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#I’ve been offered another promotion and I don’t want it
adoreinbloom · 10 months
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starkidmunson · 1 month
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glitter & crimson
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Realistically, Steve knows the band won’t hang around Chicago forever. He knows they’re out promoting a new album; knows they’ll have to move on and that Eddie has to go with them. It doesn’t stop him from wanting Eddie to stay; to live in the quick familiarity he’s built within Steve’s little found family.
Eddie and Robin seem to have already created their own secret language, all gestures and movement and eye contact Steve picks up on but can’t quite read. He’s already picking on the Party like he’s known them their whole lives; ruffling Dustin’s hair, elbowing Mike, throwing his arm around Will’s shoulders, and giving Lucas little shoves. 
It’s easy; so easy to get caught up in how charismatic Eddie is. Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off him, and Eddie knows. He keeps making comments, throwing winks in Steve’s direction, seeing right through every wall he’s ever built around himself and Steve is caught between being obsessed with it and terrified. 
He stops drinking after the one beer, worried he’ll make things weird if he gets anywhere near tipsy, opting to stay as far away from the possibility as he can. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.
Lucas is chatting animatedly with Jeff, Max sitting close by, twisting braids into El’s hair. Dustin, Mike and Will appear to be grilling Gareth and Freak about dungeon and dragon campaigns Eddie used to run. Nancy has her arm looped through Robin’s, but her attention is on the phone in her hands, as Eddie and Robin talk about what touring is like.
“Where else are you going on this tour?” She asks as Steve tunes back into the conversation.
“This isn’t really a tour, we just haven’t been on the road in a while and we just stopped the album, so we lined up a few shows to get our feet wet before we hit the road for real this summer. One more show out in LA on Tuesday, then we’re done until May, for now.” Eddie explains.
“We’re in LA on Thursday!” Robin exclaims, and Steve’s stomach drops because, yeah. LA on Thursday. He trains his eyes on the glass in front of him, not willing to actually look at anyone they’re around. 
“We could totally meet up again if you guys are able to swing it?” Freak offers, and Steve forces a little smile onto his face and nods.
“We can figure it out later,” Eddie says after a few beats, and Steve is grateful for how the conversation rolls onto the next topic. When he finally looks back up, though, Eddie’s still looking his way. Steve hits him with what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to pay off the way he hopes.
Once the tab is closed and the staff is tipped well, Steve catches Eddie’s elbow on their way out the door. “I would like to meet up in LA, if you’re interested. I didn’t mean to get weird about it, it’s… I’ve been in my head a bit about that game since it was announced.”
“Oh, hey, no worries. We’re in LA the whole week, then we’re heading home. So no pressure, honest.” Eddie hooks his hand over Steve’s softly.
“Well, we should get in Wednesday, but we could totally do something after the game or even Friday?” 
Eddie smiles and nods, patting over Steve’s hand. “Text me about it.”
“I can do that. How much longer are you guys in town for, anyway?” Steve asks.
“Ah, the dreaded question comes,” Eddie’s playful, and it makes Steve’s face heat up. “We’ve got just under another 24 hours in the Windy City before hitting the road again.”
“Oh,” It pulls his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting, in a way that shouldn’t be happening for a rockstar he was adjacently aware of in high school. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Harrington,” Eddie’s teasing again, and it does nothing to help the blush on Steve’s face. “You can’t possibly miss me this much when I haven’t even left yet.”
“Shut up,” Steve shoves him away then, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, only for Eddie to pull him in with an arm around the shoulder.
“We can grab brunch or something? We leave around 8 to avoid rush hour, so I’ll have to be in the bus by 6, or I’d say dinner.”
“Brunch works for me.” 
~~~~
The trip back to the hotel doesn’t go as Eddie expects; everyone is silently chatting amongst themselves, nodding and tapping along to the music and not causing a scene. He almost points it out, but elects not to bring unwarranted bullying upon himself instead. The guys had been giving him shit about Steve near constantly, so this was a nice change of pace after the last few days.
There was actually quiet as he made his way back to his room. A hot shower finally restored warmth to his bones the hockey arena had stolen, and he was drying his hair when he heard his phone vibrate with a text notification.
Steve: anything you're craving for brunch tomorrow so I can pick a place?
It’s practically too easy to flirt with Steve; he sets up lines without even seeming to realize. But Eddie still can’t get a real gauge on how Steve feels about the flirting, so he sidesteps the easy pass he could have made about Steve being enough of a meal, in favor of actually answering.
Eddie: French toast?
The next series of texts come before Eddie even moves his hands back to the towel over his hair.
Steve: sick, I’ll pick you up around 10:45
Steve: you mentioned going home, did you mean like, back to Hawkins?
Eddie twists his hair up in the towel, and lays down on the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on before firing off an answer.
Eddie: nah, I’ve got a place in Nashville and no reason to go back to Hawkins anymore. My uncle moved to Indy, so that’s usually as close as I get.
Steve: any reason you moved to Nashville?
Eddie: are we playing 20 questions?
Steve: sorry.
Eddie bites his lip, and only hesitates for a moment before flipping over onto his belly and hitting the FaceTime button. Steve answers on the second ring, looking embarrassed, but Eddie doesn’t let him get a word in.
“My mom was born and raised in Memphis, but she always told me her favorite city was Nashville. I was there with her a few times when I was little and she’d just, like, light up. And music is so heavily engraved into every inch of the city, it’s hard to not find inspiration everywhere you turn. So. I bought a place in Nashville the minute I had enough saved up, and it’s kind of my home base now.” Eddie explains, watching as Steve’s face softens and he relaxes into his chair listening to Eddie’s answer. “Do I get to ask a question now?”
“I really wasn’t trying to be annoying, “ Steve looks ready to keep going with an apology, but Eddie cuts him off.
“Why do you play hockey?” It stops Steve dead in his tracks, and he genuinely looks confused for a moment. Eddie almost offers to drop the topic, but Steve fumbles his way into an answer.
“My, uh. My dad wanted me to play before I was even born. Because he played. Professionally for a few years when I was growing up, then he went on to coach.” Steve explains, and it sounds a little rehearsed. Eddie’s sure it’s something that comes up often if his father played and coached. “Gotta keep the Harrington legacy alive, I guess.”
There was a bite to Steve’s words that wasn’t lost on Eddie. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”
Eddie can see Steve working over how he wants to answer before he shrugs and sighs. “Because it’s all a show for him. The part we don’t talk about is how I got hurt and benched most of my senior season and he cut me off when I didn’t get full rides. Convinced me it was better to not go to college at all, despite the other scholarship offers, than to not get promised a spot on the ice. Convinced me to self-sabotage so I had to fight tooth and fucking nail to get into the league at all.” Steve pauses, then, and lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry, that’s so unbelievably whiny of me. I love getting to play professionally, and I don’t take the opportunity for granted.”
“Not whiny. Dads can be the fucking worst.” Eddie offers, gently, and is grateful when Steve doesn't press on that particular bruise.
Instead, he takes his turn to ask a different question. “Why music?”
“This is lame, but the answer is once again my mom.” Eddie rolls his eyes at himself, but he smiles. “She was a musician. There were always instruments around and music was always playing and we traveled for her to perform. I knew my whole life I wanted to be a musician like her, but it wasn’t until after she died that I figured out that songwriting… telling stories and painting pictures with words and melodies and making people feel something…” Eddie trails off, lost in the thought.
“I’m sorry you lost her. It sounds like you enjoyed your childhood with her.” Steve offers, hopes it doesn’t sound like a forced nicety, but Eddie smiles and his nerves ease.
“She was a force to be reckoned with. Firing on all cylinders at once, chaos and home bundled into one.” Eddie’s soft a quiet for a moment, and Steve appreciates the silence by taking in how relaxed the other is to be talking about his feelings; it’s a refreshing break from many of his experiences with teammates or opponents who don’t know how to get emotional in a healthy way. Eventually, though, Eddie clears his throat. “Anyway. Back to 20 questions,”
“I wasn’t trying to start a game, really, I just… like talking to you,” Steve admits around a blush, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt in an effort to hide the shade of his cheeks, but Eddie’s smile says his cover is blown.
“ANYWAY!” He announces louder, then taps at his chin. “Favorite and least favorite teams to play and why, go.”
“I’m not a dog.” Steve laughs but thinks about his answer anyway. “Favorite is probably the Flyers in Philly. Their fans are absolutely brutal, and their mascot is hilariously terrifying.”
“I have seen many a Gritty TikTok, so I completely understand,” Eddie gives him a few beats before he prompts. “Least favorite?”
“The Kings. LA. Billy Hargrove.”
“The…, what the fuck? How many guys from Hawkins are professional hockey players?” Eddie asks, because honestly, how had he not known there was more than Steve?
“He’s technically from LA, which is why he went back, thank God.” Steve mumbles, before dropping his head back against the wall behind him. “But, for whatever it’s worth, there’s me, Billy, and Tommy Hagan in the league.”
“Well isn’t that a fun bunch to surround yourself with,” Eddie muses out loud. Tommy and Billy were two of the biggest assholes Eddie had ever met, and it sounded like Steve wasn’t too fond of the other pair either.
“I actually…” Steve trails off, before trying again. “I was going to invite you guys to come to the LA game, but I’m really not sure it would be a good idea, so I’m… I’m actually going to ask you guys not to come, if that’s not too much of a dick move? I can get you tickets to literally any game you want for the rest of the season, just. I don’t think it’s worth it to get Billy started, and if he’s heard any of the press about us, I’m already going to hear it even if you’re not there.”
“Homophobe extraordinaire still, then?” Eddie guesses, and Steve chokes out a laugh, before covering his mouth and holding up a finger to ask for a moment to compose himself.
“He's… a lot of things.” Is the response Steve opts for, but Eddie can tell there’s more there. Whatever the two of them are doing, it doesn’t feel like Steve is ready to elaborate, so Eddie moves on. 
“I think it’s your turn.”
~~~~
Nothing changes after Corroded Coffin leave Chicago, though. Not in the ways Eddie had expected, at least.
Steve still texts him throughout the day, answers his Facetimes whenever he’s available. Eddie makes him the playlist he promised, and Steve gives feedback on which songs he likes and which ones he really doesn’t, after Eddie promises to not take Steve’s opinions personally. Which, to be fair, he tries really hard not to.
The concert in LA comes and goes, and Steve seems to send him every TikTok he comes across from the show. It’s a refreshing break, as every few videos in Eddie’s feed are of him cheering for Steve at the game, or Steve watching from sidestage in Chicago. 
A text from Robin eventually confirms their arrival in LA, and Steve and Eddie make plans to meet up after the game. Since Steve had expressed concern about Eddie going, he decides to just watch from the bar they agree to meet at. Televised games make it easier to track the puck, but Eddie decides he likes being there in person better.
Eddie’s sipping absently on his beer and in the time it takes him to look down at a text from Chrissy, several of the people around him react to something. Eddie looks around to make sure someone in the bar hadn’t passed out. When he looks back at the screen, absolute mayhem has broken out on the ice. The refs are trying to separate players from one another, and Eddie’s scanning through the numbers on each Blackhawks jerseys before he finally spots Steve, slightly off to the side from everyone else. The camera pans away from him, zeroing in on the fight, now between a Blackhawks defenseman and none other than Billy Hargrove. 
Billy’s helmet and gloves are off, teeth shining with blood as he grins like a psycho and starts to skate in Steve’s direction. One of the refs pulls him back, though, escorting him into the penalty box while another Kings player gathers his helmet, stick and gloves and clears them to the bench. 
The camera finally pans back to Steve, who is now sitting with his back against the boards. He’s got a gloved covering the lower half of his face, but his white jersey is covered in blood. A ref and the Blackhawks goalie are kneeling on either side of him as someone else speaks with him. The camera zooms in as the TV crews work to make out what is happening, just in time for Steve to lower his hand and shows off a gnarly gash along the side of his face. He leans forward a little and spits out blood onto the ice, and the TV jumps to the announcers in the booth. 
The volume is off, but they show a slow-motion replay of the few moments Eddie’d missed; Steve passes the puck off to another player on his team, just before Billy slams into his side. The impact sends both of them into the boards and down onto the ice. Billy swings his stick around and cracks Steve in the face with the blade heel. Steve reacts, throwing his whole arm into Billy’s face, before a sea of white Blackhawks jerseys sweep in and suddenly Billy’s a few feet away, with players from both teams piled up.
Eddie’s hand hovers over his phone; has no idea what to do in this situation. Texting Steve is useless; it would likely be hours, if not days, before he even thinks about looking at his phone. He doesn’t want to bother anyone, but he’s… well, he’s stressed. Even if Steve isn’t interested in him the way Eddie’s interested in Steve, they’ve still built a weird little friendship and that was an awful lot of blood.
So, Eddie ends up firing off a text to Robin. It’s just a simple 'let me know if there’s anything I can do,' but his phone lights up with a call immediately.
“How bad is it?”
“I’m not back with him yet, but just… meet us at the hospital, if you can?” She asks. While her voice waivers a bit, she’s calmer than Eddie expected her to be.
“I’ll be right there.” He agrees, hangs up and exits the bar before the game even returns from commercial break.
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straywrds · 9 months
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do you know what your heart wants? | super bored chap. 3 🔞
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pairing: hyunjin x afab reader | wc: 27k | genre: college au but they graduated, romance, smut | warnings: angst ; mutual pining ; reunions, sorta love triangle but if you squint ; drinking ; recreational drug use (weed). This work is for adult audiences only, view all compiled warnings here.
No matter how long you left it, when you returned home it always felt the same, it never felt foreign, and you always belonged there. Hyunjin could have been gone for fifty years and it wouldn’t have made a difference, not one bit.
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Chan offered his best smile to the room, the one you knew he only had when he was nervous but tried to play it cool.
“Maybe we could start with the basics—how about you give us a complete rundown of the charity, the cause, the fundraising, all that?” 
“Absolutely.” Hongjoong accepted a cable from Chan and wasted no time connecting his laptop to the projector. You sat in silence with yours, waiting to take some notes on what may be relevant to you right now. “Big charity event—it’s a yearly thing, except this year is the 10th anniversary so we’re going for something bigger.”
“What’s the event like typically?” Changbin asked, looking very serious with his ipad and his glasses. You were tempted to snap a picture of him and send it to his girlfriend—she was a kind girl and she was funny and you were trying to find a way to become her friend. You knew this would make her smile.
Making friends as an adult was so hard. Well, for you at least. It didn’t seem hard at all for Chan—whenever he took you and the guys out for drinks after work, he seemed to attract all sorts of people who liked to make friendly conversation with him. A lot of the time women were hitting on him, too, but he rarely indulged them. And you were grateful about that since you did share an apartment with him… 
“It’s for a children’s hospital,” So-yeon explained. She had already left a strong impression on you—in just the few minutes she had spent here in this conference room, you had learned that she had to work really hard to earn this job on the museum’s administrative board, and you respected her even more because of it.
It also made you rethink it all. How you had taken this job because Chan had offered it to you but you knew he didn’t have many other options. That had never been your dream. To be something someone settles for. That was maybe one of your greatest fears.
But was really a work meeting on a sunny afternoon the best place to contemplate life? Probably not. So you listened to the briefing about the museum charity instead, hoping it would distract you from your not-so-fun thoughts.
“In the past years, artists—sometimes local, sometimes international—would create paintings or pieces of art and they would simply be sold in an auction to raise funds for the children’s hospital,” So-yeon went on. You had a vague knowledge of this—you had probably seen footage of someone handing another person one of these giant checks on TV. “But for this year, we wanted the children to be involved, so the artists will collaborate with a few of them directly.”
“Oh, that’s actually pretty cool,” Chan commented. “Would an auction still take place to raise funds?” 
“Yes, but we felt like it wasn’t enough,” Hongjoong continued. “So on top of that, the artists will also be painting the walls of the entrance hallway with as many children as possible. Like a giant mural. We thought we could also gather more attention if we invited celebrities—actors, idols, internet personalities, you know?”
“That’s a sound course of action if I’ve ever seen one.” Chan was typing furiously on his laptop as he was talking. “Honestly, I don’t see why the other guys dropped you. This sort of event promotes itself.” 
There was a long silence in the room, punctuated only by the sounds of Chan’s keyboard. You and Jisung exchanged a knowing stare. “They didn’t like your art director, did they?” you asked, alternating between looking at Hongjoong, So-yeon, and Wooyoung. “The guy that’s on his way here with a whole ass cat in his shirt.” 
So-yeon laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” 
“Then maybe they were not the right kind of people to lead the marketing campaign on a charity event,” you pointed out. You were no expert, but you knew for a fact that people who went out of their way to help others—animals or humans—couldn’t be so bad to work with if you had empathy.
“You and I agree on this.” Hongjoong flashed a smile at you and returned to his laptop. “Can I use your printer? I didn’t have time to print out the files so we can review them together.” 
“This one’s out of ink,” you replied, pushing yourself out of your chair, a little too glad to have a great excuse to leave this room. You motioned towards the printer that was by the door. “Just select the second printer on the list, I’ll go get the documents.”
You didn’t wait for a response and made your way out of the conference room, vaguely hearing Chan saying he was coming to help you because ‘that printer always gets jammed’. Then, Wooyoung chimed in. “Oh, looks like our missing guy is here, he just texted that he’s at the door.” 
“I’ll go get him,” Changbin announced, but already his voice was faint as you had just turned the corner. “Do we have some sort of box to put that cat in? Or is he gonna keep that cat in his shirt during the whole meeting—”
Still, you went down the hallway and towards your office. It was a small room but it was yours, and you had spent countless hours here, working on various projects. Usually with a podcast on, or some background music. You made sure to walk as quickly as possible in the hopes of evading Chan—you needed a minute. Just one minute, alone. 
You had known a person like this. It felt like a lifetime ago but it really wasn’t. A boy who had found a frog by a bush of hydrangeas in Chan’s old backyard. A boy with fancy lollipops and a dorky laugh and a heart of gold. A boy who had made you feel things you never even thought possible, with honesty in every word he spoke. Misunderstood by the world around him and yet he saw beauty and art everywhere he looked. You had known a person like this. Who had been rejected because others couldn’t wrap their heads around someone like him. Someone carefree and yet deeply caring. Someone funny, talented. Someone real. 
He had been real. Real enough that you thought about him every day—sometimes a lot, sometimes just as a passing thought. But he had changed you somehow. You saw him when you walked by ponds or when Jisung passed you a joint. You tasted him in red candy and felt him in cool autumn breezes. He had been real but he felt like your brain had made him up for some cruel reasons. Your own custom-made fairy tale. 
“I’m here!” Chan put an end to your mind's mini-spiraling episode and you couldn’t even be mad. 
The printing process had just begun. “I think I can manage a paper jam on my own, Chan.” You turned to him and crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s literally my printer. In my office.” 
Chan chuckled and offered you an apologetic smile. “Yeah, no, you’re right.” Still, he came to stand next to you. “Exciting project, isn’t it?” 
“Honestly, yeah. It’s a good thing for the community and it feels good to be involved in it. I already have some ideas… like—if the team is alright with this—I’d like to use children’s drawings to design the posters and—”
“Sounds good, sounds great,” Chan interrupted your sentence before you were done explaining your vision, which threw you off—he always listened to everyone diligently and it was very unlike him to cut you off, especially when it was about work. You saw on his face that he had noticed it. “Sorry, I just… I feel bad about lying to Jisung. About… the plus one. All of that.”
You nodded absentmindedly, focusing on the noises coming from the printer instead. “Don’t feel bad. We can find you an actual date before the wedding. I’m sure that many girls would love to go on a little cruise.”
Jisung and Sun-young’s wedding would take place on a real boat—not the huge cruise boats but still far from just a ferry—for a two-nights trip at sea. Sun-young’s father was the captain of that boat and he generously rented all the rooms for the guests while Jisung’s parents paid for the wedding dinner. It would be one hell of an event—so of course a guy like Chan would have absolutely no problem finding someone to go with. 
“Oh, maybe,” Chan said with a shrug. “We could just… go together, you know? I mean if Ji needs to free an additional room… or just… it could be fun, yeah?”
Your heart jumped in your chest as your mind ran marathons. Bang Chan himself was asking you to be his plus one at your friend’s wedding. Your old college self would be creaming her panties at that idea. But your today self felt warmth spread behind her neck. You didn’t know where to look—you couldn’t bear making eye contact with Chan but the sight of the printer spewing sheets of paper made you dizzy. You settled for going to your desk, pretending to be looking for something in a drawer. 
“I mean, we’ll both be going anyway,” you pointed out. “Won’t we?”
Chan followed you to your desk and leaned against it. With a sigh, you closed the drawer and mustered up enough courage to look him in the eyes. He had a soft smile on his face, although his cheeks were pink. “Sure, we will. Last I checked, I was the best man for this wedding…” Chan chuckled and you laughed with him, which eased the tension between you two. “Sorry for making you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.” The printer was done and the sheets rested in the tray, but you made no move to recover them yet. “Sorry for making things weird.”
“You didn’t.” Chan’s smile faded a little and he bit his lip softly. He sighed, as if his forces were abandoning him. “Look, we’re both adults, aren’t we? Can I speak frankly?”
Relief washed over you—tiptoeing around was much more exhausting than being straightforward. “For the love of god, yes.” 
“Just earlier, I mentioned the party where Jisung met Sun-young. And… your mood shifted. I know why. I remember that party. I made you a s’more. You fell into the fire.” 
If your mind had been going at lightspeed earlier, it quietly slowed down until it became the vacuum of outer space itself. You didn’t look away from Chan and didn’t pretend you didn’t know what he meant. 
“I fucked up that night,” Chan went on. “I acted like a dumbass. Instead of hanging out with you, I hung out with another girl, but I didn’t even like her. It was to make you jealous. I don’t know what I was thinking, I was so fucking stupid... I wanted to ask you out.” 
It wouldn’t have felt much different if Chan had dropped a block of concrete over your head. You choked on the nervous sip of water you had just taken from your bottle, causing you to cough violently for a few seconds. 
For months you had had a crush on him. Chan the cool guy. You used to go out of your way to ‘accidentally’ bump into him after his classes when you didn’t even have lectures in the same building as he did. You'd follow Jisung to places you didn't care for if he mentioned Chan was going to be there. For months, you had thought he barely saw you. 
“No fucking way…” Your voice sounded small so you cleared your throat. 
“And I’m not even asking you out right now,” Chan added hurriedly. “But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if instead of messing around I would have stayed with you that night. Like, I know you left the party with—”
But the rest of Chan’s sentence was drowned by a sudden commotion coming from the conference room. Even from here, you clearly heard shouts and exclamations, as well as Jisung’s voice booming through the hallways.
“FROG BOY?????????????????”
Your eyes met Chan’s—your mind was empty and full at the same time, as if you couldn’t properly process what was happening. You looked at the hallway where all the shouting was still coming from, then at the printer, then at Chan again. In milliseconds, both of you were bolting out of your office to investigate the chaos.
And nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you entered the conference room again. 
Everyone had left their seats and were standing in a circle around someone that hadn’t been there previously. A man, tall, with broad shoulders and a black hoodie. He was holding a small tabby kitten in his hands and was talking excitedly with Jisung and Changbin. He wasn’t looking at you but you saw him perfectly—the beautiful traits of his face, large, brown eyes, lips the color of roses. There had been a ring on the bottom one before but it was gone now. 
His hair was still bleached to a warm, buttery blond color, but it was longer now, almost reaching his shoulders in length. It was silky smooth, shining under the sun that was filtering through the windows. One side of it was tucked behind his ear, showing not a flashy rose-shaped helix piercing but something more modest—two simple black rings. 
He looked so different and yet exactly the same. A calm, poised aura, a soulful gaze, a genuine smile. You could have not seen him for a hundred years and you would be able to recognize him. 
Hyunjin. Your Fairytale.
He didn’t look real because how could he be real? How could he be standing in the middle of this conference room, right now, today? What were the odds of the pieces of this puzzle coming together like that? 
A million thoughts went through your head—how you should have known from the info disclosed by the museum team that he was their art director. Maybe you had known the moment you had seen the black hoodie in the picture. But why was he here? When had he returned from Paris? Why hadn’t he texted you? He looked good, healthy, happy. He looked all grown up, serious but with a playful glimmer in his beautiful eyes. 
Hyunjin slowly twisted his neck, apparently to say something to So-yeon who you were now standing just behind, and he caught sight of you. The room fell silent immediately—you couldn’t not notice Jisung’s shocked expression and how he brought his hand to his mouth as if he was witnessing a life-changing event. 
Hyunjin’s brows furrowed slightly, like he didn’t believe what he was seeing. “T—Tipsy?” 
You couldn’t believe it either. You tried to say something, anything—his name, or just a goddamn hello, but your voice got stuck somewhere in your throat. Before you knew it, tears were pricking at the corner of your eyes, but they weren’t from being upset, or even from being surprised. Relieved was closer to it. Grateful would be more accurate. 
In an instant, Hyunjin handed over the small kitten he had in his hands to Jisung who grabbed it without hesitation. A second later, you found yourself pulled into a tight hug, Hyunjin’s arms tightly wrapped around your body, and it felt like taking a rest after a long journey. He felt the same as it had before, but different. Better. Your head found its way to the crook of his neck where you basked in his scent, familiar and foreign all at once. He smelled like complex cologne with smoky undertones, like roses, like laundry detergent, like a soft breeze. 
Hyunjin smelled like home.
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“I’m actually really excited about this project guys. It could mean a lot of good stuff for us.” Chan’s smile had returned—he had just walked the museum team to the front door after the meeting. 
You were still in the conference room with Changbin and Jisung, clearing up used cups and files that had been left behind. Your mind was even more clouded than it had been while Hyunjin was still here. “Will you come tonight?” he had asked you. You specifically. 
Of course you would. 
Changbin’s phone rang with a text notification. “Ah, Wooyoung texted me the address of Hyunjin’s place.” He started typing a response. “Kinda crazy that we met frog boy again, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” You could feel Jisung’s eyes drilling holes into your skull but you didn’t even look at him—you just kept piling up the empty coffee cups to go and rinse them before recycling them. “Hey, y/n, could I borrow you for fifteen minutes? I’m supposed to submit the draft of the seating chart tomorrow but I fucked up the template on the file…”
You kept your eyes on what you were doing—grabbing your laptop in one hand and the cups in another. “Sure, Ji. I’ll get started on the pamphlets for the charity but meet me in my office whenever.” You made yourself smile and also made yourself look at him. He had a concerned expression on his face but you ignored it. You added, “I’ll do it free of charge, of course,” in case he thought you were going to ask him for money.
Jisung smiled back and turned to Chan. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Chan responded. “She can whip up a simple seating chart in five minutes probably, but take as long as you need. Changbin, can you come with me? Let’s start looking for our ad slots right away.” 
Chan and Changbin’s conversation faded in the hallway when they left. You left soon after them, making your way to the nearest bathroom after leaving your laptop on your desk. You began rinsing every cup religiously, almost as if your life depended on it. 
Jisung came up behind you, leaning on the door which you had left ajar. “Hey. Need help with that?”
You shook your head. “No thank you, Ji. They’re just cups.” 
“Sure. I’ll go get started with the seating chart then.” But he didn’t move. 
You rinsed the last cup and left it to dry on the counter while you toweled your hands. When you looked up, you saw that Jisung was observing you through the mirror. “What? I said I’ll meet you in my office.” 
He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. “Are you okay? Don’t bullshit me.” 
You placed the towel back on its metallic hook, making eye contact with your friend. The mirror needed to be cleaned, but you could tell that Jisung was genuinely concerned. You also noticed that you were pale, except for your flushed cheeks. 
“I don’t know,” you admitted. You had no wish to lie to Jisung. You two had become very close—he often worked directly with you, and you often went to dinner with him and Sun-young. In fact, this closeness had started blooming before your college graduation. As if Jisung had sensed that something wasn’t quite right with you then. 
“That’s alright,” Jisung said, putting his hand on your shoulder. “Nobody expected Hyunjin to just show up like that.” 
“I’m just… I’m happy, like so happy, and at the same time… I don’t know.” You shrugged, but put your hand over his. “Don’t worry, Ji. I was just surprised, I think.” 
Jisung pulled gently on you until you were actually facing the real him, not his reflection. He tilted his head and stared at you right in the eyes. “I remember the look on your face after he left. I’ll never forget that. Look—I think Hwang’s a neat guy. Saves frogs and kittens, obviously great at his job, all that. But I don’t want you to get hurt all over again. You know?” 
Tears immediately welled up in your eyes as something tugged at your heart. You nodded slowly, feeling bare and vulnerable under Jisung’s piercing gaze, and yet safe. Relieved. “I know,” you replied, your voice small and a little shaky. “It’s okay, Ji.” You cleared your throat and wiped the corners of your eyes. “Let’s go work on your wedding seating chart, shall we?”
Jisung chuckled. “Oh, I lied about that. I just wanted to talk to you in private, which we did.”
You slapped him softly on the arm. “Dammit, Han!” 
Jisung’s laugh warmed up your heart and you felt better instantly. He said he would go help the other two but that you could come to talk to him if you wanted. “Or you can just come work in Chan’s office if you don’t want to be alone. I think we’ll be leaving soon though…”
But Chan’s office was probably the last place you wanted to be. So you sat at your desk and tried to start working but couldn’t manage even basic photo editing properly—and no amount of coffee or soothing background music could help you. You texted the guys leaving now, see you later at Hyunjin’s place and went back home. 
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A long shower, a glass of wine, and several outfit changes later, you settled on a classic but flattering navy sundress. The skirt was flowy but stopped just above the knees. You decided to wear it with a distressed denim jacket and a simple but beautiful golden necklace that had been a gift from Lee Minho for your last birthday. I should call him, you told yourself as you finished applying some mascara. It’s been a while. The small pendant was cute—it was tulip-shaped. 
Which also reminded you that it had been even longer than that since you had spoken with Chae—after her breakup with Minho, she had applied for a job in Busan and had moved away. Such potential wasted, and all for a stupid miscommunication issue. Things had been so good between Minho and her… until they weren’t. 
Chae had needed to isolate herself after the breakup but it had been quite the opposite for Minho. One might have expected differently but he had started hanging out with you a lot more, becoming a close friend. The story was quite simple: when Chae had learned that Jisung was getting engaged, she had grown distant toward Minho, who had immediately assumed she may have had feelings for Jisung, which she had buried all these years. After all, it was a known fact that Jisung had a crush on Chae for most of their college years. 
You hadn’t been able to get the full story from Chae, but you only knew that she had no romantic feelings for Jisung. The problem was elsewhere. I just don’t feel like commitment is Minho’s priority right now, was all she had said. And it hadn’t mattered, not really—the damage had been done. So they had parted ways.
Sometimes you just went on walks with Minho, or he called and asked if you wanted to go see a movie with him. He usually went home with you or you with him, and you had a few drinks and serious conversations. One night, he was slumping over the coffee table in your living room—you could hear Chan’s furious typing noises through the closed door of his bedroom—and Minho had said something that had stayed with you. 
“It just doesn’t feel right to not be with her. My friends tell me to trust the process, that if she left it wasn’t meant to be, but I fucking know it in my heart that there’s nothing right about this.”
You had carried these words like a burden but also like a liberation—you weren’t crazy. You hadn’t made it up. Those feelings that you had, Minho also had them. It just explained why you were so lonely, and why you would stay lonely. You had known something that you no longer had. Something that couldn’t be replaced. And nothing had felt right ever since. 
Until Hyunjin had held you in his arms today. That had felt real and that had felt right. 
