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theywhowriteandknowthings · 7 months

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Can you pls write vampire!frankie smut. I want him to drink reader's blood while he fucks her, but the rest is up to you 🩷

Sorry this took so long my love <3 But here it is!!

Thank you @wannab-urs for beta-ing!!

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog that writes porn with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific Warnings: Vampire sex, Vampire bites, Unprotected PiV (sort of), deception, vampire vibes, oral F receiving, biting, vampire bites. Let me kow if I missed anything! [Ao3]

[part two here!]

Hurt so Good - Reader x Vampire!Frankie.

You sit at your favourite booth, sitting so you face the door. Your nerves spiking every time the door opens. You play with the gaudy, expensive engagement ring on your finger as a way to distract yourself. But you can’t stop thinking about what you’re about to do. Tristan is late, as always, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s even coming at all.

You almost regret putting on the low-cut maroon dress that shows your body off in a was that is almost depraved. But the looks you’re getting from some of the other patrons give you a rush like nothing you’ve ever felt from Tristan. You play with the stem of your glass, your favourite cocktail long gone, but you can’t bring yourself to get another drink.

The door opens and your head perks up, but it’s not him. The well-built stranger is the polar opposite of Tristan, broad shoulders, dark curly hair, dressed in a flannel and jeans, a navy baseball cap tight on his head. His facial hair is patchy and starting to grey in places. You can’t help but stare as he takes a seat at the bar, you practically drool as you watch the flannel stretch across his back as he hails the bartender.

“Earth to space cadet, you there?” Tristan snaps his fingers at you as he speaks, pulling you out of your ogling and you look up to see his cocky grin plastered on his thin lips. His mousey hair gelled back, his hazel eyes cold and mocking as he waves his hand in front of your face.

“Oh hi, sorry I was just lost in thought,” You say with a shrug before realising you had nothing to apologise for, “You’re late.” You snap, remembering why you’re here.

“Sorry I got caught up at the-,” Tristan starts his usual line, and you grit your teeth, anger coursing through you at the same old excuses.

“At the office, yeah, yeah, the same old bullshit.” You snap, your tone sharper and voice louder than you’d intended. So loud in fact that the handsome stranger at the bar turns in your direction. His gaze lands on you and you make eye contact for a brief second and your heart flutters at the way he winks at you, his plush lips pulled up into a knowing smirk, making his cheek dimple deliciously.

“What the fuck babe? I provide for you and this is the thanks I get?” He snarls, his cocky demeanour replaced by the cold cruelty that you’ve only recently allowed yourself to describe it as.

“Provide for me? By stopping me chasing my dreams, keeping me at home so I can cook and clean for you for what? You to sexually harass your co-workers?” You blurt, wincing as you play your hand a little too early.

“Jesus Christ is this about that slut Jessica in the Boston office? Bitch came on to me. Fucking hell, I thought we were over this crap!”

“I spoke with Jessica, and Alice, and they both told me how you basically forced them to suck your dick, you should be charged with sexual assault you sick fuck.” Your temper is building, and you try to keep your tone of voice even but the look Tristan is giving you makes you snap.

“All this time you’ve been rejecting me, making me feel like I’m a whore just for wanting you, and you go and pull this shit?” You slam your hand down on the table, rage consuming you as the piece of shit sitting before you has the audacity to call one of the many victims of his sexual advances a slut.

“Stop it, you’re making a scene, let’s go home and talk about this.” You see the sweat beading on his forehead, his brow creasing as he looks around at the many faces now turned to look at him. But one face in the crowd is looking elsewhere.

The handsome stranger in that absurd baseball cap at the bar is giving you a look you could only describe as awe. His dark brown eyes glimmer in the low light and you feel heat rise up onto your cheeks as you watch them dip lower to your cleavage.

“I’m not going back to that house Tristan. I’m here to say we’re over, and my lawyer is going to be in touch, that prenup you got me to sign? You should have checked my amendments more thoroughly.” You say, leaning back on the bench, Tristan’s face is a picture, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with something to say.

“Bitch.” Is all he manages as he storms out of the bar, phone to his ear as he slams the door on the way out. There’s a pregnant pause in the bar before people return to their evenings. You breathe a sigh of relief as you drop your head into your hands, your elbows resting against the table as you let out a small laugh.

The sound of heavy boots approaching makes you look up, your breath hitches in your throat as you see the handsome man from the bar, two beers in his one hand, thick fingers curled around the necks of the bottles.

Fuck, he’s even more handsome up close.

“Thought you might like a beer after that.” He says with a soft, rumbling voice that makes your heart flutter.

“Bold of you to buy me a drink.” You say, raising an eyebrow at him as he winces at your words.

“It’s the least you deserve for putting a predator like him in his place.”

“Shit you heard that?”

“Mhmm, I think the whole bar did.”

“Fuck.” You groan as you motion for him to sit with one hand, pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger of the other as you exhale heavily.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself sunshine, I think the whole bar would have cheered if you’d thrown a drink at him.”

“Too bad I drank it all, and sunshine? Really?” You scoff as you take a sip of beer, you don’t owe this man a thing, but a free drink is a free drink.

“Thought it fit, stunning but dangerous.”

God he’s smooth.

You hate admitting it but you would let this man take you home and show you a good time, even if it was just to rinse the proverbial taste of Tristan out of your mouth.

“Alright, I’ll bite, to whom do I owe the pleasure of sharing such a middling European lager with?” You raise your bottle in toast.

“I’m Francisco,” He says with a smirk, clinking his bottle against yours, “But my friends call me Frankie.”

----

It’s barely an hour later and you’re pressed against his door, tongues colliding messily as you tangle your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck. His one hand holds you by the hip, pinning you to the door as the other cradles the back of your neck.

His lips are soft, plush, as they pull at your own. His moustache brushes against your skin, sending crackles of sensation racing through you. You’ve never been one for one-night stands but you’re willing to make an exception for the smooth-talking man with his hard dick pressed firmly against your thigh.

“Fuck,” Frankie grunts as he drops his head to your shoulder, his strong nose pressing against your pulse point as he inhales aggressively against your skin, “Smell so good sunshine, like honey and cream, can’t wait to taste you.” He growls as he licks a heavy stripe up the column of your neck, latching his lips onto your earlobe as he hitches your legs around his hips, walking you further into his apartment.

You shudder at his words and whine at the hungry growl that fills your ear as you steal glances around his apartment, clean, sparsely decorated, but it feels lived in. Before you can take in any more of his home, you’re in his bedroom. His large frame cages you in as he lies you down against the pillows.

“Shit, I’m sorry we were going to get a drink and talk,” He pants as he hovers over you, reining in some modicum of his desire as he kneels between your legs, one of his large hands coming up to brush a loose strand of hair out of your face, “You’re just intoxicating mi Sol.” He purrs as he shudders over you.

“We can talk over breakfast.”

You pull his cap off his head, incredulous that it's stayed on so long, and fling it off the bed before threading your fingertips through his hair. You ruffle the tight waves and Frankie groans as you scrape your fingernails along his scalp.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Frankie murmurs as he teases you, letting his body sink down into you, his eyes glisten as he runs his tongue along your bottom lip. You chase his mouth, but he pulls away, leaning back to pull off his flannel shirt. Soft tan skin, littered with scars, taut with muscle but undeniably soft make you keen. Your hips buck under him and he chuckles softly.

“Such a needy baby.”

“You’re telling me this isn’t needy?” You cock your head to the side as you palm his erection through his jeans and he rolls his hips forward with a groan.

“You got me there.” He glances down at you, his eyes suddenly flash with something deeper, more hostile than desire, as he cups your cheek. But it’s gone before you can truly register it. He dips his head down to your neck, sucking and licking your skin softly as he moves down your body.

“Let’s get these clothes off, yeah? Need to see you.”

It takes no time at all for you to strip each other of your clothes. Before you know it, you’re bare below him. His thick cock is erect as he kneels between your legs and it’s glorious. He pumps himself slowly as he lets his eyes wander over your naked body.

Fuck he’s gorgeous.

You think as you admire his sizeable dick, not too big, just right. Your mouth waters as you watch him pull his foreskin back, exposing his weeping, thick tip.

“So beautiful, like the sun herself.” He mutters under his breath as he lowers himself on the bed, nestling his broad shoulders between your pliable thighs. His lips drag up your thigh, seemingly savouring every inch of your skin. The tension in your core is almost painful as he licks and sucks your tender flesh. He pauses over a spot on your inner thigh and groans as he nips at the flesh.

“Fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, it burns like he cut you with something sharp. Then it fades into a warm, pleasant buzz and you forget all about the pain, mewling as his hot, wet mouth meets your glistening folds.

“Sorry that was a little hard, I’ll be more careful.”

You barely register his words as his tongue teases at your folds, causing your hips to cant up, chasing his tongue once more. This time he doesn’t pull away, he presses his strong nose against your clit and inhales, groaning loudly as his tongue breaches your entrance. The strong muscle teases at your entrance as his nose pressures your tight bundle of nerves.

“Absolutely delicious.” He groans as he moves up to your clit as he latches his lips around it, pressing languid strokes of his tongue against the swollen nub and you cry out another sharp scratch burns around your clit. You’re too blissed out to question it and you buck up unto his mouth.

“Mi Sol, you make it far too hard to show restraint.” Frankie growls as you look down at him, his eyes are almost black, and you roll your head back just a second too early. Frankie grins up at you, mouth bloody and fangs out before he takes your clit between his lips. You’re so wet, you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking horny.

“Frankie, need your fingers.” You whine, desperation thick in your voice as you feel the tightening in your core as you clench around nothing.

“Anything for you to keep making those sweet little noises.”

He breaches your wet heat with two fingers, sinking into you with ease. You’ve never been this wet, it drives you so close to the edge, the way his fingers fill you snugly as he laps wildly at your clit. You marvel at the fact that this may even be better than sex with your ex-girlfriend, something about the way Frankie devours you is beyond belief.

“Come for me, spill your nectar into my mouth.”

You come hard around his fingers. The strange choice of words somehow spurring your orgasm into an explosion of curled toes, quivering thighs, and strangled, wordless moans as you feel pleasure rip through you like a wild animal. Your blood sings in your veins, pleasure throbs through your arteries, like your heart is full of an aphrodisiac and with every pump you’re driven higher into oblivion.

“Good, such a good girl.” Frankie wheezes as he wipes his hand on the back of his mouth, wiping away any evidence of his affliction from his lips as he repositions over you, his thick tip notched at your entrance as you quiver through aftershocks.

“Frankie,” You groan, holding his face in your hands as your vision sharpens, all you can see, all you can feel, all you can think about his him. His patchy facial hair glistens and he smiles at you as he presses into you.

That’s when you see them, his fangs. They hang from his mouth like curved pearlescent daggers. Your eyes flick down to where you had felt the scratch on your thigh in panic. Your eyes bulge in terror as you notice the blood on your legs, a firm hand clamps down on your mouth before you can scream. He bears his weight down on you as he pulls his tip out of you. You don’t know if you’re relieved or pained at the loss of sensation.

“Shit, you weren’t supposed to see that.” He growls as he spreads your legs with his own, hooking under your knees with his feet, spreading you out. You feel arousal course through you when you know, logically, you should be terrified. One of his large hands pins your wrists above your head. You’re truly at his mercy.

“If I remove my hand, will you promise not to scream?” His voice is shaky and you almost think you hear fear in his tone. You nod slowly, playing nice with the monster above you. Scenarios are running through your mind, at best he was a vampire, at worst he’s a cannibal and you’re truly fucked.

“What the fuck Frankie? Is that even your real name?”

He huffs as he rubs his eyes with his free hand, swiping it down his face in a very human manner. You give him no quarter, glaring up at him with as much fire you can muster. You’re horny, terrified, and it pays to mention twice, so, so horny.

“Like I said, my name is Francisco, and my friends call me Frankie.”

“Ok, Francisco,” You snap and you feel him shudder as you say his full name, “What the fuck is going on here?”

“As you’ve probably already guessed, I’m a vampire, and I was going to bite you, again.”

You’re surprised, and somewhat comforted by his honesty, but you raise your eyebrows at him. He hesitates before continuing and you suck in a deep breath, making it very clear you’re about to scream louder than when he made you come.

“Alright, alright,” Frankie snaps as he leans back onto his heels, completely disentangling himself from you, “What do you want to know?”

You pause for a moment, dramatically placing a finger to your lips as you pretend to think of a question. Frankie looks more and more desperate with every passing second and something about that emboldens you.

“So, you bit me?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to turn into a vampire now?”

“No.”

“Were you going to kill me?”

“No, never!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

That hits a nerve, Frankie’s eyes dart away from you and you watch as he runs his hand through his sweaty locks and sighs. He exhales, though you wonder if that was more a habit than a need to empty his lungs.

“You’d have either laughed me off, or run for the hills. I wanted to spend a night with you, no killing or turning involved.” He says, dropping his gaze to focus on his hands.

“Francisco,” You laugh, the sound makes him snap his head up to look at you, hurt in his eyes, “You realise most people my age grew up with a vampire kink right?”

You think if he could blush, his face would be rosy as he realises the truth in your words.

“Those fucking Twilight books!” He exclaims with disbelief written across his face.

“I mean, I was more about The Southern Vampire Mysteries. But whatever floats your boat I guess?”

You smile up at the bashful vampire and despite everything, you kind of like him. He seems to visibly relax, slumping back onto his ass, his legs either side of you as you move up onto your knees.

“Fuck I’m sorry, I’m usually so much better at this, but you’re just so,” He pauses as his pupils dilate and his body shudders, “Irresistible.”

“Fine. I’ve got one more question.”

Frankie just nods, and you try to focus on his face, and not the painfully hard dick bobbing between you as he moves his head.

“When you bit me, it felt good, why?” You scrunch your face up in an uncertain grimace as if you’re weird for feeling good about being bitten.

“Ah yes, that’s a survival mechanism so that our, uh, prey, don’t panic, it’s sterilising too.”

“So, your spit is an antibacterial aphrodisiac?”

“More or less, same can be said for other, uh, secretions.”

Once more you would wager that if Frankie could blush he would be beet red right now. Instead, he squirms under your gaze, and you decide to throw caution to the wind.

“Francisco,” You purr as you crawl onto his lap, draping your arms around his neck as you hover over his dick, “If you promise not to kill me, I’d be delighted to fuck you.”

“You sure? I won’t be offended if you want to leave or stake me.”

“I think,” You purr as you dip your head down to his jaw, rubbing your nose along his patchy facial hair, “We’d both rather if it were you impaling me.”

That seems to be enough to convince Frankie, you feel yourself lurch back on the bed and with inhuman speed Frankie notches himself at your core as your head hits the pillows. His mouth is on yours, begging for entry as his tongue traces the seam of your lips.

You tilt your hips up with a groan, he presses his tongue languidly against yours as you dig your nails into his shoulders. He whimpers at the pain and drives his thick, sizeable cock inside you, balls slapping against your ass as he snarls into your mouth.

You’re so full, his length just right to press into your g-spot but mercifully not so large he can reach your cervix. You think you might actually die if he could, considering the pace he’s set and how hard he’s driving into you. You drop one hand to your clit; you can already feel you’re close and you’re desperate to chase the next one before Frankie comes.

“Fuck, mi Sol knows what she wants,” Frankie groans as he pulls back to watch where your bodies connect, where your fingers are rolling tight circles over your sensitive nub, “Look so hot touching yourself while I fuck your tight little pussy.

“Feel so good Frankie, like it hard and fast, your cock’s fucking perfect.” You respond as you reach up with your free hand to tug at the curls at the nape of his neck. His eyes snap up to meet yours and his fangs glisten as he pants hard.

“Bite me Frankie.” You whine as you feel the twist in your gut as your orgasm builds. You turn your neck to the side before he can protest and you hear the animalistic grunt as he buries himself deep inside you before dropping his head to your neck.

“Need you to tell me to stop if I go for too long mi Sol,” His speech is slurred as he noses along the column of your neck, lips catching and dragging delightfully over your pulse point. You shudder and mewl as you feel the hot drag of his tongue on your skin, “Promise me.”

“I promise, Frankie, I’m going to-.”

You don’t finish your sentence, the sharp stab of Frankie’s fangs melds with the return to a blinding pace as he fucks you with abandon. You come hard as you press firmly against your clit, rubbing hard as you feel the euphoric bliss flood through you. Your neck blossoms with heat, flames licking through your veins as Frankie feeds from you.

There’s a blunt pain, like a deep bruise but it’s engulfed by the soothing effect of his salvia and the white hot pleasure pulsing through your cunt. You cry out and wail at the different pleasures coursing through you. It’s like they meet somewhere in the middle and your mind goes blank, white-hot streaks blurring your vision as you come completely undone.

“Fuck me harder Frankie, nggh, harder, fuckmefuckmefuckme!” Your words come unbidden from your mouth as you feel his groan vibrate through your very bones. Frankie pulls away, eyes blown wide with desire as your blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth.

“So fucking sweet, knew you’d taste good, but this?” He thumbs the blood from his skin, holding it up in the low light of the bedroom, “This is divine, I don’t think I can live without it now mi Sol.”

“Then don’t.” You whine, snatching his wrist with a weak hand, but he doesn’t fight you as you bring his thumb to your lips. You suck the combination of his saliva and your blood off his thumb and groan as the coppery taste hits you. Followed quickly by a warm, numbing sensation that coats your tongue. You suck gently on Frankie’s digit as the aphrodisiac effect ignites a burst of pleasure in your core.

“You want to be mine, truly mine?” Frankie growls as his thrusts become harder, more erratic as he cups your face with one large hand, the other pinning you to the bed by your hip. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your thigh and you squirm under him, pleasure making you feel light-headed.

“Please.”

“Good, because I’m never letting you go mi Sol, you’re mine, forever.” He grunts as he thrusts into you twice more, then he stills, panting and grunting as he spills inside you again and again. There’s so much cum you feel it leaking out of you the moment he starts to soften.

He pulls out completely, moving down to spit on your pussy and you whine and shudder at the way it slides down your folds, mingling with the blood, spit and your combined release. His fingers gather it all up and with one digit he slowly plugs you up, keeping everything inside as he places hot, wet kisses to your inner thighs.

“Frankie what are you-?”

“Trust me, mi Sol, you want me to do this, otherwise you’re not going to walk straight for a few days.” He mutters softly against your skin, kissing your tender flesh with such soft devotion you feel heat rising in your cheeks.

“So, this is vampire aftercare huh?” You wheeze as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as Frankie dotes on you in the most bizarre but delightful way.

“Mhm,” His eyes are closes as he moves his mouth lower, inhaling deeply as he gets close to your stuffed pussy, “Gotta look after my girl, if you’re still into that idea, that is?”

“Frankie, we just fucked in fucking missionary and it was the best sex of my life. As long as you don’t turn out to be a Scientologist, I’m willing to give this a shot.” You tease as you sit up a little more, running your hair through his soft, sweaty curls.

“So, Scientology is a no-go, but vampire is a-okay?” He asks with a teasing grin on his face that makes your chest flutter.

“What can I say, I’m a freak for freaks, but draw the line at anything endorsed by Tom Cruise.”

Frankie laughs, a deep, throaty noise that makes you clench around the finger still seated deep inside you.

“We’re going to get on just fine mi Sol, but any time you want to leave, I will not stop you. I’ve lived too long to know that trapping you would end in misery. I want this to be as, uh, normal, as possible.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before ruining my pussy for every other human being out there now I’ve had vampire dick.”

“That fucking mouth,” Frankie purrs as his pupils dilate, “Going to have to see what other dirty things you can say and do.”

“Bring it on Francisco.” You goad him as you bite down on your lip and wink up at him. He has you pinned back against the bed before you can react. His lips brush against yours gently as you feel his hardening dick press against your stomach.

“The night is young, and I’m just getting started mi Sol.”

Your lips clash hungrily, and you smile to yourself as you get lost in each other’s bodies once more.

Who would have thought a breakup would feel so good?

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! <3

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sinimake · 2 months

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JOHNSHI attire headcanons! Kenshi part

Kenshi, on the other hand, isn't stricted to one style. He wears what's comfortable, suitable, and required. Effortlessly stylish is the best way to describe him.

Only wears subtle patterns. Sticks to black, white, dark navy, gray, maroon, and red colors

After his blinding, the colors became indistinguishable, so he started to focus more on combining textures

Memorized every article of his clothes and knows what's what with a single touch

Johnny organizes his clothes by their colors in the closet. He doesn't need to but Kenshi appreciate the help because it makes his morning easy

Doesn't buy many clothes, but when he does, he invests in quality, timeless pieces

Converse, combat boots, dress shoes, turtlenecks, dark levis, good button ups, tailored slacks, and suit jackets are stables in his closet

When he dresses up, he knows what he's doing. While Johnny looks expensive and facy, Kenshi radiates old money energy

Leather jacket is a must!

Must have like at least 2 layers on him all the time regardless of weather

Is he getting heatstroke? Absolutely, but Kenshi is nothing but relentless

Would definitely wear subtle urban techwear. Look at me in the eyes and say Kenshi wouldn't wear these with Sento strapped to his back. Look at me

Loves Asian styled clothings. Combines them with western style all the time

Only wears short sleeves around Johnny and at home

The best you will get is a sliver of forearms if he's distracted but Kenshi will absolutely show his cleavage with the top buttons open like a slut he is

Unlike Johnny, he knows when to dress down. Hoodies are his go-to, but just don't let him wear gray sweatpants for Johnny's sake

Dark sun glasses, a ball cap, face mask, and leather gloves. He's just a void when he's in incognito. 100% abuses the fact that he doesn't need his eyes exposed to see where he's going, so he shoves down his hoods all the way to his nose

Read Johnny's part here

#kenshi takahashi #johnshi #mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 2023 #johnshi headcanon

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sinfulsalutations · 8 months

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𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪, 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

ᴘᴛ ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪ ꜱᴛᴀᴠᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪɪ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ. ᴘᴛ ɪᴠ ꜱɪɴ. ᴘᴛ ᴠ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ. ᴘᴛ ᴠɪ ꜱᴇɴᴅᴏꜰꜰ.

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴇɴᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜰʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜰʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴄᴏᴜɴꜱᴇʟᴏʀ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴀᴜ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ᴡᴀʀꜱ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, (ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ) ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ, ꜱᴋɪɴɴʏ ᴅɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ, ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴠ-ʟɪɴᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ (ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ/ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ)

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 2.9ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜰᴇꜱᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ. ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀꜱᴛʏ ᴄʟᴏɴᴇ ꜱɪᴍᴘꜱ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏʀᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʜʏᴘɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ/ʙʀᴀɪɴꜱᴛᴏʀᴍɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ, ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ :) ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

“1!”

“2!”

“3!”

“4–”

Two people call the number out simultaneously, audible groans leaving multiple girls as they have to start over. Water ripples around you, hands in a steady grip around your oar as you watch your campers row their way across the lake in front of you. Your eyes flit to Omega leading the group with a bright, excitable stare, dirty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, a cap shielding her face from the glaring sun.

“It’s alright, everyone!” She beams, careening back and forth as she rows. “We can start over!”

With a smile, you nod and add,

“As long as we don’t fall too behind.” You gesture ahead of you, toward the obscured view of a cluster of canoes no doubt belonging to the Cedar cabin. At the mere mention of them, the girls groan and row faster; they don't wish to face the scrutiny they’d be subjugated to by those immature, adolescent boys.

Not that they weren’t all too dissimilar.

You could swear no matter how many times you’ll force them to clean up and clear the floors of the Maple Cabin, it’ll once again become a disheveled heap of clothes and personal belongings by the time it’s lights out. Omega began to help you lead, reminding them as they leave the bathroom not to leave all their possessions on the counter and shower rack and to toss their clothes in the laundry pile.

She’s helpful, no doubt. You’ll have to ask Tech to promote her to CIT next year.

They start the game again.

“1!”

“...2!”

“3!”

“4!”

There’s a pause.

“5.”

“6!”

“7–”

“Oh, come on! ” Betty whines. You can’t help but giggle silently and look down so no one sees your smile.

It’s not long before you near the Cedar Cabin and hear their attempt at the game still going on. In the corner of your eye, Hannah gawks while Omega scrunches her nose.

