#snatch those specs

[link-sans-specs]

Emily stole his glasses. 🤭😁

[onlycosmere]

*In response to a meme about a tv show adaptation of a book being written by a writer who had not read the book*

Brandon Sanderson: I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood.

I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising.

A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently.

The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on.

Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production.

So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made.

I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster.

Anyway, sorry for the novel length post in a meme thread. I just find the entire situation to be fascinating.

[jackoshadows]

Brandon Sanderson on why TV adaptations of fantasy works end up being so different to the source material:

I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood. I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising. A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently. The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on. Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production. So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made. I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster. Anyway, sorry for the novel length post in a meme thread. I just find the entire situation to be fascinating.

[andforyouevan]

here's a silly little louliver ficlet to go with the ones my gals @champagnetommy and @firewasabeast did today. It's actually longer than I intended because of course it is, but what can you do.

This is very loosely inspired by spec of 814/815, but really we don't know anything, other than Tommy's going to be there, so this is just a fun little thing. Hope you like it!

louliver (rpf) - words: 800ish - rating: teen - complete

Lou rolls his head around his neck and stands up from his chair to stretch. He’s not especially used to these long night shoots and he’s hoping if he stands and moves his body a little, he’ll feel a little less like he’s going to fall asleep where he sits. His insomnia usually keeps him up at night, but now that he has to be awake, it’s hard as hell.

He’s just pulling his phone out of his pocket to check a notification when he feels a heavy body collapse against his back.

He snorts a laugh. “Hi, Oli.”

“Tired,” Oliver mumbles against the back of his neck.

He reaches around awkwardly and grabs what he’s sure is Oliver’s arm and tugs him around so he’s hugging him from the front. Like it’s automatic, he wraps his arms around Lou’s waist, under the jacket he’s left unzipped because he’s cold when they’re not actively shooting anything.

“Quit manhandling me,” Oliver grumbles but he settles in against him, chin on his shoulder as Lou rubs his hands up and down his back.

“Where’s your jacket?” he wonders. “It’s cold.”

“Forgot it,” Oliver answers. “Don’t need it though, I have you.”

Lou chuckles again. “All I’m good for, huh? Gonna change my roll around here from Tommy Kinard to Oliver Stark’s personal blanket and pillow.”

“Not like you’ve been doing anything else today,” Oliver says wryly, both knowing he’s spent most of the day running around and fake flying a fake helicopter, not to mention the whole ‘Tommy is a hostage’ thing they have going.

Lou kisses the top of his head. “How are you comfortable like this?”

Oliver shrugs. “I can get comfortable anywhere. Plus it’s nice to be with someone who’s as tall as me, so it kind of works out.”

Before Lou can respond, he hears two familiar voices behind them.

“Awwww,” Aisha says as she and Kenny come around to be in his sight.

“Aren’t you guys adorable,” Kenny says with a grin.

“Yeah yeah,” Oliver says. “You guys interrupted the mini-nap I was just trying to take. Might as well go get some caffeine. Anyone want anything?”

“I’m good,” Aisha says and Kenny echoes it.

Oliver turns blue eyes to Lou. “You?”

“Get me one of those shitty energy drinks you like,” Lou says. “I need a quick jolt.”

“Kay,” he says, and without thinking or being at all self conscious about their small audience, he leans in for a sweet kiss.

They’d talked about this, being more open, but Lou honestly hadn’t expected him to act on it. It feels really good that he is.

“Be right back,” Oliver hollers as he moves away. He watches him go and then turns back to see Aisha and Kenny giving him matching appraising looks. It’s really uncanny actually.

“What?” he wonders.

They look at each other.

“Nothing,” Aisha answers. “But you guys are really cute.”

“We’re going to name you Chief Oliver Wrangler, actually,” Kenny cracks, but Lou doesn’t think he’s joking.

He shrugs. “I’m okay with that. We’ve already decided that I’m also his personal pillow and blanket so, you know, we can add one more.”

“Oh well, incoming,” Aisha says as Oliver barrels into him again, pressing the cold energy drink into the back of his neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” Lou mutters, snatching it out of his hand. Oliver comes back around, already taking deep gulps from his drink and settling against Lou like he belongs there.

“What’re you guys talking about?” Oliver asks.

“My true roll on set,” Lou teases. “Being at your beck and call, apparently.”

“As you should be,” Oliver says with a bratty little scoff. “But also,” he reaches into the bag at his side, pulls out a sandwich and a bag of Sour Patch Kids. “Got this for you too. It’s been a long day and I don’t remember seeing you eat anything.”

“Thank you,” he says, taking them from him. He did eat something a few hours ago, but hadn’t realized he was hungry now.

“No problem,” Oliver says, settling into him again. “I think we’re all set to start up again soon. You guys ready?”

They chat for a little while longer before Aisha and Kenny wander off to get ready.

Lou finishes off the energy drink and grimaces, Oliver laughing at him.

“How do you drink these things regularly?”

“Used to it, I guess,” he says with a shrug. “I can get you some actual coffee if you want.”

“Nah, it’s fine. This will work for now.” He does feel slightly more energized, the adrenaline of what’s coming will do the rest. He finishes the sandwich, decides to save the candy for later. “Thanks.”

“Hmm,” Oliver says and the kiss this time is a little less sweet, the energy drink tasting better on Oliver’s mouth than it did from the can. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Lou kisses his forehead, hears the hollers from everyone that they’re ready to go back. “Me too.”

[edensrose]

·˚꒰ 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒆 ? ꒱ ₊˚ˑ

ᡴꪫ ﹙𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠! 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.﹚─── ⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ when the strongest falls for you but can't have you , how does he react ? after getting everything he wants in life ; how aren't you in his hands yet ? ( ˖ ࣪❀˳ ) : blackmail + obsessive satoru, forced kissing

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 )﹕first satoru piece and it's dark?? hell yeah

satoru gojo always got what he wanted. why wouldn't he? he's the strongest. heir and leader to the gojo clan. blessed with charm and striking good looks. if he wanted it, it was his. that's how it's been for his entire life. well, apart from one thing. 

you. 

oh what a darling you were. the first time you stepped into jujutsu high he felt a rush even limitless couldn't compare to. to hell with infinity - your eyes held the universe. the brush of your hand on his when reaching for a pen sparked the cosmos. your smile, oh your smile. the way you spoke to him? said his name? how cute you were, struggling to rise in rank. weak and pretty? you're the whole package. he wanted you more than anything he's ever set eyes on. 

shouldn't have been a problem, right? women and men flock around him like lovesick fools. what would make you any different? the way you looked at him with those pretty eyes. affection. it can only be affection. and yet. 

those hearts in your eyes are never for him. 

they're for suguru. 

the one thing he's wanted more than anything - snatched away by his best friend! he didn't even stand a chance. he only realised that the day he confessed to you. and you . . . had the nerve to reject him. him. do you have any idea who he is? 

why the hell did you turn your face and fluster about your heart belonging to suguru? how could you choose him over his best friend? he so much as looked at something and it was his; and yet you - you never so much as looked at him once suguru yanked you into a relationship. 

yes. yanked. plucked even. you are his simply because he wanted you . . . he just needed you to realise that. 

he played his cards. surely, you would fall for him. see that suguru is no match compared to him. but you didn't. you continued this pointless charade up until graduation. hand still tight in the man's you claim to love. nonsense. you didn't know any better. you didn't know what satoru could do for you - a bumbling grade 3 sorcerer struggling to make ends meet. you could be something great with him at your side!

he just needed to make you realise.

a push in the right direction. which is where you find yourself now. facing him: the right direction. hands stuffed in his pockets lazily as if he didn't just confess to you a second time around. your awkwardness brims so clearly as you stutter and blabber on about how you were serious last time. how you only view him as a friend. how you're with suguru. 

stubborn one, aren't you? all that awkwardness faded to anxiety when the man you knew as friend cornered you against one of the desks. it's only now you are met with the full prowess of his height. how easily he dwarfs you. invades your personal space with two large hands clamped on the edge of the desk your back leans into. 

"do you have any idea what I could do for you?" his signature grin is but a ghost. a dry, dull look hangs on his features. with a white brow arched and bright blue eyes akin to ice. he doesn't even tilt his head. irises stare down in a shadow over his dark specs. a testament. 

frost. like his index knuckle that brushes on your cheekbone. so tender. gentle. unlike a hollowed voice that speaks of horrors right above you. 

"do you have any idea what i could do if you reject me again today?" a single knuckle becomes his large hand. cupped at your cheek and tilting your head up further to meet his now looming face. "you see, I'm a special guym sweetheart, we both know that. don't we?" 

his thumb strokes on your face. at last, a little grin returns. it's the furthest thing from familiar. "I could give you everything. make you. or -" 

satoru's lips ghost yours. the grip slips below your jaw. voice lowered to a cold whisper. 

"ruin you." 

perhaps he should have expected the impact that came for him. the bloom of red over his pale cheek as you shoved him away and took your chance to scitter away. 

your touch. 

he didn't bother turning on his infinity around you. why should he? you're too weak, too pretty to do any real damage to him. and besides. 

even the sting of your palm on his face was heavenly. you hit him, and it felt like a kiss.

he couldn't help but feel irritated. his sweet, stubborn girl. no matter. he's given you the warning. you've tied his hands. this is your fault. 

your fault that the letter in your trembled hands writes clear in bold, black ink that : upon thorough thought and observation, we regret to inform you of your drop in position, to grade 4.

it's your fault that you'll have to go crawling back to him. in tears and stutters. so full of questions, horror. 'why would you do this to me satoru?' 'I don't understand.' 'I have a family! a sick father. please.' 

he'd only catch your quivered hands. smile so sweetly as you beg and plead for his help. you'll do anything. anything.

"anything, sweetheart?" 

his face looms closer. just like it did last week. lips ghosting yours. strong hands on your waist. soft whispers to hush your whimpers. "then . . ." what a devilish croon. lilted and low. what cruel eyes. soon to be the only ones you'll know. 

"how about a kiss? from my pretty girl." 

what other choice do you have, but to shakily press your lips to his. yelp when he shoves you back into the wall and pours more heat into it. more control. trap you against him and take the breath from your lungs. he's wanted this since highschool - he sure as hell isn't going to settle for a peck. 

satoru is a greedy man. if he wants it, it's his. you simply fall into that category. and now he finally has you to himself. with just a bit of blackmail and tears. you're his. 

and as your heart wails and you scramble with hands in his hair. his lips on yours. begging for breath. for anything but the suffocating feel of his kisses and his large body trappinh yours. you can't help the dreadful thought amongst your tears - 

but what about suguru?

[ja3yun]

The Sun that Always Burns | S.JY

chapter 2: it falls apart

sim jaeyun x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), protected sex, oral (f.rec), fingering, petnames (baby, princess), slight exhibitionism, the end of this chapter hurts (sorry), angst/fluff, not really proofread, anything else please lmk! w.c: 17.4k synopsis: high school is ending, jaeyun has your future all planned out, but when life throws you a curveball and you make a rash decision to protect you and jaeyun...it falls apart a/n: hi! chapter 2 is here <33 a massive thank you for all the lovely comments and feedback with chapter one, it means so much to me. this chapter is a little sore if you love ynjake but it i also preparing you for much worse so!! enjoy!

chapter 1 | masterlist | chapter 3

As the end of high school loomed over you like sleep paralysis, you found yourself in a nightmarish swamp of college brochures, scrolling through endless websites in search of something - literally anything - that might ignite a spark of interest. That was the big problem, though. You weren’t passionate about anything that could translate into a career. Your teen brain only sought after one end goal and that was Jaeyun. He was all you could think about; the only future you’re certain of.

Jaeyun, on the other hand, has always known what he wants. Apollo College in Busan. It has been his dream for as long as he can remember. He spoke about it even way back when you two were mearley best friends. He was born to study mathematical physics, his mind a labyrinth of theories and equations you could barely wrap your head around - which isn’t saying much, you barely know your times tables. 

But, yet, you listen to him go on about it over and over again because you loved nothing more than the way his eyes lit up whenever he spoke about quantum mechanics, the way his enthusiasm turned the most mundane concepts into something alive. Even though physics itself bored you to tears, listening to him talk about it made it feel like poetry. 

Sometimes, you even make him read out the study material to you just so you actually consume some knowledge. His accent mixed with his drive to help you actually did positively impact your grades even if only slightly.

You, however, had nothing of passion like that. No grand ambitions, no clear direction. And Jaeyun, despite being your greatest love, was not exactly a viable career option. As much as you’d love to be his full-time trophy wife, reality wasn’t so forgiving. 

“What about Apollo, though?” Jaeyun asked, his eyes glued to his phone as he scrolls through yet another website on your bedroom floor. “They offer some ND-level courses. You could do one of those.”

You scoff, tossing a balled-up piece of paper at him from your bed. “Baby, be serious. I am not applying to a college for geniuses.”

Jaeyun catches the paper with ease, smirking as he sets his phone aside, full undivided attention on you. He gets up slowly, moving to sit next to you on your flower-patterned bedding. “You could totally pull it off. Imagine it - my girl, a woman in STEM.” He gives you a slow once-over, his smirk deepening. “It’s kinda hot, actually. Very hot.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch his glasses off his face and slide them onto your own. Peering at him over the rims, you let your voice dip into something sultry. “Oh? Like this?”

Something dark flickers in his gaze. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you don’t miss the way his jaw tenses, nostrils flaring slightly in arousal. He’s never outright admitted it, but you know he has a thing for you in glasses. You’re not above teasing him about it either. Times when you want him to focus on you rather than his work, you’ll put on a pair of his specs, biting your lip and cradle his lap between your thighs. It’s a sure win tactic.

Now, if only you put as much effort into school and your future as you did seducing your boyfriend into bed.- you could make it to Harvard with top honors.

“My girl looks good all the time,” he murmurs, shifting closer, “but you in STEM? That’s marriage material, baby. I’ll wife you up right now.”

Heat creeps up your neck, his eyes eating you whole as he tries to trap you between him and the bed, ready to fuck a ‘yes’ out of you and get your acceptance to apply for a University you know you don’t stand a chance in. 

So instead of giving in, you finally gain your bones back, prying your eyes away from his love-drunk gaze. You place a finger against his forehead and push him back before he can close the distance. 

“Jaeyun, this is serious.” 

Jaeyun groans dramatically, flopping onto his back and staring blankly at the ceiling, his cock sighing at your rejection. “I am serious. You need a college and - okay, if not Apollo - Busan has loads. One of them has to have something you like. Something you can apply for so we can be close.”

You bite your lip, fingers drumming against the laptop keyboard. “What if I don’t find anything? What if I get stuck here, living with my parents forever, only seeing you once a month or something?”

That gets his attention. 

He sits up straighter, his expression sobering in an instant. “Y/N, if you can’t find something here, I’ll look somewhere else. My grades are good enough to get in anywhere.” It’s a subtle brag but you know he’s right. 

But that doesn’t mean he can just give up his dream school that he has spent countless nights dreaming and studying to get in to. You refuse to watch him throw it all away for you. It’s a ridiculous notion, one you can’t sit and watch him contemplate for more than a second.

“No,” you say immediately, shaking your head. “I am not letting you give up your dream school because I’m too thick to get into a single college.”

“But you’re my dream, Y/N. I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go. I’d give up anything for you, you know that.” His serious expression makes you a little uncomfortable. “I’ll get an apprenticeship or just a job if there isn’t a course for me.”

There is something about hearing him say he’ll throw his aspirations out the window for you that hurts your heart and you don't know why. It’s romantic, most girls would kill for a boy so understanding. But that’s not how you see it.

“Jaeyun don’t say that,” discarding your laptop and shuffling towards him, hoping the closer you are, the further deep your words will reach him, convince him. “I didn’t watch you need an IV drip from studying so hard just for you to not go.”

Something unreadable flickers across his face before he exhales, dropping his gaze. “I might not even get in, y’know.”

Immediately, your hands come up to cradle his face. “Baby, you’re a shoe-in. You’re the smartest person I know.” 

You always wondered why your boyfriend has such a hard time believing in his own abilities. He knows he’s smart, and he knows that colleges are falling at his feet to get his brains and athleticism on their roster. But something about when Jaeyun truly wants something, like this college, like you, he just lacks the self belief that he is even good enough for it. 

You run your thumbs over his cheekbones, watching as he leans into your touch. “I just wish you could see yourself the way I do. You’re born to do amazing things, and one of them is attend Apollo.” 

His lips curl into a small, sad smile, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrists. “You always say stuff like that.”

“Because it’s true,” you whisper. 

He holds your gaze for a long moment studying you, like he’s signing a final document in his mind. A declaration of some sorts. He looks a little nervous, haunted by the prospect of something that he won’t say. 

“Baby?” You nudge him. “What’s wrong?”

Jaeyun hesitates before speaking, kissing your palms slowly before letting go. “I mean it, Y/N. I’ll go anywhere you go. I don’t care where. I just - I can’t do long-distance. I know what happens in long-distance relationships.” His fingers curl into the blanket beneath him, hurting at even the prospect of this reality. “At first, we’ll talk all the time. Then life gets in the way, and suddenly we’re only FaceTiming once a week. Then it’s just texting because that’s easier, and before we know it, we barely talk at all. And then you’ll meet someone else - someone less clingy, more attractive, someone who can actually be there. And we’ll break up.”

His voice is thick as he barely manages to push out the final words. 

Your heart aches to see him like this, so doubtful. “Jaeyun,” you murmur, waiting until he meets your eyes. His are glossy, filled with a fear he doesn’t want to voice but can’t hide. “I’m not going anywhere. I will find a school in Busan. I will be right beside you for as long as you’ll have me. And we will never break up. Okay?”

Deep down you feel his concerns too. Of course you do. Long distance isn’t for the faint hearted; there’s more chance to misinterpret words and texts, less chance to keep the bonded knot sturdy between you. And with him saying all this, talking about how long distance wouldn’t work for you both, it make you start to really question the what ifs. 

But right now you have to convince Jaeyun that everything will be fine, all while trying to convince yourself in the process. Doubts that weren’t on your mind now are, but you push them down as far as you can - stamping on them like you’re trying to fit one more piece of trash in the can.

Jaeyun searches your face for any sign of hesitation, but he finds none. Slowly, he nods.

A breath of relief escapes you, and you lean in, pressing a faint kiss to his lips. “I love you, you idiot. Nothing will break us apart, okay?”

Jaeyun chuckles against your mouth, kissing you again, lingering this time. “I love you too.”

When you pull away, you shoot him a teasing grin. “Now come on, use that big sexy brain of yours to help me get into college.”

Jaeyun’s laughter fills the room, and just like that, the weight in his chest lightens. You spend the rest of the night filling out applications, finding comfort in the promise that, no matter what, you will find a way to stay together.

________

Rejection. Rejection. Rejection.

You open the next email, already bracing yourself. Another rejection - your seventh, to be exact. 

With a sigh, you lock your phone and rub at your temples. Time is slipping through your fingers. It has been two months since you sat in your bedroom, applying to a million and one colleges, and now, with just six weeks left, your options are very quickly dwindling. 

He’s moving to Busan. You’re supposed to be moving with him. But if nowhere accepts you…then what?

Your mind drifts back to the moment Jaeyun’s future was set in stone, the day he got his acceptance letter from Apollo.

There’s a frantic knock at the door, so insistent it makes your dad yank it open with a scowl. "Who the fuc—Oh, Jake. What’s the big rush?" he grumbles, irritation fading as he takes in Jaeyun’s breathless excitement.

"Is Y/N here? I need to see her," Jaeyun pants, his eyes already darting past your dad, ready to bolt up the stairs.

Your dad barely has time to nod before Jaeyun is kicking off his shoes and taking the steps two at a time.

"I think Jaeyun got into college," your dad remarks to your mum, who peeks around the corner, watching the whirlwind with a mixture of amusement and wonder.

In your room, you’re hunched over your desk, drowning in revision, completely unaware of the storm about to hit you. Your hair is a mess in a sloppy bun, your baggy sweatpants are the same ones you slept in, and Jaeyun’s old football jersey - the one he gave you after his first high school championship win - hangs loosely from your frame. You look like a typical stressed teenager.

When he reaches your doorway, he stops, his chest heaving, eyes drinking you in like he’s seeing you for the first time. "Beautiful…" he murmurs under his breath.

You look up, blinking at him in confusion. "Jaeyun? What are you doing here? I thought I was meeting you later."

He strides over, thrusting an envelope towards you, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation, mouth too dry to speak. You take it cautiously, eyes flicking to his face before unfolding the letter.

"Dear Mr. Sim," you read aloud, heart pounding. "We have received an overwhelming number of applications for the Mathematical Physics BSc Honours programme. However, we are delighted to offer you a place-"

Your breath catches. The words blur as they register in your mind.

"Jaeyun," you whisper. "You got in?"

He nods, disbelief still written across his face despite the confirmation in black and white. A squeal erupts from your throat before you can stop it, and in the next moment, you launch yourself at him. He catches you with ease, arms locking tightly around your waist as he spins you slightly, laughter bubbling from his lips.

Joy and pride flood the room, washing away the quiet rejection that has lived here for too long. At least once, this space gets to witness a letter that doesn’t end in an apology.

"This is amazing, baby. I’m so proud of you!" The words spill from you, breathless but nonetheless filled with exhilaration. You pull back just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the warmth of his cheeks. "You fucking did it."

His grin is blinding, eyes crinkled with elation. In this moment, Jaeyun is the picture of someone whose dreams are finally within reach. And God, you love him. You’re proud of him. But deep down, in a place you don’t dare voice, you envy him.

That memory snaps like a rubber band in your mind as you force yourself back to reality. You mutter a quiet, ‘fuck’ stuffing your phone into your pocket before heading to class, the weight of failure dragging behind you. 

Nowhere wants you. Not Busan, not Yangsan-Si, not even Gimhae.

You picked courses regarding subjects you enjoy in school, or rather, got decent enough grades in to hopefully scrape a pity acceptance. But it wasn’t enough. You aren’t enough.

Only two options remain.

One is a short twenty-minute commute from Jaeyun’s future campus. The other? Four hours away, tucked on the outskirts of Pyeongchang. You never mentioned that one to him. You didn’t really think you needed to. It was your ‘just in case’ choice - the one you assumed you’d never have to consider.

Now, it remains as possibly one of your only options.

Your feet feel heavier as you step into class, suddenly feeling the weight of having to tell your boyfriend that one of the only colleges you have left as a viable future is in fact going to induce his worst fear - long distance.

