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#i just lost a mutual i considered to have at the very least a bit of rational thinking and common sense but whtv im sick of
eichiyume · 4 months
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im so sick of tumblr bro
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walpu · 3 months
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I'm coming at you with the speed of thousand asteroids affectionately and hit you with a "your writing is awesome!"
Also, may I request an Aventurine x The Nameless!reader.
Thank you very much and have a nice day :D
Thank you so much for your kind words and for the request, it was so fun to write <З
Hope you'll enjoy it, have a good day as well 💛
Aventurine x The Nameless!reader
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characters - Aventurine
notes - gn!reader, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort. Once again, no beta. I'm so sorry.
Aventurine
Considering that the Astral Family and it's members are pretty well-known (everyone seems to know at least their names) he has probably heard something about you even before you first met him.
I can imagine your first meeting going like this: he casually approaches you, acting all buddy-buddy, and says something like "ah, mx , who knew I would meet you here of all places <З".
If your first meeting was during the Penacony quest get ready for him calling you "friend" in this sassy voice of his 💀 Yes Aven we all get it you don't have any actual friends calm down
Can imagine him trying to get closer to you by painting your potential partnership as something mutually beneficial. You could use a friend from the IPC, right? And he wouldn't mind having some connections with a "brave and honorable" Nameless. So why don't you join him for a glass of wine, hmmm?
When the two of you will eventually get closer this mf will get clingy af. Yeah I've mentioned it already in my previous post but you being one of the Nameless opens up so many new perspectives.
Visits you on the Express regularly. If he comes when you're not here, he'll wait for as long as he can for you to come back. Sadly, Aventurine is a busy, busy man. So he can't wait for long. Will leave small notes for you tho, to let you know that he was there but you didn't grace him with your presence
If you come back when he's waiting, Aven will play it off as if he himself just got there and didn't have to wait for you at all, saying somethin like "Oh look, here you're! And here I thought I would have to wait for you, haha. Seems like luck is on my side today~"
He doesn't want you to worry, after all. Also. He wants to save some face. Pom-Pom will rat him out anyway.
Speaking of Pom-Pom, they're probably sick of him at this point lol.
Would ask you about your adventures and listen very closely to every story you may want to tell. He can't help but smile softly while listening to you, he just loves seeing the passion in your eyes. Doesn't matter if the story is about you dragging the Trailblazer away from the trash cans in Belobog (or worse - admiring the trash cans with them), he will still look at you with the same adoring smile.
If you ask him what he's been up to during the time you where gone, Aven would simply laugh it off and say that his boring IPC stuff cannot compare with your bizarre adventures so it doesn't even worth mentioning. Reassure him that you don't care if it's boring, you just want to hear about his day regardless of how it went.
Sometimes he can't help but feel jealous. You're free to travel, to do whatever you want. You have this sparkle of excitement in your eyes every time you tell him about your travels. And he has nothing of it. Simply can't have.
He doesn't have any negative feelings towards you, of course. Mostly some bottled up bitterness toward his fate and himself.
He gets a bit lost in his own head every time he starts feeling this way. Please take his hand and invite him to join you during your next adventure. He will laugh softly and tell you "maybe next time, darling". Even if he doesn't know when this "next time" will come the thought of it, of you wanting to share your precious moment with him, fills him with hope.
Adores when you bring him small gifts from the places you've been. It doesn't have to be something big, really. Just the thought that you were thinking of him when the two of you were apart is enough.
Don't forget to send him pictures of yourself!!!! He wants to know how his dearest darling is doing even when they are freezing their ass off in Belobog.
Would sometimes surprise you by showing up on the planet/space ship you're currently staying on. Aventurine rarely can't stay for a long but he cherishes those short moments when he can just walk around and do nothing in particular with you.
Usually when he visits a planet it has something to do with the IPC's business so he only has time to do his job and. Well. Gamble. Maybe buy some new clothes too if he has enough time.
But with you he can actually explore the planet. You bring him to the local restaurants, small tea shops, seemingly small and insignificant places. But it’s places like these that reveal the real beauty of the planet. He slowly learns to appreciate it when you're by his side.
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kaicubus · 1 year
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Distraction P2 | Xavier T.
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warnings ✩° : mutual pining, fluff confession, slight VERY SLIGHT angst bc i was listening to enchanted by taylor swift at one point in this, closure, both reader and xavier are 17-18 years old.
pairing ✩° : xavier thorpe x fem!reader
premise ✩° : demanding answers from your rival who stole a kiss from you  unexpectedly at the poe cup to distract you, you confront him, this time  ready to catch HIM off guard.  
word count ✩° : 3.1k
authors note ✩° : a performance was demanded of me. and now i have delivered. ENCOREEEEEEEEEE!!! anyways. OMG I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS EEHEHHEHE GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET...hope you enjoy...also expect more fics of xavier bc i love this show and i love him.
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From the time you lost horribly due to a certain distraction to the time now, your mind has been scrambled to the point of irrevocable recovery. Still, you didn’t say anything to your friends or your teammates, especially about your plans for tonight.
The feeling of that kiss had been lingering for hours on your lips, how could he catch you off guard like that? You wanted to be angry, you wanted to throw all the books off of your desk and wreck everything around you, but you physically can’t. It’s almost as if the feeling of Xavier’s hands trailing down your waist were keeping you from it all.
You sit up in a panic and shake your head, “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Y/n it’s kinda hard to ignore the fact you lost that completion for us but it’s even harder to pretend like somethings not on your mind. As your friend, we need to talk.
“There’s nothing we need to talk about.”
She sits down next to you on your bed and leans back, hugging her knee to give her stability, “So what I heard was that only you and Xavier made it to shore. Could it be something with him?”
Before she can ask more agonizing questions, you sit up and throw the doors of your closet open. “Woah. Calm down.” F/n says softly, “Look if you don’t want to talk about it we don’t have to. I just want to know if—“
“The reason I didn’t get back in time.” You ignore her, huffing roughly, “I was distracted. That’s all that needs to be said.”
“A bit of both, F/n. A bit of both.” With that, you get dressed into a more comfortable outfit, adjusting your hair and doing other rituals to finalize your outing. It should be fun.
“Y/n.” Xavier raises his brows, “Didn’t think you’d actually come. Considering you hate me and all.” He takes a moment to take in all of you. Your outfit, your hair, your makeup, he can’t help but smile to himself. After all, you look cute, so who is he not to appreciate that?
“Afternoon, Xavier.” Your eyebrows lift on instinct, expressing your disapproval of your presence in front of him already. He has his arm propped up against the frame of his door and the way he leans onto it so casually makes something inside of you self implode. Complete with a parted grin, Xavier locks eyes with you and waits for your response.
“I-I don’t hate you.” Keeping composure wasn’t an option. Looking at him in the eyes even once would remind you of that kiss. In fact, looking at him in general was a guaranteed flashback. “At least right now. I have questions.”
“I think I have answers.” He shrugs, “Though I think that kiss kind of cleared everything up—“
You cut him off with a rough sigh, “Yeah. It’s about that.”
“Ok, so…You going to come in? Or are we going to talk right here?” He glances up and looks around at all the passing students. With a small nod, you find yourself entering his dorm room. Hung drawings and strung along polarioids line the walls, giving the overall atmosphere of the room an artsy aesthetic. It’s not as clean as yours, and he lives alone ever since Rowan was expelled from Nevermore, but it’s still nice.
“Sorry about the mess,” Xavier’s voice tugs you back into reality, “I forgot to clean up. The Amontillado’s and I went out for dinner and you know I had a killer steak, almost lost track of time before I realized that I had a possible date with Y/n L/n. I of course didn't want to miss that.” Even though the words coming out of his mouth are cocky and prideful, he looks at you like all of what he’s saying is exaggerated and sarcastic. He’s good at confusing you.
Still, his subtle gloat makes you roll your eyes, “Was that necessary? The steak? The celebrating?”
“Oh absolutely.” He dips his head down and grins, “Let’s talk on my bed.”
“Sure.”
The two of you sit down on the edge of his bed, and now it becomes increasingly obvious that you're the only nervous one between the two of you. Xavier doesn't shy away from the fact either, instead he steals multiple glances at your fidgety hands and blushed cheeks and grins mischievously.
“Do you remember the kiss? How it even happened?” You start, looking him directly in the eyes.
He raises a brow and continues his grin, “Uh, yeah. Other than the fact it was a few hours ago, I don't see why I’d forget it?”
“You didn't answer me from before. I know that now you told me all of that to distract me from the race, but why were you so adamant on telling me that you like me? You could've kissed me and did that, since it was a fool proof plan.”
“Fool proof?” Xavier raises his hand and curls it to his lips, “Me kissing you, was fool proof? For a distraction? Honestly, if you admit it was, I’m not complaining. But I didn't know you could tell me that if I ever tried kissing you before, you'd accept it.”
Usually, you’d be annoyed. Your face would burn with aggression and you’d feel violent remarks bubble in your throat, but now you can’t even think of anything mean to say. Just another question.
“Did you kiss me just to kiss me? Or was it all just a plan?”
Hearing the question makes Xavier stop his teasing. Lip tucked between his teeth to keep quiet, he looks at you, half wondering if what you just said was serious or not and the other half choosing his next words extremely carefully. Though it doesn’t help the throbbing in his chest seeing the way your head is tilted just enough so that you're looking up at him through your lashes, too nervous to hold eye contact for so long.
A brief silence washes over you both before Xavier rubs the back of his neck, pensive in thought. His feeble attempt at making himself seem calm and collected only makes him shift in his position next to you, accidentally brushing his hip against yours.
“No,” Xavier says, his voice just above a whisper, “I meant everything I said. I never wanted to be better than you, I just wanted to talk to you. I like you a lot, Y/n. I never lied about that.”
You show the side of your face and let your shoulders fall, “I never said you lied about it. There’s nothing you can lie about in a kiss like that. You deceived me, not lied.”
He rolls his lips into his mouth and rubs his hand onto his thigh, “You know, it’s not really deception if I meant it all. I was dressed as a jester you know, secretly funny despite being advertised as a joke.”
His laughter that follows after makes your heart tremble. Looking back at him, your smile falls back into nervousness, “I don’t…I don’t not like you.” You stare at his lips, scared to meet his gaze that’s very clearly fixated on you, “It’s just. I don’t like how you make me feel.”
“How exactly do I make you feel, Y/n?” His eyes travel down, “...I know I make you mad.”
“I’m mad because of the way you make me feel, Thorpe. You walk around like you’re some enigmatic being with all the substance and deep personality in the world. You’re always in thought. Maybe that’s why you do better than me.” You sigh, “I can’t focus right. Probably...probably because I’m always thinking about you.”
Even though for once you’re not yelling at him, Xavier listens to you with genuine interest. You didn’t even know that was possible, frankly, neither did he.
You turn your head up to meet his gaze when you realize he hasn’t said anything all this time. “Xavier?” You say softly, “Why did you kiss me?”
He sways back, draping his hand over yours, “You looked like you needed to be kissed. Maybe that’s why. But it seems like no matter what answer I’ll give you, you’re not going to be happy,” he says, pressing his thumb softly into your knuckles, “And all I want is for you to be happy. At least with me.”
This time, you don’t shy away from his touch. There’s not an ounce of nervousness. In place of it, your body acts on its own and you bend more towards him.
“Can I ask a question this time?” Xavier speaks slow and cohesively, “If that’s ok?”
You’re not sure why, but his question intrigued you. What did he have to ask? What more was he confused about? You stop yourself when you realize that these may be questions running through Xavier’s head when he looks at you. When he looks at you, huh, the look on his face makes your ears heat up and your heart skip two beats at once. Of course, scientifically that impossible, but Xavier makes facts feel wrong in your mind. Just like how it was a fact you hated him. Or it was a fact he wanted to be better than you for the sole purpose of humiliating you. Just as those were shot down and proven to be wrong, so have your previous feelings, now shedding new light onto the hidden ones you've kept locked away.
You could feel his smug face staring down at you, as you wait silently for the question.
“How exactly do you feel about me?” The question falls from his lips, the same lips that’d kissed you speechless earlier today, “Because when I look at you, I can feel you hate me, but you said that’s wrong. I don’t know what’s right and wrong when I’m with you. Usually I’d want this to end but, I just want to know, Y/n.”
How you feel? About him? Your eyes trip into his inescapable stare and suddenly you feel your throat start to close. Of course, you didn't want to leave him short or even worse, assuming your feelings towards him because anything that isn't what you say is wrong and you need to communicate that with him but you just can’t. It’s so easy just to swallow your pride and talk, but every second of silence jabs the knife of uncertainty deeper and deeper.
But you have to say something.
“Xavier—”
“Y/n—” Suddenly, he interrupts. Not intentionally, but because you were silent for so long.
Maybe you and him aren't so different after all.
Xavier’s quick to apologize, but you're faster. “Sorry, go ahead.” The heat on your face only grows hotter so you're forced to pull the collar of your shirt away from your skin.
“No, it’s ok, I was just going to say something stupid.” He shakes his head, causing his long hair to sweep along his perfectly cut jaw, “Go on.”
You roll your shoulders back and inhale sharply, “We both know I don’t like being second best—”
“Obviously.”
You glare at Xavier.
“Right, sorry.”
“And we both know that that obviously has been happening—”
“Not intentionally.”
“XAVIER.” Your rival laughs at your temper, only for you to grind your teeth together in frustration, “I’m trying to tell you how I feel about you—like you ASKED—but you keep interrupting me! PLEASE! Be quiet!”
He chuckles a bit before nodding, “Yes ma’am.”
You decide to ignore that. For now at least. Instead, your nervousness returns now that the uncomfortable silence has returned, but at least you have the spotlight now. An ache in your chest spirals into your stomach as the thought of ‘now or never’ finally settled in. If telling Xavier how you really felt all this time would mean relief from all the negativity bottled up inside you, self loathing tendencies and being the human embodiment of a locked box with no key, you were willing to take the risk of him making any comments towards you.
Reaching out, you take your finger and place it on top of his as a sort of reassurance that everything will be ok if you know this moment is real. He glances at your small gesture, his lips cracking into an unnoticed smirk, and curls his slender finger under yours, hugging it almost.
"I guess there’s no better way to say that...I return your feelings. It’s ironic too because, for all the time we spend together, even if it’s not quality time or anything, I like it. I like it a lot. You actually make what I do fun, I realize that now.” The words become even easier to say, “No matter how much I push you away, it makes you ten times stronger. And I don't think I want to let that go. What I’m trying to get at is I like having you around. I don’t know if it’s your presence, or just you in general, but I don’t want to let go of it any time soon.” It takes another moment before you finally say, “I like you back, Xavier.”
Silence, again. That was...something.
Almost as if the quietness wasn't deafening enough, a small chuckle breaks it and somehow makes the whole situation all the more unbearable.
“What?” Your voice is exasperated, “Why are you laughing?”
“I’m not laughing at you,” He smiles and cuts his hair down the middle, allowing it to fall from each side loosely, “You know you do this thing where when you're talking, you kinda,” he swerves his wrist in a circle and motions in front of his face, “I don't know how to explain it, but it’s really cute.”
His smugness is infectious. Like a virus, it travels into your system and makes you avert your eyes to wherever he isn't looking to distract yourself from the overwhelming palpitations your heart is running. “Hey,” his deep voice speaks, somehow closer to you now, “Is there maybe something else you want to tell me?” Xavier mutters.
“Actually, yeah.” You nod, enveloping your other hand over your ear and looking to the other side of him for a brief moment, “I want you to give me another answer.”
“To what question?”
“My feelings.” You whisper comfortably, “Not like last time. Not as a distraction. As a real thing.”
“Are you sure?” Xavier whispers too kneading his hand into yours, “Like, you want me to kiss you again?”
You feel like the breath is knocked from your lungs when you nod your head, “Please.”
He hesitates a little before bringing his cold palm directly to your collarbone, using his thumb to lead his movements to where he wants it to be. The gentleness of his touch makes you even weaker than before. Just barely, the tip of his thumb stretches the corner of your lip, bouncing it back into place when he feels like he’s satisfied. Little touches like that make your head reel. You don't even care that you want to ask how he knows all the right places to touch you, you just close your eyes and let him. Before you know it, that crashing sensation returns. Fuck, have you missed it.
Very quickly, Xavier feels a jolt hit your body as it tenses against his grasp, but as quick as it came, it leaves and you give in. An arm wraps around you, catching your waist and pulling you closer to him, his unoccupied hand rubbing slow and small circles on your back smoothly while he takes the bottom of your lip and nods deeper into your mouth. He’s in no hurry to do anything more, but you can tell he wants to stay here with you for hours. It’s all easily told with his not so secret grabbing and pulling that in this moment, you're all he wants.
There’s something surprisingly methodical, coming from him, in the way he takes in your lip, sucking gently on the pliant skin, then scrunching your hair in between the spaces of his fingers. There’s one spot his touch lingers on though, the nape of your neck. The spot, with an ache for much needed attention, makes you squirm into him when he runs his thumb over it accidentally—almost like a sweet spot of yours Xavier was sure to abuse in the future.
You don't notice it at first, but eventually you realize that through the total mind fuzziness of when he kisses you, you've both ended up further up than you were when you first started on his bed. The way time passes doesn't seem real, kissing him feels like nothing else matters in the world. In fact, being around him, in his dorm room, and just looking at him was all it took for you to forget about everything.
When he eventually pulls back, his body lifting away from you—a second of fleeting panic shoots through your chest at the sudden space between you both. By the solemn expression on his face, eyes hooded with pure relaxation and satisfaction, he can tell you enjoyed the kiss a little more than you should've.
“So, does this mean that I can take you out on a proper date now?” He mutters against your lips, “Because I’ve been having these dreams of taking you to this place out in town. You know,” Xavier kisses his teeth, “Gotta listen to the dreams, Y/n.”
His smugness is now just laughable, so you give in and throw your head back chuckling, “Let’s listen to them then. I’m free tomorrow?”
“So am I.” He leans back in and gives you another soft, quick kiss but instead of pulling away this time, he remains close to your face, his fingers interlocked with yours, “I’m really glad we figured this out, Y/n.”
“Me too.” Your chest flutters.
No one told you how to feel after your first kiss with your sworn academic rival. There were no rules to base your feelings on and there was certainly no expectations to meet up to. But you weren't confused anymore, that was the more important issue. Your head is clear as it’s ever been. Thanks to him, Xavier made that all possible.
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alpaca-clouds · 8 months
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Let me talk about Mizrak
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Yeah, this with all the entire Nocturne brainrot is going to continue for a couple more days at least. But the show has so many interesting themes and characters and I just love it so much. And after getting all my friends to watch the show, I got surprised by one of them being super angry about Mizrak.
Why? Well, because of the last scene with him and Olrox in the season and his words of: "You are just an animal that lost its soul centuries ago." And the friend considered that "being an asshole" and "cruel".
To which I say: Cruel? Yes. Asshole? No.
Let me explain.
First, let me make one thing clear: No, Mizrak is not a templar. I have seen that one too many times. He is not a templar. He is a monk knight of the order of St. John, so the Knights Hospitaller. Like the templars they were very much tied to the crusades originally, but they are not the same thing. There were a lot of orders and types of knights associated with the crusades. Templars were just one of them. (Do you guys wanna hear more about the templars? I can talk more about them.)
We know from bits and pieces of dialogue that Mizrak originates in Jerusalem (which is also where the order was founded). This is a gentle reminder: Israel as we know it today was not a thing back then. But Jerusalem was always a place of religious conflict as it holds importance in all three Abrahamic religions. Which was, what the crusades were all about after all. Before the time of the French Revolution, though, there was mostly some a conflict between the Ottomans and some Arab forces over Palestine. There were some Christian orders accepted within the city though.
Now, the Knights Hospitaller, who were accepted in Jerusalem, had a strong connection to France. Which... lead to problems, when some of the Arabs and the French got into problems. Which let to the Knights Hospitaller leaving for Malta. This too is referenced in the dialogue. (If you guys cannot tell: I am very happy with the amount of historical research put into this show!)
Mizrak looks to be in his early 30s. So I assume he entered the order in his mid-teens (which was a usual age to enter an order like that) and then probably left for Malta within a couple of years after that when the political situation got more charged. And then from Malta to France.
The Knights Hospitaller back then for all intent and purposes lived as militarized monks. That means they made vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. And this very much shines through with his character in so many scenes.
Of course we see that the entire "chastity" thing does not work out that well for him. But that is also why he clearly is shown to be conflicted about that entire thing. What he tries to uphold, though, is the obedience aspect of his vows. And that is, what his entire conflict is about.
See, what I love about this character is that there is all this delicious conflict.
I will iterate again: I grew up in a very, very conservative, strict, catholic household. Other kids got read fairytales for bedtime. My mother read me the bible. Priests and monks were people we intermingled with a lot. (Heck, the last pope? I met him when he was still a bishop.) And hence I got to make one very clear experience: There are three types of Catholics: Those, who focus on all the horrible things. Those, who focus on the literal stuff written in the bible. And those, who focus on the positive stuff. You know, the stuff with helping people, and being poor, and sharing, and being in general a good person. (Though the three types are not always mutually exclusive.)
And it is pretty clear that Mizrak is of the latter kind. He believes in the good he can do through his faith in God and Christ. But he has also grown up in an Order and a Church that puts a lot of focus on the idea of sin, on the idea of obedience, and the idea of the "natural order".
But there he is, with his Abbot collaborating with demons and vampires to enforce that "natural order", which among other things goes against their own vow of poverty. This is so clearly against Mizrak's believes. Because in his very core, Mizrak is a good fucking man. He is one of the good guys. Who wants to do good through his faith in God. And this conflicts for him.
So by the end of episode 7 he reached the point to go against his vow of obedience, because his faith in doing good was stronger, than his dedication to his vows. He very actively broke his vows in the eyes of his order, standing against his order, to protect those darn kids. Because it was the right thing to do. He is absolutely willing to do the noble sacrifice if that is what it takes to save those kids. And in comes that weird dude and takes this chance from him.
And his entire thing with Olrox... It seems very much that Mizrak is indeed gay. As the series so helpfully points out: Yeah, priests, monks, other clergy, and their vows of chastity were always a thing that rarely worked out. Again, as someone who grew up with close ties to the church: The fact that everyone is secretly fucking is... well known. As well as the fact that yeah, there are a lot of gay clergy. Mostly for the reason that they are shamed for their sexuality and then take the vows to not be tempted into homosexuality. Only to find that a priest school with a lot of other queer supressed men is exactly the place you do not want to be to not be tempted. (And that is all without going into all the non-con, pedophilia and what not. Things that were also already happening back then, I guarantee you.)
So, try to imagine that entire thing from Mizrak's perspective. There he is, already ashamed and suppressed about all of that and in comes this very, very seductive vampire man, who kinda seems to align with some of his values, but not with others. And who is emotionally unavailable as fuck, outright telling him that he does not love our dear Mizrak. Someone, who clearly is not for the vampires and your abbot, but also clearly not willing to take the other side. The side that you in your heart (even though it means standing against your order) know to be right. And this man, who claims to not love you, then comes in and tries to stop you from doing what is right.
Yeah, no fuck, Mizrak is a bit pissed at him. Especially as in that moment Olrox very clearly goes against Mizrak's ideals, that are all about self-sacrificially doing the right thing.
And I do think that Mizrak is right in one regard: Olrox lost his soul. He lost a part of himself. Through the trauma of colonialism, but he lost it never the less.
So, once more: Thanks the team for giving us another interesting, well-rounded religious character! CV already did so well with Isaac and Mizrak is sofar extremely promising in that regard.
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iznsfw · 9 months
Text
Drunken
Loossemble's Son Hyeju x Male Reader Smut
19,012 words
Categories | cheating, longtimecrush!Hyeju, mutual feelings, drunk sex, daddy kink (and daddy issues), fingering, squirting, titfucking, anal, choking
Thank you for commissioning! Researched for the fic, ended up falling in love with Son Hyeju. Please give this a chance and read this for the story, too, and not only the smut. I indulged too much in this.