“22!”

“23!”

“24!”

“25!”

“26–”

This time, when two people call out the same number simultaneously, just as Maple had done before, they only groan playfully and say confident affirmations of ‘we’ll get it next time,’ flashing a mischievous glint toward the girls. Omega tries to hide the grit of her teeth. You can tell she’s not pleased, however.

But there’s no time to focus on that when you hear that husky voice.

"Having trouble?”

You look to your right, then immediately look away with instinct, hiding your widening eyes.

He’s wearing a tank top.

Hunter is a new counselor this year. Alongside all of his brothers and sister, Omega, he’s already become a new favorite. Every night by the campfire once he’s finished leading the camp in songs, Cedar and Sycamore Cabin crowd around him, asking him to teach them guitar or how to carve wood as good as he does, where he gets his cool maroon-colored bandanas and the story behind his striking skeleton tattoo on one side of his body. Even the girls have begun fawning over him; Cilla and Betty frequently ask Omega questions about her older brother, not-so-discreetly calculating the age difference between them. The older girls in the Pine cabin don’t shy away from blatant flirting, always asking him for help to apply sunscreen before a day of swimming, twirling their hair as he tells them not to get in too much trouble.

He’s agreeable, he’s handsome, he’s incredibly good with kids; it seems as though the entire camp can’t help but swarm.

You, however? You can’t even look him in the eye.

If you did, you're pretty sure you would dissolve into a buzzing mess.

“Yeah, they haven’t made it past ten yet,” You tell him, readjusting your cap a little lower to bedim your face further. It’s not the sun that’s making your cheeks so hot.

“Hm.” It’s just a hum that comes out of his voice, rumbling his chest. You take another slow breath and begin rowing again. You call out to your girls, telling them to move forward now that you’ve caught up with the rest. As you follow behind, the looming shadow of Hunter’s figure remains on your right. He’s not looking in your direction, and you’re not so disillusioned to think otherwise, but you still feel passing looks, occasional yet piercing. Like he’s trying to pinpoint the features under your cap.

“Well, alright, Maple,” He says. “I see Crosshair by the shore with his boys. We shouldn’t keep `him waiting.”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t,” You agree, silently exhaling darkly and rowing beside him in continued silence.

The hike takes longer than usual; between detours for campers to do their business awkwardly behind a tree and the younger boys straying from the group getting lost about halfway through, Crosshair is left almost ready to burst. The sight of him so irritated is amusing, no doubt, but you know not to even try to interact with him unless you want an arrow right between your eyes. Why he always carry his bow with him, you're still unsure.

“Alright, everyone, get out your jars,” You instruct the group after reaching the top of the hill, creating a circle in the clearing. The sky is still painted with passionate oranges and yellows, but in just a few minutes the sun will descend and what you’re waiting for shall appear.

“Remember, be careful once you do catch them,” Hunter reminds everyone. Your eyes can’t help but flicker in his direction; it’s instinct to look at whoever’s talking; with Hunter, you've still yet to learn not to. “Don’t shake the jar too hard, don’t cover the airholes, and remember to let them out before we all leave. Understood?”

“Yes, Hunter!”

The yellows and oranges slowly darken as the night arrives promptly, blanketing you all in darkness. Until, only a few moments later, there is a small blink of lime. Then another. Then five. All around you, do the fireflies beacon your spot, fluttering around you in swarms. There are awes, mostly from the girls as the boys mutter emasculated versions of reverence, which you can’t deny makes you laugh.

With the twinkles of lights wrapped around you, you slowly open your jar to catch a few effortlessly. Betty turns your way, astonished, which seems to attract the attention of Cilla and Hilary as well.

“How did you do it so easily?” Hilary asks.

You grin, looking down at your jaw with a soft look of humility.

“I did this all the time when I was your age,” You explain. “And a lot more times after that. Practice.”

Their mouths form tiny o-shapes and they nod, quickly going to try and catch a few themselves.

“Where did Omega run off to?” You say them before you lose their attention.

Kayla points to where Crosshair stands stiffly.

“With her brother. I think she’s trying to get him to do it too.”

You look over as the girls skitter off. Omega still has that sweet smile of hers as she holds up his wrists in a tight grip, mouth moving to tell him what no doubt is an encouragement to try himself. Crosshair still has a frown on his face but does as she says, and his face slowly softens when he catches one without any hesitation with just his hand.

"Good job!" She cheers, before calling out, "Hunter, look! Crosshair caught one!"

The firefly flickers in his palm, the lime seeping through the small air holes between his fingers.

"Wasn't too bad, right?" Omega tilts her head, smiling as she watches Crosshair's expression play out. His eyes remain glued to his hand.

"It wasn't," He responds.

It’s not very long before he lets it go.

It gives you time to look back down at your jaw, lifting it up to your face. You tilt your head in fascination, and you don't even realize the smile creeping up on you until your cheeks begin to hurt a little.

“Having’ a good time?”

Your heart leaps, then your instinct does that stupid thing again and turns to the sound of Hunter’s voice (How do you forget that he’s still attached to that gorgeous body?). You look back instantly.

“I am,” You mutter, looking up to see the fireflies flit through the night. Striking against the navy sky, they still don’t manage to brighten the night enough for you to get a clear view of anyone’s face. Hunter included. At least that makes this easier.

“Your girls seem to be having fun.”

Even in the darkness, the fleeting lights manage to give you a sight of Hannah catching her first firefly, smiling proudly before turning to show the others.

“Yeah, they are,” You let yourself smile as well. A familiar shiver rushes through you with a feeling of a stare dancing feather-light over your skin. This time, you’re not disillusioned at all; Hunter’s eyes are on you. That’s definitely not nerve-wracking at all.

“Looks like they have a lot of fun with you,” He continues. You instinctively, foolishly, turn his direction and just manage to see the faded view of his profile while he talks. He turns to you. You stare at his nose instead of even trying to make eye contact.

“Really?” Your voice comes out softer, weaker than you expect. You wince internally in embarrassment.

Hunter nods, and in your foggy view, his lips seem to curve up in what looks like a grin.

“I’ve seen you with them,” The mere idea of what that connotates makes you take a deep breath and bite your lip. At all costs, you make sure not to do anything crass. “They connect with you a lot. Especially Omega.”

Your body relaxes. You’d prefer not to use the word soften just yet, lest you wanted to feel so pliant to even the merest compliment.

“She’s a great kid.”

“She is,” He responds. There’s a pause; you expect the conversation to end, but then he starts talking again. Hunter hisses in another breath. “You know… Omega doesn’t exactly have a real woman, er, influence in her life.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitted. It begs a silent question that Hunter seems to pick up on.

“Yeah, it’s just me and my brothers and her,” A noise slips out of you, something bordering on an empathetic coo, though it inevitably sounds just like a hum. “So… you’ve been a great influence.”

Your lips part delicately, suddenly so unbearably soft.

“Really?” You repeat. It seems your vocabulary doesn’t expand more than 3 words when talking to Hunter.

He nods, then leans in. You almost pull away in your flushed surprise.

“Don’t tell her I said this…” He whispers. The way his voice rasps and holds onto his words so quietly makes you want to feel his voice even closer, straight in your ear. You don’t inch further. “...But she says you’re like the sister she never had.”

The admittance is intimate, you realize once he finishes his sentence. A sweet little secret between you two, and suddenly, you’re smiling like a damn near fool.

“That’s very nice to hear,” You say, feeling your cheeks burn a little hotter when Hunter grins back. “Thank you for telling me that.”

He tilts his chin down as a way of acknowledgment.

“`Of course, Maple.”

Before anything else can be said, Wesley runs up to the two of you, gripping Hunter’s bicep and shaking it furiously.

“Owen smushed one of the fireflies!” He says in distress, eyes wide as he points over to where the other boys are staring in horror at Owen’s palm. Hunter turns to you immediately before responding to him.

“Gotta deal with this,” He says in a mutter, just low enough so Wesley doesn’t hear. “It was nice talking to you.”

You blink, adjusting to the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Yeah, yeah,” You stammer. “Real nice.”

Those eyes you can’t seem to look into give you another look before he leaves you with sweaty palms, gripping your jar like a madman.

At the bonfire later that night, you don’t dare to look up from your feet.

Somehow, talking to Hunter has made your silly little infatuation even worse. You’ve seen the way he attentively focuses in on whoever he’s talking to, giving them his full attention to make them feel listened to and special; to finally receive such attention has made you positively giddy. Panicked, but giddy nonetheless.

Around the campfire, you hum softly to the tune he leads the group in while your cabin belts proudly.

Hunter has a very nice singing voice; you discover this the first week when he first offered up his skills to lead the camp in songs and games every night.

You almost looked into his eyes then that first time, watching him strum simple chords on his guitar, singing simple camp songs in the most gruff, lovely voice, and encouraging others to join. But that was a while ago. Now fear stops you from getting close to that ever again.

Like last time, the Pine cabin immediately surrounds him, perfectly poised postures and smiles put on for his viewing pleasure.

“How’d you get so good?” A girl named Sherine asks while leaning in, reaching out to run her fingers over the guitar strings. Hunter tenses. At least that’s what it looks like to you.

”Practice,” He answers bluntly, before continuing to answer each of their questions.

Pine’s counselor, Mona, walks up beside you with a chuckle.

”Those girls…” She sighs, shaking her head softly. “Don’t they realize how much older he is compared to them? Don't most of them have boyfriends anyway?”

You giggle and nod along with her observations, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on you recurring as Hunter’s gaze wanders.

As the girls finally get ready for bed, combing their hair and changing into their pajamas, someone tugs at your sleeve, once twice, five times. You turn, looking down at Omega's wide, doe-eyes.

“Something wrong?” You ask.

Her eyes search yours, frantic.

“...I think I forgot my book down by the lake.”

You huff, almost surprised by her audacity.

“Can’t you just wait until the morning?” You offer instead.

Omega shakes her head, a frown on her lips.

“I can’t go to sleep without reading!” She insists. You arch your eyebrows and place your free hand on your hip, but she doesn’t budge. You sigh.

“Fine,” You say, kneeling to mutter quietly, “You’re in charge if anything goes wrong while I’m getting it. If Tech comes by for lights-out inspection, tell him I’m in the bathroom. Got it?”

Omega nods, saluting with a grin.

“On it!” She says, then adds graciously, “Thank you so much .”

It’s hard not to let yourself smile a little at her before leaving through the door, quietly creeping down to the lake.

The crickets chirping is a nice little sound to keep yourself grounded in the darkness. It might've been wiser to bring a flashlight, you realize, but it isn't that long of a walk anyway. You listen to the sound of your own steps and watch the rustling of leaves overhead, the moonlight peaking through and illuminating the path ahead of you. In the distance, that same flickering of fireflies from the top of the hiking trail gives you a little, just a little more sight to make your way down the steep path and to the shore of the lake.

Your eyes dart around the dock, looking for Omega’s book. You’re unsure what it looks like; you probably should’ve asked her. You slowly walk closer, ensuring that your feet don’t crunch a leaf or snap a twig, before creeping up where the water meets the rocks. A heap of clothes is laid there, messily thrown on top of each other.

That’s strange. And highly unlikely that someone just forgot their clothes at the lake and returned to camp bare.

The water ripples slowly, and a figure moves languidly under the break. The large rock to your right suddenly becomes the perfect spot to perch behind as you watch whatever is swimming around.

You take another look at the pile of clothes. Under what seems like regular jean shorts, a slip of red peaks through and meets the ground. Squinting your eyes, you almost gasp when you realize what it is.

Hunter’s bandana.

Suddenly, something bursts out of the water. You almost squeak in your shock, but keep silent. Only your eyes slowly peak over the rock as you see long, dark hair flip backward in a spray of water, a broad chest taking a large breath of fresh air, just going to its hips before slowly shifting back down into the water. You only see that prominent V-Line for just a few moments, a split second of vulnerability Hunter doesn’t even know he’s exposing, for you to gasp so, so silently into your chest.

He’s naked.

Holy shit, he’s naked.

And he looks damn good too.

He slowly moves around in the water, head leaned back as he relaxes, barely letting his hips reach the surface. This is not good, this is an absolute violation of his privacy, why the fuck can’t you look away?

You force yourself to, however, once he looks as though he’s about to leave. His strong arms reach to hold his hair back from his face, wringing it, and you make your run for it, having little regard for making more noise than you did when you first arrived.

Panting and disheveled, face and ears red, you return to your cabin.

“Did you find my book?” Omega asks once you come through the door.

“Couldn’t,” You answer, automatically and robotically, before hiding your face in your pillow and suppressing a scream.

tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @ladyzirkonia

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dropsofletters · 1 year

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people you know to people you don’t

summary: she’s a believer that love will be found in unknown fairytales, men who sweet talk and mysterious, unknown situationships. nonetheless, it’d a surprise for her if she was told that lee donghyuck, her best friend’s little cousin could be a possibility.

i mean...he is only her annoying friend, isn’t he? it couldn’t lead anywhere else. ever.

title: people you know to people you don’t. pairing: lee donghyuck x reader (ft. nakamoto yuta x reader) type: childhood friends to idiots to lovers!au ; lovers to exes!au ; slowburn!au ; small town!au ; cousin’s best friend!au ; drummer!haechan ; twitch gamer!yuta ; law student!oc ; just lots and lots of backstory, deal with it. word count: 15k words, i’m sorry. genre: fluff ; slice of life ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive content note: this was the result of a poll i did late february on this blog. keep your eyes open for more polls.

DONGHYUCK’S LAMEST SUMMER: SEVEN YEARS AGO.

She’d write it in a book if she could. Yangyang’s laughter was the perfect epitome of an onomatopoeia. Ha-Ha-Ha in its purest form, with tears rolling down his eyes and his head tossed back as Eunbyul catches him just in time before he falls down the blue plastic chair he dragged in front of the computer.

What they were supposed to be doing was writing a geography project about Japan, the place they picked to talk about, and its cultural richness. Yangyang said they could talk about anime, and she shrugged it off before they came across with the file. Actually, she’d capitalize it. The File. As in, The X Files. As in, Donghyuck’s societal death.

In all honesty, when Yangyang saw a file titled ‘For The Tube’, he could have ignored it. Could have, should have. But from what she knows about her two best friends is that Yangyang can’t stay still for once and Eunbyul follows after his every word. Blame it on the obvious relationship that they try to hide from her and her clammy hands whenever he does so much as smile to her girl best friend, but that’s a story for another time.

Using Eunbyul’s little cousin’s laptop was one thing. Eunbyul’s mother had filed for divorce against her father and they had stayed over at Donghyuck’s house for the past year, with the excuse of going away once things started looking up for Mrs. Lee. They don’t seem to be doing so any time soon, so they got to meet Eunbyul the latest school year. They quickly became close, and met Donghyuck along the way. That didn’t mean they had any right to look around his stuff.

Yangyang didn’t listen to her, and while she expected to see huge tits and piles of porn, this was much worse. Come on, he’s fifteen, it would have been better if he was just searching for boobs online.

It was Donghyuck’s music career in just one file, and she had heard him sing in the shower once. During February, when she had forgotten her purse in Eunbyul’s bathroom and she had flown back inside to pick it up before they went to the mall, only to apologize once she walked in as Donghyuck shrieked after being cut off from his singing. She apologized, but that redemption of Maroon 5’s ‘This Love’ was actually pretty darn good.

He’s a singer, perhaps a dancer though she hasn’t seen it. He’s not a rapper, by any means, considering that he’s standing in front of his phone’s camera, with a hoodie on top of a cap he has pulled back, his black bangs standing through the slit, with clothes too big while he is rapping to Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice, Ice Baby.’

Badly. Oh God, what was Donghyuck thinking exactly?

Then, he started popping and that’s when Yangyang actually lost it.

“Okay, I gotta tell him. I can’t die with this in my chest.” Yangyang stands up, consequently making Eunbyul trip onto her chair as she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Tell him what?” His two friends, or childhood best friend and girlfriend, say in unison while looking at him. For someone as lanky and quite possibly stupidly confident as him, Yangyang liked living his life with the thrill of being a bit of an asshole. A heartfelt asshole, with a good soul right at the center of his chest, but still one.

“That we have a new nickname for him.”

The worst part of being friends with Yangyang (he’s good, mostly, she has cried watching The Notebook with him, so she knows he’s soft at the core) is that they are included in whatever trouble he gets into. So, when he rushes out of Eunbyul’s room, they go after him. The house is not that big, so the white and black kitchen in which Donghyuck is in. He’s holding a bag of cheerios upside town trying to pour the last few bits that are more like dust into a milky plate when Yangyang says it.

“What’s up, Vanilla Ice?”

Donghyuck’s right eyebrows moves the slightest, like a tick of some sort. He looks up at Yangyang, trying to play it off as confusion while he lays most of his body on the counter. His small chest is pushed forward, dark bangs falling on his forehead. “Yangyang, we all know that you’ll eventually end up being a junkie somewhere downtown, but what kind of weed are you on?”

Straight-on, and Eunbyul is about to open her mouth to defend Yangyang (again, the whole dating-not-dating thing is quite obvious at this point), when the man himself makes it worse. “I don’t know, you tell me, is it a totally sober decision to record yourself rapping? Because if so, whew, even I make better decisions than you, Vanilla Ice.”

Never had she seen Donghyuck move so quickly, and that comes from the man that every PE teacher complains about because he never wants to do much other than gossip by the bleachers. Now, he’s face to face with his cousin. “You looked through my stuff!”

“Just say that Yangyang did.” She mumbles, but Eunbyul completely ignores her.

“We just clicked on it accidentally!”

“It could have been something private!”

“Oh, trust me,” Once again, she’s speaking softly, and maybe she should stop doing it because Donghyuck’s now frowning at her. “It would have been better if it was your stack of porn.”

“Get over it.” Eunbyul’s trying to play the tough girl card, probably to defend Yangyang, as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Vanilla Ice.”

Now, she’s not vanilla ice, but she’s cheerios with milk with how Donghyuck pours his whole bowl of breakfast on her head. Eunbyul does so much as scream before Donghyuck stomps away from the kitchen. In all honesty, she would have loved to go after him and tell him that it’s just another stupid nickname from good-old-dumb Yangyang.

But, in all honesty, all those years after which she got to further know Donghyuck, everyone in her friend-group called him Vanilla Ice, so some decisions are taken by life itself.

SUMMERS ARE EVEN WORSE WHEN YOU ARE IN COLLEGE. TWO YEARS AGO.

Alright, so twenty-one sucks. Her two best friends had just broken-up for the first time in what seems like forever and now she’s stuck in a beach party with Yangyang, smelling like greasy hot dogs with corn and wearing a tank top over a bikini top that truthfully looked better online than it did on her chest. Those boobs aren’t for that top, that’s for sure.

At twenty-one, she imagined she’d be a little adult just flickering her way through the pages of life. It’d be like a math problem that she had solved on her first day of school and never found much complexity in it. Only that life is much harder than she imagined, both socially, mentally and economically. Eunbyul and she had eaten hot-spicy ramen as cookies instead of boiling it because they didn’t have any water these days, and that’s enough on economy.

The crisp air bites at her shoulders, leaning the side of her body against Yangyang’s shoulder. One of his hands is up, the other clinging onto a beer bottle, while both of her hands are up. Seven fingers up, bathed in the glow of the bonfire in front of her, only putting the two fingers left on her second hand down when she grabs the third hot-dog of the night and bites into it. She sees her ex staring at her lips briefly, and soon after, he returns his gaze to the other people around them.

Felix was a good start for last October. She almost thought that he could be the one. Four dates and daily texts for four whole months and then, it was over just like how it started. Nothing more than a few kisses and lingering touches happened, if she’s not counting the promises he sputtered. However, the long strands of his blonde hair and his rosy lips still haunt her to this day, because there is some anger that lingers within her.

The loss of time, perhaps, or the fact that he dignified a lot of firsts for her. Her first midnight call which lasted more than five hours. Her first sneaking out experience. Her first make-out in an empty cinema. He felt like forever and would never, ever be the same in her head. Not when he admitted to a few of their mutual friends that he just wanted to test the waters with her and then, it got deeper than what they could both control. Hence, he cut it off.

Oh, and being an experiment is what drives her insane, because she has seven fingers up and he has only two left. He’s clearly more experienced than she is. Must have a laugh remembering the little they did.

Because Yangyang has put a finger down about skinny dipping, and more than half of the circle put another down when talking about weed, but each and every single nasty question is met with silence from her. Even her questions are stupid. Never have I ever hidden alcohol from my parents. Never had I ever had a crush on a neighbor. They all put it down, not her.

What does it for her is when Felix, in all his confident glory of being a guy…because that’s what guys at twenty-one are, just fucking dudes trying to play themselves off as gentlemen, is when with a smug grin he asks, leaning back on the log that is behind him, the flannel of his shirt extending around his slim waist.

“Never have I ever had sex at a party.”

She puts a finger down when his deep-brown eyes lay on her. Just to spite him, as if to tell him that there was someone else after him. He knows that she hasn’t done much with anybody; being him whom she got farther with and it was a hand down his pants before she said she wasn’t ready. He respected it and she respects all the shades of red that take over his face when he looks at her hand.

Because she’s pretending as if she’s not a virgin just to get back to her ex and that’s…magical.

After that round is over, two more questions erase Felix and another girl from the circle, but Yangyang leans to her side, whispering into her ear: “What was that whole stare-off with Felix?”

“He’s trying to get at me.”

“He’s just drunk and playing a game.”

“Well, it looks like a fucking dare. He keeps laughing with his friends that I have two hands up.”

Yangyang doesn’t roll his eyes, because he may be a douchebag to most people, but like she has always said, there is a reason why she is friends with Yangyang. Instead, he inspects her features and just then, she realizes the trembling of her hands, the pattering of her heart, the shame. Yes, shame, because that is what women are brought to when they are young. Feeling ashamed that they trusted a man that didn’t love them as they should have. The inept nature of them is blamed on who loves the hardest.

“Fuck him, but the best way to say fuck him is by showing him just how good you are on your own while also staying true to yourself.” Yangyang speaks the truth, and maybe if her bikini wasn’t so uncomfortable and if she didn’t still have sand up her shorts from the dive she had in the afternoon, she’d listen to him. Tonight, at eleven, is not the night that she’s going to finally hear to Yangyang’s rare wise words.

“The best way to taint a man’s ego is to make him feel like I’ve met someone whose dick is finally interesting enough for me to get farther than with other men.”

“No.”

“Yangyang, think about it. The thought of Eunbyul being with someone else, and hey, I’m not saying feelings are involved or not, that’s none of my business…” She trails her voice, elbowing his side and making a bit of his new beer bottle spill. “Makes you heat up a little bit, doesn’t it?”

“That’s different, we actually had a relationship.” Yangyang takes a gulp of his beer bottle. “You are always stuck in situationships.”

“No man ever wants to be serious with me.”

“Because you stay with them even when they give you a thousand red flags.”

“Name a man with no red flags.”

“Uh…me?”

“Yangyang, you’re a walking red flag.”

“I’m a nice magenta shade, mind you.” She stands up at that moment, because she has only had pineapple juice in exponential amounts and hot dogs, but it’s starting to get to her bladder. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she tells him she’ll be back in ten minutes and soon after, she ventures into the world of Aida’s household.

She doesn’t pay much attention to the bamboo walls or the pretty fountain in the middle. She’s off to the bathroom and finishing her business quickly, only to be stopped when she’s stepping out and wiping her hands on her tank top. Felix stands in front of her, with the same round eyes that last year had told her that she deserved nothing but the best, lips plumper thanks to the alcohol, voice as deep as she remembered it.

“...I didn’t know you had met someone else after me.” Felix utters, though he’s drunk and oozes alcohol, dozing off on his own thoughts. “You told me you had never slept with someone before. How…? Who…? Who changed that?”

There it is. The ego, the intrigue, just what she wanted. To have him thinking of her even a miniscule second, because she sure as hell spent nights crying about what they never were. Only that the simplest answer is, of course:

“None of your business, Felix.”

“I know, God, I know…” Voice growing decibels deeper, he leans back on the wall in front of the bathroom before huffing loudly. “I’m just…have you met someone else? Is it Yangyang? You always told me you and Yangyang were never a thing.”

