!” He quickly turned back to his nephew, his fingers indeed loosened, praising him with genuine enthusiasm.

You caught Nesta’s eye across the table, and she exhaled a small sigh of relief as she took what might have been her first real bite of the evening. She offered you a tentative smile.

Azriel’s hand found your knee under the table, squeezing gently, a silent acknowledgment of the shared relief. 

You turned towards him to say something, but his expression stopped you. He was smiling at you with a glimmer in his eyes, a teasing excitement that you couldn’t quite decipher. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous light.

You tilted your head, puzzled, silently questioning him. Azriel merely arched his brows, a playful challenge in his gaze, and took a leisurely sip of his wine. He turned back to the conversation with Cassian and Rhys at the other end of the table, but not before you caught the unmistakable twinkle of anticipation in his eyes.

The look was new, something you hadn’t seen from Azriel before. It sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the sudden flurry of emotion making your pulse quicken.

You felt your cheeks warm and something warm igniting in your core.

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[militantinremission]

What does being 'Black' really mean?

I have thought about this for a long time. Over the years, I spoke w/ Moors, Israelites, Indigenous, & Pan Afrikans about 'Blackness' & what it means to them. I also looked at Separate but Equal (Jim Crow) Laws, The Black Codes, The Fugitive Slave Act, Dred Scott, & related documents dating back to the Colonial Era. Writing on this Subject was always in the back of My Mind, but now I feel compelled to give an opinion. Dane Calloway & Yvette Carnell don't agree on much, but they're both in agreement about 'Blackness in America'; their perspectives intrigued Me. Cam'ron's Declaration of Blackness, followed by responses from Marc Lamont Hill & Umar Johnson inspired Me to chime in on the Subject.

Recently, Dane Calloway & Yvette Carnell both went into detail about 'Blackness' on their individual Channels. Both have expressed their view in the past, but the timing of their latest opinions caught My attention. They essentially agree that this 'designation' refers to a Bottom Caste status that sets Us up for Social Inequality as a Collective. They also agree that identifying as 'Black American' only clouds Our identity as a Lineage Group. The denial of (promised) resources to 'Black' Farmers, & the repeal of Affirmative Action on College Campuses were both done in the name of 'Race Neutrality'. Apparently, Whitefolk & Brownfolk thought that these (long overdue) measures offered too much(?)

I was still digesting Dane & Yvette's perspective, when Cam'ron declared that he prefers being called 'Black' over Afrikan American, citing a schism between Black Americans & Continental Afrikans. This prompted Dr. Marc Lamont Hill & Dr. Umar Johnson to respond- in the name of Pan Afrikanism. Over the last 5Yrs, Pan Afrikans have been very vocal about Reparations & who should be entitled. Groups like N'COBRA, NAARC, The NAACP, & The Urban League have pushed for Trans Atlantic based Reparations; but they favor Social Programs over cash payments. Grassroots Organizations like the ADOS Advocacy Foundation, stress the need for cash payments to American Descendants Of Chattel Slavery.

It's curious how the same U.S. Constitution that used Our skin color to classify Us as 3/5ths of Humanity, still uses Our skin color as a 'Racial identity' to restrict Our access to resources. Somehow, this skin color classification doesn't stop 'Minority Groups' (i.e. White Women, White LGBTQ..., Azkenazis, People Of Color [POC/ BIPOC]) from getting the resources that They want & need. Maybe it's just Me, but I see a double standard playing out. Edward Blum & his 'Minority Coalition' are hell bent on weaponizing Race as a means of maintaining Black Oppression. He recently resorted to applying the Civil Rights Law of 1866 against Black Women; meanwhile, ADOS was unsuccessful in their attempt to apply the Same Law to (naively?) support Byron Allen's Case against Comcast Communications.

I understand where Family is coming from, when they refer to dictionary definitions of 'Black'. In a 'White' Society, Blackness is depicted as antithetical. It's not unusual, when we consider the way Afrikan Tribes associate 'Whiteness' w/ Death & Disease (i.e. Leprosy). Historically, this attitude towards Blackness goes back to Our 1st Contact w/ Northern/ Step Europeans (Vikings, Scandanavians, ect...) who traditionally burned their dead. Our mummification process spooked them! Those bodies took on a dark hue, & hardened into a crystal like structure; the Europeans called it a 'Crust'. From this, came the word 'Curse'. The Europeans migrated south into Western Asia & transported their ideology w/ them. This fear of Black Mummies was shared w/ Mongolians & other Indo- European Tribes, like the Turks & Huns. In the same way that Afrikans came to associate Whiteness negatively, the Asiatics came to associate Blackness similarly. Today, We STILL hear Koreans, Japanese, & Chinese refer to a 'Black Devil'.

The modern regard for Blackness is a Social Construct created by 15th Century Castilians & Portugese. These beliefs were sanctioned by the Catholic Church, by way of Papal Bulls & adopted by Dutch, English, & French Colonizers. That's not to say Anti Black sentiment didn't exist; Maimonides (Musa Ibn Maimon) wrote 'The Curse of Ham' centuries earlier... Spain, Portugal, & Italy appeared tired of Moorish Rule, & took advantage of the waning years of their influence. Current Reparations discussions have included the prominence of Afrikan Slave Trading, & how Afrikan Kingdoms, like Mali & Kongo actually traded Slaves w/ Europeans; until they were also Colonized. Afrikan Kingdoms became dependent on the profits, decadent lifestyle, & overall efficacy of trading away their 'enemies'. They didn't concern themselves w/ Europe's intentions for these people.