You stared at yourself in the mirror, neither happy nor unhappy with what you were seeing. As if it didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t. The color of your dress, how much cleavage you were showing, whether your hair was shiny enough or not. He may have been your Fairytale and you may have been Tipsy to him, it didn’t change the fact that there hadn’t been anything tangible between Hyunjin and you, and that whatever had happened had occurred a long time ago. And yet, your mind often wandered back to these moments. The first kiss, in the park. The way he had pulled out a frog from his hoodie to show it to you. The feeling of his lip ring against your skin and the way he had fucked you—gently, deeply, good. His laugh, his smile. The way he always made sure your feet stayed warm.
You heard Chan’s footsteps outside of your bathroom and they stopped just by the door. “Hey, are you ready soon? The cab’s almost here,” he said with a soft voice. 
You cleared your throat. “Yeah, coming now.” 
But you made one more stop before leaving your bedroom. You returned to your closet, digging deeper into it, until you found it. It was the same as it had always been. Hyunjin’s hoodie. The one he had left you that first night. The one you forgot to return. You felt the soft fabric under your fingertips, hesitating a few seconds before taking it off the shelf it was on. 
You pressed it under your nose to inhale its scent, but it had none. Of course not. You had worn it a lot at first, after Hyunjin had left—so you had washed it often, too. You would wrap yourself in it and fall asleep like that, pretending that he was with you. Pathetic. 
You quickly joined Chan waiting for you by the door—without a word, both of you went downstairs to wait for the cab you would share with Jisung, who lived near your building. 
Chan shot a few glances at you—you were on your phone, drafting a short but thorough text for Chae. You wanted to hear from her. Hell, after that big project with the museum, maybe you could take a couple of days off and go pay her a visit… 
“Are you really afraid of being cold? It’s summer,” Chan pointed out, motioning towards the neatly folded hoodie that you were holding. 
“No.” You finished typing the sentence and sent the text, knowing that Chae would need a few days to process it anyway. You figured she had somehow found out you were close with Minho and that didn’t seem to please her very much. “I forgot to return this hoodie to Hyunjin, back in the day.” 
Chan offered you a nod. “I’m still trying to figure out if we should have a conversation about this or not.” He paused, sighing. “I think that’s our cab over there.” 
“There’s no conversation to be had,” you retorted. “At least not right now. I’m only one glass of wine into tonight.” 
“Noted. And same, I guess we can talk after I’ve had a few shots.”
The cab in question slowed down before stopping in front of you both—you immediately saw Jisung pushing himself on the opposite side to let you and Chan in. “I still don’t know what I’ll tell you, Bang Chan.” 
You pulled the door open and sat next to Jisung. He had a large bag on his knees—by the sound the bag produced when you squeezed yourselves to make space for Chan, it was filled with various bottles of alcohol. 
“Thanks for running our errands,” Chan said once the car had started again, pulling his phone out. “I’ll transfer you the money right now.”
“Oh, me too.” You had asked Jisung to get you a few bottles of soju and had agreed to also share a bottle of wine. 
“No it’s fine, it’s all on me guys.” By the look of it, Chan had already transferred the money. 
“Thanks boss!” Jisung reached over you to slap Chan’s shoulder. 
You decided to look in front of you, at the road and the cars driving around. Even the buildings were suddenly very interesting. “I’ll pay you back,” you said after a while.
“No, it’s a gift. Let’s use this evening as some sort of team-building opportunity,” Chan offered. “If we hit it off with the museum guys, I think they’ll come back to us for other projects, you know?”  
“Damn, that’d be great! Government money!” Jisung seemed relaxed and you found yourself wishing you felt the same, too. Instead, you held tighter to the hoodie in your hands, letting it remind you of better days. Easier days, at least. 
You never allowed yourself to think about it too much. About Hyunjin, and when he would return. If he would ever return. You only allowed abstract thoughts, nothing too tangible—hope was too heavy to carry over long periods of time. But as you scanned the scenery around the car, you slowly realized that there had been speckles of hope hidden in the darkest corners of your soul—they were coming alive tonight, and it was painful. It was beautiful. You felt them in every cell of your body, coursing through your blood. 
You had never thought about what would happen if Hyunjin would return. Maybe you should have prepared for it—maybe you should have established a plan, a step-by-step procedure for that moment. But how could you have prepared for something like this? 
The back of the car was growing warm despite the air conditioning—sandwiched between Jisung and Chan, you tried taking deep breaths and closing your eyes. Maybe you had drunk that glass of wine a little fast. Maybe your thoughts were wandering places you didn’t want them to go. Red lollipops, warm cuddles in a dimly lit bedroom. Slow kisses, feelings too big for the hearts that held them and for the time that had been allowed to them. 
And yet, you just couldn’t forget the last Christmas party. Chan pulling up your skirt and spreading you open on his desk where he had fucked you. Tequila breaths. When you had gone to bed that night—you in your room and Chan in his, you had wondered what your life would be like if you had never met Hyunjin. A terrible thought. Something you didn’t mean, but a thought you had for half a second nonetheless. Because he had ruined you. No one in the world compared to him, not even your college crush. The kindness in his soul, the vivid memories of his tattoos and his fingers in your hair. 
But you couldn’t wish that you had never met Hyunjin, even if it came with a cost. Because how could you ever want a life where you had never known something as beautiful, as real, as the moments you had spent with Hyunjin? 
The drive took some time, but not too long—after a while it became easier to use the boys’ voices as background noise and forget everything. Lulled by the warmth of the day and the rocking of the car, you managed to find a semblance of peace. Or at least you liked to think so. 
You found your way to Hyunjin’s floor rather easily. The building was clean and classy but not too flashy, and when Jisung knocked on the door and Wooyoung came to welcome you into Hyunjin’s home, you couldn’t help but think that his place was undeniably his.
You saw a lot at once, so much so that it took you a few seconds to process everything—you let Chan and Jisung in first, taking your time to switch from your shoes to some slippers. 
It was a European-style apartment with high ceilings and large windows. The walls were plaster with a textured finish. At first glance, the furniture seemed to be a mix of modern and antique styles. It shouldn’t make sense and yet it did. Most surfaces were covered with something—a book, a piece of art, a candle, some dried flowers. You had never seen a place quite like this before. It screamed Hyunjin—the look of it, the scent of it, too. It smelled like him mixed with the scent of a lived-in place, too. 
Wooyoung led Chan and Jisung away toward the rest of the apartment, but you stayed by the door for a few instants, watching as people appeared in and out of doors farther down the hallway. Part of you wanted to turn back and go home. You listened to the conversations, the voices. Changbin was already here by the sound of it, laughing about something with Hyunjin and now joined by Jisung. 
“What do you mean you’re leaving? It’s your fucking party!” Jisung exclaimed. They were in the kitchen. 
You took a few steps, approaching slowly. The apartment was long rather than wide, strangely narrow, but there was space for everything. You couldn’t not notice the many cardboard boxes piled up in corners of the condo, apparently still unpacked. Maybe Hyunjin didn’t deem it necessary to unpack his things—maybe he didn’t intend on staying for very long.
“I need to go get things for Mr. Pickles! I didn’t have time and he—”
Hyunjin’s sentence was cut off when he came face to face with you as he was exiting the kitchen. It was a nice kitchen, rather large, with a small dining table in the same room. You recognized most people present—Hongjoong, So-yeon and Wooyoung were there but it seemed like both HJ and So-yeon were here with their significant others. So was Changbin—his girlfriend, Ha-ri, waved at you when she noticed you. You waved back, a little taken aback but mostly distracted by Hyunjin. 
He was still wearing his jeans but he had gotten out of his hoodie and had changed into a dark t-shirt with a print on it. It showed a sunset over a city, with a storm and lightning on one side. The shirt suited him, hugging his shoulders nicely but loose around the body. Your eyes traveled to his inked arms, recognizing many tattoos and also noticing designs that hadn’t been there before. 
“Tipsy!” Hyunjin’s smile was bright enough that it almost made you flinch. “You’re here.” His smile didn’t waver but he stood a little awkwardly in the door frame between the kitchen and the hallway. 
“Hey.” You tried to smile back but it seemed like you were frozen, glancing alternatively at Hyunjin’s face, his dazzling smile, his toned, tattooed arms. His eyes were big, the same deep brown they had always been. As silky as a cup of espresso. “I love your condo, it’s nice. Very you.” What a stupid fucking thing to say, but it was hard to think of the right words over the deafening sound of your heartbeat. 
Hyunjin chuckled. “Thanks, I’m not even done unpacking though…” He leaned against the small section of the wall in between the kitchen and what seemed to be the bathroom. “I ended up buying way too many art supplies while I was in France and I have no idea how to store all of them.” 
“You could buy some shelves,” you suggested, looking around. There was an opening in the hallway for a small sitting room with a round window high up on the wall—otherwise, the space was mostly empty. “It’d be great over there, don’t you think?” 
“That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll do some shopping this weekend. I’m actually headed out right now, I need to get stuff for Mr. Pickles…” He hesitated, glancing behind him at the guests around the table and then back at you. “He’s sleeping in my room now, but I need to get him actual cat food, and, uh… other stuff… right?” 
You squinted, tilting your head. “You’ve never had a cat, haven’t you? Do you even know what you need to buy?” You couldn’t suppress the smile that appeared on your face. 
“I have no fucking clue, do you mind coming with me?” Hyunjin said with a relieved sigh but he was still smiling. He seemed happier than he had been before, and it looked good on him. “No one here has a cat.” 
Your heart jumped in your chest at the idea of being alone—really alone—with Hyunjin for the first time in over two years. You tried calming down but it was no use. You would need to get accustomed to having a small storm within you, apparently. For so long, the skies of your heart had been calm. Too calm. Neither bright nor dark, perhaps like a baby blue sky with a thin veil of clouds covering it. An in-between. And then Hyunjin came back, bringing with him hurricanes of color and warm rays of sunshine.
“Of course,” you agreed, trying not to sound too eager. You looked down at your own hands, still firmly holding the black hoodie.
Hyunjin followed your gaze. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the bundle of fabric. “Do you need to put this somewhere for later?”
“No, Fairytale. This is yours.” You handed it over. “It’s that hoodie I forgot to return before you left.” 
Hyunjin stared at the hoodie but made no move to take it from you. Behind him, in the kitchen, Jisung was telling a lively story about his and Sun-young’s cake testing that had turned into a small catastrophe. You had heard that story before, but it seemed funnier now that it was punctuated by Changbin’s comments and Wooyoung’s questions. Still, you easily tuned it out, focusing on Hyunjin, warmth spreading at the back of your neck. 
Finally, after what may have been an hour, Hyunjin reached for the shirt and took it in his hand, feeling the fabric of it first, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he held it with two hands for a few seconds before staring into your eyes again. “You could have kept it,” he said a little flatly, tugging at your heart. “Thank you.” 
You nodded. “I wore it a little, it might not be… in perfect condition,” you chose to say. “But it’s clean.” 
Hyunjin nodded too. “Well, let me put this away then, and we can get going.”
“Yeah, better come back soon or else we’ll drink all of your liquor, Hwang!” Changbin urged with a loud laugh, but then he quickly returned to Jisung’s story about the terrible cakes, especially after Ha-ri jokingly scolded him. 
You followed Hyunjin to the door of his room and stayed there without going in, but he made no effort to hide anything either, leaving the door open while he put the hoodie away and grabbed his wallet. 
The room had even more cardboard boxes than the entire apartment. It was relatively small and a window occupied an entire wall. The result was phenomenal lighting and a bright room—you weren’t surprised to see an easel in that corner, and although there was no canvas on it, there was some paint and brushes on the table nearby. 
The bed was messily made but you still noticed the kitten on it, creating a small indentation on the blue and gray bedding. Hyunjin had also left bowls of water and canned tuna for him, but they were obviously human-sized bowls, way too big for Mr. Pickles. 
“Are you gonna keep him?” you asked, motioning towards the small animal. 
When he heard you, Mr. Pickles seemed to wake up. He let out a small meow and got up to go to you or maybe leave the room—in any case, you caught him before he could escape and brought him back toward the bed after closing the door behind you, ignoring the fact that you were now inside Hyunjin’s bedroom. 
He closed the door of his closet after leaving the hoodie in there. “I don’t know. I really never had a cat, but I couldn’t just leave him there, you know?”
“I understand.” You let go of the kitten and he jumped effortlessly on the bed, now playing with the comforter. You watched him for a few seconds, painfully aware that Hyunjin was staring at you. “Weird to think that it would have been easier for you to rescue a frog than a kitten, don’t you think?” 
You looked up when Hyunjin burst into laughter. You laughed too, and the slight tension in the room dissipated almost instantly. He still had his silly, dorky laugh, the one that you had always thought was so endearing. He laughed for longer than you, ending up sitting on the small stool near the window. You crossed the room, looking at the view behind him. 
His building seemed to be one of many residential buildings surrounding a small park. There was a fountain, benches and tables and even a couple of swing sets. A few people were lazily strolling on the paved path, enjoying the last moments before the sun went down. It was a beautiful day, and you wished your heart wasn’t heavy. You wished that Hyunjin’s return brought nothing but wonder and respite, but it turned out it also brought questions and doubts. 
You took a long look around the room, trying to find an answer to one of those questions—or maybe the one question that weighed the most on your mind. Most of the cardboard boxes were closed except for one and it contained small tubes of paint as well as a few pouches that must have had brushes in them. He had left the door of the closet cracked open—it was rather small, but despite that it wasn’t full, but from here you couldn’t tell whether all the clothes were his or not. 
There weren’t too many decorations in the room, not as many as in the rest of the apartment. Just a few candles and a couple of decorative bowls with keys or other random knick-knacks in them. A poster for a French movie and a medium-sized framed photograph of Paris at night. 
Nothing in the room made you believe that Hyunjin lived with someone else, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that some of these drawers might be empty, perhaps waiting to be filled with somebody’s belongings. 
“I’ve never been able to see frogs the same,” Hyunjin admitted once silence had filled the room once again. “Whether it’s a cute print on a shirt, a toy, or an actual frog near a pond.” He stopped for a few seconds, the rest of his sentence lingering in the room. “I always think of Chives. And of you.” 
Your heart sunk in your chest a little, but only to soar higher than ever. The urge to sit down overtook you—you were almost dizzy, but maybe it was because of the stuffiness of the room, due to the large window facing the almost-sunset. Hyunjin left his stool to sit next to you, the both of you looking at the scenery below. The park, the city, the sky’s colors slowly morphing into something else. His scent enveloped you once again, somehow different than before and yet the same. 
He said nothing but he lifted his arm a little, putting it right into your field of view. It took you a few seconds to understand that he was showing you his tattoos—actually, one in particular. He even made it obvious by pointing it with his finger. 
It was a very detailed blue hydrangea, the blue of it deep, reminiscent of an ocean. The stem was elegant, with pretty leaves on it. The lines of the petals were beautiful, the shading surprisingly realistic. It looked more like the actual flowers had been melted into his skin rather than tattooed with ink. It sat in between the rose, which you were familiar with, and the umbrella, which you had seen before but it looked like Hyunjin had gotten some improvements done on it since last time. 
“When I got it done,” Hyunjin started, not even giving you time to react to it, “I brought the design and the tattoo artist really liked it. It was kind of early after I moved, and my French wasn’t very good… Anyway, we got it to work. After a while, he asked me if I knew the meaning of blue hydrangeas.”
You thought about it for a few seconds. “There’s a meaning to them?” The flowers had acquired a meaning for you personally after that night, the one night where everything had changed. 
“Apparently.” Hyunjin’s smile faded a little, but not by much. “They mean regret or something like that. So the guy was asking me if I got the tattoo because I had regrets.”
You gulped thickly, choosing to keep your gaze on the horizon instead of looking at Hyunjin. You weren’t sure you wanted to see the look on his face right now. His eyes had the habit of speaking more than his words. 
The sounds of laughter and conversation permeated the whole apartment, despite originating from the kitchen. It was a soothing presence. “Well. Did you?” 
“Yes and no.” Hyunjin let his arm fall back to the side of his body. “I told him they reminded me of someone important I had before I left.”
You nodded, strangely numb. “What did he say?”
“He said, sounds like regret to me.” Hyunjin shrugged. “He was right. For two years, Tipsy, I regretted. I regretted not calling, texting more. And then I regretted not texting at all.” He paused. “All this time, all I’ve wanted to do was to apologize.”
He got up, positioning himself in front of you. It took you a few seconds to gather enough courage to look up and watch him, but you found that his facial expression was sorrowful despite the corners of his mouth still curved into a soft smile. 
You frowned, also getting on your feet to observe him from up close. “Apologize for what? I didn’t text any more than you did, I—”
“I’m sorry I left,” Hyunjin blurted out. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit. And I really should have called. I should have called when I got here.” 
You felt a familiar burning in your eyes, just focusing on not letting any tears spill. You held his gaze, really letting the silk of his irises coat your soul, letting that embrace comfort you. There were many emotions dancing within you, but you couldn’t have access to just one of these emotions at a time—your feelings were spilling in and out of you like waves crashing on a shore. 
And yet, out of everything, your brain chose reason. “You had to go, Fairytale,” you said, forcing you to smile. “It was Paris! And look where you are now.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure where that is exactly, though.” Frowning, he reached for you and you jumped a little when his fingers caressed your cheek. A diffuse warmth spread in all of your body, settling somewhere in your gut. “I really should have called.”
Hyunjin sighed, his hand lingering on your face. His breath smelled like fruit juice. His skin was soft and warm. Familiar, but not like the distant memory it ought to have been—more like a presence that had followed you up until that point. His beauty was as striking as it had ever been, maybe more. 
“Hyunjin. You have nothing to apologize about. It would have been a waste not to go.” You took the hand he had on your face into yours, squeezing it gently. “You’re here now.” You bit your lip. “Are you staying? Are you leaving after the project?” 
He shook his head. “I—I wasn’t supposed to stay, but I’m staying. I decided at the last minute I guess.” 
The tone of his voice suggested there was more to this part of the story but you didn’t press him—if he wanted to tell you someday, he would. All that mattered is what he had said anyway. He was staying. He wouldn’t leave in a month or two. Presumably. This was a start, wasn’t it? 
But a start for what? What did you expect would even happen tonight, tomorrow, next week? 
You tried chasing those thoughts away—they were of no use right now, and as you felt Mr. Pickles settle on one of the bed’s pillows beside you, you were reminded of the task at hand. 
“I’m glad you’re back, Hyunjin. I really did miss you.” You made yourself smile, risking a look toward him. “But shouldn’t we head out and get this poor kitten some kibble? Do you even have a litter box for him?”
“I threw some sand I found outside into a small bin for now, but that won’t do, won’t it?” Hyunjin had a self-deprecating chuckle. “Let’s go before they indeed drink all of my booze.”
The building had indoor parking so you followed Hyunjin out to his car. “A rental,” he explained as he passed you to open the door for you. It was a normal car, maybe the most normal thing you had seen about Hyunjin so far—a black coupe, a little sporty, clean. “I mostly walk,” he added, almost as if he had read your thoughts. “Or I take the bus. The commute is really short from here to the museum.” 
“It’s a nice area,” you replied as he circled the car to get behind the wheel. “And a nice car. Comfortable.” You weren’t lying. The seats were nice and the interior was black and gray with a lot of technological components. 
“Yeah, I lucked out.” When Hyunjin started the car, it produced a satisfying sound and you felt the engine coming alive around you. “The condo was rented by a couple that Mr. Sang—that’s the art director who supervised my PhD—knew, and they moved away when they learned they were expecting a child. They needed extra space.”
You found yourself smiling when the car made it outside and the warm rays of the sunset hit the windows, caressing your skin. As Hyunjin was waiting for his turn to engage on the road, he turned on the radio, which seemed to play music directly from his phone. Soon, the car was filled with chill pop music. Not too loud, just enough to be a nice distraction from the long stretches of silence between Hyunjin and you. 
He cleared his throat. “I saw there was a large pet store a few blocks away.” His driving was smooth and precise, and he seemed relaxed. You realized that you were calmer than you had been back there in his bedroom. When you only offered a non-committal hum as a response, Hyunjin glanced at you for a second only before reporting his attention to the road. “Can I ask you something, Tipsy? Since we have so much to catch up, we better start now.” 
“Ask away,” you invited, suddenly curious. There wasn’t too much traffic, allowing the drive to be peaceful. You played nervously with the skirt of your sundress, wondering what this was all about. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Despite your eyes being glued to the road, you heard a faint smile in Hyunjin’s voice. “I just—I think I predicted something. That night, before I left. When I said you’d be with Bang Chan himself when I came back.” At this, your heart almost jumped out of your chest, but your mind became strangely empty. “Am I wrong, Tipsy?” 
Hyunjin stopped the car at a red light and you wondered if you ought to open the door and walk away instead of having this conversation, not unlike you dodging a very similar conversation with Chan just earlier. 
“Well you did come back to a wedding, just not mine,” you said with a joking tone, aware that you weren’t fooling him. You watched as cars crossed the intersection the other way. “But to answer your question, yes, you’re wrong. I’m not dating Chan.” You almost added, I’m not dating anybody, but figured it sounded a little too pathetic despite it being very real. “So does that mean you have a—what was it, already? A super hot French girlfriend?” 
The silence that followed was somehow heavier than the several months during which you had no contact with Hyunjin. A silence that said a lot and yet nothing at all at the same time. 
Hyunjin ignored your question entirely as the light turned green again and he drove forward. “Because it kind of seems like there is something between you and him.” He sighed. “Even Wooyoung asked me after the meeting.” 
Why do you want to know? “We’re not dating,” you repeated. “He’s my boss. And my friend, and my roommate.”
Hyunjin let out a small gasp. “You live with him? Like, for real? And you’re gonna tell me there was never anything between you two?”
“Yeah! At first it was us two and Jisung too,” you started. You panicked when you saw Hyunjin’s facial expression. “We all have our separate rooms! But Jisung moved out when it got serious with Sun-young.” 
You had made it to the pet store. At this time, the parking was almost empty—in fact, you’d have to hurry up because the store would close in about half an hour. You grabbed your bag and followed Hyunjin inside. You hated how light your heart was with him by your side. You also loved it. 
“Ah, I see,” Hyunjin said with a nod after you had entered the store. You grabbed a shopping cart and leaned against it while you rolled it down the first aisle, but this one was for dog supplies, so neither of you paid much attention to it. “Still. Chan was checking you out, just saying. You might wanna keep your bedroom locked at night. Or not, if that’s what you want.” 
You shoved him gently, turning onto the next aisle. “Shut the fuck up, Hwang.” There were no other clients in sight so you allowed the curse and the uncontrollable laughter that followed. “You just came back and you think you can accurately assess the situation on whether Bang Chan was checking me out during a meeting or not?”
“During the meeting, and after, and when you guys made it to my place,” Hyunjin listed, pretending to keep count on his fingers. “He was checking out your ass and your legs, to be more precise.” Hyunjin threw a glance at your legs and you were actually grateful for that—you felt a strong surge of warmth spread on your face. “Anyway. It’s none of my business, is it?” 
“It’s not like you didn’t pretend you didn’t hear my question about your hot girlfriend,” you retorted with the same sarcastic voice. “But that’s none of my business, is it?” 
Hyunjin looked away, now focused on the shelf on which there were food bowls for cats. When he reached out for one, you put your hand on his arm to stop him. “This one’s too big. He’s just a baby,” you pointed out. “Let’s get this one.” You grabbed a ceramic bowl of an appropriate size. It had little trees and little flowers painted on it. “And that one for his water.” The second bowl had peaches and peach blossoms on it. 
Hyunjin made no effort to comment this time around either, so you simply pushed the cart onto the next aisle where you stood in front of cat food, reading labels. 
“This one’s baby food,” Hyunjin said, pointing his finger at a bag. “He’s a baby.” 
You looked over at the one he had found. “I don’t know this brand. I’m looking for the brand I’ve seen at Minho’s place… I’m pretty sure he would only feed the best stuff to his cats.” 
Hyunjin exhaled inquisitively, raising an eyebrow. “Minho? Lee Minho? Does he work for Chan too?”
“Oh no, not at all, we stayed friends though. He has three cats.” You grabbed your phone to call Minho. You could try texting him but there was no straightforward text conversation with Minho. In general, he liked to spam people with meaningless texts before getting to the point. 
Thankfully, he picked up the call. “Hey, what’s up? You calling me at this time—let me guess—you wanna get hammered?” 
“Actually, no,” you replied with a laugh. “It’s a long story but I’ll make it short. Someone found a cat, and it’s really small. A kitten. We’re out trying to find food for him… I’m not sure what’s best.”
“Hm. How young do you think the kitten is? That’d make a pretty big difference.”
You turned to Hyunjin who was now looking at treats for kittens. For a second, you froze, suddenly very aware of how handsome he was. Farther down the store, two girls behind the cash register were staring at him, hands over their mouths, giggling. Not that you didn’t know that he was beautiful before, more like he was a kind of beautiful that could be witnessed from any angle and each angle brought a new emotion in you. Like he was a sculpture in a museum that deserved to be studied by scholars. 
You cleared your throat. “You have no idea how old Mr. Pickles is, do you?” you asked him. He didn’t seem to notice you were speaking to him because he kept on reading labels. “Hyunjin, how old is he?”
“Oh—uh—I don’t know,” he stammered. “About this big.” He showed an approximation of the kitten’s size with his hands. “I don’t really know cat age. I can send you a picture though!” 
Minho was chuckling while you watched Hyunjin get his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. “Hyunjin? You’re with a dude? You—” His voice trailed away for a second. “Hyunjin? Like, your guy? Frog guy?” 
You didn’t reply for a few seconds, just enough time to gather your thoughts and also transfer the picture to Minho—it was a picture that Hyunjin had obviously taken right after coming home, showing Mr. Pickles on his pillow. 
“Yeah, he’s back,” you chose to say as nonchalantly as you could. “He works at a museum and actually, they’re our clients right now, as of today. But that’s not the point. He found a cat and now we wanna feed the cat, Minho.”
“You’re with frog boy, I can’t fucking believe this. He found a cat.” Minho’s voice was full of disbelief. “We better catch up soon, I want to know everything. Get the same brand as I buy, it’s in a blue and green bag.” There was a pause. “Damn, that’s a small kitten. Better get some formula, too.”
“Formula? Like baby formula?”
“Yes, they make that for kittens that aren’t fully weaned. I’d also suggest a visit to a vet ASAP. Is frog boy keeping the cat?”
“Yeah, I think so.” You glanced behind your shoulder where Hyunjin had heard you and was carefully inspecting cans of kitten formula. “Thanks, Minho. I’ll call you this weekend.”
“You better. Say hi to frog boy for me!” Minho hung up before you could even say goodbye, and you put your phone back into your purse with a sigh, finally locating which brand Minho meant with the blue and green bag. 
“Minho says hi.” You put the kibble into the cart while Hyunjin was doing the same with a pack of kitten formula—the most expensive one on the shelf. 
“Oh,” Hyunjin said with a smile. “He used to call me frog boy most, if I recall correctly.” When he noticed your smile turning into a pout, Hyunjin giggled. “Don’t worry. Actually, he said it strangely lovingly.”
“I see what you mean.” You reprised your walk through the store, hurrying up now that all the aisles were empty and closing time was approaching dangerously. “He’s actually going through a rough patch—has been since Chae broke up with him.” 
“What happened?” Hyunjin inquired, grabbing random cat toys without really paying much attention to what they were. “That’s too bad.” 
You shrugged. “I don’t really know. Chae seems to think Minho got cold feet, but Minho says the same thing about Chae.” While Hyunjin was still chucking random toys into the cart, you went over to select a box and some litter sand. “It’s too bad.”
Hyunjin nodded slowly, putting himself in front of the cart so you couldn’t keep pushing it toward the register. “Was he busy tonight? Could he come over to hang out? Maybe that would distract him.” 
Something reminiscent of a sunrise grew in your chest, coating your heart with an amber luminescence as memories flooded your mind. Hyunjin keeping shared custody of a dog to help his elderly neighbor. Hyunjin helping you get your mind off things by handing you a live frog. Hyunjin moving back here to help a man who wanted to retire soon. Hyunjin taking care of you when you were drunk. Hyunjin giving, giving, giving. What happened to these people? To those who constantly burdened themselves with the worries of others?
“Thanks, Fairytale. I’ll text him when we’re back in the car.” You looked somewhere behind Hyunjin. “I think these girls want us to pay for our purchases so they can close the store.” 
“Oh! Of course!” Hyunjin apologized profusely as he approached the employees and you both put the items on the counter so they could ring them. He explained that he had found a kitten and needed last minute supplies for him. 
Was he oblivious to the fact that these girls cared very little about Mr. Pickles’ backstory and were a lot more focused on Hyunjin’s good looks, his tattoos, his cool hair? If he noticed, he didn’t let it show.
The sun was setting outside and a soft breeze caressed your legs as you helped Hyunjin put the bags into the trunk of the car. “Were the summers good in Paris?”
“Honestly? Not so much,” Hyunjin chuckled and started the car after you had put your seatbelt on. “It’s just really humid and there isn’t a lot of shade. Also, people don’t really have air conditioning, so I just thought I would die.” 
You couldn’t help but laugh with him. “I really did miss you, you know.” 
“I missed you too, Tipsy. Thanks for coming along.”
You nodded, sparing yourself of having to utter a response. Instead, you texted Minho, relaying Hyunjin’s invitation to him. Minho thought you were joking at first, but when you insisted, you could sense some sort of warmth in his following texts, despite him politely declining the invitation. Another time, maybe. I’m tired. Big week at work. Say thanks for me, please.
Hyunjin seemed deeply sorry to know Minho couldn’t make it, but for the rest of the car ride, he chose to ask you questions about your job. You found that he didn’t deflect your questions too much if they were about his career, too. He seemed particularly interested in your approach to your designs, and the more you talked with him, the better you felt. Slowly, the rift that had been created between the two of you by time closed in and you could barely feel it anymore. Truly, it was as if he had never left. 
You helped Hyunjin carry all the cat supplies to his apartment, although it took a little longer than it should have because Hyunjin had to mute two incoming calls on the way up. “Just work stuff, I’ll get to that later,” he said dismissively once you had reached the door to his place. 
The ambiance in there was slightly more charged than it had been earlier—there was music playing and the guests were scattered around the apartment in small groups, drink in hand, talking excitedly. Although you couldn’t see everything from the entrance door, you felt a strange sense of comfort seeing all these people together, and hearing their laughter. 
Hyunjin had already taken his shoes off and was looking in one of the bags. “I think I’ll wash all the bowls first and then put the food in it. Right?” 
“You’re a cat dad genius,” you retorted with a laugh. “All that frog experience is really paying off, don’t you think? Maybe you should give up the whole art career thing and just start a zoo or something.” But really, you remembered his old neighbor’s dog, too—Chris the samoyed, the big fluffy angel with a never ending appetite. You weren’t sure you ought to ask about him yet, so you left it there.
Hyunjin shot you a falsely annoyed glance, but his face was illuminated with a smile. “Sure thing, Tipsy. Good one.” He giggled and walked away, immediately swallowed by Hongjoong and Jisung who were in a deep debate about the best type of coffee beans. 
You went to check on Mr. Pickles in Hyunjin’s room, also offering him a few of his new toys at the same time. It didn’t take very long until he had a favorite—a little catnip butterfly. In fact, he entered a ferocious war with it, pawing it away in and down the bed, chasing it playfully. You took time to take a few more pictures for Minho, and joined the others.
Hyunjin was in the kitchen with Jisung, Hongjoong, his girlfriend and Chan. Hyunjin was at the sink, carefully washing everything that needed to be washed, while Jisung was helping him by drying the dishes. 