“And we weren’t! We aren’t!”

“Then…?”

Timing is always wrong when it comes to these kinds of situations. Or a bit right, even. The hallway is empty enough for it not to seem like a coincidence when Donghyuck slips into it, looking down at his phone and drumming with his free hand on his jean-cladded thigh, but when both Felix and herself look at him, it’s like it clicks on her head.

“It’s Donghyuck.”

That’s an answer for Felix, but the confused cousin of her best friend can only answer. “...Yeah, it’s me? Hi. That is my name.”

Bingo.

Donghyuck had grown a bit in his twenties. His hair had gone through a few changes, but now he’s back to pitch black, slicked back, matching the hoodie he has under his jean jacket that reads ‘The Misfits’ in the background. Not that they go along with the khakis he brought to this party, but he makes it work. His cheeks were as round as ever, but paired with a sleek jaw and interestingly relaxed eyes. Being part of a band definitely did him good.

The band started over two years ago; she remembers his debut was during Donghyuck’s prom, which she had attended with him just because he didn’t want to pursue the whole ritual of inviting someone whom he was dating. They never talked, but she got to see him behind the drums. The Dry Flower included Donghyuck as the drummer and some of his friends. Renjun is the singer, though she hasn’t talked much to him. Niamh on the guitar and Jooyeon as the bassist.

They play a few gigs here and there, as far as she hears from Eunbyul, but after she moved out of his place, she only sees Donghyuck at very special events. Like parties, as this one.

“I, uh, you two know each other?” Felix asks and Donghyuck doesn’t look at him like he’s the most interesting person in this world. In fact, he looks a bit bored.

“Yes.” They reply in unison, though Donghyuck keeps walking towards one of the rooms, only to leave her there with Felix.

A few beads of silence pass by like the sweat pooling on her forehead, leaning back and forth on her boots before Felix clears his throat.

“You two are dating, I imagine.”

No. For the love of God, she wouldn’t date Vanilla Ice. Not because he’s not handsome, but there has never been that chemistry between the two. Like two logs staring at each other in the middle of a lake.

“Yes, so if you’ll excuse me…” What is she supposed to say here? I’m going to have sex with Donghyuck now, let me be?

She doesn’t say much more, turning around and trying her hardest not to run inside the room like a madwoman. She opens the door and closes it behind her with a soft thud, but the sigh that she lets out and the following gasp is enough of an answer for her that this lie won’t be easy to keep.

The hoodie that Donghyuck had been wearing is forgotten on the floor for a second before he’s pulling it up to his chest to cover his body. Glowing tanned skin is barely visible under the dim lights of the guest room that they are probably in, but just before Donghyuck can scream at her about what she’s doing there, she rushes to the top of the bed, splaying a hand on his mouth and speaking a little too close to his face.

“Vanilla Ice, I know you don’t necessarily like me and that we aren’t really friends, but if I asked you for one big favor including you not screaming after I pull my hand off, would you do it?”

Donghyuck doesn’t like cooperating, that’s for sure, and when he sticks his tongue out, she doesn’t relent. His eyes squint, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand off his mouth before speaking softly. “Explain in a sentence that doesn’t excuse yourself and I’ll think about this favor. You’re…suspicious.”

“What would you think if I accidentally linked you with me?”

“I asked for an explanation, not a question.”

She places her hands on her knees, ignoring the fact that it’s weird that she’s with Eunbyul’s cousin in an empty room, on her knees, standing in front of him as he’s shirtless. Nothing sexual about this, though.

“I may have lied to my ex…situationship.” She answers, looking to the side and inspecting Aida’s guest room, that might as well be empty and yet, still feel cramped and humid. She doesn’t like lying and the anxiety that comes with it. “Felix finds it glorious that I haven’t had much of a dating life after him. Or any dating life, whatsoever. So, while we were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’, I made it seem like I had sex after him. Hence, he was asking me whom I was sleeping with, you just popped inside the room and then…”

Donghyuck presses his lips together before sighing. “You…I was just trying to sleep after drinking and you got me in this kind of trouble?!” He whispers-yells before plopping himself next to her. He lets the hoodie pool on his lap, completely forgetting to cover himself and from her peripheral, Donghyuck is soft in all the perfect ways. “Felix is an asshole if he is pissed off about that, you know that, right? You slept with him, then with someone else. It’s called the cycle of life.”

She toys with the ripped edges of her shorts, playing with her bottom lip before dramatically throwing herself backwards on the bed. “That’s what you don’t get, Vanilla Ice.”

He doesn’t relent about the name like he did years before, instead asking: “I don’t get what isn’t explained to me. I’m a genius, but not like all the fucking time.”

Looking at the dark ceiling, all the bundled up emotions come into confusion for her. Because yes, she feels at ease with not doing anything more than just touching, but at the same time…she wouldn’t mind people believing otherwise so they would just get off her back and ignore the obvious heartbreak that came with her thing with Felix.

“I’m a virgin.” She confesses, rolling her eyes. “And you can laugh at me all you want. I just want people to believe I’m not; not because I’m ashamed, but because that’s the only way you can poke fun at assholes. Make them believe that there was someone much better than them that did get into your pants and they didn’t. It’s silly, immature, all of that, yes Donghyuck, I know-”

“Uh-huh, go on.”

“This is when you stop me.”

“No, I want you to think about what you’re doing.”

She turns around, only to see that he had laid down as well, staring at where she had been looking before. “I’m a stupid virgin that still has some resentment about the fact that her first love was someone who never really loved her to start with.”

Donghyuck stays silent for a few seconds, turning to look at her and quirking an eyebrow. That small tick that she always noticed on him. “Felix is an asshole. An asshole who will always win no matter what you do. He will get good money, a happy family, and also be the popular dad in the block. That’s who he is. You didn’t shape or change him, but him not being yours was of help for your future, even if it doesn’t look like it.”

“Yeah…” She mumbles. “I’m sorry for threading you in all of this.”

“Fuck yes, but here’s what we’re going to do.” Donghyuck puts his hoodie on, rubbing at his tired eyes and sighing deeply. “I’ll drunkenly step out to the party, because you’ve sobered me up with this whole plan, and I’ll say some stupid comment about-”

“No.”

“What?”

“You’re not making sexual comments about me.”

“I can say your ass is nice or something like that. I promise it won’t be like the worst shit.”

“How about this? We can go about this silently and keep your feminist reputation intact.” Donghyuck’s lips quiver up the slightest at that. That may be a smile, but when she stands up and states her plan to him, he loses that smile. “I give you my bikini bottom and you put in in your pocket. Ask one of the gossipers to take care of your jacket and boom, they find the pair of panties and-”

“Ew!”

“Donghyuck, they are used panties, but I’ll buy you another jacket, I promise. You won’t even have to touch them.”

“That’s…how do you even come up with these things?”

“Some guys keep memories of who they slept with.”

“I am not one of those guys.”

She picks up his jacket from the floor and then, struts towards the bathroom, hearing Donghyuck’s complaints and steps behind her.

The party ends up with Donghyuck leaving his jacket with Soohyun, the nursing student that no one tells their secrets to and yet, she’s aware of everything, before he’s off to sleep the drunkenness off. She’s with Yangyang, asking him for his jacket to wrap around her hips when she says:

“Donghyuck is a panties-collector! Who is wearing a yellow bikini in this place?” Soohyun’s voice lingers with mischief and when her sharp eyes settle on her body, she knows the dots have been connected.

Now, Donghyuck will be marked as the hook up that got her to forget about Lee Felix.

LIFE DOESN'T GET ANY EASIER, AND ADULTHOOD FEELS LIKE CLOSURE. THE PRESENT.

She would have never realized that what she just had was a dream. The confession from Henry Cavill himself as he sputtered out his apologies for a fake love was quite frankly accompanied with a warmth that she would have loved to hold onto. Nonetheless, it seems like the moment with the actor is cut short when she feels a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist, belonging to the shaking shoulders that hug her from behind.

Eunbyul had moved in with her all those years before she had broken up with Yangyang and she had been quick to change places so it would only be the two of them as roomies. It felt rather odd, if she was honest. Eunbyul had always lived in a relationship, sharing houses with Yangyang from the moment they all graduated high school, but having her best friend by her side was always a good thing to wake up to.

Now, their friendship is not precisely any closer because of this. Law school involves a lot of hardships and while both her and Yangyang continued down this path, Eunbyul didn't. She married the idea of having her own bakery and now, she owns a little boutique bakery downtown, which has a few clients, if she does say so herself. They don't spend much time together, and she definitely doesn't slip into her covers like this.

"Byul…" She trails, sleepily patting a hand around until she finds Eunbyul's shoulder. She pulls her closer, resting her chin on the top of her friend's dyed light brown hair. "What's the matter?"

"Yangyang texted me." Her shoulders shake even more with every weep she lets out, and while she knows that Eunbyul's chubby body emanates warmth, her heart has been cold for plenty of years. "...I…He said he could only see himself with me. Why does he do this? It's like I can't ever get over him."

They are both her friends, and that makes it a little difficult to be opinionated. She knows both of them were faithful to their relationship. As a matter of fact, she thought they would be forever, one of those stories that one would hear in upbeat songs on the radio.

"...You two were great together, Byul, and I do believe in returning to a place if you recognize a little too late that it was your home."

"It's just…how does he know I am his home?" That question is whispered between them. "He has never had anything else. Anyone else. How will we know if…if he won't want to be with someone else later on or sleep with someone else or…?"

"All valid questions to be asked in a relationship." She prompts, sighing deeply and letting the tips of her fingers play with the curls of her friend's hair. "But those doubts will come with any man that decides to settle down with you. Regardless of him being Yangyang or not."

"I know."

"Then, if Yangyang has always felt like the one, why not try it with him whom you have a bunch of history with and apart from that, he actually really wants to be with you?"

"I broke up with him so he would be with other people and realize that he didn't just want me."

Okay, she should not have scoffed, but she did. Eunbyul is perhaps the biggest romance enthusiast she knows and then, she dares say shit like this. "Said no one ever."

"Hey!"

"Eunbyul, who the fuck wants the love of their life to sleep with someone else?"

"Me!"

"Cuck alert."

A smack lands on her chest and she hisses when Eunbyul accidentally hits her boob. "That's the main reason why you are single."

"Out of many others." She answers, only to have Eunbyul sigh.

"I love him." Those words would be nice to hear. At times, she wonders why she has never been loved. Is it her personality, her immense will and need to be successful? Is it the throbbing of her heart that falls a little too fast? She would never know.

But at this age, very close to being a lawyer, she would have imagined that she would have been loved.

"I know you do."

"It's been two years and I can't get rid of that."

"How do you un-fall in love with someone who did no wrong? That is just nonsense, you."

Eunbyul groans, pushing her body upwards before sighing. "Is 'How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?' on Netflix?"

"Doubt so."

"We are illegally downloading it and sighing over Matthew. Alright? Alright. Movie night."

That is how she spent the entirety of her midnight watching rom-coms with Eunbyul instead of sleeping before a grand presentation.

"Donghyuck," His mom mumbles from her spot at the counter, head hanging low and fat tears falling onto the marble surface. "My God, my son…I just want you to have a secure future and you continue with 'The Dry Flower'. You won't have anything to eat one of these days!"

It hurts him to see his mom like this. For all he knows, he wishes he could go back to when he was seven and his mom would clap for him, cheering him on for a dream that she’s entirely against as of now. It’s complicated, wanting a hug so badly but also having to defend his dream. Surely, he won’t be the most well-known drummer to date, but he will mean something.

“Mom, I promise it won’t get that bad. You know how I am, I…”

“That’s the thing! Life is not about how you are, or how you think you are, it’s about what you do so you don’t go through hardships. It’s about being smart!” She rubs at her face with pent-up frustration and Donghyuck sighs deeply, placing his hands on the edge of the counter to stop himself from hugging her.

“I know, but I can’t be smart and unhappy.”

“Happiness is fluctuant, Donghyuck. You can’t be happy all the time and on the long run, this won’t make you happy.”

“How do I know if I don’t try? I’m sorry, okay?! So fucking sorry that I didn’t go to college like all of my younger siblings. I wish I could have been a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher, but I can’t. For the life of me, I can’t simply not try.” Donghyuck answers, hating the raspiness of his voice and the knot that grows on his throat. He looks to the side to stop the tears from falling, but they burn at his bottom lashes. “I’m sorry. I…I promise I will find a place soon and if I eat or don’t won’t be any of your business.”

“It will always be my business!” His mom replies. “Donghyuck, you have a way of making things sound like you’re going to die tomorrow. You can do the whole drumming thing on the side and go back to school.”

“I’m not book-smart.”

“To get a degree, you have to have the wits, and you’ve got them, honey.”

“...I don’t want to, mom, okay? I don’t.” He responds, opening the fridge and picking up the bag of pastries he had bought for his girlfriend. He stands by her side, watching how older she had gotten, a few wrinkles appearing on her face, wearing bigger clothes and tighter feelings. His plump lips spread on her temple, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say that he loves her, but he does. Instead, he gets on his bicycle, hoping for a miracle.

Hoping to be somebody so all of this could change.

Youth was supposed to be easier, wasn’t it?

Mr. Montero will have her head, fry it and then kick her out of law school. Yes, she’s claiming it, and yes, she’s also one step from doing the same with Eunbyul after she left her car-less (because, for some reason, Eunbyul can’t make a decision for the life of her but she can surely grab her car at five in the morning to go meet up with Yangyang). That was four hours ago, she’s running forty-five minutes late and Eunbyul isn’t picking up her phone.

Not that she’s angry that her friend is getting laid, but still.

The thing about small towns is that it’s a little difficult to get a ride. Taxis and their high prices leave more than just a few college students grabbing the bus, who is also extremely late, and she’s tired of waiting. She tried walking there, but the heels she opted to use for her presentation (against her will, but Mr. Montero and his oh-so-wise-mind says that law students should look their best always) dig into her soles and leave her begging to rub cream on the blisters appearing on the skin. Hence, she’s crying a little bit and almost cries a little louder when she sees a familiar face from afar.

Lee Donghyuck had never made her feel so relieved to look at somebody. In fact, she rushes after that bicycle, screaming his name until he comes to a halt. Drenched in a beige hoodie that is probably too thick for today’s weather, he lets his foot step on the concrete before he looks over his shoulder. He doesn’t look as relaxed and uninterested in the world around him as he usually does, instead widening his eyes when he sees the tears that bathe her face.

“Is everything alright?”

She could have asked, but she stands in the back of the bicycle, hoisting herself up in a way that she’s half-sitting on his seat and holding onto the hood of his shirt before deciding to wrap her arms around his waist. “I have a huge presentation that is worth twenty percent of my grade and I’m not exactly passing this class, so if you drive me there, Donghyuck, I swear I will never bother you again.”

He blows a small fraction of air that moves his disheveled bangs away from his face before he makes up his mind. “It’s what you always say and you always come up with something new.”

But he starts moving with will, and she has to accommodate her body so her chest is not squished to his back. It’s not like she wants Donghyuck to feel her body pressing up against him. “Eunbyul decided that stealing my car was a good idea.”

“Eunbyul?” Donghyuck questions, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen Eunbyul do anything even remotely bad.”

“You don’t know her. Put Yangyang in the fraction and she’ll do just about anything, Vanilla Ice.”

“And here I was thinking that since you called me Donghyuck before, we’d be skipping the nickname.”

The air blows at the strands of hair that she had worked so hard on brushing, but it seems like this day is not at her mercy. She stares at the rays of sunshine that fall on Donghyuck’s chiseled cheekbones; he looks rather great today, but just when she’s about to reach for one of the pastries hanging from the bicycle’s handle, he clicks his tongue.

“Not for you.”

“I haven’t had any breakfast?”

“So?” He replies with the same condescending tone before sighing. “I’m…It’s my first month anniversary with my girlfriend, Yejin. Those are for her.”

She furrowed her eyebrows at that. Donghyuck had never been open about his relationships and she was certain that he had never lasted more than a week with somebody. Much like her, he lived off situationships.

“You have a girlfriend?”

“I can manage to have somebody, you know?”

“I’m sure you do, you’re not bad looking.” She answers, pressing her cheek to the top of his head and then sighing. “I’m sorry for the proximity, I’m just trying to keep my hair intact. The wind is insane today.”

“‘I have a girlfriend’, I say, before you inherently make me look like a cheater to half the town.”

“Everybody in this town knows we’ve been friends since high school, Vanilla-”

“We’re friends?” He asks, a bit surprised, and it takes her a moment of thinking. To everyone in this town, Donghyuck was the man that took her virginity in a set of parties that they attended to, perhaps a bit closer than friends at some point (though grandly wrong at that assumption, that is), but someone whom she is really close with. It’s not precisely wrong.

“Yes. I know more about you than most people and I think we care about each other enough.”

“That’s being acquaintances.”

“You know what, Vanilla Ice? Fuck you. We’re not friends at all if you don’t want to. Saving my friendship bracelet, or rather, I can give it to you so you can pull it up your ass.”

Donghyuck chuckles loudly. It’s been a while since she has heard that noise and it reminds her of the times he spent binge-watching YouTube videos on the sofa while her trio of friends were trying to do work. He makes a laugh sound so sincere that she’s almost in awe. Donghyuck blurs his words to make himself look less attached, but he’s also inherently transparent.

“We can be friends.”

“I don’t want to anymore.” She huffs, only to have him shaking his head.

“You’re friends with Yangyang. I’m sorry for second-guessing you a bit.”

“Don’t you dare talk shit about Yang.”

“I’d kick his ass if I could, but I sadly don’t care about him enough to do so.” He stops his bicycle in his tracks, looking at two roads. “Left or right?”

Right. This moment feels right.

With the sun bathing the two of them and their eyes connecting briefly, she replies: “Left.” Because that’s what they will always be. Opposite roads.

WORDS THAT CAN’T BE SAID SHOULDN’T BE WRITTEN.

Be damned the day she couldn’t say a thing. When it became easier to spend her time studying at the local swimming pool that the landlord had coincidentally decided to add to their apartment complex; that was the time everything went to hell and back. Because that’s when she met the nephew of one of the old ladies at the complex, and he was handsome.

Capital H.

He’s also extremely unapproachable in every way. Thomas, the little kid that sometimes glues his bubblegum to the elevator doors in hopes of keeping them together for longer so he can talk to somebody (as he says, his parents don’t get home until very late and he spends most of his time alone), had given her some background on Nakamoto Yuta. Twitch streamer for story games, who posted a bunch two years ago but also has disappeared a bit now, just when his career was starting to launch.

It’s not a surprise that he’s always drinking a certain brand of an energy drink or that he almost always is recording what he is eating or drinking a bit. Typical influencer nature. However, she can’t say she was not a bit distracted as she was getting ready for her exams. This last month has been hell as she watches him push his black hair back, give one of those smiles that squares his jaw and make him look the ever-more-thrilling, with his t-shirts almost always painting the outline of a nice pair of abdominals.

Dead.

She almost failed a test because she’s been spending her time being stupid.

Okay, this idea came from Yangyang sarcastically…but she had followed through with it. She rambled a lot of stupid shit when given the chance, so she wanted to put those words to paper and get over him by just emptying her heart. Sometimes, she wrote something sweet, then it was something a bit risky…

And as she’s inspecting the letters of the page she had been trying to read the last hour as he listens to his typical rock records at a medium volume that can be tolerated by most, she doesn’t expect to hear cackles nearing her. Full-on laughter that has her looking up, feeling droplets of Yuta’s hair falling on her face as his eyes become crescent moons.

He never talks to her. Or at least, never a conversation that is of much use.

However, tonight he sits on the chair next to hers, waving a piece of paper in the air that has her widening her eyes.

She never signed the papers, she’s certain.

“I came to the realization that my secret admirer wrote in purple and you use a purple pen today.” Yuta announces. She knows his name because Thomas is a grand fan. God, she wishes she had given up on those letters now that she feels her heart racing because she had called him a bunch of names. From cute to hot, to absolutely breathtaking. “And it makes sense, considering you look up too much from your book.”

“I…What? No. No way.” She shakes her head. Fuck, what had she written today? She always left the letters under his gym bag, always brought to him when visiting his aunt.

“Lie to me, but this?” He spares a look at her notebook, pointing at her handwriting. “Coincides with this.”

“Hey! Privacy!” She closes the notebook snugly, pointing at him. “I know laws. Don’t make me use them against you.”

Yuta quirks an eyebrow, leaning back on his hands before laughing softly. “Use whatever you want against me, baby.” The pit of her stomach shouldn’t dance at those words, much less when she remembers what she had written on today’s note for Yuta.

I wish I was the honey you pour on those cinnamon rolls your aunt always gifts you; that way, I would always stick to you mouth.

Never listen to Yangyang’s advice ever again. That’s the newsflash she’s receiving as of now.

“I’m Yuta.”

“And I’m gracefully out.” She tries to stand up, clinging her notebook and textbook to her chest, but Yuta wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulling her back every so delicately before fluttering his short eyelashes.

“Come on, don’t do that. I’ve kept all the letters you’ve given me, and now that I can give the person a face…I wouldn’t mind a date.”

The good decision is to avoid relationships.

She knows this. That’s always the good answer. However, it has been a while since she has felt the warmth of someone’s skin against hers, and it has as well been extremely long since she has had someone kiss her goodbye. It could be nice, and it could also be an opportunity with Yuta.

Damn her for saying yes.

The worst part of being with someone new is that she goes to places where she doesn’t belong.

Two months after she started seeing Yuta is when things started to feel different. Eunbyul had been nice enough to invite her to a cabin she’d be sharing with Yangyang and a few other friends, where Ritz cookies with whipped cream were promised—she preferred them with pepperoni, so she’d bring some herself—, and she’d have a few talks while passing the brief weeks in which she’d be free from her semester. She’d feel like more than her textbooks, but she had washed away the idea of that trip for something with Yuta.

Granted, she knows that Yuta has some kind of fame. Not enough to have paparazzi after him, but like one or two people want to take pictures with him as he’s seated on a plaid picnic cloth, rolling up a joint and bringing it to his lips. His hair is longer than any of her ex’s, he is also incredibly touchy whenever he wants to, with a hand on her waist and leaving a flutter at the pit of her stomach. He wears a floral shirt tucked into ripped jeans and he’s…a daydream.

The kind that kisses her velvet lipstick off, and the man that spent most of his days talking to her online. They rarely see each other often because of clashing timelapses and busy schedules, but now that she sees him…she wants him to be the rare good decision that she makes. She knows that he’ll either be the person that settles with her—finally, God fucking finally—or her biggest heartbreak.

She has learned from Yuta, as his thumb caresses the sliver of skin that is unraveled from the waist of her black and yellow sunflower sundress, that he is the total opposite of her. She is preparing herself to defend divorce cases; to figure out who is right and who is wrong and raise her voice for those who need sheltering in that situation. However, Yuta sees his life for what flows and doesn’t—he just got his engineering degree a year ago and he's making real money off Twitch streaming.

He doesn’t see far ahead, and all she can see is the light at the end of the tunnel. If it isn’t there, she’d inherently panic.

And this music festival that he wanted so desperately to go to with a few of his friends—Johnny and Yoonoh, whom she hasn’t seen now that they have found their respective dates—is not the kind of scene that she frequents. Yuta smells like the joint Johnny had given him, and his eyes are dazed when he turns to press a fleeting kiss to her lips.

He flows and flows and flows. She’s scared that one of those times, he’ll fly away from her fingertips.

“What’s with that face?” Yuta asks, pressing a kiss to her cheek and her heart does summersaults, because she rushed two weeks into knowing him to give him a kiss and now, two months into this…thing, she can’t wait for Yuta to figure himself out. To make this grand event for him an even more enormous moment for her.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to an event like this.” The farthest she had gone was that summer in which Yangyang spent almost every weekend partying and bringing her along. At some point, she had become his chauffeur and Yangyang had thrown up so badly into his own backpack that he had completely forgotten to wash it off. He promised not to party anymore when on the first day back to school he had brought the throw-up-filled backpack with him. “…I…You know, I’m happy because I’m with you, but at the same time I want to be alone with you.”