European Colonizers told themselves that they were 'On a Mission' to Christianize the heathens. I don't know what THAT had to do w/ raping & pillaging Societies in 'The Americas' (Amaru Ca/ Turtle Island/ Atlantis). In 'Capitalism & Slavery' Eric Williams explains how Europeans rationalized their barbarism to offset the guilt of violating fellow Human Beings. The Fruits of Exploration clouded the moral judgement of Many. Thinking Men, like Samuel George Morton began to concoct a number of Theories (Religious & Scientific) to condone their actions. It wasn't limited to Afrika or The Americas; ANY non- Christian was a potential target. Truth be told, Latin America had more Slaves coming from The Pacific, than The Atlantic. Many of the Illegal Immigrants that (so called) Native Americans in The Dakotas are calling 'Indigenous People', are descendants of 'Negritos' transported from The Philippines & the South Pacific Islands. Spanish & Portugese Conquistadors adopted Colorism from the Arabs, & used it as a tool for Divide & Conquer (Blanqueamiento/ Branqueamiento).

The Portugese & Spanish brought Colorism to the (so called) New World, but it was The English who refined it into the System of Racism. Benjamin Franklin was credited w/ using the term 'White' in 1751, but Black Codes were already in play for decades. Bacon's Rebellion of 1675- 1676 resulted in 'Racial' (Chattel) Slavery in Virginia. White Indentured Servants that were treated no differently than their Black counterparts, were elevated to Overseers & Slave Hunters; later to become Militiamen & Police Officers. Legally, 'White' represented the Wealthy Class of Land Owners & Bankers (Gentlemen of Property & Standing). 'Black' represented Indigenous Americans- Free & Enslaved; Poor Whites were stuck in the middle. The Lessons of Bacon's Rebellion brought Laws that ensured that the average White Person had a better lifestyle than the average Black Person. This is the crux of 'White Privilege'.

Dictionaries define 'Whiteness' as: Fair & Pure. 'Blackness' is defined as: Ugly & Evil. All of this helped perpetuate Indigenous/ Aboriginal People as inferior to the European. The 1790 Census brought the first reclassification of American Indians to 'Negro' & 'Colored'. This reclassification continued w/ each subsequent Census. Census Enumerators were not just instructed, but encouraged to use their personal judgement when making Racial Assignments; particularly when making classifications of Negro & Colored. In 1924, Dr. Walter A. Plecker pushed 'The (Preservation of) Racial Integrity Act' in Virginia. This Act sought to reclassify ALL Indigenous People in Virginia as Colored or Negro, & penalized them (w/ violence or death). The 'One Drop Rule' was added in 1930. The Census completed it's reclassification w/ designations of 'Black' in 1970, & 'Afrikan American'(?) in 1990... Chris Rock once joked: "Have you ever seen an American Indian Family in an IHOP?" He probably didn't know that depending on which IHOP, he may have been SURROUNDED by them!

The U.S. Government has been persistent in their efforts to erase America's 'Copper- toned Aborigines'. In addition to Local, State, & Federal Laws designed to keep Us out of contention, they also used Anthropology to prove the inferiority of Indigenous People, compared to Europeans. W.E.B. Du Bois countered, w/ the help of Franz Boas & a new generation of Anthropologists. Melville Herskovits, like Boas contributed to the Anti Black counter narrative; playing a role in setting up the Harlem History Club at the 135th Street YMCA. This is the same Club that inspired Kwame N'Krumah & Ho Chi Minh... Since 1990, (Indigenous) Black Americans have been on a Pan Afrikan Crusade that sought to embrace EVERY melanated individual as 'Black'. Haitians, Dominicans, Columbians, Somalis & Nigerians have been very vocal about NOT being Black; they're right! Family thinks that they either want to be White, or at least avoid the negativity associated w/ Blackness. Regardless of their reason, they have a Right Of Expression.

History has been purposely skewed, to prop up self righteous White Men & their Female cohorts (WASPs) over Everyone Else. Their advanced weaponry & barbarism has motivated many to fall in line w/ the Western Agenda over the last 500 Years, but Indigenous/ Black Americans have been fighting them every step of the way. Despite the effort to "Kill the Indian & keep The Man", We continued to search for Our Truth. 100Yrs ago, that led Us into an extensive search on the Afrikan Continent. DuBois, Boas, & Herskovits ALL espoused Out of Afrika Theory; & in some shape or form, molded the Minds of many of Our Master Teachers & Scholars. Their search for Roots in Afrika (Alkebu- Lan) was a noble & fruitful endeavor. As Students, We learned of glorious Civilizations that predated Europe, Rome, & Greece by several millennia. We learned that The Kamau, Nubian, & Kushite referred to themselves as 'Black People'. They were the 'Children of The Sun'- Blessed by The Most High w/ Blackness (Melanin/ Ka Nu). The 'Afu Ra Ka Nu' & 'Afu Rat Kat Nut' are the First Born of The Most High; molded out of Primordial Blackness (CERN calls it: The 'God Particle') & assigned as Caretakers of Planet Earth (Geb). In a Nation that marginalizes the very Concept of Blackness, We were inspired to shout: "I'm Black & I'm Proud!".

Today We live in The Information Age, & as such, Our Generation(s) have access to sources that few of Our Elders had. As We put the pieces together, We discover that:

North America had a population of roughly 100 Million Indigenous People when the Colonizers arrived 500Yrs ago.

These People had highly functional Matrilineal Societies that existed for millennia.

They traded w/ The Moors & other Afrikan Kingdoms for Centuries, & They spoke the Lingua Franca.

They have a Legacy of Brick Making & Mound Building. Billy Carson & Walter Williams both say that Our Indigenous Ancestors have a direct connection to the Kamau. Archeological digs in Southern Illinois & Ohio uncovered Kamitic Ritual material & Pre Phoenician 'Proto- Hebraic Script' among the artifacts. Quiet as it's kept, North America has a plethora of Mounds & Pyramids; St. Louis is nicknamed 'Mound City'.

ALL of the European visitors admitted the 'Copper- toned Aborigines' or Indios practiced a higher Culture than ANY Culture in Europe.