You sat at the table with the others, wasting no time pulling toward you one of the wine glasses that had been set next to a bucket of ice containing three bottles and pouring yourself a generous glass of sauvignon blanc. It was hard not to notice the not-so-subtle glances that Chan was giving you, but he was talking with Hongjoong so you chose to speak with his girlfriend who was complimenting you on your dress and asking if it had pockets. Of course it had pockets, and so did hers, and you talked for a little while about your favorite places to shop for summer clothes. In that very short conversation, she also asked you about your job and if it was exhausting to work with all these guys.
Jisung responded for you. “Of course not. We’re all super chill,” he said, failing spectacularly at keeping a straight face. 
You almost choked on your wine. “Yeah, yeah, that office is very calm all the time—zen gardens, flute and harp music, a massage salon. Nobody and I say nobody ever yells in the confines of this office. Monks envy me, really. I am surrounded by nothing but peace.”
At this, the whole room burst into laughter loud enough to alert the other guests in the rest of the apartment, and they came to inquire about what was so funny. Soon enough, the joke had been extrapolated to perhaps thinking about converting the business into a prayer temple. At that point, Hyunjin had left the room to go give the kitten his food and water, and guests were discussing about ordering some food. 
You looked around, at the friendly group of people, at the view from the kitchen window. It was dusk by now, with only a sliver of light at the horizon. You noticed the door here led to a small balcony and, after giving your food order, snuck outside with a fresh glass of wine. 
The air was cooler than earlier but not by much. You watched down below, at the park in the center of the apartment buildings. A few children were laughing and running around, probably brought out there by their parents to let them exhaust the last of their energy so they would perhaps accept to go to bed soon. The wine was cool and crisp, and you were trying to be happy.
You were happy. Right? Wasn’t today supposed to be a celebration of sorts? Hadn’t you waited two whole years for today to happen, specifically? Hadn’t you wished for Hyunjin’s return?
Yes, of course, you had—a lot. At first, his absence had been like a part of your soul had been ripped apart. Not that you had been given a lot of time with him, but you knew that if he had stayed, something would have come out of it. Something beautiful, and meaningful. 
But you did know that you ought to be happy about him coming back, so why was your heart so heavy? 
From here, you could not only see into Hyunjin’s kitchen but part of the hallway, too, and one tiny corner of his room. The light was on there and you even saw Mr. Pickles walking along the window, no doubt to go feast on his new food. The light was dimmed and, soon later, Hyunjin returned to the kitchen, immediately pulled to the side by Jisung and Hongjoong, and the three of them started talking about something on Jisung’s phone. You watched as Hyunjin glanced around the room as if he were looking for something. 
You observed him. His smile, the way his hair elegantly fell to the side of his face and he often had to brush it away, exposing his sharp jawbone, his beautiful traits. To you, it seemed like he had changed a lot and so little at once. You found yourself wishing that it was just him and you here, and nobody else. You found yourself wishing you hadn’t come at all. 
You jumped when the door was pushed opened and Chan appeared on the balcony. He clicked the door closed behind him using his shoulder. He was holding a beer. “Hey,” he said. “Was wondering where you went.” He took a few steps toward you, leaning onto the high railing much like you did. He, too, watched the people in the park. “I really think we should talk.”
You cleared your throat, choosing to swallow some wine before replying to him. “I don’t know what to say, Chan.” 
He seemed concerned. Despite everything—above everything, too, Chan was your friend, and you didn’t like to see him like that. “Should I leave then?”
Your heart leaped in your chest and you clutched at that wine glass like your life depended on it. “No, of course not,” You did look into Chan’s eyes then. He was frowning, and you knew he was right anyway. “I just… I know we have to talk.”
He bit his lower lip, hesitating before reaching for you and softly caressing your cheek for just two or three seconds. “I really did fuck up that night, the party at my place. I know it was a while ago but… When I… when I saw you leave with that guy, I just…” 
That guy. Your gaze suddenly flicked from Chan to the window behind him, showing the kitchen where the get-together was still going strong with So-yeon apparently pouring shots for every guest. But that was not what you were looking for. You found Hyunjin at the back, a shot glass in both hands, looking left and right, often staring at the hallway and where the bathroom door was located. He’s waiting for someone, a voice in your head said. What if it’s me? The hope in your heart, the one you had somehow managed to keep on a leash, seemed to be awakening. You wanted to blame the wine for this, but really, you knew you were doomed from the moment Hyunjin had pulled you into his embrace earlier. You could still feel it, him, his body, his arms around you.
Chan followed your gaze, looking through the window just like you were doing. You heard him sigh, just under his breath, barely any loud enough for you to hear over the sounds of parents gathering their kids back together to head back home. 
“Do you love him?” he asked, not hesitating. His voice was soft, though. “I’ll back off if you do.” 
You gulped thickly. Minho had asked you the same question sometime last year, out of concern for you: did you love him? And you hadn’t been able to say no. You just hadn’t been able to say yes either, because you didn’t understand love, and you weren’t sure what had happened with Hyunjin amounted to. Friendship? A special bond? 
Love?
“I don’t know, Chan.” Your voice was shaking a little bit.
“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage either.” Finally, Chan’s smile was back. It was a little faint, but it was there. “I’d just prefer know now rather than later.”
His eyes were almost playful, but you did see regret in them. You couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t stumbled that night, if you hadn’t run into Hyunjin in line for the bathroom. If he hadn’t had a frog in his pocket. 
“I—it was so hard when he left,” you admitted finally, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Chan, I don’t think I can… I don’t think that you and I…”
He interrupted you with a lot of grace. “It’s okay, I get it. Thank you for being honest with me.”
You nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’m sorry I’m so…”
“Don’t worry about it.” Chan’s smile was bittersweet. “What happened, happened.” Chan touched you again, pushing your hair out of your face. “Just be careful, please? We all hated seeing you become so sad after he left.” 
You nodded, trying to forget that sting that had remained with you since the day Hyunjin had left. Even now that he was back, the pain lingered. Like a scar, like an old injury that refused to heal. “Let’s go back inside,” you suggested, “before they wonder where we went.” 
Both you and Chan were eager to put an end to this embarrassing conversation so you followed him back inside. Your wine was empty by now but you managed to sneak your way through the guests to reach for the bottle… which was also empty.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got more.” Hyunjin had appeared, almost magically, to your right. He was still holding two shot glasses, both still full. “I thought you’d want to try So-yeon’s fancy tequila.” He handed you one of the glasses with an unreadable expression on his face. 
Whenever Hyunjin was around, it was as if all of the heavy, gloomy fog that burdened your heart just disappeared. There was something in his presence that appeased you immediately, no matter what. Even when he was the cause of your torment.
You just couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, more free booze!” You took the glass from him and, after clinking glasses, you both drank the contents. 
The tequila was flavorful and strong, sweet with agave and with notes of spice. It warmed up your mouth and seemed to shock your brain a little. 
“Oh, that’s a good one!” Hyunjin looked at the bottom of his empty glass as if he couldn’t believe it. “So-yeon, where’d you get that tequila at?”
So-yeon was a little farther, in the hallway, chatting with Changbin. She shrugged. “It was a gift. I brought it here so keep it if you want, I prefer vodka anyway.” 
Hyunjin did not waste a second—he grabbed the bottle from the counter and hid it in one of the cupboards, glancing at you playfully. “I’m keeping this, it’s too good,” he told you under his breath. “We’ll have some, you and I, sometime soon. Yeah?”
You had a good evening. Things were still awkward between Chan and you, but you managed to have conversations like normal people, especially when other guests were close. You spoke a lot with everybody, and a little with Hyunjin, too—as soon as the food arrived, he took it upon himself to give everybody plates and utensils and make sure everyone had what they needed. Jisung helped him out, so you let him, remembering that, after all, Jisung had known Hyunjin way before you did. 
Chan and Changbin left first with the excuse of having work to do—you knew it was true, but you also knew Chan just wanted to be as far away from you as he could and that Changbin and Ha-ri just wanted to watch a movie together, but it was fine. Hongjoong also left with his girlfriend, and So-yeon followed—soon enough, it was just you, Jisung, Wooyoung and Hyunjin in the living room. You talked a lot but you listened even more as Hyunjin told stories about France and Paris. 
“At first I barely got any rest,” Hyunjin said with a chuckle. “Every occasion I got, I went somewhere, all the tourist spots. Le Louvre, Notre-Dame de Paris, Eiffel Tower, Orsay, you know, all that stuff. After a while though, I would just go out and… observe. I’d just take a taxi, or a bus, or a train somewhere and spend a day there, talking to locals, trying new foods… that was the best part.” 
“Oh, I bet you mingled plenty with the locals,” Wooyoung retorted, nudging Hyunjin a little into the couch, playfully. “We know what you mean you barely got any rest! Those Paris girls, am I right?” 
You almost choked on your small sip of sweet port but managed to make it look like a normal cough. However, Jisung made no effort to conceal the concerned look he shot at you, and Hyunjin was now avoiding your gaze as though eye contact would kill him. Wooyoung, however, was understandably mostly oblivious to the sudden tension in the room and kept talking about French girls but also French food—apparently both of these things were very much worth eating. 
You swallowed the wine but it was no longer sweet, it just tasted bitter. You mumbled an excuse that you were going to the bathroom and quickly got up to escape the discomfort in the room—however, as you did so, you stood up so fast that you spilled a good portion of wine on your jacket. It was hard to be even more embarrassed than you already were, so you just went on your way, relieved to leave the living room as tears pricked your eyes. 
You pressed your back against the closed door of the bathroom, grateful for it, grateful for this safe space. The bathroom wasn’t large, but it had a clawfoot bathtub and a few plants on the windowsill. You took a deep breath, and another, trying to calm down. Trying to find some semblance of peace within you.
You—or anybody—would be dumb to believe that Hyunjin hadn’t dated some girls in Paris. The man was basically a fashion model. He was also an artist, and kind, and he smelled nice. He fucked really good. This, you knew very well. You often thought of him at night when your hand trailed between your legs. You thought of the weight of his body on yours, his full lips all over your body, on your pussy… 
You swallowed a strangled sob, which you blamed on being tired from work and from spilling port on your jacket. You tried your best to dry your eyes without messing with your mascara and stepped in front of the sink to assess the damage. Yeah, the denim of your jacket was pale, and there was a fuckton of expensive port on it… 
Anybody would have been dumb to believe that Hyunjin hadn’t dated while he was in Paris. For all you knew, he was still dating somebody to this day. However, it didn’t mean that you wanted to think about it. It didn’t mean it did not hurt you to imagine him walking hand in hand with a sexy French girl, perhaps eating macarons with her and fucking her hard in their cozy romantic Paris apartment. Did he like her when she spoke to him in French? Did it make him cum when she did so? 
You splashed some cool water over your reddened cheeks as a lame attempt to chill the fuck down. You were going to exit this bathroom and go back home. Normally, you and Ji were supposed to wait for a car together but you’d just leave this apartment right now and get on a bus and go home. You didn’t want to be there anymore.
The more you were around Hyunjin, the more it became obvious that his heart belonged elsewhere. How could you blame him? He had spent a lot more time in Paris than with you. You simply had been foolish enough to wait for him.
Not exactly deliberately, though. But still, you had been waiting for him, knowing full well you were basically waiting to be disappointed. The truth was that you couldn’t just go on a date with Chan, because you liked him. After a while, maybe you’d even love him. It would make one hell of a story too—college crushes falling in love years later. It could have happened, it would have happened.
But Chan wasn’t Hyunjin. So it wasn’t fair to Chan. The problem was—and it really was a major problem—that only Hyunjin would ever be Hyunjin. There would be no other like him, ever. Would you be waiting all of your life for something that would never come?
A knock on the door made you jump. You let out a soft gasp and turned toward the door, panicking, frantically drying the new tears that had appeared on your cheeks, making sure your mascara hadn’t stained your skin as if the door was actually see-through.
“It’s me.” It was Hyunjin and, at that realization, your heart raced in your chest. “Are you alright?” 
You stood, frozen in place as if you had forgotten words. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what your voice would sound like if you spoke—would it be too obvious that you had been crying? Out of the people still present in this apartment, he was the last one you wanted to be aware that you had cried. You didn’t want him to know.
You didn’t want him to know that you had been waiting for him all this time.
“Tipsy, I know you’re in there,” Hyunjin insisted, softening his voice. Tipsy. Despite everything, the nickname brought a faint smile to your face, warming up your insides. “Open the door, will you? I have a special product for wine stains. If you want.” He sounded like he was talking into the door, his mouth pressed against it, as if he only wanted to be heard by you. Like a secret. 
Realistically, you couldn’t stay in this bathroom forever, so you unlocked the door and let Hyunjin in. He seemed concerned, his bleached hair a little more messy than earlier. Still, he offered you a reassuring smile, not clicking the door behind him, but not letting it wide open either.
“Damn, that’s a bad stain,” Hyunjin pointed out with one glance at your jacket. “Still can’t hold your liquor. You really haven’t changed, Tipsy.”
You watched him open a cabinet under the sink and go through bottles until he found the wine stain removal spray. “And you really haven’t changed either, Fairytale. Always saving drunk girls from themselves.” 
“I’ve seen you drunker than this,” Hyunjin pointed out with a playful smile on his full lips. “Technically, I’m saving you from the sweet port that Changbin brought.”
You nodded with a gulp, the knot in your stomach slowly coming undone. Hyunjin’s presence worked almost as well as the IV of painkillers they’d given you when you had gotten your wisdom teeth pulled out. Immediate relief. He was the kill switch for whatever part of your brain was responsible for stress.
“You’re right. It’s actually Changbin’s fault specifically.” 
“I couldn’t have said it better!” Hyunjin proceeded to take a step toward you. “May I proceed?” he questioned, motioning at your jacket. “S’il vous plaît, mademoiselle.”
The French was overkill, and yet it sent a shock of electricity through your body. The consonants hit the top of Hyunjin’s mouth and his lips so delightfully that it made you blush, and you hadn’t been particularly sensitive to French before. He had an adorable accent, too, and a warm smile. Mademoiselle sounded so pretty in his mouth, but also like a dangerous promise. 
You gave him permission to proceed, so Hyunjin began to work. He slid a hand under your jacket, his fingers brushing your bare collarbone, and brought the bottle over the stain to spray the product over it. His hand was dangerously warm on your skin, almost as if he was feverish. And that fever was contagious, because a strange warmth engulfed you from head to toe. 
You studied his face from up close, the moles adorning his honey skin, the holes where his numerous piercings used to be. His hair falling over the side of his face like a curtain of the richest silk. You could smell him, too. His cologne, his boozy breath. Him.
“I should probably take the jacket off,” you offered, your voice shaking a little bit. Not that you didn’t like that closeness with him, but you were so warm that you thought you were about to burst into flames. 
“Ah, I guess that would work better,” Hyunjin admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. 
He didn’t let you do it yourself—Hyunjin gently pulled on your jacket, removing it from your shoulders, then your arms. His hands on your skin left residual warmth and pressure. 
Did he do this to girls in Paris, too? Did he make a point of standing close to them until his beauty made them dizzy? Was Hyunjin fully unaware of his charisma? 
He cleared his throat before carefully laying your jacket on the counter. “I—I like your dress,” he said, obviously a little uneasy. 
You took a step back as your brain immediately told you that it was you who were making him tense. Had he maybe noticed you had cried? “Oh, thanks. It’s more of a comfort thing.” The fabric of the dress was very soft and breathable, for which you were very grateful for tonight in that tiny bathroom, barely a few feet away from the man who had once fucked you so good he had ruined anyone else for you. 
Hyunjin nodded in silence, spraying layers upon layers of this product with very little to no effect on the wine stain. He sighed. “That was a lot of port,” he pointed out. 
“Let me. It’s my mess after all.” You went to the sink and quickly read the instructions on the bottle before deciding to run some hot water on the jacket. Hyunjin stayed right there, by your side. You could feel his arm brush against you whenever you moved, and it made you shiver. 
“I’ll get you another jacket,” Hyunjin started, stopping halfway through his sentence. “Wait, don’t I also owe you a pair of boots?” 
You thought about it, laughing in the end. “I think you said that, but both times I ruined things because of my own clumsiness. Don’t worry about it.”
There was a pause during which you could only hear the water running from the tap and gently splattering on the porcelain in the sink. When you turned it off, you heard Jisung and Wooyoung’s voices coming from farther down the apartment, still near the living room.
“I owe you something else too,” Hyunjin started. His voice was low, strained. “Don’t you remember?” 
You did. You remembered a little too well the day you had gone with him to release Chives-the-cute-frog in a pond. You both had said so many things that day that you didn’t expect he would remember anything at all, not after having spent two wonderful years in Paris, so far away from you. Surely, he had many things on his mind other than this. Other than you.
And yet, before he left, Hyunjin still promised to take you on a date—and he remembered it.
As you went to say something though, footsteps came from the hallway and stopped right by the bathroom. There was a shy knock. “Hey, everything okay in here?” It was Jisung. “I—uh—I was gonna leave, and Wooyoung too, so we thought of sharing a cab… if you wanna come with?” 
You gulped, taking a deep breath. As you lifted your head to look away from the now submerged jacket, you caught Hyunjin’s reflection in the mirror. He was staring at you intensely as if he was awaiting your response more than Jisung was. 
“We’re okay,” you started, “I spilled some wine on my jacket.” 
Jisung timidly pushed the door open. He glanced at Hyunjin first, and then at you, obviously assessing the situation before continuing. “Oh, I see. I—uh—the night is a little cool I think, but you should be fine in the cab.” 
You turned to Jisung. The truth was you didn’t want to leave this place. You never wanted to leave this place, maybe, but that was a little exaggerated. You had been without Hyunjin for so long. You had been without Hyunjin a lot more than you had been with him, and you wanted to hear his voice again. You wanted to feel his arm brush on your side again. And again. And again. 
The truth was, also, that you had to leave this place. Because there were embers burning inside of you, and you knew that Hyunjin could either ignite or suffocate the fire. Somehow, you figured he could do both at once. 
Hyunjin spoke before you could. “You guys are leaving already?” It was almost midnight, but he acted as if it was early in the evening. “I was in the mood to watch a movie.”
“Wooyoung’s pretty wasted…” Jisung stared at Hyunjin with a slight squint, as if he was trying to decipher him. “His place is on his way to mine apparently, so I figured…”
Maybe you’d regret ever uttering it, but you did. Besides, you could be crazy, but it was almost as if Hyunjin had used an impromptu movie night as some sort of escape. As if he, too, needed an excuse to prolong the night. “You go with Wooyoung, I think I’ll stay here and watch a movie.”
Jisung stared at you, then at Hyunjin, then at you again. “You sure?” 
No, you weren’t sure. But you had missed Hyunjin more than you ever thought you could miss something. You had managed to keep it quiet—the yearning, the emptiness he had left behind. The hunger. It had been hard and your soul had paid one hell of a toll for it, but you had made yourself numb to it all. Most of the time anyway. But now that he was here, now that your body remembered what it was like to be embraced by him, now that his sweet voice had permeated your skin, the longing had taken over you. 
You just wanted to be with him a little longer. For as long as you could, really, before your hope shattered once again. Because it would, wouldn’t it? 
Because you couldn’t be the first—or the only—girl he called mademoiselle. What was the harm in pretending that you were, just for tonight? 
“I’m sure.” You gave Jisung a stiff nod. “You go ahead. I’ll head back home later.”
“It’s gonna be pretty late.” Jisung wasn’t the kind to insist. He usually was pretty easy going, and preferred to hide his concerns. “You’ll call a cab?”
“My couch is pretty comfortable,” Hyunjin interjected. “I won’t mind sleeping on it if she wants to go home tomorrow morning.” 
Jisung let out a sigh, shaking his head slowly, almost as if he was waving a white flag. Still, in his eyes, you saw a clear message: I warned you. He retreated, and you heard him inquire about the taxi to Wooyoung in the other room.
“I can take the couch,” you offered, turning around to face Hyunjin again. “What movie do you wanna watch?”
Hyunjin kept a stern look for about 0.02 seconds before breaking into a guilty smile. “I lied. I just… I just wanted to hang out with you. Wanna go to the park downstairs and get some fresh air?” 
You put your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound of your laughter—you didn’t want Jisung to think you were making fun of him or anything. You took a deep breath to calm down. “We do have a history with parks I guess.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think we’ll try to release Mr. Pickles in that one.” Hyunjin winked at you. “I should probably check on him. Want me to bring you that hoodie you returned to me today?” He shrugged with a look at your ruined jacket. 
“Sure, as ironic as it can be, I’ll take it.” You let Hyunjin leave the bathroom and locked the door after. Your heart was beating fast in your chest. After using the restroom, you took a lot of time to cool yourself down with cold water and to wring out your stupid jacket before leaving it to dry on the edge of the bathtub. There would be no removing that stain, it seemed.
When you returned to join the others, Hyunjin and Wooyoung were having a quiet conversation by the entrance while Jisung scrolled on his phone a little farther. Wooyoung seemed deeply amused—in fact, his cackling alarmed you enough that you frowned when he and Hyunjin stepped aside in the living room, disappearing momentarily. 
“Tell me you’ll be careful,” Jisung begged, lifting his gaze from his phone. “Please? If not, I’ll have Minho kick your ass, also Hyunjin’s ass.”
“You couldn’t have anyone kicking anybody’s ass, Ji. You’re too soft for that.” You nudged him playfully, causing him to laugh with you. “Say hi to your girl for me, will you?”
“Sure thing. Look—I’ll leave my phone off silent mode. Call me if you need. Deal?”
Truly, you were grateful for Jisung. “Deal.” You shot a furtive glance at the living room door, from which you were hearing quiet voices and whispers. “I really did miss him.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jisung was smiling now. “I think he missed you too. Oh, shit, car’s almost here.” He knocked gently at the wall separating the hallway from the living room. “Wooyoung, time to go.” 
Wooyoung reappeared instantly, followed by Hyunjin who was now avoiding your gaze again. Was he having regrets? Maybe you should leave with the guys, maybe—
“Alright, you guys have fun!” Wooyoung turned to you with a wink. “Watching the movie I mean!” 
“He’s so fucking wasted—I—” Jisung groaned, opening the door and letting Wooyoung out. “I’ll try to get him home safely in one piece. See you, guys.” And just like that, he left.
Just like that, you were alone with Hyunjin again. 
There were a few awkward seconds where both of you stood there, several feet away from each other, just staring at one another. It was Hyunjin who spoke first. “Mr. Pickles was sleeping—I think he went a little hard on the catnip. Still wanna go outside?” 
“I’d love to.” And you meant it, too—for some reason, you thought things would be less awkward if you weren’t in between four walls. Maybe. “Unless you actually want to watch a movie.”
“Not really. Let’s go outside. For old times’ sake.” 
Hyunjin gave you the hoodie you had just returned—it felt like going home when you wrapped it around yourself, when the soft fabric caressed your skin. For years, you had kept it close because it reminded you of Hyunjin. There were nights where you remembered him vividly. After a dream sometimes, or because you had seen something that reminded you of him that day. You usually cried a lot those nights, masturbated a lot, too, but you always ended up snuggling into that hoodie to sleep. 
For a while, it was the only way you could feel him again. Not really him, like a ghost copy of him, but still. 
The night was indeed cooler than you had expected, much cooler than it had been earlier out on the balcony, but you welcomed it, hoping it would conceal the nearly-constant flush on your face. Hyunjin was only in a t-shirt but he didn’t seem to mind—he had always been warm anyway. 
“The park made me really want to live here,” Hyunjin explained as you circled around the building to reach a little locked gate leading to the courtyard. After typing his code onto the keyboard to unlock it, Hyunjin opened the gate for you and let you in first. “Après vous, mademoiselle Tipsy.”
“You seem to be very knowledgeable about your French courtesies,” you said, but really it was just to distract yourself, once again, from Hyunjin’s accent. “Must have been pretty popular.”
“Actually, people in Paris specifically don’t give a single—and I really mean, not even one—flying fuck about courtesy or politeness.” Hyunjin chuckled, closing the gate behind him before you both began to walk on the narrow path. It was quiet in this part of the city, and you liked it. “No offense to them, though. You get used to it. We’re here.”
Indeed, you were—the path led to the back of Hyunjin’s building. Other buildings were sharing the same courtyard, which was empty at this hour of the night. It was dimly lit but you could clearly see a few trees, some swing sets, and several benches. The fountain was in the middle of it, the soft flapping sounds of water giving the place a relaxing vibe.
“I also didn’t really have a place to be outside at where I lived,” Hyunjin went on. He was walking toward one of the swing sets. “So that’s why I like it here.” 
You followed him in silence and watched as Hyunjin sat in one of the swings, wrapping his fingers around the chains. He pushed himself gently, swinging slowly in the night. The chains made a slight, barely audible squeaking sound. 
There was a frown on your face. “Were you happy? In Paris?” you questioned, genuinely concerned. “You… You said there was so much to do there, right? And you got to go to that really famous school, and—and—meet new people, too.”
For a few seconds, Hyunjin didn’t say anything. You gave him some metaphorical space and let him think that over while you took a seat on the swing next to him, afraid that the effects of the alcohol previously ingested would hit, making it harder for you to stand for a long time. 
“I wasn’t unhappy in Paris.” Hyunjin’s voice was quiet, barely any louder than the squeaking of the chains. “I just… I don’t think I was happy either.”
This hit something inside of you, deep, as if he had tugged at your heartstrings. You watched as he put his feet back on the ground, braking gently before turning to you. “What about you, Tipsy? Have you been happy?” 
If Hyunjin hadn’t magically returned into your life today, and if somebody else would have asked you that question, you might have answered yes. To avoid awkward follow-up questions, but also because, much like him, you hadn’t been truly unhappy. 
“Honestly, I don’t know.” But you wanted to say, no, I wasn’t really happy. You couldn’t, of course—because it was only by having him back that you understood what happiness could be. It was only because he was back that you knew you hadn’t known much of it while he was gone, and that was too heavy of a burden for him to bear. 
Hyunjin gave you a nod, leaning his head on the chain to rest it there. In this light, he looked a lot like the boy who had kissed you senseless in a park much like this one. The piercings may not be there anymore and his hair may be longer, but Hyunjin was still undeniably him. He was even more handsome, if that was even possible. You stared at him for a long time, taking in the details of him. The curve of his lips, his round nose, the way it looked when the breeze ran through his hair.
“How long did you and Chan date for?” he asked without any warning, and you almost fell from your swing. “I don’t believe you. What you said earlier. That there was nothing between you two. He didn’t seem okay after you guys talked on the balcony, and he left early.”
The gentle warmth on your cheeks had turned into dangerous heat. You felt it radiating from your skin and there was very little the soft breeze could do about it. 
“We never dated. Never went on a date,” you whispered slowly. “Why don't you believe me?” And why does it matter to you? you almost added, but stopped yourself at the last second. Instead, you said nothing. 
Hyunjin took his time, thinking it all over perhaps. “I don’t know. I believe you I guess, but I also don’t.” In the distance, the sound of sirens managed to fill the awkward silence filling the space between him and you. “Sorry. We don’t have to talk about this. I guess—I guess… I don’t want him to have hurt you in any sort of way.”
Hyunjin turned away then, looking at the small opening between the two buildings in front of you to watch the few cars stop at a red light. 
“He didn’t hurt me,” you assured. Maybe you were a little disappointed. Maybe some crazy part of your brain had been hoping Hyunjin just really, really wanted you to be single. And yet, despite it all, tonight really felt like being reunited with a close friend, and you had things weighing on your heart. “What about you, Fairytale? You’re avoiding all the questions everybody asks about girls. So, what’s her name? What happened?” 
You didn’t know what you expected then—that he wouldn’t be able to give you just one name, that he kept a small notebook with all the super sexy French girls he fucked while he was gone. You knew what your heart was hoping for though—that Hyunjin would say there had been nobody at all. But that was selfish, and wrong. Of course.
But somehow, what Hyunjin said next hurt you more than anything your silly heart had prepared for.
He sighed, wrapping his hand around the swing’s chain again. “Camille,” was all he said at first, and time froze. 
You froze, both very aware and numb at once, sinking into someplace dark. Sinking into the space in between the streetlights illuminating the courtyard. Sinking into the squeaking of the swing. 
“We broke up just before I left,” Hyunjin went on, finally making eye contact with you. He seemed tense. “She didn’t want to come with me. She didn’t want me to leave Paris either. I… I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy there and I wasn’t happy with her. She said that if I left, I’d be choosing my job over her. And now I’m here, so you can guess what happened.” 
You couldn’t move, couldn’t think—you wanted to get up and pace around the park, feel the grass underneath you, feel the muscles of your legs get to work. You wanted to walk, and walk, leave this place, and go back home. Not even home. You wanted to walk until your feet were sore, until your body hurt all over. 
You had it all wrong. Hyunjin wasn’t insisting about you and Chan because he was jealous, or because he was concerned—it was out of guilt. He, most likely, was realizing that you had indeed been waiting for him all this time while he had moved on. Of course he had moved on. Of course. Even a failed relationship was a relationship, after all.
“I’m sorry I asked,” you muttered, looking at your feet. “I’m sorry she didn’t come with you here, Hyunjin.” You frowned, remembering the conversation you had with him earlier. “But it’s just a temporary job, isn’t that what you said? Why choose to stay here if she’s back there? Why weren’t you happy with her? Don’t you miss her?”
Hyunjin shook his head, his blond hair swaying with him. “I don’t.” He sighed, a long, tired sigh. “She said she loved me, but I don’t think I loved her back. Not the right way, at least.” 
Hyunjin pushed himself up but didn’t go very far—he stood, leaning on the swing set’s structure, hands in his pockets. “When you know what love feels like, Tipsy, it means you also know when there’s an absence of it.”
You stayed there for a few seconds, processing the situation. Processing the feeling of the hoodie on your skin, processing Hyunjin’s words, too. He was right.
“So was there another girl before Camille?” you questioned, your voice so small it was actually a little embarrassing. “The girl that you loved, I mean.” You stood up too, unable to stay in place anymore. You joined Hyunjin on his side, leaning on the iron bar next to him. “I just—I can’t believe you weren’t happy in Paris. It was your dream.”
“I wasn’t unhappy in Paris,” Hyunjin reminded you. “You know, it was my dream, remember? Paris, and to be an art director. But while I was there—actually, just two months before I left—there was a professor at the university who was injured and they needed someone quickly to give art history lectures. So I went.” 
You felt a little more comfortable now that the topic was shifting away from Camille—she was very tangible to you at this moment, almost as if she stood right here in between Hyunjin and you. Tall, skinny, perfect. Did she smell sweet? Did he like to fuck her in the mornings, at night? Did he like to call her mademoiselle, too? Why did it feel like you had fallen into the end of the world and were struggling to get out of it?
“Woah, really?” You could very easily picture Hyunjin in a lecture hall, speaking relentlessly and passionately about art, about paintings, about colors and what they meant and didn’t mean. “Did you like it?”
“If I liked it?” Hyunjin scoffed and a smile returned to his face, like a sunrise over a lake. “God, Tipsy, I loved it. I loved it so much. I even got to grade papers, everything! I had my office, and students would request meetings with me to discuss their grades or their essays… I spent so much time in the library constructing my lectures and making them interesting…” 
There was one thing about Hyunjin—whenever he was passionate about something, it showed. As if he became transparent, showing the fire burning in his chest. But you knew him well enough to know what was on his mind. “So… is that something that you regret? Would you rather be a professor instead of an art director, Fairytale?” 
Hyunjin turned to you, his head tilted to the side, studying you not unlike if you were a painting. “But isn’t that fucked up? I could literally get a full-time art director job at a museum, which is something I’ve dreamed of most of my life, but now that I’ve tried something else, I just…” He sighed. 