He chuckles a bit, putting down the joint and turning it off with a step on top of it. “We are alone.”

“No, like…” She could say it. Without music booming and his friends around and his mind elsewhere. “Just forget it.”

He tugs at her hand, softly, lips puckered up when he asks: “Come on, just…tell me. I want to know everything that is on your head.”

Would he want to know the anxiety? The recurring insecurities? Would he want to know that he has taken over every piece of her dreams and she’s not sure that she can get rid of the image of him anytime soon? Cupid had thrown an arrow directly at her heart and the worst part is that if she rips it apart anytime, she’s scared that it will rip it out of her chest.

“I wanted something quieter, maybe.”

Though, the moment that Yuta brings her closer and tells her that it’ll only be a few more minutes, she feels liquid pouring down on her. Yoonoh is not too far away, with dimples on his cheeks carved so deeply that it looks like there is no tissue or muscle there in his chiseled cheekbones. His flannel shirt is opened as he spritzes the recently opened bottle of champagne on the couple.

She closes her eyes. Fuck drunken Yoonoh, she thinks, hearing Yuta’s sweet laughter and trying to mask the same smile. Maybe, she just needs to loosen up.

“Yoonoh!” She screeches, standing up and plucking the dress away from her chest so it doesn’t contort a little too closely to her skin.

“You two were flushed. Needed to ease up from this heat.” Yoonoh brings the bottle to his mouth and pours a good chunk before she sighs deeply.

Love is a slave to patience.

Maybe, that’s all she’s lacked, patience.

And even those she’s annoyed, she brings her face down to steal a kiss from Yuta, who quirks an eyebrow and tells her: “I’ll kick his ass, don’t worry. I know Yoonoh can get annoying when he’s had a few drinks on him.”

Please, do, she wants to tell him. Instead, she shakes her head. “I’ll go to the restroom at the restaurant we went to, okay?” There’s a seafood place near this festival, considering that it’s by the beach, and while the stars have taken up the sky and she doesn’t want to go on her own, she also doesn’t want to bother Yuta.

He takes her phone from the picnic cloth before placing it in the little purse she has dangling from her shoulder. “Send me a text when you get there.” And with a kiss on her forehead, she tries to convince herself that Yuta’s heart beats as quickly as hers does.

It has to, right?

Long has it been since Donghyuck has felt that crippling need in the pit of his throat to weep and cry. He’s older, so he has tried to garnish more of a timelapse before he reaches that point, but…when a friend betrays you this way, it hurts deeply.

Renjun’s hair is shorter than how it was when they first met. It’s a deep blue with glimpses of black, sticking up at different places while he hits the stack of papers that include their lyrics against his hand. Past his empty eyes, Donghyuck believes he sees glimmers of who they used to be. Renjun was the guy in theater club that skipped his classes to go play with him when the real school band was over. He was the man that came up with the name ‘The Dry Flower’. His eyes were once red from crying with Donghyuck because they had booked their first gig.

“I don’t want you in the band anymore, Hyuck.”

They were about to play their biggest gig to date. A beach festival in which they were one of the first people to open, but as he is in his best leather jacket, with his hair sleeked back, his drumsticks ready to play for him, Renjun says this. As if it doesn’t weight him down. As if Donghyuck hadn’t heard him minutes ago.

“What the fuck?” He asks with a sarcastic smile on his face, pushing forward until he is face to face with Renjun. “I think you’ve forgotten I was the one that got us here, Renjun.”

“We didn’t want a front-man.” Renjun announces, frowning deeply. “That’s the problem. You think this is a one-man show—”

“No, I don’t, but you don’t know how much I’ve given up for this band. Or you do, but you’ve decided to forget just now.” Niamh and Renjun are just a foot away from graduating, and Jooyeon had her own music store. Niamh is engaged to Aida, now seated on her lap, their eyes elsewhere but on him. They had totally planned this.

“That was up to you to decide—”

“You don’t even have a drummer for the gig!” Now he’s desperate. He should have walked away twenty minutes ago when this argument had started, to keep his pride intact, but he wanted this band. For the longest time, this band had been his family.

“We have found someone.” Renjun aspires, whispering at first, and when Donghyuck asks him to repeat himself, he does with a straight face. His hands are shaking and meanwhile, Renjun is calm. Composed. As always.

He hates that Renjun has it all together and he doesn’t.

So, he thrashes all the memories he has held with one of his best friends. The nights they spent talking about how they aspired to be like The Strokes or Queen. The birthdays in which Renjun sent him voice messages saying he hates him to death but that they’ll celebrate that night. The hugs they shared when getting gigs, or the moments in which creating music felt cohesive. Because he was the Paul to his John, and now—

Now, Donghyuck is launching himself at Renjun, using his forearm to back him up into the wall backstage, speaking into his face as tears threaten to spill from the corner of his eyes.

“Fuck you!”

His vision blurs, forgetting that the face his punch lands into is none other than Renjun’s. He feels his own body being pushed backwards, Renjun’s slim body falling on top of his, and he swears he hears Jooyeon screaming for the two of them to get over this. Her short hair moves with each tug she gives to get Renjun off of him as he lands another punch, but it’s to no avail.

Friendship wasn’t supposed to end like this, with security separating them and Donghyuck staring at a group of people that stabbed him behind his back. Jooyeon and her widened eyes, that inspected him as if he had gone insane. Niamh, always the most sensitive, crying her eyes out and covering her face. Renjun’s cheekbone flourishes in a deep pink and he wonders if his tan skin mirrors the same wound.

The only thing that keeps them connected as of now.

Security drags him away, only letting go of him when they were in front of the restaurant a few feet away. Donghyuck spits in the floor, finally letting his hands cage his face and his shoulders shake with each weep that leaves his body.

He doesn’t have a band anymore.

Shit, does he have a dream anymore?

The world is weightier and it crumbles to the point he wants to hide himself. Rushing, he enters the restaurant, ignoring the waitress that tries to get him a table as he goes to the bathroom.

His best night just turned out to be his worst.

Someone enters the bathroom just as she’s washing her hands. In fact, she doesn’t react at first. Indeed, she prepares herself for a drunken talk with a girl who probably wears one of those pleated skirts that are trending right now, but when the door is shut with a bang and she hears incessant sniffling along with a smack against one of the stools, she knows whoever has entered means business.

And there could have been a hundred people that entered through that door, but she never expected it to be Donghyuck. Her heart hammers against her chest when she sees his black hair pooling on each side of his face, longer than the last time she saw him, clinging into the last bits of gel on his head. He is wearing a leather jacket, but the anatomy of him astounds her. His shoulders are shaking, back hunched, stomach contracting before he lets out a loud sob. As if whatever is bothering him rakes through his chest and leaves him void, open for the world to pluck at his heartstrings.

“Donghyuck…” Her voice must have alarmed him, considering he stops pressing his forehead to the stool’s door and he actually turns around. His eyes are so red that they could mimic that of an eclipse. Tears fall down like glitter on chiseled cheekbones and she takes that as a cue to grab his face in between her hands and pull him closer. Before asking him anything, she’s shushing him, because this is Eunbyul’s little cousin, the man that she had seen grow and had bothered for so long. “Shh, everything is going to be alright…”

His hands cling to her back, as if her dress was a second skin, as he hides his face on her neck. She feels the plumpness of his lips right at her pulse when he shakes his head and mutters: “It won’t. My life is over…”

The contraction of the muscle by her heart is enough to have her pulling away, feeling her own tears wield up in her vision out of panic. “Don’t say that, Donghyuck. Not even playing around. Your life is not over.” Rubbing at his eyes, she speaks softly, only for the two of them to hear. Meanwhile, his hands still rest on her waist, looking into her eyes. “Whatever happened, we can get through it together. I won’t leave your side the entire night if that means you…you figuring out that this is just another bad chapter of the book, but not the finale. It is not the end.”

Donghyuck’s lip quivers before he rubs at his eyes, looking up to try and stop the tears. He tries to pull away, but she keeps her hold on his cheeks. “Renjun fucking kicked me out of the band.” He seethes, shaking his head before sighing deeply. “After all I’ve given for them. After all I’ve done. They all continued with their lives because they didn’t care about the band as much, but I followed through with it because I believed that it would sail. Now that we’re halfway there, I’m no longer in the band and—”

“Why would Renjun do that?”

“Apparently, they are tired of me being the front-man and making decisions all the time.” Donghyuck whispers, pressing a hand to his eyes as if not to see her. “And it’s so embarrassing that I’m crying like this but…that band is my whole life. I can’t let my family see that it didn’t work out for me. All these years I’ve fought to let everyone know that I was going to make it. I thought I’d be the greatest drummer but—”

“Now you’re the greatest drummer but out of a band.” She completes for him, unraveling his vision before looking from one of his eyes to the other. He had grown so much, had become so responsible and yet so mortified. Where had his sarcastic smile gone? “You don’t believe me?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, not uttering a single word.

Silence had never fit Donghyuck.

But when his silence overtakes him and rids him of the will of continuing, she is there for him. She presses a fleeting kiss to his forehead, letting her lips linger there, wishing for the Donghyuck that she knew to awaken from inside his brain. Instead, she tries to get him out.

“You’re important.” She tells him. “You’re fun to be around. You’re resilient. You’re worth waiting for.” All that she thinks of Donghyuck is spat out in simple words, pulling away to look at him only to see that he closes his eyes tightly, long eyelashes bathed in tears. “You’re smart and willing. You’re…so many things, Donghyuck, but the greatest of it all is that you’re part of so many people’s lives and I reassure you…none of them want to lose you.”

Donghyuck opens his eyes, brown eyes glistening and he pretends to smile from the corner of his mouth, but she grins back at him.

“There you go, that’s the smile everyone likes.”

“Everyone?”

“I’m a peculiar fan of your happiness. It’s the only reason why I tease you with the whole Vanilla Ice thing.” She confesses, licking her bottom lip before biting on it. “You always roll your eyes but the corner of your mouth lifts up. As if you find it amusing that to this day I haven’t forgotten.”

“I doubt I give Yangyang the same response.”

“I happen to believe I am a little bit more special than Yangyang. You’ve always preferred me.” She answers, taking his hand and dragging him to the sink. “Now, let’s wash up those tears and grab something to eat, okay? You’ve lost weight and all that stress you’ve got bundled up isn’t doing you any good.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, tossing his head back. “I’m fine.”

“I know.” She replies. “But good is never good enough.”

And then, he finally laughs when he feels her splashing water onto his face.

CUPID’S ARROW IS A JOKE THAT NEVER LANDS. SEVEN WEEKS LATER.

Returning to her last semester before she turns a lawyer should feel somehow fulfilling. Her mind could have been focused on the textbook that glares back at her from the PDF blinking on her laptop, eager for a topic to be understood, but her digits gravitate towards her phone, unlocking it and checking Yuta’s chat to see if he had answered the text that she hand sent him three hours ago, that he had definitely seen.

Or the one four hours before that.

Or the ‘good morning, babe’ text that he didn’t respond.

In fact, love shouldn’t feel like this. Like an electricity shock that flickers like a broken light. She still turns it on even though it’s only dimly lighting the room up. She sighs deeply, pressing her forehead to the keyboard when searching for key words on their conversation. Nicknames that he had called her. Promises that he had made. Pictures of the two of them that they had exchanged in a conversation that now seems dead.

If they exchange four sentences in a day, it’s a lot.

It’s an emptying feeling. Gravitating her into a pit of feelings that she can’t comprehend. Throwing the phone into her phone as it lands on a pillow, she groans loudly, covering her eyes and digging the heels of her palms into them. Alright, it was her fault for falling for Yuta, or that she knows this is inherently wrong and yet, she still stays here.

It has crossed her mind to leave Yuta, but it’s impossible. Somehow, it feels like she’s the one at blame. She feels like the problem in each of her relationships. The one that fucks it up by putting interest, by not being like other women who make themselves be desired and lusted at even after months of being together. She stands up when she hears her phone buzz from the bedsheets, launching herself into the bed in the most ridiculous of ways and when she unlocks it, she lets a few tears drop.

Yuta hasn’t responded to her text yet. And she can’t even delete them anymore.

Instead, someone else had texted her. It was not Eunbyul, who was the complete opposite of her and is probably sharing dinner with Yangyang at this point, since long having moved in with him again. However, seeing Donghyuck’s name appear on the screen—next to an ice cube emoji, of course—is not as bad.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Is it bad that I eat the leftover buttercream from Eunbyul’s store? [Attached File]

The picture attached brings a smile to her features. Donghyuck has his eyebrows well raised, a spatula pressed in between his lips and a dot of buttercream on the tip of his nose. She turns around on the bed, letting her hair cascade on her sides before sighing.

To: Donghyuck 🧊

Wish I could do that. I should be studying, but I can’t fucking concentrate.

She puts her phone down. Feminism is put to shame because of her. Why is she standing a man’s doing? Just because she feels like she…she…might be slightly in love with him? That’s stupid, even for her. And scrolling through Instagram doesn’t help as she continues to see Reels about situation-ships.

Stop it, word.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Must be because you’re thinking of your stoner boyfriend. You know that you’re a lawyer?

To: Donghyuck 🧊

Future lawyer. Your point?

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Weed’s illegal. You’d have to put him to jail.

To: Donghyuck 🧊

I’m not like this ‘cause of Yuta.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

[Attached music file].

The room is filled with that popular song that Yangyang has been humming under his breath the last week. Boy’s a Liar or something of the like. A smile appears on her features, even when he’s not precisely wrong. What could Yuta be doing all these days, spending time at home, when there is nothing he enjoys more than going out?

To: Donghyuck 🧊

Men are snakes. Purr.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Slay girlie.

More laughter leaves her lips before Donghyuck writes once again.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

But for real, I’m going to the karaoke bar with a few friends and I’m sure you’re not going to do any more studying. Come with me? We’ll sing your song.

To: Donghyuck 🧊

My song?

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Just come. Please? I want you there.

It’s not a surprise when she accepts, putting on the biggest sweater she has in her closet—half because of the weather and the other half because she doesn’t feel like showing off with how bad she feels—, a pair of leggings and then she’s out the door. Prompting what happened these past few weeks for her to be vengeful, wishing for Yuta to react to her going out with someone else without telling him. Perhaps, she’s just clinging onto what they used to be—or what she thought they could have been—. The brisk bites at her hands as she waits for a taxi to pick her up.

Dating is the hardest thing she has done, but she tries to erase that thought out of her head as she imagines the good things to come. She’ll go to Eunbyul’s store, close with Donghyuck—since he found a job there after being kicked out of The Dry Flower—and just have a good time.

Donghyuck’s boozed. He’s the conceptualization of it.

Ask him what’s the meaning of the word conceptualization? He has no fucking clue, but as he stands on the only table there, with his boots disregarded and showing his stupid striped socks, he couldn’t care less.

She’s seated right across from him, with the same glass of water that she had ordered early on her hand, watching him with widened eyes and a bit of a smile on her face. He’ll be honest, he had never looked at her with intent or from up-close, but the last few weeks ever since their exchange in the bathroom, and the time that they had spent away, months maybe, he sees her with a different gaze.

Her hair is shorter than how it was when they were younger, eyelashes less coated in mascara and way less curled than they were before. She exchanged cheap red lipstick for a nude, darker shade that match the real tone of them. The sweater she wears probably leaves her skin damp, but the little glint of sweat around her nose makes her look adorable. Donghyuck wishes she just wasn’t so bad at picking men.

Because there he is, choosing a song as one of his friends—to be honest, he had just tagged along with Mark’s group because they were good fun, but he doesn’t consider them that close to him—asks him to. He turns around, making his dramatic entrance and singing while looking at her. When she realizes which song it is, she cackles immediately, tossing her head back and yet, not stopping looking at him.

Yes, he wishes that the only way he got her to look at him wasn’t by singing Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice, Ice, Baby’ but he knows that’s the only way he can get her to remember who he is.

He moves his hair around, parting his legs and reciting the songs like the palm of his hand. He gets off the table, extending his hand and taking hers in his even when she covers her face. Donghyuck feels a blush rise up his cheeks, could be the beers he has had or the fact that he is looking at the screen to remember the next verse because of his mind is a blur, his tongue is intertwining in words that he can’t let out at this moment.

When the song is over, the moment isn’t. Donghyuck splays himself next to her side, their knees touching and his eyes immediately going to her profile. He expects her to see her looking away, but her eyes are already on him, looking from one orb to the other and he might go insane—

God, since when was she this hot? This beautiful?

He remembers being annoyed at her, much more at Yangyang, but she was friends with Eunbyul for a reason. Then, he pretended to be her first time at a party because she was still into that asshole Felix. Now, she’s dating another asshole and he wishes nothing more than for her to open her eyes.

“You’re blushing?” She questions, splaying a hand on his cheek before pinching it softly. She’s in awe, but she can be even more surprised when he lets his fingers spread on top of her own, closing up her palm to his cheek so she cups it with more intent.

“Maybe.” Donghyuck slurs out, chuckling a bit before pushing his face forward the slightest. They are only breaths away, her mint mixing with his beer. “How does one get you to blush?”

She chuckles at that, shaking her head. “It’s been long since that’s happened.”

He can’t imagine not bathing her in reasons as to why look at the world in a romantic glare, and maybe he’s insane for it. Donghyuck pulls her hand down, trying to stop the beating of his heart and the stupidity that threatens to slip from his lips and ruin what possibly is some kind of…friendship? “I can make it happen, truthfully.”

“I don’t think Vanilla Ice has it in him.”

“Vanilla Ice doesn’t. I do.” Donghyuck replies, and maybe it’s the invitation in her eyes when she lets go of his hand and stands up, looking over her shoulder before walking away from the karaoke room that has him following after her.

Donghyuck doesn’t have a second to think when he catches her by the forearm before she walks away. Her chest collides against his own, taller than he was when they were younger, and definitely in a position that they never had been in before. His black t-shirt becomes his axis as she looks into his eyes, cutting the distance between the two and capturing his bottom lip in the softness of her own mouth. She kisses with gentleness, a bit of trembling to her body that he stops by pulling her closer, molding her hips with his own, back contorted to the dip of his stomach.

Donghyuck wishes it didn’t feel fitting for him; everything that she does, he means. From running her fingers through his hair, to the way her body shakes, heart racing against his ribcage. He pulls away to look at her closed eyelids before dipping in again. Her hand disappears under his shirt, touching the skin that he knows he’s insecure about, the places in which he hid his overthinking…

She touches him like this means forever, and he doesn’t even know what that means.

He pushes her to the wall, her back landing softly as his leg gets lost in between her own thighs. A small trembling breath leaves her mouth, opening her eyes and looking at him as his thumb traces her bottom lip.

She’s not his, and she proves it when closing her eyes tightly and saying: “God, what am I doing?”

He’ll be an interrogative, even an insecurity for her. A secret that she’ll broom under her memories to never get out. She had touched him as if she meant all those words she said at the bathroom. That he was kind and irreplaceable, and here he is, being a band-aid to a wounded heart.

“Excuse me?” Donghyuck asks, pulling away the slightest and laughing sarcastically at her words, though it doesn’t last long.

“Donghyuck, I—”

“You say it as if I’m fucking disgusting to kiss.” He compliments and she doesn’t say a word, looking over to the side and biting that lip that he wants nothing more than to kiss. “Look at me.”

“No. I…I can’t. I’m seeing someone, Donghyuck.”

“Someone like everyone else you’ve had. You don’t know how to see someone who truly respects you.”

Now she looks at him, glaring directly through his heart. “Donghyuck, you don’t know how this shit is.”

“Yes, I know how you are. You stay and feel guilty for acting with your heart once just because you believe tying someone who doesn’t want you to you is going to make them stay.”

“Don’t say stuff like that!”

“When have they ever stayed, huh?” He asks, only to have her pushing at his chest, pointing a finger at him.

“Well, I’m not sure you’d stay either! It always starts like this, with promises of being different and I always end up hurt!”

She shakes her head, giving a few steps backwards away and towards the entrance. He calls her name softly, clicking his tongue at not knowing precisely what to say.

He could start with what he feels. Hey, I’m not sure when these feelings blossomed, but I am not willing to kiss anyone else but you. Not willing to be of anyone, but yours.

“Thank you for reminding me.” She adds. “No one fucking wants me as more than a moment—”

“I could say the same about you.” Donghyuck replies, crossing his arms over his chest, hating how prideful he can be. “You called me so many beautiful things, even fucking kissed me back, and yet…I’m not enough to make you change your mind.”

He hates to see the tears that she tries to make disappear by blinking, or that she doesn’t have any words to say. Not even an excuse as she picks up her bag and turns around.

She leaves.

Don’t they always?

BLAME IS ALWAYS SHARED. THREE DAYS LATER.

The peak of her idiocy comes when she looks at her phone while in class.

She’s seated at the very back, jotting down notes on her laptop about what her classmate is explaining, but she gets distracted. In fact, all she has been able to think is the way Donghyuck’s lips spread on hers, how his body molded perfectly to hers and how bad it feels to cling to Yuta in hopes of making her feel the same. The same way even when he doesn’t text her as much anymore, or how he has been avoiding seeing her for the past few weeks.

But looking at her phone gets her to look at his social media, because that’s the hobby that she has partaken on to feel a little closer to him. His Twitch, most of the time unused, blinks with the appearance of a new stream. He’s playing one of his favorite videogames, as relaxed as ever, as if they weren’t going through a point in their…who is she kidding? This is also not a relationship, just like everyone else she has had. And there she is, withstanding shit from a man who doesn’t even want to call her a boyfriend.

Who, coincidentally, also hasn’t responded to her ‘good morning’ text again. Great.

She looks at that conversation, then clicks back into Yuta’s Twitch stream, careful not to have the volume up. His now red hair is tied behind his back, one of his legs propped over the desk as he has one earphone on and the other tossed on top of his knee. His eyes cast down on the screen, though she sees his phone from her peripheral, on a corner of his lit-up neon desk.

So, she writes the text, even with a pattering heart and fear of making a mistake. Yuta is not the only man in the world, and this anxiousness that follows after her has been enough to make her crazy. Even break her sly friendship with Donghyuck.

To: Yuta Nakamoto.

You know what? I’m not here to stay with a man who would much rather stream on his forgotten channel than answer my text. I hope you have a good one, Yuta. It’s over.

She would want to say that she was the better person and that she didn’t stay in the stream until she saw his phone screen light up and him stopping his game to look at the conversation. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, frowning his eyebrows before tossing a look at the camera and putting the screen face-down.

That’s an answer, right? He couldn’t give less of a shit and it could be easier to curse him out, call his phone and make a fool of him in the middle of the stream, but she puts her phone down as well. It feels liberating not to live through a screen, and she’s damn happy to do so.

One less worry, and more time for herself, finally listening to her class once again and writing in her computer. Heart weightier, but liberated from its confining chains. It’s easier to love oneself, she tells herself, or perhaps her career who will give her much more than a man.

Now, the problem is that her life is more than the complicated mess that Yuta made it out to be. In fact, she had messed it up a bit, too. Donghyuck roams her head when she gets out of her class, with zero messages from Yuta, but also nothing from him.

It feels worse not to have the possibility to text Donghyuck, because she knows the things they said and how hurtful they were. She knows she touched portions of his heart that he never let anyone see, much more after his break-up with that girl he had dated all those months ago.

Though, for the time being, she’ll concentrate on her exams and nothing more. That should do it. No men allowed in her head.

HOW DID THAT SONG GO AGAIN? WE DON’T TALK ANYMORE? A MONTH AFTER.

Eunbyul just had to make things difficult and offer free sweets for her best friends, didn’t she?

Donghyuck rubs at the same spot on the counter that he had been working on all those minutes ago after she had gotten here. Like every Thursday, when she wants to spend some time gossiping with her best friend and braid Eunbyul’s hair as she speaks her elbows off. He rarely looks at them, considering that Eunbyul is the one to serve her the all-time-favorite, Caramel Cupcakes, but Eunbyul is down with the flu and her best friend is still coming, nonetheless.

Today, she is wearing a suit. She has worn more of those nowadays, considering that she’s working on her thesis and also interning. Information that Donghyuck got to know about thanks to his cousin, and he pretended he didn’t care, but he would not lie to himself and say he is not a little bit proud. Even though he can’t bear to remember that night in which everything came crumbling down.