Benjamin Franklin, Patrick Henry, John Hancock, et al were students of Indigenous American Culture. They adopted the Articles Of Confederacy & The U.S. Constitution from the existing Confederacy Of The 5 Nations (The Iroquois Constitution), written around 1200 A.C.E... The Iroquois are the True Founders of the 'American Democratic Experiment'. Remember, ALL of the European Colonizers hailed from Monarchies, so it stands to reason...

The possibility of transporting 12 Million Afrikans to North America from 1619- 1865 is highly improbable. Dane Calloway already broke down the logistics of Trans Atlantic Shipping, & personally compelled The State of Virginia to reduce their 'Afrikan Slave' count by more than 90%. Depending on who you talk to, the number of 'Afrikans' transported to North America ranges from 90,000- 300,000 individuals. At best, this accounts for less than 10% of the 4 Million Individuals that were emancipated. The 20 Young Women that arrived at Point Comfort in 1619, were originally called 'Negresses', not Afrikans. American Indians were called Negroes almost interchangeably.

Dane Calloway, Kurimeo Ahau, & The Research Guy have all pointed out how Europeans transported North American Indians to 'Slave Seasoning' (Buck Breaking) Camps in The Caribbean. Afterwards, they were either shipped back to America, or transported to Europe, & later West Afrika; from Sierra Leone, to Angola. The English & French used Caribbean Maroons in their assault on Afrikan Kingdoms.

All of this new information about Our Ancestors has led many to revisit their Family Genealogy. Many of Us recall a Story or two about the Family connection to a particular Tribe. I personally can't remember hearing an Afrikan Origin Story, before the airing of Alex Haley's 'Roots'. My family taught Us about Our Indian Roots; We don't have a Slave Ship Story in Our History. Most of the Blackfolk claiming Afrikan Tribes, have taken so called Genetic Swab Tests that are advertised as 'Entertainment'. Black Historians & Genealogists, like Dr. Henry Louis Gates have refuted the accuracy of these 'Tests' for years. NO ONE can determine their ancestry from a mouth swab; you need the actual DNA of an Ancestor to make an accurate analysis. Most people don't know that their genetic material is being held (& utilized) by proponents of the [Mormon] Church Of Latter Day Saints. The largest Genealogy Library on Earth, is in Salt Lake City, Ut.

As We put the pieces together, We can clearly see the ongoing process of Colonization. AmeriKKKa cannot be as bold as Israel in their removal of Indigenous Black Americans, so The U.S. Government uses a trickbag of classifications & legislative measures to keep Blackfolk in a state of 'Arrested Development'. They hope that We 'migrate' to Afrika, but most of Us can't afford to visit; let alone relocate. Meanwhile, The Government continues to Flood the Zone w/ immigrants (for 175Yrs & counting). The Mainstream Media speaks about Venezuelan 'migrants' daily, but We hear nothing about the 100,000 Afghani & 100,000 Ukrainian immigrants they prepared for. These people are literally White on arrival. If illegal Venezuelans are getting 5 Star treatment, what are these folk getting?

I felt obligated to go in-depth on this topic, because so many cling to a definition created by Colonizers & Oppressors. How does someone define themselves using the language of their Oppressor? It's the same as someone saying: "A N-- like me", or "A B-- like me". We have been programmed into accepting a wretched (ratchet) image of Ourselves. Some of the people refusing to use the term 'Black', have No Problem referring to themselves as 'N--s' & 'B--s'. I question their logic. Richard Pryor said 40Yrs ago, in 'Here & Now' that he was wrong about using The N- Word. He went on to say that it was a Word that describes Our Wretchedness. He vowed never to use that Word again, but since his declaration, there has been an explosion of 'N-- Comics' over the last 40Yrs. Use of The N- Word is more prevalent than wearing that dress, but few talk about this particular assault on Our Culture. Is it just a coincidence that many of these N- Comics have 'funny looking Wives', as Katt Williams described them?

The lion's share of Our Master Teachers & Scholars were literally spoon-fed Out Of Afrika Theory, so We were primed for Pan Afrikanism. Marcus Garvey was actually 'fishing in a barrel' on those Harlem Streets. This isn't a bad thing in itself. Our Problem has been giving Our 'Cousins' too much access to Our Cultural Mores. Many of the Celebrities, Athletes, & Entertainers being spotlighted & engaging in miscegenation, are descendants of Black Immigrants. They're the Same Ones misrepresenting Our Culture, while telling Us that We're 'Culturally Lost'. Like Hindi/ Bangladeshi/ & Pakistani/ Americans, these folk are situational about their Blackness. They relish being 'Afrikan American' when it's profitable, but are quick to remind you of their Nationality (in a thick accent) when it isn't... It's time to delineate. EVERY melanated group has an identifiable lineage, except Black America. We had a clear identity, until We allowed Jesse Jackson to reclassify Us as 'Afrikan American'. To quote Dane Calloway: "We're named after 2 Continents". Now We're being amalgamated into an 'Afrikan/ Black Diaspora' that is looking to fleece Us like Everyone Else. Most of these folks are 'Black' Capitalists looking for a quick buck. The commercialization of Kwanzaa is a prime example. Our argument for Lineage Based Reparations has revealed this well kept secret.

The (current) Reparations discussion has brought important issues to the conversation. ADOS, FBA, Freedmen, & Indigenous Family all agree that We're a specific Lineage Group w/ a specific Experience. No other group has endured what We have endured in America. Some Black Immigrants make a valid point that They have endured over 100Yrs of White Supremacy in America; few admit that They also had more autonomy & opportunity than We had. Many of the 'First Faces' that We tout, aren't Us, but Our Cousins. Colin Powell, Eric Holder, & Susan Rice aren't just descendants of Immigrants, they're also Cousins! Barack Obama was Harvard's 1st Black Law Review Editor & Claudine Gay was their 1st Black President, but NEITHER have Indigenous Black Roots. BOTH have more in common w/ the descendants of Slave Holders, than those Enslaved on Harvard's properties. We have far too many of their Faces in Our Spaces. 'Afrikan American' is not working for Us. It skews perspectives regarding Wealth & Inequality, while rewarding newcomers for their 'proximity to Blackness'.