Jaeyun’s face lights up the second he spots you cross the threshold, waving you over with that easy, boyish grin of his. His chair is turned away from his desk as he chats with Jay and Heeseung, completely at ease.

"Baby, come here!" he calls out to you, unbothered by the eyes that shift toward him with his echoing accent. Jaeyun has never been quiet about his affection for you. The class, especially the girls, hate it, but he doesn’t care - could not give a single fuck.

You smile fondly at his gesture, letting the warmth of his presence chase away your spiraling thoughts as best as they can. He has a way of taking everything dark and making them disappear. 

As you move to sit beside Jay, Jaeyun tugs you onto his lap instead, his arms looping around your waist effortlessly, snuggling you into him like a puzzle piece. Jaeyun presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder in response, his smile smug, utterly unashamed. 

"You guys are disgusting." Jay, Jaeyun’s friend, groans, pretending to vomit.

"It’s a good thing you two are going to college together," Heeseung teases, leaning back in his chair as he pats Jaeyun’s arm. "I think my man here might actually die if he’s away from you for more than three minutes."

That sinking feeling starts to rise again, quick and overwhelming.

"Yeah, he wouldn’t last a day long distance," Jay adds, nudging Jaeyun’s knee.

The words dig under your skin, settling like lead in your stomach.

There is one more chance.

Feigning nonchalance, you slip from Jaeyun’s grasp, prying his hands from your waist. "As much as I love being the source of your collective disgust," you joke lightly, "I need to pee before class starts."

Jaeyun pouts slightly, his hand hovering at yours in a weak attempt to hold you captive, but lets you go, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you escape. “Don’t take too long, baby.”

Plastering on a fake smile, you nudge your nose with his as a promise before walking out briskly, weaving through the throngs of students in the hallway until you reach the bathroom. The second you’re alone, you exhale sharply, pressing your hands against the sink, gripping tight at the edges as you try to find some balance in this chaotic mess. 

The doubt creeps in again, insidious and unwelcome.

It’s not that you don’t believe long distance can work. It’s that you know it won’t work for him. He said it himself, he can’t do it. He can’t imagine you not by his side, to hold you every morning, to kiss and cuddle you when he’s stressed or just needing to feel you. He is willing to give up everything to be with you.

A familiar ping echoes through the empty bathroom. Your fingers scramble to unlock your phone, heart hammering as you read the notification.

Mail: Offer Update – Kyungsung University.

Your pulse thunders. This is it. Your last chance. Last chance to make this right and start your life with him in Busan.

With a deep breath and shaky heart, you open the email.

Rejection.

Your breath catches. The world tilts.

There are no more chances.

Shit.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at you is unrecognisable - eyes red, lips trembling, the weight of disappointment heavy in her gaze. A choked sob escapes your throat before you can stop it.

You’re going to lose him.

Jaeyun’s voice echoes in your mind. I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go. I’d give up anything for you.

He meant it. He would give it all up. But the thought of letting him do that? Of being the reason he threw away his dreams? That’s a burden too heavy to bear.

Another ping comes from your phone and you squeeze your eyes shut to get rid of the tears that blur your vision. 

Mail: Offer Update: Avanti College

Dear Miss L/N,

We have received your application. After much consideration, we would be delighted to offer you a place at Avanti College for the study of Film and Media. As you may be aware, our school terms begin earlier than others. We will send you by post appropriate packages for you to start in July. For now, we have attached a link to our module selection system. Please choose your classes as soon as possible, as spaces are filling quickly.

We look forward to welcoming you next month.

Yours sincerely,Mr Suh Kyung MinHead of Recruitment. 

You read it once. Then again. Then a third time.

Your vision sharpens, the crushing weight in your chest momentarily lifting. You got in.

Somewhere wants you.

A sharp, disbelieving laugh escapes your lips as you clutch the phone tighter. Against all odds, someone out there believes you're good enough. You have a future. The rejection after rejection, the sinking dread, the hopelessness - it’s all gone in an instant, replaced by the undeniable proof staring back at you.

But then that spark of joy fades as the rain of your situation comes pouring down. It’s four hours away from Busan. Four hours away from the love of your life. It would oddly be easier to accept that you just weren’t meant to go to college at all, but to know that your future is here in this email makes you wonder if it’s a sign.

A sign that Jaeyun is meant to flourish without you, or vice verca. 

So what do you do?

Tell Jaeyun the truth - that you didn’t get into any of the colleges near him. That the only offer you received is one that will take you miles away. But you already know what he’ll do. He’ll throw everything away for you without hesitation. He’ll give up his dream university, his future, everything, just to stay by your side.

Or.

Don’t tell him. Accept the offer, pack your bags, and disappear. Leave behind your friends, your family - everyone who might cave and tell Jaeyun where you’ve gone. If you vanish without a word, he’ll have no choice but to continue on the path he worked so hard for.

The second option feels right - a little drastic. But right. There is no way you are going to be the one to leave Jaeyun’s future desolate, you couldn’t offer him a future better than the one he had already set out for himself. 

So you just won’t tell him. Disappear forever and delude yourself that he’ll move on easily.

Does his happiness and future mean more to you than your own? Absolutely. And for him to propel the way you know he can, you need to let him follow his path, even if that means sacrificing your own joy.

Looking back in the mirror, your reflection is hollow. Distant. The girl staring back at you is already grieving something she hasn’t even lost yet. 

Now, you have another choice; make this the best few weeks with Jaeyun, or slowly break away to make the situation easier on you both. Deep down you knew even if you tried to distance yourself, he would find a way to see you. He would move heaven and earth to get into your heart and eventually rip the truth from the chest you’re keeping locked away in there.

So, you can only do one thing - give your undivided attention to him just as you have all these years. Give him all the love you have, enough to fill the rest of his years with.

You have roughly five weeks. Five weeks before you’re away to live a completely new life. You’ll have to remind yourself why you’re doing this, why you’re hurting yourself by leaving your only love. 

But it’s for him. All of it. 

_______

Two weeks have passed and two weeks remain until you leave for Pyeongchang, and you’ve mastered the art of concealing your hurt. Jaeyun keeps asking if you’ve heard back from colleges, his curiosity growing sharper each time, but you just shrug and steer the conversation elsewhere. He’s getting suspicious, his gaze lingering a little too long when you deflect, but you reassure him with the same excuse - there’s still time. Most of your applications were for clearance spots, and they tend to respond last minute. 

He buys it. For now.

With exams over and school finally behind you, the only logical way for your entire year to celebrate is a party - a big one; one that could rival any American movie you’ve seen. Now that all of you can legally drink, there’s no limit to how much alcohol will be passed around - tequila, Sourz, Sambuca, Jager, all of the above is being checked in. And because the chances of seeing any of these people again are practically nonexistent, you want to let loose. 

No, you need to. 

For weeks, worry and dread have gnawed at you, and tonight, you crave the kind of recklessness that will drown it all out. You want to get fucked up in the most unpolitest way possible. That does run the risk of blurting out your secret to Jaeyun, however, you plan to pass the blabbermouth stage of drunk and go right to blottered.

Ryujin and Yeji are on their way to pick you and Jaeyun up from his house. Yeji, having lost a brutal game of rock, paper, scissors, is stuck as the designated driver and won’t shut up about how unfair it is. Meanwhile, Jaeyun is already dressed, effortlessly stunning in a blue double-denim outfit layered over a white graphic tee. Silver chains glint against his chest, hanging from his black D&G belt, and the rings you’ve felt on your throat more times than you can count adorn his fingers. A pearl necklace - Heeseung’s gift - rests against his collarbones, catching the light as he scrolls through his phone. His hair, styled the way he likes it, is perfectly parted, his forehead on display.

Jaeyun is the most gorgeous boy you have ever seen, and somehow, you find something new to admire about him every single day.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you catch sight of his reflection and pause, noticing the subtle change in his frame. You see him every day but something about the way his clothes are sitting on him places your view on him differently. He’s broader, taller, more…handsome. Some of his teenage features lost from the long nights of studying and passing time.

“Have you been going to the gym?” you ask, adjusting your earrings, your tone casual but your curiosity piqued.

He shrugs with his eyes still glued to his screen as he scrolls mindlessly. “Dunno. Must be all the extra lifting at work. Shit’s heavy, y’know?”

Don’t you know it. You work in a shitty convenience store too, and you know how heavy boxes can be. But you aren’t exactly walking around like Beth Pheonix.

Jaeyun still sits there, attention averted to some weird TikTok video that only he could get on his fyp. You huff, watching him intently, waiting - willing - him to notice the effort you put into your appearance. The white two-piece you bought for tonight leaves little to the imagination, hugging you in all the right places. You feel powerful, sexy. But he doesn’t even glance up.

Dragging your tongue over your teeth, you step behind him, your hands gliding over his shoulders, fingers pressing gently into his muscles. “You have gotten bigger,” you purr, letting your touch linger.

Jaeyun hums in response, still distracted, and that simply won’t do. If he won’t pay attention on his own, you’ll make him.

With slow, calculated movements, you step around to his front, one knee pressing onto the chair as you straddle his lap. His body tenses as you come closer into proximity, but his eyes remain trained on his phone. Not for long. You settle your weight against him, tilting your head as you wait for him to look at you.

And then he does.

His mouth parts slightly, eyes dragging over your moisturised body, darkening with each passing second. The phone is forgotten, locked and tossed aside without a second thought.

“Fuck, baby.”

You smirk vitoriously, lips curving as you bite down on the corner of your lip. “Do I look good?” Your fingers skim up his chest, curling around his neck as you shift your hips, pressing against him just enough to tease.

Jaeyun’s hands find your waist instinctively, gripping you tight. His voice is lower, rougher when he speaks. “Shit, Princess, you look ethereal.” His fingers flex against your exposed skin to make sure you’re really there. “Do we have to go? I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest but is cut off as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a lingering kiss. His thumbs brush over the fabric of your outfit, possessive, debating whether to peel it off or let you wear it just so he can show you off. He’ll be the envy of everyone in that house, he knows that for sure.

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, pulling back just enough to see the frustration flicker across his face. “I wanna get drunk and dance.” You slide off his lap, tugging at his hand. “And you get to tell everyone that this” - you gesture to yourself, “is all yours.”

Jaeyun rolls his eyes, but the smirk playing at his lips betrays him. “Baby, don’t tempt me. I’ll go into that party and put on a show so they know who you belong to.”

A quiet moan slips past your lips when his hands beging to kneed your ass, fingers pulsing enough to bruise. His brow quirks at your reaction to his words. “Oh? Do you like that idea?” His grip tightens. “Should I just bend you over in the middle of the party and fu-”

Your hand flies over his mouth, cutting him off as you dissolve into laughter. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Jaeyun just grins, shrugging as he pulls your hand from his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm before intertwining your fingers with his. “We should head downstairs and say goodbye to my parents.”

He turns to leave, but you yank him back, stealing another kiss. It’s deep, slow, filled with a desperation you can’t name. You love having him here, so accessible, so tangible. 

Jaeyun groans against your lips, tasting the familiar cherry lip oil that has lingered on his tongue for three years. His fingers tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if he can’t get enough.

And honestly, he doesn’t think he ever will.

“Jaeyun,” you murmur against his lips, but he only deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth so he can steal the words straight from your breath. His grip tightens around your waist, and you feel the way he presses closer, as if sheer proximity could fuse you together. “Baby, we need to go,” you try again, but your voice is weak, betraying how much you don’t really want to stop either.

“No,” he whines, lifting you effortlessly, his hands firm under your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. “If we don’t go then I won’t start swinging at guys for looking at you too long.” His voice is a low rasp between kisses, playful yet dark with promise. You throw your head back in laughter, his words of possessivness making you giddy, loved.

But Jaeyun sees an opportunity in your exposed throat. Quickly, his lips latch onto the delicate skin just above your freckle, the one spot he knows makes you quiver with need. The first kiss is featherlight, but then he sucks, a slow, deliberate pull that makes warmth pool low in your stomach. His teeth scrape against you before he soothes the bite with his tongue.

A gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Jaeyun,” you warn, but your voice is breathy, and he knows it’s not real resistance.

He hums in satisfaction, his mouth not relenting, lavishing the same spot with nips and licks until heat prickles under your skin. When he finally pulls away, he inspects his work, and a smirk curls his lips.

“There.” He presses one final, chaste kiss to the fresh mark before looking at you with innocent eyes, as if he hadn’t just branded you in the middle of his bedroom. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”

You scramble to the mirror, fingers brushing over the forming hickey - deep red and already threatening to turn purple. You sigh, caught between amusement and mild exasperation. “What are you? Thirteen?”

A low chuckle rumbles from behind you. “Just possessive,” he says so simply to his actions claiming to you like a territorial wolf. Then his voice drops into something quieter, something laced with an emotion that knots your stomach. Vulnerability. “Can’t have another Sunghoon situation, now can I?”

The mention of that birthday night makes your chest tighten. You never bring it up. You try to forget it ever happened. A stupid drunken mess that makes your stomach curdle if you give it more than a second thought. But Jaeyun never truly let it go.

His gaze softens as he looks at you though the mirror, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I can’t lose you. Not for anything.”

His words turn over like acid in your belly. You think about what’s coming in two weeks. About the choice you’ve already made. About how he’ll wake up one day, reach for you, and find nothing but an empty space.

You have to tell him.

But you can’t.

So you do the only thing you can - you plaster on a fake-ass smile, slip your arms around his neck, press a lingering kiss to his nose, and lie through your teeth “That won’t happen, babe.” 

A car honk from outside saves you from lingering too long in the moment, from staring too deep into his eyes and spilling your darkest secret. 

You hear Ryujin’s voice faintly through the window, impatient as ever and Jaeyun takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours like it’s second nature. Together, you rush downstairs, slipping into the night, into the reckless distraction of the party that awaits.

—

By the time you arrive, the place is already alive. Music pulses around the walls, bass vibrating under your feet. Crowds spill onto the lawn, half-drunk students laughing too loud, some already absolutely out of their face, others tucked away into dark corners with frisky hands wandering. The dim lights and shifting strobes give the illusion of being in some underground club rather than a house party.

A bit extreme but who are you to complain? You get a night of free alcohol and a few hours to forget everything plaguing your mind.

“Whose house is this?” you ask absently, eyes flicking over unfamiliar faces. 

“Kobayashi Daigo,” Yeji answers, turning toward you with an amused shake of her head. “He was in your class for, like, two years. You don’t remember?”

You blink. The name rings the faintest bell, but you have no memory of ever speaking to him. Which, honestly, isn’t surprising. You were never the type to branch out much beyond your friends. Beyond Jaeyun.

A warm breath ghosts against your ear as Jaeyun leans in. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you a drink.”

His voice is low, teasing. When his tone drops an octave like this, it makes you want to pounce on him instantly. But he doesn’t give you time to respond let alone star in your very own party-porno - his hands find your hips, guiding you through the sea of bodies toward the kitchen. His grip is tight, making sure you don’t slip away.

Ironic.

And maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s selfish to let him believe you’ll be here forever - but for now, you let yourself melt into his touch, let yourself pretend you’re not counting down the days until you disappear.

The kitchen is warm, hazy with the scent of alcohol and something faintly sweet. Amongst the scattered bottles and half-empty cups, your eyes land on a familiar pink liquid - the unmistakable blush of Tequila Rose. Your favourite drink in the entire world. Like fate, it sits on the counter waiting just for you. But just as your fingers curl around the neck of the bottle, another hand - larger, stronger - grips it, stopping you in place.

“Princess, you want a double?” Jaeyun’s voice is smooth, teasing as he tilts the bottle in his hand, already pouring his own. His eyes flick to yours, awaiting confirmation to the answer he already knows. 

You hum, pretending to consider it, before flashing him a knowing smile. “Double.”

Jaeyun grins, pouring the shot to the very brim of the tall glass. The pale pink liquid swirls under the kitchen lights as you lift it to your lips, never once breaking eye contact.

“Cheers,” you say softly.

“Cheers, baby girl.” He knocks his own shot back with ease, slamming the glass onto the worktop with a satisfied exhale ripping from his chest. You watch, mesmerised, as his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, the tendons in his neck flexing ever so slightly. His tongue darts out to catch the last lingering drop at the corner of his mouth, and suddenly, the room feels too warm, your own shot burning its way down with more intensity than you expected. It’s not usually this nippy - the milky shot normally a breeze.

“You’re so hot,” you say before you can think twice, the words tumbling from your lips unfiltered.

Jaeyun’s chest rumbles with laughter, his hand already reaching for the bottle again. “I will say the exact same thing about you.” He pours two more shots. “To us, to Busan, to forever.”

The words settle deep in your chest, too heavy for a moment meant to be light. You force a smile and clink your glass against his, swallowing the second shot. The burn is sharper now, the aftertaste bitter in a way it wasn’t before.

You’ll need at least fifteen more to forget that the man in front of you is the one you’re leaving.

—

Three hours later, and the world tilts just slightly.

You aren’t wasted - not yet - but you’re perched on that fragile edge where every movement feels like floating and every sound is cushioned by the pleasant buzz in your veins. The air is heavy with laughter, with the clinking of glasses and the bass of some pop song shaking the walls. Bodies move around you, some swaying, some stumbling, all drowning in the euphoria of the night.

Jaeyun presses in close, his warmth wrapping around you as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Baby, dance with me.”

A shiver snakes down your body as he licks along the shell of your ear before guiding you toward the makeshift dance floor - formerly a living room, now an unholy mess of spilled drinks and swaying bodies. The bass thrums beneath your feet, some pop song pulsing through the speakers, though you hardly register it. Not when Jaeyun presses himself against you, his body molding to yours like second nature.

You move together effortlessly, your hips rolling against him, back arching so that your arse is flush against his front. A moan nearly escapes when you feel him harden beneath you, the heat of it seeping through his jeans. One of your hands reaches back, fingers tangling in his hair as you let yourself get lost in the feeling.

But then something shifts.

Jaeyun’s body goes rigid, his hold on you tightening - not in desire, but in something else entirely.

Curious, you glance up at him, only to find his gaze locked elsewhere, sharp and unrelenting. Following his line of sight, your stomach twists.

Sunghoon.

He’s across the room, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, his dark eyes fixed on you. He’s not being obvious, but it’s clear enough for Jaeyun to notice, and that’s all it takes.

An uncomfy tension crackles in the air

It’s been over a year since that night - since Sunghoon made it clear he wanted you, since Jaeyun made it clear he wasn’t going to lose you. And while Sunghoon has been nothing but respectful since then, keeping his distance, Jaeyun never truly let it go. He never stopped seeing him as a threat. And now, even after all this time, Sunghoon’s gaze lingers too long, his expression unreadable.

Jaeyun’s tipsy instincts take over as his hand slides lower on your sides, the tips of his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“Jaeyun,” you warn, voice barely audible over the music. You know where this is going.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his fingers slip up the material covering the one place Sunghoon wants. That makes his blood boil. He bypasses your underwear with ease. The first brush of his fingertips against your clit has your breath catching in your throat.

“Jaeyun, there are too many people. Let’s just go some-” Your words die as he presses down, a slow, torturous circle. He doesn’t want to go somewhere private, he wants the dark haired boy across the room to see the way you crumble under your boyfriend’s touch.

Your body betrays you, melting against him as heat blooms low in your belly. The music fades into nothing, the chatter of the party a distant hum. It’s just his touch, his breath against your skin, the steady drag of his fingers as they dip lower to your entrance.

“I’m serious, Yunnie,” you manage to whisper, though it’s weak, barely a plea. “There are bedroom’s upstairs-”

He cuts you off again with a sharp press of his thumb, and your words dissolve into a soft, choked whimper. He knew exactly how to get you to see his way, and drunk you is a little less anxious about getting caught because this would not be happening if you weren’t six shots and three double vodka cranberries down.

Jaeyun smirks against your skin, his lips brushing over the mark he left on your neck earlier, tracing it lazily with his tongue. That fire you felt before leaving suddenly rises back to the hickey as it begs to be nipped and soothed. 

And he is giving it to you. His tongue over exaggeratedly flicks over the mark as he rolls his eyes back, thumb rubbing a bit more roughly on your clit. He isn’t touching you for your pleasure alone. He’s making a point. A very, very public one.

His eyes stay locked on Sunghoon’s bewildered ones. 

You don’t know that this isn’t the first time Jaeyun has asserted his dominance over the tall, slim boy. He usually does it subtly; a hot kiss, playing with your hair, or even pulling you into his side as you roam the hallways. Some instances were simply because he wanted too, others were because Sunghoon’s beady eyes were trailing on your figure.

But now he’s stamping the statement into Sunghoon’s mind forever. You are his and no one elses. 

Your knees nearly buckle when he pushes two fingers inside you, curling just right, hitting that spot that has you gripping onto his arms for support, nails digging into his veins as you gasp.

He chuckles lowly, his mouth grazing your ear. “You want me to stop, baby?” His tone is mocking, knowing full well you can’t answer, and even if you did, your answer would definitely not be yes. Not when his fingers are moving faster, his thumb rubbing you raw.

You toss your head back against his shoulder, mouth falling open in a silent moan. Jaeyun buries his face in your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your heated skin. You barely process anything beyond the rush of pleasure building, the coil tightening, your body completely at his mercy.

“Good girl,” he breathes, voice thick with satisfaction.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not with the entire party swirling around you, bodies just inches away. But no one notices. No one but Sunghoon, whose jaw is tight, eyes dark with a cocktail mix of envy, disgust, and defeat.

And Jaeyun sees it, eliciting a smirk smothered with satisfaction.

“Cum for me, princess,” he murmurs, fingers relentless as he works you over the edge. “Show them it’s me that makes you feel this good.”

His wrist flicks as he sets a steady rhythm that will have you leaking over his digits in a matter of seconds. The tip of his fingers massage your sweet spot, coaxing every atom in your body to let go, to give him everything. 

And just like that. the coil snaps.

Your orgasm crashes over you, and it takes everything in you not to moan like a desperate little thing in the middle of the party and alert everyone to you and your boyfriend’s exhibitionism. Your nails dig into Jaeyun’s arms harsh enough to leave dents as you ride out your high, body trembling against him as you clamp his hand with your thighs.

Across the room, Sunghoon coughs awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably before turning away, jaw tight, expression unreadable. 

Jaeyun, victorious, only chuckles behind your ear, pulling his fingers from you before turning you to face him.

“Good?” he asks, voice still tinged with amusement.

You let out a breathless laugh, still lightheaded from the intensity of it all. “Fantastic.”

His grin widens, something almost predatory glinting in his gaze. The without warning, he brings his hand up and slips his fingers into your mouth. You gasp, but your lips close around them instinctively. He watches you, utterly transfixed, as you lap your tongue over his digits, tasting yourself, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your swollen lips as he pulls his fingers free.