“How is that fucked up? Isn’t that the best of both worlds?” you offered in an attempt to soothe him. “You’re living your dream job right now, and then, if you want, you can maybe… keep it part-time? Give a class or two if you’d like? Or become a professor full-time if that’s what you want. Just follow what your heart wants, Hyunjin. It’s all that matters. If you don’t give it what it wants, it’ll make you miserable.” 
There was a pause. Hyunjin hesitated before reaching for you. He took your hand in his. His skin was warm despite the cool air, and smooth, and sent a shock through your body. He pulled you toward him and you didn’t resist it—a moment later, you were nestled in the crook of his neck, his long arms wrapped around your body. “I missed you so fucking much, Tipsy.” He pulled you away just a few inches so that he could look into your eyes. “What about you? Do you know what your heart wants?”
It was almost as if your heart wanted to answer itself—it jumped in your chest as Hyunjin’s boozy breath caressed your face. He was close, so close. Close enough that you could see the light above you reflect in his eyes, and yourself too. Without hesitating, you said, “Yeah, I do know.” 
Hyunjin put a hand in your hair, running his long fingers into it, sending shivers through your entire body. The shivers traveled beneath your skin, running marathons, to settle between your legs where they transformed into an acute—yet delightful—pressure. You pushed your thighs together, almost like a knee-jerk reaction, but managed to swallow the embarrassing gasp that almost escaped you.  
“I tried to love Camille you know,” Hyunjin said, pulling you closer, so close that your body was flush with him. He was so warm, he was there, right there, his big eyes staring at you, his lips more inviting than ever. “I really did. But that’s not what love feels like. You’re not supposed to try. So tell me, Tipsy. Is there really nothing between you and Chan?”
You couldn’t look away from him, no matter how difficult this conversation was. “There was a one-night stand,” you finally revealed. “Last Christmas. It was bound to happen, but I—I don’t want anything with him.” You thought about it. “I think, if I dated him, I’d have to try to love him. Just like you said.” You may have been reluctant to admit it to yourself before, but Hyunjin was right—you had known love before and now you could recognize the absence of it.
Hyunjin nodded slowly, so slowly that he appeared to be moving in slow-motion. His gaze descended from your eyes to your lips, to his hand in your hair, back to your lips. “I know we need to catch up,” His voice was so low that you could barely hear him. “but I’ve been thinking about kissing you since the moment I saw you this afternoon. Can I?” 
You had known love before, unexpectedly. 
A lot of people talked about that—how some people felt like home. There were a lot of songs composed about it, poets loved to write about that, too. You had always found the metaphor to be moving but you had never understood it, not really, not until now. Not until your chosen home had left and returned. Not until you had experienced it Home wasn’t necessarily the place one had been raised in. Home wasn’t necessarily a house, or a town, or even a country.
No matter how long you left it, when you returned home it always felt the same, it never felt foreign, and you always belonged there.
Hyunjin could have been gone for fifty years and it wouldn’t have made a difference, not one bit.
You lay your wrists on his shoulders, tugging gently on his hair, his lips begging for yours and yours for his. Hyunjin took your face in his hands, as delicately as if he were holding a rare artifact. “Please kiss m—” 
But you didn’t even have a chance to finish your sentence, Hyunjin kissed the missing syllable out of you and swallowed it. He pressed his lips against yours and they were warm, soft, cushiony. Home. Kissing Hyunjin felt exactly the same as it had the last time you had done it, the same warmth spread through your body like wildfire. 
Hyunjin clung to you as if he were afraid of you slipping away from him, parting his lips open to take your mouth. It was a messy kiss, sloppy, wet. He groaned into your mouth and you moaned into his, his tongue grazing your lips, teasing yours incessantly. He cocked his head to the side, deepening the kiss, slowing it down, too—it becomes something less frantic, more sensual. Lewd, even. 
His mouth tasted like port, like salt, his mouth tasted good. You pressed your hands behind his neck, pressing him closer as if he could be any closer than this. He was as hungry as you are, his fingers curled in your hair, his wet mouth devouring yours. When he paused the kiss so that you both could get some air, you noticed his cheeks—flushed dark, pretty. He looked more handsome than ever, his lips glistening with your spit. e 
Did you look like that, too? Drunk on a kiss? 
Hyunjin kissed you again, switching sides with you until your back was pressed against the iron bar. He let go of your face, his hands trailing down your body to settle on your waist. “I missed this so much,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours. “You. Your mouth.” 
“I missed you too.” You let him kiss you again, but somewhere at the back of your head was a girl named Camille. You didn’t want to think of her. You only wanted to think about Hyunjin’s mouth and his warm body against yours, you only wanted to think about his strong scent, about the distracting warmth pooling between your legs. 
“Do you… want to go back upstairs?” Hyunjin questioned, biting his lip, his fingers caressing your lower back through your clothes. 
You giggled. You giggled like a virgin, burying your face into Hyunjin’s neck, blushing violently. “Yes,” you managed in your embarrassment. “Let’s go. We do have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Oh, we’ll be catching up alright, you’ll see.” Hyunjin took your hand in his and guided you back toward his building. Both of you were laughing like delinquent teenagers by now, unbothered, alone in the world. You didn’t want to think about anything else but this. You, and him, and how easy it was, how easy it had always been. 
The second you reached his apartment and the door was closed behind you, Hyunjin gently pinned you against it to take your lips again. It was quieter indoors and you basked in the feeling of it, the sounds of it, too. The sound of your mouths colliding, fusing into one, the lewd noises of him swallowing you and you him.
“I have one more question about Chan.” Hyunjin had a strange smile on his face, almost daring. “How was it? Fucking him I mean. Was it everything you had dreamed of while in college? Did you fulfill your college girl’s absolute wet dream?”
“Oh my god!” You shoved Hyunjin away, howling with laughter. “What the fuck!”
Hyunjin put a hand over his mouth, laughing with you and retreating as if he were expecting yet another physical retaliation. “What? It’s a legitimate question!” You took a few instants to calm down and breathe normally while Hyunjin opened a small metal box on a table and produced an already rolled joint and a lighter from it. “I quit the cigarettes, but not that. Want some?” 
“You quit smoking cigarettes in Paris? I feel like this should get you some sort of award.” 
“I know right? I mean, I quit that but I drink a whole lot more wine than I used to… win some, lose some,” he retorted with a wink.
You followed him to the living room where he cracked open a window after lighting up the joint. You both sat on the floor, right below the window, and smoked for a few instants, in silence. You unzipped the hoodie—whatever fire Hyunjin started earlier, it was still burning within you. 
“So are you gonna tell me or not?” Hyunjin said, blowing smoke to the side so as not to hit your face with it. 
“Are you seriously interested in Bang Chan’s dick game?” The weed was helping you relax and you found the situation very funny, yet you couldn’t deny the pressure between your legs. 
Hyunjin shrugged, his playful smile turning into a cocky grin. “Not really. Whatever happened, I’ll fuck you better than he ever did. I promise.”
Blood rushed to your face before the wildfire continued its course to your lower stomach. Hyunjin casually took the last drag from the joint before dropping it into an empty beer can that had stayed near the window. The light was dim, but you could see his face very well. Handsome. Enticing. 
Hyunjin kissed you again, but this time it was different. He pushed his tongue past your lips but not to tease you with it—he fucked your mouth with his tongue, bobbing his head, keeping you close. Already, his hands were traveling all over you, your waist, your legs, your neck. You could feel your panties getting wet and sticky already, you could feel yourself oozing from this kiss and these touches alone. 
His phone, discarded on the coffee table, rang a few times but neither of you paid it any mind.
You touched him too. For two years now all you had were the memories of him, and to feel him, the true him, under your fingertips was making you dizzy. You slid your hands under his t-shirt, feeling his toned abdomen, his smooth skin. He was still delightfully warm, reacting violently to every caress, flinching and biting your lip gently whenever you went places he was sensitive in. He moaned into your mouth when you pulled on the waistband of his pants. 
“Are you sure?” he asked, his mouth still on yours, his hands now making their way up your thighs. You shivered, a rush of warmth spreading between your legs. 
You smiled, taking a few seconds to recall the very first time you had sex with Hyunjin. And then the other time after that. You really hadn’t been allowed a lot of time with him, and yet he took up so much space within your heart. He haunted you. You tried to watch porn to distract you from him—you knew it was unhealthy to still think about him. To cum to him. But it was him who appeared in your mind when you were on the edge of your release, it was his cock that you remembered, the feeling of him on top of you. 
“I’m sure, Fairytale. Are you?” You retreated, letting the breeze from the open window cool you down a little, but it was no match for Hyunjin’s fingers twirling on your inner thighs, dangerously close to your core. 
While you had been still thinking about Hyunjin, he had been living his life in Paris. He had been with Camille, and his thoughts were as far away from you as they could be. And it hurt you. It hurt you and it humbled you even if you could still feel his scorching kisses on your lips, even if it was you on the floor of his living room tonight, your heart beating fast, panties soaked, covered in chills. 
You didn’t resent him. You couldn’t possibly resent him for falling in love and for having a dating life. You looked into his big dark eyes just to get lost in them. On purpose. Because nothing else mattered, not tonight. They all wanted you to be careful—they all had hated to see you suffer after Hyunjin had left, they said. 
But even if Hyunjin was to leave again tomorrow morning, you would still be with him tonight, on this floor, the taste of his weed lingering on your tongue. Because he was your fairy tale. 
He slid his tongue across his bottom lip. “So fucking sure, Tipsy. I even had to ask Wooyoung for a condom because I haven’t bought any since I moved back here…” A pretty pink color spread on Hyunjin’s face as he used his free hand to produce a condom from the pocket of his jeans. 
“Oh my god…” You giggled, burying your face into your hands, suddenly embarrassed, but not in a bad way. 
Hyunjin let your laughter die off. Soon enough, you could only hear the city noises through the window and your own breathing—uneven, eager. “Look at me, Tipsy. Please.” You lifted your head up, finding Hyunjin leaning closer, his sinful lips parted open. “I wanna see your face when I feel your pussy just now.” 
You couldn’t even process it—immediately, Hyunjin reached for you under your skirt, pressing his fingers flat on the fabric of your panties. You could feel your slick permeating the lace, coating his digits already. You gasped when he touched you, the contact of him with your intimacy sending a wave of pleasure through you. 
“That’s it.” He pushed his fingers a little harder against you, moving them up and down. You opened your legs almost involuntarily, seeking friction. Hyunjin was looking at you like he was studying you. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.” He nudged your knee, gently, forcing your legs to open wide. “Let me feel you, will you? I promise I’ll fuck you so good after, I just miss your pussy.” 
Hyunjin slid your soaked panties to the side, wasting no time caressing your folds. You heard it. You heard the wet noises, heard your wetness sticking to him, and it made it so much worse, and it made it so much better. 
“Oh fuck…” He had three fingers teasing you, tracing your pussylips, ghosting your clit, tickling at your entrance. “So wet already… Is that really for me?” 
You pressed your hand over his, urging him to touch you more, more, more. Your other hand made its way to his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. You kissed him hard, you kissed him for all the nights you had cum to the memory of him, whispering his name into your pillow, missing him as if you had been missing a part of your soul. 
Hyunjin kissed you back with the same urgency, moving from his seating position to rest on his knees, one of your legs in between his, leaving as little space as possible between your two bodies. You couldn’t even feel the breeze anymore. You could only feel him. 
“Touch me,” you begged into his mouth. But he was already touching you, caressing your pussy lovingly, his fingers dancing on you. “Hyunjin—I need you.” 
“Not as much as I need you, Tipsy.” His thumb found its way to your clit, swirling around it in slow, lazy circles. “Just a warning: I don’t think I’ll have enough of fucking you just one time. I’ll fuck you all night if you let me.” 
You kissed him, your hand in his long blond hair. It was silky soft, tickling your skin, and when you closed your hand in a fist to tug on it, it made Hyunjin moan. 
“Then what are you waiting for?” You leaned against the wall, watching Hyunjin watching you, rolling your hips weakly to rub yourself onto his hand. His eyes were glazed over, his lips coated with your spit, his honey skin flushed pink. What a beautiful sight. What a beautiful fucking sight. 
Nothing—absolutely nobody—could compare to him. 
Hyunjin brought his fingers back down, teasing your hole. “Just so you know, the walls are soundproof,” he declared with a shrug. 
“Oh?” you retorted with the same playful tone. “So that means I—” But you didn’t even finish your sentence—Hyunjin shoved not one but two of his fingers inside you, sliding them in easily from how fucking wet you were for him. You cried out, surprised, but the cry turned into a moan at the end when Hyunjin started moving inside you, twirling his fingers, rubbing them all over, working you open. 
“Moan for me. Let me hear you. God, I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Hyunjin rotated his wrist, bending his fingers to reach your most sensitive spot already, probing and caressing and tickling you. 
He had you under his spell. You were clenching already, squirming on the floor, fucking yourself onto his long fingers. And they were long. Hyunjin pushed the skirt of your dress all the way up, revealing you to him.
He hissed at the sight of your flushed cunt, fingering you harder. “Wish you could see what I see.” He pushed his fingers deeper into you in quick, relentless thrusts and the sound it produced was lewd. Wet. You were dripping on his hardwood floor. “God, you’re beautiful. Fuck yourself on me. Use me.”
Maybe he would leave tomorrow. Maybe he was thinking about Camille, even if he wasn’t sure of his feelings for her. But he was here. You were kissing him, his lips, and now his neck, sucking on his skin there to leave a mark. He was knuckles-deep into your throbbing pussy and you were staining his floor. He was there, he was real, and he was worth the pain it would cause you when he would leave again or fall in love in earnest some day. 
You let your arms fall, caressing him all the way down, his upper back, his waist, the tattoos on his arms and all the stories they said. You looked at the blue hydrangeas on his skin as you felt him through his jeans, finding him hard already. You palmed his bulge, causing him to hiss. 
“Fuck—” he managed, his voice strangled, halting his movements. You squeezed him harder, a blissful smile painting itself on your lips. You felt alive in this moment. “Let me take care of you first?” 
You ignored him, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pulling them down a bit. He was wearing dark gray boxer briefs and they hugged his pretty waist so well that it made you throb. They hugged his erection even better, though. You rubbed him over the fabric, feeling his cock for real. Long, hot, hard, just like you remembered. You hummed, closing your eyes, head falling back. Maybe it was the port, or the weed, or the way he was teasing your g-spot—you felt excessively relaxed now. You trusted the moment. You trusted him. 
Hyunjin kissed you—a long, deep kiss. You moaned when he pulled his fingers out and squeezed his cock harder when he broke the kiss, too, but at least it was to lick your juices off his fingers. He throbbed under your palm when he tasted you, his eyelids fluttering as his tongue harvested your slick from his hand. 
“Thought I’d forgotten how you tasted,” he whispered, his face so close to yours that you could smell yourself on his breath. “Thought there was no way my pretty Tipsy tasted as good as I remembered she did. But fuck—you do. Taste yourself, baby.” He kissed you again, your flavor invading your mouth with the spit he released, coating your lips and mouth with it. You tasted so much better like that than when you licked your cum off whatever vibrator you used on any given night. You tasted so much better when your essence came from his mouth. 
“Hyunjin—” but you couldn’t even form a full sentence. Instead, you pulled his boxers down too, finally revealing his cock. That sight alone almost made you cum untouched. 
His pretty cock, flushed dark pink, and the faint veins adorning it. So big, so hard. His balls were tight, tight enough that they looked sore. You wrapped your hand around him, squeezing gently. Hyunjin’s breath hitched and you watched with wonder as a few drops of precum appeared on his slit.
You leaned over, bringing your mouth to the tip of his cock, and pressed your tongue flat on the head of it to harvest every drop of him that you could. You moved your head to accentuate your motions, lifting your gaze until you made eye contact with him. Hyunjin looked like he was struggling. His silky hair was falling over his face, and he was biting his lip so hard that it might make a little cut.
You wanted more, so you released a liberal amount of spit on the head of his cock and used your hand to lube him up, stroking him gently. “So big,” you commented, leaving small kisses all over his cock. “So pretty.” 
You felt Hyunjin’s hand in your hair, clinging to you as if he was holding on for dear life—but also pulling you closer to him. You opened wide and, never breaking eye contact, took him into your mouth. Inch by inch. There was no way you could ever fit all of him, but you wanted to take as much as you could. His cock tasted good. Salty, musky, even a little sweet. You locked your lips around his girth, squeezing him at the base, twirling your tongue over his tip. 
His legs almost gave out—he had to use the windowsill as an anchor, holding that, too. “Ah, Tipsy—fuck—fuck—oh fuck—” He was excessively sensitive, reacting to every flick of the tongue, every stroke, every dip of your head. You felt him coming alive under your tongue, throbbing, somehow becoming harder every passing moment. “Ah, ah, just—” 
He let out a grunt when you started sucking him in earnest, your spit and his precum leaking from the corners of your mouth, onto your chin, even lazily dripping onto your chest and staining your dress. Hyunjin couldn’t stop whimpering and it drove you crazy enough that you pressed your other hand between your legs, fingering yourself gently while you sucked him off. 
And then he gave the gentlest of thrusts. Inadvertently. You moaned on his cock, surprised by it but loving the way it felt when he forced himself deeper into your mouth. When he did it again, he went a little too far—you gagged on his cock, your mouth quickly filling with saliva, and Hyunjin quickly retreated. 
Your eyes were full of tears. You did not bother with wiping the spit from your face, you liked to feel it there. You liked the sting that lingered in your mouth from it having been too full for a few seconds. 
You gave Hyunjin’s cock a few kitten licks, playing with his balls gently. “Do you want to fuck my throat?” you asked, and the act of asking that in itself made you blush—but it also made you clench around your own fingers. 
Hyunjin lifted your face toward him, pushing your chin upward. “I will later,” he said, and you knew he meant to keep his promise. “I need your pussy first, baby.”
You made a point of spreading your legs even more so that he could see you touch yourself, fingers smearing your juices all over your sensitive cunt. “Should we go to your bed?” The floor wasn’t particularly comfortable after all, and you needed him as much as he needed you.
Hyunjin gulped, looking behind him at the door leading to the hallway. “We can’t. Mr. Pickles is in my room... he’s just a baby.” 
You pulled away, bursting into laughter. “Right, right. I forgot that about you.” You remembered Chives fondly. You pulled Hyunjin into a kiss and felt him seek the taste of his precum in your mouth, so you let him revel in it the same way you had. 
Instead, Hyunjin helped you up. He held you and you held him, both of you giggling when you noticed it wasn’t that easy to stand up in the state that you were. But you didn’t know if you were drunk on wine or on Hyunjin’s precum. You didn’t if you were high because of the weed or because Hyunjin was back in your life and it barely felt real. 
Except it was real. Hyunjin kissed you as he pulled the hoodie off you, as he slid your panties down. They fell at your ankles and you stepped out of them while he was taking his jeans and briefs off. He was insanely beautiful like this. His strong thighs, his long legs, lust written all over his face. You found beauty in yourself in that moment too, in the two of you, reunited and basking in the dim amber light of the room, facing one another with flushed faces and smiles and hearts beating fast. 
There were scary thoughts in your mind—thoughts like, you believed now that love was nothing like what they showed in the movies. Love didn’t have to be the same for everybody. Some people met a person at work, or at a bar, and they went on dates and fell in love. You had met someone and then he had left. You had met someone and he had changed you forever. But that was frightening. And exhilarating. 
Hyunjin guided you to the couch, helping you sit down comfortably, sliding a small pillow under your lower back. Instead of sitting with you, he kneeled again on the floor, facing you, taking place where you wanted him most— between your legs. 
He opened them again, baring you to him, but you didn’t even feel shy—especially not when you saw the expression on his face. He stared at your pussy with big, eyes, licking his lips in anticipation. He gave your knee a little peck, then moved up along your thigh, leaving wet, warm kisses on your skin. 
You watched him disappear there as Hyunjin lowered himself to your pussy. His breath tickled you there. You felt the vibration of his voice go through you when he spoke. “Your pussy really is so beautiful, Tipsy.” He used his fingers to open you up, eyes burning with lust. His movements were slow, purposeful, elegant. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long…” 
Immediately, without any warning, Hyunjin laid his tongue flat on your folds and gave you one big slurping lick, really sinking his face into your heat. You let out a moan, louder than you had expected, but that didn’t seem to bother Hyunjin at all. Hyunjin gave you more kisses—your pussylips, your hole, your mons, your clit. “So pretty,” he said, looking you in the eyes as he released spit onto your cunt and used his tongue to spread it. “God, you taste so fucking good.” 
Hyunjin focused on making out with your cunt again, opening his mouth wide open to lick and lap at you relentlessly, devouring you, building your pleasure. He returned to your clit often, licking you harder there, but never for long. 
“Please—” you cried out, rolling your hips to meet the movement of his tongue and head. When all you got as a response was a smirk and Hyunjin sliding his tongue into your tight cunt, you let out a cry, gasping in desperation. 
He tilted his head to the side to fuck you harder with his tongue. You sank into the couch, losing control rapidly, ripples of pleasure going through you every few seconds. The squelching sounds coming from the way Hyunjin was eating you out would have been enough to make you cum on the spot, but you wanted more. You wanted him, all of him. 
You got a hold of his hair and pulled him closer—Hyunjin moaned when he buried his face deeper into your cunt, his fingers dug into the soft skin of your thighs as you rubbed yourself on him. Could you be this touch-starved? Could you be so desperate that you needed to cum right now? 
“More,” you managed in a sigh, in between moans. “Please. Please. Yes, yes!” 
Hyunjin flicked his tongue on your clit once, then twice, again and again. You were oozing all over his face, you could see your juices coating his lips and his cheeks. The smell of your pussy was filling the room the same as your voice was. Your whole body was coming alive. Even the friction of your bra and dress on your sensitive nipples was driving you crazy. 
You started letting go of him when he locked his plush lips around your clit, suckling onto it gently, suckling onto it and swallowing you as if you were his sustenance, stopping every few seconds to inhale your scent. The sight of it all was beyond erotic—this beautiful man and his inked arms and his messy hair and his pink lips, swollen and raw and wet, right there, between your legs. 
The pressure in your core was rising dangerously—maybe Hyunjin felt it, because he pushed his fingers into your hole again. “Taste so good,” he breathed onto your cunt. “Watch me, baby. Watch me feast on you.” He pumped his fingers in and out of you, returning to your clit, licking and lapping and twirling his tongue all over it, all over you. 
He was everywhere. You listened to him, to the sounds of him pleasuring you. You felt his warmth all over you as your pulse quickened. “I’m c—I’m cl—” But you couldn’t even talk. All that you could do was clench around Hyunjin’s fingers. All that you could do was cling to him, to the couch, as you were slowly ascending. Even the sound of your own moans turned you on. You hadn’t moaned like that in a long time, with your mouth wide open, not holding back.
You throbbed when Hyunjin sucked onto your clit again, harder this time. You waited for the moment he would slow down, or pause to catch his breath, but the moment never came. He sucked and sucked and teased you with the tip of his tongue as you rubbed yourself against him harder and harder. You were going to pass out, surely you were about to lose consciousness. You moaned, you cried out, the pressure becoming too much. 
As you were just seconds away from your orgasm, Hyunjin pulled away, also removing his fingers from your throbbing hole. You gasped, out of breath, still seemingly on the brink of cumming. He lazily licked your cream off his pretty lips and reached for the condom, which had remained on the floor not too far. 
“Sorry about that.” Hyunjin joined you on the couch, sitting right beside you, his cock flushed dark, leaking even more than earlier. “Need to feel you clench on my cock like that.” You watched him apply the condom carefully, hissing at how sensitive he was to that touch alone. “Don’t worry. I’ll want you to cum on my tongue later. Bet you'll taste even better after I fucked your tight cunt.” 
You were barely able to hold a thought, still trembling from your almost orgasm. As soon as Hyunjin was done with the condom, you pushed yourself on your knees, moving on top of him to straddle him. He kissed you then, and you kissed him back, letting him pull the straps from your dress—and bra—down, ultimately freeing your tits. 
He immediately cupped your breasts in his big hands. They were still wet from you, and you moaned when Hyunjin played with your sensitive nipples, rolling them between his fingers, even bending down to kiss and lick them. 
You reached for his cock, aligning him with your entrance. “Need you,” you whined, your face buried in the crook of his neck. 
“Use me, that’s it.” Hyunjin gave a few tentative thrusts, rubbing his cock against your hole. “Let me feel that cunt. Let me see your cream on it.” 
You guided him inside you, gasping when you pushed his tip inside you, but immediately hungry for more. You laid your hands flat on his chest to keep your balance, and you sank on his cock, letting it stretch you. 
Both you and Hyunjin cried out at that, your heat engulfing him, your walls clenching around him. He was big. His cock filled you so good. You kissed him. You kissed him hard, not wasting a second before rolling your hips to fuck yourself onto that pretty cock. When you know what love feels like, it means you also know when there’s an absence of it. And nothing was missing in this instant, no void left within you, your pussy stuffed with his cock and with the strong emotions taking up all the space in you, even the space between your atoms. 
“Oh my fucking g—” Hyunjin dug his fingers into your waist in an attempt to control your desperate pace. “I’m gonna fucking blow if you keep this up. How’s your pussy so fucking tight—” 
You slammed onto him again and again, chasing your high. It was messy, it was sloppy. You were soaking him, his cock, his thighs, his couch. You rode his cock to your heart’s content, feeling his straining length take up all the space inside you. Tits spilling out of your dress, bouncing with you as you bounced on him. It was lewd, it was beautiful.
“You take that cock like a perfect little slut,” Hyunjin uttered between grunts. His face was red, he was sweating. “So horny. Look at you, look at how swollen your pussy is.” 
You tried to get a glimpse of it, of his cock disappearing between your legs, but the sight of it sent you over the edge. You cried out, Hyunjin now using his grip on you to slam you onto him harder and harder, also fucking you from below. He was just as horny as you were, as desperate, biting his lip hard. You were so full of him, your pussy stretching for him, his cock massaging your walls every time you rolled your hips to ride him.
The skin on your entire body pricked when you felt the first waves of your orgasm threaten to overcome you. “Hyun—Hyunj—I’m—” You tried to speak, but it was impossible. 
Hyunjin, driven by lust, his cock throbbing into your tight pussy, brought his hand to the side of your neck to anchor himself better. “Cream on my cock, baby.” And then he squeezed your neck, just a little. It did not hurt, but it sparked something inside you.
Your eyes rolled at the back of your head and Hyunjin understood your silent agreement. Agreement, or plea, a little bit of both perhaps. He wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing you to the exact same rhythm your pussy was throbbing and clenching. You gasped for air, embracing the light sting of it, losing yourself in the moment, in the feeling of his strong hand choking you. “Now, baby. Cum, please.” Hyunjin spread his other hand, reaching for you, gently rubbing circles on your clit, and your reaction was immediate. 
You arched onto him as you came, the tension between your legs coming undone with your orgasm. Hyunjin held you by your neck, fucking you deep from underneath. You would bruise there. You would bruise on your neck, too. You came hard, pulsing on his cock, convulsing on top of him as your orgasm took over your whole body. It was good, it was too good.
Hyunjin did not give you a break—you hadn’t come down from your high when he held you by the waist and pulled you off him, only to lay you on your back on his big couch and sink his big cock into your cunt again. You were still cumming, for fuck’s sake. You were still fucking cumming when Hyunjin slammed into you hard again. 
He groaned, his fucking becoming erratic, frantic, merciless. He was beautiful. He held your legs wide open, thrusting and rutting onto you like a madman. 
When Hyunjin came, he pushed himself deep into you, moaning so prettily it gave you an aftershock. He pulsed into you, filling the condom with shallow thrusts and desperate whimpers, kissing you, biting your neck, your collarbones, kissing your shoulders, holding your neck, still. There was mild pain there now, but your brain did not register it as pain. It felt good. It only felt good, like you were drowning in a pool of pure bliss. 
Hyunjin collapsed onto you, his hair sticking to the sweat on his face, his shirt damp with it, too. You wrapped your arms around him, letting the feeling of his cock softening inside you become a source of comfort, same as the rest of his body was for you. 
“I missed you,” he mumbled, his face buried in your neck. It felt a little sore there because of his firm grip on you earlier, but you found that you liked it. 
“I missed you too, Hyunjin.” You kissed the top of his head, and he propped himself up on one elbow. He had a soft smile on his beautiful face. “Are you really staying?” You needed to know. You needed to know in case you ought to prepare your heart for it again.
He nodded, giving you a gentle kiss on your lips. His mouth tasted strongly of you and sex, and you liked it. “Yes.” Another kiss. Then, he added: “I do owe you a date. I have serious competition after all—Bang Chan himself is courting you!”
You clicked your tongue and playfully shoved Hyunjin, laughing heartily. He pretended you had pushed him hard and exaggerated a fall from the couch onto the floor, causing the both of you to laugh even more. Maybe it was the dopamine from the sex, or the weed, but you truly felt at peace. And happy. 
“Can’t believe you throw me on the ground when I’m just trying to ask you out on a date…” Hyunjin jokingly reproached, shaking his head. He turned away while he was removing the condom and discarding it, but came back with a box of tissues to give you a quick but thorough clean up. “You’ve changed, Tipsy. You used to be so nice.”
“I did pepper spray two assholes to save your ass, Hwang,” you reminded him with a grin. “Don’t forget that.”
Hyunjin bit his lip, gathering your panties on the floor. He looked beautiful, his cock gently softening, his hair a complete mess. “Okay. I’ll give you that one. But to turn violent toward me? Your Disney prince?”
You stood too, taking your panties from him when he handed them to you. “So fucking dramatic.” But he laughed again, and he kissed you. The kiss deepened quickly, with Hyunjin’s hands traveling over your body and settling on your ass, pulling you close.
“I’ve made promises earlier and I intend on keeping them,” he said against your mouth. “I’ll make us a snack with juice and we can continue for another round. Or three, or ten.” Your heart swelled up at that promise, both from lust and something else, something frightening but exciting.
“Do you have more of those tasty crackers, with the cheese dip? It was so good.” You kissed Hyunjin’s cheek. “I think I’ll go hang out with Mr. Pickles a little.”
“Coming right up! Let me know if he needs something, too.” Hyunjin disappeared to the kitchen.
You made a quick stop to the bathroom before entering Hyunjin’s bedroom. Your pussy was sore and it felt good. You were tired too, but in an exciting way. In a way that was a reminder that you were alive. 
Hyunjin’s bed was cozy—when you noticed that Mr. Pickles was deeply asleep on it, you didn’t bother closing the door behind you. The kitten was curled into a ball in the middle of all the toys Hyunjin had bought for him today, looking adorable. You snapped another picture for Minho and sent it to him immediately, in case he was still awake. 
Not long after, you heard Hyunjin’s ringtone. Again. One glance at the fancy digital clock on his bedside table confirmed it was well past 1 AM. Whoever needed to talk to him at this time really needed to get a hold of him… or was in a whole different timezone. 
You gave Mr. Pickles a little kiss on his head and left the bedroom, choosing the close the door behind you this time. After all, the kitten was so tiny that it would be easy to lose him in this large apartment. 
“Hyunjin?” you called, making your way toward the living room. “Your phone’s ringing again.” It could be an emergency, in which case it was better to at least take the call before Hyunjin could make it to his phone. Noises were coming from the kitchen, but they stopped immediately.
The room was cool due to the window that had been left open. As you reached for the phone on the coffee table, Hyunjin was barging in, hurrying past you to make it to his device first. As you shot one glance at the screen, you understood why.
Incoming Call . . .   
Camille 
You froze in place, letting Hyunjin grab his phone. He turned away from you, walking out of the living room to take the call, but there was very little that you couldn’t hear. 