I have to go back to The Black Power Movement, to get a clear understanding of what Blackness truly means. During that Era, 'Blackness' was an American Phenomenon that was Globally acknowledged. No One else said: 'I'm Black & I'm Proud' w/ as much authority. John Carlos & Tommie Smith proudly threw up their Black fists, knowing they would pay a price. Muhammad Ali lost his Prime Boxing Years to make a point. The Culture of Blackness permeated Music & Cinema; We were doing Our Thing, Our Way. The Culture was distinctly Ours. It WAS a Black Thang, & No One understood it; but EVERYONE respected it. As We travelled The World, We were called Soul Brothers & Soul Sisters, but most called Us Black American. We have a distinct Pedigree. The World knows WHO We are. If we're being honest, Black Culture & Music was generally more respectable before 1990, when We became 'Afrikan American'. Hollywood has been denigrating Us since 'Birth Of A Nation', but their images contradicted who We are. We're a Righteous & Noble People. Our Love of Our Collective progeny is unrivaled. The Slave Experience stripped Us of Our individual lineage, but it also eliminated any Tribalism. Indigenous Black Americans- from New York to Oakland, & from Detroit to Houston refer to each other as: 'Family from...' We compete against each other, & toss The Dozens; but when it's time to Put in The Work- We're ALL On Code.

I laugh at this notion of 'Race Neutrality'. What exactly is meant by Race? Chief Justice John Roberts & Justice Clarence Thomas both lean on this term pretty heavily, but how? Black, White, Asian, & Latinx aren't Racial Groups, they're Socio- Demographic Classifications. Every Middle School Student has learned by 8th Grade of 3 Races: Negroid, Mongoloid, & Caucasoid. This 'Racial Re- tread' only seems to affect Indigenous Black Americans/ Copper-toned Aborigines on the basis of Our skin color. Everyone Else, including Black Immigrants have a Right of Expression under the current demographic structure. This is the Same System that holds Black America stagnant at 13% of the population since Emancipation, while bringing Ethnic Europeans (Caucasians, Catholics) & Asians under the umbrella of Whiteness; to offset the declining birth rate in their demographic. The Biden Administration has implied the same thing is being done w/ Latinx. I STILL ask: What is a 'Latino/ Hispanic'- are they a specific Nationality? No, they're a Socially Engineered Group (Buffer Class) created to marginalize the Indigenous Black American Population. Our Collective, is not a grouping of different Ethnicities & Nationalities under a particular demographic- We're One Nationality. As We search for a uniform description of Our specific Lineage Group, 'Black American' is a No Brainer... Cam'ron is correct.

'Black American' actually describes a specific Ethnic Group w/ a specific Culture & Experience that NO OTHER GROUP can tout. It describes a Group of People in a specific Region, not a (Global) Racial Group. We are as distinct, as Australian Aborigines. Other than Our Cousins- the 'Black Brits', melanated People tend to describe themselves Tribally or Nationally. They only identify as 'Black', when they Come to America. Meanwhile, Native (Siberian) Americans have used the Dawes Rolls to appropriate Our Ancestral [Tribal] Identity, forcing Us to Collectively reestablish Ourselves from scratch. Indigenous, Aboriginal, or American Indian describes Our connection to The Land. The Blood & Bones of Our Ancestors are buried Here, not in Afrika. Black American, describes who We are today. It defines Us as a unique Nationality. This description makes it easier for Us to point out Centuries of legislative policy crafted & used against Us as a specific Lineage Group. Afrikan American, is a monolithic classification that ignores the diverse Cultural experiences & Tribalism of the Collective. Ultimately, Our Name may change, but The Culture stays the Same.

In a nutshell, Black American IS Our Tribal Identity. We're World renowned for Standing Out & Standing Our Ground, & NO ONE does it better. As Professor Black Truth puts it: 'We create Icons'.

-Just making My Case

[elle-rosewater]

Phantasm

Rating G, gen, word count 471

a short for @legendoflinkficfight based on the prompt from @lou-is-sleepy: (Spirit Tracks) Link starts a ghost hunting business.

Another decree needs Zelda's signature. And another. And another.

She told him to write her and post the letter before he moved on to another job.

How quickly she'd forgotten the paperwork that running a kingdom required. The policy. Endless documentation.

She told him that he didn't need to do this.

He told he that he wanted to help people.

She told him that he could be a knight, could be an engineer. They help people.

He told her, "I dunno."

Her eyes drift up to the only portrait that she allows herself on her desk. Her and Link and the Spirit Train. She misses the adventure. That much she can admit. It's harder to say aloud, but she misses Link even more.

He told her that there are other spirits out there. Stuck or suffering—all needing help. He told her that he wants to be the one to help them.

Zelda forces her eyes back down and signs another decree. This is how she is supposed to help. By wearing the crown and being who she was born to be.

He told her about tools he'd found. Things that would help him track down lost spirits. He even showed up in person one day. He told her about all the tools. This one allowed him to hear spirits which might be invisible! This one told him if they'd recently touched something!

She told him that she was proud of him.

Her gaze goes to the open window without her permission, but there is nothing but rain clouds to see. She doesn't mind the cool, damp air that blows in, but she wishes that she could hear something else. Perhaps the sound of the knights doing their drills. Perhaps the whistle of a train.

He told her in letters about the spirits he found, the ones he helped find peace. They were sad, he told her. He told her that he felt like he was really helping, really making a difference.

She signs at the bottom of another piece of parchment. She hardly even read that one. Then she looks out at window again.