The relationship Hyeju and OC have is very much inspired by the one Cassy and Rob have in In the Woods by Tana French. Read it, please. Was amazing. The story was also written with someone I'm currently so in love with in mind, but we're not going to talk about that here.
And no, there's never enough daddy kink stories :P
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“This is not fair,” the two of you say the very second you step into your shared dorm.
Two papers in two hands of two people that show two scores that aren’t up to par for the two’s standards. You and Hyeju were always meant to be a dynamic duo: peas in a pod in every way possible, and that includes academic success and failure. It’s like there’s a kind of telepathic force between you that sends the other down with you, too. It’s too late to try and cut the connection when you’ve known Hyeju all your life, a wish that’s beyond reality for plenty of the boys at Idalso.
The dorm is clean. Mostly. You’ve done your best to tidy up the pile of clothes at the end of Hyeju’s bunk bed and she’s done the same for the relatively empty bags of chips you haven’t stopped the habit of laying around, but there’s still the telltale signs that if Hyeju isn’t organized, you aren’t either. Printed drafts of your thesis lay crumpled on the floor. Her posters are minutes away from falling off the poorly painted walls. The air-conditioner doesn’t work as well as it did in your freshman year when your rowdiness outdoors—knocking into each other, trying to race to the door and ending up messing up the other’s clothes that were ironed in a rush—isn’t as compensating.
Today, the rowdiness is lost. It gets translated into rough groans that follow you on the way to the dorms.
That’s when you realize it.
You and Hyeju look at each other. Both of your pairs of eyes widen.
“Miss Ha failed your test?” she asks, normally bored pupils widening in disbelief.
“Miss Ha failed my test.”
“No erasure rule?”
“No erasure rule.”
“Oh my god.”
“Oh my god.”
Ball up the paper and shoot it in the air. It adds to the numerous pieces of parchment on the floor. You kick the rest of them in the air while your roommate slumps on her bed and groans. 
“Fuck this,” you say, hands on your head. There comes the urge to tear all your hair out and leave it at that damned professor’s door, blood and all, to make her at least feel a miniscule bit of remorse for failing you. You didn’t deserve that. You studied and studied and she still had to implement that stupid rule.
Hyeju catches a wrinkled and crumpled paper globe. Her sui generis lips release a soft sigh. “At least we have thesis confetti,” she says sullenly.
“I’m dropping out,” you declare. You’re surprised at how serious you sound. Normally you’d say it just to get a laugh out of yourself, but now you’re actually considering doing it. 
“If you drop out, I’m dropping out, too,” she answers, looking at you spitefully. “And then who’s going to take care of Daniel?”
Think of Daniel. He isn’t your roommate but he’s gotten close with you and Hyeju the past few years. “His inheritance is what’s gonna take care of him. Did you forget he’s rich as shit?”
“Oh, right. How could I forget about him?” 
You start picking up the papers of your drafts faster and knocking them harder into the wall. Why are you doing that? Nope, don’t have an answer to that. There’s a fiery rage inside you that Hyeju’s latest sentence is the arsonist of. 
“The fuck are you doing?” she asks in amusement. There’s a hint of disgust on her face. “Calm down. What’re you, my dad or something?”
“S-sorry.” You know the whole deal she has with her dad. You have to stop—thus, drop the balls of papyrus from your hand. “It was just… I don’t know why I did that.”
Maybe you do. Can’t be about the test though it’s why you started throwing a thesis tantrum.
“Chill out, dude.” She pats your shoulder and gives you a pouty look. “If you want to play strict dad with me: no, I don’t like Daniel. If I did, I would have sat on his lap and said,” she assumes a high voice and flutters her eyelashes at you, leaning on your side, “‘Let me help you with that, darling. I’ll do the dishes, too! Or maybe you want to put a baby in me while I squeeze the soap on your di—’”
“Stoooop!” 
Throw a pillow at her. She dodges it and sticks her tongue out at you. Oh yeah. How could you forget that she plays dodgeball with the friend who’s taken up the topic of your conversation? 
Oh god, shouldn’t have reminded yourself that Hyeju and your other friend hang out. You’re feeling weird again.
“Earth to daddy, Earth to daddy,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Li’l shit, what’s gotten into you?”
You’re feeling something again. It creeps into your heart and tugs at its strings, just like how your roommate loves to tie knots in yours and watch you struggle around trying to walk with them. That’s how it felt when she called you that. It’s not the first time she took on a roleplaying banter with you yet that specific title has you hot. 
You need to take a walk. Take a walk to somewhere that doesn’t have you in a place where you could easily pin Son fucking Hyeju to the wall and kiss her till the heat subsides.
-
Walking is your only exercise. You care not for the gyms and weights—why pressure yourself with those when you could just go for a simple walk? An hour is already sufficient enough to burn the breakfast. Only downside is that you get quite hungry afterwards, and though you don’t care for counting calories either, you’re pretty sure the food you have after your strolls is more than the amount you burned.
Actually, you could think of another downside: Hyeju doesn’t join you. She’s a homebody. A couch potato. A living pillow. She prefers to lounge at the dorm and play games instead of going out. She rarely comes along, which is why you’re guaranteed a few hours of isolation.
When you take into consideration that it isn’t isolation if tentative feelings accompany you, you’re partly glad Hyeju didn’t come along.
“Hey, is that you?”
You smile. There he is. You always pass by the apartments this time, and the old man who owns it is one of the few people you’re fond of. Being friends with a landlord wasn’t on your college bingo card, but you’re glad it happened. He’s kind, has white hair that almost matches the color of the spaces he owns, and a mouth that can simultaneously be like that of a sailor’s and a doting grandfather.
“Hi, mister Kim.”
“Hi there yourself,” he chirps. His smile is bright. Can’t say the same about the flickering bulb back in your dorm. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
Red colors your cheeks. “Hyeju’s not my girlfriend.”
“Never said she was.” He winks.
The explosion of scarlet first starts at your ears. He got you. But it isn’t exactly you to blame—everyone likes to push you and your girl best friend together. The old man knows what he’s doing. He just likes to toy around with you. 
“Mister Kim, don’t be like that,” you say. Scratch the back of your neck.
“I’ll be however the hell I want,” he replies, crossing his arms t in a friendly stance. “You two’re always glued to each other.”
“We’re just friends, sir.”
“Just friends my ass. Whenever that girl visits me, she’s always talking about you. It’s like you’re the only thing on her mind.”
That revelation was so out of nowhere, yet you welcome it. You like knowing that Hyeju, the girl you adore, adores you just as much. It’s the mutual feeling of fondness that keeps you breathing. 
“T-that doesn’t mean anything,” you say humbly. You’re somewhat right—just because Hyeju hides the truth that she drones on about you doesn’t mean she has a crush on you. You’ve seen and met her exes, and even back then they’re miles more charming than you.
“Wanna bet?”
“I’m broke—”
“No, no. Not in that way.” He shakes his head. “If you and Hyeju actually end up together, I’m letting you live in one of my apartments for free.”
“Mister Kim—”
“Think about it for your old man, will you?”
With that, he shows you a knowing smile and turns his back. Nothing more is said.
-
Just so it’s clear for everyone who comes across this story of yours: you don’t love Son Hyeju.
Anyone and everyone says the opposite. They treat you and her like famed characters on a popular teen show, pairing you up with each other and tearing off all hesitancy about thinking that they might be going too far. 
But now you’re here to make a stand against those falsehoods: contrary to popular belief, Son Hyeju isn’t the love of your life, and although you’ve been friends for so long people’d expect you walked into kindergarten class with your hand in hers, it’s completely platonic between the two of you.
There are no feelings. No speck of a disgusting yearning in your hearts despite the late night stroll you had to take to stop your wistful thoughts. No sir. Hyeju doesn’t love you that way, and neither do you. It’s simple.
Doesn’t seem that simple when you wake up in the dorm with what’s supposed to be a groan that folds itself back down your throat when you see her curled up in the other bed, blankets splayed and curled around her. No makeup on, except for lip balm she smears around her triangle-shaped mouth when they get chapped. No care for how she looks in the air (doesn’t matter when that’s the way you like it, the way she likes it). She lies there with slumber that could only be induced by an unmerciful college.
You’re glad you have her while you’re battered by the same cause of her sleep.
You try to be silent but her eyes open anyway. Her eyes are squinted, and she kind of looks like an emoticon as she pers around. She doesn’t know when or where she is. Grin because neither do you sometimes, but now that you hold that knowledge, you share it with her.
“Earth to Hyeju, Earth to Hyeju.” Echo her words from last night and resound them back to her.
“Earth?” she groans. “Wake me up when Idalso sends me to Mars.”
Yeah, that’s the Hyeju you know. The Hyeju you love. 
(Huh? Where did that come from?)
“I’ll go with you. Could use miss Jeong not trying to kill me.”
Hyeju runs a hand through her hair groggily and smiles sweetly. “Maybe she should come along and go through with killing you if you don’t stop ‘forgetting’ to pay me that five thousand.”
“Cute. I’ll pay you later, I promise.” Rise to sling the blinds up, letting light five-thirty a.m. sun spill through the squares. “Catch some breakfast at McDonald’s before class?” you offer. She’s your usual companion in the morning—you’d split the bill (because “you’re broke, and I’m broke,” she said, “it’s only fair we try to stop being poor together”) and have a nice opening meal of egg and chicken nuggets.
“Sweetie, it’s Saturday today,” she reminds you. “Don’t you remember?” She looks up from her phone and smiles at you condescendingly, as if she knew how that friendly nickname causes your system to shut down. 
You try not to show it. Try not to make it obvious that you turned your head to hide the fact that you were flustered. The fact that despite being only friends with her your chest still tightens at her casual pet names for you, like what she called you last night as well. It’s what friends do: joke with each other, call them unflattering names one second then sweet ones the next. The dorm has enough fans to keep the air circulated, and the sweat you broke last night is gone. So if that’s that, why do you feel so warm right now?
You wonder if Hyeju also feels the same heat in her stomach when you say, “Grandpa can’t remember things well anymore, darling. You’ve got to cut him some slack.”
“Wow, okay. That’s one way to put it, I guess.”
It’s lucky that it’s still dark enough for your red ears to be invisible. You hate it when you mess up your laid-back persona in front of Hyeju, the one you put up whenever you engage in these playful arguments. “Look,” you say, “do you want to get McDonald’s or not?”
“Can’t. Won’t. Shan’t. Too lazy.”
Your heart sinks. “Fine, I’ll just go to a café then. Still have that thesis to do.”
Hyeju lays back into the bed and shuts her eyes. She’s learned that when there’s a chance to sleep, she should take it. To you, it doesn’t look like she’ll let go of this one, even if rejecting it means eating together with you. 
You put on a coat and some shoes, then turn away. Fine, let her be like that. What did you even expect? You can’t be her only priority in life. Sleep, of course, and rest should come first, especially if you’re a college student. You have to brush the hurt creeping in your heart and do your own thing, just like you’d let her do hers.
Don’t catch her eyes opening and lingering on you. Your back is turned and therefore doesn’t let you see it. But if only you did, you wouldn’t have been doubtful about your future concerns, all related to her.
-
This is a different story though. This isn’t a love story—if anything, it’s how a love story ends.
-
Just so it’s clear for everyone who comes across this story of yours: you don’t love Son Hyeju.
Yes, it bears repeating. Sometimes you need to say it again to convince yourself. Convince yourself that you’re not constantly in lectures wishing that it was her beside you instead of your groupmate. Convince yourself that your soul doesn’t shatter in pieces when she refuses to join you in anything. 
Maybe you just need someone to talk it out with. Yes, that’s right. The whimsical yearning in your heart isn’t for Hyeju. You swear on it.
Oh, but you’ve never been very good at that.
“What’s going on? I came as quick as I could,” says Daniel. Yeah, that’s his name. It’s a common name that sounds foreign and unique, especially since he’s a transfer student who came from the U.S.. He has pale skin and brown eyes that are as kind as he is. You like him—he’s the only one you bother bearing besides Hyeju.
But this isn’t about her. You need to let go of her. What? “Let go of her”? Why do you think about her like you two were actually a thing?
“Nothing. Just… feelings.”
“Something happened?” He sits down and looks around confusedly. “Wait, where’s Hyeju?”
“That’s the thing,” you say as you smile tightly. “She’s what happened.”
Daniel’s not stupid. And even if we say that he was, he’s been your friend for two years. It’s short in comparison to your time with Hyeju, you know, but it remains impressive. You don’t have that many friends besides them. That, of course, eventually led to Hyeju and Daniel becoming friends with each other. That’s the reason for him catching your drift—he knows you like the back of his hand.
You order the third cheapest option on the list: an iced latte. Your friend opts for a croissant and some tea, something that reminds you that he isn’t actually from Korea. You often forget that when his Korean is more fluent than a native’s and he gels with other people so quickly. He’s an easy-going guy with everything flowing well for him.
“Let me guess: she did something?” he asks. Alright, close enough. His fingers drum a steady rhythm on the table while yours do so on your laptop keyboard.
“Yeah.” Shake your head immediately and contradictingly. What are you saying? “No. Yeah, probably. But I think it’s my fault.”
No, it isn’t a mere probability of it being your fault. It is your fault. Why are you placing expectations on Hyeju to show up for you? It isn’t on her that you get hurt when she doesn’t have the time or willpower to come along with you. So, why are you even bothering to talk about this? You should let this matter slide. Brush it under the carpet. Rewrite the news headlines. Whatever.
“Ah, couple’s quarrels,” Daniel says teasingly. He thanks the waiter for his croissant then takes a healthy bite into it. “Out of the honeymoon phase already?”
Should you be delighted that people think that she’s yours and you’re hers? You’re split between these two emotions—choose to be frustrated instead.
“Why does everybody think that we’re a couple?” 
“Well.” Your friend twirls his teaspoon into the dainty cup. Drill your eyes on it. The café is simple and affordable to eat from, but the furniture and aesthetic make you think of it as a fancier place to eat it. “You’re always together.”
“That’s all?”
“Let me finish. When some guy has the balls to ask her out, she says she has a boyfriend. She shows him your profile and number. She goes, ‘My boyfriend wouldn’t be too happy about that.’”
The latte somehow doesn’t finish its journey through the straw. “She does?”
You’re split between two thoughts to go by again. You should be happy that your friend, a friend who’s a girl moreover (never confuse a friend who’s a girl with a girlfriend—ever), feels safe enough with you to refer to you as someone who’d protect her, whether from creeps or the aggressive dogs that patrol your college grounds. It takes real trust to call a guy who’s a friend (again, avoid the confusion) your boyfriend when the time requires it. This means she trusts you to come to her if she needs saving from an odd guy or an escape out of situations.
But at the same time, you wonder if that’s what you really are to her, what you’ll only ever be to her: a fake boyfriend. The guy friend who doesn’t mind being called a boyfriend because he knows his low place in her heart. Does Hyeju even look at you as someone who’s not just an acquaintance?
“Yeah,” Daniel says matter-of-factly. “She really likes having you around.”
You don’t need to think about it when you reply, softly: “I do, too.”
The two of you sit in silence you don’t know the source of. Daniel stops eating suddenly. Similarly, all the appetite is lost and you have to put your plastic cup of latte down before you throw it at the wall and ruin the dining experience for everyone else. No, this is your problem. You should deal with it before dragging anyone into it.
“So, why did you call me? What is it about Hyeju?”
Ah, what are you thinking? Daniel shouldn’t even be here. Why did you even call him over? You did and now you don’t know why you suddenly want to throw the contents of your plastic cup into his face. If you give in, you’d be feeding into the delusion that he’s the one standing between you and Hyeju. 
That only leads to the second question of the day:
Why do you suddenly hate Daniel? Daniel is a nice guy. He doesn’t even make a move on her or disrespect her. 
You don’t like these feelings. It’s causing you to think all sorts of nonsense about everybody else, not excluding Daniel, who hasn’t done anything wrong. 
“I…” Sigh. This is the second time you’re finding an escape route so that you could be alone with your feelings. “I have to think about it. I need some time alone.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry about that.”
Hate how more guilt washes over your heart. See here, he doesn’t even protest or say something that might even be right, like tell you how you called him to come over in the first place or how there isn’t a good reason why he should leave. He simply wraps his croissant with a plastic he asked for at the counter and leaves, tea and all.
Great. Now you’re alone, like you usually are and always will be. Attempt to use it as a pro and work on your thesis. Type it all down on a Word document. Wait patiently, as you learned to, as your old laptop stops for the suffering you’ve caused it with the extra storage taken up by assignments. Contact your groupmates. Remind them to do their jobs.
It’s all going so well. That’s when she pulls up to the cafe you’ve been writing at with her hands perched on the wooden surface of your table, with the smirk that doesn’t ever leave without making sure it’s her certified look featured on her lips.
No need to mention names when there's only one girl who could make your world stop spinning.
You can’t stop staring, and it’s not even because she turned up out of nowhere. You’re always in a state of shock when Hyeju is around.
She never allows her hair to be restrained in a tight tail, so there she is with those luscious black locks spilling all over her shoulders. How she manages to look so cool and be the very person everyone wishes to be while having those soft cheeks only the evillest of people wouldn’t pinch you don’t know. Son Hyeju is cool and cute at the same time, somehow balancing those everyday without effort.
But you don’t love her. Just to remind everyone once again. No matter what happens, you have no feelings for her. And that’s that.
"Hey," she says, putting her weight on one arm. Then she curves down her head to peer at your screen. "Whatchu doin'?"
Immediately slam your laptop shut and look at her with annoyed eyes. Oh, why do you even try? You could never despise her. You could pray to god all night and day for you to hate Hyeju, to hate her to the ends of the Earth just to banish these strange feelings, and he wouldn't give in. Crazier and crazier her antics shall get and you'd remain loyal to her.
And that's all because she's a good friend. That's everything there is to it. 
Wait. Who are you convincing again?
"Oh, come on. Smile a little, pretty boy." Hyeju places a finger on one edge of your mouth then pulls it upwards. "There you go. Suh-miiile—"
Pretty boy. She called me a pretty boy.
"You p-plan on getting off the table or what?" you say.
People are staring at you and Hyeju but that isn't what's making you blush. What's gotten into you? You can't tell yourself it's because of her simply because it isn't because of her. Hyeju has as much effect on you as a cup of coffee.
(You thrive off caffeine, by the way, but that's not the point.)
"Sure. No. Uh… probably?" She looks up at the ceiling as if she's figuring something out, then clicks her tongue when she does. "Yep, nah."
Groan. 
Secretly, confessed only in the deepest corners of your mind, you like people paying attention to you and Hyeju. It’s not much about the attention itself but the way it makes them think that the two of you must be really close. Like, really really close. The kind that makes those who want Hyeju rush to her only to be met in the face with a barrier: you. They can’t have her because you do.
Not in that way, of course, but it still means something. If she has you, nobody else could, and if you have her, more so.
"Son Hyeju,” you say, fighting back the smile on your face as she ruffles your hair, “I swear to god—"
"Oh, please," says Hyeju, leaning forward with narrowed eyes and a wicked smile, "spare me, oppa. Spare me the blasphemy—"
That's enough from her, you think. Your hands dive for her waist. Pull her down onto your lap. Your thighs soften the blow and also play the role of a launch pad as one kick sends Hyeju in the air. More chances to tickle her come along with it. Okay, that bit about the lap was wholly unintentional, and you'll swear to god again for that. 
What isn't unintended though is the tickling you do on Hyeju's midriff and arms. It helps that she's so sensitive—soon she's laughing boisterously, struggling in your lap with her head upturned and triangle-shaped mouth letting out unkempt guffaws. She nearly kicks the two of you out of the café seat.
"Dude, you are such a loser, stop!" she laughs, still winding around like a screw on top of you. Laughs alternate between each syllable. "P-people are looking, fffucking quit—"
When that beautiful gummy smile breaks on her face, you don't want to. People can look as much as they like and you wouldn't give a damn. Tickling is Hyeju's punishment, and you'll do it to her anywhere to teach her a lesson.
"Ha, haha, I'm sorry, okay!"
"That's my girl." 
You’re not hurt anymore. For a few delicious minutes, you’ll forget you were ever pondering if you like her or not.
Stop completely because you’re easy to convince like that All she needed was that one magic word. Place her on the chair beside you and fold her hands on her lap as if she were a misbehaving child. 
"Now behave yourself."
Hyeju rolls her eyes. "And if I don't?" she challenges you. 
You raise your fingers in a curled position and direct them threateningly centimeters away from her ticklish spots. She gives up. She can't find a punishment worse than that.
"Why are you here anyway? I thought you didn’t want to come," you say, taking the liberty to open your laptop again. The screen directs you to your assignment tab after you type in your password. Sigh; still five thousand words to go. 
"I'm here because I've got nowhere else to be," she answers. She practices her own liberty, too, and sips shamelessly at your iced beverage.
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Her eyes light up at the taste. "I got bored being alone in the dorm."
You think of her alone, and your heart immediately sinks. Maybe you should have stayed there. You’re her roommate—you’re there for her to have company. Sure, the roommates were paired up randomly, but it must lead to something now that you and Hyeju have met again. It was by pure chance that she reunited with you after years of being apart. There’s a string drawing you together, and you don’t know what it means. 
You do know that the reunion with your childhood best friend and seeing how she’s grown made your heart flutter. You act all mean when you’re around her, which is confusing when you’ve missed her so much.
"And I needed somewhere else to finish this thesis before miss Wong realizes it was due three weeks ago." Glare pointedly at her. Here you go again. Told you so. "Somewhere that's not occupied by a brat."
It's true. Call it what you will: an insult, a pointless accusation, but what you said rings true even in your childhood best friend's defiant mind. She could be a handful often.
"I am not a brat," she says, offended. She knows the truth and chooses to deny it. Typical. You should have seen that coming when she’s the girl who lies about the extra dishes in the sink not being her fault and her turn with the laundry.
Sigh. Act as the lawyer; you’re studying to be one anyway. It’s best to practice. "Remember when you cut up the slogan on the mayo label then taped it on me? I had 'white creamy filling; taste me!' on my back for the whole day!" 
"It was a big-ass sticker for a mayonnaise, okay? I couldn't stop myself." Hyeju admits this with hands raised in defeat. "But what about that time you shoved a Toblerone in my mouth while I was sleeping then took a photo of me?"
Raise your hands, too. You realize there's no way to weigh in the blame on a single person when you and Hyeju brought the brat out of each other. It's impossible to go by a day that isn't filled by at least one prank and joking quarrels.
Still, you find it fun. Hyeju's so easy to bond with, so easy to love. 
Whoa, where did that suddenly get here? Like you said, you love Hyeju, but only as a friend. 
So you do love her, in a way. Huh. 
That realization settles in and suddenly you're rendered frozen at the table. Your hands that ought to be finishing your schoolwork are frozen in mid-air. You're staring at the screen like you were watching a gory movie instead of trying to tick off your to-do list. 
"You okay?" she asks, one-of-a-kind lips sealed around the paper straw. "You kind of, like, went to another dimension for a bit."
How do you tell her you’re considering the fact that you might actually like her? You’ve known her for years. Something’s inevitably going to bloom inside you for her, right?
"Y-yeah. I'm good." Not. “And stop drinking my coffee.”
“You wouldn’t need it if you just did the thesis early. What’s so hard about it anyway?” Hyeju stands then bends over to glance at your laptop.
You don’t realize how short her dress is. It rides up to the centers of her thighs and you don’t know how to prevent anyone from seeing something forbidden without brushing down the hem of her dress. If you went down that road, you’d have to run your hand along her back and ass—you’d look like a pervert. 
Idiot. Think of something. Something that isn’t how you’d love to see more when you're just like everyone and shouldn't be allowed more eye access to her body. Only you know how many times Hyeju’s body came up in your mind when you were alone. Paired up with that attractive face that held a permanent pout, it’s impossible not to think of anything else. 