Your heart pounds as you stare into his eyes, love and guilt journey through your heart - both long staying passengers.

The night is still young, the drinks still flowing, and the music still loud. 

This party was exactly what you needed.

________

Two days. That’s all the time you have left before you leave everything behind. The weight of it sits heavy in your chest, pressing down with every breath, an ache that refuses to leave you alone. It has all went in too quickly, this past month filled with so many memories that you will never ever forget.

It makes you wonder if you made the right choice by not breaking up with Jaeyun once you found out you wouldn’t be going to Busan. 

You try to push your thoughts aside as you doddle about the convenience store for your last shift. It’s a shitty job but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it in some strange, sentimental way. The regulars, your boss, the co-workers you spent mindless hours with. Even the tedious restocking and the beep of the register have become part of a routine you weren’t quite ready to let go of.

You won’t miss the bright blue uniform, though.

The memory of when you first got the job sneaks up on you, unbidden. You can still hear Jaeyun’s excitement, see the way his eyes lit up as if you’d just been appointed CEO of a million pound company. “My beautiful, hardworking girl. I can’t even begin to describe the pride in my heart,” he had gushed, lifting you up effortlessly, spinning you around in his arms before preppering kisses all over your face. That grin of his, so wide and earnest, the sheer adoration in his gaze - it still floods your senses now, making your stomach turn in happiness and grievance. He had even suggested celebratory sex, because of course he would. Any excuse to have you bouncing on his cock.

The thought is cut short when a pair of familiar arms snake around your waist, strong and certain, pulling you back against a firm chest. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. The warmth of his body, the way he fits against you so perfectly - it’s a feeling you know too well.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jaeyun murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck as he places featherlight kisses along the skin. His scent washes over you - citrus with a woody undertone, grounding and intoxicating. You sink into him for just a second before forcing yourself to stand firm. You can’t get lost in him now. Not with just over 48-hours left.

“Miss me?” he teases, his breath warm against your ear.

You sigh, but there’s no real exasperation in it, a playful annoyance almost. “Jaeyun, I’m working.”

Turning in his arms, you meet his gaze, and instantly, regret coils tight in your chest. He looks at you with so much love, so much trust, so much unguarded sincerity that it makes everything you’ve been doing - everything you’ve been hiding - feel like a slow, cruel betrayal.

He doesn’t deserve any of this.

Jaeyun smiles obliviously as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, then another, and another. Each one is soft and sweet, savouring the simple moment, like he never wants to stop. You can feel his grin against your mouth, the way he breathes you in.

“You get off soon,” he murmurs. “Just bail early.”

His lips trail down your jaw, pressing against the sensitive skin just below your ear. It’s so easy to give in, to let yourself melt into him and forget that you’re meant to be working.

“Baby,” you whine, pouting as you try to focus on stacking the cans on the shelf. “Let me finish.”

Jaeyun’s grip on your waist tightens slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “I can make you finish if you want.”

His voice is low, teasing, sinful. His teeth nip at your earlobe, and you swear you can feel the smirk forming on his lips. Your breath hitches, and Jaeyun chuckles, because he knows. He knows exactly what he does to you. He can hear your heart pounding, can feel the way your body tenses ever so slightly in response to his touch. And in his mind, that’s proof enough that you were made for him.

You shake your head, trying - and failing - to suppress a smile. “I will attend to your every need when my shift is over, but for the next twenty minutes, these cans of butter beans have my full attention.”

He groans dramatically. “Oh…butter beans. I love it when you talk dirty.” He snaps his teeth together, biting the air mischievously. 

You swat at his chest playfully, laughter spilling from your lips before you can stop it. You’ll miss this. God, you’ll miss this. Maybe you should just tell him. Maybe you should change your plans. You could find a job in Busan, surely. Stay here, with him. 

The thought lingers for a moment, dangerous and tempting, but you push it away, tucking it deep into the back of your mind. If you do that, you’ll be reliant on him, causing unnecessary stress and endangering his future. 

Instead, you reach up, wrapping your arms around Jaeyun’s neck, holding him close. “Sim Jaeyun, you are the most infuriating person I have ever met,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

Sunlight filters through the store windows, casting a soft glow on his face. His golden skin practically gleams in the light, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he beams down at you.

“You love me, though,” he says confidently.

You swallow, your chest tightening. “So much.” 

Too much.

Jaeyun grins like a lovesick puppy, dropping a quick kiss to your lips. “Good. Then hurry up and get this shift out of the way so I can have you all to myself.”

With that, he pecks you one last time before pulling away, leaving the store in a hurry. His movements are eager, excited. He has plans.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

___

Jaeyun taps his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel as he dials Heeseung’s number. The call connects after two rings.

“Yes, Jake, for the millionth time, everything is set up,” Heeseung sighs, exasperated but amused at his best friends constant calls for reassurance. “I followed your strict, to-the-point plan exactly as instructed.”

Jaeyun exhales, running a hand through his hair, a bit of relief swirling in his chest despite the nerves still sitting in his stomach. “Thanks, mate. I owe you one. And the r-”

“In the glove compartment. I told you, everything is sorted.”

Jaeyun checks quickly, flipping the compartment open. There it is - a small, neatly wrapped white box, tied with a pink satin ribbon, the edges dusted in silver glitter. He stares at it for a long moment, fear creeping in despite himself.

“She’s gonna love it,” Heeseung reassures him. “You know she loves anything if it has to do with you.”

Jaeyun’s throat tightens slightly, but he smiles. If there was one person who believes in this relationship almost as much as he does, it’s Heeseung. He has been here through everything - every late-night phone call where Jaeyun rambled about how perfect you were, every moment of insecurity, every little update about your favourite songs or perfumes. Jaeyun is obsessed, and Heeseung has certainly suffered the consequences of it.

“Jake, stop overthinking it,” Heeseung laughs. “You guys are meant to be. If this doesn’t work out, then I don’t believe in love.” His best friend isn’t lying either, he has never seen a couple so destined to be with one another, not even his parents who are sickeningly in love.

High school sweethearts come together and fall apart as they grow into new people, the pieces that used to meld with one another growing and shrinking too much to fit together anymore. But you and Jaeyun? Anyone can see - especially Heeseung - that your relationship is not a puzzle but the tree the cardboard is made from, each just developing branches to fill out your love rather than break it. In the winter nights when the leaves fall and darkness looms, you grow ringlets in the trunk of your love, never snapping under the wind.

That’s exactly how Heeseung sees you both. Destined. Molded. Forever.

Jaeyun chuckles, shaking his head. He doesn’t even entertain the possibility of not being with you. Of course, you’re meant to be. That’s not a question. It’s a fact.

A glimpse of you walking out of the store catches his attention. “Shit, she’s coming. Thanks again, mate.”

He shoves the box into the side pocket of the car door just as you open the passenger side, sliding in. You’ve changed into a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but to Jaeyun, you might as well be wearing a Vivienne Westwood dress with the way you look like the most beautiful person on earth.

“Hey,” he greets softly, his voice airy.

“I wish you would’ve told me we were doing something. I would’ve brought nicer clothes to change into,” you pout, suddenly feeling stifled in the simple mum jeans despite their comfort.

Jaeyun scoffs playfully, his eyes flicking toward you as he starts the car. “You say that like Aphrodite herself doesn’t worship the ground you walk on, even in jeans.”

Your stomach flips. He always had a way with words, a gift for making you feel like the most breathtaking thing to ever grace the earth - and to him you are. Beautiful and gorgeous were never enough for him - those words are too ordinary, too overused. Jaeyun needs something grander, something worthy of you. Even when words fail him, he still tries, determined to make you feel as exquisite as he saw you.

Still, you can only roll your eyes, cheeks warm in a rose blush as you buckle your seatbelt. He busies himself with the music, fingers expertly flicking through cassette tapes in the centre console. His car - an ancient black 1998 Honda Civic he bought for pennies from a distant uncle - came equipped with a cassette player instead of an aux, something Jaeyun delighted in. 

It gave him the perfect excuse to make mixtapes, just like in those early 2000s films. He even made one for your Christmas road trip, packed with songs that reminded him of you. Most of them were love songs, but one track - Hotel Room Service by Pitbull to be exact — had snuck in by accident, and he’d never figured out how to remove it. It became your song after that, something that made you both dissolve into laughter whenever it played yet still held sentimental value.

“I think I’ve created the best mixtape of all time,” Jaeyun boasts, wagging a cassette between his fingers before sliding it in. “You’re gonna love it.”

The first song hums through the speakers, the familiar melody of Love is All Around by Wetter filling the car.

Your heart clenches with joy. “My favourite song.”

Jaeyun’s lips curl into a triumphant smile as his hand finds yours, bringing it to his mouth for a soft kiss. “It’s slowly becoming my favourite, too.” His eyes linger on you, and the warmth in them nearly undoes you. “You know, they’re playing a show in Busan this autumn. If you want, I’ll grab us tickets since we’ll be up there anyway.”

Your breath catches. The sickness rising from your stomach, a tight, suffocating thing that robs the colour from your face. He’s already planning for the future, your supposed future where you live happily ever after. 

Tell him. Just tell him.

“Jaeyun, I-”

“I’ll get them next payday,” he cuts in easily, like it’s already decided. “They’ve had tickets available for ages, so I don’t think they’ll sell out in the next couple of weeks.” He squeezes your hand, focused on the road, thumb tracing soft circles into your skin.

You swallow the lump in your throat, force a smile, and thank him. Then, you turn to the window, staring out as the world blurs past. You mentally curse yourself, hating yourself for giving him another nugget of hope. All these tiny threads of future that he’s weaving into your lives are about to be cut loose, and that will only make it harder for him.

Jaeyun isn’t dumb though, he notices the shift in you - the way you clam up, the way your fingers twitch slightly in his grasp - but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He knows you well enough to wait. 

The drive takes exactly thirty-two minutes, and for thirty-one of them, Jaeyun holds your hand, squeezing it intermittently. The other minute, he spends drinking water to ease the dryness in his throat, a nervous habit when he’s overthinking. He’s been rehearsing everything in his head, making sure every detail is perfect. You deserve perfection.

When the car finally rolls to a stop, he turns to you, smiling. “We’re here, princess.”

Lost in your mind, you unbuckle your seatbelt, not registering exactly where you are. As he steps out of the car, he swiftly rushes around and opens your door for you. One hand gestures grandly toward the grassy hill before you, the other extended to help you out.

“Right this way.”

You side-eye him as you step out, wary of the incline. “Making me walk after a six-hour shift should be illegal, you know that?”

Jaeyun beams, like he was waiting for you to say that, always predicting your next move. Although, there seems to be one he is oblivious too. “Ah, see, I knew you’d complain about that.” He turns his back to you, kneeling slightly. “That’s why I’m going to carry you.”

Your eyes widen. “You cannot be serious.”

He twists his head to look at you, scandalised. “Does my girlfriend not have faith in her very strong, very capable boyfriend?” He raises a brow, scoffing when he sees the doubt written all over your face. “Trust me. Get on and have some faith in your man, please.”

A genuine laugh escapes you as you see him puff out his chest. He’s impossible sometimes, but still, you oblige, climbing onto his back and wrapping your arms around his shoulders as his hands secure your thighs. He hoists you up with surprising ease, and you gape at him. “Have you been working out, be honest this time?”

Jaeyun grins, flexing one arm dramatically as he starts walking. “Babygirl, I’ve been packing these guns since birth. John Cena is jealous.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, giggling. “Oh yeah? That so?”

“Mmhm. He looks up reference pictures of me when he’s trying to achieve his goals. A bit of motivation for him.” He presses a quick kiss to your cheek as you giggle at his ridiculous notion. “Now, hold on tight. We’re heading to the top.”

“To the top!” you echo, laughing, as he takes the first step up the hill.

Surprisingly, Jaeyun reaches the top without stopping once, and although his breathing is heavier, his grip on you is unwavering. When he finally sets you down, his arms tense, veins pronounced from the strain of holding you up. They stand out boldly beneath his skin, and you can’t help but stare. God, they’re perfect.

It’s the one thing you’ve never been able to get over about your boyfriend. Those forearms have haunted one too many wet dreams of yours - and he knows it. 

At school, he’d make a habit of rolling up his sleeves when you shared a class, his smirk barely concealed as he caught you ogling him. He took pride in it, in the way you practically drooled. Before coming over to yours one night, he’d even spent time flexing, clenching and unclenching his fists to make sure his veins were as defined as possible. His efforts had paid off - the night had ended with you riding his fingers, nails digging into his forearms, desperate to feel them beneath your touch.

“Baby?” Jaeyun’s voice pulls you back to the present. He’s bent forward slightly, head tilted as he waves a hand in front of your face, his grin lopsided. “You in there?”

Blinking, you shake off the haze of memory. “Hmm?”

“I said - ta-da!” 

He hops on the balls of his feet, throwing his arms out as if presenting the grand finale of a magic trick, sort of like the Will Smith meme but less ridgid, more comical despite his obvious nerves.

Your gaze follows the sweep of his hands, and suddenly, your breath catches in your throat, pulse thumping as you get overwhelmed with the sight.

A pair of trees stands before you, their trunks wrapped - no, tangled - in strings of fairy lights, their golden glow casting a soft halo over the picnic laid out beneath them. A bouquet of flowers sits in the centre, spare petals scattered across the blanket like fallen stars. Two woven baskets accompany the arrangement, lids slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of the feast inside. A trail of rose petals leads up to the setup, their deep red hues stark against the grass.

For a moment, you can’t speak. How can you when you’re facing one of the most romantic settings you have ever witnessed.

Jaeyun shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual confidence wavering at your silence. “I know it’s cheesy and cliché,” he says with an axnious chuckle, “but I remember you reading about this in one of your books and saying you loved the idea of a midnight picnic.” He exhales through his nose, sheepish. “I know it’s not midnight, but-”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, your lips press against his, cutting off his rambling explanation, hoping that even a slither of your gratitude can be passed through the movement of your lips. Jaeyun exhales into the kiss, tension melting from his shoulders as his hands settle on your side. His relief is palpable. You like it. That’s all that matters.

When you finally pull away, he’s grinning, fingers lacing through yours. “Come on,” he murmurs, guiding you forward.

The rose petals crunch softly beneath your feet, but you barely notice. Your eyes remain fixed on him - on the way his dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, shorter than when you first met; on the way his side-parted bangs frame his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw. He’s grown into himself over the years, but he’s still your Jaeyun. Still the boy who whispers puppy love nothings in your ear any chance he gets. Still the boy who looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

He’s yours.

At least for now.

“I got you all your favourites,” Jaeyun continues, oblivious to the turmoil brewing in your chest. “Kimchi pancakes, tteokbokki, some chicken and spinach samosas-”

His voice fades into the background. Your heart is so full - but a filled heart means there is more to break. And yours is just about being demolished.

“I love you, Jaeyun.” The words escape before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered. It’s the only thing you can say at the moment, scared that if you attempt another word you’ll blubber.

Jaeyun has heard you say it a thousand times before, but something about this time feels different. The weight behind it is heavier, more deliberate. So beautifully raw but…sad.

His body stills for half a second before his hands slide to your hips, grounding you in place. His gaze flickers over your face, searching, but he doesn’t question it. Instead, he lets out a soft breath, voice steady.

“I love you too, Y/N. So fucking much.”

His heart swells, so big he thinks it might rupture.

It’s incredible how two people can have a heart so full yet while his structure is solid, determined, yours is being chipped away at with each passing second of the ticking clock. This will end soon, and you can’t tell who will have a harder time building back the pieces. 

The kiss he gives you next has tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. It’s slow but filled with a confession of its own. He kisses you like he’s memorising the way you taste, like he’s trying to etch this moment into his bones. It’s amatory yet pure, a love so deep it defies any logical explanation. It’s not something that can be theorised or dissected.

It’s yours. It’s his.

And in two days, you’re giving it up.

Jaeyun pulls you down onto the blanket, settling beside you as he begins unpacking the baskets. The scent of the food fills the air, and your stomach rumbles in response. Everything looks perfect.

Jaeyun watches the way your eyes light up at the sight of the spread, and he makes a mental note to thank Jay when he sees him next. “Here, take a bite, baby girl.” He lifts a piece of tteokbokki with his chopsticks, holding it out for you.

You oblige, opening wide and letting the flavours burst on your tongue. 

And that’s when you know he didn’t make this.

Jaeyun can barely cook a frozen lasagne without setting off the fire alarm, let alone pull off a meal like this.

Suddenly, laughter bubbles up from your chest, causing Jaeyun to cock his head in wonder. “What’s so funny?”

You wave a hand dismissively, memories flashing through your mind - It had been your 100-day anniversary, and he’d wanted to cook for you. It ended with Jaeyun, flailing a green and yellow dish towel under the fire alarm, a burnt pizza in the oven, and his dad standing nearby, arms crossed, delivering a very long-winded lecture on the importance of life skills. 

“It’s nothing,” you say, grinning. “I’m just happy.”

Jaeyun beams at that, your happiness of the upmost importance to him.

The rest of the evening unfolds in golden hues and easy laughter. The fairy lights flicker softly, casting a glow over everything, making the moment feel almost unreal. You pretend, just for a little while, that nothing is wrong. That there’s no expiration date on this love.

But while you’re pushing down your anxiety, Jaeyun’s is flared with each moment ticking by. He has been waiting for this moment for a long time.

As the last remnants of food disappear, his heartbeat grows louder, pounding against his ribs. He grips the edge of the blanket, trying to steady himself.

“Um, Y/N?” His voice is hesitant, uncertain. You immediately set down your plate, your full attention on him as you begin to notice the tiny shake in his hands.

“Yeah?”

Sweat beads along his forehead. He swallows thickly, his fingers flexing against the fabric beneath him.

Your stomach knots instantly at his apprehensive stature. Does he know? Is he about to tell you that he’s known your plan all along? That he’s doing all of this to convince you to stay? Is he giving up everything for you?

Or…is it simply too warm this evening?

“Hoo, okay, so-” Jaeyun exhales sharply, shifting his entire body to face you. His hands tremble as they clasp yours; they’re smaller, delicate in comparison, yet still manage to steady him in a way nothing else can. “I love you so much,” he begins, then falters, sucking in a breath. “And, uh, okay, um-”

He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times. Sat on Heeseung’s bedroom floor, the elder pretending to be you - going as far as threatening to put on a wig and eyeliner for authenticity and immersion.Heeseung takes his roles very seriously.

“I need to get into character!” Heeseung had proclaimed dramatically, sending Jaeyun into a fit of laughter, the boys barely making it through one runthrough.

Now, though, standing before you, his mind is blank. The words he’d carefully strung together dissolve the second he looks at you - obviously this was much easier with Heeseung and a bad lipstick job. 

No you are much more intimidating. The golden hour sun kisses your skin, turning you ethereal, unreal. He has no choice but to take another deep breath, shaking off the nerves, or attempting to at least..

“I love you,” he tries again, steadier this time. “I have ever since that first day at school.” His gaze drops to the sun necklace resting between you collarbones - the one he bought you for your birthday - before flicking back to your eyes. “You took the breath from my lungs, and honestly? Every time I look at you, I still forget how to breathe.”

A wry smile tugs at his lips as he continues.

“I don’t know if soulmates are real, or twin flames, or matches made in heaven…but, baby, you’re all of them to me, I know it. I curse the stars every night because people admire them for being beautiful, when you are the brightest thing in the universe. You’re my sun, my moon, all my stars.”

He inhales shakily, as if steadying himself, his hands running so cold that he feels pins and needles starting to tingle the tips of his fingers.

“You deserve all the admiration they get. And if I can spend the rest of my life looking at you, studying you, loving you like some devoted astronomer -  then I’ll know I’ve lived my life well.”

A beat. Two hearts, thundering against ribcages. The love between you, palpable, enough to heal nations - enough to ruin you.

Jaeyun reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small box. His fingers shake violently as he hands it to you. “I want you to know,” he murmurs, voice nearly cracking with emotion, “I’m so serious about us, Y/N.”

The weight of the box settles into your palm, and suddenly it feels like the entire world is sitting there, waiting to be opened. His words mixed with the unexpected gift saw at your heart, guilt overwhelming your bloodstream.

“Open it,” he huffs, exhaling like he’s spent months holding his breath.

You peel away the soft pink ribbon, lifting the lid to reveal two delicate silver rings rest side by side. Small, simple bands with a single heart at the centre - nothing extravagant, yet everything that matters. Beside them, two identical silver keys.

Jaeyun shifts, scooting closer, his fingers brushing against yours as he lifts one of the rings.

“Before you freak out—I’m not proposing,” he chuckles weakly, though his laugh barely makes it past his lips. His thumb smooths over the band as he stares at it, his mind lost somewhere between the past and the future.

“This is my promise to you,” he continues, voice quieter now. “That from now until forever, I am yours.”

He lifts your left hand, taking your pinky between his fingers before slowly, deliberately, sliding the ring on. “A pinky ring,” he murmurs gently, “until I can get you a real wedding ring.”

The tears welling in your eyes spill over, laughter bubbling from your lips despite yourself. You recognise the lyrics embedded in his words, his love language tucked between the sentiment. The ring fits perfectly. Of course, it does.

You don’t even have to ask to know - he saved up for these. Every penny from his part-time job, every late-night shift worked with you in mind. They are not designer rings. They are not diamond-encrusted. But they are everything. Because they are his. Because they are yours. And his devotion to you is priceless.

Jaeyun hesitates for a moment before picking up one of the keys, rolling it between his fingers. “This,” he says, his voice a tiny bit more confident now that you’re wearing the ring, “is the key to our flat in Busan.”

Your breath stutters.

“I know we should be living in dorms,” he continues, his eyes flickering between the key and your face, gauging your reaction. “But I struck a really good deal with the landlady—she’s sweet, she likes me. And I just-”  His voice dips as the truth sits on the edge of his tongue, being pushed forward by raw emotion. “I don’t think I could go a day in this life without seeing you. And if we live together, I won’t have to.”

He places the key in your open palm, his own curling over yours, holding it there with promise.

The tears streaking down your cheeks, once born of joy, are suddenly unbearable with sorrow.

He doesn’t know you’re leaving.

You have told yourself it’s for the best. That leaving now, cutting ties cleanly, would hurt less than watching him drift away piece by piece. That letting him go would save you both.

But staring at the key, at the boy in front of you…your resolve crumbles and your heart splinters.

Jaeyun shifts, sensing your hesitation. Panic flickers in his eyes. “Baby, if this is too fast, we can-”

You don’t let him finish.