At the end of the day, according to Eunbyul, Yuta and her were over just a few days after that night at the karaoke bar. Not that she knows about the shared kiss, but she had spoken from the bottom of her heart saying how sorry she was that something like that happened. Donghyuck wasn’t surprised, but still.

Worst part is that she came to the bakery just as they were about to close, and she’s looking at the menu as if she isn’t going to pick the same thing as she always does. She doesn’t call him over, instead standing up and letting her heels ring in the silent golden bakery. The leftover pastries glisten behind the glass, waiting to be microwaved and enjoyed before the shop closes, but the only client is her.

And Donghyuck’s breath traps in his throat when she looks into his eyes. As always, concentrating on one eye and then the other. As if she can’t take all of him in just in one go.

“I want a croissant.”

Donghyuck shakes his head, stopping his motions on the counter and fixing the beige apron around his waist. “You never have a croissant. I saved you a Caramel Cupcake.”

Alright, that’s stupid. He can’t believe he said it out loud. Silence prolongs between the two, eyes staring at one another before she clicks her tongue.

“Why would you?”

“You always ask for the same thing.” He responds quickly.

“You hate me, Donghyuck.”

“I never said I did.”

“But you do.”

“I’d like to say I do, yes.” He tries to play it off coolly, only to have her laughing a bit. She leans forward, playing with the collar of her gray jacket.

“I don’t hate you.” She tells him, licking those nude lips that he has to stop looking at because she’s totally not interested in him. “And I’ll take the caramel cupcake, sure, but the croissant, too.”

He turns around, ignoring her as he starts the microwave with the croissant inside. He packs the cupcake up in those pretty see-through boxes with yellow ribbons that Eunbyul had ordered for her shop.

“Why don’t you hate me? I said a bunch of nasty shit to you.”

“It’s easy to say I hate you. Harder to do so, I think.” She answers, and he doesn’t see her, but he imagines her lips parting and sighing softly. “Because the things you were telling me weren’t wrong, Vanilla Ice.”

He seethes through his teeth, turning around and spreading his hands behind him, crossing one leg over the other. “You have never seen me as anyone else than Eunbyul’s little cousin who had a video of him rapping, haven’t you?”

“I hadn’t.” She says and he swears he sees her patting the tips of her ears, as if checking if she’s blushing. “…Until someone decided to kiss me and make things complicated.”

“You kissed back.”

“I did.”

“Then?”

“We made it complicated. There, better?”

“Worse.”

“Agreed.”

The microwave beeps in time for him to cut the conversation, turning around and packing in another bag with the bakery’s name imprinted on it the croissant. When everything is done, Donghyuck serves it in front of her, their fingertips barely touching when placing it upon her hands. She won’t eat there, that he is sure of.

She parts her lips, as if to say something important, before she looks down at the sweets on her hands. Instead, she spreads her ribcage in a long breath before saying what disappoints him entirely, yet the most fitting thing to say in this situation.

“See you, Donghyuck.”

With that, she leaves. As if nothing happened. At this point, he may start to believe that nothing will ever happen.

Yangyang just had to propose to Eunbyul on Halloween, didn’t he?

The thing is…all would have been alright if he hadn’t decided to involve everyone in his Halloween proposal. It was going to happen at their house, of course, but he wanted it to be in the middle of a Halloween party, with everyone dressed up as the cheapest costume they could find. Yes, that’s precisely Yangyang asked for—because he didn’t want to scare Eunbyul off, he said, but he also wanted it to be in an important date and Christmas was a little too far away—.

Now, the problem was that she wanted to be Wednesday and the costume that she bought online had come two sizes smaller. Instead, she’s left with a dress that doesn’t close behind her and a black coat on top of it to cover up the fact that she can’t breathe completely without feeling the fabric tear a bit. It’s either that or wearing Yangyang’s sexy Spiderman costume, and she doesn’t think it’s a great idea…

The celebration downstairs booms with laughter and the brief sound of music, with the closest family and friends hanging out, but she wants to see her two best friends get engaged.

Okay, she’s getting the dress off.

Though, her own hands and a bit of fidgeting is not enough to get the second skin off. Yes, because this black dress counts as a second skin now. A bit more moving and a few jumps in front of the mirror are interrupted by the door opening, a screech leaving her lips when she sees a man in all black clothing with a pumpkin on his head, with eyes and a mouth carved, but still.

“What the fuck?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The voice is completely familiar. Donghyuck fumbles with the doorknob, eager to get out of the room before she calls out his name. That makes him stop, though he turns around slowly, comical considering he hasn’t taken off that damned pumpkin head.

“I can’t get this dress off and it’s literally killing me. I can’t breathe—” She speaks a little too quickly, huffing when extending her arms behind her back to ease herself from the tightening fabric.

“Alright, I’ll help you. Stop moving.” Donghyuck gets the pumpkin off from his head, tussling his hair up with a hand—light brown strands as of now, long and gorgeous in their messy stance—. He nears her, turning her around and from the view she gets on the mirror of the two of them, his gaze lingers on her back the slightest before he bites his bottom lip. “Would it be okay if we tugged down? I think it has more of a chance of going down your hips than up.”

“O—Okay.” She answers, letting his strong hands settle on the fabric around her waist and tug down, bringing her arms down. “Ouch!”

“It’s moving. Just…stay still. I’m sorry for doing this.” His legs spread when kneeling behind her and she goes where her mind is going, but Donghyuck’s hands keep working on tugging the dress down, the sleeves now off, skin tainted and burning, while her arms spread on front of her chest to cover her bra.

“I hate that I’m in this situation.”

“I’m not looking, I promise.”

“That’s the bad part, I guess.” She jokes around, though Donghyuck doesn’t laugh, looking at her through the mirror before looking up.

“I was about to say something but you’re like half naked—”

“Just say it and get it over with.”

“Don’t play around, that’s all.”

He gives a few more tugs until the dress pools at her feet, her hands clinging onto the coat and spreading it on top of her body like a robe before turning around. “Thank you.” Donghyuck nods curtly, about to put on his pumpkin mask again before she says: “Is it that hard to believe that I find you attractive, Donghyuck?”

He stares at her, blinking slowly, before he raises his eyebrows. Then, his hand finds leverage on his nape. “I mean…you’ve never been into me—”

“In the past, I hadn’t.” She tells him, getting closer and tightening her hold on her coat. “But me going every week to Eunbyul’s bakery has to mean something, right? I miss us, Donghyuck. What we were in those weeks. What we could have been in that night we kissed but…” She trails off. “I don’t want someone who won’t take me seriously and if you do the same as everyone else, I’m afraid I won’t be able to try again.”

She can’t believe that the arrow that Cupid apparently throws had landed on Donghyuck, how he gives a step forward too and looks from her lips to her eyes, down again. “I would never hurt you. Not again.” For some reason, from him, she believes it. He could be his own self, perhaps fights would ensue, but she knows he is the most truthful person she can find.

“I would ask you to promise, but I don’t want to hear any more promises.”

“That’s not wrong,” He spreads his hand on her cheek. “Because if we are going to try this out, I plan to show it to you.”

Her lips connect to his own, relishing on the feeling of his hand dropping from her cheek to her neck back to her nape. Her heart doesn’t hammer, it feels tranquil, with anxiety going out the window as Donghyuck smiles against her lips.

For the first time, she might be called a girlfriend.

And for the first time, she realizes that sometimes love hides in the people she knows, not the people she doesn’t.

#haechan scenarios #haechan x reader #nct scenarios #nct x reader #yuta scenarios #yuta x reader #writing #nct au #nct fluff #nct angst #slice of life!au #haechan au #haechan fluff #haechan angst #long long fic ahead

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powerfultenderness · 2 years

Note

An idea for a Halloween drabble with Adrian:

A lot of the staff at Fennel Fields dresses up for Halloween and so do you, but everyone mistakes your costume for something else. It really starts to annoy you and you’re actually on your way to the restroom to change when Adrian arrives for his shift and sees you look aggravated.

Babydoll

Rated: T+

Word Count: 1858

A/N: ty for the request, hope you enjoy! 🎃

[#Vigilante Halloween Masterlist]

[Masterlist]

[Dividers]

It wasn't that you hated the Fennel Fields uniform, but you were a little bored of it. So when your manager said those working on Halloween were allowed to wear costumes, you instantly started thinking about what kind of costume you wanted to wear.

There were a few restrictions, of course. Nothing that would get in the way, such as wire wings or tails that could potentially hit someone or knock something over. Similarly, nothing that dragged on the floor as that also presented a tripping hazard. Not that you had planned on anything with any of the restrictions, but now that you’d been told what you couldn’t wear, every idea you did come up with was restricted in some way!

By the time you figured something out, and collected everything you would need, there were just three weeks left until Halloween. It was somehow so close yet so far at the same time!

Initially you were quite excited about your costume. Despite having to leave the prop weapons at home, you thought it was a pretty spot on portrayal of an awesome movie character!

Come Halloween you’d taken extra time to get the blonde pigtails and sailor girl outfit just right. Maybe that’s where you went wrong…

The first person to greet you after you clocked in was a fellow server, Blake. She wasn’t in full costume, but had cute little devil horns peeking out from her curls.

“Don’t you look cute and hot!”

You grinned, “thanks!”

“Who are you supposed to be, though? Some cute little anime school girl?”

You expected that from her. You’d made countless movie and comic and video game references to her before and she never understood them.

“No. Babydoll from Sucker Punch.”

“Sucker Punch?”

“Yea. It was a movie that came out a while back.”

“Ooh! Gotcha! Well you look good!”

You thanked her again and the two of you started your shift.

Your first table pretty much said the same thing. “What anime are you from?”

You gave a generic answer and hurried onto their orders.

Taylor, one of the dishwashers, walked past you and smiled. “Sailor Moon?”

You wanted to sigh, he wasn’t the first person to make that call. But since he wasn’t a customer, for some reason you thought it was ok to correct him. “Eh, not quite. Sucker Punch.” He raised an eyebrow as if asking you to elaborate. “Came out in like 2011.” Still a blank look. “Zack Snyder?” He shook his head. “Babydoll,” you gestured to your costume, “was played by Emily Browning…Vanessa Hudgens? Oscar Isaac!” You listed off the more famous actors in the movie.

After a few seconds he nodded, “Oooh! Wow! I think I remember that one!”

You smiled with a strained chuckle before returning to your job.

Really! It wasn’t like Sucker Punch was some obscure indie!

Over the next few hours you put up with being called Sailor Moon. For the most part you just smiled and quickly moved onto doing your job and people forgot the costume. But, it was getting increasingly annoying.

By the time your break rolled around you practically ran straight to the parking lot. You had the foresight to bring your uniform and leave it in your car, just in case the boss thought your costume was inappropriate. You were not going to spend the rest of the night feeling moderately embarrassed about your costume!

You were too busy rummaging through your back seat and muttering a few annoyed phrases to notice someone walking by the car, until you heard a familiar voice call your name.

You turned, maroon uniform in hand, to see Adrian dressed in a black and red jumpsuit with a matching baseball cap that he wore backwards. The random, and mostly fake, sponsors on the suit and the big NASCAR printed on the cap made his costume clear. You had to admit, for a costume that covered him even more than the usual Fennel Fields uniform, he looked hot.

For a moment all of your earlier frustrations disappeared. “Wow! Looking good, Driver!”

Adrian stared at you for a beat too long and you worried that he too would not get your costume. Considering how everyone else mistook your costume, the fact that he hadn’t said anything sent another embarrassed rush of blood prickling at your face.

He was quiet, a little wide eyed, until you nervously wrung the uniform in your hands. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, as if he’d dazed off in the middle of talking to you.

“Me? You look fucking amazing, Babydoll!”

Even though he was just calling you by the name of the character, hearing him calling you Babydoll sent your heart racing and the blush on your face burned hotter. You let out a sheepish and nervous chuckle, "oh, thanks…wait! You know who I am?"

Adrian grinned, cute little dimples framing his cute little smile, "are you kidding? Sucker Punch is one of my favorite movies!"

"Really?" You excitedly asked, while internally you were doing back flips. Finally someone got it!

"Yea! It's so cool!" He started but blinked and tilted his head. "Did you just get here too?" He then pointed at the uniform in your hand.

"Oh. Uh. No. My shift started a couple hours ago. I was actually gonna change out of this, because people keep calling me Sailor Moon."

“What? That’s stupid!” He took a few steps so that he was close to you, and you winced slightly as you thought he was talking about your reaction. He just wanted to make a point though, because he brushed one of your blonde pigtails over your shoulder. “Sailor Moon’s hair is way longer!”

You blushed even more, if it were possible, as he continued. “And she doesn’t use guns, so she doesn’t have a holster!” He plucked at the brown faux leather straps at your shoulders. You stumbled forward a bit from the gentle force of the tug, your chest close to his now.

He slowly moved his hand from the leather strap to the rather flimsy material of your top, the back of his fingers softly tracing down your arm to the edge of your sleeve. “And she wears a totally different color.” He paused, his hand leaving you for a moment as he glanced up to his left, “unless you were wearing Babydoll’s white costume.” His eyes flicked back down to yours, “but you’re not.”

His hand returned to your shirt, his knuckles gently dragging across your exposed midriff as he lightly pinched the hem of your shirt. “And I’m pretty sure Sailor Moon wears a one piece.” He let go of the shirt and his hand slid across your bare skin to rest just above your hips. His hands were so large that thumb still played with the hem of your shirt, while his pinky slipped under the band of your skirt.

You shivered under his touch, but you were far from cold. Not even the low fall temperatures could cool your blood at this point, especially with the way he was leaning down slightly, his face so close to yours.

“Adrian,” you whispered, your eyes flitting back up to his eyes from his luscious pink lips.

“Yea?” His voice was low, gravely almost, and his breath tantalizingly danced across your lips.

As much as you wanted to shove him in the back seat of your car and climb on top of him, now was not the time. You licked your lips, he mirrored the action, “my break is almost over…”

“Oh!” He practically jumped back and away from you, and you already missed his warmth. “Y-yea! I need to clock in too!” He scratched the back of his neck and looked away from you.

You tossed your uniform into your car and slammed the door shut, locking it as the two of you awkwardly made your way into the restaurant.

You quickly got back to work, and tried not to think too much about Adrian, but every time someone called you Sailor Moon, you wanted to run to him and tell him. You weren’t sure why, or what he could even do, maybe he could say you looked “fucking amazing” again. That’d be nice.

“Hey, Babydoll.” Adrian caught your attention as your last table for the night left.

You smiled at him and tried not to be too obvious as you stared at his bare arms. Pretty early on in his shift he took off the top half of his suit and tied it around his waist, leaving his incredibly well defined muscular arms on display, as he’d only been wearing a muscle shirt underneath the suit.

It also didn’t help that throughout the night he called you “Babydoll” a few times and it sent an excited rush through you every time.

“Are you doing anything later?” He asked as he stacked the dishes in the gray tub.

You shook your head, “not really. Probably gonna eat a buncha candy and maybe see if there’s any good scary movies on.”

“Sweet!” He grinned, though it immediately faltered as he noticed your raised brow. “Uh, I mean, it’s great that you’re not doing anything!”

You tilted your head and pursed your lips together, even more confused.

“Not that I’m happy that you don’t have any plans! I mean, if you did have plans I’d understand!”

“Adrian?”

“Yea?”

“Are you trying to ask me something?”

“Yea.” He took a breath and spoke quickly. “My friend is throwing a Halloween party at his place, do you want to come with me?”

“Sure!” You smiled, “sounds fun. Much better than what I had planned.”

He smiled too, and he relaxed so visibly that you couldn’t help but act on the little mischievous thought that popped into your mind. You stepped in front of him, maybe a little closer than socially acceptable, but he either didn’t notice or mind. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

“Huh? Sure..?”

You had your hands behind your back, acting like you were hiding something from him, “trick-or-treat?”

He grinned and rocked back and forth on his feet. What an easy choice, a trick or a piece of candy from someone so pretty? “Treat!”

You pushed yourself up on your toes and kissed him. It was supposed to be a quick little peck, but once Adrian felt your lips on his, he acted quickly and grabbed your hips, pulling you flush against him, and deepened the kiss. Before things got too heated though, someone cleared their throat and the two of you pulled away from each other.

“We should finish cleaning up.”

He nodded and grabbed the tub of dishes, “yea.” He only got one table away before he turned back to you, “hey, Babydoll?”

It was official, this costume was your best idea ever. “Yea?”

“What would you have done if I picked ‘trick’?”

Honestly, your plan was to kiss him either way. But you just grinned at him, “I'll tell you later.”

Adrian pouted for a moment before smiling to himself and getting back to work. He liked the treat you had given him anyway.

Tag list:

@lululandd

#vigilante x reader #adrian chase x reader #Vigilante Halloween

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gerbiloftriumph · 12 days

Text

Floating Castle Liveblog (third read)

In 2020, I read the first king's quest adaptation novel. Again. Because 2020 was awful.

August 22, 2020 –

page 0

I'm not going to read this aga--oh wait no who am I kidding I'm trapped at work for another four hours and it's *not* a good day and I just want my tea drinking wizard tree and frog prince and mcguffin king and headless ghosts and the soft delights of smarmy sassy villains. (also the kq series is the only series i have easy access to rn so shhh)

page 3

"Castles do not fly." The title of the book says otherwise, sir.

page 10

Gotta admit, Telgrin's perpetual single thundercloud over his castle still gives me ridiculous amounts of joy. I'm sitting here grinning honestly for the first time all day. I love my melodramatic sassmaster.

page 14

I comment on it every single time I read this (yes this IS the third time I've read this in three years, leave me alone), but I seriously love watching Graham being an actual king. I love adventures, and I love royals, and I love adventuring royals, but I also really like the sturdy basis of kindness and clarity Graham just has as a leader. It's really pleasant.

page 20

IT HIM. Heeeeeeere's Telgrin! Do you think Telgrin spent hours shuffling around trying to perfect that gliding walk? Stars, I hope he did. I mean in any other villain it would just be natural but with my emo goth drama king who tries too hard, everything is carefully plotted for maximum visual aesthetic.

page 22

Totally seriously, though, the contrast between Graham's tightly contained fury and balance of how he's been treating the assembly and Telgin's wide swept theatrics and overblown personality is SO good. This sort of subtle contrast really does raise this book from generic game adaptation to surprisingly pleasant fantasy. It's still genre light, but it has confidence and solid bone work.

page 23

"The news reached me that you were gathering all your knights here today, Graham, so it seemed a convenient time." Because Telgrin won't do anything without an audience to oooh and ahhh over his antics.

page 30

"Everything seemed muted, vague, unreal." Oh, did you mean my life right now? No? Close enough.

page 33

"and a small pear." Yes, a crucial thing to make sure you pack on your voyage. Good call.

page 38

TREE WIZARD oh stars my whole heart is happyyyyy. What a mood improvement.

page 40

"So, that castle belongs to this guy named Telgrin." "Oh yeah, Telgrin. He's evil. Don't mess with him." "You know him?" "I know his reputation." Stars, Telgrin would be SO PLEASED to know his reputation precedes him now. I hope he started some of those rumors himself.

page 40

I still can't handle the density of this conversation. "Telgrin is a stealer of souls." "A stealer of souls? What's that?" Alexander. Alexander, pleaaaase think about what you just said. Please. I love you, but seriously.

page 45

Even when you are a tree wizard, that is, a wizard slowly and literally turning into a tree, it's still important that you get your morning cup of tea. Morowyn knows it. So should you.

page 47

In other words, Alexander, you're just a glorified babysitter. You could have asked Big Knight Brian Blessed to be your partner in crime on this heist and gotten a better result. (i'm kidding of course I love Cyril to absolute pieces, look at this farmboy wizard lad he's so squishy and blond and round and I love him.)

page 54

heist heist heist heIST let's plan a HEIST.

page 58

The moat monsters also have a taste for the finer things in life. Like feather-capped adventurers. Castle Daventry is literally the most perfect fantasy castle there is. It even has a hoard of moat monsters. Like, you can't get more Fantasy Castle than this place. Telgrin only wishes his castle was that cool. He just has to make do with personal thunderclouds.

page 63

A small thing, but I super love Mills's emphasis on color. From the rain slanting golden in the yellow torchlight, to the hills here slowly changing from an angry maroon to a deep indigo with a band of yellow slowly disappearing as the sun sets...it's heavily visual, like he's literally painting a screen from the games, and I find it rather peaceful, somehow.

page 64

Literally just the ringwraith scene from Fellowship of the Ring, but with King's Quest protagonists instead of Frodo and friends. The audacity of this book. I love it.

page 69

Mills was absolutely just rereading Fellowship of the Ring when he was asked to write this book. It's not even subtle at this point. .........and I super love every single reference with all my silly fantasy heart.

page 89

I can't think of a single other fantasy in which the protagonist lassos a kelpie and attempts to ride it. I can't imagine why not. It's a flawless plan.

page 96

I feel like that's just magic homemade whiskey. Getting the prince drunk might not be in everyone's best interest.

page 97

Alexander, you gotta stop calling people "ho." You're gonna offend someone. (I'm kidding, of course. "Ho there" is as traditionally delightful as "Who goes there," and highly welcome to behold.)

page 99

platform boots

page 100

I'm sorry, I know I commented on this when I read this last year, but...again. Telgrin has One Single Lone Stupid Thundercloud, which "hovered over a high central tower. From time to time, this cloud would light with an internal fire, and a low, menacing rumble would break across the land." It's like the Winnie the Pooh raincloud, with ambient sound effects. The audacious aesthetic of this guy is a DELIGHT to behold.

page 107

Aaah yes the Road to El Dorado sequence. Truly, this book is nothing but the best hits of adventure tropes crammed into a book 300 pages long.

page 108

Does this mean that Telgrin has also been to Narnia? Oh dear.

page 112

Again. "The cloud." Not many clouds. Just the one. A single, lone, silly, thundercloud.

August 24, 2020 –

page 114

Wait, what came first, this book or the Muppet Christmas Carol movie? Because all I can picture is Scrooge's Statler-shaped Muppet door knocker, but with extra teeth, shrieking.

page 117

Is Alexander is the only person in the series to ever have a proper sword fight? I mean, not counting....uhhhh is it Owen in KQ8? (Super didn't play KQ8, everyone said it wasn't worth the effort.)

page 123

Like, I gotta say: binding souls to armor, cool. Great scheme, very evil. Making it so that just knocking the helmet off releases the soul into the night forever? ...nooooot the most ideal.

page 126

You know in Princess Bride, when Westley tries to wrestle Fezzik, and just kinda runs at him and squeezes him and absolutely nothing happens? Alexander, right here, vs the black knight.

page 131

A barikar is not a real fantasy monster--the only google result that comes up is that, yes, Telgrin owns one. But it's a huge rabbit with a rat nose, dog fangs, fish scales instead of fur, and human like hands with claws. It sees about as well as a human, but it can hear well, thanks to the rabbit ears. It's absolutely ridiculous. I love it. I wonder if I can convince my dm to make it a fight in our campaign.

page 133

My sweet babiiiiies. Alexander making Cyril stand behind him to protect him and Cyril absolutely refusing and taking the front anyway. I love these kids. I say, fully recognizing that they're semi-close to my age and know how to handle swords and magic.

page 133

Oh, no, excuse me, the Bariker doesn't have rabbit ears--it has bat ears. Which just kind of further emphasizes how much I want this thing in a campaign. It's so ridiculous.

page 139

Where was he? Yes. Who was this beside him? Yes. How long had he been asleep? No way of knowing. Alexander, those are not answers to questions, except maybe the last one. You've answered nothing. Alexander, please.

page 141

headless ghost headless ghost headless ghoooost i can't stop smiling he's holding it like a football it's amazing

August 25, 2020 –

page 142

Lydia's mom caught Anime Mom Protagonist Disease. It's a tragic illness. No hope of recovery.

page 142

"Owen took a brief pause, while Alexander reflected on the fact that he was getting used to carrying on a conversation with a beheaded man. It was starting to seem almost normal. Almost." How is this a real book. I love this book.

page 143

tragic telgrin backsto--oh wait it's not tragic at all he's just always been a brat.

page 144

"Somehow a beheaded man on his feet was infinitely more alarming than a beheaded man quietly seated." o rly?

page 145

Look, it is a *little* creepy that he would install magic mirrors of spying in his daughter's bedroom without her knowledge, but considering Owen admitted to teaching Telgrin everything he knows, including presumably soul torturing magic, we can kind of assume Owen isn't actually that good a guy after all.

page 149

Glowing moss in fantasy must be the most useful plant ever cultivated.

page 155

Obviously, there's nothing wrong with describing Alexander's haunches, but it's also just a little weird. It's not...a word I hear often, especially in reference to humans.

page 156

I like a good wizard who knows that a cup of tea soothes most ills. A man after my own heart.

page 156

"After allowing himself to wallow in depression for a short while, he pushed his mood aside with a firm effort, squared, his shoulders, and said, 'Well, the sooner we get going, the sooner you'll get your bath and your tea.'" Ah, yes, of course, just push aside your wallowing. Why didn't I realize it was that easy?

page 158

"A few wary, rather mincing steps, brought him to the vestibule." Alexander, your author is making fun of you. Just a bit.

page 161

The book is very, very clear that it's just Graham's face floating in the soul-capture orb. The book is very, very wrong. It's a tiny Graham floating around in there. Like, full body, but like two inches high. This is fact, and better than a disembodied Wizard of Oz-style face. I'm just letting you all know that the book is misprinted. Every copy. It's a full body'd Graham. Just smol.

page 162

YEAH BOI PUNCH AN UNDEAD KNIGHT...oh no, your arm, why did you just literally punch a suit of armor, you donut, you know better than that

August 26, 2020 –

page 167

To be fair, the door is now open. As is the floor, and the wall, and...well, the room, to the sky. Definitely very open.