“Ugh! You are so dumb, you know that, oppa?” To your horror, Hyeju sits down neatly on your lap. She has her hands quickly frisking on your keyboard. “There’s a comma missing here, and a citation over here… oh, and a—”
“Save some for the rest of us!” a man about your age and height yells jokingly, cheering you on with a raise of his mug of hot coffee.
Both you and Hyeju look at him with confusion written all over your faces. Your words of surprise almost sync and match with the other for you realize your hands are on her hips, and Hyeju’s leaning back so comfortably in you that anyone would have thought it was another case of couple’s PDA. They’d be wrong though. She’s not your girlfriend. She can’t be your girlfriend.
So why is she so comfortable on top of you, as if she’s always been there? Why did your hands naturally rest on the beautiful slopes of her hips and pull her down the moment she stooped?
The guy’s grandmother smiles adoringly. “Young love,” she says with a dreamy tinge to her aged voice. "What wouldn't I give to experience that again."
You and Hyeju meet each other’s gazes and suddenly you’re unattached to each other. She guiltily settles on her chair and you take your hands off her. That was wrong. Why were the two of you so comfortable with being so touchy? Best friends don’t do that. At least, not best friends of the opposite sex. 
“I should go,” she stammers, standing up. “Call me i-if you need help, oppa.”
Just like that, she’s gone. Where did she go? Why did you lose her so fast?
-
Hyeju’s always called you oppa one way or another, but that moment left a particular jar in your heart. It shards the depths of the core and renders you speechless. You didn’t know that the person you’d love to hear that title the most from is your best friend. She’s supposed to call you that when she’s younger, but even if she weren’t, you’d still love to hear her call you that.
There’s a sense of fulfillment in being able to be Hyeju’s oppa. The one she always relies on. The one she sticks to through whatever happens. That’s why now that she’s told you to call her if you need help makes you ache. It’s the things that are seemingly so simple as that that send more yearning inside you.
The question is: what exactly are you yearning for? Who are you yearning for?
You think you know the answer. It’d take guts to admit it, to finally come clean. But what’s there to come clean about? You don’t love Hyeju. 
A ding from your phone just now. You’re nearly finished with the thesis, and it’s lucky that way since it’s from Hyeju. God knows she has ways of distracting you. Her clean moves at the dance she led and her chill yet stern voice when she commands a rowdy classroom steer you away from what you should be doing, like get away from her. Avoid her at all costs. Never tell her what you’re feeling because it’ll only end up badly for everyone involved. You don’t want to hurt Hyeju, and still you remain hopeful to not get yourself hurt, too.
It takes several seconds for courage to tie you down and pick up the phone. It’s a series of texts from her.
HyejU_U: hey
Sooooooooo
I’m sorry for what happened earlier. 
I didn’t really think and thought that you'd be fine with it
cause yknow
You pulled me down
and
We’re friends.
right?
Yeah, we’re friends, you think bitterly. And no matter how touchy you get, Son Hyeju, it’s all we’ll ever be to you.
HyejU_U: can we just move forward from it? If you want to ofc
Do you? Graduation is near and it’s still taken plenty of years of your life to get over Hyeju. Do you go forward and start on a new slate with her, or dwell in places you shouldn’t be?
Your fingers linger on the keyboard, then—
You: Sure.
Sorry, too
if i like
Made you feel uncomfortable
Wasnt my intention, i promise
HyejU_U: oh you didnt make me feel uncomfy at all.
So don’t worry <3
What a relief.
HyejU_U: i should be the one apologizing anyway
I thought it would be nice to be on you since ur arms feel good around me
Cock a brow. A giddy smile itches at the ends of your lips. Stifle it you will, though she can’t see you through her screen.
HyejU_U: sorry again
i just wanted to see if what i thought was true
Anyways. 
yeah, sorry.
You: so we’re good?
HyejU_U: we have a deal, dickface
;)
See, this is the thing you’re afraid to lose with Hyeju: the carefreeness of your little friendly touches and hugs, insults that take it just far enough, everything. If you told her how you felt (keep in mind that you might not actually like her romantically; you’re just thinking that you might), you’d lose your relationship with her—the one that formed before the two of you even knew what romance was. The one that’s kept the reunion as natural as could be without the need for awkwardness.
You’re so glad to have her back. As a student you’ve nearly cried knowing you passed a semester and worked night and day to finish a difficult assignment—none of those feelings can match the one of relief you felt when Hyeju told you everything was good on both ends. 
But for now, you’ve gotta try to put a dent into this thesis. You’re almost done, you swear. You’ve just been stalling—not intentionally. You swear on that, too. Your whole afternoon’s been swamped up in thoughts about her plus the thoughts about if you’re too perverted a man to be with her. There are a lot of questions left by you immediately responding to Hyeju choosing to sit on your lap. A lot of which are left unanswered.
Priorities. Sigh a little; there’s still work to be done, yet worrying about your best friend is on top of the list. You really should find a hobby when you’re already dragging your teammates behind. Plus, there’s the capstone to worry about that you haven’t prepared for even in the most miniscule bit. So there really shouldn’t be an explanation for why thinking about what she thinks of you is your number one priority. Why, you have plenty of other things to worry about.
You just can’t get her off your mind. These days it’s impossible to.
Abstain anyway, the best you can, from thinking about her and finally complete the thesis. It’s lengthy, well-edited, and has the perfect format to finally make you a lawyer. Attorney doesn’t sound too bad when it’s added to the front of your name.
You should celebrate, actually. The moment you think of it, Daniel suddenly messages you. He’s saying something about it being a Saturday, so you should go to the bar with him. You’re a social drinker, anyway. You could go there without going overboard. Addictions and vices form in these years of fresh adulthood, but you’ve never found yourself wound up in something.
So you do. They ask for your IDs and let you in after a short study of the cards. The guard gives you a lengthy lecture about not being alcoholics as young as you are, but welcomes you anyway.
If we’re talking about getting yourself wound up in someone, though…
“Dude,” Daniel says. He motions his glass to someone coming from the door. “Hyeju.”
You already know he’s rich, but what teacher did he pay to study him into mind-reading? “I wasn’t thinking about her,” you tell him defensively.
“No, I mean, she’s here.” He stares at said woman walking over to the bar with swaying hips. “How the fuck did she get here?”
Hyeju’s here? Swallow. Quick. What do you say? Where exactly in the bar is she right now? Why is she here? When did she get here? Why the fuck are you talking like a news reporter? 
“Hullo, boys.” She stops your train of thought and makes sure to dedicate all of them to her with her hands set on the table and a pretty crop top attached to the curves on her perfect body. You wonder where she got that dress. If she thrifted it, it isn’t obvious—her body does good work in making it look like couture.
“Hi, Hyeju.” Daniel acknowledges her with a nod. He’s a friend of yours and hers, just to remind everyone. He wouldn’t take another step with Hyeju, but you still have yourself staring daggers into his stubbled beard that lines his face and how he takes life as he would a game. There’s a reason why you’re the least tipsy among the two of you. He likes a challenge.
“Hi,” you say meekly. Hope your voice doesn’t sound twisted when your stomach suddenly is. Oh, and it’s not because of Hyeju. It’s the alcohol, pinky promise with a finger heart after. Alcohol’s never made your stomach turn this way though. 
Hyeju regards the shotglasses. “You went drinking without me?” 
“What does it look like?” Daniel asks, giving her the finger. It’s just the usual friendly argument that doesn’t cross lines or anything. The ones that you and Hyeju have. Why do you feel like punching him in the face?
Luckily, she doesn’t have a fragile heart. “Cute. Keep it that way.” She rolls her eyes then turns to you. “Oh, and you. I thought you liked having me around.”
“I’m sorry.” Ask the bartender for another shot then hand it to her. “I guess we just thought you were busy with training.”
She’s training to become an idol. It’s been her dream since she was a kid, when you played in the slides and dropped from monkey bars. She’s always told you she was going to be big someday, and you never doubted that for a second. She even had a name she planned to use if she were to be a performer: Olivia Hye. You weren’t gonna lie, it had a nice ring to it. Not too bad for a name she made up after skimming through a baby name book from the bookstore.
“I dropped out,” she says simply, downing the shot like water.
“What?” you and Daniel ask together. Both of your voices sync with the shock, too. Neither of you could get why she did that. It’s been Hyeju’s dream to become an idol for so long. She couldn’t give that up just like that, but she did.
“Yep.” There’s pride in her voice. “The whole thing was a shithole. I already have Idalso to deal with. I’m not gonna put up with that, fuck no.”
Your heart aches for her dream. Idalso University really is blocking her from achieving it. She could be out there on the stage, maybe having found a better agency, singing and dancing her heart out. Instead, she has to choose one problem at the time and hence goes with college. She has her own parents to please, and because you have yours, you get it. You truly do.
As for Hyeju getting a problem off her mind, like that terrible agency, your spirits lift. You raise a glass and clink it with hers. 
“To getting the hell out of this shithole,” you say; look at the girl you’ve lived for and loved with a smile, “and Son fucking Hyeju for doing it again.”
Your glasses meet. You’re somehow happy that it’s only two, yours and hers, that join. You can’t explain it for the life of you, but you like seeing Daniel become like a background character to it all. Just another extra in Hyeju’s show and yours. It’s cruel, especially when he’s been nothing but a good friend, but it is what it is.
“Tell you what,” Daniel says. “Let’s go to a noraebang tomorrow.”
She’s contemplative. “Isn’t the one near Idalso… like, expensive?” 
“So what?” He shrugs. “You did it, Hyeju. You got out of that company thing. I’m done with my capstone and so is he with his thesis. I say we all have some fun. On me.”
Daniel has the privilege of not worrying about things being expensive or not. It’s the norm for him. You kind of want him to play Dorothy and put himself in your shoes, then make him go through what you did. 
You know it isn’t fair and he’s just being kind. Still and all, your hatred rises.
“What now?” Daniel asks. “You guys in!”
“Of course!” Hyeju nods and claps her hands together. There’s a gummy smile on her face again. You’ve seen it on her many times, but you’ve also seen the sunset everyday—therefore, you’ll still be glad to catch a glimpse of it.
You guess since she’s in, you have to go, too. You say yes and that of course you’d love to go, and this time three glasses clink together prettily. Smiles are on each of your faces albeit yours is artificial.
"Could you act any less like a deadbeat dad?" Hyeju asks. She sits down on the stool beside you after Daniel leaves to get some air. Still feels like he's here when you feel like everyone's eyes are on you and her.
"I'm not doing anything." You say that because you aren't. You definitely aren't stirring a brew of jealousy inside you that poisons the maker, too. You're its creator yet the prophecy that was written tells that it'll turn against you, too. You’re Kronos, and it's an inevitable fate. 
"Exactly. That's what deadbeat means." This matter-of-fact statement from her is followed by Hyeju stealing your shotglass out of your hand right before you drink it. "Seriously, dude. What's up with you?"
Oh, you don't know. Maybe her possibly being your crush? It's such an immature matter, but you haven't had a crush like this. The others were just sweet-faced and from afar. Those are the girls you dream of. To have a girl like Hyeju, the one you've known since forever, with a spunky personality but an opposing pretty face, the one who's been your ride-or-die—it's complicated.
What else could you say to her when the truth is something you'd rather she not hear?
"I'm fine, Hye."
"Are you? You look…" She thinks about it for a while as she studies your hair and poorly combined outfit choices. She slicks your blunt strands back and smiles teasingly. "...sleazy."
"Fuck y—"
"Shhh." She places a finger on your lips. The side of her thigh touches your lap. You're so close that any word you utter won't pass without hitting her. "It's okay. I like it."
You purse your lips. You didn't expect that. She's taken seats on your lap that were uninitiated by you and let you lift her in the air when you hug her. All that and her fingers in your hair are the most surprising.
"You're drunk," you say, although she’s only had a few shots. 
Hyeju inches closer to you and holds your chin in place. "I'm sober as the next wolf, sweetie," she tells you. Her next words fail to show her hesitance. "And… and it just so happens that I really, really want to kiss you."
She's joking. She's playing around with your heart. You're not a virgin—you know what girls do. Hyeju doesn't strike you as the type to do that in spite of what’s going on, but you have to be careful. Your heart’s been bruised too many times already. 
Careful isn't the word for it when you take the first step and lean in for a kiss. Maybe you're drunk yourself. Dizziness enchants your mind as Hyeju's dreamy lips perfectly pout to the shape of your mouth. Her eyes are closed. It's like she's in a restful dream.
You can’t believe you’re doing it. You’re kissing her. Passionately, too—there’s real determination in the way you hungrily lean forward to devour her lips. 
The bar oohs and ahhs, then erupts into a crowd of applause. A few whistles come your way. You can feel Hyeju smile into your mouth.
-
Proclivities upon proclivities to keep her around you and only you couldn’t stop Monday from coming. You’ve only been to a noraebang once and that was with your family. It excites you to go to one again. However, you’d rather have only Hyeju to come, to be the exclusive member of the club that gets to hear her soft, pretty voice echo in the mic.
She’s really doing a number on you. Daniel’s your friend—sure, he might be out of touch with the local games and experiences, yet he’s still important to you. You can’t be mad at him over a girl who probably doesn’t even think the kiss at the bar was anything special. She hasn’t even talked about it with you and acts like it didn’t happen. Just another boy, just another day. That’s probably how you are to her.
Ouch. Way to go hurting yourself with your own made-up scenarios. As expected from you. 
The three of you decide to cut classes. It’s not like you’re in high school anymore. Professors just don’t give a fuck, unless it’s miss Wong. She’s pretty and quiet at first. Then you have to wait to see her get angry—that’s when all hell breaks loose.
No hell on the loose today. Just three little demons from hell called Hyeju, Daniel and yourself down on the loose and down the road to the noraebang. Hyeju’s in a loose black jacket and a plain white tee. You somehow notice that more than Daniel who’s sporting a graphic shirt with swear words from every language printed on it. You don’t have much to say about your attire when it’s nothing special, not even compared to Hyeju, who’s wearing simple clothes like you.
“If a teacher sees us out here—” says Daniel nervously. He’s never rebelled before. The most he’s done is missing a class. 
“No one will,” Hyeju promises him, opening the door of the place for the two of you though in your opinion it should be the other way around: you opening the door for her. What better way to show Hyeju that you could be a gentleman? Too late now. Plus, she doesn’t care much for that. That’s what keeps your excitement on a low burn. It takes more than opening a door and waiting around to impress Hyeju. 
You sign your names at the front. Daniel picks a nice, wide room with a glass table perfect for chips and bottles. The bright screen already shows snippets of K-pop music videos, involving sweet-faced Korean girls waving at the camera and running along a beach. As boyish Hyeju is compared to other girls, you could definitely see her doing that for her passion of becoming an idol. 
“What should we sing?” asks Hyeju, sitting down on the black plush seats comfortably. Her gummy smile is precious.
“Anything you want.” He slings an arm around her. His looped arm tugs her into a warm embrace. “Anything for the soon-to-be lawyer slash K-pop idol.”
Stiffen. Turn away and suddenly take good interest in the walls with a carved 3D effect. Much more interesting than whatever Daniel’s trying to pull on your best friend. Right, Hyeju’s your best friend. Nothing more. That kiss was a drunken mistake. You shouldn’t be getting angry. Besides, this noraebang was rented for you to have fun, not glower at Daniel doing nothing but be a good friend.
Hyeju laughs and leans into him gladly. “Stop, you’re gonna make me throw up!”
You feel out of place all of a sudden. Has she always been that affectionate with him? You thought that those touches and hugs were reserved for you only. Apparently not.
“Sing a song, Hye.” Your eyes don’t meet her gaze.
“They wanted me to debut with this song,” she says. The mic is shaky in her hand. “I—” She blushes. “I want to sing it for you.”
Sweetness infiltrates the air. It’s not of a scent or touch, but of hearing. It's Hyeju’s voice. It's smooth and soft as it passes through the empty atmosphere. No instrumental accompanies her voice, and you’re glad it’s that way. It allows you to marvel at Hyeju’s tone, quiet in spite of its sexiness.
And it takes that and several songs later, sung daringly by all of your trio, and jokes passed among friends that make you think about it. Really think about it. While Daniel and she sing their hearts out to the point of their voices cracking and laughs transforming into guffaws, you sit there and submerge yourself in thought.
You’ve seen Hyeju smile. It's pretty and sweet; her triangle-shaped mouth curls up into a half moon and it's everything you've ever wished for in life. No, fuck food. Fuck oxygen. All you need is her smile. It's cheesy as hell when you page through those types of quotes in those teenage romance books you probably shouldn't even be holding, but you swear that if Hyeju smiles for the rest of her life, it's enough for you to live. She just looks so pretty. Her resting bitch face, stone cold as the title of the expression suggests, is hot (yes, you're using that word), but when she chooses to smile—oh, you're as good as dead.
You don't like Son Hyeju though.
You’ve heard her sing in the noraebang room with her soft voice filling the vicinity. She doesn't sing much although she could. The day would come when she’d say "you know, I almost became an idol. I trained then dipped halfway,” and the pitched raspiness of her voice still would send you to heaven. It's a natural and beautiful thing, a trait she couldn't learn from the best vocal coach.
You don't like Son Hyeju though.
You’ve felt her hair when she leaned into your lap after laughing too much. "Stop, or I swear to god I will fuck your shit up," she told you, slapping your thigh after your terrible dad joke. You ran your fingers through her hair to calm her, but if anything it's an excuse to just touch her. You want to touch Hyeju, and not even in a sexual way. You just want your bodies closed up on each other with no awkwardness barriering the freedom to hold and be held.
And it’s not the kiss, but all these that make you stop your denial, and discover that you—
“—think I like Hye,” you whisper to Daniel when said girl leaves to get some beer. The flashing disco lights hanging from the ceiling can’t camouflage the red on your face. 
Daniel laughs and puts down the mic. The bump on the crafted table sends a tinged pitch of feedback to your ears. “Everyone likes her. So?”
He’s right. Everyone likes Hyeju. Yeah, they like her through every name she’s taken up. She was the star of the school back in middle school when she went as Hyejoo, then the ice princess of high school as Olivia Hye, and finally… as herself now that she’s grown up with you, Son Hyeju. She’s become so many versions of herself and yet people still like the real her. You still know the real her.
“No,” is what you say, as you twiddle your fingers. You don’t know how to say this without causing an uproar. “I like Hyeju.”
He considers this for a moment, weighing in your words. “Like as in… like like?”
A nervous swallow. Is Daniel the right person to tell this ? “Like like,” you reply nevertheless.
Daniel locks his chin between his rough fingers and strokes it thoughtfully. His face is clouded with a feeling you can’t read. “Well, a lot of people do, too. And they wouldn’t blame you for it. She’s—” He looks down at his shoes then back at the noraebang screen. “She’s a pretty girl.”
The understatement of the century. Hyeju’s face was carved with such beauty—curved, pyramid lips; slanted eyes; a cold look that you, unlike people when asked about their first impression of her, weren’t scared of—and she’s just so… easy to love. 
Yes, Son Hyeju is easy to love. Everyone loves her, but she can only ever reciprocate it in a different way to one man. Woman, perhaps? Anything goes, but you'd rather she gives it to you.
You're a selfish person, you admit that. More so when it comes to her. 
"Let's get this party started!" she says. You don't intend to flinch yet you end up doing it anyway when she sits down next to you and hands you canned alcohol. 
"There's only three of us, Hye," Daniel points out. The rounded metal springs up from the can and he gulps down a hefty amount of the spiked liquid.
"Three's a crowd. Especially when it's with you guys."
"So you're saying we're too much?" Match her sass with hidden bits of your own. You're only trying to make it seem like your heart doesn't beg to be held close to hers. 
"Too much is just enough for me." 
Hyeju drops both of her arms around you and your other friend and ruffles your hair. It's sweet. It should be. It’s exactly that which makes you fail to understand why your heart feels squeezed. Why is she also hugging Daniel in the same manner she hugs you?
The kiss at the bar means nothing. The kiss at the bar means nothing. You have to stop thinking that it means there's a ring on your finger already. 
You rise from the sofa to purchase chips because you’re starving, but not for healthy food. You wouldn’t dream of eating a salad when there’s junk food in your general vicinity, and it just so happens that there’s a vending machine you’ve got your eye on at the counter. Soon, a rainbow of plastic bags fills your arms. What they contain would work well to repay your debt with Hyeju. Daniel can eat these without worrying about money. He’s been a good friend. He deserves chips after the evil you’ve thought about him.
"I bought chips—"
Daniel is pushing Hyeju to the end of the sofa and has his lips locked on hers. His hands are in her hair. Her eyes are shut. You can hear the sloppy sounds of kissing bouncing off the noraebang walls. The instrumental from the radio is the cherry on top of everything.
Does this kiss guarantee a ring? 
"Wow," you say. Nod then laugh, as if doing it would make your situation better. “Wow.”
Hyeju turns her head and scrambles for broken dignity. It's too late. You've already seen it. Daniel doesn't even bother running after you when she bursts out of the room to chase you. You're immovable—each step is a promise to take you far away. You trust that promise to skewer you away from Son Hyeju, Son fucking Hyeju who led you on and played with your heart.
"Hey.” Her steps catch up with yours. Walk faster, but she only draws closer. You can’t escape from her now. “Hey!”
"What?" Turn to her, heavy breathing lining your shoulders. You stare into her small face and silently dare her to make an excuse.
To your surprise and her audacity, she does. "It's not what it looks like!" she says, swallowing. How could she be the one near tears when she's the one who kissed him? "Let me explain—"
"I know what I saw."
"Well, you don't see the bigger picture. He sm—"
"—smart? Funny? Rich?" Laugh and shake your head. Your laughs sound more and more genuine. You've gone a little sick in the head. "Yeah, I know. But hey, we're not supposed to be anything, right? Why am I mad? It's not like our kiss meant anything."
"Please, oppa. Listen to me."
"No, go sing together,” you say, then thrust the junk food you bought in her arms. “I’m sure you’re better off with him.”
Mean it. Turn away. Don't bother to look at her when you know she'll go crawling back to Daniel. He's totally her type. He's everything, you're nothing. He's smart, you're not. He loves her more, and you do—just not enough. Now you understand why they were so touchy and close in the room.
Anger is irrational when it was just a kiss. The two of you weren't official, either. If you weren't before, you sure as hell aren't now. It's just not meant to be. 
She likes Daniel, not you. And even though you want to be, you aren't supposed to be angry at Hyeju. She was swept into a high school love triangle that happened a little later in her life, and ultimately chose the better guy. No need to drop names. The kiss was enough for you to know which man she chose.
Besides, you don't love Son Hyeju anyway. Isn't that what you've always told yourself? That's right. You don't love her.
Denial is a river flowing down your cheek.
-
The dorm becomes a cemetery of the living dead. You and Hyeju have not spoken to each other for three months. She stops waking you up for class, and you do the same. The place is notably cleaner after the two of you rely only on yourself to tidy up. Lost are the sarcasm, friendly touches, teasing arguments. It’s like the two of you never knew each other.
It’s through this that you discover that you have to be careful what you wish for. You always thought about Daniel putting himself in your place, and it happened. Ever since the kiss, Hyeju’s been chattier with him, and he pulls her close the way you used to, and she smiles at him like she used to at you, except that it’s wider now. They’re together. Officially together; you’ve seen their Instagram posts. 
Moreover, she’s happier than ever, flourishing without you.
And you? You’re still stuck in that noraebang, replaying that fateful kiss over and over in your head. Each time you close your eyes you see Hyeju and Daniel in a passionate liplock. It’s the kiss that ruined what you had with Hyeju and has made your quality of life deteriorate. You didn’t know that Hyeju makes up almost every part of your day. Mornings are empty without your stroll with her. Post-exam nights aren’t as fun when she’s not there to bring drinks. Afternoons are lonely when she’s always out with Daniel.
You hate the fucker. He knew you liked Hyeju. You’ve told him about it right before the thing he did with her even happened, so it’s impossible that he’d forget. Besides, like he said, the two of you are always together. He surely would have picked up the signs. Unfortunately, he whisked her away just like that.
You dislike to feel like the scheming guy in coming-of-age films who doesn’t get the girl, but it’s the perfect portrayal of your emotions.