Your lips crash against his, swallowing whatever reassurance he was about to offer. You don’t know what to do. You feel remorseful and devastated but his hopeful smile and readily beating heart are calling out to you to just melt into the moment. Even if it’s selfish, even if it’s cruel to lead him on like this, your heart yearns for him.

His breath stutters, but he melts into you instantly, fingers threading through your hair, each strand wrapping around his fingers like an anchoring rope. Your hands slide over his shoulders, gripping, grounding. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, familiar and safe.

Jaeyun doesn’t need words. This - your touch, your kiss, your hands clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world - this is enough to know you feel the same way he does.

But while his heart and mind are at ease, his body needs more.

Jaeyun scoops you up in one swift motion, carrying you down the hill and to his car, leaving the evidence of your love behind in the branches. He wonder if Heeseung’s help extends to a clean-up job.

“I need to make love to you so bad,” he grumbles, his voice thick with longing as his lips smooch at yours messily. “But not in this car.”

____ 

The drive to his house is a blur of desperate touches, your fingers trailing over his wrist, his palm resting on your thigh. He speeds recklessly, tunnel-visioned, the pinky ring on your hand glinting in the dim light.

You are his. He is yours.

By the time he parks, Jaeyun is already reaching for you, his hands making way to your hips as he all but pushes you up the stairs. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, he’s pressing you against it, his lips urgent, messy, needing.

“Princess,” he groans when your hand presses against his growing arousal. “You’re dangerous.”

You laugh - genuinely, fully. The last real laugh you’ll have for a long time.

Jaeyun doesn’t notice. He’s too focused on yanking his T-shirt over his head, the fabric slipping off in a single, fluid motion. His bare chest is in front of you now, the fading hickeys from last week still scattered over his skin.

He doesn’t waste another second.

Bending slightly, he grips your thighs, lifting you with ease. His lips find your jaw, your cheeks, your temple - whispering against your skin in a voice filled with reverence. “So beautiful. All mine.” 

Your heart aches. You wish you could tell him. But instead, you let him love you for one of the last times.

Jaeyun groans against your skin, his breath warm as he presses you onto the bed, his chest never leaving yours. His hands explore your body with deliberate intent, fingertips mapping out every inch of your exposed skin as though memorising it. A soft hum vibrates through him, an unspoken appreciation of the heat radiating from your body.

“I know, Princess,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting along your jaw, his voice thick with amusement. “But you’re gonna be a good girl and wait for me, yeah?” The smirk laced in his words only makes you ache more. 

You whimper, desperation evident in the way your body arches toward him, and he chuckles, his voice husky with satisfaction. With deft hands, he unbuttons your jeans, dragging both them and your underwear down in one fluid motion, leaving you bare beneath him.

His dark eyes devour the sight of you, hunger etched all over his features as his fingers trace feather-light patterns over your skin. “All mine,” he whispers, the words more reverent than possessive, a quiet declaration of something deeper than lust. His lips follow the path of his fingertips, pressing slow, lingering kisses up your inner thigh, his pace torturously unhurried. He thinks he has all the time in the world.

You’re drenched, your body trembling with need. He exhales sharply with an undercurrent of amusement peaking through. His fingers ghost over your slick folds, spreading them open for a better look. “So wet, baby. I don’t even think you need me to prep you.” The teasing lilt in his voice makes you whimper, and the featherlight press of his lips against your clit sends a jolt through your body.

“No, Yunie, please.” The nickname slips from your lips in your desperation, your voice breathless, utterly undone. You love his cock and the need to get fucked is actually unbearable, but honestly, you love how he plays with you. His laughter is warm against your skin, the vibration making your toes curl. He’s so close but so out of reach that it’s almost painful.

His hand tightens on your thigh, spreading you wider for him as he trails deliberate kisses across your core. The heat of his tongue dragging over you makes your breath stutter, and your hands fly to his hair, fingers weaving through the soft strands, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans at the sensation, the sound sending a fresh pulse of arousal through you.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N,” he coaxes, his voice low, husky, vibrating against you as his tongue continues its agonisingly slow exploration, like a tourist with weeks left of their holiday.

“F-fingers,” you gasp, shame abandoned in favour of pure desire. “I want your fingers.”

He hums in mock contemplation, dragging the pads of his fingers along your entrance. “These fingers?” The playful edge to his voice is maddening but before you can protest, he pushes two fingers inside you, slow but insistent. Your mouth falls open, head tilting back as pleasure washes over you. He watches you intently, his gaze dark and fixed on the way your body reacts to him.

Watching you wriggle and writhe gets him hard, his cock swelling with lust and pride. You’re so responsive to his touches that it’s addicting, it makes him want to just play with your pretty pussy forever. And honestly? If his cock wasn’t so greedy, he would.

As his fingers curl, finding that perfect spot, a shudder wracks through you. You grip his sheets as you arch, simultaneously trying to escape while seeking more. Your body erupts with excitement as it feels Jaeyun’s lips back on your cunt, making out with it gently, working in tandem with his fingers to coax an orgasm from you.

“You taste amazing, baby,” he compliments sincerely, lapping you up like a thirsty pup. “So fucking sweet.”

You’ve never believed him when he says that, but the way he groans into your pussy and slurps at you like you’re the last remnants of a Capri Sun, you’re inclined to believe him. You boyfriend worships you, adores everything about you and that includes your pretty slick.

Jaeyun’s biggest fear is drowning but if he was to be sucked under into an ocean of your essence, he will happily let his lungs fill with liquid. 

Groaning, Jaeyun huffs into your pussy, his fingers curling as if he’s calling you forward - or rather, you orgasm. The tip of his fingers scrape along the soft part of your walls and you squeal out, trying to run away, the sensation too much to handle.

“Shhh, baby,” he soothes, kissing softly to your clit, a tender gesture compared to the grip one of his hands has on you to keep you in place. “Was it too much?”

He peers up at you through his lashes and sees you nodding desperately, chest heaving and eyes rolling in a daze. He has you exactly where he wants you; on the brink. He just needs to push your buttons once more to get you soaking his features with your juices.

Picking up his pace, he laughs into your folds as he jackhammers it home and you thighs instantly clamp him into place. He’s in heaven. This is what being a saint gets people - not an eternity in paradise but the opportunity to suffocate between their lover’s legs.

“Gonna cum for me already, Princess? So soon?” His muffled voice drips with satisfaction, but he doesn’t relent. He adds another finger, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tongue flicking against your clit in perfect synchronisation with his thrusts.

Your walls tighten, your body teetering on the precipice. “Let go, angel,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. That’s all it takes - his fingers thrusting, his tongue teasing, the sheer dominance in his voice. Your orgasm crashes over you, a broken cry of his name spilling from your lips as pleasure floods through you.

He doesn’t stop until your body begins to tremble with overstimulation, his movements slowing, easing you through the aftershocks. You’re lost in the labyrinth of euphoria and you need him to help you out, to guide you back to reality as he gently pulls out his fingers. His mouth still showers your core with gentle kisses, though. 

He’s not so cruel to rip everything away from you just yet.

After a few moments of panting and gasping for oxygen, you push yourself up on your elbows, eyes locking onto him. His lips glisten with you, his expression dark and unreadable, pride evident in the way he studies you. The image sears itself into your memory, something to cling to when he’s not by your side.

“You’re so fucking hot when you cum like that,” he murmurs, kissing his way up your body, each press of his lips softer than the last. “Like I’m the only one who can do that to you.”

You let out a breathy laugh, fingers threading through his hair, pushing the damp strands from his face. “Jaeyun, you are the only one I’ve ever had sex with so yes, you are the only one who can do that to me.”

He chuckles, his forehead pressing to your stomach, but his next words make your heart clench. “And I’ll always be the only one. You’re mine forever, Y/N.”

The heaviness of his words sits uncomfortably on your chest. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s coming.

Before he can notice the shift in your expression, you push it down, forcing a sultry smirk. “Then fuck me. Show me exactly what you can do.”

His pupils darken and expand, melting into unrestrained desire. He reaches for the drawer, retrieving an ultra-thin condom, slipping it on with impatient ease. He won’t lie, he’s desperate to be engulfed by you, so in a flash, the head of his cock drags along your folds before pressing against your entrance, teasing. A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sensation, need pooling low in your stomach.

“Say please, and I’ll think about it,” he taunts you, his voice smug, but you know he’s just as needy -  if not more.

“Please,” you whisper, “Please fuck me, Jaeyun.” The plea is barely past your lips before he captures them in a searing kiss, pushing into you with a deep, slow stroke, his hips rolling beautifully flush against you.

A ragged breath leaves him as he bottoms out, your walls squeezing around him in a way that makes his jaw slacken and eyes scrunch shut. His pace is slow at first, allowing you to adjust to him for at least a few minutes before restraint gives way to need. His thrusts grow more urgent, more demanding, and his left hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, a silent tether that brings you even closer together.

His lips brush against your pinky, a soft kiss against the silver ring he gave you, a promise to always be yours embedded in the gesture. And before you know it, it’s all too much and you begin to cry feel the tears before you realise you’re crying. 

All your emotions come out at once due to his sweet actions because suddenly it’s too hard to bottle everything up. The love, the fear, the disappointment, the guilt, the anguish. It’s all flooding from your eyes as your heart bursts with ache.

Jaeyun notices how your chest begins to vibrate, and not in the gasping for air because he’s fucking you so good kind of way. No. It’s shaking through sobs and he immediately pauses his ministrations.

“Hey,” he kisses your tears, his voice laced with concern. “Princess, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you try and rid yourself of the abundance of emotion. “No, baby,” your voice wobbles, raw and filled with everything you can’t say. “I just love you so much, that’s all.”

Jaeyun has his doubts for a second, your eyes glinting in sadness - it’s so fast he almost doesn’t catch it. But concern is washed away as you lean up to kiss him, soft and gentle. The love in your lips conveying enough to put his mind at ease. 

Drawing back and brushing the tears from your cheeks, Jaeyun smiles down at you. “You had me worried, sweetheart.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you too. Till my last dying breath, okay?”

Your heart twists painfully, but his slow thrusts pull you back to the moment, grounding you in the way he moves, in the way he makes you feel.

And right now, that’s all that matters.

He groans against your ear, his pace growing rougher, more desperate now that he knows your okay. The heat between you is overwhelming, bodies moving in sync, chasing that inevitable bliss. His hand slips between you, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing tight, pressuered circles.

“You’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you?” His voice is thick, strained with pleasure. “I can feel it. Let me have it, baby.”

The pressure builds, overwhelming, the pleasure winding so tightly it feels like you might snap apart. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, his thrusts driving deeper, hitting all the right places. And then it happens again - the coil within you shatters, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your entire body trembling beneath him.

He groans loudly as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, your release pulling him over the edge with you. His thrusts turning erratic as his control frays and he follows you into bliss. His body stills, buried deep inside you, his breath coming in ragged pants against you, spilling into the condom.

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the haze of each other. Then, with a shaky laugh, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. “Perfect,” he murmurs, still breathless. “You’re perfect.”

You curl into him, letting the warmth of his body envelop you, not one of you bothering to part just yet - enjoying the intimacy of just being connected to one another like this.

If only you could stay like this forever.

________

The morning sun spills through Jaeyun’s window, casting a dawning glow over the room. Your boyfriend’s body is draped over yours, the warmth of his bare skin pressed against you like a safety you know you can no longer allow yourself to have. His breath is slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest soothing as he sleeps peacefully, a contrast to how you are feeling right now. 

The silver ring on his pinky glints in the sunlight, catching your eye like a cruel reminder of what you are about to do. Why the fuck didn’t you tell him last night?

You now have one more day with him - one more chance to hold onto this love - but after last night, you know you can’t risk another second in his presence.

Every inch of you screams that this is a mistake. If you love him this much, surely you can make long distance work. But it’s just not that simple. You’ve already made your choice, and now you have to live with it. 

Jaeyun will be fine. Busan is full of beautiful girls - girls who are interesting, spectacular, and everything he will need in a partner. He won’t need you anymore. He will find someone else, someone who won’t run. 

Deep down, you know this will hurt him, but he’s strong. He’ll get over it.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slip out from under his arm as gently as possible, heart clenching in panic when he stirs - luckily for you doesn’t wake up. You keep your movements careful, as if the universe might give you more time if you just move slowly enough. Every glance at him - his tousled hair, his puffy lips that you love to kiss so much parted slightly in sleep - makes it harder to breathe. 

You are so stupid for this. Leaving him because you are terrified of losing him later on. It’s ridiculous and you’re being selfish.

I can’t do long distance. His voice echoes in your brain, pushing down your apprehensions regarding your next decision.

Your fingers tremble as you slide the ring off your pinky. Despite only having it for a few hours, it feels wrong that it’s gone. You hesitate, just for a second, before placing it on his dresser. The thought of leaving a note crosses your mind, but as Jaeyun shifts in his sleep, you realise there’s no time. You need to go before you lose your last bit of resolve.

Placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, you hold back tears. He looks so innocent and unaware…you can’t imagine what he’ll be like once he wakes up. You can’t be here for that. 

So you get dressed quickly, shuffling down his stairs and out the front door. You’re met with the sharp bite of the morning air. The sun is dulling and the wind carries an unforgiving chill that cuts through you. You already know it’s going to pour later. As if the universe is mourning your decision before you can.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, hands still shaking, scared that he’s noticed already. But surprisingly, it’s from Avanti.

Mail: From: Avanti College RE: Housing Enquiry.

Dear Y/N L/N,

I am responding to your inquiry regarding accommodation. The room is available as of today, however, there is no concierge available to give you your keys as there has been a slight altercation in housing arrangements. Your assigned roommate has been made aware of your occupancy and will let you in once you arrive. Your key should be ready for you next week. Sorry about the miscommunication as I know you are eager to get settled.

Kind Regards,Cho Min WooHead of Accommodation and Living.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. It’s done. You have somewhere to go. No turning back now. 

You start running. You need to grab your bag, book the bus, and go before your heart betrays you. No hesitation. No overthinking. Just leave.

Thankfully, you had packed days ago, anticipating that you might need to flee at a moment’s notice, feelings overwhelming causing you to overthink and overpack. But you can’t just disappear. If you vanish without a trace, your parents will panic, call the cops or do something drastic. But if you tell them where you’re going, they will for sure tell Jaeyun your whereabouts. The last thing you need is him chasing after you, sacrificing everything to run to you.

Once you’re home, you grab a notepad and scribble a rushed message to your parents. You don’t explain, don’t justify. Just the bare minimum: you need a fresh start in a new city. You need space, everything too overwhelming. It’s not much, but it’s enough for them to know you’ll be safe.

You sign your name with a shaking hand, placing hugs and kisses as if that will ease the blow.

This is it. No more seeing your room. No more home-cooked meals. No more Jaeyun.

You’ve fucked up so badly, but you have to see this through. You made your bed, now it’s time to lie in it.

___

The bus jam packed. You were lucky to get one of the last two seats on the coach bound for Pyeongchang. The hum of conversation surrounds you but you don’t earwig on any of it. Your hands won’t stop shaking as you stare at your phone, scrolling through the endless missed calls and messages.

Incoming Call: my love <3

You watch it ring until it stops. Then you scroll through the notifications.

Missed Call (67) my love <3Missed Call (34) dadMissed Call (23) mum

Your chest tightens as you finally open Jaeyun’s messages.

07:30am princess, where are you? 07:30am are you coming back to bed? xx 07:49am Y/N, i’m getting worried. 07:52am pick up your phone, baby. please talk to me. 07:52am if i pushed you too far yesterday, i’m sorry… 08:16am why are your parents saying you’ve left? 08:16am baby, don’t do this. 08:17 m what does your letter mean? ‘I need a fresh start from everyone and everything’?? 08:17am you aren’t leaving, right? you’re not leaving me, are you? 08:23am please, please, please.

The messages go on and on, each one more desperate than the last. Your vision blurs with tears as you scroll down. The latest ones, sent only minutes ago, send a shiver down your spine.

10:32 am i ill search every part of this country until i find you.10:32 am you can’t expect me to just forget about you. 

10:35 am: will you please answer your fucking phone!10:47 am Y/N…i can’t make you answer me, or love me, but please just know i love you and i’m sorry for whatever i did. i’m leaving for Busan in two weeks so you should come home then. you won’t hear from me again but don’t leave your parents like this, baby. they can’t lose you.10:48 am I can’t lose you either to be honest but if it’s what you want…I’ll go.

Another message appears just as the tears spill over onto your cheeks.

10:51 am i love you so fucking much, Y/N. i won’t ever stop. my heart is yours, always. until the sun stops burning.

A sob rips from your throat, loud and raw. The sound fills the bus, drawing the attention of every passenger. You slap a hand over your mouth, bowing in silent apology as the embarrassment burns hot in your chest. Then, without another thought, you block his number.

You will get a new phone when you reach Pyeongchang. A fresh start. No more attachments. No more looking back.

But as the bus pulls away from the station, leaving your past behind, you press your forehead against the window and let the tears fall.

Jaeyun will be fine.

Eventually, he will be fine.

You just have to keep telling yourself that.

_______

Jaeyun’s heart has not stopped breaking since you’ve left, the pieces crumbling in a silence so loud it nearly suffocates him. He believed, with every fibre of his being, that the future you painted together was real - that your love is something solid, something unbreakable. To learn that you have already planned a life without him, that you are gone without a word, tears through him like a blade. 

It fucking hurts - not just in his chest, but deep, right down to his bones. He can’t find the strength to confront it, can’t make sense of what’s happening. 

Had he misunderstood? Had he pushed you into a life you didn’t want? Had his love, his promises, meant nothing to you? He can’t reconcile the girl he has spent so many nights dreaming of a future with, the girl who smiled at him through late-night talks about forever, with the one who has left him behind without a trace.

When he pulls into the driveway of his home after spending hours searching for you, he sees Heeseung’s car is there, an unwelcome reminder that the world has unfortunately keeps moving while his has shattered. He doesn’t have the energy to face his friend, not now, not when every thought in his head is tangled up in confusion and heartbreak. 

He loves Heeseung, of course he does, but right now, he needs to be alone. He needs to think and process, try and make sense of the wreckage of the morning. But he trudges up the stairs regardless, ignoring his parents’ concerned questions, ‘Where have you been?’, ‘Are you okay?’. He doesn’t know anything other than the fact that he has a hole in his chest.

Pushing his bedroom door open, Heeseung’s voice meets him with a bitter cheerfulness - clear he hasn’t noticed the way Jaeyun’s eyes are still swollen from the tears. “Jake, my man! How did it go? You went radio silent last night, so I’m assuming that means things went well,” Heeseung wiggles his brows as he waits for the fairytale update from his best friend.

But that’s the last thing he’ll receive today. The fairytale quickly turned into a Brothers Grimm nightmare.

Jaeyun’s gaze is fixed on the floor, his head hung low to hide the evidence of his heartache - not that it does much good. His throat is tight, his words caught behind a wall of emotion he can’t seem to break through. This makes Heeseung perk to attention, finally seeing the distress.

“Jake?” Heeseung’s voice softens, concern lining it now. “You okay?”

Jaeyun can’t answer, his eyes fixated on the silver ring. The one that belongs to you. The one meant to seal your futures together. It sits on his bedside table taunting and bitter. A new wave of sadness floods him and he tilts his head back in an attempt to stifle the tears, but they come anyway, hot and relentless. 

The sight of it is too much and Jaeyun’s remaining composure cracks. The sobs are impossible to control now, and Heeseung, without hesitation, pulls him into a tight embrace, squeezing him tightly. He holds him as if he could absorb some of the hurt, but nothing will ease this ache.

“She…left,” Jaeyun manages to choke out, the words hardly forming in his mouth before the tears take over.

Heeseung freezes, a stunned silence hanging between them. His hands grip Jaeyun’s shoulders, pulling him back to look at him with disbelief. “What do you mean, she left?”

Jaeyun’s voice breaks, his chest heaving with each ragged, uncontrollable sobs. “She left everything. Me, us...her family…she left it all behind.”

The words seem to cut deeper than the pain itself. Heeseung’s face twists in confusion, his jaw tightening. This is not like you. You wouldn’t go anywhere without Jaeyun let alone leave him without even so much as a goodbye. She’s been kidnapped is Heeseung’s first thought but thats ludicrous. This isn’t a Liam Neeson film.

“Let me call her,” he offers, reaching for his phone, though he knows it’s futile.

“No use,” Jaeyun replies, his voice hollow, devoid of any emotion other than pure agony. “She won’t answer. It’s gone straight to voicemail. Not even her mum can reach her.”

With shaky hands, Jaeyun pulls the note you wrote for your parents from his jeans pocket, handing it to Heeseung in silence. As his friend reads it, Jaeyun turns towards the ring on the table, staring at it as though it were a foreign object. His fingers tremble as he picks it up, turning it over and over in his hands. Every promise he made to you - each word, each moment spent dreaming of a shared future - feels like a cruel joke now. 

The ring should have been reassurance. Hadn’t it been? 

Why would you fucking leave?

Heeseung’s voice breaks through his thoughts, sharp and angry. “What the fuck?” The elder is pacing now, holding the letter like it’s something foul. “What the fuck is she thinking?”

His quetsion is met with a shrug from the heartbroken boy.

“So she didn’t accept the ring and decided to just fuck off?”

Jaeyun shakes his head, the tears flowing freely now, blurring his vision. “She accepted it. Last night was perfect. It was this morning that she left.” He meets Heeseung’s gaze, a tear slipping down his cheek. “What did I do wrong, Hee?”

Nothing. Heeseung knows he did absolutely nothing wrong. He can see the pain in Jaeyun’s eyes, he can feel the weight of his friend’s heartache pressing in on him. It’s suffocating and clinging to every fibre of the room.

With a frustrated sigh, Heeseung pulls Jaeyun into another hug, holding him tighter this time, trying to ground him. Jaeyun has always been the one with the softer heart, and right now, that heart is breaking in a way that even Heeseung can’t fix.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Jake. I don’t get what’s going on in her head, but you didn’t mess up. She’s just-”

But Jaeyun pushes back, his voice low and protective as he cuts his best friend off from saying something he’ll regret. “Don’t. Don’t talk about her like that. You don’t know her. She wouldn’t do this without a reason.”

“And what? She couldn’t tell you what the reason was and instead pussied out and left?” Heeseung is seeing red. “She should have told you she was leaving last night before she got your hopes up and accepted that ring, no? That’s fucked up.” 