August 27, 2020 –

page 169

It's turned into Dragon's Lair instead of King's Quest, for this scene. Super into it. Wouldn't want to play it as a video game, though--the amounts of game overs....

August 31, 2020 –

page 169

"But this insignificant event raised within him an unexpected fury. He cursed the poor root to withering, black perdition, cursed it deeply and sincerely, cursed it with all his soul." Gods, Alexander, I get it. Man, do I ever get it. I'm so tired.

page 177

"This was it, the nadir. It could not get any worse than this." You sure about that, kid? I think we've got one more scrape at the bottom of the barrel we can squeeze into."

page 181

Alexander is thiiiiiiiis close to snapping. Kid, I understand you. Critically and crucially, I understand.

page 183

FROG PRINCE. I told you there was one more level we could reach. The royal family gets transformed into animals rather frequently. At least this time he's not a snail, poor kid.

page 183

"With a sense of profound shock, he realized that he had been transformed into a frog--a rather large and handsome frog, it's true, but still a frog." You can't make this stuff up. This book is perfect. The ideal. The author is calling Alexander a handsome frog. He's a frog, but a good looking one. I can't handle this.

page 185

"Did you speak, Sir Frog?" "That's Prince Frog, to you." Alexander, be nice. Don't pull rank. I don't think you have rank to pull anymore. Smelly swamp rank, at best.

page 186

I like to think that was just Alexander swearing, but it was masked as a ribbit.

page 187

To be fully fair, Alex, you do kind of need him to reattach Graham's soul, so maybe it's for the best that he doesn't go far.

page 189

If I were a soul-armor, and this frog decided to enter the castle, to be honest, I think I would probably just let it. Because it's a frog.

page 194

There's fanart of this scene too because it's hilarious. She kisses a frog, he becomes a man hanging half over the rim of a fountain, and all she can say is "Goodness! But...you're beautiful." Ridiculous.

page 194

HA and then she tries to recover saying, "I haven't seen that many men in my life. Hardly any, actually. I'm sure that you're really very ordinary." Kid. Please, stop insulting him, you're going to make him sad(der than he already is)

page 198

It's at this point that Alexander just sort of gives in to the sass and the snark and starts leaning into the nonsense. "Creature?" "She's not entirely human." "Uh, in what way is she not human?" "To begin with, she has two heads, no hair, only three fingers on each hand, and is fully seven feet tall." "You're right. That doesn't sound entirely human." Pleeaaaaase this book is a deliiight.

page 200

That twilight area between wakefulness and sleep, with thoughts centered on nothing at all? my brain, today. fully. I've got nothing left to offer anyone, except not-very-funny remarks on this book.

page 202

Nothing Telgrin does is ever common. Overblown and ludicrous, maybe, but never ever common.

September 1, 2020 –

page 209

When the two headed guard calls to the intruding man like a person tempting a kitty cat. "Come here, man, pspspsps. Man, man, maaaan." Instead of catnip, she can bring tacos.

page 211

Again, I just gotta let you all know that the books have been misprinted. It's not a disembodied head floating in the orb, even if it's probably supposed to be an Owen's decapitated head parallel, because that's dumb. It's a tiny two-inch tall Graham floating in the orb, not just his face. I don't know how all the copies got misprinted like that, but they did. It's really a tiny Graham. Cute. Okay? Okay. Onward.

page 212

I love One Stubborn King.

page 216

I can't actually make snide jokes about the text when I'm actually just outright enjoying it. The sheer blissy silly triumph of Telgrin, the stubbornness and sharp agony of my dear sweet Graham, Alexander standing there ruminating on what loyalty means--this is exactly my flavor of fantasy jam.

September 17, 2020 –

page 225

I still kind of sort of love that Telgrin apparently decided that the best way to use the magic staff was to make it respond to wishes. "I wish for a giant fireball." And thus, one appears. It just...speaks to some strange childishness that I find totally hilarious in this big bad villain.

page 230

Again, the book is misprinted. I'm not about these weird Wizard of Oz style floating faces. They're weird. It's a fully bodied apparition of Telgrin yelling at Alexander, hands on hips, just as it's a tiny full bodied shape of Graham in the orb. My version is better.

page 231

"I could kill you now, if I wanted." "I don't think so," Alexander said defiantly. "Is *everyone* in Daventry this obstinate?" Sir. My dude. My man. Palberto. You messed with the wrong royal family, and they come from knight stock, not actually blue blood at all. They're going to *wreck* you.

page 232

"I'll live, I think." Alexander, your ability to comfort others leaves a little bit to be desired.

page 234

I'm not actually kidding. If Mills hadn't read Fellowship of the Ring at least a week or two before writing this, I will eat my whole entire adventuring cap. That's the Watcher in the Water, as there was literally lembas bread earlier and a ringwraith before that. Fantasy tropes or not, this is just sneaking Tolkien references in because Mills is a fanboy (I mean, obviously: he's writing company-approved fanfic).

page 237

Again, Alexander, realize this: Telgrin learned everything he knows from Owen. One might assume, especially knowing how dark those mirrors felt, that Owen himself is *not actually a very good guy.*

page 241

It's kind of like cheerfully presenting Sweeney Todd with his shaving tools. "At last, I am complete again!" Not.....super great, I feel.

page 242

I love that it's not actually magic keeping the castle moored, but a big ol' safety pin. That's not even actually much of an exaggeration. "At the bottom of that well you will find a large golden pin embedded in the paving stone. You are to remove this pin. It may not be easy, but you must do it. It will set the castle free from the moorings of the earth."

page 248

The fact that Telgrin now has to wear an eyepatch is great enough. The fact that he took the time to make sure it perched on "his bald head at a jaunty angle" is almost too much to bear. I hope he stood in front of his cracked and smoking mirror adjusting it just so before coming down for this final confrontation.

page 248

"I'll probably never see out of this eye again, I hope you're happy with yourself." "I mean...you *were* trying to kill me." "Irrelevant." Boys, please, there are serious issues at hand.

page 250

"All I've ever asked in return is that you marry me, and that you not burden me with your opinions." Telgrin, the ultimate flirt. Magnificent.

page 251

Telgrin's snarky sassy meltdown is the greatest. "She's now willing to marry me, merely to save your worthless life! Willingly! Well, I won't have it, I tell you. She shall marry me unwillingly, or not at all!" Telgrin, you are absolutely bonkers and you're my favorite villain in any piece of media ever, full stop. The sheer ridiculousness of *you* with your wish-magic and bloviating and grandiose posturing....divine.

page 253

Telgrin's pasty complexion is enough to "make a marble statue appear dark by comparison." If this were a modern AU, Telgrin would be that emo kid hunched over twitter mansplaining at everyone, while listening to the rainy mood app constantly. He's an absolute delight from start to finish, especially because he *is* a threat and he *could* win if he wasn't so obsessed with the *aesthetic* and the need to show off.

page 255

Ahh one of my favorite lines in the whole book: "It's blame-everything-on-Telgrin time, is it?" What villain talks like this?? Who does this?!! No one but Telgrin, author Craig Mills, and this goofy novelisation of the very sassy, very cliche, very delightful, King's Quest series. Fantasy tropes, sass, snark, and everything. This book is nothing but pure sugared joy for me.

page 266

No more than two feet of earth held the entire castle in place, and now they're floating away again like the house in Up. Delightful.

page 270

Telgrin, you can't behead someone who has already been beheaded. Be sensible.

page 273

"Can you think of any way for us to get down from [this steadily rising floating castle]?" "I could attempt to fly you down!" All in all, Alexander thought he would rather just jump. Boys, please.

page 288

A Valanice story, I think, would have been very welcome. I'm glad for the trilogy we got, but I really would have enjoyed an official novel from her perspective. This lonely image of her standing alone before the throne, with her husband dying in the next room and her son gone for at least a week to face an unknown villain alone, while her kingdom is ravaged by evil knights....it feels worth exploring.

page 291

I absolutely one thousand million percent love this strobing effect of two Grahams floating together, his transparent and delicate soul settling down into his body again. It's delightful.

page 292

Pleaaase Graham, say "A heart is a heavy burden." I know this book came out like a decade before the Howl's Moving Castle (the movie at least, I don't know the book's publication date), but pleaaaase. I know you won't, but I want you to.

page 293

SHRIEKING. I don't ever ship things, but this is my otp for liiiiiife look at these two precious beans together I'm just THRILLED the smile on my face is enormous ahhhh Valanice and Graham have hardly anything going for them in the original games since they hardly ever interact on screen but this book and this scene is just DELIGHTFUL.

September 17, 2020 – Finished Reading

Again, five stars out of five stars

#king's quest novels #king's quest #kings quest #cyril (king's quest)#alexander (king's quest)#theoretically i'm reading it for a 4th time this year but i haven't actually gone past page six so that's it for liveblogs of book one #for now anyway #maybe i'll add book 2 and book 3 too #i haven't read them nearly as many times they've never captured my attention like this one did #but they are still fun and it might be good to have everything contained here anyway

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gaytotaldrama · 8 months

Text

duncney week day 3: dress up

somehow, duncan convinces courtney to let him give her a makeover.

duncney song of the day: 'make me feel,' janelle monaé

also on my ao3!

Her answer was no. A flat, resounding no.

And then she thought a little more about it.

"Fine," she told him, plopping down on the bed they shared. "You know what, I'd like to see you try. Do your worst, Duncan."

"You're gonna regret saying that, Princess," he replied, grinning ear-to-ear like a shark. "You're not ready for how punk I can make you."

"Yeah, yeah, just get on with it."

In all actuality, he wasn't entirely sure what his game plan was here. It wasn't like he'd thought Court was going to agree to him giving her a serious style change. Brainstorming on the fly, he delved into his side of the closet, much messier and uncoordinated than Courtney's neatly folded and primly labeled drawers. Deciding he'd give her a little autonomy (and also make things easier for himself) Duncan asked, "Dress, skirt, or pants, babe?"

"Um, skirt. I guess. Just not that godawful kilt Owen gifted you, please."

He picked out a torn midnight blue piece that he was 110% positive belonged to Gwen - Duncan didn't go for skirts often, but when he did, they weren't so...pasty. Still, imagining Courtney wearing it got his blood roaring. He turned around and tossed it to her, along with a maroon leather belt Gwen's friend Crimson had left behind. Or was it Ennui's? And, more importantly, why was Duncan's closet full of everyone else's goddamn clothes but his own?

The rustle of fabric behind him told him she was changing. Any other day he'd smirk and watch, but right now, it was more important to find her a shirt.

"Does Gwen even know you have their stuff?" He could hear the whisper of leather being pulled swiftly through loops. "Good call on the belt, though. Last time I borrowed Gwen's pajama pants, they fell down and I accidentally showed Harold my undies."

"Doris saw your panties? Might have to beat him up for that," Duncan returned casually, fishing out a tie-dyed black-and-blue Metallica shirt. "Here you go, Princess, Ride the Lightning."

He did turn to watch as she pulled her sweater over her head. She was wearing that black lace bra that drove Duncan crazy; he was sad to see it disappear under the new shirt.

"You said punk," Courtney pointed out, looking down at her - unfortunately well-concealed, fuck Duncan's wide-ass torso - chest. "This is metal," she groused, like he didn't already know that.

He grinned. "You wanna swap it out for the Sex Pistols one?"

"...Fine." She sat on the edge of the bed again, crossing her arms. "Well? Shoes? Hair? Makeup?"

"Piercings?" Duncan joked, but at the answering withering glare, he quickly turned back to the closet. "Here, I've got these patchwork sneakers that should fit, and some fishnets. As for hair..."

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked warily, before shrieking as he pounced on her with a can of hairspray, intent on giving her some spikes. "Duncan! This stuff smells terrible!"

Then he decided he didn't like the spike idea, so he opted for just mussing it all up and layering it with some spritzes of dry shampoo. It did kinda hurt, just a little bit, to ruin Court's beautiful hair, but it was only temporary. 'Sides, alt Courtney had been a fantasy of his since...the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her, maybe?

Grabbing some mascara and umber eyeshadow, he ultra-darkened her lashes and smeared around her eyes carelessly, black and powdered. She fidgeted throughout all of that, but when he laid a steady hand on her jaw to fill in her soft lips with color, she stayed completely still, just looking at him.

When he capped the lipstick she sighed, breath fluttering out against his face, and dipped forward like she wanted to kiss him. "Nuh-uh," he said, holding a hand up between their two mouths. "You'll smudge it."

"Oh, like it matters," she said, and stepped up to the full-length mirror on their wall.

"Well?" For one reason or another, Duncan found himself nervous, sinking down to sit on the mattress. "What do you think?"

"Hmm." She was studying herself, turning her body this way and that to catch all the different angles. To him, she was beautiful. Metal, and makeupped, and fishnetted, and beautiful.

But still nowhere near as incredible as the real Courtney Reyes.

"It's missing something," she decided, and she grabbed Duncan's skull hoodie from the back of the desk chair. She didn't zip it up; she let the sleeves fall loose so her shoulders were bare and the hood hung to the small of her back. Then she turned to him and echoed, "Well?"

Duncan smiled like a goof. "Looks amazing."

"You think so? I kinda like it." She cast another glance in the mirror before settling her hooded gaze on him. "Hey, when did Geoff say he and Bridgette were coming back home?"

"Not for another hour or so." Duncan reached out for her, pulled her to stand between his legs with her arms looped around his neck. "What did you have in mind?"

"I think," she said, slow and sultry. "That it's time for..."

"Yeah, Princess?"

"...Your turn."

He frowned. "What do you mean my - wait, NO. No no no no no no no I am not going to - "

"Oh, yes you are!!!" Courtney crowed with delight, and she leapt off of him and raced, cackling, to her side of the closet.

#duncney week 2023 #duncney #td fanfiction #my writing

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apiscircensis · 1 year

Photo

(a bit late but) Happy birthday, Morgan! ✨

I'm not smart enough to write an actual card story but here's the gist under the cut

- He had never worn a jacket like this and is enjoying it very much. He also likes the sporty look the cap gives.

- Among the gifts he received today, Cater gave him an “honorary pop music club member” badge. He likes that it goes well with his jacket

onto the interview~

- Morgan's 🦑 presenter is Lucas 🌻

Morgan and Lucas get along fine. They were classmates before Lucas got held back a year. Lucas is a silly, easy going pup that does most things you ask him to if you're nice enough about it or give him something sweet in return, he doesn't ask many questions or talks back, so Morgan likes that.

- Lucas brings Morgan a basket of pan dulce as a gift. Morgan is elated, he has never eaten bread so colorful. Lucas tells him about how patisserie was brought to his country by outsiders, but overtime evolved into its own thing in such a way that it became a world renown tradition of it's own. borders are much less defined in the deep sea, so Morgan finds the way cultural exchange happens in the surface very interesting.

- for the deserted island question... 🦑: how could I possibly be marooned at a deserted island when I could simply swim away? 🌻: uuuuuhhhhhh.... for the sake of entertaining the interview he picks Ruggie 🌻: Ruggie Bucchi? our Ruggie Bucchi??? 🦑: is there another? Morgan picks Ruggie because he's a practiced survivalist, with outdoors experience, reliable and resourceful 🌻: that could also be Rook 🦑: NEVER! the most important thing about Ruggie that makes him a better choice over others is that he's a reasonable man with a reasonable price 🦑: a man should never strike a deal with a price he's not willing to pay.

- for the dorm transfer question Morgan picks Heartslabyul 🌻: for the tea parties, right? 🦑: no 😒 🦑: ... 🦑: well maybe a bit for the tea parties... 🌻: no need to be shy 'bout it, it's what I would do 😆 🦑: of course you would Morgan picks Heartslabyul because he figures since it's students are used to following rules that they shouldn't be hard to order around 🦑: good little soldiers should make a fine crew, don't you think? 🌻: uhhhhh..... I guess???

- It's time for the gift of good fortune! Morgan is just itching for this interview to end so he can eat his bread and Lucas is somewhat nervous at this point as well. He hesitates to throw the pie at Morgan. 🦑: shoot already, you mangy mutt! 🌻: I'm not mangy!!! 😭😭😭 🌻: happy birthday, Morgan!!! [splat! 💥] Lucas throws with a bit more force than he intended and it makes Morgan lose his ground. Lucas apologizes profusely but Morgan takes it in good faith and laughs it off.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #morgan heerser #lucas alcantaura #artsyness

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 1 year

Text

destiel!steddie part 4!

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | AO3: you can hear the call (when trouble's on the way)

It was nearly 7:30 when Wayne got back with breakfast, so the three made their way to the small sliver of grass in the middle of the hotel lot to wait for Robin, Nancy, and Dustin.

Eddie hops up to sit on the lone rickety picnic table, Steve taking the least dilapidated spot on the bench he could find, right around where Eddie’s knee was, and Wayne sitting at the opposite corner.

Wayne and Steve kick up an easy conversation about growing up in Hawkins, and Eddie does his best to pay attention, nodding and humming at the right times while he eats his breakfast sandwich and tries not to think about his dream from the night before.

Tries not to think about the feeling of Steve's wings under his hands, about the weight of his own that he still feels along his back like phantom limbs, tries desperately not to think about the feeling of the angel around him, below him, inside him.

He does, however, think about the Steve in his dream. The Steve that bore the wings of an angel, but that even Eddie could tell was less stiff and unknowing, more human; as if the real Steve and angel Steve had fused into one.

He knows he’s doing a shit job of keeping up with the conversation because Steve reaches up and taps his leg to get his attention.

“Are you okay Eddie? Your face is all red.”

“And you stopped eatin’ your sandwich a little while ago.” Wayne points out.

Eddie looks at them both, ignoring the flash of heat that shoots through him from looking down at Steve (again) from where he’s seated above him on the table, and swallows the still-not-fully-chewed bite he’d taken of his breakfast.

”Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just had a weird dream is all.”

“Well don’t think too hard on it now, it was just a dream.”

“Ain’t that the truth..” Eddie grumbles to himself, earning him strange looks from the other two.

Just then, he catches sight of that same maroon BMW from yesterday pulling into the hotel lot. “Oh look, the girls are here.” He shoves his half eaten sandwich back into the bag and unfolds himself from where he was sitting cross-legged on the tabletop, standing up and walking down the length of the table toward the newcomers before hopping down to greet them.

“Hey Eddie,” Nancy greets, “Is Steve ready?”

Eddie glances over her shoulder to Robin and the supposed Dustin; a shorter teen that must only be 14 or 15, with a rounded face and licks of curls falling down his face from under a trucker cap. “I will make sure he’s good. Here,” he digs into his pocket for his keys, “you can open up the back doors and we’ll hang out there while they talk.”

He drops the keys into her palm and gestures towards his parked van. Nancy nods once and turns back to Robin and Dustin.

Eddie does a half-jog back to Steve and Wayne, the latter of whom is doing his best to comfort the former, who looks significantly paler than he had before.

“Hey angel, you doing okay?”

“Eddie, it’s still me…the real Steve?” Steve looks at him confused for a split second then it clicks, “Oh..you were trying to be cute.”

“Not tryin’ darlin’, doin’.” Eddie smarms back in his best impression of Wayne’s drawl he can muster, throwing the ange–man a smirk and a wink for good measure. “Seriously though, are you ready for this?”

“Yeah, I think so. I kinda don’t have a choice.” Steve shrugs, looking down at the sun-bleached wood in front of him. “He needs this.”

Wayne gives Steve a nod and a clap on the shoulder as he strides past him toward Eddie’s van.

Eddie moves to sit backwards beside Steve on the bench, the edge of the table cutting into his back. “You’ve got this Stevie, I am 100% certain he still loves you.” He reaches up and grasps onto the shoulder nearest to him and when Steve smiles softly at him with those beautiful hazel eyes, Eddie has to fight the urge to lean forward to kiss his stupidly pretty face.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“No problem, sunshine.” he looks back toward the main lot and gives a thumbs-up to Robin and Dustin, who start towards their table.

He stands, using Steve’s shoulder way more than he needed to hoist himself up, grunting like an old man as he does; a last-minute attempt to make Steve laugh.

It works, and looking down at Steve, his head held back obnoxiously far just to look up at Eddie, was a mistake.

Because this time, the eyes win.

He leans down on instinct to press a comforting kiss to Steve’s hairline, pulling away and heading to his van before even fully realizing what he’d done.

“Oh fucking hell…” he mutters to himself.

“How’re you doing, lover boy?” Nancy chides him from her spot on the single beanbag he had stashed in his cargo area.

He huffs in exasperation and sits on the bumper next to Wayne, who is also chortling good-naturedly at him.

“Et tu, Wayne?” Eddie shakes his head and hangs it into his palms.

He looks up soon after though, hearing tones of a shrill yelling coming from the young boy now clamped onto Steve, back heaving with sobs.

Steve’s comforting timbre reflects across to them and Eddie pretends his hardest that he’s not affected by the sight of Steve with the young Dustin.

It’s too much to watch, but luckily Nancy seems to have the same train of thought and starts bothering him and Wayne about their other recent hunts.

They give her the rundown on everything, when they’d started, the basics to look out for on her own, other hunts they’ve done nearby so she knows what may be around.

In turn, she tells them about their adventures in what they call The Upside Down; something about a boy coming back from the dead, the chief of police also coming back from the dead, her friend dying in Steve’s backyard.. everything.

It’s a lot to take in at once to be completely honest.

She’s finishing up her tale when Robin gestures for them to come over.

“That’s all you two.” Wayne groans as he stands and stretches. “I’m gonna get us packed up, ‘kay Ed?”

He nods, and follows Nancy to the rickety table. “Hey bud, heard a lot about your party’s adventures with your paladin here,” Eddie says to Dustin as he approaches he and Steve from behind, placing a hand on the latter's shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “Name’s Eddie Munson.”

“Dustin Henderson, Bard.” he reaches a hand out for Eddie to shake.

“Aha! Good choice, Dusty; I’m partial to playing as a tiefling bard myself, when I’m not DM-ing.” Eddie shrugs.

“Are you getting any of this?” Steve stage-whispers to the girls, who just roll their eyes.

“Shush Steve!” Dustin admonishes, “The cool kids are talking.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing? Sounds like gibberish to me.”

“Pfft, that’s not gibberish, Stevie, this is gibberish: Mae govannen, mellon nîn!”

Steve splutters out a well-meaning: “What in the hell was that??” at the same time Dustin practically screeches: “Oh my god, you know Elvish! That’s so freakin’ cool! Eddie, you have to teach me!”