Wake up for class. She does, too. You have the decency to not gawk at how good she looks even in a casual tank top and plaid shorts, but she doesn’t even try to hide that she’s staring at you. Just not for the same reason, you assume. You’re just her boy best friend. With the way things are, you aren’t even a friend to her anymore.
You smear cheese onto a soft slice of bread. Still, her eyes are on you. From the corner of what takes up your vision, you could tell that she’s trying to figure out how to make this less awkward. You’d think that an eternity’s worth of effectively giving each other the cold shoulder would make her learn how to do it. She’s a smart girl anyway. She should have figured that out.
“You know… you can’t just keep ignoring me.”
Freeze—it’s the first time she’s spoken to you in a while. And you weren’t prepared for that. It’s like someone threw a punch in your stomach, but it’s also a breath of fresh air. How those two feelings could converge into each other you don’t know. 
“So stop it, will you?” she continues. She swings her legs out of the duvet and places her hands snug on the edge of her bed. “Stop treating me like I’m a…”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m your fucking ex,” Hyeju snarls. The duvet crumples in her fist.
Scoff. Fold the bread slice tight onto the other squared end. Talk about a good morning. “Ex? We were never a thing, Hye… ju.” 
Right, it isn’t like that anymore. You can’t call her Hye like the old times.
The hurt that registers on her face, still pretty in the midst of pain, comes by so fast it would take a magnifying glass to see it clearly. Now she’s the one scoffing. She recovers quickly from the stifled nickname so well that you never would have guessed you disarmed her. “That’s the thing. You’re right—we weren’t boyfriend-girlfriend. So why are you acting like I’m a ghost?”
“I wonder why,” you say. “Couldn’t be because you kissed me then decided to kiss another guy while I was away. Nope, totally out of the question.”
What happened? It seems like just yesterday the two of you were throwing insults and playfully quarreling with each other like it’s natural. This is a real disagreement here. This can’t be resolved with a smile or hug. You and Hyeju aren’t like that anymore. It’s a thing of the past.
Just like your friendship.
“If you’d just let me explain—”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. Go with Daniel to class. Have a good life with him. Just call me if you get lost.”
Don’t even try to take a bite out of your cheese sandwich. You leave it on the table. Later, it’ll become stale and cold, similar to your friendship with Hyeju, or whatever kind of fucked up relationship you have.
You storm out of the dorm. You’re glad to get out—you’re already worried about the test later and the night class with miss Wong. Don’t need a situationship to take up your mind either. 
The day passes like a car on a rocky, jagged road. It’s difficult to muster a smile to the freshmen the moment you come in to help miss Jeong teach, or work on your test when that argument with her fills your mind rather than equations you should have memorized. The whole day is torture, and you don’t dare wish it on anyone. Not even that asshole Daniel
“What’s up with you today?” people ask you. “You sure you’re alright?” “Where’s Hyeju?”
You don’t answer.
When the night comes, it’s relief for your sore mind and body. That test beat you up and the sun was too cruel to your skin. Even if night classes could last till the brink of dawn, you don’t mind. Take comfort in the fact that it’s only a discussion and nothing more. 
Barely listen though. Two a.m. creeps by and you haven’t taken in a thing. Usually miss Wong would have you focused, keeping in mind that she’s strict and merciless, but you’re too tired today. Your bones ache though you didn’t do much walking. They’re only symptoms of heartbreak.
You don’t want to see a doctor. In fact, you want to get worse.
Miss Wong looks up at the clock. “Is it alright if I extend for just five minutes?” she asks. Her pencil skirt struggles to contain her strides on the platform.
A chorus of mixed responses echo in the classroom. Others, the top students in particular who participate in every club you could name, say it’s fine. Some already have excuses to make: they need to work on homework; they have other classes to go to; every excuse existing. You don’t know which side you’re on—you don’t want to come home to another angry night with Hyeju, and at the same time, you can’t be assed to stay.
Then—
Ringing. It’s all you hear. Your classmates’ voices drown out in it. It’s supposed to be soft, but it isn’t anymore when everyone shuts their mouth in alarm. Look here, look there. You don’t know where it’s coming from. 
Your hint is the light in your pocket. Fish it out. It’s coming from your phone.
“I thought I told you guys to put your cellphones on mute during class,” Wong says, sighing. Her glare shoots you a warning.
Okay, you’d say sorry to her and put your phone away. Drop the call. Anything. But the first thing you do is wonder:
Why the fuck is Son Hyeju calling you?
Aside from all the tension between you, your natural instinct is to answer. Your next is to ask her, “Hye?”
“Oppa…” comes her voice from your speaker.
Before you could wonder why she’s calling, you notice that Hyeju’s voice is… lonely. Yes, lonely. That’s the word you’d use right away if you’re asked to describe it. No, it can’t be just that. It’s mixed with something else. It’s higher, a little more groggy.
Forget that you were fighting. Forget that she kissed Daniel and broke your heart. She wouldn’t call if it isn’t something even her pride can’t protect. “Hyeju? What’s wrong?” 
“I’m lost.” 
-
Those are the two words she utters before breaking into sobs. You’ve never heard or seen Hyeju cry. She likes to treat problems with anger rather than sadness, slicing away at every conflict with groans and cursing professors for low grades. If she’s crying, it must mean something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.
You’re keenly aware that all eyes and ears are monitoring your moves, but you don’t care. You rise from your seat and start gathering your laptop into your bag. You forget about your notes. Fuck them. Hyeju comes first. 
“Where did you go, Hye?” Walk out of the class. If miss Wong has a problem with that, she can tell you about it tomorrow. 
Sniffles on her end. Her quiet, low cries break your heart. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I need you, oppa. I have… I have nobody else. Please come and get me.”
“Hyeju—”
“Please,” she whispers. Her voice lowers to a whine. “I’m alone. I’m so alone.”
Tears itch at the bottoms of your eyes. You have to come and get her. Need to forget the fight and silent treatment that ensued. All that means nothing if Hyeju’s in need of your help.
Where the fuck are your keys? Remove them from the loop of your jeans and click the button. In the driveway, your car’s headlights shine. Yep, there it is. You once regretted buying a secondhand car like that. Now that it can get you to Hyeju, you vow to take care of it for life. You’d spend thousands to repair it if it breaks down.
But right now, it’s Hyeju who’s breaking down. She’s all alone somewhere and she needs you. In a way, you need her, too. She’s the one who’s braver to admit it.
You’ve never driven faster in your entire life. All the while you stay on the line with Hyeju. Your grip on the wheel tightens whenever she lets out a hopeless little sob. She’s crying so hard that you want to roll into a ball in the corner and cry, too. You can’t do that. You have to be the stronger one, the one who comes to her like she’s done for you and tells her that everything’s going to be alright.
You make no promises. 
Eventually you coax a location out of her and break several speed limits. Ignore the cops that yell at you. They can all go and fuck off. Hyeju needs you. You’re her best friend. It’s what friends do.
“Motherfucker,” you curse, upon seeing that the location she led you to was a club. It’s hidden in the corner of a creepy alley. “Hyeju, are you drunk?”
“Nooooo…” she drawls, giggling through her tears. “Your voice is so nice, oppa. It really makes me feel better. Did’ya know that?”
No time to be flattered. You burst into the club and find her in the midst of flashing lights and crowds of bodies. Your ears ring because of the music. Whose idea was it to hire this DJ? He thinks he’s doing such a good job, too. 
Hyeju’s in the center of it all. Her black coat is too big for her, but so is the crowd. When it moves, it drags her along by the toes. She’s… smiling? Wasn’t she crying on the phone just minutes earlier? Maybe she drank more. This can’t be good.
“Hyeju!” Start walking faster. 
She sticks her tongue out at you and starts to sprint upon seeing you get close.
You have no time for games. This isn’t even in the least bit funny. What if someone spiked her drink? What if that was the reason she’s acting funny? Worse: what if someone’s planning to take advantage of her? All these concerns bump into each other in your head as you run after her. 
A couple of “excuse me”s and “sorry!”s after you quickly squeeze in between dancing people. Drinks spilled on the floor. Anger from two dolled up ladies. (A look to your right and… yep, not only from them.) Disapproval from the DJ who even calls you out. Boos from the crowd. You don’t care about them. You only care about getting Hyeju to safety. She can’t be here in her vulnerable state.
Before she could dash out from your line of vision, you grab her wrist. Seal your grip around it tightly so she can’t escape. “Son Hyeju,” you say, glaring at her. Ever since she stopped crying, she started to play around. This isn’t a game but to her it is. A fun game, to be more precise. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Oooh, you caught…” She burps. Playful giggles spill from her mouth. “... me!” Hyeju gives you a drunken smile and claps for you regardless of her right hand being held into position. 
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here? See? I can ask stupid q-questions, too!”
You whisk her away from the ongoing party and into the cold night air. You’re about to throw your jacket on her when you see that she’s wearing one, too. 
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People are starting to stare. Pray that no one intervenes, even if they have good intentions. After all, you’re a man with a woman under the influence. They have every right to be concerned, but you hope that just for now they know you wouldn’t dare hurt Hyeju.
The wind blows a breeze that almost knocks you to the floor. You draw Hyeju to yourself to warm her. You can’t risk her catching a cold. 
”Let me go, oppa!” Hyeju’s mood goes from sad to drunkenly cheerful to pained. She forces her wrist out from your fist harshly. Your arms no longer wrap her. “You don’t like me anymore, right? And I have a boyfriend!”
Capture her hand again. She can’t escape and run away a second time. You’ve done that too much to know that it’ll send her down into a dizzying spiral. You’re cowards, the both of you—that’s why you flee whenever a problem arises. You don’t know how to deal with it. 
That changes now. Get in your vehicle. Pull her in, too. “For your information,” you say, locking her seatbelt in place, “you called me. You asked me to pick you up.”
The car roars to life and speeds down the road. The night barely provides light for you to move along. It’s beautiful nevertheless. Stars peek out from the depths of black. The moon is dim yet reassuring. What fate does it have in store for you? Would you accept it if you knew? How could they all look so serene while you have your drunk crush next to you starting an argument?
“And you’d loooove not to do it, wouldn’t you?” Hyeju’s words suggest that she’s no longer that drunk but the way her words come out like jumbled words in a newspaper crossword tell you otherwise. She leans against the door and crosses her arms. “It was a mistake to call you. You, you fucking hate me.”
Does she really believe that? You may hate Daniel, but you never once hated Hyeju. You’ve only had wistful feelings for her even after she kissed him. You still checked up on her socials and watched her as she ate lunch with him. You remained loyal to her, like a dog following its owner through scoldings.
Yeah, you really are just her dog.
“I don’t hate you, Hye,” you say with conviction. You’re determined to make her believe that. It’s difficult when you’ve never been the type to be good with words. 
“Yes, you do! You wouldn’t even let me explain why I kissed Daniel!”
“For fuck’s sake, I was hurt! I didn’t know what to do!”
“Then hear me out for once!”
“Alright.” Your hands slap the wheel, unintentionally bumping the horn and causing Hyeju to cringe. “Go on. Tell me what happened.”
“He was the one who kissed me, the fucking idiot! He kissed me out of the blue and wouldn’t stop!”
Wait.
What? 
Daniel, your friend and Hyeju’s, initiated the kiss? Hyeju didn’t want it to happen?
If only you knew, you would have beaten up Daniel a long time ago. 
You can’t even speak. You had it all wrong. You can’t believe there was an explanation for everything and you refused to hear it. 
Hyeju begins to sob again. Her words circle in the air like an incantation. It’s equally because of the alcohol and her emotions. “I was… talking to him about my training, but then he kissed me.” She wipes her face and laughs humorlessly. “He started making out with me and, a-and I didn’t know how to stop it. It was like I was frozen.”
“You… you didn’t kiss him?” Your tone is broken and incredulous. “He made you do it?”
She looks almost offended. “Why? Why would I ever kiss that bastard?”
“But you’re dating him.”
“I am,” says Hyeju, hands in her hair, “Hah, okay. I'm dating him, yeah, but that’s just because I thought you didn’t like me. I only want one person in the world, and it isn’t Daniel Smith.”
“Hyeju—”
“It’s you, you clueless little shit!” She punches your shoulder and muffles her face into your car pillow. Her next scream is elongated, filled with frustration. When she lifts her face from the pillow, her eyeliner and blush are smeared and wet with teardrops. “It’s you, and I only want you!”
In vino veritas.
The confession is as out of the blue as Daniel’s kiss was. You’re in a state of shock and disbelief—too much information is coming into your brain. You want to punch Daniel in the face for shocking her with an unwanted move. You want to hug Hyeju. You want to tell her that you’re sorry for not hearing her side of the story. 
Most importantly, you want to tell her that you want her, too.
It’s too late now. She’s seen you disregard her voice and choose to have a one-track mind. There’s no way she wants you anymore.
“Why the fuck would you ever want me, Hyeju?” 
“Because!” She lets out a shivering little sigh. “You don’t treat me like… hlk, like I’m a trophy to show off. You’re my friend. You know how to be mean but you take care of me even if I’m too moody sometimes. Even if I don’t want to come along with you outside because I’m scared I’ll make myself look stupid in front of you. Even if… even if I love too hard but don’t show that I love you most and that sometimes you take care of me more than my dad does and I know it’s wrong to see you that way when I’m with him now but I really want you to take care of me but still kiss me too if I need it and be okay with me calling you names like ‘daddy’ and still being your best friend besides being my boyfriend… but I know it can’t happen anymore and I ruined everything—”
“Hyeju.”
More tears flow down her face. “—and I know you won’t ever love me the same again but I’ll regret forever, long after we graduate, that I never showed that I loved you, that I was a coward—”
“Hyeju,” you say, gently. Pull over at the university parking lot. You have your finger on her mouth, sealing them to stop her droning. She pauses. She doesn’t do it without breaking down. “Please. Don’t tell me you don’t know it. It’s been happening under your nose every single day.”
“What?” she murmurs, eyes glassy as they connect with yours.
“I like you, too.”
Silence. Several beats go by. They’re too lengthy to be fake. The next nuance confirms that:
Talk about relief. Talk about passion. As if she’s forgetting that a sudden kiss was what opened Pandora’s box, Hyeju grabs your face and does exactly that. Again, it has too many things to it that blocks it from being faux. The unique shape of her lips mold onto yours, as if your lips were made to kiss each other all the time. It’s back to the café again, wherein she does something and you subconsciously follow along. Your hands are on her phenomenal waist. And soon you’re unbuckling her seatbelt so she could sit safely on your lap, where she’s supposed to be. Where she belongs.
She drops her touch to your shoulders. She massages them, and you groan delightfully. Now it’s your turn to hold her face and lean in closer. Hyeju’s mouth tastes of sweetness and alcohol. You don’t know how those two tastes could mix together. Hyeju makes it work.
“Oppa, daddy,” she whimpers. She pulls away. The distance is still close to nothing. “Daddy, I love you.”
It’s a sudden nickname, still detached from when she uses it with you jokingly, yet there’s no hesitance here. You know your truth. “I love you, too, Hyeju.”
“Will you take me to bed?” She starts grinding down on your shaft needily. “Please say you will, daddy. Please say you’ll make me happy.”
“You’re drunk. I… I don’t know if I should.”
“‘m not. Maybe. But I’ve wanted it to happen for a long time,” Hyeju says. “I won’t mind, I promise.”
She couldn’t get any more sober with that. So you do what any man would do if they were called daddy by Son Hyeju: lift her out of your car, not caring to check twice if it’s locked, and bring her to bed. Take her coat off—she won’t need it if you’ll make her warm from the inside and out.
Her arms round your neck and her face is buried in your chest. Her words come out in a desperate, needy tone that you haven’t heard from her since the day you met. Who exactly were you to make her this small?
Her daddy, of course.
See, as tough as Hyeju makes herself out to be, she’s still needy. She still has her own problems that haven’t let go of her now that she’s older, like the daddy thing. You only fully understand it now when you lay her on the bed and continue kissing her. Hard. Her moans call out for you. They aren’t merely things to whine if it feels good. It’s not even a matter of want anymore; her shivers and cries indicate of her carnal need for you to do what you will with her.
“Don’t be scared,” she tells you, closing her eyes as you kiss her perfect jawline. “You wanted me for so long, right? Well, I did, too. Do what you want to me. Fuck me, daddy.”
“You talk extremely dirty for someone who’s drunk,” you chuckle. 
“Not so drunk anymore. You make me sober.”
“Sweet talker. You’re all bark and no bite.”
Hyeju has no retort to make. Your lips on her gorgeous nipple render her speechless. The cute pink nub is hard, and grows harder at your loving suckles. Her breasts are the perfect size for squeezing. Relish in that fact by squeezing her left breast while dedicating more of your attention to the other, making her become sensitive with each action. 
You’d say you have bite, for you do so lightly on her breast. She gasps. “Daddy!” she cries out.
“Fuck, don’t say it like that.” Your cock throbs already. It’s the same feeling you get all those times before, the times you’d get into an argument with Hyeju and she’d call you that.
“What? It’s not my fault you can’t handle me,” she says wittily.
“Don’t try me.”
“What?” She cocks a brow. “Hit too close to home?”
You have to shut her bratty self up. Tug her pants off, sliding them off her silky legs. Her pink panties are a hint to the gentle color of her pussy. Find out about them anyway—push the underwear aside and shove three fingers in her.
“Oh shit.” Hyeju’s squeeze on your digits is instant, like an impulsive reaction. 
Think about if Daniel has done this to her before and pick up the pace. You’re fingering her like the walls of her soaked pussy would banish him and let you have her all to yourself. “Son Hyeju,” you growl, “shut the fuck up.”
“W-won’t—ah!” 
If you don’t make her quiet, you’ll at least reduce her words to pathetic moans. You’d say you’re successful. Your rapid thrusts send Hyeju’s screams paralleling the night wind with their strength. 
You’re surprised again and again at how loud she could get. She’s always so quiet except for the occasional sarcastic remark. She can make no more of those if faced with the relentless fingering you do unto her pussy. They draw out strings of dampness when they withdraw, and fill her right to the knuckles when you go back in. Her hips squirm and you have to place a hand on her thigh to continue.
“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” she screams. Her mouth is open while she sits up to look at what you’re doing to her vulnerable cunt. “It feels so fucking good, don’t stop!”
She looks beautiful. Her shirt is lifted above her breasts, making them bounce madly due to the timing and force of your thrusts. Her eyes could never be more watchful. She can’t believe she actually has you between her legs and fingering her to orgasm.
“Got any comeback for me, Hye?” you ask smugly. 
Hyeju nods. Her lips are parted again. Although you haven’t had sex with her except for now, you know what that dropped jaw means: she’s close.
Her walls are impossible to part completely. She’s too damn tight that you bet she’d still be so with one finger. The grip of her slippery, wet cunt is like no other. You reach deep into it and stroke out till you find the place. That’s how Hyeju starts to shiver. She can’t manage it.
“Oh, yeah? What do you have to say now, sweet?” Wrap your lips around her nipple. It’s another one of your unfair advantages over her.
“I-I-I—I can’t!” 
The recoil of Hyeju’s tits is amazing. Harshly squeeze the boob you’ve relatively neglected to make sure she can’t get a word out of those pretty lips. Take a further step and smack it, too. She moans in satisfaction. Your harsh squeezes imprint a replica of your hand on her pale skin. 
Of course, you don’t forget to keep your fingers going. You change techniques now and then, switching from gentle circling to rapid fire shoving. Whether it’s one or the other, Hyeju’s fuckhole swallows you up. She doesn’t mind which or what; she needs your harshness the most. It’s what counts as a whole.
“Daddy, I’m gonna cum! Please make me cum on your fingers, make your babygirl cum… oh—oh, fuck!”
Combined with your thumb nudging her small clit and your digits absolutely destroying her tightness, Hyeju does the unthinkable: she squirts on your hand and on your bed. Liquid gushes on your shirt; it’s so consistent and clear that a new determination is founded within you. It’s to make your unbearably hot best friend cum like she never has.
For the record, it’s the first time you’ve made a girl squirt. You didn’t expect that it would be this satisfying. Seeing Hyeju’s blissful face and the shake of her beautiful legs make your efforts worth it. Watching yourself do it to your best friend and make her feisty, boyish self let out screams and pleas brings increased triumph.
“No, oh god, it’s too much!” Hyeju says this but her legs part more. Her head is tossed back and her moans don’t stop. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t—daddy!”
“Messy little brat.” Rub away at her clit. Feel the spurt of her cum hit your finger. “That’s it, cum for daddy. Keep those pretty thighs open.”
Hyeju mewls at the mixture of degradation and moans. If Daniel had said that to her, she probably would have thrown up in a bucket. When it’s you, on the other hand, everything changes. She wants you to call her every harsh name out there and accompany it with sides of praise. She’ll only feel this good when she’s with you.
Hyeju is anything but obedient. Things change here in the dorm, where her pussy is spread and prone to your touch. Her midriff, soft yet slender, rises over and over. The hose of her wet orgasms still hasn’t stopped.
“Goddammit, you’re squirting so much. Am I that good, hm, Hyeju? Is daddy that good to his pretty little girl?” 
“Mmm, mmm, don't— no more, daddy, no more!” Hyeju’s core is already spent, and you haven’t even put your cock in her yet. 
Stop. Not before you leave a kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves that you abused. It’s a mark now, something invisible that subtly says to everyone that you got to fuck her. You got to fuck Son Hyeju. You made her cum like never before.
Spit on Hyeju’s center then spread it to her lips and nub. She moans. “You’re so wet, Hye.”
“Whatever.” She’s blushing. “I’ve had better.”
You have to say you’re a little provoked. You know it’s false seeing the smug look on her face and after making her squirt, but who exactly has done her better? Daniel? Definitely not him. The possibility still does well to spur you to jealousy.
“Oh,” you say, smiling tightly, “so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”
Hyeju gasps happily when she’s pushed to the wall and on her knees. It’s reminiscent of how Daniel did exactly that: pinning her to the wall before kissing her. Your anger brews into a fire just thinking about him. 
“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”
Unbuckle your belt. Your jeans join it on the floor as well as your briefs. “I’m gonna clean that dirty mouth of yours.”
“And how are you gonna do that, daddy?” Hyeju pretends not to know what’s coming.
It’s your belief that actions speak louder than words. That’s why when you place your cock in between Hyeju’s lips, it resonates inside her more than your promise to purify her mouth. Logic fails here when dirty sins can’t remove Hyeju’s dirty words. One wrong and another doesn’t make a right. Oh, who cares? This isn’t a class. This isn’t your thesis. You focus only on feeling the softness of her triangular mouth, the wetness of the back of her throat.
Holding your cock by the base, you lead its tip into rubbing every corner of Hyeju’s mouth. Her cheeks make an outline of your girth as you press your head against them. Her jaw becomes slack after you press your dick down to her tongue. You’re technically doing all the work here because you’re fucking her face, but you’d argue that Hyeju contributes just as much with her tearful eyes that are more puppy than wolf.
The shape of her wet orifice leaves ample space for you to rub against everything. Your tip draws a triangle on her lips right before slipping inside. There you keep your word and clean her dirty mouth. Push those naughty words down her throat with immediate thrusts. That way, she can only moan, nothing else. No sass can be heard from her now.
“You’re such a bad girl, Hyeju,” you say. Curl your hand ‘round her messy hair and direct it downwards. She groans, her mouth now upright for yout fuck easier into. “You shouldn’t like having your mouth used like this. You shouldn’t be on your knees for your best friend when your boyfriend’s waiting for you at home.”
Hyeju knows you’re right. She shouldn’t. She isn’t supposed to enjoy having her throat rammed and spread. She shouldn’t be cheating on the man she claims to love. It’s a mistake of hers to be here anyway, underneath another man. 
Her second mistake is to like everything the way it is..
Her third is to tongue your shaft like she would a sweet treat. She wants to taste all of you, from your thick tip to the base. She’s not had much to work on with Daniel, but she knew it would be a good time when you sprung out your cock. She makes this worth it—she seals her lips at your base, her nose pressed firmly at the bottom of your tummy, then produces such a harsh suction that the grip you have in her black locks of messy hair tightens. A curse is what you let out besides precum. 