The time between his letters grew longer and longer. He told her that there were violent spirits, but they weren't anything that he couldn't handle. It's because they're scared, he told her, but he found a way to reach them eventually.

A sigh forces its way out of her, and she stands, slamming her legs into her desk in the process. Her chair clatters backward.

She thought that he was leaving a lot out of the stories in his letters, but she didn't tell him that.

She leans against the window and looks out into the rain. She feels so heavy. Painfully tangible. There's nothing to see.

No one has heard from Link for two years.

[therabbitthatpostthings]

There’s something wrong with Mr.Nanami.

Idle gossip wasn’t your thing, grading papers and preparing for tests took precedence over listening to your co-workers babble on. Even when that gossip was coming from Satoru. As much as you loved him, he had a flair for the dramatics. Especially at Mr.Nanami’s expense.

You didn’t really know anything about Mr.Nanami. He apparently graduated under Satoru. Though that made you his superior, you never felt like it. He has worked at this university far longer than you have. He taught in the same classroom everyday, every year. Students revered him and staff admired him. That made sense, Mr.Nanami was very admirable.

Yet you couldn’t shake that feeling. The way he always wore tailored suits even in the hottest summers. He arrived before sunrise at exactly 6am and left before sunset at 5:30pm. His car windows were tinted and so were his glasses (admittedly so was Satoru’s but, he was Satoru. This is Mr.Nanami).

Satoru and the staff weren’t the only ones with stories. There wasn’t a student on campus that didn’t have some sort of theory about Mr.Nanami. Some said he has a secret family he’s keeping hidden. Others think a student is one of his kids. Some say Mr.Nanami and Satoru are exes. Others say Mr.Nanami is planning on killing Satoru.

Out of all the theories that seemed the most true. Some said he's an ex-crime lord. One girl even said he’s a monster. You would roll your eyes at the notion. Even university students could still be this immature. The census remained though. Something was off about him in a way one cannot place right.

No matter what you thought about it now when there was work to be done. You stood up from your desk cracking your back in the process. The pitter-patter of the rain softly filled the empty classroom. It seemed the rain dismissed the extra help session for you. If the students are gone, you should. Your work had been done hours ago anyway. Gathering yourself you headed for the teachers lounge to sort your documents. The building was eerily quiet. “Was I the only extra help that stayed this late?” You thought. Darker clouds rolled in, casting the hallway in shadows.

As you approached the room you could hear muffled voices. Two voices. “Ah, what’s the magic word?”

That was definitely Satoru. You felt a weight lift off your chest. Of course it’s Satoru. He would be here probably teasing Utahime and inadvertently scaring you. You sighed in relief going for the doorknob when another voice spoke.

“Dammit Gojo I’ll drain you right now!”

That’s a man’s voice…that’s Mr.Nanami’s voice. He sounds so angry. Is Satoru annoying him?

“I’m helping you Nanamin,” Satoru cooed. “You could at least be a little nicer to me.”

You kneeled down to get a better look in the room. The book cart blocked their view of the door but you could make out their head and shoulders from between the slats. You knew Mr.Nanami had dark brown eyes, you had seen so in Satoru’s highschool pictures, yet now they looked bright. Almost like they were glowing. You could see his expression change from annoyance to anger. His glare could kill and Satoru was definitely the target. His voice was laced with venom, “Please give me your arm Gojo.”

Satoru cheerily obliged. Mr.Nanami grabbed his arm and brought it up to his mouth. Gojo let out a pained groan, “Take it easy Nanamin.”

Mr.Nanami seemed to ignore this and you watched him gulp down blood from Satoru’s arm. You sat there frozen in fear, in an awkward squat in the middle of the hallway. His glowing eyes opened again and glanced in your direction. He released himself from Gojo’s arm. He flicked his tongue over his bloody fangs and red lips, never once averting his gaze.

“Jeez at least say thank you or buy me a meal.” Satoru whined. He licked the rest of the blood off his arm, his own fangs poking out. “You’re not even listening.”

Nanami’s eyes finally left your direction and quickly huddled back against the wall. Your heart was racing. Any louder the two would hear it, hell they probably can! They could be walking over right now- just on the other side of that door. A loud crack of lightning shocked some life back into you as you grabbed your bag and ran for the building’s back door. Not stopping until you made it all the way to the parking lot and into your car. You somehow didn’t get caught for speeding. It was hard sleeping that night. And that weekend. By Monday morning you were still slightly erratic but holding yourself together pretty well. Since you didn’t drop the files off, you headed straight for your class.

“Good Morning (L/N).”

You stopped dead in your tracks, terrified to look at him. It felt like the world stopped and everyone disappeared. That same unnerving feeling came back. He stood leaned against the doorframe, dressed in his typical tailored suit and combed back hair. Today though, his glasses hung low on his nose letting you look directly in his eyes. Those brown eyes that haunted you over the last few days.

“G-Good Morning, Mr.Nanami.” You put on your nicest smile and tried to sound cheerful.

He gave a “hmm” of approval and turned back to his classroom. You let out a breath and walked, much faster, to your classroom. Fingers shaking as you struggled to unlock the door. The key banged against the lock and fell which somehow scared you even more. Less than 3 hours into your morning and you already want to go home.

“Wow you look awful.” Satoru bent down to pick up your keys. You took them from his hands and hurriedly unlocked the door.

“It’s been a rough weekend for me.” You replied.

“Ooh~” He teased “Hot date? Did you see something cool?”

“No, nothing like that Satoru,” You groaned, easing into the chair.

“Or,” He grabbed the armrest and spun your chair around. “Did you see something you weren’t supposed to see?” He leaned over the desk, obstructing your view from anyone who walked past your door. His tone was condescending low.