“Calm down, Dusty, sure I will,” he smiles down at the kid and ruffles his hat over his curls. He looks up at Nancy, who gives him a sheepish look and points to her watch. “But right now I think it’s time for you three to get going, yeah?”

The color drains from his face and he looks up at him, then over to Steve. His eyes start to grow wet, but surprisingly, says “Where is Steve going to go?”

Oh shit, did they not tell him this part?

“I’m going back to my vacation bud.”

“Yeah, he really needs the time to get his head right after all the fights he lost, remember?” Robin chides the two of them, almost reluctantly. Like she can’t help but fall into the joke despite her anger at the situation.

Steve smiles softly at her, his eyes also starting to fill with tears, then turns to Dustin, scrubbing his cap down on his head like Eddie had before, but uses his hand on Dustin’s head to pull the kid into his chest. “I’ll be just fine, bud, I’ll be back to you guys before you know it.”

Dustin’s “You better.” is muffled by Steve’s sweater.

Eddie moves away from them, giving Steve’s shoulder a slight squeeze before gesturing to Robin and Nancy to follow him a couple steps away from the table.

“Here, I want you guys to have our contact info.” he hands Nancy a folded piece of the hotel stationary and points to each line of chicken scratch when she opens it. “That’s Wayne’s home phone, my main burner, give me a call so I have your number and I’ll make sure to get you every new number if I switch out, yeah?”

“This your address?” Robin asks, pointing to the bottom of the page.

“Sure is; If any of you guys need a place to lay low, need anything really, that’s where we are. It’s a junkyard, but it’s home.” He pauses for a split second, “And I mean that literally, it’s actually a junkyard. Just in case you come lookin’.”

The two smile at him and Nancy tucks the paper away. “Got it. Thanks, Eddie.”

“C’mon Dustin, you’re mom’s gonna worry if we don’t get you back soon!” Robin calls back as she turns to the BMW.

“I will text you, make sure you call if anything happens with Steve, won’t you?”

“Yeah, of course, Nance.”

With that she gives him a nod, then gestures with her chin towards the picnic table.

Before he can even turn all the way, Dustin’s standing in front of him.

“You’re gonna call right? Or, do you have an email? I gotta run some campaign ideas by you, and holy shit, Elvish?? Seriously?? Will is never gonna believe it.”

Eddie just chuckles. “Sure man, Nancy has my number, make sure she bothers me for it, ‘kay? Now get goin’, I don’t want to incur the wrath of Ms. Henderson.”

“You haven’t even met her.” Dustin rolls his eyes but heads to the car anyway, climbing into the back seat behind Nancy and waving as they pull out of the lot.

Following the car’s path while waving back leaves him facing the table again.

Steve’s sitting on top of the table now, feet on the bench and his head in his hands.

“You okay St–”

Steve looks up at the sound of his voice, but vanishes in a blink.

“...What the fuck?!”

–-

The ride back to Wayne’s was quiet. Eddie’s over-thinking about Steve dampening any conversation attempts by Wayne.

‘Is he okay? Did he just need to get back? Or was it because of me…damn it was probably me. The angel probably knows about the dream and now he’s freaked out…’

“I got the contact info from my buddy, I should know pretty soon if you’ve got a new ride.”

‘…and seriously, why the dream, and why the fuck did I kiss him??’

“Eddie?”

‘Am I stupid? I’ve only known him for what, a few months?’

“Ed!”

“Huh? What are you yelling about, Wayne?” Eddie says as he’s snapped out of his thoughts.

“I’ve been talking at’cha for a while now, you still thinkin’ ‘bout your angel?”

“For the last time, old man, he’s not my angel…but yes.”

“You’re fine Eddie, don’t think about it too hard or you’ll worry yourself into an early grave.”

Wayne continues despite Eddie’s harrumphing. “He likes you just fine m’boy. Just take it easy and everything will fall into place.”

“You and I both know you don’t know that for sure.”

“Yeah but does it make y’feel better?”

Eddie snorts out a laugh “Sure Wayne, it helps. Now, what is it you were yelling at me about earlier?”

Wayne turns the van onto his long driveway. “I was tellin’ you that I got that hunter’s contact from my buddy Bobby. Imma give him a call later on and see if he’d be okay with you takin’ his baby.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“In the meantime though, let’s see what we can get you workin’ on, keep your mind off things.” Wayne says as he parks the van.

“Uh huh, I think you just want some free labor outta me.” Eddie rolls his eyes and gets out, grabbing his duffle on the way.

He does get to work almost as soon as he steps foot inside; thinks that if he keeps himself busy enough, he won't have time to think about the angel (spoiler alert: it doesn't work).

He starts fixing up a couple things around the house that had been neglected with he and Wayne both being out on hunts. A leaky bathroom faucet here, a door sagging in its frame there, washing the two bloody sigils from the stairwell, re-drawing demon circles.

Wayne leaves a couple times on his own in the next month, meeting up with old hunter friends, and taking care of some small cases; that’s about when Eddie runs out of projects to do in the house.

He starts working in the junkyard then, getting cars moved around, cleaning things up, even starting to fix up a couple of the ones in better shape in order to sell.

He’s working on an older model Beetle when Steve comes back.

Eddie’s deep in the engine and the song on the little radio changes. He bursts out laughing at the absurdity of the radio just knowing, but starts singing along nonetheless.

“Steeeephen, Steeeeeeephen.. Whhyyyyyy won’t you call me? Stephen, why won’t you call me?”

“I do not have a phone to do so, Eddie.”

“FUCKIN--” Oof, that’s gonna leave a bump.

He shuffles out from under the beetle’s engine hood rubbing the back of his head to glare at the still just as beautiful angel before him. “Oh, so now’s when you decide to show up?”

Steve tilts his head again, that damn confused puppy look, “You called my name. Of course I’d come.”

“What?” Had he really not said his name until now? “I’m sure I’ve said it before.”

“If you had, I would have come.”

“No, I’m sure, just the other night I swore I sa—“

‘NOPE NOPE! STOP! Do NOT continue that thought, idiot.’ Eddie’s brain screams at him

“Never mind, I must not have.”

“Correct, if you called, I’d be there.” Steve pauses for a moment, looking him over, then the beetle. “Did you need my help with this vehicle, Eddie?”

“What?” Eddie supplies very helpfully. “Oh! Uh, no. I don’t need your help with this. I was just singing along with the song.” he gestures to the little radio, now petering out the last of the song.

“I see. Very well, Eddie, I will leave you to it then.” Steve smiles kindly at him before disappearing in a beat of wings.

“Wait, no Ste—aaannd he’s gone.”

Eddie tries to get back to work on the little car but can’t quite get back in the groove of things. He kept waffling back and forth about calling Steve back and ask where he’d been.

Giving up on making progress for now, he heads back inside.

He rounds into the kitchen, hearing voices coming from the living room where Wayne is chatting with a younger man. He’s turned away from Eddie in the second armchair so he can only see one half of his face, but from what he can see, the man is very handsome; chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, well-defined crow’s feet that shoot out from the corners of his eyes. He looks to be older than Eddie, and he maintains an easy tone with Wayne, like they are reminiscing about something.

“Hey Wayne, who’s this?” Eddie asks after grabbing a bottle of water, leaning his hip on the small kitchen table.

The two turn to Eddie, and goddamn this guy is like, supermodel attractive what the hell??

He stands and approaches with a hand extended. “Name’s Dean, you must be Eddie?”

It’s totally not Eddie’s fault that his response is delayed, okay? It’s this Dean’s extraordinary green eyes’ fault.

“Y-yeah, that’s me. Eddie. Eddie Munson.” He shakes Dean’s hand, which easily envelopes his own. “Uh, obviously” he tacks on, glancing over at Wayne.

“Winchester.”

“Win—-Winchester?” Eddie splutters, “You’re Dean Winchester??”

Dean chuckles and drops Eddie’s hand. “I see you’ve heard of me.”

“Yeah, of course! Who in this business doesn’t know the Winchesters?” Not to mention the demons in hell who’d go on and on about how they got THE Dean Winchester to start torturing souls back in the day, though he wasn’t about to mention that. “I’m sorry to hear about Sam, by the way.”

Dean’s smile falls into something sadder. “Thanks. I do miss having a sassy know-it-all around sometimes.” he jokes, deflecting. “So,” he claps his hands together, “I hear you’re lookin’ to take my Baby back on the road.”

Oh shit. Oh fuck. “You’re the friend who’s car Wayne was asking after for me? Oh hell no. No, no, nope, no way.” he waves his arm out in denial. “She belongs in a museum, I’m not about to let anything happen to her under my watch.”

“Yeah, you’d better not, and I don’t think there’s a museum that’ll take her.” Dean grins at him.

“C’mon, I’ve kept her out back since Bobby retired officially.” Wayne gets up from his own chair and leads them out to a back barn, one Eddie hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up yet. “It’s been a few years since I took over the place from Bobby, so she’s been here about that long, but I think she’s lookin’ just fine.”

He unlocks the door and yep, there’s definitely an Impala sized shape under that cover.

“Help me with this, will ya Dean?” Wayne gestures to the other side of the car and throws his keys onto a workbench covered in rusting bottles.

The two work the cover’s ties loose and pull it back, settling a fine layer of dust onto the otherwise pristine ‘67 Impala.

Dean chuckles, clapping the dust from his hands, “Hiya, Baby.. I’ve missed you.” he gives the car a fond smile. “Let’s get her whipped into shape, yeah?”

The three get her wheeled out into the yard after clearing the way through the junk piled between her and the barn door.

Then it’s just a matter of getting her tuned up, filled up, cleaned up; Dean even insists on giving her a good polish after they've given her a good wash.

Once done, Dean drops the keys into Eddie's palm with an excited “Well, start ‘er up!”

And boy does she run like a dream. No sputtering or rattling to be heard.

Wayne pulled out the grill around the time Eddie and Dean started her up the first time, so there’s burgers done by time Dean finishes explaining all Baby’s quirks (“The headliner behind the driver likes to pop off for no good reason, just pop it back in and it’ll stay for another month or two.”, “If the needle of the speedometer starts to look a bit off, just give ‘er a good flick and it’ll snap back into place.”, and “If you hear a bit of rattling when you blast the fans, don’t worry about it, uh…my brother and I decided it would be a good idea to shove army men down the vents…”).

“So what have you been up to, Dean?” Wayne asks him after they’re well through their dinner. “I haven’ heard much about you being on cases recently?”

“Nah, I’m not. After Sammy died, I gave Baby back to Bobby, got me a motorcycle and just rode for a while. Didn’t really need a whole car when it was just me, y’know?

“Saw the sights we’d missed out on when we were heading from case to case, then decided to just do what I wanted to.

“I opened a diner first, then a couple more, only serving up the best of the best pies you’ll ever have. But I just recently broke even at my distillery.”

“No shit, you own a distillery?”

Dean scoffs and gets up, walking over to, and picking up a bottle from Wayne’s mantle, returning to the table and handing the bottle back to Eddie with the label facing upward.

Eddie takes it. “‘Thursday’s Angel’? This is your brand?”

“Sure is.” Dean grabs a trio of glasses and sits down again, taking the bottle back from Eddie and pouring them each a glass.

“So Dean, you’ve got a motorcycle, a diner chain, a distillery…no settlin’ down for you?” Wayne asks, taking the offered glass.

“I think I am pretty settled now, but no, not in the way you’re thinking.”

“No special friend?” Eddie waggles his eyebrows at him teasingly, taking his own.

Dean smirks back, but it’s sad. “No, no, I uh, I did have someone, but I lost them a few years back. Before Sam.” Dean’s gaze is far away “They were my everything, and I didn't know it until they were gone. Beautiful, kind,” he chuckles to himself, “naïve…perfect in every way, a real angel.”

“They sound amazing,” Eddie says at the same time Wayne tries to break the mood with: “Eddie’s got himself one of those.”

“Wayne, what the he–”

“Oh you do, do you?” Dean turns to him, eyebrows raised and smile crooked up mockingly, “Tell me about ‘em.”

Eddie looks between the two men’s shit-eating grins and before heaves a long sigh.

He shoots back the whiskey, “First of all they’re not mine.” Another glare to his uncle that does not faze him in the slightest.

“Secondly…” he pauses. “He–he’s…I don’t even know where to start. First I thought he was just a pretty face, and by god is he pretty, but now I learn all about how apparently he’s the most selfless golden boy ever created. Part of him’s naïve too, but he’s mostly just a sweetheart…I’d really like to get to know him better.”

“He sounds great, what’s his name?” Dean smiles kindly at him and that’s when Eddie realizes he’s definitely outed himself to this monster hunting legend completely by accident. Perfect.

Well, he doesn’t look like he’s about to punch him so, may as well right?

“Steve. His name is Steve.”

Two things happen simultaneously, and one immediately after.

One and two: the unmistakable sound of fluttering wings sound from the kitchen behind Eddie, and Dean’s smile and color dropping from his face.

Third: Steve saying, “Yes, Eddie?”

Eddie throws Dean a confused look, though the seasoned hunter is staring wide-eyed over his shoulder at the angel now occupying Wayne’s kitchen. He answers the angel, not taking his eyes off of Dean’s swiftly cracking composure.

“Hey, Stevie, I was just telling our friend about you.”

Steve hums and steps up behind Eddie’s chair. “All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best, angel.” Eddie says, tilting his head backwards to look up at him with a wink.

The angel smiles back at him, then turns his attention to Dean. “Hello, I am Steve.”

“Bullshit.” Only Eddie seems to be aware of the slight flinch the angel does at that. “What is your name, really?” Dean continues, his tone firm and fully distrusting.

“My name would be incomprehensible to y—“ Steve cuts himself off and tilts his head as he scrutinizes Dean. “You possess the grace of the Angel of Thursday.”

“The grace of the who-now?”

“I do. And I won’t hesitate to use what little I have left to send you to hell.” Dean stands, and is suddenly holding that same silver thing Eddie had seen Steve holding back at the graveyard in Hawkins, and is pointing it directly at Steve’s chest.

“Whoa, hang on, what in the hell is happening right now??” Eddie bolts up and stands between the hunter and his prey. Not a great spot to be when that hunter is Dean Winchester, but he’ll be damned if he hurts Steve.

Dean ignores him, looks straight over his head and down at the angel. “You are not taking him away from me.”

“Him? Him wh—“

“Of course not, Dean. What is left of my brother was hard won and is yours to watch over.”

“Your broth—-“

“You’re damn right. You are also not going to put Eddie through the same shit you and yours put Cas and I through, you hear me?”

“You are heard, Dean Winchester. Please, let me speak.”

Dean is still for a few moments, then nods once, lowering his blade. Eddie takes that as his que that he’s okay to step out from between the two; he does, but sticks closer to Steve just in case.

“Thank you. Please know, the profound bond you and Castiel shared is one of legend.”

Eddie sees Dean’s face scrunch up in the most minute of winces at the mention of supposedly another angel.

“The younger of us, still fledglings at that time, thought it beautiful and something to be protected, unlike our elder siblings.” Steve glances at Eddie, “Something to wish for for ourselves.”

Eddie feels his whole body freeze up. Even his thoughts scream to a stop as he flushes beet red.

Dean nods again, seeming to relax fully. The silver blade vanishes into thin air and he sits back down.

“Well good. Glad to hear it.”

Steve nods once, glances to Eddie, then is gone in another beat of his wings. A beat that makes Dean flinch again.

“What in the actual hell was all that?” Wayne spouts off, reading Eddie’s mind.

“So you know about angels.” Eddie continues in a strangled whisper.

Dean scoffs “Boy do I.”

He tells them everything. His first meeting with his own angel in a similarly dramatic way as Eddie and Wayne had met Steve. About succeeding in preventing the apocalypse, falling in love with and losing Castiel over the course of events. Then about fighting through any who got in his way of keeping a bit of Castiel alive within him through some very complex spell that fused that last little bit of Cas with him.

“Like I said, He was my everything. Didn’t realize it till it was too late. He sacrificed himself to keep Lucifer at bay, and I never got to tell him I lo—.” he cuts himself off by clearing his throat.

A single tear falls down Dean’s face, who wipes it away as he turns to face Eddie head-on. “Don’t waste your time with him Eddie.” He stands and grabs his pack from the armchair he had occupied previously, “And be careful with my Baby.”

And with that, Dean Winchester walks down the hall and out the front door.

Part 5 here!

Some notes:

the elvish eddie says is something i pieced together from the lotr wiki. It should say "Well met, my friend!"

asdkjasdklfjahlakf modern cannonical eddie would be a menace if he ever heard ke$ha i stg

the army men 🥺

yes i absolutely used Jensen's preferred ending for spn/dean as his story here

i'm totally making things up here, but the grace i imagine dean still has of cas' is what was left dormant in him after cas pulled him from hell. dean found a way to tap into it, keep it alive, keeping cas "alive".

you know damn well dean would still not be able to say the L word about cas even after he's gone. poor bbg...

peep the spn musical episode reference there at the end

lastly, this got super off track from what i wanted to get to this part, but nancy and the party should be back in the next

tag list!: @undreaming-fanfiction, @potentialheartofdarkness, @munsonfamilyband, @evix-syne666, @mightbeasleep <3

29 notes · View notes

mangoisms · 1 year

Text

like the part of the song where it falls ━ miyuki kazuya In which you get hit by Miyuki Kazuya’s winning home-run of the World Series and things get a little… weird.

━ part one: rough as a thousand sharpened nails / read part two

━ wc: 6.4k

━ warnings: none

━ masterpost

Okay, you know you are severely concussed but, like, the bruise kinda fits your look, right?

You echo this question to Dr. Peña, who levels a deeply unimpressed look at you in response, then resumes scribbling down your vitals.

Okay. Alright. You think it does and that’s all that matters in the end, anyway.

You continue to eye the baseball-sized bruise sitting above your temple in the handheld mirror the nurse had given you. Since it’s so fresh, it’s still just a deep red, the area swollen and incredibly tender. You amend that when it purples, then it will fit your look. But until then, it just looks… really nasty.

Either way, you are just trying to stay positive. No one can blame you for that.

Because of course it is just your luck that you get knocked out (and consequently concussed) by the winning home-run of the World Series.

Bottom of the ninth, the sky is dark, the floodlights on, the atmosphere of Petco Park absolutely electric. You’re just trying to get a good shot of the field with your camera and then boom.

Baseball, meet face.

You don’t remember much after that.

Nothing, actually.

As soon as the ball had connected with your head, you were out, crumpling like a leaf. You were told you’d fallen backwards first, which explains the ache in your back, no doubt from roughly meeting the plastic of your seat, then you’d sort of… flopped forward, onto your face. Totally crushed your camera underneath you.

Your broken camera is probably the thing you are most upset about.

But the San Diego Padres won at least, right? That home-run broke the 4-4 tie — a walk-off home-run. Their first World Series win ever and their first World Series appearance since, like, the 80s or something. (You don’t know, that’s just what you heard on the news before Dr. Peña shut it off.)

In no small part due to their trailblazer of a catcher, a foreign player, actually, the only Japanese starting catcher in the Majors currently — Miyuki Kazuya.

“Good for them,” you say idly.

Even if he is the guy to (technically) blame for concussing you.

Dr. Peña sighs deeply, then sets the clipboard down. “Follow my finger.” He clicks on his penlight, shining it directly in your eyes.

You let out a colorful curse at the brightness, closing your eyes. The throbbing in your head increases sharply. Whew. Okay. You don’t feel so good now. The world tilts on its axis. You clench your hands in the heavy hospital blanket over your lap.

“Sorry,” he says, actually sounding apologetic for once, a semi-comforting hand laid on your arm. “I have to. Just take a breath.”

You try.

He clips the penlight back to the breast pocket of his white coat when he finishes, looking particularly serious and doctor-like as he does.

“Am I gonna live, doc?”

“After a week of observation, most likely.”

“A week? Is that a joke?”

He opens his mouth to respond, a slightly irked expression on his face, before a knock on the door interrupts him.

“Your sister,” he sighs, going over to open the door.

Well, you suppose if your sister was a six-foot-something baseball player, then yes.

As it currently is, the awkward-looking man standing in your doorway is not your sister. Neither is the slightly shorter woman next to him, tapping away at her phone.

Sure, your sister is pretty, but this guy is something else. Even knowing that he and his team were probably up until the sunset celebrating their new championship, he looks good.

Dressed in grey joggers, a maroon hoodie, with a cream-colored cap tucked over windswept brown hair, he makes you both a little envious and a little insecure. Your sister had cleaned off most of your makeup while you were asleep, saving you the mess, but the bruise on your head doesn’t do you much favors.

It does kind of go with your nails, though. So. You have that going for you.

Dr. Peña gives them the stink eye. “Can I help you?”

Miyuki Kazuya says your name in a questioning tone, eyes darting between you and your doctor.

“That’s me!” you say cheerfully before Peña can reply. “What can I do for you?”

Reluctantly, Peña lets them in.

Miyuki looks incredibly uncertain of himself as he shuffles in. Needlessly, he introduces himself — “I know who you are, dude. Everyone does.” — then his companion, his manager, Wendy. Dressed smartly in a cream-colored pantsuit that blends prettily with her brown skin, black hair pulled into a high ponytail, you are also a little bit envious and a little bit attracted to her equally heartbreakingly gorgeous looks.

It’s both really nice and really sucky that you are currently, save for Peña, surrounded by ridiculously attractive people.

Ah, well. Such is life.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he finally says, stepping closer to the bed, looking uncomfortable. “And make sure you were okay.”

“Totally! I’m fine. No worries. You didn’t have to come out like this.”

He probably had way better things to be doing. Like recovering from his night of celebration. Or continuing it. Either one. He deserved it. You saw a replay of the walk-off home-run on the TV (again, before Peña killed your fun). You were far out in the stands, near left field and the bullpen, so you didn’t get much of a close-up look at him but it was pretty cool. Professional athletes of any kind are impressive, you think. But for a guy like him who probably had to prove himself repeatedly to American fans and those on his team — it is admirable.

So, you really do mean it.

But the way he blinks, the way Peña sighs, and the way Wendy lifts her eyes from her phone, eyebrow raising, makes you think they don’t see it your way.

“Fine?” Peña asks sullenly, glowering a little at you. “The reason you’re staying a week for observation is because not only do you have a linear skull fracture at the point of impact, but you also have a cerebral contusion.”

“And that… is not good.”

“Brain bruise. Minimal swelling, no bleeding,” he says sourly. “Not an issue, at the moment, not as far as we can see but it can become an issue.”

“Well, if it’s not presently an issue —”

“Do you even know what the exit velocity on that ball was?”

You open your mouth to state quite plainly no, you don’t know, because you were busy, at the moment, losing consciousness, but someone else speaks first.

“A hundred-and-nineteen miles per hour.”

You blink, looking at Miyuki, who stands a little stiffly. Beside him, Wendy is squinting at Peña.

Peña clears his throat, leveling another glare at you. “Yes. That. Do you even understand what happens to your brain when being impacted with objects going that speed?”

“Like a pinball machine, right? Just — boink.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

You chuckle. “Relax. I’m not, like, actively dying.”

“You could’ve died,” he snaps. “Had that ball been an inch lower, you would’ve.”

Wendy clears her throat. “Is that really appropriate?”

Oh. You get a look at the scandalized expressions on your peanut gallery’s faces and snort.

“Oh, it’s okay. The reason his bedside manner is super shitty is because he’s my brother in law.”

That helps.

You smile brightly as Hector groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, despite being a whole thirty-six years of age, he still lacks the emotional intelligence to properly convey his concern for my well-being and now it’s awkward for all of us!”

“Okay, alright,” he mutters. “I — yes. I apologize for the… lack of professionalism.”

“Anyway,” you chuckle, looking back to Miyuki and Wendy. “Why are you really here? Like I said, even if I’m not totally fine, you didn’t need to show up.”

“It was my home-run.”

You grin. “Well, were you aiming for me?”

“Uh, no but —”

“Then it’s fine. You shouldn’t feel bad but if it’s forgiveness you want, you got it, bud. Really just an occupational hazard of going to a baseball game.”

Though, the more you think about it, the more you realize it might be less of a matter of feeling bad and more, in terms of PR, that it would not look good if he didn’t show up for you.