“Fuck,” you say. Pull her head closer. Aggressive thrusts fire away. “Didn’t know your pouty little lips could suck dick so well. I bet it’s bulging your throat. Is daddy right about that?”
She tries to nod. Her gags stop her intended action; your thrusts have sped up and are now destroying her tight throat. No space is left for her to breathe when her mouth is stuffed with your length. Even her nostrils can’t take in much air if her nose is pressed that tightly to your stomach.
Place a hand on the wall in order for there to be no aches for her head when you thrust wildly. “You know, I changed my mind. Maybe you’re a good girl, especially with that face. Go on, touch yourself. I know you want to.”
Permission is granted by her daddy. Hyeju gives a cry in response then leads her hand between her legs. Letting you fuck her face has made her wet beyond imagination. She doesn’t need to press directly on her pussy when there’s slick all over her thighs. She gathers them all up and places them back in her pussy. She moans as she swirls her digits inside her. Here’s how it works: she has one hand masturbating, and the other on your thigh to caress it and at the same time keep her balance.
Take note of that. “You’re a smart girl, Hyeju. Smart girls shouldn’t be letting their faces get fucked. We can’t have that happen, right?”
You say that yet your actions tell a different story. Your violent pumps into Hyeju’s mouth to use it to the limits are endless. Hyeju’s moaning. She enjoys it more than she should. Of course, you jam those moans, as pretty as they are, down her throat. 
Slap your cock on her lips.
“You know what I mean.”
Slip the whole of your length out then in again. Make her brush those luscious lips against every inch.
“We really, really can’t have that happen.”
Caress her cheek. Her eyes are awaiting and obedient. Look down into them and almost feel bad for ruining her, your best friend.
“Daniel might walk in anytime. He’ll be looking for you.”
Your movements are cruel as time goes by. You shouldn’t be treating your best friend like this. You shouldn’t even be having sex with her. All of these ought to stop you in your tracks—you don’t.
“And what will he say when he sees his precious girlfriend on her knees for his best friend?”
Hyeju begins to whine. She doesn’t want him to walk in; she’s enjoying this too much. What she doesn’t want to happen even more is for you not to blow your load inside her warm throat. People can’t have what they want all the time, but she swears she won’t want anything else if you just give her what she wants. That’s for you to absolutely use her. Be cruel to her and it wouldn’t sting.
“He’ll start to think how better you are with me. You’re a bad girl, Hyeju. You know that and you still want me.”
You’re right in every way. She is better with you. You just fuck her better, treat her better, kiss her better. She can’t kiss better the wound she’ll leave in Daniel if he just so happens to walk in. Maybe she could, but she’d put salt on it when he discovers how good you make her feel. It isn’t fair to anybody. To you, the one she accidentally hurt; to Daniel, who was the one (no, make that the two with how he was her last resort and how she gave him false hope); to her, who can’t go without you.
“Let go.”
Nine.
It takes exactly nine strokes in between her folds for her to cum. Drool sheens your girth. Some even drip from her mouth. It’s like she’s in heat; she’s whining as she tries to cum and suck you off at the same time. Hyeju ends up sucking your shaft with desperation, legs quivering and threatening to give away.
“Cum with me, Hyeju,” you command her. Pull out, rather regretfully, but take comfort with how pretty she’d look covered in your cum. Your hand wraps around you and jerks you off. Although it can’t match Hyeju’s mouth or her ass, it’ll do well in shooting your load on her.
Your best friend keeps calling your name squeezed between “daddy”s as she fingers herself to orgasm. She collapses pathetically on the floor, in a pool of sweat and cum. Her shirt and the floor of your shared dorm room are stained. No need to wonder where those white stains come from; the only suspects are you and Hyeju. It’s a partnered crime for her squirt comes out at such a velocity that it rivals your cumshots.
“Take my load, Hyeju, fuck!”
If there’s anything Hyeju isn’t, it’s submissive. It somehow changes when she nods and opens her mouth. You’re introduced to a whole new side of her. Her post-orgasm face is one you hope to admire everyday. Look at the expressions she makes when her eyes are crossed and her tongue is out for you and you have difficulty choosing between the two. 
You and Hyeju exchange a tired look. If you’re to be specific, a look is how everything starts. You became friends with her because she was staring at you too long a time in class. You quickly reunited with her in college when you looked to your back to see to whom the familiar voice belonged. It took one quick glance to see that Daniel had kissed her in the noraebang.
Similarly, a look is what causes you to shamelessly throw Hyeju on the bed again. By now her limbs curl into yours like this were a completely natural thing that happened between you, as if she were always being fucked and manhandled like this. Your kisses now are more aggressive, too. They aren’t nervous like earlier, when you still weren't sure if doing this was right. Hyeju responds by engaging in a battle for dominance, pushing forward and pulling the forces connecting you. 
You win in the end.
Slam her back down to the mattress. Her anticipation is written clearly in her eyes. “I’m going to ruin you, Son Hyeju,” you say.
She laughs in your face. “Bet.”
Alright. You’ll show her. It’s a friendly bet you’ll take all seriousness in.
Align your dick with her waiting cunt. You shed all attempts to tease her or dive into foreplay. What she needs is your cock inside her, rearranging her insides. If that’s so, you’ll give it to her. 
“Oh!” Hyeju gasps. Her pretty eyes are big above her hands covering her face. She never guessed you would feel this good inside her. “You’re so fucking big, daddy. It's, it’s better than I imagined, fffuck.”
Steer all your weight into this thrust specifically. Your tip makes contact with her G-spot and sends her legs shaking. Send her a couple inches further on the mattress. Her godly tits begin another round of bouncing. There’s no other routine you’d love to watch. 
Already you've put your hands on her hips. They’re to pull her closer if she gets lost. Again. You have to make sure you won’t lose her this time. This chance was given to you for a reason. You have to keep her here, show her all the love you’ve kept bottled up all these years.
Hyeju squirms a lot. That’s what your grip is for. It’s to keep her on the bed so she can easily receive your pumps. And what a good job she does at receiving them—Hyeju’s hips shiver as they’re subjected to a force her sensitive pussy can’t handle. She’s always going into things she can’t handle. This is no different. Time with Daniel was okay, but you’re a different story. You ensure that she’s always filled to the hilt until she’s bottoming out. 
Deeper and deeper you go. Your cock knocks up into her tummy. You curse; it’s hotter than it’s supposed to be. Something as simple as that shouldn’t be so arousing.
“Oh, you like that? You… you like seeing your big cock stuffing my little pussy?” asks Hyeju. Her teeth are parted to let in air she so desperately needs to formulate these words. She knows they’ll turn you on. “I know you do, daddy. Look at your meat ruining my insides. You’re going to cum so much inside me. And I’ll take it all. I’m a good girl. I’ll show you I’m a good girl.”
She leads your hand to her throat and closes your digits around it. Get the message. Squeeze there tight. Her strangled gasp is everything.
“You are, huh?” you say. Your composure is long gone. “Are you always this tight, Hyeju? Are you always this good? Or is it just for daddy?”
There’s something incredibly hot in the way Hyeju gushes and screams for you. Her nipples stand in the air, aroused by the quick penetrating done to her pussy. It seems almost impossible for her to be this wet. Each push of your hips brings forth a gush of wetness that wets the sheets and your joined crotches. Bring out your cock for a second to quickly flick its tip on her clit.
Hyeju gropes her own chest with closed eyes. “Ohhhh, fuck!” 
Return to your routine of drilling her. Her whole body reacts violently to your pounding. Moreover, every part of Hyeju’s beautiful body screams to be touched. Her jiggling thighs and breasts, her midriff prone to your thrusts, her face that’s never looked this slutty… where should you start? Your touch is given multiple choices, and you choose all of them. Your hands roam her body and squeeze and feel and grope. In response, she moans. The volume of her acute voice turns up with each, almost like her body has triggers that would draw out louder sounds. 
You think of it that way and now Hyeju’s screaming as you propel inside her while keeping a hand on her clit. 
“Daddy, o-only you, daddy!” she proclaims in a helpless scream. “No one can make me feel as good as you do, just keep fucking me, don’t stop!”
You’ve got your answer. Smile in satisfaction and, since she’s a good girl and gave the correct response, lean it to worship her breasts. Does slapping them count as worshiping? Hyeju thinks it does—her high groans and yells are enough to be context clues. You marvel at the size of her chest, so subtle with the baggy clothes she wears but now in their full, naked glory before you. It’s impossible for them to be presented to you without a squeeze being done.
“You like my tits, daddy? I’ll let you fuck them all you want, just finish inside me. I’m safe today. Promise, p-pro—”
Bury yourself deep inside her, to the point that your cockhead pushes at her cervix. Fill her up. Hyeju moans happily. She rolls her body up and down. The stimulation seduces you into making (kind of) breeding her a job well done.
“Thank you, daddy.” she sighs. She’s still erotically grinding her hips. It’s karma for overstimulating her a little earlier when your fingers filled her. 
“S-stop, Hyeju.”
“Stop? Alright, sure. I think that’s enough now. Daddy doesn’t want to fuck my tits anymore.”
Naughty little brat. She knows just the right words to tick you off and turn you on. It makes you want her to pound her into the bed again so that not even the old mattress can forget that it was the place you and Hyeju fucked.
“I’m just kidding, silly. Sit down! Yes, thank you.” 
She flashes you a smile after you do as she says. It’s a rare moment in this session with her that she has the say in what happens. Somehow. It can’t be completely true, not when she’s on her knees again for you. Not when her tongue trails worshipful lines on your cock and draws tight licks on your tip. Shiver. You’re a bit sensitive yourself.
“Now see how good this feels?” 
She takes her glorious breasts in her hands and wraps them around your cock. You let out a guttural moan. Hyeju’s tits rival her mouth and pussy. It’s a close competition, with the advantage of softness most of all. Oh, when she starts to move, gliding her supple skin up and down your size, you almost cum on the spot.
Her bosom is a portal to heaven, you swear. Your legs feel light. Your core is hot as your size disappears between her breasts, buried in the soft and safe haven she provides. The friction is so overwhelming that you doubt it could even be a real sensation.
She makes a show of rubbing your tip on her nipple, similar to what you did to her clit. The two of you are sensitive, so you moan in harmony as it happens. After gliding your cock on her large breasts, she goes back to titfucking you. 
It’s all a matter of technique. Whenever she presses her chest together, your cock is suffocated with euphoric tenderness. On the other hand, when she simply moves up and down, you’re given the opportunity to grind down at the skin between her pale breasts. Each route leads to an inevitable fate: exploding all over her a second time.
"P-please stop, Hyeju," you say. You can't handle no more and there's so many more things you want to do to her.
"Awh." She pouts. Fat tears risk spilling from her eyes. God, she could be so cute sometimes. "What do you want, daddy? I can be good."
"Turn around."
"Ohhh, I see what you want." Hyeju turns around and spanks herself. Her ass ripples photogenically. "Of course. Of course you want it."
Hyeju can be so many things. A few minutes earlier she was a submissive babygirl for her daddy, and right before that she was a brat. Now, she transforms into a seductress. She doesn't lace or lingerie to become one. She has that fantastic body to do the work for her.
Hyeju starts to dance. Your eyes are trained on her. They never want to see anything else than her swaying her butt with a dancer's grace and charm. 
"Giving me a show, huh?" 
"Unless daddy wants it already." 
"I do."
She squeezes her ass cheek before reaching her pussy. Then, she rubs her wetness on her pink, puckered hole. She lathers some at the inside of the rim, too. She didn't expect to fuck you today, no matter how many times she's dreamed of it, so there's no lubricant around. Hyeju has to make do.
"Oh!" she squeals when you give her a playful smack on the ass. "Impatient. Daddy's impatient. Don't worry, I'll give it to you."
“You did this before?”
“Duh.” Hyeju smiles sweetly, quickly returning to her good girl side. “You ready now, daddy?”
Apparently, it’s a rhetorical question, for Hyeju immediately guides your tip into her backside. You do your part in spreading her cheeks. Both of you moan at the first contact. It’s difficult by itself to insert just your tip through. She’s too tight. 
You’re sinking into this long-chased dream. You’ve seen Hyeju walk around the dorm with no shorts on. Sometimes you're able to catch a glimpse of her bare ass when she dresses up in the dark. It’s normal when it’s with you, considering that your friendship transcends time, but she doesn’t know that yearning’s been put in your heart in those moments. You want her. You want Son Hyeju.
And now, she’s submitting herself to you. She’s given you her body, her tits, her pussy. Now she offers you an equally delicious choice: her supple ass that’s bouncy as it finally sits down completely on your lap. 
“Good daddies bounce their babygirls on their knees, right? Should’ve known that, dummy. So come on, pound me. It isn’t hard.”
Well, you are. Hyeju’s ass is constricting you yet you enjoy every second of it. Her tight little asshole clings to you as you do as she says. You’d do anything for Hyeju, and that doesn’t exclude engaging in anal sex with her.
Choose a rhythm to go by to enjoy the tightness Hyeju gives you to the fullest. She leans into you and hums quietly, lower lip worried between her teeth and ass steadily rising and resting. The flexes of your thigh also stimulate her needy pussy. Your knee brushes her clit steadily while your cock penetrates her asshole better than any toy could. Better than any boy would.
“Oh, that feels so good, daddy…” Hyeju murmurs. “Keep spreading me like that, yes.”
Just when she thought you’d switch to being gentle, your thrusts become sporadic. She can’t find which timings you’re going by. The calm before the storm, so to say. Hyeju’s whimpers and whines are your thunder, and they soon live up to their name when they grow louder, filling your ears as would the violent downpour of raindrops. 
“D-daddy, daddy, oh my god—” Pain partners up with pleasure in wrecking her hole. Darn you for reaching in front of her to rub her clit as well. Too many things are happening at the same time. “Daddy better make me cum, please, please—”
Your size fills the tight space of her ass so much that it’s difficult to move. The juices of her pussy that she’s used as makeshift lube can’t even do the job they’re assigned to. However, you don’t care about that. You simply fuck Hyeju’s fat, delectable ass like it’s been your long-term dream. In a way it is, but you’d be dreaming about it long after it’s already been fulfilled.
Hyeju stands up to take the lead and work her butt on you. You know she’s an excellent dancer but you never knew she could be this good at twerking either. 
“Holy shit, Hyeju, your little asshole feels amazing,” you moan. Spank her, though she’s undeserving of punishment when she’s amazing at using that ass.
“And your cock is so fucking big in my ass,” she says. “I don’t want anything else, daddy. Ohh, god, keep doing that.”
Her rear end bounces and claps together as they take in your fat cock. She looks back at you lustfully, watching you ruin her supple ass. Reach for her breasts to match the velocity of her thrusts. You’re two forces colliding, each filled with fire to defeat the other with pleasure. It’s a losing game when Hyeju’s ass is just as good as her pussy, which you continue playing with to bring her to orgasm.
“Good girl, Hye, keep bouncing that fat ass on daddy,” you whisper in her ear. Love to hear her weak little moans; they show you that she likes this as much as you do. Probably more. “You want to cum, right? You want to squirt on me again?”
“Yes, daddy, please!” Hyeju is in paradise although her skin feels like it’s been set on fire. She hasn’t felt this good before. “No other cock can do me the way you do, daddy, I’m all yours! Make me cum, cum inside me, daddy!”
You’ve changed her. She’s a totally different person outside of the bedroom. She hides her approval in sarcastic comments and teases you about them. How is it that she’s completely submissive and good for you? 
Your ego swells. Smack her pussy just enough to make her gasp. “Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours, daddy!” 
“And this ass?”
“It’s all yours, daddy,” sobs Hyeju. “Always so fucking big inside me, so much better, you need to make me cum—”
Pull her down to your lap then thrust inside her all while not letting an inch withdraw from her snug butthole. “Cum for me,” you say.
“Ohhhh fuck!” 
Hyeju begins her sexy body rolls again as a profane spray of clear liquid fires from her pussy. She’s so wet; when you rub her clit, a squelching sound is produced. She’s too turned on from the feeling of you savage pounding inside her. She slaps her own pussy to go along with your rubbing, then leads your fingers inside her cunt again. She’s still so tight. 
The combined feeling of two of her holes being violated has her tired. She could be murmuring a spell and you wouldn’t know because of how jumbled and jarred her words are. The syllables make out your name and title. At least, that’s what you could understand. It would take an experienced veteran transcriber to make sense of Hyeju’s sounds.
You blast her ass with so much cum that it overflows, like water threatening to spill from the brim of a glass. Your joined cores are so wet and sticky that neither of you feel like moving. You want to stay in the narrow yet pleasurable comfort of each other’s touch forever.
It’s so pleasant that you could only hear the gratifying sound of each other’s pants and not the knocks on your door.
So safe that you don’t hear the sound of a lock being skewered with because each other’s bodies are more homely than this dorm.
So distracting that when he comes in through the door and yells in disgust, it’s the first time you feel an awakening sobriety.
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yeyinde · 10 months
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lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader
Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)
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tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.
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The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:
Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 
It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 
But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 
Stupid. 
You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—
Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:
It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 
Because maybe you are, too. 
And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 
From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.
You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:
He's nice. I like him. 
Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 
He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 
But it makes sense.
Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 
And where does that leave you? 
Well—
It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 
Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 
The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.
Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 
Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 
The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 
It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 
You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 
Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 
There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 
Moving on. Moving forward. 
You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—
Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 
It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 
Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 
Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 
You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?
Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 
You send him your pin. 
Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 
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You met Kyle Garrick at university. 
It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 
Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 
It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 
Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 
It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—
Managed. 
It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 
"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 
And that was that. 
He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 
Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—
It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 
"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 
A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."
The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 
You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 
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Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 
You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 
Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 
You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 
He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 
Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 
"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 
"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 
"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 
Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 
"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"
Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"
"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 
"Take 'em off."
"Are you crazy—?"
"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 
"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 
Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."
You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 
There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 
He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.
You try not to grin when you see them.
Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 
You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 
"When did you buy these?"
"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."
"Why?" Is all he asks. 
You shrug. "They're cute…?"
His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 
There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 
Except—
It isn’t. 
There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 
This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 
It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 
How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 
Home.
It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—
Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 
He’d know, he said. 
When you asked how, he just said:
“Because I know you.”
It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 
The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 
He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—
In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 
—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 
It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 
Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 
"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”
You can’t speak. Not yet. 
He seems to understand. 
"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 
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The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 
It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 
But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 
It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 
"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."
His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."
"Oh, is it, now?"
"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"
"Who even uses Tinder?"
"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."
You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."
"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"
"It's a nice area." 
He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 
"The two are not even comparable—"
"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but…"
"But what?"
"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."
"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."
"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."
His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"
You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 
"I want to go with you."
"Why?"
Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 
The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 
He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 
You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 
Because the thing is:
Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 
A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 
Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 
But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 
It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 
You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 
"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"
"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"
Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 
Because you do. 
The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 
It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 
Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 
Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 
Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.
Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 
It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—
Your Barista from Amsterdam. 
And oh. 
Oh. 
Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 
But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 
Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 
Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 
And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 
It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 
Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 
(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)
So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 
Confessing goes like this: 
Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 
You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 
"...and that's basically it." 
It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 
And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 
You want it. Want him. 
And he—
He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 
But he isn't. 
He's here with you. Still. Still. 
"I just—," you say, or try to. 
But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 
You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 
He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 
And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 
You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 
Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 
It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 
“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”
His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 
The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 
It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 
The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 
It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 
You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 
Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 
You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 
His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—
Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.
But holding his hand?
It feels like coming home. 
The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 
You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 
You want him. Want him—
It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 
The only thought in your head is finally, finally.
You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 
"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"
He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 
Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 
He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.
And you'd said—
"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"
He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 
"We're not watching Golden Girls."
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You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 
When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 
Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?
"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"
"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."
"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."
"Ah, for fuck's sake—"
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Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.
COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION
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television-overload · 23 days
Text
of our own making
(an X-Files fanfic)
Chapter 7/34 - pocket bow tie
[Read on AO3]
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She looks excited. At least, he thinks she does.
The good news is, she doesn't look like she's about to bolt out the door, and he calls that a win.
They may not be committing themselves to each other in the way a marriage is typically supposed to go, but this is a big commitment all the same. If she changes her mind now, their plans for adoption are as good as gone. The idea of family, as foreign as it has been for the last 26 years of his life.
He’ll admit he’s gotten rather attached to the idea. Perhaps a little too much so, considering how unique their situation is, and how often they've been dealt blow after blow of disappointment.
He looks down at the woman to his left. Any worries he might have had melt away at the sight of her. She's calm, her lips quirked up in a quiet, content smile as they wait to be called into the courtroom. Her shoulder brushes against his arm, and he resists the temptation to touch her, to hold her hand in his, knowing he will have his chance later.
"You look beautiful, by the way," he says, having held on to that one all morning. She smiles up at him, looking every bit the blushing bride she is, despite the absence of the big white dress and veil.
"I think Bill was intimidated by how nicely you were dressed," she teases back.
He looks down at his fine-cut suit. "What, this old thing?"
Scully has never been the kind to care how expensive one's clothes were, but even she has to admit that he looks good in Armani. And judging by his smirk, he knows it too.
"Did you have that bow tie stuffed in your pocket all morning, Mulder?" she asks, reaching up to straighten it.
"Had to look nice for our special day," he answers cheesily. "Plus, you told me to ditch the colorful ties. Figured I'd get a head start on the whole 'happy wife, happy life' thing."
Wife. Husband. Those words sound so foreign, and yet, in just a few moments time, they will apply to them.
'Excuse me, table for me and my wife, please.'
'Yes, I'm her husband. That's me.'
The insanity of it all makes him want to laugh.
"Fox Mulder and Dana Scully?" a clerk asks, popping her head out of the courtroom door.
He feels Scully's hand grasp for his, and a thrill runs up his spine. "That's us," she says, stepping forward. He gives her hand a squeeze, following after her like a lost puppy.
Here we go.
Once they’re inside, the judge gestures for them to approach the bench, and they stand side-by-side in the center of the chamber. The dark oak wood is daunting, bringing back memories of not particularly enjoyable times they’ve been in courtrooms.
This time is different, though. The judge is smiling, for one, looking down her thin, half-moon spectacles at them. And, for once, their time in court will serve to unite them, rather than split them apart.
Yes, this would be a very nice change, indeed.
“What a beautiful couple you make,” the older woman speaks, her eyes crinkling in joy. Scully smiles, and Mulder clings a little tighter to her hand. “Are we ready to get started?”
They nod, and Mulder has to focus to keep his knees steady under him. They’re really doing this. He can hardly believe it has come to this point.
“We are gathered here to join Fox and Dana in the blessed union of marriage,” the judge starts, reciting her opening statement to the mostly empty room. One clerk stands by as their witness, a camera in hand to capture their memories of the day, probably with the intent to sell them back to them at an exorbitant price. 
It doesn’t matter. Mulder will pay it anyway, whatever the cost.
“This is not a responsibility to be taken lightly,” she continues. “A marriage ought to be founded on mutual respect, affection, and a desire to see through any challenges that may come your way. If you speak your vows in truth, this union will strengthen your bond, serving as a constant reminder of your unwavering love for one another.”
Mulder swallows, holding fast to the comfortable weight of Scully’s hand in his. The judge’s words only reinforce his belief that this is the right decision, that this is meant to be. Mutual respect, affection, going through life’s challenges… how else would he describe what he and Scully have? What they’ve had for over half a decade?
Unwavering love . He’s got that in spades. He feels it from her too, that fierce loyalty. “Love…” Well, he’d like to think so. At least some form of it.
“Fox,” the judge speaks, calling him to attention. He fumbles for Scully’s other hand, the way he remembers seeing at a friend’s wedding once in Oxford. “Will you take Dana to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
Easiest yes in the entire world.
Green eyes meet blue.
“I will,” he says.
“And Dana,” he feels his throat close, choking back a sudden rise of emotion. “Will you take Fox to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, comfort him, honor him, and keep him, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?”