“N-No-”

“N-N-N-N-No?” He mocked in a sweet voice. “Don’t worry (Y/N), I won’t let anyone hurt you. Okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

He gave a toothy smile and waved off to his classroom. You sat in stunned silence, staring at the door. You were almost expecting Mr.Nanami to walk in but that didn’t matter now. The rumors were true, something was wrong with Mr.Nanami. You knew what it was.

And he knew that you knew as well.

[not-too-many-eyes]

For some reason I decided that, despite having wrist pain and my right hand currently being in a Brace, it was a good idea to type analysis in my Umineko Liveblog Document (I am at the end of EP 3 no spoilers please)

Oh well, I just think it's interesting how much projection the moms do, and how they Say their motives out loud.

This is ultimately an example of what Battler notices about Chessboard Theory in Ep 2

Umineko Ep 2 Part 56: Fleeting Resistance

In the end, chessboard theory is a technique of thinking where you project yourself on your opponent. So greedy people see their greedy selves inside their opponents...

While most of the characters don’t explicitly use Kyrie’s chessboard thinking, most of them do try to play detective, and project themselves onto the “culprit” in their own ways. Revealing more about themselves in the process.

Which is something Battler thinks about in regards to Rosa in Ep 2.

Aunt Rosa had proclaimed that she couldn't trust anyone who had not been killed. Aunt Rosa's chessboard thinking... saw herself inside her opponent. In other words, Aunt Rosa might have been an isolated woman, unable to trust anyone and unable to let her guard down.

We can apply this to the motive she assigns the servants.

Umineko Ep 2 Part 55: Devil's Proof II

Rosa: “You! And you!! I’ll bet you were all bought by that witch, that your eyes were blinded by gold!! Do you really want money that much?! That’s right, isn’t it?! You want to live the easy life for as long as you live?! What value could a life like that possibly have?!”

(Used the Mangamer tl here since that’s the one I’m actually reading, and since this line was in a picture I thought I might as well transcribe my existing screenshot.)

Umineko Ep 2 Part 60: Banquet of the Witch

I can't let go of the gun that protects my body. I can't let go of the gold that protects my future. But even so, I let go of the hand of my daughter, the person who is my future...?! —-------- Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, what am I doing... I'd had the gold, which would have been worth several million yen. I might have been able to start over with that!! And yet I fell, lost it, and that's not all, my own life is in danger, even Maria's life is in danger?! What has my life been?!!!

This applies to Eva as well, as we can observe that the things she says about others in Ep 1, reflect her/Evatrice’s motives in Ep 3. (Thanks to my friend for pointing this one out.)

Umineko Ep 1 Part 15: The Curtain Rises on Tragedy:

Eva: "I'm the one who would gain the most from these murders. Since I'm going to be suspected anyways, I might as well get it out in the open myself." I had tried to trick her by joking around, but it looked like it hadn't worked. Eva: "The inheritance will be divided between the siblings. But right now, the four siblings are just me. All of the assets of the Ushiromiya family will become mine. Eheheheheh." Battler:  "If uncle Hideyoshi heard you, he'd say 'Could you give it a rest, it's not a joke'..." Eva:  "I'm sorry? No matter how I try to smooth it over, I'll just be suspected anyways, so I was just fooling around. So I've been thinking, from my point of view, this murder might have been planned to cast suspicion on me. Unfortunately, my alibi for last night is weak."

Umineko Ep 3 Part 84: Coronation II

Eva: "...You idiot, isn't it obvious? This is that haughty Krauss nii-san and that sly Rudolf we're talking about. Even if we do announce it eventually, it's certainly too early now." Eva:  "Unless we carefully investigate how to make our next move, it's possible that all of the gold we've finally found will be snatched away by Nii-san." Eva thought she was saying something extremely natural. So when she saw Rosa's expression suddenly cloud over, she was a little surprised.

Umineko Ep 2 Tea Party

Eva nee-san is a real adult, so she's very smart. So she hated the stupid kid, Rosa. She was always a very sly person, and she often lied to me, tricked me, bullied me all the time.

Umineko Ep 3 Part 93: Real Magic

Eva: "...I thought that if I could gain the position of the Ushiromiya Family Head, that alone would be enough. But then, as soon as I saw that mountain of gold, my greed grew. I was struck by a desire to have that mountain all to myself..." Evatrice:  "That's nothing to be ashamed of. After all, it's your natural right as the Ushiromiya Family Head. How could you give up even a bit of it to anyone else?"

While Eva and Rosa share similar motives and reasoning for being the culprit. Natsuhi actually stands out quite a bit, as when she starts accusing the servants and also the 9 year old in episode 1 she doesn’t really bring up the gold.

She assumes them to be the Subordinates of a Ringleader (Genji) like Eva does in Episode 1 since she thinks Natsuhi did it, but assumes the motive is due to Devotion and Obligation to Kinzo.

Umineko Ep 1 Part 25: Besieged III

Natsuhi: "Doctor Nanjo, it truly pains me to say that you are suspicious...! But as Father's head physician, as his only peerless friend, you've been together with Father for a long time. You might even know about Beatrice. Are there any old obligations that you're hiding?!" Nanjo:  "How could there be...!! Calm yourself...!" It was pitiful to watch Doctor Nanjo frantically pleading his innocence. It was probably a normal reaction that anyone would give if they were suspected. Kumasawa was the same. Since Jessica had started suspecting her in the murder of Kanon, she had been totally flustered. That was why Genji's still calm appearance looked so bold. Aunt Natsuhi pointed the barrel of the gun. Natsuhi:  "...Genji. You were Grandfather's number one subordinate. Was Beatrice an illusion you showed to Father, with you as the performer?!" Genji:  "...If by suspecting me, you recognize me as the Master's greatest servant... then it is a great honor to me, regardless of the circumstances. However, I am not the one who put the letter there."