Suddenly, it felt as if the room was filled with not just a breeze, but a cold gust of wind. You shivered, exhaling sharply, finding it harder and harder to inhale. You located the black hoodie that had been your comfort for two years, left on the floor exactly where it had been when Hyunjin took it off you. Part of you wanted to wrap yourself in it right now and see if it would soothe you.
The pleasant soreness in your cunt turned into an unrelenting ache. The slight pang on your neck went from the delightful ghost of Hyunjin’s hand to the feeling of a vine leaving its poisonous trace. 
“Non, arrête—j’ai dit—écoute—will you please fucking listen to me? S’te plaît?” You heard Hyunjin clearly but you couldn’t understand every word he said. He spoke English, French and Korean, alternating from one language to the other. It was strange to hear this much French in his voice, and should the situation have been different, you surely would have found it very charming. 
But it wasn’t just the French, or the English, or the mix of all these languages together—it was the tone of his voice as he spoke to her. It screamed of familiarity. Of course. 
“Non, j’ai jamais… I didn’t say that and you know it. You fucking know that. I—quoi? T’es où? Here? What do you mean you’re here? Ici?”
You may not be a walking dictionary but you understood what you needed to understand. You walked to the window, glancing outside, down toward the sidewalk. There was someone, a woman, standing right in front of Hyunjin’s building and talking on the phone while looking upward as if she was looking for someone. The window was open and you could hear her voice. It was melodious and beautiful. She seemed tall and lean and well-dressed with long, wavy pale hair. Camille. 
There was a long silence on both ends. The silence infiltrated your brain, too. There were very few thoughts that seemed to linger in your mind, and they all amounted to the same thing anyway. 
You heard a sob coming from outside, and a sigh coming from Hyunjin, and footsteps. “I’ll be right back, okay, Tipsy?” Hyunjin told you, but he didn’t wait for a response and you didn’t even turn to him. “I’m coming down, stay there,” he said into the phone again. “T’es là? Mimi?” Hyunjin left the apartment. 
It was quiet, but Camille was still sobbing outside. It was quiet, but you could swear you heard the pieces of your heart as they shattered in your chest, the shards firmly planting themselves in your flesh from the inside out. Mimi. Not Cam, not even Cami, not mademoiselle. Mimi.
You watched as Hyunjin joined Camille on the sidewalk, but you had seen and heard enough. There were tears in your eyes and cries in your throat, but a stranger wouldn’t have guessed the turmoil within you as you appeared calm on the outside. You gathered your things—your shoes, your bag, your phone—and made your way to the kitchen, where you left by the balcony. As you went down the narrow staircase there, you felt a tear roll down your cheek, quickly followed by another. And another.
It was cold. You only had your crumpled dress on. You were trembling, you were a mess.
You were a fool, and had been since the beginning. 
You crossed the park, walking past the swing set where you and Hyunjin had sat just earlier. You were crying in earnest now, doing your best to swallow your sobs and shame alike. You remembered the code from the gate and managed to leave the park—when you made it to the sidewalk, you saw Hyunjin and Camille, still in front of the building entrance. You heard their voices and the languages and the intimacy in their voices. 
She had been with him more than you had. She knew him better than you did, and Hyunjin knew her more than he knew you. This was an undeniable truth. You had no claim over him.
So you walked away. Whatever would happen next, you didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to go through the painful process of Hyunjin returning to his apartment and making excuses and saying she was here because of this or that reason. You didn’t want to see Camille from up close, and how pretty she was. You had made a mistake tonight when you had allowed those frightening feelings to take control of your mind. Of your heart.
You knew one thing: you couldn’t go back home, not tonight. Chan would be there, and he would know immediately. Hadn’t he known from the start? You didn't want to face him. Not now. You could call Jisung and crash on his couch, but he lived in a whole other area of the city, and you needed to talk to someone right now. 
You knew that Minho kept his texts on Silent at night, but he allowed calls from a few of his contacts to filter through, and you were one of those people. 
He answered, but it took him a few seconds to actually speak. When he did, Minho sounded sleepy—you had woken him up. “Hello?” A yawn. “What’s going on, are you okay?” 
It was your turn to speak. When you tried to talk, only cries came out, with tears rolling down your face. You walked in silence, finally taking a turn to a smaller street to make sure you wouldn’t be seen in this state. Someone might call the police on you. 
“What’s going on?” Minho insisted. “Where are you?” There was a pause. When Minho spoke again, his voice was softer. “You’re with him? You were with him. Did he hurt you?”
“N—no,” you managed through your sobs. “I was with… he… I just…” You tried to breathe, but it really was hard. “I don’t wanna go home.”
“Where are you now? I’ll come pick you up.” There was no hesitation. You heard some background noises on the call, as well as a few protesting meows. 
You could insist, you could call a cab, hell, you could even walk to Minho’s place from here, but you didn’t want to. You felt lonely. Abandoned. Alone. You were cold and sad and scared. So you shared your location with Minho, and he said he would be there in fifteen minutes. 
He picked you up twelve minutes later with a warm jacket and a cup of herbal tea. He did not ask questions, did not make comments about your appearance. You probably smelled like weed, like booze, like sex. Neither of you spoke until you had made it back to Minho’s apartment. He gave you a clean towel and some toiletries and you showered while he was fixing you some food. Just some veggies with cheese, but it was good. 
It was two in the morning when you sat on the couch. Minho had laid blankets and pillows for you there. 
“Can you stay with me?” you asked. “Just a little.” 
“I wasn’t going to leave you alone anyway,” Minho admitted. He was wearing comfortable sweat shorts and a t-shirt—almost the exact same clothes he had given you for your night. Your dress was already in the washing machine as he had insisted on washing it. When he went to sit to your left, a chubby orange cat swooped in to steal his spot at the last second. “Dammit, Soonie…” 
You scratched the cat’s head while Minho went to sit on the other side of you. You had stopped crying, but you felt empty. “Thanks, Min.” For everything, you meant to add, but you were afraid that if you talked too much, you’d start crying again.
“No worries. I set your phone to charge in the kitchen.” Somewhere in the apartment, you heard another one of Minho’s cats munching on his kibble. “He texted you. A lot. He called, too, left a voicemail.”
That tickle in your eyes… You tried to control your breathing. You sat in the dark, in silence. Slowly, the cries came back. Just quiet sobs, painful. Minho sighed—he wasn’t annoyed, not with you. You knew that. But he sighed and he pulled you against him. 
“I was stupid,” you said. “I didn’t think.”
“You’re not stupid.” As if he could sense your distress, Soonie leaned against you, resting his big head on your thigh while you cried in his dad’s arms. “Just cry if you need to cry, and then sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.” 
Minho and others had asked you this before—if you were in love with Hyunjin. And you had never been sure how you should respond to this.
But now you knew. Tonight, if someone were to ask you, do you love him? you would not hesitate one second. 
There was only one reason why you were hurting so much, and that reason was the love you had for Hyunjin. 
... to be continued.
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a/n: long time no see for our frog boi! I went through some stuff as I was writing this chapter, which explains why it feels a little different than other updates and why it took so long to come out. That being said, I hope there were things you guys enjoyed in it. Thank you guys for the support, and for your patience regarding my posting schedule. I genuinely am so grateful. Thank you for keeping frog boi in your hearts. Take care!
permanent taglist: @cb97percent @changbinluvr @neosracha @hwan-g @staytheword @leedunno @aimeexx @hyunskizz @lotus-dly @thestarseeker @suhomylife @abiaswreck @ven-fic-recs @binstitsweat @hyunjinswifeee @straydhampir @fwess @skizzel-reblogs @katsukis1wife @chans1aptop @sunlitwilderness @erispancakes @skzfelixlove @hyunsungbased @revehosh @casualtaelyn @yourhwngness @hynjnskz @hyuneyeon @yourmercibeaucoupsblog @moasworld @neosfw @jollchacho @dreamingsmile @changbinheart @dwaekkiracha * please note that I will soon be making a post regarding my taglist/s.
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kingkatsuki · 7 months
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— sleazy
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Everyone thinks Red Riot is such a nice hero, but really he just loves fucking his cute, unsuspecting fangirls.
Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.
Warnings: 18+, not proofread, non-con/dub-con, implied!drugging but could just be seen as intoxication, unprotected sex, teeny tiny bit of assplay, Kirishima promises to wear a condom but doesn’t, creampie, public sex.
Word Count: 2.5k.
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“You’re so lucky!” You heard the voices around the table when the Red Riot had offered to buy you a drink.
Suddenly finding it difficult to speak when you gave him a nod in response, grateful that he’d looked down at your glass of wine as an indication of what to order you because you weren’t sure you would’ve been able to answer if he’d asked.
You felt hot as it seemed as though every set of eyes in the vicinity were on you now— from the women who wished that he’d picked them, to the men that he’d come in with standing around the bar. The angry blond more formerly known as Dynamight seemed to be glaring at you from across the room, shaking his head slightly before downing the rest of his whisky.
“Don’t worry about him,” Kirishima grinned softly at you as he handed you a glass, “He always looks like that.”
Kirishima had this perfect way of making you feel at ease, the friendly tone to his voice paired with kind eyes made it easy for you to melt into him. Silencing any objections you’d usually have if a guy leaned down to tug your chair closer to him, or wrapped their arm around your waist during a first date. It was different when it was Red Riot— you felt like you already knew him. From your television screen to the huge billboards that were up all over the city to promote his latest collaboration. The man that you followed on social media and religiously liked his posts, not that you’d told him that— although with another few drinks inside you, you might.
“You look gorgeous tonight, you know,” His warm lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans closer to talk to you over the loud bass of music in the club, “I just had to come and talk to you.”
You don’t even question it when he lays a huge palm on your bare thigh, his thumb disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Ghosting against the lace of your panties as you give another glance around the bar to see if anyone is looking— the only set of eyes that match your gaze are the same crimson ones from earlier, Dynamight still watching intently as he nurses his drink.
The fact that the Red Riot has asked for your number, bought you countless drinks and given you his undivided attention has you bursting with glee. Certain that none of your friends will believe you, instead wishing they’d come to the bar tonight to see for themselves when you tell them that you’re courting the number twelve hero.
“It’s so loud here,” His palm squeezes your inner thigh and you can’t stop your heart from pounding against your ribcage, making it difficult to breathe as his warm breath fans your skin, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”
“Yeah, sure.” You find yourself nodding as he helps you stand, certain you weren’t this drunk before.
“Whoops—” He grins as he grabs your hips, his fingers brushing the curve of your ass as he keeps you upright, “I’ve got you.”
And it’s that moment you feel his hard bulge pressed against the small of your back. Even in heels he dominates your size, towering over you as a pure wall of strength and muscle as he guides you through the crowds. Stepping down a quieter hall that leads towards the bathrooms as he presses you against a wall, large palms still planted firm on your hips.
“I’ve wanted you all night,” He sighs, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against your neck, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
“This is too fast,” You mumble, already feeling his fingers dipping beneath your skirt to grab your ass.
“Aw, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” He seems so sincere when he looks down at you with worried eyes, “Shall I call you a cab home? I just thought you wanted to have some fun.”
“I do, but—”
“But you’d prefer Dynamight or someone, huh?” His eyes droop, “I get it, that always fucking happens when it’s someone I really like—”
“No! I like you too,” You panic when he takes a step back, trying to step forward as you stumble into his arms.
“You do?” He coos, holding you tight, “I’m so lucky I found you.”
It’s embarrassing when he tugs you into the men’s bathroom, sets of eyes watching you with knowing looks from the urinals as he opts for a stall. Locking the door as he presses you against the sink, allowing you to look at him through the reflection in the mirror as he pulls your top over your breasts.
“You’re fucking stunning,” He groans, cupping your breasts as you grind yourself back against him. Alcohol inebriating your senses as he strokes your body, wondering whether you should just tell him to slow down now.
“It’s too much,” You mumble, unsure whether he put something in your drink as your head pounds.
But this is Red Riot, he wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s a Pro-Hero tasked to protect you from sleazy people like that, to make sure you’re safe.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He coos, “I’ll take good care of you.”
“We shouldn’t,” You slur, “Not here.”
“Oh? But I bought you all those drinks,” He mumbles against your neck, “I thought you liked me.”
“I do!” You panic, catching the forlorn look on his face.
“You do?” His eyes immediately brighten, “I’m glad because I like you too, sweetheart. A lot—”
He has you feeling like a giddy, lovesick schoolgirl as he reaches under your skirt to pull down your panties. Letting the fabric settle around your knees as he works on unbuckling his jeans. A large palm splayed on your back to push you over the sink as he guides the leaky tip towards your slit.
“Wait,” You mumble, trying not to slur your words, “Condom.”
You miss the look of annoyance that flashes through Kirishima’s eyes in his reflection in the mirror as you turn to look back at him before that same smile spreads on his face.
“Of course, sweetheart. What do you take me for?” He’s cooing at you as he reaches into his wallet to retrieve a large foil packet, ripping it with his teeth as he leans down to put it on, “Safety first, yeah?”
And the tip of his cock nudges against your ass, feeling the slickness of lube from the latex smear against your bare ass as you cling to the porcelain. Holding on as you watch him in the mirror as he slides the condom onto his cock.
“There,” His hand smooths along your ass, rubbing the lube against your skin to get it off his hand as he pushes his hips forward.
He’s big. The swollen tip enough to have a lump in your throat as you forget to breathe, wiggling your hips in a feeble attempt to reduce the ache.
“Shh, baby. I know, I know.” He coos, pulling back to fist his cock, “Let’s try again, yeah?”
But you don’t notice the devious smirk on his face, or the way his eyes glint with intent as he slides the annoying latex off his thick cock. Discarding it to the floor like trash as he wraps his cock in a large fist again, tapping the leaking tip on your slit before sliding it through your folds. Letting it catch against your tight entrance again as he can finally feel you without a latex barrier.
“Is this okay?” He hums, keeping his tip pressed against your quivering hole.
You nod in response as you try to remember to breathe, taking in large gulps of air as you feel him slowly push his hips forward.
“I’m gonna need to hear you say it, sweetheart.” He pushes.
“Yeah, I want it.” You groan as he immediately pushes forward, feeling the tightness between your thighs.
“Oh, shit.” His eyes roll back as he groans at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He’s far less kind now he can truly feel you as he cants his hips forward without a moment for you to adjust, the pain comes sharp and fast as he stretches you out on his cock.
“Ow,” You choke, your head lolling forward as you try to breathe, the ache between your thighs throbs sharply as Kirishima feigns sympathy.
Telling you what a good girl you are for him, what a good job you’re doing, that you’re his favourite. Clever lines he’s rehearsed time and time again, and it just so happens that they’re working on you just like they have a hundred times before on other girls.
You think you’re special, and in this moment you are. He’s picked you.
“God, your pussy feels so fucking good.” He grunts, warm palms heavy on your ass as he spreads you apart to see his cock buried deep inside your walls. The messy tuft of hair at the base tickles your skin as he pulls his hips back to give an experimental thrusr, “Taking me so well.”
You’re a mess as he fucks into you, your tits bounce with every rough buck of his hips as he presses you into the porcelain sink, your cheek leaves a messy streak of foundation against the mirror as he sets a brutal pace. Telling you it’s because he’s worried someone could come in and see you like this, that he wishes he could have you for longer to really take care of you.
And you believe every line.
“God, sweetheart. Your pussy feels amazing,” Kirishima groans, his thumb brushing the tight rim of your ass as your body jolts in surprise. Embarrassed and terrified at the same time.
“Not there, please—”
“Oh god, baby. I would never.” He shakes his head, but presses down harder against your tight hole, “Relax, Red Riot’s got you, yeah?”
His words are soothing as you try to focus on the pleasure, trying to block out the sound of footsteps outside and the way your cunt clenches around him every time someone rattles the door handle.
“Fuck, you’re clamping down on me, sweets,” He slurs, drunk on pleasure, “You’re tryin’ to milk me.”
He sucks air sharply through his teeth as he bends his back to watch his cock disappearing inside you, the slap of his balls against the swell of your thighs sounds inside the dingy bathroom as your legs shake. Balancing yourself in heels as you try to stop the sink from digging into your hips uncomfortably, certain you’ll have bruises in the morning.
“Gonna cum, shit— gonna fill this little pussy up.” He groans, and you’re certain it’s just words. Dirty talk to help get himself off as he prepares to cum inside the condom, “You want that, baby? Want me to fill you up?”
“Yes,” You find yourself playing into it, your walls throb around him as he works you towards your own release.
“That’s my girl,” He grins, reaching around to press messy circles against your puffy clit, “Gonna stuff you full of my cum.”
“Oh my god,” You repeat, clinging to the sink to keep yourself upright as you feel yourself on the edge of your release. The familiar pleasure building between your thighs as Kirishima leads you into bliss, “Kiri—”
“Red Riot, call me Red Riot—” His fingertips dig into you bruisingly as your cunt begins to convulse.
“Red Riot!” You mewl, “I’m cumming, Red Riot—”
“Oh shit, you want the entire bar to hear you, don’t you?” He grins, spanking your ass as your cunt spasms around him.
Kirishima fucks you through your climax, roughly thrusting into you as you feel the tip of him as deep as he can go. Kissing your cervix with each forward motion as he focuses on his own pleasure, his own desire.
“Hurts,” You choke out as you try to ignore the throb between your thighs or the way your skin digs uncomfortably into the porcelain.
“I’m almost there, sweetheart. Almost there—” He groans, ignoring your pleas, “Gonna fill you up.”
It doesn’t take him much longer to find his own release, his balls tightening as they begin to empty warm, hot spurts of cum into your pulsing walls. His hands smoothing down your back before reaching around to palm your naked breasts before pulling back.
“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groans when he pulls out to see strings of your slick connecting his softening cock to your folds.
And that’s when you feel it.
Warm globs of his cum slowly seeping out of your quivering walls, dribbling down your inner thighs and dropping onto the dirty floor.
“Did you— the condom?” You ask in confusion as you turn your head to face him, noticing the shiny gleam of his cock in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom as he gives you a cheeky grin.
“Oh, it must’ve ripped,” He shrugs, sticking himself back into his boxers with no care about how messy he is, “Sorry about that, sweetheart. You’ll be okay, I’m clean.”
Kirishima has just enough manners to pull your panties back up, even though you don’t have a chance to clean yourself up. Feeling his warm cum continue to drool out of you and collect in the lace of the crotch as you shuffle uncomfortably. Tugging your skirt back down as you fix your top, hearing Kirishima buckle his belt again as he checks himself out in the mirror.
“I’ll call you yeah, sweetheart?” He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before unlocking the door to the men’s bathroom stall and stepping outside. Leaving you standing alone in the room as you stare back at your disheveled reflection.
It’s only when you look down at the ground where you notice the drops of his cum that had fallen to the floor, and beside them the discarded condom still in the perfect roll from the pack.
That he hadn’t even bothered to put on.
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feelbokkie · 11 months
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❤️Red❤️
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☀️Feelbokkie M.list ☀️
Red: Passion, Love, Anger
pov: 1st person
genre: angst, hurt no comfort
description: You've been with Chan since before he moved to Korea to pursue being an idol. 13 years later, you've reached your breaking point.
pairing: chan x fem!reader
warnings: break up, swearing, yelling
word count: 2,030
©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.
Part 2
🖍️Crayon Box M.list🖍️
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“Congrats on a successful comeback!” Chan and I clink glasses before I take a sip of my red wine. 
For the first time in a while, it’s just the two of us on a date. He’s been busy prepping and promoting Stray Kids’ most recent comeback which means we rarely got to spend time together. I can’t remember the last time we actually got dressed and hung out somewhere that wasn’t in his studio or his dorm. With how busy he is and my schedule as an English teacher, we don’t get a lot of moments like this. We would compromise and I would just join him wherever he was during my free time. Sometimes, I would take my grading and do that while he worked on music just to be near him.
“Thank you! I wouldn’t have been able to get through it this time if you weren’t there supporting me every step of the way.” Chan smiles, placing his hand in mine.
We’ve been together since we were 14, right before he decided that he wanted to become an idol. 13 years later, we’re still together and he’s made his dream a reality. After 4 years of being long-distance, I decided to attend university in Korea and then become an English teacher. My parents and friends thought I was crazy to upend my life and move to a foreign country for someone with a “pipe dream.” But I believed in him, and in the end, he accomplished what he set out to do. Now, my parents complain about how we’ve been together so long and Chan still hasn’t put a ring on my finger. I can never win in their eyes.
“Chan, are you busy next Saturday evening? The school is honoring me with an award and I would love it if you could make an appearance.” I take another sip and wait for his answer. Even though he has a bit more free time, he still has his duties to do.
“I have a few interviews and stuff in the morning, but after that, I’m all yours. I promise. Congrats on getting that award. I’ve seen how hard you work for those kids, you deserve it!” He offers me a big smile, light twinkling in his eyes. The same look he’s had on his face when he looks at me since we were kids.
It’s easier for us now that we’re public with our relationship. We were scared at first and didn’t say anything when his dating ban was first lifted. He didn’t want fans to turn their backs on him since he had been in a relationship the entire time and I didn’t want the negativity that comes with dating an idol. Eventually, we decided last year to just go public so we could have some sense of normalcy. The response was surprisingly positive and we no longer had to sneak around at events or in public. I could sit with him or stand with him at award shows. He could make a quick stop at the school I worked at to bring me lunch.
“What’s the award for?” He asks bringing me out of a daze.
“We can talk about it later. Tonight is about you.” I put my glass down and reach for his other hand.
“There’s nothing to talk about with me, you were there literally every step of the way.” He takes both of my hands and brings them to his mouth, placing a long kiss.
“Well, if you insist…”
***
Chan never showed up. We agreed earlier in the week that he would come to my apartment and we would go together. A few days ago, he sent me a text saying he would meet me in front of the school. I waited outside in the cold until one of my coworkers came to tell me that they would be starting soon. I even texted Changbin to make sure nothing had happened, and he said that Chan had been home all day working on music since they came back from their interviews. He forgot, plain and simple as that. And for whatever reason, he wasn’t answering his phone. It was humiliating. My coworkers had been talking about the award all week and if Chan would show up. I must have looked like a liar when I had to spend the rest of the night saying something had come up.
I let myself into Chan’s dorm and make my way straight to his room. I open the door without knocking and close it behind me. Surrounded by pure darkness, I take a deep breath. He’s asleep. I love that for him, everyone knows how little sleep he gets normally. But at the same time, he promised to be there. My hand frantically searches the wall looking for the light switch. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust when the lights finally come on. I stare at Chan’s sleeping figure. My eyes pan to his desk. There’s a notebook open with a pen sitting in the middle. A telltale sign that he was just working on music. I clench and unclench my fist, trying to calm myself down. My eyes settle on a pillow that’s laying on the floor. I pick it up and chuck it at Chan’s peaceful figure.
“What… what the hell?” He stirs in his sleep, looking at where the attack came from.
“I asked for one night. One. Fucking. Night.” I pick up his balled-up shirt from the floor and threw it at him, landing a perfect shot on his face.
“What are you talking about… Oh, shit,” He sits up and takes the shirt I threw at him off his face.
“You forgot, because of fucking course you did!” I couldn’t help but laugh. It’s not funny, but I don’t know how else to react at this point.
“Y/N—” He stands up quickly and makes his way toward me. I take a step back.
“I gave up everything for you. I moved to another country where I barely know the language. I studied the only thing I could. I took a job that I don’t want, just so I can stay here and be near you.” 
“I know—” He reaches out for me and I smack his hand away.
  “My parents and friends thought I was crazy for leaving everything I know for a boy who was trying to become an idol. I ruined those relationships for you, do you realize that?” 
“I do, but—” His jaw twitches, controlling his anger.
“I’ve been there for every award show, performance, and interview—And even when I couldn’t, I made sure that you knew that I was still at your side rooting for you. I stayed late with you at the studio and the practice room even if I had work the next day, just to spend a few moments with you. I asked you to come to one event for me and you forgot because of fucking course you did. I’ll always be second to you and your career.”
“That’s not fair—”
“I love you with every fiber of my being but I am so sick and tired of giving and not receiving, Chris. I cannot keep doing this.” I whisper. The anger that’s been brewing in my body all night finally settled.
“Then don’t!” He snaps eyebrows furrowed, nostrils flared. I jump at his tone. When Chan is mad, he’s scary. He’s never gotten this mad at me before. I blink at him slowly.
“So that’s it? You’re not even going to fight for this? For us? You’re just willing to throw away 13 years, just like that? After everything we’ve been through?” Do not cry.
“What the fuck do you want from me, Y/N? Do you want me to apologize for being a shitty boyfriend? Because I am. I’m so sorry that I’ve been neglecting you and taking you for granted. But you came here with the intention of attacking me. You wouldn’t even let me get a full sentence out to defend myself.”
“So then this is all my fault?” Do not fucking cry. Not here, and definitely not now.
“You’re trying to push all the blame on me when you’re just as much to blame for all of this. I didn’t ask you to move here and cut off your friends and family. I don’t make you come to all of my things. I ask you if you want to come and you always say yes. I appreciate that you did that, I truly do. But do not use something against me that you decided to do on your own free will. It’s not fair. I drop the ball sometimes, I’m human. You’re going to fault me for one mistake and try to end things?”
“It’s not just one mistake.” I breathe.
“What?” His voice finally drops.
“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”
“What are you talking about?” His expression softens back into the normal Chan. The calm one. The one I fell in love with all those years ago.
“Over the years, I’ve invited you to things. To meet my friends. To meet my coworkers. To my college graduation. But I was really understanding. Our relationship had been private for so long and you were either touring or in another country working on promotions. But what’s your excuse now that we’re public and don’t have any of those things going on? There’s always going to be something that comes before me and I can’t—I won’t do this anymore.” 
The room falls quiet. I press my lips tightly and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to gain the courage to walk away. After a few more seconds of silence, I finally turn around to leave. I feel Chan’s tight grip on my bicep, preventing me from taking another step. He loosens his hold and slides his hand down to my hand.
“Please, don’t leave me. We can fix this—I can fix this.” Chan whispers. I don’t turn around. I can’t turn around. If I do, I’ll never leave. And I need to leave for my sanity.
“I told you last year that this was your last chance. I can’t keep giving you last chances, it’s not fair to me. And seeing how quickly you were willing to just end it a few minutes ago, I don’t think I want to. I’m sorry, Chris.” I shake my hand out of his grip and quickly leave his room. I shut the door and lean against it, taking deep breaths as my tears pour down my face.
“Fuck!” I hear Chris’ muffled, yet clear, voice scream through the door followed by a thud. And another one. I heard the sound of something breaking on the other side of the door. I cry harder, fighting the urge to go back in there and calm him down, stop him from destroying his room.
Jisung, Changbin, and Hyunjin rush into the hallway, concerned about the noise coming from their leader’s room. They all stop and stare at me with confused looks on their faces. Their eyes shift between each other and then back to me. I don’t know what they expected, but I’m sure it wasn’t this.
“Y/N noona, what’s…” Jisung starts to ask but stops when I quietly shake my head. I did into my purse and pull out my key to the dorm. I yank it off the keyring, looking at it one more time before looking up.
“Can one of you give this to him when he calms down? P-please?” I stick my hand out with the key and watch as Hyunjin hesitates to take it.
“Noona—” Changbin starts as I finally move away from Chan’s door, the sound of destruction slowly fading in the distance. When I make it to the front door I stop and turn to face the three younger boys.
“I hope we will be able to stay in contact. But I’ll understand if you want nothing to do with me. Thank you for all your years of friendship.” I quickly bow before leaving the dorm.
Buy me a coffee?
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sylviebell · 7 months
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Here’s a Hondo for one hundo:
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How about a fluffy Jake with the prompt “ I couldn’t stop missing you if i tried.” 🥰
Thanks so much @foreverrandomwritings for all the help on this one. Really hope you like it Taylor
“Hey, Sweetie,” Penny says as you slide onto a stool at the bar. “Two beers?”
“Just one,” you smile.
She grabs a glass, filling it with a cold amber liquid from the tap. “No boyfriend tonight?”
“He’ll be here later, I think.” You answer, gazing around the bar for your friends. Your smile brightens when you spot them by the back wall, impatiently waiting for the pool table to open up. “Thanks Pen,” you say as the woman slides a fresh drink in front of you.
“No problem,” she smiles back. “Hey how was your trip visiting your sister?” she questions, wiping the countertop in between you.
“So good!” you beam, thinking of your new nephew and the time you were lucky enough to spend with him and your sister.
Penny’s eyes dart over your shoulder before she’s called away by another patron, offering you an apologetic smile as she goes. Suddenly you feel a warm body crowding the space next to you, and when you turn your head you find bright green eyes an a sharp smile.
“Hey darlin’,” the man drawls, a hint of Texas floating past his lips, “haven’t seen you around before.”
Your eyebrows raise, unimpressed. That’s the best this guy’s got? “You must not have been looking then.”
His smiles widens, shiny white teeth stark against soft pink lips. “I’d have remembered you.”
“Bad eyesight and a poor memory,” you hum, “what more could a girl want?”
His eyes trail you up and down, licking his lips before he states, “Let me buy you a drink.”
“I’ve got a boyfriend.”
His eyes narrow, but the grin stays on his lips. Penny returns, sliding a drink in front of the man now. “This guy bothering you?”
You catch her teasing tone, matching her little smile as you joke back, “Not yet.” You look back at Jake, his eyes never having left you.
“How’s your new nephew?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer.
“Good,” you smile, turning towards him now and letting him stand between your legs. “Kind of chubby and sleeps a lot, but so cute.”
He slides a hand onto your thigh, rubbing his thumb along your hip. You’d missed the warmth of his touch while you were gone. “Your sister settling in?”
“Yeah, she’s getting the hang of it.”
He hums, eyes raking over you again. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“I was worried you wouldn’t miss me,” you smile, your hand sliding over his chest and up his cheek.
“I couldn’t stop missing you if I tried,” he purs, leaning in until he finds your lips. The kiss is much quicker than you’d like it to be, and when he pulls back he’s grinning. “You know I was thinking, we could give your nephew a cousin to play with.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, but you can’t suppress your grin. “We could, could we?”
“They’d be best friends,” he claims.
“I don’t know,” you hum, patting his chest. “That sounds like a husband level request, and you’re currently only at boyfriend status.”
The mischief in his grin fades to an excited smile, the light dancing behind his eyes something you could only ever describe as Jake and home.
“Any ideas on how to promote?” he teases.
You pretend to think about it, making a show of holding up your left hand and rubbing your thumb over the empty space where a ring would fit. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
He laughs, shaking his head as he leans back in for another kiss.
“Hey Bagman,” you both hear Phoenix yell from where they’d finally procured the pool table, “quit hogging your girlfriend! We missed her too!”
He pulls back from you with a sigh, but he’s still smiling when he says, “They probably missed you more than they would’ve missed me.”
Almost as if she’d heard him, Phoenix yells again, “Why couldn’t you have left for two weeks instead?”
You catch her wink across the bar, sharing her grin and laughing when Coyote hip checks her and says, “Can’t you ever play nice?”
You grab your drink, standing and pressing yourself flush against Jakes front. “I have to go see my fans,” you husk, grinning at the shudder he takes in.
He watches you go join your friends at the pool table, all the while thinking about the ring that’s been tucked loudly in his sock drawer for the last two weeks.
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lady-jane3 · 10 months
Note
You know I’ve got to be a slut in your inbox again
8: "there's nothing i wouldn't do to keep you safe"
W/ scary swisssss and ghoul reader (human is fine too!)