It’s the ‘forsaking all others’ part he feels like Scully shouldn’t be agreeing to, but they’ve talked this over. He still can’t quite believe she picked him. Him! Out of any man she could have.
“I will,” she answers, squeezing his hands once. He nods, and feels—not for the first time—that she’d known exactly what was going through his head. They certainly are spooky like that, sometimes.
“Excellent,” the judge praises. “Now, do you have your own vows, or—”
“The standard is fine,” Scully says, smiling up at Mulder.
“Standard it is,” she says. “Fox, repeat after me. I, Fox, take you Dana.”
“I, Fox, take you, Dana.” He leans in close and adds, for her ears only, “Scully,” with a conspiratorial smile, whispering the name he gave her that first day they met. It’s the only one that feels right coming from his lips, and he needs her to know that this isn’t just for show. This isn’t ‘Fox’ making promises to ‘Dana.’ This is them—Mulder and Scully. It’s real. As real as anything she can prove with her beloved science. 
The judge, oblivious to his unprompted addition, continues. “To be my wife,” she says.
“To be my wife.”
His. He would have a wife, and it would be Scully. His Scully. He runs his thumb over her knuckles in circular strokes, swallowing back emotion. She shudders under the intensity of his gaze.
“To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.”
It feels good to speak these promises aloud. For so long, he’s taken and taken and taken from her, watched her life and her dreams be stolen from her grasp, powerless to stop it. Now he can finally give, starting here and now, with his solemn vow to be there for her in every way the judge described. He hopes she can see the truth in his eyes. How much he means these words, from the bottom of his heart.
Judging by the way her eyes glisten, he’s coming across loud and clear.
Then, it’s her turn, and she looks up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “I, Dana,” she says, smiling coyly in preparation for what they both know comes next. “Take you, Fox.” His name is spoken with a teasing lilt, and it sounds just as unnatural as it always does coming from her mouth. He breathes a laugh, jostling her hands playfully between them. “Mulder,” she whispers, just as he had, and his heart melts. “To be my husband.”
The rest of her vows follow, equal to his, just as they are equal in all things. The weight of what they are promising lands squarely on their shoulders, at once harrowing and freeing. Mulder can hardly believe the ceremony is almost over.
“Now, do you have rings to exchange?”
Scully goes to answer that, no, they don’t, but movement from Mulder stalls her. He fishes something from his pocket, facing her with a shy smile.
“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he says, dropping a plain silver band in the palm of her hand. She sees his fist clenched around what must be her ring, and tilts her head in fond exasperation, a silent whine of ‘Mulder…’ that he looks forward to hearing every time they exchange gifts. 
The judge waxes poetic (as poetic as city hall can get) about the meaning of rings, their significance in a marriage, symbolism—but Mulder and Scully are barely listening. All they hear is her instruction to place the band on each other’s left ring finger, which they happily do, taking their time to slide it into place. The weight feels heavy, but right, on Mulder’s hand, and Scully’s… Scully’s sparkles just like he’d imagined it would when he picked it out at the jewelry shop.
They won’t be able to wear them in public most of the time—he’d known that from the start—but for now, in this room where everyone is privy to the legal bonds being established between them, they are free to do whatever they wish. 
“Well then,” the judge speaks up, beaming from ear to ear. “Having consented to enter into this union and pledged your vows to each other, by the authority vested in me by the State of Maryland and the circuit courts of Anne Arundel County, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She reaches up and takes off her glasses, setting them down in front of her. “Mr. Mulder, you may kiss your bride.”
Blood rushes to his ears, and for a second all he can hear is the pounding of his heart.
Somehow, in all the weeks they’ve been planning this, he’d never considered this particular part of the ceremony. A startling oversight, considering how thorough he’d been with everything else.
Scully is looking up at him, the only sign of her own internal turmoil being the way she bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He wants to kiss her, oh, does he want to kiss her. But this is where the line between real and fake goes gray. 
‘Is this okay?’ he asks with his eyes, his hands suddenly sweating a fair bit more than they had been before. He gets an almost imperceptible nod in return, and makes up his mind.
It’s chaste, the way his lips first meet hers. His hands land on that place on her back that she thinks of as belonging to him, and he dips down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She turns and catches him with her lips, her hand coming up to lay flat against his chest. It barely lasts more than a few seconds, but it leaves him feeling dizzy nonetheless, breathless. He smiles a lopsided grin.
Of all the ways he imagined their first kiss going, in front of two complete strangers at their wedding was not one of them. 
The air feels awkward when they pull back, not quite able to meet each other’s eyes, but the silence is quickly filled with congratulatory remarks from both the judge and their witness. In an act of boldness, he captures her hand again as they are ushered out of the room, holding tightly to it. As he predicted, their witness-slash-photographer takes Mulder’s money, promising that the prints from their ceremony will be delivered to his address in a month’s time, and he thanks her.
Step one is complete. They have officially started the process that would have them labeled the craziest agents in the FBI.
For once, he doesn’t really mind being the crazy one.
~~~
Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]
@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson
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wordbunch · 2 years
Text
Winter Forest (Legolas x f!reader) > part II
PART ONE HERE
PART 3 HERE
a/n: here’s the second part!! firstly, thank you all for the kind comments on the first part, and I’m beyond happy you enjoyed it! secondly... I’m really sorry for making you wait for ages for the second part, I was super busy with uni. however, the third and final part is more than half written already, so, stay tuned 😁 I hope you enjoy this one too, do let me know about it ❤️
warnings: none! the smallest bit of angst if you really squint, but still mostly wholesome. (is Pippin a warning? he might be.)
SUMMARY: [Y/N], Lord Elrond’s daughter, and sort of a wild-card, and prince Legolas form a close friendship from their earliest childhoods. This story follows significant moments between them and how their relationship progresses over time. This part happens during the ring quest!!! slow-ish burn, friends-to-lovers, mutual piningggg 😌
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🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃
F I V E
(a/n: right after the mines of moria)
“I think even your father back in Mirkwood can hear how you are breathing right now, my friend,” [Y/N] stated, attempting in vain to lighten the mood. She wasn’t even sure what she thought or felt at the moment, but she was utterly terrified. After all, they had just encountered an ancient demon that she and Legolas had only heard about in stories, and then they lost potentially the strongest member of the Fellowship. To put it mildly... things didn’t seem to be going swimmingly.
“I am just unsure how to...process all of this at the moment,” Legolas muttered, his breathing just a bit faster than usual, but [Y/N]’s ears picked up on it effortlessly. “I never thought it would be so real.”
“Neither did I,” the girl confessed, carefully approaching the blond elf. “But here we are now. Maybe we shouldn’t have wished for a great adventure when we were merely children,” she attempted to make Legolas at least smile a little bit, but he seemed to be still absolutely overwhelmed by all the recent events. How does an immortal being process sudden death anyway?
“Perhaps you should consider getting some rest? Do you think you could maybe sleep for a little bit, now when we make camp?” [Y/N] suggested in a very concerned voice, not used to Legolas being in such a mood, but it was more than understandable. Quite frankly, she herself wasn’t sure how she was holding it together.
“There’s no need,” Legolas’ eyes finally met hers, only to see the same distress and fear in her own eyes, “you know I need very little sleep anyway.”
“Yes, I do know that we do not require sleep in the same way that humans do, but after all of this, I really think it would do you good to get some rest, Legolas,” the girl persisted. “I will be right here and nothing will happen,” [Y/N] went on with a gentle hand rested atop his shoulder. Her expressive eyes burned into his. He could never say no to that look.
“I suppose we could stand guard later in the night, when the others grow too tired,” Legolas exhaled, at last giving in to his friend’s concerns. In that moment, he wished it was just the two of them somewhere far away, and alone together, so he could just melt into her arms. And not be beside himself with fear, especially the fear of something indescribable happening to [Y/N].
“That sounds alright to me,” [Y/N] nodded, a small smile almost creeping up onto her face. He said we, she thought, giddy like a child. It wasn’t anymore “you and I,” it was the two of them together. She couldn’t describe how and why it made her feel all sorts of things, but there was something about it. 
The girl led him to where she had intended to sit down for a short while and plopped down on the ground. Legolas followed wordlessly, resting his head on her lap and sprawling out across the grass. He suddenly became aware of the immense tiredness weighing down on him as he let out a long sigh. Although he was lying down on the ground, he felt like he had never been more comfortable; among the impending disasters, a moment of serenity. Of comfort and warmth. Of home. [Y/N] brushed her slender fingers through his hair slowly and soothingly, and Legolas enveloped her other hand in his as he allowed himself to close his eyes and drift off.
[Y/N]’s heart fluttered, but she kept her breathing calm for Legolas’ sake - after all, he could hear even the smallest of sounds perfectly. She draped her cape over his shoulders - he probably wouldn’t get cold anyway but... just in case.
The blond’s breaths became even and calm quite soon as the girl kept absentmindedly raking her fingers through his hair. For just a moment, she allowed herself to feel. Everything around them was terrifying, life-threatening, unpredictable. They had lost Gandalf already, who knew what else was coming? Her mind was racing, but Legolas slightly moved and she came back to reality. His brows were furrowed in his sleep, and she ran a gentle hand across his cheek.
“Sleep, my star. sleep. you’re safe,” she muttered in elvish, as if they were back home. She couldn’t help but wonder what would it be like to fall asleep so close together, time after time, away from life-threatening situations and what felt like the world’s ending. But now everything was too risky and too dangerous to allow love to come into play as well. They were risking so much already - it wouldn’t be wise to put their hearts on the line as well. What good would it do to confess to any feelings, when there was a high chance of something tragic happening to her during the quest (along with everyone else involved), and then she would just leave Legolas hurting? He had lost his mother already, [Y/N] had lost hers too – it was better to put love aside and focus on surviving. And stay as close as possible to Legolas at all times, treasuring the time they can share, if nothing else.
Best she could do for now was hope for a good outcome of the quest, and then afterwards to, potentially, handle the matters of the heart.
🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃 
S I X
(a/n: not any specific event, just sometime during the quest)
“My lady” [Y/N] heard a hesitant little voice appear from somewhere between the trees. She was sitting down, stitching up a part of her tunic that got slashed through during the last orc encounter. The rest of the fellowship were who knows where. Hopefully safe.
“Yes, Pippin?” she smiled warmly at the hobbit as he made his way to her, clutching something behind his back. “Strange seeing you without Merry anywhere in sight.” Pippin let out a breathy laugh.
“I was actually hoping to talk to you, my lady,” he confessed, looking down at the ground and then back at the elven lady.
“Of course. And there is no need for formal titles, I am just me,” she smiled reassuringly.
“Sorry,” he muttered, almost blushing. In a millisecond, he offered her a bunch of forest flowers that he had been hiding behind his back – he’d spent all morning finding the most beautiful ones. “These are for you.”
“Oh, my goodness! They are beautiful, Pippin! thank you so much!” [Y/N] gasped out in surprise, gathering the flowers in her hands.  “That is very nice of you, I shall not ever forget it.”
“I’m happy you like them,” Pippin smiled bashfully. “And actually, I was going to say that, lad-, [Y/n], I have taken a liking to you and, well, I just wanted to let you know. In case something goes terribly wrong – I’m not saying that it will, but-”
“Pippin,” [Y/N] spoke softly, laying a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, “I greatly appreciate your honesty and I applaud your courage, and you are wonderful, but unfortunately I am already courting someone else,” she stated sympathetically. Leaves rustled in the background as Pippin offered her a sad smile.
“I… didn’t know that, my lady,” he stood as tall as he could to hide his disappointment, “But thank you for the kind words.”
“Thank you for the flowers, once again,” [Y/N] replied and pulled the little hobbit into a brief hug, so as to console him at least a little bit.
“If anything happens to your mystery lover,” Pippin began after letting go of the hug, “you know where to find me!” He gave her a silly wink and he was off, leaving [Y/N] equally amused and confused by the situation. Hobbits, she muttered to herself.
“You are eavesdropping,” she claimed in a sing-song voice in the direction of rustling leaves. Indeed she was right, a moment after, Legolas emerged from that part of the forest.
“I was merely looking out, you were quite unguarded,” Legolas murmured, hiding his awkwardness with a small cough.
“I was not alone. And even if I was, you know better than anyone that I am able to defend myself.”
“I am aware of that, but I am also always happy to assist you.” Legolas seemed crestfallen as he sat down next to the girl. He was feeling as though the sharpest arrow had pierced through his heart – his closest friend had given her heart to another lucky person. Immensely lucky person. 
“You are… “ he began hesitantly, “you are courting someone? I was unaware of that.” He looked down at the ground, too saddened to look up and meet [Y/N]’s eyes.
“What? No!” she laughed after a small shock. “Firstly, you know I would share any important information, such as that, with you. Secondly, I spend the most of my time in your company anyway – how would I have the time to entertain another?” She lifted up his chin with her index finger gently and graced him with a fond smile. She knew him well enough to recognize the sadness in his eyes instantaneously. “And third, I had not the heart to tell Pippin that elves and hobbits could never possibly be happy together. I wished not to completely crush his hopes. Admittedly, he showed extraordinary courage just coming up to me and telling me all that.”
“Of course. It was foolish of me to think otherwise,” Legolas retorted, his skin almost burning in the place where [Y/N]’s fingers had been a moment earlier. He tried to conceal a relieved smile, but he was certain that she could see straight through him.
“Nothing to worry about,” she mused as she returned to her stitching of the tunic. There was something in the air, she half-expected Legolas to continue speaking, but then… nothing.
The blond was feeling immense relief, but something prevented him from confessing to any feelings at all. It was clear as a day, it had been, for a while, that he was completely and utterly in love with [Y/N]. But in the face of dangers, of battles and the threats they were facing on the daily… he couldn’t bring himself to risk their hearts as well. If something happened to him – he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving [Y/N] hurting. If something happened to her, he had no idea how he would carry on. For the time being, maybe it was best to not burden her with his desires of the heart, and then break hers when something terrible inevitably happens. For now, he decided, he will do everything in his power to protect her and stay close to her, and then, someday, when the quest is finished, converse about the feelings that had been sitting on his chest for hundreds of years.
He fell silent and fished around one of the pockets of his tunic until he gripped an all-too-well known item: the rock that [Y/N] had given him hundreds and hundreds of years ago, on the day they first practiced archery together. It was like a token of reassurance and, hopefully, good luck – she was there. She was fine. She will be there for many more years to come.
🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃 
S E V E N
(a/n: after the battle of minas tirith)
In [Y/N]’s humble opinion, the battle at Minas Tirith was the ultimate craziest thing she had ever done. She couldn’t even wrap her head around the fear that consumed her, the dangers all around her, the amount of weapons that were swung around and the number of fired arrows. The horrible weather wasn’t helping either, but as the battle started to die down, in favor of the side she was fighting on, surprisingly… she realized she couldn’t see Legolas anywhere. And generally he was quite easy to spot, and she had great eyesight after all. Maybe it was the fear blocking her senses, her heart increasingly pounding in her ears. The girl frantically looked around, standing on her tiptoes for added height, as she turned her head left and right searching for a head full of platinum blond hair. Nowhere to be seen.
I should have told him, I should have told him, I should have told him that I loved him, she scolded herself relentlessly as she searched around one of her pockets for a broken little arrow shaft. She let out a little exhale as she gripped the familiar artifact, one that she had saved hundreds of years ago, for then-unknown reasons, when the prince had first showed her how to shoot a bow. Twirling it between her fingers, [Y/N] allowed her aching legs to take her around the chaotic battlefield in search for the elf whom she held deeply in her heart. He cannot be gone… right? His skills are almost unparalleled, he’s fast and agile with unbelievable reflexes – he couldn’t have been fatally injured… or worse? The elf swallowed thickly, looking up into the ominously dark sky, praying desperately to any and every heavenly being there was. With unshed tears in her fiery eyes, she marched on towards the stronghold, hoping to at least spot some familiar faces that could direct her to wherever Legolas was. If he still was. She almost winced at the thought, but bit her lip and went on.
The kill-count that Legolas had going on with Gimli was all but forgotten as he took off running to the highest vantage point he could find, hoping to spot [Y/N] somewhere. Firstly, he couldn’t believe that the two of them had separated on the battlefield to being with, and secondly, he scolded himself a little bit for it. He skipped multiple stone steps at a time, no matter how slippery they were and how many people he had to expertly avoid – his heart was racing and [Y/N] was the only thing on his mind. She couldn’t have been terribly injured, or anything like that; she was an incredible fighter and the two of them had trained together all their lives, pushing one another to their limits. Oh, what he would give to have her safe in Rivendell right in that moment, away from death and destruction. No matter how big of a crowd, Legolas always succeeded in finding the elven girl rather quickly – she was the one who always drew his sharp gaze to herself without even trying – but this time there seemed to be an exception. She seemed nowhere to be found.
Too many things were happening at once and Legolas just wanted to shut his eyes and find himself in [Y/N]’s warm embrace, yet again, breathe her in and finally confess to her every deepest desire of his heart. Every single magical thing he had been feeling towards her for who knows how many years. He had to stop trying to interpret her actions and words for him, stop trying to discern whether they were romantic or not, just seize the moment, and be outright. After all that had happened during the quest, he stopped thinking of love and war as equally dangerous. There was uncertainty in both, chance of getting hurt, but war wasn’t home. [Y/N] was home. Love was home. Love was [Y/N].
Having found a high enough spot to look over the battlefield from, Legolas’ eyes started searching around frantically, and his heart almost stopped dead when he noticed that one girl slowly but surely making her way through a sea of soldiers. He took a shuddering breath and called out her name as clearly as possible, and a couple times just in case. She stopped in her tracks and looked around, searching for the source of the sound as she clutched the tunic over her chest. It was unmistakably Legolas’ voice, and she thought her heart would jump out of her chest as she noticed him standing up on a half-ruined stone staircase. She didn’t know whether her relief or her joy were larger, but it didn’t matter much anyway – she just wanted to get to him as soon as possible. Pushing through people, dead orcs on the ground, mud, discarded weapons, she got nearer to the bottom of the broken staircase just as Legolas had basically jumped down as fast as possible. In the blink of an eye, [Y/N] was holding tightly onto him trying to steady her breathing and her hands wandered over his back, arms, neck, hair, anything she could feel to assuage herself that Legolas was still very much alive and well.
He gripped her into the world’s tightest embrace, feeling like an enormous weight had been lifted off of his chest.
“I thought, I-“ she staggered out, having pulled away to slightly to look up at his face. “I thought I might never see you again,” she croaked out, voice breaking at the end of the sentence as some tears were set free from her eyes. Legolas wiped them away softly with his fingers and gently slid them down the girl’s cheek. His eyes burned into hers.
“I am here, my flower. Alive and well,” he gave her the warmest of smiles, “and I am most pleased to see that you are, as well.” The blond almost laughed out of sheer joy and relief. Only [Y/N] could notice a tiny tear or two hiding in the corners of his eyes. In order to stop herself from fully breaking into tears completely, she put a hand over her mouth and instantaneously Legolas pulled her into another bone-crushing hug. His strong arms were securely wrapped around her waist and steadying her shivering body, and Legolas, searching for some comfort and reassurance himself, buried his face in the crook of her neck. It was utterly unimportant that both of them were rain-soaked, ashy and dirty; he pressed his face into her soft skin, heartbeats finally evening out, even thumping in sync, after all the stress they had went through. There, on blood and rain-soaked ground, moments after one of the most terrifying events of both their lives, Legolas managed to finally muster up the courage to leave a warm, gentle kiss somewhere above [Y/N]’s elegant collarbone, as a small affectionate token of what he hoped was to come, a brand new chapter in their story. Love before war, love during the war, love after the war.
Naturally, he would have to eventually state his feelings clearly, but for now… this was the very first step.
🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃 
“and your laugh is like the spray of the sea, your head is a star between my hands, the world grows green again when you smile” (Octavio Paz)
-
“I carry your breath in my hands / like warm sun at dusk. / Your laughter vines through my hair, roots growing into my heart.” (?)
🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃 
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where-is-francis · 1 year
Note
Steve harrington x male reader fluff where steve is dating a flim nerd and they work together but in the breakroom they make out
𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩
𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
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Before You Interact - Rules Of My Blog
𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩: Clumsy beginnings can lead to happy endings. Even for a former-douchebag like Steve Harrington.
𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙨: He/Him (fem aligned DNI, you have plenty of stuff)
𝙎𝙩𝙮𝙡𝙚: Literally all fluff.
𝘼/𝙉: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK AGES I NEVER CHECK MY DRAFTS AND I FORGOT JFC but I had this idea for meeting Steve for the first time (bc my first impressions are always awful) and decided I had to write it like this. So it’s not exactly like the request but still.
𝙏𝙒: Throwback to when Steve got drugged by the Russians, mentions of weed (he tries to convince you he doesn’t smoke/it was a one time thing), no use of Y/N, I think that’s it.
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The mention of Steve Harrington’s name would’ve earned no reaction from you at one point. He wasn’t anybody special, just another name and face in the school hallway. You never really had any classes together, and the end of high school solidified the difference in interests. You’d be lying, however, if you said it didn’t surprise you to see the brunette sporting a gaudy sailor suit and taking employment at Starcourt.
It wasn’t unusual for you to be at the mall. You and a few friends would normally meet up to go see whatever was playing in the theater as an excuse to hang out. It was a mutually loved experience — though you’d lost count of how many popcorn kernel shells had gotten stuck in your teeth that summer. If you weren’t at the theater, you were probably at the video store. Your life revolved around movies.
Naturally, it wasn’t surprising that the theater was where Steve met you on a very specific night. But his first impression was anything but perfect. In actuality, you’d forgotten all about it until a few weeks after when he came in for his first shift during late August. It was surprising, to say the least — considering how Keith despised him — but the brunette seemed pretty happy to swap the ‘Ahoy!’ printed hat for an equally ugly green vest.
It was early on a Thursday when he had his first shift with you. In his mind, he had been dreading and simultaneously looking forward to the shift. It was inevitable that your schedules would line up, but it still seemed too soon. The most you’d seen of each other was in passing or payday, casual interactions that left the (taller/shorter) male silently thinking about you for the rest of the evening.
You dreaded the shift a bit as well. Not for any big reason, but Keith said Steve had a shitty taste in movies. And it would’ve broken your heart, just the tiniest bit, to see the look on his face when you shot down his trashy recommendation to fill the lobby.
Even for only being there a few weeks, he caught on quickly, but had to redo his work most of the time considering how clumsy he was when flirting — both verbally and literally. While attempting to woo a really nice brunette girl, his stack of returns fell and scattered along the floor. You watched, amused, as the two picked the tapes up.
She left without getting anything other than a laugh.
Steve glanced at one of the hanging clocks, squinting a bit to make out the time.
“Break time?”
Your (e/c) hues caught the time and you nodded, motioning towards the back room. Nobody was likely to come in, but you left the break room door propped open just in case. Steve walked over to the fridge and pulled out the leftover pasta you had stowed away. The beige walls and cheap folding furniture didn’t do much to add comfort to the room, but your smile definitely did. He moved slightly, giving you space to use the small microwave.
Since that night at the mall, something about you had the (taller/shorter) male hooked. He remembered knocking the drink into your chest and muttering apologies, before staring at you in his drugged haze. You weren’t mad and began laughing it off immediately, instead becoming concerned about the blood and bruises that hid his features. Something about the way those fluorescent lights in a multitude of colors made you look ethereal and otherworldly. He had never seen a guy like you.
With the pasta finished warming up, you made your way to the small table while Steve tried to hide how he looked at you. He grabbed a half-empty can of Pringles and moved to lean against the wall. The loud climactic score of Terminator rang through the empty lobby and provided ample ambience for you two.
Steve’s sneaker tapped anxiously in tune to the music, leaving him to figure out what to say.
“Hey, I just — wanted to apologize? For, like, when we first met and everything.”
You looked up and met his eyes. He was expecting a confused look or for you to be mad, but you rolled your eyes instead. “Oh please, don’t even worry about that.”
He took this as an invitation to pull up the chair across the table and offer you a chip — to which you declined — before he continued.