Though her reasoning for Maria is couched in this idea that Maria is a pest that just wants to cause conflict and nothing else:

Natsuhi: "Silence!!! I don't want to label you as the culprit, but there is no longer any doubt that you enjoy making this situation unpleasant and are providing assistance to the enemy!!"

Since this family hates autistic people, and Natsuhi as a character values keeping the sanctity of the family and its image above all else. Nanjo and Genji are loyal servants. Maria is not. They are allowed the “honor” of their motive being an ultimately sympathetic one in service to a greater person, while Maria gets ascribed the unsympathetic motive of someone who only wants to “cause trouble” and nothing else. 

(Though, arguably this could also be a reflection of Natsuhi’s inner fears of just being a “borrowed womb” and how Natsuhi is ultimately a Very Loud and Very Passionate person who is unable to be the “perfect quiet wife” of Krauss, and is commonly told to stay silent, or cool off, or to “know her place.” After all, this family hates autistic people.)

So that’s all really fun and all, but then, as I always do when I think about chessboard theory. I have to ask what that means for Kyrie. She's the one who first brought this up after all! And I’ve been having a blast rereading previous Kyrie dialogue with what I learned about her in ep 3 and ep 2 in mind.

So, I went to look, and the motive she assigns Beatrice is:

Umineko Ep 3 Part 68: The Witch's Written Challenge II

Kyrie: "Yes, that's right. When people have an overwhelming advantage, they tend to get arrogant. And when they do, they want to show off that advantage to the losers, so they sometimes take on small risks. A moderate amount of risk adds a little spice to the joy of victory. It'd be boring to win without any risk." Eva:  "...I understand. I like that kind of thing too... Yeah, I understand it well." Kyrie:  "I thought of a few plausible explanations for the true motive behind Beatrice's letter, but I think this really might be the truth. The emotion hidden behind that letter was... arrogance." Eva:  "...Arrogance." Kyrie:  "She's trying to throw her weight around, looking down on us, as if there's no way we could figure out such a difficult epitaph. It might even be possible, if surprising, that the epitaph wasn't written by Father, but by her."

Considering Kyrie’s favorite hobby is Psychological Manipulation, and has been on the good side of basically everyone while playing all of them. 

Umineko Ep 2 Part 37: Guest of Honor

Rosa: "I must join in as well. If I don't assert myself, those people will quickly forget that there are four siblings." Kyrie:  "...It's pretty tough for you too. Maybe I didn't choose my words well. My apologies." Rosa:  "No, I don't mind. I'm the one who should be apologizing. As a pair of mothers with daughters, we must interact more often. Every time we meet, we talk about something strange..." Kyrie:  "...That's the fault of the atmosphere in this mansion. Once we breathe in this air, everyone gets so strained. Just once, I want to drink a nice, long cup of tea with you, Rosa-san, when you aren't attending a family conference. There's a wonderful coffee shop in Ginza which is a favorite of mine. Please let me invite you sometime soon." —-------- Rosa: "I, I'm sorry, I'm going outside for a second. I'll be right back!" Rudolf: "...What the, what's going on with her, really..." Kyrie:  "It's fine, right? She'll be right back. More importantly, should we begin? Our main topic." Eva:  "That's right. We can keep talking about that without Rosa. Let's return to our discussion." Kyrie:  "..."

I think you can call that an Overwhelming Advantage. So I'm very curious as to where this will lead.

[ausetkmt]

How to Find Out Anything From Extreme Google Searches to Scouring Government Documents, a Guide to Uncovering Anything About... (Don MacLeod

Shared with My Cloud

How to Think Like a Researcher

Welcome to the information age. Questions like these were once no more than things to ponder as you fell asleep, but now the answers are at the tips of your fingers—if you know where, and how, to look. Research is the process of finding out for yourself what somebody else already knows.

Every time you consult a book on how to cook a flounder filet or Google for information about your daughter’s college or ask the advice of your doctor about that strange pain in your arm, you make the assumption that an answer to your question is out there. You assume that someone has written a cookbook or built a website or studied physiology thoroughly enough to correctly diagnose what ails you. Your instincts are right, because we live in the Information Age.

In our literate society, people record what they know. They research and publish books. They create websites. They tweet on Twitter. They write articles, make videos, and appear on TV. They store knowledge in their own heads. Information surrounds us as surely as water surrounds a fish, simply because someone decided to record what he or she knows.

As evidenced by everything from ancient cuneiform writing pressed into clay tablets to the latest breaking news story online, humans need to put what they know into a form more permanent than speech. Whether the record is private, like a diary, or public, like a newspaper, ideas, thoughts, and data are stored in written form.

Paradoxically, for all the uncountable words and pictures we can conjure up with the click of a mouse, the Information Age poses it own unique problem:

[likesunsetorange]

13

Praying that its e2l related 🤣🤞

revy for you i opened my e2l doc and worked on the intro ive been struggling with LOL

so exes to lovers wip! i know this au is neglected here but here’s a little preview! this takes place a year before their breakup :)

a little long but 1.4k since i haven’t posted anything from this au!!!!!

February 2022 Portland, Oregon

The last few bits of remaining sun peeked out through the clouds, casting a warm glow into the living room. Short winter days had quickly transitioned into another long winter night, leaving everyone to their own devices.

Mikasa glanced around the room, eyeing her friends from where she sat on the couch, finding herself too tired to go and socialize with everyone else. After a day of hiking that Eren had forced them upon, everyone had been trying to wind down, attempting to preoccupy themselves, which created the mass of chaos before her.

Sasha and Connie trying (and failing every time) to start a fire in the fireplace; Jean and Ymir arguing over how to properly cut onions while they (Armin) tried to make dinner together, and she was sure there was something else that had been brought up that she couldn’t quite remember or bother to care about; Pieck and Hisu struggling to carry trays of hot chocolate to the living room, only causing Mikasa to worry that they would be charged an extra fee for whatever sort of mess that they made in the process; Hitch resided beside her on the couch, trying to figure out how to load the cartridge of film into her film camera, and ultimately failing; and Eren, she had realized, was nowhere to be found.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the room, looking for any trace of him, knowing that his presence would be requested as soon as Hitch figured out how to reload her film camera—insisting that their trip be further documented. 