°✧ demon ✧°
.
pairing: swiss x reader
warnings: anger directed at reader, swiss gets angry then takes names for reader, suggestive, & hint of monsterfucking kink
a/n: combined with your other ask - "14 and 19 for Swiss? (In my hoe hours)"
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pic from pinterest
I was trying not to show the hurt I was feeling as more words flew at me from one of the deacons who had been recently promoted to priesthood. Aside from the title, his character seemed to change too because I never would’ve anticipated him spewing all these harsh words at me from when I knew him before. All I had done was write out one of his sermons – exactly as he had wanted it and had dictated it – but he didn’t like how messy my handwriting got in certain sections, harshly jamming his finger into the lines to point out where it became illegible. 
“How the fuck did you even get this role in the first place when your handwriting looks like shit? I can fucking read that! What if I took that with me to one of the visiting Black Masses, trying to spread our word so we have more converts, but then I look here and can’t read half the shit on the paper? What impression do you think that would give anyone listening? That we don’t have our shit together, that they shouldn’t consider joining us, that I’m not- ”
“I was going to rewrite it nicer on a different sheet of paper!” I interrupted, trying to defend myself against him.
“And waste more paper and time? I think I’ve seen enough out of you. Get out of my office, I’ll write it over myself.” The priest spat at me. 
I shuffled out of the office without another word, wondering why he was overreacting so much and what the hell was going on. He couldn’t just be mad because my handwriting was bad, right? Besides, I did say I’d fix the problem just like that and he was the one who shot down my offer. My feet kept rushing down the hallway as I navigated my way blindly, trying to avoid anyone else’s gazes. The fact that he raised his voice at me was making tears glaze over my eyes. 
He did technically have more power over me since he had a higher title, but I hadn’t done anything wrong! In fact, he was in the wrong for reacting so cruelly when the Ministry had very strict rules against mistreatment and especially in conflicts. With Copia as Papa, there was an even bigger emphasis in taking care of each other and trying to cooperate rather than punish wrongdoings harshly to scare people from ever making a mistake again.
It didn’t help either way, my stomach twisted as my heart dropped down into it from the way he had treated me and made me think I had committed some kind of grave error. So many scared thoughts ran through my mind as I wondered what would happen now. Maybe there would be rumors sensationalizing what had happened while I was transferred duties or I’d have to leave entirely – which was what I feared most. As I made it to the wing where my rooms were, I felt myself coming to the edge of a breakdown dawning on me. 
But before I could reach my door, a frame suddenly knocked into mine. I had seen someone in the hall but I thought they would just pass by through the other half of the hall, I didn’t expect them to knock into me where there was plenty of space to walk around me. The collision made me want to burst into tears as a last straw, until the person’s hands held over my upper arms and I looked up to see Swiss’ face. 
His teeth were gritted and his eyes were sharp as he looked at me, “Who the fuck did this to you?”
I took in a shuddered breath and let my gaze fall to the floor as I tried to just push my way into my room, “Swiss, I’m fi- ”
“No, don’t give me that bullshit. Who. Fucking. Was. It.” He demanded, his claws gripping slightly tighter over my arms so I couldn’t go anywhere.
“I tried to deal with the situation myself, it’s fine. Please, you’re not going to fix it.” 
He leaned down and sniffed at me, his expression stiffening as his canines elongated into dangerous, thick fangs that stuck out of his mouth, “That motherfucker…”
I caught his wrist as he started to walk around me with a determined look in his eyes, “Swiss, come on, please don’t- ”
All he did was shake off my light hold over his wrist and keep walking away, smoke starting to fog around his shoulders as his claws grew into talons and many of his other human features disappeared. He was pissed. Far beyond any anger I had ever seen him express before. Swiss had disappeared around the corner and I knew he was headed into the priest’s office. Fear for what kind of things could happen between those two made me chase after as fast as my legs could carry me. My mind felt oddly blank, just the sole need to stop this conflict from happening motivating me to keep going. 
Somehow, he had already made it into the office. The door was shut but I could hear his voice growling at the arrogant man. I pushed the door open, fearing what could be happening inside more than any repercussions for opening the office door when I wasn’t invited in. My eyes went wide as I stepped into the dusty room, my steps halted just past the doorway. The two of them turned their heads towards me, neither all too happy with my appearance interrupting whatever they had started.
Swiss had never fully shown me his true demonic form, only bits and pieces of it like his horns or tail. Apparently, even those were made to look less intimidating before. Now he towered over both of us by an extra foot, horns as long as my arms jutting out of his head as saliva coated his massive fangs in streams. His tail swept over the floor, strong enough to knock us humans off our feet. As he stared down in wrath at the priest, who was trying to stand firm despite clearly being scared by the sight of a true, full demonic form, Swiss’ eyes glowed with an eerie green-white light. 
But the bold asshole turned to face me instead, “Call off your guard dog over here. Don’t tell me you can’t handle criticism and have to get someone bigger and stronger to deal with your shit.”
Swiss bristled before I could even reply and he reached a hand around the priest’s neck, “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I didn’t ask him to come here, I was trying to stop him from coming here.” I explained, trying not to cause any more problems. 
My words were practically ignored as Swiss very easily lifted the guy from his desk and carelessly hoisted him up while striding down the hallway, a destination clearly in mind that I couldn’t figure out until we were standing outside of Papa’s office. Mortification set in very quickly. I stood behind them, my feet glued to the floor as Swiss knocked the door open easily and bowed his head to get through the doorway in his demonic form. The priest had tried protesting loudly but all that got him was a smack with the spade of Swiss’ tail across his mouth.
“Wh-What is the m-matter here? You… you completely dropped your glamour, Swiss.” Papa stammered, immediately standing up from behind his desk.
“This dickwad,” Swiss began, setting the priest down but keeping a heavy, clawed grip on his shoulder, “Made his assistant fucking cry. Over handwriting. All I wanted to ask is permission to tear him apart by the limbs.” 
“By that, I’m sure you mean you wish for him to be disciplined by Sister Imperator.” Copia nervously chuckled. “That can be arranged. Just, please tell me the whole of the situation if you don’t mind.”
Fifteen minutes of tense conversation later, each of us had given our version of the story so Copia could fit the pieces of what happened together. The priest stayed in his office. Swiss was reprimanded lightly for trying to use an unfair advantage over a human and threatening the guy. I was offered the opportunity to switch duties to anything I wanted. Swiss glamoured himself back to his human-like demonic form and set a protective arm over my shoulders, shooting a glare at the priest one last time before walking out of Papa’s office with me. 
I looked up at him as I walked beside him, “I didn’t know that’s what you looked like without any of the glamour.”
“Sorry you had to see it, I couldn’t really hold it back.” Swiss apologized. “I hope it didn’t scare you too much.”
“I wasn’t scared.” I assured him. “You didn’t have to go attack him but I’m glad it got handled, even if you did have to go in there heavy-handed.”
He stopped and looked down at me, the air seeming to still around us, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. You need anything or you feel unsafe at all, you tell me. Got it? I’ll handle it.”
“Swiss, I can handle my ow- ”
“I know you’re strong and you can handle it. But I don’t want you to have to be strong all the time for yourself. Let me deal with assholes like that.”
I took in a breath and just agreed for the moment, “Thank you.”
He gave a small smile, his shorter yet still sharp canines poking out from under his lips, “Were you being honest? That I didn’t scare you like that?”
I nodded, “Yeah, you look a lot bigger and… less human, I guess. But not scary, probably ‘cause you weren’t trying to threaten me.”
“Good.” He spoke, continuing to walk down the hall and lead us to the ghouls’ wing. “‘Cause I got worked up back there, not just from being angry at that fucker. Gave me an idea when you burst through the door and I realized just how small you looked compared to me. If you’re up for it and not too upset about earlier.”
I nearly tripped over my feet as I looked up at his face, seeing his eyes glimmer. Somehow, amidst all that mess, he managed to get turned on. Not by how heated the whole situation was either – but because he noticed how small I looked in comparison to his fully-demonic form when I walked into the room to stop him. To be fair, now that I thought about it, there was a spark of interest going off in my mind. As he held open his door and gestured an offer for me to come inside, I gave him a look. 
“What happened to protecting me?” I quipped.
He cocked his head, “What do you mean?”
“You just said you’d protect me but then you offer to blow my back out in your full demon form. Not to sound like a cliche but, what if it is too big? I mean, pretty sure humans weren’t built to handle demons like that.”
He grinned and his tail flicked behind him as he reached a hand to encircle around my wrist, “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart, I got you. Just try to relax, it’s gonna take a lot of prepping you.”
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thebadgerclan · 9 months
Text
I Can See You
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader
Summary: Secrecy is necessary...for now...
Based on “I Can See You” by Taylor Swift.  Italicized lyrics are taken from the song!  This song has SUCH secret romance vibes, and I thought who better to write something for it than Aleksander
You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see ya, do ya?  And I’ve been watching you for ages, and I spent my time trying not to feel it
It was impossible not to be attracted to the General.  Almost everyone at the Little Palace had felt it at one time or another, both men and women longed for a scrap of the General’s attention, and somehow, you had caught his eye.  It was something you’d noticed, that the General’s gaze would linger on yours for just a second longer than it did with others.  You had caught him looking at you from across the room at dinner on multiple occasions, and that simple action lit a spark within you.
You had spent years pining after the General, try as you might to douse your feelings for him.  But it was useless.  He was devastatingly handsome, and behind his cold, dark exterior, you could see hints of brightness.  How you’d enter the War Room to find him reading a novel, how you’d see him out a window, walking, his face to the sun, a gentle smile on his face.
Everything had changed one day, when you’d been walking through the corridors, a folder in hand to deliver to the General.  He was walking in the opposite direction, and the world came to a stop when his hand brushed against yours.  You locked eyes with him, and he subtly nodded towards a nearby door.  It was then that he asked you to officially join his War Council, an offer that you eagerly accepted.
And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, and it’s something I like
Something had changed, everyone could see it.  You sat at the General’s right hand, a position of honor.  He was more open with you, happier.  He even told you his name, Aleksander, and asked you to call him that when it was just the two of you.  He invited you to dine privately with him to discuss the war and strategy, and in council meetings, when  he handed you a folder or a document, his touch would linger for several seconds, and when his eyes met yours, they blazed with unspoken words.
It was during one of these private dinners that Aleksander made his move.  Instead of pulling out your chair like he’d done before, he pulled you into his arms, his hands spanning across your back.  “Tell me to stop,” he said, and you looked into his eyes, seeing adoration, attraction, and passion there.  “Y/N, tell me to stop.”  “No,” you responded, and in that moment, your fate was sealed.  Aleksander kissed you then, lips soft against yours, arms tightening around you.
Aleksander was happy to take what you gave him, his kiss wasn’t insistent, there was no intention to escalate the night beyond this.  When you pulled away, your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were wide.  “Y/N,” he sighed.  “How long I’ve wanted to do that…”  “How long?” you asked, and he chuckled.  “Far longer than I care to admit, my dear.”
They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best that we move fast and keep quiet
Now that you and Aleksander were…whatever you were, secrecy seemed appropriate.  If word got out that you were together immediately after your elevation to being the General's second, people would whisper that you’d only gotten the promotion because you were sleeping together.  Which hadn’t even happened yet; the last thing Aleksander wanted was to pressure you.
So you moved in secrecy.  You crept through the halls, a lantern in hand, avoiding the guards that patrolled the corridors by moonlight.  When you arrived in Aleksander’s rooms, he took the lantern from your hand and pulled you into his arms, kissing you sweetly.  “My love,” he cooed, making you smile.  “I’ve missed you.”  “I was with you all afternoon, Sasha.”  “Yes, but not truly with me,” he said with a warm smile.  “This is what I’ve wanted all day.  Just you in my arms.”
You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head.  Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet
Just because you hadn’t been intimate with Aleksander yet didn’t mean you didn’t have fantasies.  They were fantasies that kept you up at night, that drew your hand between your legs, that had you biting your lip to keep from moaning and waking everyone in the Little Palace.  Aleksander on top of you, Aleksander licking your cunt, Aleksander taking you from behind, you riding Aleksander, Aleksander, Aleksander, Aleksander.
But what would you do if I went to touch you now?  What would you do if they never found us out?  What would you do if we never made a sound?
The lines in your relationship were clear: behind closed doors, Aleksander was completely and irrevocably yours.  He would worship at your feet if you asked him to, he was that smitten.  But in front of others, you were a General and his second, professional to a tee, never letting the two parts of your lives cross.
But you wondered what would happen if one day during a council meeting, you reached out to take his hand.  Would he go along with it, kiss your knuckles as he loved to do?  Would he squeeze your hand before carrying on the conversation?  Or would he pull his hand back, deny you his touch until you were alone?
Would your relationship remain a secret forever?  Would you continue to sneak into Aleksander’s rooms at night and sneak back to yours before dawn?  Would you have to bite your lip and silence your cries of pleasure at night so no one would find out about the two of you?  You understood why secrecy was needed at first, but as time went on, you found yourself wanting more.
‘Cause I can see you waiting down the hall for me Seeing Aleksander waiting at the end of the corridor that led to his rooms always filled you with joy.  You sped up your steps until you were running towards him, leaping into his embrace.  Aleksander held you tightly, smiling against your hair.  “Hello, my love,” he muttered, kissing your brow.  “I have your favorite dinner waiting for us.”  You grinned, taking his offered hand and entering his rooms.  Rooms that were slowly becoming yours.
And I could see you up against a wall with me
It was the first time you had almost gotten caught.  Aleksander had caught you on your way back to your room, where you seldom slept anymore, and pressed you into the wall, kissing you soundly.  He pressed his thigh between your legs, making you gasp.  “I want you,” he breathed against your lips, but before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching down the hallway.
Aleksander leapt away from you, straightening his kefta while you smoothed your hair and hoped you weren’t too flushed.  A young Inferni and his friends hurried past, barely noticing you and Aleksander.  When they passed, you both broke out into laughter, and Aleksander took your hand.  “I think we should go to my rooms, love,” he said, and you nodded.
I can see you in your suit and your necktie.  Passed me a note saying “meet me tonight”
He’d pressed the note into your hand at the end of the War Council meeting, and you only unfolded it when you were alone in your room.  Y/N, I could see you being my addiction, and it’s an addiction I no longer want to hide.  Come to my rooms before dinner, my love.
You did, finding Aleksander waiting anxiously in his sitting room.  “I’m done hiding us,” he said, taking your hands in his.  “I love you, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it.  So, if you want, I want to dine with the other Grisha tonight, with you at my side.”  For months this was all you’d wanted, and you eagerly nodded.  Aleksander smiled, kissing you softly.  “We’ll see about getting your things moved to my rooms, too,” he said, linking his arm with yours as you made your way to the dining hall.
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ineffable-sideburns · 4 months
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In this post, I'm going to tie numerous observations on screen together to make a single season 3 prediction
it relies on this premise, which i'm about to build a case for:
the way the characters interact with the story is informed by the mythical/historical figures they are directly and indirectly coded as, but it’s not always in the way you’d expect, and some characters are coded in more than one way. we can still use these relationships as Clues to postulate where the story might go and how the characters will interact with one another.
this is by no means exhaustive, obviously. i’ve seen people say that Crowley is coded as Jesus, Aziraphale as Mary, and numerous other figures. i’m just pointing out some things i’ve noticed that I haven’t seen brought up as often.
we’ll start with Crowley, then go on to Sandalphon and Saraqael, then Gabriel, then Aziraphale. yes, it'll all lead up to something and i chose these characters in this order for a reason.
Crowley
so we obviously know he’s coded as Ashtoreth when he dresses up as Nanny Ashtoreth in season 1. yes, we will note that in the book, it’s very vaguely implied that Crowley and Aziraphale both hired Ashtoreth and Francis
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in season 2, when trying to get the deets on bae, Beelzebub offers Crowley a “hefty” promotion and then later tells him “you could be a duke of hell".
in researching Beelzebub, at some point I found out about Milton's Unholy Trinity in Paradise Lost, which includes Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Astaroth as the first heirarchy in Hell, and which has (seemingly) lent that idea to demonology in general.
Astaroth is often referred to as the "Great Duke of Hell."
so now with season 2, Crowley has been coded in the show as both the feminine and masculine demons derived from the eastern goddess Astarte.
note: coded != Crowley is literally Astaroth/Ashtoreth. it means we can infer things about the story through the coding
the obvious would be him becoming a duke of Hell somehow in season 3. i personally am not convinced the story will take that route, and it would be sad to see him end up back in hell. this coding is the least compelling for me. it could just be a Milton reference, or maybe, since at this point in season 2, we don’t know why Beelzebub wants Gabriel, this could be a Clue that Beelzebub was sincere. maybe it just shows how powerful Crowley could have been if he’d accepted the deal. or maybe it just adds weight to parallel the decision Aziraphale makes later when offered his own position of power. people have analyzed Crowley and Ashtoreth/Astarte before, and the book/show discrepancy is always brought up, so i'm ignoring that and just addressing the added layer of Astaroth coding. anyway, let's move on to the more interesting observations.
Sandalphon and Saraqael
i’m doing these two together because i’ve found what i believe to be a major connection between them based on Neil’s answer to this ask, a shared trait their mythical figures have, and Saraqael’s actions in the show.
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when Sandalphon is introduced in season 1, we learn that he was smiting and turning people into salt during Sodom and Gomorrah. then we see the direct connection Saraqael has with Sandalphon at the end of season 2, when Michael asks her to turn Maggie and Nina into salt pillars and her hand flys up.
but that’s not secret, is it?
you know what is, though?
the fact that she immediately recognizes Metatron in his human form, looks scared shitless for multiple shots, and then proceeds to act like it never happened when he starts addressing all the angels. she doesn’t let anyone know that she recognized him.
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do check out this post by @most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer with more shots and analysis of her reaction to Metatron.
still don’t believe me and think that reaction is nothing?
well, let me tell you something both the mythical figures Sandalphon and Saraqael have in common.
they both saw Metatron in his human form.
according to one source, Sandalphon was Metatron’s twin brother, and Sandalphon, like Metatron, was originally human.
in the book of 2 Enoch, Sariel/Saraqael was one of the angels who brought Enoch (human!Metatron) to Heaven.
if Sandalphon had been in that room at that moment, he’d also be secretly recognizing Metatron.
obligatory: remember what I said at the beginning of this post? we are using this coding to analyze the story and how the characters interact with it and eachother. you don’t believe that Sandalphon or Metatron were literally human at one point in GO? that’s fine. i’m just giving a reason why the author may have chosen Saraqael and Sandalphon to serve the same purpose in this scene
it isn’t crazy to think that a lot of the historical lore was used to inform the characters, and if you think it is, at least read about Gabriel first.
Gabriel
Gabriel is being coded…as the actual archangel (fucking) Gabriel. (and as Lord Jim from the novel of the same name by Joseph Conrad - the book Aziraphale glances at before choosing to call Gabriel Jim. but you can google the plot of Lord Jim and how it relates to Gabriel on your own time. it’s too much to get into right now.)
Gabriel is an archangel with the power to announce God’s will to mankind. He is associated with messages, vision, telecommunications, and revelation…
…and in the Bible he announces the birth of John the Baptist, and later, Jesus.
30 And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.
31 And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS
Luke 1:30-31
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"hey Sithis dude you will not believe this… God now grants that you may conceive seven more children…yippe!!”
let’s get back to that thing about him delivering messages and revelation though.
Gabriel starts off season 2 carrying a box to the book shop (that we think was empty but later find out had a fly in it as well as a message scrawled on the bottom about where his memory is)
he also tells Aziraphale that something terrible was going to happen to him so he had to give him something. you can take that as being the fly, and consciously it probably was, but throughout season 2 Gabriel is unconsciously and unintentionally giving other people messages.
ex.
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technically, a message “delivered” (dropped) by Gabriel, found by Muriel
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after Crowley not-so-nicely commands Gabriel to remember, Jimbriel says, in a voice that shifts to sound like God’s voice, “I remember when the morning stars sang together and all the angels of God shouted for joy." Crowley recognizes this as what God said to Job, and then another flashback of Job begins.
later, during another vision caused by Crowley mentioning the word tempest: "There will come a tempest then darkness and great storms and the dead will leave their graves and walk the earth once more, and there will be great lamentations... every day it's getting closer."
in the Hebrew Bible, Gabriel appears to the prophet Daniel, and explains his prophetic visions. in Good Omens though, Jim IS the prophet having prophetic visions through Gabriel.
when in the book shop with Aziraphale, Jimbriel starts to hum every day, which is what causes Aziraphale to search down the pub with the jukebox playing that song on repeat. we know from what Terry and Neil have said about every day that it’s the song of the apocalypse, but none of the characters know that, Gabriel included.
what does a song do?
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each message the archangel of (fucking) messages delivers is unconscious. not how you’d expect him to live up to his name, right? of course, if they are actually God’s messages, it makes sense that they’re useless, vauge, and well, ineffable. one last thing: spiritually, Gabriel’s messages and prophecies are often believed to be delivered through dreams (or in other words, the unconscious)
edit: this post by @noneorother actually inspired me to look at the mythology of archangel Gabriel, so it’s crucial you check it out. i’ve also seen a post somewhere that posits Gabriel shouldn’t even have some of the memories that go by really quickly before the flashbacks of him and Beelzebub, but i lost the link to it.
edit II: just wanted to add this post by @drconstellation, which analyzes the symbols coded into Jimbriel's clothing.
Aziraphale
it’s hard to ignore the fact that Aziraphale’s name is similar to Raphael, and that we’re missing an archangel Raphael. i’ll link some analysis on the meaning of Aziraphale’s name and share a quote from Terry, but this has all been said before. i want to look at who Raphael is mythologically to see if there’s similarities in Aziraphale’s character, and i also want to see if we can find out the relationship between Gabriel and Aziraphale, and why the latter was a suitable replacement.
Terry said about the name's origin:
"It was made up but... er... from real ingredients. [The name] Aziraphale could be shoved in a list of 'real' angels and would fit right in..."
For instance, Islam recognizes the Archangels Jibril, Mikhail, Azrael (see also the annotation for p. 9 of Reaper Man ), and Israfel (the subject of Edgar Allan Poe's well-known poem of the same name), whereas from Christianity we get such names as Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel.
the excerpt above was taken from here
NOW that that’s out of the way, who is archangel Raphael, the mythical figure?
Raphael’s name means “god heals.” it’s believed he helps people heal and overcome their struggles spiritually, physically, and mentally, and that he protects people on their journeys. he’s also considered to be the angel of joy, love, marriage, matchmaking, and travels.
as an example, in the Book of Tobit, God sends Raphael on a journey with a man named Tobias so that he can meet and woo his future wife. Raphael is also sent to heal her and Tobias’s blind, ageing father.
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all the people and things i can count just off the top of my head that Aziraphale has healed or protected:
Anathema (healed)
Anathema’s bike (healed)
the dove he accidentally killed (technically healed by Crowley in the book)
Jimbriel (literally tells Jim he promised he would protect him)
Maggie and Nina when the demons enter the bookshop (tells them he will protect them)
bonus: in a scene cut from season 1, he stops a baby’s stroller from crashing
…and one he couldn’t:
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collection of gifs of Aziraphale being full of joy:
you just have to look at Aziraphale smiling, especially at Crowley...
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...to know that he represents joy and lo--
oh, but wait, he’s known for hooking people up, right? in case you forgot: Maggie and Nina va voom? originally his idea
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similarly to the book of Tobit story I mentioned earlier, who did Aziraphale protect on his journey to meeting his beloved?
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remember: the characters don't know they're being coded as anything and they don't know what kind of story they're in, so while Aziraphale didn't know he was going to be reuniting two lovers when he protected Jim, he played the role Neil made for him. it doesn't matter that he didn't know in the same way that it doesn't matter that Crowley could have (potentially) been powerful, or in the same way that it doesn't matter that Gabriel's messages were delivered unconsciously.
one more thing. Raphael heals people spiritually, physically, and mentally, right?
so is it any surprise that Aziraphale thinks he can heal the *ahem* spiritual corruption in Heaven?
we're going to tinfoil hat theory-land now ya'll, but I swear all of these observations are leading up to something cohesive...
Why did Aziraphale replace Gabriel?
i'll spare you all the long theories about Metatron's reasons, although i quite like the idea that Metatron was listening in ever since Aziraphale opened the portal to discorporate the demons attacking the bookshop, and he saw Aziraphale use his halo to declare war in order to protect Maggie and Nina. this shows Metatron that when pushed into a corner, or when it means protecting someone, he can force Aziraphale's hand...even to war.
But can we find a link between Gabriel and Raphael mythically to explain it instead?
if you've made it this far, you know i've got an answer for you. i withheld one detail about Gabriel earlier. in Christianity, he is often associated with blowing the trumpet at the end times to announce Judgment Day.
"okay, so?"
well, do you remember the quote from Terry and the excerpt from lspace I mentioned earlier? when mentioning the origins of Aziraphale's name, the excerpt mentions both angels in Islam and Christianity. the counterpart to Raphael in Islam, is Israfil/Israfel...
who blows the trumpet to signal the Day of Judgment.
"but Aziraphale wouldn't do that!"
he wouldn't intentionally do it. he's not a villain.
you remember who didn't intend to start the apocalypse in season 1, but who was there and given a role to play, regardless of whether he wanted to?
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…the one who said no to heaven and hell and refused to be their pawn this time around when offered powerful positions by both?
Aziraphale, after nuking some demons with his halo, with painful foreshadowing: "I think I may have just started a war."
obligatory reiteration: the way the character-coding manifests is not literal, and it isn't always in the way you'd expect. there may be no literal trumpet. but i'm just pointing out the potential symmetry with season 1 in it being Aziraphale who "starts" apocalypse II.
one last thing: Raphael protects people on journeys, and helps them overcome their struggles — but now Aziraphale is on his own journey, and he will have to overcome his own moral struggles (ironically what Crowley helped him with)…alone.
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prokopetz · 4 months
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Hey! So I ran a one-shot of Eat God and we had a blast. I have some feedback to offer from both myself and my players (This was actually a while ago but I’ve been busy as hell so I’m only writing it up now, so I might have forgotten some things). 
First off, character creation was just as fun as advertised. My player’s all loved getting to choose their character’s traits and appearance and designing their deicidal muppets. The game’s mechanics also made it extremely easy to create looney-tunes style shenanigans, which both I and the character’s took full advantage of. 
At one point a character with the roving limbs trait was running away with a barrel containing another character (I put the character in the barrel) balanced on their legs while their top half distracted the town guards, a completely different character slipped into the sewers I hadn’t thought about and I had a chance to throw a surprise alligator at them, and a theocratic pastor said that he “carried God with him in his heart” (which ended exactly as anthropophagically as I had expected it too). I also got the great quote from one of my players “I swear to the god I want to eat.” 
I have a few critiques, a few suggestions for things to develop for future editions, and a few questions. My first critique is that I think that having tokens for obstinacy is a little distracting, since you keep track of everything else about your character on paper (we ended up using Sprite flavored tic-tacs that one of the player’s had in their bag) and would be better done on the character sheet. I also think the game could use a formal turn structure for high-pressure situations. It’s a game that promotes chaotic play, and with people popcorning in it got a bit loud and overwhelming. 
For future developments, I think that having more specific action types like attack, help, investigate, etc. would be helpful. Specifying the mechanical effects tied to some of the abilities, like being able to “stun” someone with Primordial Power and Dizzying Display, having a general movement speed that would be doubled by Fast Feet, being difficult to harm with Defensive Dermis, etc., would be useful for the GM. And more examples of NPC abilities would be useful, if only to have something to base homebrew on. 
There are also a few questions I had. First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat? 
Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity? Because I don’t believe any roll over a character’s facet would have no chance of triggering calamity, and similarly don’t believe that positive modifiers would increase the chance of calamity. 
Lastly, a general lesson I learned as a GM that I do not hold against your game: be careful how far you let your characters stretch the limits of their abilities in low pressure situations if you’re too socially anxious to retcon in high pressure ones. 
Ultimately I think it’s a great game and everyone had a great time. I meant to run another session but didn’t find the time, so I might have more feedback when I finally get around to that. For credits sake I’m Kendall R., my players wanted to be credited as Noc, Ladybug, and Brynne.
(With reference to this post here.)
I appreciate the feedback. With respect to your questions:
First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat?
There is not. Defining a more formal conflict framework with a specific round length is a potential addition to a future revision, albeit not one I'm committing to adding at this time.
Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity?
Dice rolls in Eat God are generally not modified in any way; the value of a particular die is the number you rolled on that die. Effect modifiers (which I assume are what you're referring to here) apply to the roll's Result, which is the number you get from carrying out the procedure described in "Rolling and Reading Your Result"; any comparison which does not explicitly refer to a roll's Result is referring to the values the dice are physically showing.
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talenlee · 15 days
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The Fundamentalist As Liar
Earlier this year I wrote about Michael Winger, a truly awful stain of a man with a more successful Youtube channel than mine so who’s so big and smart now huh and I wrote about that man’s particular tendency to claim sight unseen the illegitimacy of positions against him. What this usually means is that he argues that Atheists aren’t really Atheists, because,
then he presents a list of unconvincing reasons and eventually cooks down to ‘they just want to sin.’ Like, one of the favourites of this position is the idea that look, all the things you want to say about the arguments that have convinced you, those things aren’t that important because they’re just a smokescreen, a rhetorical assertion that stands in place because there’s a real, simple, emotional demand: I believe this because I want to believe this.
And I think, based on experience and reading a lot of these ding dongs’ writing reaching back two centuries, that uh, that’s because that’s how their worldview works, so they assume it’s how everyone’s does.
The Fundamentalist Christian is a liar who believes everyone believes lies.
I haven’t done any kind of comprehensive study. I haven’t met every Christian Fundamentalist. What I have to offer on this is the story of my experience and also my experience of all the people I’ve met since who slotted neatly into the mental software I was already running. Software is the best comparison I can make, where the fundamentalist viewpoint is a platform that runs some pretty reliable programs on top of it. Those programs are great, and you know it’s an operating system since it can run conflicting programs alongside one another without necessarily having any kind of fault in memory handling. My point is that I can open up any apologist channel in the year of our lord 2024 and hear one of the same small pool of bullshit narratives presented with the same bullshit assumptions built into them.
When you see the arguments used over and over again, when you correct flaws in the argument, over and over again, you quickly lose the ability to imagine that these people are aware of what they’re arguing and whether or not the argument is just a cloak of words they throw over how they feel about things. There are some really egregious cases of it, such as Ken Ham and Kent Hovind, who have been making the same arguments my entire life and contend with correction by ignoring it and repeating the same script when you’re not in the room.
But there’s also the apologetics of those who want to be seen as serious or big thinkers, the kinds of nobodies who think that they have the presence and awareness to attack actual scholarship, and they dress themselves up with a sense of seriousness, a sort of vast pomp that gets really pissy when you remind them that the book they’re trying to argue is infallible has a zombie apocalypse and multiple talking animals in it. ‘Well you would bring those up,’ they sneer as if reminding them of things that are true is somehow a low blow, an unfairness in the conversation. Oh, you, you’ve shown how unsophisticated you are by pointing out a book full of obvious fictions has obvious fictions in it, and if that was all this is that would work! It is pretty dumb to treat a book of folklore as if it’s a history textbook and demand it hold to that standard!
But they usually get around to admitting they think the talking animals are real.
There’s this one that’s really famous because there’s a serious-sounding condescending prick named William Lane Craig promoting it, the ‘Kalam Cosmological Argument.’ The argument runs as follows:
Everything that exists has a cause
The universe exists
Therefore the universe has a cause
And people keep looking at this and going: Well hang on, hang on, what says the universe has a cause? what about uncaused events? What about philosophical infinities? what about- when the much simpler response is ‘that’s fucking stupid.’ Because they don’t mean ‘the universe has a cause, period,’ they mean ‘the universe has a cause,’ deep breath, then subtle mumbling, ‘and that cause is the Christian god who I personally believe in as the best explanation for everything.’