Jaeyun knows somewhere in his heart that Heeseung is right, but his love for you is still as strong as ever and his instincts kick in to defend you. He pushes Heeseung away, his voice dangerously quiet. “Fuck you. You don’t get to speak about her like that. I might not understand it now, but I don’t doubt in my mind she did it for a reason she thought was valid. She wouldn’t have told me last night to protect my feelings.” 

Heeseung’s eyes flare with frustration, and for a moment, it seems like he might say something else. But instead, he scoffs, his words bitter. “Yeah? Well, how does it feel now? Do your feelings feel protected?” Silence. The whole house is still as he scoffs and sticks his tongue in his cheek, landing the final blow. “Think about that and tell me she did this out of love for you.” 

Jaeyun stands in stunned silence as Heeseung storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Jaeyun’s fists clench at his sides. How can Heeseung speak like that, when he doesn’t know the real reason behind your departure? Jaeyun is furious, but there’s something else - something even more painful. He’s envious of Heeseung’s anger. He wishes he could just let it all out like that, wishes he could scream and rage, but instead, he just lets the pain sit, lets it fester. He needs a few more days of this hurt, of this confusion, before he can face what’s coming.

And what’s coming…is a life without you in it.

taglist: @yzzyhee @dollyyun @sunpov @dreamy-carat

@ioveseong @katarinamae @viagumi @jakeswifez

@shuichi-sama @m1kkso @no1likeneo @pshfan0812

@fancypeacepersona @hoonieyun @jaepen @lovingvoidgoatee

@parksunghoonsgf @capri-cuntz @yvnempire @mei3425

@enhastolemyheart @ikeulove @riribelle @nshmrarki

@firstclassjaylee @ikeuwoniee @ang0308 @jaykesgirl @addictedtohobi

@jayeoniee @jakessrealwife @zyvlxqht

[smilingangel582]

Heyooo, it's been a while, and I've been going on a wind breaker fic streak for a while. Alsooo this is another lee!sakura with another special lee! Surprise... though I'm not sure if it will work, lol

Ohhh, and a bit of SuoSaku shipping! I love those two, btw...and the imaginary girl I put can like a y/n reader... hehehe, up to u.

Warning spoilers after episode 11

Not a scary guy... see?

Kiryu gives Sakura an unimpressed tilted smile as he insists the girl next to him, who looks like she's in middle school, "Ne, sorry if he's being a little dramatic but I can assure you Sakura-chan is a nice guy..."

The girl looks frightened regardless. She's one of the girls Kiryu, Suo, and Sakura encountered being bullied by another turf. Saving her, thankfully.

Her blue eyes glisten as she stares at the black and white-haired boy. Somewhat enthralled by how he beaten the 10 guys swiftly without the help of his two friends. They had run to Kotoha's restaurant - but probably because Sakura gets hungry after every fight.

However, when Sakura started getting angry at another guy named Sugishita... He's even scarier.

She felt a sudden surge of fear snatch within her gut. But luckily for her the long haired guy is gone since Kotoha had to send him away with her menacing glare and Sakura settled sitting down rocking his foot with irritation, he slammed a hand on the desk as well.

"Damn that guy! I'll stuff him tomorrow at school for sure!"

The girl squeaked, now hiding behind Suo.

The comforting Kiryu pats her head sweetly. "There there... you are safe"

Suo sighs, but with a fond smile, he decides to approach Sakura from the side, "Sakura-kun, you shouldn't be this aggressive..."

"I-I'm not!" Sakura snaps so loudly that the girl whimpers again. of course... he couldn't help but look somewhat guilty for that.

Kotoha groaned now drying the plates as she decided to get her omelette rice started for him, "Geez, Sakura chill... honestly, if you're being this angry, then you can forget your omurice"

Sakura snaps, now hands slamming on the table again, leaning close and daring, "Huuh? Why? Can't I be angry?"

Kotoha stares, not intimidated in the slightest as she knows him well enough now. She reaches to flick his forehead, "Because you're scaring my customers," then she adds with a poke to his side, smiling a little as he was rubbing the stinging flick she gave him. "And you're so uptight!"

He stiffened at that backing away with a little uneasy growl, sitting down. The younger girl noticed, Kotoha proudly understands, Suo hummed curiously, and Kiryu tilted his head, "Oya? Sakura-chan, it's rare for you to back down..."

Flustered Sakura looked sideway, his ears red, falling back on his chair like a good puppy, "I-I I just felt like it o-ok?"

Suo who's been the closest to Sakura, literally, started to raise his hand to reach something towards Sakura and even though Suo didn't attempt anything, Sakura stumbled back, fists clenched defensively, glaring, as he turns fully, "Bastard what the hell...!?"

Suo lets a laugh. Letting his hand fall down, "Ah, sorry, I was just trying to take a small spec of dust from your shoulder... did you get scared of something else?"

Sakura merely looked at his shoulder. However, with a swift movement, Suo tases his side, making Sakura jolt to the wide with a yelp, "Hey!"

Kotoha laughs, "Now thats more like it... rather than you putting tantrums"

Sakura blushed, "Quiet! You better stop teasing me -geh! Ahaha, c-cut it ohohout!" As he was in the middle of snapping at Kotoha. Suo aimed another efficient poke to his side.

Suo grinned slowly, stepping forward with his hands ready to 'attack', "Don't be so shy... It's just a harmless little tickle... see?" He aimed another poke towards his stomach, making Sakura stumble backwards. Lucky for Kotoha, her shop is at closing hours. Otherwise, she might have to kick them all out for disturbing.

"Shy my ass! Stop that..." he used his arms to cover his middle, now hunched a little defensively. Suo loomed to the side, hoping to sneak another firm prod, and Sakura used his elbows to cover his ribs on the side Suo attempted to target.

"Wow... Sakura-kun, are you that scared?" He teased, now using feints to catch him off guard.

"N-not scared jerk! I-I just..." he flinched when Suo pretended to tickle his right side, but only for him to get tricked again.

Kiryu giggles, "Kyuun! Sakura-chan is cute! See he's not so scary, now is he, Hina-chan?" He turns to the girl who smiled a little, awkwardly enjoying this little game they are playing.

Perhaps not all delinquents are bad....

"Uh oh... Wahait!"

Surprised, it wasn't Sakura's voice. This time it was a light and calm voice of Suo who's suddenly being pinned down by a flustered Sakura. He growled, looking like a little angry cat, "Ha? How do ya like that! Can't take what ya dish!"

"Ahahahaha, hehey."

Suo didn't seem embarassed but rather he had a sweet laugh that Kiryu really liked. But he still think Sakura's angry laughter is way amusing than that.

Suo chuckles even more, now his cheeks a rare colour of pink, which somewhat did male sakura look softly at him "Sahahakuhura-kuhuhun..."

"What? Y-you started it -ah! Haha, wait, WAIT!"

Suo swiftly parries Sakura by using his hands to block his sides and then using his palms to push him down his back but grabbing Sakura's leg, and started digging into his knees and upper thighs, which are normally sensitive spots.

This bastard lied to him! The moment Sakura's fingers stopped a moment from his ribs, Suo takes that chance very swiftly.

"AH! SHihit! Wahaha not theHEHEREHE!!"

Kiryu pouted, "Aww and just when we get to see Suo-chan laughing like a silly goose"

Suo gives a short laugh, "Kiryi-kun thats mean... oh well Sakura almost got me and you have my respect there... but..." he stopped the attack on his knees and makes his way to intensify his attack on his upperbody.

"Y-yohohohou sneheheheak! Ahaha, matte!" He panicked, attempting to grab his wrists, now legs kicking uselessly.

Suo flips their positions, smiling proudly when he straddled him from the back this time. "Ah ah ah~ Sakura-kun... you can't get away with that little stunt... always remember in a tickle fight, don't yield when you're being tickled back... and you were very inexperienced, so it was easy for me to break free."

Sakura curled to the side now, sinking to the floor. He can't get him back now, "Ihihihihi nehehehever tihihihickled ahahahany one behehehefohohore haha! Shit stop ihihit!"

He grabbed Suo's wrist successfully, hoping to switch the tables, but a little opening allowed Suo to sneak his capable hand under his armpit. Surprised, it was so bad that his limbs suddenly became jelly.

"EEEH!"

Bingo. Suo thinks fondly, now teasingly testing the sensitivity there, "What was that Sakura kun?"

Kotoha stops her work momentarily to look up in amusement but giggles teasingly, "Uh oh, someone's weak spot has been exploited... that was a bad move, Sakura..."

Sakura couldn't even respond due to his preoccupied state, to think tickling is this unbearable when the right spot is targeted. His giggles turned to laughter, and his laughter turned to cackles that he felt so humiliated.

Suo grins, "Ah that's another fact... always look for the opponents weakspots... once u know... u can break them easily like this..." he began to drill his fingers deeper into his armpit.

Sakura squealed, and that bewildered Kiryu, who's been taking a video on his phone this whole time. He turned to Hinase with a chuckle, "Oh wow... he's that ticklish there?"

The girl now feels awkward watching strong delinquents have a tickle fight but somewhat likes the sound of Sakura's laugh since he's not that scary... especially the giggles that keep flooding through his lips.

Sakura'a face is red, now he slams his hand on the floor, showing truce as his elbows try to protect his armpits, "ahaha, fine, fine! FINE HAHAHA ENOUGH!"

Suo stops now, getting off Sakura yet remains kneeled down, pushing the strands of his hair to the side when Sakura rolled on his back, panting. Somewhat entranced... such a curious case

This makes Sakura blush and slowly shrug. The hand away as he gets up, sitting in front of where Kotoha is as she displays her special omelette rice. "Jeez, you will pahay ack!" he feels a simple poke from Kotoha who giggles, now she blows her finger as if it's a gun, "Now we know how to cool a scary guy like you... its adorable really"

Sakura wheezes in anger, bjt protectively covers his weak spots while glaring at Suo and Kotoha, "D-damn you! Dont call me cute!"

Suo grins, a finger aiming for a poke to his side which Sakura instantly caught his hands. Eyes narrowed, somewhat suspicious "Do not!"

"Ahh" he gives a little pout, a rare side of Suo, "But if you let me poke you here and there whenever I feel like I'll tell you my weak spot as well..." he winks.

Sakura's face heats up, curious and also embarassed, he looks away, now letting his hands go since he decides to eat the omelette rice, "h-ha? I don't need to know! I will find it myself someday!"

Suo grinned, elbow on the counter as he leaned on his palm, staring lovingly at him, "Hmm hmm, good boy," he pats his head in the process, making Sakura raise his spoon, as of he's gonna hit him with that. His face totally red.

Watching their antics, nobody, not even Kotoha, noticed Kiryu taking Hinase out from the cafe. She bowed to him politely, her face bright and back to her healthy colour, "Thank you! Kiryu-san... I can walk back on my own"

Kiryu smiles lightly, "That's fine... It's late, so I'll walk you. " he offered her his hand now.

She blushed in bliss, lucky to have met the first year high schoolers from bofurin. Taking his hand shyly they walk now.

She is indeed glad to have met them.

Especially Sakura... at the same time, they are human who like to mess around and have fun...

She giggles a little at the memory of Sakura's blushing face, "cute..." then blushes as well on the memory she just got of repeated Sakura blushes. she walks through the pavement, silently now, hiding her small snicker.

Kiryu asked, "What's so funny?"

"Ah... sorry, Sakura-san's face is quite adora -ahem interesting when he's shy"

Kiryu laughs, "very very! You won't believe how much of a tsundere he is. Tough and rough on the outside but a sweet kind softie on the inside..."

She agrees and now mentions, "Also about him and Suo"

Kiryu grins knowingly, placing a finger on his lips, "That is another story... but neither of them know what the story even is... hehe"

Another interesting story she would like to know... their bond seems unbreakable.

"Can't wait..." she smiles.

Meanwhile, at the cafe.

"Kotoha-saaan! Nirei is back!" The blond grins as he enters the cafe, looking spiffy as ever. Suo grins his hands still attempting to get Sakura once he finished his omelette rice.

Sakura's red face is still the same, and Nirei asks, "Eh? Sakura-san why your face red again?"

"Shut up! Y-you guys are so annoying!" He's still holding on to Suo's wrists cautious and careful not to let him poke him.

Kotoha chuckles, "Hai hai, Suo, you can stop teasing him before he becomes a tomato plant for Ume"

Suo casually let's his hands slip away but Sakura stares at him like a suspicious cat, "Grr... you will pay! Just you wait I will!"

Suo shrugs, "Oh scary much... until I poke you here..." he gives him a poke to the side but not touching as he's already stopped. Sakura squeaks attempts to grab his hand which quickly left.

Nirei Frown in confusion, "ehhh tell me? Why is Sakura embarassed and what do u mean poking him?"

Nirei's questions will be the death of Sakura. That top secret notebook is every bit of a menace as Suo's mysterious eye patch.

[batsplat]

Hi! I saw you mention how Honda tried to kill Marc and Joan in your latest Marc post and I was wondering if you could elaborate on that? I am fairly new to MotoGP and I keep seeing and hearing fans and experts speak of Marc’s last years at Honda in this way, implying the bike was absolutely terrible, but I cannot seem to find any explanation as to how bad exactly and why everyone keeps using the specific “It tried to kill them!” expression… 😭 If you have the time and/or interest to only, of course! It does interest me considering Marc had been riding his Hondas for so long at that point and also with how well he is adapting to the Ducati now, it just seems incredible to me that he would have any such problems with a bike!

(x) haha yeah of course. I feel like this is one of those motogp stories that I know so well by now I could recite it in my sleep, so it's no real bother to quickly type it out

honda has traditionally been one of the Big Names in the sport, and got a... decent-ish haul of titles this century even before marc joined the premier class (2001-3; 2006; 2011) (could've been better hehe). the pedrosa/stoner partnership helped develop a very good bike in the form of the RC213V, introduced at the start of the 2012 season for the new regulations (aka the 1000cc era, which we're still in). when marc joined honda, this was on balance (if by a fairly slim margin) the best bike on the grid. over the next couple of years, honda would go from initially establishing a more sizeable bike advantage over yamaha to running into trouble in the 2015 season - and for a while it looked like those troubles would continue into 2016. that year brought on a massive change to the championship in the switch back to michelin tyres and how all bikes would be forced to run on 'spec electronics'... basically it represented a big shake-up in the competitive order, and it took a while to see how well each manufacturer had managed to respond. but 2016 turned out better than expected for honda while its long-time rival yamaha increasingly struggled - and was soon replaced by ducati as honda's primary challenger. the ducati project generally seemed more on the cutting edge of the bike development than honda was, especially given how much attention they seemed to be paying to improving the aerodynamics of the bike... but, well, marc won a bunch of titles during that time, so whatever. 2013-14 and 2016-19 champ, honda was on paper the dominant force in the sport, all was well

except... except there was already trouble looming on the horizon. 2019 was the first year in which marc was the only honda rider to win a race. it might have been a close to flawless season from him, but this was clearly a bike that was increasingly suited to one rider and one alone - a bloke who happened to have the kind of freakish natural abilities to ride around the glaring issues of an increasingly temperamental bike. (it should be noted that marc too was crashing far more than was advisable in order to find the bike's limits, as he does have a tendency of doing - he just managed to not do it in the races. see here on the question of marc and 'lucky' crashers.) though it wasn't just a question of marc being able to harness a naturally tricky package... the bike was specifically developed around him and his unique riding style, which meant that honda was inevitably increasingly reliant solely on marc marquez. honda didn't sign up dani in a test rider role upon his retirement at the end of 2018, letting ktm snatch him up instead... and they missed out on what could have been valuable feedback from jorge, who never adapted properly to the bike and was struggling with injury throughout that 2019 season. now, okay, this isn't ideal for a manufacturer, but also you can't complain too much when your number one rider is so good he's singlehandedly winning the team's and constructor's championships for you. honda and marc reaffirmed their mutual devotion with a staggering four year deal at the very start of 2020 for 2021-24, so it was essentially a half decade long commitment to each other... felt pretty insane, even at the time. both sides decided their fates were to be inextricably tied, and put pen on paper to confirm as much

and then marc got injured. within the span of a week in 2020, honda was essentially banished to competitive wilderness, perhaps not helped by their controversial decision to replace the outgoing three time premier class champion with marc's younger brother to complete their factory line-up. 2020 was basically a write-off as soon as it started - and not only did that mean honda wasn't winning in the short-term, but they were bereft of their lead rider who had been responsible for determining the development direction. the crisis was compounded by the impact of the pandemic, which hit all of the japanese manufacturers particularly hard - as well as exacerbating existing issues within the honda project, which at times approached development too conservatively and were not proactive enough in poaching rival engineers to provide new insight as needed. as a result, when marc returned in 2021, he was provided with a bike that was already in a pretty sorry state... but also one which, given how his arm was still causing him considerable problems, he could not ride to its fullest potential. marc still comfortably outperformed the other honda riders and was able to bag a pair of heroic wins at his specialist circuits of sachsenring and cota (tracks that honda was still well-suited to and also mitigated marc's right shoulder struggles as a result of the anti-clockwise layout), as well as an extra win at his strongest clockwise circuit of the calendar, misano (though he was helped by the two factory ducatis ahead of him binning it lol). right after that, he suffered a recurrence of his past problems with diplopia as a result of a training crash and was ruled out of the rest of the season... but you could still say there was a little bit of hope for better things to come

but things just kept going from bad to worse, to the point where you eventually lost track of the number of times you heard the descriptor 'worst weekend in honda's history'. initially, it looked like 2022 pre-season testing might be quite promising, and the honda did have a grand total of one decent-ish race (where marc wasn't actually the highest honda finisher, very very rare in the post-dani days). so there was initially some optimism around the radically redesigned bike, with a completely reworked chassis and new aero and new swingarms and so on. the bike was supposed to be more powerful as well as more rideable, but this ended up being far from the reality. at the very next race in indonesia, marc suffered a vicious highside that brought with it a worrying return of the diplopia, so soon after the last occurrence, and meant he was again sidelined. the other honda riders weren't doing much better, either scrapping for lower points positions or crashing themselves. after struggling on for a while, marc made the decision to get another surgery for his arm, postponing his season indefinitely. once again, honda was directionless, and it was hard to see any clear improvements or even where any improvements were supposed to come from

the situation was so obviously catastrophic that marc actually returned to the paddock before being fit to ride again to essentially inspect honda's progress and to have meetings with key honda personnel. in austria, he held a special press conference to discuss his visit - and then said press conference had to be cut short by a storm threatening to rip honda hospitality apart. which feels a little on the nose, but anyways. marc made his return after his successful surgery, and even he could only work so much magic with that bike... his strongest race was at phillip island, where he bagged his one podium of the year and was still in victory contention on the last lap. honda had also managed to secure two high profile rider signings for the following year - the two suzuki lads who had been left in the lurch by the manufacturer deciding very suddenly to leave the sport. 2020 world champ joan mir went to the repsol honda team, and alex rins, who was really too good and too highly rated for this gig under normal circumstances, ended up with the satellite lcr squad. the hope was that at least now they might have a better chance at having more than one competitive rider, who should also be able to provide development feedback and serve as a benchmark for marc post-arm injury

and then came 2023. honda's 2020 was horrible. its 2021 was embarrassing. its 2022 was disastrous. its 2023... well, that was just apocalyptic. this time there were no pre-season false dawns. honda's most dramatic problem wasn't that they had built a bike that was too slow (although it was also that), or that they were so obviously behind the development curve in several different areas (which they very much were) - it's that they'd built a bike that was so unreliable and prone to errors that by this point it was horrendously easy to crash. a lot of this is about grip and the way the tyres interact with the surface: if you're not getting enough feedback from this interaction, then you will not be able to get enough feeling to know when you have to make a correction to prevent the bike from throwing you off... even if you are marc marquez. the rear wheel issues and the lack of edge grip are particularly nasty, because they make highsides a lot more likely - you know, the crashes that throw you in the air and are particularly likely to seriously injure riders. so you have a bike that is not only extremely likely to throw off its riders, but is also likely to do so in a particularly painful, dangerous way. plus it was exhausting to ride, and, it has to be stressed, really really was not fast enough

the season does actually start with a slight glimmer of hope, with marc's pole at portimao (courtesy of a bastianini-provided tow) and a sprint podium... and then he crashed out in portimao, taking the home hero with him and fracturing his hand. as a result, marc was again out with injury for a few races - including at his beloved cota, where rinsy ended up securing honda's first and only win since end of 2021 (admittedly pecco did help the cause by crashing out of the lead). this did lead to some debate about how maybe the bike wasn't all that bad after all... but, well. obviously it was

from then on, it's all just misery. after the first race, joan doesn't manage to finish a sunday race in the next nine grand prix weekends - but he also only makes the start in five of those, partly courtesy of a finger fracture he picks up at mugello. alex rins breaks his leg at mugello, an injury he is still limping as a result of, and only managed to start two more races that season. marc shows up to his best track on the whole calendar, sachsenring, the one it should be impossible to beat him at... and he crashes five times that weekend before eventually withdrawing from the race. he's out for two races with rib and finger fractures

this is the breaking point. if marc can't win at the sachsenring and is hurting himself this badly while even bothering to try, the situation just feels increasingly untenable. this wasn't good for either marc or honda - what they needed by this point wasn't a star rider impatiently and miserably watching his remaining competitive years tick by, they needed to rethink everything they were doing and essentially start from scratch. for a long time, an idea of a split between honda and marc felt unthinkable, partly because of marc's deep loyalty towards that team, and also partly due to the more practical matter of his contract running until the end of 2024. but, well, the unthinkable became ever more thinkable as the season progressed. by necessity, marc had to change his approach after the sachsenring debacle, dialling back his competitive instincts and riding the bike at a slower pace in the ignominy of the lower points positions in order to not continuously injure himself. at times, it felt like he was riding slow out of protest - a very pointed 'well either I crash or I'm uncompetitive' - as honda continued to falter. a post-race test in misano prompted a further moment of crisis... marc was so deeply unimpressed by the 2024 prototype he had tested that this inevitably will have helped push him out the door and to gresini ducati. it's hard to exaggerate how bonkers this was... one of the greatest riders in history breaking their contract with their factory - and not just any factory, with honda - to instead go ride year-old satellite machinery. the move was obviously a good idea and the right thing to do, but that didn't make it feel any less crazy that it had actually come so far. how the mighty had fallen etc etc

y'know, joan has a good line about honda this year that he's trotted out quite a few times, where he says nobody leaves honda in a better state than they join it. the bike this season is somehow even slower, though *taps on wood* at least its homicidal tendencies haven't caused any serious injuries thus far. it's been a pretty miserable decline... it's not just the bodies that are getting hurt - it's also demoralising for the riders, and it becomes very easy to lose confidence in your own ability, to be unable to trust your feel for the bike, to become scared of when it will next throw you off. it becomes increasingly hard to motivate yourself, to keep coming back for more... great riders can get a lot out of poor bikes... but there is a limit. even for marc, that honda was a bridge too far

and of course marc's adaptation to the ducati is impressive... but it is a very very good bike! not just in the sense that it's fast - it's also good in that riders with very different riding styles are able to get a lot from that package. what marc is attempting to do right now is to extract performance from a package that is fundamentally there to be extracted: in spite of the increasingly obvious disparity with the gp24's, he is still riding a bike that won the championship last year and as a result doesn't have to ride wildly beyond its limit to make it go fast. he's done an excellent job of adapting his riding style to the demands of the ducati after such a long time on the honda, but fundamentally what he's trying to do here is study all the other ducati riders, see how they go fast, and put his own spin on it. once he's completely finished with the adaptation process (and yes, I'm aware he says he already has), he'll continue doing stuff with that bike that nobody else could... but from a better baseline of performance. I mean, look at where the other gp23's are this year - it's not great, but it's not honda levels bad. both in terms of their pace and in terms of whether you feel like the bike has been infested by a malicious spirit

a useful way of framing it is that you can measure how good a bike is by several different metrics. let's keep it simple and say two of those metrics are whether the bike is fast and whether it is rideable... whether it is user-friendly, if you will. the honda bike of the late 2010's was both fast and not particularly rideable - and you can say something similar of the ducati in times past. so for instance in 2007, at the start of the 800cc era, ducati does a great job in building a very quick bike... but they still had to have the stroke of good fortune to sign the perfect guy to take advantage of that speed, casey stoner. again, undoubtedly that was a very fast bike, but it's also extremely capricious - and even pretty highly rated riders couldn't get anywhere close to pulling off the kinds of performances casey did. but then, over the next few years, ducati fucked it and the bike gradually became worse pace-wise compared to its competitors while still being a nightmare to ride. which is why you have even casey in 2010 struggling to get much out of the bike, cf how he ended up finishing fourth in the championship standings behind a guy who had broken his leg during the season. and then ducati spends several years completely out at sea until 2015-ish. even the most adaptable rider who is able to push bikes beyond the limits of what should be possible cannot completely overcome a dramatic pace deficit. at some point, it just becomes too big an ask - and the honda's decline has been even more dramatic than what post-casey ducati suffered. there's a limit, even for marc... who could be fast last year, who did still manage to do exciting things with that bike. but more often than not, when he pushed, he crashed. now at last, marc can go back to simply attempting the improbable, not the impossible

[yiiyiiwrites]

| A Court of Iron & Ice | 1 |

Part one [winter warrior masterlist] Summary: you’re tasked with helping smooth over an alliance between Kallias and Rhysand. The winter court was your home, but in the heart of the court below the mountains you struggle to fit in. 3481words Winter warrior x Cassian

[Kallias palace is not in the mountains in this fic] I rewrote this chapter and deleted the previous post for this story.