“You actually remember that?”
“Uh, how could I not? I was seeing Back To The Future on the Fourth of July and you ran into me so hard I spilled my Coke. Not to mention I’ve never seen anybody’s pupils so wide — what did you do that night?”
Steve groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with embarrassment, but smiled underneath his palm. Something about the way his bushy brows furrowed was unexpectedly cute and endearing in your eyes.
Nobody could deny that Steve Harrington was attractive. No, he definitely was. But especially now — not being shadowed by Tommy or Carol or any of the other stuck-up assholes from school. Now he was best friends with an awkward band girl and gaggle of dorky freshman. He was different. Still handsome and confident, but more authentic.
Steve leaned back a bit in the folding chair. “Oh man. That was a trip, for sure. I had a, uh, special brownie after work and was going to meet somebody to see a movie. I definitely overdid it, though.”
A smile formed over your features as you leaned closer to keep the conversation quiet. Keith wasn’t supposed to come in, but if anybody found out about Steve and the brownie, the nerd would definitely use it to fire him.
“Holy shit. Did it kick in during the movie? Wait — what happened to your face? You were all… bloody and fucked up.”
The brunette laughed and tried to think of a convincing lie. You wouldn’t believe he was drugged by Russians, of course, but it wasn’t a good idea to blurt that out. He leaned back and stretched a bit, giving you a good view of his toned arms that perfectly filled out his striped shirt.
“It kicked in before the movie even started. But Billy had been messing with Max — stepsister, friends with Dustin — and I tried to get him to just go home. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy about it.”
“So you fought him again and lost?”
He somewhat faked offense. “Uh, no. I didn’t lose. For your information, he had a date and left. But I’m assuming you knew about the first time?”
Steve watched as you poked and prodded the lukewarm noodles in the Tupperware container. It was evident that you were enjoying the story, anybody could tell with how your eyes glinted mischievously in the humming light of the break room.
“Of course. Everybody knew. I mean, I always thought it was pretty cool how you watched out for Henderson and stuff. Even if it did mean getting your ass kicked.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him.
He couldn’t be mad. In all honesty, it made him giddy — the idea of you thinking he was cool or something. The titles and admiration from peers began to matter less and less since graduation, they were nothing more than grains of sand. You, however, were different. You didn’t have to try to be anything — it came naturally.
Steve’s eyes wandered over every detail of your appearance as you focused on the pasta. It was like he was back in the theater, staring wide eyed at some (h/c) haired God.
Though you couldn’t see it, you felt the warmth of his gaze. “You’re staring again, Harrington.”
A hint of red dusted over his freckled cheeks. In an attempt to avoid saying something stupid, he resorted to eating again. The silence wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t very comfortable either. You wanted to ask about that night at the mall, as well as why he still seemed to look at you like you were the most beautiful thing the world had to offer. At first, the mall situation could’ve been a fluke. He was high out of his mind — it would make perfect sense.
But now? He looked at you in the exact same way, nearly a year later, completely sober.
You rested your chin into the palm of your hand and met his gaze again. “I bet the movie was totally amazing in that state.”
Steve nodded and flashed you a grin. It reminded you of that night and how his smile still seemed perfect, even with his perfect white teeth contrasting greatly to the dried blood that had covered his face.
“It was… something, that’s for sure. Felt like my mind was just gonna—” he gestured and made a cheesy explosion noise, “—yannow?”
“And was that from the brownie, or the movie?”
The brunette laughed nervously and shifted in his seat. Your voice was enough to drive him insane in the best possible way; sweet, caring, but still teasing enough to keep him going. Robin had been telling him to just go for it — he didn’t want to get his hopes up at first, but she insisted her superpower was having ‘gaydar’. That, and you’d not so subtly flirted with a few guys that came into the store.
Unbeknownst to you, Steve’s heart picked up in pace like it was about to pop out of the confines of his chest. It almost beat in time to the ending credits of the long forgotten movie that played in the lobby, and left a rhythmic pulse going through his body. He shrugged a bit, trying — and failing — to stop the words before they could come out.
“It was the movie at first, but something changed. I just remember looking at the lights then I ran into you.”
You laughed. “You looked at me like a deer in the headlights. I was tempted to call an ambulance, if I’m being honest.”
“I don’t blame you. I feel like I stared for hours or something — you just looked really hot. I mean, besides being covered in Coke. Pretty sure I told Robin you were a Greek God, or an angel, or something. At first I thought it was just the drugs, but then I saw you again and just… it’s the same thing.” He rambled.
And there it was, out in the open, before he could even realize what he was doing. Steve’s motion came to a blunt pause while he registered what he just said aloud. The pace of his heartbeat picked up until its thumping was the only thing he could hear.
The words came out of his mouth so quickly, and clumsily, like they weren’t a combination of the most genuine thoughts and that anybody had ever had about you. It was like an earthquake had just spawned out of nowhere, and once the rumbling stopped, your mind was racing as fast as your heart.
Steve took the silence as a very polite rejection. Once his own earthquake settled, he would try and apologize — ask you to forget about it — and he, too, would try. Every word was genuine, but the timing was off. Even then, he didn’t want to look across the white plastic table and meet the disgust in your eyes.
It would’ve killed him.
You sat with Steve in the stillness for what felt like too long. When his pleading gaze finally met yours, clearly working out what to say, he was met with a smile. Red heat filled the high points of your cheeks and spread into a dusting at the tips of your ears; it wasn’t hot, just warm.
“Holy shit… that’s, like, the nicest thing anybody’s ever said about me. Do you mean it?” The words came out ever so breathy.
Just like that, the former king of Hawkins High let the rest of his composure slip. It was like being exposed for the first time in a while; he wasn’t some arrogant rich boy with his pick of the school. The boy in front of you was as clumsy as he was gorgeous.
“I mean, yeah.” A nervous laugh worked through his body. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured our first shift together — just so you know.”
You grinned at him from across the table. “Me either. But I wouldn’t change a thing.”
There was no rush, but the brunette still felt like he should say something. No words of substance circled his mind, however, so he sat in silence with you in the dull room. Everything about the (accidental) confession had him feeling giddy and like he would melt into a puddle at any moment. With your lunch finished, you put the lid back on and moved it out of the way. At the sound of the bell from the counter, you maneuvered out of the room, sending Steve one last smile before attending to the customer.
A few hours had passed until the moon replaced the sun in a navy blue sky. And though the confession wasn’t what he had planned, not in the slightest, Steve was just glad that you’d been willing to give him a chance. For the rest of the shift, he would inevitably try to think of a nice date for you two. Unfortunately, he didn’t know much of your other interests at the moment — would it be too cheesy to go to the movies? Hawkins wasn’t exactly known for its creative date spots.
Your not-so-secret admirer leaned on his elbows across the counter as you worked on shutting down the computers for the night. It was silent in the door, now filled with a bit of darkness, save for the clacking of keys and the slinky that Steve messed with. The computer screen finally dulled in color and fizzed a bit as it turned off. The brunette followed as you moved towards the door to lock up, trying desperately to figure out how to word things. He hovered beside you like a shadow while you spun the open sign around and tugged the door closed.
“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is yes.” You eyed him carefully with a smug grin.
“Really?”
“Of course. On one condition, though.” Steve nodded a bit nervously as you began to trap him between your body and the window, “If it involves movies, I’m picking. You may be pretty, but your taste is… in need of work.”
He smiled again. The (taller/shorter) male moved his hand to yours, not quite holding it, just gently running a thumb over your lower knuckles. Such a small gesture, but one that had you weak in the knees again.
“I think I can live with that.”
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Reblogs over likes — it helps other people find my stuff. More male & enby reader content on my blog. ST requests still open!
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an-obsessed-cactus · 1 month
Text
I think i may be asexual?!
(okay this got longer than expected and i wanted to stop talking cuz ppl won't read it if it's so long and then i realized I'm not here to please anybody and i just wanna process some stuff so. yeah. also i come to realizations farther down that contradict some stuff from the beginning but I'll just leave my whole thought process here)
fun. um. I've realized I'm not straight two years ago and then started learning more about all things LGBT related and think myself educated enough on this topic but.
I've been pondering my sexuality and gender identity again more in recent days and. today i randomly stumbled across a yt video where the author (are you an author on yt? my brain is glitching rn)(also the 'author' in question is @jaidenanimationsofficial wonderful videos love the animation and the humor) talks about being aroace. few hours pass, my stomach hurts like hell so i go to lay down and sleep a bit, wake up and have a realization.
i googled again what asexuality is and read some more on this. i did this before and i guess i didn't see myself in it? so i kinda crossed it off the list of possible identities. i guess because i do want to have sex. i think. I'm not opposed to it and i get horny lmao. but that's only with fictional characters and works? like i just think: that was very sexy of you. but in a platonic way?! sex doesn't cross my mind. (also can you get aroused by music? or a good written work? or movie? like not even the characters but the work itself?) sorry i dunno I'm confused.
anyway i got a bit off track. what i wanted to say was that i suddenly remembered a convo i had with my sister a while ago where we talked about what is the difference between friendship and a romantic relationship. and she said it's that u wanna have sex with them and i was like ... i don't really think that's it...
and like. i get crushes i think. but I've never experienced this want to have sex with a particular person at least that i could remember. like a want to have sex? i guess yeah i mean not rlly sth i think about much but it's not unprecedented(see: i get horny)
honestly I'm not even sure anymore if im not aromantic as well. cuz queerplatonic sounds more like my jam?
like i felt(feel?) like omnisexual described me well because i think I'd be attracted to who the person is at their core. what if ur straight as a girl, date a boy, and then it turns out he's trans? i dunno i feel like gender isn't this fixed thing which then kinda creates problems when labeling urself with a certain sexuality. aaaa people came irl and i lost my train of thought. um. i feel like labeling myself anything other than omnisexual would feel limiting. even if i never developed a crush on a girl for example (i did), i still feel like i could potentially. like there's nothing stopping me. why shouldn't I?
OKAY SO
that was written yesterday. it is now today and i have a whole lot of new thoughts and realizations.
I had a bit of a marathon with @jaidenanimationsofficial videos and i came across an older one she mentioned in the previous one i watched about being aroace(ik it's a mess) about how she couldn't understand why when romantic feelings are not mutual people don't just continue being friends. and i was like EXACTLY WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?! and um. ahem. do u really see it as a problem? I guess if everyone does. but I'm starting to seriously consider if I'm aroace as well which woah there. this happened in a span of a day and I'm not sure it's real and it doesn't feel real? some time will have to pass for me to check out this theory cuz. ppl often say they felt like there was sth wrong with them and then they discovered these terms and were like aHA that's it! that explains everything! and I didn't... have that? and I'm not sure to what extent i identify with aroace because reasons(ill talk about some of it below). and I'm not saying that not having this realization moment or not feeling like sth is wrong with me through my life devalidates my orientation and stuff but it makes me doubt i guess?
i also came to an important discovery that aroused and horny are not the same. who would have thought?! I said above i get horny but apparently being horny means to want to have sex. and i just get the physical part aka arousal. fun. someone help pls im so confused.
okay for the last part(which prolly won't be the last part but one can hope right?)
i said i realized i wasn't straight two years ago. that was when i realized i like my best friend as more than i friend. well it wasn't exactly that simple. tbh i think Lucifer(the series i am NOT a satanist) helped a lot with that? like i knew about some lgbt stuff before because I'm alive on this planet but it kinda made me think about a lot of stuff, and between that stuff was my sexuality as well. idk. it's not like i had a crush on any of the female characters. just got me thinking for some reason. like why is having sex with people you're not romantically involved with wrong? why is prostitution wrong if u enjoy it and get money for it and it's well managed and secure? but that's beside the point.
well anyway I didn't know what i felt towards my bff(I'll say bff cuz bf also stands for boyfriend so it feels weird) but it felt like more than friendship. didn't feel like sth romantic tho. then i discovered queerplatonic relationships exist and i was like i think that's it! and then new school year came i saw her again and doubts flared up. again there was never i wanna have sex with her, but there was an occasional i wanna kiss her. and she was so important to me so it has to be romantic love right?! romance is the highest form of love one can experience afterall! nothing whatsoever can compare to it!! it feels ✨magical✨ when you find you will finally be completed!!! anyways.
it felt like romantic love was the only thing that could justify me feeling this way. i won't go deeper into this because i already have a draft where i do(i have like 16 drafts with uncompleted rambles so...) I'll try to post it but. i told her and we're still good friends! it actually made me closer to the rest of my friend group(which i was only a part of on the paper before)(i was so focused on my bff before I didn't really do group) because i felt a bit distanced from her for a while(she's a people pleaser like me and even tho i think i can read her well im paranoid and i thought she may feel weird?). anyways i got close with 3 other amazing ppl in the meantime and my friendship with my bff hasn't suffered!
but between my feelings being kinda realized and me telling her a whole year has passed and in the end i wasn't even sure what i was feeling anymore just that i didn't want her not to know. idk.
now im wondering what it was. even back then half year pre confession i was thinking if it was just because someone was finally paying attention to me. i didn't really do friends before (i kinda had them but there were no deep convos or shared secrets) and then there was suddenly this person who genuinely enjoys spending time with me! and listens to my problems! and weird obsessions! this sounds kinda sad put like this ngl lmao. but this was the first time I had that deep connection with someone. two years in my confused feelings came. geez i got off track again. point is i thought i was straight up until then and then had a crisis cuz i thought i only liked her cuz she was giving me attention cuz i was straight goddamit! ANYWAYS.
this post has lost all direction. it is a frustrated ramble of a very confused person. let us continue
i will just sum up how i feel about genders and people because I'm a chronic oversharer. oops doops.
men: find them aesthetically pleasing, all celebrity crushes are in this category (there's only one really but if i found a celebrity attractive like not objectively but to me it was a man), i would also get kinda crushes on boys my age when i spent 5 minutes with them. don't ask. i think it's dopamine mining(i suspect i have adhd). im not used to male company and i kinda don't like it that much but the the ?butterflies? are still there. tbh i don't really know what to do with men. doesn't stop me from having crushes tho. i don't have any real desire to be in a romantic relationship with men. i don't exclude the possibility but i haven't found one i would want it with. i also don't know now to interact with them. let alone flirt. actually flirt in general. it feels like it would be cringe and belongs in bad movies.
women: freaking amazing!! love them! no celebrity crushes, one irl crush which might have moved beyond crush(i suspected the L word for a while) to friends or it might have never been a crush in the first place! help! now there's another friend outside of my friend group who i may like. or i just enjoy her company? im not used to this yet. i forgot i think im aroace. this is killing me.
nonbinary/other genders: I haven't met any yet. there are some on discord servers im a part of but I don't really interact much just lurk there. i think irl experience would be different anyway.
someone please explain sth to me. you have sexual attraction okay get that(not really but that's not the point). but then there's romantic attraction. how do you separate that from friendship? just this intense feelings of wanting to be with them at all times? okay myb myb let's say u can separate them from friendship. what about queerplatonic? guys??
i am starting to dislike labels. this is confusing.
also i gotta figure this romantic thing out cuz im writing a fantasy series and there's romance involved lol.
okay so i guess i am at least asexual cuz i don't see ppl and go 'i wanna have sex with them'. i am not yet thoroughly convinced im aromantic as well but we'll see about that ig. because i still don't understand what the difference between romance and deep friendship is. aghhh
although if i can't tell the difference myb that answers the question.
also how does someone who is asexual but romantically attracted to all genders label themselves? like omnisexual ig doesn't work cuz it omnisexual.
i went to google aromantic and.
"demiromantic people have romantic attraction only after forming an emotional bond with another person."
HOW ELSE DO YOU HAVE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION??? Isn't this about who the person is?! Do you just see them and go: oh this must be such a good person. what?
like i understand sexual attraction when you see someone ig. but romantic? i really need someone to explain this to me in depth. i haven't even been asking the right questions.
"Quoiromantic people can't tell the difference between romantic and platonic attractions." Welp i guess i have a new label i can stick on myself. also the name is killing me. (quoi=what in french💀)
(edit: well this thing just posted itself. I DIDN'T HIT POST WTF. but it's out there now. ig it had enough of me adding new and new thoughts. im inclined to agree)
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crypticjackal13 · 8 months
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Testing out these hc's and also NSFW. Don't like, don't read. What you do on the internet isn't my fault. (CW: mentions of trauma, food, drinking, and s3x)
My Ghost(Simon Riley) Headcanons
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He's not addicted to his mask. The dialogue between him and Soap about it is funny as hell("bet you sleep with that thing" "soundly.") But like he probably takes his mask off once he's home alone and what not. Sometimes forgets to wash it but he keeps a reminder on his phone to do it at least once a week. Has a few extras with his stuff, and carries at least one baclava in his uniform's pocket just in case.
He's not super insecure. He's confident, he knows he's hot. I could see him being a bit self conscious about his scars, and he likely doesn't like anyone touching them. But other than that, he doesn't mind how he looks(like his body weight, his height, etc)
Doesn't smoke(or very rarely does it). But he does drink. It's very controlled, though, and he refuses to have any more than 3 drinks because he doesn't want to be irresponsible. Some nights he's actually likely to be the designated driver if the team heads to a pub.
Eats regularly. At least two good meals a day, and he's fairly mindful about what he's eating. Sometimes he doesn't have the time or resources to get like a bunch of veggies or whatever, so he does settle for fast food or junk food. He doesn't starve himself, he knows he won't be able to do his job efficiently if he does.
I think he's not cold and emotionless all the time. He likes jokes and witty banter!! He probably doesn't mind listening to someone ramble for a while!! It might take him a bit to warm up to someone on his own, but he might feel better if there's a mutual friend(i.e. Soap). But he isn't a robot all the time it just takes him a minute to adjust to a new person. (He does always have that lingering fear of betrayal, though. He wishes it wasn't there always nagging at the back of his mind.)
Did go through a lot of therapy. Both for his physical health(after being hung by his ribs and what not) and his mental health(for basically everything). He wouldn't have been considered fit to serve if he hadn't done it. (I also think this would make him the type to make jokes about his own trauma sometimes just for the hell of it)
NSFW. It takes a solid couple of weeks/months into a relationship for him to feel comfortable with sex. He doesn't mind kissing/hugging/holding hands/cuddling, but in terms of intimacy he needs to know that he's safe with someone to actually do that stuff.
He's very nice about it. Checks up on his partner multiple times throughout to make sure he's not doing anything to upset them. If he is, he immediately backs off.
Manhandles by accident. Tends to get lost in the moment and so he just kinda,,, moves his partner around. Quickly apologizes and chuckles and asks them if they're alright in this position.
He's a little kinky. Not a whole lot, but I imagine he'd be okay with things like easy bondage, light impact play, and maybe some stuff with toys if that's what his partner likes. If his partner wants to do something new he does hella research first. Also he may be more leaning dominant but he's not gonna be a hard Dom.
Tends to pass out right after the fact. To combat this he usually tries to keep some snacks, drinks, and wipes in the room in case his partner wants any. Of course he'll make it up to them in the morning--I think he's really good at making proper tea and coffee.
TL;DR I see way too much mischaracterization of him. He's a little guy and he deserves better. :)
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pendragaryen · 5 months
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Merry christmas, my dear friends, mutuals and followers and all the best wishes for the upcoming new year! 🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡
The last bit of 2022 and the whole of 2023 have not been very kind to my family - and so I'm standing here today, looking back at the past 13 months and finding myself almost back and stuck in the emotional state that I had been in after the separation from my long time boyfriend/life partner in 2009... That was a very dark time. I was trying to live and breathe with a constant black hole in my chest and soul for a couple of years then... I felt so empty and lost. I had a very similar feeling for the span of a couple of months after I had been kicked out of my job in 2017. But nothing, and I mean it, nothing has the rug under my feet pulled away and made me hit rock bottom like the cancer illness of my sister, the death of my grandma and now the fact that my mum is diagnosed with a tumor in her spine, all in the span of just 13 months... Please, we all need some rest in my family so desperately. But now we're all very anxious bc of the surgery my mum has to go through at the 12th of january. It's a difficult surgery. No-one knows for sure at this point what kind of a tumor it is. It causes her legs getting more and more numb and if they don't do anything, the risk of her ending up using a wheelchair rather sooner than later seems very likely. If the tumor should be malignant (please, god, no, NO!) the consequences would be even worse bc it could've spread already... But the fact that the doctors pushed for a fast surgery likely speaks for the possibility that the tumor is benign and seated in just one place... Well you see, this really keeps me busy... We all hope desperately that she will get better after the surgery, and not worse... We have plans! We want to travel together again! To the Netherlands next! Or to Danmark!
Don't get me wrong, there HAD been good things that happened in the last year, not at least the fact that my sister is now considered as cured. We're all so relieved and thankful, I have no words for it! But then... the death of our grandma... and now the tumor and surgery of my mother... I feel like i'm trapped in a constant state of emotional stress, like standing in the dark and screaming into the void with nobody being able to hear me... I can't even begin to imagine how my sister must've felt or how my mum is feeling now. Sometimes I think I'm too empathetic, the way I suffer with and for my beloved ones... that can't be healthy. I'm so tired.
Sorry to bother you with all this. I'm not around here that often anymore. Sadly I have to say I lost joy in many things I once loved or loved to do over the course of the last years. I'm unmotivated most of the time. But now... I have to function, I have to be there for my mum. It'll take half a year at least for her to recover from her surgery (if everything goes well - fingers crossed please!!!) and so I have to be strong - and I WILL be strong! For her! For my family! I hope my sister will support me then... The relationship of her and our mom is a little difficult... Sadly. But she's working on it..
I said I lost the joy in many things I loved once, but one thing I'll never get tired of is, on the rare occasions I visit this site, to read you all at our weekly BFSN, to see the 100 fam still being so creative and devoted, so that our favorite show never really gets forgotten. Thank you so much for that! And please keep tagging me in things! I read you, look at your photos, and I smile, even though I may not answer. This little corner of our fandom is so dear to me, it's almost a little like homecoming when I log in here. A comfort place.
Thank you all for your kind, empathetic, couraging, and motivational words at the last BFSN. I appreciate each and every one of it.
I hope the year has been kind to y'all and that these christmas holidays and the new year will be filled with tons of health, luck and love for you and all of us! Here's to a well deserved rest for us all!
And may we meet again. Here and in words. Maybe one day in person? Who knows?
Always.
Anne
@sunflowerkru: @togetherkru @carrieeve @ninappon @roguetwelve @bellamyblake @jeanie205 @geekyogicheese @natassakar @heartbellamy @okmcintyre @immortalpramheda @igotbellarkeforthat @infp-with-all-the-feelings @isweartobreathe @kizo2703 @travllingbunny @bookwormforalways @lee-em-dee @julibernardo @broashwhat @its-tea-time-darling @delicatebluebirdruins (and each and everyone else I maybe forgot, please excuse me)
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ofliterarynature · 22 days
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MARCH 2024 WRAP UP
[loved liked ok nope dnf (reread) bookclub*]
Supernova • The Last Unicorn • Cahokia Jazz • (Heartstopper Vol 1)* • The Hero of Ages • Godkiller • Humanly Possible • Traveller’s Joy • The Well of Ascension • Babel-17 • The Final Empire • Loot • The Death I Gave Him
Finished: 11 books (9 audio, 1 print, 1 ebook)
Not many books this month but by god I read THREE Brandson Sandersons, so -
I guess I may as well start with Sanderson while we're here. I promised a mutual years ago (who's sadly left tumblr) that I would read Mistborn and it's probably been at least half a decade but I did it Lourdes! I've read a few one-off Sandersons before, but nothing I fell in love with. The Final Empire definitely had some issues, some things felt a little off, but overall I think I liked it! Except those things did not then improve in the next two books, and by book 3 I was dragging and solidly decided that I wouldn't continue past the original trilogy. I was so mad at that ending y'all, and if the mixed vibes from the copy for the next books wasn't enough that definitely sealed the deal lmao. Happy for the people who like him but it's not really my vibe. (but god, did it remind me how much I love big, grand, epic fantasies. I really need to find a good one). 3 stars
Babel-17 (3 stars) - idk, I think I found this on a rec list for sci-fi about linguistics? Which it sort of was, maybe, ostensibly. It was weird in that old sci-fi way and I kind of wish I'd DNF'd it when I originally considered it.