And so you have this seriousness being used to adorn and address something which is really just being used to smuggle not into the idea of an actual philosophical point but rather recentre on this person’s fanfiction interpretetation of a few divine figures in a book of folklore in which, again, there are talking animals, unicorns, a global flood and a bunch of lies about prophecy.
Oh yeah, the lies about prophecy. Man, Christians love talking about how much prophecy Jesus fulfilled. They’ll tout lists, which they then are confident you won’t look at because if you do you find they’re very unsatisfying and tend to include things that haven’t happened yet. But more damning than that is if you look at the prophecies and go back to where they say they’re from, and then ask, say, a Rabbi who speaks the language of the book, you’ll find that uh, actually, that’s not what the Bible is about.
And then they introduce the idea of dual prophecies where there’s a prophecy about this thing that happened and the Rabbi’s version of events is true and supported, and then the other version with the rewritten words is actually also about Jesus, and please ignore the way that again, they change the wording. And this is serious. This is serious adults who get mad at you for not respecting their obvious fucking scam bullshit, because they believe it.
And they probably do!
That’s one of the funniest things about liars, they tend to wind up believing their lies. Oh sure they’ll know they made things up but the lie doesn’t sit in the brain over time and eventually they rewrite it, over and over, until eventually they’re not really lying, they’re basically telling the truth, they were telling the truth, and I don’t know what you mean about rewritten words. And then they’ll remember you as being rude or hostile or sad or angry and oh look at that they don’t have to worry about whatever it was you said. This is very consistent behaviour.
You may have heard this phrase, the idea that one’s faith is being tested. This is the idea that having to confront that reality sucks is a direct contest with the faith that people embrace. ‘You just gotta believe’ and ‘fake it till you make it.’ And what do they do about it? They lie. And any time you talk to someone about this kind of testing, they’ll usually say something like ‘well everyone is tested like that,’ which nobody seems to think is a problem. Like, hey, is it that universal that everyone winds up seeing mistakes and then everyone tells themselves it’s no big deal? It has the same energy as a person asserting ‘well look I’m straight and as a straight person I’m sure we all want to kiss that person of the same gender as me, that’s obvious’ and you have to be like okay, you know what that means right?
The assertation that people know what’s wrong rather than that they’ve proven wrong is very satisfying if your entire moral framework is based around your personal disgust. This means you wind up with a social framework that doesn’t just say ‘you’re right,’ but asserts even further, you are default. Christians Fundamentalists are so used to this default status it smooths over their fucking brains. The arguments don’t need consideration they just assert themselves, and then lie to themselves afterwards about the questions.
This is why they think so many things that people can’t readily choose are choices, and then that choices that people make are illegitimate because they veer away from the default.
Every Christian chooses what parts of the Bible to ignore. Even Fundamentalists. The Christians who aren’t Fundamentalists ignore that the Fundamentalists they claim to despise are using the same book and know it better than they do. And I mean this, they all choose what to ignore. For example, one of the most bananas things I’ve ever heard from a fundamentalist is that no, slavery isn’t bad, and it’s not bad because God told them how to do it, so clearly he’s okay with it which means it doesn’t follow at all, even in the American South that slavery was bad. Which is pretty amazing to consider because that’s a guy who doesn’t choose to lie to himself about that part of the book.
(Don’t worry, he’s got other bits he’s making shit up about.)
It was a breathtaking claim. After he said it I asked him how mum was doing, and he told me she’s doing fine and he looks forward to seeing me again soon.
Been a few weeks stewing on that one.
Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!
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iamfakeu · 1 year
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feel special
016. — valentines day
NOTE : if i ever make a 200+ followers event would yall read it 😭 also this sucks im literally half asleep weiting this (its like 5:25am)
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Today was the day you've been dreading the whole month. It was Valentines day. Originally, you planned on celebrating it with Nilou since her classes were cancelled but apparently, she had to leave due to an emergency.
So here you were, mining for diamonds in minecraft. The only other person online was Alhaitham and as much as you wanted to talk to him, you couldn't be bothered hoping on call.
Apparently he was streaming as well so you didn't want to disturb him.
Once collecting 24 diamonds, you head on back to your new base (A huge flourishing town a bit far from the others but close to Alhaitham and Dehya's based.)
The old castle was blown up due to a fight within the Inazumans (mostly Itto and Yoimiya.)
As you were placing all your stuff into the chests, you heard a knock from your door in real life.
You got up to open it and it was a delivery person. How weird, you didn't order anything?
The delivery guy didn't mention who it was from but he did say it wasn't harmful. It was pretty suspicious but the wrapping paper around the box was too nice to be some sort of deadly thing.
You sat back down on your gaming chair while you reached towards your pen holder for a box cutter. You looked up to your screen to see Alhaitham's character trying to write something on a sign in front of you. He soon placed a chest and walked away.
'y/nxrobertpattinson: why are you here?'
'4lhaitham: I'm giving out Valentine's gifts across the server. Would you join VC?'
You couldn't really resist that offer. So, you placed the box down and joined the vc.
"Happy Valentines day, Y/N. How are you today?" He asks.
"Helloooo! I was about to open this weird package I received. Should I open it with my cam on?"
"Go ahead. My chat wouldn't mind."
There was something about his voice right now. He was definitely up to something.
You cut through the tape that was holding together the wrapper and tore it all off. Next, you opened the box and...
It was a picture of you and Alhaitham with a letter accompanying it.
'Thank you for being a great friend and celebrating my birthday with me. I consulted Kaveh with what you’re interested in and bought the stuff within this box. If you don’t like it, you’re allowed to give it back.
Enjoy your Valentines Day,
—Alhaitham
p.s. I won’t call you doll anymore since I’ve failed to realise how you actually feel about it. Consider that apart of the gift.’
Obviously, you didn’t read it out loud. But the smile on your face was enough for Alhaitham to know that you appreciate the gift.
Him and his chat watched how you took out the gifts one by one.
The first one was a huge cat plushie. One that you have been eyeing when you and Kaveh were out shopping.
Next was a large hoodie. Another thing you were eyeing when you were out with Kaveh.
The last one was a small ring. It had a green center piece and it was just… amazing.
“I never really had a Valentines gift this big. I just can’t express my thanks… To whoever gave me this of course!” You forgot how you and Alhaitham were on stream.
With this reaction comes scepticism from the viewers. 50% of them knew it was Alhaitham who gave it and 40% was apparently a secret partner (different people depending on who you asked but in this case let’s just say kaeya) and the last 10% was apparently from a stalker fan who’m the crazy fans of Alhaitham believed and was using this time to ‘promote themselves on poor bby alhaitham’
But with this gifts, it made you realise something you really didn’t consider.
What if you liked him?
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🖋 # list : @makimakimi @toqbio @starryeyedkoko @baelloraa @sammybeefangirls @haithamlove @akagism2 @prefesro @catgirlwannabe @ittosoneandoniwife @sukunasrealgf @sharkiestory @kunikuzushisbeloved @thelonelyarchon @i4fliss @sunsethw4 @achilleas-dream @ieathairs @hypernovaxx @sassy-cat-in-town @crowbird @im-bili @xiaossocksniffer @imkaaayy @certaindreampost @prime-yumi @amaruthine <3
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©2023 iamfakeu, do not copy :)
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nanowrimo · 10 months
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Unlocking the 8 Secrets of Web Novels
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If you’re looking to try something new this Camp NaNoWriMo, why not a web novel? Participant Eitan Estheim talks about what a web novel is and how to get started on your episodic writing adventure! The act of writing has been with us for a long time, but that doesn't prevent us from learning different ways to approach it, especially when we take advantage of the new technologies that are emerging.
Web novels (and their variants) are original stories that are published on the internet in chapters, instead of offering the finished product from the beginning. They resemble self-publishing because the author takes care of the entire process (writing, editing, publishing, promotion), and fanfiction because they maintain close contact with the readers.
Generally, authors usually offer their content for free on the internet. However, some authors will publish in advance on Patreon to offer incentives and get monthly paid subscriptions as if it were the Netflix of books.
I've been doing this for a while now and, although I don't have the impact of other writers, that hasn't stopped me from learning a lot in the process. With this in mind, I'm going to tell you what I’ve learned, both on my own and thanks to others.
1. Choose where to publish your web novel. Nowadays, there are several platforms such as Wattpad, Royal Road, Tapas or Kindle Vella, among many others. Some are more suitable for romance and contemporary stories, while others highlight fantasy or litRPG. Keep this in mind before deciding where you want to start.
2. Be prepared. Unlike other ways of publishing a book, a web series requires regular updates. This means you need to create content frequently. As a result, many authors choose to have several weeks of chapters prepared. This ensures they can continue publishing while writing the next chapters, along with all the additional tasks that this entails.
3. Be realistic with your time. Referring to the previous point, we need to take a moment to consider everything we must do: write new content, make sure it's in good condition for publication (editing), promote on social media, etc. Many of us have jobs and responsibilities, so we must be aware of how much we can accomplish each day.
4. Every story is unique. What works for one author may not work the same for another. Some decide to publish short chapters from Monday to Friday, while others prefer to do it once or twice a week. Consider your situation and learn as you go to figure out what works best for you.
5. Take care of yourself. If you push yourself too hard, both in external obligations and in your own projects, you will reach a point where you will exhaust yourself (and that's if you're lucky). Just like in life itself, prioritize your physical and mental health, fulfill your responsibilities, and give yourself the opportunity to write under the best possible conditions.
6. Share your story. Maybe you're like me and prefer to dedicate your time to writing, planning, and editing because that's what you enjoy the most. It's understandable, but how will you get others to read your work? Get moving! Use social media, Facebook groups, and other methods because if you want others to value your work, you must make them aware of it.
7. Find your balance. Just like in any other writing project, there will be times when you write less and dedicate more time to editing or preparation. You may have periods where you write less, but that doesn't mean your productivity is lower; it just means there are other equally important tasks you must perform. Finding the right balance will allow you to progress in your short, medium, and long-term projects.
8. Take care of your readers. Remember what I mentioned about Patreon? It's not only a way for authors to receive some compensation for their work, but they also offer incentives to their followers. Most choose to offer chapters in advance, but they can also provide exclusive access to Discord/Guilded servers, EPUB/PDF files to continue reading on other devices, unlimited scenes, and a variety of other things. Just think about what you would like to have as a reader, and I'm sure you'll come up with many ideas. All of us here know how complex and exhausting writing can be, regardless of the project we're working on. However, it's equally rewarding to see our story taking shape and sharing it as if it were our own TV series. You just need to mold it in the way you desire and keep on writing!
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Eitan Estheim, a passionate web serial writer hailing from Spain, is a humble virtuoso of storytelling. From an early age, armed with nothing more than a trusty notebook, Eitan embarked on a literary journey fueled by lots of chocolate. His insatiable thirst for knowledge knows no bounds, as he tirelessly hones his craft to captivate readers. Eitan's web books, spanning fantastical realms and heartfelt LGBT dramas, written in Spanish and English, mark the beginning of his promising writing career. Follow his journey on Patreon! You can also visit his website, Tumblr, Instagram, or Pinterest. Photo by MART PRODUCTION from Pexels
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m1ckeyb3rry · 3 months
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Pomegranate Ink: XXV
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Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.
Chapter Synopsis: A veil comes down in Shibuya, with tragic consequences.
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Series Masterlist
Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader
Chapter Word Count: 9.8k
Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included
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A/N: ok i’m ngl i doubt this is what you all are expecting when it comes to shibuya pomegranate ink version but oh well it does what it needs to for narrative purposes. sorry
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“The situation is definitely strange,” you said, using one of the needles you hadn’t cursed yet to clean under your nails. “I mean, what reason would there be to put a curtain down on Shibuya?”
“I don’t know,” Tullia said. “A part of me is worried, because this is so out of the ordinary, but at the same time, can you believe it? This is my first mission since my promotion!”
Ever since your classmates had heard that you and Todo had recommended them for Grade 1 status, they had been over the moon about it. Maki, especially, had been close to tears when she heard the news, hugging you tightly and thanking you over and over again for it. You had assured all of them that you really believed they deserved it and weren’t just doing it because they were your friends, and from that moment onwards they had been showing off in front of you, like they wanted to prove that they were worthy of the designation.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t count towards one of your supervised missions. I’m the one who gave you your initial recommendation, so I can’t give you another one, you see,” you said. Tullia shrugged.
“It’s okay. I’ve missed working with you, so it’s not a big deal! It’ll be just like old times,” she said. You wiped off the needle and then cursed it before putting it away with the rest of them, making sure the pouch was securely closed and then setting it in your pocket where it usually stayed.
“Hopefully, Gojo’s able to take care of it and we don’t have to do anything. As much as I’d love to go on a mission with you again, I don’t know if I like the situation here. If I had my way, we’d be somewhere else, doing nothing,” you said.
“Can you detect something with your cursed signature detection?” she said. You shook your head.
“Not with that veil in the way. I’m sure if we go in, I’ll be hit with it all at once,” you said.
When a mysterious veil had fallen over Shibuya station, several sorcerers had been called to the scene. There were five teams that you could think of off the top of your head, though you knew there were a couple of other, unrelated sorcerers also around: one consisted of Naobito, Maki, and Nobara, another was Nanami, Megumi, and Ino, a third was Mei Mei, her brother Ui Ui, and Itadori, the fourth was Kusakabe and Panda, and the final team was you and Tullia. However, all of you were meant to be on standby — Gojo was the one who would go in and take care of things. He was strong enough to do whatever it took, so you weren’t worried.
“Oh, so you’re just generally having a bad feeling,” Tullia said.
“Aren’t you?” you said. “This whole thing isn’t right, especially since Mechamaru was revealed to be a traitor. There’s something going on, and I don’t doubt that those disaster curses have something to do with it.”
“It’s Gojo, though. Do you really think he’ll have any issues, even if he is fighting those things?” she said.
“That’s actually very fair,” you said. “You’re right, I’m worrying about nothing. Sorry to bring down the mood.”
“Not at all. I’d be surprised if you weren’t worried; after all, our team is just the two of us, so if we have to go in, then we only have each other to trust,” she said.
“There’s no one I’d rather have by my side,” you said. It made sense that you and she were assigned together once again; she was the reason you could use Composition, so there was no better place for her than with you. Besides, your techniques worked well together, as you specialized in ranged attacks and she was stronger in close combat, making you effective at fighting alongside one another.
“When will we know to go inside?” Tullia said. “I don’t want us to be late or anything.”
“I’m sure one of the assistant managers will let us know,” you promised. As if you had summoned them just by speaking, your phone rang. When you looked at the caller ID, it showed Ijichi’s contact, his picture the selfie you had taken of the two of you when he had dropped you off on your first official mission as a Grade 1 sorcerer proper.
“It’s time now,” he said briskly, hanging up before you could even say anything. You didn’t blame him; he had to pass on the same message to the others, and there was no time for politeness in such high-stakes situations. Instead, you put your phone away and turned back to Tullia.
“Ijichi says it’s time. Are you ready?” you said. She patted herself down.
“Tetrodotoxin, cyanide, good old bleach, arsenic, and — look what Gojo got for me to celebrate my promotion!” she said, pulling out a glimmering glass bottle. “Botulinum toxin! It’s the stuff they use for botox, but apparently in large doses it’s one of the most poisonous biological substances known. This is definitely going to be good.”
You grimaced. “Please keep that close to you at all times. It’ll kill anyone else that comes in contact with it.”
“I know, I know. I’m very responsible with my poisons, both because some of them are massively expensive and because they’re so dangerous to other people,” Tullia said. “Do you have everything?”
“I’ve cursed all of my needles,” you said. “That’s all I can do.”
“Let’s get going, then. We shouldn’t waste time,” she said.
“Wait. Tullia, you’re sure about this? I’m a Grade 1 sorcerer, so I have to go, but you’re just a student. You can stay back if you want,” you said. “I always ask so much of you, and you always put me first. You can decide not to this time. I won’t be mad.”
She waved you off. “I’m a Semi-Grade 1 now, so I need to start doing this kind of thing more regularly anyways. Come on, if Ijichi told you to come inside the veil then there’s probably a real reason he did so, so we shouldn’t dawdle.”
“Okay. See you on the other side,” you said.
“See you on the other side, Y/N,” she said.
Then, before you could hesitate further or second guess yourselves, you stepped into the veil, leaving the outside world behind, taking that leap into the unknown without looking back — because you were sorcerers, and that was what sorcerers did.
Almost before you had even finished entering the veil, you were bowled over by the immensely malevolent presences lurking in the area. The concentration of curses was greater than you had ever experienced, even greater than it had been during the Night Parade, or maybe it wasn’t that there were more curses but rather that those which were present were on a different level entirely.
And that familiar presence. It was only because Tullia was there and things were so similar to what they had been last Christmas Eve, but you realized where you knew that cursed signature from.
“Suguru Geto?” you muttered.
“Hm? Did you say something, Y/N?” Tullia said. You thought about telling her what you had just figured out, but there wasn’t a point, at least not until you had more information confirming it. Though you didn’t think you were mistaken, there had to be some other explanation for the familiarity of the residuals beyond a dead man walking once more.
“Never mind,” you said. “Now, what should we—”
“Nanami! Y/N! Gojo’s been sealed! Did you hear me? Nanami! Y/N! Gojo has been sealed!”
It was Itadori’s voice which interrupted your thoughts, his screams echoing from somewhere far away. You looked at Tullia for confirmation, but it was evident that she had heard him too, judging by her blown pupils and the panicked set to her mouth.
“Gojo’s been what?” she whispered.
“Sealed?” you said. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
Gojo was Gojo. He was your teacher. He was more than that, actually, he was like a part of your family. Your whole family, even. He was the man that had saved you from your previous life and taught you how to be strong. He was strong; he was strength itself, personified. So what did it mean for him to be sealed? How did that compute?
“It’s probably temporary,” Tullia said. “Right?”
You swallowed, shaking your head to clear it. This wasn’t the time for thoughts like this. You were in charge of both yours and Tullia’s wellbeing at the moment, and you were in an incredibly volatile area. You had to set aside your emotions and focus on the logic of what was happening.
“I don’t know how it’s happened, but yes, that’s correct. No method of permanent sealing exists, so if the curses have managed to seal Gojo, then we can definitely undo it. We just have to find him and get him out of their grasp,” you said.
“That should be our priority, then, yes?” she prompted. You were grateful to her for the steady guidance, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to go on if you didn’t have her cheery self with you. It was not just her cursed energy that was so vital to your operation; her optimism managed to counteract your occasionally more pessimistic outlook, ensuring that you could think clearly even when you just wanted to wallow in despair.
“Yes. We’ll have to be careful, because if these curses were capable of sealing even Gojo, then who knows what else they can do? There’s no doubt that Mount Fuji and the plant curse will be here, as well as the patchwork curse that Itadori and Nanami had to fight, plus whatever other allies they have. Whatever happens next, it’s going to be difficult,” you said.
“When is it not?” Tullia said rhetorically.
“This time is different, though. This time, it doesn’t matter if we risk death. We have to keep going. We cannot win if we don’t have Gojo, so we must be prepared to give up anything and everything if it means saving him,” you said.
“Okay,” she said. “Where should we go first?”
“The station,” you said. “That’s where I detect the most signatures gathered together, so it’s a sure bet that he’s there, too.”
“Lead the way,” she said, downing an entire bottle of arsenic and then tossing it to the side, following after you as you raced towards the station at top speed, taking the stairs two at a time until you reached a tiled room which seemed to be devoid of anyone. Skidding to a stop, you motioned for Tullia to do the same.
“It looks empty,” you said. “But someone’s here. Be on your guard; whoever it is, they’re powerful.”
When you thought about it, this signature, too, was one you recognized. There was a hot, angry edge to it, pulsing with rage and fire as it stalked around the room in search of something to explode at. It was none other than the volcano-head you had met at the restaurant the other day, but for some reason, he was staying concealed for the moment. It was only a matter of time before he picked up on yours and Tullia’s presence in the room, though, and then you were definitely in trouble, so you put your finger on your lips and jerked your head towards the stairwell, indicating for Tullia to follow your lead. If you could just sneak out before he noticed you…
“You’re not the person I wanted to see, but I suppose you’re good enough for the moment, Y/N L/N,” the aged voice of the curse rang out as flames burst in the stairway, trapping you in the room with the curse as he rounded a corner and revealed himself, looking as grotesque as he had the day you had met the first time.
“Mount Fuji,” you greeted tersely. “You never told me your real name, so I hope you’re alright with me calling you that.”
“It’s Jogo!” the curse screeched, steam pouring out of his ears. “My name is Jogo, and don’t you ever refer to me in such a demeaning way again!”
The heat from the fire Jogo had set in the stairwell was so high that it was making your skin burn from just the proximity to it, so reluctantly, you took a step forward, away from the fire but consequently closer to the curse.
“Fine, Jogo. What have you and your lot done to Gojo?” you said, brandishing a needle and holding it in front of you protectively. It was more a placebo than anything; you doubted a single needle would be enough to take out this curse, unless you were able to use Dissection and aim at one of the weak spots that would then be made apparent.
“Satoru Gojo? We sealed him in a prison realm. Who’s going to save you now, huh?” he said, leering at you with blackened teeth, smoke belching from the crater atop his head.
A prison realm. Well, that type of thing was probably the only reliable way to deal with someone like Gojo, but it made rescuing him a lot more painful for you. Even if you managed to obtain the realm in which Gojo was contained, you’d have to then figure out how to unseal him, and then you’d have to hope that the manner in which you went about doing that was something that you could actually manage to accomplish.
“We’ll get him back,” you said. “Don’t think that we won’t.”
“Not if I kill you here and now,” Jogo said, flames dancing at his fingertips when he spoke. You spun your needle between your fingers, a new nervous habit you had picked up on recently.
“It doesn’t matter if you do. Even if Tullia and I are gone, someone will get to him. If it’s not us, then it’ll be one of the others. I don’t have to be the hero who saves him. As long as he’s saved,” you said. “So go on. Do your worst, if that’s what you’re set on doing. But just remember that by killing me, you are forfeiting any chance of Sukuna coming to your aid.”
It was a bluff. You had come to this conclusion while you were talking: you did not want to die. Maybe it made you a coward, but you didn’t want to get hurt. You didn’t want anyone you cared about to be injured. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want your friends to die. But your words were true in one way: it didn’t matter if you did die, in the end, even if you were scared to. You were not the one who would turn the tides of this battle.
Except there was something only you could do. Something that Sukuna needed you for. This was where your importance came from. That was why they wanted you. It wasn’t because you were strong. It wasn’t because you were a particularly talented sorcerer. It was because for some reason, the King of Curses had decided you were a person he could not kill.
Lava bubbled over the rim of the volcano on Jogo’s head, dripping down his forehead like sweat, his eye glazing over as the flames in the staircase grew to an all-time high. You grabbed Tullia’s hand and squeezed it, trying to communicate without words what you wanted to say. He’s angry. He doesn’t care. Get ready.
Discreetly, she took out another bottle of arsenic and drank it. You thought that it was just about time for the botulinum toxin, but it wasn’t your cursed technique, so you wouldn’t presume to dictate to her what she should and shouldn’t be ingesting at any given moment.
“You’re right,” Jogo said. “I can’t kill you, at least not until we awaken Sukuna and figure out what, exactly, he wants from you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you in the meantime, does it? Yes, that sounds like a good plan. I’m sure Sukuna will be pleased to see you burnt beyond the point of recognition, anyways; after all, I’ve heard that he harbors no love for you.”
You had no response to this. You had picked up on the intense hatred Sukuna had for you, too — it seeped out of his very being, so potent it took on a life of its own, like every cell in Sukuna’s body had its own equivalent dedicated solely to despising you, that vitriol braided into every fiber of his being. Jogo was likely correct; as long as you were still alive, Sukuna would probably delight at seeing you in pain.
“What do we do?” Tulla said under her breath as Jogo began to cackle.
“We fight, and we win,” you said.
“That’s it?” she said.
“Always is,” you said wryly. She scoffed.
“Do we just go improv?” she said.
“I have no idea what his abilities are, so we’re going to have to,” you said. “Do you trust me?”
“More than anything,” she said.
“And I trust you, so it’ll be fine. We can do this,” you said. “Just follow my lead, and I’ll follow yours. Deal?”
“Deal,” she said.
“I forgot!” Jogo said, clapping his hands together. “There’s nothing stopping me from killing her!”
He pointed at Tullia, and out of nowhere, large wasps manifested behind him, buzzing and dancing through the air towards her. You threw your needles at them, and though some made contact, there were so many in the swarm that it didn’t matter. Although Tullia tried to dodge and avoid them, it was futile — they followed her every step of the way, Jogo watching her keenly, watching how her feet slid against the freshly-washed tiles, and how she struggled to swat the insects away.
You took advantage of the moment to use Dissection on him, identifying his weak spots while you had the chance to. His eye, the volcano on his head, his jaw, and the nape of his neck glowed green, and you did not hesitate to fling a needle at him, aiming for the largest target: the volcano.
Right when the needle was about to strike, a chasm opened in the ground below him, spewing flames that melted the needle into a useless heap of metal at his feet. At the same time, in unison, the wasps emitted a piercing sound, surrounding Tullia, covering her entire body and then detonating, smoke and flame and ash billowing up in clouds around her.
“No!” you screamed, physically feeling the loss in your stomach. Tullia’s cursed energy, which you had grown accustomed to always being connected with yours, was suddenly gone, leaving you barren and empty. It made your movements unsure, your mind foggy as you tried to compensate for what had just been stolen from you.
Jogo took advantage of the moment to wrap one searing palm around your bicep, burning the flesh away with a smug grin on his face. You kicked and wailed, trying to pull free, but he held fast. You used your free hand to pull out a needle and stab it into his hand, but it was like you were suffering from a withdrawal or a hangover. You had grown so adapted to Tullia’s cursed energy that without it, you were nothing. You couldn’t do anything. You had been healing and fighting when you were only supposed to do one, and now that you didn’t have a buffer there to deal with the repercussions of it, you were facing them all at once.
“Let go of me!” you sobbed. Purple blood streamed from Jogo’s hand as you dragged the needle through his wrist, and he growled at you, upping his temperature so that this needle, too, evaporated into nothingness.
“I don’t think so,” he hissed. “You’ve been an impertinent little bitch, and even though I can’t kill you, I’m going to make you wish you were dead.”
“She said to let go!” a familiar voice said, and suddenly a fist was ramming into Jogo’s head, knocking him back and sending him flying across the room. He slammed into a wall, and cursed energy flared through your body once more. “Use Composition on your arm before you lose it, quickly! I’ll be fine, I’ve had enough poison that you could probably heal an entire army and I’d be alright.”
“Tullia?” you said. “How did you—?”
“As soon as I saw him using fire, I dosed up on arsenic,” she said as you took a tiny bit of her energy to heal your arm, which Jogo had burnt to the bone. The flesh and muscle regenerated around it, not even a scar left due to the perfection of Composition as a Reverse Cursed Technique. “It’s fire resistant, so I was able to survive the insects’ initial onslaught. It’s not a permanent solution, but it worked in a pinch. Now come on and get your head in the game; you’re a Grade 1 sorcerer, for crying out loud!”
Her clothes were tattered and singed, her hair uneven and choppy, entire chunks missing from where it had crumbled away entirely. Her face and body were covered in burns, but burns could be healed, hair could be regrown, and clothes could be changed. She was alive, and that was what was important.
“Right,” you said. “I’ve been doing a bad job at showing that, haven’t I? Okay, listen, his weak spots are the volcano, the eye, the nape of his neck, and his jaw. He’s been melting the needles I throw at him, though, so I’ve been out of luck in trying to fight him because of that.”
“I guess you could say he’s too hot to handle,” she said with a snicker before composing herself. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, still reeling at her death and then at the fact that she wasn’t dead at all. She took another drink of arsenic, giving you a firm nod.
“I can probably go hand to hand and aim for those weak spots, but I doubt I’m strong enough to do any significant damage, and I don’t have Sukuna’s protection the way you do,” she said.
“No, you don’t have to do that,” you said. “I’m going to do it myself. You just have to protect me. Distract him when he starts to hurt me again, and I’ll hit him before he can even think about killing you.”
This time, you did not even wait for Jogo to attack first. You went on the offensive, Tullia staying close enough to you that Jogo did not dare send a wide-ranging attack towards her for fear of catching you in the crossfire. You tossed out a handful of needles to serve as a distraction, but like all the others, they liquefied once they got within an arms’ length of Jogo.
Volcanic openings appeared in the ground in front of you as you ran, spitting out lava at random. There was no time to think as you leapt and swerved — you were acting purely on instinct, each footfall nothing more than guesswork. The wrong one meant death. The right one meant survival. But who could tell which was which? The ends of your sleeves caught on fire at one point, and you had to beat them against your side in order to put them out, but even then you could not pause, not when you were so close, not when there was no escape, not when this confrontation could only end in one of two ways: your death or his.
You reached him first, punching him in the jaw. Without the specific refinement and cursed energy of your needles, it didn’t exorcise him instantly, and anyways he was a special grade, so one hit wouldn’t have been enough to do the job regardless, but it did cause him pain. You could tell because he groaned at the contact, and his mouth hinged open for a moment, hanging there as he breathed fire at you, more steam pouring out from his ears when he did. You ducked out of the way of the blast, and before he could redirect his attack, Tullia kicked him in the back of the head. You rolled to your feet in the meanwhile, digging your fingers into his neck, gouging into it, his flesh and blood stuck under your nails when you pulled away to backhand him and then flip over the volcano that opened beneath your feet.
You continued like that, the three of you settling into a rhythm of sorts. You would strike, and then Tullia would attack before Jogo could turn his ire upon you. Then, right when he was about to retaliate against Tullia, you would lash out once more. He was at a definite disadvantage, not because of skill but because he could not kill you. You knew for a fact that if it were not for Sukuna’s threat weighing on his mind, he would’ve annihilated you already. But he could not, not if he ever wanted to be successful in his eventual goals, and you and Tullia abused that fact, pummeling him without care, dodging whatever he sent your way — or sometimes not even that. You could not count the amount of times that one of you burst into flames, barely managing to put it out in time to keep fighting.
There was a kind of clarity that you felt in that moment. You were no longer Y/N L/N. You were no longer anyone. And neither was Tullia; she wasn’t a person but an extension of yourself, as you were an extension of her, as you were both two halves of a greater whole and Jogo was the unspoken third which you could not exist without. Dissection and Composition and the burning body in between you. The healer and the empty glass and the fire-like-wine which filled you. There would be no one to fight without him. There would be no one to heal without him. That was the truth of sorcerers and curses: you both could not exist without one another, like a cyclical, self-contained plague. Who would you kill if not your counterpart? It was in your nature. You were born to fight Jogo, as Jogo was born to fight you. And if not him, if not you, then another, and another, and another, until one side could possibly win — if a victory which led to erasure could be considered as such.
If there were no curses, there would be no sorcerers. If there were no sorcerers, there would be no curses. There was no curse theory or scientific backing to support this thought. It was just something you knew in that instant, as you fought Jogo. It was one of those things you felt, a truth that resounded in your bones as surely as the fire which danced along your skin every time Jogo counterattacked.
You were beating him. He was weak now, but still frenzied, still overtaken by the rush of the fight, adrenaline and arrogance overtaking his reason, his higher-order thinking. It shouldn’t have been this simple, but for that one precious second, you allowed yourself to believe it. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe you and Tullia had really done it, that you had managed to exorcise a special grade of this magnitude. You allowed yourself to believe that you could move on and return to seeking out Gojo now.