Three months had passed since you’d last seen Cassian. It was the second time you’d returned to your home court as someone fully mated. You’d been counting down the days to the minute, aching to feel those arms wrapping around you.

Your role in the winter court, your home was to patrol the mountains and keep the monsters up high in the thick of trees and in the icy peaks. Each person in the court born with a corresponding spirit which sorted you into your purpose.

The wolf claiming you, well your parents choosing to birth you and give you up to the mountains. Your older sisters Veyna and Senna stayed with your parents at the bottom of the mountain along with the majority of fae and the high lord.

There was always a part of you that wondered what it was like to live with your family, to be normal like your sisters. If you could call them that.

You stared down to the flickering lights at the heart of the court, a warmth you couldn’t understand. The bitter wind nipped your cheeks and you clenched your fists under your arms, the patch in your worn leather gloves tearing open once again.

The fur coat that hung from your broad shoulders weighed you down, hem clumped with ice. You sipped the flask of hot berry tea, gaze sweeping over your shoulder and towards the dark border facing Autumn. The border the other side of the mountain, more organised and favourable to those in heart of the court.

Cassian would be arriving in the morning, Rhys and Azriel not far behind. They’d sent a letter, asking for you to remain in winter with them whilst Rhys tried to create an alliance with Kallias, the high lord of winter.

You’d hesitated opening the starry wax seal, wishing you hadn’t seen it and gone back to Velaris. The mountains were not for the faint hearted, your status in the court was not of any rank that you worried you wouldn’t be much help smoothing things over.

His scent invaded your senses before you even heard his boots crunch on top of the untouched snow. You spun around, staring at him across the frozen lake as if you were meeting him for the first time again.

It felt like it had been a lifetime, you sucked in a breath as he effortlessly walked across the ice. Long hair half scraped back, but the harsh wind cutting through the open planes of the mountain pulled at the tie, stray strands framing his chiseled face.

“I could not wait another day, my love,” Cassian said, arms wrapping around you, head resting on top of yours.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you hadn’t spoken to anyone in days and you wasn’t sure if your voice could hold without trembling. Your hands twisted in the back of his jacket, cheek pressing into his chest.

Cassian pulled away, “let’s get back to the hut,” he said slipping his hand into yours and tugging you along the narrow pebbled path.

You were glad you’d taken your lantern to the peak, some part of you knowing he’d arrive early. It’s was more his benefit than yours, you’d normally summon your wolf to see in the dark.

The journey wasn’t far, but it’s was laborious. Boots dragging into the deep snow, trees snatching at anything they could get a hold of.

Your small hut was enough for you, seeing Cassian dip below the doorframe always made you smile. His wings tucking in as he tried not to swipe the clothes hanging by the door. He crouched down and untied your boots, palm cupping the back of your calf as he helped you pull them off. You shook the ice from your thick socks shrugging your coat off as well.

The fire crackled, flame catching the log dropping to the hearth. The only spec of magic in the huts were fires as soon as the door opened. The hut small enough to warm up quickly, the space open and crammed with odds bits of furniture.

Cassian teased you for your mismatched furniture, the one patchy armchair and footstool by the fire in the centre. To the left a few cupboards, sink and a single hob for cooking, narrow table with two wooden chairs. Your mattress was tucked away to the right, a wooden pillar dividing it from the rest of the room and a curtain to keep out the natural light from the windows.

He’d gifted you an extra blanket and few more pillows after his first visit, stating that one lumpy pillow and duvet were not enough to survive the chill.

Cassian slipped off his boots, standing them beside yours and hung his jacket on the nail on the wall. He tilted his head, hands clasped behind his back as he walked to fireplace. A new trinket laid upon the worn wooden mantle. He picked it up between his thumb and finger, holding it up to the light.

“It’s wolf’s eye,” you said, your gaze on the orange and brown crystal you found in the caves of the mountain peaks. You didn’t admit that you were trapped in there and wounded, by chance finding the precious stone when you lit a fire to keep yourself warm.

The colours shifting as it caught the glow of light, you'd pocketed it thinking that it looked like his eyes in the morning sun before training.

His brows furrowed as he set the stone back on the mantle. He fell back into the armchair, wincing at the springs digging into his wings.

“Speak, my love,” he said, pulling you down on his lap. His palms smoothed down your thighs and rested on your knees as he waited for you to finally say what’s on your mind.

You sighed, leaning back against his chest. “I don’t think I’ll be much help here with the alliance.” You traced his knuckles and the back of his hand, “I’m not like everyone else down there.”

The heart of the court and the mountain were two different places. You rarely went down there and when you did, you struggled to fit in. They frequently made you stand out too, their customs different to yours.

“Either way you’ll be helpful, you know the land more than anyone,” Cassian said, he squeezed your knee laughing as you yelped. “Don’t over think it, I’m here for you.” His nose nudged the side of your neck and you tilted your head up allowing him more skin to nuzzle. You savoured the moment, your wolf lapping up your mate's attention.

You twisted on his lap and slung your arms over his shoulders, your fingers playing with the knot at the nape of his neck. “Promise me you won’t interfere with my work here? Promise you won’t get in the way of my role in the army?” You asked, you glanced down to your lap.

Cassian lifted your chin, hazel eyes connecting with yours. “Is it that bad here, huh?” He said, holding your chin so that you could not look away.

“Just promise,” you said, pressing your lips to his.

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against yours. “I promise,” he whispered, flinching as the bargain stamped an icy snowflake on his hand. For you the bargain burnt into your flesh, black ink and snowflake on the opposite hand to his.

“My role in the mountain is separate to the heart of the court,” you said shifting in Cassian’s hold, his hands dropped to your hips keeping you in place. “We’re a branch off of their traditional ranking. Which means I will never rank high or get promoted. Not that, that matters as I patrol the mountains, but when I go down there I’m just another soldier toeing the line. So I don’t have a say in anything.”

“How bad is it, that you’re bargaining for me not to interfere?” Cassian asked leaning back in the armchair so that he could see your face, his brows furrowed and fingers digging into your side for a second.

He’s got a knack for reading you like an open book, you’d think he was part wolf by the way his eyes inspect every flicker of movement and every weight of your word.

“Look, I give as good as I get here and there’s been many times I’ve lashed out, so I’m on a very tight leash,” you said standing up, you loosened the top clasp of your collar as if an invisible leash were tightening around your throat.

You were raised in the mountains, trained on the midway and surrounded by those born the year of the wolf or bear. There wasn’t much time for you to learn about the heart of the court, you rarely went down there, but when you did you rushed to leave.

“I don’t like this," he paused to rub his red eyes. “I couldn’t even get you out of this court, no bargain would free you completely.” Cassian rose from the armchair, his shadow looming over you.

“What are you talking about?” You turned to face him, leaning against the wall arms crossed over your chest. You tensed as his palm landed on your shoulder, thumb at the base of your throat.

His hazel eyes flitted from the rise of your chest and back to your face. “You thought I wouldn’t try to get you out of this place.” He smoothed the line of your furrowed brow, head creeping closer to yours.

You’re back arched as if that golden tether was tugging you closer. “It’s just three months out of the year,” your voice a breathy whisper, eyes fluttering shut as his lips hovered a hair width from your own.

Your promise to the winter court, to return for the three coldest months and patrol in exchange for being with your mate for the rest of the year.

“Gods, I hate being away from you for so long,” he murmured, you groaned as he slipped away. Your lips aching to feel his upon yours.

You awoke under the weight of Cassian’s bare arm, his wing twitching to shield you from the light creeping through the curtain. His legs tangled with yours under the mountain of blankets, long hair concealing his face.

This was your favourite moment, waking before your mate and taking in his beauty. Your finger trailed the black marks swirling around his bicep, the muscle tensing beneath your light touch. You swept the hair out of his face, even in a slumber a line remained between his brows as if he was deep in thought. Lost in a dream, you wondered if he’d had as many sleepless nights as you did whilst you were apart.

His dagger wedged into the wooden plank wall, between you and him so that you could both use it, if needed.

A cool draft swept in, door creaking shut and you scrambled out from under Cassian, cursing him for sleeping so deeply. You didn’t wake him, laying his hand beneath the warm duvet and pulling on your long dress robe.

Your bare feet padded the icy floor, hand circling around the hilt of one of Cassian’s discarded swords. As you raised the weapon above your shoulder and planted your feet wider, your sister stumbled into the open space.

“Gods, Senna,” you whispered, leaning the sword back by Cassian’s fighting leathers. “What are you doing here?” You grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her flesh as you dragged her back to the front door.

“The high lord and his friends are here. They were asking for your mate, for you,” Senna snapped, swatting your hand away from its deathly grip. She glanced around you and towards the gap in the curtain, smile pulling her lips as she stared at the Illyrian warrior in your bed.

She pushed past you, shoulder crashing into yours as she sat down at the narrow dining table. “You’re unaccounted for, you’ll get me in trouble,” you seethed, slamming your palm on the table in front of her. She flinched, focusing back to you instead of staring at the black swirls decorating Cassian’s chest.

Senna lifted her hand, “actually his high lord is waiting outside, so that we can winnow you both down.” She fidgeted in her seat, playing with the large stone on her ring. A ridiculously huge gem, passed down by your mother to your sister for her accomplishments.

“Why didn’t you start with that?” You ripped the curtains open and threw Cassian his fighting leathers. He grumbled something incoherent as the heavy fabric hit his face. You wriggled into your thick riding trousers, undershirt and tunic following straight after.

You couldn’t help, but think of Rhysand standing outside listening in. You’re surprised he hadn’t sauntered in and dragged his friend out of the bed.

Senna appeared behind you, fingers feathery light plucking your hair and weaving it into a braid as you strapped your daggers to your hip and thigh.

“Cass, get up!” You shook his shoulder, knees sinking into the mattress beside him. He hooked his arm around you and pulled you down.

Repetitive knocks shook the hut, you even flinched at the abrupt sound. Cassian’s head shot up from the lumpy pillow, eyes glazing over as he stilled in your hold. You knew Rhys was talking to him, a slow smirk appeared and he shook his head looking at you.

You couldn’t help, but laugh as his nose nuzzled the side of your neck. “Morning, my love,” he murmured, hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“The high lord is waiting,” you snapped, the reminder of your sister clambering around the kitchen made you jerk away from Cassian. A blush heated your cheeks, you shook your head retreating from his touch.

Senna’s face was flushed, she avoided your gaze as you opened the front door and welcomed Rhys into the hut. Your home, a part of you embarrassed to share it with someone other than your mate. Now that you had Velaris to compare it to, you were more aware of how little you had.

The space cramped, Rhys stayed by the door, his eyes trained on you. You bowed your head, silently greeting him as you clasped your tunic shut. He didn’t say anything but the slight crooked smile gave him away as his gaze followed yours and Senna’s to Cassian tightening his belt.

Half dressed, the Illyrian warrior took his sweet time. Knowing full well that you were staring, he glanced to you as he pulled on his top and winked as he sheathed the two swords crossing over his back.

Your vision flickered, warmth of colour washing away. Unknowingly, Cassian had drawn out your wolf and you were focussed on the heartbeats of the fae in your hut. Rhys was slow and steady, you’d never heard one so controlled. Senna’s a little faster than her usual relaxed rate, but you knew she was intimidated around the high lord and it’d be foolish not to be. Cassian’s betrayed him, the erratic beat whenever he over analysed or worried.

A growl tore from your throat as senna walked around you and a little too close to your mate than you liked.

Cassian’s calloused hands cupped your face and you swayed in his embrace. “Winter warrior,” he said, voice soft and low. “Put the wolf away.” The pad of his thumbs smoothed the dark rims under your eyes and the colour bled back into your vision.

“We should probably get going,” Senna said, pulling you away from Cassian’s heated gaze. She held her arm up for you and you clutched onto her.

The act of winnowing was something you’d never been able to do. Only high fae with immense power and those born under the spirits with wings could do so. Senna a phoenix, the raw energy she possessed allowed her to travel with ease, as well as heal those injured.

Strong not just in power but mentality, she was frequently overlooked and misjudged. You’d never looked down on her though, knowing that she could handle herself.

You felt the ground lift beneath you, darkness wrapping around like a cloak. A blink and you were crashing against the large oak table in the centre of a circular room.

The room lined with windows, frost clinging to the glass panes. A build up of ice ran the edge of the tiled floor and the bottom of the walls. White marble pillars, snowflakes carved into the hard stone.

You spun around, eyes tracing the stain glass dome above. The morning light reflecting the blue and greens on your hand. You turned the back of your hand tracing the pattern as it moved. You’d never seen anything like it, even though you’d spent a lifetime in the winter court.

Snow shifted down the dome, the noise reminding you of the avalanches in the mountains. You whirled around expecting to be buried in the sheet of white, but you were met with Cassian.

His brow furrowed watching you, head tilted as he eyed each piece you were taking in moments before. You couldn’t help but scan every little thing that passed as he guided you by the hand through a set of doors and a hallway.

White candles filled the wide windowsills, flames dancing as the cold draft filtered through with you. Your steps were light against the diamond shaped tiles as if they too were made of precious glittering stones. Glass chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, shiny like icicles from the caves only a wolf would know.

You were too busy admiring your surroundings, forgetting whatever conversation Rhys was having with Azriel who was ahead of you.

Cassian squeezed your hand, you said your goodbyes to Rhys and Azriel, following your mate into another room. You gasped as you entered, a large four poster bed taking up the room. Silky sheets of blues and whites shimmering like sun reflecting on snow, you didn’t touch the delicate fabric worried your rough hands would snag it.

“What is this place?” You collapsed into an armchair by a roaring fire, dark navy flame flickering in the hearth.

Cassian threw you a look over his shoulder, “it’s the guest quarters, in the palace,” he took the strap from his weapons off and laid them on a desk by the window.

Of course, the palace was a place you’d rarely entered. The only parts you’d been in there, were the library which you dodged thanks to the master scholars that were always saying you shouldn’t be there. And the throne room when your high lord, Kallias summoned everyone from the mountains. Those were a rarity though.

If the guests quarter looked like this, you wondered how the rest of the palace was. Were there thick fur rugs spread over the cold floors like the one beneath your boots? Was this one of the beasts you’d taken down?

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, but the opening door and the servant walking in stole his attention. You stood from the chair smoothing the creases out of your tunic.

The dainty servant bowed to Cassian and introduced herself. Velvety sky blue dress, the colour of the winter palace. All workers and guards wore it, you however wore white or grey to blend into the mountains, dark blue if you were summoned like today.

Her sapphire blue eyes slid to you, stopping at the iron wolf pinned to your chest. She wrung her hands in front of her, but did not acknowledge you as she spoke to Cassian, “if there’s anything else you need, please let me know.” She bowed once again, cheeks tinged pink as he mirrored her smile.

“Your mother left you more appropriate clothing in the closet,” she said pausing in the doorway. “She hopes you’ll be on your best behaviour.” She didn’t glance at you, but you caught the smirk on her face as she angled her face to you slightly. To Cassian it might seem like she was holding your gaze, but she did not.

You balled your fists up at your side, nails digging into your palm. The servant the same one that worked for your mother years ago when she was a commander. You should have recognised her, but you were too focused on the way she flirted with Cassian.

Jealousy raged inside of you. You stalked into the closet and snatched the tunic and dress pants from the hanger. A note falling to the plush carpet, the small scrap of paper trembling in your grasp. One word making you shake with anger, cleanse.

Cassian’s strong arms wrapped around you, chin resting on your shoulder as he read the word out loud. “What’s the meaning of it?”

“It means I’ll be scrubbing off the stench of mountain from my skin.”

Don’t worry I’m still writing my other series 😌 I just like to write a few at a time. Hope you liked and thank you for reading!

[occasionallyprosie]

Devotion - Chapter 11: "Courage in Abundance"

A portal snatches three sword spirits, a portal that Dev recognizes extremely well. He, Fi, and Spectrum, also recognize the abundance of courages spirits on the other side. Or just one spirit?

Read On AO3

First

<<Previous | Next>>

----

“Dev. They are here.”

The portal dropped them right to the ground, and as Dev first threw out his senses to form an image of their surroundings, Fi reached much farther. The first thing he noticed was the world felt younger, the forests sang as if Farore was still around. The second thing he noticed, and it was in part due to Fi alerting him to it, was the immense amount of souls filled with divine Courage nearby. Several were painfully familiar.

Spectrum got to his feet quickly, his sword vanishing his as it appeared. The sunlight glanced off his prismatic hair, Dev wondered how long it had been since they had seen sunlight. Ever since Demise's return, dark clouds blocked out the sky. It had been... a little over a year now.

“Whoo, that was weird,” Spectrum said, looking around. "Where are we? Err--When are we?"

“It’s a gathering,” Dev breathed. “It’s…”

Spectrum shot him a confused look. “Huh? A gathering? Of what?”

Dev wanted to cry. He wanted to go to his Sprite and wrap him in a hug, protect him. He could feel him…

He swallowed past the bubbling, centuries-old grief, guilt, and regret. “A gathering of heroes.”

Spectrum stared at him. “Oh… Wait, you were a hero?”

Thoughts screeching to a halt, Dev turned to just look at the other spirit. He ran through every moment, every bit of information he’d relayed to Spectrum, the stories and… “Yes? I—Kid, I have told you about my adventures!”

“No you haven’t?!” Spectrum gaped at him. "Since when?!"

“I have?!" Dev insisted. "The-The—Island! Koholint? Uh—Ravio from Lorule was my doppelgänger? Labrynna and the time travel to meet my ancestor?! Holodrum and manipulating the actual seasons themselves! Or-Or—Cadence and how she dimension-traveled here because of an idiot musician?! My sister was Zelda?!”

Spectrum spluttered. “I thought those were other hero’s adventures and they wielded you during them!”

“Oh golden three.” Dev threw his hands up. “You literally recognized me as the kid who killed you!”

“Hey! We’ve stepped in and replaced the hero before!” Spectrum argued. “I thought that’s what you did!”

“I—No?!”

“Well sorry for assuming!”

A beat of silence passed before Spectrum realized something.

“Wait, if you were a hero… How did you become a sword spirit?”

Dev shrugged. “Ritual. How did you?”

“I don’t know, I was killed by some psychos, and next thing I knew I was in the Sacred Realm. I know I was there for a while, and I remember… I… I remember Ganondorf.”

“Ganondorf?”

“Yeah, definitely.” The kid’s entire being became distant and faded, reflective features turning matte and muted. He crossed his arms and closed into himself. “He… In every timeline, he came into power at some point. The earliest in yours and… and then really quickly after in another. But the third, it had been a long time before he came into power enough. That one wasn’t as bad, it wasn’t as painful, but I still…” His brows knit together, the distress clearly etched onto his face. “I still remember being corrupted, every time. It hurt, malice and darkness all around me, dragging me into it, I only… I only remember coming out of it once, and that’s when I saw you--When I met you."

Dev wondered who out there used the spirit of the hero and bound it to the Four Sword, what psychopath did that? The amount of power it had to of taken to do something like that to a person, especially post-mortem…

“But yeah,” Spec shook his head and came back to the present, “I don’t remember how I became a sword spirit. Did… Did the same happen to you?”

Dev shook his head. “No… No, I…” He sensed the heroes all around them, none were nearby, none would come closer to interrupt. They had time. “I chose this path, kid. Fi was with me on my first adventure, without her, I probably would join those who fell.”

Link, the little boy who Demise killed. The Fallen Hero, a young Mask who never had the sages.

“But, well, she was decayed when I found her, she died shortly after I killed Ganondorf the first time. I had restored the Master Sword itself, but her spirit was destroyed.”

Spectrum looked horrified. “Oh. That’s what you meant.”