“Hey, Hitch, have you seen Eren?” Mikasa asked, turning to face her.

Hitch, who hadn’t bothered to look up from what she was doing, shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, I thought he left a while ago. He seemed all upset or something—I thought you two were fighting or something, to be honest.”

Mikasa’s face scrunched in annoyance, especially considering she hadn’t seen Eren since he went to take a shower over an hour ago. “We aren’t fighting, what are you—”

“Got it!” Hitch cheered, ignoring Mikasa’s comment. She turned towards where everyone else was, so they could better hear her. “Hey! Let’s take a picture, finally! I got this stupid thing working.” Mikasa eyed Hitch, her face giving away her irritation at her lack of social awareness, causing Hitch to cower in fear (though she would probably never admit it). “And someone go find Eren! Mikasa’s worried.”

Mikasa huffed as she stood up, filing herself to the larger couch while Hitch positioned the camera in front of it. She watched as everyone crowded around the couch, everyone finding a seat on or in front of the couch. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Eren, worried about what could have possibly upset him. 

The feeling of strong arms wrapping around her middle took her out of her thoughts. She turned to face the culprit, the familiar viridian eyes greeting her with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, a hint of something she couldn’t quite decipher lingering in his voice. “You miss me?”

Mikasa’s hand found his cheek, gently caressing it. “I did, actually,” she mused. “Everything okay? You were gone for a bit—Hitch said you looked upset when you ran off to wherever.”

Eren came around, fixing Mikasa into his lap, as he positioned his chin comfortably onto her shoulder. Hitch was still fidgeting with the camera, giving Eren no time to avoid her question. “Just stuff with my parents… You know my dad hasn’t been doing good—the company and all that. But I don’t wanna talk about it right now, we’re on a trip, and your birthday is tomorrow—that’s what matters right now.”

“Eren… You know that stuff is important—” Mikasa started, her words cut off by Hitch once again.

“Okay, everyone hurry up! We have like ten seconds before it takes the picture so don’t fuck it up!” She yelled as she ran towards the couch, taking a seat next to Armin and Sasha.

Mikasa released a sigh not wanting their conversation to be interrupted, but not having a choice in this instance. She fixed her face into a smile as she waited for the flash to go off, not wanting to irritate Hitch any further. 

They took picture after picture until Hitch was satisfied, resulting in sore cheeks for everyone, and earning complaints from everyone. Everyone gathered around the coffee table, passing around the printed-out photos.

Mikasa was finally ready to be done, wanting to go look at the pictures herself, when Hitch stopped her. “Hey, you two stay there. Let me take one of you two,” she said, motioning them to sit back down. “You’ll thank me when you have cute pictures to show your future kids one day.”

“Hitch, just take the picture,” Mikasa muttered, her voice teetering the edge of being snappy.

Mikasa wrapped her arm around Eren, nestling closer into his side, trying to relieve herself of her slight irritation, knowing nobody was at fault in this situation. She found herself frustrated that she was annoyed in the first place, knowing that there was nothing to be upset about, she should be enjoying herself, knowing she was surrounding by all the people she loved.

As if Eren could sense her uneasiness, she felt him press a kiss onto her cheek. “Hey, relax,” he whispered into her ear. “There’s nothing to worry about, okay?” Mikasa felt her shoulders loosen up, Eren’s voice and presence the one thing to always bring her back down to earth.

“Okay, on three! Three… two… one!” Hitch counted down, the flash going off on one. She handed them the undeveloped picture before joining the others, rambling about how she deserved to be the godmother to their hypothetical future children for things like this.

“It is a nice picture, she has a good point,” Eren said as he inspected the picture. “I think it would be nice to have for stuff like that.”

A smile lit across Mikasa’s face, kids, and a future. Things she had always considered but always seemed so far off—but now, seemed closer than she liked to admit. “You wanna be the father to my kids then, huh?” She teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Who else would be the father to your kids?” Eren scoffed, his brows furrowing the way he always did when he tried to hide his emotions—whether it be annoyance or jealousy. 

“Nobody but you, Eren,” she said, chuckling before pressing a kiss to a forehead. “That would be nice, though, little versions of us, don’t you think?” 

“Mhmm, I think about it all the time, to be honest,” he admitted.

“You do?”

“Well, maybe not the kids and the specifics—although I would want us to have all girls if it was my choice,” he said, chuckling. “But just about us, and our future in general. I love you, I see you in my future always.” 

After so many years of being together, it was hard to remember a time when Eren wasn’t in her life. There had never been a time in Mikasa’s life where there had been no Mikasa and Eren in some capacity—whether that was friendship or dating—he was a permanent fixture in her life, and she knew he always would be.

“I love you too, Eren,” Mikasa replied, interlacing her hand with his. “Always have, always will.”

“Even when we were kids and I pushed you too hard off the swings and gave you your scar?” A dimple peeked out from his cheek, a grin flashing across his face.

“I think I was too busy crying to think about whether I loved you or not—but you made your parents buy us ice cream, so I’m sure seven-year-old Mikasa loved you just a bit then too.”

“Well I hope you’ll love me in the future and don’t somehow find a way to get tired of me.”

“How could I ever get tired of you, Eren?” She said, smiling, before pressing another kiss to his lips and standing up. 

Mikasa helped Eren to his feet before he enveloped her in another hug, tucking her into his chest. “I don’t know, but I hope you never do. I don’t know how I’d live a life without Mikasa, you really are my other half.”

She hummed in response, wrapping her arms around his middle. “Yea, I don’t know how I would either, Ren. Love you a bit too much to ever get rid of you.”