Traveller's Joy (5 stars)- look I will never say no to more in the Greenwing & Dart series, especially if it's my good good boy Hal. Not to mention more info about the immediate post-college times, and an outside POV on Jemis (Jemis my dude I love you so much but you are not a reliable narrator). Victoria picked a great piece of canon to explore!
Humanly Possible: Seven Hundred Years of Humanist Freethinking, Inquiry, and Hope (4 stars) - I've been wanting to read this since I first heard about it (and Humanist thought in general), and while it was interesting and I'm glad I read it, I found my attention drifting a lot. It spent a lot of time in the early/distant periods of humanist thought, which ended up not really being what I wanted - I think I'm more interested in the modern Humanist movent, but at least I know I'm on the right track!
Godkiller (4.5 stars) - It was great! It was kind of idk, epic fantasy with fairy tale and D&D vibes sort of? My brain is throwing out T Kingfisher and Robin McKinley for comps, but I'm not sure if that's accurate. A great one for fans of less-than-benevolent voices in the back of your head that are nonetheless very concerned for your well being! A solid 4/4.5 stars from me, it switched pov a little to often and didn't stick well in my head as well afterward as I'd have liked. Can't wait to get the next book!
Heartstopper (5 stars) - so cute! at least half the people who have ever come to book club at some point have said they loved this, so since we're in our graphic novel era it just made sense! I read a good chunk of the comic online ages ago and it's still great (and much easier when not fighting my wifi to load pages lol)
Cahokia Jazz (5 stars) - y'all I lost my fucking MIND OVER THIS ONE. Absolutely going to be one of my top books of the year. I'm such such a sucker for books about an outsider trying to find themself, their place, and reconnect with their culture, and hnnnnnng it was so good! Not always easy, but I loved it. I sobbed over that ending so much, I had to get up at work and go hide in the restroom for a bit and couldn't stop tearing up for the next week. Warning that the opening is pretty gory/crime novel/these-cops-are-corrupt vibes that *did* almost make me dnf (GASP), but it gets so much better I promise. Give Joe a chance, he's got hidden depths.
The Last Unicorn (3.5 stars) - It was ok? I didn't really get into it and was glad it was short, but I'm sure if I'd gotten my hands on this as a kid I'd have read it 10x times. I've also never seen the movie. I'm debating if I want to keep my copy for future niblings, but probably not.
Supernova (3 stars) - finally, I am DONE with this series. I admit, the second book almost got me and had me reconsidering if I should keep my copies after all, but this one yanked me back to reality. The undercurrents of ethics/morals/philosophy? to this series are fascinating, but uh, I'm not sure the author is aware of them as much as I was? Because the ending was fine, but all of these questions it felt like the series was raising were just ignored or pushed past. Not a bad series, just don't think about anything too hard.
DNF's
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Loot - I was here for the automaton tiger and clockmaking, but that wasn't really the focus? I'm not quite sure what was, actually, I dropped this pretty quick between that, not liking the writing style, or the narrator's voice.
The Death I Gave Him - I was SO sad to give this one up. It's told through excerpts and transcripts and all sorts of things pieced together that hint at events in the future, which is one of my favorite things!!!! Except I don't know shit about Hamlet, and it was giving more psychological-thriller vibes and less murder-mystery, and I wasn't really having fun. It made me want to reread Sarah Gailey's The Echo Wife.
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fintan-pyren · 10 months
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i am a former kotlc fan. i was on the wiki before and during peak pandemic. i was on the discord server where i transformed into the little anarchist chaos gremlin i had been trying to hide on the wiki. i’ve moved on from kotlc, mostly. a few of my mutuals are from that era of my life, but i don’t think of kotlc when they’re in my notifs. i need you to understand i have moved on. i don’t think about kotlc usually and i’m not posting this on my blog because barely any of my followers know what kotlc is.
but recently, my brain went, unprompted, “hey remember keeper of the lost cities? remember in that series, elves don’t count their age by their actual date of birth, but by their conception date? isn’t that weird? doesn’t that make you ask questions that 10 year old you didn’t know needed to be asked? do you want to think about those questions more?”
eventually, i came upon a very natural question to ask about elven biology in this middle grade book series:
do elves have birth control and/or abortion?
like…they would, right? they must have some sort of birth control. like they have to at least have condoms. how do they get them though? and if there is abortion in the lost cities… how? there has to be a clinic right? is there even the equivalent of a gynecologist in the lost cities? i’m so sorry for this ask but i just need to hear other people’s thoughts and opinions on this.
Birth control, yes. Abortion, no.
Their birth control would vary a fair bit from that of the humans. IUDs and the implant would certainly not be used, as elves would find it horrifying and invasive to have something embedded in their body. I also think they'd find condoms a little primitive. They would probably rely on elixirs. Due to how advanced elven medicine is, these would probably be far more effective than human oral contraceptives, to the point where elves wouldn't bother to use multiple forms of contraception like many humans do, so this would likely be the only form of birth control widely available in the lost cities.
The elves REALLY care about the right genes mixing, so they'd definitely hate the idea of sex before marriage, but I think they'd also realize that they can't necessarily prevent it, so they'd make sure the contraceptive elixirs were easily accessible even to young elves. Elwin would probably have a stock on hand in the Foxfire physician's office, as would most apothecaries and physicians. They would, however, be accompanied by Council-mandated booklets about the importance of the Matchmaking system for any young elves that bought them. (Older married elves would still sometimes use them, but since they believe in the importance of passing on their genetics, and the elven birth rate is naturally pretty low anyways, most wouldn't bother)
They would not, however, have abortion. Since elves count age from the inception date instead of the day of birth, they would view the fetus as an actual person, and would consider abortion to be murder. Since elves don't have miscarriages, and it's basically impossible for an elf to be mistaken about being pregnant, they also wouldn't be able to perform them under the radar. Once that bellybutton pops out, there's no going back.
There wouldn't be many cases of that happening with unwed couples, since elves often marry pretty young. In the cases where it did happen, I think they'd be expected to marry. Partially because elves would rather act as though that kind of thing doesn't happen, partially because half siblings or unknown parents or other uncommon things like that make tracing family trees a little more complicated for the matchmakers.
As for elven gynecologists: Elves can cure diseases/infections and keep the body in good condition pretty well with bottles of youth and elixirs (which is why they only have to worry about birth control, and wouldn't have to use condoms to prevent STDs), and physicians can detect issues quite easily with their colored lights without doing a more hands-on examination, so most issues would probably be dealt with by regular physicians. Even Forkle, who isn't a proper physician (as far as we know), says that he could've fixed most of the patients in a fertility clinic with a couple elixirs. I do think they'd have a couple physicians in the lost cities who specialize in the reproductive system, but even then, I think they'd mostly stick to colored lights for diagnosing things. No poking around in places where nobody really wants people poking around.
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adracat · 1 year
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GWitch 21 thoughts
A bit of a transitional episode for the most part though it does escalate some things quite a bit. Always a fun ride on GWitch's coaster of madness and mechs!
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First on the docket, Asticassia's aftermath. They really treat you to the scope of its devastation and the students having to wait it out. Bit odd imo they make the students camp there but I guess their parents are likely scattered anyway considering the state of Benerit.
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Also was it just me or did y'all instinctively look for Loss in this image? Nicely organized camp at least.
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Omg I might cry. Precious Suletta has decided to take it upon herself to care for the students. rescuing them in multiple ways I see. For me, it drives home the message that human connection and community are more important than destructive forces clashing. Empathy over games of war or corporate power struggles. It's also nice that Secilia* (edit: had a brain lapse lol) questions her reasons for altruism.
Because she can so she will 🥺
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We finally see how Mio is faring and it's not great! She's taken on the guilt of Prospera's induced bloodshed along with Shaddiq's. Guel tries to reassure her but Mio is firm. This is her fault. Ngl, Guel, you're partly to blame for the school. No offense. It hurts to see Mio take on other people's wrongdoing, but that's a martyr for you
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Her talk with Shaddiq was interesting for a variety of reasons, but what stood out to me was their mutual resignation. They're both so tired. Shaddiq admitting he escalated because of Guel and Mio is insane tbh. She calls him an idiot, but it lacks her usual fire. I do like that he tries to protect Sabina and the gang; really speaks to the fact he's more complex than a mustache twirling villain.
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OMG Chuchu giving these two tomatoes instead of punches like before was amazing. The growth! The compassion! Ugh it was so good. As was the reveal that Suletta has been stockpiling the tomatoes. Mio might not know it, but she and by extension her mother aided these wounded kids. And Suletta musing on Mio fondly? Peak
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After surviving the hell room, I can't blame her for reassessing her life and priorities. Sad she lost her dream but it was tainted by Shaddiq so I understand her reasoning. She'll earn her way back fairly, though it might not be any time soon once she submits herself to the authorities.
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I wasn't surprised by this. Peil's horse in the presidency war lost, so might as well turncoat. They're opportunists at heart. The pure SALT though! It was the worst kind of news for everyone else at Benerit, including Mio. Forcible suppression are not words you want to hear
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It's awful of me but this screenshot made me laugh. Something about her slumped forward and mouth open, just dead to everything around her. I'm sorry Mio, I'm sad for you still. She's having a hell of a month.
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Sarius, surprisingly, is willing to take the fall and allow Grassley to bear the consequences. But Mio won't allow it. She can't accept anyone bearing 'her' sins. She's fully become the rose bride, enduring humanity's hatred willingly. There's also a bit of subtext here as she alludes to sacrificing Suletta. She won't do that again, no matter who it is.
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YO OKAY! Suletta while being questioned by Bel and Guston, drops her clone origins super casually. No spite or outward grief either. Just yeah, Mom won't care what I say because she only loves Eri. That's rough buddy.
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Surprise! The SAL confiscated a never before seen or mentioned Gundam from Vanadis. And it just so happens to be a monstrous one without a permet filter I'll admit, very confusing for me at first watch. I couldn't figure out why they sprung this without any foreshadowing, but after days I have an inkling.
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I'll be frank. I'm not sure why I like Belmeria. She's super pathetic. Just an absolute failure at life with the mental fortitude of toilet paper. But she's pitiable, clearly grieving, and guilty she did not perish at Folkvangr. Has done terrible things as 5lan would attest, but she's still weirdly likable. Like an aunt who everyone hates at family reunions but they're nice to you and make good cookies. Maybe it's just me
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Aaaand the suppression of Benerit was swiftly canceled. Lol. QZ can't be stopped now that Prospera has assumed direct control and destroyed every threat to her daughter's eternity.
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I did note QZ looks blatantly like a coffin, which considering the Utena parallel has interesting implications. Read this post here to see my musings. It's not a dire thing imo.
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Did a huge number on Mio's psyche unfortunately, which I think is the true tragedy. Red shirts got nothing on babygirl. Gotta double down on those swords piercing her with guilt and misplaced hatred. I'm marveling at what they're doing with the Utena intertextuality even as I bleed for Mio's state of mind. She's so fragile now
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Yay Chuchu and gang are coming along to fetch Calibarn! Wait, that might be bad. Oh well, Earth House has been crazy lucky so far. Hopefully it'll hold. I will actually lose it if any of them die.
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And we have 5lan suddenly deciding to go. I have some thoughts about why, which I've discussed in another post, but for now let's assume he's telling the truth and only wants to leave. He's an interesting character and bounces well off any cast member so it's cool with me. I enjoyed him going out of his way to apologize for harrassing Suletta.
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Lauda Lauda Lauda... don't you know anyone who threatens Mio gets Suletta slapped. It's happened three times now and two of them were fatal. He's just gonna get someone killed, and it won't be Mio. I know we see him staring at Schwarzette but I don't think he would need to or have the ability to pilot it. Mio isn't a pilot, so I suspect he'll attack her with more practical means. Could be wrong ofc! This show loves twists and curveballs.
I am eager to see what the rest of this cour has in store for us!
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mwolf0epsilon · 5 months
Text
Results, Recovery & Rehabilitation
Summary: After the parasitic infection on Umbara, Tup tries to get used to his new life circumstances. It's mostly trial and error and a lot of frustration, but it helps to have some help.
Twitch belongs to @gaeasun Pitch belongs to @lost-on-kamino
[Something nice and fluffy to make up for all of Whumptober. I think it's nice to end 2023 on a more hopeful tone.]
THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3
---
For the most part since Tup had woken up from his coma, things were surprisingly peaceful for the usually rowdy 501st Battalion. This in of itself wasn't too strange. But, considering the circumstances behind his own disquiet, Tup couldn't help but to find it all a little unnerving.
Mostly because, in his mind, the mutated rookie didn't think he'd be so comfortable with having his own assailant running free, were he to be given the choice. Or rather, had he been in his brothers's shoes and not been the one perpetrating the horrors they'd suffered, Tup thought maybe he would at the very least want to bunk somewhere far away from the obvious threat...
Maybe the others were just better men than he was. Refusing to judge him for any of the things that transpired on Umbara. Even in spite of having gotten hurt, and their bodies having been altered in permanent life-changing ways.
Maybe he was just being too hard on himself. The guilt that followed him everywhere making him unwilling to forget, while also dolling out his own punishment in the form of restless nights full of wondering about what he could have done differently.
He didn't really know. Nor does he bother to really look for the supposed right answer. Dogma already did enough of that for him anyway. Actually, Dogma did practically everything for him nowadays.
And therein lie part of the problem...
Now, don't get him wrong, it's not like Tup hated his brothers's selfless, open affection, or their willingness to forgive him and seemingly forget what had transpired. In fact, he was more than a little grateful that he hadn't been condemned to a life of solitude and bitter resentment.
What bothered him was that they were being so gentle about it. Almost coddling him in the process.
And that was something that he felt wasn't fair on anyone. There should be consequences, even if he himself had been a victim of some very unique and horrific circumstances. Sith-hells, they should be rightfully upset that (even though he was being puppeteered by an overgrown mite) it was his own selfish desire to protect them all at all costs, that ended up being used as incentive to infect them with the same horrific condition he now had to live with.
This grotesque body with primordial instincts and bodily functions he couldn't quite understand. That he was afraid to become too intimately familiar with, due to the nature of these changes being so monstrous.
Being welcomed back with open arms felt like a disservice to all that he considered fair. A right slap in the face to everyone he'd hurt.
And that drove him a little bit crazy, the cheer amount of things that just weren't the same. Both physical and metaphysical. The GAR had never shied away from punishing even the most minor of infractions. Why couldn't his treacherous behavior be dealt with the same? Why was everything so terribly confusing?
It made his skin crawl in that way he knew Dogma's did when things weren't within a mold he understood. His perspective shifting to one that was of mutual understanding, in a way that should have not been so negative.
Tup should have never have had to change to finally understand Dogma's point of view. And yet...
Strange as it was to him how easily everyone had just moved on (and even went out of their way to interact with him as if he were still the same rookie who'd only just gotten deployed into his first real campaign), one thing Tup did accept at the end of the day:
There was really no use in sitting down and stubbornly dwelling on, and moaning about, things that everyone else had apparently already processed and buried the hatchet on. And, perhaps, it was just he that needed to shake the anxieties off and get a better grip on this new existence of his.
Starting with finding his new normal via the mundane when everyone else already had a head-start.
Getting measurements done for his new set of body gloves and rather minimalist armour pieces (which were more so he felt less exposed than really needed, due to his sturdy carapace that was more than able to protect him), made it all the more abundantly clear that he was physically not the same. But that didn't seem to deter the rather optimistic armourers.
His new shape was most definitely not easy to work with (things were just built in a way that made little to no sense in tailoring matters), boggling the minds of his vode who scratched their chins and hummed to themselves as they tried to sort out patterns and calculations.
A lot of guess-work had ultimately been involved. And maybe some holonet consultation. All the while he sat there, tail whipping ever so slightly, while Dogma reassured him that his new uniform and armour attachments wouldn't be intrusive.
"Most fabrics feel a little off against the chitinous plating. And anything that restricts wing or joint movement is uncomfortable, so they're going to take all of that into consideration." His twin had explained. "The first few prototypes the other vode and I tried out ended up ripping very easily..."
"That... Must have been a little awkward." At the time he couldn't help but to imagine both Dogma or Commander Cody unexpectedly ripping their clothes in a public space. It had been a humorous and frankly shocking mental image. One that made an undignified snort weasel its way out through his nostrils, even after he'd covered his mouth as best he could.
"It was downright embarrassing... Luckily none of us have external genitalia anymore, so at least we didn't get written down for indecent exposure." The pinched look on his brother's face spoke volumes about his past and current embarrassment on the matter. Dogma had never been fond of casual semi-nudity, much less full blown decant day suit where anyone could see. Showering communally was the only exception but then that wasn't much of a choice. "I ripped my trousers trying to get them on. My stinger cut right through the fabric... Realized pretty quickly we needed to do something about it. Hence the cap..."
"Uh-huh..." Tup had noticed the rubbery black cap covering Dogma's new lethal weapon. But he hadn't commented on it. He didn't think he should.
"Before the boys in armouring figured out a good enough material for a proper cap, Fives just stabbed a cork on it..." Dogma admitted as he hid his face in his hands. His lower set of hands. The other two were busy braiding Tup's hair. "It was humiliating..."
"A... Wait what? A cork?!" Tup snorted once more. This time not feeling like hiding or suppressing his amusement at all. "A cork? Where'd he get a cork?!"
"I have no idea!" Dogma shrugged. "But I spent a week with a cork stuck to a venomous stinger attached to my rear... At least I stopped ripping my trousers..."
"A cork... Unbelievable..." He couldn't help but coil his tail around his brother as the armouring crew came back with some designs for him to have a look at. They had seemed completely at ease around both Tup and Dogma despite their altered appearances and intimidating stature.
It really was strange... The only people who acted how Tup thought they should, were Coric, Sponge and Pitch, who were actively avoiding and frightened of them.
Well, then again, the armouring crew liked a challenge. Tup certainly had become one.
Right after getting kitted up, the second affair he'd had to get in order was a full medical update. There were a million and one tests Kix had to perform to get the gist of his new anatomy, with some notes he and Twitch had collected from the Umbaran medical facility as guides or points of comparison.
Humans and Umbarans had different physiological needs despite being convergent species, so it had not been unexpected for their metamorphic pathways to diverge a little once exposed to the same parasite.
It was, much like with tailoring a new set of kit specifically for him, a lot of guess work. But at least they'd had a proper guide instead of having to invent something with a little bit of help from whatever somewhat-fitting pattern they could find on the holonet.
He'd tolerated the tests but hadn't been overly fond of all of the bloodwork that had come with them.
"It's impressive. Your regenerative abilities were already advanced due to our immunity system being considerably more enhanced than that of a natborn's..." Kix loudly mused as he watched the readings on the terminal with great interest. Seeming much more relaxed than the rest of the medics who'd been making themselves busy to disguise their nervousness around him. "But with these mutations you've suffered, they've been significantly boosted. More so than the other mutated vode."
"That's nice and all, but do you really need to keep drawing blood?" He'd sighed, mildly irritated, not all that interested in knowing what else was different about him internally. What he'd already known freaked him out plenty. "Any minute now, and I'll feel woozy..."
"That's the thing, you're dealing rather well with the quantity I've already taken. Any other clone would have already started feeling faint." Kix offered. "If I could figure out why that is, what in your body is making you basically a walking bacta tank, I could possibly find a way to implement it as a more effective alternative for treating not just clones but maybe even natborns as well..."
"...Uh..."
"Maybe one day, after we finish tidying everything up... Too many loose ends to deal with wrapping up the war, to even consider the possibility of a medical award in my future." The medic sighed somewhat fondly at the thought. Seeming to be more inclined to dream about what might come to be, than focus on the errors of the past. The ramifications of certain situations.
And, while Tup didn't like the idea of being a test subject for whatever cooky idea his brothers might come up with, he wouldn't be too opposed to help advance the field of medicine if it meant the horrors of bacta shortages would become obsolete.
Getting used to his new diet was another thing he'd had to attend to. His body now requiring tremendously high levels of protein and sugar to function at full capacity. With mushrooms rounding out the rest of his requirements, as well as plentiful hydration with a few vitamin supplements.
It made sense, considering the life cycle of the parasite. But it was infinitely sad to him that the beauty of variety had been taken from him in the field of greenery. And Tup was quite fond of vegetables at that. Those he'd afflicted with this infection also stuck on the same boat as he.
That said, the amount of desserts that were now being requested to support his and the others's high sugar diet, were somewhat of a benefit to the mood of the entire battalion.
Clones had a notable sweet tooth after all. The 501st were standard in that manner.
It took quite a lot to satisfy his hunger, taking into account his much larger size. Filling up did come with a certain weakness however, which was how incredibly drowsy he would become whenever he ended up stuffing himself silly. As soon as he was finished with any meal, he needed to take a mandatory nap. Which often found him in the company of one particular medic.
Tup had humorously become adept at stumbling across Twitch. Asleep in some hidden nook or cranny in rather boneless-tooka fashion. How he hadn't stepped on the vod'ika yet, Tup wasn't quite sure, but he wasn't one to just let a brother sleep out in the cold. Thus it became norm to catch sight of a full-bellied and rather sleepy Tup groggily trotting back towards the barracks with Twitch fitfully asleep on his back. Secured by the grip of strong and hard outer-wing that kept his much softer underwings nicely protected.
Sometimes he'd put Twitch on a free bunk, tucking him in all nice and warm, with the use of those horrid tendrils that came out of his sides like tentacles. Their grasp much more gentle and dexterous than the large clunky claws that he now had to live with.
Other times he just lay down in the webbing nest Dogma had arranged for him (as he no longer fit nor felt comfortable on a standard bunk or cot), and let the younger medic remain sleep on his back. The kih'vod clinging to him tighter than a baby kowakian monkey lizard clung to its mother's back.
He'd either wake up with Twitch back on duty, the warmth on his back long gone and replaced instead with a blanket, or he'd find Dogma watching over both of them while he read some holonovel he'd picked up recently.
It was... Peaceful. Domestic even. Normal.
It bothered him on principle, but not enough so that he was averse to it in the same way that everyone's collective forgiveness made him feel jittery. Which was ironic considering Twitch was one of the vode he felt like had reason enough to hate him. The kih'vod was full of surprises.
Full of compassion in a way that most might consider naive. Tup found it admirable. So did their older brothers who didn't feel quite right there yet to sit with him. He'd heard as much while accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation between Pitch and Sponge.
"He's a good kid." Pitch had muttered softly, while sitting with the more surly of the two. Occasionally brushing Beau's fur with a brush that Sponge had dutifully provided him with as a distraction.
Relearning to walk had made the two's friendship flourish even more than it ever had before. With both Sponge and Beau becoming much needed emotional support that Pitch could rely on.
"He's the best of us." Sponge had agreed, a smile on their still healing face. Some of the damage had gone with the wind. Only a few scars remained. Too many scars, in Tup's guilt-ridden opinion. "Such is the way of youths."
"He's not that much younger than us, you're making me feel old." Pitch had laughed, grinning at his friend in good humour. "But... Yeah. There's something about the younger generations of clones... I guess it's hope. They're more hopeful."
"Bitter resentment hasn't set in yet. It's what makes them better..." Sponge had seemed resigned to that, but not in a way that felt particularly bad. At least not from the way they'd sounded. "It's our job now, to make sure those of us that are still so eager to hope can live freer lives than the ones we'll surely live."
"Yeah... Yeah. For what it's worth, I'm still going to try to do better."
"As it should be."
It was a conversation that had given him much to think about. In due time, all of them might yet find peace in this new form of being. Be is as insectoid mutant troopers, or veterans ready to learn what it truly was to live at peace. No war or turmoil ahead of them.
Tup might yet let go, even if right now things were still a little too fresh. Too raw. Too pleasant for him to fully accept without feeling bad. He would strive to do better next time.
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