Dev nodded. “After all my adventures were over, I wanted to find a way to help the heroes who came after me. I found a book that theorized how to make a sword spirit, involving a necrotic ritual that binds a freshly-freed spirit to a physical item. Zelda—My sister, she helped me do it.”

“Oh,” Spectrum breathed. “That’s… Huh.”

Dev laughed. “Yeah.”

“You were hylian then.”

“As hylian as they come, Hylia was my ancestor.”

“What… What did you look like?”

“Well, it’s a gathering of heroes,” Dev said, looking over at Spectrum, “shall we look the part?”

Changing appearances was easy. He changed the violet hair--once to share features with the Tempered Sword, now to remember his brother/doppelgänger--back to the golden blond he once shared with his sister, and let his eyes regain the golden flecks that acted as the physical representation of his innate magic. His skin faded from the bright, vivid bronze-orange he sometimes adopted, usually when he didn't care to blend in. Orange tunic and purple cloak and boots became the red mail he struggled to remember, it wasn't exactly right, so he took creative liberties. Red, gold detailing, and black underclothes. And his Pegasus Boots, obviously. Fi chose to materialize on his back, as the Golden Sword.

Spectrum gaped. "That's... a change."

Dev laughed. He fixed his hair, brushing a finger through the bangs and watching those strands turn pink. "I didn't want to be recognized as the hero I was, and after so long, it felt wrong to go back."

Spectrum hesitated, then he snorted. "They're going to have no clue, even the ones we've met before."

As he spoke, white-reflective hair dulled to a natural shade of blond, styled with a middle part and held back by a green headband rather than the side part he usually sported. His bronzen-yellow and white clothes, which like his hair changed colors frequently, became a tunic split into quadrants of color. His eyes no longer had that prismatic look to them, and instead appeared a calm, cool gray.

"Sometimes I wonder why you decided to walk around like a literal rainbow," Dev mused.

“Hey, the Four Sword literally glows rainbows, how else what I supposed to embody the blade I inhabit?" He huffed. "I guess we should probably act like we aren’t centuries old too if we want to sell it."

Dev sighed. “Probably. Right, let me just channel my teenaged self.”

“Uggghhh,” Spectrum groaned. “I don’t want to be a teen again.”

“Great, you’re already in character. How about we split up? Herd everyone together. Can you sense them?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll go… for that one. This is going to be hilarious."

Spectrum wandered off one way, toward probably the only hero here that Dev didn’t recognize in the least.

Well… he knew which way he was going.

He was there. Right there. Right down the path was his Sprite, seventeen, a kid... alive.

““You’re predictable," mused Fi. "…So this is the Hero of Hyrule… I see you in him. He’s something else entirely.”

Dev stared down the path at his Sprite. To Fi, he explained, “The child of a sword spirit and a fairy, even if you want to say he’s the son of my living self, that would make him a descendant of Hylia as well as the child of a fairy.”

“It makes an interesting combination…" Fi agreed. "He seems distrustful.”

Practically one cue, his Sprite’s eyes narrowed and Dev realized quickly what was most likely to happen. Then he searched his memories for how he would’ve acted all those eons ago, how Link, the Hero of Legend, would have acted.

He stepped forward, Sprite matched his movements, then swords were drawn and locked.

“We want it to be realistic, right?” Fi sounded almost amused, then heat and pain shot through Dev from where he held Fi.

Dev quickly dropped the Master Sword, reeling back at the actual pain he felt. He shot Fi a betrayed look.

Sprite didn’t hesitate to drop his own sword and throw a fist.

Dev jerked backward, dodging away and searching his memories rapidly for fist-to-fist combat. It was messy and their fight turned dirty fast. Sprite knew how to fight with his surroundings in a way Dev never re-learned, only ever taught. At some point, they ended up semi-standing, Dev faking pants as Sprite gave his own real ones.

“Why’d you drop your sword?” He had to ask.

“I don’t need a sword to beat some bandit,” Sprite spat.

Dev blinked. “Bandit? I’m not a bandit.”

“Don’t lie—Huh. You’re not?” He lowered his fists. “Then why…”

“You’re one to talk! With a sword like that, you look like a thief!”

“I calculate a 93% chance that you are awful at acting like a teenager.”

“Shut up.”

“I do not! What are you even doing in a deserted forest like this?” Sprite demanded, blatantly offended.

Dev scoffed, teens do that right? “Dropped by a portal.”

His Sprite did a double-take, jaw dropping as he pointed at himself. “Hey, me too! Who are you?”

Dev picked up both their swords and held out the Magical Sword to its owner. “I’m… I’m Link, you’re a hero, aren’t you?”

Sprite frowned, eyes narrowing as he took the Magical Sword. “Excuse me?”

“My sword—She… was protective, I guess it lingered. It burned me when I raised it against you.” Dev lied, somewhat, there was enough truth to his statement.

Enough truth that it didn’t flag as a lie to the fae child before him.

“There’s probably others like us around here,” Dev continued before anything else could be said, sheathing Fi at his side. He looked around. “Whatever brought us here wouldn’t leave it at just two, I know of two other heroes before me, a third who died in battle. A—You the Hero of the Skies? Or of the Four Sword?”

Sprite shook his head. “No, I don’t have any fancy name, not like the heroes before me. I’m just… just a traveler, really.”

He was the Hero of Hyrule, the Hero, the Hero who came and fought not for his land, but because it was the right thing to do. He was not just a traveler… but... Link, the Legendary Hero, wouldn’t know that, would he? “Fair enough. Well, Traveler, shall we see what other heroes were dragged here?”

Dev managed to lead Sprite to run into his Cub and Wolfie without drawing any suspicion. 

“Someone’s coming,” Sprite hissed. Dev gestured upward, and Sprite didn’t hesitate to scale a nearby tree.

They moved up quickly, vanishing behind lush leaves. Dev watched as Cub followed the hero who must be Wolfie below them. Cub looked the same as he did when he first vanished, scarred but not missing any limbs. Wolfie turned out to be a buff, young man, wearing a green tunic not completely different but still distinctly unlike Sprite’s green tunic, though he also had a fur pelt over his shoulders. Behind them trailed a familiar auburn horse, Epona, though it wasn’t one that Dev knew.

“—So… Have you ever time traveled before?” Cub asked, leaning around to try and engage with Wolfie.

“No?” He made a face. "Who do I look like? The Hero of Time?”

“I don’t know! You’re some ancient hero, who am I supposed to guess? The Hero of Wolves?”

“Ordona help me.”

“Hero of Wolves?” Sprite mouthed to him. He shrugged.

“Do you feel that?”

Both of the heroes on the ground stopped in their tracks, hands rested on their weapons. Dev snorted a bit, Sprite rolled his eyes. He didn't need to speak telepathically with him to know that they were both amused and unimpressed with their observation skills.

“Someone’s watching us,” Wolfie hissed to Cub. “Be on your guard.”

Dev sighed. He raised an eyebrow at Sprite, who seemed amused though reluctant. He tried to tacitly convey—we were looking for other heroes…— and seemed to succeed as Sprite’s shoulders slumped.

“You know, if we wanted you dead, it’d been harder if you weren’t yelling your way through a silent forest,” Dev called down.

Both jumped, Wolfie pushing Cub back and both looking up.

“What—“

“We were not yelling—“

“Yeah, you were,” Sprite interrupted.

Dev jumped from the tree, remembering partway through his fall that oh, he’s supposed to be pretending to be hylian. How do you soften a fall?

Thankfully, he’d only been about a single story up and it was well within a hylian’s capabilities to jump from that height and land unharmed.

He did, however, receive a sword to his face as he stood back up.

“Oh calm down.” He rolled his eyes. “I heard that hero comment. You guys get snatched by a portal too?”

“How did you… We did.”

“Fun. So did we.” Sprite landed on the ground just behind Dev, and when the swords were shifted toward him, Dev adjusted to body-block him.

“So, why don’t we put the swords down and talk?” Dev suggested, glaring sharply at Wolfie.

Slowly, they lowered their weapons. 

“Uhhh, hi? My name’s Link?” Cub offered.

“Another one?”

Dev really struggled not to laugh at Sprite’s surprise.

He could sense Spectrum having gathered the others together, a group of five, three of which were close together and the other two being Spectrum and the one hero Dev didn’t recognize.

Leading the two groups together was hard, as it seemed Kit was leading Spectrum’s group south, while Cub was insistent they head east, and Sprite thought north was the better option.

How they managed to get the groups together, Dev really didn’t know, but they did and the meeting was extremely chaotic. Many threats were made, Dev had to search his memories for reactions and ended up throwing a few insults at his Kit.

Mask was much older, older than Kit who kept shooting him unsure, hesitant glances. As if… As if they didn’t know that they knew each other yet. Tune was a little older, still young though, and for how he was at Kit’s side, both were fully aware.

Fi’s first wielder was there, he was who Spectrum found. Fi had hummed quietly when he entered their senses. Dev wanted to get to know him, someone he knew secondhand from the spirit who practically raised him.

Eventually, things mellowed out and someone tiredly—Mask—suggested they find nicknames for one another.

“What would we even call each other?” Sprite made a face. “What we’re the hero of? I don’t want to be called Hyrule.”

Dev snorted. “Well, according to you, you’re just a Traveler, Rulie’s cute though.”

“I don’t think that’s a good option,” Fi’s first wielder said, frowning. “I mean, what if we share these… titles? If I get what you mean, I’m the Chosen Hero of the Goddess, but wouldn’t everyone be?”

“Maybe we should stick to things like Traveler,” Spectrum suggested. “I’m a blacksmith when I’m not doing—“ he waved his hand vaguely.

“Wouldn’t we probably have overlap then? Likelihood of us all have different occupations is not that high,” Kit pointed out. “From the looks of you all, I doubt I’m the only knight amongst us.”

“I was a knight too,” Cub said. “But I got promoted to the princess’ personal guard, and then the Champion of Hyrule.”

“I’m a knight,” Fi’s first wielder spoke up. “But I don’t know this ‘hyrule’ place you guys have mentioned. I’m a knight of Skyloft.”

“I guess I am a captain,” Kit sighed.

“I’m a rancher,” Wolfie said, patting Epona. “From Ordon.”

“I’m a sailor! I man ships across the Great Sea,” Tune declared, grinning. “How about you, old man?”

Dev recognized that. He was fishing for information, Tune knew it was Mask, but he was seeking confirmation.

Mask didn’t give it. Instead he hummed. “Considering how young you all look, I suppose that works just fine.”

“What? Old Man?” Dev snorted. “Don’t judge age on appearances.”

“What about you?” Sprite asked.

“Eh, I’m just an average nobody. I’ve been doing hero-related stuff my entire life,” he shrugged.

Spectrum hummed. “So you’d be kind of a veteran at it?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“I’m not calling a teenager a veteran,” Kit denied immediately. Wolfie nodded his agreement.

“Rude. Fine—I… know things? I have a lot of items? Look—“

“Scholar,” Spectrum offered. Thank the golden three for him. Dev had no idea what else he could say, he was not using his heritage, no, he never would’ve admitted that when he was alive, not to heroes, not to anyone. 

“Okay,” Kit agreed. "Scholar's fine."

“So…" Dev prompted. "Where are we? Anybody recognize this place or are we just lost?”

“I do.” Heads turned to the Old Man, who was looking around distantly. He moved over to one side, brushing low-hanging branches aside. “I grew up in these woods. We’re not lost but—Something isn’t right.”

“The forest is too quiet,” the Traveler said.

“We’re lost in ways other than a direction,” the Captain pointed out. “It seems like—“

Something appeared.

The Scholar whirled, there was a rip in the world, a barrier his senses couldn’t cross, and from it came something dark.

A huge, dog-beast charged into the path they stood on. The Old Man was thrown back as the beast stabbed him in the side with a huge spear. The Rancher reacted quickly, a chain grabbing the beast’s arm and preventing it from immediately killing the Old Man. 

The Traveler dove in first, striking its legs as the Sky Knight ran to the Old Man. The Captain went in close to aid with the Traveler, but when he struck the beast deeply, it didn’t fall. It spun and backhanded the Captain aside, his sword left inside the beast and laid unmoving across the area.

He was fine. Only injured, and not lethally. Focus, Dev. The Scholar formed the Titan Mitts over his hands. He grabbed the chain to help the Rancher restrain the beast. 

The Sailor swung low and slashed upward. He took the beast’s hand with him as he jumped back. An arrow flew past him from behind, hitting true.

“He’s not backing down!” The Smithy cried, drawing back another arrow.

The Scholar felt his grip loosen. “This chain is gonna break!”

The Champion ran around the beast, and using the Captain’s sword as a stepping stone, leapt onto the beast’s back to attempt and drive his sword through its neck. The beast grabbed his arm and threw him. The Smithy dropped to check on him— The Traveler leaped into the air higher than what should be possible, and with his foot against the hilt of his sword, drove his blade into the beast’s nape.

The beast fell, the Traveler stood, and the Sailor ran to cheer for him.

The Scholar forced a calm feeling over himself, the Captain was fine and wiping his face clean of blood. He walked over to retrieve his sword…

It was a sword that the Scholar had reforged from a soldier’s sword, one he forced the hero to keep on him at all times in case he wasn’t nearby for one reason or another.

The Rancher had rushed to help the Old Man, who waved him off.

“Don’t fuss over me.” He got to his feet, seemingly unhurt. “So much effort to take a single one down…”

The Rancher looked slightly hurt by that.

“Is that how you thank us?” The Scholar teased. “You’re as bad as I am”

“You were all quick to act,” he conceded. “Nothing less than commendable to be sure. But this one. This kind of beast… A single one of you should have been able to take it down. This is not normal. Stranger still, these kind are only found deep lost in the woods.”

“You think this has to do with—“

“The Shadow,” The Smithy finished, also cutting the Scholar off.

“The what?”

“We ran into some shadow thing after meeting up,” the Sky Knight said. “Didn’t you guys?”

“No?”

“A shadow thing?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was a shadow,” the Smithy deadpanned. “Shaped almost like a person, it was hiding and watching us, only reason I saw it was because of the red eyes. They glowed. It was creepy. I’d bet my best blade that it is behind this.”

“I’d believe it,” the Captain said, he held out the cloth he used to clean his sword. It was stained black. “Look, this creature’s blood.”

The Scholar almost froze… were those monsters connected to this? The monsters he'd been killing for the past... however many centuries? The only things out there that gave him--and Spectrum--a challenge anymore?

“It was sick?” The Sailor questioned.

“From what we saw, more like empowered,” the Traveler corrected.

The Rancher cut in sharply. “This can wait, we have wounded.”

“Not necessarily,” the Old Man said, a fairy emerging from the trees to fly up to him. “We are far too fortunate to be in these woods. It’s safe now, the beast is dead.”

The Scholar watched fairies flock from all angles, healing the Captain, Champion, and the Sailor quickly opening a bottle to catch one that fluttered up to him. The Traveler greeted the fairies warmly.

“This forest is full of life now, strange that they hid from it,” the Traveler said.

“Something to be feared I guess,” the Smithy pointed out. “Even they knew something wasn’t right.”

“If it’s not the shadow we’re looking for—“

“It’s at least a lead,” the Captain interrupted the Scholar. “Seems we are on the right path to understand the cause of our meeting.”

Next>>

[totallynotsarkaz]

I guess Skadi never told Spec about that little fling she had with Grani

we all know that once Specter know about it, she would 100% snatch da horse like she snatch those scally fish snaccs off the fridge when Gladiia ain't looking

[christinesficrecs]

Hi! I love your work honey 💞 I was wondering if you know any sci fi sterek aus? Thanks, have a nice day! 😁

Hey! 🩷 Yes, I do! There are a few Star Wars ones here and a whole bunch more here. Also, maybe this one that I love to pieces!

These are all AMAZING and you should read them all!! 🥰

the ring of the ancestors is not a euphemism by kellifer_fic | 10.6K

Stiles hadn’t noticed the way the entire commissary had gone silent when the guy had approached his table, or the two military escorts that had been flanking him, looking at each other like maybe they should be intervening but weren’t sure how. All he saw was someone stealing the last dessert from him and Stiles didn’t think about it, he just reached across the table and snatched it back with a, “What the hell, dude?”

Faint is a medical term by kellifer_fic | 17.5K

The continuing adventures of Botanist Doctor Stiles Stilinski and his alien werewolf boyfriend.

In Other Words, Baby, Kiss Me by primroseshows | 61.2K | Explicit

Stiles has simple goals in life. To successfully complete his secret radar project without getting fired, to get a cottage on the Moon, and to untangle his mess of feelings for Moon Station 3 deputy, Derek Hale. Heck, he’ll even settle for two of the three.

When Life Hands You Werewolves by uraneia | 4.6K

A month ago John’s team rescued a former runner named Derek Hale. He’s great to have on offworld missions–he’s like a danger magnet; nobody else gets so much as a splinter. But there’s just something different about him. John can’t quite put his finger on it….

Calling Home by alchemy | 5.6K

“Send me up a drink,” jokes Major Hale. The count goes on.

A Wildness Warily Awakened by Etharei | 64.5K | Explicit

Derek Hale and his Specialized Combat Agents Unit are assigned to B-CON Base, a research facility in the heart of the lone human settlement on planet Cali. Normally, such an isolated place would not warrant the presence of Specs - the Infection is raging across the known galaxy, after all, and zombies don’t kill themselves (unless there are no tastier alternatives at hand) - but Derek is on a private hunt for his sister. He soon discovers that the rest of his team have ties to the place as well.

It’s all just coincidence, of course. (No matter what Stiles bleats on about those.)

Also, zombies.

Show You What All That Howl Is For by skoosiepants | 14.6K

“This is a terrible idea,” Stiles tells the room again. “You’ll all be sorry when Derek pushes me off a cliff.”

[wot-tidbits]

Brandon Sanderson on his first experience with the process of adaptation as author:

"I have a fun story here. Early in my career, someone optioned the rights to make one of my stories (the Emperor's Soul) into a film. I was ecstatic, as it's not a story that at the time had gotten a lot of attention from Hollywood. I met with the writer, who had a good pedigree, and who seemed extremely excited about the project; turned out, he'd been the one to persuade the production company to go for the option. All seemed really promising.

A year or so later, I read his script and it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. The character names were, largely, the same, though nothing that happened to them was remotely similar to the story. Emperor's Soul is a small-scale character drama that takes place largely in one room, with discussions of the nature of art between two characters who approach the idea differently.

The screenplay detailed an expansive fantasy epic with a new love interest for the main character (a pirate captain.) They globe-trotted, they fought monsters, they explored a world largely unrelated to mine, save for a few words here and there. It was then that I realized what was going on.

Hollywood doesn't buy spec scripts (original ideas) from screenwriters very often, and they NEVER buy spec scripts that are epic fantasy. Those are too big, too expensive, and too daunting: they are the sorts of stories where the producers and executives need the proof of an established book series to justify the production.

So this writer never had a chance to tell his own epic fantasy story, though he wanted to. Instead, he found a popularish story that nobody had snatched up, and used it as a means to tell the story he'd always wanted to tell, because he'd never otherwise have a chance of getting it made.

I'm convinced this is part of the issue with some of these adaptations; screenwriters and directors are creative, and want to tell their own stories, but it's almost impossible to get those made in things like the fantasy genre unless you're a huge established name like Cameron. I'm not saying they all do this deliberately, as that screenwriter did for my work, but I think it's an unconscious influence. They want to tell their stories, and this is the allowed method, so when given the chance at freedom they go off the rails, and the execs don't know the genre or property well enough to understand why this can lead to disaster."

This quote is made 5 days ago.

I am sure I do not need to spell it out how this quote can very specifically to be connected to one other certain TV fantasy adaptation to the point it explains the situation pretty much verbatim.

SOURCE

[poetryandfluffycats]

Dearer than I?

A/N: im a slut for 'student council member x delinquent' I know its niche but omg

Pairing: Keito Hasumi x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive, angst(?) at the end, eichi mentioned, established relationship

Content: Keitos been hard at work for the student council, nothing unusual. You, as his girlfriend, feel he's working just a bit too hard. A little bit of entertainment wouldn't hurt either of you, right?

Words: 1.0k

Oneshot under cut!

Keito was a busy man, no doubt about it. So many responsibilities, so little time to juggle them all. Being vice-president of the student council was no joke, and although he was thankful to Eichi for taking on more of the workload since leaving the hospital, he often found that Eichi himself was the source of 80% of his headaches. Not that it was anything worth complaining about; Eichi was a force to be reckoned with, he just had too much power at his disposal.

If Keito could be completely honest with himself, he didn't trust the emperor as far as he could throw him. But in order to keep things civil, and to keep his own unit afloat, he kept his mouth shut. All his hard work would eventually pay off.

But, in the meantime, Keito was left to deal with some of the more bothersome issues of the council. Things like...

"Keito~"

Like you, his clingy girlfriend.

"What do you want, (name)?" He questioned, not bothering to look up and met your eyes. He already knew what kind of face you'd be making, the kind that made him melt into the palm of your hand. Lord, how unprofessional he had become.

You giggled, propping yourself up on the edge of his desk, pushing the paperwork aside to make room for yourself. "Does a girl need a reason to visit her favorite person in the whole wide world?" You batted your eyelashes, leaning forward to steal his glasses from off his face.

Keito growled under his breath, his eyebrows knitting together into a thin line as he finally looked up at you. "You're being disruptive. Unless you need something, I'd suggest you go back to class"

He reached his hand out to snatch his glasses out of your hold, a movement you easily dodged by slipping them onto your face instead. The frame was far too big for you, falling down the bridge of your nose and resting crooked on the tip.

Keito sighed, running a hand through his green locks. "(name), I'm serious" He held out his hand expectedly, just for his frown to deepen when you didn't immediately give back the specs. As if you actually would.

"Why? Don't I look so cute? Hey, I could be your sexy secretary!" You flashed him a wink, adjusting his glasses and posing like a stereotype from one of those cheesy pornos. "How may I serve you, Mr. vice-president~?"

"Go. Away." He demanded, standing up from his chair to loom over you, using his height as an advantage to try intimate you.

However, you had never been one to scare easily. In fact, you found it quite sexy. He'd always been strict with you, both in and out of the bedroom. It was a dynamic you enjoyed, you being his rebellious little girlfriend who couldn't take no for an answer, and him being the no-nonsense authority figure who wasn't afraid to put you in your place. Lucky enough for you, it was all too easy to rile him up. Just a few simple touches, a bat of your eyelashes, maybe a hint of cleavage and he'd be putty in your hands.

Forget Eichi, you were the real reason for Keitos headaches.