Yeah. That makes more sense.

You don’t hold it against him, though. That’s just the way of the world.

If anything…

“Sooo, not to sound completely vain but is my concussion, like, a whole thing right now, or…”

“All over the news,” Wendy confirms. “Especially since your lawyer confirmed your name a few hours ago and people put two and two together.”

You give Hector a sidelong glance. “My lawyer, huh?”

Like hell. This is Hector and your sister’s doing, you assume. You barely make enough to feed yourself, your pets, and pay rent. Though that is admittedly because of your own hand but still.

“It was necessary,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “There was enough fuss when it happened at the stadium last night.”

You glance at Miyuki. “Sorry to put a damper on your guys’ fun.”

He blinks, looking quite perturbed. A knock on the door interrupts your conversation.

“I have no idea why,” comes the familiar voice of your sister as she steps inside, “but the lady in billing said everything was already taken care of —”

Your older sister stops short as she takes scope of your new visitors. Recognition hits immediately, glossy pink lips forming an O.

Miyuki clears his throat, nodding. “Right. That’s me. It’s, uh, the least I can do.”

“Thanks, dude,” you say brightly. You won’t complain. Better him than Hector and your sister. Even if they do have the funds (and more) for what you imagine is going to be a ridiculously expensive bill.

Introductions go round again, your sister shaking each of their hands then falling back to Hector’s side.

Miyuki looks back at you. “I was also told the camera you had with you was broken?”

“I’d say.”

Your sister lifts the plastic bag of your belongings, passing it to you. Above your folded clothes and your tote bag sits your camera, the lens and screen thoroughly cracked.

Again. A little sad. Hector and your sister had gotten it for you two December’s ago, a real update from the dinky little camera you’d bought secondhand a few years before that, when you wanted to get into photography.

“I can pay for a replacement,” he says. “Or an upgrade entirely. I’d just like to —” he gestures awkwardly at you “— make it up to you.”

“Well, sure. I hardly mind.” Very kind of him. Even if it may be part of those aforementioned public relations. Not like you had the money to replace it and hey, if you could get a nice upgrade from this one, why not?

“That’s very kind of you,” your sister says appreciatively.

He shakes his head. “It’s… the least I could do, I think.”

“I don’t think so,” you say, smiling. “And like I said, I don’t blame you for what happened. It was just an accident.”

So, you wonder if it would be inappropriate to use his fame to help your cause.

Since he’s doing… all of that…

“Still. So… if there’s anything else I can do…”

You roll the hospital blanket under your fingers, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth thoughtfully.

“Well, actually,” you start.

Your sister huffs your name but Hector, probably already seeing what you’d like to do, that smart jerk, merely rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, smiling faintly.

Even the look on Wendy’s face makes you think she knows, too.

But Miyuki seems nothing short of eager as he nods for you to continue.

Man, he must feel really bad, huh?

Well.

“So, you see, I’m the host of a nighttime radio segment called Night Owl. You probably haven’t heard about it since we run pretty late into the night and, well, most people like satellite radio these days or their regular old streaming platforms. It gets enough traffic for us to be up and running but it’s getting a little slow.”

Actually, the truth is, the company sees you as nearly obsolete. The end of your segment is nigh. Them cutting Jerry’s paycheck is proof of it. But you aren’t ready to accept that. The people you get to talk to and interact with in the dead of the night assure you that you will be missed.

Just… not by enough people for the company to care.

You smile ruefully. “To be entirely honest, I’m not sure if there is much intersection between our audiences but…”

“People were recognizing you,” Wendy says. “Not many initially but as soon as news outlets got wind of that connection, they were talking about it, too.”

“Oh, really? Sweet. Then, honestly, in that case, I don’t think —”

“No,” Miyuki interrupts, not unkindly. “I’ll help. Not a problem. What should I —?”

“A picture will be fine,” Wendy says. “We’ll release a statement about your current status in tandem with your lawyer, which is —”

“Stable but she still needs to be monitored for several days for brain bruises and a skull fracture,” Hector fills in.

She nods, tapping away at her phone, and your sister whips out her own phone to pass along the number for the lawyer.

You shift, plastic bag with your belongings crinkling in your lap. Curious, you dig into it, pushing aside your broken camera to open your tote bag. Your phone is mostly unharmed, as is the tube of sangria red liquid lipstick, which is excellent, because you think you’d be more upset if the tube had broken than if your phone had cracked. After all, you think Miyuki would be willing to replace the phone as well (given his eagerness to help you) but probably not the liquid lipstick, even if it is among your nicer ones.

Everything is in order, fortunately. You don’t think someone would steal from you, especially since you were knocked out by a baseball prior, but still. The lapse in your memory between last night and then just an hour ago makes you a little… tetchy but everyone filled in most of the gaps. Ball meets face, paramedics are called (you’re rolled out on a stretcher and everything, how dramatic), you get a high-speed ride to UC San Diego Medical Center in the ambulance (sirens and all).

Hector, an ER doctor here, got wind of your arrival just as he was getting ready to head home and stayed the rest of the night and this morning to monitor you. Your sister, a flight attendant, called off an early morning flight to Colorado to be with you. Jerry, your friend and your sound engineer at the studio, came as soon as he heard, too, last evening but you were in the ICU, then, so visiting hours were over at nine and he had to leave.

As soon as they started up again this morning at seven, he (and your sister) came back. He’s somewhere down in the cafeteria, you think, grabbing a late breakfast.

“Ready?”

Miyuki’s question jolts you and you realize he’s expecting you to get ready or something, since you’re digging around in your stuff.

You barely keep yourself from shaking your head — probably not a good idea with your headache.

“Oh, sorry, I’m ready. Just checking that everything is fine. No touch-ups. Looking like I feel — shit — will probably help my case,” you say lightly, passing your bag back to your sister.

“Pathos,” Wendy says in solemn agreement, shuffling back and lifting her phone.

Miyuki looks faintly amused as he takes up a post by the side of your bed.

You smile for a few pictures, Wendy’s camera app shuttering loudly.

“Can I see?” you ask, leaning forward.

“Nope,” Hector answers for you. “No screen time for the rest of your stay here.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” your sister says quickly before you can keep pressing the issue. “I’ll look at them and pick one out.”

She and Wendy huddle together, swiping through the pictures. Miyuki stands awkwardly to the side as you pout at Hector.

“I can’t even play some Tetris?”

“Why?”

“Well, I like Tetris, and also, isn’t that supposed to lessen my chances of getting PTSD?”

“No, Tetris does not do that. All the studies looking at that had horrible methodological issues. Tiny sample sizes, failure to replicate. No validity and no reliability. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on Twitter.”

“Well, sure, because I have you to debunk it!”

“No.”

“I can’t even play it just for fun?”

“No. And no reading, either. You can’t strain yourself for the next few days. It will help with your recovery.”

“What about my puzzles?”

He purses his lips, brown eyes roving the room in thought. “Maybe. But big pieces, not little ones. Something easy.”

“Alright, fair enough.”

Hmm. If you get bored of that, maybe you can get him to cough up his Audible account and listen to some audiobooks. Not your preferred way of reading but you’ll take anything to mitigate the boredom that will no doubt set in very quickly.

“So, you’re getting out —?” Miyuki leaves the question hanging as he looks at you.

“A week from now, sooo… Wednesday, the second?”

Hector nods.

“Give us your phone number,” Wendy says. “And we’ll get in touch about the camera.”

You rattle off the numbers to them, Wendy typing it into her phone.

“I appreciate all of this,” you say, flashing Miyuki a smile.

He nods. “No problem. I hope you feel better soon.”

“I hope so, too!”

They bid their goodbyes then step out of the room.

Your sister looks a little mischievous. “Those two sure were cute, huh?”

You snort, then wince at the throb in your head.

Hector grunts out reluctant agreement.

A knock on the door. Jerry Rodriguez, your friend and sound engineer, slips inside, holding a cup of coffee.

“Hey, Tee, I got you a cookie —”

“Mouser! You just missed it! Guess whose hospital bills are paid in full?”

He blinks rapidly, passing you the soft chocolate chip cookie wrapped in saran wrap. “Yeah, I was about to say — I think I just passed that guy who plays for the Padres.”

“The very same guy who did this to me!” You gesture to your forehead.

“Oh, that was —? Wow. Wait, he’s paying your bills?”

“And for a new camera! And also some nice promotion for Night Owl!”

“Sick.” He high-fives you. “Speaking of —”

“She’s off until she’s discharged and even then, I think it’s prudent to gradually ease back into working those shifts. A messy sleep schedule won’t do your recovery any good,” Hector nags.

“Look in the mirror, brother. Seriously. You were supposed to go home last night.”

“Worry about yourself.”

“I am.” Your eyes sweep the room. Jerry, nibbling on his own cookie, eyes avoiding yours, your sister, sitting on a chair on your other side, watching you carefully, and Hector, a pinched expression on his face, looking exhausted, too, the circles under his eyes prominent, brown skin paler than usual.

You sigh. “Y’know, I am very aware I could’ve died. That I still can.”

Your sister’s face crumples before she composes herself, hand finding yours, careful of the IV line. Her nails glint a milky shade of white. Yours are black. It was only a few days ago the two of you had gone to a nail salon together — her treat.

“You aren’t going to die,” Hector says quietly, looking contrite. “Not on my watch.”

Quite a sweet thought but the truth of the matter is, you very well could and he could do nothing about it.

You know. You know!

How had you felt a few hours ago, waking up with a pounding headache, vision blurry, feeling like someone else?

It was scary as shit.

All of this is terrifying. But if you succumbed to that kind of catastrophizing, then you wouldn’t come back out.

Bad things happen.

You’re still here, though. Stable, for the most part. Christ, you’d just been visited by one of the most famous baseball players in the country and he was paying not only your hospital bills but for a new camera, too. Your sister was here, Hector was here, and Jerry was here. Work would be taken care of — Jerry would take over and you’d have to drill it into him that he could, under no circumstances, use music beds, otherwise you’d disown him — and your pets would be okay, too. Jerry promised to go to your apartment and feed your Betta fish and your snail, Batman and Robin, until you were released.

“Well, I am aware of the suckiness of the situation. Believe me, I am. But come on… being hopeful — optimistic… think that’s all any of us can do right now.”

“You’re right,” Hector says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I am sorry. I was just…”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” your sister murmurs. “So, we won’t worry more than we need to.”

You don’t expect that to pan out but you appreciate the thought. And anyway, it was a balance. Too much optimism could fool you into a false sense of security. Too much worrying could put you into a hole you could never get back out of.

You would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

So, you aren’t going to die from those brain bruises — so far — but you think you might die of boredom.

Granted, it is only your second day here and your sister brought you a few of your favorite puzzles and you were able to get Hector to cough up his Audible log-in info but mostly, you really want out of here.

You’re cleared to walk around, so you’ve taken several trips out of your room, exploring the inpatient ward and other parts of the hospital. Though you have found yourself incredibly sensitive to any and all forms of bright lights, particularly sunlight. Nighttime walks are better since everything is dimmer.

You’re sleeping a lot, too, finding yourself unusually tired. Hector says that’s normal, that your body is healing. (You’d also thought they’d be waking you up every few hours to make sure you were okay but again, Hector mulishly informed you that that was a myth and that when studied, showed no real results; that if anything, it was better to let someone sleep than to bother them like that and plus, they were still monitoring your vitals.)

He also says the reason you’re so tired is because of your shitty sleep schedule from working the show but, you digress.

That’s where you are now. Eating a cup of orange jell-o, eyeing your partially finished puzzle of an assortment of anthropomorphic pumpkins (in honor of Halloween coming up) that is meant for kids but, like, who really cares?

You’re alone now. Your sister is finally at home, dragging Hector with her. Jerry isn’t here, either, likely resting after having to take command of Night Owl last night. Last night was his first time doing it. You slept through it since it was the smarter thing to do, even if you did worry, but you’d listened to it this morning and it went pretty well. Despite what he likes to say, your dear Mouser is good with the people. And he didn’t use the music beds when he was talking like you told him not to.

He fielded a lot of questions about you and about Miyuki and the Padres, too. Your little promotion tactic worked incredibly well. Too well, maybe. You find yourself missing the studio, wishing you could take the reins again but the suspense of you eventually returning will probably work in the show’s favor anyway.

Either way, your picture with Miyuki has been plastered not only all over the MLB and the San Diego Padres’ socials, but also in the news outlets covering the story. Jerry says it’s all over the news in Japan, too, which is… a little scary. Sounds silly, you know, since you wanted that promotion but you hadn’t quite thought of the fact that it’d cross the pacific, too.

In any case, Night Owl was spotlighted time and time again and Miyuki Kazuya got a sweet little PR boost as, alongside your current status, they mentioned his generosity in paying your hospital bills. No mention of the camera, though. You aren’t sure why. You wouldn’t have minded if he did.

You’re thinking about that as you finish off your jell-o and slot in another puzzle piece when someone knocks on your door.

You call out an absent-minded Come in!

You expect a nurse, another doctor, maybe even your sister or Jerry, but no.

Instead, it is Miyuki Kazuya shuffling inside, looking particularly awkward.

Your eyes widen. You were not expecting him. In fact, you didn’t even think you’d ever see him again. You just expected they’d send you a camera and wash their hands of it. And that’s fine! He’s probably got better things to be doing…

Your eyes flicker to the cup he’s holding in his hand, immediately recognizing where it’s from.

“Wow. You went to In-N-Out and didn’t get me anything?”

It’s a little a corny but you can tell that you taking the first leap eases some of that awkwardness, his lips twitching.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll get you some next time.”

“You better. That’s a Double-Double with no onions and no pickles, and light-well fries.”

“Light-well fries?”

“Dude. Don’t tell me you’re just getting the fries as they come. All soft and gross?”

He drifts further into the room. “I thought they were just like that.”

“Well, they are, that’s why you gotta make that request. Soggy fries aside, what’s your take?”

“It’s okay. Not mind-blowing but not the worst. I don’t mind it.”

You nod. “Fair enough.”

In-N-Out is more a comfort food than anything. Open until one in the morning, you have made many a trips to the In-N-Out across the street at midnight, typically the midpoint in your segment when you and Jerry were craving something greasy.

“Anyway,” you continue, setting your jell-o and your spoon down next to the incomplete puzzle on the table hovering above your lap. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re taking back those offers for my bills and the camera. The camera I could do without, really, but those bills… can’t do it. And to be honest, it wouldn’t look great for you, either.”

He snorts. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“No?”

Some part of him seems to become sheepish.

“I was, uh, in the area and thought… I’d come check on you?”

“Sounds like more of a question than a statement, bud.”

“To check on you,” he repeats, more firm this time. “And your… uh, brain.” And the awkward uncertainty is back. Can’t win ‘em all.

You grin. “My brain is great, thanks for asking. Well, not great, I guess, but I’m not, like, actively dying. CT scans from yesterday and today show my lovely little brain bruises are not swelling, which definitely lowers the risk of me kicking the bucket. Spatial awareness is a little iffy sometimes but —” you gesture to the puzzle “— I’m working on it.”

His eyes drift to your temple. You resist grimacing. By today, the bruise is… nasty. Nastier than before. In the throes of, well, being a bruise, it stands out by your hairline, deeply purple and vaguely baseball-shaped. You still think it goes with your look but mostly, it just gets a lot of sympathetic stares.

“Yeah, still have a headache but it’s better. This thing looks worse than it feels for the most part. As for the fracture, well. That’s gonna take a while to heal.”

After your discharge next week Wednesday, you’ll be expected to come in for another CT scan and X-ray in six weeks.

Something like guilt flashes across his face before it’s gone. He clears his throat, feet shuffling.

You idly slot in another puzzle piece. “So, why are you really here, man?”

“Checking in,” he repeats, then gestures to the chair by your bed questioningly.

You nod. He sits down.

Some part of you wants to insist, because surely there is more to this than that. If he wanted to check in, he could have his manager ask the hospital, ask your ‘lawyer.’ Hell, all of this is fairly straightforward. Your lawyer would release statements as information came. If things were fine, they’d just say something about you being discharged in stable condition on Wednesday. If not… well. They wouldn’t just leave the public in the dark. Not a wise decision. Otherwise the media would fill in the gaps and you couldn’t bank on anything good coming of that.

Though, considering in that worst case scenario you would be dead, it probably wouldn’t matter much to you in the end.

Still. It’s only been three days since the Padres won the World Series. You guess it could be for some more good press but he looks pretty nondescript with his ballcap over his hair.

You won’t press, but…

“Avoiding your responsibilities?”

“I’d argue I’m actually being quite responsible right now. But for my press stuff,” he shrugs, “maybe so.”

“What’s on the docket?”

“Magazines, interviews, talk shows. That kind of thing.”

“Must be nice being here then, since you’re just a few hours away from LA. Though you’ve got Fallon in New York. Are you going to be on Jimmy Fallon?” you pause, realizing how it might sound to him; you aren’t trying to leak his schedule, just… wildly curious about what it must be like for him. “You don’t have to answer that if you can’t.”

He waves a flippant hand. “Don’t worry about it. As long as you don’t leak anything to the press.”

“No. And blackmail wouldn’t work well in my favor, either,” you say, grinning. “I’m just curious.”

He lets out an amused exhale. “No, not Fallon. Kimmel, though, yeah. Him, Conan, Jon Stewart…”

“Ooh. The big names.” You’re sure the situation is the same with the magazines. TIME, GQ, Sports Illustrated, Men’s Health… you haven’t been able to watch the news but you’ve kept it on, listening to them talk about the Padres’ win, your concussion, and Miyuki Kazuya’s brilliant performance. From what you’ve heard, he is apparently nominated for National League MVP and a slew of other rewards.

“Don’t you have a parade, too?”

“Saturday.”

“That’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be something.”

You laugh. You still aren’t sure what to make of him but whatever it is… you think you like it. It’s fun. Exciting.

“So, then, when does the PR stuff end?”

“Few weeks. Then I’m done.”

“Offseason, right?” At his nod, you continue. “What are your plans?”

He leans back in the seat, sipping at his drink. Ice sloshes around when he lets his arm fall, eyes flickering to the window covered by thick curtains. The light bothered you too much, even with the blinds down. Hector says you need to ease back into it, so they’ll be taking the curtains off tomorrow.

“Not much,” he says. “Probably just house hunting.”

“Ooh, fun! My advice that I know is completely unsolicited but important to me for you to know and I won’t ever mention again? Beachfront property. Preferably with a pool deck. The water’s usually too cold but it is sure nice to look out at it, chilling on the sand.”

“Beachfront? So, I can be swallowed by the ocean?”

“Oh, come on, we all know California is more likely to break off from the rest of the country before it sinks. It’d be worth it, either way. ‘Cause on the beach, you have the ocean right in front of you.”

“The ocean that might want to reclaim us.”

“Hey, that’s her prerogative. Can’t do anything about it. But even if you’re not a fan of the ocean, you’ve got some really nice sunsets since you’re facing west. I mean, not even some. They’re all great. And you’d get that everyday being on the beach.”

“True,” he concedes. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Can I ask where you are right now? Just a general vicinity.”

“I don’t know… you did say you were willing to blackmail me over my press schedule…”

“Aw, that was just a joke!”

“Hmm,” he says, pretending to be thoughtful. “I don’t know. I’m giving you a fair bit of power…”

“Hey, compared to you, with what is probably an army of lawyers and publicists? I’m just an ant!”

He snorts. “Yeah, alright. I’m in East Village. Close to Petco.”

“Very downtown.”

“Too downtown. Short walk away from the stadium but…”

“You wanna get away sometimes? Yeah, I get that. Well,” you shoot him an impish grin. “Being on the beach gives you a balanced medium. You aren’t downtown but you aren’t all the way out in the ‘burbs… and you get some sick views…”

“What’s with you and the beach?”

“Dude. You’re in San Diego, California. I’m not saying we have the greatest beaches in the world but they’re nice! I like the ocean. Swimming. Chilling on the beach. It’s not like Huntington or Venice.”

“That is true.”

“What, you’re not a fan of the City of Angels?”

“Los Angeles is… okay,” he says diplomatically.

“No, I know. It’s an… acquired taste. I mean, you’re house hunting here, so I take it you like San Diego more than LA.”

“Not much of a contest if that’s the comparison.”

You laugh. “True! Okay, so… what other cities can you compare it to? Where have you been?”

“Well…”

For the next several hours, you talk. It’s easy but it’s not smooth, per se, which sounds contradicting but when the conversation gets going, it gets going. But then you run upon the occasional awkward silence. Which is fine. You can tell he’s holding back sometimes, choosing politeness instead of the truth, and you think you understand why. He has a snarky way of communicating and you get glimpses of it through your time together. He can’t just act like that with you, because even if you promised not to reveal any information he gives to you, there is no real guarantee.

Your knowledge of baseball is limited. Zero, actually. But you know of some — mostly Shohei Ohtani, the Angels’ star player. You’d heard all about his arrival and trade a few years ago, the local news talking about the masses of Japanese media that followed him overseas and continues to watch him closely. For baseball, certainly, but for the opportunity to sniff out a scandal, too. American media is the same, if only a bit less intense.

And given that Miyuki Kazuya not only helped bring the San Diego Padres to the playoffs and then to the World Series, he also helped them win, well… the whole world is watching him now. Probably for the next few months.

You certainly aren’t going to be talking to them, even if you do in fact have a long line of requests from news outlets, magazines, and reporters, both American and Japanese, for a small piece of your time. To talk about Miyuki, probably, and your experience.

You… are aware you couldget more Night Owl promotion talking to them but… you’ve gotten enough now. Your discharge is an anticipated event, as well as your return to Night Owl’s helm. That’s enough. More than enough.

You also appreciate him coming here. He didn’t have to, not at all, but he did. It’s… kind of him.

So, no, you won’t try to use his status for yourself.

(Not unless he suggests it again, which you would of course be fine with…)

For the rest of his time, he grills you on the best neighborhoods to live in, since you’ve lived in San Diego for most of your life. You live in a shitty apartment in Normal Heights; the neighborhood itself isn’t so bad, though. A lively residential area with cafes, gastropubs, craft beer bars and diverse restaurants, especially along Adams Avenue. The nearby University Heights area offers Asian, Mexican and Ethiopian eateries but, well, it’s also an area chock-full of young college students, so that might not be up his alley.

Mission Hills, however, might be. It’s where your sister and brother-in-law live. Predominantly residential, Mission Hills is home to a wide variety of shops and restaurants. Pretty suburban but also not far from East Village, where Petco Park is; about fifteen minutes by car. It’s also near the medical center where you currently are — UC San Diego Medical Center is east of the neighborhood, which is good for Hector. The airport, too, is southwest of the neighborhood, not far at all, which is good for your sister, a flight attendant with Delta.

You run through a few more neighborhoods, with him picking apart every little detail to know more, and you don’t realize how much time has passed until your dinner is being delivered by one of the techs.

They must be in a hurry, though, because they drop it off for you without giving you a backward glance — and without looking at him, too. You can see his shoulders relax a little when they hurry out without preamble.

You had thought so earlier but this just confirms it: he isn’t here for some more good press. And it doesn’t make sense, either, considering what he told you of his already established press requirements that will only bolster his status.

He’s here to… well, you aren’t sure. Check in? Maybe. But he isn’t here for good press. The sudden tension in his body when the attendant came in tells you that, that he doesn’t want to be recognized.

The thought is warming. It is always nice to talk to people — you wouldn’t have your job if that wasn’t the case.

“I should get going,” he says, a tad awkwardly as he stands, picking up his empty In-N-Out cup from the floor. “Let you eat and stuff.”

“Sure. Thanks for stopping by. It was really nice talking to you.”

He pauses, blinking, amber brown eyes surprised before the look is quickly gone. He ducks his head, adjusting his cap.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me encroach on your recovery.”

You grin. “Sure.”

He gives you an awkward wave then slips out of the room. It’s hard to budge the smile from your face as you pull the table with your tray toward you.

How unexpected.

Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing kept flickering in with the tide and looking around. Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly.

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin, which was rough as a thousand sharpened nails.

And you know what a smile means, don’t you?

#daiya no ace #daiya no ace x reader #ace of diamond #ace of diamond x reader #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki x reader #moss writes

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