“Domain Expansion,” Jogo gasped out, raising his hands, not to attack but for another purpose entirely. He must’ve given up on not wanting to kill you. He must’ve realized that there was this other way that he could wipe you out without having to worry about you anymore.
“Tullia!” you shouted desperately, shoving at her, trying to push her away with all your strength, no longer worrying about Jogo. “Tullia, run! You have to run!”
It was too late. She gazed at you, and you could see in her eyes that she knew what was happening, that she understood it was too late for her to escape, just like it was too late for you. As a mountain began to form around you, she embraced you, pressing her cheek to yours, her lips to your ear.
“Until the end, we keep fighting,” she said. “Even if we’re in his Domain, we keep fighting. Right? We’ll weaken him enough that maybe — maybe one of the others can do it, can get rid of him for good.”
Your voice cracked when you spoke. “Yes.”
“Thank you for being my friend,” she said.
“Thank you for being mine,” you said.
“Coffin of the Iron Mountain!” Jogo declared, rejuvenated by the power of the Doman Expansion, even though by all rights it should’ve drained him further. As the Domain completed, you and Tullia found yourselves standing inside of an enormous volcano, rocks crashing down and lava bubbling in the corners.
“Hold on a second. You said that that curse could perform a Domain Expansion. What if it pulls that out? Does she have any counter to that?” Nanami said. “If she doesn’t, then it’s totally irresponsible of you to send her. Even more irresponsible than I ever thought you’d be.”
“Um,” Gojo said. “Y/N? Do you have a counter for that?”
“Wow, Gojo,” you said. “I can’t believe you didn’t think of that. Thank you for the concern, Nanami, sir, but as the case may be, I actually do have something I can use if things come to it, so I’ll be alright.”
You had learnt it from Noritoshi. He himself had never had the strength to accomplish it, but he had talked to you about it one day, back before you had even come to the school. He was the academic type, and he had studied the theory so carefully that he managed to explain that secret of the Big Three clans to you in the simplest way. He had been so skilled at explaining it to you, in fact, that you had managed to replicate it before even he could, much to his chagrin.
He had still been proud of you, vowing to work just as hard so that he could do it, too. The way that the Big Three clans countered Domain Expansions, even when they weren’t strong enough to lay out one of their own: you were the only outsider that had the knowledge, and even then it was only because you would one day be a Kamo. Though you generally detested the clans, you supposed you had them to thank for this one thing, for the reason why Jogo’s Domain did not immediately kill you.
“Falling Blossom Emotion,” you said, a layer of cursed energy creeping over you and shielding you from the flames and rocks of the volcanic Domain. Thus protected, you shifted to take stock of Tullia, knowing that unlike you, she didn’t have a defense against the sure-hit effect of the Domain.
Fire was licking up her legs and arms, but she was alive, determination sparkling in her eyes. The arsenic was probably the only reason she hadn’t completely burnt away yet, but you both knew that that would not last forever.
“You have a way to protect yourself?” she said.
“I do!” you said.
“Good!” she said.
“The arsenic seems to be protecting you for now. We just need to weaken him enough that he can’t maintain his Domain before it wears off, and then I can use Composition to heal you before we keep going,” you said.
“Let’s get a move on, then,” she said. “I can’t die quite yet, you know. I still have to tell someone that I love them.”
Together, stride for stride, heartbeat for heartbeat, the two of you did the exact opposite thing you were supposed to do when in a Domain: you sprinted towards the caster. The Lord of the Iron Mountain, the volcanic curse Jogo, that damned creature which you should’ve been fleeing from, but instead of doing that, you ran right towards him, you needles guiding the way, the air shimmering from the heat, the fire slowly overtaking Tullia’s body, her lower lip trembling from the effort of holding her screams in.
“You dare to challenge me in my own Domain?” Jogo shouted. “I will crush you like the insects you are! Let it always be remembered who the true humans are!”
He truly had forgotten about Sukuna, or maybe he no longer cared. The latter seemed unlikely, though; more accurately, he was probably so caught up with the rush of the battle that everything came second to the tantalizing prospect of winning.
Rocks came crashing down in huge landslides. They slid off the cursed energy of Falling Blossom Emotion without touching you, which meant that Tullia bore the brunt of it, raising her charred forearms to protect herself from the volley — but they just kept coming, in larger and larger quantities and sizes. But still, you kept going, kept running, because what else was there to do but that? What else was there to do but run?
“Y/N,” Tullia called out from behind you. “You have to be the one to do it! Keep going. Ignore whatever happens to me, okay? You can’t shut down again, because you are the one that has to do it!”
“Wait,” you said as a boulder twice even Todo’s size pinned her legs to the ground. “Wait, no, that’s not right!”
“Go,” she said. “If you don’t forget about me, he wins! Keep going!”
Elakshi was sitting by herself on a bench, slicing an apple and eating it as she went. You sat across from her, waiting for her to speak. She had been the one to suggest the meeting time and spot, so you thought it was only fair for her to say something first, but she waited until after her entire apple was finished to talk.
“Good afternoon, Y/N,” she said. “Sorry, I got carried away.”
“It’s okay,” you said, bemused at how intently she had been eating the apple, to the point that she had not noticed nor cared that you were there, too. “I think we both want to talk about the same thing.”
“Your weakness?” she guessed, using a napkin to wipe the juice off of her knife. “That’s what I’m here to tell you about, even though my classmates would be furious if they knew.”
“Do you think so?” you said.
“We have one more year of exchange events against each other, don’t we? I’m just making it harder for myself if I tell you this. That’s part of the fun to me, though, and besides you’re the one that saved me, so at minimum I owe you for that time,” she said.
“You don’t owe me. I was just doing my job,” you said. “I’d appreciate it if you told me what you and Noritoshi figured out, though.”
“Love,” she said, getting straight to the point. You almost jumped at the directness with which she now spoke. “That’s your weakness.”
“My weakness…is love? I don’t see how that works,” you said.
“Call it love, or empathy, or what have you. It’s all the same concept: we can hurt you the best by hurting your friends, the people you care about. That’s when you get distracted. That’s when you give up. You have a heart that bleeds for others, the kind of heart that’s always wanting to help someone else, but not everyone in the world deserves to be helped, and sometimes, you have to abandon your friends for the greater good,” she said.
“Huh? Why would I do that? What good is there in abandoning the people I care about?” you said. She wrinkled her nose.
“There it is again. That’s the reason why you threw yourself in front of that branch for Maki Zenin. That’s the reason I knew you’d fall for my bluff and try to heal me, even though no normal sorcerer would ever care that much about their opponent. There is no version of you that doesn’t jump before that branch, just as there is no version of you that doesn’t stop to use Composition on me,” she said.
“Of course not,” you said. “You’re my friend, and I care about you. And Maki is Maki. All I knew at that moment was that I could not let her die.”
Elakshi considered this. “Your emotions, your love for others, makes it impossible for you to see the big picture. You saved Maki in the moment, but you took yourself — a Grade 1 sorcerer — out of the fight, therefore putting everyone else at risk. You healed me in the moment, but you left yourself and Tullia vulnerable to my retaliation. I admire you, and this definitely isn’t me saying that you aren’t strong or something, but if you ever want to work past this, then you have to come to terms with the fact that there will be times when you can’t protect someone.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m meant to be a healer after all,” you said. “I’m so used to trying to save everyone that I end up saving no one.”
“I’ve been in a lot of hospitals in my time,” Elakshi said. “Can I tell you something I’ve learned? Even the best doctors can’t save everyone. In truth, I doubt anyone can.”
You had to leave Tullia behind. You had to exorcise this curse here and now, and to do that, you had to leave her to what very well could be her death. You had to keep going, had to keep running, and when you reached Jogo, you would have to kill him. There was no way around it. That was simply what you had to do.
You reached him and stabbed a needle into his throat before he could even think to melt it. He uppercutted you in return, and then it became the most lethal sparring match you had ever been in, every movement a brush with death, every second weakening you and strengthening him. Now that you were in his Domain, the roles had reversed. You could not keep up, and furthermore, Tullia’s energy was waning. She was dying, actively dying, and it did not just have a mental effect on you but a physical one, too: without those extra reserves to boost you, you grew exhausted at an exponentially faster rate.
Finally, Jogo reached for you, and you were not quite quick enough to avoid it. He grabbed your neck and squeezed, lifting you in the air and laughing as you kicked your legs and slapped at his hand in an attempt to free yourself.
“It’s time, Y/N L/N,” he said. “I’m going to set you on fire. I’m going to burn your memory into this world, so that you are remembered for years to come. Sukuna will be pleased with that, don’t you think?”
What did you even do now? How could you escape this? What could you even do? Your needles were useless against Jogo’s heat. Your only ally was almost dead. Your cursed technique wouldn’t do much good, either, as you already knew his weak spots — it was hitting them that was the issue.
There had to be a way. What was something only you could do? What was something that only Grade 1 sorcerer, Y/N L/N could do?
Peace settled over you as you understood, in that moment, the way that you could defeat Jogo. As Jogo readied himself to set you on fire, you strengthened Falling Blossom Emotion to defend yourself and then smiled, knowing that you could not care for the consequences of your actions, knowing that you could not hesitate or this really would be the end for you.
“Tullia!” you shouted with what little air you had left, praying that she’d hear you. “One last time. Nothing after this matters, so one last time, please let me take your strength from you!”
In response, your cursed energy lit up from the force of hers, as brilliant as the sun at midnight. The botulinum toxin, she must’ve had just enough power left in her body to drink it all at once, not knowing what you needed it for but having enough faith in you to go along with what you said anyways.
“Give it up, girl,” Jogo spat, the volcano on his head pouring out even more lava as you glared at him, Falling Blossom Emotion the only reason you hadn’t combusted yet. “That defensive technique of yours is about to fail, and then you will be nothing more than ashes. Why prolong your misery? You can’t do anything to me that matters.”
“I am Y/N L/N,” you said. “I am the girl who brought someone back to life. I can do anything. Composition!”
You clamped your hands down around his wrist, ignoring how your palms were burning from his body heat and holding them steady, using your Reverse Cursed Technique on him. It was an old factoid you remembered Ieri mentioning to you once, that Reverse Cursed Techniques were actually destructive to curses instead of beneficial, and you bet everything you had, everything Tullia had, on that being true.
Amongst all other Reverse Cursed Techniques, Composition reigned supreme, mostly because of its eponymous ability: the one which allowed its users to compose instead of just join. Maybe that was the reason it was so effective against Jogo, or maybe it was because of Tullia’s botulinum toxin fuelling you, or maybe you were really just that strong. Likely it was a combination of all these factors, but the reasoning behind it didn’t matter as much as the result did.
Almost as soon as you activated Composition, Jogo’s entire arm disintegrated. You thudded to the ground, the burns on your neck and palms throbbing with pain as you scrambled to your feet once again, resting your hands on his shoulders, pressing them into his skin. Your insides curled at the scent of your own flesh igniting, but this time, you did not falter, staring into his eye with the insane delight that came from the newfound mastery. His earlier vicious conceit had been replaced by naked fear, and this time, it was your turn to laugh at him.
“Composition,” you whispered, so quietly that he had to lean in to hear you. “Composition. Composition.”
Every single bit of energy Tullia had lent you, you poured into using your Reverse Cursed Technique on Jogo, watching as it ate away at his body, eyes glowing with the reflection of the fiery mountain of his Domain until he regained his composure enough to break free from you, canceling his Domain Expansion and stumbling towards the staircase.
You weren’t sure if he’d make it or not. You weren’t sure if you had used Composition long enough that he had reached the point of no return, or if he’d be able to regenerate again. You weren’t sure about any of that, but either way, there was nothing you could do about it anymore. You had used every last drop of cursed energy that both you and Tullia shared on him already. You couldn’t do anything now; you just had to leave it up to the rest of your friends, hoping that one of them found him before he regained enough strength to become a threat once more.
Crawling over to where Tullia’s body lay, you gathered her in your arms, listening for her heartbeat. It was there when you pressed your ear to her chest, faint but existent, even though her legs were a mangled mess of blood and tissue, her face and arms burnt beyond belief, dried bloodstains like tear tracks running down her cheeks and nose, a puddle formed from where it had dripped from her ears and mouth.
You hadn’t been careful enough. While fighting Jogo, you hadn’t considered how it would impact Tullia. You hadn’t considered anything bar the thought that you could not let him get away. Tullia, who had already endured so much, had been put through even more because of your carelessness, but she was alive. You had beaten Jogo back quickly enough that she had not vanished entirely in the desolation of his Domain.
There was no cursed energy boosting you when you picked her up. Your muscles and legs threatened to give out with every step, but this was your penance, your way of making up for what you had done to her, for how you had destroyed her as thoroughly as Jogo had.
“Y/N.” Her voice was weak and thin, barely more than a whisper.
“Shh, don’t talk. It’ll only make you worse. I’m taking you to where Ieri and my family members are stationed. They’ll heal you, and you’ll be okay,” you said.
“I don’t think Ieri can heal this,” she said.
“Of course she can’t. But my father, or one of my cousins, any of my family members, really, they’ll all be there and they can use Composition, so they can do it. It’ll be okay, so just be quiet and wait until we get there, alright? I know how much you like to talk, so please promise me you’ll be silent until we reach them,” you said. Your legs were howling as you dragged the two of you through what remained of Shibuya, the eerie silence of what should’ve been a bustling place.
“It’s Halloween,” Tullia observed. “I wish we had just gone trick or treating.”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” you said, exasperated. “But you’re right, we would’ve been much better off if we had done that.”
“I had so many cute costume ideas,” she said. “Made a whole Pinterest board and everything.”
“We can do it tomorrow,” you said. “Once we’ve unsealed Gojo and he’s gotten rid of everything and everyone, we can all go trick or treating together.”
“That sounds nice,” she said. “I’d really like that.”
“Yeah,” you said. “I would, too.”
You almost collapsed by the time you reached where the healers were located, thankfully without running into any other curses or curse users. Even though your cursed energy was gone, your senses were still attuned to others’ signatures, and you were able to hide away whenever anyone ran past. That was probably the only reason you made it safely, and even then you barely did. Surviving for so long with zero reserves of cursed energy and no one to heal you, and then physically exerting yourself by carrying Tullia so far, all but wiped you out. It was only by sheer will that you made it to where your family stood, your father barking out orders to your cousins so that they were deployed effectively.
“Father,” you said. The entire ward went silent as they took in your appearance. Your family members, the people that had watched you grow up, the ones who still in the back of their minds thought of you as a delicate flower, a beautiful failure, looked at you, and you wondered what they saw.
You were covered in ash like fine dust, Tullia’s blood smeared all over you just because of your proximity to her. Your neck and palms were burnt, your collar and one of your sleeves nothing more than blackened threads. You were littered with bruises and scratches from where Jogo had made contact with you, and to top it all off, you carried a body in your arms. You didn’t look very much like a girl raised to be a silent lady. To them, you probably didn’t look very much like a L/N at all.
“Y/N,” your father said coolly. You set Tullia down on a free bed and then crossed the room, falling into his embrace. He was stiff, but he held you, and though he was not your mother, though he was not Gojo, he was close enough. He was still your father.
“I know — Naobito told me you chose not to come to the exchange event,” you said, clinging to his shirt, the smell of his cologne so familiar, reminding you of your childhood. “Why? Why didn’t you come for me?”
“You should sit down,” your father said, guiding you to a chair and pushing you down. You did not resist, looking up at him beseechingly.
“You’re here now, though, right? You’re going to heal Tullia, right?” you said. Your father glanced over his shoulder at her, and he did not even go over to inspect her before he shook his head.
“She’s beyond saving. We can’t do much for her anymore,” he said.
“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, ignoring his protests. “What do you mean? She’s not beyond saving! I could do it if I had the energy!”
“Yes, you probably could,” he said. “You’re a prodigy with Composition, remember? The rest of us aren’t like that. The rest of us can’t do it. So why don’t you heal her yourself?”
“I can’t, either,” you said. “Not right now. I used up the last of my energy fighting one of the special grade disaster curses. She gave me all of hers so that I could win, but that leaves us in this situation.”
“I see,” your father said. You wrinkled the fabric of his pressed shirt in your hands, leaving dirty smudges on the pristine, starched white. He raised his eyebrows at you.
“You don’t have to heal her all of the way. Just a little bit. Just give her enough energy that I can do it. That’s possible, isn’t it?” you said.
“That’s correct. Even the youngest of your cousins could accomplish that much,” he said. Still, nobody moved.
“Well? Get on with it, then! She’ll die if we don’t hurry up,” you said.
“No,” your father said. You froze, cocking your head. Had you heard him incorrectly?
“...no?” you repeated.
“It’s the same reason the L/Ns didn’t come to the exchange event,” he said. “You claimed that you are not one of us. You chose fighting instead of healing. I warned you that there would be a consequence to that decision, and this is what it is. You fought, and now you cannot save a person that you love.”
“Yet you can!” you said. “I understand what you’re doing. You’re deserting me in the hopes that I come back, that I choose to be a healer instead of fighting on the front lines. But, father, I can’t — I can’t heal without her! If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll never fight again, I’ll spend the rest of my life in Noritoshi’s shadow or three paces behind Naoya or whatever else you want from me, but please. You have to save her. Just do this one thing for me, and I will go back to being the daughter you want.”
“None of the L/Ns will lay a finger on her,” he decreed. “Do you understand? This is what happens when people don’t accept their roles in the natural order of things. You tried to rebel against the place you were given, and now Tullia will pay the price.”
“No,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. “Punish me. I’m the one who did something wrong, so punish me for it if you must, but leave her out of it. Please leave her out of it. She didn’t do anything. She saved me, father, she’s saved me so many times that I can’t count it. She is my Composition. I cannot use it without her. You have to save her.”
“If you cannot use Composition without her, then perhaps you are not meant to use it at all. No one can have both. Dissection or Composition; didn’t I tell you that you’d have to pick? You made your choice. I made mine,” he said.
“None of you?” you said, looking at all of your family members. The younger ones turned away in shame, while the older ones held your accusing look levelly. “Not one of you will go against him and save her?”
The only response you got was a lingering, resounding silence. The people that had raised you were turning their backs on you. You understood their message: you were no longer one of them. You were not a healer; you were a fighter. You had chosen your path. They had chosen theirs.
“Get rid of the girl’s body,” your father said. “She’s taking up space. We don’t know when the next injured sorcerer will arrive, especially since I just received word that Sukuna’s manifested.”
“I’ll take her,” you said. “But you will all regret this. I swear to you, I will make sure that you do.”
“Where are you going with her?” your father said. You held Tullia, taking comfort in only the fact that her pulse was shallow but steady, that she was still breathing, though she had long ago gone unconscious.
“If you won’t save her,” you said coldly. “Then I will find someone else who will.”
“There is no one else that can save her,” your father said.
“Actually, there is,” you said. “One person. There is one other person who can do it.”
Your father’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean—”
“I do,” you said.
“Y/N, think this over,” your father said. “He won’t help you.”
“Well,” you said. “It seems that neither will you.”
You were probably the only person in Shibuya that hoped he hadn’t vanished yet. You were probably the only person in the entire world that was actually happy to see him, happy to see those black marks still curled over the face which resembled Itadori’s so greatly. Because it wasn’t Itadori’s, this was as plain as day — even if the markings vanished, you’d still be able to tell the difference between your cheerful underclassman and the King of Curses.
“Sukuna!” you called out. He turned from where he was crouching by Megumi’s side, the expression on his face transforming from rage at your impertinence to rage at simply your being. No, he could not kill you, but it was hard to remember that in his presence, hard to remember that he still needed you for something.
“Y/N L/N,” he said, the name like poison on his tongue, ostensibly because it was a reminder of his first defeat, the time that he had lost to another woman of the same name. “How can you be so bold as to show your face here?”
“I know what you want from me,” you said, putting Tullia down and kneeling before him. Shock flashed across his irises, and his hands twitched, but he did not otherwise react.
“Is that so?” he said. “And what is it that I want from you?”
“A body,” you said. “Right?”
It was while you were using Composition on Jogo that you understood it. You were the only person in the world that could utilize the Reverse Cursed Technique to the extent that you did, so that had to have something to do with what Sukuna wanted from you. But what could a being capable of using his own Reverse Cursed Technique, even on other people, want from that? It was specific to Composition, that was clear.
“A body,” Sukuna said.
“You’ve manifested in a vessel that fights you every step of the way, but by using Composition, I can take someone else and alter them into being exactly the carrier you want,” you said. “Isn’t that correct? That’s why I can’t die yet. There isn’t anyone else in the world who has such potential with Composition, who will eventually have the power to heal someone’s body into another, more evolved form entirely.”
Sukuna was silent. You bowed your head, knowing that what you were offering was foolish and selfish, that you were all but spelling the world’s destruction with this, that in essence you were aiding the King of Curses, the most evil creature in the world. You were telling a monster you’d give him what he wanted, for the sole sake of saving one person.
“Please heal her,” you said. “I’ll give you what you want. I will compose the perfect body for you. If you don’t believe me, then I’ll even make a Binding Vow. Just — just please save her. I can’t do it without her.”
A deal with the devil. The world for your friend. Elakshi was right; maybe love was your greatest weakness. Maybe you shouldn’t ever try to save anyone. But you had to at least save Tullia, who had always saved you, and this was the only way you could do it. Your family had forsaken you. Your reserves of cursed energy were gone and would probably take days to recover back to even their base level. Only Sukuna was left.
“Just as I expected, you don’t know the slightest thing, Y/N L/N,” Sukuna said. Involuntarily, you raised your head and met his eyes, which were as red as the sky before a storm. He grinned at you, his teeth unnaturally sharp like demon-fangs. “I already have the body which I require, so I don’t need to make that kind of contract, with you or anyone else. Besides, how can you expect me to heal that girl?”
“What? What do you mean?” you said. As you watched, invisible slashes cut through Tullia’s body, thousands upon thousands of them so that her remains did not even resemble a person anymore, so that she was nothing more than a fallen heap of blood and cloth and poison sitting before you.
“As you can see, she’s already dead,” he said, and then he burst into a fit of deep, full laughter. You screamed in horror at the sight, something shattering in the back of your mind, in the corners of your soul — the link to Tullia’s energy, which you had come to depend on, was gone forever, and this time, it wasn’t coming back. Nobody could heal her now. There wasn’t even a her anymore, just scattered pieces of what had once been one of your best friends.
You couldn’t help yourself. You threw up, convulsing from the strain, your very body rejecting what had just happened. She shouldn’t have died. You should’ve saved her. There should’ve been some way, some manner in which she could’ve lived. When there was nothing left in your stomach, you dry heaved until you couldn’t breathe, and then blackness crept into the corners of your vision.
The last thing you felt before you passed out entirely was a taloned hand grabbing onto the back of your neck and the familiar sensation of teleportation. You were dimly aware of being thrown beside someone else, and then there were shouts — Ieri? Your father? You didn’t know — and then there was nothing. Blissful, calm, blank nothing.
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gnrbitch · 1 year
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Does she have alcohol? pt2
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warnings: None!
(Contraband is the name of Y/ns band btw!)
a/n: Album name (choose whichever album you want!)
——
Los Angeles, California
Y/n and her band mates never kept the promise of hanging out with Slash, being too busy doing shows around the US and promoting their record.
Contrabands album, a/n had exploded in the months after its release. So that means Slash was seeing Y/ns face everywhere he went, making quite difficult for the guitarist to shake her off his mind.
And Slash was annoyed, not at the fact that Y/ns band got famous, he frankly didn’t care. He was annoyed at the fact that everyone else was able to come across her, except for him.
I mean how was that even possible? He thought to himself as he looked at a magazine with a photo of Lars and Y/n. Had she forgotten about him? Or did she just think he was weird? Slash thought. Maybe he just wasn’t as lucky, or maybe, he should’ve just asked Lenny for her phone number when they were at the studio.
~
The club was dark, Slash didn’t even know why he was here to be honest. Well he did, Duff had offered to pay for his drinks if he went out with them. So there they were Slash, Duff, Matt and Gilby sitting in a booth drinking. Obviously the other boys had some girl under their arms, but not Slash, he had just broken up with Renee in hopes that he would come across Y/n and finally be able to take her out. And he really didn’t have any interest in another girl if it wasn’t Y/n.
“Look who it is!” A male voice called out. Slash looked up from his drink to see James standing there along with all the other guys from Metallica… and the guys from Contraband. “Hey man!” Duff said “…Hey aren’t you the guys from Contraband?” he continued drunkly pointing at Sydney, Sammi, Benny and Mikey. “Yea man, we are” Sammi said, also pretty drunk. “Well shit! I love the record guys” He laughed.
“Sit down man” Slash spoke to the guys, now internally panicking at the fact Y/n might be here. Do I smell bad? Do I look good? Is my hair greasy? When was the last time I showered?
“Yea man let me just- hold on” “Y/N OVER HERE!” Sammi yelled to the bar. Slash had never turned his head so fast in his life.
And there she was, drink in her hand, flared leather pants, and a muscle shirt on. And the closer she got to them, he noticed she didn’t have a bra on. And he felt hot.
“Hey guys, i’m Y/n” she said, giving that pretty smile that had been in Slash’s head. She walked over to Slash’s side of the booth and sat next to him.
“Hey Slash” she said, putting the same emphasis on his name like she did the last time. “How have you been?” She said, leaning over so he can hear over the music. Slash smiled, letting his eyes roam her face before answering. “I’ve been good”, his eyes landing on Y/ns lips. “Even better since i’ve been seeing your face everywhere”
This made Y/n smile, which made Slash smile, cause god he loved to see her smile. “So seeing me on a magazine is better than the real thing? i’ve got to say im offended Slash.” Y/n said, giving him an overly exaggerated offended look on her face, obviously trying to hide her smile. Slash licked his lips before responding “See i didn’t say all that, maybe if I knew where to find you I could’ve seen ‘the real thing’.”
“um… do you guys know each other?” Gilby asked suspiciously looking at the pair, this was the preppiest he’s seen Slash in months.
“Oh yea we go wayyyyyy back” Y/n said with a teasing smile, looking over at Slash. “No way! how come i’ve never heard of this lady then man?” Duff said with a drunkly look on his face.
“She’s just fucking with you Duff” Slash responded, “We met when I went to New York to work with Lenny.” Duff and Gilby gave them a little “ohh” , and Slash’s attention was right back on Y/n.
“Where to find me? I’m every where baby” Y/n purred, answering his response from before. “Comon Y/nn, don’t make this hard on me” Slash said giving her a pleading look. Y/n smiled “Fine. Just for you though”. She took out a lip liner from her bag and grabbed a napkin, writing her number on it.
“Call me tomorrow morning” she said handing Slash the paper. “Why tomorrow morning?” He asked, finding it weird that she wants him to call her at such a specific time.
Y/n smiled, “Cause I wanna talk to you, obviously”
Slash looked over her face again, happy with her response.
——
Here’s part 2!!! hope you guys liked it 💟
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akariamai · 1 year
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Interview
Summary: You admit on live television your old childhood crush on Bruce Wayne.
Actress!Reader
Word Count: 1014
You waited for your name to be called up towards the stage; being invited to The Tawny Show permitted your nerves to spike. It wasn’t the first time you were interviewed, in fact you did them for years promoting the projects you’ve been a part of. However, there was something about being backstage of The Tawny Show only cemented the reality of your rise to stardom.
“Please give a warm welcome to surprise guest [Reader].” Tawny’s voice rang out and you mustered as much self-confidence as you could before elegantly walking towards her idol. Tawny gave you half a hug before taking a seat on her fluffy pink couch. “It’s so nice to see you. You were phenomenal in your new movie.”
Your cheeks flushed maroon, “Thank you for inviting me. I am overjoyed you loved the movie. The crew poured so much heart and dedication into the production.”
“And it shows, doesn’t it everyone?” Tawny Young turned to her audience, who agreed with the sentiment, “This production wasn’t your first appearance on the big screen, wasn’t it?”
You nodded, “I’ve been in the acting gig for several years now. Smaller roles and such. I’ve starred in several ads for multiple products and been in an assortment of movies and TV shows.”
She hummed in agreement, "You're extremely private when it comes to your background. I've heard rumors that you're a native Gothamite. Gotham Academy was the school you went to, correct? What was it like going to school with such prominent figures of Gotham’s high society?”
You mentioned briefly, “There’s not really much to say. I went to Gotham Academy on a scholarship and usually stayed by my lonesome.” Your peers were not the kindest bunch as you offered no connections to lift them from their current social status. You were raised in the Narrows, an immensely poor and dangerous neighborhood, and were lucky enough to win a scholarship from the Wayne Foundation.
Tawny laughed, “So modest. There must’ve been something from Gotham Academy that’s juicy enough to share. What about childhood crushes?” The room grew quiet as everyone was anticipating the next words out of our mouth.
You thought about the boy you once loved but never pursued. A boy who was too far from your reach and most definitely out of your league. He probably didn’t know you existed during your time at Gotham Academy. Your love for him became a secret only you knew. 
“I did have a minuscule crush on a boy.” You laughed remembering how lovestruck your younger self was. “But I’ve never spoken to him. I was very shy and he was always surrounded by our classmates so I never had the chance to get the chance to talk to him.”
Tawny gasped excitedly, leaning forward to catch the name of your once crush. “Who was it? I'm sure everyone is dying to know.” The uproar of cheers followed soon after from the live audience in the room.
You glance at them for a moment, pondering over the secret you've kept for so long, before redirecting your attention towards Tawny. You no longer felt the puppy love you once held for him but admitting your old crush will bring him unwanted attention. He was already in the limelight at such a young age, born into a rich family and such, but you didn’t want to place more attention onto him nor his family. “Um… I don’t know.”
“Was this lucky fellow Apollo?” Tawny asked, receiving cheers and whistles from the audience. Memories of Harvey Dent narrowly resurfaced as you sparsely had any interactions with the current man. He hung around Bruce Wayne a bunch, establishing her assumption that he and Bruce were friends, but never thought of him as anything more than his past accomplishments and the man he became due to his unfortunate accident. Unease sank into your body as you were aware that once Harvey’s name was mentioned, Bruce’s followed right after. Their names were intertwined with one another.
Tawny’s eyebrows scrunched together, lost in thought of who your younger self fancied, “The Prince of Gotham Bruce Wayne? Was he your crush?”
You hoped the blood rushing towards your face was masked by the color of your skin. Wished the topic of crushes was not brought up and left skeletons in the closet alone. There was a brief moment to lie but lying in the face of your fans was not a stance you would take. Your fans were everything to you. They cheered, others not so much, and pushed you to try your very best. Lying was not something you considered lightly. You could only nod before Tawny awed in astoundment and scant amusement.
~~~
Dick Grayson mindlessly found The Tawny Show for a good while before he became obsessed with it. He loved Tawny Young and her surprise guests. It was enjoyable white noise as he focused on finishing the last of his homework. Currently Tawny was attempting to snuff out the childhood crush of her guest [Reader], who appeared to be slightly panicked about the entire affair. It wasn’t too obvious for the average person to notice, but being taught by the world’s greatest detective allowed him to observe efficiently.
Harvey Dent was the first name Tawny named drop. Dick never knew Dent before his accident, only the shadow of the man he once was. His school showcased old photos of the students who previously attended and there he learned of the peculiar friendship Harvey and Bruce once shared in their youth.
“The Prince of Gotham Bruce Wayne? Was he your crush?” Tawny asked and [Reader] flushed red before nodding hesitantly. The audience went wild at the thought of [Reader] previously harboring romantic feelings for billionaire Bruce Wayne. Tawny then tried to reel them back into silence to proceed with the interview but by then Dick’s mind began to race. He wondered if Bruce ever knew of the girl’s attraction towards him. The thought of a potential love story brewing in the haze of schoolwork and lunches. It really made the boy wonder.
Masterlist
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