"You look great without your glasses, yknow? Such pretty eyes.." You choose to ignore his demands, instead hooking your fingers around his tie and pulling him forward, leaving barely an inch between your lips. "I just can't look away!"

"You shouldn't act like this here, it's highly inappropriate" Keito warned, keeping his hands folded behind his back and his voice steady, even if every fiber in his body was screaming at him to bend you over right then and there.

"Who says it's inappropriate?" You breathed against his lips, placing his glasses back over his eyes. "You're the vice-president, aren't you? You're the boss, you call the shots, do you not? Who's gonna tell you off?"

"That's not the point-"

"Then what is, Keito? Do you just not like me anymore? Am I not good enough for you? Is your work more important than-"

"Stop. Just stop" He sighed, finally allowing himself to move his hands to your hips but still keeping his distance from you. "Of course I still like you, you already know that. But you can't barge in here without a reason whenever you want just because you feel like it"

Your smirk faltered, twisting into a very obvious pout. That wasn't the reaction you had hoped for. Why was he treating you like some annoying kid? Didn't he realize how badly you'd been missing him? A pang of sadness shot through your chest, your hold on his tie loosening as your arms fell limp at your sides.

"I'm sorry. I... I did have a reason, actually" You mumbled, reaching into your jacket pocket to pull out a neatly folded piece of paper. "It's the notes from class. I thought you might want them, since you're so busy..."

Guilt hit Keito like a ton of bricks as he retrieved the paper from you, the sadness on your face tearing him apart. He has been too hrash, hadn't he? It was something he was constantly aware could happen, losing his temper at you when you were trying to do something considerate. How could he let your teasing get the better of him?

"Thank you" He said softly, trailing his hands down to your thighs and giving them a gentle squeeze before helping you off the desk. "I'll text you later, okay? No, I'll call you. I promise"

You nodded, flashing him a weak smile before turning on your heel and making your way to the door, head hung low like a kicked puppy. The door slammed behind you as you exited, the sound sending waves of guilt down Keitos spine

Keito hated seeing you like that, and he hated even more that he was the cause of your sadness. Looking down at his desk, messy with paperwork and trivial documents, he started to wonder if it was really all worth it.

Sure it was, the work was important and being a member of the student council was an honor to the school. But more important than you?

No. Not a chance.

[practically-an-x-man]

Director’s commentary on Broken Pieces?👀👀👀

I’m still insane about it a week later

Oooooh, absolutely!! This was one of my favorite fics to write, we're gonna have fun with this one >:)

Link to the ask game here, link to the original fic here (heavy whump warning to those who haven't read it)

And of course... we're putting this under the cut for space, cause I'm about to ramble HARD.

____

Eris hummed a half-conscious affirmative and turned over in the bed, pausing only to snatch the pillow from Rick’s side of the bed and bury his face in it. Maybe these past few years had softened him, spending damn near every night asleep in bed like any other human. There were only three reasons the habit had stuck: sleep felt good, being well-rested kept her strong and agile, and… Rick. The nights, in the quiet and the solitude, were about the only time she could allow herself to be soft for him. And most people spent a third of their lives asleep - that was whole years carved from his already-limited lifespan to be spent apart, unless of course they spent it with him.

It's always interesting to see how Rick softens Eris through them living together. Their relationship is really unlike anything I've ever written before, and if you ever decide to read the other pieces in their collection, you'll notice a running theme of "actions speak louder than words". Eris loves to poke fun at Rick and rarely expresses their affection verbally. But at the same time, he's always looking to protect Rick from threats when they're in battle, he chooses to share an apartment and even a bed with him though they could live anywhere they want to, she allows herself to be perceived by him in these quieter moments (when she only ever lets others see her as sharp and contrary), and he proves that he knows Rick's habits, likes, and dislikes almost as well as Rick knows them himself.

Rick of course is candid about his affection towards Eris, in both words and actions, but Eris' is shown simply in the fact that they, a being known for conflict and battle and violence, choose be gentle with him.

Eris blinked in the darkness, forcing his eyes to make sense of the shadows. For just an instant they shuddered, their vision rippling faintly before resolving into crisper focus. She slid out of the bed like a whisper through the night, hackles raised.

Not sure how clear this was to someone newer to Eris as a character, but she's utilizing her shape-changing here. He's just shifted his eyes into that of a lion's, his other form, so that he can see more clearly in the darkness. I wanted to make this subtle, since I felt that more detail would break the tension of the scene, but I also wanted to show Eris instinctively making use of their assets in an uncertain scenario.

Something shifted from behind him, and cold metal kissed his skin for the briefest instant before sliding easily into his flesh. Eris felt a momentary burst of pain- then absolutely nothing, as the knife danced between his cervical vertebrae and his whole body went slack.

Funny enough, this little moment is inspired by one of my favorite book series of all time, the Market of Monsters series by Rebecca Schaeffer. It's a sci-fi series that places cryptids and mythological creatures from around the world into the modern world, and it gets super dark at times!! In the third book, the main character paralyzes a vampire (known to heal so quickly a straight fight would be almost impossible) by slipping a knife between his cervical vertebrae, then leaving the knife there so he can't heal the tissues and regain movement.

Anyway, it's a fantastic book series, highly recommend for a whump fan such as yourself. I could go on a whole separate ramble about why I love that series, from the spec-bio to the casual diversity to just how exciting the plot is.

“It’s awake.” someone said. Eris’ eyes found the source of the voice quickly - a bespectacled doctor in a bloodstained lab coat, holding something red and visceral in his gloves.

Ah yes, That Moment. I intended for this to be one of the most chilling moments of the fic - the moment the reader realizes they're in for some damn dark whump, and the moment Eris realizes they may genuinely have been outplayed. And of course, the first sign that the scientists don't see him as anything more than a mass of tissue.

His ribs had been opened, splayed to either side and baring his entrails to the air. There was a lot of blood- and a lot of pain, though he sensed that his body was blocking the worst of it to keep him lucid. Already they could feel their tissues straining to regenerate, staunching blood and building new tissue where their organs had been taken from them.

This was actually the moment I based the whole fic around. I had the mental image of a highly regenerative meta being forced to literally look at their own organs being removed, with their ribs opened like it was a high school dissection, and I effectively built the rest of the story around it. Technically this fic is listed as being based on a two-line prompt, but the truth is that I had this concept a few days before and then fit the prompt into it.

The doctor drove a scalpel into the delicate skin of their throat. The blow was deep but well-placed, and Eris’ voice cut off with a creak and a spray of blood. The blond wiped off his blade with a look of satisfaction on his face.

Another moment here based on the Market of Monsters series :) Same book, same characters, same chapter even. The main character gets tired of the vampire droning on and decides to silence him by severing his vocal cords with a scalpel. It's just so undeniably cold, it's such an incredible villain moment to me.

Yet their strength fled. Their vision swam, blurring into loose smears of color. The sharpness of blades in her abdominal cavity softened to only a vague, dreamlike pressure. They’d begun to suspect it wasn’t only nutrients being introduced to their blood. Eris let out a weak groan, only dimly noticing that her vocal cords had sewn themselves back together.

If they were at full strength, the sedative wouldn't have much of an effect on Eris. His healing factor is fast enough to nullify most drugs and alcohols, excluding only the ones intentionally made for metas with rapid healing factor like his own. This effect here is a combination of two things: a sedative made for metas specifically, and Eris' body being focused on regenerating the vital needs first.

Unless Rick had been killed. In the scope of this operation, what was one more body? And surely these doctors would know that he’d come for them, that he’d stop at nothing to rescue her. It was possible, even likely, that they’d slashed him down the moment he stepped out to investigate the music. There was a sharper tug, deep in her chest, and one of the scientists drew back with something glistening in his hands. Eris watched his heart kick out a few dying beats as the doctor placed it into an ice chest. It left him feeling hollow, drained and empty though the device on the cart kept his blood coursing steadily through his body. He wondered, distantly, how much of him was left, and how much they’d already carved away.

Genuinely my favorite little moment in this fic, and nobody seems to have picked up on it from just a raw read as of yet: Eris' heart is removed immediately after they assume Rick has been killed. How's that symbolism for ya?

It was terrifying to be seen this way, merely parts of a whole. For all her life, for every torture she’d been put through over the centuries, there was nothing quite like this. In a strange way, the indifference was worse than maliciousness. Anger was personal, directed. Anger required her to be seen as a person- or if not a person then a monster, an animal, but a living thing. And Eris thrived in conflict. But this? This was impersonal. Impartial. He might as well have been a side of beef in a butcher’s shop. He couldn’t draw off their anger because there was no anger to draw off of. They silenced him, cut his vocal cords and removed his lungs, because they didn’t want to admit he was a conscious creature.

Another reason Eris is weaker here than they normally would be - it's not just that he thrives in conflict emotionally, his powers literally draw off of it. Her healing gets faster, her reflexes get sharper, she grows more powerful. The fact that these scientists don't have any emotional connection to her, positive or negative, is genuinely more detrimental to her than if they'd been angry and careless about the injuries they caused.

On a deeper level, I wanted to make it clear that Eris is genuinely in a situation where they can do nothing, and the details just stack up against them. They're too injured to shape-change without ripping themself apart, their body spends so much energy healing that the sedative affects them heavily, there's no ambient conflict or anger to boost their powers, and the one person who would immediately jump to their rescue rather than assuming they could escape on their own (Rick) might already be dead. Eris is an incredibly strong and capable metahuman, especially in conflict, but literally everything in this situation plays against them.

“Eris- c’mon, darlin’, talk to me. You still in there? Tell me you’re still with me, wartime, please.”

Not really director's commentary, but can you imagine how it must feel on Rick's end to encounter this? I mean, he's seen them heal from all kinds of gruesome injuries, but they're literally hanging from chains with their ribs opened, missing most of their organs, and barely even conscious enough to look in his direction. The metahuman who he thought to be effectively immortal is now closer to death than he has ever seen them. That's legitimately scarring.

“You’re lucky I love you, Flag,” she muttered, “This sort of extortion would get anyone else killed, you know.”

Two comments on this:

They're not kidding. If Eris doesn't want to do something, she doesn't do it. If someone tries to press the issue, they're likely to end up killed- or at the very, very least, abandoned where they stood. It goes back again to that theme of actions speaking louder than words: Eris listens to Rick here, and with shockingly little argument.

2. In all of the fics I have written for Eris, they only ever say "I love you" three times (I literally checked this in my master document for their fics). Once here, after the deepest whump I've ever written. Once in Lost Gods, in which Eris is confronted by an eldritch monster that nullifies their healing factor and they genuinely feel that both he and Rick will die. And once in a heavy angst snippet, in which Rick dies right in front of them (it's a low-grade AU for the sake of angst). Technically I have them saying it once more, in an outline for a future piece following the battle with Peacemaker in Corto Maltese (in my version of it, Eris intervenes but Rick still gets badly hurt, and would have died without a blood transfusion from Eris' regeneration-rich blood), but I haven't written that piece yet. [Side-side-side note here, the scientists talking about how a meta's blood can boost an ordinary person's healing is also a setup for that piece, since I like to establish things early and keep them consistent so it doesn't end up feeling like a deus ex machina] Either way, that should give you some scope for how rarely Eris expresses their feelings candidly through words. Eris still does express affection verbally, but it's usually either subtle ("Can you put your seatbelt on?" in A Fool's Errand, or "I just want to keep you around, Flag" in Acrimony) or possessive ("You're mine. Until they put you in the ground, you're mine." in Whatever Keeps You Around, or a similar sentiment in that same angst snippet I talked about before). Eris' softer moments are told through actions, not words. The times when they do use words so candidly are almost always the times one or both of them are in grave danger and they might not get another chance to express those feelings.

[tworoadsandapenny]

What You Wish For: Chapter 2. What's Left Behind

I hadn't meant to continue the story (it was originally a oneshot) but my brain had other ideas. So here we are.

Still an angsty mess of angst and crazy. You've been warned. This time it's all about Mikey.

~*~*~*~*~*~

 Everything was in place.

The books hadn’t moved from their shelves, lined in perfect order, not a crooked binding in sight. The weapons on the wall gleamed with polish, proudly displaying the care they received on a daily basis. The rug by the bed lay in a perfect circle, no tears or bumps or curled ends. The bed was made and tucked with hospital corners, pillows fluffed and awaiting their next use.

Perfect.

Just the way Leo liked it.

“It’s creepy. A room should look like it’s been lived in, you know? Yours looks like one of those fake bedrooms from the IKEA catalogues.”

“I like things clean.” Leo re-tucked the corner of the bed sheet Mikey had intentionally pulled out to give a messier look to the room. “You should try it. Maybe start by cleaning your room more than once a decade.”

Mikey picked up a book from the organized shelf, eyeing it warily. “Dude, even your books are too organized. Your clothes are put away, you can clearly see the floor, and there’s not a spec of dust on any of these shelves! How do you live like this!? It’s barbaric!” He turned in time to see his brother’s good-humoured eye-roll, and smiled in victory. “I’m just sayin’, you could stand to be a little less perfect. It wouldn’t kill you to, I don’t know, relax for a few minutes.”

Leo snatched the book from Mikey’s hand and placed it back in it’s spot on the shelf. “I relax. How do you think I read all these books?”

“Studying isn’t relaxing.” Mikey corrected. He saw the look in his brother’s eyes like he was actually considering Mikey’s words.

After a brief pause, Leo finally sighed heavily, shifting his foot to kick the rug at the foot of his bed so it was scrunched into a weird pile. “Satisfied?”

Mikey glanced from the rug to Leo’s expecting face and back. “…That’s it?”

“Baby steps.” Leo ruffled Mikey’s head as he walked by. “Come on, it’s time for my other relaxing activity.”

“What?”

Leo grinned. “Training.”

The younger turtle groaned, shaking his head. “Dude, does the term ‘perfectionist’ mean anything to you?”

“I skewed the rug, didn’t I?”

Mikey stepped beside his brother to place a hand on his shoulder, a mock-disappointment in his features. “Oh young padewan, so much to learn you have.”

Leo rolled his eyes once more, sighing a light chuckle that made the younger turtle smile in victory again. “Let’s go, Obi-Wan.”

“Yoda!” Mikey threw his hands up in an exasperated gesture. “So much to learn…”

Mikey loved making Leo smile. And laugh! Making Leo laugh was the greatest! He was the most challenging target of his brothers, by a long shot. Don would laugh at some of his jokes or pranks, and Raph would laugh if Don was the victim of said joke or prank. Casey and April were easy targets. Even Splinter chuckled at his antics from time to time. But Leo… Leo would smile, but not laugh. An actual burst of amusement from their leader was rare. Very rare. But when it happened, Mikey felt like he was on top of the world! It was like mastering a difficult kata. Made him feel accomplished. And it was always nice to see Leo actually relax for a minute. He was always so serious. So worried all the time.

Worried for everyone else.

Taking a timid step into the room, Mikey looked around and breathed in the smell. Candles and incense. Leo’s room always smelled like candles and incense. It smelled like the dojo, minus the sweaty body odour. It gave the room an air of gentleness. Calm. Like a spa or a sauna.

It felt like safety.

Mikey suddenly clamped his teeth on a choked breath. His lungs were like bricks, grating against his chest and scratching holes in his throat. He walked to the bed and looked at the book on the nightstand; The Art of War. Leo’d read it before. Mikey knew because his brother had read some of it to help him sleep one time after a nightmare.

Leo was always nice to Mikey about nightmares.

All his siblings were. They might jab him every once in a while if a nightmare sounded particularly ridiculous, but none of them would ever turn him away if he was scared. Ever.

But Leo somehow could tell without Mikey waking him up. There’d been several times over the years when Mikey would jolt awake, sweating and panting and terrified out of his mind, only to find Leo sitting on his bed, pulling him into a comforting hug before he even had a chance to panic. To this day, Mikey still had no idea how Leo did it.

Now he’d never know.

Reaching for the book, Mikey was about to pick it up when a voice in his head made him hesitate.

‘Leo would be upset if he knew I was in here rooting through his stuff. Especially if I lost his page.’

The idea brought a strangled laugh from Mikey’s throat. What a thought! What a stupid, stupid thought! Leo wouldn’t care! Leo wouldn’t be upset!

Because Leo couldn’t care about anything anymore. Couldn’t care about his stuff, about his privacy, about his training or the missions.

Couldn’t care about his family. His brothers.

Mikey.

Because Leo was gone. And he wasn’t ever coming back.

Mikey choked on his own breath as a pain like a switchblade to his stomach crawled through his whole upper body. He felt sick. He was totally gonna hurl all over Leo’s stuff. Leo would be—

Wouldn’t care. Couldn’t. ‘Cause Leo was gone.

Forever.

Mikey collapsed to the floor, his arms resting on his brother’s bed as his hands gripped the blankets like they were the only thing tethering him to the world. There was a ringing in his ears that drowned everything out, but he knew he was crying. Screaming. Hot tears charged down his cheeks in an unending stampede as his voice threw out whatever sounds it could to try and stop the pain.

Make it stop. Make it go away.

Bring him back.

Leo!

“Over here, Don!” Mikey called as he came into view of his two eldest brothers on the roof. Leo was lying prone on the ground, with Raph curled over him, heads touching as Raph held a hand on Leo’s stomach. Mikey was just about to make a perfectly witty comment about his older brothers’ odd position when the wind brought the smell of blood to his nostrils with such power, it almost knocked him backward. His eyes suddenly snapped open, darting around to find the source and landing on the blood pooling around Leo’s mid section and trickling away with the rain. His voice became abruptly terrified. “LEO!”

Not even waiting to see if Don was behind him, Mikey jumped to the roof, falling beside his brother to grip his hand. His breath hitched immediately; Leo’s hand was freezing! And his skin looked like he’d been dipped in bleach! “Dude, what—“ The question dropped away before he could get it out.

Leo’s eyes were closed.

And Mikey felt his body going numb. No… No Don said it would be OK. He said Leo would fine. He said there was nothing to—

Mikey nearly jumped when Don kneeled beside him. “Dude, you said he was fine!“

“Raph, move your hand.”

Don’s voice was calm, that had to mean he had a plan. He knew how to fix this. Leo was gonna be OK. And Mikey clung to that hope with every fibre of his being.

“Raph!” Don finally managed to pry his brother’s hand away from the wound on Leo’s stomach and the fearful breath he choked on made Mikey grip the icy hand he held tighter.

“You can help him, right Don? You can…” His eyes were drawn to his second eldest brother as Raph finally lifted his head from Leo’s. The look on his face froze Mikey’s heart.

No…

“L-Leo…” Mikey could feel himself shaking. “Don, you have to do something! Leo’s not breathing! He’s bleeding and he’s not breathing! You have to—“

Don’s hand gripped his shoulder and sent a chill down Mikey’s spine. Why weren’t they doing anything!? Why weren’t they moving!?

Why wasn’t Leo breathing!?

“No…” Mikey pulled away from Don to reach out and grab his eldest’s shoulders, ignoring how icy cold they felt, and shake him. “Leo, wake up! This isn’t funny, dude! Open your eyes!”

“Mikey…”

“NO! He’s not dead! He can’t be!“ How could they just give up like that!? They had to try something! “Leo! Leo, open your eyes! Come on!” Everything in Mikey was in denial. Because this couldn’t be real. Couldn’t! Leo always made it out—every time he got hurt, he always got better. Always! He’d never… He couldn’t…

Oh God…

“LEO!” It felt as though something in his chest broke, and suddenly Mikey felt… everything. Pain so intense, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe!

He cried.

His shoulders quaked as he gripped his brother’s frozen hand, laying his head on Leo’s unmoving chest, and he cried. His mind still shouted in denial, but his heart kept ripping apart at the seams.

Leo was dead. He was really gone…

Mikey didn’t even feel Don curl around him in a tight hug. He couldn’t feel Leo’s hand in his anymore. Could only feel the pain in his chest where his heart should be.

And the tears. He couldn’t stop crying. Couldn’t stop…

“LEO!!!”

The same tears as on the roof were running down Mikey’s cheeks again as he gripped Leo’s bedding and buried his face in the blankets. The pain in his chest was still there. It’d been a month since Leo…

And Mikey still felt like he’d been taken apart and put together with pieces missing.

Another surge of anguish had Mikey burying his head further into the blankets, making it harder to breathe. He just wanted to curl up and never feel anything ever again. It all hurt too much. From Leo’s perfect bedroom to the extra chair at the kitchen table, to the space on the couch where Leo liked to read. It all screamed their loss. Screamed it so loud it was impossible not to hear, impossible to ignore, impossible to block out.

Mikey cried even louder, feeling his lungs grasp for air with every breath as his chest did it’s best to pry itself open through his plastron.

“Leo!” He was gone. His leader. His defender. His role model.

His big brother was dead. And the world somehow expected him to just move past it and keep living.

Mikey suddenly couldn’t breathe at all. There was too much! Too much pain, too much memory, too much desperation! Where was Leo!? Why wasn’t he here!? How could he have—Why did he have to—

A hand to his shoulder snapped Mikey’s head up, frightened eyes darting as his lungs burned with protest.

“Breathe, Michelangelo. Deep breaths.” Splinter inhaled fully, watching carefully as his son copied his movements, taking one slow breath after another until the color returned to his face.

The two sat in silence as Mikey continued to inhale and exhale slowly, trying to stop the tears still pouring down his face. When he finally spoke, it was rough and grated, like he’d been screaming for hours. Maybe he had. “It’s not fair, Sensei. He wasn’t supposed to… He always had a plan. He always made it out. Why did he...”

Words wouldn’t form anymore past the lump in his throat, and Mikey felt his panic rising again. Splinter drew his son’s gaze and took a moment to breathe together once more.

“Leo’s dead!” Mikey cried, falling into his father’s arms as fresh tears leapt down his cheeks. “It’s not fair! He’s gone… he’s really—it’s not fair! Why him!? Why Leo!? He never did anything but help people, why’d he have to—“ A sob pierced through his lips as all his emotions poured out at once, choking the life from him. “I want him back, Sensei… I want Leo back! We can’t keep going without him! I don’t want to! We need—we can’t just—How could he—“

“I know…” Splinter held his son close against his chest, caressing the dome of his head to calm his breathing.

Mikey wrapped his arms around his Father, sobbing into his robe. “…he’s dead… he’s really dead…”

Splinter closed his eyes to the grief crawling from his heart to his throat and focused on his youngest child, holding on tightly. He said not a word, but his silence said everything.

I miss him, too.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Previous < - > Next

Yup. Angst Angst Angst. But angst always leads to comfort. Eventually...

End of Line.

-TRAaP